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

It all started on a Saturday in October, one of those heavy days when the heat clings to your skin and time barely moves. Andrés had gone to Rosario for an architecture conference and wasn’t coming 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 a bra without padding, my skin had softened, and my hips were starting 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 way too long.

That afternoon I put on the black skirt I’d bought in secret, thigh-high stockings, and a tight wine-colored blouse. I did my makeup carefully in front of the bathroom mirror: light foundation, thin eyeliner, dark lips. The chestnut wig—the good one, the one that looked like real hair—fell over my shoulders. When I looked at myself full-length in the hallway mirror, I smiled. There I was. The one I had always been inside.

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

I looked through the peephole and my blood ran cold. It was Marcos, my mother’s older brother. Fifty-two years old, a mechanic by trade, huge hands, a gray three-day beard. He was carrying a toolbox and his T-shirt was soaked with sweat.

This can’t be happening. Not now.

Then I remembered the message Mom had sent me on Thursday: “Your uncle Marcos is coming by Saturday to drop some things off in the garage. Open up for him, please.” I had completely forgotten.

I didn’t have time to change. The bell rang again, longer this time, and then came three hard knocks on the door.

—Open up, I’m melting out here!

I thought about not opening. About pretending I wasn’t there. But his pickup was parked in front of the building and he knew I had nowhere to go. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Marcos froze in the doorway. His eyes slowly dropped from my made-up face to my stockings and low heels. They climbed back up. They stopped at my breasts, clearly outlined under the blouse. His expression wasn’t disgust or surprise. It was something worse: hunger.

—Well now, look at that —he said, and his voice came out rougher, different—. So the little niece has secrets.

He came in without waiting to be invited. He set the toolbox by the door and closed it behind him with his foot. The apartment seemed to shrink all at once.

—Uncle, it’s not what you think— I started to say, but the words came out fragile, useless.

—No? And what is it then? —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 out of town.

He said “this” while gesturing me over with one hand. And the worst part was that it didn’t sound insulting. It sounded like he was describing something he planned to use.

—I’ve been suspecting it for a while —he went on, leaning against the hallway wall—. The way you walk, how you move your hands. That little slutty perfume you wear when you come to your mother’s place. You think nobody notices?

—Does my mom know? —I asked, scared.

—Your old lady doesn’t know anything. But I’ve got eyes. And I get hard every time I see you swaying your ass through the kitchen.

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

—Does your boyfriend fuck you like this? —His hand took my chin and turned my face to the side, examining me like I was a part he’d just polished—. Does he know what kind of little slut he’s got in bed? Does he know how to use what you’ve got between your legs?

—Andrés doesn’t know anything —I whispered.

—His loss. My gain.

He kissed me. It wasn’t a gentle or tentative kiss. It was his open mouth against mine, his tongue forcing its way to the back of my throat without asking, his beard scraping my chin raw. He tasted like coffee and tobacco. He grabbed the back of my neck with one hand and the other went straight between my legs, palming me through the skirt, feeling how hard I was down there.

—Look at that —he muttered against my mouth—. The girl’s all hot.

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

—Uncle, this is wrong.

—Everything worth doing is wrong, slut.

His hand went up, ripping the buttons off my blouse in one yank and pulling my bra down without hesitation. My tits sprang free and he took one into his mouth, then the other, sucking them hungrily, biting my nipples until I moaned out loud. His other hand kept squeezing me over the skirt, rubbing my hardened cock through my panties.

—Look at the little brat with a hard dick —he said, smiling around my nipple—. All lady on top, but down below she’s hotter than any girl.

He turned me around, shoved me against the hallway wall, and pressed his body to my back. I felt his cock against my ass through the work pants. It was thick, hard, relentless, long as a giant peach pit pressing into my ass. His hands slid up my sides and grabbed my tits, squeezing them, 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 fucking your ass anyway.

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

—On your knees, slut —he ordered, and there was no room in his voice to negotiate—. I want to see you suck it.

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

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

I did as he said. I stuck out my tongue and he laid the tip of his cock on it, rubbing it all over my face first—the lips, the chin, the cheeks—smearing my makeup with his sticky liquid before he finally pushed in. When it went in at last, I took it hungrily. First the head, tasting the salt, feeling the throbbing heat against my tongue, licking the slit underneath. Then I kept going down, taking it all the way, until it hit the back of my throat and I gagged.

—That’s it —he growled, grabbing my head with both hands—. Take all your uncle’s dick. That’s what you dress like this for, right? So a man can fill your mouth.

He pushed. Slowly at first, letting my throat adjust, until he felt I could take it. Then he started fucking my mouth for real. His hips pumped against my face in a brutal rhythm, his cock coming in and out and battering my throat, and I focused on breathing through my nose whenever he gave me a second’s pause. His heavy balls slapped my chin with each thrust. Saliva ran down my chin and between my tits in thick strings.

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

I looked up. I stared at him through wet lashes, his cock buried down my throat, my cheeks hollowed around him, mascara running down my face. He let out a thick groan and drove two deeper thrusts into me that made my eyes water for real.

