As the bell above the door jangled, the young woman gave us a farewell wave, and the shop door clanked shut behind her. My niece Jess leaned on the counter and gave a low, appreciative whistle as the pretty young bride-to-be skipped happily out onto the pavement.

"Jesus H. Christ, did you see her bum in those jeans?" She exclaimed, her voice low and husky.

"Jess, you are utterly incorrigible," I scolded her jokily. "She's a paying client. Not your eye candy."

"Yeah, but what a waste; there's no way she's completely straight. Did you see the way she clutched my hand while she was viewing her cake?"

"Yes, I did notice, and yes, she is gorgeous. But it's called a 'wedding' cake for a reason, and she's getting married the day after tomorrow. So hands off, you little minx."

We both laughed as Jess poured us both coffee. It had been a quiet afternoon, and we were alone in the shop.

"So Aunt Hels, fess up. Don't tell me you've never even thought about it. Going to bed with another woman, I mean. Especially since you and Uncle Bill divorced. You could have so much fun out there. I tell you it's like sexual fucking Disneyland!"

"Jess, that's scandalous; it's honestly never even crossed my mind."

That wasn't entirely true, but she's my niece. Surely I shouldn't be having these conversations with her, should I?

"That's such a shame," she continued. You remember my friend Jo, the girl who works over at Stateside? I know for a fact she'd love to take you for a tumble in the sheets."

Jess sipped her coffee and looked at me over the rim of her mug.

"I mean," she paused. "I can't lie, I've looked at you that way more than once or fifty times; you're a gorgeous, sexy lady, Hels."

"Jess! I'm your aunt, for goodness sake; you can't say that."

"Only by marriage," she retorted. "And technically not even that since you and Shagger Bill untied the knot. You're just Helen the hottie now."

I tutted and rolled my eyes. I avoided any more of this conversation by retreating out back into the kitchen. I took a deep breath and started cleaning up for the day and finalised the following day's orders.

My niece Jess and I—my name is Helen, by the way—co-own and run a small bakery business. A Slice of Life. We have a small coffee shop and 'over the counter' bakery, but the real money comes in commissions for celebration cakes and the like. Hence the roaring trade in wedding cakes. And here we are, in July in London. In the height of wedding season.

Jess and I had taken the business on as renters when the original owner decided to retire. I'd always worked in the food and catering trade, and Jess had recently graduated from catering college. She had no desire to work the gruelling hours of a commercial kitchen, and her leaning was toward the sweeter end of cooking. She's a true artist with icing and ganache. The timing couldn't have been better.

A couple of years ago, we went all in together and bought the business outright.

Jess is twenty-eight, around five foot three, slim, very blonde, and devastatingly pretty. And in case you hadn't guessed it, she's outwardly and unashamedly gay. She can also drink like a fish and swear like a sailor.

I'd married her uncle Bill when she was ten. Bill is her mom' younger brother. I was only twenty-five when we got married, and Jess instantly became almost like a little sister to me. I'd take her to all the concerts that she wanted to go to. I'd helped her hone her cookery skills. And as she got older, our activities got more adult too; we go out drinking together a lot.

We're also each other's confessor and confidante. Jess had told me halfway through high school that she was pretty sure she liked girls. Later on, I, in turn, had confided in Jess that I was pretty sure Bill was fucking his colleague Janine. Your typical blonde nightmare, all legs and tits and not two brain cells rattling around upstairs.

The latter turned out to be true. They'd had a long-standing affair. Five fucking years, would you believe? The ensuing divorce was ugly, painful, and best left at that.

On the plus side, I kept Jess in the divorce, so to speak, and her mother and I are still the best of friends.

As the day came to a close, Jess went home, and I closed up shop before making my way to the little flat upstairs. I'd opted to let Bill and his fucking floozy keep the house. I just took whatever I could get financially and decided to make use of the cute little one-bedroom apartment above the shop.

I ran myself a bath and took the remains of a bottle of wine into the bathroom with me.

As I lay in the tub, soaking the day away, I let my thoughts drift back to Jess and what she'd said. Should I tell Jess about my own past? The numerous encounters I'd had with other girls during my university days. The women I'd slept with between then and getting married?

Should I tell her about the swingers clubs Bill and I had attended? Should I admit that the chance to openly play with other married women had been the draw?

Could I possibly tell her my one really dark secret? Jess had exploded into my life as a vivacious, pretty, energetic kid. She has grown over the years into a lovely, well-adjusted teenager and then into a confident, beautiful, sexy young woman.

And as she'd grown, my feelings had changed and grown too. As she entered her twenties, she'd gatecrashed my own sordid sexual fantasies. And like a band at the top of their game, she'd remained the headline act ever since.

This time of year was my own particular favourite. She'd cavort around the shop in impossibly tight, very short shorts, showing her exquisitely toned legs off to perfection. Couple this with tight tees or little vests and a smear of flour on her cheek to offset her freckles...and wow!!

Could I? Could I really flirt with my 'niece' a little?

