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Kas 20

Aunty’s Sex Slave Pt. 01

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It was somewhat ironic, I thought, as I licked obediently at my aunt’s moist pussy while she lay on her poolside recliner in the dry Arizona heat, that my predicament had been caused by a female domination magazine entitled, very appropriately, “Mistress Knows Best”. Perhaps I’d better explain, because it all happened more than 15 years ago – in 1989.

I was 20-years-old and my Aunt Pat 18 years my senior, but she was a stunningly built, still hugely attractive brunette. I had been sent out to Pat’s superb lifestyle block on the outskirts of Flagstaff by my step-mother, Karla, a gorgeous but haughty 35-year-old, who had just married my father, a wealthy industrialist. Pat was her older sister and had attended the wedding in London where we had chatted over a glass of bubbly at the “wedding breakfast” and she insisted I call her “aunty”. Silly, really, but I found it rather amusing.

The holiday was to last for a month, before I went back to learn the ropes at my father’s industrial empire. On arrival at Los Angeles International, I had taken a cab around the area while waiting for my connecting flight to Flagstaff.

During the drive I spotted an adult bookstore, got the cabbie to stop, and it was there I purchased the magazine that was to change my life. It was wrapped in clear plastic, of course, but the title – “Mistress Knows Best” – and the picture of the beautiful PVC-clad dominatrix on the title page was enough to persuade me to part with $7. It was the best $7 I ever spent!

The magazine was published – I know because I still have it – by Holly Publications, and consisted of four photo spreads and the one entitled “Wild With Desire” starring the stunner on the cover was cock-raising material.

Anyway, I climbed back in the cab and was soon in the little Western Airlines commuter plane on the flight to Flagstaff. Aunty Pat, a tallish brunette with superb 40-inch breasts, was there to chauffeur me back to her spread, some miles out of town. It was a luxurious, secluded place, with a magnificent swimming pool and large, lush lawns.

On arrival, Aunt Pat threw my only bag – I travelled light, just some underwear, swimming trunks, jeans, T-shirts and shirts – onto the bed in the guest bedroom and we went into the huge kitchen where she fixed me lunch. Sadly – no, make that fortunately – she pressed a couple of Coors beers on me, or maybe three.

By now I feeling a little light headed and told her I needed a nap – London to LA was a long flight. She smiled and kissed me lightly on the cheek. She smelt of wheat, and I wanted her. But I also wanted to get away from her – I was desperate to check out my domination mag, of course. Soon I was on the bed, naked, hand on my eight-inch uncut cock, stroking myself as I perved over the pictures, especially the “Wild With Desire” ones. Then, I must have fallen asleep.

The next thing I knew I was awake. Judging by the light in the room it was well into the evening. I sat bolt upright and there – sitting in an easy chair by the foot of the bed was Aunty Pat. She was, you guessed it, thumbing through “Mistress Knows Best”. I scrambled for the sheet to cover myself, but it had fallen off the foot of the bed. Then I looked at Aunty Pat and suddenly felt my penis start to stir. She was a stunning sight.

Her lovely big breasts were covered by a shiny red satin brassiere, with black edging. On her hips was a shiny black PVC miniskirt. One leg was crossed over the other, displaying a wonderful expanse of bronzed thigh.

She was wearing blood red high heels. I pulled a pillow and plunked it across my groin to hide my swiftly rising cock. Pat looked up at me and smiled. Then she put her hand on the table beside her chair and threw a bundle at me. “Have a look at those, you naughty boy, you,” she laughed, and I saw the things I took to be paper were, in fact, about a dozen garishly-coloured Polaroid prints. Each showed me, cock in hand, perving on my purchase. “Aunty Pat,” I tried to bluster, “you’ve been spying on me!”

Pat laughed, laying the magazine down. “On the contrary – my housekeeper, Anita has been doing the spying! Anita, Ankara escort get in here!”

Into the bedroom stepped a hard-faced but quite attractive raven-haired woman, some years younger than my aunt. Her beautifully bronzed body was nude save for a black satin garter belt, shiny black stockings and black high-heeled shoes. Her breasts were smaller than Pat’s – later I found they were 34-inch beauties – and her pubic bush was jet black and trimmed back to allow a clear view of her piss flaps peeping below the crew-cut hair style.

Pat introduced me: “This is Anita Armitage, my housekeeper and partner – she took those pictures through a crack in the door which leads into my room adjoining this. Being a faithful employee-confidante, she thought she should show them to me. Rick – you really are a very naughty boy, aren’t you?”

“No I’m not,” I protested, “I’m just a perfectly normal, highly-sexed 20-year-old who enjoys looking at pictures of pretty women!” Pat sniggered. “Oh yes, pretty women – look what one of them is saying – ‘Do you want to worship my tits, my arse, my cunt – well on your knees, slave’. Lovely. You’re a freak for femdom, Rick, admit it!” I lowered my face, Aunty Pat had me there, and to my great relief, I poured it out.

“Well, since it’s pretty obvious, yes, I do fancy being a wonderful woman’s sex slave, aunty. You win!” I confessed. Pat grinned at me, and threw another magazine across. “And take that silly pillow away, Rick, we both know what you look like now!”

