Aunt Amelia, The Model
written by:
Joshua

For as long as I can remember, I've always been a fan of art. I guess that was something I got from my uncle Bernard, the man who raised me after my mother and father passed away from a sudden outbreak of the flu when I was twelve years old. Mom and dad had always been close to my uncle, who was actually my father's twin brother. So growing up, each day was as if my dad was still there with me, caring for me and doing his best to turn me into a man.

Bernard and his wife Amelia were never wealthy, so any idea I had of going to college after graduating from high school without a scholarship was out of the question. Sure, I was a decent football player in high school but I was never really good enough to catch the eye of college recruiters. That was where Bernard's love for art came in. He taught me how to draw, how to paint, and I used those skills to gain a partial scholarship to a local university. I stayed at home and commuted across town on my bike to attend classes. I'd create a painting or drawing and show Bernard who always had kind, but instructive comments about my work. My uncle was a kind man and when he died last spring, not too long after my twenty-first birthday, I was saddened for a long, long time.

Life at home now was just myself and seventy-five year old Aunt Amelia. Just as with my uncle, Aunt Amelia and I were also close. After her husband's death, although she said she knew very little about art, I didn't actually believe her because each day, especially during the summer when I'd take my easel and frames to a local park and create a nature scene, she'd sometimes accompany me to be out in the fresh air and sunshine. Her comments were always as insightful as Bernard's. I began to sense, despite her claims of knowing very little about painting, that Amelia knew more than she was telling. And it was because of an assignment given by my professor in my second year of art school that I discovered I was right.

But let me tell you about Aunt Amelia. At seventy-five years of age, she was still a beautiful woman. As a young girl, her hair had been a deep, auburn-colored brown, and photos I saw of her when she was younger showed her to be attractive with a wide, brilliant smile. Her figure was enough that, as Bernard once told me, caused men to look twice and sometimes make lewd remarks. But Amelia was a strong-willed woman and she rarely let anyone slight her with words without responding. For the most part, Amelia was a quiet woman, but it was not impossible to see that underneath her silence, she possessed a deep intelligence, and, like her husband, a love of art. I always believed, however, that there was something either Bernard or Amelia were not telling me, something about either of them that I might one day find interesting. It was this mysterious allure about Aunt Amelia that also made me enjoy living with her. Even now, although I'm an adult, Aunt Amelia treats me - and always has treated me - like a son.

Professor Thomas instructed each of us to spend the summer painting nothing but people. "You can all paint nature, but let's see how well you do with the human form," he said on the last day of class before summer break. "Bring me three paintings when we meet again in September," he instructed my classmates and me. I immediately went home and thought about the types of people I wanted to paint. Naturally, there was my girlfriend Sally, but I was certain everyone else in class would paint their girlfriends or boyfriends as well. Or, they'd paint their best fiend: I wasn't really close with anyone to ask them to allow me to do their portrait, so that too was out. It was just as I pulled into the driveway that an idea came to me. I'd paint my mother and father, and, if she was willing, Aunt Amelia.

The house was empty as I entered the building, the late afternoon sun casting shadows about the house. But it wasn't the main part of the house I was interested in, it was what I had seen many years before in the attic that I wanted. After climbing a small, wobbly ladder to the space just under the roof, and after an hour of searching, I found the box I'd seen many, many years before but hadn't opened since then. In the box were photos of my mom and dad, and I chose two photos which showed my parents in their younger days. With the dusty frames in my hands, I descended the ladder to make my way to the kitchen. Luckily for me, Aunt Amelia was there, just having returned from the supermarket.

"What's that you have there in your hand?" Amelia asked as I entered the aroma-filled room. We were having fried chicken for dinner, one of my favorite meals. I sat at the table with the two frames in my hands, cleaning the glass with a soft cloth. Amelia turned her attention to me, and after looking over my shoulder, removed the two photos from my hand and studied them for several quiet moments. "Oh, yes, I remember these photos," she said. "Your father was so handsome then, and your mother, well, just look at her." My aunt continued to study the photos a few seconds longer before placing then on the table again before me. She returned to the stove to attend to the meal she as preparing. "So, I see you've been up in the attic, huh?"

I proceeded to explain to Aunt Amelia the summer assignment. She was quick to catch on that I had mentioned that I was to create three paintings, and that I wanted my project to be special, so, I'd decided to create three portraits from photos taken at least thirty or more years in the past. "Well, those two photos of your parents were taken when we were all in our teens, I believe," she said as she stirred the potatoes in the pot. "I was there that day, Ian, when those photos were taken in 1953." With her back to me, and amidst the sound of clanging utensils on pots, I heard Aunt Amelia say, "In fact, I'd just come from a photo shoot myself when we all decided to pose for your uncle. He's the one who took those photos." Aunt Amelia ceased stirring the food and turned to me, saying, "It was a wonderful early fall day, and your father, Sam, and Bernard were home on leave. They'd been fighting in the Korean War and were finally home safe." With a wistful remembering smile, Aunt Amelia turned her attention again to the food upon the stove. "I was eighteen years old, I believe, and your father and Bernard were both twenty-one."

Now, in any other situation, I might have not heard everything Aunt Amelia said as I studied the photos of my parents. But my ears immediately perked up when I heard her mention something about returning from a photo shooting. Turning to face her, I asked what she'd meant by that statement and was surprised when she said, "Oh, I guess you didn't know: I was a model of sorts. For a while, anyway."

Looking at my seventy-five year old aunt, I never would have guess that she'd ever been a model. I mean, she always seemed so shy around most people, always quiet and lingering in the background. But now, hearing she'd once sat before photographers spiked my interest, and increased my desire to paint her from when she was younger. I explained the summer assignment I had and asked if she'd allow me to paint her from a past photo, but she immediately stated that she didn't think that was a good idea.

But I pressed on during dinner and finally, convinced Aunt Amelia to allow me to paint her portrait based on a photo from the past. But first, I needed something that showed her as she appeared then, in her teens, and after even more prodding, Aunt Amelia rose from her chair and told me she'd be back in a few moments. Ten minutes later, she emerged from her bedroom with a small cardboard box in her hand which she laid by my side on the sofa. Before explaining what was in the box, she made a detour to the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a glass of red wine in one hand and an opened wine bottle in the other. Aunt Amelia sat beside me on the sofa with her hand on the top of the box as my curiosity began to rise.

"Before we open this," Amelia said, pointing to the box, "Let me explain a few things to you." She sipped from the wine goblet, then began to tell her tale. "When I was eighteen years old, our family lived near an army base. In those days, the bomber crews and fighter pilots painted some type of figure on the noses of their planes, usually of a pretty girl only half dressed. They also sometimes named their planes with some reference to sex." Slowly, Aunt Amelia brought the glass to her mouth again and sipped more of the wine. "Well, I was out one day on my bike with some girl friends when we neared the base. Some pilots were on pass, and when they passed us, they whistled and made comments, but we just ignored them. But they followed my friends and myself to the theatre where they continued to hound us." Another sip, and another delay that seemed like hours. "Well, to make a long story short, one of the pilots was cute and wasn't as rude as his friends, so I agreed to go with him to a local ice cream shop." By now, Aunt Amelia was drumming her fingers on the cardboard box, the delay in her telling the story driving me crazy.

"It turns out that this nice young man was actually an artist, and had been recruited by several bomber crews to paint the noses of their aircraft with the figure of a scantily dressed young woman." Aunt Amelia turned to me and said, "I'm sure by now you can figure out where this is all going." Another sip of wine. "So, he asked if I'd be willing to pose for a set of photos that he could then turn into what they called ‘nose art.'" Aunt Amelia suddenly drew silent as she recalled that time in her life when she was in her mid-teens. "At first, I refused, because I didn't think dressing that way was right, that it wasn't something a young lady should do. But you have to remember that my family was poor, so when he agreed to pay me fifty dollars to pose for his photographs, I really couldn't say no. I agreed to pose for him, but only on the condition that he include a full set of the photos with the money. He agreed."

