After the sizzling encounter between my foot and my nephew's boy toy on the couch, I needed a cold shower to cool down.
Actually, I took a warm shower: And made sure it was long enough to ensure that my soaping of a certain part of my anatomy involved enough rubbing to deliver the climax I desperately needed.
I was successful, as you might imagine. After all, my hand is not lacking in practice. And I didn't need the soap for lubrication. I could close my eyes and still feel his cum gushing through his jeans and around my foot.
I hoped for a repeat after dinner, but I really wanted to hear much more _ much, much more _ about his relationship with his mother, particularly the back rubs.
For obvious reasons, the mere thought was turning me on, even though I had just gotten off!
Truth be told, I couldn't wait until after dinner. While I was still cooking, I rather innocently asked him how long he had been giving his mother back rubs and massages.
I couldn't tell if I was surprised or not when he said not long, that it had started fairly recently, just a couple of months ago when she came home from work cranky, tired and sore.
I could understand that, but the timing was close to the encounter she and I had in the kitchen. Interesting.
Could it just be coincidental?
I'm not much of a believer in coincidence. And it wouldn't have matter, anyway. I just had to know more; I couldn't let it go.
I asked him when it all began, his interest, in me, in his mother, and he conceded it was all very recent, since he turned 18, during his senior year of high school, but admitted he didn't know how or why it suddenly developed. "Nothing has happened, anyway," he said. Nothing. Yet.
I thought about it all through dinner, as we made small talk. I thought about what he might be thinking about my sister-in-law, his mother. I thought about him looking up his mother's skirt. I thought about him looking down her blouse. I thought about him jerking off with her panties. And by the end of dinner, I was just about sitting in a puddle of my own making.
I couldn't believe I had thought my experiences with my nephew might have been unique, that he would not have noticed his mother, admittedly beautiful, if he was noticing me. I should have thought of it. But I didn't. He is 18, after all. How many 18-year-old virgins do YOU know? Yet here he was, suddenly, at 18, caught between two beautiful older women, one an aunt, one his mother.
My ego had run away with me, but now, as I thought about everything, the prospects were so much more alluring, so much hotter, I could barely stand it.
I continued talking about nothing while I cleared off the table and loaded the dishwasher, mostly so he couldn't escape before I decided what to do next, but I definitely made it worth his while to hang around.
I made it a point to bend over to load the dishwasher, and surely not in the most ladylike fashion. I knew he liked to look, and I knew he wasn't going very far as long as he had plenty to look at!
As I finished, I moved up behind him. He was still seated at the table, facing forward.
I moved up close.
Very close.
My breasts were pressing into him just below his neck.
I leaned further forward, very close to his ear.
And I whispered, "Do you like to look up your mother's skirt?"
He turned purple, or at least a deep, deep crimson.
He sputtered.
He stuttered.
"No, of course, not, I mean she's my MOTHER!," he said, almost screaming it out.
Still leaning forward, pressing my breasts into him, whispering into his ear, I said, "And I'm your aunt. So what does that have to do with it?"
