I Turned My Ex into a Submissive Tranny

The last time Roberto humiliated me was at his firm’s annual reception, in front of dozens of people who had never mattered to me and who mattered far too much to him. We arrived together, left together, but everything in between happened as if I didn’t exist. He dragged me from group to group without introducing me, shot me warning looks when I talked too much or too little, and when someone interesting came over, he turned at just the right moment to leave me out of the conversation.

On the drive back I couldn’t take it anymore.

—You ignored me all night —I told him—. Am I embarrassing to you?

—Honestly —he replied without taking his eyes off the road—, you’re so unsociable that, yes, you make me uncomfortable at these events. I don’t know how to ask you to grow up without you taking it as an attack.

We got to the building without saying another word. When I got out of the car, I told him I didn’t want to see him again. I slammed the door harder than necessary and didn’t turn around to look at his face.

That night I cried more than I had in a long time. Not because of him, but because of all the time I’d spent letting him talk to me that way.

***

Patricia was waiting for me with two coffees the next day. We had joined the company together three years earlier, both of us without experience, both of us with that habit of taking up as little space as possible in any room. But something had changed radically in her during the last year and a half. Tailored suit, straight back, a confidence in every movement that I envied in silence every morning when I arrived at the office.

She was also my boss, and had been for eight months.

I told her about the reception between sips of coffee. She listened with the patience she never had for budget meetings. In the end she said:

—You know he’s going to come back with flowers and voice messages, right?

—I know.

—And you know that if you go back, it’ll be exactly the same.

—I know —I repeated.

She reached into her purse and took out a white card, almost no design at all. Just a name and a phone number.

—Call —she said.

—What is this? A therapist?

—Something more efficient.

***

The director of the Association of Powerful Women, Lorena Vásquez, received me on the twenty-third floor of an office tower with a view over half the city. She was a woman in her fifties, with blond hair tied in a high bun, a suit that cost what I earned in three months, and a gaze that asked permission for nothing. Behind her glass desk, the city stretched out like something she also owned.

—I already know who you are —she said before I could open my mouth—. I also know who Roberto is.

She explained that they had reviewed social media, posts, behavior patterns. It wasn’t a violation, she clarified, it was public information analyzed intelligently. They had a file ready.

—Roberto projects an image that doesn’t belong to him —she said—. Inside, he’s completely different. Submissive, needy for guidance, incapable of relaxing around other men without building a facade of control. You saw him in private.

She was right. The Roberto who ignored me at events wasn’t the same one who made me breakfast on Sundays or asked if I was okay when he saw me being quiet for too long.

—And me? —I asked—. What does the file say about me?

Lorena smiled for the first time since I had walked into the office.

—That you have more potential than you imagine. And that you’ve been blocking it for years.

***

The month I spent in the Association’s house changed me in ways I still don’t completely understand. It wasn’t therapy, not exactly. It was more like learning to speak a language I had always known but nobody had ever taught me how to use. Posture, voice, clothing as language, gaze as a tool. How to enter a room. How to make silence work for you. How to occupy the space that belongs to you without apologizing for it.

When I came out, thirty days later, Patricia and Lorena were waiting for me with a bottle of champagne and the question I knew would come sooner or later:

—What do you want to do with Roberto?

I didn’t hesitate for a second.

—I want to train him.

***

Roberto came out of his law office on a Tuesday at dusk, irritated by a case that had gotten complicated at the last minute. Carmen and Sandra, the Association’s two security agents, were waiting for him beside a black SUV with tinted windows. They were imposing: tight uniforms, block heels, belts with everything needed to convince someone who prefers not to be convinced.

At first he tried to reason. He asked who had sent them, what they wanted from him, said he wasn’t going anywhere without explanations. Carmen delivered an electric shock to his neck before he could finish the second question. The two of them carried him into the vehicle without anyone on the sidewalk seeming too surprised.

He arrived at the Association’s house handcuffed, blindfolded, and with no idea where he was.

***

I found him in a small windowless room, sitting in a chair with his ankles tied to the legs. When they removed the blindfold, it took him a few seconds to recognize me. He blinked several times, as if he were waiting for the image to change.

—Elena —he said finally—. Get me out of here right now.

The slap sounded before I decided to give it. Then I stroked his cheek with the same hand, slowly.

—Ma’am —I said—. Or Mistress. Those are your options from here on out.

