Incest Forbidden Glances at Nicki

[marcjstn]

The afternoon sun poured through the living room windows, casting a warm golden glow across the family gathering. Relatives mingled, aunties gossiped in the kitchen, and uncles debated politics over whiskey. But my attention was fixed elsewhere—on Nicki, who sat cross-legged on the floor cushion near the coffee table, her tight short t-shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of her milky white midriff.

She wore denim shorts that ended mid-thigh, and her smooth legs were folded beneath her, the golden light making her skin glow like polished porcelain. I watched the way the fabric hugged her curves, the subtle outline of her body beneath the fitted cotton. Her hair cascaded down her back in a dark silky waterfall, and every time she moved, the strands caught the light. My eyes traced the line of her bare arms as she reached for her beer, the soft curve of her shoulder, the gentle swell of her breasts beneath the tight t-shirt. I could make out the faint suggestion of her bra, and I found myself wondering about the color, the texture, what lay beneath.

"Uncle, you should try this new craft beer," Nicki said, holding up the bottle with a smile. She laughed softly at something her cousin said, tilting her head as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was innocent, unconscious—and it made my pulse quicken. Her lips curved into that easy, youthful smile, and her eyes sparkled with a lightness that made my chest tighten.

I forced myself to look away, taking a sip of my own drink. But my gaze crept back to her within seconds. The way her shorts pressed against her thighs when she shifted position. The way her t-shirt stretched across her chest, the fabric pulling slightly with each breath she took. I imagined what it would feel like to run my hands over that smooth, warm skin. To trace the curve of her waist with my fingertips. To cup those soft, full breasts in my palms and feel their weight. I pictured her nipples—pink, I was certain—pebbling under my touch, and a familiar heat pooled low in my stomach.

"Nicki, come help me with the snacks," Neha called from the kitchen doorway.

Nicki unfolded herself from the floor, and I watched her rise—long legs, the gentle sway of her hips, the way her shorts sat snug against the round curve of her ass. She padded toward the kitchen on bare feet, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Neha entered the living room carrying a tray of samosas, her saree dbangd elegantly but hugging every voluptuous curve of her mature body. She moved with a confidence that came from years of knowing exactly the effect she had on people. The blouse was fitted, the pallu tucked just low enough to reveal the deep valley of her cleavage—milky skin that I had stolen glances at more times than I could count.

"Bhai, you're looking lost today," Neha said with a knowing smile as she set the tray down. She stepped toward me, arms open.

I stood to receive the hug, and she pressed close—closer than necessary. Her heavy, full breasts pushed against my chest, soft and warm through the thin fabric of her blouse. I could feel the curve of them, the weight, and I breathed in the scent of jasmine in her hair. My arms wrapped around her briefly, and for those few seconds, I was acutely aware of every point of contact between our bodies.

"Everything fine?" she murmured near my ear, her lips close enough that I felt the warmth of her breath.

"Perfect," I managed, pulling back with what I hoped was a casual smile.

But it wasn't perfect. Nothing was perfect. Nicki returned from the kitchen carrying a bowl of chips, laughing again, her cheeks flushed. She settled back onto the floor cushion, and her t-shirt shifted, revealing more of that impossibly smooth midriff. I watched the way her thighs pressed together as she sat, the way her breasts moved gently with her laughter.

I wanted to touch her. The craving sat heavy in my chest, a silent, forbidden ache that I buried deep every single time. I imagined sliding my hand along her thigh, feeling the silk of her skin, watching her eyes widen as my fingers traced higher. I imagined burying my face in her hair, breathing her in, pressing my lips to the curve of her neck.

Instead, I lifted my glass and took another long sip, letting the cool liquid dull the edges of my desire. Around me, family chatter filled the room—safe, normal, oblivious. And I sat there, a man burning quietly in plain sight, stealing one more glance at Nicki's bare arms, one more look at Neha's curves, one more secret taste of everything I could never have.

[marcjstn]

The evening shifted, and the family gathering slowly migrated toward the dining area. I excused myself, claiming I needed to use the restroom, but instead I drifted toward the quieter end of the house where the guest bedroom was. I had seen Nicki slip down the hallway minutes earlier, a fresh change of clothes dbangd over her arm. She had mentioned something about wanting to get out of her beer-spilled shorts.

The guest bedroom door was ajar. Not wide open—just enough. A crack of warm light spilled into the dim hallway. I should have walked past. Every reasonable instinct told me to keep moving, to respect the boundary, to be the uncle she trusted. But my feet carried me closer, and my breath grew shallow as I positioned myself slightly to the side, just enough to catch a glimpse through the narrow opening.

Nicki stood with her back to the door, facing the dresser mirror. She had already pulled off the tight t-shirt, and her upper body was bare except for a delicate white bra that clasped at the front. The fabric was thin, almost translucent, clinging to the soft swell of her breasts. The straps sat gently on her milky shoulders, and I could see the faint pink of her skin through the sheer material. My mouth went dry.

She reached for the fresh top—a loose, flowing kurta in pale lavender—and held it against her chest, studying herself in the mirror. The movement lifted her arms slightly, and I watched the smooth muscles of her back shift, the curve of her waist narrowing before flaring into her hips. Her skin was flawless—porcelain white, glowing under the soft lamp light of the room. I could see the faint outline of her spine, the gentle dimples above her waistband.

