I Enrolled in an Extreme-Discipline Farm

My name is Sofía, and I’m thirty-four years old. I’m brunette, with dark-brown hair that reaches almost to my waist. I’m five foot two and weigh two hundred sixty pounds. That last part has always been hard for me to write down. Ever since I was little, my body was the first thing people noticed about me, and rarely with any kindness. The looks at the pool. The comments wrapped in supposed concern. The clothes that never quite fit me right.

Over the years, I built a wall between that pain and the rest of my life. I have Marcos, my husband, who hugs me with a firmness I still don’t quite understand, and Tomás, our eight-year-old son, who is the most genuinely good person I know. They’re what keeps me going. But there are nights when I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and wish, with an intensity that frightens me, that I could be someone else.

That morning, after dropping Tomás off at school, I decided to walk instead of taking the bus. I needed the air, or so I told myself. The truth was that I didn’t want to go back to the apartment, where the demons had too much room whenever I was alone. I walked about ten blocks without any clear destination, until I saw it pasted to the wall of the corner kiosk: a printed flyer, nothing sophisticated, with black letters on a white background.

“Fortaleza Institute: Body and Mind Transformation Program. Real, guaranteed results. Unconventional methods. Limited places.”

There was a phone number underneath. I photographed it, stood there on the sidewalk hesitating for a few minutes, and then dialed.

***

—Fortaleza Institute, Claudia speaking. How can I help you?

I swallowed.

—Hi. I saw your flyer. I want to lose weight. I’ve tried many things over the years, and nothing has worked permanently. I don’t really know what you do, but the flyer said guaranteed results and...

She interrupted me, without being brusque.

—I understand you perfectly. At the Institute, we use a method different from the conventional one. It’s intense, and it isn’t for everyone. We work with extreme-discipline dynamics inspired by what’s known as BDSM, combined with a very strictly controlled nutritional plan. The program lasts a full year. During that time, you live at our farm outside the city. No in-person visits, although you do have a weekly video call with your family.

My heart was beating faster than normal.

—And what if I want to leave early? —I asked.

—That isn’t possible. Once you sign the commitment, you stay until you complete the program. That’s what guarantees the results. If you’d like, we can send you information so you can consider it calmly. Think it over carefully, because the decision is final.

I hung up with my hands trembling slightly.

A few minutes later, a message arrived from an unknown number: a link to a cloud folder. I opened it in the apartment, with the cold mate beside me and silence as my only witness.

The first videos were what I expected: women exercising, motivational talks recorded in natural light, tables covered with salads. But as I moved through the folder, the tone changed. In one, a woman ran on a treadmill with a harness strapped around her body and weights hanging from either side, her arms tied to an overhead bar with leather straps, the sound of her breathing filling the entire frame. In another, a participant completed squats while someone off-camera checked her posture and, whenever her form faltered, struck her thighs sharply with a rod. In the third, a woman with small electrodes on her arms and abdomen held a plank while electric shocks jolted her at regular intervals.

The most disturbing thing wasn’t what I was watching. It was what came afterward.

At the end of every video, the same women. Smiling.

And then, the “after” pictures: those same participants, weeks or months later, standing in front of mirrors with bodies I had never believed possible for someone like me. The mixture of fascination and fear I felt couldn’t keep still.

I closed the laptop with my pulse racing and realized my pussy was wet. Just like that, without warning. My panties soaked from watching bound women sweating, red marks on their thighs. Without thinking, I slipped my hand beneath my pants, found my swollen, slippery lips, and rubbed my clitoris with two fingers until my legs trembled beneath me on the chair. I came biting my lip, staring fixedly at the wall, the image of those leather straps burned behind my eyes. Then I stayed there for a while with my hand still in place, feeling my pussy throb and stain my fingers with thick fluid. Nothing like that had ever happened to me because of a video. Never.

***

That night, once Tomás was asleep, I put my plate in the sink and said:

—I found a weight-loss clinic. A year-long program. On a farm outside the city. No in-person visits, only video calls. And once you go in, you can’t leave until you finish.

Marcos set his fork down on the edge of his plate. He looked at me.

—A year without seeing you?

—Yes.

—Without Tomás seeing you in person?

—Yes.

There was a silence that lasted long enough to make me uncomfortable. I hadn’t told him about the details in the videos. I didn’t know how to begin explaining them.

