The Heels That Awakened Lola Inside Me

Damián woke with a subtle burning in his feet, as if he had danced for hours over embers. 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 set the sole of his foot on the floor, the acrylic struck the wood with a dry, crystalline sound, like an intimate declaration. That vibration ran up his spine like a whisper. The height upset his axis, sharpened his stride, lengthened his legs. He didn’t remember taking them off the night before. Maybe 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 to the bathroom, something felt strange. He walked on tiptoe. Not because he chose to: it was as if his heels had forgotten the floor. The arch of his foot stayed tense, raised, seeking a height that was no longer there.

In the bathroom mirror he saw himself differently. His hair, just a little longer and lighter, almost blond at the tips. His skin, smoother. The body hair, barely visible, as if it had vanished overnight.

The voice wasn’t long in appearing, sweet as a caress.

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

He got into the shower. The hot water heightened the new softness of his body. The foam slid over his budding curves like invisible fingers exploring him without hurry. He closed his eyes. The steam wrapped around him like a warm, perfumed veil. A shiver ran down his back. He lowered his hand over his belly, almost by reflex, and found his cock smaller than usual, soft, tucked against his thigh, as if it wanted to disappear on its own. He took it in hand and gave it two slow tugs; instead of hardening fully, it throbbed warm against his palm, uncertain, and a strange tingling rose from his ass to his nipples, which suddenly went hard under the hot spray. For an instant he imagined shaving his legs like a commercial model, the razor moving down slowly, ceremoniously, leaving his skin bare and shining, ready for someone to lick.

—Oh yes, like that, all smooth and wet, shining under the steam. Imagine yourself in a huge tub, with those little legs stretched out… so hot, baby. Put a little finger in your ass, go on, feel how it squeezes. That little hole already wants dick, even if your little head doesn’t know it yet.

As if the voice had given him permission, he soaped up his middle finger and brought it back there. The fingertip slid between his cheeks and found the warm ring of his hole. He pushed just a little. The muscle gave with a tiny wet pop and the finger went in to the knuckle. A moan escaped him, sharp, чужд? No, foreign, and his cock jerked against his thigh, already half hard. He moved his finger in circles, probing, and an electric jolt split his back when he brushed a soft, spongy spot inside. His knees went weak. He braced himself against the tiles, cheek pressed to the cold, and kept going, two fingers now, hot water pouring over the back of his neck, mouth open against the mosaic. He didn’t finish. He pulled his fingers out trembling, afraid he’d cum right there and not recognize himself afterward.

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

—No, no, no. That’s not 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 once he went out into the street, the clothes started to bother him. They rubbed, pinched in the wrong places, didn’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 that was no longer entirely himself.

The subway was packed. The clatter of the car rocked him. His reflection in the windows returned a face with a longer neck and a slightly arched posture. Nobody looked at him, but the inner voice made him feel watched. His briefs clung to his damp crotch; he could still feel his ass throbbing, open, as if the hole had learned something in the shower and didn’t want to close all the way.

He got off the subway shaking. A block from the office, the voice almost shrieked.

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

It was a lingerie store. Satin, lace, bright colors. Delicate sheerness, narrow waists. Damián couldn’t help himself and went in. The salesperson, young and professionally smiling, welcomed him with a sweet perfume that filled the air.

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

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

—Yes… I mean, no. It’s a gift —he muttered, and his voice trembled 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 mirror behind the counter returned an image he could no longer deny.

—It’s for me —he said at last, in a whisper, lowering his gaze, as if confessing it were stripping an old layer from him.

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

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

Together they chose a black set, with lace so fine it seemed to whisper secrets to the touch. When Damián took it between his fingers, he felt a jolt race across his skin. He imagined the fabric sliding down his thighs, outlining a new silhouette. The bra was firm and sensual, padded, made to lift not only the chest but the spirit. A part of him, one that no longer had a masculine name, surrendered in silence and delight.

