“Your Great Aunt Matilda just passed away, you know.”
My wife and I were up from the city on one of our regular weekend visits to the retirement community that my mother had moved to after my father died. She delivered the news about Great Aunt Matilda in an offhand way as she poured Elka and me lemony herb tea out of a delicate antique floral teapot. Maybe that’s how you know you’re getting old: you chat about who’s died recently.
I hadn’t thought about Great Aunt Matilda in years and years. When I was in my early teens, I had spent the summer at her house in Vermont. It had been quite a revelatory time. Since then I had seen her a few times at family gatherings; wedding, funerals and the like, but I had never worked up the nerve to talk to her.
“Now that’s sad news,” Elka said as mom shoveled heaping spoonfuls of sugar into her steaming teacup, “What did she die of?”
“Oh, nothing in particular” My mom ritually offered me sugar for my tea, which I ritually refused. “She just went quietly in her sleep. Lucky old bat. She was ninety-one, you know.”
******
This was thirty years ago. It had been decided that it would be good for me to spend my summer vacation in the country, away from the heat and smell and noise of New York City, and maybe not coincidentally away from the neighborhood kids and my school friends. It was thought that it would be healthy for me to see a little nature, hug a few trees, and to broaden my horizons.
That was also the year that, as if a light switch had been thrown, girls had gone from being weird and annoying to fascinating and desirable, and sex transformed from a slightly embarrassing and rather abstract biological discussion into a full-blown obsession.
On the train out of Penn Station, I sat and rued my lot in life. I rued Shannon Kelly from my class who lived on 168th Street and had just sprouted breasts; I rued all the beautiful girls of New York and their skimpy summer skirts; and I rued the stack of Playboy and Penthouse magazines that I had purchased from my not-exactly friend Rory for twenty-five dollars, and which were currently stashed in my closet underneath a pile of Mad and Dragon magazines, hopefully safe from prying eyes.
Great Aunt Matilda met me at the train station in Vermont. She was an imposing lady: sixty-ish, thin as a willow branch with severe grey hair done up in a tight bun. She was wearing a long, fancy-looking, form-fitting grand purple dress, and her breasts made two prominent bumps in the front like a pair of tangerines. She had been smoking when the train rolled in, and she squelched the butt under a shiny black high-heeled boot. She looked about as out of place in the quaint rural train station as I felt.
She drove me back to her house in her enormous black Cadillac. We tried to make friendly ‘getting-to-know-you’ conversation on the way, but it was stilted and awkward and quickly faltered. The gulf between our two worlds was too wide to be bridged so easily.
The house was a huge rambling old Victorian mansion, slowly going to ruin. Great Aunt Matilda had lived alone there since her husband had died some years before. The place had once been magnificent, and it was still imposing, but it also looked somewhat shabby and unkempt, like a former supermodel who is past her prime and has taken to drinking too much.
Where Matilda had come by her money was a family mystery. My mother always sniffed that she had married money; but my grandma denied that, hinting at more mysterious, darker sources of Great Aunt’s wealth. Whatever the truth was, I never found out.
Great Aunt Matilda and I quickly came to an unspoken understanding: we would breakfast and dine together, and in all other matters we would stay out of each others’ hair. This arrangement worked just fine for me: while Great Aunt Matilda hosted luncheons and went to fundraisers and lectures, I explored the vast property the house sat on. I got wet and muddy and scraped-up climbing trees and mucking about in the brook, I climbed the little mountain behind the property; and when it was raining or too hot and humid and buggy to be outside, I explored the inside of the house. It was, I was forced to admit, a lot of fun. The only thing I was lacking (aside from company, which I found I didn’t really miss that much) was masturbation material.
One night, when it was too hot and humid and I was too horny to sleep (my bedroom was in a turret, and I could see the big thunderstorm rolling in… how cool was that?!?) I went exploring in search of dirty books. Great Aunt Matilda was a great collector of books. She had thousands of them gathering dust in forgotten rooms around the house; it stood to reason that at least a few of them must have steamy sex scenes.
On the truncated third floor of the east wing, I let myself into a room I had never been in before. It might have been an old servants’ bedroom, or a pantry, or possibly just a big closet. I almost left without entering, because the only thing in the room was an enormous wardrobe made of richly carved dark wood. I thought I heard a noise. It might have been thunder in the distance, or it might have been something else, something closer. I decided to investigate.
The wardrobe was truly huge. It was about the size of our apartment back in New York. You could have parked a Volkswagen in there. Above the big double door, carved in intricate relief, randy satyrs and buxom wood nymphs frolicked in postures that were just short of obscene.
I tried to open the door. It was locked. But once again, I thought I heard something. I pressed my ear to the side of the wardrobe. Soft, as if it were a long way away, but unmistakable, I heard grunting, heavy breathing, the slap of flesh-on-flesh, the moaning, rising cries of someone approaching orgasm. I held my breath, my young cock instantly erect. I heard a sharp *smack* and a muted scream, and then the gasps and wails became more intense, more immediate. I slipped my hand down the front of my pajama bottoms and grasped my cock. This was closer to sex than I had ever been in my life.
A great clap of thunder burst overhead, literally shaking the house to the foundations. All was silent inside the wardrobe. I lost my nerve, exiting the room as quickly and quietly as I dared, then running back to my bedroom in the turret.
The storm burst in full force, rattling the windows and pounding the roof as I jerked off under the covers.
*
The next morning at breakfast Great Aunt Matilda was looking somewhat haggard and rather distracted, and over French toast she asked me if the storm had kept me up all night as well. I was antsy and fidgety, and excused myself from the table as soon as I had wolfed down the French toast and gulped my orange juice. From the parlor nook, I quickly and quietly made winding my way over to the east wing and the strange deserted wardrobe room.
It stood there, an ominous imposing monolith on the wide plank floor. I hesitantly walked up to it and tried the door. It was unlocked. Not really knowing what I was looking for, I opened the door and stepped inside.
“YO! GET THEM PANTS OFF AND SHOW ME THAT SKINNY WHITE BUTT! Come on bitch, bend over! I ain’t got all day!”
