The trans diva and her producer’s cage

The fourth and final live gala was a beautiful nightmare for Nadia. The entire studio pulsed with anticipation, the stands packed, the cameras turning like hungry insects. She stepped onto the stage in a blood-red dress that clung to her body like a second skin: small breasts outlined beneath the fabric, wide hips, that round ass that made the audience hold its breath. Between her legs, her small member was already throbbing half-hard, betrayed in equal parts by fear and excitement.

Damián had looked at her from the wings before pushing her into the light.

—Sing as if I were already inside you, pretty thing —he had whispered in her ear—. If you don’t come first, I’ll fuck you until you forget your own name.

And Nadia sang.

She began with a deep, dark low note that reverberated in the bones of everyone in the room, a low tone that seemed to come from some basement of the soul. Then, without warning, she shot upward, brutal, into a crystalline soprano high note, impossible trills, a coloratura that filled the air like an orgasm made sound. Her body arched, her hips moved, her small breasts rose and fell. Between note and note, rough moans escaped her that the microphone caught and the audience interpreted as pure artistic surrender.

The crowd went wild. Applause, screams, tears in the front rows. But when the lights dimmed and the jury read the verdict, Nadia’s name came in second place.

Second.

The winner was a girl with a pretty, ordinary voice, nothing special. Nadia smiled at the audience, bowed, blew kisses into the air. Inside, she was collapsing. In the hallway Damián was waiting for her, with that dark smile and triumph glittering in his eyes.

—Good girl —he murmured, dragging her by the elbow toward the private dressing room—. Second is perfect. Now no one will want you more than I do. I’m going to send you to the sky, but always under my wing. All mine.

He locked the door and shoved her against the big sofa in the back.

—Strip. Now. I want to see you trembling while I explain your new future.

Nadia obeyed without thinking. The red dress fell to the floor like a stain of blood. She was left naked, her chest heaving, her small member fully hard and dripping, her ass exposed to the cold light of the dressing room.

Damián took off his clothes slowly, savoring the power. His cock, thick and veined, was already rigid.

—On your knees. Suck me while I tell you how your career is going to be.

She knelt on the carpet. She opened her mouth and took his cock all the way down, eyes watering, her throat giving way with each thrust.

Damián grabbed her hair with one hand and started fucking her mouth, slow but deep, setting the pace.

—That’s it, very good. You’re going to sign an exclusive contract with me —he said in a calm, almost paternal voice—. I’m launching you as the country’s new trans diva. Records, tours, magazine covers, interviews. But all under my control. No press without my permission. No friends. No freedom. Do you understand?

—Mmmh… yes… —Nadia vibrated around his cock, her voice deep and broken.

—Deeper. Sing it to me while you suck me.

She lowered the tone until it became a deep bass that made Damián’s flesh vibrate from tip to root.

He growled, yanked her up by the arm, and threw her face-down onto the sofa. He spread her butt cheeks with both hands and spat straight onto her sensitive asshole.

—I’m going to fuck you while I tell you the rest. Open that ass wide for me.

He shoved in hard, all the way.

—Aaaah! —Nadia shrieked in a pure soprano high note, her voice trembling with pain and pleasure at the same time—. Fuck… so big… mmmh…

Damián started pounding her mercilessly. The wet slap of flesh on flesh filled the dressing room, his balls hitting against her small member.

—That’s it, very good —he panted—. You’re going to live in my house. Rehearsals only with me. If you behave, I give you fame and money. If you behave badly, I leak those audio files that make you look like a fraud. Is that clear?

—Yes! Yes! Harder, Damián! —she shouted, her voice rising and falling between rough lows and impossible highs—. You get so deep inside me… mmmh…

He slipped a hand beneath her and jerked her small member hard and fast, never stopping his thrusts.

—Look how you’re dripping. You’re pouring while I use you like a toy. Tell me you’re mine.

—I’m yours! I’m your diva, your instrument, your voice! Ahhh… you’re going to make me cum!

Damián sped up, hitting exactly where she couldn’t resist.

—I want you to come screaming that you belong to me. Sing!

And Nadia exploded. Her voice shot up into an ultra-high whistle, pure and broken at the same time, while thin jets of semen came out of her small member and soaked the sofa. Her asshole clenched around Damián’s cock like a hot fist.

