What I Negotiated with My Uncle to Keep the Cell Phone
I’ve been carrying this secret for more than a year now, and doing it alone was beginning to weigh on me. My name is Valentina, I’m nineteen, I study graphic design at a public university, and this story is about my uncle Eduardo, a cell phone, and the strangest deal I’ve ever made in my life.
Eduardo is thirty-seven and operations manager for a chain of restaurants downtown. No one would guess he works in the food industry by looking at him: he’s always wearing neatly pressed designer clothes, a watch given to him by a business partner, driving a black Mustang he bought last year, and he has a green Kawasaki that he only takes out on weekends when he needs to clear his head. He isn’t the kind of man who goes unnoticed anywhere he walks into.
Our story began when I turned eighteen and started university. It was at a family gathering, after far too many glasses of red wine, when things between us crossed a line neither of us tried to uncross. The first time was in the upstairs bathroom of my grandmother’s house: he hiked my skirt up against the sink, yanked my panties off, and fucked me standing up while I covered my mouth with my hand so no one would hear the dull smacks of his hips against my ass. He came inside me without warning, and when I went back down to the dining room I could still feel his cum running down my thighs while I greeted my aunts. Since then, we’ve seen each other almost every week. Eduardo taught me things no guy my age could ever have taught me, and I learned that desire has very little to do with logic or with what we’re supposedly supposed to feel.
He’s generous without making a show of it. Clothes, shoes, dinners, concert tickets. In return, I’m obedient and enthusiastic, which is what he values most. I suck his cock when he asks me to, get on all fours when he asks me to, swallow his cum when he asks me to. Our dynamic works because we both know exactly what we’re doing, and neither of us pretends it’s something else. It’s an honest arrangement, in its own twisted way.
But there was one thing I had refused to give him for months. Eduardo first asked me one night in October, in a hotel room that smelled of wood and mint soap. He wanted to fuck me in the ass, wanted to stick his cock in my asshole, wanted to split open the hole no other man had touched. I told him no, flatly. He’s huge—a thick, long cock, with prominent veins and a broad head I can barely take even in my mouth—and frankly, I’d been afraid from the first moment he brought it up.
“Just try,” he told me that night, his open hand resting on one of my butt cheeks, his thumb brushing the edge of my asshole. “If you don’t like it, we’ll stop immediately.”
“No,” I replied, instinctively clenching around his finger. “I won’t be able to. It’s too big. You’ll split me in two.”
He accepted it without drama. But he didn’t forget, either. He began getting me used to it almost imperceptibly: every time we were together and I got on my knees on the bed with my ass raised and my face buried in the pillow, his fingers found their way toward the place I had always considered untouchable. A gentle, deliberate massage, his thumb soaked in my own juices, circling my asshole without forcing its way in. I would clench instinctively, and he would withdraw his hand without saying anything, with a patience that, looking back now, was more strategy than resignation. Sometimes, while he fucked me in front, he would slide a finger into my ass up to the first knuckle and leave it there, waiting for my body to relax around the intrusion. I would end up coming with a strange, different force, and he would smile without saying a word.
***
One Tuesday afternoon we went to the movie theater at the mall. It was an action movie neither of us was really following; we were in the last row of an almost empty theater, and the darkness did what it always did when we were together: made us careless about distance and consequences.
His hand slid under my skirt without anyone noticing. I opened my legs a fraction of an inch, which was permission enough for both of us. His fingers found my pussy through my panties and rubbed calmly until the fabric stuck to my lips from how wet I was. Then he moved them aside and plunged two fingers in all at once, up to the knuckles. I let out a low moan and muffled it by biting my lip. We had been like that for twenty minutes, his fingers sliding in and out of my pussy in a slow rhythm, when I felt them change direction with an intention I recognized immediately.