He tried to protest. I explained calmly that he had two paths available to him: obedience or resistance. The path of pleasure or the path of suffering. I had no preference, but he probably would.

—Is that clear? —I asked.

Roberto looked at me for several seconds. Then, in a low voice:

—Yes, Ma’am.

—Good. You’ll see it wasn’t that hard.

***

The first few days were marked by intermittent resistance and growing confusion. Roberto was given clothes, but they were all feminine: lace lingerie, fitted dresses, high heels, nylon stockings in different colors. When he protested, Carmen explained with the exact patience of someone who had already had this conversation before that complaints were not an available option in that space.

Little by little he began to give in. He put on the stockings because the marble floor was freezing. He chose a pink sweater because it was the warmest thing in the closet. He looked at himself in the vanity mirror they had brought him as a reward for behaving well, and took longer than necessary to look away.

The room’s television had four channels: makeup tutorials, fashion and color coordination, manners and feminine posture, and erotic content starring trans women serving their mistresses with a dedication Roberto first watched with discomfort and then with something different from discomfort. On the porn channel, everything was shown uncut: huge cocks sinking down the throats of lipstick-wearing girls, asses spread open by thick cocks, loads spilling over tongues hanging out and half-closed eyes. Roberto spent hours watching, and though at first he told himself it was out of curiosity, the erection bulging under the dress contradicted him every time. He started touching himself while he watched, first with shame, then with hunger, coming into his own warm hand and licking the cum without thinking, because the cameras he already knew were in the ceiling were recording him and on the screen some trans girl always ended up swallowing her Mistress’s load with her eyes closed in bliss. We started calling him Roberta among ourselves before he knew it.

He began practicing in front of the mirror without anyone asking him to. Practicing how to sit with his legs crossed, how to walk in the heels he had been given, how to apply eyeliner with the hand that still didn’t obey him completely. When the guards watched him through the camera, they exchanged messages without saying anything out loud.

***

Carmen and Sandra visited the room every afternoon. The first sessions were about correction and discipline, with the firmness needed for someone who still had the temptation to resist. They pulled down his lace panties and tore his ass apart with whippings until it was red, marked, burning; they pinched his nipples until he cried, shoved their fingers into his mouth so he would suck them the way he would suck other things later, and forced him to repeat out loud that he was a little slut in training, that his cock no longer belonged to him, that his ass was the property of the Association. When Roberta cried, the two of them laughed and told him the tears looked good with the makeup. The following sessions, when he started behaving the way we expected, were of an entirely different nature.

One afternoon, after hours of practice in front of the mirror, the two agents entered and began undressing in a synchronization that looked like part of a rehearsed routine. Black corsets, garter stockings, knee-high boots. And beneath the underwear, something Roberta hadn’t expected to find: two hard, thick, veined cocks swaying with the rhythm of their steps. Carmen had a long, dark cock with a shiny exposed head; Sandra’s was shorter but much thicker, with heavy balls hanging beneath.

—Your reward today —said Sandra, gripping her cock with her gloved hand and shaking it in front of Roberta’s face.

Roberta knelt without anyone telling her to. She opened her mouth before they gave the order, sticking out her pink tongue, and Carmen grabbed the black wig by the nape and drove her cock all the way down her throat in a single thrust. Roberta gagged, tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t pull back. She learned to breathe through her nose while the cock went in and out of her, to relax her jaw, to massage the balls with her left hand while sucking Carmen’s cock with the concentration of a diligent student.

—Look at me while you suck my cock, little slut —Carmen ordered, and Roberta lifted her wet eyes without stopping swallowing the cock down to the base. A thread of saliva hung from her chin, mixed with the red lipstick that had already smeared all over her mouth and cheeks.

Sandra grabbed her face and turned it toward her. She pressed the tip of her thick cock to Roberta’s lips and pushed it in little by little, forcing her to open her jaw wider and wider.

—That mouth is for fucking, Roberta —she told her—. Learn how to open it properly.

Roberta began alternating between the two cocks, sucking one while jerking off the other with her hand, licking balls, running her tongue under the head, taking both cocks at once when Carmen and Sandra pressed their tips to her face and packed their cocks together inside her mouth. She choked, spat, breathed, and took them back in, this time hungry.

When Carmen felt she was close, she grabbed her by the hair and shoved her head all the way down, holding her there while she came down her throat. Roberta felt the hot spurts going straight to her stomach, one after another, and when Carmen let go of her head and pulled her cock out, the rest of the load spilled over Roberta’s lips and chin.