As I lay in the tub, idly stroking myself. I decided that, yes, I could. It's true, we were only related by marriage and didn't share a scrap of DNA. And she'd said it herself that she'd checked me out more than once.

"Screw it," I said to nobody in the otherwise empty bathroom. Tomorrow was Friday; I hadn't had a good roll in the hay in what felt like forever. And damn it if I didn't deserve a little fun too.

xoxoxoxoxo

I dressed the following morning in a pair of cutoffs, little plimsolls, and a faded old Eagles teeshirt with the sleeves cut off and the neckline...exaggerated. Perfect for a casual day in the kitchen, and hopefully sexy enough to catch Jess's eye.

I checked my five-foot, five-inch self out in the mirror.

"Not bad for 43," I said to myself. Years in the food trade had taught me that "little pickers wear bigger knickers,' so I was careful with what I ate and made regular trips to the gym to keep the rest toned.

At 7.30am, I was leaning over the worktop, deliberately with my back to the door. My bum was pushed out just a little too far, one ankle crossed in front of the other, toes pointed down, casually drinking a coffee and scheduling the day's baking.

'Any...second...now,' I thought to myself. I heard the door from the coffee shop open and not immediately close. Jess had arrived.

"Fuck me, Aunty Hels! Fuck me. Just look at you. Someone woke up on the sexy-as-fuck side of the bed this morning."

'Bingo,' achievement point reached. Not the usual, breezy "good morning" or "Hiya Hels," but an honest-to-goodness, very sexy reaction. Just what I'd hoped for.

I turned to face her. Since our throwaway conversation yesterday, I sensed a seismic shift in our dynamic. There was a palpable tension in the air.

"Says you," I replied, blatantly admiring her long legs. Her shorts were obscured by the long white shirt she was wearing.

I made my way to go past her. I had to go and set Jamie, our Friday counter girl, up for the day. As I went to brush past her, she grabbed the belt loops of my cutoffs and pulled me to her. She leaned in close and whispered breathily in my ear.

"You know, you are so full of shit, 'Aunty.' I've seen you looking at me. And don't think I don't know about yours and Bill's shenanigans either."

I went to make a lame protest. Just for show, of course. Inside, my heart was pounding. My breath was quick, and her tone had set off an instant throb between my thighs.

"Mum, maybe your best mate," she continued. "But after a half bottle of Cabernet, her mouth gets looser than a slut's undies. She's told me everything...Aunty Helen."

"I've wanted to fuck you for ages," she breathed. "And I've wanted you to fuck me for just as long. Even more so, since you divorced my cheating piece-of-shit uncle."

She ended her speech by nipping my earlobe and boldly grabbing my arse. She made me gasp, and a low pleasure moan escaped my lips.

Fuck me, the way she emphasised the word aunty. She was enjoying it, and I won't lie, the dull throb in my pussy told me I was too.

The tone for the day was set.

The day was a heady, knicker-soaking mix of hot looks, bitten lips, and sly smiles. Despite usually working at well-organised, separate workstations, we'd find reasons to bump up against each other. Or, Jess would bring me a coffee and reach past me to put it down, her arm brushing my boobs in the most delightful way.

At one point, she whispered, "I see our little chat did the trick yesterday. I hope this isn't just some elaborate game of tease you're playing."

"I hope so too," I whispered back. "After all, it's not like we're...related, is it?"

"No, but I warn you, Aunty, fuck with this kitten, and the claws'll come out."

I discreetly stroked her backside. "Promises, promises," I purred back.

At around three thirty, I had to deliver the wedding cake that had sparked this whole explosion. I told Jess and Jamie that I should be back to close up.

As with all great plans, I wasn't. The bride and her family kept me talking, and Friday traffic in Central London was a nightmare. I rang the shop, telling the girls just to lock the front door at closing time and go home. I knew Jess had an evening with friends planned, so I'd deal with cleanup and the rest in the evening.

I arrived back at the shop after six thirty to find it spotless, the kitchen cleaned down, and all the relevant daily order sheets filled and ready to place.

I also found on the front counter a box. A small, square cake box. One of ours. On it was a place card that simply said "Eat Me." How very Alice in Wonderland.

A letter lay by the box, marked "Read before Eating."

I unfolded it and found a poem in perfect copper script. Another of Jess's many artistic talents.

"This cake is for you,

But it looks more like me.

It's gooey and moist.

In the middle, you'll see.

A sugary treat?

A feast for the eyes?

But not half as sweet,

As the treat 'between my thighs.

But don't bite the cake first.

Not one little piece.

Take a lick of my frosting.

And think of...your niece.

Jess xxxx

I opened the box, my hands trembling. Inside, I found one of our large vanilla and raspberry cupcakes. I already knew it contained an oozy, gooey, bright pink raspberry mousse in the centre. But what took my breath away was the frosting.

I mentioned Jess was an artist in icing? Well, this was a pornographic masterpiece.

