Chapter 92 UNCLE'S RULES 2
Chapter 92 UNCLE'S RULES 2
UNCLE’S RULES 2
SOPHIA’S POV
I lasted four days.
Four days of Victor’s eyes following me across the kitchen, his voice a little rougher when he said good morning. Four nights of tossing in bed, fingers itching to disobey his no-touch order, but fear—and thrill—of punishment keeping me obedient.
On the fifth day, I snapped.
I waited until he rode out to check fences, then slipped into the barn. The air was thick with hay and leather. I found his private space in the loft—a locked cabinet I’d seen him open once. Curiosity won.
I picked the simple lock with a bobby pin (a trick learned from rebellious friends) and opened it.
Inside: coils of soft rope, a thick leather belt, cuffs, a paddle, bottles of lube, and things I didn’t recognize but made my core clench.
I was so lost in staring I didn’t hear him return.
“Find what you were looking for?”
I spun, my heart slamming. Victor stood at the top of the ladder, dust on his boots, shirt clinging to his sweat-slicked chest.
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered.
He climbed the rest of the way up, expression unreadable. “You went through my things.”
I nodded, trembling.
He stepped close, crowding me against the hay bales. “That earns more than a hand spanking.”
He grabbed a coil of rope—soft cotton, deep red—and looped it around my wrists before I could protest. In seconds, my hands were bound in front of me, secure but not painful.
“Strip.”
My fingers shook as I obeyed, pulling off my tank top, shorts, bra, panties. Naked in the warm barn light, goosebumps rising, nipples hard.
He bent me over a hay bale, tying my bound wrists to a ring bolted into the wood—something I hadn’t noticed before. My ass was presented, legs spread slightly by his boot nudging my feet apart.
The belt whistled through the air first—crack across both cheeks. I screamed, the sting deeper than his hand, fire racing across my skin.
“Count.”
“One.”
He didn’t go easy. Twenty lashes, methodical, covering every inch until my ass was striped red, tears soaking the hay beneath my face. With each strike, my pussy throbbed harder, dripping down my thighs.
When he stopped, I was sobbing, hips rocking shamelessly.
His belt clattered to the floor. Rough hands spread my cheeks, cool air hitting my soaked folds.
“Look at this pretty little cunt,” he muttered. “Crying for Uncle’s punishment.”
His tongue licked a broad stripe from clit to hole. I moaned, pushing back.
He ate me like a starving man—long licks, sucking my clit hard, tongue fucking inside me while his thumb circled my virgin asshole. Two thick fingers plunged into my pussy, stretching, curling.
“Please,” I begged, voice broken. “Uncle, please let me come.”
“Not yet.”
He kept me on the edge for what felt like hours—bringing me close, then pulling away, spanking my sore ass with his hand to make me cry out. Finally, he stood, unzipping his jeans.
His cock sprang free—thick, veined, intimidatingly big. He stroked it once, twice, then rubbed the head through my folds.
“Beg for it.”
“Please, Uncle Victor—fuck me. I need your cock.”
He thrust in slow, inch by inch, stretching me impossibly. The burn was exquisite. When he bottomed out, we both groaned.
“So fucking tight,” he growled, pulling back and slamming in.
He fucked me hard over the hay bale—deep, punishing strokes that shook my whole body. One hand fisted my hair, arching my back; the other reached around to rub my clit.
“Come on Uncle’s cock, baby girl.”
I shattered, screaming, walls clenching around him as I came harder than ever. He followed seconds later, burying deep and filling me with hot spurts, growling my name.
He untied me gently, rubbing my wrists, then carried me down to the house, cleaned me up, held me until I stopped shaking.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered against my hair.
I knew he was right.
The storm rolled in on the seventh night—thunder shaking the house, rain lashing the windows. Power flickered and died, leaving us in candlelight.
Victor found me in the kitchen, wearing only his oversized flannel shirt.
“Barn,” he said simply. “Now.”
I followed without question, rain soaking us as we ran across the yard. Inside the barn, candles already glowed in the loft—his preparation.
He’d turned it into something else: thick blankets over hay, ropes hanging from beams, the milking table he’d built years ago for injured livestock now padded and waiting.
In the center: a thick black leather collar with a silver padlock engraved “V’s.”
My breath caught.
“Strip, little niece.”
I obeyed, shirt pooling at my feet.
He buckled the collar around my neck—heavy, possessive, the lock clicking shut. A leash attached.
“On the table.”
The milking table had holes for breasts and a padded cradle for hips. He positioned me face down, breasts hanging through, legs spread and strapped wide. My collared neck was tethered to the front, immobilizing me completely.
He circled, trailing a flogger’s tails over my skin.
“Tonight, you become mine in every way.”
The flogger struck—soft at first, warming my back, ass, thighs. Then harder, stripes of fire that made me moan and arch. He focused on my ass until it burned, then moved to my hanging breasts, light flicks on nipples that had me sobbing with need.
He set the flogger aside and oiled his hands. One thick finger circled my asshole, pressing in slow. I tensed.
“Relax, baby. Uncle’s gonna open you up.”
He worked me patiently—lube, one finger, two, scissoring, stretching until I was pushing back greedily. A plug followed—medium, flared, seated deep.
Then his cock at my pussy.
He fucked me slow on the table—deep rolls of his hips, the plug making everything tighter, fuller. His hands milked my breasts through the holes, pinching nipples until I cried out.
After my first orgasm, he pulled out and moved to my mouth, feeding me his cock slick with my juices. I sucked eagerly, throat relaxing as he trained me deeper.
When I gagged, he pulled back, praising. “Good girl.”
He returned to my pussy, fucking harder, the table creaking. Another orgasm ripped through me.
Finally, he unstrapped me, laid me on the blankets, and entered me missionary—slow, deep, eyes locked.
“I love you, Sophia,” he said, voice rough. “Not just as family. As mine. All mine.”
Tears fell. “I love you too, Uncle Victor. Always have.”
He reached for lube, coated his cock, and pressed against my plugged ass.
“Breathe.”
He removed the plug and replaced it with himself—slow, relentless pressure until he breached me. The stretch burned, then melted into dark pleasure.
He fucked my ass gently at first, then harder as I begged for more, one hand rubbing my clit.
We came together—he deep in my ass, me squirting around nothing, screaming his name.
After, he cleaned me tenderly, removed the leash but left the collar locked.
“Wear it always,” he said. “Under clothes when we have company. But you’ll know who you belong to.”
I touched the leather, smiling through tears.
Outside, the storm raged.
Inside, I was finally home.