The Trans Muse Who Taught Me to Kneel

Renata’s house didn’t appear in any directory. It was described to me like a rumor: a woman who only posed at night, who never let anyone choose the light for her, and who the men who entered her studio rarely ever saw again the same way. I had photographed half a dozen of the country’s most coveted models, and yet they all looked like unfinished sketches to me from the day I saw her cross a charity gala as if the entire hall belonged to her.

I wrote to her for months. Letters, messages, calls she rarely answered. When she finally agreed to a private session, she did it with one condition.

—I direct the light —she said on the phone—. You just press the button. If I even let you.

I should have hung up then. I didn’t.

The studio occupied the highest wing of her house, a salon with impossibly high ceilings that smelled of sandalwood and flowers I couldn’t name. There was only one source of light: a lamp dropping straight down onto a wine-colored velvet divan. And beneath that light, waiting for me, was her.

Renata wore a black silk robe that hid nothing and promised everything. She was taller than I was, with a long back and eyes that seemed to measure how long I’d last before giving in. I felt my hands tremble as I adjusted the camera focus.

—I didn’t call you to capture my image —she said, and her voice had a gravity that sank straight into my chest—. I called you so you can learn how to look.

—I just want the world to see what I see —I replied. My pulse hammered in my temples.

—The world isn’t ready for what I am. You aren’t either. But you will be.

She rose from the divan with deliberate slowness and walked toward me. Every step of her heels marked out a beat, and I felt that beat as the rhythm of my own will surrendering. She stopped a breath from my face. The heat of her skin, mixed with her expensive perfume, made me dizzy.

—Put the camera on the floor —she ordered.

I obeyed without thinking. The authority coming off her wasn’t a tone of voice: it was a physical force, a gravity I couldn’t pull away from.

—Your whole life you looked for perfection in other people —she went on—. Today you’re going to find it in the only place you never dared to look: giving yourself over.

She untied the robe cord. The silk slid off her shoulders and fell to the floor, and then I lost my breath. Renata was a whole woman, with curves that defied all logic, and between her legs rose a thick, long cock, already hard just from looking at me, the shiny head peeking from a retracted foreskin and a pair of heavy balls hanging low. It was part of her with a naturalness that made any surprise absurd. It was her, complete, asking no one’s permission.

—Does it scare you? —she asked, with a superior smile—. Or did you finally find something your lens can’t contain?

I couldn’t look away from that cock swaying softly with the rhythm of her breathing. The mix of that beauty and the power beating inside her gave me an immediate, almost painful erection, pushing against the fabric of my trousers. Renata noticed and gave a low laugh.

—On your knees —she said, resting her hand on my shoulder and forcing me down—. If you want to photograph a goddess, first learn to worship her with your mouth.

I fell onto the rug, my face at her hips. The thick scent of her arousal —musk, expensive sweat, sex— wrapped around me and opened my mouth on its own. Her cock bumped my cheek, hot and heavy, and I stuck my tongue out without being told, licking from her tight balls to the tip, tasting the thick drop already beading on the head.

—That’s it —she whispered, grabbing my hair with a firm hand—. Suck me like your life depends on it. Because from tonight on, it will.

I opened my mouth as wide as I could and she shoved her cock down my throat in one thrust. I gagged, tears sprang to my eyes, spit ran down my chin, and she laughed with a soft cruelty while holding my head against her pubic mound.

—Swallow, photographer. Learn to breathe through your nose while a woman fucks your throat.

She started moving, gripping my hair with both hands, sliding in and out with a rhythm that gave me no mercy. I felt the swollen head slamming against my palate, my uvula, the very back of my throat. Every time she pulled back, a long thread of saliva connected my lips to her cock; every time she drove herself in again, my nose hit her belly and I breathed in the warm scent of her tight balls. I shut my eyes and gave myself to the rocking motion, jaw open as wide as it could go and my hands dead at my sides, letting her use my mouth like a toy.

—Look at me when you suck it —she ordered, yanking my hair upward—. I want to see your eyes full of tears while you choke on my cock.

