HOOKING AUNTIE'S BRA

by Desi Ghee and Holi Rennick

AUTHOR’S NOTES

The story "Hooking Aunt's Bra" is posted in degrees of incompleteness on several international chat sites, most of which are of hit-or-miss access.  "Found on the web" is the story's only attribution.  On Sept. 18, 2006, a chatter known as Indian Incest appended, "thanks for the replies guys ..  i m done with the story ..  if any body else wants to continue with it then most welcome"

I (Holi Rennick speaking) would encourage proofreading even chat messages, but take Indian Incest at her or his word.  "Hooking Aunt's Bra" indeed merits completion.

I've rewritten the posting, but worked to maintain the linguistic clip of the speaker.  (World-class English-language literature is pouring out of the subcontinent these days.  It's all of our language.)  I've changed the "Aunt" to "Auntie" to differentiate my version from the original.  Indians and Pakistanis say the latter, so I'm linguistically okay.

A helpful reader uncovered the original author, Desi Ghee, whose "Hooking Her Up" can be found at http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=196357.  Desi was kind enough to not object to my having taken on his plot.  Give him a read and let him know what you think.

For readers who've forgotten their Urdu/Hindi:

     Choli -- blouse that ends just below the bust.

     Lehenga -- full skirt.

     Salwar -- loose pants of many fashions.

     Kameez -- long, fashionable tunic, paired with a salwar.

     Dupatta -- trailing scarf draped over the kameez.

     Nala -- trouser-cord.

     Kurta -- square-cut tunic, often embroidered.

     Holi -- Hindu festival in which faces are brightly painted; the given name of noted author.

Let's join young Naeem and practice our vocabulary.

HOOKING AUNTIE'S BRA

This story takes place in my next to final year of secondary school.  I was seventeen and ripe with energy I didn't know where from; energy that kept me restless and got me into trouble more than once.

There were five members in our household: my grandmother, my mother's brother and his wife, my younger aunt, and myself, Naeem.  My younger aunt was the smallest of my mother's siblings and was still waiting to be married.  But this story is not about her; it is about my mother's brother's wife.

My uncle's wife -- her name is Mehnaz -- didn't really like my presence in what was technically her husband's house.  I was entrusted into Uncle's guardianship due to circumstances beyond my control and Auntie had no choice but to accept my presence.  It was very clear from the beginning, however, that she did so reluctantly.  Our interaction was polite, formal and minimal.

My room was a bit isolated from the rest because of its purpose for guest lodging.  My daily routine was set so that after coming home from school, I would take my lunch and disappear until the dinner hour.  After that I would once again disappear until the next day.  I kept to myself, and they to themselves.  I had so much time for studying.

The first incident that brought about a minor change in my routine was the morning of a rather hot day when Auntie entered my room and asked me to hook her bra.  She was fresh out of bath, probably to stay cool, and I assumed that she had come to me as neither my younger aunt nor my grandmother was nearby.

In our culture it is not uncommon for ladies to ask a male child to do this kind of thing when there are no females available, but it is most uncommon to ask a boy my age because of the feelings it can arouse.  As this was the aunt that really didn't like me, however, I had to assume she had no other choice.

Auntie was holding her kameez to drape her chest and had pulled her dripping hair to the front as well, leaving her back bare.  I had helped my own mother many times with the same task, so the routine was nothing new.  I averted my eyes and quickly managed the fastenings.  She flicked her hair onto her back and pulled her kameez over it.  Once it was on, she pulled her hair out, straightened it, uttered a quick thank you and left without looking at me.

Uncle's wife was not as slim as my younger aunt because of being married, though she had yet to give birth.  She was wider in her back and had a few bulges where her nala tied.  Her back was also meatier, so when my fingers touched it, as they had to, it felt soft.

When I went back to my books, Auntie's moist skin lingered as background on the pages.  When one studies a great amount, it is too easy to find distraction.

***

It was about a week later when Auntie again asked me to do the hooking.  She was coming from her room and it seemed she was preparing to go somewhere.  She wore a newly ironed lehenga and was smelling of perfume which she usually only wore when she and Uncle went visiting.  It was Sunday, so that made sense because Uncle was home and must have planned a small outing.

Auntie had chosen a blush-coloured bra to match her choli.  In our culture, cholis are sometimes too transparent and a stylish bra is part of ladies' fashion.  The cut is modest, not like European bras, but the colour is well thought-out.

