The Countdown My Mistress Imposed on Me That Night
If I came at the exact second, she would let me do it. If I failed, she promised me a punishment I had feared and desired for weeks in equal measure.
If I came at the exact second, she would let me do it. If I failed, she promised me a punishment I had feared and desired for weeks in equal measure.
She picked me up, pointed to her cheek for a kiss, and I understood the orders wouldn’t stay in the bedroom this time: they started in the car.
For weeks I’d been admiring her feet from the back row. The day she slipped off her sandals and pinned me with her gaze, I knew there was no turning back.
The store suddenly emptied, and when Diego peeked into the fitting rooms, he never imagined that afternoon someone would watch him while he watched without permission.
I was never attracted to him, but every message he sent left me hotter than the last. And that night, with my husband only a few feet away, I stopped resisting.
No one would imagine those giant, ridiculous sneakers were keeping my secrets. That night on the road, with everyone asleep, I finally dared to do what I’d been fantasizing about.
I came three times on the locker-room bench before I understood my promotion no longer depended on my goals, but on how long I could stay on my knees.
They could have hailed a taxi and gone home. Instead, Raquel tugged down the workshop T-shirt and waited, barefoot, for the owner to claim them again.
She arrived thirteen minutes early, without a bra and with that smile that wasn’t innocent. And I had left a cord ready in the hall.
Renata had been putting up with the second-floor neighbor’s looks for weeks. That afternoon she decided he and his wife would finally learn who ruled the building.
She pulled my pants down in the middle of the path without a word, and I understood that afternoon my body didn’t belong to me, but to her.
There were two hours left before the video call and my body was already trembling. I wasn’t going to touch myself once; it was enough that he wrote what I had to do to myself.
I offered to massage her feet without knowing she’d place hers exactly where I didn’t dare ask for it, and that neither of us would say a word.
When the walls fell and swords were drawn on her knights, she had only one bargaining chip left: kneel naked before the man who had destroyed everything.
While my husband was sucking on my breasts in front of the mirror, I was thinking about her and the body of the man we’d be having dinner with that night.
That week I behaved like an insolent girl, and he warned me: we’d see whether I was still so haughty when he had me right in front of him, on my knees.
Rodrigo opened the door and found his neighbor in the hallway, teary-eyed, her dress tight. What she asked him for minutes later had no name.
I crossed the ocean with my two possessions to make Venice their cage. Beneath their brocade dresses, two motors vibrated to the rhythm of my thumb.
The message came in in the middle of the afternoon. Three words: “Try them on. Photo.” I went upstairs and opened the drawer where he keeps the bikinis.
My husband thought kisses and promises had fixed everything. But that night I learned that true betrayal needs no bodies, only precise words and a cruel smile.