index


Message-ID: <38166asstr$1031314205@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Scipio <imperatorSPAMBLOCK@mindspring.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Subject: {ASSM} Summer Camp, Ch 02 (F-solo, m-solo, voy)
Date: Fri,  6 Sep 2002 08:10:05 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Title: Summer Camp - Book One: Susan
Chapter: 02
Author: Scipio
Codes: F-solo, m-solo, voy
Revision: 1.0
Archive: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/scipio/SummerCamp

*****************************************************************
                       STANDARD DISCLAIMER

The following piece of fiction is intended as ADULT 
entertainment. It contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL 
nature. If you are offended by sexually explicit content or 
language, please DO NOT read any further.

All characters in this story are fictitious, any similarity to 
any persons, places, individuals or situations is purely 
coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse 
any of the activities described in this story.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without 
the written permission of the author, Scipio 
(imperator@mindspring.com). This story may be freely distributed 
with this disclaimer attached.

Copyright 2002 Scipio. All rights reserved.

*****************************************************************

Summer Camp - Book One: Susan
by Scipio

CHAPTER TWO

The next two days passed quickly.

Even though I paid close attention, I didn't catch my mom staring 
at my penis again. Each morning, I made sure that I got out of 
bed before my morning erection had fully subsided. I guess I was 
kind of showing off, but she kept her eyes firmly averted. I 
don't know why I'd thrown caution (not to mention modesty) to the 
wind, but I'd done it. Mom didn't say anything to me, though I 
know she must have noticed.

It was three days after my father left that my life changed 
forever.

It started with a thunderstorm.

-----

A storm was brewing in the late afternoon, the skies were getting 
dark and the wind had whipped up. The first fat raindrops began 
pelting the roof of the clubhouse shortly after dinner. The 
clubhouse was crowded that night, since it was raining, and there 
was lots to do. I was starting to get tired, however, and was 
trying to decide if I wanted to go to bed or play another game of 
ping pong. Mom came up to me about then and said that she and 
Erin were going up to the cabin to get ready for bed. I decided 
to join them and we went to the screen door to look out into the 
storm.

The wind had abated somewhat, but it was still raining steadily. 
We waited for a while to see if it would slack off, but it 
didn't. Finally, we decided to go ahead and run for it, and the 
three of us streaked off into the rainy night. There were a few 
street-light type lights up the sandy road, so we could see where 
we were going, but in the storm, their light only reached so far. 
So we had to run carefully, and the rain beat down on our 
unprotected skin as we ran up the hill.

With a last sprint, Erin surged ahead of me (I had already passed 
Mom) and bounded up the stairs. I came up shortly, panting from 
the run, and turned to watch Mom run the last bit. When she 
reached the stairs, we all stood on the porch, in the light of 
the single bulb over the door, and panted with exertion, grinning 
at each other.

Mom stepped back out onto the porch steps and held first her 
right foot, then her left, out under the water sheeting off the 
cabin roof. The cascading water washed the wet sand off her feet 
and calves, and Erin and I followed suit.

Mom, still dripping wet, stepped into the cabin to get our bath 
towels (our beach towels were soaked where we'd left them on the 
railing earlier in the day). When she stepped back out into the 
light of the porch, she handed a towel each to Erin and me, and 
began to dry herself with the last one. We each toweled off 
quietly, listening to the sound of the rain beating down on the 
roof above us and the surrounding pine forest.

Erin finished drying off and went inside without a word. I was 
vigorously rubbing my head, drying my hair, when Mom threw her 
hair forward over her head and bent at the waist and began 
toweling her wet locks.

She had been facing away from me when she bent over, and in the 
light of the single bulb, I could clearly make out her pussy lips 
between her legs as she bent over. The hair around her pussy was 
sparse between her legs, and her plump pussy lips were plainly 
visible. She ran the towel over her hair as I stared at her 
exposed sex. I had stopped drying my own hair I was so transfixed 
by the sight.

With a wave of near panic, I realized that my treacherous penis 
was quickly becoming erect. With a strangled squeak, I dropped 
the towel to cover my nearly erect dick, pretending to dry my 
pubic hair.

With a lurch, I pulled open the screen door and ran inside. As I 
entered the cabin, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mom 
standing up with a quizzical look on her face. The screen door 
shut with a bang as I quickly rushed to the bathroom to hang up 
my towel and turned, headed for the (relative) safety of my top 
bunk. My heart sank as I came out of the bathroom and saw Mom 
just stepping through the screen door.