***

He went up to the office as if walking on embers. 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 went into the bathroom, locked himself in the back stall, undressed, and put on the lingerie. The fabric was cool and soft as a whisper. When the thong brushed his crotch, he noticed everything felt different, drawn inward, as if his body wanted to adapt to this new shape too. His cock, pressed against the perfumed cotton in the front, had shrunk to a warm little bulge, almost tender, hidden between his smooth thighs. The elastic settled at his waist with a firm caress, drawing a silhouette that no longer felt foreign; the back string slid between his cheeks and opened the crease, leaving his asshole grazing the fabric every time he moved. As he fastened the bra, his hands trembled: the lace wrapped his chest in delicate softness, and for an instant he felt a new weight, a shy roundness that the padding supported effortlessly. He pinched a nipple over the cup and muffled a moan against his shoulder.

He saw himself in the bathroom mirror with parted lips and shallow breaths. A soft laugh escaped him without permission, as if someone else had let it out. He brought his hand to the front, pressed the thong against the hard little bulge, and gave himself a few quick rubs, biting his lip, until a clear drop showed through the fabric and left a dark stain on the lace. He didn’t cum; he forced himself to stop, panting, forehead against the mirror.

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

He put his men’s clothes on over it. Now everything fit tighter, more defined. He felt more real.

And just then, Adrián called him into his office.

—Damián, great work yesterday! Your presentation was impeccable —his boss said, smiling.

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

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

Damián made a casual movement. The trousers parted slightly and a pink flash was visible for a second. Adrián fell silent for a moment. Then he smiled, barely.

—Damián… you look different. New style?

Damián didn’t know what to answer.

—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 worked into his skin like an invisible tattoo. Adrián reached out and, with two fingers, brushed the edge of his trousers, right where the lace peeked out. His thumb slipped a centimeter inside the elastic, barely, and came back out. Damián felt the little bulge throb against his thong, a warm thread seeping again.

—Did you feel that brush? He’s thinking about you. Make eyes at him, show him that new little face you’ve got. Open your legs more, let him look.

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

—You’re not as you always are, are you? —Adrián murmured, and took his chin gently—. I like this new version of you.

Adrián’s thumb traced his lower lip, slipped just a little into his mouth. Damián closed around it instinctively, sucked it once, tasting skin and expensive soap, and a low, wet moan escaped him, rising from his stomach. Adrián smiled and slowly drew his finger out, a thread of saliva hanging from it.

Damián fled the office with his heart in his throat, the thong soaked through, the sticky little bulge 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 gave in: he threw himself onto the bed, pulled the thong aside and stroked his cock with two fingers, barely the tip, like it was a toy, while with the other hand he shoved three fingers deep into his ass. He came, spilling a warm pool of cum over his own belly button, mouth open, screaming the boss’s name. He slept with everything still on, semen drying on his stomach, dreaming of Adrián, of his deep voice saying in his ear: that’s how I like you, surrendered.

***

The sun had barely appeared and the room was bathed in a dim, warm light. Damián —or perhaps not so much anymore— opened his eyes feeling something different. He had gone back to sleep in the heels, but now 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 smooth, polished-marble thighs.

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

—Look at yourself, Lola. You’re almost a real doll now. That hair, that little face… there’s no turning back, babe. And that little ass is good for nothing now, only for looking pretty under your thong.

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

She tried to put on her usual clothes, but everything was square, rigid, чужд. Nothing fit her silhouette. She bent over the bed and, almost without thinking, put on the bra and thong. The moment 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 shop. Pick 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 small thongs, lots of them. Dress prettier every day, more yours. And buy yourself a dildo, fat girl. A big black one, veiny, so your little ass can practice.

Lola looked at the men’s clothes spread across the bed and felt a nearly physical repulsion. It wasn’t discomfort: it was certainty. That clothing 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 hardly wait. She immediately put on 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 on the heels, admiring the sway of her body and the tremble of her legs. The pink one outlined her chest and hips; the thong slid between her thighs with a new softness.

Then she opened the box with the dildo. She took out the piece of black rubber, thick, veiny, with heavy balls hanging, and kissed the head over and over without being able to help herself. She coated her hand with saliva and began to suck it slowly, looking at herself in the mirror, letting a strand of drool run down her chin. She pushed it into her throat and gagged, tears springing to her eyes; she kept going, coughing, until the entire dildo was gleaming wet.

