Down On My Niece

by Nicolo Parenti

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Mult, Consensual, BiSexual, Fiction, Humor, Uncle, Niece, Gang Bang, Group Sex, Orgy, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, .

Desc: Sex Story: The lives of a niece and uncle come together in an unexpected way. He never knew she had a crush on him; she didn't know he was watching from the mezzanine as she played out the latest chapter in her occasionally sordid life.<br><i>Don't expect kiddie incest, this involves consenting adults only.</i>

© Copyright 2004

Author's note

You'll notice a complete lack of concern in this text for disease and contraception. That's because it's FANTASY, dude, and that stuff just gets in the way. In real life, you'd be nuts to engage in these acts without protection.

When I write for fun there's no editor to give me feedback, so informed criticism is always welcome. Enjoy, and please write with comments and opinions.

This may be just for fun, but it is copyrighted, and reproduction for profit is forbidden. Any distribution must include this note and the author's email address.

A Discovery in Denver

In my defense all I can say is that I didn't set out to fuck my niece. There are reasons for our incest taboos, after all. But it's not like there's any actual blood between us. I'm an uncle by marriage, and she's a step-kid, so we don't share any DNA. In degrees of consanguinity, I'm probably closer to Kevin Bacon. Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I saw Alison a fair bit in the first year we were related, because her folks lived nearby and we socialized, well, like family. Alison was just an appendage on the extended brood, a gawky kid whose olive coloring was a clear mismatch to the pale tones of her mom and step-dad. I never met her bio-dad, but he must have had some mighty genes. And that's the last you'll hear of him, so if I write "her dad", I mean my brother-in-law.

Alison was in middle school when a career move took her folks out of state, so we got together only when one bunch or the other could justify the travel. That meant I saw her development in large steps. Yes, I became one of those relatives who says, "Look at you, how you've grown. Why, I remember...". I may have even pinched her cheek. We were only 12 years apart (she was 11 when I married at 23), but that's a long time at that age.

After a gap while she was at college, we reunited at her graduation party, a big family do. I still remember the sight of her crossing the lawn to greet us. Gone were the baby fat, the glasses and the awkward gait. Here was a young woman in full flower, two inches taller and ten pounds lighter, with a model's confidence and strong, high cheekbones -- had I pinched that cheek? Her burnt-honey complexion gave her the healthy glow of a permanent tan. Suddenly (from my time-lapse perspective) she was a knockout.

I got an extra-tight hug from her, and I felt how much she'd changed. Some inner yardstick rated her pressing mounds as 34B or so, and the outer measuring stick started to extend as she gave her hips a subtle shift. "Uncle Ed," she cried as we embraced, "I'm so glad you could make it! Look everyone, it's my favorite uncle!" This was news to me, but I wasn't going to argue... after all, she'd just become my favorite niece.

Looking back, I can see from all the little touches and extra attention, that she came on to me a bit that day, but I was in denial. You guys know how it is when you're having sexy thoughts about someone you shouldn't -- a bit of guilt can make you believe your dick is doing the thinking (and to be fair, it usually is).

We had kept up on the major events in her life through e-mail. Her teaching degree hadn't led to a satisfying job -- I guess she didn't like middle school kids that much -- so she signed on as a flight attendant for a Chicago-based airline, the city where she'd settled.

My business has me on the road several times a year, but I rarely fly on Alison's airline, since I live in a competitor's hub city. Still, fate doesn't follow the air corridors, and so it was that we both wound up in Denver one fine day in April.

A colleague and I were nursing a late afternoon drink on the open mezzanine of a downtown hotel, when in the lobby below two stews rolled their suitcases to the desk. My eye went casually to the blonde, who had a young- Meg-Ryan cuteness (at least from overhead), but my attention was really on our conversation.

Even the most obtuse of you have figured out that the other girl was Alison, but all I saw then was an oblique view of a young woman in uniform with her dark hair in a bun. As they joked with the clerk and picked up key cards, my lizard brain noted that the brunette moved in a familiar way. By the time the thought had bubbled to the top, they were moving toward the elevators. And by the time I'd leapt up and headed for the stairs, leaving my companion wondering about my sanity (or my bladder), they were gone.

I went right to a house phone, but apparently they were sharing an airline- paid room, and Alison's name wasn't on it. I'm sure the clerk thought of calling the cops as I blathered the tale of my niece, how I wanted to find her room and surprise her. It sounded lame even to me, and of course it did no good.

