Loading...Auntie Barbara had been married briefly many years ago, when I was a child but her husband had left suddenly with the parting shot to my mother and other members of the family, “She’s impossible. No man could give her what she wants. Believe me; she’ll come to a bad end. One day, some man will do what she wants and it’ll kill her.”
This was reported to me at an early age without interpretation, and I assumed that either she was a wicked woman who wanted to rob banks, or else to go diving among sharks, or perhaps take part in dangerous sports such as ski-diving, mountain climbing or motorcycle racing. None of the adults explained what he may have meant, so I grew up thinking of her as either very naughty or else an audacious older woman. She was about 16 years older than I was, and so not quite a whole generation ahead of me in the family.
She’d had a few scandals in her past, which my mother (her eldest sister) never discussed but referred obliquely and rarely to “the Italian” and “her Russian” and “that boy from Alabama”. I could only assume that these men were as wicked as Auntie Barbara or else as risk-prone in their lifestyles, and therefore to be avoided. Even so, she was the embodiment of womanhood for me: the older woman, who looked good, behaved disgracefully, and who held my attention whenever she was in the same room as I was.
For as long as I could remember, I saw Auntie Barbara as a fascinating and alluring woman. At the age of 10, I thought she was the most attractive and sociable woman in the family. At 15, I watched her and wanted to be near her because she had an effect on my frame of mind, and on my burgeoning libido. At 18, I found myself comparing girl friends to Auntie Barbara and always finding her the most engaging and desirable. At 20, I actually got to kiss her properly at Christmas that year, in a party-game way, but discovered she knew how to kiss and that her figure was desirable. In the course of a 5-second kiss, I held her to me and she pressed herself against me as well. She looked straight into my eyes as we separated, raised her eyebrows at me and then giggled. I thought she was making fun of me and was mildly offended, but nothing Auntie Barbara did could ever make me dislike her. Then I was off on my career, away from home and travelling for some years.
By the time I returned to my home town at the age of 27, I knew much more about life and a little about women. As I made my way home, I remembered Auntie Barbara and wondered how she was. She’d be older now after six or seven years, so perhaps she’d lost her charm. Some women do that, don’t they? I remembered the last time I saw her and how she was dressed. For a woman in her late thirties, she’d dressed well but not too young, but she had behaved outrageously young. I recalled a plain cream cotton skirt that came well above her knees and gripped her hips and thighs, with smooth legs inside tights (I supposed), mountainously high heels on cream shoes, a short jacket fastened to show off a nice cleavage, and her hair cut into a bob. At that last occasion, she held me to her and kissed me full on the mouth, pressing her breasts against me and letting he hold her waist. At the time, I wondered what her figure was like underneath the clothing, and also what underwear she had on. That was the curiosity of a young man in the presence of a vivacious woman. Any vivacious woman I suppose, whether she was mother’s sister or not.
Now I was making my way home and would see her in a day or two. I was more excited about meeting Auntie Barbara again than I was about seeing my mother. Father had died a few years ago and she lived the quiet life of a 60-ish widow with no apparent interests in her life. I went to see mother first for three days, and then called Auntie Barbara to see if I could go round to her place. At that stage, my intentions were purely social and familial.
“Of course, dear Thomas, come now; as soon as you like. I’ll make some supper and you can stay over with me and Timothy. It would be so nice to have Tom and Tim here together.” That would have sounded improper except I knew that Timothy was her old tom-cat. You can see the play on names, which was typical of her sense of humour.
I said to my mother, “Auntie Barbara would like me to go round and stay over. I’ve a present for her so shall I do that, or go tomorrow?”
“Please yourself dear, the sooner you go the sooner it’ll be over. Then you won’t have to see her again.” Mother clearly believed that I regarded seeing Auntie Barbara as an unwelcome chore. So I packed the minimum of things in my smallest bag and drove the one hour or so to my Auntie’s house.
As soon as I saw her, I was astounded at Auntie Barbara’s ability to remain unchanged. She looked exactly as I remembered her. The bobbed hair, the figure shown to advantage in a fitted skirt and tightish sweater, and heels. Such heels! The skirt was longer than I remembered from the previous occasion, but shaped perfectly to her hips and waist, and her legs were as attractive as ever. I did a quick calculation and decided she must be well into her 40s, but she looked better than most younger women I’d known of 30 or even 25.
