My Ex’s Niece Wrote Me Months Later

My ex had a niece and a nephew, twins who were eighteen years old. I got along well with both of them, but with her there was something different from the very first afternoon I saw her walk into the house with her backpack over one shoulder and her eyes red from crying over her boyfriend.

Marisol, my partner at the time, had told me the girl was having a rough time with some kid from her school. I was in the kitchen pouring coffee when Renata came in and dropped into a chair as if she weighed a hundred kilos. That same afternoon the three of us sat down in a neighborhood restaurant and let her talk. I gave her advice without getting too involved. When we got back, she kissed me on the cheek and said, “Thanks, uncle.” Something about the way she said it kept turning over in my head for a long time.

From that day on she started calling me uncle. And for me, who had never had children, I liked it more than I was willing to admit.

Renata was helpful, affectionate in a way no direct niece ever was. Every time she came to the house, she hugged me hard and I felt against my chest the firmness of tits that, for an eighteen-year-old, were a small scandal. She had a narrow waist, perky hips, a round ass that made any pants she wore pull tight, and a way of moving that seemed unaware of everything. Or maybe she was aware of everything.

The first time I really wanted her was on a March afternoon. She had bought herself a red dress for a party and came down to the living room to model it.

“Do I look good enough to make someone jealous?” she asked, turning slowly.

Marisol laughed. I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible, looking at her shoes instead of her legs. That night in bed, I closed my eyes and for the first time I wasn’t with my partner. I was with the niece. I pictured her on her knees, with that red dress hiked up to her waist and her mouth open, waiting for me. I came silently, covering myself with the sheet so Marisol wouldn’t see my hand.

***

Time passed and the trust kept growing. The kids came over with less and less supervision from their mother. On one vacation they stayed with us for two weeks. One afternoon Marisol suggested, almost as a joke, that I teach them self-defense in case someone ever came up to them on the street.

It was the perfect excuse to touch her without anyone being able to say a thing.

The four of us went to a park near the river. I started with the brother, Tomás, because that was the prudent thing to do. I grabbed him by the neck, showed him how to break free, all in good spirits. Renata climbed up behind me laughing, as if we were kids playing fight games. At some point Marisol joined in too, and we rolled around on the grass four deep, all tangled up, all laughing.

On one turn I ended up with Renata’s back against my chest. I wrapped an arm around her neck to simulate a hold and felt, without meaning to and wanting to, my forearm pressing one of her tits. She kept laughing. Marisol was wrestling with Tomás on the other side and saw nothing. I took advantage. I made a move as if I were going to lift her and left my open hand on her chest a second longer than necessary. I squeezed just a little. I felt the hard nipple against my palm, outlined through her bra and T-shirt. It was very little. But it was something.

Renata didn’t complain. She wasn’t surprised. She kept laughing as if nothing had happened, and even stuck her ass back for a moment against my crotch, casually, as if by accident.

I felt my cock start to swell inside my pants and stopped dead. I said that was enough, that we were good for today. I walked off a little to the side until it went down.

***

We went back to the house to shower. The order was Tomás, Marisol, Renata, and me last. When she came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and with wet hair, she passed close to me and whispered with a naughty smile:

“Let’s see if you’ve still got water left, uncle. I almost finished it.”

I smiled back without answering.

I told Marisol I was going to go into the bathroom for a while while the water heated up again. I locked the door. I sat on the toilet lid and looked at my phone for a couple of minutes. When I looked up, I saw that the laundry basket had its lid open and on top of it, folded any old way, was a black intimate garment. Renata’s thong. She hadn’t put it away properly.

My whole body went still.

I picked it up with two fingers. It was still a little damp, not from water, but from the heat of having been worn. I turned it over slowly and saw the pale mark in the center, that darker oval a young woman’s pussy leaves after a long day. I brought it close to my nose almost in fear of myself. The smell was strong, salty, with something sweet I couldn’t name, the pure smell of her cunt soaked into the cotton. My cock went hard all at once, so hard I had to loosen my belt to get it out.

