I Turned My New Neighbor Submissive from Day One

The second-floor apartment had one flaw that was a virtue to me: the living room window faced the main street directly, with no curtains, no blinds, nothing separating me from the world. I saw it on the first visit and knew it was perfect. The real estate agent told me something about sun exposure and traffic noise, but all I could think about was how many people would pass by that sidewalk every morning.

I moved in on a Friday in September. I chose the time on purpose: eight in the morning, right when the street filled up with college students heading to the university three blocks away. I wore a short skirt, heels, and a blouse that revealed more than it hid. I didn’t need help with the boxes. I needed someone to think I did.

I went up and down the building stairs with calculated slowness, carrying boxes that weighed less than they looked. I bent over more than necessary. I let the morning sun light up my legs every time I crossed the doorway. I knew exactly what I was doing, and that was what excited me most: absolute control over the situation. I could already feel my cunt wet beneath the lace, soaking through my thong just from imagining what was coming.

The first people to look were three guys who had stopped at the corner. I caught them out of the corner of my eye: elbows on the wall, backpacks hanging from one shoulder, trying to pretend they weren’t eating me up with their eyes. One of them, the tallest, didn’t even blink. He had dark hair, a sharp jaw, and broad shoulders that gave away hours in the gym. He held my gaze when I caught him staring. He didn’t look away. I liked that.

I gave him a slow smile, just a slight curve of my lips, and went back into the building. I could feel his stare burning into my back. I climbed the stairs feeling my pulse speed up between my legs, not because of him yet, but because of what I was about to do.

From the second-floor window I watched him for ten minutes. His friends had left, but he was still there, leaning against the wall, looking toward my entrance as if he were waiting for something. Good, I thought. He’s already taken the bait.

I went down with another box and set it on the sidewalk, right in front of him. This time I didn’t bend over. I stood there with my hands on my hips, looking him straight in the eyes.

—Are you going to keep standing there staring, or are you going to help me? —I said in a tone that wasn’t a question. It was an order disguised as a request.

His name was Matías. He was in his early twenties, studied something I forgot immediately, and had big hands. I noticed that much. He carried three boxes upstairs without needing to be asked twice, following me up the stairs like an obedient puppy. I went first, and every step I took was a small performance designed exclusively for him.

When he set the last box down in the living room, he stood in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do with his hands. He looked at the boxes, looked at the window, looked at me. He was breathing hard and it wasn’t from the physical effort. The bulge in his pants gave him away: his hard cock was outlined against the denim, and he didn’t even try to hide it.

—That box —I said, pointing to one I’d left by the sofa—. Open it.

I didn’t ask if he wanted to. I gave him no choice. And the most revealing part was that he didn’t ask for one either. He simply obeyed. He knelt in front of the box, peeled off the packing tape, and lifted the cardboard flaps.

Inside, neatly folded, was my underwear. Black lace, red satin, white cotton, colored thongs that barely covered anything. The apartment air filled with my perfume, concentrated for weeks inside that closed box. I watched his face change. His eyes darkened, his lips parted, and he swallowed with a sound I could hear from across the room.

—Take it out —I ordered, pointing to a purple thong lying on top of everything else—. The one with the bow.

He took it with two fingers, as if it were something sacred or something dangerous. His hands were shaking. He stared at it in silence, and I watched him struggle with himself, watched curiosity and shame pull him in opposite directions.

—Smell it —I said.

My voice came out deeper than I expected. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an instruction, clear and direct, and we both knew I had just crossed a line with no way back.

Matías looked at me wide-eyed. For three seconds he didn’t move. Three seconds in which the whole apartment seemed to hold its breath. Then he brought the fabric to his nose and closed his eyes.

He inhaled deeply, his mouth slightly open, as if he needed to fill his lungs with me. His whole body shuddered. I saw him press the thong against his face with both hands, inhale a second time, longer, deeper, and a guttural sound came out of his throat that sent a lash of heat straight between my legs. I watched him drag his tongue over the crotch of the fabric, searching for the trace I’d left there months ago, sucking the cotton as if he could wring my taste from it with saliva alone.

—Good boy —I whispered, and I saw those two words travel through his body like an electric shock. His cock jerked inside his pants, visible, involuntary—. Do you like the way my cunt smells, Matías?

He nodded, the fabric still pressed to his mouth.

—Say it.

—I… I love it —he murmured into the thong, his voice broken.

I moved closer slowly. Every step I took toward him was a step he wasn’t taking anywhere else. He had frozen in place, kneeling beside the open box, with my thong on his face and an erection deforming his pants. When I was close enough to touch him, I reached out and brushed the hair off his forehead with a tenderness that contrasted with everything happening.

