The Heels That Awakened Lola Inside Me

Damián woke with a subtle burning in his feet, as though he had danced for hours on hot coals. He opened his eyes slowly, still wrapped in the warm remnants of sleep. The first ray of light slipped through the window and gilded the edge of the bed. And there they were. The heels. Still on. Tall, transparent, with perfect lines.

When he planted the sole of his foot on the floor, the acrylic struck the wood with a dry, crystalline sound, like an intimate declaration. That vibration traveled up his spine like a whisper. The height shifted his balance, streamlined his walk, lengthened his legs. He didn’t remember taking them off the night before. Perhaps because, deep down, he hadn’t wanted to.

He sat on the edge of the mattress and managed to take them off. But when he tried to walk barefoot toward the bathroom, something felt strange. He walked on tiptoe. Not because he chose to: it was as though his heels had forgotten the floor. The arch of his foot remained tense, raised, seeking a height that was no longer there.

In the bathroom mirror he looked different. His hair was just a little longer and lighter, almost blond at the ends. His skin was smoother. His body hair was barely visible, as though it had faded during the night.

The voice appeared soon after, sweet as a caress.

—Damicito, look at yourself… you’re becoming so soft, so pretty. That skin is a dream, baby. We’re going straight into perfect-blonde mode, you’ll see.

He stepped into the shower. The hot water emphasized the new softness of his body. The lather slid over his budding curves like invisible fingers exploring him without haste. He closed his eyes. The steam wrapped him in a warm, perfumed veil. A shiver ran down his back. He lowered his hand over his belly almost reflexively and found his cock smaller than usual, soft, shrunken against his thigh, as though it wanted to disappear all by itself. He took hold of it and gave it two slow tugs; instead of hardening completely, it throbbed warmly against his palm, undecided, and a strange tingling rose from his ass to his nipples, which suddenly stiffened beneath the hot stream. For an instant he imagined shaving his legs like a commercial model, the razor moving slowly, ceremoniously, leaving the skin bare and gleaming, ready for someone to lick.

—Oh yes, like that, all smooth and wet, shining beneath the steam. Imagine yourself in a huge bathtub, your little legs stretched out… so delicious, my love. Put a little finger in your ass, go on, feel how it squeezes you. That little hole already wants cock, even if your little head doesn’t know it yet.

As though the voice had given him permission, he soaped his middle finger and brought it behind him. The fingertip slipped between his buttocks and found the warm ring of his ass. He pushed gently. The muscle yielded with a small, wet click and the finger entered to the knuckle. A moan escaped him, high-pitched and foreign, and his cock jerked against his thigh, already half hard. He moved his finger in circles, probing, and an electric shock split his back when he brushed a soft, spongy spot inside. His knees weakened. He braced himself against the tiles, cheek pressed to the cold surface, and continued, two fingers now, hot water falling over his nape, mouth open against the mosaic. He didn’t finish. He withdrew his trembling fingers, afraid of coming right there and not recognizing himself afterward.

He got out of the shower and dried himself carefully. When he opened the closet, everything seemed wrong. Shirts, trousers, flat shoes. Everything felt coarse, heavy, alien.

—No, no, no. That isn’t for you anymore. We need something that says I’m ready for anything. Something tight, shiny… no boring man clothes, please.

He chose his usual clothes because he had nothing else. But when he went out into the street, the clothes began to bother him. They rubbed against him, squeezed him in the wrong places, wouldn’t let him breathe the way he wanted. It wasn’t a matter of size: it was the concept. He didn’t feel dressed, but disguised as something he no longer entirely was.

The subway was packed. The rattling car rocked him. His reflection in the windows returned a face with a longer neck and a slightly arched posture. No one looked at him, but the inner voice made him feel watched. His underwear clung to his damp crotch; he could still feel his ass throbbing, open, as though the hole had learned something in the shower and didn’t want to close all the way.

He got off the subway trembling. A block from the office, the voice nearly squealed.

—Look at that window! We’re going in right now! Let’s see ourselves looking gorgeous.

It was a lingerie shop. Satin, lace, bright colors. Delicate transparencies, narrow waists. Damián couldn’t help himself and went in. The saleswoman, young and wearing a professional smile, greeted him with a sweet perfume that filled the air.

—Hi, are you looking for something special? —she asked.

Damián swallowed. The soft lights made everything feel unreal, as though he had crossed an invisible threshold.

—Yes… I mean, no. It’s for a gift —he murmured, his voice trembling like a leaf.

