The ship that would carry us from England to Jersey in the Channel Islands was named Caesaria. I think she was built by the Romans as an implement of ...orture. When I’d planned this journey, my rationale was that I survived the ferry from Dover to Calais, so this should be fine, right? Wrong! Not only was the journey four times as long, but the sea was rough. Yes, it was a lovely day, with the July sun shining down, but we were still pitching and rolling. My full-English breakfast didn’t taste. Not like a nephew is supposed to kiss his Aunt but the way I had kissed the girl on my last date. My Aunts tongue slid inside my mouth as she turned towards me and asked if I wanted to go to the bedroom with her. We almost ran to the bedroom stripping our clothes as we went. We got there and the rubber cock was still on the night stand (I think she was planning on using it again) I asked her why she needed that. She said she didn’t anymore and laid back on the bed naked spreading her legs. I. Suddenly, I felt Alex started to go faster, A LOT faster. He kept thrusting so hard and so fast, my tiny tits were bouncing. I screamed on top of my lung; I couldn't take it; my pussy couldn't handle this much pleasure, this much power. My hands started to move independently; I was rubbing my own clit so hard until I felt that something is coming out. "Was it pee? Am I gonna pee now? I have to hold it," I thought to myself, but there was no time for thinking; my entire body was drenched in. A hint of lace, nothing fancy. Fred had bought him breast pads, “enhancers” some call them, in the smallest size, so Julian sported just a bit of curve.Harper had re-done his hair. It remained short but looked feminine. I can’t describe it exactly, but there was something to the wave that said “chic.” A bit of makeup, nothing exaggerated, and simple earrings completed his outfit. I’d make out with him in a flash, I realized. We have no blood relation, even if he calls me “Dad.” He’s an adult.