Feminization

When he looked in the mirror, he no longer recognized himself: blonde wig, red corset, heels. And she, smoking on the sofa, was waiting for him with a smile he had never seen before.

When he turned his back to make the copies, his hand slid up my stockings as if he had every right to do it. And I didn’t say no.

The sea spat me onto a yacht deck with not a single man on board. When I woke up a second time, I was already wearing their dress and didn’t understand why I was letting them.

She left them folded on the sink, still carrying her scent, with a note: “You’re wearing these today.” I knew the afternoon would be a long one.

You threw me your still-warm panties and a smile. “Put them on and wait for me,” you said. Two hours later I was still on my knees, counting the minutes until you came back.

Friday night, alone at home, caged, with the key hundreds of kilometers away. She left me only one huge toy, and I knew right away she’d bought it for this.

When I lowered my hand to touch myself, what I found between my legs was not what I had gone to sleep with. And worst of all, I didn’t want to pull away.

He wound an antique watch and, by dawn, his body was no longer his own. A week of stolen pleasure with a price collected only on the last night.

They humiliated him every day at school until an unmarked bottle promised him strength. What he took that night turned him into someone unrecognizable.

I wear a thong under my cycling shorts and no one knows. It’s my secret on the bike, the start of the fantasy I play over and over in my head.

I hit play thinking it was a tender goodbye. Two minutes later I understood she knew everything I hid, and that night her voice was in charge of me.

I came in thinking I owned everything. Marisol, on her knees in yellow gloves, had already decided that tonight the owner would be her.

“I’m here to see if my wife works well,” the man said at my door. An hour later I was on my knees in my own kitchen, wearing his wife’s apron.

One smile and a couple of billiard shots were enough for her to turn his world upside down. Now he wears a lace apron and waits, trembling, for the doorbell to ring.

When Bárbara let her sandal dangle from her toes, I knew I would obey her right there in the entrance, no matter who walked in.

For months he forced me to obey in his bed. When I finally spoke, I never imagined justice would repay every blow by turning him into what he hated most.

I was nineteen and impossibly horny. He noticed it the moment he opened his apartment door, and there was no way to hide what we both wanted.

I kept that dress at the back of the closet for no one. That night, when he rang the bell soaked through, I knew I was finally going to wear it for someone.

The moment I crossed that door, I stopped being me. He was waiting for me without a wig or makeup, with a bad-boy smile and my new name already chosen.

I started by filling balloons with warm water so I’d feel like I had breasts. I ended up gluing them to my nipples and finding a pleasure I didn’t know I was looking for.