chapter 8

Unable to sleep, Lillian lay in her light, summer gown, searching her mind, as she had all evening, for a plan of resolution. Five days had passed since she'd watched that scene. Lillian had replayed it several times in her mind: Art's big organ sliding into that shamelessly receptive vulva. Each time, her emotions had swayed between repulsion and lurid excitement. She hadn't dared watch it again for fear it would trigger the same disgusting reaction in her body.

Still, a plan of action eluded her. Should she confront Art? Jennifer? Under what circumstances? Should she show one or both of them the recording? Try to catch them physically in the act? How, if at all would she ever repair her relationship with Art? She had no more idea now what to do now than she had at the outset.

What the hell is wrong with me? she thought. She'd effortlessly put together complex deals involving dozens of parties and hundreds of millions of dollars. Why couldn't she find the solution to this relatively simple problem?

But she knew why: she wasn't some detached broker or intermediary. She was herself enmeshed in the intricate web of relationships she sought to untangle and mend ... or not mend. And the choices she made now would have lasting consequences for herself as well as for Art and Paul.

Her thoughts turned to her nephew. What should she say to him, if anything? And how would she save Paul from the clutches of that shameless slut?

Paul, oh Paul, she thought. You are so young; so naïve; so good. You deserve so much better than that licentious siren!

Then, the answer came to her.

Lillian looked at Paul over her glass of wine as he sat expectantly on the couch. It was her third of the evening. She had started early, consumed with trepidation about what she was about to say and do. The alcohol had helped settle her nerves and increase her resolve.

She started with the words she had rehearsed at length

"Honey, the reason I asked you to stay home tonight is that I have something very important to tell you. Something that's going to hurt you, deeply. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry it will do that. But I have no choice because you'd hate me if I did anything else."

Paul stared, his dark blue eyes full of alarm.

"I've tried to think of ways to soften this, to lead up to it in a way that will lessen the blow. But I haven't been able to think of any way to do that. So, I'm just going to come right out and tell you, okay?"

She paused, listening to Paul's ragged breathing. Finally, he nodded his assent.

"Art and Jennifer are having an affair. They've been having sex in the cabana. I have proof of it. I have part of it recorded with a camera I installed in the cabana based on my suspicion of what was happening. It proved it beyond any doubt."

Paul gave a cry of shock and disbelief, his mouth hanging.

"No, no, NO! It's ... it's impossible. Jennifer loves me. And ... Art?"

"Oh, honey, I couldn't believe it and I wish it weren't true. I know how much this hurts you. But it is true. It's true. I wouldn't have believed it unless I'd seen it with my own eyes."

"Oh, God, oh God. I can't believe it. Jennifer and ... and Art. No, it's just..." His voice trailed off.

He started to sob, his head in his hands. Lillian's heart went out to him. She hurried over to the couch and sat beside him, putting her arm around his broad shoulders and drawing him to her. He turned and came into her arms, his head resting on her shoulder. She patted him as he continued to cry.

"I'm so sorry, honey. I wish I hadn't had to tell you that. I wish it weren't true. I know it hurts so much."

She held him in her arms until finally his tears finally subsided. He pulled away, and slumped over the arm of the overstuffed couch.

Lillian was momentarily at a loss.

"Honey, can I get you something ... maybe some..." She couldn't think of anything. Aspirin? Wine?

It came to her.

"Maybe some brandy?"

"Ok," he said dully, his voice muffled against the cloth.

Lillian hurried to the kitchen. She knew there was brandy in the cupboard. She looked around for something appropriate to pour it into, but couldn't find anything. She grabbed two wine glasses and the brandy bottle and took them back to the living room. Paul hadn't moved. She sat down next to him and poured two generous amounts of brandy into the glasses. She passed one to him, patting him on the shoulder.

"Here, honey. This might help numb the pain a little."

Paul took it from her and sat up. His eyes were red and downcast. He drank some of the brandy, then sat back on the couch, his eyes closed.

"Are you ok, sweetie?" she asked.

"Mmmm," was all he said.

Lillian took a sip of the strong liquid. It burned slightly going down but felt good.

They sat for a long time in silence, sipping the brandy. Periodically, Paul slowly shook his head from side to side.

"I just can't believe it," he mumbled.

"I know, honey, and I wish it weren't true."

She noticed Paul had finished his brandy. She poured both of them some more.

She handed him back his glass.

"Is it helping at all?"

"Mm-hm," Paul mumbled, taking the glass.

Lillian could feel her body flushing with the alcohol. Perversely, she was feeling good, despite her concern for Paul's well-being, relieved that she had finally shared this with someone – someone close to her. Now things might start to get better. They could weather this together, aunt and nephew, brought closer together by their shared betrayal. Her head was swimming slightly and she felt a warm glow through her body.