I looked up at her, submissive, and she sped up. She pulled her slick, saliva-soaked cock out, slapped my face with it —two, three, four times, a wet fleshy smack on each cheek— and thrust it back down my throat. I moaned around her cock, humiliated and hard, my trousers damp in front from pure desire.

—I’m not coming in your mouth yet —she said at last, pulling out with an obscene pop—. You still have a long way to go. That privilege has to be earned.

***

—Take your clothes off —she ordered later, while I remained on my knees, panting, my chin soaked—. I want to see if the body holding that camera deserves to be in my presence.

I undressed with clumsy fingers. The humiliation of stripping under her cold gaze was the strongest aphrodisiac I had ever felt. Every garment that fell left me more exposed, more at her mercy. When I stood naked under the lamp, I felt small, and my own cock gave me away, pointing at her like a plea, the tip already wet with pre-cum.

Renata came closer. She circled my neck with one hand —not to choke me, but to remind me that in that moment I was breathing on her permission—. The strength of those long fingers surprised me.

—Look at yourself —she whispered, forcing me to raise my head—. You’re trembling. You’re drooling, and your cock is leaking like a bitch in heat. You like it when a woman like me treats you like the object you always wanted your models to be. You like my strength, don’t you?

She slid her hand down my chest, unhurried, until she closed it around my cock with a firmness that made me gasp. She started jerking me off with deliberate slowness, squeezing the base, gliding up to the tip with a wrist turn that tore a broken moan out of me.

—This thing here is useless in this house —she said, never stopping the stroke—. Here the only one who fucks is me. Your cock is nothing but a hanging ornament. Understood?

—Yes —I panted.

—Yes, what?

—Yes, ma’am.

She smiled and suddenly let go. She made me lie on my back on the rug. She climbed onto my chest, planted her knees on either side of my head, and let her hot cock rest across my face, pressing my forehead and nose with its weight. Her heavy balls hung over my mouth. —Start from below —she ordered—. Suck my balls one by one. I want to hear how you lick them.

I stuck out my tongue and licked them, first one and then the other, taking them into my mouth carefully, feeling their wrinkled texture against my palate. She panted softly and rocked on top of me, rubbing her cock against my forehead. When I finished with her balls, she made me lick the entire length of her cock, from base to tip, over and over until it shone with spit.

—Now the tip. Only the tip. Like a candy.

I closed my lips around the head and sucked while she buried her fingers in my hair and whispered filth. I reached for her hips with my hands and she slapped them away with a sharp, dry blow.

—Hands on the floor —she said—. Tonight you’re going to learn that the purest pleasure comes from total surrender. Only the mouth. Only what I give you.

She shoved herself to the back of my throat again, this time from above, fucking my face with short, precise thrusts, setting a rhythm that left me no room even to swallow. I felt her balls slapping my chin with every drive. When she was on the verge of coming, she pulled out abruptly, grabbed her cock, and lashed my cheeks with a series of wet slaps, laughing when she saw me opening my mouth, begging for her cum like a beggar.

—Not yet. Tonight you learn that wanting is yours.

***

She lifted me by the hair and led me, naked and trembling, my cock still hard and throbbing between my legs, down a dark hallway to a circular room lined with mirrors. The light there was harsh, multiplying every corner of my vulnerability and every curve of hers a thousand times over. In the center waited a minimal steel structure: a sort of low bondage frame, with restraints.

—Your problem, Damián, is that you always looked through a viewfinder. You hid behind glass —she said, pushing me against the metal—. Now you’re going to be the glass.

With practiced skill, she strapped my wrists above my head with thin leather cuffs. She made me lean forward, ass raised and legs spread, and anchored my ankles to the base. I was spread wide open, multiplied by every wall, my hole exposed to the light and to her gaze.

Renata positioned herself behind me, and in the reflection I saw our union: an athletic man already broken, and an imposing woman with her robe open like wings, her hard cock pointed straight at my entrance.

