Now That Daddy’s Gone – Chapter Two

With his mother already his sex slave, things change when young Peter’s aunty comes to visit. Will she be willing to join his stable?

Chapter Two – And Aunty Makes Three

Peter Balfour finished work early and decided to head to the creek and take a swim. He stripped naked and dove into the cool, clear water. His twenty-year-old body was well muscled and developed from working hard on the farm; he was fit, tanned, healthy and very well endowed. His eight-inch penis swayed from side to side between his legs when he climbed out of the creek and onto the bank, it had a good girth and swelled to ten inches of solid meat when tumescent.

Peter pulled his watch from his shirt pocket, it was five-thirty and he had an appointment at six in the afternoon that he always kept. He had plenty of time today because he was out and about in his brand new 1967 Chevrolet pickup. It was painted a practical light olive green for working the farm but the new chrome glistened in the afternoon sun. It was his pride and joy, he and his mother had looked at the farm’s books and figured they could afford to buy it to replace the rusty old pickup in which his father had run away.

William Balfour, Peter’s father, had been missing for over a year now. A hardworking farmer who had descended into drunkenness and become a degenerate alcoholic, William was last seen driving away from the farm in his old pickup. He was listed as a missing person but no one was looking for him. It was assumed that by now he was probably an itinerant bum in a nearby city or more likely a John Doe buried in a pauper’s grave somewhere.

Peter let the sun dry his body and then he dressed and climbed into the cab of his truck and drove the five miles home at a steady twenty miles per hour. This gave him time to park the truck in the barn and pick some flowers for his mother from her garden out front of the farmhouse.

At thirty-six-years-old Margaret Balfour, nee Ryan, was a stunning woman. She was wearing full makeup, earrings and a necklace and her black hair was worn in a bob with bangs cut just above her big blue eyes. Meg preferred the conservative fashions of the fifties rather than the modern bright-coloured shifts and skirts, patterned tights and low-block heels that were now popular. She was big-breasted and long-legged and liked to dress to show off her attributes. She was wearing a navy-blue, knee-length pencil-skirt, a white fitted satin blouse, black four-inch high heels and seamed flesh-toned stockings. Not farm attire at all.

On the few occasions that she went into town she would dress in modern garb but Meg liked the nostalgic look of her early womanhood in the nineteen-fifties. Besides, her son like his mother dressed this way too, it reminded him of the hours they had spent together each day when he was home-schooled by her. But Peter was now the man of the house.

Meg had spent the day working in her garden and doing housework. At five o’clock she started dinner and then went upstairs to her bedroom to get changed, fix her makeup, and came had down just before six o’clock sprayed liberally with perfume.

Meg heard the door slam and immediately became excited. There was one chore that she and Peter always took care of at six o’clock, a chore they both fully enjoyed. Meg leaned over the kitchen bench pretending to fiddle with some condiments, she kicked up a heel, opening up the kick-pleat in the back of her skirt to expose the seams on her stockings running up the back of her long legs.

Peter inhaled the appetising smell of dinner mingled with his mother’s perfume and strode across the dining room, smiling. He pressed himself against his mother, pushing his hard cock against her buttocks and cupping her breasts, he could feel that her nipples were hard. He nuzzled her neck and shoulders.

“Hard day in the fields Petey?” Meg asked bearing back against him with her buttocks.

“Yes mom, it was a hard day,” Peter, nipped her earlobe playfully.

“As hard as you feel against your mother right now?” her bright-red lipsticked-lips parted in a grin.

“Maybe not that hard,” Peter chuckled and smelled her hair.

“Shall I help you with that?” Meg turned around in her son’s embrace and stared at him with her pretty blue eyes.

Peter pressed his lips to hers and kissed her hungrily and held her tight against him. Meg opened her mouth so that he could put his tongue inside her. Peter squeezed her buttocks and moaned with lust.

“Yes mom, you can help me,” Peter moaned.

“Like this son?” Meg took a half-step back and reached for the bulge in his pants.

Meg traced the outline of her son’s hard cock through his jeans and was not surprised when a wet-patch appeared. Her nylon panties were wet from her own juices afterall.

She unzipped him and extracted his engorged phallus with some difficulty. She was always amazed at the heftiness of her son’s penis in her small hands. She used her red-nailpolished fingertip to dab at the globule of pre-ejaculate that exuded from the eye of his cock. She bought the finger to her lips and put out the tip of tongue and lapped at it.

“Mmm Petey, you taste good,” Meg grinned.

“Perhaps you had better get a larger sample,” Peter smiled back at her.

“But first let see how good you taste mom,” Peter slipped his hand under his mother’s skirt.

Meg shuddered as Peter slipped his fingertip across the front of his mother’s translucent white nylon panties. Her knees began to buckle when he pressed the silky material into her vulva and caressed her labia with it. He deliberately kept his fingers away from his mother’s clitoris, he would make her beg for him to touch it but she had duties to perform first.