Paul was silent for a long time, resting against the back of the couch with his eyes closed, slowly sipping the brandy.

Then he slowly leaned forward and spoke.

"I want to see it," he said.

"Honey, uh..."

"I want to see it," he repeated, more firmly.

Lillian knew this time would come, but she felt real concern nonetheless.

"I want to..."

"I really don't think you should, honey. I don't think you need to. I've seen it. I promise, I swear, it proves what I said."

"I want... " Paul said, his voice rising.

"Okay. Yes, honey, yes," she interrupted him. "I'll turn it on. But you're going to have to brace yourself. This will be very, very hard to watch."

She retrieved the player from the credenza, plugged it in and attached the cable to the television. The video was at the same place at which she had turned it off several days ago. She saw no need to start at the beginning. She pressed the play button.

What appeared on the screen prompted an immediate cry from Paul's throat. He stared incredulously at it. Despite all the warning he had received from Lillian, he was still horrified by the sight on the screen. Art, his Uncle Art was there in the cabana with Jennifer. And Jennifer, the girl he loved, was kneeling on the chair, her back arched, her legs open, her ass high in the air, obscenely receiving his Uncle's cock from behind. His uncle was fucking his girlfriend, his cock repeatedly sliding into her and oh, God, oh God, nooooo, she was moaning in ecstasy.

Lillian slid next to Paul on the couch and put her arm around him again.

"I'm sorry, Paul!" she whispered against his ear. "I'm truly sorry you're seeing this."

Paul gaped at the screen, transfixed by the tableau of uninhibited, shameless copulation in front of him. Now, he realized, Art had slid his finger into Jennifer's ass while he fucked her. His eyes bulged, trying to fathom any possible reason for what he was seeing — the degenerate actions of his uncle, of the girl he thought he loved — for this inconceivable scene. But he couldn't imagine any, he could only stare at the two, at the two fucking each other with lustful abandon,

Lillian, too, gazed at the screen. Art's big shaft was driving into Jennifer's spread vulva, with his thumb now obscenely probing into her anus! Lillian could hear the dissolute sounds of their lewd copulation — the moans of lust, the slapping bodies — and she knew Paul was hearing them, too. Then, Art was pulling his penis from of her vagina, reaching over for something. Jennifer was looking back at him, saying something they couldn't quite make out. Art was opening the bottle, lifting his heavy cock and pouring the glistening liquid onto it.

Lillian was the first to realize what was happening.

"Honey, I think we should turn it off now."

But Paul was staring with fixed intensity at the screen. Lillian reached over to turn it off.

"No," Paul said roughly. "I want to see what he does."

Oh, Jesus! thought Lillian. This is not going to be good.

She sat back and put her arm around him again and both watched in horrified fascination as Art positioned the head of his rigid phallus between Jennifer's white globes against her tiny, puckered entrance and taking her by the hips, started to slowly insert his big shaft into her rear end.

"Unnghhhh," Paul croaked, his eyes not believing what he was seeing. His uncle was putting his ... no, could it really be that? Yes, he could see her pussy clearly below. He was slowly easing his huge cock into Jennifer's ass!

Lillian gazed transfixed at the lewd spectacle, wishing she had previewed the whole recording before subjecting Paul to it. She watched Art's massive organ slowly disappearing into Jennifer's anus, wondering how the young girl could possible take something that big. But Jennifer was taking it. Not just taking it, reveling in it by the sound of her lust-fueled moans as Art started slow, in-and-out motions, going deeper and deeper into her rectum, reaching under to cup her breasts, squeezing the engorged nipples. It was the basest display of unrestrained lust imaginable!

As Paul watched the dissolute scene, he was becoming acutely conscious of the presence of his beautiful aunt next to him. He felt the firm globe of her breast pressing against his arm and her warm thigh against his. He tried to blink away the thought, but his mind perversely flashed to the scene he had witnessed from the living-room window: Lillian's coral-tipped breasts rocking as Art drove into her from behind. And one of those sumptuous breasts was now pressing firmly against his upper arm!

Nestled against him as she watched, Lillian started to notice the tell-tale warmth and moisture between her thighs – she was getting turned on by the lewd scene displayed on the screen, just as she had the first time.

But this time, in her alcohol-fueled thoughts, it didn't seem so perverse. She was watching a man and a woman having the basest form of sex – anal intercourse. She was watching the hard cock disappearing into the spread, white buttocks, the big breasts swaying ... She felt the familiar tingling in her nipples, the glow beginning to spread from her center, the glow that would soon evolve into need...

She glanced down, wondering.