He used what he had already gathered from me—his hand was soaked—to wet his middle finger and pressed it against my asshole with a gentleness that completely disarmed me. I tried to close myself, clench my ass, but I couldn’t. Or didn’t want to, which is different. The finger entered up to the first knuckle and stayed there, barely moving in small circles, while his thumb returned to my pussy and rubbed my clit with a precision learned through months of practice. Then the finger went all the way in. I felt my ass accept it, open around it without resistance, my body giving in to a sweet betrayal of everything I had been saying all along. What followed lasted less than two minutes and left me with my jaw clenched and my eyes shut, trying not to make a sound in that theater with its four or five spectators ignorant of everything. When the orgasm came, it came from a place I didn’t recognize as my own: deeper, longer, from inside, with Eduardo’s finger buried to the hilt in my ass and his other fingers squeezing my clit violently.
When I finished, he slowly withdrew his hand, brought his fingers to his mouth, and sucked them one by one without taking his eyes off the screen, then settled back into his seat with a calmness that irritated me a little.
“See?” he murmured. “It’s not as bad as you thought. Your little ass wants it.”
I didn’t answer him. We waited for the credits to end and left without looking each other in the eye.
That night, at the hotel, he tried again. He put me face down, coated my asshole with thick lubricant from the nightstand, slipped in one finger, then two, and I was already willing in a different way, more open than ever, breathing deeply and pushing my ass against his hand. But when he tried to put his cock inside me—and placed it at the entrance, pressed the head against my asshole, pushed slowly—his cock was still too much for me to handle without tensing up. The head made its way in barely a couple of inches and I contracted all over, unable to stop myself. We tried for a long while, changed positions, he put me on my side, we tried with more lubricant, and in the end he gave up without resentment, put it in my pussy instead, fucked me until he came on my face, kissed my shoulder, and said it didn’t matter.
“Someday,” he murmured against my neck while I wiped his semen from my chin with the back of my hand.
“Yes,” I admitted, and sucked my stained fingers without thinking. It was the first time I had said it with anything resembling genuine conviction.
Two months passed. We continued seeing each other with the same regularity as always, continued with our usual routine—he ate me out until I came two or three times before putting it in me, I sucked his cock all the way down my throat until he came in my mouth—and the subject of my ass remained suspended in the air like a promise without a definite date. I thought about it from time to time, without anguish, with that curiosity mixed with vertigo that the unknown produces.
***
One Saturday we went to lunch at a Korean restaurant Eduardo had wanted to try for weeks. It was a long afternoon, with plenty of conversation and red wine, and when we left he told me he needed to stop by a technology store to look at some wireless headphones. I went with him without thinking too much about it.
The store was full of people and illuminated screens. Eduardo went straight to the phone section; the new Galaxy S25 Ultras had just been released, and he had been following the launch for weeks in reviews and technology forums. The salesperson attended to him enthusiastically. While the two of them talked about plans, storage, and extended warranties, I stood looking at the devices displayed in the glass cases with the resignation of someone gazing at travel-brochure windows they know they can’t afford.
I had wanted one of those phones for two years. Mine had a cracked screen in the lower-right corner, and the battery died around noon if I didn’t charge it between classes. My parents wouldn’t let me work during the semester—they insisted I had to focus on my studies—so buying one was, practically speaking, a completely closed possibility.
Eduardo took his old phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and set it on the counter to hand over as part of the process. It was a Galaxy S23 Ultra in immaculate condition; he took care of his things with a discipline that sometimes seemed excessive to me, almost clinical. I saw the unworn original leather case, the scratch-free screen, the cable carefully coiled beside the device. Practically new after two years of use.
“What are you going to do with that?” I asked, pointing to the device on the counter.
“A friend is buying it from me,” he replied without taking his eyes off the contract. “We already arranged it last week. He’s waiting to send me the transfer.”
The salesperson took the paperwork into the back room. Eduardo stayed for a moment checking something on the new device he had just taken out of the box. And I, without having planned it at all, did the math in less than a second.
