Chapter 4

Thursday afternoon found Trevor walking up the driveway to his parents' house after a long meeting at school. Mom and Dad and Evan were at the hospital for another of Evan's treatments, so Trevor was in no hurry.

He kicked a stone at the foot of the driveway as he mused to himself. Five days, he thought, and I haven't fucked a single relative. I must be slowing down! He laughed, still amazed at his good fortune last weekend.

A "ka-chink!" caught his attention and he snapped back to the real world. The pebble he'd kicked had clipped the bumper of... Aunt Frankie's car! Trevor's eyebrows shot up. He couldn't... could he? Tightening his grip on his schoolbooks, he raced into the house.

As he barged through the front door, he called out his aunt's name. She came in from the kitchen, a pen and a pad of paper still in her hands.

She was dressed in her usual business attire: a power suit, this one a severely cut black with a white blouse. The all- business effect was hurt by the short, short length of the skirt and the way she'd undone a few buttons of the blouse, but Trevor noticed she was still teetering on four-inch spike-heeled pumps. Aunt Frankie was the youngest of the Reed sisters, and to his mind the sexiest -- or at least that's what he had used to think, before he'd gotten to know Aunt Teddy and Aunt Alex so well. Aunt Frankie had perfect skin, chiseled cheekbones, hair so curly you wanted to bury your fingers in it, and an ass that twitched so fine he always had to be careful not to get caught gawking when she left the dinner table.

It didn't take long to explain to her that everyone else was at the hospital. She said she'd had to cancel a business dinner that evening and she'd stopped by for company.

Trevor longed to say something that would make her stay, and maybe even something that would make her horny for him. But Aunt Frankie had always seemed so beautiful to him that he got tongue-tied whenever he saw her, and it happened again. She probably thinks, he told himself, that I'm some kind of dork.

Even when she lingered, asking him questions about his day, Trevor could only manage one- or two-word answers. All the while he was carrying on a running conversation in his head, and his answers there were suave and debonair. The only problem was that they kept coming about one question too late.

"So, anything exciting happen today?" Aunt Frankie would ask.

"Nah," Trevor would mumble.

"How's school going?"

"It's OK," he'd manage to get out.

"The most exciting thing that happened today was that I saw you," his mind would butt in.

"Worried about Evan?"

"Yeah."

"I bet there's a lot you could teach me," his mind would interrupt. And so on.

After several minutes of frustration, Trevor's eagerness to see Aunt Frankie was fading, and he didn't argue when she tossed the paper and pen aside and headed for the door. He mumbled a goodbye and was trudging up the stairs when she spun in the doorway.

"Oh, hey, Trevor? What are you doing for dinner, honey? Did your mom fix you something?"

He grimaced. "Lentil soup," he said sourly. "It's in the fridge. And wheat-germ rolls."

Aunt Frankie took a step back inside and let the door close behind her. "Sounds awful. Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't I fix us something?"

"You?" Trevor put a hand on the railing.

"Sure. You must have some stuff hanging around I could use. I know, how about omelets? Everybody's got eggs. You've got eggs, you've got omelets!"

"Well, I, uh, I don't want to impose..."

"Who's imposing? Look, I wasn't doing anything for dinner myself, and believe me, my refrigerator isn't anywhere near as well-stocked as your mom's. I'd be lucky if my yogurt was only a week past its due date."

"No offense, Aunt Frankie, but -- can you cook?"

"Can I cook? You've been listening to your other aunts too much. Sure I can cook! Hey, I may not be Betty Crocker, but I've fried an omelet or two. Just let me at that kitchen!" There was no stopping her. Aunt Frankie tossed her suit jacket on a chair as she went past and strode into the kitchen, unbuttoning her sleeves and rolling them up.

Trevor sighed. Every time Aunt Frankie even tried to boil water, his mom had once said, disaster loomed.

After tossing his schoolbooks in his room, Trevor tromped down the stairs and into the kitchen. He stopped in the entry, stunned. He'd only been gone a couple of minutes, three tops. How could Aunt Frankie have done all this in just three minutes?

Almost every cupboard door was open. Bowls and plates and pots and jars and boxes littered every available surface. A measuring cup on the counter was swimming in a shallow pool of milk that was slowly spreading toward the edge, where it would fall, he saw, onto a disorderly jumble of spatulas and stirring spoons and ladles and -- what was that thing that looked like a pig's tail?