She clutched the choli over her front, bra straps dangling under her arms.  As a choli is of less fabric than a kameez, I could recognize somewhat more of the sides of her bra.

But why had she come to me for assistance?  Maybe my younger aunt and Grandmother were not available and Uncle had stepped out.  But I could hear them conversing in the kitchen, discussing train schedules.

As Auntie couldn't see behind her, I had looked closely at the stitching of her straps. My fingers again retained the warmth of her skin long after I had made the closing.

Everything was on the up and up, although it did feel a bit odd being asked to do something like this at my age.

***

As I was about to leave for school not that many days later, Auntie asked me to come to her room.  Uncle had already left for his employment and my younger aunt and Grandmother were elsewhere.

As I waited to hear what my aunt wanted, she turned from me, crossed her hands in front and lifted her kameez to her armpits, revealing the absence of an undergarment.   As her front was away from me, it wasn't immodest, but I was again able to see her entire back below where her kameez bunched.

She bent over a little to pick up her bra from the bed, and it was whilst extending her hand that I glimpsed the sides of her breasts.  I didn't see that much, or for more than a moment, but I saw skin that I shouldn't see.

In our culture where people are pressed closer together than in the West, we are still more modest.  We don't look where we ought not.  If we do, we strike it from our minds like a hot coal.

Auntie wrapped the bra around her, pushed the straps behind and motioned me to do my job.

I quickly did as I was told, nervous that she had seen me peek.  She didn't act like she had been noticing, though.

She pulled her kameez back down, turning toward me as she smoothed it.  The way she tugged made the fabric slide over her breasts.  She smiled as she thanked me for the help and I took my leave.

All day my mind I was seeing the sides of her breasts and thinking about the way she had adjusted her kameez.  Even her smile seemed special in the afterglow.

I did wonder why she had first been without her bra.  Maybe she just forgot and when she did remember, I was the only one around.  A few mornings of sly attention, however, explained to me Auntie's routine.  She would be without her bra when she arose to prepare breakfast -- one can tell by the sway -- and only finish dressing later in the morning before going out.

In our culture, though we strike thoughts from our minds like a hot coal, sometimes boys especially are not always diligent in the speed of it.  Knowing a female household member is going without a bra would be interesting, but evaluating her habit of doing so, and thus predicting with accuracy when she will be in such-and-such state, is more engaging.

***

I knew the chances of helping with my aunt's bra were very small, as Grandmother or my younger aunt would normally be available.  Thus, it came as a big surprise when Auntie asked me to do the same a few days later when she had just sent away my younger aunt.

It in fact became a routine every morning for me to help her.  Auntie would face away towards her bed where her bra lay ready, raise her kameez, then hold her bra to cover her front and extend the straps backward.

My task was simple and quick -- usually three hooks on straps with only one receiving set, but perhaps only two on straps where the closure could be in three locations.  I preferred the latter where the tightness was my decision.  Auntie never corrected my choice, so perhaps it made no difference.

Perhaps I should add another item of information.  One can see in Western magazines many bras where even a small error in adjustment might cause an excess exposure.  But bras in our culture are more surrounding and more directing, so a little too loose or a little too tight wouldn't be critical to modesty.

I was quickly familiar with Aunties bra collection and liked knowing that she didn't mind my knowledge.  A boy can of course become familiar with lady's underwear by watching the laundry line, but that's less interesting than assisting with its attachment.  When one's seventeen, it should be said, what is interesting is not the same as what was interesting when one was twelve.  When one is seventeen, one's organs are more developed and do things without planning.

***

Perhaps two weeks passed before there was a slight change of routine.  Auntie didn't pull her kameez downward after I had done the hooking, but pulled it upward and off.

"Which kameez should I choose, Naeem?" turning to face me.

I had no idea.  An aunt never asks a nephew such a thing.  But more than that, an aunt rarely stands unmoving in her bra before her nephew.  I of course knew what her bra looked like, but to see the flesh between then halves so straightforwardly and for such a time!  I could almost feel the softness.

In our culture - this distinction can be difficult for Westerners who see everything in black and white -- there is distinction between levels of personal interaction.  We frequently see the other sex in various degrees of undress at places of public bathing, though we don't intermingle more than is necessary.  For me to see my aunt passing in a bra from her room would be no more erotic than for her to see me swimming with other boys in our undershorts.  Things would seem differently if she had been touching my shorts, or me her undergarment.  Thus my reaction wasn't thus simply from viewing her bra, but also from knowing it so many times.