—Now you’re going to do exactly what I tell you —I said, running my nails along the back of his neck—. Understand?

He nodded without opening his eyes.

—With words, Matías.

—Yes —he said, his voice broken.

—Yes, what?

There was a silence that lasted an eternity. I saw him swallow, saw him open his eyes and search for mine from below, from that kneeling position that made him look younger, more vulnerable, more mine.

—Yes, whatever you say.

I smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile. It was the smile of someone who had just won a game the other person didn’t even know they were playing.

I took the thong from his hands and laid it over the back of the sofa. Then I sat down in front of him, crossed my legs slowly, and let my skirt ride up just enough for him to see the black lace edge I was wearing underneath. His pupils dilated so much the brown almost disappeared.

—Don’t touch anything unless I allow it —I said—. Hands behind your back.

He obeyed instantly. Hands clasped behind his back, shoulders tense, breathing ragged. There he was: a guy who had probably come into this apartment thinking he was going to impress the new neighbor, and who was now on his knees waiting for instructions as if it were the only thing he’d ever wanted to do in his life.

I stroked his jaw with my thumb. He turned his face toward my hand, seeking the contact like someone looking for water in the desert.

—Open your mouth —I ordered.

He did. I slid two fingers between his lips slowly, feeling the wet heat of his tongue against my skin. He took them with his eyes closed, sucking them with a delicacy that surprised me, as if he were practicing something he knew would come later. I pushed my fingers deeper until I felt his palate against my fingertips, and he sucked them without complaint, his tongue curling around them, saliva spilling from the corner of his mouth. I grabbed his chin with my other hand and tilted his head back.

—Look at me —I said—. That’s how you’re going to eat my cunt. With that same obedient little mouth. Understand?

—Yes —he panted around my fingers.

His eyes opened, glassy, surrendered, and at that moment I knew I had him. Not just his attention, not just his arousal, but something deeper. Something he had just discovered he needed.

I pulled my fingers from his mouth and a thread of saliva linked us for a second before it snapped. I stood and walked to the window. Outside, the street was still full of people. I drew back the invisible curtain that didn’t exist and let the light pour in.

—Come here —I said without turning around—. On your knees.

I heard him drag himself across the wooden floor. The sound of his knees on the parquet made my pulse speed up in a way I hadn’t expected. When I felt him behind me, so close his breath warmed the backs of my thighs, I turned and looked down at him.

The window was open. Anyone looking up from the street could have seen us. He knew that and I knew that. I saw his eyes flick outside, saw fear cross his face for an instant, and saw that fear turn into something much more intense when he looked back at me.

—Are you scared of being seen? —I asked, tangling my fingers in his hair.

He shook his head. He was lying. He was terrified. But it excited him more than it scared him, and that was exactly what I needed.

I pulled my skirt up to my waist without shame and showed him the soaked black thong I was wearing. The crotch was a dark wet stain, shining in the morning sun. I saw his breath catch.

—Take them off me —I ordered—. With your teeth.

He came closer, trembling. I felt his lips brush my hip before his teeth caught the elastic. He pulled down slowly, millimeter by millimeter, dragging the lace over the skin of my thighs. When the fabric reached my knees, he let it fall to the floor and stayed there, his face inches from my bare cunt, his ragged breathing beating against my shaved skin.

—Open your mouth —I said—. Stick out your tongue. And don’t move it.

He obeyed. He stuck out his tongue, broad, flat, red, and waited as I’d told him. I grabbed his head with both hands, threaded my fingers into his hair, and pushed his face into my sex, rubbing myself against that still tongue. I ground against him in my own rhythm, rocking my hips up and down, smearing my wetness over his cheeks, his nose, his chin. He moaned into me, a muffled moan that vibrated in his throat and shot through me like a current.

—That’s it —I panted—. Now lick. Like I taught you with your fingers.

Matías licked with a devotion that can’t be taught. He gave himself over with his mouth, his tongue, with every ragged breath that came out of his nose. His tongue slipped between my cunt lips and began moving up and down hungrily, searching for my clit, finding it, circling it with an eager clumsiness that I corrected by pulling his hair.

—Not there —I said, pressing his face harder against me—. Higher. There. With the tip. Circles.

He obeyed. He learned quickly. His tongue found the exact rhythm, moving in small circles over my swollen clit while I held his head firmly, setting the tempo, guiding him where I wanted, pulling him away when he went too fast, grinding him against me when he hit the exact spot.

—Slower —I ordered when I felt him speed up.