She held me, pressing herself to me so that I could feel the firm swell of her breasts through my shirt. I put my hands on her waist, either side, on top of her hips, and she kissed me on my lips. As the kiss finished, she took my hands and pulled them behind herself so that I was holding her in a real embrace about her middle and she put her hands up to my shoulders and behind my head. With one quick look into my eyes, she pulled my face to hers and began a full open-mouth kiss, with her tongue just brushing my lips to start. I didn’t pull away, and I suppose she took that as an encouragement. She pushed further into my mouth and I let her, tipping my tongue against hers as she explored behind my top teeth. She smelled wonderful; newly showered and clean, with a gently scent of patchouli or cardamom. She held my head against hers, as I bent down to her and pushed her tongue fully up into my mouth, to my back teeth and towards my throat. I’d been there only 30 seconds and she was linked to me as if we were old and long-lost lovers. My excitement was rising in my trousers and she pressed her groin against me to feel it the better, it seemed to me. And so I gave her my tongue also as soon as an opportunity arose. Her lips were sweet and wide open to me. She just opened her mouth and invited me in, which I did all the way to her molars and the top arch of her hard palate. We breathed together and shared the space in her mouth, with her tongue entwining itself with mine. As I drew my face away from hers, I knew that this would be no simple nephew visit, and she smiled as we separated.
“Would you like some tea or will you let me show you what you’ve always wondered?” she said, and drew me towards another room, that I knew was her bedroom. Clearly, it wasn’t a question at all.
Timothy was on her bed and she lifted him off, plonked him through the door into the living room, and closed the door to keep him out. She turned and got hold of me again.
“Thomas, you’re a man and not just my nephew. I’ve been watching you since you were a little boy, because I knew you’d grow into a beautiful man. And I was right. Now tell me this: didn’t you watch me more than any of your other aunties?”
I chuckled, “You know I did, Auntie Barbara.”
She held me to her and spoke in a low voice, “Just Barbara, now. We’re a man and a woman in the same family, who’ve liked each other for many years. Yes?”
“Yes, Barbara,” I said, just as softly, “I’ve watched you and wanted to know more about you for as long as I can remember.”
“Well, tonight,” she paused and looked me in the eyes, “you can know everything about me that you’ve ever wanted to know, or wondered about.”
We smiled at each other, or rather we grinned with all the signs of two people who understood that anything could happen, and would, and that they’d enjoy it.
As she opened the door to her bedroom, I slipped off my shoes. At the same moment, she undid the back button on her skirt. Then she turned to me, took my right hand, turned slightly to one side and placed my hand on the zipper. I knew she wanted me to push it down, so I went properly behind her and did it. The skirt would have fallen to the carpet over her slip, but I bent and then knelt down to help her step out of it. She turned to face me and, as my head was on a level with her groin, she gently placed both her hands on my head and pulled me to her. I stopped moving for a moment and felt her body through the slip, and I could smell the freshness of her skin. Also, I could feel the edge of some underwear that was invisible but felt quite hard, and immediately my erection built a little more in anticipation of later discoveries.
She released me and I picked up the skirt as she stepped to one side in her high heels, and placed it on a chair. I stood up and she took my hands to her waist, to the bottom edge of the sweater. I took hold and started to lift, all the time our eyes looking into each other’s, until the sweater got in the way and I lifted it clear of her arms and her head. She herself pushed the slip away from her waist and let it fall to the floor and there she was, only in her most intimate underwear and I couldn’t help but stare. Holding up her stockings with eight suspenders, she wore a very long black zippered girdle and pair of tight nylon panties over it. The girdle reached down under her bottom at the back and made a smooth line there all the way from her waist to her thighs. At the front, it was made to rise a little at the bottom edge, so that I could just see the inverted V-shape within her panties, which were pulled up tight into her waist. Over the girdle, she was wearing a black longline bra with sturdy shoulder straps. She rotated in front of me, in display, and I could see the bra fastened with no fewer than 12 hooks and eyes. She wore it over her girdle, so that the tightness of the bra added to the attenuation at her waist and made it even smaller.
As she returned to face me, she asked, “Do you like what you see, Thomas?”
Until that time, as a young man, I’d always thought the most erotic experience was to hold a naked woman and feel her flesh next to me. At that moment, I was overwhelmed by another set of emotions and sensations. I was intrigued and eager about the tautness of her girdle fabric over her figure. The tightness and the hardness of the edges, the boning and the seams all excited more than anything ever had in my life. I touched her and ran my hand over the hard smoothness of her waist and hips, and lingered over the firm roundness of her bottom. From that moment, I was converted to a new definition of the erotic. For me, forever afterwards, it has meant a female figure tightly contained in corsetry and constrained in its movement.
