"Erotic Stories" How I Became My Uncle's Slave

Erotic Stories How I Became My Uncle's Slave
I love my uncle. He is always so kind to me.

His birthday was coming up, and I wanted to give him a very special present. NO, NOT THAT!

He always remembered my birthday and always gave me something that both surprised me and pleased me very much.

I'm 18 now and have my own job, so I saved some money --- not a lot since I don't make a lot --- so that I could get him something nice.

He had a Facebook account, so I was looking at that, trying to find hints about something that I could give him.

I didn't really find any hints that inspired me. He's older, not really old, but old enough so that he has bought all the things that he really wants.

But you know how Facebook is. It lists your friends. I looked at his friends Facebook pages too. I wasn't snooping. I was just curious about his friends.

Well, I found this one friend, a cute little Asian girl who looked only a little older than me . . .

She had some pictures of herself all tied up! The ropes and knots were really elaborate too! She was in her bra and panties . . . you know how Facebook is: you can't post the naked stuff where people can just see, not that I have naked pics of myself. But she did have some "private pics."(Porn Stories)

I don't know why, other than her being so close to my age, but I sent her a message and asked if I could see her private pics. I set up a fake account first and used that one to contact her. I didn't want my uncle to find out that I was snooping around in his life.

She wrote back and said that I could, but only if I sent her some "interesting" pics of myself.

I never did anything like that, so I didn't have any naughty pics of myself. So I cut and pasted some pics of a naked girl handcuffed that I found on a nasty website.

She sent me back a message, a bunch of Zzzzzz's.

I didn't know what that meant. I wrote back to her and said "???????" but she didn't respond.

I Googled it but still couldn't figure it out. Then I remembered that my a couple of my English teachers had told us that you can ask a librarian to help you do research about a subject. So I went into the library and asked the librarian what it might mean. Of course I just said that someone sent it to me as a message online.

She was old. She said, "I bet it was just that you were boring her, dear, putting her to sl**p. That's from cartoons. It's used to show someone sl**ping and snoring." She did something online and showed me a cartoon like that, with Snoopy sl**ping on his doghouse. When I saw it I realized that I'd seen it before but just hadn't got what it meant.

I bet I blushed red. I said, "You're right!"

Just some naked girl handcuffed is not all that exciting, I bet, to someone who gets tied up like that.

My mom has a digital camera, a really nice one. She taught me how to use it. Me and my best friend, Sarah, "my partner in crime," as my dad calls her, used to get into trouble at the mall together. The worst we ever did was to shoplift make up and panties when we were like 13 years old.

I knew that she would help me, so I called her up. We borrowed my mom's camera and went out into the woods. We brought some rope, just nylon clothesline rope, and she tied me to this big dead and rotting oak tree. I wore my old Catholic school uniform, since I knew that a lot of guys think that sexy. She took pictures of me with my skirt pulled up and my blouse all unbuttoned showing my white cotton bra and panties. I had my face turned away so that it didn't show. I have long thick raven hair, and she took pics when the wind was blowing my hair over my face.

Of course neither of us knew how to tie those elaborate knots in the Asian girl's pictures, but we did the best we could.

Afterward, Sarah was looking at the pictures that we made, and she said, "I bet she'll find this just as dull!"

I thought that she was right.

Well, we used use Photoshop to make funny collages of pics that we'd taken with my mom's camera. We'd cut and paste our teachers' head onto other people's bodies, like our principle's head on the body of the Terminator and silly stuff like that.

So Sarah got the idea of cutting and pasting the team pic of the baseball team from the boys' school, including Father Ryan, who was wearing his black priest's hat with the pompom, into the pic of me tied to a tree so that it looked like they were all looking at me tied to the tree with my shirt open, my panties showing, and the wind blowing my hair over my face.

So we sent that pic to the Asian girl. She sent me back her password to her "private pics."

And what did I see, but my uncle there in some of them, tying her up! Only this time she was naked. There were even some with him sticking his fingers inside her vagina and her butthole, even some with him sticking his whole hand inside her butthole and her vagina while she was tied up, helpless, with her legs spread as far as they would go.

Well, I have to admit something. When I saw the pics of her the first time, with her just tied up in her bra and panties, I got sort of tingly and wet. I'd get the same way when I'd think about contacting her. Then when my bud Sarah tied me up and took those pics of me, boy, I got really wet. I sort of knew that I would, so I had put in a tampon before we went to the woods so that Sarah wouldn't see, so that my wetness wouldn't soak right through my panties.

If it was just that that Asian girl, my uncle's friend, who was going to see, I wouldn't have hidden it like that.

So then, when I saw that pic of me all tied up and the baseball team looking at me, that made me wet too.