I must have mumbled something, but I'm sure it was without sense.

"Well, you think about it," she added.  "I like to be pretty for you."  What a smile Auntie gave me!

She likes to be pretty for me!  No one had ever told me that before!  My eyes were focused on her bra.

Then her expression grew serious and she asked if it was becoming too much for me to do this small favour for her.

I tried, but failed, to reciprocate her smile.  I shook my head and took my leave.

Obviously my aunt was becoming more comfortable with me, letting me see her in that way, but I didn't want to feel the way I ended up feeling, my breathing uneven, even sometimes a movement in my lower regions.

In our culture, I was perhaps somewhat behind the eight-ball, not having been with a member of the fair sex, but if I had, it was understood that it would be with a prostitute or perhaps a servant girl who was willing.  I wasn't that knowing about engaging a prostitute, though my school fellows would have arranged it, and we didn't have a servant other than the gardener and sweeper.

I could only conclude that I had been harsh in judgment.  Perhaps Auntie didn't dislike me as much as I was thinking, or she would have not been so friendly.

But I couldn't come forth and tell Auntie to cover herself because I was starting to get excited at the sight of her.  Maybe she would tell Uncle to send me away.  He would do just that if he knew of my behavior.

No, I couldn't talk of such feelings.

***

Things once again changed when Auntie left her bra on her dresser.  She had lifted her kameez before looking for her bra, so she was up the creek without a paddle.  As turning to fetch it meant exposing more of herself, she cupped her hands on her breasts.

I tried to look down, but not before viewing what her hands couldn't cover.  I was embarrassed and flustered at seeing so much flesh, but it was exciting as well.  I actually felt a little warm.

I fully expected her to dismiss me for looking, but she didn't seem to think anything was different, staying where she was before the dresser, her bra now pressed over her.

When I moved to do the hooking, try as I might, I couldn't help looking into the dresser mirror.  Her bra, her cleavage, her belly, her belly button, and the part below her navel were all in the looking glass!

And in the mirror Auntie was looking directly back at me!

A rush of blood made my vision blur so much that I mismatched the hooks.  I turned without fixing my error, not even giving her a chance to say thank you.  I was ashamed of having seen my aunt in that way, but at the same time, even more aroused.

In our culture, a boy should not see a bared woman, but of course we like to pass by the water tap when a girl of our own age is bathing.  An elderly woman will bare her breasts, which is her habit.  A younger woman will try to cover hers, but when she's unsuccessful, it's more sensational.

A stronger rule, very much stronger, instructs that we should not be aroused by a female of our own family, though that doesn't apply after marrying a cousin.  There's no allowing for a nephew to be aroused by an aunt, much less one who's married and elder.  It's a no-no.

I don't know what made me look back, but when I did, our eyes met again, this time directly, and she gave me a slight smile.

I rushed away as fast as lightning.

Her cleavage, her belly and the area below her navel stayed in my mind through all the day, but so did my embarrassment.  When I came home that afternoon, I didn't have the courage to take my lunch, I was so fearful of coming face to face with Auntie.

I was very hungry though and I couldn't even think, let alone do my homework.  I was startled when she came to my room with a chapatti.  I was grateful and even managed to come out to the dining room for fruit.

As Auntie peeled my pear, I knew exactly what was under her kameez: her bra (with its mishooking), her cleavage, her belly, the area below her navel.

When she gave me the fruit, I thought of her breast.

"It's very sweet, Naeem," she promised.

***

The next day Auntie stood before the dresser as if that's where we had always done the hooking and when she lifted her kameez, her breasts were fully exposed in the reflection.

She realized her mistake quickly and covered herself saying, "Hai maan!" [Oh mother!]

In our culture, we see breasts and females see penises, but never at close distance for any length of time.  This was my first time of seeing a woman's breasts both closely and without hurry.  Auntie's were big and round and supple and beautiful.  Her nipples were large like purple grapes.  Her wheaty flesh looked so soft.

I of course turned, but had memorized everything.  Try as I might not to, I again became erect and for that I was thankful I had turned away.