He obeyed. Every command I gave made him moan against my skin, as if the instruction itself were part of the pleasure. I slid one hand down to his jaw and opened his mouth even wider.

—Take me deeper. The whole tongue. Inside.

I felt his tongue open its way into me, pushing, circling, fucking the opening of my cunt with clumsy but desperate force. His hands stayed clasped behind his back, with no permission to touch me, and that obedience lit me up more than any caress. Only mouth. Only tongue. Only what I decided to give him.

—Now back to the clit —I said, tugging his hair upward—. And don’t stop until I tell you.

The tongue returned to my clit. Precise circles, constant pressure, the tip now trained. I started moving against his face shamelessly, riding his mouth, feeling his chin soak with me, hearing the wet sound of his tongue mixing with the distant murmur of traffic below.

Someone whistled in the street. A short, sharp, unmistakable sound. I didn’t know if it was for me, if someone had looked up, if they had seen me with my skirt hiked to my waist and a stranger’s head buried between my legs. I didn’t care. On the contrary. The possibility tightened my stomach with new force, the idea of being seen, of anyone possibly watching from the sidewalk, of Matías kneeling there eating my cunt in a display window open to the whole world.

—Don’t stop —I panted, pressing his face harder against me—. Keep going. Just like that. Drink me, suck hard, don’t you dare stop.

His tongue obeyed as if it had a life of its own. I felt my thighs start to tremble, heat pooling low in my belly, each circle of his tongue bringing me closer to the edge. I let go of his hair with one hand and grabbed the window frame so I wouldn’t fall. With the other I held his head in place, not giving him a single inch of escape.

—I’m going to come in your mouth —I told him through clenched teeth—. And you’re going to swallow it. All of it.

I finished with my knees shaking, gripping the window frame with one hand while with the other I held his head in place. The orgasm washed through me from the center outward, in waves that made me close my eyes and clench my teeth so I wouldn’t scream. I felt my cunt contract against his tongue, felt my wetness flood his mouth, felt him moan and swallow and keep sucking even when my clit became so sensitive it almost hurt. I tugged his hair in little pulls, marking each spasm, and he stayed there, obedient, his tongue still working until I gave him permission to stop. Down in the street, people kept walking without knowing what was happening two floors above them.

When I let Matías go, he stayed where he was. Kneeling, his face wet from nose to chin, shining in the light, lips swollen and eyes bright, looking up at me as if he were waiting for a verdict.

—Good —I said, running my thumb over his lower lip. I slid it into his mouth and he sucked it automatically, still tasting me with his tongue—. Very good.

He smiled around my thumb. A shy, almost childish smile, completely incongruous with what he had just done. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and slowly got to his feet, as if his knees were heavy.

—And me? —he asked quietly, pointing to the erection still straining against the fabric of his pants. A dark wet stain had spread in his fly: he had come in his pants, or was one brush away from it, without touching himself even once.

I looked him over. I ran my hand over the bulge, just a light caress through the fabric, and felt his cock jump under my palm. He let out a sharp moan, so close to the end it almost made me feel sorry for him. Almost. I took my hand away.

I took the purple thong from the back of the sofa and put it in his hand, closing his fingers around the fabric.

—When I decide —I said—. Not before. Tonight you’re going to jack off with this on your face, thinking about me, and tomorrow you’re going to tell me how many times you came. In detail.

I watched him process my words. I saw frustration cross his face, followed by confusion, followed by something that looked a lot like gratitude. He clenched the thong in his fist and nodded.

—Now go —I ordered, nodding toward the door—. And Matías: come back tomorrow at the same time. If you’re late, I won’t open the door.

He left the apartment without saying a word, my purple thong in his pocket and his erection still visible. I closed the door, leaned against it, and let out a silent laugh.

I went to the window just in time to see him leave the building. His friends were waiting on the corner. They surrounded him at once, shoving him, asking questions with those hungry smiles of people who want details. Matías pulled the thong from his pocket and held it up in the air like a conquest flag. The others snatched it from him, sniffing it, laughing, fighting over it in a tangle of elbows.

Poor things, I thought, biting my lip as I watched them from above. They think he conquered me.

They had no idea that Matías had conquered nothing. That it was I who chose him, I who made him come in, I who taught him to kneel. And that tomorrow he would come back, on time, obedient, hands behind his back before I had to ask.

I looked toward the corner where the three guys were still fighting over my underwear. Three mouths, three bodies, three wills that still had no idea what awaited them.

Because I had a drawer full of thongs and an entire week ahead of me. And something told me Matías’s friends would be just as obedient as he was.

I closed the window, but left the curtains open. I always left them open.