My First Time on My Knees Before a Trans Domme

I’d been turning the same idea over in my mind for months without daring to take the plunge. I was drawn to the possibility of meeting a trans girl, someone feminine, self-assured, who knew exactly what she wanted and had no qualms about demanding it from me. I wasn’t looking for tenderness. I was looking for someone to order me around.

There was something else, a specific kink I almost never dared to admit: feet. It was hard to find someone who would understand that desire without laughing or shutting the conversation down at the first mention. So when I started talking to Vanesa by message, I was honest from the start.

I wrote to her that it would be my first time doing something like this, that I had never submitted to anyone before, and that I wanted her to take the reins from beginning to end. I spelled out what I’d like: insults, control, her feet. I expected her to ignore me or pile on a thousand conditions. Instead, she replied with two curt lines.

—If you come, you come to obey. There’s no middle ground. Is that clear?

I told her yes before I could think about it too much.

The day of the date I left home with my stomach knotted. She lived in an apartment in a quiet neighborhood, one of those places where no one pays attention to who comes and goes. I rode up in the elevator repeating to myself that I could still turn around. I didn’t.

I rang the bell and, while I waited, the first thing I did was look down, searching for her feet. She was wearing high heels, shiny black ones, and had the bearing of someone who knows those shoes are a weapon. I didn’t get to see much else. She didn’t let me.

—Come in —she said, stepping aside just enough for me to cross the doorway brushing against her.

I took that moment to look at her properly. She had long, wavy hair, cared for down to the last strand, and a face that needed no introduction. Her body, fitted into a short dress, ended in long legs and a firm, round ass of someone who doesn’t skip the gym. For a second I felt ridiculous, too dressed, too nervous to be there.

I didn’t come to admire her. I came to serve her.

I didn’t have much time to take anything in. As soon as the door closed behind me, her hand crossed my face with a clean slap. The noise startled me more than the blow. Before I could react, she grabbed my hair hard and yanked me down.

—On your knees. Now.

I dropped to the floor without arguing. She brought my hands to her mouth, two slender hands with perfect nails, and ordered me to kiss them. I started slowly, tracing her knuckles with my lips, and she herself slid her fingers into my mouth one by one so I could suck them. Every time I hesitated, a tug on my hair reminded me where I was.

—Look at me while you do it —she said—. I want to see that stupid face.

When she grew tired of my lips, she cupped my face with both hands and leaned in as if to kiss me. I closed my eyes, expecting her mouth. What I got was a spit directly into my face, which she herself shoved into my mouth with two fingers.

—Swallow it.

I did. And to my own surprise, instead of disgust I felt my arousal flare up hard. I was already rock hard, trapped awkwardly inside my pants, and she noticed immediately.

—Look at the pig —she said, almost laughing—. I spit in his mouth and he gets hard.

She stepped forward and, with the tip of her heel, pressed on the bulge in my crotch. She wasn’t gentle. She squeezed, rubbed, stepped on me, measuring every movement by my face. Every time a gasp escaped me, she let out a new insult.

—Moron. Idiot. That’s what you are, right? A pig on his knees.

I nodded, unable to speak. Every word came with a spit that I swallowed without being asked, as if in five minutes she had taught me exactly where I belonged.

***

She dragged me by the hair to a chair in the middle of the living room. She forced me to lean my head on the seat, on all fours, and sat on my face with all her weight. Her heels dug into my thighs, and I couldn’t move a single centimeter without being reminded of them.

—You’re going to learn how to do it properly —she said from above—. And since you specified in your messages that you didn’t want to suck me, you get the other thing. Eat me until I’m open. Don’t stop until I say so.

I obeyed. She guided me with her voice, telling me the rhythm, where to linger, how much she liked it. At one point she got up, inserted a finger, and then offered it to my mouth so I could clean it. While I kept working with my tongue, her other hand went down to my pants.

She unbuttoned them without haste, freed what had been trapped inside, and started jerking me off with a speed that gave me no respite. There was nothing affectionate in the gesture, only control, only the pleasure of having me at her mercy and doing whatever she wanted with me.

—Are you going to come already, pig? You’re pathetic.

I didn’t last ten minutes. I came with a muffled groan against her, making a mess of her hand and my own pants. She pulled her hand away with a grimace of disgust that, far from embarrassing me, pushed me even deeper into the role.

***

When I thought the worst was over, what interested me most was only just beginning. She walked over to a wide armchair and sank into it like a queen taking her throne. She stretched out one leg toward me.

—Come here. Take off my heels. Slowly.

I crawled to her feet and fumbled with the buckles. I removed the shoes, then the stockings, and at last I could see them up close. They weren’t pampered, they didn’t even have painted nails, and honestly they didn’t look like the feet I had imagined. Far from disappointing me, that made me even more nervous, because I knew any comment would cost me dearly.

She brought them to my face and made me smell them at length. Then she took a handful of nail polishes of every color from a box and dropped them beside me.

—I hope you do it right, pig —she said—. Paint my nails the color you like best. But do it properly.

I chose a deep red and applied myself like I had never applied myself to anything before. Each nail, with a surgeon’s hand, knowing she was watching me with that half smile. When I finished, she inspected the result finger by finger and made me fan and blow to speed up the drying.

I have to admit it: with painted nails, her feet changed completely. Suddenly they were appetizing, almost obscene in how good they looked on her. She noticed the way I was staring at them.

—As soon as they’re dry, you’re going to kiss and lick them until the soles wrinkle —she said, savoring every word—. And then I’m going to fuck your mouth with them.

I could feel myself hardening again just hearing her. Before letting me begin, though, she called me to her mouth and, for the first time, kissed me for real. A long, wet, dominant kiss, unlike anything I had experienced. She kissed me as if even that were a way of marking territory.

—Would you want to penetrate me and come inside? —she asked when she pulled away.

—Yes —I answered without hesitation.

—Then start with my feet.

***

I threw myself into it without reserve. I traced every millimeter of her soles with my nose, filling myself with the scent, and then stuck out my tongue and started licking. Toe by toe, from heel to tip, drooling, lost in desire. At some point I opened my eyes and found her masturbating while sucking on a toy, watching me with a calm that undid me.

—Open your mouth —she ordered suddenly.

I barely had time to obey before she shoved a foot inside, without hesitation, far enough to make me gag. She was shouting in my face.

—Didn’t you want to suck me? Then I’ll fuck your mouth with my feet. I told you. Open wider, pig.

With one foot she was roughing up my mouth and with the other she was pressing on my crotch, which was already hard again to the point of pain. I felt completely at her mercy, with not a single part of my body outside her control, and that was exactly what I had come looking for.

A while later she turned over on the armchair, lay face down like a lazy goddess, and asked me to prepare her before I penetrated her. This time my tongue tasted of sweat, of my own saliva, of everything that had happened, and I didn’t care at all. I could only think about what was coming next.

While I licked her, she slid in a finger herself to open up, offered it to me to suck, and indicated that I should go in slowly. But I had already learned enough from her to want only one thing: to stop being merely obedient. I went in hard, all at once, and she reacted instantly.

She grabbed me from behind, twisted with rage, spat at me, and slapped my face again for having dared.

—Who gave you permission, pig?

But she didn’t stop me. On the contrary. I started thrusting hard while she masturbated and moaned louder and louder, and between insults and orders we came almost at the same time, against each other, until we were left gasping for air.

When it was all over, she gave me one last kiss on the mouth, calm, almost affectionate, like a full stop that didn’t fit with anything before it. I got dressed in silence and said goodbye from the doorway, my legs still weak.

On the way home there was only one clear certainty in my mind: I’m doing it again.