My Uncle Found Me Dressed Up and Wouldn’t Let Me Explain

It all began on a Saturday in October, one of those oppressive days when the heat clings to your skin and time refuses to pass. Andrés had traveled to Rosario for an architecture convention and wouldn’t be back until Monday. I had the apartment to myself, and that meant one thing: I could be Camila without hiding.

I’d been on hormone treatment for months. My breasts had grown enough to fill an unpadded bra, my skin had softened, and my hips were beginning to round out. But Andrés didn’t know anything. To him, I was still his skinny, quiet boyfriend who sometimes locked himself in the bathroom for too long.

That afternoon I put on the black skirt I’d bought in secret, thigh-high stockings, and a fitted burgundy blouse. I applied my makeup slowly in front of the bathroom mirror: light foundation, fine eyeliner, dark lipstick. The chestnut wig—the good one, the one that looked like real hair—fell over my shoulders. When I looked at my whole reflection in the hallway mirror, I smiled. There I was. The person I had always been inside.

The doorbell rang at five in the afternoon. I wasn’t expecting anyone.

I looked through the peephole and felt the blood drain from my face. It was Marcos, my mother’s older brother. Fifty-two years old, a mechanic by trade, enormous hands, three days’ worth of graying beard. He was carrying a toolbox, and his T-shirt was soaked with sweat.

It can’t be. Not now.

Then I remembered the message Mom had sent me on Thursday: “Your uncle Marcos is stopping by Saturday to leave some things in the garage. Let him in, please.” I’d completely forgotten.

I didn’t have time to change. The bell rang again, longer this time, followed by three sharp knocks on the door.

—Open up, I’m melting out here!

I thought about not opening it. Pretending I wasn’t home. But his truck was parked in front of the building, and he knew I had nowhere else to go. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Marcos stood motionless in the doorway. His eyes traveled slowly from my made-up face down to my stockings and low heels. Then they rose again. They stopped at my breasts, clearly outlined beneath the blouse. His expression wasn’t disgust or surprise. It was something worse: hunger.

—Well, well —he said, his voice rough and different—. So the little niece has secrets.

He walked in without waiting for an invitation. He set the toolbox beside the door and closed it behind him with his foot. The apartment suddenly seemed to shrink.

—Uncle, it’s not what you think —I began, but the words came out fragile and useless.

—No? Then what is it? —He folded his arms and looked me up and down again, taking his time—. Because what I see is a gorgeous little slut who dresses up to get fucked when her boyfriend goes away.

He said “this,” indicating my whole body with a sweep of his hand. And the worst part was that he didn’t sound contemptuous. He sounded as if he were describing something he intended to use.

—I’ve suspected it for a while now —he continued, leaning against the hallway wall—. The way you walk, the way you move your hands. That little-slut perfume you wear when you visit your mother. You think nobody notices?

—Does my mother know? —I asked fearfully.

—Your mother doesn’t notice anything. But I have eyes. And I get hard every time I see you swaying your ass around the kitchen.

He stepped closer. He smelled of motor oil, clean sweat, and something else—something that reminded me of summer afternoons in his workshop, when I had just turned eighteen and watched him work without understanding why I couldn’t stop looking at him.

—Does your boyfriend fuck you like this? —His hand caught my chin and turned my face to one side, examining me as if I were a part he had just polished—. Does he know what a little slut he has in his bed? Does he know how to use what you’ve got between your legs?

—Andrés doesn’t know anything —I whispered.

—Worse for him. Better for me.

He kissed me. It wasn’t tender or tentative. It was his open mouth pressed against mine, his tongue pushing deep into my throat without asking permission, his beard scraping the skin of my chin until it was raw. He tasted of coffee and tobacco. He grabbed the back of my neck with one hand, while the other went straight between my legs, feeling me through the skirt, finding me hard down there.

—Well, look at that —he murmured against my mouth—. The little girl is all warm.

I tried to pull away. Not forcefully. Not really.

—Uncle, this is wrong.

—Everything worth having is wrong, slut.

His hand rose, tore the buttons from my blouse in one yank, and dragged my bra down without a second thought. My tits sprang free and he took them into his mouth, one and then the other, sucking them hungrily and biting my nipples until I moaned loudly. His other hand kept squeezing me through my skirt, massaging my hard cock through my panties.

—Look at how hard the little girl’s dick is —he said, smiling at me with his mouth full of my nipple—. A proper little lady, but she’s hotter down below than any woman.

He turned me around, shoved me against the hallway wall, and pressed his body against my back. I felt his cock against my ass through the fabric of his work pants. It was thick, hard, insistent, long as a giant peach pit pressing into my cheeks. His hands moved up my sides and seized my tits, squeezing and weighing them, pinching my nipples between two fingers.

