"Auntie" Sheila Blaise's Secret chapter 5 by Sex-Caliber

Tweaked from RandomAnon

"Oh—hello, Blaise!" the Junoesque 40 year-old Brazilian matriarch of the Oliveira household greets you, lazily laying sprawled out on her couch watching something on the TV; your Portuguese isn't good enough to understand what's being said, though, despite the fact she teaches it part-time at your highschool. She smiles warmly at you, and you can't help but blush a little from the way she does so. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, uh," you almost stumble over your reply, but quickly find your voice before it can become awkward. "I-I just came by to see if Lillian wanted to hang out."

Her smile turns a bit apologetic as she hears your answer.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, hon, but she's out…"

"She's… 'out'?" you repeat. Your brows rise in disbelief—it's not like her at all to head out without you on weekends when she's not got anything else planned, or to forget to tell you her plans for that matter. Did you just forget she'd done so?

"Yeah," Sheila confirms as you wonder this to yourself. "She mentioned something about an important school project that she needed to get done in a team; she said she'd be out most of the day."

"… Oh," you say after a moment, somewhat more dejectedly than you realized you'd be at the news—although you realize it makes a surprising degree of sense, given Lillian's struggles with homework—and you turn to walk out again. Sheila notices your reaction, though, and after a moment she tilts back her head a little as she calls out to you with a certain look in her eye.

"Wait!"

You stop in your tracks, somewhat caught off guard.

"I know you just got disappointed, but how about I make it up to you?"

You turn your head back, surprised (and somewhat flustered) at her offer.

"H-Huh?"

"I know Lilly's not here, and that's the reason you came, but… when was the last time you spent quality time with your dear Auntie Sheila?" she asks as she sits up.

You're not even sure what to say—that was surprisingly forward.

"Uh…"

"Sweetie, I've known you since you were in your mom's belly; I know for a fact that you don't have anything better to do right now," she smiles cryptically. You're still struggling to find an answer to that, and she just giggles as she pats the only unoccupied cushion on her couch—she easily takes up one and most of another herself.

Unable to answer—and indeed not having anything better to do, despite the obvious risk of extensive teasing from the frankly irresistible MILF—you decide to listen and sit next to her. Besides, it'd be rude to ditch her over your videogames, and you would never want to do something like that to her of all people anyway.

You immediately feel yourself get warmer as you feel Sheila's enormous hip and thigh next to yours; they're so squishy and warm it feels a bit inappropriate. Due to her sheer size it may not even be intentional on her part, though, so you decide not to say anything unless she addresses it first. You two end up making small talk—mostly comprised of her catching up on your school life, like a true aunt and nephew—although the matter of your seemingly abstinent love life does come up eventually, evoking a certain glint in her eye at the news (or rather, the obvious lack thereof). After about half an hour, she stands up.

"I don't know about you, sweetie, but I'm kind of thirsty. Do you want anything?"

"… Yeah," you reply after a moment of consideration. "I'd like some cold water, please."

"Alright—be right back, hon~" she says, before giving you a wink as she saunters off to the kitchen.

Watching her walk is a whole spectacle in itself: her body's curves defy gravity, and there doesn't seem to be any cellulite on her whatsoever. However, it's caused you deep embarrassment this whole time that she's been wearing nothing but a gray tank top and Brazilian flag-themed panties that serve as a makeshift thong to her gargantuan rear.

Her humongous booty jiggles unbelievably with each step she takes, and you quickly realize you've been staring for more than a few seconds. You look up, and see that she's turned to look back at you; she gives you a flirty smile and another wink, before she resumes walking towards the kitchen.

You look away, deeply embarrassed at your own obviousness, and wonder if she'll say anything about it when she comes back. Briefly, memories of the few times she's accidentally farted around you, such as when she was feeling sick, come to mind: the absolutely otherworldly stench is something that's been seared into your memory, and you can't help feeling even more flustered and more than a little aroused at the thought of it together with the fresh image of her ass in almost all of its Rubenesque glory…