Sheepishly, I put the pillow behind me, on top of the other two and sat propped up, my cock still stiffly standing high. The magazine that Aunty Pat had tossed over was a German publication, with a young woman wearing a bright red PVC playsuit featured on the cover. It was called something “Sklaven der PVC” or some such thing. “Look at the centerspread,” said my “aunt”.

When I got there I saw a spread of some eight or nine shots of Aunty Pat – named by the magazine “Mistress Helga”, but it was obviously Aunty Pat. She was erotically clad in a black PVC playsuit, which was open-fronted and exposed her magnificent 40-inch superstructure. The suit had a zip which ran from the navel back to the small of the back. In every shot, the suit was unzipped, exposing Pat’s brown-haired pussy. In every shot she was posing with a many-tailed flogger. By the time I’d finished scanning the pictures I was as stiff as a policeman’s nightstick!

“I was given the playsuit after the shoot,” Pat informed me, looking with interest at my hard-on. “Like me to model it for you?” I nodded so enthusiastically it’s a wonder my head didn’t part company with my shoulders. “God yes,” I breathed. Pat smiled and turned to Anita. “First let’s see if he’s going to be up to our demanding standards, shall we Anita? Try him out!” With that, the raven-haired beauty stepped to the side of the bed, kicked her shoes off and climbed onto the mattress.

Placing a knee on either side of my upper body, Anita lowered her minge onto my unprotesting mouth. Her semi-shaved snatch was wet with sex juices and slithered across my hungry lips.

Soon my tongue was sliding into her crevices, flicking against her rosebud anus, then into her sopping wet cunt, then up to her clitoris until, only a minute or two after she had begun her face-sitting exercise, Anita pumped even faster and roared to her climax.

Slipping off my and replacing her shoes, Anita bent over and gave my mouth, moist from her musk, a gentle kiss on the mouth and reported: “Magnificent, madam, I think he’ll do quite well.”

“Wonderful,” said Pat, rising from her chair and smoothing her mini over her lush buttocks. “Welcome to our humble abode, Rick. It looks like you’re in for a month of sex slavery!”

CHAPTER 2:

Lying back on the bed, my stiffy pointing towards the ceiling, I had hoped that my Aunt Pat would follow the example of her housekeeper-cum-partner in sitting on my eager face. My hopes, though, were soon dashed.

“I’m going to change, Anita,” announced the busty 40-year-old. “Take him down to the games room and play something gentle with Ankara escort bayan him till I’m ready.” The raven-haired beauty smiled sweetly at me and purred: “It’ll be a pleasure madam.” Then holding out her hand, she invited: “Come with me, Master Rick, there’s a room I know you’d like to see.”

I took her hand and acutely aware of my jutting ramrod, walked with Anita out of the bedroom and down a long corridor in the sumptuous home. At the far end of the house, away from the living quarters was a narrow, metal spiral staircase. Anita led the way down.

At the bottom was another long corridor which obviously ran beneath the house, lit at varying distances by harsh strip lighting. The first room we came to had hung on its large wooden door a little riding crop. “Welcome to the games room, Master Rick,” said my escort, throwing the door open.

I stepped into a lushly-carpeted and opulently appointed room. Scattered along the walls were leather couches, leather easy chairs were dotted around. There was also a padded leather bench, complete with straps and at one end a pair of stirrups. What was obviously a whipping stool stood off to one side. On the walls hung various and varied implements, such as whips, floggers, paddles, canes and so on. It was, I realised immediately, an extremely well equipped torture chamber.

Anita stepped over to an easy chair and settled down in it, throwing her thighs over the arms, displaying her lovely pussy to my fixed gaze. “Madam said something gentle, so you may as well get used to pleasuring me, Master Rick,” she smiled, indicating I should drop onto the carpet.

I moved my mouth to her minge and began to work at providing her pussy with another orgasm. Her sex smelled strongly of feminine musk, heady and intoxicating. I lapped and laved at her labia lips, then her cunt, then her clit. Anita dropped her legs over my shoulders, pinning me more securely. “Don’t forget my arsehole, arsehole,” she commanded. Then, after a small chuckle added: “Sorry, Master Arsehole!”

My adoration of her pussy was soon paying dividends, when I heard the door to the games room open. I kept up my cunnilingual task, but was aware that Aunty Pat was now standing just behind me. Then, with a roar and a groan of “Yeeees”, Anita announced her orgasm.

“Up you get, Rick,” I heard Aunty Pat command, and I rose to stand before her, prick jutting up proudly. What I saw made my penis stand out even more stiffly, if that was possible!

Aunty Pat, true to her word, was now modelling for me the PVC playsuit she had appeared in for the German magazine shoot. I gaped, open mouthed, at her wondrous breasts which I had previously only lusted after in photographs and bra-clad glory.

The lush 40-inch boobs were standing up in glorious uplift, the nipples erect in the air-conditioned torture chamber. At her pussy, the hirsute appearance in the German porno mag had been replaced by a shaved pubis, in which only a slight wisp of sandy, light brown hair remained on her prominent mons.

