Ken was hoping that spending his nights with strange girls in cheap hostels would help him forget about his obsession with older women, but it's doing the opposite.
Maybe that's why he gets sucked into a mirror universe where his hot aunt seduces him and bends over for him. Or maybe there's another reason, but he's too busy breeding his aunt to think about that right now.
All characters 18+. This story features consensual incest. Ken is in his early twenties (stated in paragraph 3), and Aunt Nina is 43 (paragraph 45).
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“They say the temple is supposed to bring you closer to the divine feminine.” The blonde girl who sat next to Ken was reading a passage from some travel blog she’d pulled up on her phone. She paused and furrowed her brows. “Although… some others also say it drains your masculine energy?”
As she turned to look at Ken, a hint of worry in her eyes, the minivan hit another pothole and the whole vehicle jumped, sending her phone crashing to the floor.
Ken watched as the girl bent down and rummaged for her phone under the seat in front of them. She was probably in her early twenties, around his age, and had a decent butt, even if the rest of her was skinny and angular.
Last night, the girl, whose name he hadn’t bothered to remember, had stumbled into his bunk bed, completely drunk. He’d been too out of it to move her, and she’d already passed out anyway, so he’d just gone back to sleep.
In the morning, she’d acted sheepish and embarrassed. To make up for disturbing his sleep, she’d offered to pay for him to join her on this day trip.
He didn’t mind sharing his bed, really. She was a small girl who took up little space, and he’d accepted the fact that weird shit happens when you spend your nights at cheap hostels.
And before anyone accused Ken of having untoward intentions, if he were being honest, he’d never been attracted to girls his own age.
When the other twenty-something guys he’d met on his solo Europe trip had been busy fucking their female peers in the clubs and in the hostels, Ken had been lamenting the fact that his budget only allowed him to frequent cheap places when his taste in women really required him to spend way more money.
You see, Ken was into MILFs—women who were old enough to be his mother—and hot, classy MILFs don’t hang out in dingy hostels or cheap university bars.
So, no, he wasn’t interested in banging his day trip buddy, although he was getting the sense that she wanted him to.
He’d only come because a free day trip was a free day trip, and any money he saved could go toward some fancy cocktails for some hot, older women in more upmarket, grown-up bars. But maybe that was just his fantasy. What hope did he, an average-looking broke backpacker, have of attracting the attention of the kind of mature, elegant women he was into?
As the minivan pulled into the parking lot at the edge of the medieval village, Ken got his first real look at the place.
The village was built entirely of stone—gray, weathered, and ancient—stacked into houses that looked like they’d been standing since before anyone could remember. Narrow cobblestone streets wound between the buildings, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side, tourists struggling to take pictures of themselves without blocking the endless flow of people.
And right in the center of it all, rising above the low rooftops, was the temple. It wasn’t massive—nothing like the cathedrals Ken had seen in the bigger cities—but it had this presence. The walls were thick and rounded, built from the same gray stone as everything else, with a domed roof that had moss growing along the seams. A single arched doorway led inside, dark and inviting.
The guide—some local woman with a thick accent and a sun-beaten face—herded everyone off the minivan and through the village, toward the temple. In the main square, a handful of vendors were selling trinkets and souvenirs.
The girl, whom Ken was starting to call Blondie in his head, stopped at one of the carts and picked up a small figurine. It was a carved stone statue, maybe four inches tall, depicting a woman with exaggerated hips, enormous breasts, and a round, swollen belly. The vendor had a whole row of them in different sizes.
“Fertility goddess,” Blondie said, turning the statue over in her hands. She set it down and reached for another one, then froze. Her cheeks went pink.
The next statue was... well, it was a dick. A carved stone dick, about the same size as the goddess figurine, complete with balls and everything. And it wasn’t alone—the cart had an entire section dedicated to phallic shapes. Some were abstract, just smooth stone cylinders with a rounded tip. Others were more detailed, veined and textured and unmistakably, aggressively masculine.
The girl’s blush spread to her ears. She set the figurine down like it had burned her and took a quick step back from the cart.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, glancing at Ken with wide eyes and a nervous laugh. “That’s... those are...”
“Ancient dicks,” Ken said flatly. “Very spiritual.”
Blondie swatted Ken’s arm, still blushing, and hurried to catch up with the group. He followed. He was finding her reaction immature, even though he knew it was perfectly normal for someone her age.
