I had been at Aunty Pat's place for no more than two days when I found it. Aunty Pat was my mother's younger sister, she was only 40 – I say "only 40" because I've always been an older woman sort of bloke. I'm 20 and to me 40 is the sort of age of I aspire to, by no means past it, but definitely still able to emote that sort of earthy, sexual drive. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?
Sorry, I spoke about "it". Well Aunty Pat had been out, off to the outdoor market, or somewhere, and she said she'd be gone for an hour. And no, she didn't come back early and catch me sniffing her knickers, so don't think ahead too much.
I had, of course, walked into her bedroom, but I guess that part was obvious, eh? I was naked, and my seven-inch prick was full of anticipation. The place was bathed in sunlight, a wonderful warm Spanish afternoon. I was there for a month's holiday from London and being only 18 and on my first trip outside England I was full of curiosity. A pathetic excuse for delving through her knickers drawer, eh?
Anyway, I found all these satin bras and panties, playsuits, I think they're called, thongs, g-strings, bustieres, you name it, Aunty Pat had it. It was obviously all clean, so there was no need to try sniffing it, so forget that, OK?
But at the bottom, my fingers found a couple of large brown envelopes, big buggers, full of something. I dragged them out and lay back on her bed. I pulled the first one to my side and dragged out a brochure.
Now I'm no expert, but I guess it was in what book collectors describe as "pristine condition", when they're trying to put an exorbitant price on a first edition book. This thing – titled "For the fuller figured woman" – looked as if it had never been opened. It was like I was the first person to ever cast eyes on it!
In it I found a lot of pictures of women I'd always creamed my jeans to, if you'll pardon the expression. Large blondes, large brunettes, large black women – OK, large, all right?
Among the brunettes was my lovely Aunty Pat. She's about 5 foot 8 inches, with splendid, light brown hair, bit tits, big arse, but shapely. You know. She was one of the majorly featured models in the brochure, and in some of the pictures she was even topless! Big breasts – they're 40 DD cup now – and about 38s when she was photographed, I guessed.
I sat back on her bed, stroking myself, just immersed in the catalogue – and no, she didn't walk in on me, so stopping getting ahead of the story. Then I put the catalogue back in the big brown envelope, and pulled out the next item in the collection, so to speak.
This was one of those skin magazines, obviously English since all the prices were in pounds sterling. The centrefold was a nice looking little blonde, but too small and too young to interest me – as I said, mature is the way I go.
I found what I was looking for half-way between Miss Fuck of the Month, or whatever she was called, and the raunchy "Call Mistress Filthy Mouth for Your Whipping" ads at the back of the book. There, in about a six-page spread, was Aunty Pat in a pictorial spread entitled "Plenty to like about Pat". Fucking good title!
And it was even more horn-inducing than the lingerie catalogue! Pictures of aunty in garter belts, stockings high heels and nothing else, competed with shots of her in a PVC open-fronted playsuit which displayed her lush breasts and her hairy snatch! I was, I have to confess, in love.
The other contents of the envelope were glossy pictures, obviously taken from the magazine shoot, which I guessed the photographer had gifted to my aunty as mementos of a memorable photographic session, or possibly something even more sexy!
The second envelope was of a much "harder" nature, copies of a magazine which obviously catered for people who are into "strict" ladies, who fuck around with whips, paddles and floggers. Apart from the fact that Aunty Pat featured in some of the spreads with her booted feet on some naked male slaves, and that she was wearing really sexy leather or PVC gear, they did nothing for me. Men who like to get taken to by women with whips are fucking weird, if you ask me,
And that was it. No aunty barging in on me demanding "And just what do you think you're doing, you wicked boy?" type crap. I simply put the envelopes back in the bottom of the drawer, smoothed out the duvet on her large bed, and went back to my bedroom to enjoy a nice long, slow wank until she returned and I helped her unload the boxes full of tasty Spanish food goodies.
The next morning, I went down to the large kitchen in her beautifully-appointed split-level home, and kissed her on the cheek as she prepared breakfast. I wore only a tight-fitting pair of Speedos, because aunty said I was allowed to and because it was the height of the Spanish summer. And anyway, I think she liked my very well muscled young figure, very toned and tanned, with my jet black, almost shoulder length hair. A lot of people accuse me of looking like a poof with hair that long, but a lot of older women go for it, take my word on that!
Aunty Pat was in a shiny satin sort of housecoat, that came down to just below her knees, but with a broad black belt tightly drawn around her waist, and it bunched the material so her lush, full breasts were straining into the thing. Made me sit down at the table before my interest became too fucking obvious, I can tell you.