Finally, after what had seemed an hour, Aunt Amelia opened the cardboard box and began to thumb through the contents. She removed several packets of family photos before finally arriving at a single, brown packet which seemed to hold several photos. "Ah, here it is," she said as she laid the cardboard box to the side. "Anyway, I posed for him and he paid me the money. When I gave the money to my father, I lied and told him I'd been saving for a long time, and that I wanted the family to have the money. Daddy never knew where the money really came from," Aunt Amelia said with a tint of sadness in her voice. She slid her right index finger under the sealed flap of the envelope and spilled the photos into her hand. Each photo was turned onto its surface so that I was unable to see what the photo represented. Aunt Amelia turned to me and said, "Now, look at me, Ian," she said, her eyes staring intently at me. "Very few people have seen these photos, and I only kept them because as I got older, I wanted to remember what I looked like then." She turned the pile of photos over, and placed them in her lap. I estimated there were at least twenty-five photos, some in black and white, others in color.

I'm a student of history and I was familiar with the aircraft nose art Aunt Amelia had described. I knew bomber crews and fighter pilots during World War Two pained the noses of their planes as a way to increase morale, and as a way to remember the women they left behind. I'd seen copy after copy of magazines and books depicting the art. The women on the noses of the aircraft were always scantily dressed, usually posed in some provocative manner, and accompanied by some phrase or word that hinted at being sexually hungry. There was the "Versatile Lady," for example, which displayed a buxom blonde dressed in a sarong and reclining on a bed of ferns. Her tits were huge, and the expression on her face was one of "Come and get it." Another showed "Bouncin' Bette," a nude woman wearing nothing but high heels and pulling a stuffed bear behind her. My favorite was entitled "Hard to Get," which showed a black-haired woman wearing a see-through negligée, her nipples completely visible, her long legs tanned, and her feet encased in black high heels.

But none of what I'd seen in the past could come even remotely close to the photos Aunt Amelia showed me. There she was, in her late-teens, appearing as anything but an eighteen year old girl. I had no idea that an eighteen year old could have such big tits, although I did not mention this realization to Aunt Amelia. In the first photo she shared with me, Aunt Amelia wore a light-colored, close-fitting top that clearly showed the presence of two hard nipples underneath. The shirt barely stretched below her ample-sized chest, followed by a wide expanse of bare skin. A pair of shorts, perhaps yellow in color, barely covered Aunt Amelia's shapely ass. And what an ass it was: each cheek seemed perfectly proportioned, perfectly shaped, and I can just imagine the droll escaping the photographer's mouth. From there, two very-toned and very well-shaped legs descended to the ground, her feet encased in ultra-thin high heels. About those legs: All I can say about Aunt Amelia's legs is that they seemed to never stop. Aunt Amelia was bent forward at the waist, half-bent over the nose of a B-24 Bomber. Her right leg was lifted and propped against one of the front machinegun ports, the high heel resting upon the long, black barrel of a fifty caliber machinegun. A huge smile graced Aunt Amelia's face and she seemed genuinely happy to be posing. Before I could burn a hole in the photo, Aunt Amelia slowly slid it away from my gaze and laid another photo on my lap.

This second photo was even more risqué than the first. It was clear that the photographer had moved inside one of the aircraft hangars at the airfield. This photo showed Aunt Amelia dressed in a set of mechanic's overalls, except every button down the front was unclasped and open. As in the first photo, she wore high heels, which supported the shoulder-wide stance she stood in. The mechanic's coveralls descended all the way past Aunt Amelia's navel, giving the viewer the opportunity to see that she wore nothing underneath the over-sized garment. Her hands rested on her hips, and the expression on her face clearly suggested something sexual. Aunt Amelia removed the photo from my hand and said, "This photo appeared on the nose of a B-24 bomber. The crew named their plane, ‘Come and Get me.'"

In the photo, Aunt Amelia's hair was tussled and it appeared as if she'd doubled the amount of makeup on her face. I stared at this photo, and all the others that followed for several moments each until Aunt Amelia decided I'd gawked enough and removed each photo and replaced it with another. Regardless of the theme in the photo, each sample of Aunt Amelia's past became more provocative than the last. To say I was surprised that my elderly aunt had been a nose art girl was one thing: You'd also have to add that I was impressed, however, more than I was surprised.

When the photos were finally placed back in the box, I simply sat and stared at my aunt. "Well, what do you think, Ian," she asked as she poured yet another glass of wine, her third for the evening. When I informed my aunt that I was even more determined now to paint her, she stated that there was no way she could ever fit into the same types of clothes as she had for those photos so many years ago. But I was persistent and perhaps because of the alcohol she'd had so far, my Aunt Amelia finally agreed to sit for me while I took a series of photographs that I would use for the basis of the painting. I estimated that the photo session would take approximately two hours. "Okay, that sounds reasonable," she said. My heart leapt as I realized I'd been successful in convincing my closest relative to pose for me. I simply could not wait for the next day.

But waiting is difficult when you really want something to happen. Soon after agreeing to begin the photo shoot the next day, Aunt Amelia and I went to our separate bedrooms. I attempted to fall asleep, but found that the excitement of seeing my aunt as she appeared more than fifty years ago prevented sleep from coming. As I often do when I can't sleep, I opened a book and began to read, thinking that after a few pages, I'd be able to drift off. But after an hour, I realized reading wasn't doing the trick. Okay, Ian, I said to myself, then let's try some hot milk: that always worked when I was a kid and Aunt Amelia gave me a mug of the warm liquid to lull me to sleep. Rising from the bed in my pajama bottoms and t-shirt, I made my way silently down the steps, careful not to step too forcefully because I knew the creaking boards might awaken Aunt Amelia. Little did I know that the sound of creaking steps would not be the only sound filtering out into the darkened hallway.

Before going downstairs, I realized the need to visit the bathroom. It had been some time since I last pissed and now I felt the overwhelming urge to go, and to go badly. There was only one bathroom at this level, and I knew there was no way I'd make it down the stairs to the lower level bath. I was just at the door and milliseconds away from placing my hand on the bathroom door and pushing it open when the gentle beams of the orange-tinted nightlight escaped the small room and barely illuminated the spot where I stood. But it was the sound of some device, some strange noise I'd never heard before that stopped me from entering the bathroom. The sound was a buzzing sound, something like an old electric razor, or perhaps a small battery-operated toy. Well, Aunt Amelia's occupying the bathroom I said to myself. Okay, then, I better hurry and go downstairs.

But I never made it. Well, at least not then. Just as I turned my body to retrace my steps down the hallway, I heard the clear, audible sound of a human moan. What the hell was that, I asked myself. What is it Aunt Amelia is doing at this hour? Thinking she may have been having the same back spasms she'd had for the past several years, I decided she was simply taking the medication her doctor had prescribed for the pain. But there it was again, a low, almost animal-like moan, now a bit louder than the buzzing sound. And as for the buzzing sound, it seemed to be coming and going, as if the batteries were dying and the current to whatever it was sat on the verge of giving out completely. But then, the buzzing grew louder again, then muffled, each time accompanied by another moan from Aunt Amelia. I had this feeling I needed to investigate the situation in the bathroom, but knew that simply barging in could cause both Aunt Amelia and myself great embarrassment. Still, something just didn't seem right.

It was then that I decided to wedge my fingers just barely between the door and the frame to expand my view of the small, tiled room on the other side of the door. At first, what I saw seemed impossible to me, seemed so improbable that I felt as if I might be dreaming. You see, there on the toilet sat seventy-five year old Aunt Amelia, her legs spread wide, and a twelve-inch dildo in her hand. Or, should I say, a twelve-inch dildo sliding forcefully in and out of her old cunt. Aunt Amelia's head was thrown back in ecstasy and her long, grey hair hung past her shoulders, falling gracefully onto the back of the toilet. He eyes were closed but her mouth was open, and she seemed entirely focused on ensuring the dildo dove deeper and deeper into her hairy cunt with ach forward thrust. "Oh, shit, Bernard," I heard Aunt Amelia say to her now deceased husband, "Baby, where are you when I need you?" Thrust after thrust after thrust, Aunt Amelia continued to abuse her cunt with the dildo, the white plastic tube now glistening with her pussy juices. Because her nightgown was wadded at her waist, Aunt Amelia's huge titties were out of sight, but the way the two massive melons jiggled under her flannel robe indicated that the nipples were hard and erect. I could tell Aunt Amelia was close to coming, and my suspicions were confirmed when she lifted her right leg and placed the heel of her foot on the edge of the bathtub. This change in body position allowed me an unobstructed view of my aunt's pussy, of two cunt lips soaked to the gills with internal fluids. The dildo was a blur now as Aunt Amelia fucker herself with the sex toy, as her moans grew louder, as her tits continued to jiggle under the thin flannel nightie.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, baby!" Aunt Amelia moaned as the first waves of something she might not have experienced in years came over her and her body erupted in sexual orgasm. "I'm coming, oh hell, I'm coming!" Aunt Amelia moaned, certainly doing her best to keep her voice down and not be detected by me. When the high point of the orgasm struck, Aunt Amelia threw her head forward and watched as she slid the dildo at a furious pace between her seventy-five year old pussy lips. "Motherfucker, motherfucker, motherfucker!" she cried as the last traces of her sexual explosion washed over her and she neared the end of the orgasm. When it was finally over, when the orgasm no longer controlled her body, Aunt Amelia leaned back against the cool porcelain toilet, allowed her arms to go limp at her sides, and, to my ultimate surprise, did not remove the hard plastic dildo from her cunt. The long white tube remained barely visible between Aunt Amelia's pussy lips, the rounded-battery case lid just visible through the thick hair surrounding her cunt. I watched from the barely opened doorway in wide-eyed wonder, not really believing what I'd just seen, but realizing with all certainty that watching my seventy-five year old aunt self-fuck herself was the hottest thing I'd seen in my entire life. I all but ran to my bedroom where I jacked off at least four times before dawn.

