Once again we meet, my dear readers. I continue experimenting with narrative styles and checking grammar and spelling with the help of AI. In this particular case, I have tried to make the plot a little more perverse than usual. I hope you like it.
As always, I am attentive to your comments, suggestions, and of course, fantasies — which it will be a pleasure to transform into stories.
Ana Raquel
My Niece María
Part II – The Punishment
Mario arrived at his aunt and uncle’s house four years ago. Since starting university, he had been living with them. His aunt — his mother’s sister — had offered him lodging both to reduce study expenses and because their home was relatively close to the university.
In exchange for room and board provided by his relatives, he had committed to helping with household chores, keeping his room always tidy, behaving properly, and especially obeying his aunt in everything.
Over those four years, he had been trained according to the particular tastes of Marcela and Rodolfo, his aunt and uncle. He went up to his spacious room, about four by three-and-a-half meters, one wall entirely covered by a wardrobe with full-length mirrors on each sliding door.
The wall opposite the wardrobe had a large window and a small balcony. In the center of the room stood a one-and-a-half-size bed; facing it, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall; below that, a small desk with a computer and, beside it, a vanity table full of cosmetics and makeup items.
He removed his clothes and contemplated his completely hairless body (one of the first rules in the house was to keep his body entirely depilated) and the chastity device that prevented any erection (“to avoid that unpleasant habit of touching yourself,” his aunt had told him when she locked it on).
He opened one of the wardrobe doors and looked at its contents. Of the four doors, only one held a small number of masculine garments; the rest were crammed with dresses of every type and color, lingerie, shoes, wigs, etc.
He then began the daily ritual of transformation. He chose a cream-colored Victorian-style corset that dramatically reduced his waist, white nylon stockings attached to the corset with eight garters, a very short Scottish skirt that barely covered the tops of the stockings, medium-sized breast prostheses to fill the bra, a long-sleeved white blouse, and finally guillermina-style shoes with 12 cm heels, of course.
Now, with an androgynous appearance, he sat at the vanity and began to apply makeup: pastel shades on the eyes, pink on the lips; he attached press-on nails and painted them the same color as his lips; then accessories — rings, bracelets, and dangling earrings in his pierced ears.
The finishing touch was a straight blonde wig, a little longer than shoulder-length, which he tied into two braids at the sides of his head, giving him the look of a somewhat perverse, overly sexualized schoolgirl.
Mario had disappeared. In his place now stood María, Marcela’s nymphomaniac niece.
What to do now? Without thinking twice, she headed to her aunt and uncle’s bedroom and from the wardrobe where she knew her aunt kept the sex toys, she ***********ed two realistic-looking dildos. She went to her bed and, while kissing one as if it were a real cock, slowly inserted the second into her anus.
She was so absorbed in her play that she didn’t hear her aunt enter the house — until it was too late. Suddenly she saw her standing in the doorway: a woman of about 50, voluptuous with generous curves, an imposing and authoritative figure, heavy makeup with bright red lips standing out, black nylon stockings ending in 12 cm stiletto heels, a very tight black dress with a tube skirt that emphasized her hips and a square neckline that could barely contain her double-D bust.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Sorry, Aunt, I couldn’t help myself.”
“You little whore! You know you’re forbidden to play when you’re alone.”
“I’m very sorry, please forgive me, Aunt.”
“Forgive you? Not a chance!” she said as she entered the room and sat on the chair in front of the vanity.
“It won’t happen again.”
“Of course it won’t happen again. It’s time to teach you a lesson. You already know what you have to do.”
Without a word, María approached her guardian and lay across her lap. The aunt then lifted her skirt, exposing her buttocks and the dildo still buried inside her.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
“No, Ma’am, I thought you’d arrive later.”
“So when I’m not here you think you can do whatever you want.”
“I beg your forgiveness.”
As her only reply, the aunt began to spank her while repeating: “Let this be the last time. What do you have to say?”
“Thank you for educating me, Ma’am.”
Without another word she continued the spanking, each strike harder, while with the other hand she thrust the artificial cock in and out of her ass.
It’s unclear whether it was the secret excitement the spanks produced, the back-and-forth of the dildo inside her, the friction of her body against the nylon covering her tutor’s legs, or a combination of all these factors — but suddenly she began to ejaculate profusely through the chastity device, all her semen falling onto the legs and shoes of the Ma’am.
“What a whore you are. You come without permission while I’m punishing you. I’m not going to change, so now you’re going to clean up your mess with your tongue. Start with my shoes.”