When she called me back, I found her flushed.  I was flushed myself.  When we resumed our positions and our eyes again met through the mirror, we both looked away quickly.

As I finished, she asked of me, "You'll not tell anyone, will you?"

The question caught me by surprise.  Who would I dare tell?  "No one," I promised.

I would never tell anybody, but my eyes were seeing those breasts through all of that day's classes, especially English where I thought of many phrases regarding girls.  I prefer American English, rather than that of the U.K., because the U.S.A. is where there's action.  Not the U.K. "Shagging the bird," for example, but the American "Screwing the chick."

Auntie came to my room immediately upon my return.  It took her a while before speaking.  "I'm ashamed."

I thought about my answer.  "There's nothing to be ashamed of.  It was an accident."

She smiled weakly.  "It won't happen again.  I'll take more care."

I would have liked to see those breasts again, but knew I wouldn't.  At least she wasn't telling me I couldn't continue the hooking.  I should feel lucky for that much.

Then she asked, "Did you feel uncomfortable?"

"It was a fluke thing; I got over it," I fibbed.  I wasn't over it at all.  Even as she stood there, I was picturing what I had seen.

Her tug tightening her kameez against her front hinted knowing of my fib, but I pretended not to notice again the hint of her nipple.

"Don't tell anyone," she reminded, but her sly way of saying it said she knew I wouldn't.

When she looked down to see what had caught my eye, she smiled.  If anything, she acted not that displeased about the accident.

Auntie left, but not before I had to cross my hand over my lap in a casual manner.

***

Things were normal the next time as I did the hooking.  It was her most red bra.  I felt down in the dump for having seen her breast the last time, but Auntie wasn't acting so badly about it.

It was pleasant to me, how afterwards she sorted without hurry through her wardrobe for a matching kameez, leaving me to be a wide-eyed item of furniture.

But though seeing is believing, I didn't want to be a chair or nightstand. I wanted to be me.

Then it came to me.  We had always done the hooking in silence, no conversation above a thank you.  I needed to break the silence.

The subject came without much searching.  "Auntie," I made my remark as casually as possible, "you seem to prefer red today."

That was the first time I acknowledged giving attention to what I was doing.

"It makes me feel special," she replied, equally casually.  I think she was relieved at the breaking of silence.

We actually had a conversation about her underwear!  It was so intimate for us to discuss something so personal, but we had done it!

"What next colour should I try?"  She spoke it in such a relaxed manner.

"I don't know.  I hear good things about black."  My knowledge on the subject was tales overheard on the schoolyard, but I liked phrasing it as if I were in the know.

As I later reflected, I couldn't believe suggesting that Auntie should wear black underwear, but perhaps after hooking her bra so many times, seeing her in so many, it was only a slight jump to offering an opinion.  In our culture though, that's a big jump.

***

A few days later Auntie announced, "I have for you a surprise," nodding toward her dresser.

On the dresser was a black lace bra, one not from the market, I would have guessed, but from the shopping mall.

"It's very pretty," I volunteered.

The hooks seemed tiny, but I was by now well acquainted with such things.  I none the less took my time, letting my fingers move along the thinness of the strap.

Auntie didn't seem to mind when I lingered.  As the bra was new, the shoulder straps were not yet in adjustment and she had me move the slides until the fitting was comforting.

When she turned for my inspection -- she must have been knowing I wanted to look more closely -- I could see nipples through the lace, barely visible because Auntie's colour was dark enough to blend in, but fully notable in shape.

She seemed pleased.  "Your face tells everything."

I stuttered, "It's very black."

But in so few words, a huge wall seemed lifted from between us, a wall that consisted not only of silence and position, but of something else as well, of another barrier.

"Indeed.  It is very black," she agreed.  Her looking toward the window gave me more time to please my eyes.   If anything, her nipples became more noticeable, but the increase may have been in my imagination.

In the selecting of that day's kameez -- so many colors go with black -- Auntie had me fetch one garment after the other, and with each trial, I came again and again close to her, seeing so many times how the lace moulded to her form.

As I was leaving, Auntie added, "I'm going to feel embarrassed, but guess what more?"

I turned to see her lift her kameez enough high to expose her navel and pull her salwar enough down to expose the top of a matched black panty.

"I thought you would like knowing," she offered, her smile revealing perhaps a little pleasure with her boldness.

