I Learned to Obey Every Order My Boyfriend Gave Me

My name is Carla, and what I’m going to tell you happened when I was twenty-seven and my husband now and I were still just boyfriend and girlfriend. His name is Damián, and beyond everything I’m going to tell you, he was always a man who knew exactly what he wanted from me.

By then we had already been together almost a year and trusted each other completely. It was a stable relationship, headed toward marriage, but with one particular trait: Damián liked to decide. He decided when I undressed, how I sat, what I wore under my clothes. And above all, what turned him on was seeing me surrendered, sometimes tied up, sometimes simply still and obedient while a friend of his looked at me without bothering to hide it.

—Stay like that —he’d tell me—. Don’t move until I say so.

And I stayed. That was the part it took me a while to understand about myself: that obeying didn’t humiliate me, it lit me up.

I have an ordinary body, neither thin nor thick, with fair skin that turns tan as soon as I set foot on the beach. Brown hair, back then with a few lighter highlights. My breasts had always been large, with dark, very sensitive nipples, and that was what, without either of us foreseeing it, ended up marking that period.

***

Back then we didn’t use condoms. I was on the pill, and Damián liked it that way for the sensation, for doing it with nothing in between. But he also gave me some pills that, according to him, increased my arousal and left my whole body raw and sensitive. He told me when to take them and in what amount, and I did it without asking too many questions. That was his way of being in control too: even my desire followed his schedule.

The routine changed completely when he offered me a position as secretary in the company he ran. Suddenly we went from seeing each other on weekends to being together every day, locked away in his office, in the car in the parking garage, in any corner where nobody could see us. With those pills I was constantly hot, wanting him all the time, and he knew it and used it.

It always started the same way. He kissed my mouth, moved down my neck, opened my blouse, and pulled my bra aside to take possession of my breasts. He sucked them for a long while, drawing on my nipples until I lost my mind, while he slipped two fingers inside me and rubbed my clit slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. Then he went down on me, and only when he had made me come once did he penetrate me, gripping my breasts with both hands and sucking them one after the other again.

—Look at me —he ordered the exact moment he came—. I want you to look at me.

And I looked at him, with his fingers sunk into my flesh, feeling him shudder. We did it every day, sometimes several times on the same day.

***

It was around then that I noticed the first wet spot in my bra, right over my nipples. I stroked my breast and saw a few drops come out. It made no sense at all: I wasn’t pregnant, I hadn’t had a child, and yet my body had started producing milk.

When I told Damián, he wasn’t the least bit alarmed. He told me it might be because of how insistently he sucked my breasts, or a side effect of the pills. It wasn’t much milk, just a few drops, but it was there.

At my appointment with the gynecologist, he confirmed that it wasn’t common, though it wasn’t dangerous either. He said it would regulate itself once I stopped the medication and stopped stimulating the area so much, because my breasts were more developed than normal for a woman without children. I left the appointment calm and, deep down, strangely aroused.

When I got home and told him, Damián took my face in both hands.

—If it isn’t dangerous, I’d rather you keep going like this —he said, very serious—. It drives me crazy to see you leaking. And you’re going to let me be the one who decides when to empty you.

It wasn’t a question. And once again, that lack of a question turned me on from the inside out.

***

My breasts kept growing. I had to change bra sizes several times, and although that made me feel more desired when I went out, it also had an uncomfortable side: the stains on my clothes. I solved that with absorbent pads inside the cups, and from then on Damián made a habit of emptying me himself every day, as soon as he noticed they were heavy. Milking me with his hands or, best of all for him, sucking me directly in the office, with the door closed and me sitting on his lap.

—You’re mine down to the last drop —he whispered against my breast.

One afternoon we went to the movies. The theater was almost empty and, halfway through the film, he slid his hand down my neckline, pulled my bra cup down, and took out my right breast. Without warning, he leaned in and started sucking as if he didn’t care whether anyone could see us. He drank me dry on that side, slowly, while I squeezed my thighs together so I wouldn’t moan.

Then I realized that the man sitting to my left, a stranger, was masturbating without missing a detail. I nudged Damián with my elbow to warn him. Instead of backing off, he did the exact opposite: he opened my dress wider, left my left breast bare, and with a tilt of his head, invited the stranger to come closer.

That’s how I ended up nursing two men at once in the darkness of that theater. One on each side, sucking me, while I kept having one orgasm after another without either of them stopping. I jerked them both off with my hands and they took turns rubbing my clit. All the while, Damián set the pace with his voice.

—Slowly —he said—. Make it last. She’s the one in charge here, even if it doesn’t look like it.

And it was a lie and the truth at the same time. I wasn’t in charge of anything; but knowing he had decided everything, that he had offered me to that stranger as if sharing something valuable, made me feel more powerful than ever. When they came, I knelt between the two seats and cleaned them with my mouth, one and then the other, as payment for the milk they had taken from me.

***

From that day on, the movie theater stopped being an exception. When I felt my breasts about to spill over, we looked for a discreet place and I asked him to empty me. We parked, moved to the back seat, and I sat on top of him. While he fucked me, I let him suck and drain me, and just thinking I was going to nurse him made me gush all over.

Between the thrusts and the pulls of his mouth on my nipples, I ended up with orgasms stacked one after another. Sometimes he stopped sucking and the milk kept coming out on its own for a few seconds, in thin streams, and that drove him wild. Then we cleaned ourselves with the pads I always carried in my purse and kept on our way as if nothing had happened.

The hard part was the days when he wasn’t there and my breasts hurt from being so full. Then I had to manage on my own, in whatever public bathroom I could find. Like that time in a shopping center, when the pain became unbearable. I grabbed a blouse from a rack as an excuse and went into the fitting room. I undressed from the waist up so I wouldn’t stain my clothes and started milking one breast to ease the pressure.

It was taking a while, and an employee pulled the curtain aside, thinking I was hiding some item to steal it. He froze when he found me with my breasts out, milking myself. Once the two of us recovered from the shock, he asked in a low voice if I needed help, and told me I couldn’t keep doing that there, that I was dripping onto the floor, and that I should come with him to an employee restroom.

Once inside, he made as if to leave and let me be alone. But he had already seen me, and his presence had gotten me worked up to the max. I asked him to stay, to help me, and he agreed gladly. He emptied one breast with his mouth while I braced myself against the sink, and between his lips and my own body on fire I came twice in a row. Then he turned me around, put my hands on the marble, and fucked me from behind, squeezing my dangling breasts until he made me come again before he came on my back. That was how I paid him back for relieving me so well.

That night, at home, I told Damián everything with my head resting on his chest. He wasn’t angry. Quite the opposite.

—Good —he said, stroking my hair—. But next time you ask me first. I’m the one who decides that.

I’m the one who decides that. How many times had I heard that phrase, and how many times had I felt the same shiver when I heard it.

***

A few months later I married him. Nine months after that our son was born, and I kept nursing him while still giving my husband my breasts, just like back in those days when we were boyfriend and girlfriend. Damián never stopped deciding, and I never stopped discovering, one order after another, how far I was willing to obey.

But what came after the wedding I’ll save for another story.