He extracted his finger and sniffed his mother’s pungent bouquet and then tasted her vaginal secretions.

“You taste pretty good too mom,” Peter smirked.

Meg was halfway to her knees and Peter pressed down on her shoulders and Meg knelt on the floor before him. She took his cock in her hand and lightly caressed it. Peter was likely to prematurely ejaculate if she stimulated him too much too soon. Not that it mattered too much, he soon recovered, sometimes not even becoming fully flaccid before he was ready to go again. But she wanted his semen in her mouth or her vagina; it would be wasted splattered on her fingers, although she had licked his cum off them plenty of times in the past.

Peter thrust his hips out, he was impatient for his mother to take him in her mouth. She acquiesced and guided his throbbing cock to her lips. She licked the tip of his penis with the tip of her tongue, lapping at the precum. Then she fluttered her tongue on her son’s fraenulum and listened to him groan. Finally she took him in her mouth and began to suck him.

“Oh yes please mom, that is so good!” Peter moaned, putting his hands on her head to guide her.

His cock was too big to take it all in her mouth, but she took as much as she could, working her lips along the shaft, using her tongue on the bottom of it, drinking the efflux of precum that issued from his cock. She cupped his scrotum and gently massaged his testes making him groan louder. She knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

Meg had a hand under her skirt, she had been thrumming her clitoris all the while she was sucking her son’s cock and she was holding off an orgasm. Sensing that Peter was about to cum she spat out his cock.

“Aw mom!” Peter whined.

But not for long.

Meg stood up, hiked up her skirt, turned around, bent over the counter-top and reached behind her for her son’s cock. She guided it inside her panties and positioned it at the sopping entrance of her cunt. It slid past her vulva and into her vagina like a hot knife through butter.

Peter was always amazed at how tight his mother’s cunt was. It gripped his cock like a velvet glove, he could smell her juices and he was ready to orgasm himself.

“Come on son; fuck your mother,” Meg whispered.

“Come inside your mom, fill me with your sperm,” she hissed.

Peter gripped his mother’s hips and plunged his cock all the way inside her making her gasp as he filled his mother with his flesh. He vigorously humped her, making his mother moan with lust. She lewdly pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts and urging him on.

“Ready mom?” Peter gasped.

Meg just nodded, she was too overcome with wantonness to answer him.

Peter pulled his mother hard against him and drove his cock inside her as far as it would go and ejaculated. Meg climaxed at the same time, her cunt quivered and palpitated draining her son of his spend. Peter nibbled his mother’s neck and sucked her flesh, his hands had gone to her breasts, squeezing them, tweaking her nipples through her blouse to increase his mother’s pleasure.

Meg actually collapsed because the force of her orgasm was so strong, she was impaled on Peter’s cock, his strong grip keeping her from falling to the floor while he continued to thrust in and out of her quivering quim.

Finally, after they had both peaked and started to come down from their climax, Meg was able to reach out and hold onto the counter top. Peter pulled his cock out of his mother’s cunt; her vagina clung to his flesh, reluctant to let it go. His glans slipped out of her labia and a torrent of semen and vaginal juices gushed from his mother cunt. Some soaked into her already sodden panties but most of it ran down her legs and soaked into the welts of her stockings.

Peter dropped to his knees and lapped at the salty, sticky secretions and followed the stream up his mother’s milky thighs to her sodden maw where he lapped at her bloated vulva, working his tongue along her labia and finally finding her clitoris.

“No! No! No!” Meg entangled her fingers in her son’s hair trying to pull him away.

Her cunt was too tender from her orgasm to take any further stimulation.

But Peter persisted and his mother couldn’t help but climax again.

She screamed; opening her legs wide and pushing Peter’s face into her quim. He licked her clitoris as his mother shook and moaned; her whole body became a temple of pleasure. She collapsed on the floor shaking and Peter followed her, his mouth glued to her cunt, lapping at her clitoris. Then he mounted his mother and began to fuck her again.

“No! No! No! I can’t!” she cried, but she wrapped her stocking-sheathed legs around his body and held him to her.

Peter came again almost immediately, he smothered his mother’s cries with his lips and drove his tongue into her mouth and he fucked her hard and fast.

This time they were finished. Meg had orgasmed three times already and her cunt was sore. Peter would want to fuck her again at least once tonight, twice more likely. It was no wonder she stayed thin despite her appetite, her son had a ravenous craving for sex and kept her busy satisfying it.

Meg adjusted her clothing and washed her hands at the kitchen sink, her panties were sodden and her thighs sticky. Her husband had insisted that she clean herself down there before she joined him for dinner but Peter liked the aroma of his mother’s cunt at the dinner table. It incensed his appetite for both food and sex.

