The New Transvestite the Boss Wanted to Try That Night

The routine at Las Camelias club had become a memorized choreography. Every afternoon, at six-thirty, we went down to the main room where the long dark-wood bar stood. We went down dressed up, perfumed, made up to the last detail, in dresses that left little to the imagination. We danced to the music and waited. We waited for a client to choose one of us to go up to a room, or at least to invite us for a drink, which also left a few coins in the pocket.

I had only been at the house a few weeks and I was still the novelty. The other girls looked at me with a mix of curiosity and wariness, as if they were waiting to see how long I’d last before leaving. Some talked to me kindly when no one could see; others shifted their seats at the bar so they wouldn’t brush against me. But I wasn’t thinking of going anywhere. I had gotten there through too much effort to give up at the first crooked look.

Every night was a small battle to make a place for myself. I learned quickly to read the clients, to tell the ones who only wanted company from the ones who really meant to go upstairs, the ones who paid without arguing from the ones who haggled over the last bill. But no matter how many drinks and services I won, something was still missing. What was missing was for the whole house, starting with the man upstairs, to see me as one of them.

That night, almost at the end of the shift, Tarek came over to the bar. He was the owner of the place, a man in his forties, broad-shouldered, with a deep voice that never needed to be raised to make itself obeyed. I was finishing a drink bought for me by a pushy client, one of those men who touch too much and decide too little. Tarek leaned toward my ear and lowered his voice to nearly a whisper.

—As soon as you’re done with him, go upstairs and get yourself pretty for me —he said—. Tonight I’m spending it with you.

—All right, I will —I answered.

I felt my heart lurch and start beating fast. It wasn’t just desire. It was the certainty that tonight could change everything. That the owner of the house choosing me meant something more than money: it meant being accepted, being one more girl among the girls, earning a kind of respect no drink was ever going to give me.

The client at the bar kept trying to flirt, to paw at me with that lewd clumsiness of someone who thinks buying a drink gives him the right to everything, but he still couldn’t decide to go upstairs. So as soon as I drained the glass, I said goodbye to him with a professional smile and went up to the floor above, just as Tarek had asked.

I took a quick shower. I reapplied my makeup calmly, this time for one person only. I chose a red fishnet bodysuit that went from my shoulders to my ankles, with a strategic opening in the back, and underneath it a matching set, tiny, in the same bright red. I put on sky-high stiletto heels and teased my hair into volume. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I knew I was ready. I stood in the middle of the room, waiting.

Tarek knocked on the door half an hour later and came in. He swept his gaze over me from head to toe before saying anything.

—Sorry I’m late, I had to take care of something —he said, then added, almost to himself—: Damn. You’re gorgeous. No wonder Bruno told me you girls are as much women, if not more, than women.

Bruno was an Italian truck driver, a friend of his, who stopped by the club every few weeks. I figured it was from him that Tarek had gotten the urge to try something new.

—So you like me? —I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

—I like you too much —he said—. What I don’t know is whether I’ll be able to measure up. It’s the first time I’m going to be with someone like you.

—Don’t worry about that —I told him, moving closer slowly—. Just relax and let me take the lead. You’re going to change your mind about us. Lie down on the bed.

Tarek sat first, then lay back with his legs hanging over the edge, feet planted on the floor. I knelt between them and ran my hands over his thighs, squeezing the fabric of his pants, slowly sliding up to the bulge already pressing hard against the zipper. I unbuckled his belt at an unhurried pace, listening to him breathe deeper with every movement I made. I pulled his pants down to his knees, then his boxer briefs, and freed his cock from the underwear. It was big, very big, thick, clean, circumcised, the red head exposed, a swollen vein running along the underside and the balls taut, full, hanging heavy between his spread legs. A shape that invited a mouth.

I didn’t think. I ran the flat of my tongue from root to tip in one long lick, and I watched him arch his neck back against the bed. I repeated on the other side, slower, lingering at the crown to suck the glans like a candy. Then I took him in all the way, to the hilt, until I felt the tip hit the back of my throat, and I started to suck him slowly, coating him thoroughly in spit, letting a thick string of it trail down my chin and drip onto his balls. With one hand I massaged them, with the other I gripped the base and twisted opposite to my mouth, searching for that point where a man stops thinking.

