Jeri Ryan Ch. 02

Chapter 2: Testing, testing: one, two, three (holes, that is)

Just after nine o'clock Ruslan rolled out of bed and did a straight set of one hundred sit-ups. Next he stepped into the shower. The water was steaming and cleansing (the dried cum on his belly vanished in seconds) but not even the heat or the exercise could cleanse his mind of the dirty thoughts that still plagued his mind. Not even five hours ago he had been caught up in a firestorm of nasty, raging circumstances that had led to him jerking off while thinking of his aunt....

Things could not have been more confusing. He hadn't given any thought to all of the pussy he wasn't able to tap since skipping the club. When he shut his eyes he didn't think of the young honeys swaying their bodies to the heavy beat of a club song, he saw only the sway of his aunts nipples as she walked in the mist of the pool. He didn't think about what young slut he could have bent over the hood of a car, he though only about the expressions on Jeri's face as she climbed to the peak of orgasm.

The images of her toying with herself beneath the water moved behind his eyelids like a lucid dream. He could smell the chlorine again and feel the leaves of the bush against his skin...

He shuddered and shut off the shower before he was tempted to rub out another batch.

He dressed as quickly as he could, ran his clippers over his scalp and shaved his jaw. To further take his mind off his aunt's swaying hips he did an additional two hundred sit ups. Like a morning fog his aunt slowly faded from his mind, with each pant and grunt it became apparent to Ruslan that he would be able to push through the perverted memories.

Smiling, he slung a loose Nike shirt over his torso and tugged on a pair of checkered shorts that were baggy and held on his narrow waist with elastic.

He stepped into a pair of flip flops and walked confidently from the step of his guest house, past the hot tub (still doing good,) and even managed to get as far as the kitchen door before he had to stop and lean against the wall.

Jeri was sitting at the kitchen table, golden hair tied up loosely; bits of it fell down her curved forehead and around her ears.

Fuck.

His eyes shut tightly and he clenched his fists, thinking that if he forced hard enough he might will his cock to ignore the fact that her bathrobe was splayed open and he could see the tops of her breasts and how they were catching the full stroke of morning light.

He shook his head like a quarterback shaking off a sack and unclenched his fists, stepped around the doorway and through the threshold.

"Good morning, Ruslan," she smiled through a piece of red fruit, the juice of which was making her mouth look unsettlingly like the blushing wet lips of an aroused pussy. "Sleep okay?"

He nodded, stiffly at first but found her body language to be calming...there wasn't a reason to worry was there? She didn't see him.

She asked him if he wanted anything for breakfast, "I usually only eat fruit and bran cereal, I'll have Rosemont pick up some sugary cereals today."

"Fruit is fine," Ruslan insisted, sitting across from her. The table was just a small circle of polished (to a mirror-like sheen) oak and he mistakenly bumped her shin as he sat. "Sorry."

"No worries," she smiled, nibbling on another cut of fruit.

He ate in silence, keeping his head down. This proved to be no help however because of the reflective nature of the tabletop. No matter where he looked he had to look at his aunt, and simply looking at her brought up the torrent of arousing images from the night before.

"I'm going to the sunroom," she said abruptly, standing and adjusting the lapel of her bathrobe. "I like to hang out there in the morning when the light hits it. Leave whatever you use, it'll get cleaned up."

She walked out of the room, bare feet padding softly on the tile. Ruslan watched her go and pushed aside the fruit, hunger was the farthest thing from his mind.

Something was bothering him. Something threatening.

With ears straining he moved to the open doorway and listened for the sound of the sunrooms French doors closing.

Click.

He was off down the hall, grabbing the great banister and ascending the stairs so fast he nearly tripped at the top. Down the hall, he counted the windows as he walked. There it was. Her bedroom.

The door was ajar almost as far as the hinges would allow and he passed into the room with only the quickest of backward glances. The bed was unmade, a bunch of small pillows were on the floor beside a crumpled up black nightie. Past the bed and around the corner was the closet he had lost her in the night before.

His fears suddenly became completely and horrifically true.

The pulsing white aura was not a night lamp. It was television screens.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He was desperate, shoving aside hanging clothes and finding a central control panel. Dials, buttons and toggles, numbered screens and DVD trays.

