Incest Forbidden Glances at Nicki

[marcjstn]

"Kreeeeeeeem—"

The shrill ringtone ripped through the darkness, slicing into the fog of sleep like a blade. My eyes snapped open, heart slamming against my ribs so hard I could feel the pulse in my throat. The ceiling fan above me wobbled in its lazy circle, the familiar shadows of my bedroom slowly coming into focus. The phone buzzed again on the nightstand, its screen glowing an angry blue in the dim room.

I lay there for a long moment, chest heaving, sheets tangled around my legs, my skin damp with sweat that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. *What the fuck was that?* The dream—no, the nightmare—no, the *fantasy*—still clung to me like a second skin. The bus. Nicki. Her voice, raw and desperate, begging me to fuck her harder. The wet heat of her cunt wrapped around my cock, the sound of our bodies slapping together in that cramped, swaying space.

My hand was already drifting downward before I could stop it. My cock was achingly hard, straining against the thin cotton of my shorts, the fabric tented obscenely. I wrapped my fingers around the shaft, a slow stroke that made my hips twitch involuntarily. The guilt hit me like a wave of nausea, hot and suffocating, but it didn't stop my hand from moving. It never did.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and there she was again—Nicki, her milky white skin glowing in the dim light of the dream-bus, those perfect curves pressed against me, her lips parted in a moan that still echoed in my skull. I could almost feel the weight of her breast in my palm, the stiff pink nipple pressing against my thumb. I could almost smell her—arousal and sweat and something floral, maybe her shampoo.

*Stop it,* I told myself. *She's your niece. She calls you Uncle. This is sick.*

But my hand kept stroking, slow and deliberate, thumb smearing the precum that had already leaked from the tip. My breath came in shallow gasps, each exhale a quiet sound of shame in the silent room. The dream had been so vivid, so *real*—I could still feel the phantom grip of her cunt, the way her nails had scored lines down my back, the desperate pitch of her voice when she'd begged me not to stop.

The phone rang again, and I flinched, the sound pulling me back to reality with a jolt. I grabbed it with my free hand, the screen blinding me for a moment before the caller ID registered: *Neha Aunty.*

My stomach dropped. Nicki's mother. The woman whose daughter I'd just defiled in my subconscious, whose curves I'd secretly admired at family gatherings, whose hugs had pressed those heavy breasts against my chest more times than I could count.

I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice, my hand still wrapped around my rigid cock. I couldn't stroke—not while talking to her mother—but I couldn't bring myself to let go either. The conflict raged inside me, desire and shame locked in a vicious tug-of-war.

"Hello? Neha-ji?" I answered, my voice rougher than I intended.

"Hello! Sorry to bother you so late," her voice came through, warm and cheerful, completely unaware of the filth running through my mind. "I just wanted to confirm—Nicki will be coming to stay with you for a few days next week. Her college break starts, and she's been asking to visit you both."

My grip tightened on the phone. *Nicki. Coming here. Staying in our house.* I glanced down at my hand, still wrapped around my aching cock, and felt a fresh surge of guilt so intense it was almost physical.

"That's... that's wonderful," I managed, my voice cracking slightly. "We'd love to have her."

"Perfect! She's so excited. You know how much she adores her uncle."

The words hit me like a slap. *Her uncle.* The same uncle who'd just dreamed of burying himself inside her, of making her scream his name, of filling her with his seed while the bus rocked them both to oblivion.

I ended the call with trembling fingers, the phone dropping onto the mattress beside me. The room was silent again, save for the hum of the fan and the ragged sound of my breathing. My cock still throbbed, demanding attention, and the dream still clung to me—Nicki's skin, Nicki's voice, Nicki's body wrapped around mine.

I should stop. I should get up, splash cold water on my face, and forget this ever happened.

Instead, my hand began to move again, slow and deliberate, as images of Nicki—real Nicki, not dream-Nicki—flooded my mind. Her bare arms in those tight t-shirts. The way her hair fell across her face when she laughed. The glimpse of her smooth thighs when her skirt rode up.

*She's coming to stay,* I thought, and the realization sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to my groin. *She'll be right here, under my roof, sleeping in the next room.*

My hand moved faster, guilt and desire twisting together into something I couldn't name, something dark and hungry that I knew I should resist but couldn't. The phone lay silent beside me, Neha's cheerful voice still echoing in my ears, and I wondered—*God help me*—what those few days would bring.