My movements were rhythmic, measured, with the occasional deep shove that made his whole body tense. I could feel him getting harder and harder against my tongue, the veins standing out thick, the way he breathed with his mouth open and his thighs trembled. I kept my own tempo, up and down, taking him down my throat until I gagged on purpose, letting my throat close around the tip until a hoarse groan escaped him. Then I pulled him out completely, spit on him until he was dripping wet, and slapped his cheek a couple of times with his cock before taking him back into my mouth.

—You do that so well —he murmured with his eyes closed—. What a mouth you have, fuck. Keep going, keep going like that, don’t stop.

I stayed like that for a long while, changing pace, alternating deep-throating with my naughty tongue working his frenulum, then moving down to suck his balls one by one while I gave him a slow handjob with a saliva-soaked grip. I enjoyed the power of having him like that, undone, his hands clutching the duvet, repeating my name under his breath. I’m in charge here, I thought. Even if the house is his, this room is mine. I licked the tip with the point of my tongue, probing the tiny opening where a thick drop of precome was already peeking out, and I heard him let out a sharp gasp, almost a plea.

—I want more —he said suddenly, sitting up at once, his cock pointing at the ceiling, gleaming with my saliva—. But you have to tell me how it’s done. Teach me.

I handed him a condom and put it on myself, slowly, looking him in the eyes as I rolled it down inch by inch over his dick to the base. Then I got on all fours on the bed, arched my back, and showed him my ass swaddled in red mesh, with the opening exactly where it needed to be. The tiny thong sank between my buttocks. I asked him to stand and come closer.

—Come toward me slowly —I said, moving the thong string aside with two fingers, leaving my cunt on display, wet, shiny, swollen from wanting it so much—. Slowly and firmly. I’ll guide you.

With one hand I spread my lips to make room for him, showing the pink inside, already soaked through. With the other I grabbed his cock and rubbed it up and down across my slit, dirtying myself with my own juices, bumping my clit with the head to send a shiver through me. Then I brought him to the exact spot and felt the first brush, the pressure of the crown forcing its way in, and then the slow, thick push that opened me from within and pulled a long, hoarse moan out of the bottom of my chest.

—Now push —I said, my voice breaking—. Slowly, hard. Put it all the way in me.

Tarek obeyed to the letter. I felt him gaining ground, centimeter by centimeter, felt him filling me completely, felt my walls give way and mold themselves to his thickness. The friction was intense, almost too much, a mix of burning and pleasure that made me moan out loud, without shame, pushing my ass back to take him until I felt his balls hit my clit. Every inch he advanced tore a new sound out of me, a gasp, a curse, a plea.

—Oh, like that —I panted, biting the pillow—. More, give me more, harder, break me.

—You like that, slut? —he asked, and I could hear from his voice that he had let himself go completely, that there was no trace left of the insecure man from a little while ago—. Who’s in charge now?

—You —I answered, and I surprised myself with how I said it—. You’re in charge. Fuck me hard, I want to feel all of you, I want to feel you all the way to my throat.

—Ask properly —he said, deliberately slowing the pace, leaving me on the edge, rocking only a little, just the tip going in and out, torturing me—. As long as you don’t ask me like a good girl, I’m not giving you any more.

—Don’t do this to me —I protested, writhing to find him, pushing my ass back, trying to swallow him again—. I’m asking nicely, I’m asking you however you want. Fuck me, please, shove that cock all the way in, don’t leave me like this. I’m your whore tonight, only yours. Now keep going, fuck, keep going.

—That’s more like it —he said, and grabbed my hair, yanking my head back, then drove into me again in one dry thrust that made me scream.

The pounding became forceful, rhythmic, deep. He gripped my hips with both hands, fingers digging into my skin, and hauled me toward him with every thrust, making the sound of our bodies colliding fill the room. My ass trembled with every blow. I lost my mind, moaning with a pleasure that had something of pain and a pain that had a lot of pleasure in it. The bed creaked. The headboard banged against the wall. My own body rocked against his, hungry for more, always more.

