The Trans Soprano Who Sang Only for Him

The theater was still vibrating with applause when Damián pulled her offstage by the wrist. Selena had barely managed her final bow, the bouquet of roses still warm in her arms, and already she was being dragged down the dimly lit corridor leading to the private dressing rooms. The echo of the audience faded behind them, muffled by the walls, like a receding sea.

—That final note —he said without looking at her, shoving the door open—. You held it for three seconds longer than in rehearsal.

—Was it bad? —she asked, still breathing hard from the effort.

Damián closed the door. He turned the key. The click of the lock sounded louder than it should have in such a small room.

—It was perfect —he replied—. And that’s what bothers me. That you’re capable of something so perfect and only I know it.

Selena set the bouquet on the vanity. She saw herself reflected in the mirror surrounded by bulbs: the long, tight black dress, her bare shoulders, her makeup still intact despite the sweat. Behind her reflection, his appeared, tall, his tuxedo half-open and his tie hanging loose.

—Turn around —Damián said.

She obeyed slowly. She always did. Ever since the first audition, when he had stayed alone with her in the empty room and told her she had the strangest and most beautiful voice he had heard in twenty years of his career, Selena had learned that obedience was the price of the stage. And it had never seemed an unfair price to her.

—Do you know how many people would give anything to hear you? —he murmured, coming closer—. And you sing for me in a dressing room. Only for me.

He placed one hand on the back of her neck. With the other, he lowered the dress strap over her shoulder, slowly, watching the fabric give way. Selena closed her eyes.

—Damián…

—Be quiet. I’m directing this part.

The dress slid down to her waist. He turned her back toward the mirror and stood behind her, watching her over her shoulder as he finished lowering the fabric. Selena stood there in her heels and little else, her small, firm breasts tipped with already-hard nipples, her skin prickling in the cool dressing-room air. Between her legs, her pussy was already responding to the hand he slid over her belly, growing wet even before he touched her.

—Look at yourself —Damián said against her ear—. The audience doesn’t see this. This is mine.

He bit her neck, right where her pulse beat fast, while two fingers traveled down her pubis and slipped between her wet lips. He opened her without ceremony, felt how soaked she was, and gave a low, satisfied laugh.

—Already dripping, diva. And I haven’t even done anything to you yet.

With his other hand, he pinched one nipple, twisting it until Selena let out a deep sound, a moan born from the same place as her lowest notes, and he smiled against her skin.

—There it is —he whispered—. That register. Do it again.

—It’s not something I can do on purpose —she protested, her voice breaking.

—Then I’ll draw it out of you.

He buried his fingers to the knuckles, two at once, and began fucking her with his hand in a slow, crooked rhythm, rotating his wrist so his thumb brushed her clitoris with every turn. Selena gripped the edge of the vanity to keep from folding over. Her pussy squelched around his fingers, a wet, obscene sound that filled the entire dressing room.

—Listen —Damián said in her ear—. Listen to the way you sound. This is a note too.

—Damián, please…

—Please what? Say it.

—Fuck me —she gasped—. Fuck me now.

—Not yet. First you’re going to come in my hand. And afterward, if you’ve been good, I’ll give you my cock.

He sped up his fingers. Three this time, spreading her open, penetrating her with a rawness that tore a clipped high note from Selena. His thumb rubbed her clitoris in precise circles without stopping, and she felt that first wave overflow in her belly almost without warning. She came against his hand with a long moan, her hips convulsing over the fingers that remained inside her, and Damián held her head against the mirror so she would watch herself come.

—Good girl —he murmured—. That’s only the first one tonight.

***

He pushed her gently against the vanity. The bulbs reflected in the mirror, multiplying the scene, and Selena braced herself with both hands on the wood while he unfastened his belt behind her. She heard the rustle of fabric, the jingle of the buckle, the whisper of his trousers falling to the floor. When she glanced over her shoulder for a moment, she saw Damián’s cock hard, thick, and curved against his belly.

—Come here —he told her, taking her by the wrist and lowering her to her knees in front of him—. Before anything else, I want that mouth. I want to see those soprano lips stretched around my cock.

