My Boyfriend’s Uncle Broke In Our Bed

Several months had passed since that truck trip to Italy. Months in which winter had chilled the roads, but not the memory Lorena kept under her skin like an iron brand that throbbed every time Nicolás tried to touch her in the dark.

Now it was a treacherous spring at the end of May, which had burst into Valencia with suffocating heat. Nicolás and Lorena were taking the big step: they were moving into a third-floor walk-up in a working-class block from the seventies. The boy was excited, talking about “our nest” and putting flowerpots on the balcony.

Lorena nodded, smoking at the window, thinking that real adult life smelled of other things. It smelled of diesel, black tobacco, and a man’s sweat that asks no permission. It smelled like Ramiro.

Moving day was a disaster. Nicolás, in a display of stinginess disguised as efficiency, had decided not to hire anyone, and his university friends had exams, hangovers, or better excuses than hauling boxes in thirty-degree heat. So at ten in the morning, in front of the building entrance there was only a rental car, a Nicolás on the verge of collapse, and the hoarse sound of a diesel engine approaching along the avenue.

It was the uncle’s truck. No trailer, just the tractor unit, massive, shining under the sun. Ramiro double-parked, climbed up onto the curb, crushing it with a wheel, and killed the engine.

—What a fucking maze, nephew! —he bellowed as soon as he got down—. Who sold you this place, the enemy?

If Nicolás seemed to have shrunk in those months, worn down by the mortgage and civil-service exams, Ramiro seemed to have expanded. He wore jeans stained with grease and a grayish tank top darkened with sweat, clinging to a torso that looked like an oak barrel covered in moss.

—Thanks for coming, Uncle, really —Nicolás said, wiping the sweat from his face—. It’s just that parking here is complicated.

—What’s complicated is my life; this is a rat trap —Ramiro cut in, giving him a slap that shoved him two steps back—. Less talk and more work. Where’s your girl?

Lorena came out of the entrance at that moment, wearing faded denim shorts and a loose tank top. When she saw Ramiro she stopped dead. Their eyes met: an electric spark that Nicolás, in his usual obliviousness, didn’t pick up. He looked her up and down, without bothering to hide it, pausing on her legs and the sweat at her neckline. He smiled crookedly, wolfish.

—Well, if it isn’t the life and soul of the party —he said in that deep register that made the floor vibrate—. What’s up, blondie? You look skinnier. Doesn’t this guy feed you or what?

—Hello, Ramiro —she said, her voice rougher than usual—. He’s vegetarian now. Says meat is bad for karma.

—Bad for karma! What’s bad is for strength, girl. Anyway, let’s get to it.

***

The next hour was a lesson in basic biology. Ramiro didn’t carry things; he conquered them. He hoisted the washing machine onto his shoulder and climbed the three flights without stopping, puffing like a locomotive. Lorena, behind him with a lamp, had a privileged view: his back soaked through, muscles shifting beneath the wet fabric, the tight ass straining the pants with every step.

The sofa was an odyssey. On the second floor Nicolás slipped and the furniture came down; Ramiro planted his boots and stopped a hundred kilos with his chest and a guttural grunt. When they got it into the living room, the truck driver had a bleeding scratch on his arm.

—You’ve hurt yourself —Lorena said, instinctively moving closer.

—Just a cat scratch. —He looked at her—. You going to kiss it better later?

The double meaning hung in the air, thick as smoke. She swallowed and nodded. Nicolás was too busy looking for the inhaler in his backpack to notice.

***

At two in the afternoon, with the flat turned into a chaos of boxes, only the important thing remained: the bed. One of those modern ones, with a lift-up storage base, a hundred screws, and instructions that looked like hieroglyphs.

—I’ll take care of it —Nicolás said, trying to recover some dignity—. I’m good at assembling things. It’s logic.

Ramiro let out a little laugh, lit a cigarette, and leaned against the wall to smoke. Twenty minutes passed. Nicolás had joined two boards, but backwards. He was sweating, dropping nuts and bolts.