—Swallow it all —Sandra told her—, and open your mouth so we can see.

Roberta obeyed. She swallowed, stuck out her clean tongue, and without waiting for the next order turned toward Sandra and took her whole cock in one go, eyes closed in pleasure. Sandra grabbed her by the head with both hands and used her like a toy, fucking her throat at a brutal pace, until she came too with a growl, filling her mouth with thick semen until it overflowed from the corners and ran over the breasts that were growing under the hormones.

What at first made her gag later flowed with a naturalness she herself hadn’t expected. The taste of Carmen’s semen, the first time she felt it in her mouth, surprised her. Not in the way she had expected to be surprised. She liked it. She liked it so much she ran her tongue over her lips looking for the last traces and licked her fingers one by one.

—If you behave, this happens every day —Carmen said while buttoning her shirt.

—Please —Roberta answered in a hoarse voice, still kneeling, hair stuck to her forehead and cum drying on her face.

The two agents exchanged a look that said everything.

And it happened again. Every day. Sometimes in the morning, when Roberta was still in a silk nightgown and they woke her with a cock resting on her lips. Sometimes at noon, against the vanity table, with the skirt hiked up to her waist and her panties pulled to one side while Carmen opened her ass with her thumbs and spat into the hole before putting it in. She learned to be penetrated on her knees, on all fours, on her back with her legs over shoulders, straddling and moving her hips the way she had seen in the porn channel. She learned that her ass burned the first time but that afterward, if she relaxed and breathed, if she let herself be opened, the whole cock slid in and hit a spot that made her moan like she had never moaned before. She learned to cum without touching herself, clenching her ass around the cock fucking her, with her hands tied behind her back and her face pressed into the mattress.

***

Three weeks after his arrival, Roberta was unrecognizable. Not only because of the straight black wig with bangs Carmen had chosen for her, or the makeup she now applied herself with a precision I envied. It was something harder to name: the posture, the way she occupied space, the way she tilted her head when listening, the sound of her heels against the marble, which she marked with a consciousness she hadn’t had on the first day. The Roberto who had ignored me at that reception left no visible trace in the woman walking through the house’s corridors.

On the afternoon of her formal presentation, Lorena, Patricia, and I waited in the main hall seated on three high chairs that, in that context, functioned as a tribunal. Carmen and Sandra announced Roberta with barely contained solemnity.

Roberta crossed the hall walking slowly. The fitted black dress, the heels marking each step, the eyeshadow dark and the long nails the same red as her lips. She stopped in front of us and lowered her head with a naturalness that wasn’t acted.

—Ladies —she said—, it’s an honor to be here.

—Tell us how you feel —I asked her.

—Free —she answered without hesitation—. For the first time in a long time, completely free.

Lorena and Patricia exchanged a look. I already knew what that meant.

—If you want me to be your Mistress —I said—, prove it.

Roberta knelt and began kissing my boots with an attention that was neither mechanical nor forced. She worked her way up the leather to my knee, took the heel between her lips as if it were something she had been waiting a long time to do. She licked the leather from top to bottom, left a shining film of saliva all over the shaft, and when I stroked her cheek with the tip of my boot, she rested her cheek against the instep and closed her eyes like a cat. When I made her get up, her eyes were wet and she wore an expression I had never seen in five years of being together.

—Now —I told her— we’re going to seal the pact properly.

***

I ordered her to undress in front of us, slowly, the way she had been taught. Roberta unzipped the dress with both hands behind her back, let the fabric fall to her feet, and stood there in black corset, garter belt, stockings, and heels. Beneath the corset, two new breasts, firm, with dark, erect nipples. Between her legs, still, the cock she had left, now tied at the base with a pink ribbon so it would get hard without being able to cum.

—On the floor —I said.

She lay down on the rug, on her back, legs open and knees bent. Patricia stood up, took off her suit skirt, and was left in black stockings and a thong barely covering her sex. She straddled Roberta’s face and sat down slowly, crushing her mouth against her pussy.

—Lick —she ordered—. Show us what you learned.

Roberta stuck out her tongue and began licking Patricia’s clit slowly, her hands holding her hips to pull them closer. Patricia moaned, moving her pelvis against Roberta’s mouth, grabbing her by the hair, and when she came she soaked Roberta’s face, with a cry that echoed through the empty hall.