“Hey,” I said. “I have a proposition for you.”
He looked up from the phone and looked at me.
“If you give me that phone instead of selling it to your friend, I’ll let you fuck me in the ass. As many times as you want, in whatever position you want, and without conditions. You won’t have to buy me anything else for the entire next year.”
Eduardo looked at me for three or four seconds without saying anything. There was something in his expression that mixed surprise with the most honest skepticism I had ever seen from him.
“We’ve tried,” he said at last, quietly so the salesperson wouldn’t hear from the back room. “It doesn’t fit. We both know it doesn’t fit.”
“Because I wasn’t really convinced. Now I am. You’re going to put it all the way in, balls-deep, and I won’t move.”
There was another silence. He picked up the old phone from the table and held it between his hands for a moment, as if weighing something more than the device itself. The salesperson returned with the final documents. Eduardo signed without hurrying, received the new phone, and put the old one in his jacket pocket.
When we left the store, it was already getting dark outside. We walked two steps in silence, and then he stopped.
“Deal,” he said.
***
We went straight to our usual hotel, the one we knew by heart: the receptionist who never looked us in the eye, the slow elevator, the third-floor room with a window overlooking the parking lot. We didn’t speak during the drive. I was nervous in a way I didn’t recognize in myself: it wasn’t exactly fear, but something more like the concentration before an important exam, that tension that mixes adrenaline with determination. At one traffic light I put my hand over the bulge in his pants and felt his hard cock, swollen and throbbing against the fabric. He already knew what was coming, and his body had been waiting for it for two months.
As soon as we closed the room door, I took control. I undressed by myself, slowly, without him having to do anything, and asked him to sit on the edge of the bed. I wanted to reach the agreed-upon moment with a clear head and a calm body, without the anxiety that sometimes made him impatient. I unbuckled his belt, pulled his pants and boxers down to his ankles, and let him lean back with his cock pointing toward the ceiling, thick and veined, its head purple and a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.
I knelt between his legs and took it into my mouth without preamble. I ran my tongue along its entire length, from the base to the tip, then opened wide and swallowed it until the head hit the back of my throat. I gagged, my eyes watered, saliva escaped from the corners of my mouth, and I didn’t stop. I moved my head up and down in rhythm, squeezing my lips around the shaft, playing the tip of my tongue over the frenulum every time I reached the top. With one hand I grabbed his balls and massaged them carefully; with the other I held the base and kept taking it deeper each time.
What I did for the next twenty minutes was the most deliberate and patient thing I had ever done in my life. Not to excite him—that was inevitable, his cock was hard as a rock—but to calm myself. There’s something about sucking it slowly, without rushing, that anchors me in the present, that puts my thoughts in order. I focused on the rhythm, on breathing, on the exact pressure I knew he liked after all this time. I sucked the head as if it were a piece of candy, licked his balls one by one, ran my tongue over his perineum, and even brushed the tip of my tongue over his asshole to see the expression on his face. He didn’t hurry me for a single second. He only watched me with that expression of his that mixed surprise with pride, his hand resting on the back of my neck without pushing, as if he rediscovered me every time we were like this.
“Come here,” he finally said, his voice hoarse.
I climbed onto the bed and straddled him. I grabbed his cock with one hand, rubbed it against the lips of my pussy until it was soaked in my juices, and slammed it inside me all the way. I let out a guttural moan when I felt it strike my cervix. I began riding him, moving up and down with my legs spread, my palms braced against his chest, feeling every thrust open me deeper inside. I took one of his hands and brought it to my tits so he could pinch my nipples; with the other he found my clit and rubbed it in circles while I fucked myself on top of him. I stayed like that for a long while, long enough for my body to remember that it knew this territory, that it had no reason to tense up. The room smelled of air conditioning, sweat, and his cologne. I came twice while riding him, mouth open and making no sound, squeezing his cock with the walls of my pussy in long spasms. When I was sufficiently prepared, I stopped, still impaled to the hilt, breathing heavily.
