by Dante King
“One has to look after oneself, Mr. Mauler,” Aunt Ruth said, swinging her auburn curls back from her face. “It’s a bit of a mantra of mine. Take these for instance.”
Aunt Ruth opened her robe with as much insouciance as she might have shown had she been giving me a peek at the family photo album.
Her tits were glorious; full, heavy, natural-looking jugs that just cried out to be squeezed. In fact, if I was being totally candid, my first thought was how they’d perform under some strenuous titty-fucking.
“Now, the secret of these,” she said in quite a carefree manner, as my eyes feasted on the A-grade baps in front of me, “is fairy dust.”
“Fairy-fairy dust?” I stammered, trying to peel my eyes off the mature cans on display, but failing one hundred percent.
“Yes,” Aunt Ruth purred as she took a step toward me. “Fairy dust keeps them nice and perky. I take a line of fairy dust in the morning and then rub a special lotion onto them in the evening.”
She touched a finger to her lip like a woman who had just recalled something. “Now that I mention it, that lotion is on the shelf just behind you. Perhaps you’d be a dear and help me with it, hm?”
Her hands came up to knead her breasts together. Her fingers and thumbs rolled her large nipples so that they began to stiffen, even in the warm air of the bathroom.
There was just no way that me, or any man like me, would be able to resist that sort of offer. A snowman had a better chance at surviving a shift as a firefighter than I did at resisting the temptation moving closer and closer to me in that bathroom.
I looked behind me and found the bottle of lotion that the advancing cougar had mentioned, sitting on a shelf over the toilet. I reached for it with a slightly trembling hand. When I turned back, Aunt Ruth was standing right behind me.
“Sit,” she commanded and forced me down so that I was sitting on the closed toilet. Then she knelt in front of me with her enormous jugs still hanging out of her open robe.
“That lotion is not going to apply itself, Mr. Mauler,” she purred, tilting her head back so that I had an unencumbered view of her cans.
I squirted some of the lotion into my hand, dropped the bottle, and reached for the gorgeous older woman’s boobs. I slathered the cream over them, greasing them up until they were as slick and slippery as any pair of tits that had experienced a Nuru massage.
I ran my thumbs over the big, flat nipples, tracing circles around them, lapping them like a tiny little ice-skater might go around a frozen pond. Under my touch, they began to stiffen even more.
I took each nipple between thumb and forefinger and pinched them softly. I squeezed her tits hard, and then clamped her nipples in my fingers and twisted them gently, tugging at them as I did so.
A heavy sigh escaped Aunt Ruth, and she caught my eye and shot me a smile.
“Take out your cock, Mr. Mauler,” she said with a firm but polite authority.
I did as I was told. Her nipples were fully erect now, which was fitting because so was I.
My prick was twitching with anticipation.
“We don’t have much time,” Aunt Ruth said in a husky voice, “but allow me to treat you to a bit of Chaosbane hospitality.”
The older woman leaned forward, pressing her slippery, oily jugs together, and engulfed my cock between them. Then, slowly, she began massaging my dick between them, rubbing up and down in the best titty-fuck I had ever experienced.
It was more than just a titty-fuck. It was the Rolls Royce of titty-fucks. The pacing, the pressure, and the look that Aunt Ruth gave me while she pleasured me were all perfect.
I moaned softly as the cougar slowly but surely picked up her pace. The feel of her oily, creamy tits around my cock was unreal. Indescribable. But it wasn’t just the feel that was turning me on so much. It was the blistering, sultry gaze Aunt Ruth was giving me; the look of a woman who was loving what she was doing and grateful to be doing it.
The only sounds were my labored breathing, the occasional moan from Aunt Ruth, and the sloppy squishing sound of the older woman’s knockers as they massaged my pecker.
“That’s it, Mr. Mauler,” Aunt Ruth urged me as my balls began to tingle. “Cover my chest in that Creation Mage cum. There’s only one thing better than fairy-dust lotion for these boobs of mine, and that is it.”