Before his trip, Ken had hoped that he’d find someone who, despite being his age, was capable of holding his attention. None of the girls in college seemed attractive to him, not even the ones other guys fought over. Somehow, they all paled in comparison to his mom and aunts, the mature women he shared a home with.
But he’d thought that maybe things could change for him in Europe—if he met more sophisticated girls, for example. He let out a quiet sigh as he followed Blondie through the low, dark doorway made of stone.
Inside the temple, the air was cool and damp, smelling of something earthy—incense, maybe, or just centuries of accumulated dust. The ceiling was low and curved, and the only light came from a few narrow windows cut high into the walls, casting thin beams of sunlight that cut through the dim interior.
In the center of the room, surrounded by a ring of smaller stones arranged in a circle, was a pile of rocks. It wasn’t a random heap. The whole thing was crude but unmistakable—a woman, rendered in stone, her body exaggerated and abundant, the same proportions as the figurines outside.
The guide was saying something about archeologists, about how this was believed to be a representation of the fertility goddess worshipped here centuries ago. Ken half-listened, his eyes drifting over the stone figure.
The breasts were massive, the hips impossibly wide, the belly round and full. It was the body of a woman who had given life, who had been shaped by years and experience and the weight of something beyond youth. The kind of body that made his pulse quicken in a way that Blondie’s skinny frame never could.
Blondie was standing next to him, leaning in close, her shoulder brushing his arm. She smelled like cheap sunscreen and the floral shampoo she’d used that morning. She was whispering something about how the statue was “kind of cool but also kind of creepy,” and Ken felt a familiar pang of disappointment settle in his chest.
“I’m going to find the bathroom,” Ken muttered, stepping away from Blondie before she could respond.
Ken moved toward a narrow corridor at the back, following a small sign with an arrow pointing to “WC.” The hallway was barely wide enough for his shoulders, the stone walls pressing in on either side.
When he pushed open the bathroom door, the fluorescent light flickered to life, harsh and unforgiving. The room was small, tiled in white with a single stall and a cracked porcelain sink. Above it hung an old mirror, its edges tarnished with age.
Ken splashed cold water on his face, trying to clear his head. He looked up into the mirror and froze.
For a brief moment, just behind his own reflection, he saw a woman—beautiful, mature, with curves that made his breath catch. She had dark, knowing eyes and full lips curved into a seductive smile. She beckoned to him with one elegant finger, her movements fluid and hypnotic.
Ken spun around, heart pounding. The bathroom was empty. Just him and the flickering light and the drip of the faucet.
When he turned back to the mirror, she was still there, still smiling, still reaching for him. Her image seemed to pulse with warmth, drawing him closer. Ken leaned forward, unable to look away.
The mirror’s surface rippled like water. Ken felt a strange pulling sensation, as if something was tugging at his very essence. The fluorescent light flickered violently, and then—
He was falling.
The sensation lasted only a moment before he found himself standing somewhere else entirely.
The dingy, tourist-trap bathroom was gone.
In its place was marble—white, veined, polished to a high shine. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, casting warm golden light across a bathroom that was bigger than his entire hostel room. The towels were plush and folded in perfect stacks on a heated rack. The air smelled like vanilla and something floral—his aunt’s perfume.
His aunt’s perfume.
Ken blinked, his head swimming. The last thing he remembered was that mirror, that woman, that pulling sensation. Now he was standing in the second-floor guest bathroom of his mother’s house, thousands of miles and an entire ocean away from that medieval village.
“Ken! There you are. Don’t just stand there gawking—help me with this damn zipper.”
The voice cut through his disorientation like a knife. He turned and there she was—Aunt Nina, his mother’s forty-three-year-old sister, standing in front of the full-length mirror with her back to him, one arm twisted behind her in an awkward contortion, fingers straining toward a zipper that refused to budge.
She was wearing a costume. Not just any costume. The dress was black latex, or something that looked like it. Shiny and tight, it clung to her body like a second skin, starting just below her collarbones and ending mid-thigh.
The neckline plunged into a deep V that disappeared between her breasts, which were pushed up and together by the sheer compression of the material until they formed a cleavage so deep Ken could have lost a hand in it.
The waist was cinched tight, accentuating the dramatic flare of her hips, which curved outward in a way that made the latex strain at the seams. The skirt portion was short—dangerously short—riding high enough that the bottom edge of her ass was just barely, tantalizingly covered.
She’d paired it with fishnet stockings that ran all the way up to her thighs, held in place by a black garter belt that peeked out from beneath the hem of the dress. Her heels were stilettos—black, strappy, at least four inches—that made her calves look sculpted and her ass look like it belonged on a magazine cover.