“Oh yes, Aunt… er…Barbara,” I replied correcting myself, “I like it very much.”
I and realised that I was still fully dressed. I reached up to my shirt buttons and started to undo them, but she took over.
She took off my shirt and pressed my chest with both her palms, and grabbed little handfuls of my hairs.
She smiled up into my eyes, “Lovely. You’re really lovely, Thomas.”
No woman had ever said such a thing to me before. I was going wild with excitement and expectation.
She undid my trousers and would have kneeled down but I stopped her. I wanted to see her standing there in her firm underwear, and her high heels, not grovelling at my ankles and struggling with my trousers. I held her waist as my trousers fell to the carpet and I stepped sideways out of them, leaving them there in a pile. I reached down with one hand and slipped off one sock and then the second, she balancing me as I stood first on one leg and then the other. That left my briefs. That day, I must have had some premonition because I’d put on my sexiest black Lycra-nylon briefs; almost like a woman’s with high leg and coming just over my hip bones. My penis was peeping out of the top edge, nice and full and pink and rigid. She hooked one finger into the top band and walked backwards, drawing me after her. As we reached the bed, only three or four steps, she let go of the band and slid her hand down over the outside of my briefs until she cupped my balls in her hand, and pressed her wrist forward against my erection as it stood up against my stomach.
Again, she smiled up into my eyes and said again, “Lovely. You’re really lovely, Thomas. Will you do what I want if I let you do whatever you wish later?”
“Yes. Show me,” I replied in a fever of erotic anticipation.
She lay on the bed in front of me with some difficulty because of the constriction of her corsetry, a sexual vision in her black girdle and bra, dark stockings and still in her high heels.
“Thomas, I want you to rip these panties off me. Just do whatever you need to tear them off me. OK?”
I just nodded. This was a new experience to me. “And then there’ll be a few more things I’d like especially from you; is that alright, Thomas?”
I nodded again and made a positive sound, “Mmm.”
She closed her eyes, lifting her arms over her head on the pillow. I reached down and took hold of the waist band of her panties and lifted it away from her girdle. I pulled until her whole body was starting to lift off the bed, before I realised this was not the way to get them off her. So I took hold with both hands either side of the front, hooking my fingers around and into the legs. I pulled them apart, hoping that the front would split. It didn’t; clearly this was going to need a lot more force and there was no way she could remain quiet, ladylike and comfortable if I was to achieve my objective.
I kneeled on the bed, straddling her legs and took hold with both hands at the front of the gusset, and dug my fingers into the gusset itself. I could feel the warmth and the moisture that it had from her, and started to pull my hands apart. A stitch gave way; just one but I knew I was on the right track. I pulled my hands apart again but there was no other click of a stitch failing. These panties were pretty tough, I realised, and decided instead to change my position. I turned my back on her, still straddling across her body at stomach level, almost over her chest. I took the same hold on the pantie-legs, through to the gusset and leaned back to exert the whole force of my body weight in addition to my arms’ strength. One more stitch gave way. I repeated the movement and one more stitch cracked. I glanced over my shoulder at her and she was still lying there with eyes closed, mouth serious and hands over her head on the pillow. By now, my erection was painful and I wanted those panties off her more than anything in the world.
I moved off her and unceremoniously turned her over with her face in the pillow and her arms spread out. I squatted down with my back towards her head; sitting almost on her shoulders, parted her legs a little, and took hold of the pantie-legs at the gusset. I leaned backward and tensed my leg muscles as if to stand up. The panties stretched with my movement and she began to lift off the bed. I kept on standing up and she came completely off the bed apart from her head. Her feet were off the bed and jiggling about in the air, the waist band of the panties was digging into her and forcing the bra edge even further into the girdle waist. I stood up full with my hands straining to hold onto the panties and gave them a sudden shake. Her body shuddered halfway in mid air and the panties just came apart in my hands. They ripped from the gusset to the waist and then the waist band gave out. I was left standing up in the bed, facing away from her with the wreckage of her panties in my hands. She fell back to the bed and gave out a great sigh; whether from the shock of hitting the bed again or from some emotion, I couldn’t tell and didn’t care. I’d done what she asked. I dropped the wreckage over the side of the bed and turned to her, kneeling to one side of her and putting my face down to hers. She opened her eyes and turned slightly to take hold of my head, drew me down to her and gave me a great kiss on my cheek.
“Delightful. Thank you. Now one more thing to please me, Thomas.”
I nodded again and said my, “Mmm.”
