The Night My Girlfriend Became My Master

Adrián came up behind Nuria, swept the hair away from her neck, and kissed her just below the ear. Her mouth was full, so all she could answer with was a murmur. Then she spat into the sink and turned to kiss him back on the lips.

—Wait, dummy. I still have toothpaste in my mouth.

—So what? I love you so much I’d kiss you even if your mouth were full of anything.

Nuria made a mock disgusted face and answered in a teasing tone.

—You’re obsessed with sex, honestly.

At that moment, someone rang the doorbell.

—See? —he said—. That’s proof that you’re just as obsessed as I am, even if you won’t admit it.

—Our order? So soon? —she wondered, while Adrián was already running to open the door.

The delivery man handed him a large package and turned right back around without another word. But something in Adrián’s face changed. It was light, too light.

—Sorry, wait —he stopped him—. Is that all? Don’t you have another box for me?

—No, that was the only item listed in the warehouse under your name —the other man replied, in a tone and posture that made it clear he was in a hurry and the conversation ended there. Even so, noticing the customer’s disappointment, he added—: Maybe it’ll arrive tomorrow. These days so many shipments come in that we don’t manage to sort them all. You can check the order status on the website.

And, after that display of eloquence, the delivery man decided everything had been said and strode back to his van with long steps.

Adrián shut the door and began inspecting the box, looking for some clue. Nuria came over.

—Maybe everything’s inside, just packed really tight.

—I doubt it, but let’s see.

He peeled back the flaps carefully, rummaged through the plastic bags, and in the end gave up.

—See? Things are missing.

—Well... we’ll just have to wait for the rest, won’t we? —Nuria said with a shy smile, trying to cheer him up.

—Fuck, I’d already convinced myself we’d do it today —he complained, though his expression quickly changed—. Hey, there’s enough material here to do a dress rehearsal, don’t you think?

—Don’t even dream about it, Adrián. It all has to be here and it has to come out perfect, like we planned. Besides... —Nuria also rummaged in the box— my dick isn’t even here. Without my dick, there’s nothing to do.

—You’re right, sweetheart. We’ll wait.

They spent the afternoon on the sofa, chaining together episodes of a series neither of them was paying attention to. They pretended to watch it because each one thought the other was really watching.

Nuria, always the more intuitive one, broke the silence.

—Maybe this is for the best. We’ve already received part of the stuff. We’ve touched it. It all becomes real, it stops being a fantasy. Maybe we should talk it over one last time before we go through with it.

—Are you backing out?

—No! Not at all. But I was thinking that, if we have any doubts, any limits to set, now would be the time to say them.

—Mmm... I’m not sure I follow you. You start.

—Well, look... I know how men are. I’m wondering if you’re ready to feel different things, and whether that could affect your... I don’t know how to say it... your self-image.

—Not at all, I’m completely sure about this.

—Even so, I think it’d be a good idea to have a safe word.

—We’re not going to do anything painful or risky —he hurried to explain—. It’s just fetish play. —Nuria held his gaze, and Adrián eventually gave in—. But fine, if it makes you feel better. I choose “ataraxia,” which means absolute calm. How does that sound?

—That sounds like a perfect word —she said, clapping—. And you? Don’t you have anything to say to me?

Adrián was about to answer when the doorbell rang again. They looked at each other, excited. He checked the time.

—It’s almost eight. It’s too late for them to still be delivering, isn’t it?

—You open it! —Nuria urged him.

It was another delivery man, with the same indifferent, hurried face. This time Adrián simply took the package and slid him a three-euro tip before closing the door. That was how happy he was.

The box was even bigger than the first one. They threw themselves at it and nearly destroyed it instead of opening it. They did a quick inventory: everything was there. Adrián shot a mischievous look at her.

—It’s a little late, isn’t it? We’ll take at least an hour to get ready —Nuria said, reading that look perfectly.

—Come on... tomorrow’s a holiday. We can sleep in, we’re not meeting anyone. —The sentence hung in the air, desperate for someone to hold onto it.

—Mmm... all right, then. But I get the big bathroom.

—Shit!

They divided up the things and each one locked themselves in their own bathroom, with the promise of coming out in an hour.

***

The first thing Adrián did was strip completely naked. As he looked at the clothes and accessories scattered over the floor, he felt himself getting hard. He cursed under his breath: that was exactly what couldn’t happen. It took him a good while for the erection to go down, and he only managed it by reading random passages from Hopscotch, the only book in the bathroom cabinet.