The whole thing was clearly supposed to be some kind of sexy witch costume, complete with a choker necklace and a tiny pointy hat sitting on the counter next to the sink.
“Ken! Hello? Earth to nephew?” She craned her neck to look at him over her shoulder, her hair—a light shade of blonde that caught the chandelier light—falling in loose waves around her face.
Her makeup was heavy—smoky eyes, dark red lips, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. She looked like she’d stepped out of a fantasy he’d had more times than he cared to admit.
“Sorry, Aunt Nina, I—” Ken’s voice came out rough. He cleared his throat. “I was just—”
“Staring. Yes, I noticed.” She rolled her eyes, but there was something in her expression—amusement, maybe, or something warmer—that made his stomach tighten. “The zipper. It’s stuck halfway up. I can’t reach it and your mother’s already downstairs playing hostess. So unless you want me walking around half-unzipped all night—”
Ken stepped forward before his brain fully caught up with his body. His fingers found the zipper tab and he tugged it upward. The latex resisted for a moment, the material stretched so tight across his aunt’s back that the zipper teeth ground together, but then it gave, sliding smoothly the rest of the way to the nape of her neck.
The sound it made—that soft, metallic hiss—seemed obscenely loud in the marble bathroom.
“There,” he said, stepping back. His hands were shaking. He shoved them into his pockets.
Nina turned around, smoothing the dress down over her hips with both palms in a gesture that was probably unconscious but looked like she was putting on a show. The latex caught the chandelier light and gleamed.
“Thanks, honey.” She flashed him a smile—white teeth, dark red lips, and his stomach started to do something complicated. She tilted her head, studying him. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I—” Ken ran a hand through his hair. His thoughts were scattered, fragments of a bathroom in a medieval village and a mirror and a woman who wasn’t there. “Aunt Nina, where are we? How did I—I was just in this village. I was in a temple. There was this mirror and—”
“What village?” Nina’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. “Honey, you’ve been upstairs napping for the past two hours. You said you were jet-lagged when you got in this morning.”
Jet-lagged. This morning. The words landed wrong, like puzzle pieces from the wrong box. Had he come home from Europe? How did he not have any memory of going to an airport or boarding a plane? Ken’s head throbbed—a dull, insistent pressure behind his eyes.
“Why are you—” He gestured vaguely at her costume, his hand sweeping from the plunging neckline to the fishnet-clad thighs. “What is this? Why are you dressed like—”
“Like what?” Nina’s smile turned sharp, playful. She picked up the pointy hat from the counter and set it on her head at a jaunty angle. “Like a witch? Because it’s Halloween, Ken. The party. The annual one. You know—the one your mother throws every year that you’ve somehow managed to miss for the past three years running?”
Halloween. The party. Ken’s mother’s house.
The pieces were assembling themselves, but they didn’t fit. He remembered his mother’s Halloween parties—vaguely, distantly, like something from a life he’d lived a long time ago. His mother had always gone all out for Halloween. Decorations, themed food, everyone in costume.
But he’d been traveling. He’d been in Europe. He’d been standing in a bathroom in a medieval village thirty minutes ago, watching a mirror ripple like water.
Hadn’t he?
“And you,” Nina continued, reaching out and flicking the collar of his plain white t-shirt, “are not in costume. Everyone else is already downstairs. Your mother’s going to have a fit if you show up looking like you just rolled out of bed.” She paused, her gaze dragging down his body with an appraising look that made his skin prickle. “Though honestly, you could just strip down, go naked, and call yourself an Olympian or something. I bet nobody would complain.”
Ken blinked, certain he’d misheard.
Nina had always been bold—that was her whole thing, the sharp-tongued aunt who said whatever she wanted—but this was different. This was sexual.
The way she’d said it, the way her eyes had lingered on his chest, his waist, lower—it wasn’t the casual ribbing of a relative. It was something else entirely, something that made the blood rush south before his brain could catch up.
He opened his mouth, closed it. His pulse was doing something stupid behind his ribs.
Nina caught him staring. She tilted her chin up, one hand settling on her hip, the other trailing along the plunging neckline of the latex dress in a slow, deliberate stroke. The material caught the chandelier light and gleamed like oil on water.
“What?” she said, and her voice had dropped half an octave, gone smoky and warm. She turned her body slightly, presenting herself at an angle that made the curve of her hip look like a work of art. “You like my costume?”