—They’re real —he murmured, almost to himself—. The hormones did their job. You don’t have a pussy yet, do you? Too bad. But I’m going to fuck your little ass anyway.

He pinched one nipple hard, and a shiver ran through my whole body. No one had ever touched me like that. Andrés was careful, gentle, almost shy. Marcos didn’t ask: he took. He rubbed his cock between my cheeks through my clothes, giving me short, dry thrusts against my asshole that made my legs tremble.

—On your knees, slut —he ordered, his voice leaving no room for negotiation—. I want to watch you suck it.

I obeyed. My knees touched the cold hallway floor and I looked up at him. He undid his belt with slow movements, lowered his zipper, and pulled out his cock, already fully erect—long, thick, with prominent veins and heavy balls hanging beneath it. It was bigger than I had imagined in all those fantasies I thought I had buried. The head was already shining with a large drop of pre-cum.

—Open your mouth. And stick out that little tongue.

I did as he said. I stuck out my tongue and he rested the tip of his cock on it, rubbing it over my whole face first—my lips, chin, cheeks—marking my makeup with his sticky fluid before putting it in. When it finally entered, I welcomed it eagerly. First the head, tasting the salt, feeling the pulsing heat against my tongue, licking the slit underneath. Then I moved lower, taking all of it until it hit the back of my throat and made me gag.

—That’s it —he grunted, grabbing my head with both hands—. Take all of your uncle’s cock. That’s why you dress like this, isn’t it? So a real man can fill your mouth.

He pushed in. Slowly at first, giving me time to adjust my throat, until he felt I could take it. Then he began fucking my mouth for real. His hips pumped against my face with a brutal rhythm, his cock sliding in and out and striking my throat, while I concentrated on breathing through my nose whenever he gave me a moment’s pause. His heavy balls struck my chin with every thrust. Saliva ran down my chin and between my tits in thick strands.

—Look me in the eyes when you suck it —he ordered.

I raised my eyes. I looked at him through wet lashes, his cock buried down my throat, my cheeks hollowed as I sucked him, mascara running down my face. He groaned deeply and gave me two more thrusts, deeper than the others, that brought real tears to my eyes.

—That’s it. Learn properly, slut, because from now on you suck me whenever I tell you to.

It lasted several minutes. Long, intense minutes, with the wet, obscene sounds—the glug-glug of my throat, the slap of his balls against my chin—filling the silent hallway. I could feel my own cock rock-hard beneath my skirt, throbbing painfully against my soaked panties, and my body responding to every command of his with an obedience I hadn’t known I carried inside me.

He pulled his cock from my mouth with a filthy sound and lifted me by the hair—the real hair beneath the wig, which had slipped to one side—and led me to the back of the sofa. He bent me over it without ceremony.

—Uncle, wait... I’ve never...

—No one’s ever fucked your ass? —he said, and for the first time his voice softened just a little—. Well, look at that. Then I’ll be the one to break it in. The only thing I ask is that you loosen up, because I’m not going to go slow for long.

He hiked my skirt up to my waist. He pulled my panties down with calculated slowness, as if he wanted me to feel every inch of fabric sliding down my thighs. When I was left bare-assed, he let out a low whistle and slapped one cheek hard enough to make me jump.

—Look at that white little ass you’ve got. I’m going to leave it red.

I heard him spit. I felt his thick thumb rubbing against my asshole, lubricating it with his saliva, pressing lightly and opening me. Then he spat again and rubbed the head of his cock between my cheeks, wetting me all over.

—Open up for me, slut. Loosen that asshole so I can fuck it.

I felt the pressure of his cock against me. Hot, thick, insistent, forcing its way in with a firmness that allowed no resistance. The pain was sharp at first, like a burning that climbed my spine as the head pushed inside. I clenched my teeth and gripped the sofa with both hands, letting out a long moan.

—That’s it. Halfway in —he grunted, gripping my hips—. Hold on a little, I’m going all the way in.

He pushed to the hilt. I felt his balls strike my ass and I lost my breath. Marcos stayed there, motionless, buried to the base, giving me time to get used to him.

—Relax —he ordered—. Breathe. Squeeze my cock with your ass, that’s it, slowly.

I breathed. Once, twice, three times. The pain began changing into something else. A strange, overwhelming fullness that filled me from within and spread like a warm wave through my entire body. When he began moving, slowly, with short, deep thrusts that struck something inside me I hadn’t known existed, I understood why I had fantasized about this for years.

—More —I begged, and my own voice surprised me.

—More what, slut? Ask properly.

—Harder. Fuck me harder, Uncle.

Marcos laughed deeply and sped up. His hands clamped down on my hips, digging in his fingers as he thrust with a steady, devastating rhythm. The sound of his pelvis against my ass was rhythmic, fleshy, impossible to ignore—wet smacks echoing through the hallway. Every impact drove me against the sofa and tore a dirtier moan from me, one I no longer tried to hold back.