I decided there was nothing I could do now, and quickened my pace 
towards the ladder, my cock bouncing before me as if leading the 
way. I kept my gaze focused on the ladder, and once again out of 
the corner of my eye I saw Mom look at me as if to speak. She 
didn't say anything though, and I climbed the ladder in relief, 
climbing under the sheet and rolling on my stomach to hide my 
erection. I knew she had seen the divining rod that was my hard-
on, however, and I was once again overcome with a feeling of 
embarrassment mixed with exhilaration.

-----

That next morning, I woke early. I don't know what woke me, but 
it was still very early in the morning. The cabin was bathed in 
the same half-light as the world outside, and it was still 
raining lightly. I lay awake for a few minutes, quietly listening 
to the sound of the rain and breathing in the smell of the damp 
pine forest around us.

Then I heard a low sound, almost like a moan, and I realized what 
had woken me. Very quietly, very slowly, I rolled over in bed so 
that I could look over the edge of the top bunk. I looked down at 
Mom's bed and what I saw there made me pause.

The sheets were still covering her, but as she lay on her back, I 
could see the outline of her form quite clearly. She had her eyes 
closed, and as her head gently rolled from side to side, I could 
see the sheet moving at the junction of her legs. As I watched, I 
thought that she had her right hand pressed against her pussy and 
was moving it in small circles. Her left hand was at her left 
breast, and I could tell she was squeezing her nipple.

With a start, I realized she was masturbating, and I once again 
felt a familiar hardness between my own legs. I gazed down in 
wonder, watching my mother pleasure herself. With her left hand, 
she would alternate cupping her breast and kneading her nipple. 
Her right hand never let up its relentless motion as she moved 
her fingers in little circles.

I watched for perhaps five minutes, gently stroking my erection 
with my right hand, as Mom brought herself closer and closer to 
her orgasm. Suddenly, she tensed up and her right hand froze. I 
could see her legs stiffen as she rolled her head to the side and 
bit into the pillow, stifling any sound she might have made. Then 
she brought both legs up, with her knees to her chest, and rocked 
back and forth for ten or fifteen second. She did all this in 
complete silence. Once her orgasm subsided, she quietly rolled to 
the side, her legs still drawn up. I could see her quietly 
panting with the exertion and pleasure of the moment.

She lay like that for quite a while, unmoving, as she slowly 
regained her normal breathing rhythm. I don't know how many 
minutes passed before she straightened her legs and rolled back 
onto her back, where I could see her right hand still pressed 
against her pussy. She slowly pulled her right hand away from her 
sex and cupped her breasts with both hands. I watched as she 
languidly kneaded her breasts, caressing her nipples with the 
tips of her fingers. Finally, to my disappointment, she put her 
hands back down by her hips.

 From my perch on the top bunk, in the slowly lightening morning, 
I had watched my mother pleasure herself. As she lay motionless 
on her bed, I rolled over as quietly as I could, putting my back 
to the exposed edge of the bunk bed. I wanted to stroke my penis, 
to bring myself to orgasm as my mother had just done, but I 
couldn't. I knew Mom would see or hear me if I tried.

By the time I heard Mom quietly get up and begin to move about 
the cabin, the sun had come up fully and its light had began to 
filter through the fragrant pine trees behind the cabin. The rain 
had also stopped entirely, though a fine mist still hung in the 
air, almost aglow with the sun's light. When I stopped stroking 
myself, my erection slowly shrunk. It was still tumescent, 
however, as I swung my legs over the side of the bed and felt for 
the ladder rung with my toes.

Outside, birds had begun singing after the rain. The storm had 
knocked a few degrees off the temperature and the normally cool 
morning was downright chilly. Without a word, Mom and I left Erin 
sleeping and walked down to the clubhouse in companionable 
silence.

Earlier, in the cabin, when she had bent over to brush her hair 
out, I had noticed that her labia were swollen and dark pink. It 
excited me thinking about her masturbating, but I ruthlessly kept 
my thoughts and emotions in check and we made it to the clubhouse 
without me getting an erection.

As we neared the clubhouse, we could tell that the wind last 
night had done a lot of superficial damage. There were smaller, 
and some larger, branches all down the road to the clubhouse. 
When we approached the side door, we saw that there was a big 
branch, six or eight inches in diameter, almost touching the back 
corner of the building.

Once inside, we could see through the screened windows on the far 
side of the clubhouse that many of the lighter lawn chairs on the 
side porch had been blown about and scattered by the force of the 
storm.

As Mom and I headed to the kitchen area to fix some breakfast, we 
saw Aunt Susan drinking a glass of juice at one of the tables.

