Adventures Of An Aunt Eater

Greetings perverts.

This story came about simply because I heard someone on the radio use the word 'anteater' and my perverted mind immediately converted it to a title for some incest erotica.

This story deals with incest obviously, between the main character and her aunt, and includes a threesome.

This story includes oral sex, both giving and receiving, some cum swallowing/facials, some deepthroating, and an anus is briefly tickled (mentioned only because some readers are triggered by anal play, and I hate to blindside them).

The characters also talk about peeing at the end, but if that's your thing you'll have to wait for the follow up. And if that's not your thing, they just mention it.

As with most things that I write this story takes place in a happy alternate reality where people don't worry about pandemics, std's, or the need for birth control.

Featuring:

Callie: the narrator of this tale, a thirty-four-year-old happily married housewife, who has recently begun to explore her bisexual fantasies.

Brandon: her thirty-seven-year-old husband.

Aunt Violet: Callie's forty-nine-year-old widowed aunt.

As always, I hope you enjoy reading about some of the things that turn me on in real life.

IsabellaEmily

~~~

"I saw you, Callie." Aunt Violet said. "Last Tuesday night. And I saw what you were doing."

I paused with a mug of hot tea halfway to my mouth, and a half-chewed bite of cookie in my mouth. The question hadn't sounded conversational. In fact, I had a feeling deep inside my stomach that I was about to be accused of something.

And since I knew what I'd been doing last Tuesday, I was pretty sure I knew what exactly I was going to be accused of.

This was not what I'd expected when my aunt had invited me to her house for afternoon tea. I chewed and swallowed the cookie, and took a sip of tea, wanting to appear and sound as unconcerned and innocent as possible.

"You saw me?" I asked.

I hoped my question sounded sincere rather than like a tactic to stall for time.

"Oh, please don't worry." she added hastily. "Your personal life is none of my business, and I respect that. I only bring it up because I need someone to talk to about something rather personal. And now I think I can talk to you."

"I'm not sure I understand." I said. "Where exactly did you see me?"

"At the St. Andrew Hotel." She said. "I was in the corner of the dining room having an early dinner and waiting for the rain to let up, and you were at the bar."

"And what did you see?" I asked.

Although I knew damn well what she'd seen if she'd been at the St. Andrew Hotel last Tuesday. I'd been there to meet and stay the night with my friend Bethany.

We hadn't done anything too obviously sexual in the bar, but we were well past the days when one of us would get a hotel room and the other one would sneak up a few hours later.

After all both of our husbands knew about our sapphic experimentation. We were both consenting adults, and we weren't hurting anyone or harming our marriages.

While we certainly didn't flaunt or advertise our trysts in front of strangers, we didn't pretend that a pre-lovemaking drink was anything other than a drink between two people who had been intimate before and were about to be again.

There had certainly been some flirting going on between Bethany and myself as we sat at the bar, and most likely a bit of sexually physical interaction.

"I saw you with that woman." Aunt Violet answered. "I don't remember her name, but I met her when I stayed with you and Brandon last year."

A little more than a year ago a pipe had burst in her kitchen, causing extensive damage, and requiring some inconvenient remodeling. She'd stayed with my husband and I for most of the summer.

"And what did you see us doing?" I asked, although I was pretty sure I knew.

"I saw you kiss each other," she said softly, "and you were touching each other rather intimately. I saw you both get into the elevator. The one that goes up to the rooms from the restaurant and bar."

"Well it was exactly what it probably looked like." I admitted. "It's not something that I advertise or tell other people, but it's not something that Bethany and I hide either. She and I have a sexual relationship with each other."

"So Brandon knows?" Aunt Violet asked tentatively.

"Yes, Aunt Violet, he does." I said. "In fact, Bethany's husband knows about our relationship as well."

"Oh good." She said with a big smile. "That will make what I want to talk to you about a lot easier."

"Well whatever it is, you might as well tell me about it." I said with a laugh. "We seem to be through the looking glass here."

She smiled.

"I'm glad you're not angry." She said. "I didn't think you would be, but I am sticking my nose into your personal business here."

"Well we're family." I said, smiling back at her. "And I love you dearly. You know that. Stick your nose into any aspect of my life you'd like to."

