Aunt Cora
by Belisarius

Part 4

As my train back to college rattled through a snow encrusted countryside, flakes of which were flung against the carriage window by a wind which had all the bite and thrust of a bayonet, I could think of little else but my forthcoming reunion with Aunt Cora. Would she want me to tie her up again? How long would I have to wait for such an opportunity? I shivered, not because of the numbing cold of the compartment, but in pleasurable anticipation. I mulled over my breast-bondage experience with Grace and hoped that Cora would allow me to further develop my technique on her bosom. I looked at my watch and muttered to myself, “Hmmmm, two hours to possible bondage…..”

“I beg your pardon, young man….,” the sharp voice of the hatchet faced woman sitting opposite brought me back to earth.

“Sorry…. I meant Bonbridge….,” I excused myself weakly.

“Well, you’d better be ready to get off, Bonbridge isn’t two hours away, it’s the next stop.”

“Ah…., I think….,” I stuttered and then looked at her expression, “Yes….. I suppose I’d better…..”

The end result found me standing in the snow (nearly ankle deep by now) waiting for a bus, one which I felt might not arrive due to the inclemency of the weather.

However, it did turn up and only four hours later I arrived at Cora’s front door. I flung it open and shouted down the hallway, “Hello, Hello there, Cora. It’s Tom, I’m back. I’ve come a day early……”

My flood of words dried up when I entered the living room and found Uncle Joe cosily ensconced with Cora watching television.

“Tom, how nice,” Cora smiled serenely.

“Aye, lad, you’ve had a good Christmas, I ‘spect.”

“Far from it, I’m tired, frozen and….,” I saw that Uncle Joe had devoured the best part of one of Cora’s apple pies, beside which lay the crumbs of a nice piece of wensleydale, “….. very hungry,” I wailed.

“Mr Steele just popped in to see Coronation Street, his television is awaiting the repair man,” Cora explained, shrugging her shoulders at the same time.

“That finished two hours ago….,” I grumbled.

“Aye, well, the lad’s right, maybe it’s time I popped off home.”

“Have another cup of tea before you go,” invited Cora warmly. Had I a pistol, there would have been two dead bodies lying at my feet. Joe settled into his chair (mine!) again as Cora set course for the kitchen, “Do you want a cup, Tom?” she asked.

It would choke me, I thought to myself, but instead said, “No thanks, Mrs Redgrave, I’ll revise I think.”

“Oh, well, goodnight, Mr Markham.”

“Aye, ‘night, lad.”

Once in my room my fury knew no bounds as I savagely edited my latest essay, Edward IV: What if he hadn’t met Elizabeth Woodville by the roadside? As my pen slashed through my prose my thoughts were full of what I would do to Mrs Cora Redgrave, next time I got the chance. Then the tumult of my mind froze with the dreadful question: What if there wasn’t to be a next time?

With a heavy heart I went to bed and began a long contemplation of the size, weight and feel of Grace’s tits. Would it be such a bad idea if I were to write to her and suggest a tryst? Thursdays were good days at home, mum was out at her bridge club and dad always played snooker at his golf club. Grace could be tied spread-eagle on my bed, completely naked, for I was sure that she’d allow me to remove her knickers. The removal of feminine panties was a big move in my day, most girls I’d had dates with wouldn’t even let my fingers inside their blouses. Their mothers trained them up well, such familiarities were only allowed once a man had clearly stated his honourable intentions and had been accepted by the girl and her family. Even then, the attempted removal of underpinings was unlikely to succeed at the first attempt.

I was dozing with my fingers entwined around my cock when my bedroom door was flung open and the light switched on.

“Well, young man, that was a fine entrance you made earlier.”

Cora looked annoyed, I coughed, smiled weakly and pulled my blankets up towards my chin.

“Get up and follow me.”

I followed her meekly into her bedroom.

“Strip, take off your pyjamas, at once,” she commanded.

What else could I do?

She stood next to me and I gasped as she took hold of my rampant cock and led me by it towards her dressing-table stool.

“Lie across it.”

Again I did as I was told and she immediately tied my wrists and knees to the four legs of the stool, using old (presumably) nylon stockings. Then she took from her washing baskets three pairs of panties, two whites and a pink, which she proceeded to stuff into my mouth, tying them in place with yet a further stocking.

“Mmmmm…..,” I mumphed and half-heartedly struggled to be free, my cock bouncing from side to side beneath the stool. “You’ve behaved like a spoiled child, so I’m going to treat you like a spoiled child,” she threatened.

The next thing I knew she was rifling through a chest of drawers and eventually brought out a full length girdle of solid construction. She proceeded to pull out the six suspenders as far as they would go before rolling the garment in the manner of a newspaper.

“I haven’t a cat-o’-nine-tails, but this will do just as well.”

“Ghhhhh…. mmmmm…,” I protested.

Then she struck me across the rump, it stung, but there was something in the wielding of it which excited me and pumped more blood into my penis. Thwack, thwack, thwack….., my bottom seemed to ring and the metal parts of the suspenders dug into my flesh, then, at the twelfth stroke on of the stocking catches swung between my legs and gashed into my balls, I yelped in true pain and she stopped.

“That’ll teach you not to be rude to my guests,” she said softly as she removed my gag.

“Sorry, Cora, sorry…..,” I pleaded forgiveness.

“Very well, but you’ve more to do yet.”

I looked apprehensively at her and to my surprise she raised her skirt, folding it around her waist, hooked her fingers into the waistband of her knickers and drew them down, across her bare thighs, over the nubs of her suspenders and as far down as her knees.

My throat went dry, “Oh, my God….., I think I’m in Heaven….,” I almost swooned at the sight of her pink; turning purple, slit surrounded by soft dark curls.

She knelt before my head and paused, letting me drink in the sight of her, before placing her sex within range of my panting tongue.

I licked, sucked, nibbled till my mouth was sore, but long before then I began to hear the sort of racket that Grace had made, but not quite so strident.

“Oh….. Ohh…. Ohhhhh…. Goodboy….. Good, good boy.”

With that she flopped backwards across the carpet, her legs spread as far as the restriction of her knickers would allow and everything she had clearly displayed.

I gasped, coming up for air, “Cora, I’m sorry, but I really can’t wait to be a bad boy again…..”

End of part 4

Copyright© 2012 by Belisarius. All rights reserved.