Laura of London

It was around 5pm on a dark winter afternoon. I was just about to begin my usual late-afternoon raid on the fridge when my aunt called out from the living room. I suppose she's still my aunt. She used to be married to my mother's brother. They broke up several years ago, but she and my mother have always stayed friends. And whenever my parents had to go away to one of their conferences, my aunt would normally move in to make sure I didn't get up to any mischief.

'James? Is that you?'

'Yeah,' I replied. 'I'm just going to make a sandwich.'

'Before you do that, I'd like you to come in here, please.'

'Can it wait?' I called back. 'I'm starving.'

'No it can't,' my aunt said firmly.

When I walked into the living room, the curtains were already drawn, shutting out the damp early evening, and there was a cosy glow coming from the fireplace. My aunt was sitting on the couch. She was dressed in a loose black skirt and a silky pink T-shirt top. Like the skirt, the shirt was loose-fitting and the silky material draped softly over her full breasts. On her lap there was a pile of magazines. I immediately recognised the magazine on the top of the pile as the Fiesta Readers' Wives Special I'd bought a few days earlier. Uh-oh.

'James, how old are you?' my aunt asked.

'Uh, eighteen,' I replied, trying not to look at the Readers' Wives Special.

'Don't you think that's a little young to be thinking about a wife?'

'I don't know what you, uh, what you mean,' I said, still trying not look at the magazine.

'Well,' my aunt said, 'I assume you mistook this magazine – which I found in your bedroom – for some sort of catalogue. You probably thought that it served much the same purpose as a clothing catalogue or a kitchenware catalogue. Is that right?'

I didn't know what to say. 'Well – well ...,' I stuttered.

'Just browsing? Seeing what's available?

'I just, um ... er ....'

'Let's have a look, shall we,' my aunt said. 'Why don't you come and sit here beside me and we'll see if we can work out why you might have a porn mag like this – because that's what it is, James. But then I think you know that. Come on,' she said, patting the sofa next to her. 'Come and sit here and let's see if we can work out what you were hoping to learn from this intriguing publication.'

What could I do? Except as I was told.

'You're very quiet, James,' my aunt said.

What did she expect? 'I ... I ... er ... I don't know what to say' I said.

My aunt opened the magazine and turned a couple of pages. 'Who do we have here?' she asked. 'Lyn of Bolton. An attractive young lady, wouldn't you say, James.'

'I suppose so,' I replied.

'A nice smile. Nice figure. Not too thin, not too fat. A nice bum. Do you like the look of Lyn of Bolton, James?'

I thought Lyn of Bolton looked hot, but that wasn't the sort of thing one said to one's aunt. 'She's quite nice, I suppose,' I finally mumbled.

'Quite nice? Yes. Rather underdressed for what appears to be a golf course, but quite nice. My aunt asked, turned the page. 'Louise of Leeds. And what do we think of Louise? A bit flat-chested perhaps? I suspect you prefer women who are a little more womanly don't you, James? Mind you, Louise does seem to be very proud of her vulva. Just look at the way she's showing it off. Just look at the way she's parting her puffy down-covered labia so that you get a good view of the pink inside. Tell me, James, how do you feel when you look at Louise lying there showing off her vulva?'

'I don't know,' I said very quietly.

'Does the sight of Louise and Lyn – and Charlotte here,' said my aunt turning to yet another provocatively reclining reader's wife, ' – does the sight of these sexually provocative women make you feel just a little bit horny perhaps? Does the sight of them cause your penis to stir? Is that what happens when you gaze on all this forbidden flesh?'

'I suppose so,' I said. What else could I say?

'Of course you suppose so,' my aunt said. 'And I would have been very disappointed if you didn't suppose so. It's only natural that the sight of these semi-naked women, displaying their breasts and vulvas, should make you feel aroused. That's the whole point of publications like this. And tell me, James, what do you do in your bedroom when you look at these women and become aroused?'

I could see where she was going but I didn't want to tell her what I really did. Instead I said: 'I don't know what you mean.'

'Oh, come now, I think you do,' my aunt said. 'I think you masturbate. I think you take your erect penis in hand and rub it or stroke it or pump it – or whatever your personal preference is – until you reach an orgasm and ejaculate. That's what I think. Am I right, James?'

'I suppose so,' I said.

'You don't seem very sure of any of this,' my aunt said. 'Do you have an erection at the moment?'