I'd never really felt that way before. We're Catholic. I go to Mass and Confession. I went to Catholic school thirteen years, K through high school. I try not to think about boys that way. Randy O'Neal and Sam Felinni are both so cute, but I sometimes only wonder what it would be like to be married to one or the other of them.

I absolutely swear, on all the saints and the Holy Trinity, that I really hardly ever have those nasty thoughts, and that when I do, I say the Our Father and Hail Mary and imagine Our Lord's Wounds and Sufferings until those nasty thoughts go completely away.

But after that, I started thinking about my uncle. Isn't that just so sick? He is my uncle! My very own dad's very own b*****r. He and my dad even look so much alike that sometimes people think that my dad is my uncle and, I'm sure, the other way around happens too.

I couldn't help it, really.

Well, I remembered a story that I'd heard in Catholic Teen Leadership. This girl a little older than us came from Japan, a Japanese Catholic. (There really are some of them!) Maybe I thought of her because of my uncle's Asian girl on Facebook. 

She gave us a talk about sin.

She told us girls about a time when she on the train in Tokyo. She told us that the trains there get so crowded during rush hour that they have people, men, whose sole job it is to push people into the train cars, to f***e them in tight, so that more people can ride the trains at those times.

She said that she was on the train one day when it was really crowded. Everyone got pushed in hard, tighter than sardines in a can, all mashed and mushed together.

And then after a while of going through the tunnel, the train stopped and the lights went out. There was just some red emergency lights. Everyone looked kind of scary in that red light, like in "an American zombie movie," she said. I remember her saying that last part just like that because we all laughed when she said that.

She had like a British accent, even though she was Japanese.

She said that every one crammed together so tight that you couldn't even hardly breath, let alone move, and that everyone in that weird red zombie light was talking and complaining or laughing nervously.

And then she felt a hand on her butt, caressing it and then squeezing her butt.

She said that she felt much more afraid than she had before, of course. She had been just in high school, like we were.

She said that in Japan all the k**s wear uniforms and that the girls all wear skirts. She felt the hand pull up her skirt and then touch her panties.

She was crying as she told the story. And she said how she wished the person would stop, how terrified she was, and how she prayed and prayed that he would.

She didn't say any more than that, didn't say how much the man --- I assume that it was a man --- touched her or where he touched her.

But she did say that after that she couldn't help herself for a long time, couldn't help herself thinking about that time on the train and a man touching her like that, maybe more than one, maybe even a whole train-car of men touching her at the same time like that. She said that sometimes she thought about riding the train in the hope that someone else really would touch her like that again.

The point was that sin was everywhere and that we needed to be vigilant against it.

She said that she prayed and went to Confession and fasted and eventually overcame her sin. All our talks about sin end that way.

And of course her sin was not that some pervert had touched her against her will. She couldn't help that. It was that she had begun to think about it all the time as something that she had come to think that she had enjoyed and wanted to happen again.

Well, I thought of that story when I thought about me sending that pic to my uncle's friend.

After a while, I didn't really care about my uncle's Asian friend. I was thinking about my uncle instead.

So one time, right before his birthday, I called and went over his house. I told him that I needed his advice.

There are no subways anywhere near where we live, but sometimes I used to ride the city bus. I used to use my mom's car before I got my own, a brand new one that my dad co-signed a loan for. They didn't want me riding in a "clunker" and breaking down someplace.

But sometimes, when I used to use my mom's car, she needed it herself, so I had to ride the city bus to my job and home from it.

"I need your advice, uncle. I can't ask mom or dad, just can't tell Father Jaworski or s****r Bertrille either."

My dad and my uncle always called all the s****rs by that name. They always thought that it was very funny, and my uncle laughed when I said it.

We were in his little living, sitting on his couch. My uncle is divorced. His sons are grown. He lives alone in his little apartment because his wife got their big house, which she sold and then moved away to Lake Tahoe with the man she met online.

"I was riding the city bus last year. When I got on, the bus driver, this big fat black guy, looked at me funny. I don't know. I felt scared of him. He looked right at my breasts, I swear!

There was a black driver one time, but he was nice. He was skinny too. But there was an old white driver who always looked at my breasts when I got on the bus.

"I went to the back of the bus, so as to get as far away from him as I could. I didn't think about it, I just sat in the corner seat."

I went on, while my uncle listened, "The bus was empty, other than me and the driver. A guy got on the bus a few stops later. Even though the bus was empty, he came and sat next to me."

I surprised myself. I started to cry. Even lying about such a thing made me so sad and sick inside.

"He said hi and took out his big scary knife and used it to clean under his fingernails with it. His breath was rancid, the worst I ever smelled. When he was done, he folded the knife back up and put it back in his pocket. Then he put his hand on my knee."

