What My Uncle Asked of Me in Exchange for His House

My name is Camila, I’m twenty-one years old, and I was never one of those girls who turn heads. I’m barely five feet tall, my body is slender and without pronounced curves, and I always thought that invisibility was a blessing. Until it stopped being one. What I’m about to tell you happened a few months ago, when I moved into my uncle Esteban’s house after one of the worst moments of my life.

My boyfriend, Sebastián, kicked me out of the apartment we shared in Quilmes in the early hours of a May morning, after a stupid fight about money. He loaded my things into four garbage bags and left them in the lobby. I cried for three straight days in a cheap hotel, quit the job at the café where I worked, and sank into a hole I didn’t know how to climb out of. Going back to my parents was not an option: they lived in a village of six hundred people, and the mere thought of the whole neighborhood finding out about my failure made me sick.

Then he called me. My uncle, my father’s younger brother. He said he’d heard from my cousin and that his house was open to me, that I shouldn’t worry about money. Esteban was the opposite of my father: a real estate businessman, married to an older woman, owner of a three-story house in a wooded part of San Isidro. Stable. Boring. Harmless. Or so I thought.

His wife, Adriana, greeted me with a tight smile and a herbal tea. She didn’t like me from the first minute. She was in her forties, always with her hair pulled back, lips pressed thin. She never said anything mean, but she never spoke to me unless it was strictly necessary. When she left the house, which happened almost every morning because she ran errands or went to the gym, she would watch me in the rearview mirror before starting the car, as if she wanted to memorize my face so she could later report me for something I still hadn’t done.

When she was gone, the whole house breathed differently. I felt free for the first time in weeks. I walked barefoot through the wooden hallways. I made myself breakfast in my robe. I left the bathroom door open because bathing with everything closed in made me claustrophobic. I changed in my room without drawing the curtain, looking out at the trees in back while I put on my bra. I convinced myself I was alone. That the house was mine during those hours.

I wasn’t alone. Esteban arrived in silence. I learned later that he parked half a block away and came in without ringing the bell, that he stood in the hallway listening, that he knew exactly when I lowered my towel. I found out almost by accident one June morning, when I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a white towel and went into my room.

He was sitting on my bed. He had one of my panties in his left hand, the tips of his fingers brushing the damp fabric at the crotch, as if he were sniffing them without bringing them to his nose. When he saw me come in, he slipped them into his pants pocket with a slow motion, as if he didn’t care that I was watching him do it.

—Niece, I was waiting for you —he said.

—Can you step out for a moment? I need to get dressed.

—That’s exactly what I wanted to talk about.

I froze in the doorway, gripping the towel with both hands. My heart was pounding against my ribs and the shower water was dripping down my calves onto the rug.

—I don’t understand what about.

—Camila, you know what a house like this costs. Electricity, gas, food. I opened my doors to you, I didn’t charge you a single peso. How long have you been here? Three months?

—You invited me.

—And you accepted. Nothing is free, niece. You need to start understanding that. But relax, it’s nothing bad I’m asking you for.

He took a wad of bills out of his other pocket. He laid them on my bedspread slowly, one on top of another, as if he were counting them. There were many. More than I had earned in the entire previous year.

—This is for you. In exchange, I want a few photos.

—Uncle, I can’t…

—No fabric. No contact. I’ll take the photos and leave. I swear I won’t share them with anyone.

I looked at the bills. Then at the door closed behind him. Then at my own hand gripping the towel. I thought about the rent I was going to have to pay once I left that house, about the debts Sebastián had left me, about how far away my village was. I thought about how little I would have to do to get all that.

I walked to the bed. Took the bills. Counted them with trembling fingers and tucked them into the drawer of the nightstand, under a yoga book I never read.

—Hurry up. And I don’t want anyone else to see them, you hear me?

—Not a soul. I swear. I want some standing up and others on the bed.

I let the towel fall.

***

The air in the room clung to my wet skin and my nipples hardened instantly, two pink points standing up in the middle of my small tits. I leaned against the dresser first, one hand on my hip, looking toward the picture window. Esteban took the photos without saying anything; all you could hear was the phone’s click every few seconds and his breathing growing heavier and heavier. Then he made me turn against the wardrobe door, asked me to raise my arms, lick my lips, spread my legs so my cunt would show front and center. I obeyed him. Each instruction seemed less absurd than the last.

—Spread yourself with your fingers, niece. I want to see inside you.

I lowered my hand and parted the lips of my cunt with my index and middle fingers. I felt the cold air enter me and I shuddered. The phone’s clicking sped up. I heard him swallow.

Then I let myself fall onto the bed. Face down first, with my ass slightly lifted, my legs just barely apart so everything could be seen from behind: my little ass, my pink cunt, the thread of wetness already leaking from me without permission. Face up after that, with one leg bent to the side, the other stretched out, displayed like a whore in a catalog. The sheets rubbed my nipples and I couldn’t not notice it. The camera followed every movement with the slowness of someone who wasn’t in a hurry.

I started getting wet without wanting to. At first it was discomfort, then a heat rising from my hips to my neck, an unbearable tingling between my legs that begged me to touch myself. When I settled onto my side, my right hand dropped on its own to my mound. I stopped it for a second. Then I kept going.

My fingers circled slowly over my swollen clit. My skin was already wet, soaked. I slid my middle finger inside and pulled it out shining, coated in my juices, and brought it to my mouth without thinking, sucking it while I looked at my uncle. Then I lowered my hand again and pushed in two fingers, with my heels braced on the mattress and my hips thrusting upward. I don’t even know when my uncle stopped taking photos and started recording video, but when I looked up at him, I saw the bulge in his pants —an obscene swelling deforming the fabric— and his eyes fixed on the phone screen. He had forgotten to hide it.