Furious at the fifteen minutes lost to that setback, he put on the first garment. It was some kind of rigid thong, with elastic bands that fit around the hips and a semi-hard pouch designed to hold the penis and testicles as tightly compressed as possible, pulled back. It reminded him of that trick some men use to hide everything and make it seem as if there’s a vulva there instead. With the “package” confined so an erection would be impossible, he covered his body with talcum powder. He loved the scent; it made him feel delicate. He smiled. He was already getting into character.

Then he put his feet into what could only be described as a second skin of latex, a very light brown not far from the color of his own flesh. He stretched the neck opening and worked his legs in one by one until his toes reached the end. Then he pulled the garment up his thighs to his waist.

There he savored the detail that fascinated him most: at the crotch there was a plastic cylinder, three fingers thick and about twenty centimeters long, fitted inside, against the lower belly. One end connected to the outside through an opening topped with folds that roughly drew the shape of a woman’s sex. It was a fake cunt, like the ones sold in sex shops, but built into the suit. What a marvelous idea, he thought.

Next came the false breasts, generously sized and with an incredibly realistic feel. He pulled the second skin up to cover them all the way to the neck. He loved the way the nipples sat exactly in place. The suit fit like a glove. He was glad he hadn’t bought the first one he’d seen online and had instead spent quite a bit more at a specialized store that had taken his measurements in great detail. The only thing that looked off was the bulge the plastic sex made in the belly; he trusted the corset would disguise it. It was a small price to pay for having a whole cunt Nuria could fuck with her new cock.

He reached the stage he feared most. No matter how sure he’d sounded in front of her, Adrián didn’t know how he would react to putting on the latex mask that would turn his face into that of a porcelain doll. Maybe he’d feel a dissonance, a clash between what he had in his head and what the mirror would give back.

Trying to ignore those thoughts, he put it on. After two failed attempts, he managed to line up eyes, nose, and mouth with the openings. Trembling with excitement, and fighting the urge to look at himself in the mirror just yet, he turned to grab a blonde wig. As he did, he felt the latex rubbing all over his body and couldn’t hold back a moan. Had he been paying closer attention, he would have noticed that moan had sounded higher than his usual voice.

He put on the wig, which Nuria had styled a few days earlier, and felt the curls falling over his shoulders. For Adrián, bald for almost twenty years, that caress was the final trigger. He stood in front of the mirror and studied his reflection. He was used to his hard, sharp features. What he saw was the perfect softness of a doll. Though not exactly: dolls are innocent, and what the mirror gave him back was a doll forced to make a living by stripping. The hair screamed one thing and the bare breasts screamed another. The mixture of purity and corruption was exact. He wanted to skip with joy.

All that was left was the clothes and the makeup. He tightened the red corset, laced up in front, until he could barely breathe. He loved the way it drew an impossible waist and, by contrast, made the breasts seem even more disproportionate. He thoroughly enjoyed putting on the black lace stockings, which ended halfway up the thigh, the matching panties and, over that, a leather miniskirt. He hesitated about the bra, decided against it, and slipped into a short black leather jacket that fastened over the chest with two buttons. The neckline was to die for. Finally, some red stiletto heels to match the corset.

He checked the time: ten minutes left. Enough. He’d been watching tutorials for weeks and makeup held no secrets for him anymore. He went with the classics: false lashes, black mascara, a touch of violet eyeshadow, and very red lips.

He was ready. He knew perfectly well he hadn’t become a woman, but rather the male fantasy of what a woman is. No woman would dress like this unless she was starring in a porn film. But that was exactly the plan. Nuria and he were going to live out the desire they’d carried for years: fucking with the roles reversed. And since it was a fantasy, better to take it to its filthiest extreme.

***

When he came out to the living room, Nuria was already waiting for him on the sofa, smoking a cigarette. That threw him: she didn’t smoke. And yet there she was, drawing on it with complete ease. In fact, for a second he doubted that the man looking at him so brazenly was Nuria. Hair pulled back in a ponytail, tight white T-shirt, fitted jeans, and black military boots. It was astonishing how well she’d compressed her chest, to the point of looking like a trained set of pectorals. He didn’t know what makeup she’d used, but it had hardened and aged her features. All crowned by a serious, almost arrogant expression as she took another drag.

—You look great, Vera —she said in a deep voice, baptizing him like that without asking.

For some reason, Vera —yes, it was Vera, it could be called nothing else— loved that.

—I’m Darío, and the only thing you need to know about me is that I don’t like wasting time. Are you going to waste my time, baby? —he added, crushing the cigarette into the ashtray.

—No... no, of course not, Darío... —her confidence left her unsure what to say.

