I Agreed to Be His Submissive for a Whole Month

Today is the day I have to surrender myself, and I do it willingly. I decided it months ago, though back then I didn’t fully know it. The afternoon I stood naked in that office, in front of him without anyone ordering me to, I had already surrendered. It was just that my head took longer to understand it. Now I’m back at the same door, waiting for him to have me called in.

I’m wearing a red spaghetti-strap top and a black skirt, nothing else. The nerves of waiting have turned into something different, hotter, more urgent. With no underwear, I can feel the wetness running down the insides of my thighs every time I shift my weight from one leg to the other.

—Come in —his voice said from the other side.

When I went in, he wasn’t alone. Beside his desk stood a tall woman, straight-backed, dressed only in a harness from which hung a phallus so large it made me swallow. Her pink nipples, though, caught my attention in a different way: they made me want to get close and bite them slowly. He, Señor Duarte, was immaculate, just like on class days, with his shirt buttoned all the way to the top.

—This is Madame Sigma —he said—. As of today, you belong to her as much as you do to me.

There was a leather gag on the desk. Something in me knew at once it was meant to silence me, that what was coming they did not want heard in screams. Madame Sigma put it on me and tied it with a sharp gesture, so firm that for an instant I felt my breath catch.

Señor Duarte picked up a small recorder and set it down between us.

—Miss Parra, I’m going to read you the contract aloud —he said—. If you object to any point, shake your head. Would it bother you if from now on I call you “bitch”?

I shook my head. The word, in his mouth, stopped sounding like an insult and started sounding like fate. He went to the door and locked it. My pulse shot up.

—Have you come here of your own free will? —I nodded—. Until July 30, Madame Sigma will teach you how to behave. Do you agree?

I nodded again. My mind was clear on that: if I wanted to be with him, first I had to be perfect for her.

—Your hygiene rules will be strict —Madame Sigma said, circling me slowly—. You’ll wash when I say, eat when I say, and come only when I authorize it. Do you understand, bitch?

I nodded. She told me to undress, and I obeyed without hesitation; those walls had already seen me naked. Then she fastened a rough band around my waist, one of those things that bite into the skin.

—It’s not to make you bleed —she murmured against my ear—. It’s so that every minute you remember what you are now.

—This bitch hates ordinary bras —Señor Duarte commented, almost amused.

Madame Sigma put one on me, woven from the same rigid material. The rub against my nipples drew my first tears, which the gag turned into a muffled sound.

—You can take that one off to sleep —he granted—. The rest, no.

Oddly enough, obeying made me feel straighter, more elegant, more desirable. Madame Sigma gently pushed me until I was lying on the desk, facing her, and entered me without a single prelude. It hurt. With each thrust, the rough bra dug a little deeper into my skin, and even so, amid the pain, something grew, a current I didn’t know how to name.

—Do you want to keep going, bitch? —she asked, while he filmed us from the side.

I tried to answer yes and couldn’t; then I remembered the gag and nodded with all my strength. Every smile from Señor Duarte drenched me a little more. I felt my body tightening, as if I were on the verge of something huge, and just then Madame Sigma stopped and slipped out of me.

—Bitches come only when their owners order it —she said—. And I haven’t ordered anything.

I was left empty, trembling, frustration throbbing between my legs. She gave me two sharp blows on the rough band and the arousal, instead of falling, climbed higher. They both laughed.

—Your image is mine now —said Señor Duarte, bringing the camera closer—. And I need to monetize it. There are people willing to pay to see you like this.

Shame rose to my face. I hadn’t imagined that. Madame Sigma finally released the gag.

—For the next few weeks you’ll be my toy —she said—. I only hope you don’t break too soon.

—Thank you —I replied, and the two of them fell silent for a moment—. The day I saw you in the hallway I started wanting you. I wanted to be exactly this.

—Being mine —he said then— means whoever I decide will use you, whenever I decide. If you’re a good bitch, you’ll get a share of whatever they pay for you.

I hadn’t expected that. One thing was belonging to him; another, different thing entirely, was feeling like merchandise. But I had already said yes, and that yes covered everything.

—Get out of here and wait —Madame Sigma ordered—. I’ll come get you soon to teach you manners. Do you accept?

—Yes, Madame. May I pick up the skirt?

—With the thong I left you, yes.

I was horrified when I saw it: made of the same rough material as everything else, designed to dig in where I’d feel it most. I put it on anyway.

***

When I got home I took off my clothes and the bands, and discovered red marks across my stomach and breasts. While the shower water ran down my shoulders, my phone started vibrating nonstop. I thought of my classmates, of the normal girl I had been that morning, and decided to get dressed up to go out. I needed, if only for one night, not to feel like an object.