It was the biggest black man I had ever seen, bellowing at me out of the dark. He was obviously a body builder; his muscles seemed to have muscles growing on them. He was wearing tight black jeans, and I could see his erection clearly outlined even in the dim light of the inside of the wardrobe. He was naked from the waist up, his brown skin glistened with sweat. His head was shaved, and he had freaky Maori tattoos on his face. When he saw me, he stopped mid-bellow and did a double-take.
“Oh, excuse me. I thought you was somebody else.”
That was plenty for me. My skinny white butt turned tail and ran, slamming the doors behind me. I ran all the way out of the house, all the way down to the little brook in the woods, where for a while I threw rocks at rocks and tried to pretend that I was just a little kid again, and not a sex-obsessed, horny teenager.
That, of course, did not last. Within an hour I was slinking back to the low-ceilinged east wing.
I crept back into the spare, nearly empty room and approached the dark looming wardrobe. Trepidatiously, I opened the door and stepped inside.
I found myself face-to-face (or rather face-to-chest, as she stood at least eight inches taller than me) with Miss February.
Miss February was my favorite of all the centerfolds, because out of all of them she looked almost like she might be a real human being. Her breasts were big and full rather than simply enormous. She had pale, almost translucent skin rather than a creepy full-body tan. Her hair was on the short side, and thoroughly hairsprayed into rigidity, but there was something playful about the way one lock kept falling in front of her eyes and had to be brushed aside.
At the moment she was wearing a green silky-satin thing that was draped over her body in such a way as to just barely cover her salient bits.
“Little Mister,” Miss February purred, “I am going to rock your world.”
I realized that I was now in a small, dim room with a shag carpet of non-descript color and a black leather couch. Miss February bit her lower lip sexily and let the green silky thing fall to the ground. She stood naked before me, every detail exactly as I remembered it from the glossy magazine. Her breasts were large and full and slightly upturned, her nipples were small and pink and erect. That pesky lock of hair had once again fallen in front of her eyes. Her stomach was gently flat, her belly button was deep and perfect, and just below that was a barely visible thin white horizontal line that I only realized years later was the scar from a c-section. (You couldn’t see that in her photo spread; I checked later. They must have airbrushed it out.) Her legs were long and slender and shapely smooth, and between her thighs was a perfect triangle of soft, tangled golden hair.
My dick couldn’t have been any harder if it had been forged from meteorite steel.
“Are you going to get undressed Little Man? Or should I help you?”
Not waiting for me to reply, Miss February reached down and pulled my t-shirt off over my head. She then dropped to her knees before me, and with practiced ease she unbuttoned my jeans and sent them sliding down around my ankles. She hooked her thumbs under the waistband of my underpants, and with a swift yank they were down and my dick was out, bobbing merrily, almost smacking her in the face.
“Ooooh, very nice!” Miss February purred, sticking out her tongue and licking that sensitive piece of meat as if it were a candy cane. The sensation of her tongue contacting my penis made me shiver all over, and she grinned at the reaction she had caused.
My cock wasn’t that impressive at that point; I still had some growing to do, but I swear it had gained an extra inch just from her attention. She licked it again, and again, playfully dragging her tongue up the length of my quivering dick, making me stand on my tip-toes, making me shiver again and again. Her tongue darted out and played with my balls and I moaned out loud.
“Do you like these?” she asked, proffering her big tits to me. I nodded dumbly, and she wrapped her breasts around my straining cock, two giant warm pillows. She took my hands and placed them on her big soft boobs. I was in absolute heaven, squeezing and caressing those beautiful tits while rubbing my aching cock in between them.
Miss February smiled up at me. Her two front teeth were slightly crooked; you couldn’t tell in the magazine pictures of her, they must have fixed that with Photoshop, but it somehow made her even sexier. “Come on Tiger,” she said, “I am just dying to pop your cherry.”
She had me lay down on my back on the leather couch, my cock sticking out at a forty-five degree angle like the Iwo Jima flagpole being raised. Sticky, clear fluid leaked copiously out the swollen end. She climbed aboard, straddling me, eyes closed. I could feel her wetness on my thighs as she rubbed herself against me, playing with those sexy pink nipples.
After a few minutes of this she opened her eyes and met my gaze. “You have no idea,” she said with a girlish smile, “how much I am going to enjoy this.”
She raised herself up onto her knees, grabbed my cock confidently in one hand, parted her pussy lips with her other hand, and slowly and very deliberately lowered herself onto me.
It was pleasure beyond imagining: hot, wet, soft, tight, firm, slippery. I arched my back, fucking back up into her heavenly pussy. I felt her pubic hair press against mine, her butt resting on my thighs as she sighed “Yesssss” and pulled hard on her nipples, grinding her crotch wetly onto mine.
I had just enough time to think (or shout) “Holy Shit! I am actually having SEX!!” and then I was coming, coming in exquisite ecstasy, my body shaking and convulsing as I pumped what seemed like gallon after gallon of sticky white come into her pussy.
Miss February stayed with me until I went limp and started breathing again, and then she carefully disconnected herself from me. She ruffled my hair affectionately, climbed down off the couch, retrieved her slinky green thing, said “See you around, Kiddo”, and then disappeared into the darkness.
I was left in a puddle of sweat and juice, massaging my damp, sticky penis, which was already getting hard again. “I’m not a virgin anymore” was the first thought that occurred to me, and “Oh my God, what if I got her pregnant?” was the second.
I dismissed that second panicked thought pretty quickly. Miss February was clearly a figment of my imagination, and you didn’t have to worry about impregnating figments of your imagination, as far as I knew. I concentrated on jerking off, replaying what had just happened in my mind as I stroked my cock, still sticky-slick with Miss February’s wetness.
*
The next morning after breakfast, when I let myself quietly into the black wardrobe, rehearsing all the things I wanted to say and do to Miss February, I was surprised to find Shannon Kelly, that girl from school who I’d had a crush on forever standing bemusedly on the shag carpeting next to the couch.
We stood blinking at each other for a long moment.
I’d never been alone with Shannon before. The erection that had been poking stiffly around inside my pants all morning started to wilt as I was gripped with a sweaty, tongue-tied attack of nervous shyness.