"Hi Tony, sleep well, my dear?" she asked as she placed a plate of eggs, sausages, hash browns and bacon in front of me alongside a huge mug of steaming hot black coffee. And as she did I couldn't help but notice the large upper mounds of her beautiful boobs come into view as she leaned over.
She then collected her plate and came and sit next to me on the couchette, playfully ordered "Move over, Mr Fat Arse", as she did so, which was her just being silly, of course, because I'm quite skinny.
We munched away on the filling fried breakfast, and I was dapping my napkin against my lips when Aunty Pat hit me with it. I think it's termed "going for the jugular".
"And tell me, my dear Tony, what did you think of my little picture collection?"
OK, I was, as they say in the classics, gobsmacked! I even tried to bluster my way out of it. "Sorry, aunty," I stammered, "I don't know what you're talking about."
Pathetic. Fucking pathetic. And useless. Fucking useless.
Aunty Pat smiled at me, not in a condescending way, but a sort of "Don't fuck with me, sonny" smile.
"Well, Tony," she grinned, "if it wasn't you going through my magazine and catalogues from my knicker drawer yesterday, it must have been a burglar, or the legendary Mr Nobody.
"And since all the televisions are still here, my jewellery is intact, the sound system and all my CDs are untouched, then I guess that just leaves Mr Nobody. Or you, Tony, eh?"
I nodded my head, and must have looked shamefaced, because she put an aunt-like arm around my bare shoulders.
"How did you know?" I asked.
Aunty Pat smiled. "Simple, you silly young man, because I put a couple of hairs across the space between the top of the drawer and the upper ledge of the furniture, something I learned from a spy book. That's how I knew how the drawer had been opened.
"And I arranged two thongs on the envelopes, with the crotches pointing towards the front of the drawer.
"When I got back from shopping yesterday, the hairs were no longer there and the thongs had obviously been moved. So it was either you, the non-existent burglar, or the famous Mr Nobody. I had you at the top of my list, I'm afraid."
"I'm so sorry, aunty," I muttered. "It was very rude of me and it won't happen again."
"That's a pity," said Aunty Pat, in a very slow, deliberate kind of way.
I looked at her in puzzlement. "How do you mean, aunty?" I asked, as calmly as I could, but sensing a thumping which was going on. Not my heart, a foot or so further down!
"Well," she said, dragging the word out, "I thought it would be nice if you showed me some of my pictures and then pick your favourites.
"Then, if you're very, very good, maybe I can model some of them for you – I got to keep quite a lot of the lingerie from my modelling days, some of it has hardly been worn."
Now my cock was thumping even harder in my shiny little Speedos. Aunty got up a walked to the large-range stove in her hugely expensive kitchen and poured herself another mug of coffee. Then she turned and stared at me with one of those looks which really says "Are you man enough?"
Of course, I should have said that the whole thing had gone far enough, but I didn't. She may have been mother's sister, but she was a large, lusty-looking woman and I wanted desperately to see her modelling lingerie for me. It would lead to nothing, just a lingerie show, I told myself.
"Er, that would, oh it would be wonderful, aunty," I said, feeling all shy and tongue-tied.
"Then get upstairs to my bedroom, get the envelopes out from my drawer and be waiting on the bed. Oh, and Tony."
I was sliding out from my seat, trying to hide my obvious arousal. "Yes, aunty?" I asked, desperate not to reveal my hard-on.
"Take those lovely little Speedos off. I'm a mature woman and I've seen plenty of young men's cocks. Anyway, you look most uncomfortable with that thing the size of Mt Blanc trying to break through your pants."
I bolted upstairs, dashed into aunty's bedroom, dragged the envelopes from their hiding place and was naked on my back, with a seven-inch hard-on pointing to the ceiling when aunty walked in.
"That's nice, darling," she smiled, as she shut the door behind her. "Six and a half, seven?"
"Seven, aunty," I told her.
"Very pretty," she commented, then sat beside me on the bed, arranged a pile of pillows so we could sit up and smiled: "Where do you want to start?"
"Er, the fuller figured catalogue, please, aunty," I asked, and we leafed through it. For a while she indicated that "No", she did not have those particular items, but when my quavering finger pointed to a black bra, panty and garter belt set, she smiled.
"Ah, the retro look, still very popular with young studs today," she grinned. "And yes, I've got that. You wait there and I'll go find it."
Aunty climbed from the bed and walked into her wardrobe, which was more of a room adjoining the bedroom. I stroked myself, my cock dripping sex juice drool as I waited for her return.
Then she was back and I swallowed and gulped. She looked absolutely stunning! The brassiere was made of shiny satin and it lifted her big 40-inchers into uplift so mouth-watering I almost felt myself drooling from the mouth as well as the cock.
