The Widow's Apprentice

His face went scarlet. “I... Aunt Madeline, I...”

“It would set my mind at ease,” she continued, stepping closer. She could smell his sweat, his cum. “Just stand by the door. You don’t have to look.”

He nodded, dumbly.

She smiled. Dumb was good, and there was nothing dumber than a teenaged boy in a hormone and drug-fueled craze of lust.

Oh, Jono, she thought. You have no idea what’s coming.

The steam from the shower billowed into the bathroom, fogging the mirror and clinging to Jono's skin as he stood frozen just inside the doorway. Madeline had already stepped under the spray, her back to him, and she let out a soft, theatrical sigh as the hot water cascaded over her shoulders.

"Thank you for waiting with me, sweetie," she called over her shoulder, her voice honeyed and calm. "I just needed someone close by. These dizzy spells—they come out of nowhere."

Jono couldn't bring himself to answer. His throat was dry, and the blood pounding in his ears was so loud he barely heard her anyway. His eyes kept trying to fix on the floor tiles, but they betrayed him every few seconds, darting up to the curve of her spine, the way the water streamed between her shoulder blades and then down, lower, over the swell of her ass.

It was a big ass. Shit, she was an old lady, from his perspective, not anything he would think of as sexy - not like Michelle, the teasing bitch back home who was always parading around in a bikini and making him, and all the other boys, crazy. Still… it was an ass, and an ass was an ass, even if it was big and wrinkled. He wanted to touch it, to play with it, but he kept himself together and stared at the floor..mostly.

She turned around slowly, as if acting on a script only she knew.

"Soap," she murmured, reaching for a bottle on the ledge. Her breasts swayed with the motion—full, heavy, the nipples dark and taut from the hot water.

Same with her tits. They were huge, really, and sagged. Her nipples pointed at the floor. Michelle had big tits, too, but they were perky. At least he thought they were. He’d never seen them properly, just hints from under her bikini and tank tops. He’d jerked off so many times thinking about Michelle’s tits. Of course, every boy he knew wanted to spray a huge load of cum all over Michelle’s tits. He knew he never would. She was going to school on the west coast and he’d probably never see her again. Now, he was stuck in New York with old lady tits. Yet… he couldn’t stop stealing glances at saggy big orbs. His body was screaming that he should grab them and squeeze. Stop it! He told himself. You’re being a perv. She’s an old lady, your fucking aunt for chrissakes. What would your mother say? Somehow, the idea of being scolded by his mother just made his cock harder, which embarrassed him even more.

She squeezed a handful of translucent gel into her palm, then began to lather her arms with deliberate, unhurried strokes. The foam spread over her skin, catching the light, and she worked it across her chest, her stomach, her thighs.

Jono's cock was a painful, rigid bar inside his shorts. He pressed his thighs together, but it only made the pressure worse. He could feel the head straining against the fabric, damp with pre-cum that had started leaking the moment she'd slid the glass door shut with her inside.

"Have you ever seen a naked woman in person before?" Madeline asked, her tone casual, as if she were asking about the weather.

He couldn’t answer. He wondered if perhaps by some magical force, the floor would open up and he’d fall away into a dark abyss of never having to answer such an embarrassing question.

She cupped her own breasts, squeezing them gently as she worked the soap over her nipples. "Don't be shy, Jono. It's just nudity. We're family. Perfectly natural."

He shook his head—a quick, jerky motion. No. He'd never seen a real woman naked. Not like this. Not three feet away, with water glistening on her skin and her thighs parting slightly as she adjusted her stance.

"Then you should look," she said softly. "It's educational."

She turned her back to him again, but only for a moment before she bent forward at the waist, reaching down to wash her legs. The pose thrust her ass toward him, cheeks spreading apart just enough to reveal the dark, wet slit between them. Her pussy lips were plump, pink, and glistening, framed by a neat triangle of trimmed hair. She stayed there for a long moment, letting the water run over her, before she straightened and turned back.

"You're trembling," she observed, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Are you feeling alright? Maybe you should sit down. Maybe you’re the one who’s dizzy and I need to worry about you fainting…” she laughed.

But there was nowhere to sit except the closed toilet lid. Jono's legs were weak, but he forced himself to stay standing, one hand braced against the doorframe. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. The drugs she had been lacing his food with—the testosterone that made his balls ache and his fantasies grow violent, the Viagra that kept him hard for hours—had turned his teenage body into a loaded gun, and she was pulling the trigger with every slow, teasing movement.

Madeline stepped closer to the glass, so close that her breath fogged a small circle on the pane. She pressed one hand against the glass, her palm flat and fingers spread.

"You want to touch?” she teased, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Just your hand. Through the glass. I won't tell anyone."

Jono's arm moved before his brain could stop it. His palm met hers on the other side of the warm, wet glass. The barrier felt thin, almost nonexistent. He could feel the heat of her skin radiating through.

She smiled, slow and predatory, and then she took her other hand and guided it between her own legs. Her fingers slipped into her folds, spreading them, and she let out a small, satisfied hum as she touched herself. Her eyes never left his.

"This is what a woman looks like," she breathed. “I can tell that you’re interested. It’s okay.”

Not dismissed after the shower, Jono follows Madeline into her bedroom. He stood in the doorway, fidgeting, his hands shoved into his pockets. The drugs were working—she could see the bulge straining against his khakis, the way he kept shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Close the door,” she said.

He did.

She was stark naked, and he was getting used to looking and not feeling like a creep. The more he looked, the more he wanted to look, even if she didn’t look like the young porno models he jerked off to on the internet.

She sat on the edge of the bed, a bottle of unscented lotion on the nightstand. She handed it to him, spread a towel on the bed and lay face down.

“I need your help again,” she said, her voice calm, clinical. “My back is stiff and my skin is going to dry out. I need you to put this lotion on me, everywhere.”

Jono’s eyes widened. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Everywhere?”

“Everywhere.” She picked up the bottle and held it out to him. “Arms, legs, and back. Then, I’ll turn over and you will do my stomach and chest.

“Uh…”

“Oh don’t worry. It’s just lotion I need for my skin. It’s a medical thing. It won’t be like you’re really touching me, you know? You’d be like my doctor.”

“Uh… okay”

He took the bottle with a trembling hand. The heat radiating off him was almost visible—his face flushed, his breath shallow.

Jono squeezed a generous amount of lotion into his palms. He rubbed them together, warming it, then placed his hands on her shoulder blades. His touch was hesitant at first, barely grazing her skin. But as she murmured encouragement, he grew bolder. He worked the lotion into her shoulders, down her spine, across the curve of her lower back. His fingers pressed deep into the muscle, kneading, spreading.

Madeline sighed, letting ...