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  • Thunder Threatens Ch. 01

Thunder Threatens Ch. 01

12

Thankfully the hosts of the party had a decent sized garden. It was a hot, humid August evening. The heat had become increasingly oppressive through the day and even the faintest movement seemed to send a trickle of perspiration down the back. To be inside would have been unbearable. Even outside his shirt was sticking to part of his back, and his armpits were damp.

Pete attempted to be sociable but the fact that his aunt was the only person he knew, along with his slightly reserved personality meant that it did not come naturally. There was another issue, too.

The last few occasions when he had seen his Aunt Jo he had begun to feel sexually attracted to her. It was wrong, he knew – after all, she was his father's forty-four year old sister. But whatever she was wearing she always seemed smart and attractive. Her brown hair was fairly short and beginning to fleck slightly with grey, but it was always well groomed. Even this added to her appeal in his mind - his aunt clearly took pride in her appearance and made the most of it. She she was still slim, too.

She was also naturally tanned. She enjoyed being out in the sun and as well as her tanned skin she also sported quite a lot of freckles on her shoulders. Her breasts were smaller than he usually liked, but they looked firm and in proportion to the rest of her. Her legs looked good, too. They had lost some shape over the years but they were not fat and still looked good.

His aunt was facially attractive as well. She had recently needed spectacles and the designer frames that she had chosen gave her a distinguished air. Pete was twenty-one years old. He had had several girlfriends and considered himself to have average sexual experience for his age. He had often found older women sexy, but not to the extent that his aunt had begun to make him feel.

Oddly, he found her voice one of the sexiest things about her. She spoke and laughed softy but her voice had a slight throatiness to its sound, not quite husky, but something like it. To Pete, especially when his inappropriate thoughts about his aunt came to his mind, it made her sound very intimate and sexy.

He had not seen her for many months but she had invited him to come and stay with her for a few days and catch up with her now that he had graduated from college. He found it very arousing to be alone with her. When he knew she was dressing, undressing or showering he was almost painfully conscious that only a thin wall separated them and screened her nakedness from his view.

Out of genuine respect for her he tried to avoid leering at her, but it was hard not to. He tried to satisfy himself with fleeting, secretive glances. Once or twice she seemed to catch his wandering eye, but if so she said nothing. He hoped that she did not spot his frequent hard-ons.

This evening at the party, with other people around, it was even more difficult. He had to be really careful to avoid looking at her in "that" way altogether so as not to be spotted by other guests.

His Aunt Jo was wearing a cotton top with a small floral pattern and elasticated vertical pleats. It was sleeveless and bared her shoulders, apart from two narrow straps. She also had on a grey, calf-length cotton skirt. It fitted loosely but in some ways it was more alluring than if it had been tighter. Sometimes when she moved her skirt hugged her thighs, even sometimes hinting at the line of her crotch. The shape of her small breasts showed against her pretty top, too, and she was clearly not wearing a bra.

To be dressed like this was not exactly brazen; her breasts were small and were supported adequately by the elasticated pleats of her top so that they moved little. Besides, it had been hot and humid all day, and it made sense to dress accordingly. And although she was single at present, Pete knew that she was not the sort of woman to flaunt herself.

But in his state of arousal her bra-lessness seemed highly erotic. It was as if whilst appearing to be innocent she was in reality inviting attention from the men at the party – all of whom were married or at least "attached". Pete knew that this was not the case and was simply his imagination. But it was a nice thought to play with, and the fact that it was purely in his own mind didn't diminish the strength of his lust.

He noticed several blokes looking at his aunt's breasts and running their eyes over her grey skirt, too, watching the way it moved with her, and trying to make out the line of her legs, her hips, her backside through it. In Pete's mind it made his aunt seem a tease, and it made him feel horny to see other blokes checking her out.

The hot, sticky air made him uncomfortable, and was beginning to give him a headache. He was perspiring, and so were most other people. He noticed beads of perspiration glistening on his aunt's shoulders and above the neckline of her top. Inexplicably it seemed very erotic.