When I went back to the room I found messages from an unknown number. I opened them.

“Good evening, Miss Bitch. The images are already bringing in money. You’ve almost paid for your first collar. You’d look gorgeous with one tight around your neck. Shall we meet tonight?”

The attached photos showed me a face I didn’t recognize, warped between pleasure and pain. I tried on the rough bra in front of the mirror and, against all odds, found myself beautiful: my areolas peeking through the metal rings, my skin marked like a signature. Then I heard a noise in the hallway. I covered myself with a towel and went out to look.

***

I woke up in an unfamiliar bed, completely naked, in a dark room. A powerful light came on suddenly and blinded me, and almost at the same time I heard voices and laughter. I covered my sex with one hand and my breasts with the other. The bed gave off faint shocks, soft little stings that forced me to move. I dropped to the floor on all fours, trying to get away, and the spotlight followed wherever I went. I didn’t know where they were watching from, and that uncertainty was worse than the nudity itself.

After an eternity, the light went out. I heard a door, then slow footsteps. When the brightness came back, there was a huge man in front of me, naked too, outlined against the spotlight.

I don’t know how, but I ended up leaning against the edge of the bed. He gave me several slaps that burned, and then he took me without ceremony. I screamed. Every movement brought a tear to my eye and one single thought: I want to go back to my bed, to my life, to being myself. And yet a part of me was still wet, still responding, still belonging to them.

When he finished, the lights went out again. Someone left something by the bed and walked away. When they came on again, I saw a plate of food. I was hungry and ate slowly, feeling exactly what they wanted me to be. Then I stretched out and, exhausted, fell asleep.

***

The cold woke me. I curled into a ball, like an animal seeking warmth. This time, when the light came on, I could see where I was: a room with mirrored walls and ceiling, a single bed, and, a few feet away, a shower. Me, repeated to infinity in every reflection.

The door opened and a man dressed in black came in, his face covered. He moved me as if I weighed nothing and strapped my wrists to a ring in the ceiling, leaving me stretched out, only the tips of my toes touching the floor. A jet of cold water ran all over my skin. When it stopped, he took a sponge and washed me slowly, almost carefully, a contrast that confused me more than any blow. Then he opened his pants, spread my legs, and entered me in one go. I cried; he stayed silent. When he finished, he loosened the rope just enough for me to rest my feet. On the floor, in front of me, he left a small bill. “Besides being a bitch,” I thought, “I’m cheap.”

I looked at my face in the mirrored wall: red-rimmed eyes, an expression broken and surrendered in equal measure. A voice spoke through a hidden speaker.

—Hello. Am I still speaking to the same one from yesterday? —it said, mocking.

—Yesterday you turned me into a bitch —I answered, my voice hoarse—. Today you taught me that I charge for the use of my body.

—And yet there’s still some dignity left in the way you speak.

I didn’t know where he saw it. I felt as though I had ceased to be who I was, becoming wholly his.

The man fell silent. After a while, a woman came in. She knelt, ran her tongue over my wet lips, and a shiver went through me from head to toe. Then she kissed me on the mouth and, in that kiss, gave me back my own taste mixed with the taste of the night.

—Come for me, bitch —she ordered, while she ran the sponge over my body.

And this time, finally permitted, I let pleasure fill me to the last corner. I came undone against her hands, trembling, grateful.

—Good bitch —she whispered—. Obedient.

When she finished washing my hair, she put a leather collar with a leash on me and let me slip on a pair of high-heeled boots. She led me into an adjoining room, walking beside me, and there were Madame Sigma and Señor Duarte, waiting for me.

—Did you give her permission to come? —he asked the woman.

I lowered my gaze to the floor. A riding crop cracked against my ass, and the burn mixed with something like happiness.

—Thank you, Señor Duarte —I said.

There were more blows, but I was too happy to count them. I went back to his feet and stayed there, focused on him, while the two of them spoke to each other. Then Madame Sigma pulled on the leash and led me back in front of a mirror. She showed me a narrower collar, one more of those that bite, and when she tightened it I screamed. She laughed with a cruelty that was already becoming familiar.

—If in a single day I’ve gotten this out of you —she said, looking at my reflection—, imagine what you’ll be like in a month.

They locked me back in the mirrored room. On all fours, I watched my image multiplied on every wall and, instead of horror, I felt pride. I had surrendered of my own free will, and every hour that passed pushed me a little deeper into what I had wanted so badly without daring to name it.

There were almost thirty days left. And for the first time in a long while, I knew exactly what I was and what I was for.