It all reminded him of a Las Vegas surveillance room. With anxious fingertips he pushed the power buttons on all the screens, watching the outside world flash into existence in front of him. There were only three video monitors, but a row of buttons below them suggested there were probably ten cameras.

With rising panic he hit the first button, then the second, faster with the third. The pool flashed to life with the fourth, the time stamp matched his watch almost to the second.

His finger hovered over the tenth and final button. It clicked softly as he pressed it.

The bed he had slept in flared onto the screen, every single pixel lashing out at his senses like a whip.

Slowly, painfully, he reached for the dial marked REWIND. In front of his eyes time rolled backwards. Suddenly he was on the screen, doing sit-ups like a mad man, and then he rolled up through the air to the mattress. Then he was tossing and turning, blankets coiling around his legs and pillows being unknowingly shoved off the bed.

And then he was masturbating...

He closed his eyes, feeling the gravity of defeat pulling his pulsing heart into his stomach.

She had seen him...all of him.

Another click, the sound of a door closing. She's come back to change, he thought, whipping around.

Before he had totally turned Jeri was shoving him. She was no weak woman, her shoulders were strong and her arms were toned, with the right angle and a little effort she shoved her nephew against the wall of the closet. He fell against her dresses and hanging delicates, hitting his head on an overhead rack holding boxes of shoes.

"What the fuck," she yelled, "do you think you're doing?"

The boxes of shoes fell, sandals and pumps and cross trainers and sneakers raining on his shoulders and head.

He was speechless; his muscles wouldn't operate in the way his brain telling them too. Run, you stupid motherfucker, run!

Jeri grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him through the clothes and tripping him up at the same time. He collapsed against the far wall of the closet, a familiar object dug into his ribs.

A door handle.

He clutched at the knob and pushed through into a great marble bathroom. Like a wounded dog he pulled himself along, away from the reaching hands of his furious aunt.

"Please," he couched into the cold stone floor, "Let me go."

She didn't respond. The door closed and the knob clicked.

Thunderfuck, Ruslan thought, holding his busied rib, Shit licking cunt fuck!

The bathroom was windowless except for two wide skylights almost ten feet above his head. There was no escaping.

Stumbling to his feet and reaching for doorknob only confirmed the sound he had heard. It was locked from the outside. "Jeri," he yelled through the wood, "Jeri!"

He listened but he could only hear his own heart. He yelled again and this time he though he heard the sound of wood scraping on wood.

How did I end up here? He though, banging an open palm against the door, is she calling the police?

If she had the tape of the pool she had to have seen him in the bushes. That was enough evidence, wasn't it? Maybe not. And she had been watching him masturbate. She'll erase that DVD, stupid, he told himself. You're fucked; fucked with a mother fucking boat oar.

The door jarred open without warning, slinging his 178-pound body back onto the marble. Jeri stepped through the door; a red aerosol can in one hand and a cloth bag in the other.

"Don't move," she barked, leveling the can at his face. Mace. "I'll fry your fucking eyes."

He was motionless. She pushed the door closed with a foot and tossed the cloth bag on the countertop. A set of handcuffs slid out and onto the floor.

Ruslan knew in that instant that he was in deep shit.

From under the far end of the counter she pulled out a tall stainless steel stool with a tall, narrow back. It was the stool she sat in when she was painting makeup on her face...

"Sit," she barked with an emphatic wave of her mace can, "And don't try anything."

He sat, she picked up the handcuffs, "Through the back rest," she ordered. He looked at the glimmering restraints in his lap and fought the order. She didn't waste any time in letting out a spray of mace onto his bare thigh. The pungent odor stung his eyes, despite being so far away, vapor and liquid turned his skin red.

She repeated the order. This time he laced the cuffs through the center post and clipped his hands in.

His aunt inspected the tightness and didn't complain. Still holding the mace she reached for the bag. He thought of kicking her into the counter and running but he knew deep down he wouldn't get down the stairs without cracking his head open.

Two more sets of cuffs appeared in her hand and she cuffed his left ankle to the back leg of the stool and then the right.

Ruslan sat there, panting slightly and wincing still from his rib and the back of his head and the mace. In the past five minutes his aunt had laid a whooping into him that would have made his father proud. She wasn't even panting, not even a strand of hair seemed out of place.

