It all started so banally that it's even funny now. I was coming home from college, pulling into the entrance hall, drenched in sweat from the stuffy street, and she was just coming out of her apartment—Aunt Natasha. Our neighbor, in her forties. I always saw her as well-groomed, smelling of perfume and baked goods, a true homemaker. She was always smiling at me, asking about my studies, and there was something warm and maternal in her eyes. The guardian angel of our building. But today her gaze was different. Narrowed, appraising. I muttered "hello" and reached for my door. “Andryusha, wait a minute,” her voice, usually so clear, was now low and velvety. I turned around. She was leaning against the doorframe, wearing a light housecoat that outlined... God, it outlined everything. All those soft, seductive curves that I sometimes thought about out of the corner of my mind as I drifted off to sleep. "You're so disinhibited, poor thing. Session?" She took a step toward me, and I smelled her—not just baked goods, but something deep and floral, jasmine, I think. "No, it's just the heat," I managed to say, feeling myself blush stupidly. I'm twenty-two, and I'm standing in front of her like a brat. She smiled, and the corners of her eyes gathered in fine wrinkles, making her face incredibly alive, real. "You know, I've got a little problem. A shelf collapsed in the pantry. My husband's gone, and you... you're a strong guy. Could you help Aunt Natasha? It'll only take five minutes. And I'll treat you to a cherry pie, fresh from the oven." Her gaze slid over my shoulders, my arms, and my stomach sank. It wasn't a neighbor's gaze. It was a woman's gaze on a man. And that "Aunt Natasha" sounded so strange... not like an address, but like a hint. What could I answer? "Of course, Aunt Natasha, I'll help." Her apartment was exactly as I'd imagined: a cozy mess, smelling of coffee, vanilla, and her perfume. In the living room stood the same half-disassembled bookcase. We fiddled with it for about ten minutes. I screwed it in place, and she handed me the tools, bending over so that the slit in her robe revealed the smooth, tanned skin of her thigh. I looked away, feeling goosebumps run through me. "Well, thank you, hero," she said when I finished. "Now, a debt of honor. Tea and cake." We walked into the kitchen. She poured tea into tall mugs and placed a plate with a golden-brown pie in front of me. Her robe fell open, and underneath I saw not pajamas, but a short silk dress the color of ripe plums. It hugged her hips, her breasts, and I found myself unable to look away. “Do you like it?” she asked quietly, following my gaze. I just nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "You're so shy, Andryusha." She licked her lips. "I've noticed the way you look at me for a long time. Stealthily. Did you think I didn't see it?" “I… I don’t…” I was completely devastated. "Don't make excuses," she said, reaching out and touching my cheek. Her fingers were cool and smelled of almond cream. "I like it. I like that hunger in your eyes." And then something inside me snapped. This whole bundle of nerves, shame, and excitement burst forth. I grabbed her hand and pressed it to my lips. She didn't pull it away. On the contrary, her fingers dug into my hair. “Aunt Natasha…” I whispered, and it sounded no longer like an appeal, but like a spell. "Don't be afraid, I'll teach you everything," her voice was just a breath. She pulled me towards her, and our lips met. This kiss… it was different from those of girls my age. It was slow, experienced, wet. She ran her tongue over my lips, forcing them open, and then she entered, taking complete possession of me. I tasted cherries, tea, and something elusive, purely feminine. My hands reached out to her of their own accord, squeezed her firm sides through the silk, slid lower, onto her full, curvaceous buttocks. She moaned softly into my mouth. “Come here, my boy,” she took me by the hand and led me into the living room, to the large sofa. There, in the daylight filtering through the tulle, she threw off her robe. The silk dress slipped off her shoulders and fell to the floor. She stood before me in nothing but black lace lingerie. And God, she was so… real. Not like those skinny Instagram models. Firm, luscious, with a soft stomach gleaming with a thin chain and pendant, and heavy, enticing breasts that barely fit within the cups of her bra. I froze, mesmerized. “Do you like it?” she asked again, a smile in her voice. “Yes…” I managed to choke out. “You… you… are incredible.” She came up to me and unbuttoned my jeans. My shorts followed. And when I stood before her completely naked, my dick sticking out like lead, she gasped softly. "Oh, Andryusha... How... big you are." She knelt before me. Her fingers wrapped around the base of my cock, and I shuddered at the touch. She looked at it as if it were a work of art, and then, without taking her eyes off me, slowly, impossibly slowly, she licked the head. I groaned, throwing my head back. "Hush, hush, darling," she whispered. "The walls aren't the thickest." And then she took him into her mouth. All of him. I hadn't expected that. Her lips, warm and wet, wrapped tightly around me, and her tongue slid along my veins, seeking out the most sensitive spots. She moved slowly, with a sort of smacking sound, with the squelching of saliva that flowed down me onto the floor. She swallowed him deep, and I felt the head of him press against her throat. It was something between suffocation and bliss. I dug my fingers into her styled hair, disarraying