—Fuck… yes! —he roared, fucking her even more brutally until he was buried to the hilt and came inside with hoarse grunts.

He stayed inside, moving slowly, squeezing out the last drop.

—Good girl. Good diva. This is only the beginning.

He pulled his cock out with a wet sound. Thick semen spilled in gushes from the open, red ass, running down her thighs until it formed a puddle on the upholstery. Nadia lay there, panting, her voice in pieces.

—Ahh… I’m full… wrecked…

Damián sat beside her, stroked her hair with fake tenderness, and then slapped one butt cheek hard.

—Tomorrow you sign the contract. You move into my penthouse. I’m going to fuck you every night and every morning. Before and after every rehearsal, every recording, every interview. Your voice is going to be famous all over the country. But your mouth, your ass, and that little girl cock of yours are going to be mine alone.

She could only moan softly, exhausted and defeated.

—Mmmh… yes… sir.

***

The following months were the perfect cage.

Damián launched her into stardom with the cold precision of a watchmaker. First single on every platform within a week. National tour. Magazine covers. “The trans siren with the impossible voice,” the headlines said. But everything, absolutely everything, passed through his hands.

Every night, in the luxury penthouse overlooking the city, he took her apart.

One of those nights, after a long session in the studio, he threw her onto the mixing-room table.

—Take it all off. I want to fuck you while you listen to your own voice in the monitors.

Nadia stripped quickly. Damián hit play on the track of her single and the room filled with her recorded voice, first low, then crystalline. He bent her over the console and drove into her in one single thrust.

—Aaaah! —she screamed, her live voice blending with the one from the speaker.

—Sing with me —he ordered, thrusting in time with the song.

And Nadia sang and moaned at the same time, her real voice layering over the recorded one until it was impossible to tell where the music ended and the sex began. He jerked her off nonstop until she came screaming, splattering the controls. Then he filled her again from behind, growling in her ear.

—Your career is mine. Your body is mine. Your mind is mine.

One morning, before an important rehearsal, he woke her by putting his cock in her half-asleep mouth.

—Wake up singing, diva —he said, gently fucking her throat—. And when you come, I want to hear that impossible high note.

He put her on all fours on the bed, fucked her savagely, pinched her small nipples, bit her neck, and made her come twice in a row while he whispered poison in her ear.

—No one will believe you if you talk. You’re too perfect for them to let you go. Too much mine to be free.

Nadia moaned, crying with pleasure and shame at the same time, but she kept singing. She always sang.

—Ahhh… I’m yours… fuck me more… aaaah!

In interviews she smiled perfectly, confidently, brilliantly. In private she was shattered: insomnia, paranoia, the feeling of living inside a set. Every time she tried to resist, Damián isolated her a little more, reminded her of the million-dollar contract, the fake audio files, and then fucked her until she begged forgiveness in a broken voice.

One night, after a sold-out concert, he took her to the private dressing room. He tied her wrists to the lighting bar and left her hanging there, legs open, feet barely touching the floor.

—Tonight I’m going to fuck you until your voice breaks —he said, spitting into her asshole and sliding in two fingers first, then three.

—Ahhh… please… —she begged, not entirely sure whether she was begging him to stop or to keep going.

Damián entered her hard and fucked her while she hung there, his cock driving in and out with force, Nadia’s body swaying with every thrust.

—Sing —he ordered her—. Sing while I use you.

And Nadia sang between screams: filthy lows, shattered highs, a coloratura of pure forced pleasure that echoed against the walls of the empty dressing room.

—Uhh… yes… you’re destroying me… I’m coming again… aaaah!

She came without anyone touching her, the streams falling to the floor. Damián emptied himself inside her with a hoarse roar, filling her until she overflowed.

When he was done, he untied her carefully, held her in an embrace so falsely tender it was more frightening than his cruelty, and whispered into her hair.

—Welcome to the rest of your life, diva. Second in the contest, first in my bed. Your voice is going to conquer the world. And I’m going to conquer every inch of you, every night, forever.

Nadia, with semen running down her legs and her voice in tatters, could only moan softly.

—Mmmh… yes… sir… I’m yours.

And so she remained locked in his glass cage: famous, rich, adored by millions of strangers and completely subdued, in body and mind, by the man who had turned her into his masterpiece.