Peter washed up and sat at the table and his mother served dinner. Conversation at dinner usually revolved around farm business, crop prices, the weather, the cost of labour, crop yield and so on. Meg had been forbidden to have anything to do with farm management when her husband was still at home. Peter had emancipated his mother and employed her to keep the books and records which she did both energetically and effectively. The farm was making a good profit.

William had also denied Margaret an income, allocating her a small stipend for household expenses and to buy clothing, lingerie and nylons, over which he had oversight. The farm was still in William’s name, Peter was the sole benefactor in his father’s will but as there was no body and William’s whereabouts remained unknown they would have to wait seven years to have William declared legally dead.

Not that it really mattered. The bank was pragmatic and as the farm had substantial holdings and always paid out the loans on time, with interest, it was to their advantage to allow Margaret and Peter access to the farm’s accounts. So it was business as usual except that Meg now had equal standing in the house.

Peter and his mother enjoyed the isolation of living on a farm far from the nearest town. They enjoyed each other’s company as well as enjoying each other’s bodies. They could carry on their incestuous affair unrestrained. Peter slept in the master bedroom with his mother and they had sex whenever the hankering came on them, both in the house and around the farm. The only time they needed to be cautious was when they hired farmhands to assist with reaping the corn.

The farmhand barracks was located well away from the house and was self-contained with its own kitchen and domestic facilities. William Balfour had moved it to its current location when he married his young pretty wife. He didn’t want coarse and licentious farmhands roughhousing and carousing near his bride in case they got any ideas.

During the corn harvest Margaret stayed close to home and she and Peter confined their lascivious activities to the house.

That was all about to change.

Peter arrived home for his six o’clock assignation and was looking forward to it with relish. His mother had dressed provocatively in a basque, fully-fashioned stockings, high heels and full makeup at breakfast, covered only by a flimsy negligee. She had purposely teased her son, brushing against him and allowing the robe to open and reveal her body. Peter had reached for her on numerous occasions during breakfast but she had skilfully eluded him whilst continuing to tantalise him and incite his lust.

“Imagine how wonderful it will be when you get home from work this afternoon Petey,” she had whispered in his ear seductively.

Her perfume was driving him wild when she had nibbled his earlobe. Meg sent him to work unsatisfied having squeezed his hard cock through his jeans when he kissed her farewell.

Peter noticed the Chevrolet Impala parked in the driveway as soon as he crested the ridge above the farmhouse on his horse.

He frowned. He knew that there was only person that the flashy car with its burgundy body and white roof, twin headlights and chrome trim and wheels could belong to.

Millicent Ryan was three years older than her sister and had run away from home to the city as soon as she could. She’d married an advertising executive and had lived the high life, looking down her nose at her family as if they were country hicks and conveniently forgetting where she came from.

Peter had seen her only once, at a family funeral. She was as striking as her sister but with blonde hair which his mother told him she dyed. She was haughty and aloof and had probably said three words to Peter the whole time he was there. It was obvious that she hated being back in the Midwest so Peter wondered why his aunt had returned to the corn-belt.

“This does not bode well,” Peter spat in the dust as he dismounted his horse.

With his aunt ensconced inside the farmhouse there was no need for him to hurry. For the first time in a year he would not be able to meet his six o’clock obligation, and he was not happy.

Peter unbridled his horse and gave it food and water while he groomed it. He led it over to the barn and stabled it for the night. He tended to a few chores in the barn that really didn’t need attending to, anything to delay having to go inside. He was angry and horny.

Peter bit the bullet and strode across the yard, stepped onto the stoop and opened the door. Normally his mother would be there dressed invitingly ready to fuck but today she sat on a stool at the breakfast bar sipping coffee wearing a short-sleeved knee-length, A-line pleated dress. It was red with white polka dots. She wore red four-inch high heels and seamed flesh-toned stockings. Peter admired the seams running up the back of her long legs but was disappointed he would not get to explore them any time soon.

Sitting beside his mother was his aunt, she too was sipping coffee. Her dress style was totally different to his mother’s; more modern and very trendy. Millicent, or Milli as she preferred, was wearing a sleeveless solid teal shift micro-mini dress with round neck, sheer taupe hosiery and wedge-heeled Mary-Janes with ankle straps. Her makeup consisted of flicked upper eyeliner, matte green eyeshadow, false eyelashes with heavy mascara, coral-blushed cheeks, and pink lipstick. Her blonde hair was piled in a beehive and a pillbox hat to match her shift sat on the breakfast bar.

Both women were stunning but in different ways. Meg was a model for fifties style and Millie was a model for sixties chic.

“Oh my god! Is this my nephew?” Millie bought her hands to her face, over-exaggerating as usual.

“Yes this is Peter. Come say hello to your aunt Millicent honey,” Meg gave him a cautionary glare.