Then she unclasped the bra.

It fell away, and for a breathless moment, I saw everything. Her breasts were full and round, heavier than I had imagined, with soft pink nipples that stiffened slightly in the cool air-conditioned room. She cupped them absently as she adjusted the kurta, and I watched the way they pressed against her palms—soft, heavy, perfect. My heart hammered so loudly I was certain she could hear it.

She pulled the kurta over her head, and the delicate fabric cascaded down her body, clinging to every curve before settling loosely around her thighs. Then she unbuttoned her denim shorts and slid them down her legs, bending slightly as she stepped out of them. Her panties were simple white cotton, hugging the round curve of her ass, and her legs were impossibly long and smooth in the soft light. I traced the line of her thighs with my eyes—the gentle taper from hip to knee, the soft inner thigh, the way the lamplight caught the fine, almost invisible hair on her skin.

I imagined pressing my palms against those thighs. Slowly sliding them upward, feeling the warmth of her skin, the softness, the way her muscles would tense under my touch. I imagined kissing the curve of her bare shoulder, trailing my lips down her arm, hearing the soft catch of her breath. I imagined pulling her against me, feeling those breasts pressed to my chest, her hair falling across my face.

My cock was fully hard now—thick and urgent, straining against my trousers with an ache that bordered on painful. I pressed my back against the hallway wall, breathing through my mouth, trying to calm the furious pounding of my pulse. But the image of her—bare shoulders, pink nipples, smooth white thighs—was burned into my mind, and no amount of deep breathing could erase it.

I heard her footsteps moving toward the door, and I pushed off the wall quickly, walking fast toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. I locked the door behind me and leaned against the sink, gripping the porcelain edge. My erection throbbed, insistent and demanding, and I could see the clear outline of it pressing against my pants.

I splashed cold water on my face. Once. Twice. The water dripped down my jaw, and I stared at my reflection—flushed, breathing hard, eyes dark with want. I was her uncle. She called me uncle. She trusted me with that easy, innocent smile, and here I was, rock hard from watching her undress through a cracked door.

The cold water did nothing. If anything, the chill only made the heat between my legs more furious, more impossible to ignore. I could still see her—those soft, heavy breasts spilling free from the white bra, the pink nipples tightening in the cool air, the smooth curve of her ass in those simple cotton panties. The image pulsed behind my eyelids like a photograph burned into film.

My hand moved before my conscience could stop it. I unzipped my trousers and freed my cock, wrapping my fingers around the thick, aching shaft. A groan escaped my lips before I could bite it back. I was already slick at the tip, and I spread the moisture down my length with a slow, deliberate stroke.

I closed my eyes, and Nicki was there.

I pictured her standing in front of that mirror, turning to face me, those milky white breasts bare and perfect. I imagined her smiling—that easy, innocent smile—while her hands reached for me, pulling me closer. I imagined my palms filling with the soft weight of her breasts, her pink nipples hardening against my fingers, her breath catching as I squeezed gently. I stroked faster, my fist tight, my hips moving with each thrust into my grip.

I imagined sliding my hands down her waist, hooking my fingers into those white cotton panties and pulling them down slowly, revealing the smooth skin of her hips, the soft curve of her thighs. I imagined her stepping out of them, standing before me completely bare, her skin glowing like porcelain in the lamplight. I imagined pressing my lips to the inside of her thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin against my mouth, tasting her, hearing her whisper "uncle" in that soft, teasing voice.

My strokes grew faster, more desperate. I braced one hand against the sink, my knuckles white, my breath ragged and uneven. The bathroom felt too small, too hot, the air thick with the scent of my own arousal. I could hear the muffled sounds of the family gathering still going on beyond the door—laughter, the clink of glasses, Neha's voice calling out something about dessert—and the forbidden contrast of it all only made my cock harder in my fist.

I imagined Nicki bending over the dresser, looking back at me over her shoulder with those sexy eyes, her smooth hair falling across her back. I imagined gripping her hips, pulling her against me, sliding my cock between those soft, round cheeks, feeling the heat of her pussy against the tip before pushing slowly inside. Tight. Wet. Warm. I imagined the gasp that would escape her lips, the way her back would arch, the way her breasts would sway with each thrust.

"Nicki..." The name slipped out in a hoarse whisper I barely recognized as my own voice.

My hand pumped faster. The wet sound of it echoed off the bathroom tiles—obscene, shameless, undeniable. I felt the pressure building at the base of my spine, coiling tight, my balls drawing up as the image of her burned brighter behind my closed eyes. Her pink nipples. Her smooth white thighs. The way she had cupped her breasts so absently, so innocently, not knowing I was watching.

I came hard. My cock pulsed in my fist, thick ropes of cum spurting into the sink, and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. My whole body shuddered, my hips jerking forward with each release, and I milked every last drop with slow, trembling strokes as the image of her slowly faded behind my eyelids.

I stood there for a long moment, breathing hard, my forehead resting against the cool mirror above the sink. My hand was slick, my cock softening in my grip, and the sink was streaked with the evidence of what I had just done. I turned on the faucet and watched it all wash away down the drain.