—Shit! We’re missing parts! —he exclaimed when one board fell on his foot.

—Move aside, idiot —Ramiro growled—. I need a beer and something to eat. Go down to the corner supermarket, bring back a six-pack, good ham, bread, and some long screws, because these modern beds break if you fuck hard enough. And in this house I expect some fucking to happen, right?

Nicolás flushed crimson, grabbed his wallet, and almost ran out, relieved to escape his uncle’s gaze. The door slammed and quick footsteps were heard going downstairs.

***

Silence returned to the flat, dense, buzzing like a high-tension cable. Ramiro didn’t move to get the tools: he stayed standing in the middle of the empty room, bare-chested and shining, looking at Lorena, who was still seated on a box. She knew what was coming the moment she saw the truck parked below.

—I don’t need tools, Lorena —he said, in a hoarse whisper—. I’ve got everything I need right here. Your boy is taking his time. We’ve got half an hour.

—Ramiro, the flat is new… the walls are paper-thin… the neighbors… —she stammered, backing up until her spine hit the cold wall.

He knelt in front of her and parted her crossed legs with insulting ease, sliding his big, calloused hands between her thighs.

—Fuck the neighbors. You have to christen the place, mark it. If you wait for your boyfriend the loser to break it in, your house will fill up with cobwebs.

He squeezed her thighs hard. Lorena moaned. The rough feel of his hands on her sweaty skin was the trigger.

—You smell like a tiger —she told him, contradicting him out of habit.

—And you smell like a bitch in heat —he shot back, bringing his nose to her shorts and inhaling—. You got turned on watching me carry the washing machine. You like seeing a real man sweating, not that skinny little guy reading instructions.

Lorena couldn’t deny it. The wetness between her legs was proof enough, and her hands went of their own accord to his bare shoulders.

—You’re a pig —she whispered.

—I’m your boyfriend’s uncle —he corrected her, infinitely malicious—. And I’m going to show you how to assemble a bed.

He got up suddenly, yanked her with him, and slammed her against the freshly painted wall. The impact knocked the air out of her. He pressed his body to hers: his hard, hairy belly against her flat stomach, the buckle of his belt digging into her hip and, above all, the monstrous bulge that was obvious even through the rough denim.

—Kiss me —he ordered.

It wasn’t a romantic request; it was an order. She obeyed. He tasted of tobacco, salt, and danger. He kissed her with fury and slid his hands to her ass, lifting her until she had to wrap her legs around his waist. He carried her like that to the half-assembled bed frame and let her drop onto the bare wooden slats.

—Let’s test the strength of the materials —he said.

***

He shoved his trousers down in one movement. Even though she had already felt it in that truck, in daylight the sight was still shocking: a thick, heavy, dark cock, veined all over, the shiny tip peeking out of the foreskin.

—It’s huge —she whispered, hypnotized—. You’re going to split me in half. Again.

—That’s the idea, sweetheart. So you don’t forget who’s in charge here.

He knelt between her legs. Without foreplay, he grabbed the shorts and yanked: the button flew off. He pulled the fabric and panties down in one tug, leaving them tangled around one leg, ran a thick finger through her sex and brought it to his mouth.

—You’re dripping —he said, with an obscene sound. And, pressing the tip against her entrance—: Hold on, girl, because I’m going all the way in.

He pushed. Lorena screamed, a muffled cry that bounced off the empty walls. She felt his flesh stretching her, filling her, taking up every millimeter inside.

—Wait! It’s too much! —she whined, digging her nails into his biceps.

—Shut up and take your man! —he growled.

He didn’t wait for her to get used to it. He started moving with a devastating, piston-like rhythm. The unbolted bed frame creaked scandalously and his sweaty belly slapped against her stomach with a wet, repeated sound.

—Tell me whose house this is —he demanded, grabbing her by the hair.

—Nicolás’s! —she shouted, defiant and excited.

He drove into her so deeply she saw stars.

—Lies! Tell me whose pussy this is! Tell me who fills it!