Peter nodded and walked over to Millicent who was now standing. Peter had caught a flash of pink panty when she alighted from the stool because her dress was so short.

“Don’t you dare call me aunty or even Millicent, I’m Millie,” she leaned into Peter and kissed his cheek.

She smelled like flowers and bubblegum.

Millie held Peter at arms-length and studied him.

“He’s his father’s son that’s for sure. Handsome, strapping, and stoic. What about Willie’s other attribute Meg? Has he got that too?” Millie raised a brow knowingly.

Meg blushed and slapped her sister gently on the arm. Peter just looked confused.

“Has a cat got your tongue Petey? You haven’t said a word,” Millie was very loud.

“Hello aunt… err Millie,” Peter said dispassionately.

Peter did not like this at all. His mother looked obviously distraught and he figured it was not just because they hadn’t had their six o’clock liaison. His aunt was loud and boisterous and he hoped that she would not be staying for long.

“Go and get washed-up and change for dinner Petey,” his mother gave him another knowing look and directed her eyes towards the stairs.

Peter climbed the stairs and was about to use the bathroom when he noticed the door to his old bedroom was ajar. He opened it and saw that his mother had put all his possessions back in his old room. Of greater concern was the four matching Venetian-red Samsonite Silhouette suitcases in the spare bedroom next the master bedroom. It looked liked aunt Millicent was going to be here a while.

“Shithouse mouse!” Peter growled as he went back to the bathroom to clean up.

“So you want to tell me again why you were dressed like some nineteen-fifties floozy when I arrived?” Millicent fitted a cigarette into her cigarette-holder.

Millicent had arrived mid-afternoon and found her sister dressed in the basque, fully-fashioned stockings, high heels and flimsy negligee wearing full makeup and jewellery.

Meg had lied of course and said that she was simply dressed in her underwear, doing some housework and didn’t want to get her dress dirty. She would dress properly before her son came home for the fields.

“Look Meg, I know you like all that fifties jitterbug and Lindy shit and that your husband had a thing for you being dressed in a hooker’s lingerie but really? You expect me to believe you were dressed like that for a husband who has been missing for over a year?” Millie lit her cigarette with a gold lighter.

Meg was so nervous. She had been able to throw all of her son’s accoutrements out of her bedroom and into his old room. She had been able to accomplish this by taking advantage of Millie needing a long bathroom break as soon as she arrived, but she still wondered if her sister was suspicious of her and Peter.

She was so nervous that she snatched up her sister’s cigarettes and lit one herself. She seldom smoked, sometimes with Peter if they’d had a particularly torrid session or were having a drink.

“You know what I think?” Millie said.

Meg began to shake with worry.

“I think you have a boyfriend. And I think your boyfriend visits the house while your son is out working the farm and that way you keep it secret from him,” Millie smirked.

“Yes! Of course! I can never hide anything from you Millie,” Meg sighed with relief.

Millie had provided Meg with the perfect alibi. A fictitious lover that she could blame for any discretions that Millie may uncover.

Dinner that night was a chore for Peter, his aunt talked incessantly about boring subjects that interested Peter not one bit. He found her big-city adventures a chore to listen to. The only compensation was that her micro-mini dress had ridden up right to the top of her thighs. Peter had never seen pantyhose before and was fascinated by them, the way she sheer nylon continued all the way to the top of her thighs under her panties which was very captivating. It was obviously the only sort of hosiery that could be worn with a dress that short but he still preferred the look of his mother’s fully-fashioned stockings.

Millie saw her nephew peeking at her legs. It’s not like she wasn’t used to men ogling her legs, as well as her tits and ass, that’s what men did. But Peter was a lot younger than the old farts that her husband called friends and colleagues. Friends indeed, nearly every one of them had felt her up or propositioned her. Not that she could sling mud.

The day of the family funeral William Balfour had taken his wife Margaret and young son Peter back to the farm and made an excuse to drive all the way back into town. He’d knocked on the door to her room at the town’s only crummy motel.

“What do you want Billy?” Millie stood leaning on the door smoking a cigarette.

She was still wearing her funeral attire, a black long-sleeved dress with a hem that rode ridiculously high on her thighs, fully-fashioned black stockings, black pumps and full makeup.

“You know you show contempt for your family coming to your uncle’s funeral dressed like that,” he growled.

“Oh I think he would have liked it Billy. The old coot used to chase me around the room and when he caught me he’d sit me in his lap and panty-pop me Billy, he’d have likely loved to have done it to me dressed like this,” she said disparagingly.

“That’s no way to talk about your deceased uncle,” William was red-faced.

“You mean the man who liked to rub his cock on me until he ejaculated on my panty-clad ass while I sat in his lap pretending to watch TV?” she replied.

“You were probably asking for it you slut,” William balled his fists.

