Artyom stepped off the commuter train with a heavy backpack over his shoulders and immediately felt the hot July air envelop his skin. The station was almost empty, just an old woman with baskets and a couple of local kids on bikes. He texted Aunt Nika to let her know he'd arrived, and a minute later he saw her white SUV pulling into the parking lot. Veronika Sergeyevna stood by the open car door, wearing a light beige dress with thin straps. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and she wore large sunglasses. She looked about thirty, at most, though Artyom knew for a fact she'd turned thirty-seven in January. She'd been divorced for three years, had no caravan, and lived alone in a large house outside the city, teaching yoga in two studios. "Well, hello there, nephew!" She smiled broadly, stepped forward, and hugged him so tightly that he felt her chest spring against him. Her scent was light, citrusy, with a hint of spice. The hug lasted a couple of seconds longer than aunts usually do. Artyom awkwardly patted her on the back and pulled away. - Hi, Aunt Nika. Thanks for letting me stay. "What are you talking about, my dear? Your parents went to Singapore for three months, and you're just going to rot in this shabby dorm? No way, let's go. And let's be informal, I'm not that old yet!" The air conditioning was on full blast in the car, and something soft, like The Weeknd, was playing at low volume. Nika drove confidently, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally adjusting her hair. Her dress had ridden up slightly, revealing her tanned thighs. Artyom tried to look out the window, but his gaze drifted. "How are you, student?" she asked, without taking her eyes off the road. "Any girlfriends?" "Everything's fine," he muttered. "I'm studying. The girls... well, there were some, nothing serious." "Not being serious is good," she chuckled. "At nineteen, you don't need to be serious. The main thing is that he doesn't forget his condoms." Artyom blushed to the ears. Auntie had always been straightforward, but to do so suddenly… The house greeted her with a cool breeze and the scent of freshly cut grass. It was two stories tall, with huge windows, a framed summer pool in the courtyard, and a terrace overlooking the practically adjacent forest. Artyom had last been here about five years ago, when everything had seemed even larger. Her husband was quite wealthy. "Your room is on the second floor, the same as before," Nika said, carrying his backpack. "I rearranged the furniture a bit, but the bed is still huge. Make yourself comfortable, dinner is in an hour." He went upstairs, dropped his things, and fell onto the bed. The ceiling was spinning. Over the past two years, he'd grown to six feet tall, become a serious swimmer, and his shoulders had broadened. But for some reason, next to his aunt, he still felt like a kid. For dinner, Nika changed into short denim shorts and a white tank top, no bra—it was immediately obvious. Her nipples were slightly visible as she bent over to pick up a bottle of wine. Artyom tried not to stare, but it was difficult. "Well, here's to your holidays," she raised her glass. "May the summer be hot in every sense of the word." The wine was white, cold, and slightly sweet. Artyom rarely drank, so he quickly felt a slight warmth in his head. The conversation flowed naturally: about his studies, about her divorce ("tired of someone who thinks yoga is a cult"), about his parents, who would now video call once a week. "You've really grown up," Nika said, looking at him through his glass. "Your eyes are so... masculine. Girls at university probably hang themselves." “Oh, come on,” he smiled sheepishly. - It's true. At your age, I would have definitely hanged myself. She laughed, leaned back in her chair, and her T-shirt tightened. Artyom swallowed and asked permission to shower, saying he was sweaty after the train. The shower was on the second floor, next to his room. He deliberately didn't close the door tightly—a habit he'd picked up in the dorms, where the locks were always stuck. The water was hot, the pressure powerful. Artyom relaxed under the stream and suddenly realized he was hard. Hard enough to hurt. The image of the woman in a tank top and no bra was imprinted on his brain. He was about to get down to business right there, but heard footsteps in the hallway. He quickly turned off the water and grabbed a towel. The door was ajar, maybe ten centimeters. Nika, walking past with a laundry basket, slowed her pace. Their gazes met for a split second: she saw him wet and naked, holding a towel, which he clutched convulsively to his groin. He saw her wide-eyed and slightly parted mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said quietly and quickly moved on. Artyom latched the door, leaned his back against it, and exhaled. His cock was hard. He returned to the shower and turned on the cold water, but it didn't help. Five minutes later, he was lying