María knelt on the floor, took one of her tutor’s feet, and began licking her own semen until the shoes were completely clean. Then her tongue traveled up the legs until they too were spotless.
“Don’t think this is over. I see you still have a lot to learn.” She stood up, grabbed her niece by one ear, and began dragging her down the hallway.
“Ouch, Aunt, it hurts!!!”
“You should have thought of that before playing alone. You could have at least tried not to dirty my clothes. Now it’s too late.”
She led her to the kitchen and opened the basement door.
“No, not the basement!!! Please.”
“Yes, the basement. You’ll see what’s good for you.”
They went down the stairs. When the light was turned on, a fully equipped dungeon came into view: a St. Andrew’s cross in one corner, a spanking bench in the center, one wall covered with countless punishment implements — plugs, harnesses, gags, floggers, cuffs, straps of various kinds, etc.
In one corner, against a free wall, stood a chair. From its center protruded a very large latex dildo, at least 30 cm long by 5 cm in diameter. That was where both women headed.
“The chair, no please.”
“The chair, yes. It’s for your own good. Now you’ll learn your lesson.”
She made her position herself over the already-lubricated dildo and, pressing down on her shoulders, forced her to impale herself completely. Then she went to the wall, took a pair of cuffs, made her niece put her hands behind her back around the chair’s backrest, and secured them.
Next she took two more pairs of cuffs and fastened them around her ankles, securing each leg to the rear legs of the chair in a rather uncomfortable position.
Finally she placed headphones on her, activated an MP3 player, took a ball gag, and while buckling it behind her neck she said:
“This way we won’t have to hear your whining. I want a quiet afternoon. When your uncle comes home we’ll see what to do with you.”
With that, she left, turned off the light, and closed the door, leaving her in complete darkness.
María remained in total darkness while the MP3 repeated the mantra over and over:
- I am a whore.
- My purpose is to serve.
- My aunt and uncle guide me.
- My training is for my own good.
- Punishments are to educate me.
With no sense of time, listening to the mantra on repeat, saliva dripping from her gagged mouth and falling onto her blouse, María remembered the path she had traveled since arriving at the house up to this moment.
Aquí tienes la **traducción completa al inglés de la Parte I** ("La llegada de Mario"), basada en el texto proporcionado en el documento original. He mantenido el tono explícito, detallado y fiel al estilo del relato:
Part I
The Arrival of Mario
Mario arrived at his aunt and uncle’s house at nineteen years old, with a cheap suitcase and the certainty that university would be his ticket to independence. He was wrong.
Marcela, his mother’s older sister, received him at the door wearing a very tight black dress that clung to every generous curve of her mature body, black stockings with back seams, and stiletto heels that rang like little hammers on the marble floor. Her lips were painted a bright blood-red, and her eyes scanned him from head to toe as if already calculating how much raw material there was to shape.
“Come in, nephew,” she said in that deep, honeyed voice that never asked for permission. “You’re going to be very comfortable here… as long as you learn quickly who’s in charge.”
That same night, sitting on the black leather sofa—with Rodolfo watching him silently from the other end—Marcela laid out the conditions with the naturalness of someone pronouncing a verdict:
“In exchange for a roof over your head, food, and not paying a single cent in rent, you’re going to follow four non-negotiable rules:
1. Keep the house spotless.
2. Your room like an operating theater.
3. Behave like a decent person in front of visitors.
4. And obey me in absolutely everything. No buts. No faces. No delays.”
She paused, crossed her legs so the nylon audibly rustled, and added with a slow smile:
“And a fifth rule I didn’t mention over the phone because I wanted to see your face: Starting tomorrow, your real education begins.”
The next day Mario discovered what that sentence really meant.
The room they assigned him was large, bright… and disturbingly feminine. A built-in wardrobe with four mirrored sliding doors occupied an entire wall. When he opened it, he felt the air leave his lungs: on the left hung three shirts, two pairs of pants, and an old pair of sneakers. The rest—eighty percent of the space—was a catalog of crossdressed submission: satin and leather corsets, lace panties, tiny thongs, garter belts, seamed stockings, bras with large cups, indecently short pleated skirts, schoolgirl dresses, maid outfits, perverted bride gowns, heels from 10 to 14 cm, wigs in every shade and length, silicone breast prostheses of different sizes, jeweled anal plugs, discreet puppy collars with hidden D-rings…
Marcela appeared behind him in the mirror’s reflection, holding an electric razor and a jar of depilatory cream.