—Look at what you are before a goddess —she said, dragging her nails across my chest until she reached my nipples, which she pinched cruelly—. A body waiting to be claimed. An ass waiting to be opened.

I felt a wet chill between my cheeks: thick oil dripping from above, streaming down the crease until it soaked my entrance. Then two long fingers slid in without asking permission, turning inside me, probing, searching. I let out a whimper.

—You’re tight —she murmured, satisfied—. Perfect. I love it when they cry while they open up.

She withdrew her fingers and I felt the thick head pressing against the ring, pushing, trying to get in. She leaned over my back, the firmness of her tits against my shoulder blades, her hot breath at my ear.

—Do you see it in the mirror? You’re not a photographer. You’re not a man. You’re just another cunt for my cock.

The first thrust was slow but brutal, a claim that opened me centimeter by centimeter and arched my back and tore a hoarse cry out of me that the mirrors threw back in a thousand echoes. I felt every nerve in my ass stretching around her, felt her cock forcing its way through my guts, searching for the depths, until her balls slapped against my cheeks with a wet sound. Renata laughed, darkly, and stayed there for a moment, still inside me, letting me feel each pulse of her cock against my walls.

—Do you feel that? —she whispered—. That’s me, inside you, all the way to the root. Every inch is mine. You’re going to learn to love it.

And then she started moving with merciless rhythm. She came almost all the way out, leaving the head right at the opening, and drove back in with one long shove that stole my breath. The sound of her hips slamming against my ass filled the room, mixed with my broken moans and her rough breathing. She gripped my jaw with one hand to force me to look at our reflection, and that image —my body yielding to hers, my hard cock swinging between my legs in time with her thrusts, the line of her cock disappearing inside me again and again— was unbearable and addictive at once.

—Watch me fuck you —she growled, speeding up—. Watch yourself opening like a whore.

She changed the angle and suddenly hit something inside me that made me see white. An electric pleasure shot up from my stomach, and my cock, without anyone touching it, began dripping a thread of clear fluid onto the floor. Renata saw it in the mirror and burst out laughing.

—Look at that. You’re leaking on your own. Every woman who fucked you before was a waste of time. None of them found you in here the way I did.

She accelerated even more, pulling my hair back, fucking me with short, savage thrusts that made me slam against the straps. I felt the orgasm climbing up my spine, without hands, only from being wrecked by her.

—Don’t come —she ordered, her voice rough—. Not even think about it. If you come without my permission, this ends and I throw you out naked into the street.

I clenched my teeth, sobbing, holding on. She came before I did. I felt her cock swell inside me and then the hot stream flooding me from within, a long release spilling in several waves while she growled in my ear and dug her nails into my waist. When she pulled out, a thick trail of semen and oil slid down my thighs.

I was lost in the labyrinth of mirrors, watching myself be devoured again and again until reality shrank to a single point of pain and pleasure under her command.

***

When she released the straps, my arms fell limp. She took me to a bathroom that was almost a black marble crypt, with steam rising from water scented heavily with jasmine. I sank into the tub, feeling the hot water ease my aching ass, and she stood there watching me from above, her cock still semi-hard and hanging between her legs.

—You’ve been cleansed of the man you were —she said, rubbing my skin with a sponge in a way that almost hurt—. But a blank page needs a signature.

She knelt at the edge of the tub, not to serve me, but to put her cock right at eye level. The steam made her skin shine, and a thick drop gathered at the tip of the head.

—Worship me —she ordered—. Show me your mouth is only good for this.

I sat up and took her in all at once, to the back of my throat. This time I didn’t gag: I’d learned quickly. I sucked slowly, soaking her with spit, circling the head with my tongue, sliding it down the whole length, paying attention to her balls between sucks. She threw her head back, buried her hands in my wet hair, and set the rhythm of my devotion with short, authoritative gasps.

—That’s it —she panted—. Learn that your only purpose is this cock in your mouth.

