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Aunt Dolores hardly said a word, her steely eyes fixed on the road. The trip felt like it would go on for days but in reality we weren’t on the road more than half an hour into deepest darkest Devon.I was almost asleep when we pulled down the gravel lane with grass growing along the centre. I perked up when we began passing numerous pens and pastures. Beautiful horses ran alongside the fence by the road, as if trying to race us. I doubted Dolores’ Volkswagen Beetle could do more than thirty five, down this bumpy rough road.We finally came to the old Georgian stone farmhouse. But we didn’t stop. She pulled around it and then I saw where I would be staying. It was a small stone wooden roofed shed, something that reminded me briefly of the gingerbread house from Hansel and Gretel. It was tiny, but I didn’t care. It was my own. “Get settled in.” Aunt Dolores stated. “Supper’s at six sharp. I expect you to be there early to help set the table. Uncle Cliff will go over a few things then. She was sitting on boyfriend’s face so she could see dad, but he could not. Without shame, she looked Mr. B in his eyes while she gave herself orgasms on his son’s face. Her shear shoulder length lace gloves were twisted into his hair, rubbing her pussy over his face, holding Mr. B’s eye locked to hers.At parties she would drink and flirt with sexy guys. After a couple of drinks, she would start to describe for him the things she had done to boys. She was wearing her shoulder length gloves and looking right into his eyes, feeling the heat from his body. Slippery satin fingers finding his growing erection through his pants. In my beginning-Laying in an extended ‘rosy glow’ in the hot water, cum on my chest, my stomach, my thighs, I fantasized about doing that again, and again. I thought about the nights before, when I put on my gloves in bed and looked at Bettie Paige pinups. I gave myself urges I could not fulfill under my sheets yet, fondling my limp penis in the gloves that flooded.
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