The Technical Visit That Changed My Secret Life

Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Tomás, I’m twenty-four years old, and I work as a video editor from home. I’m barely one meter seventy-three, naturally slim and hairless. Half a year ago I moved in alone to a modest apartment in the very center of Córdoba: a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. For anyone else it would be nothing much; for me it was a small kingdom where I could give free rein to what I kept hidden from the rest of the world.

You see, I’m a crossdresser. In the privacy of my home I become Marina. Nylon stockings that glide over my skin like a caress, low-heeled shoes in which I still wobble with every step, a light blouse, a skirt that whispers when it moves, a little makeup that stings slightly when I apply it, and a wig that settles with a comforting weight on my head. It’s not a perfect transformation, I admit it, but I hope to improve with time.

When I finish work, I transform and live as Marina. I clean the living room, cook while breathing in the spicy aromas filling the kitchen, and from time to time I go into some chat room where the keyboard clicks beneath my painted fingers. What I like most, though, is putting my phone on a tripod and, stretched out on the fresh sheets of my bed, playing in front of the camera. I practice poses, try to be sensual, sometimes use a small plug and end up masturbating to orgasm, my racing pulse filling the silence.

I never posted those videos. I never dared to have a real encounter with anyone; I limited myself to fantasizing that I was with someone, almost always another woman like me. But that safe routine wasn’t going to last much longer.

***

One morning, after pouring myself a coffee whose bitter steam warmed my hands, I turned on the computer and nothing happened. I tried several times: the monitor flickered with a hum that seemed to mock me, but the machine stayed dead. All my work was in there and deadlines were closing in. I’m useless with these things, so I decided to ask for help.

Two blocks away there’s an electronics shop. They explained to me that they only sold cell phones, but they could give me the contact for a guy who did house calls. They handed me a card: “Núñez PC Repair,” a phone number, and an email address. I called. Someone answered, someone I assumed was my age from the sound of his voice. I told him the urgency and he agreed to come by in half an hour to do a diagnosis.

I was stretched out on the only armchair I own, the worn upholstery grazing my back, when the intercom let out a sharp beep.

“Who is it?” I asked, my voice a little unsteady.

“The technician from Núñez. I’m looking for Tomás.”

I buzzed him in and waited for him to come out of the elevator. He was, as I had guessed, a man my age, slim, a little taller than me, with light brown hair tied back in a ponytail. His fresh cologne flooded the narrow living room.

“My savior,” I told him when I saw him. “It just won’t turn on.”

“Relax, these things are usually something stupid,” he replied with a calm smile.

He opened the case with a metallic sound of screws and, after a while, announced that it was only the power supply fuse. He replaced it and, just in case, said he would run a diagnostic. I served him a coffee while the machine started purring again and the screen lit up in bright colors.

“You saved me. How much do I owe you?”

“No, please, I’m not going to charge you for a ten-minute nothingburger.”

“But it’s your job.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of opportunity for you to pay me.”

The phrase gave me a strange tingling, as if he were hinting that we’d see each other again. I took it as the usual politeness of someone expecting you to call again. I walked him to the door, thanked him once more, and went back to my desk, ready to make up for lost time.

***

A couple of hours later, just as I was nearly done, the messaging program opened by itself with a beep that froze my blood.

“You keep very interesting things on your drive,” appeared on the screen, blinking.

“Who are you?” I typed, my fingers trembling.

“You met me as the Núñez technician. In reality I didn’t run any diagnostic: I installed a system that gives me total control of your machine. And in these two hours I went through everything. By the way, very nice photos and videos of Marina. You need more practice and better clothes, but there’s potential, I assure you.”

“Why are you doing this? What do you want?” I answered, a knot tightening in my throat.

“I also found a folder with fake invoicing you submitted at the company, the one that probably allowed you to move here. So from now on you’re going to obey me. If not, the photos and videos go to all your contacts, and the invoicing goes to your job. As I see it, your only option is obedience. The other is to be exposed in front of your family and maybe go to prison.”

“I don’t have any money. I spent all my savings on the move.”

“I don’t want your money. I want your obedience. And we’re going to start by getting to know Marina. Go change and turn on the camera. I’ll wait.”

Terrified, I went to the bedroom feeling the cold floor under my feet. I transformed with clumsy hands: underwear that fit with an intimate brush, stockings whispering as they slid up my legs, blouse, skirt, wig, and quickly, only my lips painted, with their waxy taste. I sat down in front of the camera. His camera was still off.

“You need more practice, but you’re promising. In the videos I saw that you have an anal plug. Do you have it in?”

“No, I only dressed.”

“Go get it. I want to see you put it on, in front of the camera.”

I was on autopilot, paralyzed by the fear that he would spread everything. I found it, lubed it up with the cold gel between my fingers, and slid it into myself before the lens, feeling a pressure that gave way to an invasive fullness.

“Good. Do you have a chastity device?”

“No.”

“No problem. I’m sending you the address of a sex shop three blocks away. I’ve already paid for the purchase; just say you’re picking up an order for Marina. You have half an hour. And at the kiosk on your corner, buy a letter-sized envelope.”

“An envelope? For what?”