She got on all fours on the rug, ass to the mirror, heels planted firmly, and brought it back there. She pressed the cold head to her asshole, pushed, and the tip gave way with a long moan. She slid it in little by little, breathing through her mouth, feeling the hole swallow centimeter after centimeter until the rubber balls slapped against her ass cheeks. She stayed there for a few seconds, impaled, looking over her shoulder: the minidress hiked up to her waist, the thong shoved aside, the black handle sticking out from between her pink cheeks like a tail.

She started moving, fucking herself. First softly, hips undulating, then with hard jolts, thrusting back with all the force the heels gave her. The little pink thing between her legs wasn’t even hard; it hung like an ornament, but inside Lola was melting. Each thrust against that soft point tore a sharp, girlish cry from her, and her mouth filled with spit. She felt herself coming without touching herself: a tremor rose from her ass, exploded in her little tits, shot up into her brain, and she collapsed onto the rug, spilling a clear, transparent liquid from the tip of the pink button, without volume, without malehood, only a long shiver that left her drooling over the carpet fibers.

She touched herself in front of the mirror, exploring herself, 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 turned in front of the mirror, still with the dildo trembling inside her, the phone vibrated. It was Adrián.

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

—Damián…? Are you okay? —he asked, bewildered 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, squeezing the dildo with her ass.

Adrián, confused but amused, agreed, thinking his employee might be joking or coming down with a cold.

—All right, I’ll stop by in a bit.

Lola hung up with a little laugh and a shiver of anticipation.

—That’s my girl. 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 heels and open the door for him like the little girl you are. Have that ass prepared, because today they’re really opening it up.

***

Adrián arrived at the apartment and rang the bell. Lola walked to the entrance on her transparent heels, in a 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 “hi,” absolutely out of character for whoever Damián had once been.

Adrián stared at her, speechless, unable to believe what he was seeing. He took in her body from top to bottom, noticing every detail: the dress, the impossible heels, the doll-like posture, the makeup.

—Damián…?

—Do I look like a Damián to you, Adri? Now I’m Lola —she replied, swaying her hip and laughing loosely.

Adrián watched her between disbelief and fascination, as if a fantasy character had come to life before his eyes.

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

Adrián came in, still disbelieving, and the door closed behind him. Lola played with the ends of her hair.

—I’ve thought a lot about you, Adri… and I came up with the idea that maybe I could have a new position in the company —she whispered, coquettish.

—A position? What are you talking about, Lola? —he asked, arching 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, moving closer, the dress riding up slightly as she walked.

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

Lola nodded, biting her lip, never looking away. Adrián decided to test her obedience. He ordered her to kneel and take off his shoes, then to pick up some papers from the floor, then to bring him a glass of water walking in heels and swaying her hips for him. Lola obeyed every order without question, showing her thong beneath the dress, feeling like the obedient submissive from her own fantasies, enjoying every gesture of surrender.

When she came back, awkward on the heels, she stumbled and fell at Adrián’s feet. He lifted her, fascinated. They looked at each other for a moment, the tension overflowing, and without thinking Adrián kissed her, deep and possessive, his tongue sliding all the way into her painted little mouth. His hands roamed her back, her waist, climbed her thighs, feeling the softness of the thong and the new firmness of her chest under the dress. He grabbed her little tits over the bra, squeezed them, weighed 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 to take out.

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

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

Adrián picked her up and carried her to the bed with ease. The minidress rode even higher and the thong barely covered her. He threw her onto the bedspread and yanked the dress off; the bra followed, the little breasts bounced up, pink and hard, and he bent down to suck one nipple while tugging the other with two fingers. Lola screamed, high and sharp, and dug her nails into the back of his neck.

With his other hand Adrián ripped off her thong and revealed the little pink button, the tiny thing, the near-nothing, oozing clear between her thighs. He smiled, ignored it completely, and went straight for her ass. He pulled the dildo out in one clean yank; Lola howled, the hole left open, stretched, throbbing in the air, a red ring gleaming with spit and lubricant.

—Look at what you’ve done to your little ass, Lola —Adrián told her in a low voice—. All ready for me.