I just laughed and she laughed with me.  My aunt had showed me her new panty!  Just the top edge, to be sure, but knowing of that was almost like knowing everything.

I tell you, there was an erection between my legs that lasted all day long.  I kept thinking of Auntie in her black bra and black panty.

She had agreed to my advice and chosen the colour I had suggested!  Imagining her selecting at the shopping mall made me yet more excited.  Women's underclothing is sold on tables at the market, but items of this sort at the shopping center would be sold out of common viewage.

As I said before, in our culture a nephew should not become aroused by an elder aunt.  But how can that apply when the aunt has purchased a bra and panty to please him?

Auntie came to my room as soon as I retuned that afternoon.  There was nothing she talked about, only organizing my library a little.  I easily recognized the black under her kameez and knew that she was wearing her matched panty.  Then she left quickly.

By dinner hour when Uncle returned, Auntie was in an older bra that I had fastened many times.

***

Then came her purchase of a bra of white lace, one that she could never wear under a choli.  Under a bra so thin, the darkness of Auntie's areola would be so visible.  Perhaps this bra could be worn under a kurta, I judged, but I somewhat wondered if it was also bought with her nephew in mind.  It was clear to me that she enjoyed my approval.

She smiled at my adventuring eyes as I completed the adjustments.  "How do I appear, Naeem?"

I had no choice but to be honest.  "Pretty," as I tried too late to look elsewhere.

"You can look.  It's not too much, is it?  I'm not showing too much?"

This was indeed about me, too, I realized.  Her question gave permission, an order, even, for my eyes to return.

In our culture, a boy might glimpse the nipple shape of every female in family, but would never be led to think of such a thing erotically.  Being asked to judge on modesty, however, would arouse an entirely different process of thought.  It's not what the boy would see; it's his admitting an opinion.

"Well, maybe, but no one is going to see," myself seeing everything.

"But are you pleased with it?  I mean, you are the one who is seeing."  Auntie knew without error what was pleasing to me.

"I'm not minding," I admitted.  "What does Uncle say?"  I don't know why I asked that, but the thought was in my mind.

She scoffed at my simplicity.  "I don't show this, especially to your uncle.  It's our secret, is it not?"

Auntie's statement said a lot, but I didn't feel the weight of it until so much later.  Certainly I would not spill the beans to Uncle.

In our culture, utmost respect is given a household's eldest male, but at the same time, sometimes it is more harmonious for that person to be removed from certain delicate situations.  Whilst he would care not a whit about a family member seeing the shape of his wife's nipples in passing, it would be so disturbing to him knowing she'd worn a special bra to reveal them in private.  For certain, this must remain a secret.

I was still looking through the lace until Auntie pinched my cheek.  I think she was enjoying herself; or rather she was enjoying the teasing she was giving me.

Following school, however, Auntie came to my room, this time rather subdued.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I have a headache."

"Sorry."

"I've been worrying since this morning that I distracted you from your studies."

She didn't bother to explain, but waited for my reaction.

"I didn't think so much about it," I lied.  It had been the sum of my imagination, were the truth made known.  The geography of Japan had slipped my mind, when called upon to recite it.

"You didn't?"

"Not too much."  I looked into Auntie's eyes to convince her of my sincerity.

She smiled.  "But maybe not too little?" twisting my ear for not telling the truth.  It's difficult play an elder aunt for a fool.

I was not surprised before Uncle's return when Auntie beckoned me to help her exchange her white lace bra for something less naughty.

***

Next morning, she again chose the new white bra, though I knew she would exchange after the showing.  When I finished the hooking, she faced me once more.

"Are you sure you're okay with it?"

"I like it okay," as she fully knew.

She bent nearer.  "Sweet boy."  She had no reason to whisper, but that's how she said it, so calmly.

As I was about to exit, she called me back, "Naeem!"

"Yes?"

Auntie's face had lost its calmness.  "Unhook me," an order.

That I had never done, an unhooking.

She faced away as I complied.

"Are you okay with this as well?"

"Yes."  I was seeing nothing new in her back, but I knew she was talking about the unhooking.

"And this?" dropping her newest purchase to the floor and turning to face me.  Unrestrained, her breasts parted from each other.  Nipples that in quick viewing had looked like grapes now looked like cashew nuts.  I could see the darker veins running though her flesh, the goose bumps around her areola.