And sleep? Don't even ask. There was no way, with the way my heart was beating and the manner in which my cock refused to die down that I would be able to sleep. No, what I did was to formulate a plan for the next day, for when my seventy-five year old Aunt Amelia would pose for me while I photographed her image. As hard as I tried, I simply couldn't will the sun to come up fast enough.

The next day, I acted as nonchalant as possible and did my best not to let Aunt Amelia know what I'd seen. We decided at breakfast that the afternoon light would be best for me to photograph her and because the windows in her bedroom faced the sun, the natural light entering the room would be ideal for our session. "Well, then, I guess we'll do it in my bedroom, then," Aunt Amelia said as I assisted her in cleaning the breakfast dishes. Just after we completed the task, my aunt informed me that she needed to do some quick shopping. "I'll be back no later than two o'clock," she said. I sat about preparing the bedroom for the sitting by arranging my easel, the paints, brushes, and a number of other accessories I always use to ensure I have everything I need. Aunt Amelia returned to the house at two o'clock on the dot with several shopping bags in her hands.

"Okay, you," she said to me as she entered the bedroom. "Out you go while I get dressed." Taking my arm, Aunt Amelia escorted me out of the bedroom, but abruptly stopped at the bedroom door and planted a kiss on my cheek. "Thank you, Ian," she said as she stared deeply into my eyes. "I can't tell you how much I've looked forward to this since you suggested it yesterday." I smiled before she patted my ass with her open hand and after a gentle, but firm push, found myself in the hallway. Just before closing the door, Aunt Amelia said, "I'll open the door when I'm dressed: until then, it just wouldn't do for you to see an old lady like me naked."

Although I waited no more than five minutes, it seemed as if I stood in the hallway for an hour. When the door finally opened, I was floored at the sight that awaited me. There she stood, my seventy-five year old aunt, dressed in a manner I'd never seen before. For some reason, I began my visual journey at her feet. Red-painted toes peeked out from black, five-inch stiletto heels. The change in Aunt Amelia's height was amazing, causing her to tower over me in the ultra-thin high heels.

Traveling upward now, two tanned legs led to a small, red colored skirt that barely covered my aunt's ass. The skirt was pleated as was the style during the early 1950s, with a small waist and wide lower hem. As in the photos she'd shown me, Aunt Amelia's midriff was bare, it too tanned and, to my surprise, amazingly flat. Continuing upward still, two huge tits awaited my eyes, stuffed tightly in a tight, back-revealing halter top that allowed more than five inches of long, erotic cleavage to greet my eyes. Either the halter top included a pushup bra underneath, or Aunt Amelia's tits were simply that firm. The halter wrapped around her graceful, slim neck, a large knot situated behind her neck and at the base of her head. She'd decided to wear her hair long, as it had been in the photos, but now, the hair hung even farther than her shoulders. I immediately assumed she'd purchased hair extensions and had woven the extensions into her natural hair while I waited in the hallway for her to dress. Now, rather than the grey shade of her natural hair, she was a blonde, as she had been in her youth. Finally, I arrived at her face. Two very red lips pouted at me, as did two large spots of heavy red rouge situated on each cheek. Aunt Amelia had also applied a heavy dose of mascara which caused her green-blue eyes to stand out even more.

But it was what I saw on her left cheek that caused my cock to flutter. In addition to the makeup and the way she'd chosen to dress, Aunt Amelia had also applied a dark, black-colored beauty mark to her left cheek. There it was: the one simple move that I believe made my seventy-five year old Aunt Amelia appear to be forty or more years younger than she actually was. I couldn't believe the transformation standing before me: it was as if I'd gone back in time and was seeing my aunt as she was when my father and his twin brother came home from the war in Korea.

"Well, are you going to stand there and gawk, or are we going to get this thing done?" Aunt Amelia asked, breaking me from the almost dream-like state I seemed to have passed into. She spun to her right on the pencil-thin heels and made her way to the center of the room. As I walked behind my aunt, I couldn't believe just how shapely and how tight her ass seemed. The short and very tight skirt she wore swished from side to side as she walked, but it was the way she swung her hips that caught my undivided attention. With each step in the high heels, Aunt Amelia's ass swayed from left to right, and whether or not she was walking this way intentionally, I really didn't care. What mattered to me was that she had agreed to pose for me, her twenty-one year old nephew. And I was determined to make the most of it. Aunt Amelia arrived at the window and turned again, waiting patiently while I explained what it was I hoped to do. "Okay, then, where shall we begin?" she asked.

Taking my aunt by the hand, I led her to the corner of the bed. "What I want is for you to pose in a way that suggests you can't wait to get a man into bed," I said, pointing with my finger to the bed behind her. "You can sit, you can stand, you can even lie on the bed, but what I want is for you to present yourself as a...well, as..." It was then that I began to stutter because what I wanted to say to my Aunt I was unable to form the words. "I guess what I mean to say, Aunt Amelia, is, that you should appear as a -" Before I could finish my statement, Aunt Amelia cut me off.

"You want me to look like a whore, is that it, Ian?" Well, there it was. She may have been old, but Aunt Amelia remembered enough of her past that she knew what type of poses would be best. When I nodded that yes, she'd gotten the idea I was looking for, she said stepped toward me, placed her red-colored lips on my cheek and said, "Baby, all you had to do is ask." Stepping back now, my seventy-five year old aunt sat on the corner of the bed, her long, tanned legs jutting straight from her body, the short skirt riding high on her thigh. When I suggested that she lean back somewhat, she complied, arching her back slightly, the result being that her massive tits rose and seemed to be testing the strength of every thread holding the halter top together. For the next twenty minutes, Aunt Amelia rolled on the bed, she stood by its edge, she even sat on the corner of the bed and raised the skirt so high, I was certain I'd be able to see her cunt again. Aunt Amelia seemed to be enjoying herself a great deal, laughing and making racy comments with each new pose.

What my aunt did not realize that her comments and the various sexy-based poses was killing me. I have no idea if she could see the growing bulge under my shorts, but there was definitely a very hard cock now because of the way she manipulated her seventy-five year old body. It was good to see and to hear her laugh, however: It was as if my aunt really had lost the forty or more years the costume seemed to take away from her.

It was when I needed to change lenses that Aunt Amelia announced she had one more set of clothes to change into. "I really believe you're going to enjoy this next set of clothes, Ian," she said as she crossed in front of me and made her way to the closet behind me. Removing the second set of bags she'd arrived with earlier that afternoon, she once again shooed me from the room, again announcing that when she was ready, she would open the door. "But in the meantime, would you mind getting me a glass of wine, baby?" I heard the sound of rustling packages as I turned and left the room, closing the door behind me.

The door was still closed when I returned to the bedroom, so I leaned against the wall across the hall from Aunt Amelia's bedroom door, the glass of wine in my hand. After several moments, the door opened partway and Aunt Amelia's right hand came into the light. "May I have the wine, please?" she asked, her long red-painted fingernails pointing at me. I slipped the glass into her hand only to watch the door close again. Through the door, I heard my aunt say, "Only a few more moments, Ian, then I'll be ready for you to come in." Moment after moment passed until finally, the door opened a few inches and I heard Aunt Amelia say, "Okay, Ian. You may come in now."

