The Afternoon a Shemale Met Her True Man

I pulled the white sheet that covered me completely away from my face and lay there for a while staring at the ceiling. The light coming through the window was dim, almost orange; the sun was setting, and there was barely any noise in the street. I felt something strange in my chest that afternoon, a mixture I wouldn’t have known how to name. Nostalgia, perhaps.

I had fallen asleep at three and woke to the opening arpeggio of a Deftones song I had playing on a loop. I love that song, and hearing it in that unfamiliar hotel room made waking up feel even more unreal than usual. The sound was enveloping, faithful, filling every corner. Sometimes I fall asleep listening to music and wake up inside it.

My meeting with Rubén was coming up soon, although he never introduced himself by that name. He called himself Piston, just like that, as though he were a brand and not a person. The idea of finding out whether he had truly earned that nickname had my head spinning. On the phone, he had been direct, even curt. No lingerie, he told me. No flirting, no pretty clothes, no foreplay.

The only thing he asked was to be able to open the hotel-room door and find me naked, on all fours, my ass held high and spread open with my own hands, ready for him.

“I’m going to make you my female,” he had told me in that deep voice. “Just let me do my job. I’m not going to give you a break. You’re not going to touch your cock even once; all the pleasure you feel will be back there. The only thing I’ll let you do is play with those little tits of yours. And I’m not taking it out until I’m finished.”

That was what he told me, and the truth was, it turned me on like few things ever had. Those words alone made me wet; my trans clit began dripping and soaking my underwear, my nipples hardened, and I felt an intense itch deep inside. This was several years ago, but I went over the details one by one, because it was an afternoon that made me sluttier, more myself than I had been before.

It was five-thirty. I stepped out of the shower, put on only a little makeup, fixed my hair, and sprayed perfume all over myself. In half an hour, the man who claimed he would turn me into his female in a single session would walk through that door. The bedside clock moved slowly, while my heart did precisely the opposite.

***

Piston was punctual. The door opened softly, and I was already in position on the bed, sticking my ass up as high as I could so he would see it the moment he entered. My heart was leaping out of my chest. I had my hands on my buttocks, spreading them, trying to open and close my hole as though I were winking at him from a distance.

I closed my eyes and only listened to his voice drawing nearer.

“Hello, Camila,” he said slowly. “Good God, what a beautiful sight. Perfect. You followed my instructions to the letter. Naked, in position, that body, that ass. I can already see you’re no beginner; this thing has been well used. But today you’re going to level up.”

I heard him undress immediately and couldn’t keep my eyes shut. I opened them and saw him in person for the first time. Looking at him was delicious. He had brown skin, was very tall, with a defined abdomen. His cock and balls were completely shaved, and he was very well endowed. His testicles hung heavy and prominent, full. It was obvious from a mile away that he had been saving it up for days.

He finished removing his last garment while already stroking that cock, which frightened me a little because of how big it was. Fear mixed with desire—that combination drives me crazy. He pulled my buttocks apart with his hands, let a thread of saliva fall right into the center, and pushed it inside me in one go, slowly but without stopping.

“Get used to the thickness, slut,” he murmured. “Ready? Now get used to the length.”

I let out a scream before I could stop myself. It was abrupt, direct, without a thought for my comfort. Luckily, my ass was already trained with toys, because otherwise I don’t know how I would have endured it. I gripped the sheets with my fingers and breathed deeply, trying to relax.

About ten minutes passed in what he called a warm-up: quick movements, sharp smacks, a warm-up that was already too much for me. But afterward, I truly met Piston. The rhythm changed all at once. He began thrusting into me faster and harder, keeping up a cadence that never let up. He entered so quickly that a little air slipped inside me, and I kept moaning like a madwoman.

I had no choice but to endure it and push a little to yield the passage to him, that strange technique that is like trying to defecate backward—the only way to take him all the way without splitting apart. He really took me somewhere else. He gave me no rest. Every so often he pulled it out completely and stood there looking.

“Look at what you’ve become,” he would say. “You’re deep, slut. You’ve got a hole that can take anything. It stays open and throbbing, begging for more.”

And he would push it back in all the way.

My ass made the occasional sound from how stretched out it was, and that turned him on even more. He drilled me with greater enthusiasm each time, as though those noises were permission. I wasn’t entirely there anymore. I was on some kind of journey, floating, still on all fours, feeling him reach deep inside me without stopping for anything in the world.

I began rubbing my nipples. I was dying for him to suck them, but he remained focused on what he was doing, on his one and only mission. I didn’t even realize I had already come from the excitement alone. My little thing had shriveled up, tiny as a wet rosebud, dripping onto the sheets without my doing anything.

Piston kept fucking me, and by then I was on automatic; I was his toy and nothing more. Then I felt his cock swell inside me, felt it grow even harder.

“Take it out, please,” I begged him. “I can’t take any more. I think I’m going to come again.”

“Hold on,” he said, without slowing down.

“Oh God, I feel like I’m being split open...”

And I came again, this time consciously, feeling everything. My rectum contracted in waves around his cock, an incredible sensation, an orgasm that climbed all the way up my back. I felt like his true female, complete. Piston had kept his word.

***

At last he pulled it out, leaving my hole very open, and turned me over so he could put his cock in my mouth. He unloaded all his milk there, thick and abundant. It felt good to taste every bit of it. I swallowed some and let the rest trickle down slowly, looking him in the eyes the whole time. It had come out so thick it looked like condensed milk.

What a slut I felt like at that moment, on my knees, his nectar running down my chin while he looked down at me with half a smile.

“Good, little whore,” he said, catching his breath. “Now you’ve got an ass worthy of fucking. You showed endurance and strength of character. Congratulations.”

And he gave me a sharp slap on the buttock, a blow that echoed through the entire room.

The next day I had to use ice packs. He left me irritated, with an enormous yet pleasurable sense of emptiness, as if I were missing something I hadn’t even known I needed until the day before. It was the only time Piston and I were together. We never saw each other again, and perhaps that is why I remember it so clearly.

I think he was in the military, or had been. His way of giving orders, his discipline, his way of measuring performance without leaving anything to chance—all of it had something barracks-like about it. I was obedient, rose to the occasion, served as he wanted me to. And the truth is, I felt honored to be able to do it, to draw that final smile from him before he got dressed and left without looking back.

I turned off the music when the door closed. The room fell silent again, bathed in the same orange light as before, and I lay down once more beneath the white sheet, sore and satisfied, feeling more like a woman than ever. Piston, wherever you are, you more than fulfilled your promise.