—Don’t lie. Say it. You’ll see how good it feels when you say it out loud.

His reflection in the counter mirror returned an image he could no longer deny.

—It’s for me —he finally said in a whisper, lowering his gaze, as though confessing it had stripped an old layer from him.

The saleswoman nodded without judgment, a spark of complicity in her eyes.

—Then we need something that makes you feel beautiful. Not just look pretty: feel it, in here —she said, delicately touching her chest.

Together they chose a black set, with lace so fine it seemed to whisper secrets against the skin. When he took it between his fingers, Damián felt a charge run across his skin. He imagined the fabric sliding over his thighs, outlining a new silhouette. The bra was firm and sensual, padded, made to lift not only the breasts but also the spirits. A part of him, one that no longer had a masculine name, surrendered silently and with delight.

***

He went up to the office as though walking on hot coals. He hid the bag in his backpack, but the voice wouldn’t stop.

—Put it on now. Come on, feel the lace. It’s going to change everything.

He entered the bathroom, locked himself in the far stall, undressed, and put on the lingerie. The fabric was cool and soft as a whisper. When the thong brushed his crotch, he noticed that everything felt different, retracted, as though his body also wanted to adapt to this new shape. His cock, pressed against the scented cotton of the front, had shrunk to a warm little bump, almost tender, hidden between his smooth thighs. The elastic settled firmly against his waist, outlining a silhouette that no longer seemed unfamiliar; the back string slipped between his buttocks and opened the cleft, leaving his asshole rubbing against the fabric whenever he moved. When he fastened the bra, his hands trembled: the lace wrapped his chest with delicate softness, and for an instant he felt a new weight, a shy roundness that the padding supported effortlessly. He pinched one nipple through the cup and stifled a moan against his shoulder.

He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, lips parted and breathing shallowly. A soft laugh escaped him without permission, as though someone else had released it. He brought his hand to the front, pressed the thong against the hard little bump, and rubbed quickly a few times, biting his lip, until a transparent drop appeared through the fabric and left a dark stain on the lace. He didn’t come; he forced himself to stop, panting, forehead pressed to the mirror.

—Not yet, baby. Save it for the boss. Give it to him, wet and ready.

He put his man’s clothes back on over it. Now everything fit tighter, more distinctly. He felt more real.

And just then, Adrián called him to his office.

—Damián, great work yesterday! Your presentation was impeccable —his boss said with a smile.

Damián smiled and sat down, crossing his legs. The voice urged him on.

—Lower that little leg, let the trousers open a bit. Make him wonder what you’re wearing underneath.

Damián made a casual movement. The trousers opened slightly and a flash of pink showed for a second. Adrián fell silent for a moment. Then he smiled faintly.

—Damián… you look different. New style?

Damián didn’t know what to say.

—It suits you. There’s something more relaxed about you —Adrián insisted.

The air between them charged with electricity. Adrián moved closer than usual, crossing that invisible threshold between the professional and the intimate. A slight brush, his thigh against Damián’s, was enough to unleash a shiver. The boss’s woody cologne sank into his skin like an invisible tattoo. Adrián reached out and, with two fingers, brushed the edge of his trousers, right where the lace showed. His thumb slipped a centimeter inside the elastic, just barely, and withdrew. Damián felt the little bump throb against the thong, another hot thread trickling out.

—Did you feel that brush? He’s thinking about you. Give him a little look, show him that new face of yours. Open your legs wider, let him look at you.

But Damián said nothing. He only looked at him, lips parted and chest tense with desire.

—You’re not your usual self, are you? —Adrián murmured, gently taking his chin—. I like this new version of you.

Adrián’s thumb traced his lower lip and slipped slightly into his mouth. Damián closed his lips around it instinctively, sucked it once, tasting skin and expensive soap, and a low, wet moan escaped him, climbing from his stomach. Adrián smiled and slowly withdrew his finger, a strand of saliva hanging from it.

Damián fled the office with his heart in his throat, his thong soaked, the sticky little bump pressed against the lace. When he got home, the first thing he did was look for the heels. He put them on. Then the lingerie. Then he danced in front of the mirror. And then he surrendered: he threw himself onto the bed, pushed the thong aside, and stroked his cock with two fingers, barely touching the tip, as though it were a toy, while with his other hand he pushed three fingers deep into his ass. He came, spraying a warm puddle of milk over his own navel, mouth open as he screamed the boss’s name. He slept with everything on, semen drying on his belly, dreaming of Adrián, his deep voice whispering in his ear: that’s how I like you, surrendered.