“I’ve thought about this happening a lot in class” she said. “When I should have been paying attention to equations.” Shannon sat behind me in Algebra. “I’ve wanted you for a long time now.”
My fingers shaking like I had Parkinson’s, I lifted first one then the other strap of Shannon’s purple tank top off her shoulders. She raised her arms up, and I lifted her top off, dropping it onto the shag carpet. She was slender and waiflike and her young breasts looked firm as a pair of ripe apricots. The nipples were swollen and puffy and pink.
“I guess I must be dreaming,” Shannon said slowly, “But this sure is a nice dream.”
My hard-on was back, with a vengeance.
I dropped to my knees and started undoing the catch of Shannon’s jeans. I could feel her body heat radiating out through the denim. She giggled as I fumbled with the buttons. My hands were still shaking uncontrollably. At last I got the fly open and her jeans down, and she stepped out of them like a young giraffe.
“Go ahead,” she whispered, standing in front of me. There were goose bumps on her long skinny legs. All she was wearing were a pair of baby-blue cotton panties with daisies printed on them. I slipped my fingers under the elastic waistband and pulled them down.
A fluff of kitten-soft golden-brown pubic hair covered her pussy. The delicate lips pouted out and glistened with excited moisture. I nuzzled in closer, inhaling her scent. She spread her legs for me, running her fingers softly through my hair.
On her inner left thigh, almost at the crease where her leg met her crotch, was a small blue tattoo; the outline of a double heart.
“My friend Daisy did that, back in the sixth grade, after the first time we…” Shannon trailed off, blushing.
I stuck out my tongue and drew it along the opening of her pussy. Her lips bloomed open for me. I couldn’t believe how soft and wet she was. Her slickness was instantly all over my face. She tasted like peaches.
[Many years later, Shannon and I got together in real life. It was at a high school reunion, and we were both dating other people at the time and it was a one-off kind of thing, inappropriate and un-thought out, but very satisfying. She did indeed have a crude, blurry tattoo of a double heart on her inner thigh, but she didn’t taste like peaches. She tasted like a woman, clean and tangy and sexy.]
“I want to see you naked now!” she blurted out with a mischievous gleam in her eye.
I felt her closeness and her eyes hot upon me as I undressed. When I pulled off my underwear, my dick sprang out like a jack-in-the-box.
“Hmm, it’s bigger than I thought it would be,” Shannon giggled, giving my erection an experimental squeeze. Then she was pressed up against me, her firm little breasts mashed against my hairless chest, her fluffy bush mashed against my thigh, my hard cock nuzzled up against her tummy. Her arms wrapped around me, and we began to kiss, just like a pair of grown-up lovers.
We kissed for a long time, holding each other close, exploring each other with lips and tongue and touch. Then she tugged at me and still wrapped arm in arm, we shuffled back until we tripped up and tumbled sprawling onto the leather couch.
Shannon’s legs fell apart, giving me my first good view of her pussy. It was spread open and pink and wet, small and delicate looking. It reminded me of the fragile bloom of some wild flower. Her pussy was framed by a soft pelt of blondish hair, so fine it barely existed. The petite lips were pouting hungrily open, and clearish nectar was leaking out from in between them.
I positioned myself between her supple, skinny thighs, and both hands on my cock, took careful aim.
“Be gentle, ok?” Shannon said to me, “I’m a virgin at this.”
I nestled the swollen, red-ripe head of my cock in between her labia. Her flesh was hot to the touch. I could even see her little clit, impossible tiny, peeking out at me. I moved forward, and the end of my penis disappeared inside Shannon’s heavenly twat.
I eased into her, as slowly and as carefully and as gently as I could manage. If possible, Shannon was even hotter and wetter and tighter than Miss February. Her pussy seemed to pulsate on my over-excited cock. I thought I could feel her pulse with my dick. By biting down hard on my lower lip and holding my breath, I was able to not shoot off right away. My penis was finally buried inside her, all the way in, my balls pressed against her buttocks.
She made a little animal noise and wrapped her legs around my back, pulling me deeper in. With her hands on my forearms, she whispered “Don’t stop now, fuck me!”
I complied, sliding my dick in and out, slowly at first, then faster and faster and more and more urgently. She was humping back against my thrusting penis. We were making sexy little squishing noises with our bodies as we fucked. It was way too much for me. I closed my eyes, threw my head back, and with a long low groan, I came inside her, squirting jet after jet of semen into her pussy, my whole body shaking as I came.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, keep on doing it!” I kept fucking her even as the urgency faded and my penis started to sag. She was exquisitely wet. Her eyes were shut and her head lolled from side to side. One finger was busy down between her legs, strumming her clit as I fucked her. At last she sighed contentedly and stretched, and my poor spent dick slipped wetly out of her slippery pussy.
Shannon grinned sleepily up at me. “If that was a dream, that was the best one I’ve had in ages!” She lazily rolled off the couch and wadded her clothes and underwear up into a ball. “I’ll see you back at school in the fall!” And she turned and walked away. I watched her sexy, pale butt twitch until it disappeared in the darkness.
*
I visited the wardrobe at least once a day; usually twice, after breakfast and again in the afternoon or evening; and some days I spent all day fooling around in there. I fucked all the centerfold girls, most of the girls in my class, and Vanna White. It didn’t take me long to figure out that what I was doing was essentially just masturbation: when it came down to business, the girls were basically all the same and didn’t really have much depth or personality; but I didn’t mind. They were all eager and willing, they would do exactly what I wanted, and there was none of the awkwardness and paralyzing shyness I felt whenever I was around real girls.
I realized early on that I could exert some control over the wardrobe by focusing my thoughts: I could determine which girl I was going to visit, and what kind of things we’d do. The real epiphany came later on though, toward the end of the summer.
I had never imagined it to be possible. I was starting to get a little bored with all the fucking and sucking. Not bored enough, of course, to stop visiting the wardrobe every morning, but it was becoming more and more like masturbating alone in bed: something to get over with before I went out to play for the rest of the day. One morning, I decided to try an experiment.
Standing on the bare planks in front of the wardrobe, I consciously cleared my mind, allowing the wardrobe to take over. I took a deep breath, exhaled, opened the door and stepped inside.