—Yours! —she sobbed, defeated by pleasure—. It’s yours, Ramiro! All yours!

At fifty-three, the truck driver was still an unstoppable beast, and Lorena went wild feeling herself dominated by a man who could have been her father, with an animal strength no boy her age would ever reach.

In the middle of one thrust, a shrill ringtone cut through the air. Ramiro let out a hoarse laugh and, without stopping the motion, stretched an arm toward his trousers bunched around his calves and pulled out the phone with the cracked screen.

—It’s the cub —he muttered, with a sadistic gleam.

He hit answer, not stopping fucking her.

—What is it, Nico —he said, his voice curiously steady.

On the other end, the boy’s innocent voice: “Uncle, they don’t have any long screws left, if I go to the other end of the industrial estate…”.

Ramiro gave a hard shove that made Lorena bite her lip to keep from moaning.

—Enough with the stories, nephew —he said, while sweat from his forehead dripped onto the girl’s breasts—. I’ve already made do with the material I’ve got right here. It’s top quality, good gauge, fits exactly where I want it. Come back easy, I’ve got everything tightened up nicely here already.

He hung up and threw the phone to the floor. The technical everyday language of the hardware store clashed with the filthy, animal reality of what was happening on that bed frame.

—Did you hear that? —he whispered, grabbing her by the hair—. It turns you on when I talk to you like you’re some random whore in front of that kid’s face, him being out there worrying about some iron while I take away even your name.

Lorena squeezed her eyes shut, letting tears of arousal and shame slide down her temples.

—Don’t stop… —she moaned, giving in completely—. Don’t stop, Ramiro…

And he didn’t stop. He gave three final, brutal thrusts, and on the last one he stayed buried deep inside, tensing every muscle in his back, roaring like a wounded bear. Lorena felt the hot release flooding her, spasm after spasm. They stayed like that for a few seconds, him crushing her with his nearly hundred kilos, breathing harshly in her ear, while the bed frame finally fell silent.

***

Ramiro pulled out with a wet sound that made her shiver, pulled his trousers up, and lit a cigarette, leaning against the window frame as if he hadn’t just violated the sanctity of his nephew’s home.

—He’s coming back —he said calmly—. I can see the loser crossing the street. —He turned, exhaling smoke through his nose—. Get dressed, girl. And clean that up. Or leave it, and then he’ll know the house already has an owner.

Lorena dressed in a hurry. The sound of keys turning in the lock was the starting gun for the farce. Nicolás came in carrying bags that dug into his fingers.

—I’m here! God, it’s hot.

Ramiro came out of the bedroom with the languor of a sated predator, shirt untucked and belt still loose.

—You took your time, kid. Lorena got a bit of a heat drop, poor thing.

Nicolás turned worriedly. His girlfriend was leaning on the counter, drinking water, hair disheveled, lips swollen, and a flush on her cheeks that wasn’t only from the temperature.

—You okay, babe? You’re burning up —he said, touching her forehead.

She pulled back slightly, feeling a stab of guilt mixed with the arousal still throbbing between her legs. Ramiro’s smell had soaked the whole kitchen.

—It’s the heat and the dust —she lied, avoiding his eyes—. Your uncle was helping me move some things and I got dizzy.

***

They finished assembling the lift-up bed together, the three of them. When Nicolás climbed almost entirely into the storage chest to adjust the hydraulics, blind and deaf from the echo of the wood, Ramiro pressed up behind Lorena and bit her ear.

—Tonight, when you sleep here with him, remember who broke it in —he whispered, slipping his hand down the front of her pants just before the boy popped his head out, tousled and triumphant.

—Done! The hydraulic works!

***

The afternoon fell heavy and orange over the neighborhood. Ramiro gathered his tools and headed for the door, accompanied by an euphoric and exhausted Nicolás.

—I don’t know what we would’ve done without you, Uncle. Wait, I’m going to the bathroom for a second and I’ll go down with you —the boy said, bouncing on his feet—. I want to wash up, I’m soaked. I won’t be long!