—There. Learn it well, slut, because from now on you’ll suck me whenever I tell you to.

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

He pulled his cock out of my mouth with a filthy sound and yanked me up by the hair—the real hair underneath the wig, which had shifted to one side—and led me to the back of the sofa. He bent me over it without ceremony.

—Uncle, wait... I’ve never—

—Never had your ass fucked? —he said, and for the first time his voice softened a little—. Well, look at that. Then I get to break you in. All I ask is that you loosen up, because I’m not going 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 over my thighs. When my ass was bare, he let out a low whistle and slapped one cheek hard, making me jerk.

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

I heard him spit. I felt his thick thumb rubbing against my hole, lubricating it with his saliva, pushing in just a little, opening me. Then he spit again and rubbed the head of his cock between my cheeks, soaking me all over.

—Open up for me, slut. Relax that hole, I’m fucking you.

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

—That’s it. Halfway in —he growled, grabbing my hips—. Hold still a second and it’ll all go in.

He pushed all the way to the hilt. I felt his balls slam against my ass and went breathless. Marcos stayed like that, motionless, buried to the base, giving me time to get used to him.

—Relax —he ordered—. Breathe. Squeeze my cock with your ass, like that, slowly.

I breathed. Once, twice, three times. The pain began turning into something else. Into a strange, overwhelming fullness that filled me from the inside and spread like a warm wave through my whole body. When he started moving, slowly, with short, deep thrusts that struck something inside me I hadn’t known existed, I understood why I’d 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 thickly and sped up. His hands gripped my hips hard, digging his fingers in as he drove into me with a steady, punishing rhythm. The sound of his pelvis against my ass was rhythmic, meaty, impossible to ignore—wet smacks echoing in the hallway. Each удар pushed me against the sofa and tore out a groan from me that got filthier and filthier, a sound I no longer tried to hold back.

One hand slid up my back and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back until I was arched all over. The other went down my belly and found my own cock, stiff and wet with pre-cum, swinging between my thighs with each thrust.

—Look at the little niece dripping —he said in my ear, gripping me and starting to jerk me off in the same rhythm as his thrusts—. You’re gonna cum with your uncle’s dick 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, dry slap burned my ass cheek.

—With more feeling.

—Yours, Uncle! I’m Uncle Marcos’s slut! —I shouted, and my voice broke into something halfway between crying and laughing.

He brought me to orgasm with his hand and his cock. It came from inside, from that exact spot he was pounding with every thrust, and it ripped through me like an electric shock. I trembled all over, clenched my fists, and let out a long guttural sound I didn’t recognize as my own. My cum shot out in thick streams, staining the sofa fabric while he kept jerking me and pumping my ass without stopping, milking me to the last drop.

—That’s my little niece, cumming like a bitch —he growled in my ear—. Now hold on, because I’m next.

Marcos lasted a little longer. His thrusts turned erratic, urgent, brutal. He grabbed both my cheeks with his hands and spread them apart to watch his cock go in and out, driving deeper each time.

—Here it comes. All of it. Open your mouth, slut, I want to cover your face.

All of a sudden he pulled out of me with a wet sound, spun me by the shoulders, shoved me back down on my knees, and grabbed my hair. His cock was gleaming and throbbing inches from my face. He jerked three times, groaned deep, and came all over me in long, thick spurts. The first crossed my forehead and got into the wig. The second landed between my eyes and ran down my nose. The third filled my open mouth and chin. Heavy strings of semen hung from my lips, dripping down my neck, staining what little was left of the 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 the last drop while I looked him straight in the eyes.

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

We stayed like that for a moment. Him catching his breath, me kneeling on the floor with the skirt bunched at my waist, the wig crooked, 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 those things you’re supposed to feel.

But what I felt was relief. Huge relief, almost painful, as if someone had taken a weight off my shoulders that I’d been carrying since I was eighteen.

Marcos fixed his clothes. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me without meeting my eyes. He waited until I’d wiped my face clean before speaking.

—This stays between us. Understand?

I nodded.

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

—He won’t find out.

He bent down until he was level with me. He took my face in one hand, almost tenderly, and looked me straight in the eyes.

—Next time Andrés goes away, you let me know. And I want you ready. Ass shaved, smelling nice, with a dildo in you when I get there, so I find you open and I can fuck you hard right off the bat.

—And after that?

He smiled. That slow, crooked smile I’d known since I was a kid and which now had a completely different meaning.

—After that I’m going to wreck your ass for real, slut. And you’re gonna cum three times before I’m done.

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

I stayed for a long while sitting on the hallway floor, my skirt wrinkled, stockings run, 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 there, my hole was open, wet, throbbing.

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

I got in 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 got back. About what I wouldn’t tell him.

I thought about Marcos. About his hands. About his cock buried to the balls in my ass. About his voice saying “good girl” with his breath cut short.

When I got out of the shower, I had a message from my uncle. Just one fire emoji and an address: a sex shop in Palermo. Underneath, a photo of a silver anal plug and a voice note I didn’t dare listen to until midnight. When I finally played it, in the dark 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 that thought, instead of scaring me, made me smile.

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