it. “Auntie… Auntie Natasha… this is fucking awesome…” I muttered, losing control. She picked up the pace, one hand caressing my balls and the other gripping my ass, pulling me closer, deeper. I was on the edge. And at that very moment, that wicked, divine moment, there was a sharp knock on the door. We froze. Her mouth was still on me. My heart was pounding somewhere in my throat. "Natasha? Are you home?" - it was my mother's voice. Icy terror pierced me. Adrenaline rushed to my head. I recoiled, staring at her with wide eyes. To my amazement, she looked calm. Slowly, with a loud smack, she released my penis, wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and raised a finger to her lips, calling for silence. "Home, Lyudmila Petrovna!" she called in a perfectly normal, even cheerful voice. "In the shower! I'll come by later!" We heard retreating footsteps outside the door. We looked at each other. And suddenly she laughed. A quiet, happy laugh. “Scared?” she whispered. "Until death," I confessed, and began to laugh hoarsely, shaking with nervous tension. This fear, this forbidden risk, only added fuel to the fire. My erection didn't go away; it even grew harder, like a rock. “Do you want to continue?” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. Instead of answering, I roughly pulled her towards me and kissed her again, tasting my own salty taste on her lips. We collapsed onto the sofa. Everything went faster, more desperately. She took off her bra, and I pounced on her breasts, greedily sucking on her hard, dark nipples, biting them, and she moaned, digging her nails into my back. Her hands pulled my T-shirt off. We were naked, skin to skin. “Turn over,” she ordered, and there was a note of authority in her voice that made my stomach drop. I obediently lay down on my stomach. She settled on top, her hips gripping mine. I felt her hot, wet pussy against my lower back. She leaned over, her lips touching my neck, and then her teeth sank into the skin. Gently at first, then harder. It was a mixture of pain and pleasure. I groaned. “Now it’s me,” I whispered, turning her over. She found herself on all fours, her luscious, magnificent bottom exposed to me like a ripe peach. I slapped it with my palm, lightly at first, then harder. A scarlet mark appeared on her skin. She cried out in surprise, then whispered, "More..." I ran my fingers between her legs. She was soaking wet. Slippery, hot. I inserted two fingers inside, and her body shuddered. She squelched, making the most depraved sounds. “Andryusha… enter me… now,” she moaned. I placed my cock at her entrance and slowly, very slowly, entered. Oh, God… It was something else. Her insides were tight, velvety, they enveloped me, squeezing with my every movement. I began to fuck her, slowly at first, feeling how every muscle fiber responded to my thrusts. Then faster. Harder. The sofa creaked in time with our movements. “Yes… like this… deeper, my boy,” she arched her back, her head thrown back, and one of her hands reached back to caress my thigh. I gripped her hips, digging my fingers into her flesh, and pounded her from behind, listening to her wetness squelch with every movement. It was the most animalistic, most primal sex of my life. “Wait… wait,” she slipped out from under me and rolled onto her back. “I want to see you.” She deftly sat me down on the edge of the couch and straddled me, lowering herself onto my cock. Her eyes were closed, her face a mask of bliss. She controlled everything. The pace, the depth. She rose and fell, rotating her hips, and I could only watch her breasts sway in time with this sweet dance. "Teach me, Aunt Natasha," I blurted out, and it wasn't pretense. I truly was her student in this temple of the flesh. "Teach me how you like it." She leaned toward me, her lips finding mine again. “Everything you do… I like,” she whispered. Then her movements became sharper, more jerky. She trembled. Suddenly her body tensed, arched, and a strangled, hoarse cry burst from her throat. She was convulsing in orgasm, her insides convulsively squeezing my cock, and that was the last straw. I couldn't hold back any longer. “I’m going to… cum…” I moaned. "Inside," she ordered in a broken voice. "Cum inside me, Andryusha." It was too much. With one final, powerful thrust, I came inside her, feeling hot streams erupting from me, filling her. I screamed, burying my face in her neck, clinging to her like a drowning man. We lay like that for a few minutes, breathing heavily. Then she slowly rose, and I saw a drop of my sperm, mixed with her juices, trickle down her inner thigh. The sight made my groin tingle again. My phone rang. Mom. "Andrey, where are you? Dinner." Reality washed over me like an icy wave. Shame, guilt, panic. I jumped up and began to dress hastily. She looked at me with a smile, lying on the sofa, all disheveled, shining, smelling of me. “See you tomorrow?” she asked quietly. I nodded, unable to utter a word, and slipped out of her apartment like a thief. Now I'm sitting in my room. I pretended to be eating dinner, chatting with my parents about something, but in reality... I'm still there. On her couch. I can smell her on my skin, taste her in my mouth. I remember every second, every moan, every touch. This isn't right. She's my neighbor. She's married. She's older than me. But damn, I've never felt so alive in my life, so... manly. I'm already dependent. I know that tomorrow, the day after, I'll knock on her door again. And she'll open it. With a smile and the words: "Come in, Andryusha. Aunt Natasha misses me." I'll come in too.