As a Transvestite, I Begged My Neighbor to Use Me

A few days had gone by since my neighbor had turned me into his slut. I ran into him a couple of times. Once he was with his wife and we limited ourselves to a polite hello, two kind strangers sharing the stairwell. The other time he was alone. He took advantage of it to spit the word out through clenched teeth, almost like a greeting: “slut.” And I, without thinking, whispered back: “yes, sir.” He laughed, and each of us went our own way.

For a moment I thought it wouldn’t happen again. Part of me preferred it that way, because we lived right next door and I didn’t want trouble. But another part, a deeper and dirtier part, wanted it to happen again. I couldn’t get the images out of my head: how he had put me on all fours, the thrusts that made my ass crack, the moans he ripped from me without my having to fake a thing. I moaned for real, from that mix of pain and pleasure only he had made me feel. And the humiliation of being treated like what he said I was.

Three long weeks passed. I was losing hope when, one afternoon, peering out the window, I saw his wife leave. I couldn’t stand it anymore and texted him.

—Hiii.

Just that. A greeting that committed to nothing but sounded feminine, soft, a disguised invitation.

—I told you so, slut. You were going to come looking for me all on your own.

He was right, and that humiliated me more than any insult. I was looking for the man who came into my house, used me however he wanted, slapped me, fucked me without the slightest care, laughed when he saw me cry, and ended with my mouth full of his semen. That was the man I was looking for. What is happening to me?, I thought, almost regretting it.

—Do you already have what I asked for?

The question made me nervous. What did he ask me for? Did he really ask me for something, or is he testing me?

—What do you mean? —I replied, scared. Why am I afraid of disappointing him? I didn’t understand it, but my body was already trembling, waiting for his answer.

—Dumbass. I told you that next time you were to lock that clit in a cage. Do you have it or not? And make it the smallest one you can find.

It was true. He had said it when he left my place, but between the uncertainty and the state he’d left me in, I had completely forgotten. I couldn’t lie to him: if he decided to come and I didn’t have it, it would be worse for me. So I faced the problem and confessed that I still hadn’t bought it.

—Don’t text me again until you show me you have it.

—Yes, daddy —I answered. There was no further reply.

***

I felt stupid. I got angry at myself and then I didn’t understand why it mattered so much to me to fail to carry out his orders. Something was happening to me and I couldn’t name it. While my head tied itself in knots, I opened the search engine and started looking at chastity cages. There was so much variety that it surprised me; I had seen them in some video, but I was more into looking for other things, so I had never paid them much attention.

I compared models: three centimeters, two, one, five millimeters, until I found one that not only prevented any erection, but had a kind of tube that pushed inward what he had renamed my clit. I hesitated. What if it hurts me? But if I bought another one and he realized it wasn’t the smallest, he’d be pissed. I had no choice: I added it to the cart. Immediately a suggestion popped up, a little skirt that barely covered half my ass, and I decided to give him a surprise. I bought that too.

There I was, choosing clothes to offer myself to the man who had humiliated me. What kind of crazy bitch am I becoming.

I ran into him on the street a few days later. He was alone. I looked at him shyly, ready to tell him I had already placed the order, that I was just waiting for it to arrive. But he walked right past. He didn’t say a word to me, didn’t even turn his face. He was so indifferent it hurt. I turned to look at him; he didn’t.

I felt doubly bad: first because he didn’t greet me, and then because inside me I was waiting for that word. The one I had hated so much and now wanted. I imagined it over and over, and not hearing it left me annoyed, dissatisfied. I needed him to say it to me. I didn’t feel complete without it. I understood that he was angry about the cage and that all I could do was wait.

***

The package took two days. The moment I closed the door I took it out. I had never had that object in my hands, nor seen it in person. A metal ring, a cap with little holes, a two-centimeter tube that would push everything inward until it disappeared, and a thin little hose. I arranged it on the sofa, right where I had fallen asleep the first time, with my skirt hiked up and my underwear at my ankles, and took a photo of it.

I was about to send it when I saw him go online. I got wildly nervous and regretted it. And I feel proud that I regretted it, because I made a better decision: put it on first and send him the photo already wearing it.

I have to confess something. I never had much down there, quite the opposite; with a little cold I can make it disappear with one finger. I had done it a thousand times imagining I had a vagina, spreading my legs, stroking myself with two fingers and forcing myself not to get an erection to pretend I was masturbating like a woman, while I helped myself in the back with some improvised toy.

That made things easier, although putting on the cage was anything but easy. First the little balls went through the ring, then I awkwardly inserted the little tube, and when there was no more room I started pushing with the cap. I watched it disappear millimeter by millimeter until only the flat cap was left visible. With excitement, I locked the clasp, took the key, and shut it.

