My Nephew Ch. 04

After the sizzling encounter between my foot and my nephew's boy toy on the couch, I needed a cold shower to cool down.

Actually, I took a warm shower: And made sure it was long enough to ensure that my soaping of a certain part of my anatomy involved enough rubbing to deliver the climax I desperately needed.

I was successful, as you might imagine. After all, my hand is not lacking in practice. And I didn't need the soap for lubrication. I could close my eyes and still feel his cum gushing through his jeans and around my foot.

I hoped for a repeat after dinner, but I really wanted to hear much more _ much, much more _ about his relationship with his mother, particularly the back rubs.

For obvious reasons, the mere thought was turning me on, even though I had just gotten off!

Truth be told, I couldn't wait until after dinner. While I was still cooking, I rather innocently asked him how long he had been giving his mother back rubs and massages.

I couldn't tell if I was surprised or not when he said not long, that it had started fairly recently, just a couple of months ago when she came home from work cranky, tired and sore.

I could understand that, but the timing was close to the encounter she and I had in the kitchen. Interesting.

Could it just be coincidental?

I'm not much of a believer in coincidence. And it wouldn't have matter, anyway. I just had to know more; I couldn't let it go.

I asked him when it all began, his interest, in me, in his mother, and he conceded it was all very recent, since he turned 18, during his senior year of high school, but admitted he didn't know how or why it suddenly developed. "Nothing has happened, anyway," he said. Nothing. Yet.

I thought about it all through dinner, as we made small talk. I thought about what he might be thinking about my sister-in-law, his mother. I thought about him looking up his mother's skirt. I thought about him looking down her blouse. I thought about him jerking off with her panties. And by the end of dinner, I was just about sitting in a puddle of my own making.

I couldn't believe I had thought my experiences with my nephew might have been unique, that he would not have noticed his mother, admittedly beautiful, if he was noticing me. I should have thought of it. But I didn't. He is 18, after all. How many 18-year-old virgins do YOU know? Yet here he was, suddenly, at 18, caught between two beautiful older women, one an aunt, one his mother.

My ego had run away with me, but now, as I thought about everything, the prospects were so much more alluring, so much hotter, I could barely stand it.

I continued talking about nothing while I cleared off the table and loaded the dishwasher, mostly so he couldn't escape before I decided what to do next, but I definitely made it worth his while to hang around.

I made it a point to bend over to load the dishwasher, and surely not in the most ladylike fashion. I knew he liked to look, and I knew he wasn't going very far as long as he had plenty to look at!

As I finished, I moved up behind him. He was still seated at the table, facing forward.

I moved up close.

Very close.

My breasts were pressing into him just below his neck.

I leaned further forward, very close to his ear.

And I whispered, "Do you like to look up your mother's skirt?"

He turned purple, or at least a deep, deep crimson.

He sputtered.

He stuttered.

"No, of course, not, I mean she's my MOTHER!," he said, almost screaming it out.

Still leaning forward, pressing my breasts into him, whispering into his ear, I said, "And I'm your aunt. So what does that have to do with it?"

Could he possibly have gotten any redder? I would have bet not, but I could see it with my own eyes.

"Do you like to look up your mother's skirt?," I whispered again, breathing into his ear.

I could barely hear his whispered "yes."

"Do you like looking down your mother's blouse?"

Again, a long silence. And a very quiet, "Yes."

"Does she know?"

More silence. Then a quick, "No!," but then hesitation.

"Tell me more ... why did you hesitate?"

He was still at the table, still sitting there looking straight ahead at the wall on the other side, or the surface of the table, his eyes moving from one inanimate surface to the other.

But I could see down; I could see the bulge in his jeans.

I had no intention of stopping.

"Why did you hesitate? She does know doesn't she?"

Then, slowly, he said, "A couple of weeks ago, after I had given her a quick shoulder massage, we were sitting in the family room talking. She had her legs up, even though she was wearing a skirt. I could see the bottom of her thighs and her panties. And I couldn't stop looking ... I kept trying to look away, but I couldn't. And she was watching me, and I knew she knew, but she didn't move, just sat there smiling at me. And then, all of a sudden, she looked down, said, 'Oh! Oops!' and then put her legs down and said it was time to get dinner started. But I knew she knew I had been looking. I was so embarrassed, but she wasn't. She didn't say anything about it."

He said, "I had looked before. A lot, recently. Like when I was rubbing her back and she was on the couch in a skirt, but nothing like that, and never anything like you, on the ladder." He was bright red again. "This is all so recent, so new," and I could tell he meant it.

"Do you like to think about her when you jerk off?"

"No, of course, not. She's my MOTHER!"

I pressed in even closer: "And I'm your aunt ..."

I could feel his heat, but I could barely hear his faint "yes."

"Yes? Yes, you think of your mother when you masturbate?"

"Yes."

"Do you think of her naked? Have you ever seen her naked?"

"No, never naked."

"But you want to?"

Faintly, "yes ..."

"Do you like her panties?"

"Oh, please, stop! I can't tell you these things. I can't believe we are even talking about them."

"Do you like her panties?"

"Yes."

"Whose panties did you discover first, mine or hers?"

Again, faintly. "Yours ..." And I knew how recent that was!

"And then you decided to check into her panties?"

"Yes ..." But barely audible.

"You like panties we have worn, right? Not clean ones?"

Again, faintly, "Yes."

"Do you really think that's wrong? Wrong to sniff our panties, cum in them?"

"Yes ..."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I don't know. I just know it really turns me on ..."

"Then there isn't anything wrong with it, is there?"

"I don't know."

"Have you ever tried to touch your mother when you were rubbing her back, or shoulders, her legs? Tried to touch her breasts? Her thighs? Her ass? Her pussy?"

"God, no, never. I couldn't do that, I wouldn't do that ..."

"Why?"

"I don't know; it just wouldn't be right."

"Do you want to touch her? Tell me the truth. Would you if you could, if she let you?"

So slowly I didn't really think he could answer, he shook his head "no," but then, very quietly, said, "Yes ..."

"Do you think about fucking your mother when you masturbate?"

No answer. Nothing.

"Do you think about fucking your mother when you masturbate?"

Faintly: "Yes ..."

"Have you ever fucked anyone? Anyone at all?"

Hesitation. Then, quietly, "No."

"Not on the computer, but in real life, have you ever seen a woman completely naked?"

So quietly I could barely hear: "No ..."

I leaned even closer to his ear. I let my tongue dart into his ear. He shuddered. And I said, "I think I need a back rub ... Interested?"

Without waiting for an answer, I moved away, heading toward the living room.