My Aunt Transformed Me into the Niece She Never Had

Adrián arrived at his aunt and uncle’s house with a cheap suitcase and the certainty that university would be his passport to independence. He was just old enough to believe himself an adult and just inexperienced enough to make mistakes. Renata, his mother’s older sister, had offered him a place to stay years earlier: the house was close to the faculty and, as she’d said over the phone at the time, “That way you won’t waste your money on some miserable rental.” In exchange for a roof and food, he agreed to help with the housework, keep his room tidy, and, above all, obey his aunt at all times.

That last condition had sounded harmless on the first night. It soon stopped being so.

Renata welcomed him at the door in a black dress that emphasized every curve of her mature body, seamed stockings, and stiletto heels that sounded like little hammers striking the marble. Her lips were painted red, her eyes traveling up and down his body as if she were already measuring how much material there was to mold.

“Come in, nephew,” she said, in a deep, honeyed voice that didn’t ask permission. “You’re going to be very comfortable here. As long as you learn quickly who’s in charge.”

That same night, on the leather sofa, with Hugo watching him silently from the opposite end of the room, his aunt laid out the rules with the naturalness of someone delivering a sentence.

“Immaculate house. Your room like an operating theater. You behave like a decent person in front of guests. And you obey me in absolutely everything. No arguments, no faces, no delays.”

She paused. She crossed her legs and let the nylon rustle.

“There’s a fifth rule I didn’t tell you over the phone because I wanted to see your face when you heard it. Starting tomorrow, your real education begins.”

***

The room they assigned him was spacious, bright, and disturbingly feminine. A four-door mirrored wardrobe took up an entire wall. When he opened it, he felt the air leave his lungs. Three shirts, two pairs of trousers, and an old pair of sneakers hung on the left. The rest of the space was something else: satin corsets, lace lingerie, garter belts, seamed stockings, scandalously short pleated skirts, dresses, heels of every height, wigs in every shade, silicone prostheses of different sizes.

Renata appeared behind him in the mirror’s reflection, an electric shaver in one hand and a bottle of depilatory cream in the other.

“First lesson,” she said, placing both things in his hands. “From now on, your skin is going to be as smooth as anyone’s. Arms, chest, legs, everything. You have until eight tonight. If there’s even one hair left, I’ll remove it myself with hot wax and no mercy.”

That afternoon Adrián locked himself in the bathroom and obeyed. When he finished, his entire body burned and his hands trembled. He felt ridiculously exposed, hairless, alien to himself.

The worst came two days later. His aunt made him strip in front of the mirror and seized his limp cock between two fingers, as though holding something that did not entirely belong to him. She gave it a contemptuous little shake until, humiliated, he began to harden against his will. Then she smiled, plunged it into a bowl of ice for a few seconds until it went soft again, and fitted him with a chastity device herself: a transparent polycarbonate cage with a tiny numbered padlock, which tightened around the base of his balls and compressed his cock inside a tube curved downward. As she locked it, her long nails deliberately brushed the skin of his glans.

“This is so you never touch yourself again without permission,” she whispered beside his ear, biting his earlobe. “That little dick isn’t yours to play with anymore. It’s mine. And I’ll use it when, how, and with whom I decide. When I want you to come, you’ll come. When I don’t, you’ll endure it even if your balls fall off.”

The click of the lock echoed in his head like a gunshot.

***

From then on, the ritual grew little by little, like a ceremony of slow demolition. A week later, women’s underwear was added. The following week, nylon stockings. Then heels, first low and then increasingly high. Every Monday he found a handwritten sheet of instructions on the desk: the clothing, the accessories, the hairstyle he was to wear that week.

Every afternoon, when he returned from the faculty, he repeated the same steps. He put his men’s clothes in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, like someone hiding evidence of a crime. He tightened a steel-boned corset that stole inches from his waist and forced him to breathe in short gasps. He pulled on the stockings, held up by garters that tugged with every step. He put in the prostheses and a bra that made them impossible to ignore. A short skirt, stiletto heels that forced him to walk in short steps with an involuntary sway. The lace panties wedged between his buttocks and pressed the cage against his perineum, a permanent reminder that down between his legs, he no longer had any say.