Stepping forward, and intrigued by Aunt Amelia's sense of mystery, I pushed the door open to find my aunt standing by the corner of the bed, facing away from me. It was immediately evident that the woman who'd asked me to fetch a glass of wine only moments before had not only changed her clothes, she'd also changed her demeanor. "Tell me what you think, Ian," I heard Aunt Amelia say, her voice barely more audible than a whisper. I stood rock-still, unable to move, in complete awe at the transformation that had taken place in the short time I'd been out of the room.

Just as I had when I saw her before the earlier photo session, I again began my visual inspection of Aunt Amelia by starting with her feet. Four-inch, red leather stiletto pumps covered her feet. Black, seamed stockings encased her shapely legs, her feet placed about shoulder-width apart. Moving upward still, with my eyes glued to the seams running the length of each leg, my eyes next saw that Aunt Amelia had slid her ass into a pair of black lace panties, the material clinging tightly to her shapely ass cheeks. Moving upward still, Aunt Amelia's upper torso was covered by a black chiffon teddy, the garment held to her body by two thin shoulder straps. To my amazement, Aunt Amelia had changed out of the blonde wig and was now wearing a long, waist-length red-colored wig, the curls blowing softly from the breeze entering the room through the opened window. Without extending my arm downward, I knew my cock was rock hard again, but there was nothing I could do to either make it die down or to keep Aunt Amelia from noticing the obvious bulge in my trousers if she chose to place her attention on that area below my belt.

I suppose the state of awe I was in had caused my silence. "Well, what do you think?" I heard Aunt Amelia ask. When I didn't answer, my seventy-five year old aunt turned on the two pencil-thin heels and faced me. For several seconds, I could do more than stare because it was then that I realized that the teddy my aunt was wearing was nearly transparent, and that meant that except for the thin, black material covering her upper body, I was able to see each of her massive tits and the hard nipples placed on the tip of each titty. Although the teddy was made of a sheer black material, I could easily see that each areole was dark, and large. Each nipple pressed against the thin material, pointing at me as if I'd done something bad and was being blamed for a crime. The front of the teddy plunged dramatically, barely there, really, and held together by two very thin satin straps, one just under Aunt Amelia's tits, the other at the same level as her navel. For reasons unknown, I lifted my chin and made eye contact with my aunt. She was a completely different woman now, appeared different, seemed different. "You're not saying anything, Ian," Aunt Amelia said. "Should I change?"

I was incredulous. Change? I asked myself. She must be out of her mind. "No, Aunt Amelia, I think you look wonderful. These photos will be the best I've ever taken." Aunt Amelia smiled at me as I moved toward her with my camera in hand. When less than six inches separated my body from my aunt's, I found it more than difficult not to stare at her face, and at her tits. Aunt Amelia stood silently while I conducted my visual inspection and I knew that if she conducted her own inspection of me, there was the distinct - no there was the certainty - that she'd spot the huge mountain growing steadily under my beltline. I knew I had to take charge immediately, and so, decided to begin this part of the photo session with some fairly tame poses.

At first, I had Aunt Amelia simply sit on the corner of the bed, her legs extended or crossed, leaning back or forward. Each time she changed the position of her legs, I heard the distinctive sound of the silk stockings as the flesh of one leg made contact with the other. This simple, fairly routine posing went on for ten minutes, during which time Aunt Amelia continued to drink from her wine glass and I made sure to include photographs of my aunt sipping from the glass. By the time we reached the half hour mark, she'd drained the wine bottle. And, she wanted more. "Ian, baby," she said, her words slightly slurred from the wine, "Would you be a dear and fetch another bottle of wine while I retire to the lady's room?" she asked as she rose from the bed and stood somewhat unsteadily on the four inch stiletto heels. I laid the camera on a small table and left the room, but not before stalling enough to watch my seventy-five year old aunt make her way to the bathroom on the ultra-high heels. When the door to the bathroom closed, I left the room and made my way to the kitchen to find another bottle of wine. I returned to the bedroom only moments later.

I was not, however, prepared for what awaited me. By the time I reentered the room, Aunt Amelia had also returned from the bathroom. But rather than find her sitting on the bed waiting for me, she was now reclining on her back on the bed, her black stocking legs crossed but attached at the knees. Her right foot swung lazily to and fro, the red high heels dangling precariously from her foot. "Oh, there you are," she said, extending her arm and waving a wine glass at me. It was clear by now, as I poured the wine into her glass that my aunt was either intoxicated, or very near to being so. She eagerly took the filled wine glass from my hand and drank half the contents in one swallow. "Do you mind?" she asked as she extended her arm toward me, requesting that I refill the glass with more wine. I did, and placed the now half-empty bottle on the small bedside table. I next made my way to my tripod-mounted camera to begin the next and final session of the photo shoot.

For the next twenty minutes, I had Aunt Amelia remain on the bed and pose in more provocative poses. Many of the shots had her lying on her stomach or her knees, the long red wig framing her face nicely. As hard as I tried, it was impossible to no stare at her tits, clearly visible still, the nipples still hard as rocks. But it was as she was changing positions that I noticed a wisp of cunt hair protruding from the right leg band of the small and very tight pair of panties which still concealed her pussy from me. It would be one thing if only a few cunt hairs were visible, but if you recall, my Aunt Amelia had a thick bush covering her cunt, and more than a few strands of cunt hair were visible from where I stood.

It was then that Aunt Amelia caught me staring at her cunt. Of course, by now, she was very well on the way to being intoxicated, and perhaps was already there. When she saw my eyes widen at the sight of her wandering cunt hair, she dipped her chin, realized what it was that had held my focused attention and laughed aloud. "Oops," she said as she placed the wine glass on the bedside table and slid her right and left hands into her cunt area. "I guess it wouldn't do for this to be in the photos, would it, Ian?" Red-faced, I watched in awe as my seventy-five year old aunt used her left hand to pull the leg band to the left, placed her red0colored fingertips on the tuft of cunt hair, and delicately shoved the thin, wiry hairs back under the panty. She inspected her work for a long second, then said, "Okay, let's continue."

And continue we did, for another half hour, each pose becoming increasingly more risqué, each pose bringing us closer to Aunt Amelia actually removing the teddy or the panties and exposing various body parts. But that didn't happen. No, after that final half hour, in which Aunt Amelia drained the second bottle of wine, I decided it was time for a break. When I suggested that Aunt Amelia and I move to the den to view the digital images on the home computer, Aunt Amelia thought my suggestion was a grand idea. Thinking she would want to change before viewing the photos I'd taken, I discovered I was wrong. "Oh, Ian, please," Aunt Amelia said as she took me by the hand and led me out of her bedroom. "You've already seen my tits: it's no big deal for an old lady like myself." Hand in hand, I followed my sexily dressed, wig-wearing aunt down the stairs to the den where the computer awaited us. I sat in the large leather chair situated before the large computer screen and attached the camera to the computer while Aunt Amelia left the room. She soon reappeared with another glass of wine in her hand, standing behind me and looking over my shoulder at the images as they began to appear on the screen.

Now, normally, I have no trouble with someone looking over my shoulder. But you have to remember several things here: First, my cock was still at least semi-hard from seeing my aunt transform herself from a seventy-five year old former model to a woman who appeared to be a sexy forty-year old lady. Secondly, Aunt Amelia chose to stand behind me rather than sit in another chair beside me. This mean that as she leaned on the back of my chair, the long red wig still atop her head fell across my shoulders and arms, stimulating me even more. And then, there was the perfume she'd chosen to wear before we began shooting. The almost tropical scent drove me to deeper pits of passion than I'd ever been before. When all these factors were combined, the result was a very, very hard cock doing its best to bust out of my trousers, especially when I recalled the memory from the night before when I'd secretly watched Aunt Amelia fuck herself with the massive dildo. Fortunately for me, the images began to appear in rapid succession on the computer screen as Aunt Amelia and I watched. Before one minute had passed, Aunt Amelia leaned forward, placed both hands on either of my shoulders, and leaned in close to view the images on the computer screen. In an instant, I knew the pressure I felt against my upper back and shoulders was that caused by Aunt Amelia innocently - or was it intentional by now? - pressing her massive tits against my body. The heat from her barely-clothed body permeated to my skin, and I felt as if I were on fire.