I cleaned myself up, tucked my shirt back in, splashed my face one more time. The reflection staring back at me looked slightly calmer now—the flush fading, the breathing steadying. But the guilt sat heavy in my chest, and somewhere beneath it, tangled with every shameful thought I had just indulged, the desire still simmered.

I unlocked the bathroom door and stepped back into the hallway. The sounds of the family gathering drifted toward me—warm, familiar, innocent. I straightened my shoulders and walked toward them, past the guest bedroom door, which was now closed.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, behind every wall of guilt and restraint, I knew I would be back at that door the next chance I got.

[marcjstn]

A few days after the gathering, Nicki mentioned she had an interview downtown. Neha asked if I could accompany her since I was heading in the same direction for work. I agreed without hesitation—too quickly, probably. But the thought of spending time alone with Nicki, even in a public setting, sent a quiet thrill through me that I didn't want to examine too closely.

The morning bus was packed. Not just crowded—*stuffed*. Bodies pressed against bodies, hands gripping overhead rails, the stale smell of sweat and diesel thick in the air. Nicki climbed in ahead of me, wearing that damn short tight t-shirt again—pale yellow this time, hugging her torso and leaving her arms completely bare from the shoulders down. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, and tiny gold earrings glinted at her earlobes. She looked fresh, radiant, unbearably touchable.

The bus lurched forward before we could find a proper footing. The crowd shifted, and Nicki was pushed backward—directly into me. Her shoulder blades pressed against my chest, and I felt the warmth of her bare arms graze my forearms. The contact sent a jolt through me that settled low in my belly.

"Sorry, uncle," she murmured, glancing up at me with those sexy eyes, a sheepish smile tugging at her kissable lips. "This bus is insane."

"It's fine," I managed, my voice steadier than I felt.

The bus hit a pothole, and the entire mass of passengers swayed. Nicki stumbled, and her ass pressed firmly against my thigh—round, soft, impossibly warm even through the thin fabric of her jeans. My breath caught. I gripped the overhead rail with one hand and placed the other lightly on her shoulder to steady her, feeling the smooth, bare skin beneath my palm. She didn't flinch. She didn't move away. She just settled there, her body fitting against mine like a puzzle piece finding its place.

Every nerve in my body was on fire.

The bus jolted again, and her thighs pressed tighter against mine. I could feel the shape of her—soft, full, the curve of her hip brushing my side with every bump. Her bare arm was right there, inches from my face, and I could smell the faint vanilla of her lotion mixed with the natural warmth of her skin. I swallowed hard, my throat tight.

And then I felt it. The unmistakable stirring in my pants. My cock was waking up, thickening against my will, pressing against the confines of my trousers. I shifted my hips back slightly, desperate to create space, but there was nowhere to go. The crowd behind me was a wall of bodies, and Nicki was right there in front of me, her ass nestled against my upper thigh.

*Don't.* I commanded myself. *Not here. Not now.*

But the bus had other plans. Another lurch, another bump, and she pressed harder against me. This time, the round softness of her ass made contact with the growing hardness in my pants, and my heart nearly stopped. I held my breath, waiting for her to stiffen, to turn, to say something. But she didn't. Either she hadn't noticed, or... or she had, and she was choosing not to acknowledge it.

I didn't know which possibility was worse.

"Uncle, are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft, her head tilting slightly. I could see the curve of her cheek, the long lashes, the way her lips parted with concern.

"Fine," I said, too quickly. "Just trying not to fall over."

She laughed softly—that same light, musical laugh from the family gathering—and the sound vibrated through her body into mine. I closed my eyes briefly, gripping the rail until my knuckles ached. My pulse was a drumbeat in my ears, and the guilt was already creeping in, tangling with the intoxicating warmth of her body against mine.

I stole a glance downward. The neckline of her t-shirt gaped slightly with the angle, and I caught a glimpse of the soft swell of her cleavage—milky white, the faint shadow of her bra. I looked away immediately, jaw clenched, but the image was already seared behind my eyelids.

The bus swayed again. Her thigh pressed tighter. My cock strained harder. And I stood there, trapped between shame and desire, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the heat of her skin, praying she couldn't feel what she was doing to me.

Or maybe, in the darkest corner of my mind, hoping she could.

[marcjstn]

The bus swerved around a corner, and the crowd reshuffled like water finding a new path. Nicki shifted her stance, turning slightly to angle herself against the pole near the window. The movement brought her side flush against my front—and suddenly, her breasts were right there, inches from my chest, visible in profile through the thin yellow cotton. The fabric stretched taut across the full curve of them, and I could see the faint outline of her bra strap cutting across her back, the soft swell of flesh rising and falling with each breath.

I tried to look away. I tried to focus on the stained ceiling of the bus, the back of some stranger's head, anything. But my gaze drifted back like a compass needle finding north. The curve of her breast from the side—the way it pushed against the fabric, full and round and impossibly perky—made my mouth go dry.

And then the bus hit another bump, and her thigh pressed directly against my cock.

Not a graze. Not a passing brush. A full, deliberate-feeling press of her smooth thigh against the hard length straining through my trousers. The warmth of her skin, even through the denim of her jeans, seared into me. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper.