“Oh come in Billy. I know the real reason you came to see me. You haven’t taken your eyes off me all day. Whatever would my sister think?” Millie turned her back on him and walked over to the bed and crushed out her cigarette in an ashtray on the nightstand.

William came in behind her and pushed her onto the bed. Millie rolled over and looked at William who was shaking with rage and lust. His cock was tenting the front of his suit pants. Millie lay sprawled on the bed her legs open, her dress had ridden up, her stocking tops and black lace panties were wantonly on display.

Millie looked up at William and smiled seductively, running her tongue along her bright red lipsticked lips. She put a red-nailpolished fingertip between her legs and stroked the front of her panties and gave him a questioning look.

William fell on top of her, crushing his lips against hers. Millie opened her legs wider and kissed him back, fumbling with his zipper and belt. William pushed his pants down to his knees and freed his erection. He poked at her with it, rubbing it on the gossamer material of her panties. He was getting impatient trying to get his cock inside her and finally he tore out the crotch of her panties.

“Oh god it’s so big,” Millie gasped as she took him in hand.

She eased him inside the torn-out crotch of her panties and guided him to her sex. William thrust forward and Millie moaned as his long thick phallus entered her hot wet vagina. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as he began to fuck her. She bit his ear and raked his flesh with her nails.

“Fuck me! Fuck me you animal! Fuck me you farm boy!” she goaded him.

Williams cock was the biggest she had ever had inside her and she’d had plenty. She loved the feel of its girth, it filled her, and the bulbous glans pressed on her G-spot. William thought that Margaret’s cunt was tighter than her sister’s but he was enjoying fucking this haughty bitch. She smelled and tasted wonderful and her cunt was wet and inviting.

It was over quickly.

William drove himself deep inside his sister-in-law and ejaculated. She came with him, riding the peak of his orgasm, drumming her heels on his back. He was holding her so tight that she was suffocating but that only added to the thrill. Her sister was miss prim-and-proper and her husband was fucking her whore sister.

Peter disentangled himself from Millie and pulled up his pants, he wanted to leave so bad that he was still buckling them when he walked out the door without saying a word. Millie lay on the bed with her legs still spread wide, her panties tattered and torn, a rivulet of semen dripped from her cunt, William had laddered her stockings during the frenzied fucking.

Millie just chuckled to herself and lit a cigarette, leaving her legs wide open so she could get some cool air on her battered vulva.

She never saw William again and she had never told her sister what had happened. She wore the secret like a badge of honour and whenever her father rang Millie, which wasn’t often, and complained that she should be more demure like her farmer’s-wife sister, she recalled being ravaged by William Balfour. Meg might be the better sister, but she couldn’t keep her husband satisfied apparently.

When Millie heard that William had turned into a vicious drunk who had run away from his wife and son, she couldn’t help but feel a little schadenfreude. But a year later when her own husband found out about her affair with a younger man and had thrown her out of the house penniless, Millie had no one else to turn to but Meg.

The tension grew in the farmhouse as Peter and Meg were denied sex due to Millie’s presence. What made things worse is that there seemed to be no end state. Millicent rang her husband at least once a day but he refused to forgive her but more importantly, he refused her access to their bank accounts so she was effectively destitute. Peter feared she may never leave.

Peter compensated for his lack of sexual gratification by working harder and longer, his six o’clock assignation with his mother was no longer a longed-for pleasure, he had to endure the torture of listening to his aunt’s inane conversation; tales of her living the high life and mingling with the well to do lording over the hoi polloi held no interest for him.

It was worse for Meg because Millie confessed her discretions to her about the numerous men she had been with, often going into the minutiae of what she was wearing, how big the man’s cock was, what they did, in what positions, and how often she orgasmed. It not only drove Meg wild with jealousy, it made her lustful and made her more aware of what she was missing out on with Peter.

Adding to Peter’s frustration was his aunt’s insistence on getting around dressed only in her underwear under a pink negligee until mid-morning when she would dress for the day. She also made a habit of leaving her bedroom door ajar, holding conversations with her sister across the hallway through the open door. Millie liked to sleep in so Peter was usually gone for the day well before she got out of bed, but on weekends Peter didn’t mind catching a few extra hours sleep himself.

His mother tried to make up for their lack of sex by leaving Peter little gifts under his pillow: a pair of her soiled panties for him to sniff or a pair of her nylons for him to masturbate with. She’d spray them with her perfume so that he could imagine fucking his mother whilst sniffing her panties and slipping his cock inside the stocking and stroking himself until he climaxed. He would then reciprocate the gesture and leave the cum-filled stockings and panties in his mother’s room so she could use them as masturbatory aids.