Instead of the familiar shag-carpeted den, I found myself in a classroom full of empty desks, with light pouring in the tall double-hung windows. I was standing at the very back of the room, by the door. There were math posters up on the wall, equations on the blackboard, and Miss Wainwright was perched on top of her desk at the front of the room, amidst piles of books, a coffee cup, and several different calculators.
Miss Wainwright was my algebra teacher. She was painfully smart, bitingly funny, patient and quite nice as long as she wasn’t being bullshitted, and absolutely pitiless when she was. She was thirtyish, plump and rounded, with curly red hair and boxy black glasses. I had always been a little scared of Miss Wainwright, and I had certainly never thought of her sexually before.
“Come closer,” Miss Wainwright said, “I can hardly see you back there.”
Feeling very hesitant and self-conscious, I walked down the aisle between empty desks toward her. She was wearing a short blue skirt, and flip-flops on her feet. I realized belatedly that Miss Wainwright had really big boobs, really nice-looking big boobs that were only just contained inside her white blouse. She crossed her legs, and I had a fleeting glimpse of her red panties. I was uncomfortably aware of the lump in the front of my pants.
“What do you know,” Miss Wainwright asked me crisply, “On the subject of cunnilingus?”
“Um,” I stammered, “Does that mean, uh, eating a girl out?”
“Oh dear,” Miss Wainwright tut-tutted, “I expect you need a lesson. Oh well, everybody needs to start somewhere… I can assure you, this is a skill you will find quite rewarding once you master it. You’ll thank me. And so will your future girlfriends.
[I had gone down on many of the girls I had encountered in the wardrobe. But ‘going down’ had always consisted of a brief, creamy lick or two, a quick overture to the main event. Years later, on our second date, Elka would ask me where I learned to eat pussy so well. I just smiled.]
“Listen,” she went on, un-crossing her legs and looking at me seriously, “I’ll make you a deal: you make me have an orgasm, and I’ll definitely make it worth your while. I’m not going to fuck you – say what they like, but Lisa Wainwright does not fuck her students – but I will make you feel really good. And I think you’ll learn a thing or two on the way… So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?”
I nodded dumbly and Miss Wainwright grinned. “Well come on then,” she said, “It’s not going to lick itself.”
She stood up and quickly shucked off her red panties, tossing them aside, then sat back down on top of her desk, her knees wide apart. “You should get naked,” she said, “It’ll be a good visual aid.”
I got undressed as she watched critically. “Not bad,” she said when I was fully naked, “Not bad at all. You’ll have a nice body once you’ve grown into it.” She smoothed her skirt out on her lap. “Shall we begin?”
‘Once I grow into it…’ I thought, ‘Sheesh’. She was, I realized much later, absolutely right.
Miss Wainwright hiked up her skirt and lay back across the top of her desk. “Let’s see what you can do.”
I stuck my head in between her big meaty thighs. Her pussy was completely bald, like a pair of big soft bike tires squished together. Just a hint of her shy inner lips peaked out. I stuck out my tongue and slurped up and down the crease of her pussy, soft as baby fat.
“NO!” Miss Wainwright yanked my hair non-gently. “You have to start slow, beat around the bush for a while. This isn’t a pie-eating contest!”
I took the hint and ran with it, licking and kissing her inner thighs, the mound above her pussy, nibbling gently on those plump outer lips until she sighed happily.
“Mmm, that’s more like it” she cooed, “Now you’re getting me all hot and bothered.” It was true. She was getting quite wet, and her pussy was opening up for me. She didn’t taste anything like the other wardrobe girls. It wasn’t a bad taste at all, but it was intense: earthy, tangy, pungent, female. She tasted like sex, and it was nearly overwhelming. Her clitoris was clearly visible, a big fat pink pea, peeking out from underneath it’s little hood.
I slurped her pussy like an ice-cream cone, dragging my tongue across her wide open labia all the way up and over her straining clit. That earned me another sharp yank on my hair.
“Easy there, Tiger!” I resumed the teasing, licking and kissing I’d been doing before and she released my hair. “Not directly on my clit! Listen and learn, Young Grasshopper: one thing that is true is that every girl is different. You’ll have to learn to learn to lick every girl the way she likes it. Now I like it when you lick all around my clit – right on it is too intense – and you can put a couple fingers inside now.” I complied. It felt super sexy to have her wet pussy squeezing my fingers. She sighed happily as my tongue danced around the sensitive little fat nib of her clit. “Some girls like a finger gently up their anus, other girls want you to stay the hell away from that entire area.” She squirmed, “Me, I’d like you to play with my asshole right now… use your thumb, just tickle around the outside… mmm, yessss… now: DON’T STOP.”
I have no idea how long I went at it. Long enough for my world to become just her hot, thick, squeezing thighs and her wet, slippery vulva; long enough for my jaw to cramp and my tongue to ache. I fingered her pussy with one, then two, then one again fingers, finding a sweet spot where she liked to be rubbed hard, as hard as I could press, just inside her vagina. I licked all around her clit, up and down her pussy, and once in a while, just for variety and out of naughtiness, I kissed her full on the clit. She didn’t object. My thumb circled her asshole, pressing gently against it, then dancing away, stroking the flesh below her pussy, tracing the crack of her butt all the way up to the base of her spine, then trekking back down again to her winking, needy anus. In the end, as she started seriously groaning and wiggling and humping back against me, my thumb ended up buried halfway up her asshole as my fingers plunged in and out of her gasping pussy and my tongue danced around her clit.
When she finally came, it was beautiful. I was buried in her pussy, I couldn’t breathe as she heaved and shook and cried out loud, and I didn’t care, I just kept licking until finally she went limp. It was the most satisfying experience I had ever had.
I was exhausted, covered in her wetness.
“Not bad!” Miss Wainwright sat up and smiled, “Not bad at all for a beginner. With a little practice, you could be a world champ.”
She smoothed out her skirt. “Now climb on up here and get what’s coming to you.”
I clambered up onto the desk, my erect penis wobbling with every move. Miss Wainwright grinned at me like a hungry cat and started unbuttoning her blouse, setting her big tits free. They hung down over her full, round stomach. “Not too bad for an old fat chick, don’t you think?”