Then came the vanity table. Foundation to erase every trace of masculinity, pastel eyeshadow, eyeliner, false eyelashes, lips filled out in an intense pink, false nails in the same color. Finally, the long blonde wig, parted into two braids or tied into a high ponytail that seemed to invite someone to use it as reins.

When he finished and stood before the full-length mirrors, Adrián was gone. In his place stood a submissive-looking girl who answered to another name.

“Come down, Camila,” Renata called from below, in that half-honey, half-whip tone. “Come show your aunt how well you’ve learned to walk.”

And Camila came down. With her braids swinging. With the cage squeezing. With her heart in her throat. After six months, Adrián was barely a blurred memory. Camila, on the other hand, grew deeper inside him every day, and hungrier every day.

***

That afternoon, however, Camila made a mistake. Her aunt had gone out and the house was silent. Alone before the mirror, the ritual freshly completed, she could not contain herself. She took two forbidden toys from Renata’s drawer—a thick pink silicone dildo with pronounced veins and a bullet-shaped vibrator—and lay back on the bed with her legs spread and her knees in the air.

She lubricated her ass with saliva and the oil her aunt used for massages. First she inserted one finger, then two, gasping each time she scissored them apart to accustom her tight asshole. When she felt herself loosen, she pressed the tip of the pink dildo against the entrance and thrust her hips upward. The plastic forced its way in inch by inch, tearing a high moan from her that she muffled by biting her painted lip. The cage squeezed her blood-swollen cock, unable to grow, and every time the dildo’s tip brushed her prostate, a little stream of clear pre-cum ran down the transparent tube and stained the lace panties.

With her other hand she switched on the vibrator and pressed it against the cage, at the base, where her compressed balls trembled. The electric jolt made her arch. She began fucking her ass with short thrusts, the dildo sliding in and out with a wet sound, the vibrator buzzing against her imprisoned flesh. She was so absorbed—the eyes half closed, the tongue peeking between her red lips, a thread of saliva running down her chin—that she did not hear the front door, or the heels approaching along the hall. When she looked up, her aunt was standing in the doorway, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

“And what is this?” she asked, with a calm worse than any shout.

“I’m sorry, Auntie. I couldn’t stop myself.”

“You know perfectly well you’re forbidden to play when you’re alone.”

“I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me.”

“No forgiveness and no nothing. Take that filth out of your ass. Slowly. I want to see it come out.”

Camila obeyed, reached down, and pulled out the dildo, her cheeks burning. It emerged with an obscene, wet sound, leaving her asshole open for a moment, throbbing, before it closed.

“It’s time for a lesson. You know what you have to do.”

Camila approached without a word and lay across her aunt’s legs. Renata sat in the vanity chair, lifted her skirt, and pulled the soaked panties down to Camila’s knees, leaving her buttocks bare and the cage hanging between her thighs.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I thought you’d be home later, ma’am.”

“So when I’m not here, you think you have the right to do whatever you want, to stick things up your ass like some common whore.”

By way of answer, she began spanking her, harder and harder, setting the rhythm with her voice. Her open palm fell against the pink flesh and left a clear mark. With every blow, Camila jerked on the nylon-clad legs and felt the friction against the cage, against the imprisoned cock swelling to the limit of the plastic.

“Let it be the last time. What do you have to say?”

“Thank you for educating me, ma’am.”

“Louder, slut.”

“Thank you for educating me, ma’am! Thank you for punishing me!”

No one could say whether it was the humiliation, the cadence of the blows, or the rubbing of her caged cock against the nylon of her aunt’s legs. Suddenly, without touching herself, without permission, Camila came through the chastity cage. Her orgasm escaped through the holes in the polycarbonate in thick white jets, splattering Renata’s dark stockings and patent-leather shoes. Her whole body trembled as more semen continued dripping from the transparent tube.

