"Naughty aunt Susan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Ron)

CHAPTER THREE

I was still woozy from the feel of solid ground beneath my feet when I heard someone call my name.

"Pam?!" came the voice again, and when I looked in its direction, Aunt Susan was coming towards me. I hadn't seen her in a year or two; but there was no mistaking her.

They sell her books on almost every newsstand in the country, paperback Gothic and romance novels. She writes under her real name, Susan Williamson, plus two or three pen-names. Mama has a lot of her books, but not nearly all.

She's Mama's baby sister, in her early thirties now, but she has a frowzy, ageless look to her that makes me think of an old-maid schoolteacher on a particularly bad day. Her mousy brown hair was pulled back into a tight, dangling ponytail, her face was nude of makeup, and she was wearing a really ghastly combo – loose, oversized sweatshirt and a pair of baggy jeans that fit her like a big tent. She'd never been fat, and I wondered if she just bought her clothes an guesswork frown bargain bins at Goodwill Stores.

"Hi, Aunt Sue," I said, lifting my face so she could kiss me hello. Her breath was antiseptic, and there was but the slightest glimmer of life in the near-green eyes behind the big round lenses of her glasses. Those eyes could have been pretty, I thought, if the rest of her wasn't so blah!

"You're growing up so fast," she told me, but Aunt Susan had a few inches on me in height. "I was so happy when Barbara called. I'm afraid I'm becoming a hermit. Seems I never see any of you any more. Here, let's get your things into the car. Lee!"

From out of nowhere a guy had appeared on the scene. He was about her age, I guessed, and he was okay. Tall, not too hefty but not skinny either, his hair dark and shaggy, he had a strong, handsome ugly face. Aunt Susan saw me eyeing him and she caught my hand.

"Pam, this is Lee Kinloch. He's an instructor at the university, and a good friend besides. Lee, this is my niece Pamela. Isn't she lovely? Well! We'd better get her things into the car."

Hmmm, I thought, shaking his hand, where did the old girl find him? And how in the world does she hang onto him?

His car was close by – Aunt Sue's auto was a little two-seater, again quite at odds with her dowdy exterior, too small to hold my baggage – so we loaded up and went motoring away. Aunt Susan lives ten or fifteen miles outside Athens, in the country, and she talked most of the way. Most of her conversation revolved around how nice it was to see me, and how pretty I'd become, and didn't Lee think so, too. He did, and. I was delighted. He had a nice voice and a nice smile and a nice manner, and he didn't treat me like a child, the way so many adults do with girls my age. I could have gone for him, but if he dug on Aunt Sue's type, I didn't stand the chance of a snowball in hell. And besides, if he was her personal stuff, it wouldn't be right to play for him anyway. That's only moral.

Aunt Sue's been in and around Athens for ten or twelve years. She got her B.A. and M.A. at the university, began writing (and selling) as an undergraduate, and she's never left. With the profits from her first ten or twelve books, she bought a farmhouse in the country, fixed it up, and settled down. I suppose she enjoyed being a hermit, but the only thing southeastern Ohio reminds me of is hillbilly heaven. To each her own.

Her house is big and quaint, and I wandered round it looking at the antique and period furniture while we were supposed to he carrying my luggage in. The old parlor was fixed up as a study, with shelf after shelf of books, a table dominated by a big, new IBM electric, and filing cabinets where she kept carbons and correspondence and research notes. She was halfway through a new Gothic right now, and Lee and I both sensed that she'd really like to be working. So he drank a quick cup of tea and made his excuses. I waved good-bye and hoped I might see him again. If he was Aunt Susan's regular, I supposed I would.

She fixed sandwiches but I didn't feel like eating. My tummy was still upset, and my lunch consisted of a couple more Midols while we sat talking on the shady front porch.

"You've grown up while I wasn't looking," Aunt Sue complained gently. She sat lazily on the swing and I could almost see the curve of her left tit where her baggy shirt threatened momentarily to cling to her body. It was the first time I'd even guessed she had a figure.