Not bad, not bad at all. They were big and full and featured aureole the size of desert plates, with big, gumdrop-shaped nipples poking out the center. I’d pay much more attention in math class from now on. Miss Wainwright sucked her index finger playfully. “You’ve got a very nice cock, you know. Not too big, not too small, just right. If you learn to use that thing right, you are going to make some girls very happy. Always remember, your most important sex organ is right between your ears…”
She squeezed my cock playfully. Her grip was warm and firm.
With a quick movement, she took the wet finger she’d been teasingly sucking on like a mini cock, and slipped it right up my ass.
I gasped at the invasion. It wasn’t painful, it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it felt decidedly weird. I was impaled on her long index finger like a shish-kabob. My dick seemed to get even harder, straining up and out.
“Goooood boy!” Miss Wainwright cooed, pumping my penis very softly as she manipulated the finger that was up my butt. My eyes rolled back in my head and I reveled in the sensations she was inflicting on me. “I want you to come on my breasts. Yeah… put your hot come all over teacher’s nice titties, won’t you?”
She played my penis like an instrument, stroking me to the very edge of a massive explosion and then backing off, blowing on the red-hot head like a birthday candle, then starting all over again, touching me so softly it was as if she wasn’t there at all, then building, building, building until I thought I couldn’t stand it any longer. The finger in my asshole was driving me crazy, my balls positively ached, my whole body strained for release.
Finally she gripped my cock with a new purpose, pumping hard and fast, and she curled the finger that was up my butt, pressing buttons I hadn’t even known I had, and I came, wailing and squirting pearly-white come all over her big shaking tits.
When it was over, she gently extracted her finger and spread my come all over her breasts like lotion. She grinned proudly. “Excellent work, A+. I’m looking forward to seeing you in class next semester!”
The next year at school, I strained my eyeballs trying to catch a glimpse of Miss Wainwright’s red panties, but I never did.
*
The next time I entered the wardrobe, I was greeted with a truly unexpected sight: a gawky, awkward-looking teenage boy about my own age, stark naked, with an erection that mirrored my own. He seemed too tall for his body, he had a slight slouch, and his hair was on the shaggy side. I realized with a rushing shock of recognition that I was looking at myself.
“Hey.” he said.
“Hey.” I said.
“Feeling horny?” he asked, eyeing the bulge in the front of my pants, the anticipatory erection that hadn’t drooped one iota despite the fact that I hadn’t been greeted by the usual sexy, horny female.
“Yeah” I said eloquently, unsnapping the fly of my jeans and sizing my doppelganger up. Now I could see what Miss Wainwright meant when she said I’d have a nice body once I grew into it. Maybe I should start running or working out a little? And the pubes could definitely use a trim. My mirror image’s balls hung down like fat, ripe fruit, and his erection jutted obscenely out. From this perspective it looked intimidating large.
He leered at me. “Go ahead,” he said, “I know you’re curious.”
It’s true. I was. I had often more than half wondered what it would be like to suck my own dick. I was about to find out.
It was kind of sexy. It was more than a little weird. It was a little scary. Once I had that big hard hot eager thrusting thing in my mouth, I gained a lot of respect for the talents of my centerfold playmates: I had no idea what to do with it. I tried sucking on it like a big popsicle, which my mirror-image seemed to appreciate, but I couldn’t maintain that very long. I tried licking it like a lollipop, which was easier and kind of fun, but it didn’t seem like that method was going to get him off. When I tried to swallow him whole, I choked and gagged.
I needed some attention too, so we decided to try a 69. He climbed on top of me on the couch, and I continued to try out my oral skills on his cock. It wasn’t really the right angle for me to suck on him, so I concentrated on nibbling and licking the shaft and balls. His asshole, a tiny pink crinkled hole surrounded by soft hair, winked at me. It was strange to see this view of myself.
Meanwhile, my twin self wasn’t doing much better on my own hard and horny dick. It felt nice, whatever he was doing down there, but it wasn’t taking me anywhere. He couldn’t seem to get a good rhythm going on; every time it started to feel like I might be going to be able to get off, he lost it. We were both getting really hot and bothered and frustrated.
I sneaked a lick up around his anus, and he moaned with delight. I obliged him, circling his puckered little hole, trying to invade his asshole with the tip of my tongue. He started doing the same for me, and it felt amazing! It was something I had secretly lusted for, but had been embarrassed to ask any of the centerfold girls for. Funny, being embarrassed to ask a hallucination for weird sexual favors. But anyway, as amazing and sexy as it felt, the rimming action wasn’t going to get either one of us off.
Finally, I could take no more. “Hey, do you think I could try fucking you in the ass?” I asked.
“Um, I guess so” he answered from between my thighs, “This is your fantasy after all.”
We disengaged and repositioned, him bent over one arm of the couch, butt presented to me, his fuzzy balls hanging vulnerably down. He looked back at me nervously. “Go easy, ok?”
I rubbed my almost painfully hard erection between his firm butt cheeks. His ass was nice and wet from the licking I had given it, and what I was doing felt really good. He seemed to think so too, humping back against me and sliding his ass up and down the length of my shaft.
I spread his cheeks apart, exposing his tender little hole. With one hand I guided the head of my penis up against his anus. I reached under him and squeezed his dick, which was just as hard as my own. I took careful aim, nuzzled my cock right up against his opening, and shoved.
“OUCH! OW! Stop, take it out! Oh fuck! I’m sorry, that hurts!”
I hastily pulled out, and he rolled over, grabbing his ass protectively and grimacing.
“Sorry, I’m not really ready for that… Gosh, I didn’t think it was going to be… they make it look so easy in the pornos…
“Sorry,” he said again, “I don’t really know what I’m doing here. I’m just making it up as I go along.”
“Me too,” I said.
We ended up jerking each other off, arm in arm, lying together on the couch. That was one thing I was really good at. And so was he. We stroked and pumped each other into utter bliss, teasing and tormenting and finally abandoning ourselves to the pleasure. We kissed hard and deep for a while as our climaxes approached with the inevitability of an oncoming locomotive. It felt strange to kiss a guy, but not necessarily strange in a bad way. And then we were both coming, bucking and heaving and squirting hot white semen all over each other’s stomachs. We collapsed, sighing contentedly, one big sweaty, sticky mess.