What I'd seen before was in passing, explainable as a small accident.  It was like the girls at the water tap who of course noticed when my mates and I passed by and maybe let their wrappings slip a small degree to tease us.

But now my aunt was topless before me, asking if I was okay with her being that way!  She wasn't teasing me; she wasn't even asking a real question.  What I did know now was her demand for a response.

A thousand and one emotions went through my system in a millisecond.  My cock went from zero to 90 degrees in a snap.  She must have heard that snap as it hit the cloth and stretched it outward.

I did the only thing that came to mind.  More accurately, perhaps, as my mind had no ability to think, I moved with instinct to place a hand on each of her breasts.

Maybe Auntie had been thinking I wouldn't be so forward, but she didn't move from me.  To feel every part of her breast under my touch was like heaven on earth.  Her eyes were closed as I enjoyed her, but after a few moments, she opened them and only then I whispered, "Yes, I'm okay with it."

She giggled.

I didn't know what to do next, so I took my leave before she could notice my arousal.

Her softness stayed on my hands all through the day.  I didn't even attend some of my classes.  I sat under a tree, hidden from view of most of my school fellows, and came home early.  I went straight to my room and collapsed on my bed.

When Auntie slipped into my room, I didn't rise to greet her, as I didn't wish to appear too eager.  She had draped her kameez with a dupatta.

"I spent all day this way," she said in her whisper, the sway of breasts apparent as she removed the dupatta.

"Why?" I asked with a similar whisper.  No one could have heard if we had used regular speaking.

"Because you didn't hook me," giggling as she had that morning and showing the bra wadded in her hand.

"You could have asked Grandmother?"

Auntie put her finger on my forehead.  "Only my nephew is to do the hooking."

I sat up and reached under her kameez, not to hook, but to touch.  There was vigour in my squeezes.  I was being rough with her, maybe even harming her breasts, I wondered afterwards.

When she realized I didn't know how to stop, she pulled herself from me.  "Quickly before somebody discovers," placing the bra and turning for me to do my task.

After doing the hooking, I again reached around to her breasts until she again giggled.

"You're very kind to help me so sweetly, Naeem.  You must not forget to hook me tomorrow."

My blood was rushing through my body so fast that I felt dizzy.  My brain couldn't keep up with my emotions.  I spent the whole evening on hot coals, but the fire burnt through my passion enough that by morning, I was calm and at least in control of my hands.

***

When I held her breasts the next morning, Auntie did something endearing, leading my head down to where I could kiss her flesh.  She was rubbing my cheek whilst I caressed.  There was so much tenderness in her touch that I practically melted.  She let me use my lips as I wished, showering me in return with unspoken love.  My chest felt so heavy that the feelings almost oozed out of my eyes.

I was savouring such delicious dishes.  I had of course heard stories of kissing a breast, and here I was actually experiencing how it feels to be intimate with a woman!  I was a village boy in the big city for the first time!

I felt a little foolish for acting so emotional.  I couldn't say for sure, but the hardness of her nipples told me she found it pleasurable.

But if Auntie was no longer hiding herself from me, perhaps it was more necessary to control my temptation.  One becomes nervous when playing to close to the fire.  If Uncle discovered me kissing his wife's breasts, I was a goner.  A boy is so lucky to have known his aunt's breasts, but it's better safe than sorry.

Being of cautious nature, I resolved to be more restrained in future encounters.  As they say, "It is better safe than sorry."

***

So I ceased touching, other than in the hooking of her bra, even whilst knowing I had adventured further without her stopping.  Even when she was very careless, barely holding her bra over her, I stood my ground.

To Auntie, though, it perhaps seemed as if I was again formal.  I could tell that she was confused.

Finally she asked.  "Why is it that you do not touch me any more?"

I was taken aback, but before I could answer, she pursued, "I wait for your hand to come and it is not coming.  Have I done something wrong?  You kissed me there, even!"

I was feeling blame for having done a thing, but now I was feeling blame for not having done a thing.  What was I to be doing?

"No.  It's not that way."  For lacking a better excuse, I spoke the truth.  "I don't know what I'm to do."

Auntie stared at me and slapped me in the face, hard enough to hurt.  "I can't believe what you say!  I've let you do with me as you please.  Does that not tell you?  You are the man!"

I wasn't sure what that all meant, but I touched her breast and she smoothed where she had slapped me.  After only a short time, she led my face downward and I kissed her as I'd kissed before.  Perhaps the waiting made the taste of Auntie's breasts even sweeter.