Peter left his room one morning and was about to make his way downstairs when he heard his aunt shuffling about in her room. Peter sidled up to the open door and looked inside. Millie was bent over the bed fussing with the bedclothes. She hadn’t finished dressing and was wearing only her pantyhose and her negligee. Peter was fascinated by pantyhose, this new fashion garment that fully encased a woman’s legs in diaphanous nylon. But what he was witnessing intrigued him further. His aunt’s ample buttocks were also encased in the coffee-coloured transparent fabric.

He could see the firm globes of her buttocks and the cleft between her legs where tufts of pubic hair were smoothed flat against her pubis. Her long and shapely legs glistened in the lamplight and Peter couldn’t help but take out his cock and stroke it whilst watching his aunt’s ass dance and wobble as she struggled to make the bed. The scent of her perfume permeated the hallway adding to the delusion in his head of throwing Millie down on the bed and fucking her while she struggled to break free.

Peter was mature enough to know that the fantasy served the dual purpose of releasing his sexual frustration whilst punishing his aunt for being in their house. He had no intention of acting it out but it fuelled his imagination as he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the nylon stocking he intended to put under his mother’s pillow and slipped it over his engorged penis. It was still wet from this morning’s emission but it felt so smooth and soft as he pressed the gauzy garment to his manhood and began to stroke.

His eyes were locked on his aunt’s soft buttocks, the sheen of her pantyhose giving them an ethereal ambiance; he imagined nestling his cock in that silk-lined cleft whilst stroking those long gossamer-clad limbs, holding Millie down on the bed while he humped away at her ass. The more Millie struggled to smooth out the bed clothes, the more invitingly her buttocks waggled and swayed.

Peter stifled a groan as he ejaculated into the stocking, his semen darkening the tan nylons and then bursting through in a puddle of viscous warm cream. He fell back against the wall at the pinnacle of his orgasm and tried to control his breathing. Realising the precarious position he was in Peter quickly stuffed his cock back into his pants and jammed the nylon into his front pocket.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Millie called out from her bedroom.

“Just me Millie; on my way downstairs for lunch. Will you be joining us?” Peter called back, pretending he was just leaving his room.

He sidled back to his door then walked confidently down the corridor as if nothing had happened.

Millie came to her bedroom door and leaned against it. She had closed her robe but she was still clad only in her pantyhose beneath it. Peter could discern her ample bosom through the tiffany negligee, the dark circles of her areola, the engorged pink berries of her nipples and the dark triangle of her pubic thatch.

She had completed her makeup; the flicked upper eyeliner, matte green eyeshadow, false eyelashes with heavy mascara, coral-blushed cheeks, and pink lipstick but her blonde hair fell about her face in disarray. She looked sexy leaning back against the door, one leg bent with the sole flat against the wooden panel which caused her gown to open slightly so he could he see all the way to the top of her thighs. Her perfume was cloying but simultaneously exciting.

“What are you doing sneaking around your own home Peter?” she smiled bewitchingly.

“Nothing! I’m not sneaking anywhere! This is my house and I’ll come and go as I please,” Peter overreacted and Millie smiled innocently back at him, knowing she had caused the rise in his temper.

“Ok Peter; settle down. Tell Margaret I’ll join you both as soon as I’m dressed,” Millie dropped her foot and turned away.

Peter exhaled sharply and continued his journey down the corridor to the head of the stairs.

“Peter!” Millie called from her bedroom door.

“Just one thing,” she smiled sweetly but Peter saw the menace.

“This is your father’s house; not yours,” she closed the door and Peter made his way downstairs.

Millie’s grin turned to a grimace of lust as she leaned back against the door and thrust her hand inside the waistband of her pantyhose and inserted two fingers into her quim. She worked her thumb on her clitoris, quickly invoking a raging orgasm that caused her to slide down the door and collapse on the floor.

Millie had heard Peter wheeze and moan while he tended to his needs outside her door and had she had deliberately waggled her ass for him. She had seen Peter’s semen spattered on the polished wooden floor outside her door. She had seen the toe of her sister’s stocking poking out of his pocket and the huge bulge in his pants and knew that what she thought he was doing was exactly what he was doing.

It excited her. The bulge in Peter’s pants was huge and she wondered if her nephew’s cock was as big as his father’s. And that nylon stocking in Peter’s pocket… did her sister know that Peter was using her intimates as a masturbatory aid?

She slipped into panties and bra and put on the miniskirt and blouse she had selected for the day and sat at her dresser and fixed her hair, all the time wondering what exactly was going on this house. One thing was for sure… she was going to find out.

Millie slipped into her high heels and made her way down to join her sister and her nephew at the dining table as if nothing had happened. She saw that Peter was blushing and when he looked up at her she winked at him furtively and then began to eat.

Peter couldn’t sleep, every time he closed his eyes he thought about his mother. Mother bent over the counter top in the kitchen with her skirt hiked up; Mother lying on the bed dressed in her bustier, satin panties, silk stockings and high heels, legs open, beckoning her son; Mother stroking his hard cock as he wallowed in the bath crying out with surprise when his cock convulsed and spattered her face and hair with his scalding spend.

