When I woke that Saturday morning, I still ached all over. But it was a good ache; an ache that reminded me of the amazing experience I had had at the rugby club. But it was the phone ringing that got me out of bed–not many people use my landline, most use my mobile (cell phone, to my American readers). My mobile’s by my bed. The ‘real’ phone’s in the living room. Anyway, I jumped out of bed and tried to put on my dressing gown as I dashed through to the living room, but the answer phone had already kicked-in as I got there. “Hello, dear–it’s your Auntie Mary. I do hope you’re all right. Just wondered if you could give me a hand? There are some things I really need to get out of my loft and–what with my knee replacement last month…” “Hello Mary. Sorry–couldn’t get to the phone quick enough.” “Oh hello Nicki dear. How are you? I didn’t wake you did I?” “No, no.” I lied. I was still trying to get my second arm into the dressing gown; I groaned as the aching was worse when I stretched. “Something wrong dear?” “No, no.” I lied again, now tying my dressing gown closed. The silk felt cold against my skin and had my nipples standing erect. “I am just feeling a bit stiff this morning.” “Oh, I see. Well. Did you hear my message?” “Something about needing some help with some stuff in your loft?” “That’s right dear.” I sat down in my favourite arm chair. “Could you help? I’ll make you a nice cup of tea for your trouble.” Well, I really like my Aunt Mary, and I didn’t have any plans for the day. “Of course. I was just having some breakfast–so I could be there in an hour if you like?” “That would be perfect. I’ll be sure to have the kettle on.” When I put the phone down I sat there, silent, relaxed. Spending the day with Aunt Mary would be fun. She had some fascinating stuff in her house and I thought rooting through her loft would be great fun. But every time I moved, I was still aching. I had time for a cup of coffee or a little play; either would perk me up for the day. I leaned back in the chair, opened my legs and made the only sensible decision. My hand traveled lightly across my body, brushing nipple and breast–I pulled apart my dressing gown–fingernails grazing my belly, and brushing through my pubic hair. My index finger found my clit and started to tease. I closed my eyes–making coffee was too much effort. I pinched my clit and cradled my breast with the other hand; twisting and pinching my nipple made me gasp. I could feel the hard button of my clit was throbbing and, when I pressed down on it and started rubbing, I had to bite my lip so as not to squeal. Nice and slow, Nicki, nice and slow. I lifted my legs onto the arms of the chair (why do you think I like it so much) and slipped a finger inside my cunny. Slowly in and out, imagining a rugby player’s cock; one finger became two and my other hand started pressing hard on my clit. Even with my eyes closed, I felt like I was seeing fireworks. My legs ached up on the chair arms, but it meant I could slip a third finger into my pussy, now that it was really Küçükköy escort bayan wet. In my minds eye I was back in the van surrounded by those rugby players, and my heart pounded with the remembered excitement. I opened my eyes and looked up. My net curtains only go up to head height at the bay window–enough to give me privacy from the street. But the third floor windows across the street could look down on me–especially when I sat here. I had never noticed before, and now I saw someone looking down. Did they know I’d noticed? I looked away, without trying to seem too obvious, and, out of the corner of my eye, realised they had binoculars. I was giving them a free show. Perv. Smiling inwardly, I decided to have fun with it. I popped back to the bedroom and returned moments later with my favourite big black dildo. I sat back down in the chair, lifted my aching legs back onto the arms and slowly rubbed the tip of that lovely black cock against my clit. I felt my pussy throbbing, and bit my lip. When I could bear it no longer, I slipped it into my cunt and looked directly at my admirer and winked. That made my heart race! Well, I fucked myself faster and faster, with my other hand switching from clit, to nipple and back again, until I was writhing and sweating in that armchair–the silk of my dressing gown delightful against my arse. Finally, with an almighty push I rammed the whole length of the dildo into my cunt and arched my back as I came. Oh God it was good! And the frisson added by my admirer made it all the better. Wonder if I have seen him on the street… Anyway, when I looked at the clock I realised I would be late for Aunt Mary, so I went commando–T-shirt with no bra, skinny jeans with no knickers and a pair of plimsolls. Skipping down the stairs I went around the back, got into my car (that made my bum ache) and I drove over to Mary’s….ooOoo… She answered the door in a Harris tweed skirt and a silky blouse, seamed tan stockings and low heels. Her hair was salt and pepper and cut quite short. “Hello Mary.” “Hello dear. Do come in!” I hadn’t really known Auntie Mary as I was growing up. I only met her when I came to university. Mum gave me her address in case I got lonely (me?). Anyway I saw her every six months or so as I went through uni. She had the kettle on, as she’d promised, so we sat down in the living room with our cups (not mugs) of tea and a few biscuits (breakfast for me). “So how is your knee?” “After the op, it’s fine. The important thing is for me to keep moving, keep exercising. But getting into the loft was just too much. That’s why I called–well, and also because it has been ages.” she smiled. “There are three boxes of old books that I have promised to a sale at the church. It would be such a help if you could get them down. While you’re up there you can see if there’s anything that’s of any use to you my dear.” I finished my tea and Mary showed me how to get up into the loft. Luckily there was a single bare light-bulb to give Escort Mecidiyeköy me some light and the loft was boarded. it smelled dry and musty, and the covering of dust told me it was