Caroline Takes Charge Ch. 01
Aunty Caroline, at 38 two years younger than her sister, my mother, Carolina, called out from downstairs that she was off into town to the supermarket to do some shopping. I was upstairs unpacking after the train ride from London to Brighton and I called out “OK, aunty”, then I heard the front door slam.
I was looking forward to a fortnight’s holiday with aunty, suggested by my mother as a well-earned break from my university studies – I’m studying human sexuality.
When I had unpacked, I stripped nude and studied myself in the long mirror of the wardrobe. I’m a rather dumpy five feet two inches, but my height helps make my 34-inch breasts look larger than they really are. I tweaked my nipples, enjoying the slight pang of pain and the way they became hard.
I’ve got a taut little belly and a nicely trimmed pubic bush, trimmed back so much that you can see my piss flaps clearly. I’ve got a rather prominent backside, and one of my lecturers has described it as “eminently spankable” – I’m sure she’s a lesbian!
I’m quite proud of my figure, but I’d be the first to admit it’s not a touch on Aunty Caroline’s, who was – about 10 or 12 years ago, I guess – a Penthouse Pet of the Month.
She’s tall, about five feet 10 inches, with lovely lush, firm 36-inch breasts and legs that go on forever, as they say. She’s got raven-black hair, cut in a severe bob, and her pussy hair, although severely cut in the Penthouse spread, is also jet black. All right, I confess, I rather fancy her!
After putting all my clothing for the holiday away, I decided to explore. Wearing only my red leather platform shoes, I clopped my way across the landing into aunty’s bedroom.
It was much bigger than my guest room, with a large bed covered in shiny black satin sheets, with matching satin-covered pillowcases. At the foot of the bed were two high posts – ideal for bondage, I thought. Hey, I’m a student of sexuality, right?
Along one entire wall was a large walk-in wardrobe. I thought I’m here, I’ll walk in. Why not? I’m nosy, OK? As I opened the door, bright strip lighting lit up the wardrobe’s contents.
In the first section hung dresses, slacks, overcoats, raincoats, all the usual stuff you’d expect to find in a wealthy woman’s wardrobe. But in the far end, it was something else again! I’d describe it as a collection of erotic clothing that would be a pervert’s paradise!
On the racks hung PVC corsets, playsuits, leather bras and panties, crotchless panties, quarter-cup bras, lingerie in silk, satin, PVC, you name it. Then there were paddles, whips, even a rubber cat o’ nine tails.
Suddenly, my exploration was brought to an abrupt halt by the voice of my aunt. “So, Samantha, I see you’ve discovered my little secret!” I turned to face her, noting that she didn’t sound pissed. “Er, hello aunty, I thought you’d gone shopping?” was my lame response.
Aunty Caroline grinned: “I had, but half-way to the shops I realised I’d forgotten my list – and I’m useless without my list.” Then she asked sweetly: “And tell me, my dear, what balçova escort do you deduce from my little collection here?”
I gulped and said the first thing that came into my head – and it was the truth: “Well, aunty, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a practising dominatrix and these are the clothes and the tools of your trade.”
Aunty Caroline looked at me with a somewhat sly smile and began to give me a slow handclap. “Well done, my dear Watson,” she replied, “you’ve solved the case in one. And tell me, you clever little student of human sexuality, you, what do dominatrixes do?”
She still sounded completely at ease, not cross, so I responded: “Well, a dominatrix is someone who dominates people, males mostly, who …” And then my voice trailed away as I saw a sudden look of temper light up my aunt’s face.
Moving close to me, her breasts heaving in the taut red satin blouse, her thighs strongly outlined in her black leather mini, Aunty Caroline flashed out a beautifully manicured hand and grabbed me by the ear.
“A dominatrix doesn’t always dominate males, you snooping little trollop,” she snapped, cracking the words out like whip strokes. “Sometimes they punish people they catch prying into their private business.”
Aunty then proceeded to drag me out into the bedroom, where she threw me face down onto the bed. “Now stay there till I get back, you little bitch!” she spat, as I lay on the satin sheets, heart thumping, breasts heaving.
She then stepped back into the wardrobe and I heard a rustling of clothes. When she re-emerged the sight that greeted me was not Aunty Caroline, but of a former Penthouse Pet-turned-dominatrix!
Gone was the blouse and mini skirt. Instead, Aunty Caroline stood at the foot of the bed in a retro-look domination outfit. Her lush breasts were encased in a black silk bra which was see-through, her large nipples erect and straining at the material.
On her hips was a slender black garter belt, which held up her shiny black stockings. On her middle a pair of black silk panties was so sheer the black pubic thatch was plainly visible.
She looked stunning!
But the thing that caught my eye mostly, after I had drunk in her formidable, haughty beauty was the black leather paddle which she was slapping slowly but ominously against her bare thigh where the bottom of the panties ended and the top of one stocking started.
Aunty Caroline stepped to the foot of the bed and sat down. “Now, my dear Sam,” she said, in a voice which was now sweet and soothing, “what happens to naughty little nieces who pry?”
I swallowed deeply. I was no longer a 20-year-old university student of human sexuality, I was a naughty little girl, ready to bend over my mum’s lap for a well-deserved spanking – or, rather, in this case, my aunt’s. “They get punished, aunty,” I replied, hearing a strange, husky sound in my voice.
“That’s right, you wicked little minx,” said aunty, “they get punished and then all is forgiven. All, that is until the next time.”