What an incredible ecstasy. Putting aside how he had used me, I had never felt so much like a woman as in that instant when I couldn’t even see it, when erections became impossible. Looking for information, I found that some girls used little straps around the waist so the cage would stay upright. I thought that was so cute that I found some pink ribbons at home and put them on. It drove me wild. I never wanted to take it off. How had I not thought of this before?

Ready, I adjusted myself, took the photo, and sent it without another word. His reply took two hours. I was impatient. What if he doesn’t want me anymore? What if he got too angry? I checked my phone constantly; sometimes I saw him online, but he didn’t write.

—Same day, same time.

That message sent me to heaven. He wasn’t angry. He would come again. Yes, I knew he was going to humiliate me, that it was going to hurt, but I had also learned that in the end I was going to enjoy it. A lot.

***

It was Wednesday, so I had to wait a couple of days. I decided not to take the cage off except when absolutely necessary. On Thursday I put it back on and wore it all day; I even went out into the street with it on and felt on cloud nine.

At last the day arrived. This time I wasn’t so nervous, but excited, happy. I had my cage, I had his beers, I was ready. It was cold, which helped make putting it on super easy. I arranged the ribbons so they looked pretty and put on my little skirt. It was even smaller than I had imagined: it barely covered a couple of centimeters in back, and in front it left the cage completely exposed. I was grateful he had asked for it.

As a transvestite, I dream every day of waking up and discovering that what I have between my legs disappeared and became a real clit. I know it won’t happen, and the closest I get is seeing myself with the cage. I liked it so much that I decided not to wear anything else under the skirt and left my underwear in a corner of the sofa.

I put on makeup, my wig, and my high heels, and waited for my man in the living room. I was smiling like a fool. He had told me so: this is your new life. And I loved it.

I heard him leave, punctual as always. I watched him check that no one was around, take a couple of steps toward my door, and without hesitation I opened it for him. He came in, stood behind me, and before the latch had even finished clicking, he had me shoved against the door. He pressed his whole body against mine. I felt his hard cock against my ass, which now had nothing covering it.

With my cheek flattened against the wood and his mouth at the side of my ear, I finally heard his voice.

—I don’t want you making me wait again, slut. Understand?

I was uncomfortable, getting scolded for not having the cage ready on time, and yet all I could feel was happy to hear him call me that, in that tone that gave me goosebumps.

He turned me around and gave me a brutal slap. He forced me down and started pulling his cock out in front of me. I ended up crouching, legs spread and back against the wall. He shoved it into my mouth and started fucking it without my being able to move anywhere, because the door blocked me.

He choked me, pulled it out, shoved it back in. Sometimes a little, sometimes until I was gasping for air, while his voice repeated that today I was going to learn not to make him wait, that he was my man and I had to respect him. He kept fucking my mouth for a good while, but every so often he stopped, waited, and started again. He didn’t want to come.

Suddenly he grabbed my head, pulled me against him with his whole cock inside, and started walking backward. My knees hit the floor and he made me move like that, without taking it out of my mouth, all the way to the sofa. He sat down with his legs apart.

—I’m going to let you go, and I want you to be a good cock-sucking bitch.

He let go of my head. I stood up fast, coughing, went for his beer, opened it, put it in his hand, and went back to my spot. I sucked his cock, kissed it, stroked it, and did the same to his balls.

—Ball-licking slut —he told me every so often. And I, when I did it, gave him a shy little look and a half-smile—. You’re going to be a good bitch, you’ll see. But you need to learn to obey, and if you screw up you need a punishment so you learn to satisfy your man. This time you screwed up by not having what I asked for on time, so today I’m not going to fuck you.

I widened my eyes.

—What? —I said, stopping what I was doing.

Another slap.

—Who said you could stop sucking?

I went back to it with huge disappointment. No, please, I’m ready, I need to get fucked, I need a man inside me. I kissed his balls while looking into his eyes, silently begging him not to leave me without his cock.

After so long I needed his semen, so I started sucking harder, determined to give myself the prize all on my own. He noticed, pulled it out, and landed the third slap, always on the same cheek, always so hard it echoed through the whole house, muffled only by the scream that escaped me.

—Stay still, bitch. Who said you deserve my semen? You’re punished, remember. You’ll get only what I choose to give you.

—Please —I said, and at once I burst inside. What did I just say? I’m begging him for his semen. I must be crazy.

He burst out laughing. Every time he does that, I feel humiliated.

—What did you say, slut?

I had to repeat it, more because of the order than anything else, because he wanted to hear me beg.

—Please.

—What do you want? —he asked in a dominant tone.