One hand moved up my back and grabbed my hair, pulling my head backward until my whole body arched. The other traveled down my stomach and found my own cock, stiff and wet with pre-cum, swinging between my thighs with every thrust.

—Look how the little niece is dripping —he said in my ear, gripping it and beginning to stroke me in the same rhythm as his thrusts—. You’re going to come with your uncle’s cock inside you, aren’t you? Tell me you’re a slut and I’ll keep fucking you.

—I’m a slut —I gasped.

—Whose?

—Yours, Uncle. I’m your slut.

A hard, sharp slap that made the skin of my ass burn.

—With more feeling.

—Yours, Uncle! I’m Uncle Marcos’s slut! —I shouted, my voice breaking into something between tears and laughter.

Orgasm caught me between his hand and his cock. It came from inside, from that exact spot he struck with every thrust, and shot through me like an electric current. I shook all over, clenched my fists, and let out a long, guttural sound I didn’t recognize as my own. My cum burst out in thick spurts, staining the sofa fabric, while he kept jerking me off and pumping my ass without stopping, wringing every last drop from me.

—That’s my little niece, coming like a bitch —he growled in my ear—. Now hold on, I’m almost there.

Marcos lasted a little longer. His thrusts grew erratic, urgent, brutal. He grabbed both my cheeks and pulled them apart to watch his cock slide in and out, thrusting deeper and deeper.

—Here it comes. It’s all coming here. Open your mouth, slut, I want to fill your face.

Suddenly he pulled out of me with a wet sound, turned me by the shoulders, shoved me back down onto my knees, and grabbed me by the hair. His cock was gleaming and pulsing inches from my face. He jerked three times, groaned deeply, and came all over me in long, thick spurts. The first streaked across my forehead and sank into my wig. The second landed between my eyes and ran down my nose. The third filled my open mouth and chin. Heavy threads of semen hung from my lips and dripped down my neck, staining what little remained of my blouse.

—Swallow what’s in your mouth —he panted.

I swallowed. I felt the thick salt sliding down my throat. Then I stuck out my tongue and cleaned the tip of his cock, licking off every last drop while looking him in the eyes.

—Good girl —he said, panting, braced against the sofa with one hand.

We stayed like that for a moment. He was catching his breath, while I knelt on the floor with my skirt bunched at my waist, my wig crooked, my makeup ruined, my face and hair covered in his semen. I should have felt ashamed. I should have felt disgust or regret, or any of the things one is supposedly meant to feel.

But what I felt was relief. An enormous, almost painful relief, as if someone had lifted a weight I had been carrying since I was eighteen.

Marcos straightened his clothes. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to me without looking me in the eyes. He waited until I had wiped my face before speaking.

—This stays between us. Understood?

I nodded.

—If your boyfriend finds out, it wasn’t me who told him.

—He won’t find out.

He crouched until he was at my level. He held my face in one hand, almost tenderly, and looked straight into my eyes.

—Next time Andrés travels, you let me know. And I want you to be ready. Shaved asshole, smelling sweet, with a dildo inside you when I arrive, so I find you open and can fuck you hard from the start.

—And afterward?

He smiled. That slow, crooked smile I had known since childhood, which now carried an entirely different meaning.

—Afterward I’m really going to wreck your ass, slut. And you’ll come three times before I finish.

He left without touching the toolboxes. He didn’t even mention them. When I closed the door and leaned my back against it, my legs were trembling, my ass was burning, and my heart was pounding against my ribs.

I sat on the hallway floor for a long while, my skirt wrinkled and my stockings askew, staring at the red marks his fingers had left on my hips. I could still feel him inside me. I could still smell his sweat and semen on my skin. When I slipped my fingers between my cheeks and felt around, my asshole was open, wet, and throbbing.

I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyeliner was smeared, my lips swollen, mascara mixed with dried tears, and dried traces of semen stuck to my chin. And behind all that, in my eyes, there was something I had never seen before: absolute certainty about who I was and what I wanted.

I stepped into the shower and let the hot water run over my body for twenty minutes. I thought about Andrés. About what I would tell him when he came back. About what I wouldn’t tell him.

I thought about Marcos. His hands. His cock buried to the balls in my ass. His voice calling me “good girl” through his ragged breathing.

When I got out of the shower, I had a message from my uncle. A single fire emoji and an address: a sex shop in Palermo. Beneath it was a photo of a silver anal plug and a voice message I didn’t dare listen to until midnight. When I finally played it, in the darkness of Andrés’s empty bed, his rough voice told me exactly how he wanted to find me next time, word for word, and my hand was already between my legs before the recording ended.

Next time will be different, I thought as I dried my hair in front of the mirror. And instead of frightening me, the idea made me smile.

Then I knew, with the same certainty with which I knew my real name, that this was only the beginning.