The Two Trans Girls from the Bar Came Into My Room

I arrived one afternoon in a southern city, more than twenty years after the last time I had set foot there. I found it almost exactly as I remembered it: the same rough sounds of traffic, the same smell of damp earth and old bakery. I liked being there, in that place that was mine and yet no longer belonged to me.

I walked around downtown for hours, went in and out of a couple of arcades, had two beers in a bar with plastic chairs. The afternoon began to slip away slowly, the way everything does in small cities. I need to find a hotel, I told myself, and started walking with no clear destination.

I’m not really sure why I ended up heading toward the old station, that area where the red-light district sits and where night follows different rules. It still wasn’t fully dark. I found an old hotel, with worn brick walls and a sign so small I almost walked right past. I went in anyway.

An older woman greeted me without really looking up. I asked for a single room, gave her my details, she charged me in advance, and accompanied me to 214. She opened the door, handed me the key with a tired gesture, and left without saying much else.

The room seemed huge for one person. A double bed, a radiator humming softly, and a bathroom with a bathtub that seemed like absurd luxury in a place like that, but I loved it the moment I saw it.

I rested for a few minutes sprawled on top of the bedspread and then went out to find something to eat. I found it very close by: it was already night, and the neighborhood’s nightlife had begun to stir at the corners. The pub was waiting for me right on the corner. I went in. Only two tables were occupied.

I ordered a large beer and a slice of napolitana pizza. I checked my phone out of habit, with nothing really to look at, and then I felt someone watching me. I slowly lifted my eyes and found a stare locked onto mine. A smile just slightly crooked, almost wicked, that made me look away.

She was a trans girl, dark-haired, tall, wearing black leggings and knee-high boots, with a light blue denim jacket. She was with another one, shorter, with brown hair and a pretty face, wearing a tight black miniskirt, red thigh-high boots, and a long coat in the same vivid color.

For almost two hours I listened to them laugh, watched them glance at me out of the corner of their eyes, whispering things to each other. They didn’t seem threatening to me; on the contrary, they seemed nice, like they owned a world I didn’t understand and that night gave me a stupid curiosity about. The dark-haired one crossed and uncrossed her long legs, and every so often she held my gaze for a beat too long, as if waiting for me to do something I didn’t do. Before I left, I bought them a round. I said, “Bye, girls,” paid, bought a pack of beers for the road, and headed back to the hotel with an idiotic smile, not imagining anything that was coming.

I got to my room, took off my clothes, and got in the shower. I washed quickly, dried off just enough, and crawled into bed. I left a little coke on the nightstand, maybe for later, and switched off the lamp. The radiator kept humming and the room was warm. Sleep caught me in no time. The beer and the walk all day had left me heavy, not even wanting to lock the door properly. That was my mistake, though I didn’t know it then.

***

I woke up feeling ragged breathing on the back of my neck. I thought it was a dream. It wasn’t. It was too real.

The dark-haired girl from the pub was sitting on my bed in her underwear, calmly taking lines from the baggie I’d left on the nightstand. The other one, the short one, was lying behind me, pressed against my back, rubbing her cock against my ass over my underwear, sliding it up and down, tracing the groove of my cheeks with sticky slowness.

I wanted to react, sit up, scream something. I was shocked and furious at the same time. But the dark-haired one, without losing her calm, pressed something cold and hard against the back of my neck.

—You offered yourself up and lost, baby —she said softly.

I felt the barrel of a gun caressing me behind the ear. The other one, meanwhile, kept playing with my ass over the fabric, squeezing my cheeks with her free hand, pulling them apart and pressing them back together over her hard cock. The dark-haired one dragged the cold blade of a knife across my navel slowly, like someone drawing, while her huge cock poked out from the side of her red panties, thick, dark, the head shining with pre-cum.

I tried to be nice. I asked them, almost in a whisper, please not to do it. The only thing I got was the dark-haired one—Brenda, I heard her name later—cupping my face with one hand, forcing my mouth open, and spitting into it, insulting me with a smile.

—Suck it, faggot, suck it good —she told me, rubbing the head of her cock against my lips—. Open that whore mouth of yours wide.