"Does that mean I can ask you a very personal question?" she inquired.

"Yes." I said. "I might not answer if I'm not comfortable with it, but if that's the case I'll just tell you. I won't make up a bullshit answer or be dishonest."

"Are you a lesbian?" Aunt Violet asked me. "Or bisexual? I'm not sure what the correct word is anymore, and I don't want to be offensive."

"I guess most people would call me a bisexual." I said. "Other than talking about it with Brandon and with Bethany, I haven't really defined it. I've been curious about sex with females for a long time now. From before I was even married."

I paused for a moment, my thoughts drifting back to the week before Brandon and I got married. Those thoughts settled briefly on Nina, who was Brandon's sister and my maid of honor.

With a week left before the big day we'd gone on an out-of-town trip with my soon to be husband's family. His mom wasn't comfortable with he and I sharing a motel room together before our wedding, so I'd shared a room with Nina.

It had been a small room with just one bed.

We hadn't known each other very well, but we became quick friends over that long weekend. We stayed up and talked most of the night, giggling at the in-room porn movies playing and letting our conversation become more and more sexual.

Alone in that queen sized bed, we let that erotic conversation make us bold, and as we talked about orgasms and masturbation my libido had gotten the best of me and I confessed just how horny I was without Brandon in bed with me.

Nina admitted to being just as horny, and she suggested I masturbate to give myself some relief. She offered to touch herself at the same time so I wouldn't feel weird.

So, the two of us lay side by side staring at one another while we fingered ourselves through several orgasms each.

I had never experienced attraction to another female prior to that, but I'll remember the bed shaking as we fingered ourselves to several moaning orgasms apiece for the rest of my life.

She and I glanced at each other all through the wedding reception, grinning and winking as we remembered our shared bond of lust.

Five years later Nina passed through town and stayed in our guest room overnight, and in the morning after Brandon left for work, she took me into her arms and kissed me, my first ever female on female kiss.

And then she took my hand and led me to the bed I shared with Brandon, where she and I watched each other masturbate again, this time verbally encouraging each other and kissing for the rest of the morning.

I realized I was staring off into space and picked my train of thought back up.

"I'm not interested in romance with other females," I continued, "but every now and then I find myself particularly drawn to another woman physically, and I'll want to make love to her."

"Do you date women a lot?" she asked carefully.

"No I don't." I said. "In fact, aside from some kissing, Bethany is really the only woman I've ever touched in a sexual way. I told Brandon about my curiosity years ago, and he's always been supportive and understanding."

Once again, I thought of Nina, and how often I'd made myself cum while thinking about her.

"He encouraged me to explore, and about a year ago I learned that Bethany was feeling the same things I was." I continued. "After lots of talking we finally took the plunge."

"Was Tuesday your first time with her?" she asked softly.

"No, it wasn't." I laughed. "We're moving pretty slow, but we've been meeting one afternoon or evening every few weeks for a while now, trying a bit more each time."

"Are you enjoying it?" she asked so quietly I could hardly hear her.

"Yes, we both are." I said. "It's easy because we trust each other, but it's been far more satisfying than all the years of fantasizing about it have been."

We sat looking at each other, and I could tell she was struggling to find the words to say what was really on her mind.

"Aunt Violet, why do you want to know this stuff?" I asked gently.

Violet was a few months away from her fiftieth birthday, but she looked at least ten or fifteen years younger than that. More than once we'd been mistaken for sisters.

Her husband of twenty-five years had passed away just over two years ago. She'd shown no real interest in dating or romance since the funeral as far as I could tell.

Aunt Violet had always been a very quiet and private person. At family gatherings she was often the first one to blush or change the subject away from anything sexual or even remotely off color.

She'd never struck me as closeminded or judgmental, just terribly uncomfortable with sharing too much about her personal life or knowing too much about the personal lives of others.

"I want to talk about this because there's been something on my mind." She confessed. "Something that I've wanted to talk to you about for a long time now and seeing you at the hotel last week has sort of given me the courage to do it."