—Your semen, daddy —I answered in a voice so timid I was surprised by how naturally it came out. And the thing is, it was real. That’s how I felt: intimidated, small, dominated, humiliated. And the plea was real too.

***

He stood up. His cock rubbed against my face. I went for it with my mouth, but he moved aside.

—Kiss my balls, bitch.

I leaned in and tried. He moved aside again.

—What are you waiting for?

I turned and tried again. He took a step back.

—Move, dumbass, I want you to kiss my balls —he yelled.

I walked on my knees, tried again and again, and he just paraded me around the house on my knees, chasing his cock. I was frustrated. I really wanted to kiss them, lick them, suck it, have him fill my mouth. But what I wanted most was for him to fuck me, and he wasn’t giving me anything.

I managed to give him two kisses in some fifty attempts all around the living room.

—That’ll teach you what your place is and that you have to obey when I ask for something. That’s all you’ll get today.

I couldn’t take those words.

—No, no, no, please, I need you to fuck me —I said without thinking.

Again the laughter.

—Look at you, slut. I told you, remember? I told you you’d be begging me to fuck you, that you’d end up licking my balls, that you’d be my bitch. Did I tell you that or not?

—Yes, daddy —I replied with an inner rage made of frustration and shame.

—You’re fucked, so you learn your place. Get away from the door.

After the humiliating walk, I had ended up right in front of the exit. He was leaving. I couldn’t let him, I didn’t want to be left unsatisfied. I watched him pull up his pants and I lunged at his cock. I caught him off guard, stopped him, and shoved it into my mouth, sucking fast, out of control.

—Fucking slut! —he shouted.

He yanked it out, another slap on the cheek that was already burning. This time I didn’t waste any time. I begged him to give me cock, repeated the phrase many times: please, fuck me, put your cock in me, make me your slut; at least fill my mouth with semen, let me taste it, I need you.

When I realized it, he was only watching me, smiling, seeing how I had humiliated myself all on my own.

—You’re going to be such a good slut —he said, and started fucking my mouth.

I was happy: at least he would give me his semen. I opened my mouth wide, played with my tongue, and although he was in control I did what I could to increase his pleasure. I heard him moan a bunch of times, saying how well I sucked him.

Suddenly he started fucking me faster. I got dizzy from how much he was moving my head with each thrust, as if he had forgotten it was my mouth and not my ass. And all at once he pulled it out, took a step to avoid me, and started ejaculating. All his semen fell to the floor. I don’t know how or why, but I said out loud:

—No, that was for me. —Looking at the semen wasted on the floor.

—I said you’re punished, slut. Today you don’t deserve even my semen.

He pulled up his pants, moved me aside, and left my house.

***

For a few seconds I didn’t know what to do. I watched him walk away through the window, still flushed from getting fucked. I looked down at the floor and there it was: my reward for being a good slut, spilled on the ground. It was mine, it was for me. And you can probably guess what I did.

I bent down. My ass was left completely exposed as I knelt to lick the semen off the floor. It’s mine, I earned it, I can enjoy it. I licked it drop by drop, as fast as I could so it wouldn’t dry; sometimes I had to help myself with my fingers. That left the floor clean and me, more or less satisfied.

When I thought there was nothing left, I sat back on my heels, and at that exact moment someone knocked on the window. It was him. He had come back and was pressed against the glass, shading his eyes with his hands to see inside. He had seen me licking his semen off the floor. A bolt shot through my whole body. I covered my face with my hands, screaming “oh no!”, and he backed away and went back home smiling.

There I was: unsatisfied, humiliated, with the only nice memory being the two times he fucked my mouth, though I also didn’t mind thinking about how he had paraded me around on all fours. I needed something inside me. I couldn’t stay in a skirt, debuting a cage he didn’t even say anything about, with the taste of cock and semen in my mouth and no pleasure at all in my ass. I started looking for something to do it with when the phone rang. It was him. Ignoring it wasn’t an option.

—Hiii?

—I knew you’d do it, slut. That’s why I came back. I know you ended up unsatisfied and that’s how I want you to stay. I know you’re going to obey me because you’ve got potential to be a good slut, I already saw it. So I’m going to trust you: I don’t want you giving yourself any kind of pleasure until I decide. If you behave, next time you’ll enjoy yourself more than when I took your virginity. Understand?

—Yes, daddy —I replied, amazed at how well he knew me, or manipulated me. How did he know I was going to look for pleasure?

—Who’s my bitch? —he said in a whisper that I loved.

—I’m your bitch, daddy.

And just like that, he hung up.

Strange as it may seem, that call calmed me. I lay back on the sofa smiling again, my ass out, my mouth tired, my cheek red, and the cage reminding me every second that erections are a man’s thing and that I was a female. A slut with potential, he had told me. A female who already had a man.