The first images were those of my aunt dressed in the halter top and skimpy skirt. Despite being distracted by her leaning on my shoulder, I did my best to remain focused, making comments about each image and how I might use it for the painting I'd proposed. Aunt Amelia and I discussed each photo while she continued to drink glass after glass of wine. Finally, we came to the images of her dressed as she was now, with the red high heels, black stockings, see-through black teddy, and the impressive red wig still atop my aunt's head. I felt her still behind me, leaning more heavily upon me, her face mere inches from mine as she leaned in close to view the images projected on the computer screen. Throughout the viewing, we each made comments such as "Oh, that's a great shot," or "Hm, maybe not that one," and so on. But it was when we arrived at the last set of shots that matters began to become more interesting, and quite rapidly at that.

I brought up the images of Aunt Amelia lying on the bed, her body posed in one way after another that suggested she was ready for sex. And although I believe my ability to pay attention to detail is always at a high level, it was when we viewed one particular closeup that I stopped and stared at the screen. In this particular photo, showing my aunt from the waist upward, Aunt Amelia was lying on her side. Somehow, and I'm still not certain how I missed it, the teddy had slipped open because of the position she had been lying in and there it was: a fully exposed right nipple. The small, chocolate colored button was clearly erect, clearly stimulated, and clearly visible. Aunt Amelia, or whoever she was pretending to be at that moment, smiled brightly in the photo, her pearl-white teeth gleaming back at the camera. But more than her beauty, it was the fact that that nipple had somehow gotten loose and was there for everyone to see. And I knew what that meant: The nipple was also in clear view in each succeeding photo. The longer I stared at the nipple, the one, simple titty button, the more I became aroused. But despite my rising arousal, I was fearful that Aunt Amelia would see the exposed nipple and ask me to destroy the photos.

I was correct in assuming that Aunt Amelia saw the nipple as I did. "Well, would you look at that?" she asked as she pointed the tip of her left index finger at the screen. "Looks like someone escaped, wouldn't you say, Ian?" I felt he shift her body slightly on my shoulders, but Aunt Amelia made no effort to move away and break the physical contact we'd had for the past several moments. In fact, it was then that she leaned in closer, her face almost millimeters from the computer screen, and said, "Yep, that's a nipple, for sure." Craning her neck a bit closer to the screen, so close that I thought her nose might make contact with the surface, my seventy-five year old aunt said, "And it appears to be a hard nipple, at that." Turning to me, her red-rouged face as close as she had been to the computer screen, she said, "Wouldn't you say that's a hard nipple, Ian?"

How does a young man answer a question like that, especially when the young man is the nephew of the barely-dressed, seventy-five year old woman who in every way raised him since childhood, and is now leaning over his shoulder with her tits pressed against his back? Unsure how to answer, but realizing that Aunt Amelia was playing a game with me, I decided to be bold, to take a chance. And I did so for two reasons. First, with Aunt Amelia's tits pressed firmly on my back, with her wearing stockings, heels, a see-through teddy, and panties that barely concealed her cunt and ass, I decided I'd had enough of what I defined as sexual teasing. I suspected by now that Aunt Amelia was drunk enough to be bold herself, and perhaps she too wanted me as much as I wanted her. But there was a second reason I did what I did next: the cock still confined in my trousers was aching, painfully now, and desperately needed to be released, to be set free. And if the results were not what I hoped for or anticipated, then I'd have to suffer the consequences. I was willing to take my chances.

And so, I turned my body in the chair, lifted my left hand, and cupped Aunt Amelia's large right tit in the palm of my hand. The thin material of the teddy did nothing to disguise the fact that yes, this nipple was hard too. My seventy-five year old aunt's body temperature warmed my hand, and I was certain that the heat came more from hot, sexual desire than her body working to burn off the many glasses of wine she'd had since the beginning of the photo shoot. I was certain the heat coursing through Aunt Amelia's body was created by the sexual fires burning as hotly in her body as they were in mine. And so, I decided that the nipple was erect because my dear Aunt Amelia had decided that she wanted her nephew in the same manner that he wanted her. She wanted to fuck me, and I was willing to help her get what she needed.

Aunt Amelia made no effort to move or deflect my hand. No, she did nothing more than to simply lower her chin, to stare at the hand cupping her titty, and return her eyes to me. And it was then that I spoke. "Well, the nipple in the photo may be hard, Aunt Amelia, but I'm not so sure about this one." I began to squeeze the tit gently, knowing that what I was doing was the stimulus to excite the titty button, and, hopefully, to stimulate my Aunt Amelia as well. I was momentarily saddened when my aunt removed my hand and held it below the squeezed tit for several long seconds, her deep brown eyes focused on my fingers.

Aunt Amelia's eyes were burning into mine now, and she remained silent for several long seconds while I squeezed the large titty suspended below her chest. I was eager now, perhaps too eager because of my youth, but I knew - and so did my aunt - we'd crossed a line, and there was very little chance of going back now. But even as she remained bent at the waist, even as my twenty-one year old hand squeezed her seventy-five year old titty, I sensed Aunt Amelia had something on her mind other than simply fucking me. Oh, no, I said to myself: is Aunt Amelia having second thoughts about fucking me?

My hopes arose and my doubts disappeared, however, when Aunt Amelia placed my open-palmed hand on the left tit, and just as her right tit had done, the nipple fit perfectly in my palm. I repeated the squeezing motion I'd performed on the right tit, except now I heard Aunt Amelia utter several low, guttural moans. When she lifted her left hand and cupped it around my hand, together, we manipulated the melon hanging suspended from her barely-concealed chest. It was then that she turned to me, her brown eyes focusing intently on mine, and said, "Okay, then, Ian: Is this one hard enough for you?" Amelia's face was mere millimeters from mine, her lips pursed, her eyes semi-opened now.

Still, Aunt Amelia seemed to be hesitating. "Ian, do you know how old I am?" she asked. "You know I'm in my mid-seventies, yes, baby?" All I could do was to stare at my aunt, and to nod my head to confirm that yes, I was very aware of her age. She again posed a question, her intense look going deep into my eyes. "And you know that an aunt should not fuck her nephew, don't you?" Again, an overwhelming silence filled the room, and as I had only seconds before, I nodded, although the thundering in my chest seemed loud enough to alert the neighbors. "Well, then, what are we to do?" my seventy-five year old aunt asked me through lips painted a bright red, through eyes heavy with mascara, as she wore a long, red wig that disguised her original appearance, as she stood before me in four-inch, red leather stiletto heels, as her legs were encased in black seamed stockings. "Tell me, baby, what are we supposed to do?" she asked, quietly while I continued to squeeze her right titty. I knew then there was only one thing I could do to properly respond to Aunt Amelia's question.

I leaned in and for the first time in my life, I kissed my seventy-five year old Aunt Amelia.

Lips met lips, tongues met tongues, and two bodies that may have desired each other for many, many years shared a deep, erotic kiss. Aunt Amelia leaned in and pressed her mouth tighter to mine, her tongue probing deeply now, finding my tongue and sending sexual tremors through my entire body. It wasn't so much that I was kissing an older woman that excited me: it was that the older woman I was kissing - or who was kissing me, but, really, what did it matter? - was a relative of mine. Yes, Aunt Amelia was the widow of my Uncle Bernard, and that drove the intense sexual fires that consumed my body at that instant.

But there was something more that pushed me toward fucking my Aunt Amelia. While she was a beautiful woman in her own right, there was something about knowing that she'd dressed for the photo shoot in a way that disguised her physical self but still allowed her sensual, seventy-five year old being remain under the makeup, the wig, the stockings, and anything else she was wearing at the time. Yes, I realized I was kissing my seventy-five year old aunt, but more than that, I was able to fantasize that it was a sexy woman from many years ago, a woman who had decided to indulge in her own sexual fantasies, even if the person she was now kissing was the son of her brother-in-law. And it was then, as she placed her right hand behind my head and pressed my mouth even tighter against her lips that I understood why my aunt had dressed in a see-through teddy, why she'd chosen to wear four-inch high heels with seamed stockings, why the panties covering her ass were barely large enough to contain the thick mat of cunt hair, that I knew she'd fantasized as much about me as I had about her. So, you see, the fact that Aunt Amelia was more than fifty years older than me did not matter one damn. What did matter, instead, was the fact that I was palming her tit while she kissed me deeply and erotically.