—What if you decide it’s too much and want to come back? —he asked.

—You can’t. That’s part of the commitment.

He ran a hand over his face. It was an expression I knew well: the expression of a man calculating how much he could say without hurting me.

—What kind of methods do they use?

—Extreme discipline —I said—. Very intense exercise. Total control of your diet. Nothing conventional.

Marcos stood and walked to the window. It was his way of processing things. I’d known him since before we were married, that movement toward the glass as if some answer might be waiting outside.

—I don’t like it —he said finally, without turning around—. A year without seeing you is too long. Tomás is going to miss you in a way I won’t be able to fully make up for. And not being able to leave sounds dangerous to me.

I went over and stood beside him. I saw our reflections in the window’s dark glass.

—It scares me too —I admitted—. But nothing has changed for years. If this program works...

—And if it doesn’t?

—Then I’ll have tried.

He turned me around to look at me. His eyes held that warmth I sometimes still couldn’t understand, coming from someone who had chosen me despite everything.

—If you believe this will give you peace, I accept it. Just promise me you’ll be all right.

—I promise.

I don’t know whether it was a lie. I still don’t know.

That night in bed, I pressed myself against Marcos’s back and slid my hand over his hip until I found his cock inside his boxers. It was still soft, warm, and I enclosed it in my whole palm. I was going to miss him for an entire year. I was going to miss this: the smell of his neck, the way he hardened the instant I touched him, the weight of his cock in my hand.

—Sofía —he murmured, half-asleep.

—Shut up and turn around.

He turned onto his back, and I pulled his boxers down to his knees. He was already half-hard, thick, with that vein running down the middle that always drove me crazy. I ran my tongue along its entire length, from the base to the glans, and took it into my mouth all at once. Marcos groaned for a long moment and put his hand on the back of my head. I liked it when he guided me. I liked feeling that he decided how much of him he was going to put inside me.

I sucked him hungrily, my cheeks hollow, listening to his breathing break every time I swallowed him all the way down. Saliva dribbled over my chin and wet his balls. I cupped them with my free hand and squeezed gently, and he arched his back against the mattress. —Come up here —he panted—. Come on, now.

I climbed on top of him. My nightgown was pushed up to my waist, and my panties were still on, soaked again. I moved them aside with two fingers and grasped his cock with my other hand, aimed it at my open pussy, and slowly lowered myself onto it. We both moaned at once. I could feel him huge inside me, filling me completely, pressing against that place inside that made me see stars.

I started riding him slowly, my hands braced against his chest, feeling my fat tits shake against his face. Marcos took one into his mouth, sucked my nipple hard, bit it, and I clenched my pussy around his cock in response.

—A year —I told him, riding him faster and faster—. A year without this cock. Fuck me hard, Marcos, fuck me like it’s the last time.

He grabbed my hips with both hands and drove me down onto him, thrusting upward with his pelvis. Every blow shook my entire body. The wet sound of our bodies colliding filled the room, and I was afraid of waking Tomás, but I couldn’t stop moaning. He fucked me with everything he had, setting the pace from below, and I felt my pussy contracting in waves that grew tighter and tighter.

—I’m going to come —I warned him—. Marcos, I’m coming...

—Inside —he growled—. Come inside me, my love.

And I came. With a muffled cry against his shoulder, biting him so I wouldn’t wake anyone, feeling my pussy squeeze his cock in brutal spasms, spilling around him, soaking his balls and the mattress. Marcos followed a few seconds later, buried to the hilt, and I felt the hot jet of his come fill me inside, his cock throbbing within me, unloading in thick waves.

I stayed on top of him for a long while without pulling him out, feeling his semen run down my thighs. He stroked my back in circles. Neither of us spoke. There was no need.

***

The next day, I called Claudia and said yes.

The week that followed was strange: too normal on the surface and completely shattered underneath. I kept taking Tomás to school, went grocery shopping, did the laundry. But everything I did carried the weight of being the last time.

We fucked every night. Every night, without exception. Marcos sought me out as soon as the light went out, and I spread my legs as if I had to store enough sex in my body to endure an entire year of abstinence. He fucked me from behind with my face against the pillow, made me suck him while kneeling at the edge of the bed, fucked me in the bathroom while I leaned against the sink and watched my tits swing in the mirror with every thrust. He filled my pussy with come and then, when he couldn’t take any more, made me suck him until he was hard again and put it in my ass with saliva, slowly, holding my hips.