***

The sun had barely appeared and the room was bathed in dim, warm light. Damián—or perhaps no longer quite so—opened his eyes feeling something different. He had slept in the heels again, but they were no longer an accessory: they were part of his body. He stretched with a soft sigh and felt the pink satin robe slide over his thighs, smooth as polished marble.

He went to the bathroom barefoot, on tiptoe once again. He didn’t even think about it anymore. When he looked at himself in the mirror, the revelation was impossible to ignore. His hair was longer, wavy, pearly blond. His cheeks were rounder, his lips full, his chest sweetly defined beneath his pale skin. He opened the robe: two new little breasts, small but firm, with pink, erect nipples pointing toward the ceiling. Lower down, his cock had become a tiny little thing, barely a pink button between his thighs, soft and gentle, almost decorative.

—Look at yourself, Lola. You’re almost a complete little doll. That hair, that face… there’s no turning back, baby. And that little ass is no longer good for anything except looking pretty beneath your little thong.

And yes. Lola. It was a simpler name, sweeter, more her. It tickled her brain like a new perfume baptizing her in every thought. She felt completely Lola, embracing that new body as the only possible one. She pinched her nipples in front of the mirror, softly at first, then harder, and felt pleasure travel straight down to her ass, which clenched hungrily, empty.

She tried to put on her usual clothes, but everything was square, stiff, alien. Nothing fit her silhouette. She leaned over the bed and, almost without thinking, put on the bra and thong. As soon as the fabric settled between her curves, she knew there was no going back.

—How were you going to put on those macho trousers? Go to the laptop, open the online store. Choose the red dress for going out, the tight black one for the office, and the pink one for when you want to play innocent. And tiny thongs, lots of them. Dress prettier every day, more like yourself. And buy yourself a dildo, fatty. A really big one, black, veined, so your little ass can practice.

Lola looked at the men’s clothes spread across the bed and felt an almost physical rejection. It wasn’t discomfort: it was certainty. Those clothes no longer represented her. She obeyed the voice, ordered everything—including the dildo—and waited, trembling with anticipation.

When the packages arrived that same day, Lola could barely wait. She immediately put on a pair of extremely high transparent heels and felt the sweet vertigo rise from her feet to her head. She tried on the dresses one by one, always in the heels, admiring the sway of her body and the trembling of her legs. The pink one emphasized her chest and hips; the thong slipped between her thighs with a new softness.

Then she opened the dildo’s box. She took out the thick, veined piece of black rubber, with big balls hanging beneath it, and couldn’t help kissing the head. She coated her hand in saliva and began to suck it slowly, watching herself in the mirror, letting a thread of drool run down her chin. She pushed it down to her throat and gagged, tears springing to her eyes; she continued, coughing, until the entire dildo gleamed wet.

She got on all fours on the carpet, ass to the mirror, heels planted firmly, and brought it behind her. She pressed the cold head against her asshole, pushed, and the tip yielded with a long moan. She worked it in little by little, breathing through her mouth, feeling the hole swallow inch after inch until the rubber balls struck her buttocks. She stayed there for a few seconds, impaled, looking over her shoulder: the minidress pushed up to her waist, the thong moved aside, the black handle protruding between her pink buttocks like a tail.

She began to move, to fuck herself. First gently, rolling her hips, then roughly, driving herself backward with all the strength her heels gave her. The pink little thing between her legs wasn’t even hard; it hung like an ornament, but inside, Lola was melting. Each thrust against that soft spot tore a high, girlish cry from her, and her mouth filled with saliva. She felt herself coming without touching herself: a tremor rose from her ass, exploded in her little breasts, spread to her brain, and she collapsed onto the carpet, squirting a clear, transparent liquid from the tip of the pink button, without volume, without manhood, only a long tingling that left her drooling onto the floor’s fibers.

She touched herself in front of the mirror, exploring, imagining Adrián taking her in the office, kneeling, open, begging to be used. Her mind floated, surrendering to the voice, less and less her own, more and more Lola.

As she twirled in front of the mirror, still with the dildo trembling inside her, the phone vibrated. It was Adrián.

—Hello? —Lola answered in a sweet, childish thread of a voice.

—Damián…? Are you all right? —he asked, puzzled by her tone.

—Yes, Adri… I’m super, hehe. Do you want to come over later? There’s something I want to show you —she said, biting her lip and squeezing the dildo with her ass.

Adrián, confused but amused, agreed, thinking perhaps his employee was joking or had a cold.

