Chapter 7: Monday Morning. Aurora and ATM.

We kept our word, as a family, and had no more sex that day.

The next morning, Aurora and I were going about our normal routine. As breakfast ended, we discussed recent events, what had happened, and how we felt about it.

“Things came together so quickly this weekend,” said Aurora, gouging the last bits out of her grapefruit with a slender spoon. “Saturday morning, we seduced Emma. Sunday morning, Sophie.”

“Sophie’s not exactly seduced yet,” I objected, “but she’s just where she belongs, for a 14-year-old. Understanding what we’re doing, learning from it, without feeling any pressure at all to be involved in it.”

“That’s true, although I personally doubt that she’ll remain uninvolved for long.” Aurora smiled, then got up and came around the table, bending in to kiss me. Her lips had the fresh zing of grapefruit. Her hand went down into my lap to feel the bulge of my cock, then she put her lips up to my ear.

“Mmmmmmm... 14-year-old pussy.”

“Aurora!!” I grabbed her and spanked her rump. “You naughty girl. I don’t have that kind of hebephilic tendencies. If Sophie takes years to feel ready to have sex with any of us, that’s fine with me. In fact, I’d prefer it. She’s her own person, on her own life trajectory.”

“I know, I know,” she giggled. “You love your grandkids, you want them to be happy, of course. And we don’t know what will happen. But what if, after just a week of watching the rest of her family having all kinds of happy, comfortable, pleasurable incest, she decides that she wants Grampa’s cock? Could you really fuck her? Would you?”

I shook my head. “I’d ask her to wait. She’d have to respect that. Nobody in this family is doing anything they aren’t comfortable with. And that includes me.”

“You know, that’s one of the reasons we belong together.” Aurora kissed me again. “You need me to think of the situations you can’t predict. You need me to plan.”

“You’re right, but you know what else I need you for, you naughty minx? Getting down on your knees and swallowing my cock.”

“Yes, sir!” She laughed. “Shall we move to the sex chair?”

I got up from the dining table and moved to the indicated furniture, a specifically chosen wide-backed seat, with upholstery chosen to be suitably soft, a pleasant texture for naked skin, and easily cleaned. In a ritual we’ve practiced for many years, she removed my pants, opened my shirt, then stood before me, sexily stripping off her own clothes. Once completely naked, she leaned her large breasts toward my face, kissed me passionately for a minute, then moved to kneel, trailed her mouth down to envelop my cock.

There was a cushion on the floor, right in front of the chair, expressly for the purpose of keeping her knees and legs comfortable, as she knelt before me, making love to my cock for an extended period of time.

I reached for the ultra-thin tablet by the chair, bringing up my daily practice. Today was a review of Early Modern French. I didn’t find language learning particularly enjoyable, especially written material on the grammar of obsolete forms of a modern language, but it was important for my studies. It helped if I read it while getting excellent oral sex.

As for Aurora, she knew exactly what to do. The subtle ways she could move her mouth, lips, throat and tongue to harden my cock and bring me close to coming, while holding back enough to prevent that from actually happening. It was an art form, she was an artist, and I was her medium.

After two long chapters of Early Modern French, I put the tablet aside.

“Fancy a ride today, darling?”

“Why, Peter.” She picked herself up carefully, only a little less sprightly now than when we began this tradition a decade before. “I thought you’d never ask.” She climbed into my lap facing me, and slowly, carefully, settled down, enveloping my erection inside her.

The history of sex, across many cultures, shows that penetration is usually seen as the act, making the man the actor, and a woman merely a recipient, being penetrated. But this is just due to the choice of verb. A woman envelops, and this is an equally valid perspective, making the man merely the recipient of the enveloping.

The chair was well-suited for this lap-fuck position, giving her the ability to control the weight and pressure, as well as significant freedom to move her hips. I was less mobile, mostly pinned to the spot, being enveloped. Thankfully, my mouth was free to kiss or suck a nipple, and my hands were free to roam.

For several lovely minutes, we kissed as she gently fucked me, then she surprised me with a request.

“Peter? Let me suck two fingers of your right hand?”

I brought them to her mouth, and she sucked them wetly. “Sure darling, why these two?”

“Try to reach around and find my butthole.”

I reached around. My arm was just long enough, and my slippery fingers found her sphincter. I smiled and rubbed it in a circle. It flexed at my touch, and I felt a sympathetic twitch of her vaginal muscles around my cock.

“It’s been a while since you’ve asked me to play with your butt,” I said. “Then again, I did use sex magic to awaken a strong desire for anal sex.”

“You did, and your fingers feel great back there. But Peter, you did more than that. I’m not just more anal. There’s the ass-to-mouth thing. Did you notice what happened yesterday morning, when I took it from Susan’s ass to my mouth?”

“I noticed you suddenly came.”

“Yes, but more than that. I asked you for ass-to-mouth. Now, I’m pretty sure I’ve identified why I find this arousing. Well, not the why, that’s your sex magic. But perhaps how I find it arousing. It’s another taboo, just like all inter-generational sex you’re having. A deep, ancient taboo in the human species. Keeping our mouths and buttholes separate. Breaking that taboo, in a way that is just on the edge of being too icky, while still being relatively harmless. I told you before, it triggers my shame reflex, and shame somehow magnifies my arousal. I’m not turned on by the taste. The taste is slightly nasty. I’m turned on by the wrongness of the act.”