on his bed in his room, wearing only his boxers, and his hand reached down. He imagined Aunt Nika coming into the shower with him. Taking off that stupid T-shirt. Pressing herself against him. He tried to do everything quietly, but at some point a hoarse groan escaped—louder than he intended. Artyom froze and listened. The house was silent. Only music played softly somewhere downstairs. He came quickly, almost painfully, burying his face in the pillow. Then he lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, thinking, "Damn. It's Auntie. This isn't normal." Somewhere downstairs, a refrigerator door slammed. Then light footsteps on the stairs. The footsteps stopped right in front of his room. There was silence for about ten seconds. Then the footsteps continued further—into her bedroom. Artyom woke up in the morning to bright sunshine and the smell of coffee. His phone clock showed nine-thirty. His head was a little heavy from the previous night's wine, but not too bad. He pulled on his shorts, went downstairs, and immediately saw his aunt on the terrace. She was already doing yoga: tight gray leggings, a crop top, her hair in a high ponytail. She was in downward-facing dog, her butt up, her back perfectly straight. She saw him in the glass's reflection and smiled. "Good morning, sleepyhead. There's coffee on the table, drink it, and then come here and stretch with me. After yesterday, your back must be stiff." Artyom poured himself some coffee and went out onto the terrace. The air had warmed up, but it was still tolerable. "Come on, take off your shirt, otherwise you'll sweat and get wet for nothing," Nika said, pulling off her own top, revealing a dark green sports bra. Her breasts stood high, her skin glistening with sweat. Artyom turned away, quickly pulled off his shirt, and stood next to her. We started with simple bends and stretches. Nika walked around, adjusting them. "Spread your legs wider... like this," she placed her palms on his inner thighs and slightly spread his knees. Her fingers were warm, confident. Artyom felt the blood rush down. "Arch your lower back," she said, placing her hand on his back and slowly moving from his shoulder blades to his tailbone. She lingered on his lower back for a second longer than necessary. "Wow, it's definitely numb," she said quietly, almost in his ear. Then the plank. He held it, she squatted down next to him and put her hand on his stomach. - Breathe deeply, don't tighten your abs. The palm slid just below his navel, almost to the elastic of his shorts. Artyom almost collapsed. "That's enough," she stood up and smiled. "Good girl. Go wash up, and I'll finish." He went into the shower with a stake in his shorts and stood under the cold water for a long time. That afternoon, we went to the lake. Nika threw a blanket, a bag of sandwiches, and a bottle of cold Prosecco into the trunk. She was wearing a black bikini and an open white shirt. Artyom was just in his swimming trunks and a towel slung over his shoulder. They found a spot under a large willow tree, almost empty. Nika lay down on her stomach: — Will you rub it on my back? Otherwise I'll burn. He squeezed out the cream and began rubbing her shoulders and back. He reached the strings of her bra—she tugged at the knot herself. - Untie it so it lays more evenly. The bra came undone, revealing the sides of her breasts. The skin was hot, slippery from the cream. Her fingers trembled. Then they climbed into the water. The lake was cool, invigorating. Nika swam beautifully, like a pro. Artyom caught up with her and surfaced next to her. She turned around, her hair wet, drops on her eyelashes. - Well, student, do you like living with your aunt? She splashed him with water and laughed. He grabbed her by the waist in revenge. For a second, they were very close—her breasts touched his, her nipples hard from the cold water. She didn't pull away, just looked him straight in the eyes and said quietly: - Be careful, Artyom. You'll drown me again. He let go and dived deeper—there was nowhere left to hide his erection. In the evening, after dinner, Nika sat on the sofa, rubbing her shoulders. "My back is a little sore after yoga and the lake. Nephew, would you be so kind as to at least stretch my shoulders? You have strong arms." She lay down on her stomach right on the sofa, pulled off her T-shirt, and was left in thin house shorts and without a bra. - It's more convenient this way, don't be shy. Artyom sat on top, straddling her hips. Her back was warm and smooth under his palms. He started with her shoulders, then her shoulder blades, then her lower back. She moaned softly: - Yes, right here... stronger... oh-oh, good, Artyom... When he pressed down on her lower back, she arched, her butt pressing right into his groin. He froze. She did too. A few seconds of silence, only her breathing. “Go on,” she whispered. “Don’t be afraid.” He continued, but more slowly. His fingers slid down her sides, almost touching