Hooking my young dominating Aunt’s Bra

[Cupidangel]

One day she went to her room and took her shirt off as usual. I realized very quickly that something was different when I found myself looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her breasts were completely visible to my eyes, which popped out of their sockets at that incredible sight. It turned out that she had left her bra on her dresser and out of habit she took her shirt off in front of the mirror where I could see her topless. She realized her mistake quickly and covered her breasts with her hands while screaming slightly, “Hai maan!” oh mother! As her eyes looked into my face and found me so flabbergasted, she said, “Turn around quickly, I don’t want you to see me like this.” I mechanically turned while trying to memorize that view and imprint it on my brain. I didn’t want to forget it. That was my first time seeing a woman’s breasts so completely and so closely. They were even better than I had ever imagined them to be. My aunt’s breasts were big and round and supple and beautiful. Her nipples were big and strong and pointy. Her flesh looked delicious. Try as I might not to, I became erect nonetheless. When she called me back towards her again, I found her red and flushed. I was flushed myself. When our eyes met through the mirror, we looked away from each other quickly. They met a few times though. She really looked embarrassed, as did I. But nothing was said other than the looks of embarrassment. As I was leaving, she said, “You won’t tell anyone about what happened, would you?”
Her question caught me by surprise. “Who am I going to tell?”I looked at her to see if she would say more, but she didn’t and after a brief pause, I just left. My eyes kept seeing those breasts all day long. She came to my room after lunch. It took her a while before she spoke. She said, “I feel so ashamed for what happened this morning?”I thought about an answer for a few moments; then replied softly, “There is nothing to be ashamed of. It was an accident.””Yes, it was.” She smiled weakly. “I promise it won’t happen again.”That would be a pity, I thought to myself. I would have liked to see those breasts again. I said nothing though. It seemed like she waited expectedly to hear something from me. When nothing came, she said, “You didn’t feel too uncomfortable, I hope.”
“I did, at first, but when I realized that it was a fluke thing, I got over it.””Well, I am sorry about that.”Again I said nothing and she left after waiting for a while for me to say something. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say, so I had stayed quiet. Things were a bit tense and quiet the next time we performed our routine. I felt bad because I think she felt bad but there was nothing I could say or do to make her feel better. I wanted to make her feel better though because I think she was making a big deal out of an accident. But how, that was the question. Then it came to me. So far we had done what we were doing, that is hooking her up, in absolute silence. There was never any conversation between us other than thank you from her. I usually followed her and did what I was supposed to do and then left without saying anything. I knew that I had to break the silence or she may stop asking me for help. The Subject came without much searching. Next time I was hooking her up, I made a remark as casually as Possible, “Auntie, you seem to prefer read a lot?”That was the first time I acknowledged the fact that I had paid attention to what I was doing. She replied, “I don’t know why, but I like red. It makes me feel different.”We actually had a conversation about her underwear. I wanted to know if she had matching panties on, but I didn’t express my thoughts. I think she was relieved at my breaking the silence, so she asked me quickly, fearing that the silence may creep back in, and “What color do you think I should try?””I don’t know. I hear a lot of good things about black.”
From silence to saying mouthful, we had made a huge progress. Later on, as I reflected on our conversation, I couldn’t believe I had suggested that my aunt should wear black underwear. It was a bit intimate for us to discuss something as personal as undergarments, panties and bras to be specific, but we had done it. I guess after dealing with her bra for so long, it was only a slight jump to discussing it. In our culture though, that was a big jump. Next day, sure enough, her bra was black. The fact that she had worn it after my suggestion, when in the past her bras were normally red or white, was a significant thing and I had to say something.