“What a mess,” her aunt said, unruffled, staring at the white threads hanging from her heel. “You come like a pig while I’m punishing you. I’m not changing, so you’re going to clean up what you did with your tongue. Start with the shoes.”

Camila let herself fall to the floor, got down on all fours, and took one of her aunt’s feet. She stuck out her tongue and slowly licked the patent leather, collecting every drop of her own orgasm, tasting the salty bitterness mixed with leather and shoe polish. She moved to the other shoe, sucking the toe, the vamp, the heel. Then she went up the stockings, dragging her tongue over the nylon, following the white trail to the calf, the knee, and the edge where the garter fastened to the thigh. When she reached it, Renata closed her legs tightly and caught her head between them for a second, laughing under her breath.

“Good girl,” she whispered. “You learn quickly when you’re hungry.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Camila panted, her painted lips smeared and a strand of semen hanging from her chin.

“This doesn’t end here,” Renata said, standing up. “I see you still have a lot to learn.”

***

She took her by the ear and dragged her down the hall to the kitchen, where she opened a door Camila knew and feared: the basement.

“Not the basement, please.”

“The basement.”

They went down the stairs. When the light came on, a room outfitted for punishment appeared: a Saint Andrew’s cross in one corner, a spanking bench in the center, an entire wall covered with straps, handcuffs, gags, and harnesses. Off to one side stood a chair from which emerged a latex dildo of impossible dimensions, thick as a wrist and so long that it nearly touched the upper seat.

“Not the chair, I beg you.”

“The chair. It’s for your own good.”

She forced her to straddle it and impale herself slowly, pressing down on her shoulders until the toy forced its way through her ass, still dilated from her earlier play. The latex monster entered inch by inch, drawing muffled moans from her with every advance, until Camila’s buttocks touched the seat and she felt the base of the dildo pressing against her perineum beneath the cage. Tears filled her eyes and dragged her mascara into two black trails. Her imprisoned cock swelled again, tormented from within, spitting threads of pre-cum that wet her thighs.

Renata handcuffed her wrists behind the backrest and secured her ankles to the rear legs in an uncomfortable position, her legs spread wide apart. Every time Camila tried to rise to ease the pressure, gravity made her fall back onto the dildo, deeper than before. Finally, she put headphones on her, fastened a red ball gag behind her head that forced her to keep her mouth open, and switched on a player.

“This way we can avoid your moaning,” she said. “I want a quiet afternoon. When your uncle gets home, we’ll see what to do with you.”

She turned off the light and shut the door. Camila was left in total darkness, listening on a loop to the same recorded litany: I am obedient, my place is to serve, my aunt and uncle guide me, punishments are meant to educate me, my ass belongs to them, my mouth belongs to them, my orgasms belong to them. With no sense of time, saliva running down her chin onto her blouse, the dildo buried to the depths of her insides, she remembered the whole path that had brought her to that chair.

***

She did not know how many hours passed before the door opened again with a creak. She did not hear the heavy footsteps on the stairs; first she felt the change in the air, a smell of cigarettes and man invading the basement before the voice.

“Renata, what have you got down here?” Hugo’s voice was hoarse and unhurried.

“She misbehaved, darling. Played by herself, put things in her ass without permission. I left her in the chair for a while to reflect.”

Hugo approached. Camila felt the warmth of his breath at her nape, then the rough brush of a hand traveling down her sweaty back before sinking between her buttocks, feeling how the dildo stretched her.

“You’ve got her well impaled,” he murmured with satisfaction. “Get her out of there. I want to see her properly.”

Renata released her ankles and wrists and helped her stand. The dildo slid out with a long, wet, obscene sound that made her moan against the gag, leaving her asshole open and throbbing, unable to close completely. A clear thread ran down the inside of her thigh. They lifted her by her hair—the two braids pulled simultaneously by husband and wife—and shoved her against the bench, face down, her skirt gathered up to her waist, her red, marked buttocks exposed.

Renata ripped the gag away. Camila gasped, tongue hanging out, and barely had time to draw breath before her aunt thrust two fingers into her mouth, down to her throat.

“Suck properly, slut. Get ready for what’s coming.”

