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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2009.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------
 	 	 
Cotton Dresses
by Anonymous (1997)

***

A boy who has a fascination with cotton dresses, 
received a learning experience from his aunt. (F/m-
teen, ped, mast, oral, voy, 1st)

*** 

From the day I reached puberty, I've always loved 
cotton dresses. All of the women wore them where I grew 
up. Soft clingy dresses that molded around the thighs 
when they walked and swished with the movement of their 
hips. You could never tell whether they had pants on or 
not because the cotton kept their secret. 

The first time I copped a feel from a classmate she had 
on a cotton dress. It was summer and the square top was 
cut low for comfort in the July heat. The dress was far 
from new and she was almost grown out of it. Her tits 
were like fresh, golden dinner rolls swelling over the 
top of the soft material. 

She bent forward to let my hand invade the top but 
balked when I tried to undo the buttons. The feel of 
her firm young boobs was wonderful and the dress, 
stretched tight across the back of my hand, a sensory 
bonus. 

Later that evening, she had second thoughts and told 
her mother what had happened. They arrived at my house, 
resplendent in their cotton dresses, adamant that I was 
to be punished for my heinous act. I stood mortified as 
the woman castigated me to my aunt, characterizing me 
as the vulgar little letch who had pawed her daughter. 

The girl sat quietly embarrassed by the tirade, clearly 
wishing she had said nothing about it. In spite of my 
predicament, my eyes wandered to her bosom. I 
remembered the silken skin of her breasts and the way 
her nipple had hardened to my touch. There was never 
any doubt in my mind that it had been worth it.

The girl sat nervously hunched over, with her hands 
pressed together and squeezed between her legs. Folds 
of the cotton dress were pulled tight around her thighs 
and the material crept a few inches above her knees. A 
tent was forming at the front of my jeans and I felt 
powerless to stop it.

The denim felt rough rubbing against my swelling prick 
and I was soon sporting a full erection. The girl's 
mother noticed it first. She reacted with classic 
indignation calling upon my aunt to take the necessary 
steps to curb my perverted behavior before the police 
would have to be involved. My aunt assured her that she 
would and the two complainants marched smugly to the 
door. 

I marveled at the way the cotton dresses pulled tight 
across their buttocks with every step. There was a 
smell to them that floated in the air as they passed 
and my impertinent member jerked to attention as it 
wafted past my nose. I pictured them both naked under 
their dresses and longed to compare the feel of the 
mother's tits to that of her daughter's.

When they had left, my aunt clearly didn't know what to 
do. She was my aunt by marriage and didn't feel it was 
her place to discipline me with my uncle out of town. 
The issue hung between us for days, muting our usual 
conversation and making us both feel awkward. The 
girl's mother had phoned twice to ask what punishment 
I'd received and my aunt was feeling the pressure. 

It finally came to a head when she found that I'd been 
sneaking out at night to watch her through her bedroom 
window while she undressed. For months, it had been a 
nightly ritual. Each day I had studied her in a 
different cotton dress anticipating how she would look 
pulling it over her head or slipping the straps from 
her shoulders. There was never a missed opportunity to 
hug her or be close enough to feel her warmth through 
the comfortable cloth. Lately, disgraced as I was, I 
had only been able to watch from afar.

My aunt was waiting in my room when I climbed back 
through the window. Her hair was combed out and tied 
with rags, ready for bed. It hung halfway down her 
back. No makeup remained on her pretty features, but 
her cheeks were flushed with pink. My uncle's bathrobe 
swathed her from neck to ankle in thick folds of blue 
terry covering everything but the troubled look on her 
face. 

Her voice was very soft when she told me how I had 
embarrassed her; how she had been trying to recall 
everything that she had done, worrying about what I 
might have seen through the window. She told me that my 
uncle would be angry that she had been so careless, and 
asked me not to tell.

We talked for a long time about the girl and her 
mother. She laughed when I described the cotton dress 
in such detail. Not a mean laugh but one full of 
compassion and understanding. "Women like the feel of 
the cloth against their skin," she told me honestly. 
"Clothes are meant to be attractive, so there is no 
need to be ashamed if you're attracted."

Buoyed by the generosity of her attitude, I felt 
relieved and answered her questions easily, as if 
talking to a close friend. Several times I saw her 
blush at my candor especially when I told her how many 
times I had watched her. 

Very tentatively she approached the subject of 
masturbation. She chuckled about "young men with their 
hormones raging" and asked what I was doing for relief. 
It was my turn to blush and at first I lied to her 
disbelieving smile. 

"I wash your sheets," she reminded me, squeezing my 
hand. 

Faced with no option, I confessed to her that I had 
masturbated... 

"Everybody does," she comforted. "How often do you do 
it?" 

I wanted to say not often but remembering the sheets I 
said to "Every day." 