—All right, I’ll be there in a little while.

Lola hung up with a giggle and an anticipatory shiver.

—That’s how I like it. Today you’re going to be his secretary, but not the kind who takes notes. Put on the black dress, perfume on your wrists, and wait for him ready. When he rings the bell, go down in your heels and open the door for him like the little girl you are. Keep your little ass prepared, because today he’s going to open you for real.

***

Adrián arrived at the apartment and knocked. Lola walked to the entrance in her transparent heels, wearing the tight black minidress, glossy lips, and perfect hair. She opened the door and, with a silly smile and the most childish voice possible, let out a soft, high-pitched “hello!” completely out of character for the person who had once been Damián.

Adrián stared at her open-mouthed, unable to believe what he was seeing. He looked her body up and down, noticing every detail: the dress, the impossible heels, the doll-like posture, the makeup.

—Damián…?

—Do I look like a Damián, Adri? I’m Lola now —she replied, swaying her hips and laughing weakly.

Adrián watched her with a mixture of disbelief and fascination, as though a fantasy character had come to life before his eyes.

—Come in, Adri… I want you to see everything I prepared for you —Lola said, extending her hand and turning gracefully on her heels.

Adrián entered, still incredulous, and the door closed behind him. Lola played with the tip of her hair.

—I’ve thought about you so much, Adri… and it occurred to me that perhaps I could have a new position at the company —she whispered coyly.

—A position? What are you talking about, Lola? —he asked, raising an eyebrow.

—A special position. I’d love to be your personal secretary. I’m willing to do everything you order me to —she said, approaching, the dress rising slightly as she walked.

—Everything? —Adrián challenged her, amused and aroused.

Lola nodded, biting her lip without looking away. Adrián decided to test her obedience. He ordered her to kneel and remove his shoes, then to pick up some papers from the floor, and afterward to bring him a glass of water while walking in heels and swaying her hips for him. Lola obeyed every order without question, displaying her thong beneath the dress, feeling like the obedient submissive of her own fantasies, enjoying every gesture of surrender.

When she returned, awkward in her heels, she stumbled and fell at Adrián’s feet. He lifted her, fascinated. They looked at each other for a moment, tension overflowing, and without thinking Adrián kissed her, deep and possessive, his tongue pushing completely into her painted little mouth. His hands traveled over her back and waist, climbing up her thighs, feeling the softness of the thong and the new firmness of her chest beneath the dress. He grabbed her little breasts over the bra and squeezed them, weighing them in his hands, and Lola moaned against his tongue, arching. His other hand went straight to her ass, squeezed it, opened it over the dress, and found the hard base of the dildo Lola hadn’t dared remove.

—You’re full, little one —Adrián murmured against her ear, chuckling softly, his voice hoarse—. You came prepared.

Lola melted, hanging from his neck, and surrendered completely, lost in the sensation.

Adrián picked her up and carried her easily to the bed. The minidress rode even higher and the thong barely covered her. He threw her onto her back on the bedspread and tore off the dress; the bra remained, her little breasts springing free, pink and hard, and he lowered himself to suck one nipple while tugging the other with two fingers. Lola screamed shrilly and dug her nails into the back of his neck.

With his other hand Adrián tore off her thong and discovered the pink button, the tiny little nothing, leaking transparently between her thighs. He smiled, ignored it completely, and went straight for her ass. He pulled the dildo out in one clean tug; Lola howled, her hole left open, dilated, throbbing in the air, a red ring shining with saliva and lubricant.

—Look what you did to your little ass, Lola —Adrián told her in his deep voice—. All ready for me.

Lola knelt between his legs, lowered his zipper, and pulled out his cock, thick and long, veins swollen, purple head dripping. Her mouth watered at the sight. Guided by the voice, she kissed it first as though it were a treasure, licked the tip, gathered the salty drop, and then swallowed it whole. The cock entered her throat, she gagged and coughed, tears streaking her mascara; she shook out her hair and sank down again, more slowly, swallowing all of it until her nose pressed against his pelvis. Saliva ran down her chin and onto her little breasts. Adrián grabbed her hair, made a ponytail with one hand, and began fucking her mouth, thrusting into the back of her throat, while Lola cradled his balls with one hand and stroked the useless little button between her thighs with the other.

—Good girl. That’s it, all his. You finally understand your place. Suck, fatty, suck the boss’s cock like a good little girl.

—Good girl… —Adrián murmured, panting, his hand on the back of her neck—. You’re a good secretary, Lola. Obedient. Mine.