An "oof!" reminded him that Aunt Frankie must be somewhere in this mess. But where? He couldn't see her. Just then, a white cloud billowed up from the other side of the island. He looked over and saw Aunt Frankie kneeling down to pick up a sack of flour as the fine white powder that had been ejected when she dropped it settled back delicately all over her and the floor.

Trevor couldn't help it. He laughed. That made Aunt Frankie turn around, startled. Unfortunately, as she did she forgot about the three eggs she'd been juggling in one hand. She remembered them just about the time they made contact with the open cupboard door, shattered, and oozed down the side and onto the floor.

"Aunt Frankie," Trevor said, suppressing a laugh, "You've got the flour, eggs and milk OK, but wouldn't it be easier to mix them in a bowl than just dumping them on the floor? And I thought you were making omelets, not pancakes."

She frowned, but when she looked around, she laughed too. So hard, in fact, that she leaned against the open cupboard for support and started to sit down.

"Aunt Frankie!" Trevor's yell stopped her just in time. She staggered to her feet and stared at the mess of eggs and flour, just a few feet from the milk that by now was dripping to the floor. Without looking up, without looking at him, she spoke very slowly. "How much do you want?"

"Huh?"

"How much do I have to pay you to promise never -- and I mean never -- to tell your mother or your aunts what happened?"

Trevor smiled. "Forget it. Accidents happen. Look, I'll help you clean up. Then we can order out for pizza."

He grabbed a roll of paper towels, ripped off a couple and tossed the rest to her. He tackled the milk and utensils while Aunt Frankie mopped up the eggs and flour.

While he was cleaning, Trevor looked over and saw his aunt squatting down, scooping a gooey mess of eggs off the floor. Her hair had a frosting of white and her skirt was a little dusty with flour, too, but he didn't notice that. Instead, he saw that as she stooped down, her skirt rode up her legs even more. They were incredible legs, fantastic legs, a model's legs. And he wasn't quite sure, but it looked as if she wasn't wearing pantyhose, but rather stockings. At least there was a narrow, opaque strip about as far up her leg as he could see, and when she twisted a certain way he was almost certain he saw a flash of bare thigh.

But when Aunt Frankie looked up and saw him staring, Trevor just pointed to her hair. When she touched it and a shower of flour fell down, her face showed a mix of embarrassment, despair and hilarity. He told his aunt she could wash herself off and he'd finish cleaning.

Everything was put away and all the cupboard doors were closed when she came back in, fresh as a daisy -- except for a few small smudges of flour still lingering on the back of her skirt. Trevor was reaching for the phone book when Aunt Frankie took it from his hands.

"We usually call Tony's," he said, grabbing the phone. "The page is turned back, see?"

But Aunt Frankie didn't open the book; she put it back on the shelf. "No pizza for us, Trevor. I promised omelets, and I'm going to make omelets."

"But you..."

"I was just a little overly ambitious, that's all. I'll skip the biscuits I was going to make. Just omelets, plain and simple. I'll need, hmm, six eggs. And some salt and pepper and onions and green pepper and -- do you have any ham?" Trevor shuffled around the kitchen, pulling out her requests, still trying to talk her out of it.

"Really, Aunt Frankie," he said as he handed her the peppermill, "pizza would be fine. I love pizza. Heck, I'll even go halfsies with you. Mushroom and sausage OK?"

She ignored him and continued to order up supplies, which she piled up around a big pottery bowl she'd spied on a top shelf. Trevor didn't recall his mother ever using that bowl before, and he suspected there was a reason for that, but Aunt Frankie brushed his concerns aside. "This is no heirloom," she said, tapping a heavy silver tablespoon against the side of the bowl. "It's been in our family for ages, and every Reed woman used it for cooking just like I am. And if it survived them, it can survive me. Oops."

Trevor spun around quickly.

"Just kidding," Aunt Frankie giggled. "Now you go set the table, and I'll be done in a few minutes."

As he headed toward the dining room with the plates and silverware, Aunt Frankie was cracking eggs. While he spread the stuff on the table, he heard her stirring madly. He cringed every time the spoon cracked against the bowl.