***

When next I went to do the hooking, we hugged, but not in the way a nephew and aunt should be hugging.  I would have not started the hugging myself, but when she took me, it was a cinch to respond with enthusiasm.

She was so soft and so warm, holding herself against me to soak me with tenderness.  I wanted to absorb every part of her.  When she let my leg press the flat place above where her thighs came together, I could only hope that her allowance was not to feel my hardness.  Hugging in this way makes you aware of such things.

But what was I to do when her knees embraced mine?  My undershorts and trousers did little to prevent my arousal being made known and the movement of her body was such that she was feeling every part of me.  Auntie's eyes were shut as she wiggled herself until I, too, rubbed back so she would be knowing everything.

Her eyes had been closed the first time I had touched her breasts.  Now they were closed as she came to know my excitement.

I was so lucky to still be maintaining control of my emotions when Grandmother called from the kitchen for someone to help relight the gas.

***

Nothing was said between us next morning as we waited for Uncle to leave and for Grandmother and my younger aunt to go to market.  It wasn't as if we had a plan, but on the other hand, perhaps the way we hugged yesterday is how plans become drawn.

Auntie stood in front of me topless, perhaps almost as hesitant as myself.  When I reached to take off her salwar, I was serious, but not too sure of what would happen.

After a slight pause, she herself loosened the nala and let her salwar drop to the floor.  She stood awkwardly, her hand shielding the black triangle so apparent through her panty.

I came close and moved her hand aside.  She lifted one foot and then the other when I removed her panty.

My breath was coming so hard and fast that it was getting stuck on the sides of my throat.  I swallowed hard.  I must have been yellow in the face as all the blood must have drained from it.  I was in it hook, line and sinker.  The world lay before my eyes.

Suddenly smiling, she took my face in her hands, "Calm yourself or you'll faint."

I had thought I knew my role as the man, but maybe I needed slight help.

Auntie perhaps decided the same.  "Let me see you," placing her hand between my legs.  As no one never ever touched me there before, I squirmed when she felt my hardness, but she must have been knowing, as she didn't seem surprised.

She lifted me outward until she could grasp me fully.  "You seem to have serious desire," using her other hand to unbutton my shirt.  I could see a certain satisfaction in her appraisal.

I was nervous, but not enough to dispute her observation.  A married aunt is superior to an unmarried nephew in knowledge of sex.

The relief of not having to make each decision left me feeling free.  I rushed through undressing and stood in front of her naked, my cock pointing towards the ceiling fan.  I was without hesitation in letting her take me in hand.

"Naeem," she ordered.  "Have you had experience with a woman?"

"Not exactly."

"Look at my eyes.  Have you?"

"No."

"Have you looked at me with certain thoughts?"

I nodded.

"Not here," indicating her breasts.  "All of me."  Auntie would have known of my certain thoughts from hugging, but perhaps she found it good to make me admit the same.

I nodded again.

"Then you must learn," in absolute seriousness.  She paused, watching me as a snake might watch a bird.  "But you must tell nobody.  Your uncle would be too angry."

"Maybe..." I started, but Auntie wasn't taking maybe for an answer.  She quickly stepped to her bed, lay down and with a lifting of her nose motioned me to follow.

I was maybe not that confident, but having confessed my certain thoughts, went to her.

"This is for my happiness, too," she admitted, which made me feel a bit older.

When Auntie opened her thighs, I feared I might climax on the quilt, the sight of what I saw, but I regained some composure by thinking of the American idiom, "Fools rush in."

She asked me to overshadow her with my body, a position requiring much skin delightfully touching.  I at first was hesitant regarding touching my cock against her body, but it was difficult to avoid.  When she raised her leg to have contact, though, her agreement was made known.

When I was more fully above her, she pulled me upward until my cock touched every part of her breast, but when I became nervous, she let me settle myself more squarely on the mark.

When my cock poked her pubic place, she let me push it against the hair, but soon grabbed me with a surety that sent shivers up my spine and rubbed me down and up until I could feel wetness between her legs.

Unlike yesterday, I knew that Grandmother's call wouldn't interrupt us.

Auntie was taking pleasure, of this I could be certain by the way she teased.  Being a married woman, she was knowledgeable regarding how far she might engage me without my loss of control.