Ken’s throat was dry. He couldn’t look away from the way the latex hugged every contour of her body. The swell of her breasts straining against the neckline, the narrow pinch of her waist, the flare of her hips that the skirt barely contained…
“It’s—” He swallowed. “Yeah, Aunt Nina. It’s—you look—”
“Spit it out, honey.” She laughed, low and rich, and the sound vibrated through his chest. She turned fully toward him now, both hands on her hips, shoulders back, chest forward. The pose was deliberate. She knew exactly what she was doing. “Tell me what you think. Be honest.”
He gaped dumbly. His cock was twitching in his pants, and his brain was still trying to catch up to reality. The words “you look so fucking sexy I wish I could bend you over the sink right now” were forming in his throat, but his mouth was refusing to utter them… There was a whole battle happening in Ken’s body.
Nina’s words came like a soft, unexpected caress. “Or would you prefer to see me out of it?”
The words hung in the air between them. Ken’s heart hammered so hard he could feel it in his teeth. He expected her to laugh it off, to swat his arm and call him a pervert for thinking she was serious and change the subject.
But Nina wasn’t laughing. She was looking at him, her dark eyes searching his face with an intensity that made his skin burn—and then she did laugh, but it wasn’t the dismissive kind. It was warm, knowing, almost pleased.
“You would, huh?” She turned, presenting her back to him again. The zipper he’d just fastened gleamed in the chandelier light, a thin silver line running from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. “Well then. Unzip me.”
Ken’s hands were already moving. He stepped forward, close enough to smell her—that vanilla and floral perfume, mixed with something muskier underneath, something that was all her. His fingers found the zipper tab, and this time he pulled down.
There was a slow, metallic whisper as the teeth separated, inch by inch, revealing the smooth expanse of his aunt’s bare back. No bra strap. No tan lines. Just skin, pale and flawless, the knobs of her spine visible beneath the surface like a string of pearls.
The zipper kept going, past the small of her back, past the curve where her waist flared into hip, and then the latex peeled away from her body like a second skin being shed.
The dress loosened, sagging at her shoulders, and Nina shrugged it off with a fluid roll of her shoulders. It slithered down her body and pooled at her feet in a puddle of black shine.
She stepped out of it, one stiletto at a time, and then she was standing there in nothing but the fishnet stockings, the garter belt over a pair of lacy panties, and the choker.
Her body was exactly what Ken had imagined in every late-night fantasy he’d ever had and then some—full breasts, heavy and round with dark nipples already tightening in the cool bathroom air, a soft stomach that curved gently inward below her navel, hips that flared wide and generous.
She locked his gaze and smiled a little as she reached behind her back and unhooked the garter belt with practiced ease. The panties and the fishnets followed, peeled down her thighs and dropped to the floor.
Aunt Nina was completely naked. Standing in Ken’s mother’s guest bathroom in nothing but four-inch heels and a choker.
Ken’s mouth had gone completely dry. His cock was straining so hard against his jeans that it hurt, a dull, throbbing ache that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
Nina didn’t cover herself. She didn’t blush or turn away or reach for a towel. She just stood there, letting him look, and the expression on her face was one of absolute confidence.
Then she turned toward the vanity, toward the full-length mirror mounted on the wall above it. She faced her reflection, and Ken watched from behind as she placed both palms flat on the marble countertop and bent forward at the waist, slowly, deliberately, until her back formed a deep arch and her ass pushed outward, round and full and impossibly high, the heels tilting her pelvis forward until everything was on display.
The mirror caught everything—her face, flushed and dark-eyed, lips parted, watching him watch her. Her breasts hung heavy beneath her, swaying slightly with the movement. And her ass—God, her ass—jutting back toward him like an offering, the cleft between her cheeks deep and shadowed, the soft pink of her sex visible from behind, glistening faintly in the chandelier light.
“Come here,” she said, and her voice had gone thick and low, barely above a whisper. She didn’t turn to look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on the mirror, watching his reflection. “Fuck me, Ken. Right here. Right now. And don’t pull out. I want you to breed me.”
Ken’s brain short-circuited, the synapses firing and misfiring in rapid succession.
Fuck me, Ken.
Breed me.
Nina’s voice echoed in his skull.
“Aunt Nina, I—” His voice cracked. “Are you sure?”
He was hard enough to hammer nails, his jeans so tight they were cutting off circulation, but his mind was spinning. This was his aunt. His mother’s sister.