"We need a good storm to clear the air," one man commented to Pete, as he wafted his hand in front of his face.

Pete's Aunt Jo was nearby. She winced visibly.

"Don't say that – I hate thunderstorms," she replied. "Ever since I was a girl. We were staying with my grandmother and there was a storm, a really bad one in the middle of he night. The chimney pot crashed onto the roof of the house, I was screaming in my bed, terrified, thinking the whole house was going to cave in on me, my mum and dad were with me in moments but I've never got over the shock. I don't know whether it got struck by lightning or whether it was the vibration of the thunder that did it, but it's the same difference – it absolutely terrified me for life."

She spoke quicker than normal, running her words together, and her voice quavered with emotion. The bloke who had wished for a storm was visibly embarrassed by her distress. He mumbled that there probably wouldn't be one in their area and moved away to speak to someone else.

It got late and one by one the guests at the party began to drift away. Pete and his Aunt Jo also left. Her friends wished them goodnight. The party was only a couple of streets away from his aunt's house and they walked back.

This was the last evening of his stay with her, and as he was due to drive home the next day he was more or less sober. His aunt, on the other hand, while far from being off her head, was a little unsteady on her feet. She giggled from time to time, too, and leaned on his arm for support. As they walked home the warmth and weight of her body pressing against him stirred his desire. So did the way her skirt moved as she walked. Her arm was slightly sweaty against his.

They walked up the driveway to her front door. She bent over her handbag and rummaged for her door key. He could not help glancing down her top at her small, partly revealed breasts as her top gaped open a little. She giggled again and passed him the key. He unlocked the door and let her in ahead of him. Partly this was courtesy. Partly, if he were honest, it was so that he could watch her skirt swing and sway as she entered the house and headed into the lounge.

She flopped into her armchair and smiled.

"Sorry, Pete. I don't often drink. I'm not wrecked but it's definitely gone to my head."

Her speech was slightly slurred. One of the straps of her elasticated top had slid off her shoulder. She seemed not to notice, and after all it was a seemingly insignificant thing. But it took on a sexual imagery in Pete's mind with an intensity that surprised him. Each moment that passed she made no attempt to retrieve it and in his head it took on a symbol of innocence combined with a hint of implied invitation. Her pretty floral top remained in place but he glanced again and again at the loose, narrow strap across her upper arm and at her bared, freckled shoulders.

His arousal added to the uncomfortable warmth and humidity and he felt almost light-headed.

"Would you like a drink of coffee, Auntie?" he asked her, conscious that he had to say and do something to stop himself leering at her.

"Ooh, yes please, Pete. Some of that fresh coffee would be nicer than instant. Fairly strong, please."

"Sure..."

"Do... do you think we will have a thunderstorm Pete?"

"I... I dunno, Auntie. Don't worry about it..."

He had intended to say that there was no need for her to worry because he was there with her, but stopped himself. It seemed too intimate and suggestive a thing to say.

"Thanks. Is it just me, or is it unbearably hot? I'M certainly hot!"

She fanned her hand in front of her face. He found his gaze drawn to her small, firm looking breasts under the elasticated pleats of her strappy top. The top of her shallow cleft was just visible. A shudder of excitement ran through him.

He knew that she intended no double-entendre, but her words aroused him. He felt like saying, "Yes, Aunt Jo, you ARE certainly hot. Whatever the weather! And I know I'm hot FOR you!"

But, of course, he didn't say it. He simply walked to the kitchen. As he went he wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

He glanced back at her from the kitchen doorway. He saw her hitch her skirt hem up from her calves to just below her knees. Again it was an innocent act, and after all he had seen her legs to her knees before. But this was different. He had seen her in the act of baring her legs, almost as if part stripping before him and for his benefit. He wiped his brow again, and as he stepped out of sight he rubbed his tingling groin through his chinos.

He glanced round the doorway again and his gaze flitted from her bared shoulders and the carefree, slipped strap of her dress to her bared legs. They were long and, though not slender, were not fat either. He felt himself flush with excitement at the view. She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a wide yawn. She removed her spectacles and put them on the coffee table.