He was pouring water into the glasses at their places when she called out. "Trev, honey, where does your mother keep her omelet pan?"

"I don't think she has an omelet pan," he said, moving toward the kitchen. "I think she just..."

What had she done now, killed herself? Aunt Frankie's legs were stretched out across the kitchen floor. As he followed their lovely curves, he saw her skirt and the bottom of her blouse, but the rest of her had disappeared into an open cupboard. From somewhere deep inside, her voice came, muffled and echoing slightly. "What did you say, Trev? It must be in here somewhere. Wait, is that it? I can almost -- almost -- nope, that wasn't it. Maybe over here..." She wiggled forward a bit more.

As she did, her skirt rode up her legs. Now Trevor could see for sure. Aunt Frankie must be wearing a garter belt; he could see the tops of her sheer black stockings and the clips and elastic that held them in place, vanishing up under her skirt. Another wiggle and he could see another flash of black -- her panties, he realized.

As if the beautiful vision before him wasn't enough, memories of the other Reed women came flooding back into his mind. In an instant his cock was hard as stone. Without planning to, he knelt down beside her and stretched a hand along her silky legs -- not touching them, just a fraction of an inch above, sculpting the sexy curves.

"Trev? Trev, honey, I -- I think I'm stuck." Even muffled, he could hear the anguish in his aunt's voice. "Look, sweetie, could you help?"

He was lying on top of her before he even realized what he was doing. As he stretched a hand into the recesses of the cupboard, trying to figure out what Aunt Frankie had gotten caught on, his cock rode up onto her leg, though. That quickly made him aware of what was happening.

Part of him said to back off a little, but another part -- a much louder part, thanks to what had happened last weekend -- urged him to take her then and there, to rip off her clothes and fuck her from behind. As if to underscore that argument, his cock throbbed against his aunt's leg.

But Trevor withdrew from the cupboard and knelt back, breathing hard. He'd done a lot in a few days, but some still, small voice within him warned that this would be going too far. This would be rape. He might be horny, but he wasn't a rapist.

Then Aunt Frankie wiggled again. "Trevor? Trevor, what's going on? I'm still stuck, can't you do something?"

By now her skirt was completely up around her waist. Her rounded ass was bouncing in the air, two perfect orbs barely half-covered by her shiny panties with their lace trim. They were tiny enough to begin with -- French-cut, Trevor thought to himself, remembering the Victoria's Secret catalog -- and the constant wiggling was driving them further into the crack of Aunt Frankie's ass, exposing more and more of the lovely flesh.

She called to him again. Trevor felt like he was being pulled in two directions at once. He couldn't -- but he had too. He shouldn't -- but he wanted to so much.

Then he thought of something. It wouldn't be right to rape Aunt Frankie. It would be wrong, very, very wrong. But rape was when you fucked a woman, wasn't it? It wasn't rape if you didn't fuck her.

The idea may not have been so bright, but in his condition Trevor just needed something to salve his conscience while appeasing his raging lust. This might just work.

With no hesitation, Trevor reached down and placed his hands on his aunt's ankles. He closed his hands around them. They fit perfectly, he thought.

"You're not going to pull me out," Aunt Frankie protested. "I'm really stuck!"

"I won't pull, Aunt Frankie," he murmured, probably too softly for her to hear.

He didn't. Instead, he caressed her legs, sliding his hands up and down the supple, silken curves. At first, Aunt Frankie didn't move -- she must be trying to figure out what I'm doing, Trevor thought. But when he continued to caress, and then moved his hands up past the tops of the stocks and onto the firm flesh of her buttocks, Aunt Frankie let out a shriek that rattled several pots and pans. She began to wriggle furiously, swinging her legs from side to side. Trevor had to force himself between them to keep from being clipped by her dangerously spiked heels.

She continued to shout, demanding that he stop that instant, but Trevor ignored her. Tenderly, he rubbed her ass, then slid his fingers up. To his delight, he found that her panties were on top of the garters. It would have been a shame, he thought, to have to take the stockings off, too. They were really sexy.

With trembling hands he peeled Aunt Frankie's panties off. He had to grab one leg, then the other under an arm to keep them still while her stripped the panties completely off and flung them aside.