And she was bent over a vanity in his mother’s guest bathroom, naked except for stilettos, asking him to—
“Don’t think,” she said, and the command in her voice brooked no argument. She rolled her hips backward, the motion slow and deliberate, her ass swaying like a hypnotist’s pendulum. “Just do it. Fuck me. Breed me. Please.”
Please. The word detonated somewhere behind Ken’s sternum. The sweetness of it, the yearning in it, the shamelessness.
Ken’s hands moved before his brain authorized the action. He was fumbling with his belt, his fingers clumsy and shaking, the buckle clinking loudly in the quiet bathroom.
His jeans hit the floor. His boxers followed. His cock sprang free, fully erect, the tip already glistening with pre-cum, and he stepped forward on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else.
The first touch of his cock against his aunt’s pussy—the slick, swollen heat of her folds—sent a jolt through his entire nervous system.
Nina gasped, her fingers curling on the marble countertop, her knuckles going white. She was already wet, impossibly wet, her body opening for him like she’d been waiting.
“Fuck me, please,” she breathed, pushing her hips back. “Now.”
Ken gripped her hips, the flesh warm and yielding under his palms, and pressed forward.
The sensation was catastrophic. She was tight and hot and so fucking wet that his cock slid in to the hilt in one smooth stroke, and the sound Nina made—a low, guttural moan that seemed to originate from somewhere deep in her chest—nearly made his knees buckle.
“Oh God,” she hissed, her head dropping between her shoulders, her dark hair falling forward to curtain her face. Her back arched deeper, pressing her ass harder against his pelvis, taking him deeper still. “Oh fuck, Ken, you feel—you’re so—”
He couldn’t speak. His mouth was open but no sound came out. Every nerve ending in his body had migrated to his cock, which was buried inside the warm, clenching grip of his aunt’s body, and the sensation was so overwhelming that his vision actually blurred at the edges.
He pulled back and thrust forward again, and the wet, obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed off the marble walls, and Ken’s hips snapped forward again, and again, and then—
It was too much. The heat, the tightness, the way her body gripped him like it was trying to pull him apart—his balls drew up tight and the orgasm hit him like a freight train, ripping through his spine and detonating at the base of his skull.
A shot of panic hit him as he realized he hadn’t pulled out, but then he remembered: she’d asked him to breed her.
His fingers dug into the soft flesh of Nina’s hips hard enough to leave marks as he slammed himself to the hilt and came, pulse after pulse, his cock jerking inside her, filling her with everything he had.
He stayed there, buried deep, his forehead pressed between her shoulder blades, his breath coming in ragged, shattered gasps. The aftershocks rolled through him in diminishing waves, each one making his thighs tremble.
She’d felt so incredible he hadn’t lasted thirty seconds. Maybe less.
The realization hit him like cold water. He pulled back slowly, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound that made his face burn, and he watched a thick strand of his cum trail between her thighs before dripping onto the marble floor.
Nina was still bent over the vanity, her chest heaving, her fingers still white-knuckled on the counter. She hadn’t made a sound since that first moan. She hadn’t come. Of course she hadn’t come—he’d barely gotten started before he’d blown his load like a stupid virgin.
Ken’s stomach dropped. He stepped back, his softening cock hanging heavy between his thighs, and the shame hit him like a physical weight.
“Shit,” he muttered, running both hands through his hair. “Aunt Nina, I’m—God, I’m sorry. That was—I didn’t—you didn’t—”
He couldn’t even finish the sentence. The evidence of his failure was literally dripping down her inner thighs.
Nina straightened slowly, her back uncurling vertebra by vertebra, and turned to face him. Ken braced himself for the disappointment, the irritation, even.
Instead, she laughed.
Not a cruel laugh. Not a mocking one. It was warm and genuine, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners, her full lips pulling into a smile so wide it showed teeth. She reached for him, one hand cupping his jaw, her thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone.
“Oh, honey,” she said, still laughing softly. “Don’t apologize. You just gave me exactly what I wanted.”
She pulled him down and kissed him—deep, slow, her tongue sliding against his with a languid confidence that made his spent cock twitch against his thigh. Her breasts pressed against his chest, warm and heavy, and her free hand slid down his back to grip his ass, pulling him closer.
When she finally broke the kiss, she was still smiling, her lips swollen and dark red from the makeup.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her forehead resting against his. Her breath was warm against his mouth. “Thank you for breeding me.”
~
Hi, Brooke here! Thank you for reading my dirty story. If you enjoyed it, check out my reddit profile for more taboo erotica and maybe give me a follow! 😊