Selena knelt on the dressing room’s thin carpet, still wearing her heels, her dress bunched around her waist. She looked at the cock a handspan from her face, grasped it at the base with one hand, and licked it from balls to tip, slowly, looking him in the eye. Damián let out a rough sigh.

—All of it —he ordered—. Take it all.

She opened her mouth and swallowed him inch by inch. She felt him fill her tongue and palate, press against her throat until she gagged. Damián held the back of her head and pushed a little farther, without roughness but without letting her escape, until Selena’s nose touched his belly and her eyes filled with tears.

—That’s it —he groaned—. That throat so many people have paid to hear… look what I have it for.

He began fucking her mouth with short thrusts, careful at first, then deeper. Selena let him, sucking and swallowing the saliva escaping from the corners of her mouth, never taking her eyes off him. Each time he withdrew, she breathed in raggedly and opened her lips again, asking for more. A strand of drool hung from her chin and fell onto her bare breasts.

—Fuck, how you suck —Damián panted—. As if your voice depended on it.

He pulled her abruptly from his mouth and lifted her by the armpits. His cock gleamed, wet, hard, and red. He kissed her on the mouth, tasting himself on her tongue.

—Now, yes. To the vanity. With your back to me.

Damián was in no hurry. That was the worst of it, and the best. He placed her in front of the mirror again, ran his mouth down her back, vertebra by vertebra, and spoke to her softly, in the director’s tone he used to correct a measure.

—Spread your legs. A little farther. That’s it. Arch your ass. Offer it to me.

She obeyed. She bent over the vanity until her breasts brushed the cold wood, and pushed out her ass, the ass he had molded through demands and sessions like this one. Damián spread her with both hands, contemplated her pink, dripping pussy, and positioned the tip of his cock at her entrance.

—Slowly —she pleaded—. Please.

—Always slowly with you —he replied, and for once there was no cruelty in his voice, only a kind of dark devotion—. I don’t want to break the instrument.

She felt him push, the firm, patient pressure, the thick head forcing her entrance, opening her, gaining ground millimeter by millimeter. Her body opened around him with a slowness that made her bite her lip until it bled. The note escaping her throat this time was not low: it rose, thin and high, until it hung from a thread of air she hadn’t known she still possessed.

—God —Damián groaned, stopping halfway in—. Sing that for me. Don’t stop.

Selena sang. Not a song, nothing with lyrics; only the pure sound coming out of her as he advanced, a vocalization that broke and remade itself with every centimeter of cock filling her. The dressing room, so small, returned her voice amplified, as if the walls wanted to hear her too.

When he was fully inside, his balls pressed to her thighs, he went still. He rested his forehead between her shoulder blades and breathed. Selena felt his cock throbbing deep in her pussy, swollen and impossible to ignore.

—Do you feel that? —he asked—. That’s how close I always am. Every time you go on that stage, I’m this close to you, even when you can’t see me.

—I know —she murmured—. I always know.

***

He began to move. At first barely, a gentle rocking that made Selena’s heels brush the floor and drew his cock halfway out before sinking it all the way back in. He held her hips with both hands, setting the rhythm just as he set an orchestra’s tempo, and she followed him with her voice, the notes lengthening and shortening as he accelerated or held back.

—Higher —Damián ordered, thrusting a little deeper.

—Ahh… —Selena’s voice climbed a full octave, bright and crystalline, and broke into a moan that had nothing musical about it.

—That wasn’t in the score —he said, with a smile she could guess without seeing—. Improvise for me.

He took her by the hair, not violently, but firmly, and made her lift her head so she could see herself in the mirror. Selena met her own flushed face, lips parted and still glossy from sucking him, eyes glassy, breasts bouncing to the rhythm of every thrust against the edge of the vanity. Behind her was Damián, focused and hungry, watching her watch herself, his jaw tight and his tie still hanging from his neck.

—Look at what you are when no one applauds —he said—. This is you too. A diva who loves being fucked against a vanity.

—Yes —she gasped—. Yes, yes…

—Say it. Say what you are.

—I’m yours. I’m your whore. The only one who sings when you fuck her.

