The Second Time I Was a Woman for Damián

Before I begin, I want to thank everyone who read my first story. To Martín_85, Lucero del Sur, gatito_curioso, and Renato, thank you for taking a minute to leave me a comment. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. As I promised, now I’m going to tell you what happened after that.

When I got home that early morning, I slept a few more hours. The truth is my ass hurt quite a bit, but strangely enough, I enjoyed it. Every twinge was a reminder of the reason, of everything that pain meant. I could no longer keep denying to myself what I was, what I liked. That burning was proof of a truth that would mark my life forever.

I woke up three hours later with my head full of plans. I imagined a thousand ways to start changing things, to arrange my life so I could finally live it the way I wanted. I was lost in those thoughts when the phone rang. It was Damián, of course.

—I’m inviting you to lunch —he said, just like that, without beating around the bush.

—It’s too early for me to leave the house dressed up —I answered.

—Then come to mine and change here. I’ll leave the door open.

Many will say I’m complicated, but I didn’t want him to see me as a guy. The very idea made my stomach turn. He, who always had a solution for everything, suggested I bring my things, that I go in before he got there and get ready at my own pace. We agreed I’d let him know when I was leaving and he’d head out a little early to leave me the house to myself.

His ease at solving everything made me realize something. Damián had not only been the first man in my life in the sexual sense. He was also the first man I fell in love with. Butterflies in your stomach, that’s how it’s said, right? Well, exactly that.

***

I packed a suitcase with everything I needed and got in the shower. I checked myself inch by inch so not a single hair would be out of place. Then I put on a pink bra with matching panties. As always, I used tape in front to keep everything from showing, reinforcing it a little more than usual: with the excitement I was already starting to feel, I didn’t want to risk anything escaping its prison. The slowest part was adjusting the girdle. On top of that, to go out onto the street, I threw on a loose sweatshirt and sweatpants. I grabbed my things and headed to my beloved Damián’s house.

Just as we’d agreed, I let him know, and when I arrived the door was open. I went in and headed straight to the bedroom. I took off my pants and put on a white T-shirt with a pink kitten printed on the front, a denim miniskirt, and brown heels with a fourteen-centimeter heel and a five-centimeter platform. I did my makeup calmly, fixed my hair, and put on the same earrings as the night before. A touch of perfume and I was ready to receive my man.

I called him to let him know. He said he didn’t think I’d be there so soon and that it would take him an hour to get home. He asked what I wanted to eat and I told him whatever he chose was fine. After all, I wanted to eat something else.

I sat down in the living room, but my mind wouldn’t stay still. I started fantasizing about being Damián’s wife and, without realizing it, I began tidying up the house. I put away what was out of place, washed the dishes, played at being a housewife. I was ecstatic in my role, giving free rein to my fantasy of spending my whole life as his woman. He arrived just as I was hanging up the clothes I had just taken out of the washing machine.

***

Damián was watching me from the doorway to the little service patio, amused, while I finished my chores. He greeted me. I was scared and startled in equal measure, but the only thing that truly bothered me was that I wasn’t wearing my heels. He came over, took me by the waist, and kissed me. A long, deep kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth and dancing with mine. We parted slowly as he bit my lower lip.

—You’re a good wife —he told me, and I understood he had perfectly caught what I was fantasizing about.

Those words sent me soaring. This time I was the one who asked him to take me to the bedroom. On the way he lost his shirt and I lost my skirt. He groped my ass with authority, without asking permission, making it clear how he commanded me. And I felt completely his.

We lay down on the bed, him on top. He kissed my neck, stroked my legs, squeezed my ass while I clung to his back and ran my fingers across his chest. Every caress pulled a soft moan from me. He took off my T-shirt, pushed the bra aside, and started sucking my nipples, nibbling them slowly. I moaned and, at the same time, pulled down his pants to stroke his sex. I masturbated him until I could feel him hard between my fingers.

Then he made me turn so I was facing my entrance. He slid the panties down carefully and put a finger inside me, playing with the opening. He immediately noticed I was still irritated from the night before, so he smeared on some Vaseline and went back in, exploring my interior, curling his finger like little hooks that brushed my walls. Then a second finger. Then a third. It bothered me a little, but excitement took hold of me again, although this time my male part no longer responded. It was all pleasure, pure pleasure.

When he decided I was ready, he gently pushed me forward and put me on all fours, just like the first night.

—It still hurts —I warned him.

He put on more Vaseline, but this time he wasn’t any gentler.

—That’s what you’re my woman for —he murmured, and rammed into me in one single thrust.

I screamed. From pain and pleasure at the same time. The idea of being his turned me on in a way I couldn’t explain. I felt his cock opening me in two again, pushing in hard. Instead of pulling back, I lifted my ass even higher and started moving by instinct, forward and back, trying to help him. He kept the rhythm, hands firm on my hips, slowly increasing the force and speed.

—You’re mine. My woman, my wife —he repeated in my ear as he pulled me toward him.

I moaned like crazy. He was reaching all the way in and I couldn’t take it anymore; I let myself fall onto the bed, screaming. He kept thrusting for a good while without letting up, guiding my ass with his hands so I would draw circles that made me feel him completely in the deepest places.

He squeezed my ass cheeks while I tried to squeeze him by tightening my muscles. Every time I managed it, an electric shock ran up my back and arched me, which left me even more impaled on him. I felt myself getting wet again. It was arousal in its purest form, a huge filthy thrill that had me trapped.

—What a good wife you are —he told me—. A good little slut.

And he sank deeper and deeper into me. I couldn’t stop moaning, like a cat in heat, until I started trembling with a huge, perfect orgasm. All I could think about was feeling his heat inside me again, and soon after that’s exactly what happened: I felt him fill me completely, hot. That was the last moan I let out, happy to have satisfied my man as much as he satisfied me.

He stayed inside for a moment, panting, draped over my back. He waited until he had softened completely before pulling out, and feeling him go from hard to his normal size left me with a wonderful, almost tender sensation. Then we hugged and fell asleep. Before closing my eyes I confessed I loved him. He only answered with a smile and a kiss, but that was enough for me to be at peace.

***

Needless to say, my ass was left very sore, though satisfied. It took me a few days to recover, but as soon as I could, I went back for more.

After that second encounter I started behaving more femininely even when I was out as a guy. Some friends drifted away from me, but I made new ones, people with the same tastes as me. Let’s say I also came out of the closet in my social circle. And my visits to Damián’s house became more and more frequent: whole weekends, sometimes even during the week.

Over time we became a steady couple, and that multiplied our encounters. It was he who suggested I start using hormones, but that’s another story. I hope you like this one. Thank you for reading me. Kisses.