*Does she feel it?* The question screamed through my skull. *She has to feel it. It's right there, pressed against her leg like a steel rod.*

But Nicki showed no sign of recognition. No stiffening, no sharp intake of breath, no sudden shift away. She just... stood there. Humming softly, one hand gripping the overhead rail, the other resting casually on the pole. As if the most obvious erection in the history of public transportation wasn't pressed against her thigh.

*Is she ignoring it? Or is she—*

I couldn't finish the thought. I didn't dare.

She turned her head toward me, and suddenly her mouth was *right there*—inches from my chin, her lips parted, breath warm and sweet against my neck. I could see the fine downy hair along her jaw, the way her ponytail had loosened, stray strands curling against her temple. Her eyes sparkled with that particular mischief of someone about to share gossip.

"Uncle, you won't believe what happened at college yesterday," she said, her voice pitched low enough to be intimate beneath the rumble of the bus engine. "This boy—Rohan, from the commerce section—he actually tried to hit on me. Can you imagine?"

I swallowed. My throat felt like sandpaper. "What... what did he do?"

"He came up to me near the canteen, right? And he said—" She paused, her face scrunching into an exaggerated imitation of what she apparently found ridiculous, "—he said, 'Nicki, you're like the moon. Beautiful from far, but far from beautiful up close.' Can you believe that? That's not even a proper line!"

She laughed. That same musical, carefree laugh that had haunted me since the family gathering. And when she laughed, her whole body moved—her shoulders shook, her stomach contracted, and her breasts pressed forward, firm and warm, directly against my arm.

The contact was devastating. Soft, heavy, real. I could feel the weight of them through my shirt, the subtle give of flesh beneath fabric. My cock twitched violently in my pants, and I clenched every muscle in my body to keep from groaning out loud.

"He's an idiot," I said, my voice coming out strangled. "That line makes no sense."

"I know!" She was still laughing, still pressed against me, apparently oblivious to the fact that her breasts were mashed against my arm and her thigh was still brushing my erection with every micro-movement of the bus. "And then he had the nerve to ask for my number. I just walked away. Like—bye, Rohan. Try again in another lifetime."

She demonstrated by flipping her hand in a dismissive wave, and the motion made her torso twist, dragging her breasts across my arm in a slow, agonizing sweep. I felt my nipple tighten. My hands ached—*ached*—to move. To slide down from where one gripped the overhead rail and the other hovered uselessly at my side. To cup those breasts. To feel their weight. To thumb those nipples I'd imagined a hundred times—pink, perfect, pebbled under my touch.

*Stop. Stop it. She's your niece. She trusts you.*

But the warmth of her body was a drug, and I was drowning in it. The vanilla scent of her lotion. The softness of her bare arm brushing mine. The way her t-shirt rode up slightly with her movement, revealing a sliver of milky white skin above her waistband. The curve of her hip. The swell of her ass visible in my peripheral vision.

"Uncle, are you even listening?" She tilted her head, pouting playfully. Her lower lip jutted out, full and pink and utterly kissable, and I wanted to bite it. I wanted to pull her against me by the waist and crush my mouth to hers right there in the crowded bus, consequences be damned.

"Listening," I rasped. "Rohan. Bad lines. No number. Got it."

She grinned, pleased. "Good. You'd better not let anyone use bad lines on your niece, right? You'd protect me."

*Protect you.* The irony was a knife in my chest. I was the danger. I was the one she needed protection from, and here she was, pressed against me, trusting me completely, while I fought a war inside my own skull between the man I was supposed to be and the animal clawing at my restraint.

The bus shuddered. Her thigh pressed harder. My cock throbbed. And Nicki, my sweet, trusting, maddeningly beautiful niece, just smiled up at me with those sexy eyes, completely unaware of the fire raging behind mine.

[Hotgiri]

Nice update, pls add hot gif to story

[marcjstn]

The bus lurched again, and this time Nicki shifted her weight entirely. She turned, angling her back toward me as she repositioned herself against the pole, and the movement brought her ass directly against my crotch.

Not brushing. Not grazing. *Pressed.* Firmly. The full, round cheeks of her ass settled against the length of my hard cock like she was leaning back into a chair. I felt the heat of her body through her jeans, through my trousers, the soft pressure of her curves molding against my shaft. My breath caught. My fingers tightened on the overhead rail until my knuckles went white.

She had to know. There was no way she couldn't know. My erection had been against her thigh for minutes—*long* minutes—and now it was nestled between her ass cheeks, unmistakable. She had to feel the shape of it, the hardness, the way it twitched when the bus jostled her deeper against me.

But she said nothing. Did nothing. Just stood there, her back to me, one hand still gripping the rail, her ponytail brushing against my collarbone.

Outside the window, the light had changed. The golden afternoon had deepened to amber, then to a bruised violet. Streetlights flickered on as the bus crawled through traffic, casting intermittent shadows through the grimy windows. The interior had grown dimmer too, the fluorescent tubes overhead buzzing and flickering, creating pockets of shadow where before everything had been harsh and exposed. The darkness felt like a permission I hadn't asked for.

Nicki pressed back slightly. Just a fraction. Just enough that I felt her ass cheeks tighten and shift against my cock, and a low groan built in my throat that I swallowed before it could escape. Was she doing that deliberately? Was she pressing *into* me?