"You can talk to me about anything." I told her. "You know that right?"

"I do." She said. "But as much as I've been thinking about having this conversation for the last year, I'm still not sure how to get started exactly."

"It must be important." I guessed. "If you can't stop thinking about it. But it must be somewhat intimate as well if you're not sure how to bring it up."

"It is." She agreed. "It's both important and intimate. And I should start by confessing that my desire to talk to you about it began last year when I inadvertently violated your privacy."

"How so?" I asked, desperately trying to figure out what she could possibly have discovered about me.

"Last summer." She said. "When I was staying with you. I went into your bathroom looking for some conditioner, after you'd told me to help myself to anything in there, and you had a book next to the tub that caught my eye."

"I don't really remember what book I was reading at the time." I told her.

"It was on the shelf by the towels, not hidden, and I was desperate for something to read so I thought I'd borrow it when I saw it there." She said. "I'd planned to tell you that I had borrowed it, because I really didn't think you'd mind."

"I'm sure I wouldn't have." I said, desperately wondering which book she'd found.

A book in my bathroom wasn't unusual.

I often take long baths and reading in the tub is often a part of my after-work ritual. Usually, I read mystery or romance novels as I soak, but I do have a sizeable collection of erotic novels for those baths where I intend to let my fingers roam.

"It was a very sexual story." She said. "About a housewife exploring sex with other women."

I didn't remember exactly which novel she was referring to, and I didn't specifically remember leaving one in the bathroom, but it wasn't just possible, it was likely that I had.

And it was likely that it was centered on lesbian sex. Much of my fantasy life leans that way, and my erotic reading is no different.

It certainly wouldn't have been the first time I'd left an erotic novel on the shelf over the tub after a few orgasms. Brandon was aware of my masturbatory habits and my collection of erotic novels, so I'd never felt the need to hide them.

I felt myself smile a bit at the thought of my embarrassed aunt discovering that she wasn't reading an ordinary romance novel, but a story filled with descriptive sexual encounters and lustful orgasms between married women.

"I'm sorry." I said. "I do enjoy sexy stories, and I love to read in the tub. I probably should have done a better job of keeping something so embarrassing tucked away somewhere."

"You don't need to apologize." Violet said softly. "What you read isn't my business, and I should have put it right back as soon as I realized what it was."

"You didn't put it back right away?" I asked quietly, suddenly curious about her reaction. "Did you read it?"

"I did." She said, blushing furiously. "I read it all. Cover to cover."

I grinned.

"You don't need to be embarrassed." I assured her. "I certainly don't mind. Especially if you enjoyed it."

Her face colored even more.

"I did." She confessed. "I found it rather touching. It gave me lots to think about."

"Touching?" I asked, genuinely curious about what she meant.

I've had lots of reactions to erotica over the years, but I'd never really felt the urge to describe any of it as 'touching'. At least not in an emotional way. It often inspired me to touch myself, but that didn't seem to be what she'd meant.

"Maybe that's not the right word." She said. "But it certainly got in my head, and I spent lots of time thinking about it. And rereading it."

"Did you really like it?" I asked softly. "Did you just read it, or did you discover something about yourself while you read it?"

"I did really like it." She said, her eyes locking onto mine. "I loved it. I even had a somewhat physical response to it. When I moved back home, I went online and ordered my own copy because I needed to read it again."

"I'm glad you discovered the joys of erotica." I smiled at her.

"I guess I did." She admitted. "At first I was going to ask you if you had any more like it that I could read. But then...."

I waited a beat before deciding to help her out a bit.

"Then what?" I prompted her.

"Then something else happened that I should apologize for. But it's also gotten into my head." She said, struggling to maintain eye contact.

"What was it?" I asked softly.

"I saw you and Brandon." She said. "In the living room one evening. You thought I'd gone out."

"You saw us?" I asked. "I assume we weren't watching tv?"

If she was out of the house during that summer we were probably fucking somewhere besides our own bedroom. In all our married years we've gotten accustomed to fucking wherever in the house the mood strikes us.

"No." she looked up at me shyly. "You weren't."

"Were we fucking?" I asked her.