It only took a few more quick strokes to send me over the edge. I bucked into Aunt Ruth’s tits, reaching out to curl my fingers through her auburn hair, as I spurted my load between her cans, up her throat, and even over her chin.
Aunt Ruth moaned like the filthiest of whores, her tongue flicking out to try and taste my jizz. She carried on jacking me off, making sure to catch every last drop of my seed between her jugs, until my nuts were completely drained.
“That a boy, Mr. Mauler. That a boy. Thank you. Thank you very much, indeed,” she said, slapping my prick against her tits and smearing my cum across her chest.
I tried to say something, but found that words had failed me for the present. The sight of the mature woman kneeling in front of me, like she was worshipping my cock, was pretty fucking fantastic. I could tell that I’d be revisiting this little episode in my daydreams.
With a burst of comparatively cooler air, the door to the bathroom was kicked open and Leah Chaosbane was revealed in the open doorway. She was breathing hard, as if she had run up the stairs.
“Aunt Ruth!” she cackled, eyeing my wilting cock and Aunt Ruth’s cum-covered knockers, “I knew you were up to no good. You and I are too much alike. Great minds and all that...”
I’d have thought that Aunt Ruth would have been more rattled than one of Banksy’s spray cans, what with getting busted having just pleasured me with one of the all-time great titty-fucks, but the older woman simply shrugged, pulled her robe closed, and wiped a fleck of spunk from the corner of her mouth with her thumb.
“I was just giving Justin here a more extensive tour,” she said innocently, tightening the cord that held her bathrobe closed. “He was also gracious enough to help apply my fairy-dust lotion, for which I had to give him a reward. Which reminds me dear, you really must borrow some. You can never start defying gravity and time too soon.”
Leah cupped her own breasts, which were concealed under her baggy orange robe.
“Thanks for the offer Aunt Ruth,” she said, “but I’m not as well-endowed as you are.”
“But you’re perfect nonetheless,” the older woman said.
“Your aunt is one hell of a tour guide,” I managed to crowbar into this escalating beauty regime talk, tucking my johnson away.
“Oh, I bet she is, I bet she is. This woman had quite the reputation back in her day. And it would appear that her day isn’t over yet, eh, Aunt Ruth?” teased Leah.
“A Chaosbane woman has got to get her kicks, deary,” she said to Leah. “You know that better than anyone.”
Leah gave me an openly lascivious look. “Boy, do I, Aunt Ruth,” she said. “I’ll tell you what, you won’t find much bigger, stronger and vigorous kicks than our friend here.”
“Unfortunately, time did not allow us a more comprehensive testing…” Aunt Ruth said.
I did my best impression of a landed fish, looking from one woman to the other.
Aunt Ruth and Leah exchanged glances, and then burst into laughter.
“Bless him, he’s a fine man this one,” Aunt Ruth said, “but perhaps not used to our open-minded ways, even now. Even after being a Creation Mage this long.”
“Aunt Ruth, shhh,” Leah said in a theatrical whisper, “that’s a secret.”
“Not much of a Creation Mage just at the moment anyway,” I said. “I, uh, tapped myself out a little in that department.”
“Justin, Justin, Justin, I’m sure that I could still find a use for you,” Aunt Ruth said. “Leah dear, are the others on their way back?”
Leah nodded. “I ran ahead. Couldn’t make it too easy for you. Besides, you’d wear him out, and I might want to play with him la
ter.”
Being talked about like I was a piece of meat should have annoyed me, maybe. The reality was I found this chat extremely hot.
“I get the impression that Mr. Mauler here has enough vim to handle both you and I back-to-back, should it ever be called for…” Aunt Ruth said.
Leah smiled broadly and kissed the other woman on the cheek as she walked slowly from the room. “The ‘less’ is silent,” she quipped as Aunt Ruth paused in the doorway.
“Oh, please, dear, there was nothing ruthless about it.”
Aunt Ruth turned back to me and blew me a kiss.
“But there might be yet, Mr. Mauler, hm?” she said with a wink.
Chapter 8
There were two days to go until Yuletide Eve. Two days to go until the big night.
