Shemale Domination: Confessions of TS Revenge Laid Bare

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My name is Pearl. Actually, that’s not my real name, but one of the first things I learned in my life is there’s no such thing as a ‘real name’ anyway. But Pearl is not my birth name, nor my legal name, nor the name I go by anymore.

I prefer to keep all of those private for now. So, all the names in this story of shemale domination, and possibly some of the locations, were changed to protect the parts involved. Most of all myself.

The first thing you need to know is that when I was born, the doctor said to my mom, ‘Congratulations, it’s a boy’, and no offense meant to the doctor, but he was very much wrong. Of course, he didn’t realize it then, and I wouldn’t realize it myself for most of my upbringing.

I had a growing suspicion that things weren’t really as they should be since I can remember, but it didn’t really dawn on me in its entirety until a cousin from out of town was visiting. She thought it would be funny to ‘dress me like a girl.’ And cliché as that might seem, there was a real eureka moment as I saw myself wearing an ill-fitting blue dress with white polka dots that belonged to my mom but that she probably never used.

I knew then and there what the source of that wrong feeling was, with a certainty that was very unusual for an insecure young person such as I was back then. My cousin thought it was hilarious fun, but for me, it was a euphoric discovery.

But this isn’t the story of my transition, that’s a long and mostly unpleasant tale. From that discovery, until I finally came out to my mother – my dad was entirely out of the picture since the early days – it was another three years. And perhaps another year until she accepted me.

Fortunately, I lived in a relatively progressive mid-sized town in southern California, and my somewhat fancy private school accepted to use my chosen name instead of my dead name in roll call and let me come to school wearing the girls’ uniform, which included a skirt.

I remember how afraid but also excited I was trying it on in front of the mirror before my first day going to school as ‘Pearl’ instead of the name I used to be called with Love before. I twirled and blushed, and giggled.

I had been growing my hair for a while now and obsessively shaving and bleaching my growing teenage facial hair, as I wasn’t able to get puberty blockers yet. I knew I was going to face some judgment, some prejudice, and even mean words, but the abstract understanding of prejudice can never really measure out to the vivid, red-blooded reality of it.

Transphobic Bullying Sows the Seeds of Shemale Domination

To say I was bullied is probably an understatement, even if not factually incorrect. I was picked on by almost everyone at first, and even the people trying to be nice to me ended up doing so in a condescending way that made me feel worse. Little did I know it would form the ingredients for a recipe of unbridled shemale domination.

I don’t want to linger on the worst days of my life for too long, but it’s important to point out something: I never stopped going to that school, and eventually, most of my classmates would come around to start treating me like any other girl, or close enough, and even some of the other girls would acknowledge as me as one of their own. But there was one holdout group: The privileged straight white boys, jocks, and trust fund kids that never faced repercussions in their lives.

They were all handsome and tall, dating all the tens and cheating on them frequently with the eights and nines. And most of the girls knew it too, but they would pretend they didn’t see it, just like they would pretend they didn’t notice the way they talked to me.

‘Tranny’ was a common insult, as well as every word for ‘gay’ out there. ‘Queer’ has lost a lot of its teeth lately, but I still winced at being called a ‘faggot’ and had other slurs hurled at me as I was just minding my business and walking down the corridor to go to class.

It wasn’t until I was 18, in my senior year, that I had my second eureka moment, almost as important as that first one with my cousin, and this one was also in a bathroom. I went alone to prom with a group of my 18+ girlfriends, but in truth, I went alone as they all had boyfriends. I had been on puberty blockers and estrogen for years now, and while I was still not where I wanted to be on my transition, my breasts had started to come in, but they were not even fully A-cups yet, and I had to wear stuffed bras so they would even show up through my dress.

But I had learned how to dress to create a more feminine silhouette, how to move with a bit of sway to my hips, how to stand to make my ass pop, how to do makeup, how to style my hair, and a dozen other little things… Which meant I wasn’t entirely without any feminine charm. And one of those jocks who often mocked me, we shall call him John, took notice of that.

I was dancing with friends towards the tail end of the party when I walked away to pee, and as I had grown used to doing, I went to use the least used bathrooms, further from the gym, so that I wouldn’t make anyone uncomfortable. And when I was walking out of the girls’ bathroom, I found 18-year-old John there, waiting for me.

He started mocking me, and as I was going to walk away, he grabbed my arm and said that I didn’t look bad, and from the back, I looked like a girl. And while that was an offensive thing to say, I could see lust in his eyes as he eyed me from head to toe, and I knew he was horny and curious. And being desired did make me feel validated, even if it was in a disgusting way.

Casual Misogyny Is Like Fast Food: Not Healthy, but it Tastes Good!

Transgender girls will tell you how casual misogynistic sexual advances can sometimes feel good when you are used to violent transphobia. It’s like fast food, really; not healthy for you, but damn if it doesn’t taste good. So, I caved when John half-asked and half-dragged me into the boys’ bathroom to make out.

I felt his cock through his pants, and I felt myself growing hard, and I was filled with desire and fear; what would he do? Fuck my ass? Make me suck him off and walk away? Regret halfway through and beat me up? I wasn’t sure, but it was the first time in a long time I felt sexy, wanted, and desired, so I didn’t stop it.

In hindsight, it was a stupid decision, but back then, I was a horny 18-year-old pumped full of hormones, and good decisions were not my strong suit. Finally, he pulled out his cock and began to grind it against mine through the cheerleader bloomers I wore under my dress. And feeling his interest in my dick directly, I lifted the skirt of my dress and started to pull down my underwear. John got a little excited and, to my surprise, dropped to his knees and finished pulling it down for me.