One of the odd things about Aunt Susan was that she always wore 
bikini bottoms. That wasn't unusual, in and of itself. Women and 
girls at the camp wore shorts or bikini bottoms during their 
period. So seeing a woman partially clothed wasn't surprising. 
What was odd, at least to my mind, was that Aunt Susan always 
wore bikini bottoms. I'd seen her in several different pairs, but 
she was always clad in something. They weren't 'granny panties' 
either, like she was simply old-fashioned - they were usually 
trendy bikini bottoms. She just always wore them.

I had always thought that maybe she was just self-conscious. I 
didn't think much more about it, however, as Mom headed for Aunt 
Susan's table and I offered to fix breakfast.

"Thank you, Paul. I'd like just a piece of buttered toast and a 
glass of orange juice," Mom said as she sat down across from Aunt 
Susan.

"Would you like me to fix you anything, Aunt Susan?" I asked, 
trying to show off how polite I was.

"No thank you, Paul," she said. I headed for the kitchen to toast 
some bread and fix myself a bowl of cereal.

When I returned with Mom's toast and juice, and my own bowl of 
Fruit Loops, Mom and Aunt Susan were talking, and Mom had a 
concerned look on her face. As I seated myself, Mom recounted 
their conversation to me.

"Aunt Susan's house suffered quite a bit of minor damage in last 
night's storm," Mom said. Susan's house was surrounded by a lot 
of pine trees, and was set away from the rest of the buildings at 
the camp. "She's got branches, including several large ones, on 
her roof and in her courtyard. She was also telling me that the 
fiberglass roof over her back patio had many pieces simply 
missing."

"That's too bad," I said, not knowing what else to say. I covered 
up by digging into my cereal with gusto.

"It'll take several days to clean it up," Aunt Susan said, "and 
with the boys away for the summer, I'm on my own."

Mom knew a set-up for an enterprising young man when she heard 
one. "Paul would be happy to help you, if you need him."

I froze, mid-bite, and lifted my head to look at each of the 
older women at the table. I cannot express to you how much I 
desperately wanted to avoid schlepping around picking up branches 
on my summer vacation.

"I could pay you, Paul," she said, looking at me. "Three dollars 
an hour."

That got my attention. Three dollars was better than minimum wage 
in 1978! For a cash-strapped 15-year-old, it was good money. I 
chewed the mouthful of Fruit Loops I had just scooped up and 
raised my eyebrows in interest.

"It's a couple days' worth of work," she cautioned. "But I'll 
feed you breakfast and lunch."

"Oh, Susan, you don't have to do that," Mom said.

"It'll be nice," Aunt Susan replied. "With both the boys away 
with college, the house is too quiet. It'll be nice having 
someone around to fix a meal for. Besides," she said with mock 
severity, "I insist."

"I'm sure Paul would love to do it," Mom volunteered me. "Just 
make sure he's back in time for dinner at six."

I was a bit peeved at being summarily volunteered, but the money 
took the wind out of any resentment that I might have felt. If it 
took a couple of days, I could make more than fifty (!!) dollars. 
To me, that was a princely sum, and I quickly nodded my head.

"It's settled then," Aunt Susan said. "There's nothing pressing 
that needs to be done today, Paul, so why don't you come 'round 
tomorrow morning and we'll make a clean start of it?"

I scooped another spoonful of cereal into my mouth and nodded 
with enthusiasm.

-----

The next morning, Mom made sure I was up on time, and I headed 
down the hill towards Aunt Susan's house.

As I've said, Aunt Susan was close enough to my parents' age. At 
38, she was only two years older than they were. She also looked 
quite a lot like my mom. Her hair was darker and her breasts were 
different, but otherwise, they had very similar builds.

The differences between their breasts were mostly cosmetic - they 
were roughly the same size and shape, although Aunt Susan's were 
a little rounder than Mom's. But where my mother was tanned a 
golden bronze, Aunt Susan was fair. She had dark pink areolas, a 
little larger than Mom's, that were perfectly round. Her nipples, 
however, were less pronounced than Mom's. She also had the same 
hourglass figure and blue eyes that my mother had. Looking back 
with hindsight, I now realize that the two women could have been 
sisters.

As I strode purposefully towards her house, set about a hundred 
feet away from anything else, I could see that the thick stand of 
pines had taken a beating from the previous night's storm. There 
were branches, some larger around than my arm, littering the 
ground underneath the pines. Before I got to the trees, I could 
see only glimpses of the house itself, but I imagined the work in 
front of me and cringed inwardly, wondering what I had gotten 
myself into.