I went on, with my uncle just listening and watching my face. "I was really scared. He was looking at me and touching my leg. I had a long skirt on. He reached down for the hem and pulled and pushed it up and started touching my bare knee and thigh. He like f***ed his hand between my legs and touched me, you know, down there, through my panties. I begged him to stop, but he didn't."

My uncle was crying too. He really does love me. He told me when I was 13 that he had wanted a daughter but that he and his wife had all boys instead, so he was gonna love me like his very own all my life.

I know that my mom and dad would've found ways to blame me. They would've asked: Why didn't I cry out? Why didn't I get right off the bus again when the driver looked at me that way? Why did I sit where I did, where I was helpless and couldn't get away?

I lied to my uncle, making up the story as I went along, "I felt him start to pull my undies aside, you know, to uncover my womanhood, when we pulled into a stop. I was so scared that I said, 'This is my stop,' even though it wasn't. I got up and prayed the whole time that he wouldn't follow me. Luckily he didn't. Luckily he let me up, too. I sat at the stop waiting for the bus to come around again for an hour, hoping and praying that no one else would bother me."

"You have a cellphone, sweetie. You could've called me or your parents to come get you."

"I know, Uncle Mike. I just felt so stupid and ashamed."

"It wasn't your fault, Tanya."

"I know. I don't blame myself for what happened. But now I just keep thinking about it all the time. It's like a year later." I graduated when I was just turning 17 and got a job right away.

"Thinking about it in what way?"

I think he was smart enough to know that a girl, even a good girl like me, might think about something like that in very different ways.

I giggled nervously. I'm sure that I blushed to. "I think about it in a bad way, a wicked, sinful way. I can't help it. I pray and pray and pray, but still I . . ."

"You get wet, wet between your legs, when you think about?"

"Yes." I whispered that one word.

"You kind of wish that something like that would happen again?"

"Yes." I realized that I was whispering in a little girl voice.

"Do you masturbate when you think about it or think about it when you masturbate?"

I didn't answer that one, didn't say anything.

"Do you ever ride the bus at night, hoping that it will happen again?"

"No, but sometimes I think about doing it."

"You could get hurt or ****d or maybe even killed, sweetie."

"I know. Sometimes I think about a man r****g me, maybe k**napping me, and then even killing me, cutting me up into little itty-bitty pieces and like sending them down his garbage disposal so that they would never find my body."

I guess I'm so sick and twisted that I thought that little gem up right there, while I was talking to my uncle. It wasn't true, of course, but telling him that excited me very much. I was wet, very wet, right then.

"A lot of women and girls have such fantasies. You don't really want something like that to happen, do you?"

I giggled nervously. "Why do I think those thoughts?"

"I think that women think like that because if a man f***es them, ****s them, ties them up and m*****s them, then it's not their fault. A man will do to them what they want him to do, but by forcing them, so that they won't feel guilty about it."

I giggled again. "I feel so guilty about thinking that way."

"It's only natural. You're Catholic."

"You're Catholic too."

"Don't tell anyone, but I guess that I'm not anymore."

Now that's a way way big sin!

"Lately, I've been thinking about riding the bus at night, thinking about it so much . . ."

"What if you just found a man, someone you age or a little older, and just give yourself to him, promised him that you'll do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, as much as he wants."

"I don't know. I guess I . . ."

"You want someone to take you, to f***e you, to make you do things, someone to choose you and not you him . . ."

"Yes. Last night, I, I drove my car, drove into the city . . ." I wanted him to think that he was saving me from myself if he did something, if he made me do something.

"You parked near a bus stop and thought about riding the bus?"

"Yes. I've done that 4 times in the last month, Uncle Mike." I was crying again. I guess I'm a natural actress or something, even though I feel shy around strangers or groups outside of church or the movies.

We were sitting side by side on his couch. He put his hand on my knee, and I giggled nervously.

He is strong and tall and handsome. He stroked my thigh, first the top and then the inside. I wanted him to know that it was okay, so I opened my legs a little. He pulled up my skirt and turned toward me and pushed his other hand up my skirt and between my thighs f***efully, all the way to my panties.

He rubbed that spot between my legs. I knew that I was really really wet and knew that he could feel it. And then he pushed my legs open and pushed my skirt up and pulled and tore my panties across their crotch and jammed a finger into me, hard, doing it all so rough and fast that it scared me.

I was a virgin. I had felt my own hymen before I came to see him because I had wanted him to know, if he did touch me down there, that I was still a virgin.

He fingered me in and out and I came and then came again. I didn't try to hide it from him. I said, "Oh god, that was so good."

He pulled his hand away and said, "From now on, when you have those naughty thoughts, you're gonna come over here and let me do whatever I want to you. Is that clear?" He was using like a command kind of voice.