Aunt Susan talked exuberantly and fluidly, like someone making up for lost time. I asked her about Lee; she seemed to enjoy speaking on that subject, and I gave her her head.

They'd met at the university library, while she was researching a historical. One of her characters was Robert Burns, a specialty of Lee's. He guided her to some useful books and references, and they'd been friends ever since. Very good friends, if the sparkle in her eyes when she mentioned his name had any significance.

"That's great, Aunt Sue," I congratulated, "but I want to tell you now – if having me around is cramping your style any – I mean, I'm a big girl I know the score. So [missing text]."

She didn't understand. I could see it as soon as I started to talk. "You and Lee," I went on. "If he's been living with you, you don't have to move him out on my account. It's cool with me."

"Living with me?" Aunt Susan said in a very strained voice. She was red as a lobster.

"You and he are lovers, aren't you?" I asked, venturing all.

"Lovers?" She was absolutely aghast. She stood up and began to pace the porch. I felt about two feet tall and I didn't like the taste of my foot, stuck in my mouth.

She turned suddenly. "What makes you think that Lee and I – we're just friends. I enjoy talking to him, I think he enjoys talking to me – that's all, Pam, that's all!"

How could I have made such a boo-boo? How could I have remotely considered the idea that Aunt Sue and Lee Kinloch were shacking up? They were friendly, sure, and if I'd been in her shoes, I'd have damn well been shacking with him. But Aunt Sue was somebody else, not me. She was a dowdy, frowsy woman a breath and a half away from being an old maid. Unattractive, to say the least. Why would a right-on guy like Lee even want to ball it up with her? He probably got off socializing with her as a breather between bed-wrestling with frisky young coeds at the university.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Sue," I tried to apologize, but the words seemed so inadequate. "I'd better go up and unpack," I said, making for the door. "Guess you have to get back to the typewriter, and I've kept you long enough."

When I came down from my room, after putting all my clothes away, her study door was closed and I could hear the machine gun rattle of her a typewriter. I thought about popping in, but decided against it. She was entitled to some peace from me. So I went outside to walk around the property.

I left the house far behind and stood atop the ridge, straining my eyes to see anything. There wasn't anything to see, except for the trees and the fields stretching away in the distance. It was quiet and lonely up here, and the summer sun bathed the ridgecrest in warm, glimmering rays. I soaked it up with my body, turning this way and that to rinse myself on both sides, and then I smoothed a place in the high grass so I could stretch out.

Such a nice day, too warm and sunny for clothes. I sat up and removed my blouse and bra, smiling as my bared nipples sprang up immediately, and then I lay down once more. I closed my eyes against the sun's rays and lay in the fragrant grass, shifting my shoulders to let that good warm feeling touch me everywhere from head to waist. My hips moved, too, and the menstrual cramps that had been bothering me most of the day didn't seem so bad any more. The sunshine was direct and soothing, and I could hear crickets chirping in the field and birds singing off in the distance.

Being on the rag isn't my favorite time of the month. I feel bloated and run-down, and mostly I feel like shit. Sometimes I get so horny I want to jump out of my skin – the urges become intense and my skin crawls with lust. But masturbating is so messy, and guys don't want to get involved with you when you're dripping a little, and as the sun bathed me, I felt an ache in my bones. There was a horny coming on.

My legs were pressed tight and they worked a gentle squeezing pressure on my cunt that made the tampon inside me feel like a poky little cock. I lifted my knees, bringing the heels back nearly to the cheeks of my ass, and I humped upward against that juicy feeling.

During menstruation my cunt feels almost raw, and of course it's always wet inside. The slightest increase of pressure or stimulation makes me pant and hardens my nipples, and right now I could feel my teats growing stiffer than the sun and a gentle breeze had already gotten them.

I could have gotten off easily, by rubbing my hands over the crotch of my jeans, but it seemed too easy. One good stroke and I'd have burst into flames. Just one. On the other hand, I could make it last longer by keeping on the way I was going.