I got off him, knelt on the bed beside him, grabbed the bottle of lubricant from the nightstand, and poured half of it between my butt cheeks. I felt the cold liquid running down the crack of my ass. With two fingers I spread it thoroughly around my asshole, then pushed one all the way in, then two, scissoring them to open myself from within. Eduardo watched me without moving from where he lay, his cock shining with my juices and pointing toward the ceiling. His breathing had changed. His hands rested on his abdomen, and his knuckles were barely white from holding himself back.
“Hold your cock upright,” I told him. “I’m going to sit on top.”
I squatted over him, facing his chest, my feet flat on the mattress on either side of his hips. I took his hand and placed it on my waist, and with the other I grabbed his cock and positioned it at the entrance to my ass. I felt the fat head pressed against my asshole. I found the angle. I took one deep breath, let the air out slowly and in a controlled way, and lowered myself little by little, letting gravity do half the work.
The head entered first, with a brutal stab that made me open my eyes and hold my breath. I felt the muscle stretching around the glans, burning, yielding millimeter by millimeter. The pain was immediate and honest. Not the kind that makes you stop, but the kind that forces you to remain completely still and remember that you’re still breathing, that the body knows how to adapt when given time. Eduardo held me firmly but without squeezing. He didn’t move a single inch, didn’t push from below, didn’t force me. He waited without saying anything, which was the hardest part for both of us.
“Tell me when,” he murmured at last, his voice changed.
It took me almost a minute to get used to the pressure of having him barely inside me. Then I began lowering myself, one centimeter at a time, teeth clenched and eyes fixed on his right shoulder so I had somewhere to focus. I felt his cock forcing its way inside, invading a place that had never received anything larger than a finger. He made expressions I had never seen from him before, his jaw tense, as if he too were discovering something new in all this, as if it were difficult for him not to thrust upward in a single blow.
“You’re so tight,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’re squeezing my cock like a fist.”
When half of him was inside me, I began moving carefully. A small, controlled rocking motion, rising two centimeters and lowering three. The pain gradually transformed into something harder to name: uncomfortable and deep at the same time, a feeling of fullness that was almost more mental than physical, as if he were piercing me completely, as if my entire body had been reduced to the hole he was widening. I kept lowering myself, millimeter by millimeter, and felt him going in farther and farther until his pubic hair tickled my butt cheeks and I knew he was completely inside me.
When I reached my limit, I stopped. I felt his balls resting against my pussy, the pulse of his cock beating deep in my insides. I was crying without having decided to—not because of the pain, but because of the intensity of the situation itself, because of how strange it was to share something so intimate in that way, because I felt so absolutely occupied inside—and he wiped away a tear with his thumb without saying anything, without asking anything, without drawing any conclusions aloud.
“Should we stop?” he asked after a moment.
“No,” I replied. “It’s inside. It’s all the way inside. Now fuck me.”
I began moving for real. The first thrusts were clumsy and slow; I lifted myself, letting his cock come almost all the way out, then dropped back down to the hilt, with a burning sensation mixed with something electric that began rising up my spine. Then I found a rhythm that allowed me to control the depth and speed, and I slipped my fingers into my pussy while I rode him, rubbing my clit with my palm. Eduardo let me do it, only holding my hips so I wouldn’t lose my balance, watching me ride him in the ass with a fixed intensity I had never seen in him. I could feel every vein of his cock dragging against the walls of my anus, every ridge, every throb. I deliberately clenched the muscles around him, and he let out a low growl.
“Like that,” I told him breathlessly. “Do you like how tight I am?”
“You’re killing me,” he replied through clenched teeth. “You’re going to make me come.”
“Not yet. Not yet.”