She'd refrosted the cake. Gone was the usual ice cream swirl, totally replaced. She'd applied a denser cream cheese frosting and worked her magic. She'd moulded it, shaped it, and smoothed it. What greeted my eye was a perfect representation of a smooth, exquisitely pink...pussy. The inner labia, pouting invitingly. The clit is just beginning to de-cloak.

She'd used tiny brushes and food dyes to graduate the outer edges from pink to almost purple. And to further gild the lily, she'd glazed her pussy in sugar syrup, giving it an overall aroused, excited appearance.

It hovered tantalisingly between the erotic and the downright obscene. And it made my pussy tingle like crazy. The care and effort Jess had taken to craft it just made me want her more. I took out my phone and snapped a couple of pictures to preserve the memory.

My body shook as an uncontrollable excitement overtook me. I was about to dive into the erotic confection when I had a better idea.

I took the cake upstairs to the flat and slipped off my top. I snapped a couple of arm's-length selfies of me plunging my tongue into my niece's sugary pussy, my boobs almost on show, and sent the best one to her. I added a note.

"I think you should come over for a nightcap on your way home...don't you? xxxx"

I hit send. Two white ticks, delivered. Two blue ticks—she'd read it. I waited for a reply.

One minute. Nothing. Two, three, five minutes, still nothing. Surely Jess wouldn't stoop so low as to play such an elaborate sexual prank, would she?

I pulled my tee shirt back on and slipped outside into the stiflingly warm evening air. I sat on the back stairs to the flat and smoked half of a joint, letting the calm, mellow feeling wash over me. Still no reply.

I showered, slipped on a thigh-length kimono robe, and got ready to spend an evening watching television with the only three reliable men I knew. Ben, Jerry, and Jack. Our poison of choice on many a raucous night out.

It was approaching 9.30pm. I was halfway through a tub of cookie dough ice cream and just contemplating the other half of my joint when I heard a knock at the flat's back door. Someone had come up the backstairs. My heart skipped.... Could it be her?

Jess stood at the door, and oh my stars, did she look hot! She was wearing a short, very short red satin dress that may as well have been a nightie. Her blonde hair was tied back in a loose ponytail with what appeared to be a matching red scrunchy. She was barefoot, her toes painted a vivid red to match her dress.

In her left hand, dangled a pair of sexy, strappy, red velvet high heels. In her right hand, by the neck, she held another bottle of our favourite gentleman.

She scooted up close, head tilted upwards, lips pouting invitingly. God, she could almost be the little girl I first met. Only then would it have been a teddy bear hanging from her hand.

'Hi Aunty," she breathed. "I hope you don't mind, but I brought a friend too?" She half lifted the bottle.

"Of course not, sweetie," I replied. "The more, the merrier."

Before I could say anything else or even invite her in, she tiptoed up and pressed her lips to mine. A soft little kiss. The kind she'd always given me, but this time it lingered just a little longer. She wasn't drunk, far from it, but she tasted of bourbon.

She backed me in through the door and kicked it shut with her heel. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated. She carelessly tossed her heels aside and placed the bottle on the table.

"Thank you for looking after me, Aunty," she cooed before kissing me again. "I couldn't wait to get here; I told the girls I didn't feel well and left them to it."

I took her hand and led her into the kitchen to pour us both drinks. I grabbed ice from the freezer and poured two hefty measures.

My mind was racing. Was this really happening? Was my niece, looking this gorgeous, really here? Were we really about to break our familial bond and become something else? Were we really going to have sex?

I watched enthralled as she took up her usual station. She hoisted herself up on the kitchen worktop, the negligible red dress riding even further up her silky smooth thighs. Her pretty bare feet dangling a foot or so from the ground.

She looked a beguiling mixture of cute, vulnerable, and downright sexy, and my body was most definitely responding accordingly. My breath was hard to control, and my heart hammered in my chest, like it was desperate to break free. The ache between my thighs was nigh on unbearable, and I'm sure I felt a trickle of wetness make a bid for freedom down my inner thigh.

I handed her the glass, and she took a healthy swig as she set about letting her hair down, shaking it loose over her shoulder. I caressed her arm, fighting the urge to pounce on her.

I needn't have worried. She extended one silky, toned leg and hooked it around me, pulling me into her. Placing the glass down, the other hand still clutching the red scrunchy, she languidly draped her arms over my shoulders and leaned in.

There were no words; none were needed. It all came automatically. Our mouths met, each exerting just the right pressure to let the other know we meant business. I parted my lips, and Jess wasted no time. She slid her tongue against mine, expertly massaging it. She claimed my mouth with the single most exquisite kiss I'd ever experienced. Now I was most definitely...wet, and my nipples pressed against her like two angry pencil erasers.

As our mouths came apart for air, Jess spoke.

"I started getting ready for bed on the way here, Aunty. I hoped I wouldn't be needing these much longer."

She pressed the red 'scrunchie' into my hand. Only it wasn't a scrunchy. As it unravelled in my hand, I realised that it was, in fact, a minuscule, bright red, satin thong. Fuck! My niece wasn't wearing...