—I’m going to miss you like this —he told me one of those nights, his cock buried to the hilt in my ass, biting my shoulder—. I’m going to miss you fucked like this, Sofía.

All I could do was moan into the sheet, coming for the third time that night, feeling him unload inside my anus while squeezing my tits with both hands.

On the day I left, Tomás came looking for me in the bedroom before breakfast and clung to my waist with both arms.

—Why do you have to go to that camp for moms?

It was the explanation Marcos and I had agreed on the night before.

—So I can be healthier, my love. When I come back, we’ll take that trip to the sea we’ve talked about so much, okay?

—And when will you come back?

—In a year.

He looked up. His eyes were bright, and I was holding something that had no precise name.

—A year is a long time —he said.

—I know. But I’ll call you every week. Every single one, without fail.

He didn’t answer me. He only squeezed tighter.

Marcos was at the door when the Institute’s car arrived. He held my face in both hands, looked at me for a few seconds, and kissed me on the forehead. I got in with the small suitcase—the only thing they had authorized me to bring—and as the car pulled away, I saw them through the window: Marcos with one hand raised, Tomás pressed against his leg, both of them growing smaller and smaller until the bend took them away.

***

The trip lasted almost three hours. The driver didn’t say a single word the entire way. The road grew narrower and narrower until it became a dirt track surrounded by tall grass and enormous skies. When the car stopped, there was no sign. Only an iron gate, cameras on every post, and a tall wire fence enclosing a group of low, white-painted buildings.

Claudia was waiting for me at the entrance. Tall, around forty years old, with dark hair pulled back precisely and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She held out her hand.

—Welcome to the Fortaleza Institute, Sofía. Your transformation begins today.

They made me hand over my cell phone before I crossed the entrance. “It’s part of the protocol,” Claudia said. “We’ll return it when you complete the program.” I let it go. It was harder than I expected.

The tour that followed dismantled, one by one, the ideas I had brought with me about what that year would be like.

The gym had a high ceiling and was lit by white fluorescent lights that left no shadows anywhere. At first glance, the machines looked conventional—treadmills, weight benches, pulleys—but each one had additional elements: metal rings welded onto the sides, leather straps hanging from the ends, cables connected to central consoles no one explained to me. In one corner stood a metal structure shaped like an X, reaching to the ceiling, with restraints at all four points. I didn’t ask what it was for. The atmosphere answered by itself.

—The tools —said Claudia, in the same calm tone someone might use to show a changing room—. Each session has its own protocol. Participants learn to treat extreme effort as a sign of progress, not a limit. Pain stops being a barrier and becomes information.

The dining room was made of stainless steel, with undecorated tables and trays divided into exact sections. The portions were measured to the gram. No variation was possible.

In a side corridor, Claudia mentioned the “correction room” without opening the metal door in front of us. No window. No further explanation. We kept walking.

The bedroom corridor had twelve identical doors, numbered, each with an electronic lock. Silence behind every one.

—Can I ask questions? —I said at some point during the tour.

—Everything you need to know, you’ll learn over the next few days —Claudia replied, with the same patience she’d displayed from the beginning.

***

My room was number four. A metal bed with a narrow mattress, unmarked white sheets, a small window with bars on the outside, a wardrobe with an electronic lock, and an empty desk. There was no mirror.

—Mirrors aren’t available until week twelve —Claudia said when she noticed—. It’s part of the process.

She closed the door when she left. The electronic lock sounded twice.

I sat on the edge of the bed with my suitcase still closed at my feet. Outside, the sun was disappearing behind the grasslands, and the sky was turning that dense orange I liked to watch from the balcony at home with Tomás. There was no balcony here. There was a fence, an endless field, and a silence unlike any silence I had ever known.

I thought about the leather straps in the gym. The metal door without a window. The electrodes in the videos, and how all those women had smiled in the end.

I also thought, unwillingly, about Marcos’s cock. About how deeply he had fucked me the night before, until I screamed into the pillow. About spending an entire year without feeling a body on top of mine. My pussy clenched at the mere thought, and I realized, with a mixture of shame and anticipation, that I didn’t even know whether they would let me touch myself.

Is that what awaits me?

There was no one to answer me. The lock had sounded twice, and I still didn’t quite understand where I had ended up.