I stepped into the shower stall without turning on the water, with the fabric in one hand and my dick in the other. I pressed the thong to my nose and mouth, licked the part that had been against her cunt, tasted it on my tongue, sour and warm, and started a slow wank thinking about her. I pictured her on her knees in that same shower, wet hair stuck to her face, mouth open and tongue out waiting for me to finish all over her. I pictured myself fucking her throat, making her choke a little, looking up at me from below the way she had looked at me on the grass. I didn’t take long. I came in spurts against the tiles, clenching my teeth so I wouldn’t make a noise, my legs trembling so hard I almost sat down.

When I was done, I wiped the wall with the same thong and folded it again, wrapped it inside the bra that was there too, so Marisol wouldn’t see it when she sorted the laundry. I put it back in the basket.

I turned on the shower. I bathed for a long time. Renata’s cunt smell had stuck inside my nose like it belonged there.

***

That was the last time I was close to her. The vacation ended, the kids went back home, and a few months later Marisol and I argued over something stupid that was really much bigger, and we broke up. What hurt the most, though I couldn’t say it out loud, was knowing I wasn’t going to see Renata anymore. I fantasized about her lips, about her mouth around my cock, about the head of my dick hitting the back of her throat, about spreading her ass cheeks and seeing her pussy for the first time. Things a decent man shouldn’t fantasize about regarding his ex’s niece.

Six months went by. I was already living alone, in an apartment fifteen blocks from where I had lived with Marisol. One Thursday afternoon, while I was drinking coffee in front of the computer, I got a TikTok message. Unknown user. I opened it.

“Hi, uncle. How are you? Do you remember me? You left without saying goodbye.”

It was her.

I answered with slightly trembling hands. I told her of course I remembered, that things with her aunt hadn’t ended well and that because of that I hadn’t known how to say goodbye. I told her that to me she was still my niece, even if it was no longer official.

“I miss you a lot,” she wrote. “I’m having a hard time and I have no one to talk to. Could I come see you one day?”

I said yes before I even thought about it.

“I live near where I used to,” I wrote. “If you want, I’ll pick you up and we can come back to my place. That way we don’t have to worry about who sees us.”

“I can skip school tomorrow,” she replied. “My mom doesn’t take me anymore and my brother is studying in another city. I’m free from two to eight. Sound good?”

I told her I’d be waiting for her at the mall entrance at two. I closed the conversation and stayed staring at the ceiling for a long while, with my cock pinned tight against my pants and my balls already swollen just from thinking about her.

***

The next day I arrived fifteen minutes early. She was on time. I saw her walking toward the main entrance and it was hard to breathe. She was wearing black leggings that made her ass look obscene, a short white T-shirt, and an open denim jacket. Her hair was longer than the last time. Her hips looked different. She was no longer the little girl in the red dress.

When she saw me, she stopped walking and broke into a short run. She hugged me hard, both hands on my back, and I swear on everything I know she wasn’t wearing a bra. I felt her tits against my chest, firm, natural, with the nipples already outlined beneath the thin fabric. I also felt, without much attempt at concealment on her part, that she pressed her pelvis against mine a second longer than she should have, rubbing her cunt over her clothes like someone doing it by accident.

“You’ve grown up, niece,” I told her, and I regretted how it sounded.

She laughed.

“And you’re still the same, uncle.”

I told her I still didn’t have a car, that we were taking the bus. She didn’t mind. At the stop she started telling me her problems: that her mother was suffocating her, that Marisol was pressuring her to go out together and she didn’t want to, that her brother had become intolerably jealous.

The bus arrived full. We had to stand. I positioned myself diagonally behind her, one hand up on the pole and the other across her back, protecting her. It was a reasonable excuse. There weren’t many men in the world I was going to explain the rest to.

I rested my leg against the backs of her thighs. I expected her to move away. She didn’t. On the contrary, she leaned back very slightly. Like a question.