To no one’s surprise, and to Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock obvious delight, Mort had popped the most Eggnog Gnomes out of everyone during the hunting trip. Apparently, despite heading back to the house before the final hunting ground, I had come in second, missing out on the coveted honor of carving the Yuletide Log by a matter of thirteen gnomes.
After falling victim to Aunt Ruth’s seductions, the rest of the day was fairly mellow and, surprisingly, followed a pattern of how normal people celebrated their festive holidays. Eating and drinking far too much throughout the day. Sitting around the fire and swapping stories and anecdotes.
A bunch of us were strolling around the property to walk off a delectable meal capped off with a treacle tart that would have left Nigella Lawson weak at knees and probably quite moist in the panties department. This pleasant afternoon walk was interrupted by an impromptu snowball fight. It was a short and vigorous affair. The snowball fight culminated in a spectacular display of projectile vomiting from Igor when Leah struck him square in the plums with a snowball that was at least eighty percent ice.
We all made our way back inside for fortifying cups of hot cider simmering inside a cauldron over the main hearth’s crackling fire. After that, the rest of the afternoon and evening were taken up with the customary family board game battle. The game of choice was a familiar-looking one called Gentrification Station; a game which involved players racing to buy up as much cheap land and real estate as they could, and then knock out the other players by driving up rents so that they were bled dry and couldn’t afford any properties for themselves.
It was a game that, apparently, never ended up reaching the final round. And a new set was purchased every year. It became evident why when, after being pitilessly knocked out by Aunt Ruth (the ‘less’ is silent), Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock picked up the game and threw it into the fire with savage glee.
After another gut-busting dinner, I was standing on the front porch and pulling on my boots. Despite the unguent Aunt Ruth had given me, I felt that my lacerated ass could use an early night. I was full of excellent food and fantastic drink and was ready to hit the hay in my cozy guest tent on the edge of the wood.
“There you are, honeypot,” Leah said from behind me.
I turned and saw her leaning casually against the jamb of the large, open front door. Her feet, which stuck out of the bottom of her high-waisted pants, were bare, despite the cold.
“Here I am,” I said, slipping my second boot on. “What can I do you for?”
“Hmmm, what can you do me for?” Leah mused. “Well, you could do me for breakfast, or you could do me to warm up your bed, or you could do me just because you felt like it.”
I grinned. “All of those options come across as equally logically sound and filled with merit, but tonight I think I’m going to have to tend to my wounds.”
Leah clapped her hands and giggled delightedly. “Oh gracious me, but Igor will not be living that one down for a while. Firing a shot into the ass of the first Creation Mage to show his head in however many years! Even for a Chaosbane, that’s fairly loose behavior. Still, at least you walked away with the same amount of holes as you started with, pumpkin-cakes.”
I laughed. “There is that, of course,” I conceded.
“Okay, well, you run along now and get some shut-eye and heal up that cute little backside of yours. And I shall come and collect you in the morning.”
“Collect me?” I asked. “Collect me for what?”
Leah blinked. She reached up and started twisting a lock of pink hair absentmindedly around one finger. “I didn’t tell you?” she asked.
“Tell me what?” I asked.
“We didn’t talk about it?” Leah said.
“Talk about what?” I asked patiently.
“Hm, I must have had that entire conversation with you in my head,” Leah mused, letting go of the lock of hair that she had been twirling around her finger so that it sprang back as a perfect curl. “How strange. Still, it doesn't matter.”
“What’re you talking about, woman?” I asked, laughing in exasperation.
“Nothing, nothing, it makes no difference. You’re at my host’s mercy anyway.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, bewildered. I knew Leah had some scheme or adventure in mind. When a Chaosbane started getting those kinds of notions into their head, insurance companies began to sweat.
“Oh, I just thought that I’d take you out for an airing tomorrow, you know,” Leah said airily.
“An airing? An outing, you mean?” I asked. “Where?”
Leah’s eyes shone. “To the big smoke!” she said. “I’ve been having a little natter with my dear cousin, Reginald, and he tells me that you need to get into Manafell—into the Castle of Ascendance no less—to see a particular Inscriber.”