She started fucking my face again, slower now, enjoying it. I let her use me, eyes closed, surrendered to the motion. When she was close, she grabbed the back of my neck and drove herself down to the base, and this time I did come in my mouth. A thick, hot stream filled my throat, then another, and another. She forced me to keep my lips sealed around her cock until it stopped pulsing.

—Swallow it. All of it. And open your mouth so I can see.

I swallowed with difficulty and opened my mouth. She slipped her thumb inside, checked that not a drop remained, and smiled.

—Good boy.

Feeling the weight of her hand on my head made me understand I no longer wanted to return to the world outside. The ritual had emptied me of will, and that nothing was the closest thing to peace I had ever known.

***

She pulled me out of the water and led me, dripping, into a dressing room of smoked mirrors, endless rows of heels, and a thick smell of leather and silk.

—You worshipped beauty —she said, opening a drawer—. Now you’re going to understand what it costs to hold it up.

She sat me on a stool and slid sheer stockings up my legs until they fit like a second skin. Then she forced me into a satin corset that stole my breath and straightened my back. She made me put on tiny black lace panties that barely contained my cock, still sensitive. In the mirror I saw an image I didn’t recognize: me, in lingerie and a garter belt, under Renata’s shadow.

—Now you look more like what you always wanted to photograph —she said—. But you’re missing the finishing touch.

She fitted me with red stiletto heels and made me stand. My ankles were shaking. She circled my neck with a leather collar ending in a silver chain.

—Walk for me —she ordered, and gave a sharp tug.

I tried. The height and the corset made me wobble, and she laughed at my clumsiness with that laugh that made me feel smaller. In one movement she put my back against the wall, facing a full-length mirror. She pulled my panties down to my thighs, without removing them, and made me lean forward with my hands on the glass.

—Do you feel the difference, Damián? —she whispered, while her cock, hard again, rubbed between my cheeks—. Between looking and being looked at. Between being the photographer and being the whore who opens up.

She lifted the edge of the corset and invaded me again, without warning, going in all at once to the very bottom with one brutal shove. My ass, still wet from her previous load and the oil, accepted her with a wet sound that echoed in the room. The pain of the heels, the pressure of the corset, and her cock pounding inside me short-circuited my brain. I was crying from pure ecstasy and shame, watching in the mirror as she took me while I looked like a broken version of her models, with smudged mascara and my mouth open in a grimace of pleasure.

She gripped my hips with both hands and fucked me with hard, dry thrusts that made my palms smack against the mirror. Every drive tore a high moan out of me. My cock, trapped in the panties, bounced with every blow, soaking the lace.

—You’re my doll —she panted, marking my hips with her fingers—. And dolls have no will. They only get dressed and fucked.

She pulled my hair back, arching me, and whispered in my ear without stopping her thrusts:

—Tell me what you are.

—Your doll —I sobbed.

—Louder.

—Your doll, your bitch, whatever you want!

—Good boy.

***

Firm footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door opened and another woman entered, with a beauty similar to Renata’s but a near-military coldness. Bianca studied me with a mixture of curiosity and contempt, not the least bit surprised to see us like that: me bent over the mirror, with Renata’s cock still inside me.

—So this is the famous photographer —she said, with a cutting voice—. You dressed him up nicely. He looks almost human under all that silk.

—He’s more than decoration —Renata replied, pulling out with an obscene pop and tugging my chain to make me bow to her—. He’s a lesson. Damián, greet our guest the way I taught you.

They made me kneel, quite a feat in those heels. Bianca sat on a divan opposite us and crossed her legs, hitching up her skirt to reveal that she too was not entirely what she seemed: between her thighs was another firm cock, slimmer than Renata’s but just as hard, already stirred by seeing us. The scene reached its most obscene point: me, dressed in lingerie, serving as tribute between two women discussing my value as if I were something on an auction block.

—Do you think he’s learned the lesson of surrender? —Bianca asked, lighting a cigarette whose smoke wrapped around my face.

—He’s trying —Renata said—. See for yourself. Open his mouth.

Bianca beckoned me with two fingers. I crawled toward her on the stockings, the chain dragging across the floor, and settled between her legs. She put her cock in my mouth without preamble, grabbed my hair, and forced it down to the back of my throat.

