Turbulence in Silk Stockings novel · Chapter 3 of 12

Chapter 3: Silk Stockings

I went three days without touching myself.

It was the hardest thing I'd ever done.

On Wednesday, I took an ice-cold shower.

On Thursday, in Digital Control class, the professor asked me about a transfer function, and I answered with my aunt's name.

No one noticed.

Almost.

At eleven that night, I was in the kitchen, wearing nothing but boxers and eating a bowl of cereal while standing at the counter, when I heard the key in the door.

I put down my spoon.

Heels clicked down the hall.

Isaura appeared in the kitchen doorway.

She was in her full uniform, the red scarf, her wheeled suitcase still in hand, and her hair pulled up in her usual bun.

She looked tired.

I could see it in her eyes.

But when she saw me, her face lit up.

"Well, look at you." She let go of her suitcase. "Such a well-behaved boy."

"Three days," I said. "And three nights."

"You didn't touch yourself?"

"No."

"Not even once?"

"Not once."

She came closer, slow and steady, her heels clicking.

She stopped right in front of me.

She smelled like an airplane, hotel soap, and her perfume.

"I want to see," she said.

I pulled down my boxers.

My cock sprang free, hard even before she'd walked in.

Isaura looked at it with a catlike smile.

"Aw, poor thing. You must be hurting."

"A little."

"A whole lot."

She walked around the counter, took off her silk scarf, and left it on the stool.

Then she looked me up and down again.

"I'm in charge tonight," she said. "Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am."

"Yes, Isaura."

"Better."

She lifted her skirt.

She drew it slowly up to her waist, revealing the dark tops of her silk stockings and the garters holding them up, the lace of her white panties, and the smooth skin of her thighs.

She sat on the granite counter, legs spread, and rested her heels on my shoulders.

"Come here."

I moved closer.

She took my hand and placed it on her stocking, over her calf.

The silk was thin, smooth, and deliciously cool.

"Tell me what you feel."

"Like I'm going crazy."

"More."

"I want to rip them."

She smiled.

"Rip them."

"Are you sure?"

"I've got four pairs in my suitcase. Rip them, Lucho."

I hooked my fingers into the top of her stocking, high on her thigh, and yanked hard.

The nylon ripped with a long, sharp, delicious sound.

She threw her head back and let out a low laugh.

"That's it. The other one."

I ripped the other stocking.

I left the fabric hanging in strips over her thighs, bare skin showing through the gaps.

I was so turned on my hands were shaking.

I tore off her panties.

They ended up hanging from one of her heels.

She spread her knees and leaned back on her elbows against the granite.

"Eat me. Now."

I dropped to my knees in the kitchen, between her legs, with the light from the refrigerator behind me.

I ran my tongue over her pussy in one long stroke.

She moaned and grabbed my hair.

"That's it. Just like that. Don't talk, Lucho. Just do it."

I sucked her clit with my lips and tongue, slowly, and slid two fingers into her wet heat.

I curled them upward, just like she'd shown me with her hand the other night.

She squeezed her thighs against my ears.

"There. Right there. Don't stop."

I kept going.

Whenever she tensed, I picked up the pace, and when she relaxed, I slowed down.

I was taking her back and forth, like a boat riding the waves.

"You're a monster," she gasped. "Who taught you?"

"You."

"Oh, God."

She came with a shudder that rose from her feet, her heels digging into my back.

She was speechless.

Wet and shining, her bun undone and her face all flushed and wrecked, she looked even more beautiful than when she'd walked in.

I stood up.

She grabbed my shirt and kissed me fiercely.

"Now fuck me."

"Here?"

"Here. Anywhere. Hurry."

I lifted her off the counter and turned her around.

I put her hands on the granite and pushed her skirt higher.

Her round ass was right in front of me, her stockings in tatters.

I gripped my cock and rubbed it between her cheeks, up and down.

"Don't tease me," she moaned.

"You made me wait."

"Lucho..."

I thrust into her in one hard stroke.

She cried out, pressed against the counter, her fingers clawing at the stone.

I started thrusting.

No taking it slow, no ceremony, all at once, driven by three days of waiting and three sleepless nights.

The cold granite, her hot body, the wet sound of every thrust.

Her heels slipped on the floor.

I held her by the waist and lifted her a little so every thrust went deeper.

"Like that," she whimpered. "Give it to me, give it to me, give it to me."

"Your pussy feels so good."

"Tell me again."

"So good. So wet. Mine."

She shuddered.

"It's not yours."

"It's mine."

"Not yet," she gasped. "But almost."

I tugged gently on her hair, making her arch her neck.

She moaned, and in the reflection on the oven door, I saw her eyes close.

I slid one hand underneath her and rubbed her clit.

It didn't take long.

She came again, screaming, her whole body vibrating, and I stopped thinking.

I buried myself to the hilt and came with a growl, gripping her hips, my forehead pressed against her back.

We stayed like that.

Panting.

The refrigerator humming.

It took her a little while to speak.

"You know what I like about you?"

"What?"

"You don't ask my permission."

I helped her turn over.

Her hair was a mess, she was sweaty, and her stockings were in shreds.

She stroked my cheek with the back of her hand.

"I'm going to need a shower," she said. "And a drink."

We poured red wine into two breakfast mugs.

We sat on the kitchen floor, her legs crossed and her skirt wrinkled, me with my boxers halfway on.

She stared at her mug without drinking.

"Lucho, I have to show you something."

My smile vanished.

"What?"

She took her phone out of her skirt pocket.

She opened a folder, found a photo, and showed it to me.

It was a hotel bar, lit with an orange glow.

A young woman with blond hair and a pilot's uniform laughed, leaning against a man with his white shirt unbuttoned.

The man was my uncle Gumaro.

His hand was on the woman's knee.

Isaura didn't blink.

"Her name is Nadia," she said. "She's his copilot. That photo's from March."

"Aunt..."

"I've known since March," she repeated calmly. "And I never said anything."

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