For my part, I took my own pleasure in knowing Auntie's increasing anticipation for the screwing.  One might think that an older aunt would be of lesser emotion, but this is not the case.  She was as fit as a fiddle.

In our culture, Auntie shouldn't do what she was doing, but by now I realized that Auntie was a modern woman.  The times they are a-changing.

Finally she guided my cock to her most female place.  "Very slowly," she ordered.  "You're young."

I felt myself getting inside her and shook with the force of sheer pleasure as the doors to heaven started to open.

"Ohhh, Naeem," she encouraged in a less aunt-like, less smooth voice when I passed some magical place.  Maybe it was a physical place or maybe it was a thought place; of that I'm not certain.  As to the physical, she was very wet within, making my progress problem free.

As there was no need of her hand to further guide me, she grasped about my shoulders, allowing me better opportunity to enjoy my situation.  Her deepest place became known to me and it pleased me to have reached so far.  Of course she was grabbing me with her legs to further my entrance, so I don't deserve all the responsibility.

"Ohhh, Naeem!"  I felt a bit scared at the voice now coming out of her throat.  It was good that the house was empty.

After the most splendid lingering, she whispered for me to pull back, but when the head was about to leave her, she grabbed my behind and returned me into her.

I at first feared I might last not so long, but now that I was again in her, my confidence improved.  Auntie was the teacher, but I was always known to be a willing student.

For a coincidental reason I thought of "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" by the English author Lewis Carroll.  Alice had adventured down a tunnel to find a mysterious place.

I kept moving in and out, with an occasional push (at my own deciding) to hold myself all the way in.  The movement came quite by nature, if I do say so.  Auntie was finding it very agreeable also, I noted, by the hurry of her breathing and the closing of her eyes.

For so many moments, the two of us worked in sensational cooperation, my cock going about its business.

Then, to my surprise, Auntie arched upward with strength greater than my weight downward.  "Ohhh, aaaahhh!"

It was all I could do to be maintaining my superior position.

"Ohhh, Naeem!" as her body shivered and jerked.

Yes! I told myself when I realized I was pleasing Auntie to the fullest.  Knowing such gave me even the ability to increase my role.

I knew she was reaching the heavens, even if I didn't exactly know what it involved for a female.  Knowing I was giving that to someone so experienced even made me feel somewhat haughty.

And soon I felt the signal to please myself as well.  "Auntie!"

"Don't call me Auntie," but I was too far gone to care.  My liquid spilt forward, first in big spurts, then in short ones and she held me inward for as long as it took for my last juices to leak into her.

Auntie let me linger within until there was nothing left of me.

We were both pleasured.  When I departed to school, she was in a common bra and kissing me to beat the band.  Whilst perhaps I had not done everything in perfect manner, the fact that my aunt had so wonderfully expressed her heavenliness spoke a mouthful.

Success of course must also be credited to Auntie.  In English, "mate" can refer to either one's colleague or to the act of union.  To a complete degree, we qualified in either meaning, Auntie and I.  As they say, it takes two to tangle.

Needless to say, I wasn't in the mood for studies, but I had examinations upcoming.  I spent that day's classroom hours, however, remembering the "Ohhh, Naeem!"

***

Auntie presented Uncle with girl baby Seetha precisely 262 days after that morning of my manhood.  I counted them in my diary.  Human gestation requires approximately 260 days.  I researched that at an internet cafe.

Maybe Seetha is other than my cousin, but as Auntie said of her best white bra, "It's our secret."  We're all one family, though not all of us (especially Uncle) know to what degree.

I didn't do that well on my completion examinations, but Uncle's connection to the Ministry of Finance assured my admission to university.

And yes, my story does mention my younger aunt, virgin at the time.  There's a second chapter to be told, but you'll have to request this story's second author about it, since I am now owning a software startup in Mumbai.  We process your phone bills if you live in certain of the United States.

Our commercial future, however, is much more in China.  Unfortunately I do not know the language, but money talks.  The sun rises in the east.

THE END

The following chapter's posted as "My American Bra." 

Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to the server.  My problem is that I've no systematic way to update the various servers.  As literary errors (or just lame word usages) are made known, I'll repair that which is salvageable on http://www.asstr.org/~Holly_Rennick.  If you take the time to read me, don't wade through an early version.

You can contact me via the site's message form.

Holly
