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My family has something about the letter “L”. My mother, bless her soul, was named Lavinia. My sister, who at 44 is 10 years older than me, is Libby. I’m 34, of course, and I guess I must have been an afterthought on my parents’ parts, and my given name is Linda. Libby’s daughter, who is the point of this story, is Lucy. See what I mean?
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, Libby called and asked if I’d put Lucy up for a month, just till “it all dies down”.
I asked what “it” was, but Libby, who is still my “big” sister, said it was just too scandalous to talk about, but please be a pet and look after the “wayward little bitch”. Strong words for my sister.
Well, things were quite quiet at my bookshop – it’s a cosy little outfit run by myself and two lady helpers. I call it “Linda’s Library”. There’s that “L” thing again, see?
Anyway, I agreed and on the day in question drove down to the Plymouth railway station to greet the train from Paddington – no, that sounds silly – to greet my niece, Lucy, off the train from Paddington.
I’d not seen Lucy for about five years and I must confess I got quite a shock when I saw her again. She was short – I was going to say diminutive, but I guess five feet isn’t that short. She had close-cropped dark brown hair, cut in a lovely fringe, and she was extremely pretty in pouty, Louise Brooks sort of way. If you’ve never heard of Louise Brooks, type her name into your search engine and you’ll get my drift.
But that wasn’t what gave me the shock. Do you remember that Page 3 girl, Samantha Fox? At least, I think it was Fox. She was quite short but she made up for a lack of height with these superb breasts.
Well, Lucy had Sam Fox-type breasts. They thrust out stunningly from the tight black T-shirt she was wearing.
And the T-shirt gave me a bit of a shock, too. The logo emblazoned in stark white lettering read “My nipples get harder than most guys’ dicks!” Beneath the T-shirt she was poured into some jeans that looked as if they’d been applied by a spray gun. Wedge-styled red high heels were on her feet and she looked extremely, well, shall I say tarty. But tarty in the nicest possible way.
“Hi Lucy,” I said, leaning down to hug her. I’m about five eight, with long fair hair, so fair it could be taken for blonde. I’m extremely fit because I work out each day, but my breasts are nowhere near Lucy’s. Mine hit the tape at 34 inches, but because I’ve got a rather narrow back, my girl friends have never complained about not having enough to suck on. In fact, sometimes it’s been a bit of a struggle to get them to go down “there”, they like my boobs so much.
“Hi Aunty Linda,” she said, smelling of a rather cheap perfume, “glad to see me?”
“Of course,” I replied, “it’s always a pleasure to put up family.”
Lucy grinned a cheeky little grin. “Wait till I’ve been around a week or two, you may change your tune,” she laughed.
Then I looked at her T-shirt logo again. “Did you attract a lot of attention on the train?” I asked.
“Oh, this?” she said, pulling on the sides of her T-shirt and making the logo stand out even more. “A couple of filthy old men letched at me, and one foxy lady of about 40, who I could really have gone for, smiled at me. Apart from that I don’t think I started any riots.”
Of course, alarm bells should have started to ring there and then, but I honestly thought it was Lucy trying to shock her maiden aunt. Well, I may be a maiden aunt, but I’ve known some foxy ladies in my time, if you follow me.
We drove home in my lovely old Rover, Lucy saying it looked like a car that escaped from the Ark, and I showed her to her bedroom. She plonked her valise and a large suitcase on the bed, then announced: “I’m going to get changed for a really sweaty run, aunty. Three and a half hours cooped up on the train and I need to work it out of my system.”
I went down to the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea. Lucy appeared several minutes later, wearing bright red satin shorts which gleamed gloriously on her pert little buttocks. She had on white socks and brand-new Nike trainers. And she still had on that ghastly T-shirt.
Standing up and trying to sound stern but not stuffy, I said: “Now Lucy, you’re perfectly welcome to stay down here with me for a month, but I’m not having a niece of mine running around this nice neighbourhood in a T-shirt like that!”
Lucy pouted and pulled the T-shirt off. She wasn’t wearing a bra! Her large breasts hung in superb natural uplift, the nipples thick and the first thing that entered my head was “I want to suck those!” but Lucy saved the situation.
“I’ll try another top, aunty, sorry,” she said, before skipping off upstairs again.
I returned to my Earl Grey and Lucy was back in another T-shirt, still black, still with white lettering. This time the wording was an old joke, but I thought it was far preferable to the “nipples” T-shirt. This one read: “I may not be perfect, but parts of me aren’t all that bad!”