On her legs, Aunty Pat was wearing black leather boots which came gloriously high – half-way up her sun-tanned thighs. On her arms were black PVC gloves which came up to her elbows.

Pat grinned at me: “Well, Rick, don’t just stand there, say something!” I gulped, then gathered my thoughts: “You are the most stunningly sexy sight I’ve ever laid eyes on.” She seemed impressed. “And I suppose you would like to perform some body worship adoration on this ‘sexy sight’, would you, my darling?”

I fell to my knees in what I hoped would be a suitably submissive pose, staring up at her lovely thick piss flaps. “Ohmigod, yes, yes, please, aunty,” I was almost pleading.

Pat laughed and then helped me to my feet. “Of course you may, my dear Rick, but it will be a special form of body worship – one which I hope will amuse you.” Then, turning to Anita, she announced: “Get out some of that perfume for Rick – what do we call it?”Anita responded: “Jean Patou by Pat, I think you’re referring to, madam.” “Ah yes,” said my aunt, “one of the more exotic perfumes, I think.”

Anita smiled Escort Ankara and went to a refrigerator that I had not noticed before, standing in the far corner of the chamber. She returned holding a large glass container containing almost a pint of perfume, with an atomiser attached to its neck.

“Now, Rick, we’ll play some body adoration games. First, I am going to permit you to worship five places on my body – can you guess where they are?”

“Er, no aunty,” I almost whispered. “Come, come, Rick,” she chided me, “use your imagination for crying out loud! Where would you like to lick me?”

I gulped, Then waded in: “Your breasts, your buttocks and – er, your pussy aunty.” Pat mockingly put her hands together in one sarcastic clap. “See, it was easy, wasn’t it?”

Then turning to her accomplice, Pat instructed: “My left breast first, Nita.” The raven-haired nude sprayed a film of perfume across Aunty Pat’s large left globe. “Ouch,” she winced, “that’s so goddam cold. OK Rick, get to work.”

I stepped to her side and lowered my mouth to her breast, then paused, inhaling the aroma from her bosom. “Get on with it, Rick,” she commanded, “you’ll enjoy it, promise!” I gulped back a protest and ran my tongue all over her lush, large melon, confirming my worst fears. The “perfume” Anita had sprayed on Pat’s breast was urine – chilled urine, but urine nonetheless.

“Come on, Rick,” Pat commanded, sensing my reluctance, “there are sex slaves around the world who would pay thousands to perform the task you’re enjoying right now – put some fucking enthusiasm into it!”

I ran my tongue all over her gleaming globe, then straightened. “See,” she laughed, stroking my cheek with her PVC-gloved hand, “it wasn’t so bad, was it?” “No, aunty,” I mumbled, still tasting the saltiness of her “perfume” piss.

“Good,” said Aunty Pat, “now we can proceed to the right breast – Nita, do the honours!” The nude partner in punishment sprayed a liberal amount of piss on Pat’s other breast and once more I bent to the task, this time being careful not to upset my dominating aunty.

The next target Anita Armitage sprayed for my worship was Aunty Pat’s left buttock. I knelt and licked and laved at the liquid, now aware of a marvellous pussy aroma coming from Pat’s pussy. Then the right buttock was similarly anointed.

“And now for the part we’ve all been waiting for, eh Rick?” Pat said from above me as I completed my buttock worship. “Yes, aunty,” I replied, by now becoming somewhat more accustomed to the tanginess of the perfume Anita was spraying onto Pat’s body.

Aunty Pat walked over to a large couch and placed her left foot up on the leather, thus spreading her snatch invitingly for Anita to apply the “perfume”. I watched with a mixture of fear and excitement as the dark-haired beauty performed the spraying. Finally, she stood back from Pat’s pussy and my aunt called out: “Quickly, darling, it’s cold and I want to feel the heat from your tongue!”

Swiftly I obeyed, kneeling in front of her glorious figure. My tongue licked at the “perfume” and tasted a combination of her chilled piss and the wonderfully tasty juices from her sex.

This was by far the most appetising part of the task, as the sex juices combined with the urine spray to provide almost an intoxicating liquid. I laved eagerly, encouraged by Aunty Pat’s comments: “Oh, Rick, that tongue is so hot, yes, eat me, lick me, let me come!”

I continued my task, and then Pat pushed my head back. “Nita,” she gasped, “freshen my minge up, Rick must have licked all the perfume off by now!” Anita obliged, then I went back to work, my now eagerly sucking and lapping at aunty’s sex.

Soon groans and moans flooded from my aunt’s lips and with an ecstatic “Yeeeees”, she grabbed my head and graunched her groin against my face as she shuddered to her climax.

I stood and felt Aunty Pat’s arms enfold me. “There, darling,” she smiled, kissing me strongly on my piss-perfumed mouth, “that wasn’t so awful, was it?” I had, to my total surprise, to admit that no, it wasn’t.

Aunty Pat grinned wickedly. “Of course not, in fact I suppose it was so nice you’ll volunteer to do it with Anita, won’t you?”

I looked across at the housekeeper. She was already handing the by-now half-empty atomiser bottle across to Aunty Pat ……

To be continued…

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