*No. It's the bus. It's the crowd. She's just standing.*

But her body wasn't moving away. If anything, she was settling deeper, her weight leaning into me with a trust that made my chest ache and my cock throb in equal measure. I could feel the cleft of her ass through the layers of fabric, could trace the curve of her hip where it met her thigh.

My free hand hung at my side, trembling with the effort of staying still. The bus swayed, and my knuckles brushed her thigh. She didn't flinch. I let my hand drift, let the backs of my fingers graze the smooth denim covering her thigh, then let my hand settle there—lightly, barely touching, but *there*. The warmth of her skin bled through the fabric. I could feel the muscle beneath, the softness of the flesh on the inside of her thigh.

She didn't move away. She didn't look down. She just kept facing forward, her breathing steady, her body pliant against mine.

I let my hand slide. Slowly. An inch at a time, tracing the curve of her thigh downward, feeling the shape of her. The bus provided cover—every lurch and sway could explain the movement, could justify the wandering hand as nothing more than balance. My palm flattened against the side of her thigh, fingers curling slightly to feel the softness there, and I heard—*or imagined I heard*—a soft intake of breath from her.

Her breasts. I couldn't see them from this angle, but I could feel them when she shifted her weight. Her back arched slightly as she adjusted her grip on the rail, and her shoulder blade pressed against my chest, and I could feel the side of her breast compressing against my ribs. The softness was intoxicating. And then I noticed it—a subtle change in the pressure, a firmness against me that hadn't been there before. Two small points of hardness pressing through the thin yellow cotton and whatever bra lay beneath it.

*Her nipples.* They were hard. I was almost certain. I could feel them—twin points of firmness dragging against my side as she breathed, as she shifted, as the bus rocked us together. The realization sent a bolt of electricity through my body. Was it the air conditioning? Was it the evening chill? Or was it—was she—

I leaned forward. I couldn't stop myself. My mouth drifted down, past the level of her shoulder, past the loose strands of her ponytail, until my lips hovered a breath away from the nape of her neck. I could see the fine hairs there, standing slightly in the cool air. I could smell her shampoo—coconut and something floral—and beneath it, the warm, living scent of her skin. My breath ghosted across her neck, hot and unsteady, and I watched the tiny hairs rise in response.

She shivered. A full-body tremor that I felt through every point of contact—her ass against my cock, her breast against my ribs, her thigh under my hand. She shivered, and she didn't pull away.

"Uncle?" Her voice was barely a whisper. Not turning around. Not looking at me. Just that single word, soft and questioning, hanging in the darkening air between us.

My mouth was so close to her neck that I could almost taste her skin. My cock was trapped between her ass cheeks, throbbing with every heartbeat. My hand was on her thigh, my fingers curled into the soft flesh. Her nipples were hard against my side.

I didn't answer. I didn't trust my voice. I just breathed against her neck, hot and ragged, and waited—terrified and desperate—for whatever would come next.

[marcjstn]

The word hung there—"Uncle?"—soft and questioning, and something inside me snapped. Not broke. Not shattered. Just... gave way. Like a dam that had been holding back a flood for years, cracking along every seam at once.

My hand left her thigh. I felt her tense, felt the brief stillness of her body against mine, and for one terrible second I thought I'd gone too far, that she would pull away, that the spell would break. But then my hand slid upward, fingers trailing along the curve of her waist, slipping beneath the hem of her tight yellow t-shirt. The fabric rode up easily—too easily—and my palm met the bare skin of her stomach.

She was warm. Impossibly warm. The skin was smooth and flat, trembling slightly under my touch, and I felt her muscles contract as a sharp breath hitched in her chest. My hand climbed higher, tracing the curve of her ribs, feeling the softness give way to the firmness of bone beneath, and then my fingers met the edge of her bra. Thin lace. I could feel the texture of it against my fingertips, the delicate pattern, and then I was past it, sliding beneath the cup, and my hand closed over her bare breast.

*Oh God.*

The softness was overwhelming. Her breast filled my palm—heavy, full, warm—and I cupped it firmly, feeling the weight of it settle into my hand. The skin was impossibly smooth, the flesh beneath yielding and plush, and then I felt it—her nipple, already pebbled and hard, pressing against the center of my palm like a small, firm knot. I squeezed gently, and the nipple hardened further under my touch, stiffening until I could feel the distinct ridge of it against my skin.

She gasped. A soft, broken sound that she tried to swallow but couldn't quite contain. It escaped her lips as a tremor, and I felt her body shudder against mine—her ass pressing deeper into my cock, her back arching slightly, pushing her breast more firmly into my hand.

"Uncle..." she breathed again, but this time it wasn't a question. It was something else. Something softer. Something that sounded almost like surrender.

I pressed my hips forward, driving my cock against the soft cheeks of her ass. The layers of fabric between us did nothing to hide the shape of it—the length, the hardness, the desperate throbbing of it against her. I could feel the cleft of her ass through her jeans, and I ground against her slowly, deliberately, letting her feel every inch of my need.

Her head tilted back slightly, resting against my shoulder, and I could see her face in profile—the dark lashes, the flushed cheeks, the way her lips were parted and glistening. Her eyes were half-closed, heavy-lidded, and then they opened—dark and wide—and locked onto mine in the dim, flickering light of the bus.