“Wow,” he said once we had both calmed down a little and weren’t breathing so hard, “That was intense.” He dipped his finger experimentally in the overflowing pool of come that I had deposited into his navel, and licked his finger tentatively. I did the same. It wasn’t bad, kind of salty and soupy. “That was kind of cool.”
Now that we had gotten off, I think we both felt a little awkward. He got up, my come running down his belly and into his pubic patch. “Thanks… I enjoyed that.”
“See you soon, ok?”
“Sure… next time you look in the mirror.”
And then he was gone, off into the darkness at the back of the wardrobe.
*
“YO BITCH, DROP THEM DRAWERS! I WANNA SEE THAT CUTE LITTLE WHITE ASS OF YOURS!”
It was the next day, and instead of a hot, sexy girl, or a horny math teacher, or even my own mirror image, I found myself facing that huge scary black dude I had run into the first time I ventured into the wardrobe. He leered at me threateningly. The weird spiral tattoos on his face stretched and distorted. His muscles bulged under his ebony skin. He was wearing a steel choker clamped around his thick neck, and his teeth gleamed whitely. Hands trembling, I complied, stripping naked while he watched.
“Not bad White Boy, not bad at all.” He smiled, and it was an odd mix of friendly and pure evil. “Marcel is going to fuck your ass so hard your eyes will pop out of your head. I’m just kiddin’ with you. Now get down on your knees and start sucking my dick.”
I hesitated, not knowing what to do. He was wearing tight black jeans, a studded leather belt, and there was a frightening-looking bulge in his crotch.
“I’m serious bitch. I am going to teach you to suck dick and to suck it right.” He was unfastening his belt, letting his pants fall. He wasn’t wearing any underwear; his cock was big and thick and purple and black. It reminded me of a Discovery Channel snake, or maybe the trunk of an elephant. It seemed to be about as big as my forearm. There was a well-trimmed patch of curly black pubic hair around it, and a big fat drop of clear pre-come oozed out the tip.
He placed his huge hand on top of my head and forced me down onto my knees, gently but insistently. I could see every ab in his six-pack. That ridiculously big cock bobbed right in my face. I looked up at him questioningly.
“Well it sure aint going to suck itself. Don’t worry White Boy, it doesn’t make you gay to fuck around with a figment of your imagination. Now get to it!”
There was nothing for me but to do it. I closed my eyes and opened wide. It was like trying to swallow my whole arm, fist and all.
“No!” he cuffed me across the face and I went sprawling, my cheek on fire. “Don’t try to swallow it whole… at least not yet. Start off slow. Lick it, kiss it. Play with my balls. And use your hand. Now try again.”
He kicked his pants off the rest of the way, and lounged down onto the couch, his big dick flopping against his stomach. My face feeling red and sore, I crawled over and went to work.
I did what he said, encouraged with light slaps and not-so-gentle tugs on my hair when he didn’t like what I was doing, and happy-sounding sighs and soft growls when he did. I kept one hand wrapped around the shaft, slowly stroking him the whole time as I licked, sucked, nibbled and kissed. I ran my tongue along the underside of his cock with my tongue, tracing the big fat vein all the way up and back. I boldly sucked on his balls, taking each one in turn carefully into my mouth. I captured the thick purple head between my lips and swirled my tongue around its contours. I never would have thought it, never would have admitted it, but I was starting to find sucking his dick almost as fun as getting my own dick sucked.
“Mmm…” he sighed as I eagerly slurped at the swollen head of his cock, a fat, sweet fruit in my mouth, “White Boy, you were born to suck dick!”
With that, he placed both hands on the back of my head and shoved, forcing me all the way down onto his cock. His erection filled my mouth and muscled its way down my throat. I gagged and struggled, but he held me firm. I started to panic, afraid that I couldn’t breathe. He only shoved me further down his cock, until my face was mashed up against his crinkly pubic hair. I tried to pull away, but it was useless. He was way too strong. I started to pass out.
That was when I realized that I could breathe after all. It wasn’t easy, but I could get a little air in and out through my nose, and it was enough.
He grunted with satisfaction and got down to business, fucking my face. He started slowly, and then accelerated, fucking my mouth harder and faster. All I could do was try to breathe and keep my teeth off his dick, and hang on. I couldn’t help gagging sometimes when he shoved himself all the way in, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact he seemed to like that. A part of my mind thought I was a complete pervert for enjoying this, but enjoying it I was. I was his bitch, and he was using me for his pleasure alone. Another part of my mind wished I had a better view of the action.
He came with a shout, his dick swelling and pulsing. He crammed my face down on him as he came. I barely even tasted his come, it mostly squirted straight down my throat. Finally, satisfied, he pushed me away, and I collapsed onto the floor, dazed and panting.
“Well done, I gotta say.” He flashed me that smile again, this time more friendly than pure evil. “Now Marcel is going to give you what you deserve. You ready White Boy?”
My dick was still stunningly hard. I wasn’t going to get any readier. Following his direction, I bent over the arm of the couch, my head down, my ass up. I held my breath, getting ready for whatever he was going to give to me.
Swish! Smack! I heard it before I even felt it. It took me a moment to process what was happening, and then I yelped in pain. His black studded leather belt whooshed through the air and slapped across my ass once again, and I cried out in earnest, hollering and shouting and fighting hard to get away.
He held me down with one huge hand placed squarely between my shoulder blades and beat me hard with the belt in his other hand. I screamed until my throat was raw. I cried, sobbed, begged for mercy. I lost count quickly how many times he hit me. Again and again and again.
I began to realize that the pain was transcendental, that it wasn’t going to kill me, and I started to lose myself in the sensation, the feeling of being utterly helpless and in his control. My face was wet with salty tears but my dick was still hard. At last he stopped, dropped his belt onto the floor with a clatter, and softly kissed each flaming red welt-covered cheek, over and over until I stopped crying.
“Sweet Action, White Boy,” he said, and I fairly glowed with pride. “You ready to come for me?”
I nodded eagerly.