Lorena came up behind her and spread her legs even wider. She wore a black leather harness with a thick, long silicone cock curved upward. She spit twice on Roberta’s hole and worked it in little by little, bracing herself on the submissive’s knees.

—This ass doesn’t close up on you anymore, does it? —she said with a smile.

—No, Ma’am —Roberta answered in a muffled voice, barely parting her mouth from Patricia’s sex—. It’s always ready.

Lorena started fucking her with firm thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and then driving back in to the hilt, while Patricia kept riding her face. I came to the side, untied the pink ribbon from the cock, and as soon as I did, Roberta came without touching herself: spurts of semen jumped over her stomach and corset, while she kept moaning with her mouth full of pussy and her ass opened by Lorena’s cock.

—Don’t you even think about wasting it —Sandra said, and ran her fingers over her stomach collecting her own load. She put them in Roberta’s mouth, and Roberta sucked them one by one without stopping moving against the two women fucking her.

Carmen and Sandra joined in. They took their cocks out of their uniforms, already hard, and took position on either side of Roberta’s head. Patricia came a second time and pulled away, panting, and as soon as Roberta’s face was free, the two agents shoved their cocks in at the same time, one in her mouth and the other pressed against her cheek, taking turns. Lorena kept pounding her from behind, and I knelt beside her and took Roberta’s cock in my hand, stroking it slowly to drive her mad, forcing her to cum a second time right there, with Carmen unloading semen into her mouth and Sandra finishing on her new tits.

We put her on all fours after that. Face down, ass up, stockings still on and a stain of dried cum on her back. Lorena kept fucking her from behind while Carmen lay underneath and penetrated her from the front, the two cocks crossing inside. Roberta screamed, trembled, squeezed her eyes shut, and when she felt both cocks moving at the same time inside her she started begging them not to stop, to give it to her harder, that it wasn’t enough. Sandra grabbed her head and shoved it back into her mouth. I took her by the hair and whispered in her ear:

—This is what you are now. A slut who gets fucked in every hole and says thank you.

—Yes, Mistress —she replied with her mouth full—. Thank you, Mistress.

They all came on her, one after another. Lorena filled her from the inside with one final load, Carmen emptied into her mouth a second time, Sandra marked her chest again, Patricia sat on her face and drenched her once more with her climax, and I made her finish by squeezing her cock until she writhed on the rug and smeared my fingers with the last spurts.

What followed lasted more than two hours. Roberta did everything she was asked and some things nobody had asked of her, guided only by the desire to please that had grown during those weeks of confinement and transformation.

When it was over, lying on the hall floor with ragged breathing, makeup smeared, semen drying on her tits, belly, face and hair, and an expression unlike any I had seen on her before, she said:

—When can I ask for the surgery?

Lorena let out a short, genuine laugh.

—Soon —she answered—. You’re our fastest student.

***

A year later, few would recognize Roberta in the woman patrolling the Association’s corridors alongside Carmen and Sandra. The three wear the same uniform: fitted pencil skirt, long-sleeved blue shirt, black tie, boots with block heels. The three have bodies none of them had twelve months ago, each in her own way and for her own reasons.

Roberta underwent several surgeries. Breast augmentation, hip reshaping, some facial work that makes her look exactly as she should always have looked. She still owes Lorena a bit of money, which Lorena financed without too many conditions, except one: keep working for the Association for as long as necessary. Roberta considers it more than fair. In fact, she can’t imagine herself anywhere else.

That morning, while the three of them were taking a break in the staff room, the intercom sounded with Lorena’s voice:

—Ladies, could you come to my office, please?

It wasn’t a question.

Roberta set down her half-finished coffee, smoothed her skirt, made sure her tie was properly in place, and stepped into the corridor. The echo of three pairs of heels against marble ran through the building from end to end, as always.

In the office, Lorena was seated with Patricia and a woman none of the three had seen before. On the glass desk, a closed folder.

—I have a small favor to ask of you —Lorena said, pushing the folder toward them—. This man needs to be trained.

The unknown woman nodded with an expression Roberta recognized immediately. She had worn it herself, a year earlier, sitting in that very same chair.

—With pleasure, Ma’am —Roberta replied—. He’ll be at the house this afternoon.

She took the folder and left first. In the elevator, while they descended, Sandra and Carmen looked at her.

—This time I’m the one using the gun —said Roberta.

The other two laughed. The elevator doors opened onto the lobby and the three of them stepped out into the street, the sound of their heels fading into the noise of the city.