“Don’t ask. That’s the first thing you need to learn: just obey, if you don’t want your life to end right here.”

I changed, left the plug in, feeling it with every step, and went out. How had I gotten to this point, at the mercy of a stranger? The fresh air of the street contrasted with the heat of my anguish.

***

When I got back, he was still waiting for me on the screen. He made me put the chastity device on in front of the camera; the cold metal closed around me with a restrictive sensation. Then he ordered me to put both keys in the envelope, seal it, address it to myself, and drop it in the mailbox on the ground floor.

“That gives us two or three days until the keys get back to you. Take photos of the moment you drop it off. Don’t even think about cheating.”

I obeyed. The mailbox rang with a dull echo as it swallowed the envelope. I was locked in for at least three days.

“Perfect. You’re going to be a good student. Now listen: tonight, at eight, you show up at the address I’m sending you. You come wearing the plug and the chastity device, completely shaved. Don’t bring clothes, I’ll provide them. Do we understand each other?”

“I don’t have any other alternative.”

“You do, but you won’t like it. I’ll see you at eight.”

***

I spent the afternoon on edge. I shaved myself until not a single hair remained, leaving a chemical smell in the air and an exposed freshness on my skin. At seven I left. Following his instructions, I didn’t call a car: I used public transportation. I walked three blocks to the stop feeling the plug press with every step, got on a bus where every bump made it shift inside me, and when I got off I walked another seven blocks with the chastity device reminding me of its presence with every brush against my body.

I arrived at a tower in one of the city’s most elegant neighborhoods. One apartment per floor. How can a technician afford this?, I thought. Is this the right address, or some cruel joke? I went up in the elevator, which smelled of polished metal, and rang the bell of the only door on the landing. It opened with a soft click.

“Hi, you must be Tomás. I’m Bianca. I’m glad you made it on time,” I was greeted by a soft, seductive voice.

I was in no way prepared for what I saw. A spacious, exquisite foyer, two velvet armchairs, and a mirror that covered the entire wall, reflecting my image alongside that of my hostess. Because she was a hostess: it was the same technician from the morning, but the change was brutal. The ponytail remained; that’s where the similarities ended. Heavy, almost perfect makeup, dark feline eyes, wine-colored lips outlined in a sharp, glossy V. Black latex gloves up to the shoulders, a corset cinching the waist and accentuating a flat chest, eight garters holding up seamed nylon stockings. She was aroused, and her androgynous figure ended in knee-high boots with stiletto heels clicking on the marble. When she turned, I saw she was wearing a plug ending in a furry tail, like a fox’s.

“Come in, darling,” she said with a smile.

“As you said, I didn’t have many alternatives,” I ventured to reply.

The living room was even more imposing: a huge bay window let in the golden light of sunset and a giant television showed a porn film. In front of it, a large sofa and, on the coffee table, two glasses, clinking ice, and a bottle of whiskey whose amber scent drifted through the air.

“Sit down, have a drink, relax. But first strip, I want to see if you followed instructions.”

I undressed and left my clothes on a chair, feeling the cool air on my shaved, vulnerable skin. Her cold fingers checked the plug and the chastity device.

“Perfect. Completely shaved. Have a drink.”

I poured myself a glass with trembling hands and drank almost in one gulp, feeling the burn of the whiskey slide down my throat.

“How can you keep all this? Repairing computers doesn’t pay that well.”

“You have no idea what people keep on their machines. Over the years I discovered the secrets of many clients: politicians, lawyers, businessmen. They all hide something, and when I find it they become my patrons just to keep me quiet. In your case, the paperwork and the videos were a bonus: I’d been looking for someone like you for a while.”

“Like me? There must be lots of crossdressers.”

“I was looking for someone who was a virgin, someone who had never been with another person. And that’s you. You’ll understand why soon enough. Now come on, I’m going to turn you into my pupil.”

***

Her bedroom was even more disturbing: cabinets and walls covered in mirrors multiplied our images into infinity, and in the ceiling corners four cameras hummed with their lights blinking.

“We’re going to document your transformation.”

I didn’t get a chance to ask what she meant. She kept handing me the clothes: a schoolgirl outfit, all white. Underwear that clung like a second skin, stockings held up by tight garters, a fresh blouse, a ribbon brushing my neck, a tartan skirt that barely covered the top of the stockings, and platform shoes that clacked when I walked. She put false nails on me and painted them pale pink, with their sweet, chemical smell, a couple of rings that added weight to my fingers, and earrings that tinkled against my ears.

“Sit down, I’m going to do your makeup. Pay close attention.”

She lined my eyes in pastel tones until I had the same feline gaze as hers, applied lashes that weighed down my eyelids, foundation and powdery blush, and outlined my lips in a pink V to match my nails. Finally, a shoulder-length blonde wig, styled in two pigtails on either side, with the synthetic hair brushing my neck.

“Look how beautiful you are. I told you you had potential.”

In the mirror, there was almost no trace of Tomás left. In front of me stood a schoolgirl mixing innocence and sensuality, repeated in a thousand reflections. She put on me a pair of non-prescription metal-framed glasses, cold against my nose, and handed me a strawberry gum whose sweetness burst open as I chewed.