I laughed, trying to live down my earlier stuffy aunt approach. “Far casino oyna more respectable, darling,” I smiled. “Now enjoy your run, only don’t get lost.”
“I’ll be 45 minutes, possibly an hour aunty,” she called, striding to the door and then she was gone.
I finished my Earl Grey, but instead of having my usual repeat cuppa, I walked up to her room and inspected it. Her suitcase was empty and had been placed in the wardrobe. Her valise lay on the dressing table. Idly, I pulled it to me and peeped into the thing.
I could hardly believe my eyes. Snuggling at the bottom was a gleaming black rubber item. I pulled it out. It was one of those things called, I believe, “a strap-on”. It had straps, an imitation scrotum and looked about seven inches long – although, due to my sexual preferences, I’m not really an expert at male penile lengths.
I peeped into the valise once more and there was something else which caught my eye. I pulled this out, too. It was a leather-handled, triple-thonged whip, the lashes no more than 18 inches long, the handle some eight inches. The tips of the three thongs were shaped like hearts. The instrument of punishment gleamed cruelly. It sent a shiver down my body, although it was a shiver of fear mixed with excitement.
I slipped out of my skirt, kicked off my shoes, pulled my blouse off and lay back on the bed, the whip by my side, the dildo in my hand. Idly I began to rub the head of the device against my pink silk panties. I began to think about Patrice.
She had been my girl friend. She was much taller than me – supermodel height, about six feet. She had long blonde hair, falling to her shoulder blades. She had a totally shaved pussy. I used to spend hours there, licking and kissing. I missed her so much.
My thoughts drifted to our wonderful love-making, her gentle hands, her insistent mouth. I could almost inhale the aroma of her slender snatch, could almost feel her labia lips grazing my mouth. The dildo was working away at my sex trench and I felt down at the gusset of my panties and pulled them to one side, allowing the rubber to insinuate itself into the folds of my sex.
I must have drifted off into a trance-like dream because the next thing I knew I jolted myself awake.
“And what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The words cracked out like a whip – like the whip that lay beside me. My reverie of the sweet Patrice vanished in a split second and I opened my eyes to see a panting, sweating Lucy standing beside the bed.
Her hand was outstretched, her pose needed no words. Silently I passed the dildo to her. She took it by the scrotal sac and put it to her nostrils.
“It’s very moist, it’s very aromatic, aunty,” said Lucy, her voice now quiet, almost hiss-like. “So aromatic,” she added. “Smell it!”
And she put the dildo’s head to my nostrils. I inhaled, closing my eyes as my familiar pussy perfume wafted over me. I always like smelling my own perfume.
Lucy pulled it back and kissed if softly, just a brush with her lips. “So tasty, aunty,” she whispered. “Taste it!”
And once more I was offered the dildo. I tasted it, tasting the salty, familiar tanginess of my sex juices. I always like tasting myself, too.
Lucy took the dildo away again and pulled off her T-shirt, exposing those wonderful boobs, now streaked with perspiration. Then she stepped out of her running shorts, revealing a tiny little black thong, gleaming and wet.
I tried to get up, but Lucy pushed me down. I tried to speak, but Lucy’s forefinger pressed on my lips, hushing me. She bent and kicked off her shoes and socks. Then she was lying beside me.
“Thinking of your boyfriend?” she said, whispering the words in my ear, placing the dildo’s tip against my now panty-covered pussy.
“No,” I replied, speaking in a low whisper matching hers. “My girl friend.”
Lucy smiled and pressed her breasts against my upper arm and leaned over to kiss me softly, gently on the mouth. She no longer smelled of cheap perfume but honest-to-goodness sweat.
“Why did she leave you?” Lucy asked.
“She migrated to Australia, of all places,” I said, then adding, rather obviously: “And Australia is so far away, Lucy.”
Lucy maintained her stroking of my sex trench with her dildo, but changed the subject. “And my whip? I know you like my strap-on, do you like my whip?”
I looked at her, and her lovely big brown eyes, her lovely big brown breasts and I shook my head: “It scares me, darling. It looks cruel.”
Lucy smiled, slowly but knowingly. “Don’t be scared, aunty,” she said, in such a soft tone I almost had to strain to hear her. “It can be cruel, and you have to receive its caress because you’ve been naughty, but you will learn to love it.”
And again she kissed me on the mouth. This time it was a longer kiss. Now I know I should have snapped out of it, but my hands had a life of their own. The next thing I knew I was running my fingers all over the pert, high-slung but slippery mounds, kneading her big nipples, wanting the kiss to end so I could slot oyna press my face into her fantastic flesh.
