Auntie’s Forbidden Massage

I’m from a quiet little town in northern California, standing at just 5’2″. I’ve always been into fitness, hitting the gym or trails regularly, and despite my short stature, I’ve got something I’ve always taken pride in – my endowment. Thanks to my dad’s side of the family, I’m packing about 9 inches when hard, thick as a summer squash. It’s a point of confidence, but it’s also caused some issues – some women find it too much, and I’ve unintentionally left a few wincing after things got heated.

At 32, I had one of the most intense sexual experiences of my life, with someone I’d never have imagined – my aunt.

It was a crisp morning, and I’d just finished my usual five-mile run through the redwood-lined trails near my place. I always swing by my uncle’s house on my way back to say hi. He’s usually out front, fussing over his rose garden, but that day he was gone – he goes for checkups every few months due to a heart condition, and he’s never back before late afternoon. Instead, I found my aunt, Lila, watering the roses. I called out a greeting, and as we chatted, I caught her eyes flicking to my crotch. I was in loose running shorts, no underwear, so things were probably pretty noticeable. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen her glance, and I brushed it off – figured it was just human nature, not intentional.

Lila’s petite, maybe 4’8″, but her figure is something else. She’s got this incredible, round, firm backside that could stop traffic, like something out of a music video. She’s curvy, not heavy, and at 52, she’s aged like fine wine. I remember being a kid, walking with her to the farmer’s market, and guys her age would nudge me, calling me “little man” while staring at her curves, practically drooling.

That day, she asked me to help swap out some dead lightbulbs in her kitchen. I said sure, and she grabbed a small stepladder, saying, “I’ll hold it so you don’t topple over.” My shorts were thin, clinging a bit from sweat, and my package was on full display, almost like I was in briefs. I handed her the first burnt-out bulb, screwed in the new one, and glanced down. Her eyes were locked on my crotch, wide with what looked like shock – or maybe curiosity. It sent a jolt through me, a mix of nerves and excitement.

We went through the same routine for a few more bulbs, and afterward, she offered me coffee and a bite to eat. I declined, still catching my breath. I asked about my uncle, and she said he’d be late – his doctor’s visit was followed by a stop at his accountant’s. I grinned and said, “Well, Aunt Lila, you seem to be holding up just fine.” She chuckled, rubbing her lower back. “Not really, hon. My back’s been killing me lately, but I avoid doctors like the plague.”

“I’ve got this menthol rub that works wonders,” I said. “I can grab it.” My apartment was a short walk away, so I jogged over, picked up the tube, and returned. “Just put this on the sore spot,” I told her, “and the pain should fade in ten minutes or so.” She asked how often to use it, and I said, “Whenever it flares up.”

She frowned, “I can’t reach back there myself.” I suggested, “Get Uncle Tom to help.” She snorted. “He’s too wrapped up in his own world to care. Come on, don’t make me beg – can you do it?” I nodded, “No problem.”

I had her lie face-down on the plush sectional in their living room. With her okay, I lifted her loose blouse and unhooked her bra, exposing the smooth, pale skin of her back. The sight alone got me hard instantly, and I had to shift to keep things comfortable in my shorts. I started massaging the cool cream into her lower back, my fingers gliding over her soft skin. She sighed, saying it felt good but the ache was a bit lower.

She was wearing these tight, rainbow-patterned yoga pants that hugged every curve, making her ass look like a work of art. I asked, “Mind if I pull these down a little to get to your lower spine?” She murmured, “Go for it.” Feeling a rush, I tugged them down slowly, past the curve of her hips, revealing the tops of her cheeks. Her skin was flawless, silky, and those firm, round globes were unreal. I pulled the pants down further, almost to her thighs, baring her completely. She didn’t say a word.

I worked the cream in, my hands kneading her lower back, then – on a whim – I let them drift to her ass, massaging gently. She stayed quiet, her breathing steady. Then she turned her head, caught sight of my obvious erection straining against my shorts, and said softly, “Sweetie, what’s got you like that?” I stammered, “Sorry, Aunt Lila, it’s just – you know.” She rolled onto her side, smiling. “Don’t worry, hon. I’m your aunt, it’s no big deal.” Then she added, “Could you rub some on my thighs too? They’re sore from gardening.” I nodded, and when she flipped onto her back, I saw her – a wild, untamed patch between her legs that made my pulse race.

The air felt electric. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I leaned in, kissing her deeply, my lips pressing against hers. She pushed weakly at my chest, murmuring, “No, we shouldn’t,” but I was too far gone. I tugged her yoga pants and panties off in one motion, leaving her bare. Before she could protest further, I buried my face between her thighs, my tongue exploring her folds. She was already slick, her scent intoxicating. She gasped, squirming, whispering, “Stop, hon,” but her hands soon tangled in my hair, pulling me closer as her hips bucked. Her moans grew louder, her body trembling as she climaxed, her thighs clamping around my head, her juices coating my lips.