But kisses don't last forever, and that's a good thing. Aunt Amelia broke the kiss, stood, and led me by the hand to the bedroom where we'd started the afternoon. She sat on the corner of the bed, and while I stood before her, between her stocking-covered legs, she untied the thin loops holding the teddy together and spread the two halves of the see-through garment wide. When she'd completed the task, she held the teddy open, providing me with a clear unobstructed view of two of the best tits I've seen on any woman, regardless of her age. "Here they are, baby," Aunt Amelia said. "Do they pass your inspection?"

The only way I knew to respond was to kneel between her seamed-stocking covered legs, and while she continued to hold the teddy open, I placed my open mouth on the left nipple while my left hand manipulated the right tit. I'd already had some experience massaging her tits, but that was while the teddy stood in the way. Now, with the larger-than-a-thimble left nipple securely situated between my lips, I marveled at how soft Aunt Amelia's titties were. I also was surprised at how firm each tit was. I may not have a great deal of experience with titties, but I do know enough to realize that when a woman who should have a pair of tits hanging to her navel, as many older women do, instead has a set of melons that are still firm, that I've found an erotic prize. I began to moan as I sucked the tits, alternating between right and left, pulling each large nipple into my mouth greedily, sucking the button as deeply as possible into my mouth. With each deep-sucking motion, I not only pulled the entire nipple into my oral cavity, I also managed to suck in a substantial amount of round, succulent tit flesh with it. Aunt Amelia began to alternately squeal and moan as I stimulated her body through her tits, and responded by thrusting her still panty-covered ass forward then backward. With my mouth still locked on her right tit, I felt my aunt grasp the bottom of my t-shirt and pull upward. I broke the lip-titty lock only long enough to allow her to tug the shirt over my head, leaving me bare chested now. I attempted to continue the tit sucking, but this older woman had been there before, and because she wanted to fuck - because she wanted to fuck me, her nephew - she next concentrated on removing the jeans that covered the lower half of my body.

"Stand up, baby," I heard Aunt Amelia whisper in my ear. Doing as this older woman instructed me to do, I stood and watched in pleasant surprise as she first opened the belt, followed by tugging on the material until the jeans were in a wadded mess around my ankles. "Step out of them," Aunt Amelia said, just before she yanked the white underwear covering my ass down to my ankles and again instructing me to step out of that garment as well. I stood completely naked, a twenty-one year old man - the twenty-one year old nephew of this amazing woman - before her, my cock at full attention, and just at the same level as Aunt Amelia's mouth. I stepped forward when she wrapped the red-tipped fingers of both hands around my cock, and with gentle, pulling motions, brought the wide head of my dick to her ruby-red hued lips. "Oh, my, Ian," Aunt Amelia said, "What do you suppose I should do with this?"

My only response was to nod my head, knowing full well that Aunt Amelia had every intention of opening her lips and sucking the shaft deeply into her mouth. But she stalled, and instead began to study the head of my cock. "Well, what do we have here?" she asked as she extended her tongue and began to drink the precum fluid oozing from the small opening in my cock. "Oh, I remember this, baby," she said as she smiled up at me, then repeated the process of cleansing the head of my cock with her tongue. When she had had enough, my seventy-five year old Aunt Amelia, the woman who wore a thick, long auburn colored wig, looked up at me and asked, "Shall I proceed, honey?" Again, all I could do was to nod my head, so entranced I was at the sequence of sexual activities that had taken place in such a short time.

I've had women suck my cock before. And I've had women take my cock deeply into their mouths. But the women I date, those who are within three to five years of my age, have rarely sucked my cock so deeply that the entire shaft disappeared between their lips and extended down their throats. Nor were their mouths as soaking wet as Aunt Amelia's. I don't know if it was an age-related thing or not, or maybe it was just something based on her past experiences, but never in my short twenty-one years of life have I ever had my cock sucked in the fashion as my aunt was giving me at that time. It was for those reasons that I watched in rapt attention when I witnessed inch by wonderful inch of my hard cock slip so easily between Aunt Amelia's lips, and so deeply down her throat.

But there was another thing that drew my undivided attention to Aunt Amelia's cock sucking. So far in my life, whenever a woman my age or near it has sucked my cock, she always turns her eyes up to me and wants to stare at me while taking my dick into her mouth. There they are, two big, plate-sized eyes, looking at me as my cock disappears into her mouth, like some hound dog feeding at his bowl. Now, that might be great for the adult movies I've seen, but for me, I'd rather she just keep her eyes "on the prize," so to speak, and concentrate on swallowing my cock and making me come rather than making goo-goo eyes at me. Maybe it's just me, but the more the woman focuses on my dick, the greater the level of sensation I feel as my prick disappears into her oral cavity.

And that is precisely what Aunt Amelia was doing. Her chin was lowered, her eyes were on my cock - or closed in ecstasy, it seems - and she was giving my cock all the attention it needed. I loved the way the red wig covered her head, making it seem as if I too had been sent back in time. And the more I moaned, the greater the speed my seventy-five year old aunt sucked my cock. With her head in a flurry of motion now, my Aunt Amelia drew as much of my cock as possible between her still very red lips and sucked my cock. Faster, faster, even faster still, and the woman who had cheered for me at youth baseball games, the woman who attended parent-teacher conferences, the woman who brought me soup when I was ill, sucked my cock and brought me to the edge of orgasm.

"Oh, shit, Aunt Amelia, baby," I moaned as I stood naked on the carpet of her bedroom and began to thrust my hips forward in a mouth-fucking motion. "Aunt Amelia, suck it, yes, honey, suck it," I cried loudly, not caring that my voice might have carried across the room and out the still opened window. By now, I was throwing my naked ass forward with so much force that Aunt Amelia's head rocked backward several inches with each thrust. But, being the experienced cock sucker that she was, she quickly responded, and in an instant, re-swallowed the entire cock shaft, slamming her own head forward until her lips were pressed tightly against the shaft of my cock. It was then, perhaps because of my youth, that I felt the first signs of a sexual explosion brewing in my balls. Oh, no, I said to myself, I'm going to come in Aunt Amelia's mouth and I haven't asked her if that's what she wants yet. But my fears were for nothing because still unable to delay the timing of the orgasm, I suddenly began to experience a series of sexual tremors that grew in intensity, which progressively grew stronger with each erotic spasm, which shook me to the very core of my sexual being. "OH, SHIT, AUNT AMELIA!" I cried as load after load of hot, pearl-tinted crème spewed from my cock and coated my seventy-five year old aunt's tongue. "MOTHERFUCKER, MOTHER FUCKER, MOTHERFUCKER!" I yelled even louder now, my forward thrusts more powerful now, driving, slamming as the red-wig wearing, stocking-legged woman sitting below me on the bed drank every drop of come my body produced.

It was then that something unexpected took place, something I'd never experienced before. Wave after wave of orgasm had washed over me, and the orgasm lasted a period of several intense and pleasurable moments. This was normal for me, and I thought nothing of it as the orgasm began to subside and my heart rate returned to normal. But looking down at Aunt Amelia's red-wig wearing head, I realized she had yet to release my cock from her mouth. From experience, I knew my cock would be growing limp now, needing a short waiting period before I'd be able to acquire another hardon and proceed to fuck my wonderful, sexy Aunt Amelia. But, in fact, my cock had not grown entirely limp after all and Aunt Amelia was still in the process of sucking the long, more-than flaccid shaft deeply into her mouth. I watched in complete awe as this seventy-five year old woman somehow kept my cock hard enough to fuck her simply by using her tongue and lips. Sensing that I was watching her from above, Aunt Amelia withdrew my cock from her wonderful, orgasm producing mouth and looked up at me, my cock wrapped securely in her left hand, and, to my amazement, a small stream of white come dribbling from the corner of her mouth.

"Don't think I'm finished with you, nephew," Aunt Amelia said as she released my cock, slid backwards on the bed on her panty-covered ass, and as I watched again in sexual amazement, slid the thin, black panties from her legs, and tossed the garment to the side where it landed near a pillow. Next went the teddy, also landing in a jumbled pile beside the panties.