I noticed the little one—Lorena—pulling my underwear down to my knees and filming with her cell phone how the tip of her cock brushed my hole. When she had pressed against me before, I had already felt how thick it was. I couldn’t guess the length, but I could feel the warm flesh, completely uncovered. Now I felt her spit into my opening, slide in two fingers that opened me without permission, smearing me with saliva mixed with her own juice.

—What a tight little ass you’ve got, daddy —Lorena whispered, pushing in a third finger—. It’s gonna hurt a little at first. After that you’ll be begging for more.

Brenda’s was huge, too thick to be that long. She had already let it hang fully out to one side of her panties, dark, shining with her own wetness. She had propped the phone on the nightstand to catch every detail. By then I was paralyzed with fear, but also with my heart pounding against my ribs in a way I didn’t know how to name.

—We’re gonna fill you with cream —Lorena said from behind, pushing the head of her cock against my ass, just pressing, testing the resistance.

—We’re gonna fuck you all night —Brenda added—. You’ll never forget this day.

—And tomorrow we’ll finish breaking you —the other one finished, laughing.

While she said it, Brenda kept spitting on me, insulting me, and bringing her cock to my mouth. She ran it over my lips, my cheeks, tapped me softly in the face with it, laughing. Lorena behind me had already pushed in more than the tip, sliding in and out of me almost gently, as if measuring me, slowly gaining ground. Brenda’s cock wetted my lips with her juice and went into my mouth without the slightest delicacy. The head hit the back of my throat and stayed there for a second, choking me, leaving me breathless, until I felt nausea rising and a thread of drool spilling from the corner of my mouth.

—Like that, faggot, like that —Brenda panted, grabbing my hair with the hand that wasn’t holding the knife—. Swallow it all, don’t spit it out.

Then she started pumping, fast and deep, fucking my mouth without pause. She stood at the side of the bed, I lay on my side, forced to suck her while saliva ran down my chin and soaked her balls. Every so often she bent down to bring her mouth to mine and spit inside again, or to lick my whole face with her open tongue, calling me faggot, bitch, trash.

When my mind was still trying to adjust to that humiliation, Lorena slammed into me, all the way to the hilt, and the cry I let out drowned against Brenda’s cock. I felt it reach my spine. It hurt. It burned. My ass ring opened brutally, as if I were being split in two. Every thrust seemed to hunt for a point deeper inside. She moved faster, squeezed my cheeks with both hands, pulled them apart to watch her cock covered in my saliva and hers going in and out, and the more force she used, the more it hurt and the faster she moved.

—Look how it goes in, look how your little ass swallows it —she told Brenda, never stopping filming—. He’s a little whore, Bren, he’s a whore like us.

She panted against my neck, bit my throat, dug her nails into my hip, and didn’t let go of the phone for a second. I felt her small tits pressed against my back, the little bell of her piercing brushing my skin, and her cock hammering inside me with a relentless rhythm. Brenda, on top of me, held my jaw open with two fingers buried in my cheeks so I couldn’t close my mouth, while she fucked my throat like it was just another cunt.

The two of them fucked me hard, without mercy, taking turns with the rhythm, coordinating to drive into me at the same time: when one came out, the other went in to the root, and I was left pierced by both of them, without a single breath. At some point I stopped resisting. My body went slack, my jaw opened on its own, and I let them do it. And worse: mine got hard, hard as I hadn’t felt it in a long time, leaking against the mattress every time Lorena drove her cock all the way in.

—Look at this, Bren —Lorena said, grabbing my cock with her hand and showing it to the camera—. The faggot got hard. He loves us wrecking his ass.

Brenda laughed with her mouth full of my saliva, pulled her cock out for a second, and slapped my face with it, leaving a sticky trail from my cheekbone to my chin.

—Don’t waste a single drop —Lorena told me in my ear, hurrying inside me, pounding faster and faster, biting my shoulder until it bled.

And then I felt her filling me inside, spurt after spurt, a warm amount that seemed endless, driven deep by each final thrust. I felt every pulse of her cock unloading semen into my guts. When I tried to complain, Brenda’s load got stuck in my throat and flooded my mouth, so much and so thick that it leaked from the corners of my lips. She didn’t pull her cock out: she forced me to swallow every last bit, her hand still locked over my jaw, until I felt it throbbing empty against my tongue.