He rolled over but then all he could think about was Aunt Millicent, her ass sheathed in those silky pantyhose lifted high on the bed, she was looking at him and inviting him to mount her, red fingernail waggling at him. Millicent sitting at the dining table with her skirt around her waist, her long legs clad in the sheer pantyhose, red nylon panties worn over, through which he could see her dark thatch.

Peter had already masturbated, once and his mother’s stocking soaked in his semen lay cooling on the bedside table. But he was frustrated. Two women in the house, one of whom he used to fuck two or three times a day and the other one teasing him he was sure.

He just couldn’t sleep so he decided to get up and take a nice hot bath; maybe that would put him to sleep. He tiptoed down to the bathroom carrying a candle so as not to wake the others sleeping in the house. He closed the door and ran the bath, throwing in some bath salts and some of his mother’s bubble bath. He eased himself into the near scalding water and lay flat, letting the water ease his tense muscles and envelope him with a feeling of wellbeing.

Peter closed his eyes and drifted away, feeling serene and secure.

The candle flickered and Peter heard the door creak, a miasma of perfume drifted to his nose, followed by the padding of feet on bare boards. The door clicked shut and Peter sensed his mother’s presence in the quiet room.

“Mom?” he whispered.

“Shh!” she didn’t want anyone waking.

Peter smiled and then her lips were on his mouth and her hand was searching the suds to find his manhood. She stifled a moan as he became fully erect when she touched him. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and began to stroke him, using the bath lotion to lubricate the swollen shaft as she worked her fingers along it and then curled them around his bulbous glans and squeezed.

He smothered a scream by pressing his lips hard against hers and driving his tongue into her. She pulled her face away from his; she wanted to see him come.

The first rope of milky spend spattered across her face, the second splattered on her breasts, the third spurted over the rim of the bathtub and fell on her thighs, soaking into her nylons and scalding her flesh.

“Oh my god it is as big as your father’s!” Millie squealed.

“It’s even bigger!” she sighed.

Peter opened his eyes and was shocked to see his aunt dressed in her usual bedroom attire of negligee and pantyhose kneeling beside the bath, stroking his manhood. He wanted her to stop but he also wanted her to continue; it felt so good and she looked so sexy with her blonde hair, now streaked with his issue, down on her bare shoulders, her heavy makeup; and for him tonight, red lipstick like his mother wore.

He reached inside the negligee and hefted her breasts, they were heavy and saggy but beautiful and he tweaked her nipples making her bite down to stifle a moan.

Peter got out of the bath, naked, covered in suds, his huge erection waggling in front him like a truncheon.

“Shh! Peter. Be quiet! We can talk about this tomorrow!” his aunt hissed, scared they would wake up Meg.

Peter said nothing; he had a determined look on his face that scared Millie.

He pressed her against the wall, his cock sliding across her thighs in the mess of his own making, his hands raking at her breasts, his mouth on hers, hot and hungry. She shuddered with fright and lust as her nephew pinned her against the wooden planks and pushed his cock between her plump thighs and up into her cunt, protected by a flimsy layer of nylon. He pushed harder and his cock burst through the sheer gusset and deep into his aunt’s cunt.

“Ung!” she gasped, the air knocked out of her.

Peter put his hands on his aunt’s shoulders and pushed downward, impaling her on his rampant tool, driving his cock as far into her as it would go, their pubises’ scraping together, the base of his cock grinding on her clitoris.

“You tell me if it’s as big as my daddy’s,” he hissed in her ear and then crushed her mouth with his again.

Millie put her arms around Peter’s neck and wrapped her legs around his waist; he put his hands under her buttocks to support her as he fucked her with her back pressed to the wall.

His warm wet skin on hers and his tongue in her mouth excited Millicent, but not as much as the thick hard poker he was driving in and out of her sodden cleft which clung to the flesh of his penis when he pulled out, then yielded to the weapon as he drove it back inside her.

His aunt’s cunt was as tight as mother’s, maybe tighter, she hadn’t had kids. Peter loved the way her cunt clutched at his cock as he fucked her, the tight sheath of her vagina enveloped his penis, squeezing it; caressing the tender flesh. Her tongue was like a dervish in his mouth, her breath sweet, her saliva delicious, even her lipstick tasted good. Her breasts pressed against his bare flesh, her nipples hard, digging into him like small hard berries. And those soft, sleek nylons against his flesh was heavenly… her silken-clad thighs and calves rubbed and caressed his skin, sending rockets of delight to his pleasure centres.

Peter filled Millie’s spongy tunnel with rock-hard pulsing flesh, driving it deep into her and grinding his pubis against her clitoris causing her to whimper obscenities into his mouth as her mauled her, his fingers dug into her buttocks, pulling her down hard onto his shaft as he fucked her viciously.