She sat on the corner of the toilet and folded a leg over the other. "How's your head."

"Split."

"You want an aspirin?"

"No. I want to fucking leave."

"Leave?" Jeri laughed, turning the can of mace over in her hands, "You're a little pervert, why shouldn't I turn you in to the cops? I have a couple friends with badges who would be happy to rough you up. Teach you a lesson about spying on ladies."

"You were in the pool," Ruslan argued, "Anyone could have seen you."

To this she frowned and then shrugged her shoulders indifferently, "I can leave that part out. On tape you look just like a peeping tom."

"I'm sorry," Ruslan hung his head, not finding the courage to hold her gaze.

She grunted softly and put the can down next to her feet. "I feel violated." She lied. Of course she didn't, she couldn't be more turned on, but it would not do to have Ruslan know that. "And now we're going to have to replace the sheets and comforter in the guest house. Couldn't you have used a sock or something, you dirty boy. Creaming all over yourself and rolling around like a pig in shit...what would your mother think?"

"You watched me?"

She moaned and bobbed her head, then stepped from the toilet and in two strides was face to face with Ruslan, her nose just a cunt hair away from his. "I watched every minute of it. Every disquieting perverted minute." A wide, brilliant smile grew on her lips, wider still when Ruslan raised his eyes to fixate on hers. Her voice was getting very husky, completely losing all of the angry edge it had been possessed with only a moment before. "You are a sick boy."

The pale blue of her eyes flashed with an inner light that could have been taken for any number of emotions. Ruslan pegged it as anger, but in reality it was the purest, most untamed form of lust.

His aunt stared him down, thinking of the way her mind hadn't been able to stop thinking about this boy and the way his face was so cute and his body so tight and his cock so fucking huge. Angry rock music played in her head as she thought of all this, putting her in a state of prime heat...

His face was hard, bordering on rage. Did he think he could talk his way out of this situation? Was he going to try to flash that fucking fantastic smile at her, warm her heart into letting him go?

In a flash she snarled at him, wolf-like and wild, snapping her teeth just millimeters from his lips. He didn't flinch.

She smiled inwardly; he's a real man then. He doesn't scare like a little shit.

She straightened and left the bathroom, leaving Ruslan to stew. Five minutes later she came back with a pair of scissors from the kitchen.

"Do you know what I want from you?" She asked, clicking the door shut for the final time. He shook his head. "I want hear why you were pulling at your cock after watching me swim."

Ruslan didn't care about shame now, things had escalated too far. He flashed his dazzling smile, "Because you're fucking hot." And then adding, "I'm just a boy, I can't help it."

"You can't help it?" she scoffed, trailing the tip of the scissors up his shin and knee. The point scrapped the skin, leaving a thin white trail. "You're just a boy?" The tips of the scissors continued slowly up his thigh, then past the hem of his shorts. "I'm fucking hot?" She spat the last word as if it tasted like bug repellent, "I'm your aunt."

"You're a piece of ass," Ruslan argued, keeping his smile pressed on his lips, "I can see why mom didn't want me coming here."

Snip.

He looked down to where a long slit had been cut in his shorts.

Snip, snip.

He watched helplessly as his shorts began to fall away from his lap.

"You're a liar," Jeri shook her head.

"About what?"

"You're not a boy," she smiled, making her final, slow cut, "Boys don't have cocks the size of rolling pins."

Despite himself Ruslan chuckled deep in his throat.

Jeri's smile glowed a little bit brighter.

There it was, laid out flat in his lap as if it were on a platter. Even limp it was a thick and long tube of muscle, the video monitor had indeed not done it justice.

With strong fingers she pulled the fabric out from under his ass and tossed it to the floor. A second later his shirt joined it, torn to shreds.

"I'm naked," he observed quite plainly, "Why the fuck am I naked?"

"You got to see me," Jeri reasoned, waving her scissors, "It only seems fair."

"You watched me jerk off," Ruslan reminded her, "I would have thought that would be enough."

"It's not the same," her smile turned to a pout, "But I tied your hands, how am I going to have any fun with you if you can't play with me?"