“First lesson,” she said, placing both items in his hands. “From now on your skin will be as smooth and hairless as any high-class whore’s. Armpits, chest, legs, arms, groin, ass—everything. Including the ass, Mario. I want you shining when you bend over. You have until 8 p.m. If I find a single hair left, I’ll depilate you myself… with hot wax and no anesthetic.”
That afternoon Mario locked himself in the bathroom and obeyed. When he finished, his entire body burned and trembled. He felt ridiculously exposed, smooth as a prepubescent boy.
But the worst came two days later.
Marcela made him strip naked in front of the wardrobe mirrors. She herself placed the chastity device on him: a transparent polycarbonate model, tiny cage, tight base ring around the testicles, and a small numbered padlock. As she closed it, her long red nails deliberately brushed the sensitive skin.
“This,” she whispered in his ear, “is so you never touch yourself again without permission. That little shaved body and that tiny thing are no longer yours to play with. They’re mine. And I’ll use them when, how, and with whom I decide.”
The click of the padlock rang in Mario’s head like a gunshot.
From that moment the daily ritual grew little by little, turning into a slow ceremony of annihilation of his male identity.
One week later, feminine underwear was added.
The following week, nylon stockings.
Then high heels—first lower, then progressively taller until they reached 12 cm.
Every week, upon arriving home, he found written instructions from his aunt specifying the clothes and accessories he had to wear. Thus, after six months, his male identity had been slowly destroyed.
Every afternoon, upon returning from university:
- He took off his male clothes and stored them in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, as if hiding evidence of a crime.
- He put on a steel-boned corset that stole several centimeters from his waist and forced him to breathe in short, feminine gasps.
- He wore white or black nylon stockings, attached with six or eight garters that tugged with every step.
- He chose lace panties so small they barely contained the chastity cage; the plastic was perfectly visible through the sheer fabric.
- He inserted a medium anal plug (at first), which Marcela required him to wear “to keep you open and remind you of your place.”
- He placed C or D cup breast prostheses, depending on the mood of the afternoon, and a push-up bra that made them look obscene.
- He dressed in extremely short skirts—pleated schoolgirl, leather, slatted—that revealed the stocking tops and sometimes the edge of the plug if he bent even slightly.
- He slipped on 12 cm stiletto heels that forced him to take short steps with an involuntary hip sway.
Then came the vanity table.
- Foundation to erase any trace of masculinity.
- Concealer under the eyes.
- Pink or violet eyeshadow, black smudged eyeliner, long false lashes.
- Lips outlined and filled with shiny or matte slut-pink.
- Long press-on nails, always painted the same color as the lips.
- Large hoop earrings that dangled and brushed his neck.
- A discreet puppy collar (D-ring hidden under the neckline) that Marcela adjusted “so you never forget who you belong to.”
Finally, the wig: platinum blonde straight or wavy, always long, always divided into two perverted schoolgirl braids or a high ponytail that invited being grabbed like reins.
When he finished and stood before the full-length mirrors, Mario no longer existed.
There was a submissive-looking girl with a hypersexualized body. An imaginary niece who answered to the name María. An obedient little slut who got wet just hearing Marcela’s voice calling her from downstairs.
“María, come down,” the aunt would say in that tone that was half honey, half whip. “Come show your aunt how well you’ve learned to walk in heels… and to crawl, if you misbehave.”
And María came down. Heels clicking. Braids swinging. Plug shifting inside. Cage squeezing. Heart pounding in her throat.
Mario had become a blurry memory.
María, on the other hand, grew bigger inside every day… and hungrier every day.
Part III
The Arrival of Rodolfo
The basement door opened with a metallic creak that cut through the darkness like a knife. María, still fully impaled on the 30 cm dildo protruding from the seat, had her wrists and ankles cuffed, the ball gag swollen inside her mouth, and the headphones pumping the mantra over and over:
*I am a whore… My purpose is to serve… Punishments are to educate me…*
She didn’t hear the heavy footsteps descending the stairs. She only felt the change in the air: the smell of cigarettes, cheap aftershave, and adult male that invaded the dungeon before the voice did.
“Marcela… what the hell do you have down here?”
Rodolfo’s voice was deep, raspy, unhurried. María felt her aunt’s body move behind her.
“She misbehaved, my love. She masturbated alone like a bitch in heat. I left her four hours on the ass-chair so she could reflect. Look how much she’s leaking… the upholstery is soaked.”
Rodolfo came closer. First María felt the heat of his breath on the back of her neck, then the rough touch of his calloused hand sliding down her sweaty back until it reached the point where the monstrous latex disappeared inside her. Two thick fingers pressed against the stretched rim of her anus, forcing the muscle to open a little more around the dildo.