“Over there’s something wrapped up. Please bring it to me.”
I saw it, a towel wrapped around something and I went to get it. As she took it from me, she let the towel fall off the object and I could see it was a black object, almost as long as my arm and about two inches wide, and only about one-tenth of an inch thick, with what seemed to be a handle shape at one end. It was new to me although I now know to call it a paddle. Momentarily, I hadn’t any idea of what it was or what it was for.
“I want you to spank my bottom hard, through my girdle until I tell you to stop. Will you do that for me? Don’t stop until I say so. OK?”
I nodded and took the paddle, which was made of a hard black rubber. She rolled over onto her front again, with her arms outstretched..
I stood off the bed, raised the paddle about one foot and gave her a quick slap on her black girdled bottom. The sound surprised me as a mixture of thud and crack. She didn’t move but said into the pillow, “Harder. Much harder.”
I did it more forcefully and heard the more crack on the taut back panel of her corsetry and less thud.
“Harder. Much much harder. Try to hurt me, Thomas.”
My erection was painful and still partly contained in my own briefs. My testicles were straining to be released at the crotch. All I wanted was to get inside this delectable corseted woman who seemed ready for anything.
I raised the paddle as high as I could and came down on the girdle with a mighty crack that echoed around the room and no hint of the thus sound. I was sure I’d hurt her badly but she made no sound. I raised the paddle again and gave her an even harder blow. The rubber of the paddle seemed to dig into the shiny panel of the girdle. I could see the mark it made on the fabric. I did it again with greater force than before, so that now she made a sound “Ahh” and she squirmed in the bed, with her head in the pillow and her arms still outstretched.
Although I was uncertain how many times to repeat the beating, she hadn’t told me to stop, so I continued. I lifted the paddle more times than I could count or remember, and brought it down on her girdled bottom with every ounce of my energy and as much force as I could lay onto her. Sometimes I missed the target of her bottom and hit the tops of her thighs through the stocking tops. Once or twice I hit her waist through the long bra and the heavy girdle, but mostly I landed blow upon blow on the smooth raised bottom. She was making sounds with every blow by this time, and they’d changed from “Ahh” to “Uhh” and to little screams.
After what seemed hours of paddling her, but may have been five minutes, she raised one hand from the bed and pushed it down under herself, to play on her clitoris or vagina. I kept up the hard beating for four or five more blows until she suddenly said, “Stop”.
I did and stood back, all sweating and breathless. She was lying there and moving slightly around her groin, until with a loud cry, she convulsed and bucked in the bed, lifting and dropping her hips and bottom many times.
“Yes. Yes. Oh YES,” she shouted and then was still.
I went to her and kneeled at the side of the bed, putting my face close to hers. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes were awash, and the pillow had patches of wetness, where her tears had dripped off her face. She was sobbing into the pillow, whether from pain or pleasure I couldn’t tell. I put my arm over her shoulders and held her tenderly, because I didn’t know what else to do or what was expected of me. For some minutes, she lay there sobbing until she went quiet and turned her head to look at me.
“Thank you. It’s so many years since I had that pleasure, Thomas. You’ll never know how much this means to me.” She was still sobbing and the tears were still flowing. “Forgive me for the tears. It’s hard to explain but very important for me. Hold me now, please, Thomas.”
I lay on the bed and she clung to me, sobbing still, and I was completely out of my depth, emotionally and sexually. Nothing in life had prepared me for this and my erection was beginning to wane. As if realising it, she reached down and took hold of my briefs, and pushed them out of the way so that she could hold my somewhat-less-stiff penis. She pushed and pulled the skin over the tip, so that I revived and she looked into my eyes from her position on the pillow.
“Now I’m yours. Anything you want. Shall I undress for you?”
I reached down myself and pushed the briefs off my hips and down to my ankles, and off into the bed somewhere.
“No. Stay dressed for me, please.”
She lay on her back in her black corsetry and still in her high heels, which were to stay on her feet for the rest of the night. I played with her body through her corsetry, rubbing and massaging her breast and waist, and slowly down to her groin, between her legs and to the running wetness of her vagina. She was ready for anything a man could or would do. I entered her as she looked up into my eyes through her own tears, and she smiled softly and fondly at me. Her hands were up on the pillow again, as she opened herself for my pleasure. I moved and plunged into her with increasing pace and force until she closed her eyes and her body was shaken all over the bed but I was determine not to come yet. I wanted a great deal more of this lovely woman.