Then Nuria —sorry, Darío— showed, for an instant, a hint of doubt, as if gathering courage for what was coming. She recovered immediately.

—The way you’re dressed, it’s obvious you like a bit of action. Good. I’m going to give it to you.

He picked up the remote and turned on the TV. What appeared on the screen was another surprise: porn. Darío lounged back on the sofa and grabbed his “package.” Vera noticed for the first time that bulge, which almost reached the pocket of his pants, and stared blankly. If what Darío wanted was to unsettle her and strip away all control over the situation, he’d succeeded.

—Get on your knees and suck me while I watch this.

Vera had expected a logical change in manners, but that was a complete about-face. The Nuria of always was feminist; she liked rough sex, yes, but she had never shown any sign that humiliating another person turned her on. That was precisely her move within the fantasy: to embody the macho porn-film guy, dominant and sexist to the point of caricature.

Vera knelt between his legs, unbuttoned his pants, and maneuvered until she got Darío’s cock out: an enormous, highly realistic rubber piece. She started sucking it while looking him in the eye. He watched her, fascinated, for a moment and then turned back to the porn, determined to treat her as little more than a toy to masturbate with.

Darío moaned and lifted his pelvis a little, fucking her mouth with still-gentle thrusts while commenting on the screen.

—What a hot little bitch...

Vera moaned without taking the cock out of her mouth. Darío thought she had misunderstood who the insult was aimed at, and dared to go further, this time speaking to her directly.

—That’s it, suck...

Each repetition turned her on more, and Vera sped up. Darío could almost feel the pleasure it would have given him if his cock were real. He indulged in the idea: neither of them was physically coming, but from the outside no one would have guessed it.

He was already moving his hips harder, fucking her throat, while she gagged and dripped saliva nonstop. Darío was growing a real desire to degrade the woman kneeling between his legs, no matter that in normal life he would have considered that an unbreakable line.

He imagined the classic little devil and angel arguing over the character. He could almost hear the devil-Darío on his right shoulder, urging him on. The little angel was the usual Nuria, the one who hated ripping someone’s humanity away like this; but that tiny voice was only capable of moaning, hating itself while remaining aroused.

Darío stopped fighting his desires. This was a game, just as pornographic as the scene on the screen. He yanked her out of his mouth, spat in the doll face, and gave her a soft slap.

—Suck in silence, you’re making me miss the movie.

After a few more minutes, he ordered her to stand. Vera obeyed instantly. Darío got behind her and slid his cock between her buttocks, leaving a wet trail down her back while he massaged her breasts and discovered how realistic they felt. He couldn’t help but smack them and pinch the nipples, and she answered with little moans of pain. It was impossible for her to feel anything through that plastic, but her brain was on the verge of collapse and was producing almost real sensations.

Darío licked and bit her neck, climbed up to her ear —that one was flesh, at least— and whispered hot breath into it. Vera shivered.

—Look at yourself in the mirror —he ordered, shoving her against the wall where a large mirror hung—. Look what you’ve become. You’re nothing but a doll for my pleasure.

—Oooh... —Vera looked at herself, still unable to form a coherent thought.

—Pull your panties aside.

At last, Darío began to penetrate that plastic sex with his plastic cock. The situation was surreal. Nobody felt physical pleasure; it was all pure filth and fetishism. A man turned into a woman, fucked by a woman turned into a man. Both with fake genitals, both looking at themselves in the mirror, both reduced to porn for themselves. Without saying it out loud, both of them started to toy with the idea of recording themselves on video, or writing a story so others could masturbate imagining their perversities.

He tugged her hair with one hand while spanking her rubber ass with the other; the vibration it produced was hypnotic. He hardened his thrusts to make that fake ass sway. Both their minds were at the limit. Vera began to moan louder, shaken by a kind of mental orgasm. Darío wanted to feel the same, so he pulled out and ordered:

—On your knees. I want to finish on your face.

Vera obeyed, and he jerked off a handspan from her face, smiling at the surprise he had prepared. The cock hid a reservoir full of a fluid with a texture very similar to semen; all it took was pressing a button taped to his left thigh. Darío pressed it, and all that white, viscous liquid spilled over Vera’s face, hair, and breasts. For some reason, the taste reminded her of toothpaste.

Exhausted as if they’d had real orgasms, they crawled to the sofa and lay there in each other’s arms, with the moans from the movie entering through their ears as they drifted off to sleep.

Later, well into the night, after changing and removing their makeup, Adrián and Nuria got into bed and made love tenderly, leaving all that degradation behind.

Until Darío wanted to use his doll again, of course.