This was true. My father had mentioned that there was an Inscriber, working inside the very heart of Queen Hagatha’s bastion of strength, who had been sympathetic to my parents’ cause. He had told me that this Inscriber would be able to help me unlock some new slots in my spellbook, so that I could get back to the pressing, and very fun, business of becoming a more powerful, more rounded, and more dangerous Creation Mage.
“The Headmaster knows a lot,” I said.
“Of course Reggie does,” Leah said, waving an unimpressed hand. “He’s got his fingers, toes, and clever little nose in so many pies and other assorted baked goods that he knows things before they happen. He is a powerful, powerful mage, obviously. But not all that power comes from his spell-casting, syrup-butt. Much of it comes from knowing lots. Knowing secrets.”
“So he knows about the Inscriber?” I asked. “Does he know the name of this person? It was one thing my old man seemed unsure about. I got the impression that this person probably kept a pretty low profile, used different names. Clandestine shit like that.”
“Reggie did mention a name, yes,” Leah said, tiptoeing across the boards of the front porch, being careful not to stand on the crack between the planks. She lay a hand on my chest and leaned in, filling my head with the smell of cloves and orange blossoms.
“Gertrude,” she whispered. “That’s who we’re looking for. Good old Gertrude. So, you and I shall go on a nice little excursion into the capital, see the sights, and slip with the grace and poise of two shadows into the Castle of Ascendance.”
“Slip like shadows?” I asked. “Can’t we just ask for her under some pretext?”
“Oh, sure,” Leah said, shrugging her gangly catwalk model shoulders. “Whatever you like, sweet-cheeks. I’ll play it however you like.”
“So, you’ll be playing tour guide tomorrow?”
“Looks that way. Would you like me to wear a uniform?”
“I don’t care what you do, but I have to say that Aunt Ruth has really set the bar as far as tours go,” I said with a sly smile.
Leah kissed me on the cheek and walked back into the house, the sway of her hips and ass drawing my gaze like a couple of ball bearings to a magnet.
“Justin Mauler,” she said over her shoulder, flashing her dark eyes at me, “you’ve seen nothing yet.”
* * *
While the Chaosbane’s ranch adjoined Qu
een Hagatha’s estate on one side, it was not quite as simple to gain access to the Castle of Ascendance as simply hopping the fence and walking over the lawn to knock at the back door.
“We had an aunt in the family a few years back,” Leah told me as we walked across the lawns the following morning, nursing mugs of steaming coffee and heading toward one of the large barns. “Her name was Wonky Chaosbane—after the accident, I mean. Originally it had been Palmera. I think Wonky was a bit more fun, all things considered.”
“Accident?” I asked. It was another fine day, perhaps the nicest weather we had seen since we left Nevermoor. The snow-filled clouds overhead were slightly less thick this morning, and wide blue cracks of sky showed through them.
“Yes,” Leah said, quite casually. “We had always strictly observed the warnings that the rulers of Avalonia gave their direct neighbors. These amounted, essentially, to warnings that if any of us trespassed one foot over the fenced borders, we would meet with an accident.”
“The Chaosbanes heeded a warning like that?” I asked in disbelief.
“Oh, sure,” Leah said. “Some of us might be a little on the eccentric side, but not a one of us are stupid.”
“Let me guess,” I said, “this Palmera aunt of yours got into the port barrel one night and decided to throw caution to the wind and jump the boundary fence. Whereupon she found the Queen was as good as her word and had enchanted the fence line or laid Arcane Mines across it or something. This resulted in Palmera losing an arm or a leg or a finger or an ear and taking on the moniker, Wonky. And thus, the Chaosbane Family learned an important lesson.”
Leah choked on her last mouthful of coffee and sprayed a brown mist of steaming droplets out onto the pristine snow.
“Very astute, very astute indeed,” she chortled. “You think you have the measure of the Chaosbane clan, don’t you, cocksure Earthling?”
“Was I close?” I asked as we approached the barn Leah had pointed out earlier.