"Just once a day?" she persisted. "Or do you sometimes 
jerk off more than once?"

"Sometimes," I admitted. "Sometimes when I've been 
looking at you a lot."

A troubled look crossed her face and she averted her 
eyes to ask, "Have you ever seen me doing anything?"

In truth, I hadn't. But I knew enough to say yes to 
keep her talking. 

Her face turned scarlet and she nibbled on her lips. 
"Your uncle would be so upset," she whispered half to 
herself. "Most people do it. It's just that they don't 
admit it." 

Her glance fell on the hard-on straining the front of 
my pajamas. I could feel the tip nudging at the 
opening. When it poked into view I made no move to 
cover myself. She looked away several times but her 
eyes kept coming back to it. "Boys!" she snickered 
nervously. "They're always so horny."

I undid the tie on my pajamas and let them slide over 
my knees. My cock was standing straight up and it 
wobbled back and forth when I moved. My aunt watched 
without saying anything as I began to touch myself. It 
seemed so erotic to have her watching me like this and 
I drank in every change of expression that crossed her 
crimson face. "I think about you when I do this, and I 
think about what I've seen you doing," I mumbled.

"Your uncle..." she began, before I interjected. 

"I won't say anything, if you don't..." 

Her hand felt cool and deliciously foreign as it 
circled my stiff throbbing penis. She had to lean 
forward to reach me and the robe gaped exposing her 
breasts. The nipples was raised by her excitement. 

"Take the robe off so I can see you the way you were 
tonight, please," I pleaded.

She shrugged off the rob and knelt beside me, beating 
my meat, while I watched her firm tits jiggle with the 
pulse of her hand. There was a scent around us, 
familiar, but stronger than I had ever smelled before. 
From that night on I would recognize it. At the time I 
thought of it only as earthy and intoxicating. It 
seemed to emanate from her loins and linger on her 
skin. It grew stronger as her nipples grew larger and 
her knees no longer clamped together. 

Lying back on my elbows, I had a clear view. The hair 
on her mound was auburn, darker than the deep reddish 
blond above. Between the dense curls I could see the 
damp furrow of her sex. My aunt saw me looking there 
and moaned at the indecency of her exposure. 

She jumped as my touch grazed over her thighs and let 
out a little agitated cry when my fingers found her 
cleft. There was no stopping now. Her juices quickly 
coated my fingers and her free hand was busy trying to 
guide my inexperienced touch. 

Whimpers of shame and lust mingled with her frenzied 
coaching until she neared her peak. Then urgency 
infused her need. Her own hand delivered the last few 
feather strokes to her tortured clit. I watched her 
flat belly tense, rolling her cunt to and fro in a 
struggle against her fingers. 

Her gasps turned into cries of delight as she brought 
herself to a powerful orgasm, toppling her backwards 
onto the bed with hips flailing and legs thrown wide 
apart. 

I reached over and kissed her hand. The musky scent was 
strong on her skin and the kiss had a faintly salty 
taste.

Afterwards, my aunt cried at her own depravity, making 
me swear never to reveal what we'd just done. 

Then we sat facing each other, cross-legged on the bed. 
She watched while I fondled my juicy cock. A huge drop 
of clear pre-um formed in the sightless eye of my slimy 
dick and she dipped her finger into it smearing it onto 
my cockhead to make it look glazed even more. 

"Can you cum?" she asked after a few minutes.

I nodded.

"I've never watched a young boy jerk off before," she 
confided. Her soft hand slid beneath my balls, holding 
them like fragile crystal. "That is what you call it 
now a days? Jerking off?"

"Yes," I hissed, as I picked up the rythem.

Her hands brushed mine away and then took her fingers 
wrapped around my stiff prick and she took over the 
beat. "And what do they call this?" she said.

"A hand job," I groaned.

She smiled at my frankness. 

The sight of her tits bouncing lightly while her hand 
diligently pumped my prick, set off a rush deep in my 
groin. I knew I was going to come and so did she. Her 
head dipped down and her pink tongue licked my belly. 
Her freshly brushed hair swirled around my balls while 
her ovaled lips enveloped my cockhead. The soft, wet, 
sucking of her mouth unleashed a rushing tide of come 
from the very root of my being. 

It was all so intense that I cried out as if in agony. 
Her tongue and lips nursed greedily on my spouting 
member catching and swallowing every drop. Her head 
never stopped bobbing and sucking until the last spasm 
had long passed and my cock began to soften in her 
mouth.

It was the first blow job I'd ever had, and the first 
of many from my beloved aunt. Under her tutelage I came 
to know the intricacies of a woman's body and the 
delights it can bring to my own. Often, she indulged my 
love of her fine cotton dresses, letting me crouch 
beneath them to nuzzle her bare belly and taste the 
salty essence of her passion. 

In return, she asked only that I tell no one about us.

END 

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a 
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 65