Approaching the house, I could see branches large and small on 
the low roof too. As I got closer, I could also see that the 
corrugated fiberglass panels that had covered half the back patio 
had also been blown about quite a bit. Once I got to the entrance 
to the walled courtyard, I could see plenty of storm damage and 
debris here too. I would have my work cut out for me over the 
next several days. Thoughts of easy money fled my mind... I would 
earn what I got paid here.

Oh well, it was better than spending the summer working at 
McDonalds!

-----

I walked through the debris-littered courtyard and approached the 
screen door. I didn't see a bell, so I simply opened the screen 
door and knocked on the door beyond it. I waited a minute or so 
and knocked again, louder this time, and let the screen door 
close. When the kitchen door finally opened, I could see Aunt 
Susan through the screen door. She had a white towel wrapped 
around her head, turban-style, and greeted me with a smile.

"I'm so sorry, Paul," she said. "I was just getting out of the 
shower. I didn't expect you this early."

"I can come back later, if you like," I said by way of apology.

"No, no. Now's just fine," she said, extending her hand to push 
the screen door open. "C'mon in."

She stepped back as I grasped the screen door myself and swung it 
wide. I stepped past her into the kitchen, and immediately moved 
to the left towards a corner where two counters met. The kitchen 
was dim, since Aunt Susan had apparently rushed straight from the 
bathroom to the back door without turning on the lights.

As I leaned back in the corner, the cool formica chilled my bare 
skin, and I realized with a start that her house was air 
conditioned. After enough time without air conditioning, I had 
gotten used to the heat of South Carolina, and I felt my skin 
raise goose bumps in the cool, dry air.

Aunt Susan stepped forward to shut the door, and flipped the 
light switch next to it. The light over the table in the middle 
of the kitchen came on and Aunt Susan turned towards me. What I 
saw then is one of my fondest memories. What happened next is 
still one of my most (humorously) embarrassing memories.

As Aunt Susan turned to me, I saw that she had only the towel 
around her hair. In the light of the kitchen, I saw what the 
screen door and the dimness had prevented me from seeing earlier. 
Aunt Susan was not deeply tanned, I knew she didn't lay out in 
the sun by the lake, although she did have a slight bronze color 
to her skin. She was a very pale alabaster where her bikini 
bottoms blocked out the sun, with sharply defined tan lines. And 
now I knew why she always wore a pair of bikini bottoms. As my 
eyes quickly flicked over Aunt Susan's body, they stopped and I 
suddenly stood transfixed by the sight before me.

She had no pubic hair, and I could clearly see the smooth skin of 
her lips and the slit of her pussy. My penis quickly betrayed me, 
and I got an erection so fast that to this day I'm amazed that I 
didn't pass out from lack of blood to my brain!

It happened so quickly that I didn't know what to do, I couldn't 
very well stand there with my cock standing at right angles to my 
body. I did the only thing my panic-stricken brain could think 
of, I spun around and faced the counter, hiding my erection in 
the corner.

"Are you OK, Paul?" Aunt Susan asked, her voice suddenly very 
concerned.

I knew she probably hadn't seen my erection, since I'd spun 
around so quickly, but I'm sure she easily deduced what the 
problem must be.

I mumbled something incoherent and stared into the corner under 
the top cabinets.

"Are you OK?" she repeated, still concerned at my lack of 
coherent response.

I mutely nodded my head up and down, willing my erection to 
subside. I could feel the flush of embarrassment on my neck and 
face, and I simply didn't know what to do. In the end, Aunt 
Susan's gentle voice came to my rescue.

"You got an erection, didn't you," she said soothingly, 
reasonably, in the same tone of voice that she might've used to 
say 'you have blue eyes.'

I didn't respond for several moments, and she let the silence 
draw out. Embarrassed as I was, I couldn't deny the obvious, 
especially since she'd put it out in the open so plainly. I felt 
my neck and face heat further and nodded jerkily.

"It's OK, Paul. It's natural. It's nothing to be ashamed of," she 
continued in the same reasonable tone. "You can turn around, your 
erection won't offend my sensibilities."

I couldn't! My traitorous penis was still as hard as steel. I 
shook my head, still not trusting myself to speak.

"Paul, I've run the camp for a long time. Besides, I have two 
sons of my own. I've seen a young man with an erection before," 
she said soothingly. "You've got nothing to be embarrassed 
about."

I shook my head again, not daring to move.