“Fuck… she’s open like a tunnel. How long has she been like this?”
“Since four o’clock. Her ass must be like jelly by now.”
Rodolfo let out a low, dark laugh.
“Get her off. I want to try her myself.”
Marcela quickly removed the ankle and wrist cuffs. The dildo came out with a wet, obscene *schlurp*, leaving an emptiness that made María moan against the gag. A thick thread of lube mixed with her own fluids ran down her smooth thighs all the way to her heels.
Rodolfo grabbed her by the hair — the two blonde braids — and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. He pushed her face-down onto the punishment horse, her Scottish skirt flipped up to her waist. María felt the cold leather against her breast prostheses and the strong smell of her own gaping ass filling her nostrils.
“Look how pretty she is,” Rodolfo murmured as he unzipped his pants. “Shaved, caged, made up like a fifteen-year-old whore. Perfect.”
The first thrust was brutal. No foreplay, no extra lube beyond what was already dripping from her. Rodolfo’s cock — thick, veiny, reeking of a full day’s sweat — slammed in to the hilt in one violent motion. María screamed into the gag, the sound muffled and guttural. She felt every centimeter stretching her, the head scraping walls that were already raw and burning. The raw smell of sex flooded her mind: male sweat, old cum, leather, and Marcela’s expensive perfume all mixing together.
“Fuck her hard,” Marcela ordered, sitting on the edge of the horse and lighting a cigarette. “I want to hear her ass getting wrecked.”
Rodolfo began to pound. Each thrust sounded like a wet, fleshy slap: *plap-plap-plap-plap*. The horse creaked. María’s fake breasts flattened against the leather. She felt her uncle’s heavy balls smacking her caged clit, the chastity ring biting into tender skin. The pain was fiery and deep, but beneath it a liquid heat grew, making her clench her anus around the invading cock.
Marcela approached, yanked the ball gag out with one pull and shoved two cigarette-scented fingers into her mouth.
“Suck, little slut. Get that throat ready for your uncle.”
While Rodolfo fucked her ass mercilessly, Marcela stood up, hiked up her dress and sat directly on María’s face. The smell was overwhelming: mature pussy, wet, with the salty-metallic taste of an afternoon’s arousal. María licked frantically, tongue plunging deep, nose crushed against the swollen clit, while Rodolfo sped up.
“Let’s switch,” Rodolfo said suddenly, pulling out with a slick sound. María’s anus stayed open, pulsing, a red glistening hole that refused to close.
They flipped her over. Now she lay on her back on the horse, legs spread and tied to the sides.
“Help me with the dress,” Marcela told her husband. He stepped forward, unzipped the back and let the dress fall. It revealed a voluptuous, stunning body. Her breasts seemed ready to burst out of the black corset with metal boning that gave her an impossibly tiny waist. She went to the wall where the toys hung, strapped on a harness with several black dildos — a pair of internal ones, at least 20 cm each, that would go into her own ass and vagina, and an external 25 cm one — which she immediately buried deep into María’s ass in a single thrust. At the same time Rodolfo climbed onto the horse and shoved his cock straight down her throat to the root.
Total double — actually triple — penetration.
María felt like she was being split apart. Marcela’s strap-on slammed in and out furiously, hammering her prostate; Rodolfo’s cock fucked her mouth without mercy, balls slapping her chin, the smell of sweat and pre-cum flooding her nose. Black mascara tears streamed down her cheeks. Constant gagging. Saliva and mucus poured from her chin onto her breast forms.
“Look how she swallows,” Rodolfo growled. “The slut is coming without being touched.”
And it was true. María’s orgasm arrived without permission: a long, continuous jet of white semen shot from the chastity cage, splattering Marcela’s belly and the horse. Her whole body shook, her anus convulsing violently around the dildo, her throat clamping down on the cock.
Rodolfo didn’t stop. He pushed deeper until his balls covered her nose and ejaculated straight into her esophagus. María felt the thick heat, the bitter-salty taste flooding her throat — swallow or drown. At the same moment Marcela thrust to the hilt and came on the harness, screaming and digging her nails into María’s thighs.
They withdrew simultaneously.
María lay sprawled on the horse, gasping, coughing up semen, her ass gaping and throbbing, refusing to close, leaking a viscous white mixture that ran down her buttocks to the floor. The smell was dense: cum, sweat, pussy, lube, hot leather. Her face was ruined — makeup streaked, lips swollen, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat and drool.
“Welcome to the real family, niece,” Marcela said.