She stifled a gasp. She could see the elongated shape of Paul's rigid cock clearly outlined against the front of his pants. The poor kid! She knew exactly what he was going through: the initial shock and horror of watching his girlfriend having sex with his uncle, followed by the perverse, intense feelings of arousal — and then the futile effort to reconcile the two simultaneous reactions while fighting the crying need for relief. She wished she could help him.

"Honey," she said. "Do you need to be alone for a bit?"

She saw his questioning look and felt her eyes involuntarily darting down to his lap and then glanced up to realize he had followed her look and was now staring down at his own, obvious erection.

"Oh God!" Paul said, his head dropping down in shame, his hands moving up to cover his face, and he began to sob again.

"It's ok, honey, it's ok," Lillian said, her hand reaching down instinctively to the source of his distress.

She froze in shock as her hand touched his hardened shaft.

She jerked her hand back as if from a hot stove. What have I done? her mind cried,

"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" she said.

He looked up at her, his eyes still teary.

"No, it's ok," he said.

"I'm so sorry, honey," Lillian said, stroking his cheek with the backs of her fingers.

"It's ok, baby," she said softly, her lips now just inches from his ear.

The feel of his aunt's body against his, her warm breath against his ear, sent Paul's mind rocketing back to that evening at the window, gazing at her provocative, nude curves, the lush, upturned buttocks, the glistening labia around Art's driving penis, and he remembered the insane thought that had jumped into his head, the image of himself in his uncle's place.

God, that was the woman now pressed up against him, her lips inches from his, her firm breast warm against his arm. And she had just reached out and touched his cock! He remembered the electric surge of pleasure from that brief touch. His young cock was now steel-hard, yearning for attention, and the hormones coursing through him were relentlessly drumming one thought into his alcohol-loosened mind – I wish she would do it again!

Paul couldn't seem to breathe. He felt his aunt's lips moving up to kiss his cheek as she continued to coo soft words of reassurance. But instead of comforting him, her movements further stirred his already raging hormones. He turned his head to look at her. Lillian turned her own face up to his, breathing warm, sweet breath against his skin, her eyes full of love and sympathy. He leaned instinctively toward her and brought his lips to hers. He felt her start slightly at the contact, but she didn't pull away. They kissed for just a moment before Lillian slowly drew her head back.

Consumed by desire, Paul succumbed to an irresistible impulse, his hand reaching out, as if autonomously, to her hand, lifting it, guiding it, placing it back on his swollen shaft!

Lillian froze.

Her first instinct was to wrest her hand away. We can't do this! her rational mind cried. This is wrong, crazy — we're aunt and nephew! But the alcohol circulating in her veins seemed to create a lethargy in her limbs and Paul's hand was still covering hers and she made no immediate attempt to pull it away. What should she do, say? All the normal rules were jumbled. They were sitting warmly pressed against one another, both in a state of high arousal, watching the obscene sight of their own lovers having the most carnal form of sex with each other. They were drawn together by their shared sense of the betrayal indisputably evident on the screen and by the need to offer and receive support from each other during this fraught time.

Her resolve wavered. He's in distress, Lillian thought. He's fighting the same excruciating battle I fought. But he's just a kid, bewildered, in pain, seeking help from the only person who can possibly understand. I put him in this situation. I can help him ... help him get through it. Just this one time...

Lillian still harbored deep feelings of guilt about Paul, dating back to the time of Eleanor's death when they had taken him in. Paul had been understandably devastated — he had lost both of his parents in an instant — and he was urgently in need of solace and support. But Lillian, consumed by her own deep depression, had been unable to provide the consolation he so desperately craved. It was Art, thank God, who had stepped into the breach, spending every available hour with the young boy, doing whatever he wanted, playing video games, watching action movies, playing sports, taking him fishing but, above all, just being with him, listening to him, helping to quell his anguish. Paul had lost his mother and his father, and was now losing the girl he loved...

As these thoughts cascaded through her head, Lillian felt her hand begin to move back and forth, in soothing strokes along her nephew's shaft, heard Paul draw in his breath, felt him moving his own hand away.

"It's okay," she murmured in Paul's ear. "It will be okay," as if reassuring herself as well as him. Not sure of what else she could do, Lillian continued to gently move her hand up and down Paul's erection. God, he's hard, she thought. He must be so desperately in need! As if possessing a life of its own, her hand instinctively began concentrating on the head of his cock, sliding her fingers along his glans. She glanced at Paul. His head was back, eyes closed, breaths coming faster now, more ragged and his hips were moving in synchrony with the movements of her hand. Lillian realized what would inevitably happen if she continued what she was doing: she would bring him to orgasm, in his underpants, the semen seeping through to his shorts, leaving him soaked and embarrassed, like a small child after an accident. But she couldn't stop now; couldn't leave him in this state. What should she do?