Her tone took on a firmer quality, "Paul, an erection is a 
natural thing, it's nothing to be ashamed of. If you stand in the 
corner all day, we won't get much work done." She paused for a 
moment to let that sink in. "Turn around, I'll cook us some 
breakfast, and before you know it, you'll be fine."

She was so reasonable. She was so matter of fact. Embarrassment 
or not, I decided it was stupid to stay with my nose (not to 
mention my penis) stuck in the corner. Besides, it's not like she 
didn't know what the problem was!

Reluctantly, I turned around to face Aunt Susan. For the first 
time in my young life, I stood in full view of another person 
with my dick as hard as a steel rod. I hung my head in shame, not 
daring to look at her.

"Paul," she said, her voice brooking no objection, "look at me."

I slowly raised my face, but wouldn't make eye contact with her.

"Paul." The one word was tantamount to an order.

When my eyes finally met hers, I could see that she was neither 
embarrassed nor surprised. In fact, she seemed completely at 
ease.

She looked me in the eyes and said, "Now that wasn't so hard, was 
it?"

At her choice of words, I blushed furiously... all evidence to the 
contrary. She saw the expression on my face, realized what she 
had said, and let a short burst of laughter escape her lips 
before covering her mouth with her hand. Her eyes were smiling, 
and I could tell she was trying very hard not to giggle. It was 
equally obvious that she was laughing at her own poor choice of 
words, and not at me. Her mirth was infectious, and I found 
myself grinning like an idiot in return. Her self-control finally 
deserted her, and she began laughing helplessly. I couldn't 
resist, and despite the absurdity of the situation, I laughed 
right along with her.

The tension of the previous moment banished, she took a step back 
to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and gestured for me to 
sit.

"I'll fix us some breakfast," she said, her laughter having 
subsided enough to speak.

-----

Aunt Susan fixed eggs, link sausage, and toast, and poured us 
glasses of orange juice. The whole time she was fixing breakfast, 
I silently watched her. She bustled about the kitchen, the 
awkwardness of earlier completely forgotten. Every time I could, 
I sneaked glances at her smooth pubis and wondered why she had no 
pubic hair. My erection throbbed almost uncomfortably as I sat in 
the chair, my stiff manhood hidden by the kitchen table.

The only conclusion my young (and inexperienced) brain could come 
to was that she had cancer. People with cancer lost their hair, 
right? I was profoundly ashamed of the fact that I was so aroused 
by something as deadly as cancer. At the time, it never occurred 
to me that she still had a full head of hair, and that cancer 
itself doesn't cause people's hair to fall out. Cancer treatment 
causes people's hair to fall out, and if I'd thought about it, 
I'd have known that she wasn't driving into town for regular 
cancer treatments. But my thoughts were awhirl, and I didn't 
think that far ahead, as enthralled as I was by the sight of her 
beautiful, smooth vagina.

As she turned around to set the breakfast plates on the table, my 
curiosity finally got the better of me and I blurted out, "Do you 
have cancer?"

"Cancer?" she asked, tilting her head to the side in confusion. 
"What in the world makes you think that?"

"Um... well... uh...," I stammered. "When people have cancer... um... 
doesn't their... um... hair fall out?"

To my complete and total chagrin, she laughed. Her laughter was 
tolerant and unconcerned, and directed at me as much as herself. 
She pointed to her towel-wrapped head and raised her eyebrows 
questioningly. I mentally slapped myself in the forehead. Of 
course her hair hadn't fallen out! At my look of recognition and 
then subsequent confusion, she laughed again, a bright, musical 
laugh that didn't embarrass me more than I'd already embarrassed 
myself.

Without thinking, I forged ahead, "Then why do you... I mean... uh... 
Why is your... um...." I darted my eyes towards the junction of her 
legs as words finally (and thankfully) failed me.

Looking down at herself and finally realizing what I was 
blathering about, she rescued me from my stumbling almost-
questions.

"No, Paul, I don't have cancer." She gave me a searching look, 
and I could see her come to a silent decision. "I shave my pubic 
hair," she said gently, still smiling at me to ease my obvious 
distress.

The look of astonishment on my face couldn't have been plainer. 
Why in the world would someone shave their pubic hair?! I hadn't 
even thought of that.

I still wasn't thinking clearly when I blurted, "Why in the world 
would you do that?" I can't believe I said that out loud!

It was her turn to blush, her comforting smile fading to a wry 
grin. I could see her trying to decide how to answer my abrupt 
and awkwardly forthright question. Finally, I guess she settled 
on the truth.

