Not the intended target

Instead of a manly chest, a gruff beard, or a fist clobbering my perverted skull, I instead feel an invitingly warm, soft formation of flesh. Taking a decidedly bold next step, I give the interesting bit of human contact a semi-firm squeeze, feeling the unmistakable form of a woman's breast! Partly out of further curiosity, and mostly out of sexually fueled curiosity, I squeeze further, feeling a hard nipple in my palm.

"Oh, nephew. What would your mother think of you feeling up her sleeping, **** sister?" you hear the unmistakable sound of my beautiful aunt, Madeleine. She isn't annoyed or angry, like most women would be in such a position. Instead, she sounds playful, reminding me all too much of the teasing nature of Guenevere, appropriately enough.

"You're lucky my husband is out drinking with his old war buddies. Right now, he's probably passed out in some manor in the city. He wouldn't stand for such lewd behavior." she says with that sultry voice I've heard for years, now.

I realize my hand is still placed on her breast. As I go to retreat my grasp, she rolls towards me, firmly planting my hand on her bust.

"I-, I-" I clumsily stammer, unable to find my words.