I'm not sure why I used that word instead of saying something a bit less vulgar, but I sensed that maybe vulgarity would help her have this conversation.

"Yes," she admitted, "you were."

"That's not something you need to apologize for." I assured her. "We probably should have gone to bedroom, even if we thought we had the place to ourselves. It's not your fault we did something private in a public part of the house."

"I feel bad that I saw you like that." She said.

"I'm sorry about that." I told her. "But I'm not ashamed of what Brandon and I do together, and you shouldn't feel bad for walking in on it."

"I feel bad because I stayed." She said, looking down at her lap. "And watched."

"Oh?" I asked, stunned.

Aunt Violet was the last person that I would have picked as a voyeur.

"Yes." She said. "I should have just turned around and went back out for coffee. But when I realized you didn't hear me come in, I stood in the corner of the kitchen and watched. All of it."

"I think it's only natural to be curious when you stumble over something like that." I laughed. "It's a fairly innocent way to have a naughty thrill. You certainly didn't hurt anything, and I don't think you owe us an apology."

"I probably wouldn't have ever mentioned it," she said, "but just like that book I found while I was there it got into my head, and I couldn't shake it. So, I planned to bring it up and talk to you about it."

She paused and gulped the last of her tea.

"And then last Tuesday happened," she continued, "and I felt like the universe was giving me the go ahead to ask for your advice. Is that weird?"

"I guess that depends on what sort of advice you ask for." I answered.

She took a deep breath and then looked at me as if she'd made her mind up about something.

"It's too late to bring all this up and then not finish it isn't it?" she asked.

"You don't have to go any further if you don't want to." I told her. "But nothing you say is going to change how I feel about you. And I promise not to tell anyone else about what you tell me, no matter what it is."

"Okay." She let out a deep breath. "Here goes. I don't think I've ever had an orgasm. At least not a really good one."

I sat there stunned, trying to think of what to say.

"Before you respond," she said, "let me go get us something to drink. A real drink. I'm going to need one to finish this."

She got up and went into the kitchen, while I sat there stunned.

She was only fifteen years older than I was. She hadn't been raised or married during the dark ages. How the fuck had she never had an orgasm?

She returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses and poured us each a generous amount.

I've never been a big drinker, but I took the glass she offered and took a sizeable drink while she settled back onto her side of the couch.

"So you've never....?" I asked her.

"I don't think so." She said softly. "At least not the way they're described in anything I've ever read. Or like the ones I saw you have. I've been close I think, many times, and maybe I have, but I'm just not sure."

"How do you.....how do you know?" I asked stupidly.

"I guess I don't." she said. "Not really. Maybe I've had great ones and they're just something I don't enjoy. Or maybe I'm just not capable of having them."

"Have you.....do you......hell I don't know what to say or even ask." I admitted.

"That's why I need your advice." She said. "I almost asked you a few weeks after the funeral. But I sort of made my peace with the idea that it would forever remain a fantasy. Until I found that book and it brought up all these feelings."

"Feelings about women?" I asked softly.

She nodded her head and looked relieved that we'd finally gotten to what she wanted to talk about.

"That's part of it. A new part since I read that story." She said. "And since I saw you. I used to think about sex a lot. Since last summer I keep thinking about women."

"You want to try sex with a woman?" I asked her.

"I don't know about trying everything." She said. "What I want most is to feel someone's mouth on me down there. I've never had someone do that to me."

"You've...you've never had...never?" I leaned forward, even more stunned.

"That's right." She said. "I've never had someone do that to me. And when I watched you and Brandon together, that convinced me that I was definitely missing out. He spent a long time doing that to you. It made me jealous."

Instead of saying anything I took another gulp of wine.

"For a long time, I've wondered if maybe someone's mouth down there was what I really needed. And ever since last summer I've been wondering if maybe a woman might be more patient. And less judgmental."

"Less judgmental?" I asked. "How so?"

"My inexperience." She said softly. "The fact that there are so many things that other women have felt that I haven't. I wonder if I'd feel those things easier if a woman was helping me. And if not maybe she could give me some advice."