"My husband liked me...," she said, then paused to marshal her 
thoughts. "He liked it that way," she said simply. "I discovered 
that I liked it better too, so I've kept... things...," she said with 
a smile of avoidance, "smooth ever since he died."

"So that's why you wear bikini bottoms!" I said in sudden 
understanding.

"That's why I wear bikini bottoms," she said simply. "At least, 
when I'm away from the house. Around here, I don't bother much. 
Although," she said with a teasing grin that punctured my hard-
won self-control, "if the erections continue, I might have to 
rethink that policy." With that, she pulled out her own chair and 
sat down.

Once again, I blushed furiously, but she laughed gently to take 
the sting out of it. I began to seriously apply myself to eating 
breakfast, thankful for the welcome diversion.

"When did your husband die?" I asked, washing a bite of eggs down 
with a swig of juice.

As long as we'd been coming to the camp, I'd never known Aunt 
Susan to have a husband. She had two sons, 3 and 5 years older 
than me, and I guess I'd known she must've been married. But I 
hadn't thought much about it. I had been too young to hang around 
with Kirk, her older son, before he left for college. And while I 
knew Doug, her younger son, I didn't know him well. And now that 
he was also away for the summer, she was all alone in the house.

At my question, she set her fork down and took a sip of her own 
orange juice, apparently composing her thoughts. I belatedly 
realized that I might've brought up a painful subject.

"He was killed in Vietnam," she said simply, without emotion (or 
so I thought at the time, I now realize how tightly controlled 
her emotions were).

"I'm sorry."

"It's OK. It's been almost 10 years," she said, and picked up her 
fork again. "He was a pilot in the Navy."

"Oh?" I said simply, suddenly interested.

"His plane was shot down in 1968," she said with the same tight 
emotional control.

"What did he fly?" I asked, trying to change the subject, but 
still intensely interested.

"A-4s."

"Really?! My Dad flew A-4s too!"

"Mmm hmm."

Her look prompted me for more, but I was at a loss for what she 
wanted me to say. Then it hit me!

"Did my dad know your husband?"

She smiled at my sudden understanding. "Why do you think your 
family started coming here?"

"Oh," I said simply, chagrinned again.

She smiled at me again. "Jack and your father were very good 
friends. Your mom and I met when we were all stationed in 
California. We've kept in touch ever since Jack was killed."

I blinked at her. Dad never talked much about his time in 
Vietnam, so I knew very little about that part of his life. And, 
to be completely honest, I was as clueless about things outside 
of my immediate interest as most teenagers are. Besides, I was 
too young at the time to remember much about when we lived in 
California.

"We'd better get to work, though, so we can get as much done as 
we can while it's still cool," she said, standing and collecting 
her plate and glass.

During our conversation about her husband, my erection had abated 
a bit, but when she stood and I saw the slit of her smooth pussy, 
my erection returned full force. I gulped as she looked down at 
me. I was too embarrassed to stand up and reveal the fact that I 
was still erect.

"Do you still have an erection?" she asked with gentle sympathy.

I swallowed hard and nodded at her, blushing again.

She smiled and shook her head in wonder. "The stamina of the 
young," she teased me. She got serious quickly, though. "It's OK. 
Once we get to work, it'll go down." She nodded to reassure me. 
"Now, bring your dishes over to the sink and let's get to work."

Her tone said she would suffer no objections, and I complied. But 
when I stood up, the tip of my penis caught on the edge of the 
table. When I pulled back slightly to free it, it flipped up and 
then bobbed blithely. Aunt Susan caught the motion and dropped 
her eyes to my bobbing cock. I blushed again (I had been doing 
that a lot this morning) and she stifled a giggle. With a pained 
and forlorn expression, I looked up at her and she burst out 
laughing. Her laughter was too contagious, and too sympathetic... I 
couldn't help but laugh at my own predicament as I began 
gathering up my breakfast dishes.

Still smiling, she looked at me across the table. "I guess I 
should be flattered. It's not every woman who has such a...," she 
nodded to indicate my penis, pausing to consider her words, 
"loyal... admirer." Smile smiled at me mischievously, taking the 
punch out of her words, and turned towards the sink.

As I walked towards her with my dishes in hand, she turned to me.

"You rinse off the dishes while I go dry my hair."

I nodded wordlessly to her and she turned to go into the back of 
the house.

-----

When she returned from the back of the house, she carried two 
pairs of work gloves. She tossed me the larger pair as we headed 
towards the door to the courtyard.

