James Founders

James trembled, unable to resist the tempting apparition. He closed his eyes but couldn’t ban his aunt’s image from his mind. His beautiful, enticing aunt. He felt like a little boy again, looking up to his father’s sister. She was his goddess, a celestial being, unattainable, but ever luring. The first object of his fledgling desires.

Now he was a man, a husband, a father. And there she was, right before him, and she was going to make him an offer he couldn't refuse.

Margot’s cold fingers brushed lightly past his belly button, inching further down. He flinched at the touch but didn’t move away. Instead, he felt rooted in place, caught in the magnetic pull of her presence.

“Tell me something,” she purred, her voice dropping to a silky growl. “When was the last time you felt truly alive?”

James had no answer, her words catching him off guard. Margot’s lips curled into a knowing smile as her fingers began to trail slowly down, just grazing the hem of his pants.

“You’ve been carrying the weight of this family for so long, haven’t you?” she murmured. “Always the dutiful husband, the reliable father. But when was the last time you took something just for you?”

To emphasize her words, she forcefully grabbed his belt and pulled him toward her.

“I don’t …” James stammered, his breath catching in his throat as their lower bodies touched, his virile member rearing up.

“You don’t remember, do you?” Margot finished his words. She moved closer, her body brushing against his with an intensity that made his pulse race.

“When was the last time your heart beat this fast? When was the last time someone did … THIS?”

Her fingers slid lower, coming to rest just above his bulge, rubbing, seizing it. James gasped. She paused there, letting the tension hang between them like an electric charge.

“This ... isn’t right,” he hardly managed to say, his voice was unsteady, and he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

Margot tilted her head, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “Isn’t it?” she said, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Or is that just what you tell yourself to keep from wanting what you really want?”

“I’m married,” James said weakly, though the words felt hollow even as he said them.

Margot laughed softly, the sound low and melodic. “Marriage,” she said, her tone almost pitying. “Such a fragile little golden cage, isn’t it? And yet you cling to it like it’s the only thing keeping you safe. Free yourself!”

Her fingers deftly flicked open the top button of his pants, pulled his zipper, her touch sending a shiver down his spine.

“What if I told you,” she whispered, leaning in so that her lips were just a breath away from his ear, “that you don’t have to be a prisoner anymore?”

His dick sprang free.

James swallowed hard, his mind spinning. Her scent — roses and something darker, muskier —was intoxicating, clouding his thoughts.

Her smile softened into something almost tender. For a moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them, the air between them charged with a dangerous, undeniable energy.

“Can you feel it?” she purred, barely audible.

Instead of an answer, he moaned loudly, as she stroked his shaft with her delicate hand, making it slick with his own juices that soon started to flow in abundance.

“Margot, please” he begged, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Yes, I know. Just let yourself go.”

She quickened her pace, making him wince. He could feel it coming. She pushed him to the brink. Then, with a sudden, playful yet cruel grin, Margot let him go and stepped back. He slumped to the ground, breathing heavily.

“Why?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, James. You might be a handsome guy. But this?” She gestured vaguely toward him, her gaze flicking over his rumpled shirt down to his gaping fly.

He looked down at himself, realizing he looked, indeed, crooked. His formerly proud member was getting flaccid while he watched. He blushed.

“But I thought, you wanted …”

His voice faltered, teary. She burst out laughing.

“Oh, mighty men! So proud, so cocksure of oneself. But if you flick their prick, they deflate like a balloon. Why did I make out with you? This was just to see if I still had it. Spoiler alert — I do.”

“Of course you do,” he muttered, deeply embarrassed with a resigned sigh.

She turned to go, but turned her head once more to look down at him.

“I have to leave you here because there's someone else who needs my attention. I'm really looking forward to it. In the meantime, you're welcome to sit here and continue feeling sorry for yourself.”

With her last words, she licked her red-painted lips with relish. When she was gone, he could swear he heard her laugh again, faint and distant, like the house itself was mocking him.