I increased the pace. I began truly bouncing on him, letting his cock thrust up from below, feeling every impact reach deeper than the last. My thighs burned. My tits bounced with every downward movement, and he grabbed them with both hands, squeezing them and pinching my nipples. I kept masturbating with two fingers on my clit. When the orgasm came, it came from a place I had never known, more internal and longer than anything I had felt before: it was as if my entire ass contracted around his cock in waves and dragged my pussy along with it, and my whole belly convulsed at once. I screamed into the pillow I managed to grab in time to muffle it. I felt Eduardo’s cock swell inside me, practically moving on its own from the pressure I was applying.
My legs stopped responding completely. I collapsed face down on the bed, without the strength even to bend an arm, his cock sliding out of my ass with a wet sound, my asshole wide open, my breathing ragged against the sheets.
Eduardo waited a moment before settling behind me. He lifted my hips slightly with his hands and put me on my knees with my chest against the mattress, my face turned to the side, my ass held high. He spread my butt cheeks with his thumbs and contemplated the damage for a second: my pink, still-dilated asshole, shiny with lubricant, pulsing open. Then he pressed the head of his cock against the hole and entered again in a single thrust all the way to the hilt. I screamed, this time without a pillow, and he covered my mouth with one hand.
“That’s it, that’s it,” he murmured against my ear. “Take it.”
This time he set the pace: slow at first, gripping my hips with both hands, pulling it almost all the way out and plunging it back in to the balls. I heard the wet, obscene sound our bodies made when they collided. Then he became more forceful and went deeper, faster, fucking my ass with hard, dry thrusts that shook my whole body and made me moan against the mattress. He grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and put two fingers in my mouth for me to suck while he penetrated me.
“Slut,” he said hoarsely without stopping his thrusts. “Look how much you like having me put it up your ass. After months of telling me no.”
“Yes,” I panted, unable to think. “Yes, yes, come inside me. I want to feel it.”
It took him less time than I expected. His thrusts grew shorter and faster, and I felt his cock thicken inside me just before he sank all the way in one last time and went still, squeezing my hips with his fingers dug into them. When he finished, I felt it inside my body in a way I had never experienced before: hot, thick spurts emptying inside me one after another, filling my ass. He stayed inside for a long while, breathing heavily against my back, not wanting to pull out yet.
When he finally withdrew, his cock came out with a wet sound, and I felt a thread of semen begin running down the crack toward my pussy. I stayed face down, without closing my ass, knowing he was watching it. That too was part of the deal.
We lay still for a long while. The room was silent except for the hum of the air conditioner and our recovering breaths.
***
We fell asleep for a couple of hours. When we woke, we ordered room service and watched something on his phone—the old one, which was mine now—resting on the pillow between us. It was an absurdly domestic situation that made me laugh, and him too. It was the first time I had seen him really laugh in a long time. Before falling asleep again, he put it in my ass once more, calmly, without anxiety, and this time it went in all at once and without burning, as if my body already knew it.
Before leaving the hotel, we stopped by his apartment so he could transfer the data and set up the device in my name. He explained the features I didn’t know about with the patience of someone who genuinely enjoyed teaching things. When I put the phone in my purse and felt its weight, I had the quiet certainty that I had made the right decision.
Three months have passed since that afternoon. Eduardo and I still see each other with the same regularity as always. What we agreed on stands: he doesn’t buy me anything, I don’t ask him for anything, and he fucks my ass whenever he wants, in whatever position he wants, and it doesn’t hurt anymore like it did at first. Sometimes he asks me twice in the same night, and I get on all fours without complaining, my asshole still warm from his previous load, and he laughs and tells me I’m a mess. It surprises me to discover that there are sensations you simply can’t anticipate until you experience them from the inside, without filters and without the distance fear creates.
I use the phone at university and charge it in my room at night. My parents never asked about it; I suppose they assumed I had bought it with some savings I’d accumulated. I have no way to explain the truth to them, and I don’t feel I should have to.
Some secrets are better that way: kept, complete, shared only between those who were present when they happened.