As the bus moved, it got more crowded. People pressed in on us. I slid my hand down from her back to her waist and rested it there firmly, as if guarding her. She kept talking as if nothing were happening, but she leaned back a little more against my leg. I could feel her ass. I could feel the fabric of the leggings, that cheap but unbelievably thin texture, against my thigh. You could even make out the line of her thong underneath, and lower still, the split of her cheeks and the warm bulge of her cunt pressed by the seam.

On a sharp turn by the driver, the crowd shoved us. I moved my hand a couple of centimeters lower, to the top edge of her ass. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t move. She kept telling me some story about school. I moved it a little lower, with my palm open, until I had half a cheek in my hand. I squeezed. I felt it firm, dense, young. Then she squeezed my leg back with the back of her thigh, trapping me there, not letting me pull my hand away.

Another sudden brake and my body pressed closer to hers. She felt, without my being able to stop it, my rock-hard cock jammed against her ass. She turned her head slightly, looked at me over her shoulder, and smiled. It wasn’t a smile of surprise. It was a warning smile. Then she turned forward again and, very slowly, started moving her ass against my cock, a tiny back-and-forth that no one on the bus could notice but that was killing me.

I told her in her ear that we were getting off at the next stop.

***

We climbed the stairs to my building without speaking. In the elevator she leaned against the back wall and stared at me. I didn’t dare touch her yet. I wanted to, and at the same time it seemed impossible. She bit her lower lip, ran her tongue over it, and without lowering her gaze she squeezed one tit over her T-shirt, showing me how my finger would sink in. My throat tightened.

When I got into the apartment I put the keys on the table. I offered her something to drink. She asked for a glass of water. I poured it. She drank almost the whole thing in one go, with a little trickle running from the corner of her mouth, set the glass down, and came toward me with a calm that disarmed me.

“Uncle,” she said, “I came because I wanted to see you. Not because I’m sad.”

“I know.”

I slowly took off her denim jacket. She raised her arms so I could. Underneath, the white T-shirt showed what I had already felt in the hug: no fabric in between, two dark nipples outlined through the cotton. I ran my open hand over one of her tits, without rushing anything, as if we were still playing self-defense in that park years ago. I pinched her nipple between two fingers. She closed her eyes and let the air out through her mouth.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” I told her.

“Me too. Since before you think.”

I kissed her. I pushed my tongue deep into her mouth and she sucked on mine as if she’d been hungry for years. She tasted the way I had imagined so many times. I yanked off her T-shirt and finally saw her tits bare, even prettier than I had pictured them in the shower that day: perky, with small areolas and nipples hard as stones. I took one in my mouth and sucked her hard, licking her and lightly biting the tip. She dug her fingers into my neck and moaned out loud for the first time.

I pushed her against the living room wall. I left kisses on her neck, on her collarbone, at the base of her tits, while she unbuckled my belt with the firm hand of someone who had already decided everything on the bus, or before. She pulled down my pants and boxers in one yank. My cock sprang out hard, veined, pointing at my navel. She looked at it for a second, bit her lip, and knelt right there in the middle of the living room, without me having to ask for anything.

She took it in both hands, spit on the tip, and spread it around with her thumb. Then she opened her mouth, stuck out her tongue, and licked me from the balls to the head, slowly, looking up at me with those shining eyes I had spent years imagining. She took me in her mouth at once, halfway in, then a little more, and started sucking me with a slow rhythm that made my legs tremble. She choked twice trying to take more in, her eyes watering, saliva dripping down her chin to her tits. She sucked with real hunger, lips sealed tight around the shaft, and took my balls one by one into her mouth too, while still working me with her hand.

“Like that, niece, like that,” I said in a broken voice. “Suck it all.”

She moaned with my dick in her mouth, and that vibration almost made me finish right there. I pulled her up by the elbows before I came. I didn’t want to cum yet. I took her to the couch.

I pulled down her leggings carefully, as if I might still change my mind. I didn’t. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Her skin was burning. I spread her legs and finally saw her pussy up close: pink, small, wet, with a shiny thread hanging between her lips. She was much wetter than I would have expected. I knelt between her legs and buried my face there without warning. I dragged my tongue all the way from the bottom up to her clit in one motion and felt her arch against my mouth. I sucked her clit hard, lips tight, while I slid two fingers inside her and searched for that hard spot that makes women scream. She covered her face with one arm and let out a sound that wasn’t a moan, something quieter, more intimate, something she would only have let one person hear in a very long time.

