Your step-aunt Mia arrives on a humid summer evening, the kind where the air clings to your skin like a lover's breath. She's been kicked out by her husband after he caught her with another man—your mom shared that detail in a hushed, disapproving tone earlier that day. "Mia can be... a lot," your mom warns you, her eyes flicking toward the driveway as Mia's car pulls in. "Just stay out of her way, okay? She's family, but she's trouble."
You watch from the doorway as Mia steps out, and the warning suddenly makes visceral sense. She's poured into a tight red dress that hugs every dangerous curve—full, heavy breasts straining against the fabric, hips swaying with deliberate confidence, long legs ending in heels that click against the pavement like a countdown. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, and her lips, painted a deep crimson, curve into a smile that's far too knowing when her eyes land on you. She smells like jasmine and sin as she pulls you into a hug, her body pressing close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from her skin, the soft weight of her tits against your chest. "Enzo," she purrs your name, low and warm, her breath grazing your ear. "You've grown into such a handsome young man."
Your mom busies herself with Mia's bags, oblivious to the way Mia's gaze lingers on you—hungry, appraising, like she's already imagining you naked.
Dinner is torture disguised as normalcy. The table is set with your mom's careful spread—roast chicken, steamed vegetables, the faint scent of garlic and herbs filling the air. You sit across from Mia, trying to focus on your plate while your mom chatters about work and the weather. But Mia... Mia is a live wire.
She's changed into something even more provocative: a thin black top that clings to her braless breasts, nipples faintly visible through the fabric when she leans forward, and a short skirt that rides up her thighs as she crosses her legs. Her foot brushes yours under the table—"accidentally"—and stays there, the strap of her heel grazing your ankle. You glance up; she's watching you with half-lidded eyes, a small, wicked smile playing on her lips as she sips her wine.
Then it happens.
Her hand finds yours beneath the tablecloth, warm and sure. You freeze as her fingers guide yours slowly, deliberately, between her thighs. The heat hits you first—radiating from her core like a furnace. She spreads her legs just enough, pressing your palm against the lace of her panties. They're soaked. Completely drenched, the delicate fabric clinging to her swollen lips, the wetness seeping through to coat your fingers instantly. You can feel every detail: the soft, puffy outline of her pussy, the way her clit throbs under the thin barrier, the slick heat pulsing against your hand.
She leans forward slightly, pretending to reach for the salt, but her eyes lock on yours. Her hips rock almost imperceptibly, grinding against your trapped hand, forcing your fingers to slide along her slippery seam. The scent of her arousal drifts up faintly—musky, sweet, intoxicating—mixing with the dinner smells until your head spins. You feel her juices smear across your skin as she presses harder, a silent command: *Feel how wet I am for you.*
Your cock throbs painfully in your jeans, trapped and aching. She knows. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she watches your reaction, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. This isn't an accident. This is her claiming you, right under your mom's nose.
Your mom excuses herself early—some work call she can't ignore—leaving you and Mia to "catch up." The moment the door to the study closes, the air shifts. Mia stands, stretching languidly, her breasts lifting with the motion, nipples hard and obvious now. She walks toward you slowly, hips swaying, until she's close enough that you can smell her perfume again, laced with the sharper note of her arousal.
"Enzo," she murmurs, voice husky, "you felt how wet I was for you, didn't you? That's been building since the moment I saw you." Her hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip. "I've been thinking about this cock all day. Wondering how it would feel stretching my pussy. How you'd taste in my mouth."
You should stop her. You know you should. But her eyes—dark, endless, full of raw promise—make resistance feel impossible. She sinks to her knees in front of you, hands working your belt open with practiced ease. Your cock springs free, hard and leaking, and she moans softly at the sight, like she's unwrapping a gift.
"Look at you," she whispers reverently, wrapping her soft hand around your shaft, stroking slowly. Her tongue flicks out, tasting the bead of precum at your tip, and the wet heat makes you shudder. Then she takes you in—slowly, deliberately—lips stretching around your girth as she sinks down, inch by inch. The warmth is overwhelming, her mouth velvet-soft and impossibly wet, tongue swirling along the underside as she hums in pleasure. She looks up at you the entire time, eyes locked on yours, love and pure lust shining through as saliva drips down your length.
She works you with devastating skill—sucking hard, then soft, hollowing her cheeks, taking you to the back of her throat until you feel her swallow around you. Her free hand cups your balls, massaging gently, while the other strokes what her mouth can't reach. The sounds are obscene: wet slurps, soft gags when she pushes deeper, her moans vibrating through you.
When you're trembling on the edge, she pulls off with a pop, lips swollen and glistening. "Not yet," she says, voice rough. "I want you inside me."
She stands, turning to bend over the couch, hiking her skirt up to reveal those soaked black lace panties. She peels them down slowly, letting you watch as strings of her arousal cling to the fabric before snapping. Her pussy is glistening, pink and swollen, lips parted and dripping. She looks back at you over her shoulder. "Come here, baby. Fuck your aunt like you've been dreaming about."
You can't hold back anymore. You line up and sink into her in one slow thrust, groaning at the tight, wet heat enveloping you. She's impossibly soft inside, walls fluttering around your cock as she pushes back to take you deeper. The sensation is overwhelming—velvet grip, slick friction, her juices coating you with every stroke.
She moans your name, loud and shameless now, as you start to move. Slow at first, savoring every inch, then harder, faster, the slap of skin on skin filling the room. Her breasts bounce with each thrust, and when she reaches back to spread herself wider, you watch your cock disappear into her over and over, glistening with her cream.
"Fill me up," she gasps, voice breaking. "I want to feel you come inside me, Enzo. Give me every drop."
You lose control then, pounding into her as she clenches deliberately, milking you. The orgasm hits like a wave—your cock pulsing deep inside her as you spill, hot and thick, flooding her pussy. She cries out, her own climax crashing through her, walls spasming around you as she takes everything you give.
When you finally pull out, your cum drips slowly from her well-fucked hole, and she turns to kiss you—deep, filthy, tasting of both of you.
"You're mine now," she whispers against your lips. "And we're just getting started."