—Good little whore —she whispered, stroking my cheek with the hand holding the knife—. You learn fast.

***

After a while, between warm beers and a couple more lines, Lorena went in to shower. I heard the water falling into the bathtub of that bathroom I had liked so much a few hours earlier, in another life. My ass was throbbing, open, leaking Lorena’s cum onto the sheet, and I had a bitter taste in my mouth that refused to go away.

I thought that was the end of it. I saw them calmer, quieter, and thought maybe I could talk to them, recover some control. I tried to sit up on the bed to have a conversation.

I felt Brenda’s hand grabbing my hair from behind. She yanked me down to my knees on the mattress. With one shove she threw me onto the pillow, face smashed into the fabric, ass in the air, and dropped all her weight on top of me. She brought my legs together with hers, locked my ankles, and once again I felt that giant cock rubbing against my crack, hard again now, leaking hot liquid all over my lower back.

—Now it’s gonna be mine, faggot —she said in my ear—. Lore’s was the training.

My body was slick with what Lorena had left inside, but when Brenda pressed the head of her cock against my opening and pushed, the pain was just as unbearable, worse, like I was about to be torn apart from the inside. I felt it forcing its way in, millimeter by millimeter, until with one dry thrust she rammed it in to the balls. I screamed into the pillow, and she laughed, holding still for a second, letting me feel every inch throbbing inside me.

—Open cunt, that’s how I like it —she said, and started fucking.

She fucked me hard, wanting to hurt me, pulling almost all the way out and then slamming back in with a dry strike that made my hips bounce against the mattress. She insulted me in my ear, called me slut, bitch, cunt, said I would always, always remember her, that that ass was hers now, and laughed with that low laugh I already knew. She grabbed my hips with both hands and slammed me against her pelvis, making her balls hit me again and again.

—Tell me you like it —she ordered, yanking my hair back until I arched—. Say it, faggot.

—I like it —I murmured, my voice broken.

—Louder.

—I like it, I like it, keep going, don’t stop.

And it was true. With the pain, with the fear, with the disgust I felt for myself, I got hard again, and there it was dripping underneath, between my belly and the sheet. It didn’t take long for her to empty herself inside me. She came for long minutes, panting by my ear, biting my lobe, and she didn’t pull out: her cock stayed huge, throbbing, plugging me like a cork while her cream kept coming out in waves.

Lorena, freshly showered, with wet hair and her tits out, came over and started using my mouth with a steady rhythm, holding my head with both hands, fucking my throat however she wanted, while Brenda went back to pumping slowly but deep, never pulling out even once, making a wet, obscene noise with every entry.

—Suck me good, daddy —Lorena told me, rocking against my face—. Get all the cream I left you out of there.

—I’ve got the other one ready, Bren —Lorena said after a while, panting, with her cock hard again, shining with my saliva.

Brenda started fucking me very fast then, almost furiously, and Lorena moved in close to film up close how the black cock went in and out of my wrecked ass, leaking old cream mixed with fresh. Between moans and new insults, the dark-haired one filled me again and this time she did pull out, to watch how it ran out of my gaping hole and film it with her own phone, laughing, rubbing the head of her cock along my crack to smear me better.

—Look how this whore looks —she said, to no one, to the camera—. All open, all leaking.

Lorena took her place at once, not giving me a second. She penetrated me in one single thrust, taking advantage of how open I was, bit my back leaving red marks everywhere, and rode me for minutes, sitting on my ass, moving her hips in circles, pinning my shoulders to the mattress. She dug her nails in, pulled my hair, forced me to lift my ass higher and higher to take her better, until I felt her spurts reaching deep inside, one after another, hot, thick, mixing with what Brenda had already left in me.

When she finished, she stayed on top of me for a while, her cock still buried, breathing on my neck. Then she pulled out slowly, and I felt all the cum pouring out of my open ass, running down my perineum, down my balls, soaking the sheet underneath.

It was five in the morning, and I understood, with a shiver running through my whole body, that it still wasn’t over.