—Suck nicely, doll —she hissed—. Renata has taught you manners; let’s see if you use them.

I sucked her with all the devotion I had learned in the last few hours: down the shaft, up again, circling the head with my tongue, attending to the balls as well. Bianca let out an approving moan and held my head still to fuck my mouth at her own pace.

Behind me, Renata had knelt down. I felt oil spilling again down my slit and her cock forcing its way back inside me. I screamed, with Bianca’s cock filling my mouth, and both women laughed.

—Just like that —Renata murmured, beginning to thrust—. A toy pierced through from both ends.

She fucked me hard while Bianca used my throat. Every thrust from Renata pushed me forward and drove Bianca’s cock to the back of my throat, and when Renata pulled back, I fell backward to get impaled on her again. I was a machine between them, a body passed from one to the other by their thrusts, spit running down my chin, tears sliding down my cheeks, my own cock soaking the lace panties completely.

They talked over me as if I wasn’t there:

—He has a decent mouth —Bianca remarked, never stopping fucking my face.

—His ass learns fast too —Renata answered, giving my ass cheek a smack that made me tighten around her—. He’s well trained.

—Look at the difference between his freedom and your captivity —Renata ordered me, digging her fingers into my shoulders—. You’re nothing without our command.

Bianca leaned in, pulled her cock out of my mouth in one sharp motion, and started stroking herself in front of my face while Renata kept fucking me from behind. With her other hand, Bianca lifted my chin with the tip of her shoe and forced me to look at my multiplied reflection: a broken man, dressed as a woman, devoured by Renata’s authority under the gaze of another queen, mouth open waiting for Bianca’s cum.

—Open wide —Bianca panted—. Stick out your tongue.

I obeyed. She came with a growl, thick streams of hot semen hitting my tongue, lips, cheek, hair. And at the same moment, Renata let out a triumphant grunt behind me and emptied herself into my ass too, a second hot load filling me completely. The humiliation of being watched, semen on my face, semen inside me, and the ecstasy of double surrender drove me into a climax I couldn’t control. My own cock, trapped in the lace, spilled by itself into the panties with a long spasm that shook me all over, and I collapsed at Bianca’s feet.

***

The silence that followed was broken only by the hiss of the cigarette as it burned out. I was sprawled there, a wreck of lace, sweat, semen, and tears, with Renata’s load still running down my thighs and Bianca’s dripping from my chin to my chest.

—Well? —Bianca asked, tucking her still-wet cock back under her skirt—. What do you plan to do with this specimen? People are already asking questions about his disappearance outside.

Renata walked to an ebony desk and took a sip of liquor before answering.

—Damián no longer exists —she said, turning to me—. The photographer died the moment he let go of the camera. What remains here is an extension of my will, a cunt and a mouth that belong to me. I’ve made his studio and his things disappear. To the world, he withdrew in search of an inspiration he’s never going to find.

The horror of her words dissolved into a strange, dark relief. The freedom of not having to be a man, of not having to be anyone but her fuckable toy, came over me like a sweet poison.

—Accept your fate —Bianca murmured, stroking my smeared face with a nearly protective coldness, gathering a drop of her own semen from my cheek with her thumb and putting it in my mouth—. Many would give their lives to be in your place.

Renata tugged my chain and led me to a balcony overlooking the sea. Outside, the water roared against the cliffs; inside, time had stopped.

—This is your silk cage —she said, pressing her body against mine one last time, her cock already softening and rubbing against my hip like a promise of more—. You will be my muse, my servant, and my whore. When the sun rises, we’ll keep going in our midnight, where the only law is my desire.

She leaned in and gave me a cold kiss, a mark of ownership that tasted like total surrender, with her tongue shoved deep into my mouth still full of someone else’s semen. The door closed, and with it the last trace of my former life. The photographer I had been was lost in the dimness, and in his place remained a nameless creature, devoted to the woman who possessed the strength of two worlds and the heart of none.