her breasts. She didn't stop. Then she suddenly turned on her side and looked up. - Thank you, darling. You're a wizard. And she kissed him on the cheek, very close to his lips. Artyom tossed and turned that night. For an hour, two. Images swirled in his head: her butt under his hands, a moan, a wet bikini, her nipples through the water. His hand slid into his underwear, cupping his rock-hard cock. He moved slowly, so the bed wouldn't creak. He imagined himself walking in on her, her lying there just like that, but naked. A bed creaked behind the wall. Then a quiet sigh. Another. Rhythmic. Artyom froze, listening. The thin wall—everything was audible. A quiet "mmmm..." and a long exhale. Then a little louder, almost a whisper: - Artyom... He heard his name. He definitely heard it. His heart was pounding like crazy. He couldn't hold back any longer—he came almost instantly, unable to contain a drawn-out sob. A minute later, everything behind the wall was silent. Only heavy breathing and the rustling of sheets. The next morning, the heat was so intense that the asphalt on the road was already melting. The air conditioner in the house suddenly started humming, coughing, and died. The ceiling fan spun around, flapping its legs, to no avail. Artyom came downstairs wearing only his boxers, his hair sticking out in all directions. Nika stood by the refrigerator in a short silk nightgown, drinking ice-cold water straight from the bottle. Drops of water were running down her legs. "That's it, the technology is fucked," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "It's thirty-eight degrees in the shade, and it's going to get worse. Let's at least go take a shower, otherwise I'll get boiled." Artyom shrugged, as if to say, "Okay." They went up to the second floor. The bathroom was cooler; the tiles were cool against their feet. Nika turned on the shower and put her hand under the stream. Artyom felt his blood rushing again. Standing in front of her in his underwear wasn't so easy anymore. Nika stepped under the water first, still wearing her nightgown. The fabric instantly became wet and clung to her body, her nipples protruding as if she were naked. She turned to face him and extended her hand. - Come here, you fool. He took a step. The water was icy cold, taking his breath away. They were half a meter apart. Drops of water pounded his shoulders and chest. Nika ran her hand over his stomach, as if checking his temperature. “Is it cold?” she asked quietly. “Fine,” he squeezed out. She took another step. Now there were five centimeters between them. Her shirt clung to her hips, and her panties were visible as a black triangle. "Take it off," she said, looking into his eyes. "Take it all off." Artyom pulled down his boxers. His cock was already hard, nowhere to go. Nika looked down, the corner of her mouth curling into a smile. Then she took his hand and placed it on her waist, under the wet fabric. - And now me. He pulled her nightgown up with trembling fingers. She raised her hands, helping. The fabric fell to the floor. Then her panties—also in one motion. They stood naked opposite each other, water lashing their shoulders and backs. She kissed him first. She simply pressed her lips to his, softly but confidently. Then she went deeper—her tongue slid toward him, hot against the cold water. Artyom grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. Skin against skin. His cock pressed against her stomach. Nika pulled away for a second and whispered right into his lips: - My good nephew... Then she sank to her knees. The tiles were cold, but she didn't care. Water ran down her hair, down her back. She took his cock in her hand and ran her tongue slowly up and down. Artyom exhaled through his teeth. - Aunt Nick... She took his red-hot cock into her mouth. Hot, wet, tight. She moved smoothly but deeply—almost all the way in. She felt his immense experience and… desire. She cupped the base with one hand, stroking his thigh with the other. Artyom braced his palms against the wall to keep from falling. His head was spinning with pleasure. He lasted five minutes, no more. The tension of the last few days erupted all at once—hard, making his knees tremble. Nika didn't pull away, swallowed everything, then ran her tongue over him again, as if finishing him off. She stood up and hugged him around the neck. "Is this the first time?" she asked quietly. He just nodded, unable to speak. “Come to my place,” she said and turned off the water. It was hot in the bedroom, but who cared anymore. Nika pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top. Her knees were on either side of his thighs. She took his cock in her hand again—it was still flaccid, but quickly filling with strength. “Look at me,” she said and slowly lowered her wet pussy right onto her nephew’s cock. Hot, wet, tight. Artyom arched, grabbed her hips. She began to move—slowly at first, in circles, then faster. Her breasts swayed in front of his face. He