The Christmas Eve I Was My Client’s Trans Gift

Another Christmas Eve alone. The phone had been silent on the table for hours, not a single message from my regular clients. They were all with their perfect families, exchanging hugs under the tree, toasting with cider and lying to themselves about how happy they were. I kept staring at the dark screen as if it might light up out of pity.

I was wearing an old pair of pajamas, my hair pulled up into a loose bun. I had bought a slice of sweet bread that I hadn’t even opened. The loneliness of that night had a different weight than the others, as if the whole world had agreed to remind me that I was on the outside.

Then it vibrated. An unknown number.

—Renata? It’s Damián. I need company tonight and I’ll pay you triple your rate.

Triple. I didn’t have to think twice. I had seen him twice before, always generous, always with that calm air of a man used to getting what he wants. At ten sharp I was supposed to be at his apartment, ready, willing, prepared to please him as if I’d known him all my life.

I jumped into the shower. The hot water washed off the sadness I’d built up, and while I shaved my legs slowly, I could already feel that electric current climbing up my back. It wasn’t just the money. It was knowing that someone, that night, had chosen me.

In front of the wardrobe mirror I tried on the red dress, the one that clung to my hips and concealed how flat my chest was. The stilettos lengthened me, even though I knew I’d still look tiny beside a man like that. Carmine lips, false lashes, the feline liner that those who pay for me love so much.

My hands trembled a little as I applied the gloss. It was that usual mix: nerves and desire, the need to know what waited for me behind a door I hadn’t crossed yet. I looked at myself one last time, took a deep breath, and went downstairs to catch a taxi.

***

The apartment door opened in one of those glass buildings in the upscale neighborhood, the kind where the doorman doesn’t even look up. Damián appeared in a white shirt that hugged his shoulders and hinted at the body underneath. Behind him, a table set with candles and two glasses already poured.

His Caribbean accent made every word vibrate when he greeted me. His dark eyes roamed over me from my heels to my mouth, unhurried, like someone inspecting something he had just bought and liking what he saw.

—Merry Christmas, beautiful —he said, and let me in with one hand resting on my waist.

He took my chin between two huge fingers and made me look at him. He smelled of expensive cologne mixed with the aroma of a dinner that was still steaming on the table. I felt the heat of his hand against my face and my throat went dry.

—First we eat —he said—. Like two lovers. And after dessert you become my gift. And I don’t plan to unwrap you gently.

I swallowed. I nodded, and something in my belly tightened with desire.

***

Dinner was long and excellent, washed down with a wine that crept up slowly. Damián spoke little and looked a lot. He asked me things no client usually asks: where I was from, what I liked, how my year had been. I answered with half-truths, just enough to keep the night feeling playful.

Every time I crossed my legs, his eyes dropped for a second and came back to mine, without apology. The tension grew between course after course, silent, thick, like a thread drawn tighter every time he filled my glass again.

When we left the glasses half-empty, he took my hand and led me to the living-room sofa. I didn’t sit beside him. I slid onto his thighs and attacked his mouth with hungry kisses while my fingers fought with the buttons of his shirt.

—God, how I needed you tonight —I gasped against his lips.

My tongue sought his with an urgency that was no longer acted. I ran my palms over his chest, felt the quickening heartbeat beneath my touch, and pushed my hips against the bulge growing inside his pants.

I lowered myself to the floor and knelt between his legs. My heels scraped the parquet.

—My God... —I whispered.

My fingers barely circled the base. I freed it from his pants and stared for a moment, measuring what was in front of me, knowing it wasn’t going to fit easily anywhere.

I opened my mouth as wide as I could and started slowly, licking the tip, savoring the salty taste before trying the impossible. When he shoved my head down, my eyes filled with tears.

—I’m yours tonight —I managed to say between thrusts, my hands gripping his thighs as if they were the only solid thing in the middle of the dizziness.

I dug my painted nails into his skin while he set the pace. Gags shook my whole body, but I kept my mouth open, letting myself be used, swallowing saliva and tears in equal measure.

Damián growled and pushed harder. I filled with his scent, my vision blurred, a strand of spit dripped down onto my flat chest.

—Keep going, daddy... —I moaned around him, feeling how every inch marked me from the inside.

He slapped my cheek, making it burn. I didn’t pull away. I opened wider.

—That’s it, exactly —he purred—. This is what I brought you here for.