“Ok then. Go ahead and come for Marcel then.” He held out his huge brown hand, palm up in front of me.
He stared into my eyes as I jerked off for him. Sometimes, when I got too close to coming, he slowed me down by pulling my nipples hard and twisting them cruelly, relishing my pitiful cries. My buttocks still throbbed from the beating I had received, my dick felt longer and harder than ever before. Masturbating for Marcel was the most intensely erotic scene I had experienced yet. When I finally came, I was gasping and panting, and his eyes were on fire. I filled the palm of his hand with my sticky white semen.
When I was all done coming, when I had milked every last drop into his waiting hand and my dick was small and soft again, he made me lick it up. I wasn’t incredibly crazy about the taste, but the feeling, that feeling of being his pet, his toy, a plaything under his control; that was weirdly sexy and amazing.
“See you around,” Marcel said, “And next time, I will fuck that tight little ass!”
He left me feeling dazed and confused.
Later on, my throat was still sore from all the screaming, but there wasn’t a mark on my bottom; I checked in the bathroom mirror. I figured I still like girls best, but I wouldn’t mind playing around with Marcel once in a while.
*
It was to be my last full day at Great Aunt Matilda’s house. I wolfed down my breakfast as Great Aunt watched me over her morning paper. She asked if I had anything special planned for my last day in Vermont, wondered if I’d mind having lunch with her and some of her friends. No problem, but first there was some stuff I wanted to do by myself. Of course, she agreed. Luncheon at one, she smiled, and asked me to please wear something clean if I was going to play outside all morning.
As soon as was remotely polite, I excused myself and headed straight over to the wardrobe. I was hot and horny and hoping for something amazing.
I was not disappointed. A septet of nubile young Egyptian slave girls was waiting for me. They made a giggling contest of it, each one trying valiantly to get me off using only her mouth before a minute egg timer ran out. It took all morning, and the anticipation nearly killed me, my balls aching and my dick so hard I thought it might break, but it was worth it in the end. A proud young girl with dark honey skin and almost no breasts at all finally brought me off into her hungry mouth. The intensity of the orgasm almost made me pass out. My girl friends waved goodbye and filed away into the darkness.
When I got back to my bedroom, I realized that I was going to be late for Great Aunt Matilda’s luncheon. Fortunately I didn’t have to change clothes. I had barely worn them at all.
*
Lunch was an excruciating affair. Great Aunt Matilda presided over the frizzy-haired old ladies (and one withered, wispy-looking old man) of the town historical society, none of whom were aged less than one hundred and three. I was admired and praised like a prize turkey (such a nice, well-behaved, handsome young man); subjected to a quick barrage of inane questions and platitudes; and then largely ignored as they slowly munched dry roast chicken sandwiches and discussed preservation committees and fund-raising events. It went on for hours, and I suffered in polite silence. After sandwiches, the wine came out, and the conversation turned to people I had never heard of, old friends and relations, all of whom (as far as I could make out) were long dead. The afternoon seemed like it would never end. I sat quietly, tried to keep smiling, and nodded in agreement whenever it seemed like I was expected to. Great Aunt Matilda, the next youngest person in the room by a good twenty years, shot me a couple sympathetic looks. I just wished I was old enough to partake of the wine.
At last lunch was over, and I finally had the opportunity to say goodbye to the woods and stream and hills around the mansion. I really was going to miss Vermont when I got back to the city, and not just for the kinky sex either.
That night, Great Aunt Matilda took me out for pizza. That was a first.
“I’m really sorry I had to subject you to that” she said, “I couldn’t not show off my handsome young nephew to the committee ladies. They never would have forgiven me. Bunch of tiresome old biddies, aren’t they?”
I could only agree.
“I’m truly going to miss having you around the house. You make the old place seem so much more lively.” That seemed odd to me because aside from mealtimes, we had seen very little of each other all summer. “I hope you enjoyed your stay here.”
I assured her that I had. I wondered if she had any idea how much I had enjoyed myself.
*
That night, after we got back from pizza, I crept over to the east wing and the wardrobe room. In the past when I had visited the wardrobe late at night, I had always found it locked. But I wanted to pay one last visit before I left for good, and I hoped it might still be early enough to get in.
The frolicking satyrs and nymphs carved into the dark wood seemed to leer and grin seductively at me. The house was still and silent. I tried the door and found it unlocked.
The wardrobe was empty. The shag carpeting was gone, the leather couch replaced with a red velvet settee.
I didn’t know what else to do, so I sat down on the settee and waited. And waited.
I’m not sure how long I sat there, alone in the semi-dark. At the time it seemed like hours and hours, but it may have been less. Maybe the magic was gone. I was half-tempted to get up, leave, go jerk off in the comfort of my own bed, but I stayed, hoping against hope that something, anything, would happen.
At some point I got bored, stripped down, started playing with myself in an idle, non-committal sort of way, replaying in my mind the various sexy scenes that had happened to me over the summer: Miss February, Shannon, Miss Wainwright, Marcel and all the others. I wasn’t especially trying to make myself come, but as they danced naked through my head and did all sorts of kinky things to me (and each other), I started to become seriously turned on. The idle petting of my dick became more and more purposeful; the fantasies in my head came into sharper and sharper focus.
Ever get the feeling you’re being watched? I was really getting into it, masturbating in earnest to a fantasy scene in my head in which I was fucking Miss Wainwright, who was eating the pussy of one of the Egyptian slave girls, while Marcel was molesting me from behind. I was deeply fingering my own asshole as I stroked my cock, working myself up for a massive come, when I happened to look up. Great Aunt Matilda was standing next to the settee in the same grand and imposing fuchsia dress she had been wearing that afternoon, watching me with one eyebrow raised archly.
Mortified doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt at that instant. I imagined myself a bug, impaled on a pin in a display case, as Great Aunt Matilda examined me in all my naked glory.
“Marcel wasn’t lying,” she said with an amused little smile, “you do have a pretty hot little body. And a very nice young cock. But a big dick will only get you so far in life. Let’s see what my wardrobe has taught you this summer.”
She shook out her habitual tidy bun, and her long grey hair cascaded down her back.