I gritted my teeth and made my thighs rub together with more vigor, frictioning them the way a Boy Scout fucks around with his twigs in the big forest. The smooth columns of flesh, each encased in a sleeve of denim, came together, scraping, rustling, and I felt myself growing ever warmer. I ground my butt into the grass as I heaved in a restrained bout of self-seduction.

Oh, why did it have to be self-seduction? Why couldn't I have someone like Lilly here with me, using her naughty hands and mouth on every part of my body while I did the same to her? Or, even better, what about Lee Kinloch? He was a great-looking guy, best I'd seen since leaving home this morning, and he dripped with sexy charm, not at all matching my image of a stuffy college professor. And if Aunt Susan was only using him as a conversational partner, maybe I could snag him for discussions of more basic subjects. He'd be my first older man, really, barring a few seniors I'd fucked when I was in tenth grade, and they didn't count.

Hey, Pam! Whispered my brain. Remember – this was supposed to be a vacation. You were going to make important decisions about your life. Take it easy, decide whether you were or weren't just wasting your time screwing around with guys.

But – this might be the best way to find out. I mean, if I got it on with Lee Kinloch, and it turned out to be just another screw, then I could really be more certain that Lilly was right about me and her. That made sense.

I began to open and close my legs, bringing them together with a soft thud that vibrated thrillingly upon my pussy, where it nestled inside the tight crotch of my pants. I was wearing panties, of course, thick cotton ones that I could throw away if I leaked, and they were big and bulky inside my snug-fitting jeans. As I got hotter, my cunt seemed to swell up magnificently, threatening to split all my seams, and that little menstrual device didn't seem little at all now. My pussy-lips were molded round its intruding bulk, massaging it, stroking it with soft, fluttering ripples, and it felt like a cock that had been put in me soft and was hardening with each second of additional penetration. That was nice.

I pulled my knees up and made them rub on my bare tits, while one arm locked behind them, keeping them up and in place. With the stiff, extended fingers of my other hand I began to make little footstep-like patters across my butt, just a tippy-tip-tip touching action that was only meant to amuse me.

It must have gotten out of hand, to coin a phrase.

I was thinking about Lee Kinloch and the prospects of getting him into my pants when a warm, throbbing burst of sensation fluttered in my pussy and I felt sunny and bright inside. My legs twitched where I held them up, and then they sagged, and I lay stretching on the grass once more, letting the sun warm my bare tits while I purred in a kind of contentment. It wasn't the best, but it would do for now. I'd taken the edge off my horniness.

Aunt Susan was on a good writing streak, it seemed, because she was still barricaded in her office at eight o'clock that evening. I fried up a couple of cheeseburgers, mixed a salad, and carried supper into the study. She looked up with a startled smile and stopped work long enough to polish off a snacky meal. We talked in circles the while, me afraid to say much lest it blow her cool again. Aunt Susan was just as old-maidish as she looked. How could I ever have thought she knew the score?

"Could I borrow a couple of your books to read while I'm here?" I asked, hoping that would put me into her better graces. "Mama has a lot of them, but not nearly so many as this." She smiled and said it would be just fine, and I could tell she was anxious to be at work again, so I cleaned up the supper things and cleared out. The typewriter was humming and pecking before I'd gotten the door quite closed behind me.

I watched television for a while, but the programming wasn't too hot. The local stations were pretty amateurishly run. Finally I shut off the set and went up to my room, ready for beddy.

The walk up the steps seemed to put a little fresh vigor into me, though, and by the time I'd taken off my shirt and jeans I didn't feel like going to sleep just yet. I had my radio along, so I turned it on and looked round the dial for some good music. At first all I could find were hillbilly broadcasts and late-night preachers, but finally I picked up the signal of a southern station that believed in the boogie.