The sight I beheld was one that served to increase the hot, burning, needed-to-be sexual desire for this woman I was related to. There she sat, less than ten feet from me, flowing red hair falling past her shoulders, bare-chested, her nipples hard and extended, a thin waist, and her legs spread slightly, and at the juncture of her legs, a thick, grey-colored mass of hair concealing her cunt, the one spot I so desperately now wanted to find and to enjoy. From there, my eyes traveled the length of her long legs, the combination of black stockings and red high heels almost suggesting evil, something delicious. When my eyes returned to my aunt's heavily mascaraed eyes, she grinned slightly at me and asked, "What are you waiting for, baby?" She extended her right arm and with her index finger, Aunt Amelia instructed me to join her on the bed. "Come here, Ian," she all but whispered. "Come now."

Like a soldier creeping up on an unsuspecting enemy, I bent forward at the waist and on hands and knees, crawled across the length of the bed to where Aunt Amelia awaited me. He eyes were not on mine as I made my way slowly to her: no, her eyes once more focused on the long, somehow still hard cock dangling between my legs. With each forward movement, I felt my cock swinging from side to side and from front to rear as the tip of my cock made contact with my upper thigh. I finally reached Aunt Amelia, fell into her open-armed embrace, and kissed her deeply and sensuously, as I had earlier. Her enormous tits pressed against my bare chest, and it was when our nipples made contact that I knew the time had come to fuck my seventy-five year old aunt. Sure, I wanted to eat her pussy, as I always did with any woman I had sexual relations with. But I knew that could wait for later, and I suspected - correctly, it turned out - that Aunt Amelia was thinking the same thing.

I broke the kiss and with Aunt Amelia watching my every move, grasped my now rock-hard cock and with two hands, guided the fleshy missile to the entrance of her cunt. I enjoyed the sensation of the ultra-thick cunt hair as it attempted to resist and to hold back the invasion of my cock into Aunt Amelia's pussy, but I was determined now, and not even a concrete wall could stop me from sliding my cock as deeply as possible into my lovely, sexy aunt's cunt. The head made contact with her cunt lips, and because the two fleshy lips were so old, because they'd been fucked so many times, my cock slid easily into the cunt of a woman who was actually old enough to be my grandmother.

But I didn't care about any of that, and neither did my dick. As soon as my cock entered Aunt Amelia's cunt, she arched her back, opened her lipstick-covered lips, and began to moan louder than I'd ever heard a woman cry during sex. "OH, OH, OH," Aunt Amelia cooed as I slowly and intentionally took my time on inserting my hungry, long cock between her cunt lips. Aunt Amelia wrapped her arms around my waist and placed each palm on my naked ass cheeks, assisting me in the forward thrusts, and, perhaps, attempting to prevent me from withdrawing my cock from her pussy. I'd placed my hands on both sides of Aunt Amelia's red-haired head, the placement giving me extra driving power for what lay ahead.

But my aunt was much more sexually experienced than I, and her seventy-five years of age allowed her to know that although I was withdrawing my cock from her cunt, I always kept at least the head of the prick in her pussy, and that soon - very soon, indeed - I would once more thrust my ass forward with enough force that my cock would not only bury itself completely in her cunt, but that the sheer force of my forward pushes would drive her into the bed's headboard. "OH, SHIT, IAN," Aunt Amelia moaned now as she lifted her stocking covered legs to provide me with not only more space to maneuver between her legs, but to also to dive deeper into her thick-haired cunt. On and on and on, I drove my cock into Aunt Amelia's pussy as if it were a piston in a train engine, faster and deeper with each forward thrust, followed by a brief outward extraction, then followed again by a slamming, deep-seeking drive that caused the hairs at the shaft of my cock to mingle with the mass of thick, coarse hair covering my aunt's pussy. "OH, YOU MOTHERFUCKER," Aunt Amelia looked up at me and said, the red wig now partially covering her face, the rouge on her cheeks somewhat smudged. "FUCK ME, GODDAMN IT, IAN, FUCK ME!"

Each time I slammed my cock into Aunt Amelia's cunt, her tits flowed across her chest as if they were two large bowls of gelatin. The round, perfectly shaped tits jiggled left and right, then top to bottom, the nipples acting like two small, brown colored compasses. No matter how much I slammed my cock into Aunt Amelia's pussy or removed it to reload and fuck her again, the tits jiggled madly, the sight of them driving me closer and closer to coming again. By now, despite Aunt Amelia's very verbal and very loud cries of ecstasy, a certain level of the communication between my aunt and myself was silent, as if we'd been lovers for many years and did not need words to express our pleasure or desires.

I'm not sure what made me turn my head to the left because my attention was certainly on my aunt lying below me taking every inch, every millimeter, of my pulsating cock deep into her pussy. But for some reason, I did turn my head and saw something I'd never seen before while having sex: my own image in a mirror. Well, it was the image of me situated between my aunt's black colored legs, and my naked ass driving hard and fast between her red high heeled feet, pushing her deeper and deeper into the battered mattress atop the bed. I guess that in my hurry to fuck my Aunt Amelia, I'd not taken stock of the furniture in her bedroom. But the sight of me pounding Aunt Amelia's cunt caused the sensual stimulation level inside me to rise, and with greater determination, I increased my efforts at fucking my aunt, the mattress and bed creaking louder now in protest at the intense, pounding rhythm going on above it. The reflection I saw in the mirror actually caused my cock to harden, and I responded with increased determination to not only come in my aunt's pussy, but to make her come as well while a hard, stiff cock occupied the space between her cunt lips.

To my surprise, however, Aunt Amelia had also turned her head. I was still pumping away at her pussy, and she was still taking every inch of the hard shaft in, but she smiled, looked up at me, and said, "Oh, so you like to watch, honey?" When I nodded my head to indicate that yes, the reflection in the mirror was, indeed, erotic, Aunt Amelia suddenly placed her hands on my shoulder and gently pushed me off and away from her. The motion caused my hard cock to leave her pussy but before I could protest, Aunt Amelia repositioned her body so that her head was actually off the edge of the now tussled bed, but the remainder of her body still atop the mattress. Although I couldn't see her face, I clearly heard her ask, "What are you waiting for, baby?" And with that, I returned to a position between her legs, and repeated the process of slamming my twenty-one year old cock into her seventy-five year old pussy.

And this is where the experience of my aunt came into play. Now that we were in a position where I could clearly view the sexual action in the mirror, so too could Aunt Amelia. You see, by positioning her body so that her head hung over the edge of the mattress, she also had a view, albeit upside down, of the same mirror I was looking at, and like me, had a view of the fucking going on atop the bed. Like me, she too could see her tits washing across her chest like waves on a beach. Like me, Aunt Amelia had a clear view of my cock sliding between the thick strands of hair covering her cunt. And like me, she too saw the reflection of a seventy-five year old woman made up to appear younger and from the past, taking the cock of a man more than fifty years her junior, working his way, and assisting her, on exploding a second time in her aged pussy.

"Oh, look at us, Ian," Aunt Amelia said as I thrust my raging hard cock time after time into her cunt. "I can't believe I'm fucking my nephew," she said just before she closed her eyes, lifted her high heels well above her head, and laid her stocking-covered ankles upon my bare but perspiration covered shoulders. It was then, as her head remained suspended over the edge of the mattress that my Aunt Amelia began a series of low moans, coming from her throat now, escaping into the room, and filling my ears.

I did as my aunt instructed and set my eyes upon the image in the mirror. There I was, positioned over my aunt, her stocking-covered legs lifted high in the air above my head, the tips of her stiletto heels aiming for the ceiling. Below me, her tits continued to jiggle as if they were made of gelatin, the nipples so hard and so erect they appeared as if they were dark-colored marshmallows glued to her chest. Farther below me, Aunt Amelia's red wig remained on her head, but now draped so low that the tips of the hair dragged the floor well below her head. As for me, I was covered in sweat now, as was Aunt Amelia's chest, the small droplets glistening in the last bit of sunlight filtering into the room through the still open window. My hair was completely tussled, and my arms were beginning to tire, but there was no way I was going to stop what I was doing, no way I was about to cease fucking my aunt until both of us came in a torrent of sexual pleasure.

And then, just as it had before, my orgasm began to boil. But to my surprise, just as I began to erupt, so too did Aunt Amelia. I felt the quaking of her body under mine, the sexual tremors beginning in her cunt, vibrating against my cock, then spreading to every corner of her body. She lowered her black, seamed stocking legs and wrapped them around my waist, the silk sending sexual shivers across that region of my body, and as her own orgasm began to intensify, she began to moan, louder than before, but the words foreign to my ears.