Aunt and nephew pawed, scratched and ground against each other attempting to illicit every scintilla of pleasure from their bodies.

Millie felt Peter’s cock swell up inside her and then begin to convulse and quiver as he shot a load of hot semen deep inside her cunt. She ground against writhing in pleasure as her orgasm wracked her body. Peter crushed her lips with his to muffle her cries as he jackhammered his cock in and out of her cunt, rivulets of his semen ran down her thighs and soaked into her nylons.

When Millie had finished writhing and howling like a banshee Peter held onto her and she clung to him, her hair dripping with sweat, her cunt sopping with her vaginal juices and her nephew’s ejaculate. Their kisses became less demanding, softer, almost sweet and tender. Peter kept her cradled in his arms and carried her to her bedroom and lay her on her bed.

He kissed her softly on the mouth.

She looked up at her nephew with new found respect and endearment. He was no boy; he was a better man than his father and she wanted to tell him so.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he whispered.

He closed the door to Millicent’s room and saw that the bed lamp was on his mother’s room.

Peter sighed and went into her room and closed the door. He smelled his mother’s perfume before he saw her bundled under the covers shaking with rage and crying.

He strode over to the bed and ripped off the bedclothes.

“Stop that blathering, put on your stockings and heels and service your son. Do your duty as a devoted mother should,” he ordered.

Meg stopped crying and looked up at her son standing naked in the moonlight, his muscles taut, his handsome face, his mighty cock still hard even after two orgasms.

She opened her arms and Peter dropped onto the bed and kissed his mother deeply.

“Put on your stockings and heels like I said. I need to feel myself inside you. I need to show you that I love you more than anything,” he whispered, stroking her cheek.

The next morning things were tense at breakfast and little was said. Peter made Millicent get out of bed early and get dressed and join them.

“You’re coming with me today Aunt Millicent,” Peter said authoritatively.

Before his mother could whine Peter cut her off.

“This has nothing to with last night mother; I need to talk to my aunt alone,” Peter said firmly.

Both women knew who was in control; who was the man of the house. Deep down both of them liked it; they wanted a man who behaved like a man, taking what he wanted but treating them with love and respect; protecting them.

Peter drove Millicent across the fields of corn and down the dusty track to the copse of trees where his father’s beat up pickup lay rusting and slowly disintegrating. He pulled away the branches that covered the cabin of the pickup and Millicent shivered when Peter pointed to the mound of dirt beside the rusting wreck.

“This is what happens to a man who can’t control his drinking and loses the love of his wife and the respect of his son,” Peter said gravely.

“Now that daddy’s gone I am the man of the house the farmhouse is my house and no one else’s; do you believe me Aunt Millicent?” Peter growled.

Millie nodded.

Peter took her by the shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes.

“There is room on this farm for another, if she is willing to behave appropriately and in the manner necessitated by me understand?”

Millie nodded again.

“I’m no yokel Millie. My mother educated me well, I’m hard working and I’m a good businessman. You can live comfortably here with mother and me. There would need to be some arrangement of course, but nothing that you two sister’s couldn’t sort out between you,” Peter stroked her cheek.

“Or you can leave but you can never tell anyone what you saw here today. I showed it to you so that you know how much I trust you,” Peter kissed her softly.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here. I’ll drop you back at the farmhouse and I’ll get back to work,” he began to throw the branches back over the mouldering truck.

As they drove past the creek Millie, who had been sitting demurely contemplating, sidled up to Peter and lifted his hand and put it on her leg. She put her hand down into his crotch and whispered in his ear.

“What kind of arrangement where you thinking of,” she playfully nipped his earlobe.

Peter pulled over and helped Millie out of the truck and tossed a throw rug on the grass under the shade of a big tree right beside the creek bank.

Millie tried to undress but Peter pulled her down on the blanket and hiked up her skirt.

“No time for shenanigans; I’ve got work to do. This will have to be quick,” he grunted as he nudged her legs apart and opened his flies.

Peter fell on his aunt and she wrapped her arms and legs around his as he poked at her crotch, easing aside her panties and ripping open her nylons.

He thrust himself in and out of his aunt as she hung onto her nephew, enjoying the rough, vigorous fuck. He came quickly and she came with him, kissing him passionately and holding him tight as she quivered with passion.

When they got back to the farmhouse he escorted Millicent to the door and pushed her inside where Meg was standing, arms folded.

“You women need to come sort of arrangement. I’ll be home when I’ve finished work at six and I expect to get what’s coming to me as usual,” Peter turned on the heels of his cowboy boots and walked out the door, closing it softly behind him, a smile began to grow on his face.

Should it be continued?

Michele Nylons – Trans Author

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