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Literature

Helping Aunt Gemma

Helping Aunt Gemma This happened when I was 18 Aunt Gemma, a woman of fiery spirit and voluptuous curves, had always been a source of intrigue that extended beyond her flaming red hair and dramatic green lipstick. Her voluptuous figure had often been a topic of fascination for me, and as a teenager, the opportunity to assist her with tasks at her house had grown more frequent. This time, she lured me over under the pretense of garden work, a knowing smirk on her green lips hinting at an evening that would veer far from the mundane. She led me to the overgrown shrubs and as I turned to grab the trimmer, she pounced, a wet cloth pressed to my face, the world grew hazy, and I felt a sharp smell fill my nose. Chloroform. Before I could react, darkness enveloped me. When I awoke, I was in a state of partial undress, only my boxers left to cover my modesty. The room was suffused with the scent of her illicit activities, and my body was taut with restraint. Aunt Gemma had clearly gone to great lengths to prepare for our encounter. Her heels echoed ominously as she approached, clad in a figure-hugging green blouse and a short skirt that barely contained her excitement. She eyed me greedily, a predator admiring her prey. "Looks like you're already eager," she teased, her voice a velvety purr. Her touch was a gentle assault, stroking my skin with expert precision, eliciting a symphony of sensations that left me trembling. She knew exactly how to manipulate me, turning the situation to suit her whims. She sassily informed me that my stay would be extended. I couldn’t struggle or talk since I was so tired, so I went back to sleep. Regaining consciousness, I was met with Aunt Gemma's smiling face, now framed by a frilly apron that barely concealed her tantalizing green latex bikini. With a mischievous twinkle in her eye and a smirk on her green lips she stuffed my mouth with a gag made from her sweaty, used socks. The pungent scent filled my mouth as she forcefully fed me, the act both degrading and oddly stimulating. She finished off by putting the chloroform cloth back under my nose. As the lights flickered back on, I became aware of my new reality. Time had ceased to matter in the dank basement, which now served as a stage for Aunt Gemma's carnival of desires. She had even called my mother, fabricating a story about working late to account for my whereabouts. The sweaty sock gag became a recurring prop in our twisted ritual, a tool that heightened the power dynamics and eroticism. Each time it was removed, the anticipation for the next round grew unbearable. Our sessions grew increasingly intense, a blur of light and dark, sustenance and deprivation. The chloroform-soaked cloth controlled the rhythm of our encounters, leaving me craving the next time she'd slip it over my face. The story of our depravity continued to unfold, with Aunt Gemma's dominance solidifying each time she gagged me with her socks. Each meeting was a dance of power and passion, leaving me desperate for more of her perverse love. One evening, she introduced a new twist to our twisted tango. Her eyes gleaming with excitement, she produced a blindfold that matched her apron. She secured it tightly, plunging me into darkness once more. The fabric was rough against my skin, but the sensation was soon forgotten as her hands began to explore my body. Her touch grew bolder, her hands tracing the contours of my chest and abdomen. She paused at my hips, her breath hot against my ear as she whispered, "You're mine, my little plaything." The anticipation was unbearable, and my body responded, my heart racing in a mix of fear and desire. The sound of her skirt rustling grew louder, and I felt the heat of her thighs as she straddled me. The couch beneath us creaked in protest as she began to rock back and forth, her weight pressing down on my bound form. The scent of her arousal filled the air, intoxicating me, and I strained against my restraints, eager to satisfy the woman who had become my captor and lover. Her breathing grew heavier, and her movements grew erratic. I could feel her desire reaching a crescendo, and my own need matched hers beat for beat. Just as I thought I could take no more, she reached for my gag, slowly removing it. "You may watch," she purred, "but do not speak." The sight of her was mesmerizing, her breasts heaving as she ground against me. I licked my dry lips, desperate to taste her, but she remained just out of reach. Her hand slid down my chest and into my boxers, her grip firm as she stroked me into submission. Our eyes locked, and the connection was electric. The room spun as she brought me closer to the edge, my body responding to her every whim. Her eyes never left mine as she pushed me over, the feeling of her hand on me more intense than any chloroform-induced haze. As my climax