Seeing him like that turned me on even more.

Having a man twenty-five years older than me frozen there, with his cock about to burst through the zipper of his pants, looking at me as if I were the only thing in the universe, gave me a power I had never felt before. I sat up on my knees, without taking my fingers out of myself, and crawled to the edge of the bed, showing him my ass on the way. I lowered myself to the floor. I knelt in front of him.

—Don’t say anything. Take your pants off.

He looked down at me for a second, surprised. Then he loosened his belt with his free hand and let his pants fall to his ankles. He also yanked down his boxers and the cock sprang out, hard, throbbing, pointing at my face. It was much bigger than I had imagined, thick, with a marked vein running underneath and the tip already wet with pre-cum. I took it in both hands —and even then I still had room to spare— and felt it heavy, hot, alive, pulsing against my palms. I stayed there for a moment, staring at it, not knowing where to begin.

—Suck it, niece. Get the juice out of it.

I ran my tongue over the tip first, slowly, gathering that salty drop while looking straight into the lens. Then I licked the entire length of the shaft from bottom to top, like an ice cream melting. I sucked his balls one by one, taking them whole into my mouth, feeling them contract against my lips. I went back up over the vein and gently bit the crown.

—Holy fuck —I heard him mutter.

I opened the imaginary shirt I wasn’t wearing and tucked it between the small breasts I have, squeezing them with my arms to make a flesh sheath, and I moved it up and down, feeling how tighter his skin grew, how the tip peeked out between my tits and hit my chin every time I lowered them. I spat on it to lubricate it better and kept pumping with my tits, watching my uncle’s face come undone.

Then I tried to take it into my mouth and nearly choked. I opened as wide as I could, stuck my tongue out to make a ramp, and slowly started taking it in, feeling it press against my palate, against my throat. My uncle, without letting go of the phone, placed his free hand on the back of my neck and pushed. I felt the cock slam against the back of my throat and gag. Tears slipped out of me without warning and mixed with the thick saliva that ran down my chin to drip onto my tits. He pulled it out and shoved it back in, and again, and again, fucking my mouth at his rhythm, his hand firm on my neck, not letting me breathe except for the seconds he decided.

—That’s it, niece. Choke on your uncle’s dick. Make sure it looks good on camera.

When he let me go for a moment, I coughed, spat, drew a breath, and shoved it back in myself, this time grabbing his ass with both hands and pulling him toward me, swallowing him until my nose touched his pubic hair. My eyes were swollen, strings of drool hung from me to the floor, but I didn’t let him go.

My left hand was still between my legs. I hadn’t taken it out for a second. I was fucking myself with three fingers now, in and out with a wet sound that filled the room, mixed with gagging and muffled moans. The wooden floor beneath me was getting wet with what dripped from my cunt. I was ashamed and I didn’t care. I was coming almost without realizing it, with my uncle’s cock buried in my mouth, pressing my thighs against my own hand while the orgasm shook me in waves.

After several minutes like that, I felt him tense. His cock grew even harder between my lips, the vein throbbed against my tongue. He grabbed my hair with both hands, dropping the phone on the bed so it would keep recording from there, and drove into my mouth hard, to the very back, until the tip passed my throat. And he came inside, deep, shot after shot. I felt it going down hot and thick through my esophagus, and there was nothing I could do. He pulled his cock out at the last moment and painted the final spurts across my face and on the tongue I kept obediently outside. His load landed on my cheek, on my lip, on a nipple. When he let me go, I stayed there for a second on my knees, with shiny lips, my face smeared, semen dripping to my chin, and I used my finger to gather what was hanging from me and lick it while looking up at him.

—No one can see that video. No one.

—Relax, niece. This stays between us.

At that very instant we heard the unmistakable sound of keys turning in the front door lock. Adriana was back. My uncle yanked up his pants with a magician’s speed, adjusted his belt, ran his hands through his hair, and grabbed the phone. Before leaving, he crouched down, ran his thumb along the corner of my mouth to clean off a drop of semen, and brought it to his own mouth, never taking his eyes off me. Then he left my room without saying a word. I locked the door and collapsed onto the bed, still naked, still stained, my heart pounding and my cunt throbbing between my legs.

It took me several minutes to get up. I locked myself in the bathroom, turned on the sink faucet, and washed my face with cold water until my skin started to hurt. I brushed my teeth two, three times, and still I kept tasting that salty flavor in my throat. I changed into loose clothes, a T-shirt that reached my thighs, with no bra or panties because the mere idea of something rubbing my swollen cunt gave me shivers, and only went downstairs at dinner time, my eyes fixed on my plate.

Adriana served pasta. My uncle asked how my day had been. I said fine, that I’d studied a little. My spoon was trembling and no one seemed to notice. Or maybe he did notice and liked it. Under the table, I felt his bare foot slide up my calf, push my T-shirt higher, and part my thighs just a little. I didn’t move. I let his big toe stay there, barely brushing me, while Adriana kept talking about a new Pilates class she’d tried.

That night I slept five hours with the light on. In the morning, when I went down for breakfast, I found a folded piece of paper on the kitchen counter with my name typed on it. I opened it. Inside was another wad of bills, thicker than the first. And a single line, written in blue pen: “Tomorrow it’s your turn to record something else.”

I didn’t throw the paper away. I kept it in the same drawer.

What happened after that is another story, but I swear that at that moment, reading that line with my fingers still trembling and my cunt soaking the clean panties I had just put on, I knew I wasn’t going to stop. And that I didn’t want to stop.