I have to take it out, Lillian realized. I have to finish him that way. But the realization triggered an instinctive surge of moral resistance. It's wrong. I would be ... masturbating my own nephew! She was acutely aware of the boundary she was teetering on, one she knew she could not cross. Yet, as she grappled with this truth, another one emerged, one harder to confront: They had already crossed that line, the one etched in moral ink. This insane situation they found themselves in — sitting together, watching the people they were most closely bound to having carnal sex with each other — had caused the stringent moral lines to become hazy, indistinct.

Now, Lillian found her fingers moving up, as if of their own accord, to the top of Paul's shorts, locating the zipper, beginning to draw it down, pulling her arm from behind his head, undoing the button on his shorts.

Lillian drew the zipper all the way down. Her deft fingers opened his pants and slipped inside the waistband of his underpants, pulling both down and away from his hardened shaft as Paul automatically lifted his hips to help her.

Then his cock sprang up and the soft, warm smoothness of his aunt's hand was closing around it, her thumb sliding lightly against the glans, sending streaks of pleasure up Paul's spinal cord. Then her other hand dipped lower, finding his swollen testicles, cupping and squeezing them, encouraging the sperm to build in his aching scrotum.

Lillian gazed down in disbelief at the large, palpitating shaft she held in her hand. She was doing it! Something terribly wrong. But she was committed now; there could be no turning back. She squeezed the center of his shaft and moved her hand upward, watching his pre-ejaculate fluid emerge from the tip. She began a slow, up-and-down movement, pulling his foreskin up with her hand and over the base of the head, and then down again. Paul's gasps of delight had now developed into low, throaty moans, interspersed with sharp catches of his breath, his hips moving up and down in rhythm with her hand.

Lillian knew he was close and, at the same time, realized she had not planned this well. If she continued like this, he was going to ejaculate his semen all over himself, all over the couch. She wondered if she should go get a towel or a cloth and almost laughed out loud at the absurd inappropriateness of her sudden concern about neatness and cleanliness.

There was an easy solution.

She leaned over, her head above his groin, her tongue circling her lips, moistening them in preparation.

Paul realized immediately what his aunt was about to do and was seized with a momentary spasm of conscience. No, not that! Jennifer had sucked him off many times, but that was different. This is Aunt Lillian!

But the primal urges streaming through his young body, the sheer lasciviousness of the act she was contemplating, abruptly quelled these thoughts, wiping away any remnants of resistance left in him.

Now her head was only an inch or so above his aching shaft, her warm breath washing over the swollen head.

She hesitated.

Oh God ... please! Paul's inner voice cried.

As if in answer to his plea, Lillian's blonde head dipped down further and Paul gave a moan of unrestrained pleasure as her deliciously warm mouth took him in.

She swirled her tongue in slow circles around the head, eliciting another long moan from Paul, his hands now coming to her head, fingers running through her soft, golden hair.

Lillian began to move her slick mouth slowly up and down her nephew's shaft, her tongue sliding against the sensitized glans, lips exerting pressure on the base of the head with each upward stroke. Gasping with pleasure, Paul opened his eyes momentarily and gazed down at his aunt. Her eyes were closed and there was a serenity in the smooth whiteness of her face as her mouth continued to move exquisitely up and down on his swollen organ.

His aunt's head began to bob progressively faster up and down, her full, red lips tightening and relaxing with rhythmic regularity, increasing the almost unbearably intense sensations surging through his groin. Inside her mouth, her tongue rotated around the head each time she reached the apex, sending a maelstrom of erotic sensations sweeping through his young body. He could feel the blood pounding in his head, his breaths coming in gasps, feel himself growing harder and harder on each tormenting stroke of his aunt's mouth as he hung on the brink of his explosive climax.

"Ohhhhh!" Paul groaned in abandoned delight, his fingers twisting in his aunt's blonde hair. "Ohhh, ohhh, oh God!"

His buttocks ground convulsively against the couch seat and his moans grew in enraptured cadence now, his orgasm imminent, his balls aching for release.

He groaned out a warning, "Aunt Lillian, I'm gonna ... ahhhhhhh!"

Then the sudden blaze of pleasure, the first stream of warm sperm racing from his balls and spurting into the back of his aunt's mouth. Her throat opened and closed as successive jets of semen spewed into her mouth, swallowing in synchrony with his ejaculations, her mouth filling and emptying.

Finally, Lillian swallowed the last of her nephew's semen and lifted her head, letting the shaft slide wetly from her lips.

She looked up lovingly at Paul, who was leaning back, eyes closed, half-comatose from the blissful relief his aunt had brought him.