subsided, she leaned in, her green lips brushing against my ear. "You're getting better at this," she whispered, a hint of pride in her voice. "But we're far from finished." With a final kiss, she retreated, leaving me bound and trembling, the taste of her sweat and the scent of our shared pleasure lingering in the air. Her heels clicked away, only to return with something cold and metallic. The sound of a lock being unclipped made my stomach churn. "Time for a little adjustment," she said, her voice carrying a sadistic edge. I felt the cold steel of handcuffs replace the rope around my wrists, the metal biting into my skin as she secured them tightly to the chair. "Remember, not a word," she warned, her eyes glinting with mischief. The gag was removed, and she leaned in close, her hot breath brushing against my cheek. "Your mother will be worried if you don't come home soon. I wouldn't want her to think you've been naughty." With a final caress, she disappeared upstairs, leaving me in the cold embrace of the basement. The smell of sex and chloroform lingered in the stale air, a potent reminder of my captivity. I could hear the faint sound of her TV, the laugh track of some sitcom piercing the silence like a taunt. A few agonizing minutes later, Aunt Gemma descended the stairs, fully dressed in her usual attire. She unlocked the handcuffs and helped me to my feet, her touch surprisingly gentle. "You've been such a good boy," she said, her eyes gleaming. "But now you must go before your mother starts to worry." As I stumbled up the stairs, my senses still reeling, she whispered into my ear, "Our little secret will stay just that, won't it?" Her words hung in the air like a promise of more to come. --- The days that followed were a whirlwind of confusion and arousal. I went through the motions of school and home life, but my thoughts remained chained in Aunt Gemma's basement. Each time I saw her, whether it was at the dinner table or passing by her house, my heart raced with the anticipation of our next encounter. The wait was torturous, but when she finally called me over again, I didn't hesitate. This time, she had something new in store. As I stepped into the basement, I saw the usual setup, but with an additional piece of equipment: a leather collar with a ring attached to a short, heavy chain. With a wink, she fastened it around my neck, the cool metal sending a thrill through me. "Now, you're truly mine," she murmured, her breath warm against my ear. She attached the chain to a hook in the wall and stepped back, admiring her work. "Let's see how well you behave without your sight or voice." The sock gag was replaced with a ball gag, and she blindfolded me. The world around me was now a symphony of smells and sounds: the scent of her perfume, the rustling of her clothing, the muffled sound of her heels on the concrete floor. My heart pounded in my chest, my cock straining against my boxers. Her touch was feather-light as she traced the line of my jaw, down my neck, and across my bare chest. I moaned in pleasure, the gag muffling the sound. She chuckled, her fingers moving lower to tease my hardening cock. "You like this, don't you?" she said, her voice a seductive whisper. The tension grew as she worked me over, my body aching for release. I could feel her excitement too, the warmth radiating from her as she moved closer. Her breath was hot on my skin, her hand working me to the brink of ecstasy. And just as I was about to reach the peak, she stepped away, the chains clinking softly in the quiet room. "Not yet," she said, her voice a mix of amusement and authority. "Patience is a virtue." The anticipation was maddening, but I knew better than to disobey. I waited, my breathing heavy, as the moments stretched into an eternity. Then, without warning, she was back, her hand squeezing and stroking until I could take it no longer. My climax was explosive, a white-hot burst of pleasure that left me trembling and gasping for air. Aunt Gemma stepped back, the sound of her heels retreating once more as she whispered sweet nothings of dominance and desire. --- Days turned into weeks, and our secret encounters grew more frequent. Each time, she'd tie me up in new and ingenious ways, pushing the boundaries of my comfort and leaving me craving more. She'd whisper dark secrets into my ear, telling me stories of her past conquests and the thrill she got from controlling others. But tonight was different. The tension between us had been palpable all evening. I could feel the excitement building in her as we worked in the garden, her hands lingering a little too long on mine, her eyes lingering on my body. I knew she had something special planned for me. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the shadows grew long, Aunt Gemma announced it was time to go inside. She led me to the basement once more, her hand on my shoulder guiding me down the stairs. The room was lit with candles, casting a warm, flickering glow across the space. A new piece of furniture had appeared: a large, sturdy wooden chair, its back to me. "I think it's time we take this to the next level," she said, her voice low and sultry. She turned me to face the chair and began to tie me down, securing my wrists and ankles to the chair legs with thick ropes that dug into my skin, not too tight, but enough to make escape impossible. "Your mother will be worried if you're not home soon," she whispered, a hint of amusement in her voice. "But don't you worry, I'll make it worth the wait." She stepped away to grab something from the shadows, and I heard the sound of a zipper being pulled down. My heart raced as she stepped back into the light, revealing herself in nothing but her green lingerie and a devilish smile. "I have a surprise for you," she purred, holding up a set of shiny, new handcuffs. "But first, I think you need a little reminder of who's in charge." The handcuffs clicked around my wrists, and she pulled my arms back, attaching them to a hook on the chair. The metal was cold and unforgiving, sending a shiver down my spine. "Now," she said, her voice dropping to a seductive purr, "we can really get started." --- The candles danced as she stepped closer, her eyes glinting with mischief. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small remote. "This little toy," she began, "is going to make our time together even more... interesting." With a flick of her thumb, something buzzed to life between my legs. I jolted in the chair, a vibrator strapped to my balls, the intensity taking me by surprise. "This is just the beginning," she promised, her eyes locked on my face as she cranked up the speed. The buzz grew louder, the vibrations more intense, and I couldn't help but let out a muffled cry of pleasure through the ball gag. She leaned in, her breath hot on my neck, and whispered, "You're going to love this." Aunt Gemma began to stroke me, her touch firm and confident, as the vibrator worked its magic. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that had me writhing in the chair. She watched my reactions closely, adjusting the speed and pressure in response. But just as I thought I couldn't take any more, she stopped, the sudden absence of her hand leaving me desperate and frustrated. She stepped away, the click of her heels echoing in the quiet room. "Not yet," she said, her voice teasing. "We don't want your mother to think you're enjoying yourself too much." The promise of more hung in the air like a sweet perfume, intoxicating and irresistible. She leaned over me, her breasts pressing against my chest, and whispered in my ear, "But don't worry, my little plaything. We'll have plenty of time to explore together." With that, she kissed me hard, her tongue pushing past the gag. The taste of her washed over me, and I felt myself slipping deeper under her spell. As she pulled away, she whispered, "When I'm done with you tonight, you won't be able to walk straight for a week." --- The sound of the TV grew louder as she turned it on, the laugh track bouncing off the concrete walls. She straddled me once more, her weight pinning me down, and I could feel the wetness between her legs. The vibrator was a constant buzz, driving me wild with need. "I want you to remember this feeling," Aunt Gemma said, her voice thick with desire as she reached down and turned the vibrator off. "Your mother will be home soon, and we can't have you missing dinner again." With a final caress, she untied the gag and helped me to my feet. My legs felt wobbly, and my body was still pulsing with the aftershocks of pleasure. She unlocked the handcuffs, her smile wicked as she watched me rub my wrists. "You've been a very good boy," she said, her eyes trailing down my body. "But we mustn't keep your mother waiting." She led me upstairs, the candles extinguished and the basement door locked behind us. The TV volume grew louder as we approached the kitchen, where she had set a plate of food out for me. "Eat up," she instructed, her voice gentle. "You're going to need your strength for later." The food tasted like ash in my mouth, my mind reeling from the intensity of our encounter. I couldn't help but glance at the clock, the minutes ticking by with agonizing slowness. Each bite felt like a countdown to our next rendezvous. When I had finished, she kissed me softly on the forehead, the taste of her lipstick lingering on my skin. "You know where to find me," she whispered, her eyes dark with promise. "And remember, not a word to anyone." The rest of the evening after I staggered home passed in a blur of mundane tasks, my thoughts consumed by the thrilling anticipation of our next meeting. As I lay in bed that night, the ache between my legs a constant reminder of the evening's events, I couldn't help but wonder what new twists Aunt Gemma had in store for us.