He pulled her off with a tug, producing an obscene sucking sound, a thread of saliva stretching from Lola’s mouth to the head of his cock. Lola shuddered with pleasure and surrender. Then she was the one who, trembling, got on all fours on the bed, raised her buttocks into the air, arched her back as far as she could, and opened her ass with both hands, showing Adrián the red, pleading little hole, still open from the dildo.

—Please, Adri… use me… I’m yours, yours alone —she babbled—. Put it in my little ass, please, Daddy, fuck me, do whatever you want to me.

Adrián, aroused and dominant, did not hesitate. He spat on the open asshole, coated his cock with the mixture of saliva and lubricant Lola carried inside her, pressed the head against the warm ring, and pushed. The cock entered in one thrust, all the way to the balls, and Lola howled into the pillow; her ass swallowed everything with a wet, hungry splash. He stayed there for a second, impaling her, feeling every vein of his cock throb inside her, and then she began moving her ass on her own, backward, impaling herself.

—That’s it, little slut —Adrián panted, spanking her buttock and leaving his handprint red on her skin—. Fuck yourself, go on.

He grabbed her hips and began fucking her in earnest, long, hard thrusts, his balls striking her perineum with every stroke. Each blow made Lola’s little breasts shake against the bedspread, her transparent heels kick in the air, her childish voice break into a girlish moan drenched in pleasure. He pulled her hair, arched her back until she could see the ceiling, and kept thrusting. Each thrust seemed to erase another layer of what Damián had once been.

He turned her over without pulling out of her ass, placed her on her back, lifted her legs against his chest, the heels gleaming beside the boss’s face, and drove into her again. Now they could see themselves: Adrián with his shirt open and chest sweaty, Lola with her makeup smeared, mouth open, little breasts bouncing with every blow, the pink button crushed and slobbery between her spread thighs. Adrián pinched it twice with affectionate contempt.

—This isn’t any use to you anymore, is it, little one? —he said with a laugh, fucking her ass faster and faster—. You come back here now, like the girls.

—Yes, Daddy, yes… I come from my little ass, only my little ass… —Lola whimpered, burning with arousal.

Lola looked at herself in the closet mirror and no longer saw a man, nor quite a woman, but a doll with glossy lips and eyes lost in pleasure, makeup smeared, blond hair disheveled, heels still on, reflecting the light and lengthening her legs, with a thick man’s cock entering and leaving her ass. She smiled and pushed backward to take more, proud of what she was. She felt the orgasm rising again, that deep tingling that didn’t come out through the pink tip but exploded inside her; she came trembling, her ass squeezing the boss’s cock in rhythmic spasms, squirting only a thin transparent thread over her own belly.

—Inside, Daddy, come inside me, please —she begged, scratching his back—. Mark me, fill me, make me your little slut.

Adrián growled, seized her hips with both hands, and discharged all his semen inside her with short, brutal thrusts. Lola felt the hot jets painting the walls of her ass, one after another, while Adrián pushed to the bottom with each one, growling in her ear. When he pulled out, a thick white thread hung from her open asshole and fell onto the bedspread.

Adrián sat down, exhausted, and looked at her with satisfaction. Lola, still with her legs spread and heels in the air, brought two fingers to her soaked ass, scooped out a spoonful of cum, and put it in her mouth, sucking her fingers while keeping her eyes fixed on the boss’s.

—Lola —Adrián murmured, sweaty and smiling, running his hand through her hair and mussing it with an owner’s affection—. You’re hired.

Lola could only smile, lips parted, tongue still white with cum, eyes lost in pleasure. Every trace of Damián had vanished; only she remained, light and happy, hugging the pillow, the boss’s semen slowly running down the inside of her thigh.

While Adrián dressed, Lola stared at the ceiling with a satisfied smile, squeezing her buttocks to keep from losing a single drop inside. Her mind allowed only bright images to pass: short dresses, high heels, painted lips, the boss’s cock sinking into her from behind in the office, on top of the desk, in the employees’ bathroom. The only thing worrying her now was the next day. Which dress would she wear for Adrián, the pink or the black? And which thong, the one tied at the sides or the one that disappeared entirely between her buttocks so he could pull it off with his teeth?

—Tomorrow it’s time for a touch-up, baby. To the salon, where it all began. Blonder, with perfect ends. And a thorough waxing of your little ass, because you have an owner now. You’ll come out ready for anything.

Lola sighed happily, hugging the pillow, her body light and her head full of plans for her new life, determined to be, every day, a little more herself.