"Yes, Uncle Mike."

He was pushing my skirt back down. I guess that I really did want more, because I asked him, "What about you?"

He laughed and unbuckled and unzipped his pants and lifted up and pulled them and his undies down all at once. 

I'd never seen a man's penis before. I'd seen babies and my b*****rs when they were bigger than babies but still little. It looked so big, and it was sticking right up against his belly.

He grabbed a handful of my thick black hair and pushed my face down into his crotch. I knew what he wanted, of course, so I kissed his penis.

"Take it in your mouth, Tanya."

I took him into my mouth. He cried out, "Mind your teeth."

I didn't know what to do, and he pulled me up off his penis.

He stood up and pulled off his pants and shoes the rest of the way, and he picked me up and carried me into his room.

He sort of tossed me onto his bed. It was disheveled and smelled of him, mostly of his sweat. He is a guy and you know how they are when they live alone. But I found that smell heavenly, intoxicating, and instantly addictive.

He got a short piece of rope and tied my wrists together behind my back. The rope was both strong and surprisingly soft.

"Are you on the Pill or something?"


"You're going to go on it right away."

"Yes, sir." I giggled.

He turned me over, face down on the bed, and grabbed my ankles and dragged me so that my legs and my hips were hanging over the side of the bed. He pulled the back of my skirt up but then pulled it down and off me, roughly, so that it was wrapped around my ankles and calves.

I was scared and ashamed. I took his pillow and hid my face in it. It smelled of him too.

I felt him jam his finger into my butt. I wondered if he was going to put his whole hand up my butt like I'd seen him doing in the Asian girl's Facebook page.

Then I felt two fingers inside me. I could tell that it was two. It hurt, but they were sliding in and out me so easy that I knew that he was using oil or something. Then I felt three in me, and that really hurt.

And then he was behind me, and I knew that he was putting his penis up my ass. I knew about sodomy, knew that it was a huge sin, even for a married couple. It hurt too. I was crying. I wanted to beg him to stop, but most of all I wanted him to do whatever he wanted to me too, wanted him to use me anyway that he wanted.

Then he was moving in and out, in and out, thrusting it faster and faster. That hurt a lot too.

He reached under me and touched on that spot between my legs, the one that I know is called the "clitoris," and I came, maybe the absolute best feeling I ever felt in my life. I realized that I was the wettest I'd ever been too.
I came and came and came and came. It felt so good. I felt so good.

And then he shouted and moaned, and I felt his penis shudder inside me. I knew that he was cumming.

After, he rested his chest on my back, crushing my hands that were tied together against the small of my back. I felt his heart beating fast, just like mine.

He asked if I wanted to take a shower with him, but I said that I felt too shy. He untied my hands and helped me up. I pulled my skirt up again, to cover myself. He washed up at this kitchenette sink while I showered in his bathroom.

I came out dressed. I'd put my torn panties back on.

I giggled. "You ruined my panties."

"I'm sorry. I'll buy you a new pair."

"My butthole, it's still . . ."

"Sore and tingling?"


"Some girls like that feeling."

I giggled.

"When you think about riding the bus, think about that feeling instead. Think about me r****g you instead."

"You really want me to, you know, whenever I . . ."

"Yes. Promise that you will."

"I promise."

He took my hand and lead me into his little kitchenette. He took a pairing knife from a drawer and cut my hand, my palm, surprising me. It bled in scary way. He put on the table and I noticed that it wasn't all that clean.

He had an old-old pen and old-looking paper. He told me to write a contract in my own bl**d and showed me how to dip the nib of the pen in my own bl**d in my cupped and bleeding hand.

"I give myself totally to uncle Michael, body and soul."

He watched as I wrote. I won best handwriting in 7th and 8th grade, and we had used pens like for practice.

He dictated to me:

"I promise to be completely faithful to him, in body and in thought.

"I promise to let him do whatever he wants to me, whenever he wants, promise to let him hurt me if he wants, to punish me whenever he wants, whether I've been good or naughty, whether I deserve it or not.

"I promise to let him to use me for his evil pleasures whenever he wants.

"I promise to obey him completely, even if he commands that I do sinful and wicked things with other girls for his pleasure."

A thrill went through me when he said that.

Maybe I'll get to meet his Asian friend.

He had me write other things too, but I was thinking about that Asian girl. I knew what guys liked to watch girls do to each other.

He had me sign and date it.

After that, he got a condom and ****d my vagina. I begged him not to do it. Part of me wanted to stay a virgin. But every part of longed to be his slave and craved to surrender completely to him.

Afterward, he held me in his big strong arms and held me to his chest so I could hear and feel his heart beating while I cried and cried. My face was practically in his arm pit and I could smell his nasty, delicious sweet.

I loved it so much.