“God,” she said, “I’ve been thinking about this all day. All summer, really. All the way through that awful luncheon, I kept imagining you ducking under the table and crawling up my skirt…”
She shrugged her dress off her shoulders and it fell into a beautiful crumpled magenta heap around her ankles. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and I gawked shamelessly.
Her skin was white, the color of porcelain. It didn’t seem to me the wrinkly skin of an old lady (she was only in her low or mid sixties, I realized later, hardly a geriatric). Her skin wasn’t flawless; it was dotted with freckles and a few spots here and there, a few wrinkles and creases, and in some places like her neck and upper arms, it seemed slightly stretched and saggy. No matter. She was beautiful, tall and slender and regal. Her breasts reminded me of two pears, pointing slightly down and out, and her nipples were long and red, almost like little fingers. There was a slight bulge to her belly. A very neatly-trimmed triangle of brown-grey pubic hair stood fluffily out, and her lips bulged out below that. Her legs were long and shapely. She finally seemed to notice me staring and blushed shyly.
“Not too bad for an old lady, I hope?”
“You’re beautiful.” I said.
“Thank you,” she said simply, stepping toward the couch and putting her hands on my shoulders. She kissed my lips and I kissed her back, and I could feel myself melting.
After we had kissed for some time, my mind reeling with the sexiness and the strangeness of it, she gently pushed me down onto the red velvet settee. I lay sprawled on the cushions on my back, and she climbed on top of me, placing her pussy conveniently within range of my tongue.
She started lavishing oral attention on my genitals, both hands gripping my ass as she licked my cock and balls, kissing the head and lightly nibbling at the shaft. “Won’t you be a nice, well-behaved young man and start licking my cunt?” she asked. I was thrilled to oblige.
She had big fat meaty labia that were already parted open for me, and her clit was big and red and engorged. She tasted musky, salty with just a hint of spice. She wasn’t incredibly soaking wet, but she was quite vocal in her appreciation of my technique, crying out loud and moaning out my name as I licked her pussy. She licked having her fat clit licked hard, sucked on and even gently tugged at with my teeth. She came for me that way almost at once, bucking and kicking as I buried my face in her crotch, sucking hard; and then she came again as I greedily sucked and licked as hard as I was able on her excited pussy and clit. After two quick hard orgasms, she was showing no sign of slowing down.
Experimentally, I parted her cheeks, admiring her asshole. She went still, holding her breath. I dragged the tip of my tongue up from her gasping pussy, along the soft skin between her buttocks, then let my tongue dance around her pretty little anus. She cooed and sighed, trying to shove her ass back toward me to get more of my tongue. I flexed my tongue, trying to shove it all the way up her tight little hole. The harder I licked her ass, the more excited she got, humping back against my face. I was incredibly turned on by what I was doing to my Great Aunt; even though she had been neglecting my penis ever since her first orgasm, I was still rock hard, erect and flopping eagerly against her face.
“Oh my goodness you are good,” she gushed at last, clambering off of me, “I have got to have that thing inside me right now.” She lay down on her stomach on the hardwood floor, snatching a pillow for her hips off the settee. “You know what I want. Come on Little Mister, fuck my ass.”
Her grey hair was spread out in a tangle around her shoulders, spilling all over the floor, her ass was raised up in anticipation, her fingers were busy down between her legs. I climbed on top of her, took careful aim, and pressed the head of my cock against her tiny asshole.
“Let me know if it hurts,” I said.
“Just fuck me,” she gasped.
I pressed forward and her asshole swallowed me, accepting my cock easily and grasping it tight. Her body was hot and strong. I had to freeze, halfway impaled on her ass, holding my breath and biting my lip to keep from coming right away.
“Fuck me” she repeated. She was already humping back against me. Slowly, my dick disappeared up her butthole. The feeling was exquisite. I could feel her masturbating, her fingers working busily on her pussy and her clit. “Fuck my ass hard” she said, and I did.
It couldn’t have lasted very long. Really I have no idea how much time it was. I fucked her ass as hard as I could, shoving my cock all the way in, then pulling it back out again before plunging back inside. She loved it, screaming and crying and fucking me back, encouraging me with every thrust. “Put your come inside me, I want to feel you come!” she begged, and I was already there. I exploded, pumping my semen into her asshole even as I continued fucking her with all my might. Her ass clenched twitching on my cock as she came, screaming loud and shrill, her whole body shaking as if she were having a seizure. I collapsed, covered in sweat, across her back, my penis still captured in the grip of her anus.
Finally she was done coming, and my diminished cock slipped out of her ass. She lazily rolled over and kissed me on the forehead.
“That” she said, “was delicious. You can come back to Vermont and visit any time you like. Now we’ve both got an early morning ahead of us. We should be getting to bed.”
She gathered up her dress and left, leaving me still panting and sticky. It was late and I was exhausted, and after a few minutes I collected my clothes and padded back to my own bed.
*
The ride to the train station the next morning was bittersweet, and slightly awkward. We traded platitudes about how nice the summer had been and how it would be nice for me to see my friends again and how I really should come and visit again sometime soon. Before she dropped me off at the platform, Great Aunt Matilda put her hand on mine and kissed me, first one cheek and then the other, and then on my lips. I wasn’t sure if it was an affectionate kiss from my dignified older relative, or something less appropriate.
And then it was onto the train, the long and scenic ride down to Penn Station in Manhattan, where my friends and family waited for me, back to my own familiar bed in our little apartment, back to that now incredibly mundane-seeming stack of porno mags in my closet, back to school and teen angst and sexual frustration and the alluring but aloof and ever-elusive charms of Shannon Kelly. I settled down in my seat and watched out the window as the towns and villages of New England rode by.
***
The Monday after we had tea with my mother, a large delivery van showed up outside out building, and workmen started unloading a massive crate. Great Aunt Matilda had willed her antique wardrobe to me.
Elka took one look and shook her head. “It won’t fit. There’s no way they’ll be able to get that up the stairs, never mind into our apartment. And where would we put it?”
“We’ll make it fit,” I said, “If we have to cut a hole in the roof and drop it in with a crane, we’ll make it work.”
END
So Wrong (the collected pornographica of Elsie) 