As he rinsed out the cafetiere and waited for the kettle to boil he tried to divert his mind from his aunt, conscious of his growing hardness. However much he tried he could not help thinking about her, though. Increasingly during his stay he had found himself glancing often at her forty-four year old but sexy body in her smart clothes. He found himself masturbating to mental images of her, too. Her being his aunt made him feel guilty, but also strangely excited. Tonight was worse than ever. Maybe it was as well that he was going home the next day, he told himself.

He looked round the doorway and was about to speak when he noticed that her head was at an angle. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was slightly open. He stepped quietly into the lounge and, sure enough, she had dozed off. Her breathing evidenced it.

Her face was flushed with the heat, and her brow, her neck, and the inside of her elbows were beaded with perspiration. Her legs were slightly parted and her grey skirt was still hiked up to her knees. It lay in loose, soft, alluring folds across her thighs. Her small breasts rose and fell enticingly under her floral top. He looked more closely at her breasts and admired their shape and size, unhindered by a bra, and partly hugged by the elasticated cotton.

Again he looked at the slipped shoulder strap, her hiked-up skirt baring her legs to her knees, and the tanned, freckled skin of her shoulders and above her neckline. The knowledge was tantalising that under her top her breasts - the breasts of his aunt - were naked. As if that was not alluring enough, he was alone in the house with her – and she was asleep before him! All sorts of wild thoughts flooded his mind.

He gave a low cough to test how deeply she was dozing. His aunt did not stir, and her breathing remained deep and regular. For a few moments he stood gazing at her, torn between arousal and shame. Fleetingly he wondered if he could touch her breasts or her thigh, just briefly and lightly, without her waking up, but he dismissed the crazy idea.

He stepped closer still and rested his gaze on her neckline. The top of her shallow cleft showed, almost begging his gaze to explore further down. Her small breasts rose and fell sensually with her breathing. They were just inches from his hands. For a few moments indecision gripped him. Then his mind was made up.

His heart was hammering in his chest and he was sweating – and not just with the heat and humidity, either. He went quickly and quietly upstairs for his camera.

His nerves were straining as he came back into the lounge. His Aunt Jo was still asleep. He set the camera and mini tripod up on the coffee table and focussed on the alluring folds of her soft, cotton skirt over her thighs, framing from her waist to her knees. He set the self-timer. He picked up the television-guide magazine and held it in front of her face until the flash had fired so as not to disturb and alert her. To his great relief she still did not stir. The knowledge that she could do so at any moment scared him, but excited him, too.

His nerves were on edge and his heart was pounding harder than before. He went back to the camera and zoomed in on her small breasts, from their modest undercurve under her floral, elastic-pleated top to the tip of her tanned, shallow cleft above it. Again he set the self-timer and shielded her face from the flash.

He became bolder, but was still on edge, as she remained sleeping. He zoomed out a little to take in her tanned shoulders and throat. Still she did not stir as he took a picture, then a second, a close-up of her cleft and the skin between her throat and her neckline. He went back to his camera and focussed on her mid-thighs with the sensual folds of her hiked-up skirt, and set the timer once more.

His nerves were taut and he fought indecision for a moment or two, then just before the flash fired off he stepped to one side so as not to block the camera lens.

He lifted his aunt's skirt hem gently and slightly to get a picture up inside to her inner thighs, and, hopefully, even of her panties too. Again he held up the magazine to shield her face from the flash. He was longing to look up her skirt to take in the view, but time was of the essence and he told himself that he could view and edit his photos later and at leisure. The key thing, he insisted to himself, was to get the best pictures he could in the meantime, and to hope desperately that she would not awaken.

It was only a matter of time before she would, and what he was doing was bad and fraught with danger. His dad would kill him if he found out. But as he looked again his aunt's breasts and at the slipped strap of her top, his mind was made up. The risk was indeed huge, but the opportunity was unique and would soon be gone. For ever.