I sat on the edge of the bed in my undies, jiggling my feet in time with the music. It was an infectious beat, and I found my fingers snapping, too. In a moment I was on my feet, stepping out and back as I caught the musical pattern and put my body into key with it. I like to dance. It makes me feel good and sexy all over, to throw myself into the rip of a song, to let it control the way I move, to surrender my conscious will and let the drive of the rhythm carry me along. I don't even need a partner when the music is right.

And the music was right. That Tennessee DJ was picking some really obnoxious records this evening, one after another.

I moved, making up my own steps as I followed the beats of the songs. My hips swayed, my legs kicked, I swooped low and stood tiptoe high, turning round and round on my toes like a disco ballerina. The music seemed to throb and reverberate in the marrow of my bones, and I danced as if I were on display in a window, rather than in the privacy of my room. It was good and I was good. I felt sexy and beautiful and graceful as a young deer.

One song blended into another and still I danced. The commercials and patter between tunes passed me by unnoticed. I must have danced even while the DJ talked. After a while I didn't even need the music he played. I was humming and clicking my fingers and patting my thighs and hips, and making my own songs and my own accompaniment.

Warmth began to fill me from top to bottom. I felt at peace, in love and harmony with everybody and everything. It was the way I always felt on a dance floor, and guys who led me from a disco to the bushes never had any reason to complain afterwards.

The shifting of my hips, the kicking of my legs – sure, they were having an effect on my cunt. I could feel myself getting damper there, not only from my menses, but from a burgeoning stimulation that was sharp and to the point. Dancing, even dancing solo in a narrow space, was making me horny, and a menstrual horny was the most insatiable kind there was.

Before I knew it I was standing in one place, doing deep knee bends just like in gym class. I broke them up with quarter and half turns, and I cupped my tits through the thin yellow nylon of the bra cups. The nipples were hard and hot inside stiff as pebbles, and I rolled my fingers on the points they poked into the fabric of the brassiere. I pinched them till tears came into my eyes and I sighed in hot little bubbles of breath. My hair was all disordered, some of it dangling in moist strands across my face, and I combed it back with one hand, at the same time touching the little droplets of sweat on my cheeks and temples.

My neck was damp, too, all around the base, and my sweating palms were making the bra cups wet as well. Especially round my nipples, where the dampness was allowing my brown areolas to show through the nylon. Still dancing in my chosen place, I unhooked the bra clasps and wiggled out of it. My tits shook beautifully, zestfully, and I made them jump and bounce in delight.

I put a hand on the crotchstrip of my panties. A tingly shudder spread through me, vibrating at the base of my front teeth. Inside my cunt was that tampon, just like a tiny finger inserted for permanent stimulation, and I squeezed my thighs together that I might feel it even more vividly.

"Mmmmm!" I warbled triumphantly, my voice husky and feline. I backed towards the bed. My legs touched it, and I just let myself fall, flopping onto the soft mattress. It was a country bed, soft and cushiony as a cloud, and I felt as if I were sinking endlessly into its comforting surface.

I slid farther back, lying full-length on the bed. I split my legs their widest, making an indescribably delicious pain-pleasure radiate from the slice of my cunt, and I held my legs apart till I couldn't stand it. I closed them then, massaging with my thighs, raising one above the other, squirming like someone trying to keep from pissing. My panties were stuck to the wetness of my gash and when I touched them, stroking the slitted opening through the nylon, the moisture seemed to increase. I could almost hear a squish as I fondled my swampy cunt.

I rolled over, onto my tummy, and I shoved my twat against the mattress, grinding with my hips as though I rode atop the fattest, thickest, longest, hardest cock in all the world. Reaching behind me I cupped the cheeks of my ass and twisted them forcefully, till fresh tears budded in the corners of my eyes and I whimpered in little cries of exquisite pain.

Fingers slid into the crack of my butt and stroked my flesh through the sopping cotton. My knees shook, my toes quivered. With one finger I poked at my asshole, shoving as if I meant to insert the finger and the intervening panty layer, too. It wasn't a serous attempt to finger-fuck my ass – I only wanted the lovely darting feel of it, the knowledge that I could do it if I wanted to.