Lola knelt between his legs, pulled down his zipper, and took out his dick, thick, long, with swollen veins and a purple head dripping. Her mouth filled with water at the sight. Guided by the voice, she kissed it first like it was treasure, licked the tip, caught the salty drop, and then took it all the way in. The cock hit the back of her throat, she gagged, coughed, tears running her mascara; she shook her hair out and sank back down on it, slower, swallowing it all until her nose pressed against his pelvis. Saliva poured down her chin and onto her little tits. Adrián grabbed her hair, made it into a knot with his hand, and started fucking her mouth, driving into her throat, while Lola cradled his balls with one hand and with the other stroked the useless little button between her thighs.

—Good girl. Like that, all his. At last you understood where you belong. Suck it, fat girl, suck the boss’s cock like a good little girl.

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

He yanked out of her with an obscene sucking sound, a thread of drool sticking from Lola’s mouth to the head of the cock. Lola shuddered with pleasure and surrender. Then it was she who, trembling, got on all fours on the bed, raised her ass into the air, arched her back as far as she could, and opened her hole with both hands, showing Adrián the red, pleading little opening, still stretched from the dildo.

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

Adrián, aroused and dominant, didn’t hesitate. He spat on the open hole, slicked his cock with the mixture of saliva and lubricant Lola had inside, set the head against the warm ring and pushed. The cock went in in one shot, all the way to the balls, and Lola howled into the pillow; her ass swallowed everything with a wet, hungry slop. He stayed there for a second, buried inside her, feeling each vein of his cock throbbing within her, and then she started moving her ass on her own, back and forth, impaling herself.

—That’s it, little slut —Adrián panted, giving her butt a smack that left his handprint red—. Fuck yourself, go on.

He grabbed her hips and started really fucking her, long, hard thrusts, his balls slapping her perineum with every stroke. Each удар? no, each blow made Lola’s little tits jolt against the bedspread, the transparent heels kick in the air, the childish voice break into a girl’s moan dripping with pleasure. He yanked her hair, arched her back until she could see the ceiling, and kept pounding into her. Each thrust seemed to erase another layer of what Damián had once been.

He flipped her over without pulling out of her ass, laid her on her back, lifted her legs against his chest, the heels shining at the sides of the boss’s face, and drove into her again. Now they could see: Adrián with his shirt open and his chest sweaty, Lola with smeared makeup, her mouth open, her little tits bouncing with every удар? no, with every hit, the pink button flattened and slick between her spread thighs. Adrián pinched it twice with affectionate contempt.

—This is useless to you now, isn’t it, little one? —he told her, laughing, fucking her ass faster and faster—. You finish back here now, like girls do.

—Yes, daddy, yes… I finish through my little ass, only through my little ass… —Lola whimpered, on fire.

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 a pleasure-drunk stare, smeared makeup, messy blond hair and heels still on, catching the light and lengthening her legs, with a thick male cock going in and out of her ass. She smiled, pushed back to take more, proud of what she was. She felt the orgasm rise again, that deep tingling that didn’t come from the little pink tip but exploded inside her; she came trembling, her ass squeezing the boss’s cock in rhythmic spasms, dribbling only a thin transparent line over her own belly.

—Inside, daddy, cum inside, please —she begged, scratching his back—. Mark me, fill me up, make me your little whore.

Adrián growled, grabbed her hips with both hands and emptied all his seed inside her with short, brutal thrusts. Lola felt the hot spurts painting the walls of her ass one after another, while Adrián drove to the hilt with each one, grunting in her ear. When he pulled out, a thick white thread hung from the open hole and dropped onto the bedspread.

Adrián sat down, exhausted, and looked at her with satisfaction. Lola, still with her legs spread and her 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 locked on the boss’s.

—Lola —Adrián murmured, sweaty and smiling, running a hand through her hair and messing it up with a possessive tenderness—. You’re hired.

Lola could only smile, mouth 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, with the boss’s semen slowly trickling down the inside of her thigh.

While Adrián got dressed, Lola lay looking at the ceiling with a satisfied smile, clenching her ass to keep from losing a single drop inside. Her mind only let through bright images: 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 staff bathroom. The only thing she cared about now was the next day. Which dress would she wear for Adrián, the pink one or the black one? And which thong, the one that tied at the sides or the one that disappeared entirely between her cheeks so he could pull it out with his teeth?

—Tomorrow it’s time for a touch-up, babe. To the salon, where it all began. Blonder, perfect ends. And a full little-ass wax, because now you’ve got an owner. You’ll go 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 become, each day, a little more herself.