And then I saw the shock on his face. Now, it’s important to know that not all transgender women have bottom dysphoria, and while I knew I was a woman, I was always fine with having my cock. Proud of it even because it was a pretty big one, though I didn’t know exactly how much bigger than average it was until that night when I saw John’s shocked reaction.

As my throbbing dick flopped free, sweaty from the dancing and dripping pre-cum from how hard I was from all that making out, he looked at it like he was questioning every one of his life decisions. And I tasted power over some ‘alpha straight boy’ for the first time. It was a realization as immediate and as strong as seeing myself in a dress and makeup for the first time. I knew that was my life’s calling.

I didn’t want to give John much time to change his mind, so I pushed my cock forward into his lips, and to my surprise, he parted his mouth and let me shove it deep into his mouth. He wasn’t really experienced in giving blowjobs, and I had no sexual experience at all, so whenever I pushed too deep, he gagged and choked, and it didn’t take long at all until I felt myself right on the edge. And instead of telling John about what was about to happen, I just shoved myself deep into his mouth and felt him choke as I came, gushing cum straight down his throat and picturing every time he called me a ‘tranny’ or a ‘fag’ as I did it. And it felt good.

It was like crack; I was instantly addicted to that. John never looked me in the eye in public again before, but he did text me to hook up a couple more times. And while he toyed with the idea of topping me, in the end, I ended up losing my virginity at the same time as I took his anal virginity on my bed at home while my mom was out going to the movies.

I fucked around with John behind his girlfriend’s back a couple more times, enough for me to gain confidence in what I was doing and discover that I liked to be rough. Hatefucking John, stuffing his tight straight boy ass with my girl-cock and watching him moan and drop his annoying ‘alpha man’ attitude was invigorating. I felt like I was reclaiming all my power stolen from me by him and guys like him.

The second time we fucked, his parents were out of town, and he invited me over instead of his girlfriend. I bought some lube with a retardant effect to make me last longer, though I told John it was supposed to make his ass hurt less. It didn’t, and I spent the next three hours giving him every one of my nine inches raw.

I even filmed some of it, telling John how I was the girl, but he was the one moaning like one. And having a cock myself, I knew how to push from behind against his prostrate to make him cum violently, though I only gave him that satisfaction after he was biting the pillows and shedding tears of pain and effort.

A Journey of Shemale Femdom Begins to Flourish

I moved to college a few months later, and John would not stop texting me, but I had moved on. As I moved into my early twenties, a longer time on hormones, a strict diet, and an exercise routine, I had become a gorgeous woman; my hair was luscious, long, and wavy silver-blonde, and my breasts had come in nicely to peak at a D-size.

Daily squats and lunges had caused my glutes to pop, and when fat finally began to fill my thighs and hips, I made sure to always buy dresses and pants that highlighted that. I could pass easily as a cis-woman, and I went to bars and dating apps like TS Dates or the notorious Adult Friend Finder to discover casual hookups.

And while I told myself I wanted a partner who would love and respect me, toxic alpha men like John were my addiction. Whenever some muscular ‘chad’ texted me from their personality-anemic dating profile holding a fish or posing next to a truck, I got an instant boner picturing how it would feel like to bend them over and fuck them.

I developed strategies, teasing them for days with seductive pictures, and only mentioned the fact I still had a dick very close to the first date. Some of them walked back at that point, but most wouldn’t. Most still wanted to see me, and at that point, they still thought they would be the ones on top.

But almost universally, as soon I pulled out my cock, that confidence faded. I made a point to always rub the size difference in their faces, often literally, before stuffing either their ass or their throats with it.

And I was never gentle. I was no longer the inexperienced girl I was with John, and I knew how to keep them tethering to the edge of pain and pleasure for a long time and when to slam myself deep inside of their throat or guts in one go and make them cry in pain, and when to tease them with the tip and make them beg for more.

I would never go for quickies as I liked to have time to break them in properly and then fuck them so rough that their ass got red with the impact of my hips. I liked to slam my balls against theirs until they hurt and force them to admit how hard they came in the midst of shemale domination.

I didn’t record all of my encounters, but I made a point of always doing so (with consent) when I saw a wedding ring on a finger, and there were a lot of those. Married men were particularly fun because their guilt made them often very pliable, and I would often get a chance to deep-throat them, holding their necks like I was choking the life out of them and feeling my balls slamming on their faces and my cock making their neck swell with its thickness. And I never gave them a choice of whether or not to swallow, always coming when I was lodged deep in their throat and letting them feel all that hot jizz gushing straight into their stomachs.

The first few guys I fucked this way, violating them viciously and using them like a cocksleeve, I was surprised when they reached back to me for a second date or a third. But after a handful, I started to realize how many of those straight men with the macho posture were really just silently screaming to be fucked, pegged, and put in their place. And how after tasting what a thick girl-cock could do to their insides, they couldn’t really live without it anymore.

Most of the guys I fucked, I never saw again, but there are a few, my favorites, that I keep on regular rotation. Those are my Moby Dicks, the really tall, strong, and manly ones who you wouldn’t peg for a cocksucker in a million years. They were the most delightful ones to break anyway.

I try to space the times I call them into a couple of months, so they are always eager to answer my texts. And having that many strong men at my beck and call, ready to beg for my dick in a shemale domination session – and many of them do – makes me feel like the most powerful girl in the world.

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