"Oh, baby, oh, Sam, fuck me again, honey, please fuck me again," Aunt Amelia cooed. "I need your cock, Sam," Aunt Amelia moaned as she extended her arms and cupped each massive titty in her red-tipped hands. "Just one more time, honey, just one more time. Bernard will never know, Sam." Somehow, Aunt Amelia raised her head from below the mattress top and managed to kiss me, her tongue probing so deep that I thought I'd gag. But she continued to hold my mouth against hers as the simultaneous sexual explosions wracking her body and mine caused us to shake and to tremble. Despite her calling out my father's name at the beginning of her orgasm, I as too far along in my own sexual explosion to stop what I was doing and ask her about it. No, this orgasm was like no other: It was more intense, it was more focused, and it was certainly much stronger than any orgasm I'd ever had in my life. So, for that reason, I continued on, pumping away at my seventy-five year old aunt's cunt, slamming, slamming, slamming, until I was exhausted and no longer able to produce the hot, white crème of an orgasm, and until my cock was no longer capable of remaining hard.

But Aunt Amelia's orgasm continued well past the end of mine. With my rapidly becoming limp cock still embedded inside her thick-haired cunt, I grasped my aunt by the tops of her stocking covered legs and pulled her toward the center of the bed. I still had some hardness left in my cock, and I was determined to give it all to her until the shaft was so limp I wouldn't be able to slide it between her pussy lips. But that was minutes away, still, and so, I continued to fuck my favorite aunt. Once again, she extended both shapely legs and wrapped them around my naked waist.

And she continued to fuck me. "Sam, Sam, Sam," she continued to moan, "give me your cock again, baby, give it all to me!" Aunt Amelia continued to shake under me, her head rolling from side to side, her eyes closed. "Your cock is so good, Sam, so fucking good," she cried as the last traces of her orgasm began to disappear and her consciousness returned to the bedroom, not to a day many, many years in the past. After the orgasm ended, Aunt Amelia lay under me as I remained above her, looking down at her, asking myself why she'd called out my father's name, and whether or not I should be angry with this seventy-five year old woman who'd dressed in a way to resemble a past she could no longer live. And finally, her eyes opened quickly, the pupils wide, and an expression of fear painted across her face. For what it is worth, neither Aunt Amelia nor I changed position, and although my cock was now completely limp and no longer embedded between her cunt lips, the head of my dick did press against her hairy pussy, and Aunt Amelia's legs still locked at the ankles behind my back.

I suppose it was then that Aunt Amelia realized the mistake she'd made while we fucked. Tears began to trickle down her face as she stared at me, realizing that it was me, her twenty-one year old nephew who she'd fucked, and not my father, Sam. As she cried, long black rivers of melted mascara ran down her rouge-colored cheeks, but I didn't care: In my opinion, Aunt Amelia was still beautiful even if her face was soiled. But there was the issue of calling out my father's name, of my aunt begging to be fucked by him again. And she'd specifically called out the word, "again." I extended my hand and used the pillow case to wipe Aunt Amelia's face, the black mascara permanently staining the white linen. "Thank you, Ian," Aunt Amelia said, "Thank you, honey." Backing out from her ankle clutches now, I sat on the mattress between Aunt Amelia's legs, her cunt fully visible, a trace of my come trickling between the pussy lips and oozing to the mattress. I massaged my aunt's lower legs while she wept silently, until she finally sat up and faced me.

"I guess I owe you an explanation, baby," my aunt said as she caressed my right cheek. For the next twenty minutes, Aunt Amelia described the day my father came home from the war in Korea. She described how he'd been wounded by a grenade, and how he'd been sent home a month before his twin brother, my uncle Bernard. "I was so glad to see him, Ian," Aunt Amelia said to me, and so fearful Bernard wouldn't come home at all from the war." Still, that did not explain how my aunt had managed to fuck my father. When I asked that very question, Aunt Amelia leaned in and kissed me unexpectedly, her warm, long tongue sliding between my lips again and probing the inner regions of my mouth. "It was because of that, Ian, a simple kiss," she said as she sat back, the motion causing her mammoth tits to jiggle and the nipples to sway below them. "When your father came home, my mother invited him to dinner. Well, he showed up, looking so fine in his uniform, and walking with a cane." From there, Aunt Amelia explained how she couldn't let my father walk the two miles to his home, and so, decided to drive him the short distance. "But we stopped at a local park, Ian, and it was there that your father kissed me. He'd been so long without a woman, I guess he couldn't control himself."

It was then I asked about Uncle Bernard. I knew from the stories he and Aunt Amelia had told me that they had married just before Bernard was called to duty in Korea. Why did she allow my father to kiss her, I asked. "Because I was lonely too, Ian. Your father and Bernard had been away for almost two years, and there was very little physical difference between your father and his twin brother." Aunt Amelia dropped her chin and again began to cry. And again, I wiped away her tears because I was slowly beginning to understand what had happened between my father and my aunt. Aunt Amelia looked at me and said, "One thing led to another and in just a matter of minutes, your father and I were fucking in the backseat of the large Buick your grandfather once owned." Aunt Amelia went quiet, placed her hand on my naked thigh and said, "The backseat was very large, Ian."

Now, it was my turn to be silent. But Aunt Amelia wasn't finished with her tale. "Your Uncle Bernard came home soon afterward, but by then, Ian, I discovered I was in love with both Bernard and his twin brother, your father." It all became evident then: My father and Aunt Amelia had carried on an affair. When I asked Aunt Amelia that question, she answered, "Yes, Ian, we did have an affair. Your father and I fucked several times. That is, until I discovered your mother was pregnant with you. After that, Sam and I cut matters off, and we never fucked again." Aunt Amelia extended her left and right arm and now placed both warm hands on my upper thighs, each set of fingers very close to my cock, lying within inches of her left hand. "I can promise you that despite what happened between your father and me, Ian, your father was an honorable man."

I suppose I expressed a look of disbelief at that time because Aunt Amelia, seventy-five years old and still beautiful, moved her body closer to mine now, so close that her stocking covered legs touched the bare skin of my legs. Despite the tale she was telling, it was difficult not to extend my arms and cup her gigantic titties in my hands again. But I sensed there was more to the story, and I was correct. "And let me say one final thing, Ian. Your Uncle Bernard knew I'd fucked his brother, and he never, not once in his life, accused me of being an adulteress. In fact, he was glad I'd had sex with his brother because your uncle believed with all his heart that it made Sam heal faster from the wound he received on the battlefield."

Aunt Amelia sat back and slowly removed the red wig from her head. She unclasped the grey hair that normally covered her head, allowing the strands to fall down to the tops of her shoulders. She scooted backward on the almost destroyed mattress until her back rested on the headboard. She made no effort to remove the stockings or the high heels. After a moment of silence, perhaps while she reminisced about my father, Aunt Amelia said, "So, I will understand, Ian, if you want to leave now. I guess I was so caught up in the passion of fucking you - or having you fuck me - and the temporarily living in the past that I recalled that night long, long ago when your father and I fucked for the first time in his car."

I stared at my aunt, silent as so many different thoughts ran like a freight train through my brain. This woman, the same woman I'd fucked for the last hour or more had had an affair with my father. I hoped my mother never learned of the many times my dad fucked Aunt Amelia. And then, there were all those years Aunt Amelia and Uncle Bernard had raised me, from the time I was a kid to today, a grown man of twenty-one years of age. So many mixed emotions cruised through my brain, so many unanswered questions.

But the fact of the matter was that this same woman who sat less than four feet from me had also raised me, and not once had she spoken a harsh word to me. She took care of me when I was sick. She supported me when I was in school and had a million interests. After high school, it was Uncle Bernard and Aunt Amelia who'd made sure I attended college, rather than having to settle for a job I didn't really want. I made sure to lock my eyes on Aunt Amelia, made sure that she knew I was thinking about her. Seeing her almost naked except for the stockings and heels, seeing her natural gray hair visible again, I knew there was really only one thing to do.

I moved forward, kissed my aunt deeply on the lips, and began to stroke my cock until it was hard again. Before the next morning, my seventy-five year old Aunt Amelia and I fucked time after time. You might as well keep it in the family, I guess.