“Did you find anything else in my valise, aunty?” Lucy inquired, after we had broken and my mouth was nuzzling at her breasts, feeling the firmness that only young women or those with ludicrous implants can exhibit.
“No, darling,” I hissed, annoyed at having to stop my oral adoration of her big breasts. Now my mouth was hungrily suckling her nipples, they were like little plums in my mouth, and I loved them, I was under their twin spell already!
Lucy leaned over to the dressing table, presenting me as she did with a glorious view of two beautifully pert buttocks, divided by a slender strap of black thong. She grabbed her valise and brought it to the bed, then dipped into it and came up with a little black contact book.
She put the valise on the floor, kissed me tenderly on the mouth, then resumed stroking the dildo up and down my weeping pussy.
“Guess it’s time you found out why I’m in such disgrace,” she said, and tossed the book onto my belly. “Open it up, have a good read, Aunt Linda.” The last sentence was spoken slightly louder, more peremptory, more a command.
I sat up and flicked open the book. It fell to the “F” section. There, in small, very neat writing, was a list of names. Fiona, for example, with a day beneath it – Tuesday – and then some sort of codes. GS, WS (not the face), DM, S, W, TT.
I looked puzzled. Lucy smiled. “I’ll explain for you, you innocent old thing, you” she told me.
“This entry denotes a client named Fiona. From it I can see that she visits the ‘clinic’ where I worked every Tuesday. She liked golden showers or water sports – but not on her face. She liked digital masturbation. She also liked spanking, the whip and tit torture.”
I must have looked shocked. Then I flicked through the book, quickly, as if its pages were going to burn my fingers. Page after page was crammed with entries. I stopped at the page for “L” – that old family thing, I suppose.
There was even an entry for a “Linda”. I pointed to it with its codes: “Tell me about her, Lucy.”
Lucy smiled at me. “Aha, your namesake. A lush-buttocked 30-year-old aunty, much larger build than yours. Nowhere near as sexy.
“Now let’s see, she was into spanking – well, they’re all into spanking – she liked to be fingered in her back passage during spankings. See, there’s the notation BP, which has nothing to do with her preferred petrol company.
“She also likes golden showers and likes to lick the domina’s pussy clean after being showered. ‘LLU’ stands for ‘Likes licking urine’. She also likes being whipped but doesn’t want to be marked – ‘W(NMs)’ means whipping, no marks.
“Then there’s tit torture – ‘MTT’ means ‘mild tit torture’. And ‘VH’ means she’s into verbal humiliation, so I called her a slut, a whore, an arse-licker, stuff like that. Simple really.”
And with that Lucy shut the book and tossed it on the floor.
“And that’s what got you into trouble?” I asked, still inwardly gasping at the contents of Lucy’s little black book.
“Hardly, aunty,” she replied. “But the place I worked at – it was called Karla’s Korrectional Klinic, or KKK for short – was, of course, a place where rich ladies could indulge in their fantasies of female domination.
“Luckily, one of mum’s best friends has a husband who’s a member of the vice squad. He told his wife they were going to raid the place, she told mum and I was conveniently sick on that evening,” explained Lucy.
“So Libby knew you worked there all along?” I stuttered, hardly able to believe Libby would put up with such behaviour from her only daughter.
“Course not, silly,” said Lucy. “She thought I was working at an all hours pharmacy by the way I dressed when I left for work each afternoon – all our kinky gear was kept at the clinic.
“And when she found out what I was doing she was absolutely livid,” said Lucy. “It wasn’t so much that I was dealing to rich lesbians, she quite liked that, it was the thought of what she would tell her friends if they ever found out. So she’s packed me off to you until the heat blows over, or whatever the fuck heat does.”
And with that, the lovely thong-clad lass stood up and leaned across my body to pick up her little whip. “And now, my dearest aunty, it’s time for your punishment for being such a snooping little busybody.”
I looked at her incredulously. Then I drank in the beauty of her breasts, which were heaving slightly as she ran the triple-lashed weapon through her fingers. Her pudenda looked prominent, swollen almost, in her lovely little thong. Her thighs were bronzed and taut. I wanted to feel them around my neck and head as I worshipped her pussy. I was lost in a turmoil of thoughts, but my pussy won the battle. It wanted her, and I think she wanted it.
I reached behind me and unclipped my brassiere, allowing my large-cupped mounds to fall slightly into their natural cups. I’m extremely proud of my breasts, as I think you’re aware, and I knew canlı casino siteleri the nipples would be erect. I glanced down. They were, so much so they pointed stiffly across at Lucy. Then I slipped out of my panties exposing my semi-shaved pussy, fringed by light brown pubic hair cut back almost to the roots, to her gaze.