He flipped me face down with a shove, climbed on top without pulling out, and kept driving into me, crushing me against the mattress, all his weight on me, biting my nape, my shoulder, whispering dirty things in my ear. Then he made me turn over. He put me on my back, spread my legs until they were almost a compass, rested them on his shoulders, and sank into me to the root again. From that angle I felt him even deeper, hitting a spot that made me see lights. I scratched his arms, dug my heels into his back, and he kept at it, relentlessly, looking me in the eyes while he fucked me as if he wanted to split me in two.

—Look at me —he ordered, gripping my jaw—. Look at me while I put it in you. Don’t close your eyes.

I obeyed him. And in that locked gaze, with him inside me to the hilt, I felt the first wave of orgasm climbing from my belly. I came screaming, clenching him with my walls, soaking his cock, arching myself against his body. He didn’t even slow down. He turned me over again, put me on my knees, made me press my face to the mattress with my ass up in the air, and kept hammering me from behind, the slaps echoing off my red butt cheeks.

He stayed like that for nearly half an hour, setting a pace that seemed never to tire, changing my position three or four more times, until he had me straddling him and made me ride him while he sucked my nipples through the mesh. When I finally felt him tense up underneath me, when I felt that shudder that comes before the end and the way his cock swelled even more inside me, he grabbed my hips and drove me down onto him in one last brutal thrust. He let out a long, animal grunt and emptied himself into the condom in spasmodic jerks I felt one by one. Even through the latex I felt his heat, the spurts hitting the tip, and that sensation dragged me into a second orgasm that left me trembling on top of him, moaning softly, my forehead pressed to his shoulder.

He came out slowly, carefully, and his cock left me still hard, wrapped in the condom, swollen and heavy with his load. I took it off myself with two fingers, tied it off, and threw it in the bin. I let him recline, exhausted, with a foolish smile of a satisfied man and his dick still half-erect resting against his belly, shining. I went to the bathroom for a moment to freshen up and touch up my makeup. When I came back, he had ordered drinks.

—Did you like it? —I asked, lying down beside him—. Was it good?

—I loved it —he said, putting an arm over me—. It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself like that. You’re full of surprises. That’s why I asked for drinks to be brought up, to celebrate.

***

A few minutes later Nadira appeared with the tray. She was the oldest woman in the house, the one who had been with Tarek the longest, the one who until that night had shared his bed more than anyone else. When she came in and saw us together, him reclined and satisfied with his cock still visible, me beside him with the bodysuit open and his finger marks on my hips, her expression hardened. She barely looked at me, and when she did it was with something that looked very much like envy.

—Nadira, you can’t imagine how well this one fucks —Tarek said, without considering the effect of his words—. Serve us and when the time comes lock up downstairs. I’m not going down. I’m staying here with her.

Nadira poured the drinks in silence. She looked at me one last time, a long, piercing look, before asking permission to leave. Tarek granted it with a lazy wave of his hand. She walked out muttering something I couldn’t make out, and I knew I had just won myself a place and, at the same time, an enemy.

Tarek kept me with him for the rest of the night. He came for me several more times, in different positions, with the new confidence of a man who has discovered a pleasure he never knew he wanted. He fucked me again from the side, with one of my legs over his hip, biting my neck while he whispered how tight I was. He made me suck him a second time until he came in my mouth, and made me swallow it all in front of him, with my tongue out so he could see it clearly. Every time he wanted me more and more, and I gave him everything, not just as part of the job, but because I enjoyed it too, because his cock had gotten into my body and my head at the same time.

I understood that this had been my true entry into the house. Not the weeks of going down to the room every afternoon, not the drinks with pushy clients, but that night. In Tarek’s eyes, I was already one of the girls. And if the owner saw me that way, the others would have to see me the same. All except Nadira, of course, who wouldn’t give an inch even though the rest of the house had already accepted me.

As the weeks went by, Tarek started seeking me out often, just like he sought out the others. Every night, one girl slept with him; sometimes Nadira, sometimes me, sometimes another. What at first was a conquest, a test I had to pass, gradually became routine too, like everything else in that house of red lights and repeated music.

But I would never trade that first night for anything. It was the night I stopped being the new one, the weird one, the one being tested. It was the night I finally became one of them.