In the Blood

"Oh, Nathan.... oooh.... mmm, yesss.... harder, Nathan, harder...."

The dream began differently every time: he'd be at home, or at work, or at the store, doing whatever it was dream versions of people did, and then at some point the feeling of hands would be touching him: circling his waist from behind, resting on his shoulders, stroking his face and chest, even grabbing his ass. These weren't heavy or rough hands, either; they were soft, with a delicate, sensual touch, and though he had no way of knowing, the consciousness of his dream-self knew that these were feminine hands.

And as soon as he processed that fact, they appeared, along with slender, smooth arms which led to shoulders, which led to an upper body, and so forth until the whole shape of a definitively female form solidified. The head and face were always last to come, with the face blurred or obscured that he couldn't tell who (aside from being human; again, knowledge derived from the seeming omniscience of dreaming) it was. The body was shapely, athletic, and gloriously naked, with breasts that were just the right size for his liking and capped with pleasantly perky pink nipples. Between the toned thighs the vagina was bare and clean, the labia swollen with arousal.

From that point the dream progressed in only one way, the most intense sex he had ever had. It seemed to vary each time as well, in terms of both activity and intensity. Sometimes it was hot, heavy, primal fucking; other times it was passionate, intimate lovemaking. Some nights he got his cock sucked, while the next night he was going down on his dream-partner, eating her pussy with gusto. They 69'd more than a few times, he fucked her ass for almost two solid weeks, and there was even one time where she fucked his ass, the feeling of a strap-on dildo in his rectum and probing his prostate bringing him to a height of pleasure he had never experienced before.

The sex was wild and thrilling for both of them, it seemed, as his dream-partner would often become very vocal: encouraging him on, uttering her pleasure, talking dirty to him. Her voice had a quality to it that made him feel, oddly enough, strangely erotic.

The eroticism itself was not a surprise, of course, but his dream-partner's voice.... something about it resonated deep in his subconscious, sleeping mind, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

Not that it took away from the scorchingly-intense heat of his dream, which usually continued on just to the point where he would climax--and then it would end, and he'd wake up in his bed, alone, with an erection so hard it hurt. He hated that it ended like that, with his own mind blue-balling him even if he got to jerk off in the morning shower. It wasn't just the lack of orgasm in the dream; there was something else about it, something that left him wanting when he woke up.

Until one night, while coasting towards the end of the dream, it suddenly clicked into place. His dream-partner's voice--he recognized it. And suddenly, for the first time ever his dream-partner's features sharpened into full clarity, and he knew. He knew exactly who this was.

His dream-self cried out and began to cum, and then--

Nathan came to full waking in an instant, sitting bolt upright in bed and looking around wildly. His bedroom was empty of people. The sights and sounds of his dream disappeared, though the feeling--

Numbly, he looked down. He was sweaty, with his T-shirt sticking to his chest, and his comforter was wet and sticky where it covered his lower half. The familiar smell wafted into his nose; for the first time in years 20-year-old Nathan MacIntyre had had a wet dream.

And it was because--

There was a knock at his bedroom door before it opened. His sister Ashley stuck her head inside. "Hey, Mom says she's heading to work in a ten minutes; she asked if you wanted her to make anything for breakfast?"

Nathan opened his mouth to answer, found that his throat was dry, and instead shook his head slowly. Ashley cocked a quizzical eyebrow at her little brother.

"You okay? You look pretty freaked. Bad dream?"

Nathan didn't respond this time, his mind continuing to reel at what he had just discovered. Ashley studied him for a few moments before shrugging to herself. "Whatever. Listen, I'm going to be using the dining room for work since I have a bunch of meetings today and I can't be bothered to clean my room. Try not to make too much noise when you're up, okay?"

Nathan forced a nod, and Ashley left, shutting the door behind her. He heard her footsteps head down the hall.

For several long minutes Nathan sat in his bed, unmoving, his dream-derived load getting dry in his lap and comforter. He remained staring at the closed bedroom door, his sister's voice playing in his ears and in his mind, a voice that he would swear on his life he had heard before he woke up. Maybe he had heard it because he had been on the verge of waking. It had to be, right? Had to be. But his bedroom had been empty and the door had been shut. No one had been in here at his bedside. It wasn't possible. It was--

What do you say to someone you've had a wet dream about? Especially if that someone turns out to be your own flesh-and-blood big sister?

Into the silence, Nathan uttered "Oh, shit."