Lucy smiled at me: “Lovely, not bad for an old 34-year-old, aunty. Now into position – kneel with your knees as wide as you can get them without being too uncomfortable. Then hands behind you and grab hold of your ankles.”
I obeyed. Lucy looked satisfied. “That’s marvellous. Proud, yet submissive,” she said. I was pleased by her remark, proud of her remark. And I knew, deep down in the churning pit of my stomach, that I was going to be submissive.
“Now this is going to sting, but that’s all,” she informed me. “I’ll be as loving as is humanely possible on your virgin flesh, aunty?”
I nodded and Lucy grinned: “I take it, that is, that it’s virgin flesh. Never been flogged, have you, aunty?”
I shook my head, making my breasts wobble slightly. “No, Lucy,” I said, my voice in an excited whisper.
My lovely young niece then raised her triple-thonged whip and brought it down sharply across my tightly-stretched belly, just above my abdomen, well below my breasts.
“Owwww,” I yelped, as three electric shocks struck me. Then the flogger came down across my right thigh. Another trio of tingling pleasure coursed through me, but far less painful than the initial blow. Then my left thigh was the target for Lucy’s unerring aim. This was a performance she had obviously acted out many, many times.
The next blow struck my abdomen, and one of the lash’s thongs came dangerously close to my pussy. I flinched, but did not cry out. I was getting accustomed to the triple tingles I felt each time as the flogger flailed down onto me.
Lucy then paused. “Now it’s time for your breasts, my darling aunty, only they’re not quite as good a target as I’d like,” she said.
“I like my breasts,” I protested, both defending their honour and reputation and their flesh, I hoped. I did not want them flogged.
“Your breasts are wonderful, I’m going to have a lot of fun with them, aunty,” Lucy assured me, “but I need them standing up a bit more.”
She looked at me, casting a professional domina’s eye over my nakedness. “Got such a thing as a quarter-cup bra, Linda?” she inquired, dropping the “aunty” term.
“Yes, in my bedroom,” I said.
“Fetch!” snapped my naughty niece, in much the same tone you’d use for a golden retriever who you’d thrown a stick for.
I scrambled away to my bedroom, produced my favourite quarter-cup creation – a lovely little thing in bright red satin – and returned to Lucy’s room.
There, she helped me put it on, adjusting the cups so my boobs were thrown out into what I thought were magnificent platforms of flesh. Lucy obviously thought so, too.
“That’s great, Linda, I’m going to enjoy making those little beauties dance a flamenco to my flogger,” she said. “Now get back up on that bed.”
I resumed my position, my knees some foot or so back from the foot of the bed. Again I leaned back and gripped my ankles. Lucy grinned down at me and bent to bestow two kisses on my globes – one on each nipple – then she straightened and held her arm out horizontally so the thongs of the whip dangled against my breasts.
“Ready, Linda?” she inquired, her voice a husky hiss.
I nodded: “Yes, Lucy.”
The triple-armed implement whistled down and the three heart-shaped leather tips cracked against my breasts, sending shock waves through me. One tip struck my right breast, the other two landed on the upper curve of the left.
Lucy moved the whip to her other hand and repeated the dose. This time my right breast suffered the attentions of two tips, the left merely one. The arithmetic or placing didn’t matter – the strokes sent shockingly, stunningly, wonderful surges of pleasure mingled with pain through my body.
At last, after some 10 strokes, Lucy was done. I looked down my upper breasts, striped and lightly marked, and in one or two places the vivid red imprint shaped like a heart. I wore them proudly, like badges of honour.
Then Lucy was climbing up onto the bed and standing astride my upturned face. “You can move your hands from your ankles when I’m in position,” she instructed, dispensing both with “Aunty” and “Linda” now.
A musky, marvellous aroma descended on me as she placed her sopping wet thong onto my mouth. My hands flew for her buttocks. My mouth was hungry for her minge, my hands hot for the firm touch of her bottom. Neither my mouth, nor my hands were disappointed.
Her pussy was dripping a tangy, tasty meal of sex juice onto my mouth, her backside was strong and muscular, thrusting against me as I worshipped her snatch through the skimpy material.
“Get it off, get if off,” she hissed, and my fingers scrambled into the side straps and pulled the garment away. When it caught, at her knees, I replaced my mouth and for the first time tasted the ineffable glory of her womanhood, its musky secretions pouring over my tongue and lips, its perfumed promise making me almost dizzy with faintness as I served her graunching pussy.
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