Did I ever. I bet she could see it. 'Sort of,' I said.

'Yes,' my aunt said, 'I should think you would have. Stand up and let's see what you've got.'

Talk about embarrassing. 'You don't mean ...' I said.

'Come on,' my aunt said. 'No need to be shy. I am your aunt, for goodness sake. Let's see what effect Louise of Leeds and her sisters are having. Down with those trousers.'

Reluctantly, I got to my feet, unbuckled my belt and hesitantly unzipped my jeans, hoping all the time that she would say 'No, it's OK, I was just joking.' But she didn't. Instead she started to reach towards me.

'Oh, come here,' she said with a hint of impatience. And, before I knew what was happening, she had pulled my jeans and boxers down to my knees. I hoped my embarrassment would cause my cock to go soft again, but it didn't. 'Well, well. Very nice,' she said. 'Very nice indeed. I'm sure that Louise of Leeds would approve of this.' And then she said: 'Is that what you think about went you masturbate, James – that you are sliding that fine erect cock into Louise's moist pink pussy? Actually, I'm saying Louise of Leeds,' she continued, 'but perhaps Louise is not your favourite. Perhaps there is someone else in here that you prefer. Who is your favourite, James? Louise? Or is it someone else?'

Louise of Leeds certainly did it for me, but I wasn't about to admit that to my aunt. 'I don't really know,' I said, stalling.

'I can see what you mean,' my aunt said. 'There are certainly many fine women to choose from. Why don't we go though them together and see which ones turn you on the most. And perhaps while you're turning the pages, I could gently stroke this fine cock of yours. Would you like that, James?'

Was she really saying what I thought she was saying? Was she really saying that we were going to flick through Readers Wives together and she was going to jerk me off? I should have said no. But that wouldn't have been what I was really thinking. Would I like it? 'Yes,' I said in a strange husky voice that I didn't quite recognise.

'Yes, I thought you would,' she said.

I sat back down beside her and together we studied the pictures. As each page turn revealed another reader's wife or girlfriend, my aunt quietly commented on the women's finer features. 'Marlene certainly has nice shapely buttocks. And, look, how she's spreading them to show us her rosebud anus. Does that excite you just a little bit, James? And who's this? Sandra. Sandra certainly has a prolific bush,' she said. 'Are you turned on by Sandra's bushy bush, James? Or do you prefer Christine's artistically trimmed strip of thatch?' And all the time she continued to slowly run her fingers up and down my erect shaft.

After about five minutes, my aunt suddenly put the magazine aside and looked me straight in the eye. 'You know,' she said softly, 'I think the one you really want to look at is Laura of London.'

Who was Laura of London? I certainly didn't recall a Laura of London.

'Me,' she said. 'That's who you really want to see, isn't it, James?'

God! How did she know? Again, I should have said no. But, again, that would not have been true. I just nodded.

'Very well,' she said.

Next thing, my aunt stood up, unfastened her skirt and let it fall to the ground. Stepping away from the skirt, she crossed her arms, grasped the hem of her silky pink T-shirt and pulled it over her head. 'Laura of London,' she announced with a toss of her head. There she stood in front of me – her 18 year old sort-of-nephew – wearing just her shoes, a lacy bra the colour of milky coffee and matching high-cut knickers. She looked fantastic. 'More?' she asked as she rearranged the front of her knickers in a futile effort to cover some escaped pubic hairs.

Oh yes. I certainly wanted more. I tried to say something but no words came out. A nod was all I could manage.

'Yes, I thought so,' she said. Reaching behind her back, she next unclasped her bra and slipped the straps first over one shoulder and then over the other. She paused, teasingly, for a moment or two. Then, as I watched, the bra fell away to reveal my aunt's full womanly breasts. 'A little bit of sag,' she said, 'But not bad for a woman in her 40s.'

No, not bad at all. 'Nice,' I said.

'Thank you,' she said. 'I'm glad you like them. As you can see from my nipples, this situation is not entirely unpleasant for me either.' Next she hooked her thumbs into the top of her satin and lace knickers and pushed them down just far enough to reveal a hint of her untrimmed bush. I couldn't quite believe what was happening. 'More?' she asked.

Again, I nodded.