“Now we’re going to the living room to watch your transformation.”

While on the screen my conversion into a schoolgirl played out, she sat beside me. Our nylon-clad legs brushed with a whisper that made my skin prickle. I don’t know whether it was the whiskey, whose burn still lingered, or the excitement of seeing myself reflected like that, but if it weren’t for the chastity device I would have been touching myself. She took my hand and led it to her sex, hot and throbbing beneath my fingers.

“Caress me. Slowly, very gently. You’re doing very well. Too bad that in two or three days you won’t be able to free yourself. Meanwhile, we’re going to try other things. There’s something I didn’t tell you: besides my patrons, I run a very small escort agency, for very select clients. I found out it’s very profitable to fulfill their fantasies. And that’s where you come in. One of them has a very particular one: being with a virgin schoolgirl.”

“But I’ve never done anything like that. You’re the first person who’s seen me transformed.”

“You don’t get a vote in this. To the proof from your computer I now add a beautiful video of you letting yourself be feminized. I was paid to be with someone like you, and the client is about to arrive.”

The pit was getting deeper and deeper: I was trapped in a web spun by my own hand. At that very moment the doorbell rang.

“That must be him. Behave like a good girl and make me proud. Afterward I’ll give you your cut.”

***

A man in his forties came in, excellent-looking: a dark designer suit, Italian loafers, a spotless white shirt. He moved as if the house were his own, leaving behind a trail of expensive cologne and wood.

“A pleasure to meet you. What’s your name, little one?” he said after kissing my cheek, his breath warm and minty.

“Marina, sir. It’s a pleasure,” I answered in a trembling voice.

“Sit down, let’s have a drink while we watch the video,” Bianca suggested.

I poured the drinks. On the screen my transformation continued, with amplified sounds.

“Aren’t you a little young to be drinking alcohol?” he asked, teasing.

“I’m very nervous, and Bianca sometimes lets me have a little,” I answered, slipping into the role almost without realizing it, chewing the strawberry gum.

While he praised Bianca’s work, his hand held the back of my neck firmly, he leaned in and kissed me, pushing his tongue into my mouth. I responded almost without thinking, our tongues playing with a taste of whiskey and mint. He took my hand and led it to his groin, and I began stroking his sex through the fabric, feeling it harden.

“I see you’ve broken the ice. Shall we move to the playroom?” Bianca said.

***

She led us, key in hand, to a room I hadn’t seen: a small dungeon covered in mirrors that multiplied us to infinity, with the smell of leather and lubricant in the air. A chair that looked like a throne upholstered in black velvet, an Saint Andrew’s cross, and a wall loaded with harnesses, riding crops, cold shackles, and devices I couldn’t identify. In the center, a kind of stock where Bianca immobilized me: hands, head, and legs locked with a metallic click, exposed and unable to move.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Leandro strip off, revealing a generously sized cock. Bianca stood in front of me, hers inches from my lips, and whispered in my ear with hot breath:

“Don’t worry, you’re going to enjoy it.”

She straightened and slid it into my mouth, warm and salty. It was the first time I’d done anything like that and she guided me: “Use your tongue, play with the tip.” Meanwhile, Leandro removed the plug with a suction that left a sudden emptiness and began opening me with one and then two fingers, lubricating me with cold gel, stretching me slowly.

I started to come almost unwillingly. The sensation of being dominated was extreme: I was completely at the mercy of my captors, unable to refuse anything, while a cock throbbed against my tongue. Leandro withdrew his fingers, put on a condom with the snap of latex, and pressed at my entrance, the burn giving way to fullness.

“You were right, Bianca: a virgin. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I’m still training her, but I saw her potential right away.”

He started moving inside me with a rhythm that sent waves of heat through my whole body. I, with my mouth full, could only moan muffled. He kept it up for a good while until he tensed and, in one final deep, burning thrust, came in hot pulses. As he pulled out, Bianca began masturbating furiously.

“Open your mouth and get ready to take me.”

Her orgasm filled my mouth, hot and viscous, an unknown taste that, to my surprise, fascinated me. While Leandro got dressed, he leaned to my ear:

“A pleasure to meet you. Next week I’d like to visit you again.”

Bianca walked him to the door, then freed me from the stock with metallic clicks.

“You were excellent. I think Leandro fell in love with you. Take your cut.”

She handed me a wad of crinkly bills that smelled of fresh ink. When I counted them, there were eighteen hundred dollars.

***

Almost six months have passed since that night, and my life has changed completely. I moved into Bianca’s building, two floors below, and we set up a very profitable business. To the patrons she keeps finding in the computers she repairs, we added a select clientele: she gets the clients, I edit the videos we distribute.

We fulfill fantasies that seem to never run out. I’ve been a secretary in a tight skirt and heels, a nurse amid the smell of antiseptic and latex gloves, a stern governess, a teacher in front of a blackboard, and even a wicked stepmother. Leandro, however, visits me every Tuesday, now in my apartment. I cook for him, greet him with a “Daddy, I’m so glad you came!” and he treats me like his little girl, with caresses and kisses that taste of shared desire.