My tits were hard lumps of flesh now, capped by fiery pointing nipples, and I raised my hands so I could manipulate them. I sighed, very loud, it seemed to me and my roaring ears, and I squeezed all the harder, till it felt as if my tits were about to burst like abused balloons. But I wasn't abusing my brown-nippled balloons. Not at all. I was loving the hell out of them, and it was certainly no abuse.

I humped against the mattress for what seemed an eternity while the seeds of a dynamite come were planted in me. I wasn't ready for these seeds to flower and blossom yet. Not just yet. I rolled over again, lying on my back once more, and I abandoned my tits long enough to wiggle my butt free of the white panties which encased my yearning crotch.

I twirled them in the air on the toes of my left foot, then gave a kicking toss that sent them flying across the room. The exercise made my snatch feel hotter and juicier, and I wondered if I could bring myself off, all the way off, without leaving a hideous mess on Aunt Susan's spare bed.

Oh, fuck Aunt Susan and her spare bed! If it stains the sheets, then it stains the mother-fucking sheets!

I grabbed a big handful of my coppery, glistening beaver, and I squeezed it firmly. Spurts of heated excitement shot through me irresistibly, and I opened my mouth in a thrilled cry that was about a quarter-tone sharper than the falsetto wail of the black shouter on my radio at the moment. Sing your heart out, baby, I told him silently. If you were here right now, I'd squeeze your nuts just this way, and I'd give your big black prick a twist that'd put you into my fucking key!

I sampled the music with one ear, trying to summon a mental image of the singer. His voice was rich and black, oozing with hot sex, and I could almost feel his ebony body on my creamy frame, his long dark cock wriggling in my pink slit as he fought to give me a dose of his seed. We'd move in time with his music, the two of us, fucking to a syncopated, elusive rhythm that came right out of the hot southern earth and the stinking city ghettoes on a trail that had begun in the steamy jungles, where life was life and fucking was out of sight. Where cocks rammed cunts in time with the throb of the messenger drums, and witch doctors chanted evil spells while the lions and tigers roared through the night. My hips jerked and wiggled in an approximation of that jungle boogie, and I tried to embrace my imaginary black lover.

The fantasy faded in and out. I'd never fucked a black guy – I don't really like black guys, not on a one-to-one basis.

I covered my snatch with my hand again, the grip even more powerful, the ball of my finger joints pressed down hard upon the slitted opening. I felt the string of my tampon catch between my fingers, and I nearly jerked it right out of my streaming hole.

My fingertips strummed the furry curve of my pubes, making the clitty inside dance and jiggle in happiness. The radio was playing still another song by now, one with a slow, offbeat rhythm, and I tried to match the drum strokes pat for pat.

My toes wiggled with the music and I went pit-a-pat-pit-pat on the hillock of my cunt. The hair forest was damp and so was I, everywhere, and I found myself making little chattering sounds as my fever built and peaked.

Lee Kinloch, I thought again, recalling Aunt Susan's platonic friend. How would he be in the sack? Honestly? Guys my age, the only kind of guys I'd fucked around with so far, were interesting, and they did fun things to me and with me, but there was a distressing sameness about it. That had been bothering me ever since my little visit with Lilly the other night.

Guys would eat my pussy, they'd suck my tits, they'd feel me from head to toe and rub their naked bodies against mine, but their main interest was in getting a herd cock shoved as far up my cunt as it would go, then humping up and down, in and out, back and forth, till their nuts let go and they dumped a gallon of jism in my snatch. And that was okay. I'd enjoyed fucking ever since the very first time, else I'd not have kept on doing it. But I had a feeling it might be possible to find something more than those basic acts and reactions in sex.

With a more mature man, perhaps. Someone like Lee. He might be a real tiger between the sheets. Why not? He was a man, not a boy proving himself on a girl's body. A man to make me feel like a woman instead of a girl who knew the score. A real, fully grown woman.