Neither of us spoke. Neither of us looked away.

My other hand moved. I couldn't stop it—didn't want to stop it. It found her thigh again, sliding down the smooth denim, feeling the shape of her, the warmth of her. But this time I didn't stop at her thigh. My fingers traced upward, following the curve of her leg, slipping past her knee, past the midpoint of her thigh, until I met the hem of her short skirt. The fabric was thin—a loose, flowing thing she'd worn over the jeans earlier and then... had she removed the jeans? When? I didn't remember. Had I been so lost in the feel of her breast that I hadn't noticed?

My fingers slid beneath the skirt's hem, and there was nothing beneath it but bare skin. Smooth, bare, milky-white skin, warm and impossibly soft. I groaned against her neck, the sound vibrating against her skin, and felt her tremble in response.

Higher. My hand climbed, greedy and desperate, palms dragging over the silk of her inner thighs. I could feel the heat radiating from her core before I even reached it—a warm, humid pulse that drew my hand upward like gravity. And then my fingers found it—the thin fabric of her panties, already damp, already clinging to the soft, swollen flesh beneath.

I cupped her through the fabric. My hand molded over her cunt, feeling the shape of her through the thin cotton—the plump, heated swell of her lips, the dampness seeping through the fabric, the way she was already wet for me. My middle finger pressed into the cleft, tracing the line of her through the panties, and she bit her lip. Her teeth sank into the soft pink flesh, and her eyes squeezed shut, and a whimper—barely audible above the rumble of the bus—escaped her throat.

"Nicki," I whispered, and my voice was raw, broken, barely recognizable as my own. "Nicki, I—"

"Don't stop." Her voice was barely a breath. Her eyes opened again, dark and burning into mine. "Please don't stop, Uncle."

My hand tightened on her breast, thumb rolling over her stiff nipple. My other hand pressed harder against her cunt, feeling the wetness soak through the thin fabric, feeling her hips tilt forward—pressing herself into my hand, seeking more pressure, more contact. The bus swayed around us, and the other passengers sat in their oblivious bubbles, and the world outside the windows had gone fully dark, and none of it mattered. None of it existed.

There was only her—her breast in my hand, her cunt under my fingers, her ass pressed against my aching cock, and the forbidden, consuming fire that burned through every point where our bodies touched.

[marcjstn]

I leaned into her, my chest pressing against her back, and my lips found the curve of her shoulder where the t-shirt had slipped down, exposing the bare, milky skin beneath. I kissed it—softly at first, then with more pressure, my mouth open, tasting the salt and warmth of her. She shivered, and I felt the tremor run through her entire body, from her shoulders down through her spine, straight into the ass that was pressed so firmly against my cock.

My hands were trembling. Both of them. The one on her breast, the one between her legs—they shook with the force of what I was feeling, the impossible reality of this moment. I'd dreamed of this. Masturbated to this. Imagined it a thousand ways in the dark of my bathroom, and none of those fantasies had prepared me for the overwhelming reality of her—her warmth, her softness, the way she was leaning into me now, trusting me, wanting me.

"I've wanted this," I whispered against her ear, my voice barely audible above the rumble of the bus. "Wanted you, Nicki. For so long. You have no idea."

She whimpered, and her hips shifted, pressing her ass harder against my cock. I was rock hard—painfully, achingly hard—and she had to feel it. There was no way she couldn't. The length of me was nestled in the cleft of her ass, and every bump in the road sent a jolt through both of us, grinding us together.

"You're so beautiful," I breathed, and my hand on her thigh slid higher, pushing beneath the skirt, fingers dragging over the smooth, bare skin. "Every time I see you, every time you call me Uncle, I think about this. About touching you. About making you feel good."

My fingers found the edge of her panties again, and this time I didn't hesitate. I hooked the fabric aside, and my fingertips met bare, wet flesh—hot and slick and impossibly soft. She was soaked. The lips of her cunt were swollen and slippery, and I traced along them, feeling the delicate folds, the way they parted for my fingers.

Then I pushed inside.

One finger, sliding deep into the wet, tight heat of her. She gasped—a sharp, broken sound—and her whole body tensed against mine. I felt her cunt clench around my finger, gripping it, pulling it deeper, and she pressed back against me, her ass grinding against my cock, her back arching.

"Uncle—" she breathed, and her voice was thick, trembling. "Oh God, Uncle—"

"Shh," I whispered, though the command was gentle. "Be quiet, baby. You have to be quiet."

I curled my finger inside her, pressing against the upper wall, and she bit down on her lip so hard I saw the skin go white. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and her breathing was ragged, shallow, coming in short bursts through her nose.

My other hand was still on her breast, and I squeezed it, feeling the swollen weight of it, the nipple pressing hard and desperate against my palm. I rolled it between my fingers, tugging gently, and she whimpered again—a sound that went straight to my cock.

"I want to see these," I whispered, my mouth against her neck. "I want to see them, taste them. I've imagined it so many times—your nipples, Nicki. Pink and perfect. I knew they would be."

I added a second finger, and her cunt stretched around it, wet and tight and impossibly hot. She was dripping now—I could feel it on my fingers, on my palm, her arousal coating everything. I fucked her slowly with my fingers, sliding them in and out, feeling her hips buck to meet each thrust.

