Aunt and her nephew

I knew that my beautiful aunt wanted me. I saw her staring at me at football, when I, playing with a bang, scored a ball into the goal of a principal opponent from thirty meters, tore off my T-shirt and ran around the field with my steel press.

I also saw how her attitude towards me changed as soon as I turned 18 and I moved in with her in her townhouse on Rublyovka.

My aunt Xenia was 36. As she said, “www only 36”, but for me and my peers she was a juicy milf.

The aunt was divorced and looked like a real porn star. I was an athletic guy with broad shoulders, a washboard abs and a brazen, outrageous character.

And we lived together. In two. Of course, there was not a day that my friends at the institute did not joke about the fact that I was fucking her.

But we lived as a nephew with an aunt.

True, she bought me expensive clothes to make me look like the hero of her love stories: black jeans, chains, tight-fitting T-shirts, white polo shirts and expensive sneakers from the Central Department Store.

And I wiped my feet on her and everything she does.

Oh yes. He did not say: all my classmates at the institute looked at my aunt. Of course, in order to attract my attention, she dressed like a real prostitute when she called for me.

True, that's really someone, but she was definitely not a prostitute.

She really had a lot of money. Maybe this is what prevented her from meeting her true love. Men do not like rich successful ladies.

I was absolutely in awe of her. I liked my peers, and I just mocked my aunt as an annoying groupie.

I think that's what turned her on the most.

One thing I liked was that she did not dare to confess her feelings and prove herself. She pretended to be a caring aunt, as if I had no idea that every night in her bedroom she sits on my Instagram, impaling herself on her smooth dildo.

I also liked that she stuttered. A beautiful, expensive, successful bitch would pick me up at the Rublyovka football stadium and be drooled over by ministers, board members, and coaches, and I knew she would stutter like a first-grader when she saw me.

The rich stutterer.

In other words, I want to tell you about that morning when everything changed ...

I love that her Swiss-designed townhouse has floor-to-ceiling windows and lots of morning sun.

When in the morning I, struggling with a wild hard-on, went out sleepily to take a piss, I found my aunt standing in the kitchen in a transparent pink peignoir. On a naked body, it was completely translucent by the morning rays of the sun. I saw both bare pubis and nickels of nipple halos. She stretched defiantly, standing on tiptoe on a shaggy warm carpet.

My tight boxers already had one of those tough morning boners where your cock is so hard, straight and sticking out that it's definitely going to be a problem when you try to piss.

Through sleepy eyes, I saw her gaze darting to my cobblestone. Her eyes widened, her lips parted, and her legs stood up even more on tiptoe. Red-lacquered fingers spread across the carpet, and the ankle garlands pulsed more intensely.

- You'll be ... uh ... ahh, - as usual, my aunt Xenia stuttered.

I, not noticing her, walked with loud slaps of a maturing alpha male past her to the toilet.

- Will you have breakfast, ddddear?

I mumbled something incoherent in response and did not hesitate to murmur into the toilet for the whole house. Without closing the door.

I knew she heard. She knew that I knew what she was hearing. Like a hot stream of urine almost cuts the expensive faience of her house.

There was something dominating about it. Careless. Feeling her stuttering boundaries.

She appeared in the doorway. Trembling and not knowing where to put his hands, blinking too often for it to be considered normal.

I completed my procedure and shook it off, scattering the drops from side to side like a St. Bernard.

“Let me wipe it,” she suddenly said decisively, and taking a step towards the meeting, she hugged my bolt with a hot towel.

I kept pretending to be asleep. The bitch couldn't take it. I can imagine what it took for her to decide to touch her nephew THERE. I have seen all the last weeks that she is shy, like a schoolgirl, in my presence, even though we have an age difference of 18 years.

And here she is, a mature 36-year-old woman decided.

There will be no turning back.

She trembled with her own determination. Bent over. In a transparent peignoir, I could clearly see her large luxurious milkings, which hung down ending in neat drops of nipples.

A piercing was visible in the hole. Sex lips of my shy stuttering aunt were pierced.

My aunt was wiping my standing hard bolt from drops of morning urine.

She gently served the riser with a towel, squeezing it from all sides.