My makeup streaked into black rivers, spit glistened on my chin and breasts. I was a mess, and I had never felt more desired.

***

He pulled me up by the hair, not violently, almost tenderly, and looked at my ruined face with a possessive smile.

—Look at you. A total mess and still asking for more.

—More —I admitted, voice rough—. Please.

He threw me onto the sofa. I fell face-first and immediately settled onto all fours, arching my back to offer him the best angle. My own erection, small and hard, brushed the cold leather of the seat.

—That’s it —he said behind me—. Like a Christmas gift.

He spat into his hand, spit on me, and spread it with two fingers until I was slick. I rocked my hips in the air, trembling with anticipation, glancing sideways at the wall clock: 11:45. Fifteen minutes to midnight.

—Don’t break me too hard —I moaned, though we both knew that was exactly what I wanted.

He pushed in slowly. The burn stole my breath. My nails sank into the leather, knuckles white, as he worked his way in millimeter by millimeter.

—God, you’re huge! —I screamed when I felt my insides rearranging themselves to make room for him.

—Hang on, beautiful —he said through clenched teeth—. It’s Christmas Eve.

Each thrust shook my body against the backrest. The wet sound of friction filled the living room. His hips slammed against mine, pain and pleasure fused in the same current that ran up my spine.

—Like that, daddy, like that —I cried through tears, my ass reddening from the impact.

I dropped a hand to my own sex and began to masturbate to the rhythm he set. The leather creaked beneath our weight, my moans tangled with his growls, and in the distance church bells began to ring.

—Come inside me —I begged, arching more—. I want to take your gift with me.

A deep laugh rumbled in his chest as he sped up.

***

He turned me without pulling out all the way and lifted me onto his lap, face to face. My skinny legs wound around his torso, and I lowered myself slowly until I felt all of him.

—Look at how it all fits in you —I panted, rocking to get used to him.

The contrast between our bodies was obscene: my pale skin against his dark, firm body. Each rise and fall made my sex bounce between us, brushing his sweaty abdomen. He held me up with one hand, as if I weighed nothing.

—You like riding me, huh? —he said, digging his fingers into my hip.

The bells marked midnight. Christmas. And me, astride a stranger who paid for me, feeling more alive than I had in weeks.

My small sex rubbed against his stomach with every movement, leaving a wet trail. The friction was almost unbearable because it felt so good.

—I’m about to come —I warned him, my hips drawing faster and faster circles.

He just smiled, knowing he had complete control over my pleasure. One of my hands dropped to masturbate me frantically, the other clung to the back of his neck so I wouldn’t lose my balance. The clash of our skin blended with the distant pealing.

—I’m... I’m... —I moaned.

My hips stopped dead. A violent tremor ran through me and I came over his chest, stream after stream, gasping, spent, while the last spasm left me breathless.

—I love being your gift —I murmured, voice broken, leaning in to clean his chest with slow licks.

I collected every drop while I felt him still throbbing inside me. I looked at him with submissive eyes and kept going lower, to where our bodies were still joined.

—Do you like how I clean up my mess? —I asked between licks.

The bells were still ringing in the distance, celebrating a Christmas that found me astride a client, and happy to be there.

I kept rocking in tired circles, my sex already limp and tucked between my thighs. Suddenly I felt him pounding hard inside me.

—Yes, daddy, fill me —I cried when the heat flooded everything, clenching so I wouldn’t lose a single drop. A triumphant smile spread across my sweaty face.

I collapsed onto his chest. His cum began to leak out slowly while we both breathed at the same time, sticky and spent. The bells faded away. The night was complete.

—Merry Christmas, Damián —I whispered against his skin.

He stroked my back in silence for a long while, in no hurry for me to leave. He let me rest against his chest until both of our breathing returned to normal.

***

I settled my wrinkled dress in the back seat of the taxi, counting the still-warm bills as the city passed by wrapped in colored lights. Through the windows you could see lit balconies, families toasting, sleepless children running around among the presents.

I was going home alone, as always. But this time it didn’t weigh on me. I leaned against the cold glass, closed my eyes, and let the taste of the night stay with me until dawn.

The driver put on a carol softly and I said nothing. I smiled to myself, still feeling the echo of his hands on my body, the brush of his beard against my neck, the full weight of a night in which I was nobody’s leftover.

In the end, I had received the best gift a girl like me could ask for: a whole night in which I was, without apology, exactly what I wanted to be.