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Viji aunty with a special clit Part 1


A few years back, when my son was just 2 – 3 years old, we had an aunt of mine staying with us. My dad’s youngest sister, she was a widow and in desperate financial straits. My mother had suggested that instead of engaging an unknown person as a maid we could consider employing her as she would take care of my son and would also earn some money with some dignity. My wife was reluctant to “hire” an aunt as a servant but I had to finally agree with my mom that this was a good idea. I had to go down to Kerala and bring Viji back with me – I was working in Bangalore, those days. We returned from Thrissur to Bangalore by bus, an overnight journey.

Viji would have been around 43 years of age then (sadly, she died last year). During the night I thought I felt her trying to touch me, trying to get a feel of my manhood, rubbing her breasts on my arm etc. But I truly couldn’t be sure whether these were accidental or deliberate, given the condition of the roads and her apparently deep sleep. When we reached Bangalore, it was already a bit late – my wife was getting ready to leave for work as we entered the house. Quickly explaining some fundamental stuff to Viji, Sheela left for work. I too had to get ready and leave and was entering the bathroom to have my bath. My little baby was fast asleep, thankfully. Viji offered to apply oil to my head and give me a nice head massage. I remembered, how, when I was a kid Viji used to give me and my elder brother a truly vigorous massage.

So, I agreed. She made me sit on a short stool and stood in front of me, pouring coconut oil liberally on my hair. Her fingers began to move, expertly massaging my scalp, rubbing the oil in. I was sitting, bare bodied, wearing only my jocks and a towel. Viji, standing right before me, her breasts jiggling, occasionally rubbing my face as she pulled me closer now and again. I began to feel a slight stirring of incestuous lust. Without really realising what I was doing I kept one hand on her bare waist, gripping her flesh lightly. She smiled at me, a natural, warm smile and continued speaking to me as if this was perfectly natural. A few seconds later, unbidden, she removed the pallu of her saree, tucked it between the folds of her waist knot, saying “The oil stains will fall on the saree” I suggested that she remove the saree fully in that case.

She giggled, a naughty laugh that gurgled from deep inside and promptly she removed the saree and stood in front of me wearing just her blouse and pavada. Getting naughty I asked her “Won’t your blouse get stained too?” She giggled even more, gave me a pinch on my cheeks and whispered “You’re not a small boy, now, are you?” Instead of replying with words, I touched her blouse and began to unhook her brass hooks. She placed her hand on mine and said “No, don’t. I don’t have anything inside” meaning to convey that she was not wearing a brassiere. I deliberately placed my two hands on her two lovely, luscious breasts and said “Why are you lying? These 2 sweet ripe mangoes are there, no?” She half closed her eyes, swallowed hard (I could see her Adam’s apple bob up and down) and whispered in a husky voice “My sweet little boy, yes, those mangoes are yours”.

I continued, then, to remove her buttons, her dark brown skinned breasts emerging from that thin cotton covering. She had just a mangalsutra around her neck, hanging between her deep, pendulous breasts. As I removed the hooks, she helped me in taking that inadequate strip of cloth fully off her chest, allowing her mangoes to spring loose. Those dark brown globes were topped off by a pair of black grapes, looking slightly dried like raisins, her breasts sagging heavily and flopping onto her chest. I nuzzled my face between those boobs, inhaling the sweaty aroma of her breasts, licking her chest with my tongue. My right hand weighing her left breast, gauging the texture, the size, the weight, measuring the dimensions and the feel, liking everything, moved up past that mound of flesh and disappeared into her right armpit.

I wasn’t actually surprised, on the contrary I was delighted to feel a really thick growth of hair in her armpit, and instantly I had a massive hard on when my fingers came in contact with her sweaty, smelly armpit hair. It was such an incredible turn on that I felt my undies go wet with the pre-cum that stained the fabric of my frenchies. I was sure that Viji would have an Amazon forest of pubic hair as well, in that golden triangle, a thick jungle to make me even madder with desire. Unable to wait any longer I raised her pavada all the way up, way past her waist now and bunched it in my hand, still kissing her nipples. My left hand was now caressing the insides of her thighs and I was now really surprised to note that my hand reached into her jungle without any sense of a cloth covering her crotch – NO PANTIES???!!!

She was warm down there, steamy hot actually, and her pubic hair was moist even before my fingers entered inside that chooth. I pulled her closer to me, still sucking those luscious mangoes, and probed inside her tropical jungle, searching for that love hole, that tunnel of wetness. In my many encounters with women I have learned that each woman has a vagina that is unique – every single woman that I’ve had the pleasure of knowing intimately has had something different: the shape, the size, the way the Mound of Venus bulges, the position of the hole, the appearance of the clitoris, something or another but each cunt is like a person’s face. All the features are the same, yet each is distinctly recognizable! Viji’s was totally different from all the cunts that I had seen so far (and since!).