years since anyone had been up there. The light-bulb cast weird shadows across the boxes and bric-a-brac around the place. It didn’t take me long to find the boxes that Mary wanted: they were very efficiently marked ‘Books’ and left in a pile. I put them by the hatchway and started to have a poke about. If you look at anyone else’s stuff it can be hard to understand why they’ve kept it. But some of Mary’s clutter was really nice and considered retro now. I found some nice seventies pottery, lots of bold patterns in earthy colours, and a great table lamp that just needed a new shade. I had just got those treasures by the hatchway when I noted a box of old postcards. Well, that was a treasure as far as I was concerned and so I started looking through them. They were great–Mary had friends who had traveled all over the world and sent her postcards. Every so often there’d be a raunchy one: a couple of bare bottoms on the beach, or a smiling topless girl in a sun hat. I flipped those over and saw they were all signed ‘R’. Interesting. R never said much, just ‘thinking of you,’ or ‘wish you were here.’ But always a big kiss under the R. Well, I got to the bottom of the postcard box and there was a little notebook. When I picked it up, I didn’t really know what it was. I opened it to take a look, and that’s when the picture fell out. It was the same size as a postcard, but… well, it was a nude woman, wearing a gossamer dressing gown (and nothing else); it was completely open. The woman was demurely looking away from the camera, but her nipples were pointing straight out (at me). When I looked closer, I realised–it wasn’t any woman, it was Auntie Mary. OK, so the picture was thirty years old, but it was Mary! Same face (long straight nose, high forehead, big eyes); the hair was different, more of a straight black bob. But there she was! My little old lady auntie had posed in the nude! I flipped over the postcard and, in the same hand as those postcards, the single word ‘Gorgeous’, signed R. My heart started to beat faster. I slipped the picture back in the notebook, and saw the title page. It was a journal; Auntie Mary’s diary. I flicked through it–I know it was wrong but I couldn’t help myself. I saw an entry: “Scheduled for Singapore on Friday. with R! Wonder if it will be like Bangkok…” Scheduled for Singapore… Was Mary a trolley dolly? A flight attendant? “How is it going Nicki love?” God she was right below me at the bottom of the ladder. Made me jump a mile and my heart beat faster still. I started blushing too; I was feeling bad about reading her diary. “Fine! I found the books.” “Oh good–that’s great! Find anything you want to keep?” “Um. Well some old crockery and a table lamp. Is that OK?” “Why don’t you bring them down, dear?” So I did. I couldn’t really ask Mary for help Merter escort so it took a few trips. By the time I was finished and had everything downstairs I had worked up a bit of a sweat–and it really ached when I moved–especially putting my arms above my head. Those rugby players had a lot to answer for! Thinking about the journal and the photo had got me worked up a bit too, so my nipples were standing out through my T-shirt. “Thank you so much, Nicki dear. Why don’t you come out into the garden and have a cold drink?” So we sat out on the patio. Mary must have noticed how stiff I was as I sat down and took a sip of lemonade. “Are you still feeling stiff?” “Yes.” “What was that–too much vigorous exercise without warming up?” “Something like that.” Her smile seemed knowing. Like she could see right through me, like she knew why I was so stiff and achy. “You went very quiet up there. Did you find something interesting?” My face went bright red. I couldn’t help myself. And my nipples were already poking out like thimbles. I fumbled for my drink and almost dropped it. “I think you did. Didn’t you?” “I did find a box of postcards.” She raised her eyebrows. “Who’s R?” She smiled and leaned back in her chair. “Oh. Those postcards.” She took a sip from her drink, “Well, I’ll tell you what. If you tell me why you’re so sore, I’ll tell you who R is.” I was intrigued. But not that intrigued. Telling my mum’s sister that I had taken on a whole rugby team after blowing some random bloke to get a lift back to Brighton… That wasn’t going to happen. “I’m not sure I want to say.” There was as pause, then Mary put down her drink, leaned forward and touched my knee. “Tell you what. Let me start with another little secret.” My eyes widened just a little, and Mary went on. “I am not your auntie. I have been in name, but we’re not relations. Your mum and me go way way back, and have had a… varied relationship. But always close. So when you were coming to the South coast for university, she told you I was your auntie.” “Varied relationship?” I asked. Mary smiled enigmatically. “One secret at a time.” She really could bear silence much better than me. There was another long pause, then she sat back, crossed her legs, smoothed her skirt and looked at me. “So whatever you tell me, stays between us.” “I… Err… My car broke down.” Pause. She was looking straight at me. She raised an eyebrow as if to say, ‘And?’ I sighed. I’d have to tell her some truth. I thought she’d see through me if I lied; with those piercing eyes. “Well, I was in the middle of nowhere and my clutch went. And I didn’t have my phone.” I paused. “Why not?” Good grief–she could read minds. She knew I didn’t want to say why I didn’t have my phone. “No pockets.” Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “I was wearing a tight fitting… catsuit.” “Really!” I nodded. “What kind?” My heart was pounding, I was blushing bright red, cheeks burning. “Latex.” She smiled–Mary smiled back at me. And visibly relaxed. It was as if she knew I was telling the truth because it was so uncomfortable for me. “I am sure that… Attracted some attention?” I nodded. “And that… Someone offered you some… Aid” I nodded. “A man…” “That, I would have guessed my dear.” Now she was smirking. “Gave me a lift back to town to get my phone so I could phone a friend to come help.” She nodded.