Hugo lowered his zipper and pulled out a thick, dark cock with prominent veins, already dripping at the tip. He rested it first on her buttocks, slid it between her hot cheeks, and laughed when he saw Camila’s asshole, still open from the dildo, throbbing as it begged for more.

“Look at her,” Hugo muttered. “Shaved, caged, painted from head to toe, with her ass ready. Perfect work, woman.”

“She’s my masterpiece,” Renata replied, lighting a cigarette and sitting on the edge of the bench, crossing her legs. “And she still needs work. Show her what we trained her for.”

Hugo spat on the open asshole, gripped his cock at the base, and drove it in with one thrust, burying himself to the balls. Camila screamed against the leather of the bench, a sharp howl that broke in half when her uncle began fucking her with long, brutal thrusts, burying himself completely and pulling almost all the way out each time. The man’s balls slapped against the chastity cage with a rhythmic crack, the plastic ring biting into the skin of her perineum, and her imprisoned cock bounced inside the tube with every drive.

“What a tight ass you have, niece,” Hugo growled, grabbing her braids and pulling back as if they were reins. “After months, you still squeeze my cock like the first day.”

“I train it every day,” Renata said, exhaling smoke. “But her ass opens by itself for you.”

Her aunt stood, walked around the bench, and climbed onto the piece of furniture in front of Camila’s face. She gathered up her skirt, pulled her panties aside, and pressed her wet, musky cunt against the painted mouth.

“Lick. Get your tongue inside me. And don’t stop until I come.”

Camila obeyed desperately. She stuck out her tongue and plunged it between her aunt’s wet lips, seeking her swollen clitoris, sucking it and nibbling it with teeth coated in red lipstick. Renata gripped her hair and began rubbing her cunt against her face while Hugo continued pounding her from behind. Camila was pinned between two bodies, her mouth full of her aunt’s sharp flavor, her ass ravaged by her uncle’s cock, the cage dripping beneath her.

“Look at him fucking her,” Renata panted, grabbing her breasts over her dress. “And she’s coming, the little slut. Coming without anyone touching her little dick.”

And it was true. Her orgasm came again without permission, provoked by the prostate her uncle battered with every thrust. A hot, thick jet escaped the cage, falling in streams between her thighs and forming a puddle on the leather bench. Her entire body trembled, her ass clenched in spasms around Hugo’s cock, and her throat filled with a muffled cry beneath Renata’s cunt.

“I’m coming, slut—swallow it all,” Hugo roared, burying himself to the hilt. Camila felt hot jets of semen flood her insides, one after another, while the man’s balls pulsed against her skin. Almost at the same time, Renata came over her face, squeezing her head between her thighs until she choked, soaking her with fluid from chin to forehead.

When Hugo withdrew, the orgasm began leaking from Camila’s open ass, sliding down the insides of her thighs and dripping onto the bench. Renata climbed down, crouched behind her, and spread her buttocks with both hands to look at the white stream.

“What a work of art,” she murmured. Then, without warning, she pressed her mouth against the dilated asshole and sucked, taking in her husband’s orgasm. She straightened, seized Camila by the hair, turned her head, and spat the entire mixture into her open mouth. “Swallow. And be grateful.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Camila babbled, feeling the thick semen slide down her throat. “Thank you, sir.”

When they were finished, Camila lay sprawled over the bench, panting, her makeup smeared in black streaks, her hair stuck to her forehead, and a mixture of semen and saliva running from the corners of her mouth. The smell of the basement was dense: sweat, hot leather, expensive perfume, sex. She could barely tell where punishment ended and pleasure began, because for months they had ceased to be two different things.

Renata crouched down, brushed a blonde lock from her face, and spoke to her almost tenderly.

“Welcome to the real family, niece.”

Camila closed her eyes. A distant part of her, the part that had once arrived with a cheap suitcase and a dream of independence, tried to remember her own name. She could not find it. And the most disturbing thing was not the forgetting, but the calm with which she accepted it. Outside, night was barely falling. The night, she knew, was only beginning.