He didn't answer the posed question, which was fine because Jeri didn't really want one. "Tell me," she started, "You like to fuck girls, right?"

"Yeah, of course. That's why I came here."

"Hmm. Has a girl ever fucked you?"

Ruslan was taken aback, brain stalled by the seemingly insignificant question. No, he supposed, a girl had never fucked him.

Jeri smiled at him. "So you're the suave, sexy guy, right? The kind of man who lures girls across the club with a smile? I bet they all fall for it too, I bet they all walk right over and hand you their panties. Then you take them back; fuck 'em and kick 'em out of the bed?"

He slowly nodded.

"You're despicable."

He shrugged. The handcuffs clinked on the bars of the stool. Jeri's eyes fell down to his lap, basking in the sight of his magnificent dick. He was very strong in the abs, even his thighs, now that she was looking, and all that muscle and young skin served to frame that wonderful organ in the best possible way. He was mostly hairless and the foreskin was obviously clipped.

She put the scissors down on the counter top next to the sink and put her hands on his knees. He didn't even buck.

"I'm going to rape you." She said in a plain, cold voice. His eyes didn't even blink. She continued, "I'm going to keep you locked in this bathroom and torment and corrupt you until you're no longer a cute, sexy little woman killer. You're going to be a fucking man, a sexually educated and seasoned fucker. I'm going to fuck and suck and command you and you're going to forget I'm your aunt and I'm going to forget you're my nephew. You will be a game to me, do you understand? I will make you hard with my body and I will conquer your dick with every one of my holes. Do you understand?"

"No," he snorted, "I'm already a fucking god in the sack. "

"You're not even an amateur," she shook her head with a patronizing grin. Her lips were moving so close to his that they brushed together on almost every syllable. He was quiet after that remark, possibly because at that moment all the blood flowing to his cock temporarily starved his brain.

She pushed his knees apart and the hardening cock rolled lazily between his thighs and dangled off the edge of the stool. She looked down, a forehead full of her curls blocking out Ruslans vision. His head was growing quickly. It was thicker than the rest of his shaft and as smooth as a cue ball, a light shade of pink and decorated with a large elliptical hole. The base of the head curled under like a mushroom and gave way to more smooth cock. There were only three veins that she could see, but then again he wasn't raging hard yet.

Soon.

She looked back up at her nephew, "I'm making you hard," she breathed against his lips, "I'm barley even touching you, but you just can't help it can you?"

He kept his lips tightly pursed. She moved her neck only a sliver to kiss him. He didn't respond.

She backed off, realizing it was too soft an approach.

With an open palm she smacked the top of his cock, "Don't you dare fucking get hard, I'm your aunt!"

Ruslan shrugged boyishly.

She smacked him again, this time the great mass of flesh didn't come to rest on his thighs, it stayed airborne, waving at her like an angry howitzer cannon.

"Suck it," he told her defiantly, "See if you can do what you think you can. I bet you a million bucks you start complaining of a sore jaw and give up. Most girls do."

If he had been keeping track of his sex life he would have found that only five percent of it had been oral. Hand jobs were just so much easier.

Her eyes flared with anger and she hit him in the mouth and split a lip.

"You don't seem to understand how this works," she smiled at the stunned expression which finally marked his face. "You need to shut up."

He didn't say another word.

Turning, she brought a bath mat from a cubby in the wall. At his feet she spread the thick shag rug and lowered herself to her knees. He smiled. She tugged at his balls, hard.

"Fuck!" He groaned after just a few seconds of the torture. She let them go, watching the great sack snap back up to his shaft. She asked him if that had hurt and he managed a nod.

She smiled and then leisurely wrapped a fist around his cock. She could have made her fingers completely circle his cock if she had squeezed hard enough, but it didn't make sense to do so.

Her fingers found a comfortable place, splayed wide as if she was holding the back end of a giant pool cue.

She pumped once, feeling her thumb glide up the smooth valley beneath his crown. She shuddered reverently; it was no wonder to her that most girls couldn't get this thing down their throats.

Ruslan watched in bewildered reproach as his aunt continued to slowly fist fuck him. He had argued with many people on many different topics in his life: religion, alternative life styles, drug use...but he could never argue with himself when it came to sexual stimulation.