—Go on then —Ramiro replied—. That way I can say goodbye to your girlfriend properly.

The boy went into the bathroom, right beside the entrance, and the latch clicked shut. The hallway fell silent, dimly lit by a bare bulb. Ramiro turned to Lorena and set the toolbox down on the floor with a dull thud.

—No goodbye for your uncle? —He took a step, cornering her against the hallway cabinet—. I’ve nearly busted my kidneys carrying your stuff. I want my tip, Lorena. And I want it now. On your knees.

—You’re crazy… not here… —she whispered, glancing at the door. The tap could be heard running.

—Here, yes. He takes half an hour to wash his hands. You know it and I know it.

He lowered the zipper. Lorena’s heart was racing. It was crazy, it was dangerous, it was filthy. And she loved it. She knelt on the cold, dusty floor, brought her face close, opened her mouth, and took him in.

Her tongue ran over the glans, the veins, down and back up, urgent and afraid, straining to hear whether the tap stopped running. Lorena, who in the classroom defended empowerment with brilliant arguments, didn’t recognize herself there, on her knees, reduced to a man’s dominant relief.

In the bathroom, the tap shut off. She froze.

—Keep going —Ramiro whispered, imperious, staring fixedly at the door.

—Where did I put the deodorant?! —Nicolás shouted from inside, amid the noise of bottles falling.

Ramiro gave a silent laugh and pushed her head. Lorena obeyed, speeding up, wanting him to finish before her life exploded.

—Nico! —Ramiro suddenly called out, in a normal voice, without stopping fucking her mouth.

She nearly died of shock and choked, but he held her by the hair.

—What? I’m coming out, man! —the boy answered.

—Nothing, I can’t find the truck keys!

—Look in the entryway, on the little table!

—Ah, okay, got them already! —Ramiro smiled, looking down, watching Lorena stare up at him with eyes full of absolute terror and tears bursting out, while she kept sucking him under the iron grip of his hand.

The adrenaline was the trigger. He felt himself going.

—Swallow, girl. Swallow it all —he whispered.

He gave three short thrusts, straight to the throat. The cock swelled and then it came. Ramiro came silently, eyes rolling back, pressing her head against his fly. The hot flow filled her mouth, thick despite being his second orgasm of the afternoon. She swallowed, forced to.

—I’m almost done, man! —Nicolás called out.

Ramiro pulled his cock out with a soft pop, zipped up, and buckled his belt in record time, with years of service-station practice.

—Get up —he hissed.

Lorena sprang to her feet, wiping her mouth, trembling like a leaf. Ramiro ran his thumb over the corner of her lip, removing a trace of evidence, and sucked his finger just as the latch was heard opening.

Nicolás came out fresh, combed, and smelling of cologne.

—All set! Sorry for the delay. With all that dust and smoke my eyes were irritated.

He looked at them both. Ramiro was leaning against the wall, calm, smoking. Lorena was red, breathing hard, looking at the floor.

—Everything all right?

—Everything perfect, nephew —Ramiro said, blowing smoke in his face—. Your girl here was thanking me for the favor.

—Of course. You really came through, man. Lorena’s very grateful, you know that.

Ramiro let out a laugh that echoed through the hallway and gave him a slap across the face, a little too hard.

—I know, kid. Take care of her, she’s got a lot of vices… for work, I mean.

He picked up his toolbox and went down the stairs whistling, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke behind him. Before following, Nicolás wrapped his arms around Lorena’s waist.

—Your uncle’s a good guy, huh? A bit rough, but he’s got a heart of gold.

Lorena let herself be hugged, still tasting Ramiro in her mouth and feeling the weight of his semen in her stomach. She looked at the half-open door and then at her boyfriend, so clean, so fragile.

—Yes —she said, resting her head on his shoulder—. A heart of gold.

And while Nicolás kissed her tenderly on the forehead, Lorena could only think about when they would need Uncle Ramiro’s strength again. After all, she had realized there’s nothing like having a good tool in the house.