"You're so wet for me," I breathed. "So wet, and I've barely touched you. What would you do if I put my cock inside you? If I fucked you right here, right now, with all these people around?"

She moaned, and I clamped my hand over her mouth—gently, but firmly. Her lips were soft against my palm, and I felt her breath hot and fast on my skin.

"Quiet," I reminded her, and I felt her nod against my hand.

I pumped my fingers deeper, faster, and her hips bucked wildly against my hand, her ass grinding against my cock in a desperate rhythm. She was close—I could feel it in the way her cunt was clenching, the way her thighs were trembling, the way her breathing had gone shallow and erratic.

"Come for me," I whispered. "Come for your Uncle, Nicki. Let me feel it."

The bus swayed, and a passenger three rows ahead shifted in their seat, and none of it mattered. Nothing existed but the wet heat of her cunt around my fingers and the trembling of her body against mine.

[marcjstn]

Her cunt clenched around my fingers one final time, and then I felt it—the rush of wetness, the spasming of her walls, the way her whole body went rigid before shuddering against mine. She came silently, beautifully, her teeth sinking into my palm to muffle the scream I knew was tearing through her. Her thighs squeezed together, trapping my hand, and I felt every pulse of her orgasm against my fingers, hot and desperate.

I held her through it, my cock throbbing painfully against her ass, and when the tremors finally subsided, I pulled my fingers free. They were soaked—coated in her slick, shining arousal—and I brought them to my nose, inhaling deeply. She smelled like heaven. Like sin. Like everything I'd ever wanted and shouldn't have.

"Nicki," I breathed, and my free hand was already fumbling with my belt, my zipper. "I need—I need to be inside you. I can't—I can't wait anymore."

She turned her head, and those sexy eyes—darkened now, pupils blown wide with lust—met mine. Her lips were parted, swollen from biting them, and her chest was heaving, those perfect breasts straining against the tight t-shirt. She looked wrecked. Beautiful. Forbidden.

"Then don't wait," she whispered, and her voice was a command wrapped in velvet. "Do it, Uncle."

I freed my cock, and it sprang out, hard and aching, the tip slick with precum. I hiked her skirt up higher, exposing the smooth, milky white curves of her ass, and I groaned at the sight—her skin was flawless, glowing faintly in the dim light of the bus. I positioned myself, pressing the head of my cock against her wet entrance, feeling the heat radiating from her.

"Fuck, Nicki—you're so wet," I groaned, sliding the tip along her slit, coating myself in her arousal. "So fucking wet for me."

She whimpered and pushed back, and the head of my cock slipped between the swollen lips of her cunt, pressing against the tight, hot opening. I grabbed her hip with one hand, steadying myself, and then I pushed forward—slowly, inch by agonizing inch—into the tightest, hottest, most perfect heat I'd ever felt.

"Oh God—" I groaned, my head falling forward against her shoulder. "Oh fuck, Nicki—you're so tight. So fucking tight."

She gasped, her lips parting, and I felt her walls clench around me, gripping my cock like a fist. She was trembling—I could feel it in her thighs, her back, everywhere we touched. I bottomed out inside her, my hips pressed flush against her ass, and I held there, savoring the feeling of being buried inside my niece for the first time.

"Move," she breathed, and her voice cracked. "Please, Uncle—move."

I pulled back slowly, feeling every inch of her gripping me, and then thrust forward, hard. She gasped, her body jolting, and I set a rhythm—slow at first, deliberate, savoring every stroke. My hands roamed freely over her body, sliding up beneath her t-shirt to cup her bare breasts, pinching those pink nipples I'd dreamed about for so long.

"Harder," she commanded, and her voice was stronger now, more certain. "Fuck me harder, Uncle. I want to feel you."

I obeyed. I thrust deeper, harder, my hips slamming against her ass with each stroke. The sound of skin meeting skin was soft, muffled by the rumble of the bus, and I prayed no one could hear. My hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into the soft, smooth flesh, and I pounded into her, raw and desperate.

"Uncle—" she moaned, and the word sent a jolt of electricity through me. "Uncle, yes—like that—don't stop—"

"Say it again," I growled against her neck, my teeth grazing her skin. "Call me Uncle while I fuck you, Nicki. Say it."

"Uncle," she gasped, and her cunt clenched around me. "Uncle—fuck—your cock feels so good inside me—"

I lost all restraint. I fucked her harder, faster, my cock slamming into her wet cunt with each thrust, my hands gripping her breasts, her hips, her thighs—every inch of her I could reach. She was pushing back to meet me, her ass grinding against my hips, and the wet, obscene sounds of our fucking filled the small space around us.

"Tell me what you want," I panted, my forehead pressed against her shoulder. "Tell me, Nicki—anything—"

"Touch me," she demanded, grabbing my hand and shoving it between her legs, pressing my fingers against her clit. "Make me come again, Uncle—while you're inside me—"

I rubbed her clit in tight circles, my cock still pounding into her, and she shattered—her whole body convulsing, her cunt clenching so hard around me that I saw stars. I clamped my hand over her mouth again, swallowing her scream, and I followed her over the edge, burying myself deep inside her as I came, my cock pulsing, filling her with everything I had.