Taking her neckline in both his trembling hands, he stretched the elasticated cotton away from her. Very slowly and smoothly he eased the right hand side of her top forward and down. He watched her strap slip lower down her arm. He stared hungrily as her small, naked orb emerged into view. Despite its smallness it was firm and shapely. Her breast was entirely tanned, and he wondered whether she sunbathed topless outside or whether she used a sun bed. But it was her nipple that seized his attention.

It had the effect of being swollen and puffy. Instead of rising from the flat centre of her areola, the whole nipple formed a large, semi-flaccid, rubbery cone. Her entire small breast culminated in an evenly and round-pointed tip. He stood and stared, captivated by the sight.

Still his Aunt Jo did not stir. He set up his camera once more and took two pictures with the timer, one of her naked breast, the other a close-up of her enthralling nipple.

Despite his nerves, he was becoming bolder with each passing moment. He set the timer up and leaned across the arm of her armchair with his mouth close to her mature, little orb. He held up the magazine to screen the flash from her eyes once more, and pursed his lips as if about to kiss his aunt's breast. He reset the camera and took another picture with his tongue poking out as if to lick her large, stud-like nipple.

He returned to the camera and set the timer again. This time he knelt by her knees and carefully lifted the soft, warm fabric of her skirt a little, then posed to one side with his lips pursed just above her thigh, still shielding her face form the flash with the magazine. He knew that contrary to the old saying, the camera does in fact sometimes lie, and he altered the angle of his head for his next snapshot in the hope that it would appear as if he actually was kissing her thigh.

He sat down in the chair opposite her. Still his aunt did not awaken or move. He wondered whether to risk disturbing her by trying to pull her dress back up to cover her breast. He decided against it. The risk was too great. He hoped that when she awoke she would simply assume that it had slid down of its own accord. In any case he was enjoying staring at her small, mature breast in its naked splendour; her large nipple looked rudely inviting given that its twin was hidden by her top.

He debated further within himself what to do. Wild ideas raced through his mind. He wondered whether to fondle her or lick her bared breast and fabulous nipple, even though this would awaken her. He toyed with the idea of masturbating in his chair as he gazed at her, hoping that she would not wake up as he jacked off at the sight of her – yet half hoping that she might.

He even wondered whether to make and spill some cold coffee on her lap – supposedly accidentally, of course. She would then wake up with a start, and he could enjoy her reaction as she realised that her breast had apparently popped out from her top and that he had seen it.

He dismissed all these mad ideas. In the end he decided to risk simply taking one or two more pictures of his slumbering aunt and then to go upstairs to upload them onto his laptop where he could enjoy them – and jack off to them. He could edit them later.

He returned to his camera on its mini-tripod. Again he set the self-timer and again lifted her loose-fitting skirt, a little higher this time. The cotton was soft, sensually warm, and slightly damp from her perspiration. He shielded her face from the flash once more as a precaution. He looked inside her raised skirt hem and saw her knickers. They were brief rather than tiny. They were of white cotton with black polka dots. His erection stiffened. He was sure that they were damp, too.

He gently put her skirt back in place and focussed again on her bared breast. He zoomed in on it and took a several pictures of it, varying the angle. He zoomed in on her nipple so that it filled about half the frame. He took several more of the loose folds of her hiked-up skirt and of both her breasts together, the one bared, the other still covered by her elasticated floral top.

He stood behind her and took another picture with his hands cupped as if fondling her breasts, though he was not actually touching her. With considerable effort he resisted the urge to do so.

He picked up the camera and stepped back to get her whole body in, including her legs. At least from that distance the flash was not too close to her face. He risked just one picture of her including her face without shielding it from the flash. He picked up his camera and tripod and stood them in the hall. Perspiration was trickling down his back, though it felt as if it was pouring off him. But a wave of relief washed over him. At least if his Aunt Jo awoke now she would not know that he had photographed her!

He stood to admire the view of his aunt one last time. He ran his lustful gaze over her bare lower legs and her skirt-covered thighs. He gazed at her bare arms and the top of her cleft. He looked at her serene face as she slept. He stared at her small, bared breast and her large, pink, rubbery, stud-like nipple.

12
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