The missed opportunity bothered me for the rest of the afternoon, but by evening I'd accepted it as a close call, and let it go. I joined the after- dinner crowd in the lounge and sat in a back booth, nursing a microbrew as a jazz trio played just loud enough to make every conversation an intimate one.

Then everything changed.

Mine wasn't the only head that swiveled as a pretty blonde with a Meg Ryan shag slinked in wearing a short, sexy cocktail dress, checked out the room, and claimed a spot at the bar. But I'll bet mine were the only eyes that left their head a moment later as a honey-skinned babe with dark hair down to her spaghetti straps strolled in, sat at the other end of the bar, and nodded to the bartender.

You wouldn't know it from the story so far, but I'm normally pretty good at reading a room. If I hadn't been so focused on this second chance to connect with Alison, the setup would have screamed at me. But focused I was, so I downed my beer and started to work through the crowd toward the bar.

When I regained sight of her, she was no longer alone. A guy about my age with a cocky grin had taken the next stool and was leaning in, stroking her bare upper arm, and generally doing his charming best to pick her up. I chuckled to myself that he was in for a surprise... when world tilted and, at least for me, the room went quiet. I wasn't seeing a casual pickup. No, I'd seen this picture before: a negotiation.

I watched the dance play out in front of me, as my brain re-sorted and sifted all the cues into a new version of reality. Ho... lee... shit! They were so intent on each other, and the deal, that Alison never saw me. Given the context, I'm not sure I would have registered anyway.

When she slipped a ten onto the bar and slid off her stool, I knew this wasn't a new thing, and the bartender was hip to it. I mentally shook myself back to the present, and thought, Did I misread all that? Was there an innocent explanation? Could I have the next go? Oops, scratch that last.

I figured that an approach to the other stew could confirm or rebut my thesis, so I moved her way. She'd drawn the same attention that Alison had, but there was still an empty stool on her left for me.

I could overhear bits of her chat with the guy on her right, and it was obvious that he wasn't getting it. I was reminded of that scene from 'Arthur': "... she'sh a HOOKER? I thought she jusht liked me."

I touched her arm, and when she glanced over I asked if I could buy her a drink. Mr. Right was irritated -- he thought he'd staked a claim -- but blondie was ready to cut bait and turned her 100-watt smile my way.

"Hey, thanks, sure I'll take a drink from a handsome stranger. Stoly rocks, Ray," she addressed the bartender. So I guess she's not new here. I gave Ray a nice tip and he gave a subtle nod to my lovely pal.

I normally don't 'do' hookers (still assuming she was one), and never one this classy, so I was just winging it here. But I do know business, and I assumed that her experience would help us over any rough spots. "Strangers don't know each other's names", I smiled, "and since now you know that I'm Ed, we're nearly friends."

"Hi, Ed, nice to meet you, I'm Lacy," she said, offering her hand. OK, sure, Lacy, whatever. "So, are you in town on business?"

"Good guess, Lacy, business it is, and just two days left." We chatted a while about nothing, and eventually I returned her question. "How about you? Is it business for you, too?"

She appraised me openly and apparently decided I was fresh meat. "Actually, Ed, I'm on a very pleasant kind of business. I don't need an office, the hours are great, and I meet such interesting men." There it was... not people, men. We were on the same page, my hypothesis proven. Q-E-fucking- D.

She'd had the chance to tell me she was a stew on layover, out for a good time, and when that didn't happen I knew that somewhere over our heads, my luscious young niece had a customer, not a friend, plugging one or more of her holes. The thought made me so horny that I decided to let this young beauty lighten my wallet, just for the relief.

"Yeah," I winked, "I figured. Are you... open for business tonight?"

I must have looked like I could carry the freight, because 'Lacy' took my hand and hopped off the stool. "I think you'll find I'm very open. Shall we check out the view from your room?" Wow, from pitch to sale in 10 minutes -- not bad, for a girl.

I got my first good look at the whole package, and it was quite nice. She was early twenties, about 5'4", tanned and athlete-slim, with maybe B-cup breasts that did fine without a bra. Her greenish eyes and orthodontic smile completed the movie-star look that started with the shag do. This girl fucks for a living? I thought. Well, fucks and flies, but who's counting. Probably working her way through grad school.

.... There is more of this story ...

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