He paused, then, to take a moment to admire his aunt from behind. Even her butt was beautiful, and it was hard to resist pulling down his jeans and jamming his cock in the crack between her butt cheeks. But after a few more moments of appreciation Trevor bent down. Lowering his head, he kissed Aunt Frankie's ass, then licked the globes from side to side.

By then Aunt Frankie was beating her hands against the sides of the cupboard, sending up a clatter and rattle among its contents that would have driven Trevor crazy if he weren't already crazy with lust. She tried to push herself out again, but even if she could have gotten free from whatever it was that had trapped her, her nephew now had her locked in place, his body jammed so tightly against hers that she couldn't get out.

Meanwhile Trevor had continued licking and suckling her ass, her thighs, the fine fringe of hair on the bottom of her pussy. He was ready for more.

Flipping over onto his back and quickly sliding back underneath her, grabbing her around her thighs to make sure she couldn't get out, Trevor positioned himself. Aunt Frankie's perfect pussy was directly above his mouth.

The fine patch of fur, the folds of flesh, the hint of dark, wet recesses waiting -- he was ready. Remembering what he had learned from Aunt Alex, he began with more light kisses. It was a little difficult; Aunt Frankie was moving around so much that several of his light butterfly kisses turned into hard smacks. But he tightened his grip on her thighs and went on to longer kisses right on her slit.

When he slid his tongue inside her for the first time, Aunt Frankie let out a long, loud wail. It didn't stop him. Little by little, he pushed his tongue into her, deeper and deeper, until it was buried as far as he could reach.

Then he began to explore her cunt, letting his tongue slide in and out, flicking at the outer lips one moment, sticking it far inside the next.

When he got to her clit, there was a loud bump and he heard Aunt Frankie's yelp of pain as she smacked her head into the top of the cupboard. He was a little sorry that he had to keep her captive in such an awkward position, but far from sorry enough to let her go. He was having too much fun.

After awhile, it seemed as if Aunt Frankie was having a good time, too. At least Trevor noticed that her pussy juices were starting to flow, while Aunt Frankie had stopped struggling.

Cautiously, he slipped one hand from around her thigh and brought it down to his face. He was ready at any second to grab her again if she tried to get loose, but his aunt didn't make any move to escape.

Encouraged, Trevor supplemented his probing tongue with first one finger, then two, dipping them into his aunt's already well-lubricated pussy. As he plunged them in and out, she seemed to begin moving with him, not against him. He loosened the grip of his other hand and let it roam down Aunt Frankie's silken legs and up to her smooth, round ass. With some freedom to move now, he twisted his head slightly so the top of it didn't keep smacking into the edge of the cupboard's bottom shelf.

And through it all he kept up his tongue-lashing of his aunt's wonderful gash, nibbling gently now and then on the clit, pushing his fingers in and out as he hand-humped her. Her juices were flowing freely, running down his hand and dripping onto his face and neck. Once he'd been disgusted by the thought of eating out a woman, but after trying it out he became positively enthusiastic, gobbling up Aunt Frankie's hole like it was a bowl of ice cream.

After going quiet for some time, Aunt Frankie began to make noise again. But this time it wasn't a scream of pain or a shout of protest. She was moaning in ecstasy, or so it seemed to Trevor. At least it sounded a lot like Aunt Teddy and Aunt Alex.

The moans grew louder until suddenly Aunt Frankie's body began to tremble all over, very quickly, a jerky motion that convulsed her for almost a minute just as her moans reached their peak.

It was different from the other women he had been with, but Trevor figured that must have been one of Aunt Frankie's orgasms. It seemed to confirm his guess when, after a little more probing from his tongue, the tremors started again -- and then reoccurred twice more in quick succession, before he felt her body sag down onto him.

Trevor slid out from underneath her and rolled aside. After a little while, Aunt Frankie began to stir. There was a small rattle of pots and pan, and then she slid out from the cupboard; whatever had been snagging her must have worked loose, Trevor figured.

It occurred to him, vaguely, that there was still a chance she would not appreciate being held captive and eaten out without permission. The feeling was vague not so much because he considered himself too good to resist but because lust and the joy of eating her cunt had addled his brain; he couldn't form any thought very solidly.