We worked hard all morning long. There was lots of storm debris 
to pick up, sweep up, and pile up to be burned later. By 
lunchtime, we had managed to clean out the entire courtyard, 
righting tipped-over and damaged flower pots, dragging off pine 
branches, and generally picking up.

And the entire time, my erection never completely subsided. When 
I was concentrating on something I was doing, it would shrink a 
little (thankfully!), but then I'd catch a glimpse of Aunt 
Susan's hairless pussy and my penis would surge to life again, 
seemingly with a will of its own.

I could tell that Aunt Susan was stealing glances at my penis. 
How could she not when it was drooping and bouncing every time I 
looked her way? And whenever I would look her direction, I'd find 
her quickly averting her eyes. Her earlier protests to the 
contrary, perhaps she hadn't spent much time around a horny 
teenager with a constant, and very visible, erection.

For my part, I tried to ignore it as best as I could. And I tried 
like hell not to scrape it with anything like the rough bark of a 
pine bough.

I was also surreptitiously admiring her body as much as I could. 
Constantly seeing the flawless alabaster skin of her ass and her 
smooth-shaven pussy slit was almost too much. I began to 
appreciate how attractive Aunt Susan was. Her breasts were 
similar to Mom's, and were very appealing. I laughed to myself at 
that thought... All breasts were appealing! I was mesmerized, 
watching as they swayed when she bent over to work on her flower 
pots.

It was these constant glimpses of her body, and her exotic (to my 
young mind) shaved pussy, that kept me in a constant state of 
excitement.

When it was time for lunch, she brought out a clean towel and a 
spray bottle of Formula 409. At her instructions, I cleaned the 
glass top of the wrought-iron table and wiped down each of the 
chairs as she was fixing lunch.

In a few minutes, she came out with a tray of ham sandwiches, 
potato chips, and tall glasses of lemonade already beginning to 
bead with sweat in the heat. We ate in comfortable silence, my 
erection visible through the glass of the table the whole time. I 
had sort of gotten used to the fact that it wasn't going to 
oblige me any time soon (at least until I was finished for the 
day and could find someplace quiet to masturbate like a fiend).

Aunt Susan seemed to be squirming in her seat a little, but she 
stopped when she saw that I'd noticed. At the time, I remember 
thinking that she must have an itch. As it turned out, I was 
right.

-----

The rest of the afternoon was spent dragging branches from the 
area surrounding the house. By the time we were done, we had 
quite a pile of dead branches. Aunt Susan said we'd just leave 
them behind the house to dry, and then use them for a bonfire 
next week for the Fourth of July.

True to form, all the rest of the afternoon, my erection eased 
very little. My poor young balls had begun to ache at their lack 
of release, and I couldn't wait to leave for the day. I was 
thinking about where I could go to find some privacy, but I was 
drawing a blank. Oh, I could simply wander off into the woods and 
find someplace to jerk off, but I'd have to go far enough to 
avoid any casual observer. And that would mean I'd be late for 
dinner. Besides, I wanted get back to our cabin to shower before 
I met Mom and my sister at the clubhouse.

Aunt Susan knew I had to be back for dinner with my mom and 
sister at six, and by the large clock she had hung in the 
courtyard, under the eave of the house, we quit a little after 
five. We each collapsed into a wrought-iron chair, tired from our 
exertions.

"Are you... OK?" she asked as we sat across from each other at the 
table.

I was oblivious to what she was really asking, and I nodded my 
head.

She realized that I didn't 'get it' and pressed the question. 
"No. I mean... are you... OK?" she asked, stressing the last word and 
nodding her head towards my erection, which she could clearly see 
through the glass top of the table. "You've been," she paused and 
I could see her come to an internal decision to be direct, "hard 
almost all day. That can't be comfortable."

I looked at her blankly, at a loss for what to say.

She realized my predicament and rescued me, a sympathetic and 
knowing expression on her face. "You can use the bathroom in the 
hall if you'd like to...," she chose her euphemism with care, 
"...wash up... before dinner."

I was confused for a moment. One corner of the courtyard, by the 
house, was covered with rich red terra-cotta tiles under a shower 
spigot that stuck out of the wall. The shower had no drain, the 
water simply ran off to be soaked up by the sandy soil of the 
courtyard. There was a concrete bench to the side of the shower 
head, but otherwise, there were no surrounding walls. There were 
pegs along the house, to hold towels or other gear, I imagined, 
but nothing in the way of cover. I could just as easily have 
'washed up' in the courtyard shower. But I would have no privacy. 
And for the kind of 'washing up' that Aunt Susan had suggested, I 
wanted the privacy the hall bathroom would provide. So I nodded 
blankly and headed for the door to the house.