The image titillated me, Lee Kinloch between my legs. His shaggy head bobbed in my mind's eye as he drank at my seething twat, and I could almost feel his tongue on my puffy gash, with long, slow, careful swipes that turned me on and sent me screaming into the clouds before he'd really begun to do me.

With him sex could be an adventure, a challenge, not just a contest to see if I could enjoy a nice come before my partner lost control and shot his load inside me. Oh, Lee, I thought, you have to be a dynamite lover! Appearances couldn't be that deceiving. And if he was only half as good as I knew he must be, he'd be out-fucking-rageous! And if Aunt Susan wanted nothing more than his mind, Goddamned if I'd let the most interesting part of him go to waste.

I strummed harder, playing my cunt like a ukulele. The song on the radio had changed its beat, doubling up on the rhythm, and the musicians were all cooking. I had to work furiously to keep up, and I couldn't, but by then I was involved in musical improvisations of my own, and my tits heaved with the big gasping sighs that rolled from my lips.

"Is something wrong, Pam?" a voice wondered. A female voice. Who else's? There were only the two of us in the Goddamned house. Oh, shit, I thought, not even bothering to let go of my cunt. Not again.

Aunt Susan rattled my doorknob. "Are you all right, dear?" she wanted to know. The handle turned. Was she going to come in on me?

I struggled to catch my breath. "I'm okay," I said.

Aunt Susan pushed the door open a hair aria looked around it. What must she think of me now? I was lying naked, clutching my pussy with one hot little hand, and my nipples were sticking out a mile. Or could she see anything? She wasn't wearing her glasses. In fact, she appeared to be dressed for bed, and her mousy hair was down, hanging on her shoulders. If she hadn't been so painfully plain, she might have been almost appealing with her hair untied.

"Are you sure?" She seemed uncertain. "I heard you calling out."

"It's my period," I said, "and I'm just having a little trouble with it. Nothing to worry about. Honest."

"Do you always go to bed naked?" She'd finally noticed.

"Uh-huh," I said absently.

"Well," she said, "if I can be of any help…"

She could only be of help right now if she called her good-looking friend and told him to get his ass out to the old farmhouse for a little screwing. "'S okay," I panted, feeling dangerously warm as my hand lay relaxed on my cunny.

"Well, good night, then," Aunt Sue said, "and if you do need some help or company or anything, holler." She closed the door and I heard her slippers patting on the floor.

As soon as she was gone, I tightened the clasp of my fist and I humped my cunt upward into that clutching grip. Keep it low, I warned myself. Don't yelp so loud or she'll be back. And if Aunt Susan got flustered when asked if she was living with a guy, what would she do seeing ire breaking in my visitor's bed?

I squeezed and fondled, not caring how loud the radio was or what was playing. My hand twisted and jerked on the hairy thrust of my cunt-mound and I rolled on the bed, letting my body move as it wished. One of my fingers lay right along the crease of my slit, pushing at the gashed fish, thumping on the end of my inserted tampon, and I shook in abandon, knowing that the time was nearly here.

My come hit me splendidly, knocking me first in the gut and then spreading through my body like a fire out of control. I moaned and sighed with the joy of it, turning my head to let the big soft pillow muffle my cries of release, and I clutched my gash as it dripped a thin, hot mixture of cream and blood. I could smell it, the heady, cunty aroma of a menstrual come, and I wished I could smear my fucking face in it, that I could be the slut I felt in my delight.

The fever began to pass, slowly but not slowly enough, and I purred in dismay to feel myself coming to earth once more. Well, my raw cunt was certainly not ready for more of the same, and I had a growing sense of weariness in the marrow of my bones. Maybe I'd close my eyes for a few moments, then snap to and diddle some more. Wouldn't that be nifty? Just for a few minutes. Not to sleep, not to dream – just a bit of time-out. Just a bit…