Over the next many hours of the night, she gave me all and I played with her body and her corsetry. When I was kneeling behind her, I held onto the suspenders or the bottom edge of her girdle. When I was lying on her from behind, I reached round and held her breasts through the boning and the fabric of her firm long bra. When I lay behind her like two spoons, I held her waist and could feel the heavy pressure on her body from the girdle and the bra combined. Standing behind her at the bed-edge, I could hold onto her shapely and girdle-confined hips, and that is where I eventually came in her with a mighty gush of my fluids. She was wet throughout all my movements with her, and never spoke except to say “Yes” or sometimes “Yes, please” and just once she said close to my ear, “Shag me, Thomas. Shag me. Shag me. Do what you want.” It occurred to me that she’d never used the word “fuck” in her life, but her meaning was quite clear.
Her orgasms came from her playing on herself with her hands and were always explosive. When I tried to play on her clitoris with my own hands, she gently pushed me away and did it for herself. I was content to let her please herself in the way she liked best.
She went to empty her bladder twice in the night but always came straight back to me, to the same position she’d left and didn’t bother drying herself. I felt at her both times and thrust my hand into her labia to feel the moisture and to make her ready for my next entry.
I buried my head between her legs on two occasions and licked her labia, sucked on her vagina, and nibbled at her clitoris, so that she came to gigantic orgasms both times. I realised that my hands would be useless in pleasing her by comparison to my tongue and lips. It was a lesson that I relearned every time we met in future.
As dawn began to appear in her window, she said, “Please undress me now.”
She got out of the bed and I could see that the stockings hadn’t survived. They were as wrecked as her panties had been 12 hours earlier. She’d worn her shoes all through the night, so I took them off and undid the remains of stockings from the suspenders, pulling them off her. The bra came off as a damp item of underwear, with my sweat as well as hers. I played and nuzzled her breasts again without confinement, and she held me head to her nipples as I sucked and nibbled at them. She shuddered and it seemed that she’d come to another orgasm but I could hardly believe that. I’ve wondered about it since.
The girdle was also damp and took me many minutes to remove. I slowly pushed down the zipper until all the hooks were exposed. One by one, I undid the eight hooks and she was standing there in front of me with only this open item of clothing between us. Slowly I took the top edge, bent it over, and started to fold it down her body until it was inside out at her knees. Then I kneeled and she stepped out of it. Her skin was marked by the seams and the bones of her girdle. Her bottom and thighs were red and stung with my paddling. I ran my hand over the marks and laid it gently on her lovely buttocks and she winced slightly.
I said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I told you to hurt me, so say no more,” she smiled, “how else was I to get my greatest pleasure? You may never understand but now you know what I want.”
As I rose, she held me close to her, feeling our skins against each other for the first time. Our excitement began to build again and we returned to the bed, but we were both spent. We held each other and kissed, and let our hands roam over each other’s bodies. She kissed every inch of my skin from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, including inside my ears and right on my anus. She took my testicles into her mouth and sucked them gently, and then kissed all along my floppy penis and over my groin.
In return, I did the same to her and revelled in her shapeliness and the responsiveness of her body. She made little mewing sounds as I progressed over her skin, which I started at her toes. At the end we were kissing each other faces again and so we fell asleep.
For the next four years, we made love whenever I visited my home town and that became rather more frequent. My mother never knew why I wanted to visit Auntie Barbara, and assumed I’d developed a sense of family responsibility for the “black sheep”. Barbara showed me new ways to please her but always with her corsetry taking the prime place in all that we did. She always insisted on wearing those clothes when we were together and when I entered her. The paddling was always over the firmest girdle or other corsetry she possessed. Inside her firm foundations, she was open to my full hand and many nights we slept for a time with my hand inside her after she was full of my seminal fluids and lots of lubricant. Gradually I had to replace all her corsetry because we wrecked it, piece after piece, until her collection was merely a set of bones held together with remnants of fabric and hooks. It was worth it, every price-tag and every minute spent looking for her increasingly rare styles. If I had more space, I could recount the history of each item of the diverse corsetry that she wore and how it fitted into our loving times.
After ten years, she still tells me, “You’re the only person and the only thing that excites me these days, dear Thomas. Please never stop touching me and feeling at me.” I always find out exactly what corsetry she’s wearing. She always revels in my hands roaming over her girdled still-shapely body, discovering her underwear and the tightness that she insists on wearing still. She likes to explore me and play with my body. We don’t do the hard spanking any more but she talks to me about it, recounting some of her most memorable times and helping me to understand her needs and her wants. We please each other very much indeed.