In the hall bathroom, the door was barely shut and locked before 
I had wrapped my right hand around my cock and begun to stroke. 
After the ups and downs (pardon the bad pun) of the day, I 
quickly felt the surge of my rising come as I frantically pumped 
my erection. I felt my release approaching quickly, and in a near 
panic I realized that I didn't have anything to catch my come.

I madly searched for something, anything, to catch my semen. By 
the time I spotted the Kleenex on the back of the toilet, it was 
too late - a white geyser of come spurted out of the tip of my 
penis, arching upwards, and I squeezed my eyes shut in ecstasy. I 
felt the next surge shoot from my cock as I rhythmically pumped 
the base. All the day's pent-up semen came gushing from my penis 
in a torrent.

My legs, buttocks, and back were taut as I thrust my hips forward 
- basking in the warmth and pleasure emanating from my penis. 
When my spurting finally diminished to a dribble, I relaxed and 
let my breath out explosively. My chin dropped against my chest 
as I opened my eyes. Glistening white droplets of semen coated 
the sink and vanity.

When I finally did extract a few tissues from the box of Kleenex, 
I gently wiped my come-covered hand and penis. Then, I began to 
wipe my seed from the counter. When I finished cleaning up all 
the come droplets I could find, I realized with a grimace that my 
penis was still hard. The insistent pressure in my balls had 
eased with my release, but my cock evidently hadn't gotten the 
message that enough was enough.

I waited for several minutes, but my erection didn't subside the 
least bit. The problem was that the whole time I was waiting for 
my erection to subside, I was thinking of Aunt Susan and her 
beautiful pussy. In my mind, I replayed scenes from the day spent 
working together. I reluctantly decided that my erection wasn't 
going away until I did something about it. So I wrapped my 
fingers around the still-throbbing shaft and began to stroke.

The second time, I ejaculated quite a bit less than my earlier 
orgasm. And this time, I was ready! I had a wad of Kleenex 
clutched in my left had as I felt the first surge of come 
coursing up my shaft. When I finished coming and cleaned off the 
head of my penis, it finally began to shrink. My poor abused cock 
was red and shiny, but it wasn't sticking out at right angles to 
my body. It wasn't all the way soft yet, but it was close enough.

And I suddenly realized that after my release, I had to pee. I 
stepped over to the toilet and no sooner had I raised the lid and 
seat than I felt a stream of urine flowing from my penis. I 
leaned my head back and luxuriated in the feeling of release, so 
closely following my earlier releases of an entirely different 
kind. When I was done, I shook the remaining droplets from my 
(thankfully) flaccid penis, put the seat and lid back down (my 
mother trained me well, thank you very much!), and flushed.

By this time, I imagined I'd spent the better part of half an 
hour in the bathroom. I hastily washed my hands in the sink, 
dried them on the towel by the light switch, and rushed out into 
the hall without even looking at myself in the mirror.

As I emerged from the living room into the kitchen, I saw Aunt 
Susan blithely sitting at the table, counting out dollar bills. 
When she looked up and saw me, her smile was bright but tired. 
Her eyes dropped to my crotch, taking in the sight of my abused 
cock. She smiled again, this time with wry humor and looked back 
up at me.

"I'm glad to see that everything... came out... OK," she said mock 
seriously, her eyes laughing with her gentle teasing.

I blushed furiously and could only nod.

She collected the bills she'd laid out on the table and stood up, 
extending her arm to me.

"Here's your first day's pay," she said, holding the bills out.

"That's OK. You can just pay me when we've finished everything." 
I knew there were at least two more days' work, perhaps three.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. Besides, what am I going to spend it on here," I said, 
waving my hand to encompass the entire camp.

"You've got a point there," she conceded and shifted the money to 
her left hand. Then she held her hand out to mine. "You worked 
very hard today, Paul," she said seriously as I stepped forward 
and shook her hand.

I could tell she was trying to bolster my ego, and even though I 
knew that's what she was doing, it worked. I blushed again and 
thanked her.

Her tone immediately lightened as she said, "See you tomorrow 
morning for breakfast?"

"Yep."

"OK. I'll see you then."

I nodded and headed out the door into the courtyard with a wave. 
As soon as I was out of the courtyard, I broke into a trot as I 
headed back to our cabin. I had 15 minutes or so before I was 
supposed to be at the clubhouse, and I still wanted to shower.

-----

Copyright 2002 Scipio. All rights reserved.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+


  index