caught her nipple in his lips and sucked. Nika moaned and threw her head back. - Yes... that's it... my dear... Then she lay down on him with her chest, pressed her whole body against him, and began moving faster. The bed creaked. The room smelled of sex, sweat, and her perfume. “Aunt Nika…” he blurted out. - Yes, fuck... fuck your aunt... He came a second time, deep inside her. But Nika continued moving for another ten seconds, until she herself began to tremble—quietly, with a long exhale, her fingers gripping his shoulders. Then she simply lay on him, breathing heavily. Her hair was wet and stuck to her cheeks. Artyom stroked her back, not believing this was happening. After a minute he finally squeezed out: - This is... probably wrong... Nika raised herself up on her elbows and looked into his eyes. "Artyom, you and I are thirty-seven and nineteen together. We're both adults. No one will know. This summer is ours alone. Got it?" He nodded. She kissed him on the forehead, then on the lips—gently, almost maternally. “Come to me,” she said and lay down next to him, pressing her back against his chest. He hugged her, burying his nose in her hair. It was hot outside, the room was dim, the air conditioner was dead. But he didn't care. From that day on, they no longer pretended. In the morning, Artyom woke to the smell of coffee and warm lips on his neck. Nika would come into the kitchen wearing only his T-shirt, naked underneath, set the coffee pot on the stove, and sit on his lap right on the stool. While the coffee bubbled, they managed to have sex once—quickly, hard, pressing each other to the countertop. She bit his shoulder to keep from screaming, and he entered her from behind, holding her hips. Then they drank coffee as if nothing had happened, except her cheeks were flushed, and fresh nail marks remained on his back. During the day, the pool became their personal brothel. She swam naked, he dove in after her, caught her underwater, spread her legs, and licked her right there in the water until she gasped with orgasm and clutched the side. Then she climbed on top of him on an inflatable mattress, and they bobbed on the waves until the water lapped over the edge. One evening she took a black leather belt out of the closet and said: "You were a bad boy and skipped practice. Your strict aunt will punish you." He knelt down, and she ran the belt across his back—not painfully, but loudly. Then she made him lick her crotch while she sat in a chair with her knees spread, smoking a thin cigarette and looking down. When he had her shaking, she pulled his hair up and whispered, "Now fuck your aunt like a grown-up, my boy." A week later, she asked him to try it in her ass. She lay on her stomach, propping a pillow under her hips, and taught him how to relax, how to lubricate, how to enter slowly. He was afraid of hurting her, but she moaned so sweetly that he eventually came inside her. She lay there for a long time afterward, holding him close and stroking his head: "My niece... you did everything right." He'd changed. He was no longer shy about undressing her in the middle of the living room, or putting her doggy style by the window so the neighbors could theoretically see. He'd drag her into the woods behind the house—spread a blanket in the thickest thicket, and fuck her on the ground until the leaves stuck to their backs. Once, even in her car in an empty parking lot by the lake—she sat on him, facing the windshield, and he held her breasts and watched the glass fog up. August flew by. The day before their parents returned, they didn't sleep at all. They started at eight in the shower—they fucked for a long time, under hot water, then in her bedroom, then in the kitchen, then back in the bedroom. He fucked her in every hole, she screamed uncontrollably, scratching his back until it bled. At three in the morning, they went to the pool under the moonlight—the water glowed. She lay on her back on the edge, her legs spread, and he stood in the water, thrusting slowly, looking into her eyes. They came together for the last time—she sobbed, he growled into her neck. In the morning, she drove him to the station. She was wearing a simple summer dress, her hair pulled back, her face calm, as if nothing had happened. Artyom was silent the entire ride. On the platform she hugged him tightly, like on the first day, only now he hugged him back just as tightly. "Come anytime," she whispered in his ear. "The door is always open. Always." He nodded, unable to speak. The train pulled in. They kissed each other—long, deep, right there on the platform, as people walked around them. The doors closed. Artyom sat by the window and watched her standing there, a small figure in a beige dress, until the train pulled away. The phone vibrated. A message from her: "Summer is over. But we aren't. I'm waiting." He smiled, closed his eyes, and leaned back in his seat. There was a whole year ahead. And then another summer. And another.