I kept eating her pussy until her whole body started shaking. She grabbed my hair, pressed my face against her, and came in my mouth with a long spasm, biting her arm so she wouldn’t scream. I felt more hot slick spill over my fingers, my chin, the couch.

Then I got up. I kissed her navel, her tits, then her mouth again so she could taste herself. She looked up at me with shining eyes and said, almost voicelessly:

“Uncle, please.”

That was the word that finally sank me.

I grabbed her by the hips and pressed the head of my cock against her cunt. I rubbed it there, up and down, soaking myself with her. She pushed her pelvis toward me, needy, and I kept denying her to make her want it more.

“Put it in me, uncle, please,” she said. “Put it in me now.”

I pushed. It went in little by little, so tight, and she jerked and spread her legs wider. I felt her give, wrap around me, trap me. I stayed still inside her for a second, looking into her eyes, unable to fully believe where I was. Then I started moving. First slowly, with long, deep thrusts, feeling every centimeter of her pussy tightening around my cock. She dug her nails into my back and asked for more.

“Harder, uncle. Fuck me harder.”

I grabbed one leg, put it over my shoulder, and started hammering her with real force. The couch creaked. Her tits bounced with every thrust. The sound of my pelvis slapping against her thighs, wet, obscene, filled the living room. Her mouth was open and her eyes half-closed, moaning without holding back now, saying my name and saying uncle mixed into the same sentence.

I turned her over. I got her on all fours on the couch, knees apart and ass raised. I saw her pussy and little ass like that, open, wet, offered, and I almost came just from the sight. I rammed my cock all the way in in one thrust. She screamed and grabbed the backrest. I took her hair, not hard, and wound it around my hand. I started fucking her hard, with dry thrusts, watching her cheeks sway with every удар. I slapped one cheek. She moaned louder.

“Again,” she asked.

I gave her another. And another. Her ass turned pink. I ran my thumb over the little hole back there and pressed it just a little. She clenched all the way around my cock.

“I’m going to cum again, uncle,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m going to cum...”

I held her by the hips and drove into her to the hilt, fast, nonstop. She came with a long cry, squeezing my cock in spasm after spasm, so hard I had to bite my lip to hold on. When I felt her go limp I turned her over again. I wanted to watch her when she finished.

I laid her on her back, lifted both legs, spread them wide, and went back inside her. I fucked her slowly, watching her, seeing her tits bounce and her face transform with pleasure. She ran her hands over my face, stroked my lips, put two fingers in my mouth so I would suck them.

“Finish inside me, uncle,” she whispered. “I’m on the pill. Finish inside me. I want to feel you.”

I couldn’t hold out any longer. I buried my face in her neck and let go. I came inside her in long jets, with spasms that shook my whole spine, groaning against her ear like I hadn’t come in years. She held me tight with her legs around my waist, feeling every lash of it, and whispered “yes, uncle, like that, all of it, all of it” in my ear while I kept filling her.

I stayed on top of her for a long while, not pulling out, feeling myself go down inside. She stroked the nape of my neck. She was smiling.

After that there was no more bus, no more mall, no Marisol, no jealous brother, no mother-in-law’s house. There was only that, and two more times before eight o’clock: once in the bed, with her on top, riding me slowly with her tits hanging in my face, and once fast and filthy against the bathroom sink, looking at ourselves in the mirror while I drove into her from behind and she licked her lips like a cat. An afternoon from three to eight that I remembered for years every time I heard the word “uncle” said in a certain way.

When she left, with her hair still messy, her jacket half-buttoned, and my cum leaking down the inside of her thigh, she kissed me on the cheek at the door and said, just like the first time in that restaurant:

“Thanks, uncle.”

And again, just like that afternoon, it kept turning over in my head for a long time.