Damián growled when he heard her and sped up. The sound of their bodies filled the dressing room, that wet, rhythmic slap of cock entering and leaving a soaked pussy, mixed with the pounding of his hips against her ass. Selena accompanied him with a melodic line that rose and fell in time, her throat turned into an instrument she no longer controlled. She felt the tension building in her belly, low and electric, her swollen clitoris rubbing against the edge of the furniture with every thrust.

Without leaving her, Damián straightened her, slipped one arm beneath a knee, and lifted it, opening her even wider, fucking her standing against the mirror. His other hand sought her clitoris and began rubbing it with two fingers in precise circles, without stopping his thrusts.

—Damián… —she gasped—. You’re going to make me come… like this…

—Then come —he replied, without slowing—. I want to hear what your voice sounds like when you come with my cock inside you. No one knows that note. It’s going to be mine.

He thrust deeper, striking the spot that made her tremble from her knees to the nape of her neck. Selena clung to the arm holding her up. She felt something spill over inside her, a wave rising from the base of her spine and filling her chest like the air before an impossible note. Her pussy began closing in spasms around the cock that kept driving through her.

—I’m… —she managed—. I’m, I’m…

And then she sang. There were no words. Her voice burst into an extraordinarily long, pure, vibrating high note, one no director could have asked of her and no audience would ever hear, while her body contracted and emptied itself in shudders that left her breathless. Her pussy squeezed him in waves, soaking his cock to the balls and wetting the tops of his thighs. The mirror bulbs blurred. Her legs gave way, and only Damián’s arm kept her standing.

—Fuck, Selena —he grunted, his voice breaking for the first time all night—. Fuck, you’re so tight.

He bent her over the vanity again and thrust into her mercilessly, rhythm gone now, seeking his own release. Five, six, eight quick, brutal strokes that made her breasts bounce against the wood. Selena, still trembling from her orgasm, moaned a broken note each time he reached her depths.

—Where? —Damián panted—. Inside or in your mouth?

—Inside —she begged—. Come inside me. I want to feel it.

She felt him tense behind her, bury himself to the hilt, and release a long groan against her shoulder. His cock throbbed inside her and began emptying itself in warm waves, jet after thick jet of semen that made her shudder again, too sensitive, too open. Damián held her by the hips and pressed against her through the final contraction, making sure to leave her every last drop.

They remained like that, joined, breathing. In the mirror, their two reflections were a single figure bent beneath the yellow light. When he finally pulled his cock out, a strand of cum and fluid slid down Selena’s inner thigh to her heel.

***

Damián crouched, picked up a towel from the vanity, and, with a tenderness that contradicted everything before it, carefully cleaned her thighs and swollen pussy. He turned her toward him and kissed her, this time without orders or theater, a slow kiss tasting of sweat and relief. Selena sank onto the vanity chair, her legs still trembling, and laughed softly, a tired, happy laugh.

—You’re going to kill me one of these nights —she said.

—No —he replied, picking up his tie from the floor—. I need you alive. And singing.

He ran his thumb over her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn’t even noticed escaping during her climax. He looked at her for a long while, as if calculating something.

—I have the suite in the hotel across the street reserved until Monday —he said at last—. After tomorrow’s charity gala, I want you to come. No dress. No makeup. Just you and that voice. And this time I’m going to take the whole night to fuck you in all the ways I haven’t had room for in this half hour.

Selena looked at him through the mirror, her cheeks still flushed.

—Is that an order, Director?

Damián adjusted his shirt collar, gradually recovering the composure of a man who directed theaters full of people.

—The only kind you obey —he said—. Get dressed. The press is waiting for you in the lobby, and I don’t want them to know why the diva took so long to come out.

She stood, still feeling his semen hot between her legs, picked up the dress from the floor, and began pulling it on slowly, watching him in the reflection. Before closing the zipper, Damián approached from behind, moved her hair away from the nape of her neck, and spoke in her ear one last time that night.

—And tomorrow —he murmured—, when you sing for all of them, I want you to think about this. About how the best note you’ve ever given came here, with my cock inside you. For no one. For me.

Selena closed her eyes. She nodded. When she opened them again, she was already touching up her lipstick in front of the mirror, ready to become once more the siren the world thought it knew.