“The karşıyaka escort next time?” I asked from my prone position on the bed. “Correct,” said Aunty Caroline, “the next time, because with wicked little nieces there’s always a next time.”
Then she was all business again. “Now, Sam, over my lap, quickly!” And in a flash I rose from the bed and lay across her lovely thighs, the toes of my platforms scraping the floor, my hands stretched out to touch the carpet on the other side of her body.
Suddenly I felt a thrill run through me as her cool hand traced across my taut buttocks, the fingers flicking ever-so-slightly across my sex lips. But the thrill was instantly banished by the crack of her right hand smacking down onto my right buttock. And again. And again.
The blows were not rat-a-tat, but spaced out. Between each spank, Aunty Caroline traced her fingers ever-so-gently across my sex, before delivering the next blow. After 12 strokes, she stopped and picked up the paddle, which she waved teasingly in front of my face.
“Time for Mistress Paddle, I think, don’t you Sam?” “Yes, aunty,” I agreed, my voice slightly above a hoarse croak.
Then the paddle cracked against my right buttock. A pause, to let the pain sink in, I guessed, then another, a pause, then another. After six strokes, she stopped. “Now don’t worry, I’m just checking something,” said aunty.
And I felt the thrill as her fingers traced over my piss flaps, then one probed my cunt, before delving further down to my clitoris. “One aroused little miscreant, eh?” I heard her say, detecting what I thought was a tremor of excitement in her voice.
“Yes, aunty,” I whispered, feeling the thrills pounding through my pussy. “Righto, Sam,” said Aunty Caroline, business-like again, “now switch sides so I can work on your left cheek.”
I stood and lowered myself in the reverse position. Aunty continued her punishment, a dozen strokes with her hand, followed by about half a dozen with her paddle.
At last it was over and I was allowed to stand. I started to place my hands behind me to rub my burning cheeks, but aunty slapped them away. “Leave them alone, my dear,” she instructed, “I want to check out the heat there.”
Then she stood and facing me, only inches away from my naked body, she peeled off her panties, before tossing them down on the bed. “Stand in the middle of the foot of the bed, stretch your arms out and grasp the bed posts,” she commanded.
I did so, then felt the incredible coolness of aunty’s buttocks rubbing side to side against mine. “Hmmm, yes, they are really lovely and warm, aren’t they?” she said. “Yes, aunty,” I answered, not wanting her buttock-to-buttock massage to stop.
Then I felt her stand close behind me, her mons pressing against the small of my back, her hands moving across my belly, up my rib cage to my breasts, which she cupped and stroked. I hardly dared breathe, it was so exciting.
“Now what do you say, pet?” she asked, her mouth hovering over my ear. çeşme escort “Thank-you, aunty,” I said, my heart going pit-a-pat as I felt her firm breasts pressing against my shoulder blades.
“And tell me, Sam, do you think there’s a special way you can thank aunty for giving you that spanking you so richly deserved?” She was excited, I could tell, her pussy was pressing against me still, her hands roaming all over my boobs.
I took a deep breath and groaned: “There could be a special way, if what I’m thinking is what you’re thinking, aunty,” I told her, my heart thumping like a jackhammer.
Aunty kissed me on the right ear, while gently stroking my nipples to maintain their erections. “I’ll tell you what part of me wants to be thanked, if you tell me what part of you should do the thanking, my dear little niece,” Aunty Caroline said, barely able to control her voice.
In a voice which I am sure echoed her excitement, I whispered back: “Tell me where you want to be thanked, darling aunty.”
Her right hand left my breast and traced a sliding path to my pussy, where her fingers brushed over my clit. “I want you to thank my pussy, my darling,” she almost hissed in my ear.
I took another huge gulp and threw all inhibitions away: “I want to thank your pussy with my mouth, aunty!”
Immediately, Aunty Caroline placed her hands up against my wrists and pulled them from the bedposts, then put a hand around my waist, walked me to the head of the bed, kicked her high heels off, then lay back on the pillows, spreading her gorgeous legs wide.
I bent to unbuckle the straps on my platform shoes, then climbed up on the bed, placing my knees down between her widespread ankles and lowering my face towards her pussy, its pink piss flaps peeping out between a trimmed thatch of jet-black pubic hair.
The first thing that struck me was the wonderfully erotic aroma from her sex, then the glorious taste of sex juices as I at first contented myself with lapping at her lips, tasting the sweet nectar. Then I began to explore.
For my first foray into minge munching – with previous girl friends I had only played finger fucking games – I lapped a while at her sweet sex, while she let out a groan which I earnestly hoped was of pleasure.
Then I grew more adventurous, flicking my tongue from her dark-brown puckered anus up to her cunt, then higher still to her thick and stiff clit.
For a few minutes I worked my way around her stunning sex, tasting, lapping and licking before finding my way back to her clit. Suddenly, Aunty Caroline let go a groan and implored: “Put the flat of your tongue on it, darling, flat tongue me – yes, yes, yeees!”
And with a thrust she pressed he pussy hard against my face, while grabbing my head and pulling me onto her as her orgasm struck.
Slowly, her panting pleasure subsided and I snuggled up against her lovely body, feeling behind her back to unclasp the bra and peel it from her. I bent and sucked on her superb-erect nipples, nuzzling up to the firmness of her mounds.
Aunty stroked my head and whispered: “Thank-you, my darling, that was wonderful. Now, are you going to be naughty again?”
I licked at a nipple, flicking it with my tongue, then I laughed.
“Aunty, I’m a 20-year-old student of human sexuality. Of course I am!”
To be continued…