For a moment or two she just stood there, teasing me, her thumbs still hooked into the top of her knickers. 'Are you sure?' she asked. And then, slowly, she pushed the knickers down to just above her knees. From there she allowed them to fall to the carpet. My aunt was standing in front of me, totally naked, a three-dimensional, flesh and blood version of Lyn of Bolton or Louise of Leeds – except this was Laura of London.

'How would you like me?' she asked. 'Like this?' And she sat in the chair opposite, her knees neatly together, her hands neatly placed on her knees. 'No, probably not,' she said. 'Perhaps more like this.' She allowed one leg to fall sideways, revealing a tantalising glimpse of her slightly puffy pussy. 'No,' she said again. 'That's probably not right either. Laura of London should probably be something like this.' Sliding forward to the edge of the chair, she opened her legs wide and, reaching down with the forefinger and index finger of her right hand, slowly spread the outer lips of her pussy just enough to reveal a delicious pink interior. 'How is this?' she enquired.

It was all too much for me. I tried to hang on, but my body shuddered, my eyes half closed and a stifled cry came from my mouth. Another shudder and a stream – an absolute gush – of milky semen shot from my twitching cock.

'I'll take that as a sign of approval,' my aunt said.

After a few moments, my erect cock began to subside. It was time to be sensible. I began to pull up my jeans.

'No, no,' Laura said. 'Take them off.'

'But ...' I said.

'No buts,' Laura said. 'Take them off and sit on the couch.'

I did as he was told. Laura pushed my knees apart and knelt between them. With her right hand she swept her hair back and with her left she took hold of my half-hard cock. Slowly she licked the glistening semen from the tip as though she was tasting an ice cream. It felt fantastic. Next she put the whole end of my cock in her mouth and began to massage it with her tongue. It felt even more fantastic. Sue Thompson had sucked my cock a few times, but this was something else. After a couple of minutes my cock was almost erect again.

'Now it's my turn,' Laura said getting to her feet and motioning me to change places. 'You do know what to do, don't you, James.'

'I think so,' I said, with growing confidence.

Laura returned to her position on the edge of the seat and once again spread her thighs. I took up her position kneeling between her knees and gently began to explore the moist pink crevice before me. 'Oh, yes,' murmured Laura. 'Now use your tongue.'

I did as I was told.

For the next five minutes or so, I licked and flicked and sucked my aunt's warm and wet pussy. It tasted fantastic. It smelled fantastic. It felt fantastic. 'You know, James, for a beginner – relatively speaking – you're not too bad,' Laura said between little sighs and moans. 'Not too bad at all. In fact, I think the time has come for your reward. Are you ready? Are you ready to slip that fine cock of yours into a real woman?'

I stopped licking and flicking and looked at her warm, wet, pink pussy surrounded by a profusion of dark, damp hair. Oh yes, I was ready. I nodded. 'I think so,' I said.

'Yes, I think so too,' Laura said.

Grabbing my now rigid cock in my hand, I guided it towards the wet entrance to my aunt's now not-so-secret secret tunnel.

'Whoa, tiger!' she said. 'All in good time. That'll be live ammunition you're firing and we don't want you to end up as the father of your own cousin. You'll need one of these.' And she slipped her hand down beside the cushion of the sofa and pulled out a foil covered condom. Deftly she opened the tiny packet, removed the condom and rolled it down over my hard, pulsating cock. Then she perched herself on the rolled arm of the sofa with one foot resting on the floor and the other on the seat. 'Now we're ready,' she said.

The feeling as I slid my latex-clad cock into my first real live cunt was unbelievable. I pushed in a couple of inches and felt my aunt's love tunnel first open and then squeeze tightly around my cock. I pushed a little further. The heat inside her was amazing: she wasn't just warm, she was hot!

'How does that feel?' she asked softly.

'Fantastic,' I replied.

'Then fuck me,' she said. 'Fuck me hard.'

And, for a short while at least, I did. But then, it all became too much: the sight, the sound and the heady aroma of mature pussy – and I guess the fact that it was my aunt – and, for the second time in half an hour, my cock exploded.

When we had finished, I asked my aunt if we would be able to do it again on another occasion.

'No, James,' she said.

'Why?' I asked.

'Because, as far as I'm concerned, we didn't do it the first time. Tomorrow morning you will wake up and it will all have been a dream. It will all have been a fantasy, a figment of your over-active mind, stimulated by the women in your magazines.'

As it turned out, Aunt Laura was wrong. Very wrong. But that's another story for another time.