We stayed like that, trembling, breathing hard, my forehead resting against her shoulder, my cock still buried inside her. The bus rumbled on, and somewhere ahead, a passenger coughed.

Nicki turned her head, her lips brushing my ear.

"Again," she whispered. "I want you to do that again."

[marcjstn]

Nicki’s breath hot against my ear, her words a filthy promise that made my cock twitch even deeper inside her slick heat. “Again,” she whispered, and I could feel the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, the same wicked grin that had flashed when she first begged me to fuck her. My hands, still slick with her juices, tightened on her hips, fingers digging into the soft, milky curve of her ass as I pulled back just enough to feel the delicious drag of her walls clinging to me. Then, with a guttural groan that seemed to vibrate through the thin metal of the bus, I slammed forward, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal, relentless thrust.

Her back arched, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat as her nails scbangd down my back, leaving fiery lines that only stoked the blaze inside me. “Fuck—yes!” she cried, her voice raw, each syllable a command wrapped in desperation. I could feel her cunt convulsing around me, hot and hungry, sucking me in tighter with every savage pump of my hips. The bus lurched over a pothole, the whole carriage shuddering, and we moved as one—her ass grinding against my pelvis, my cock pistoning in and out of her soaked depths, the wet, obscene slap of flesh echoing beneath the low rumble of the engine.

Sweat beaded on my forehead, trickling down to mingle with the sheen already coating Nicki’s skin. Her breasts bounced with each hard thrust, the tight t-shirt straining over her swollen nipples, pink peaks peeking through the thin fabric where I’d earlier pinched them. I could see the rise and fall of her chest, the rapid hitch of her breath, the way her eyes locked onto mine—wild, unfocused, burning with a lust that mirrored my own. In that gaze I saw everything: the forbidden thrill, the shame, the pure, unadulterated need to be filled, to be taken, to be owned.

Her hands flew to my shoulders, claws digging in as she urged me harder, her hips bucking to meet each of my thrusts. “Harder, Uncle—fuck me like you mean it!” she gasped, her voice breaking on a moan that seemed to be torn from the very core of her. I obliged, pulling back until only the tip of my cock lingered at her entrance, then driving forward with a force that made the bus shake. Each impact sent a jolt of pleasure up my spine, a hot, electric surge that made my balls tighten and my vision blur at the edges.

The world narrowed to the slick heat of her cunt, the scent of her arousal mingling with the metallic tang of sweat, the sound of her ragged breaths and the occasional whimper that escaped when I hit a particularly deep spot. I could feel her inner walls fluttering, gripping me like a velvet fist, each contraction milking me for every drop I had left. My own climax began to coil low in my gut, a tightening that threatened to snap at any moment.

“Come with me,” I growled, my voice hoarse, lips brushing the shell of her ear as I whispered filthy promises against her skin. “I want to feel you shatter around me again.”

Nicki’s response was a choked whine, her back arching even more as she pushed her ass back, seeking the deepest penetration possible. Her fingers scbangd down my arms, leaving red trails that burned like fire, and then she slammed her palms against my chest, using me for leverage as she rode me with a frenzy that bordered on madness. The bus rocked violently, the overhead lights flickering as we moved, and for a moment I feared someone might notice the frantic movement, the muffled cries, the unmistakable rhythm of our bodies colliding.

But the fear only added fuel to the fire. The thought of being caught, of being discovered in this taboo act, made my thrusts even more savage, my hips snapping forward with a primal urgency. I could feel her orgasm building again, a tight coil in her belly that mirrored my own. Her moans grew louder, less restrained, each one a raw, animalistic sound that seemed to vibrate through the metal walls of the bus.

“Uncle—please—don’t stop—” she begged, her voice breaking into a sob as another wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her cunt clenched around me with a vice‑like grip, and I felt the first hot spurts of my own release begin to pulse, thick and urgent, deep inside her. I gripped her hips harder, pulling her back onto my cock as I came, each thrust sending a fresh flood of my seed mingling with her slickness.

She screamed—a short, sharp cry that was swallowed by the bus’s roar—as her orgasm hit, her body convulsing violently against mine. Her nails dug into my shoulders, her thighs trembled, and she bucked wildly, riding the wave of her climax as I continued to pound into her, unwilling to let the moment end. The bus swayed, the rhythm of our fucking matching the lurch of the vehicle, sweat dripping from our bodies in steady streams that traced hot paths down our chests and bellies.

When the last shudder finally eased, we remained locked together, my cock still buried deep inside her, both of us panting, hearts hammering against our ribcages. Nicki’s forehead rested against my shoulder, her breath hot and ragged against my skin. Her eyes, still wild and desperate, met mine once more, and in that glance I saw a mixture of triumph, shame, and an insatiable hunger that promised this was far from over.

She shifted slightly, adjusting her weight, and a soft, satisfied sigh escaped her lips. “Again,” she murmured, the word a promise and a threat wrapped in one. I could feel her already beginning to clench around me, her body eager for another round, and I knew—despite the guilt, despite the risk—that I would give her exactly what she wanted. The bus rolled on, the night outside growing darker, while inside that cramped space we continued to break every boundary, lost in a savage, sweaty orgy of forbidden lust that showed no sign of slowing.

[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.