“Come here, mum,” I told her again.
She shook her head. “No, I said I wanted to watch.” Her thumb strummed her clit when she said it, a grimace of what I took to be absolute joy twisting her face.
“Oh, fuck,” Brooke moaned, claiming my focus as she continued to rut. “Play with my bottom, Alan,” she said through a gasp. “Tickle my arse.”
I used my aunt’s own lust to lubricate a finger, smearing the buttery gloop from my cock so I could spread it over her sphincter. Brooke snorted and groaned when I teased her back there. “God, that’s lovely,” she told me, eyes lit up with mischief. “Slide it in. Finger my dirty-hole, Alan. Fuck my cunt and diddle my arsehole.”
It was trademark Brooke. Typical sewer-mouthed filth. A sign she was working up to a climax.
In response, I pushed the tip of the finger against her body’s natural resistance. I knew just what to say, just how to tease her for her maximum pleasure and, as I slid the finger past her slippery ring, I whispered out, “I should fuck you there, Aunty Brooke. I should fuck your arse.”
“You dirty fucker,” she groaned as she ducked in to kiss my mouth.
We kissed, which is about my favourite thing to do while fucking either my aunt or my mother. For me, the kissing is an expression of feeling even more intimate than being inside them. It’s a connection. Personal. A means to communicate love. And I do love my aunt, the sex just makes it more special between us.
When the kiss broke, Brooke slowed the tempo. She rose up-and-down, gently using her sex, a hand going behind so she could splay her cheeks.
“Dig that finger in deep,” my aunt said with a smile.
I probed her rectum and held her stare, her pussy gliding over my shaft while time hung suspended.
“I love you,” I whispered.
Aunt Brooke paused and then smiled, soft and tender. “I love you, too,” she told me before she kissed me again.
It got more urgent between us as that kiss went on, my aunt starting to ride with more vigorous action, the dirty-talk spilling from her mouth as she closed her eyes and concentrated on getting her climax.
“Fuck me, Alan,” gurgled Aunt Brooke. “I’ve been waiting for this all fucking day. Make it good for me, baby. Let me ride you. Get that finger right into my arsehole. Stir it up back there.”
The sex noises came out of my aunt in a babble of nonsense obscenities, our bodies slap-thwacking together while I slid my free hand over her body. Her skin felt so smooth under my palm, the texture of a healthy young woman, muscles firm, her breasts and buttocks taut yet pliant with that peculiar spongy softness of a female body in its prime.
The sounds Brooke made were a sign she was close. She muttered and mumbled the foul profanities, lost in her joy, a hand down between her legs so she could go at her bean and, as Brooke diddled and I worked the finger into her anus, I looked towards the chair where I expected to see my mother still using her fingers while watching me and my aunt. But when I looked over, my mother had moved. Now she was standing close by, her hand between her thighs, the hem of the diaphanous negligee draped over her wrist.