My Aunt Taught Me to Obey on My Knees

I’m nineteen years old and, until that night, I had never been with a woman. What I had had for a long time, though, was an obsession I found hard to admit even to myself: small feet, especially on older women than me, experienced women, the kind who know exactly what they’re doing. It wasn’t something I could explain. It was something I felt in my stomach every time someone took off their shoes near me.

My aunt Lorena was forty-eight, though anyone would have guessed ten years less. Blonde, just over five foot three, with a body she kept in disciplined shape and a face that always seemed to be keeping a secret. She’d been affectionate with me all my life. I’d seen her in a swimsuit a hundred times, stepping out of the pool dripping wet, changing without any shame at the beach house. Never, not once, had I felt anything. Until that night, she was simply my aunt.

It all started at my cousin Diego’s gig, where he played drums in a rock band that had only just gotten going. The place was small, dark, smelling of beer and cables. My parents had stayed at a table in the back and I was up against a wall, trying not to draw attention, when Lorena appeared with two drinks and a smile I had never seen on her before.

—You’re not going to stand there all night —she told me.

Something fast started playing and she dragged me to the middle. She danced close, too close, her thigh brushing my leg on every turn. I had never been with anyone, so my body reacted however it could: badly, quickly, without permission. I got hard and knew right away that she had noticed.

She didn’t pull away. She did the opposite.

She turned her back and started rubbing herself against me, slowly, marking the rhythm of the music with her hips. I wasn’t breathing. When the song ended, she turned her head just a little, winked at me, and let her hand fall, as if by accident, on the bulge straining my pants. She squeezed it once. Softly. More of a warning than a caress.

This isn’t happening, I thought. But it was.

—Relax —she whispered in my ear—. Not yet.

***

The band had a second show that same night, in another neighborhood. While we were gathering things, Lorena suggested to my parents that they go home and rest, that I stay over at her place so they wouldn’t have to make so many trips by car. She said it with perfect naturalness, looking at them and not at me. My parents agreed without thinking. Why would they suspect anything.

I got into her car with sweaty hands. As soon as we pulled away, she spoke without taking her eyes off the road.

—Did my hand really turn you on? Don’t lie to me.

—Yes —I said. It was almost a whisper.

She let out a low, hoarse laugh and slid her right hand from the gearshift to my leg. She moved it up slowly, unhurried, until her palm rested exactly where it shouldn’t have.

—Open your pants —she ordered. It wasn’t a request.

I obeyed. My clumsy fingers fought with the button and, when I finally managed it, her hand slipped inside and grabbed me with a firmness I hadn’t expected. She started stroking me, slowly, talking to me in that voice that seemed made for giving orders.

—Look at you. So hard and I haven’t even done anything yet.

When I let out a moan, she gave me a hard squeeze, almost a punishment, and clicked her tongue.

—Don’t make noise if I don’t give you permission —she said—. That’s the deal.

She pulled over at a lookout point with a view of the city lights. She turned off the engine, took off her shoes, and, before I understood what she was doing, lifted her leg and rested the sole of her foot on the dashboard. She had small, perfect feet, with nails painted a dark red. My mouth went dry.

—Ah —she said, watching my face—. So it’s that.

I didn’t need to confess anything. She read it in the way I looked. She took her foot off the dashboard and brought it, slowly, to my crotch, pressing exactly where I needed it most.

—Is your first time going to be by obeying me? —she asked, and there was no answer better than one—. Even better for both of us.

I put my hand between her legs almost by instinct and found her already wet through her clothes. Lorena closed her eyes for a second and let out a tiny sound of approval before knocking my hand away with a sharp motion.

—That has to be earned —she said—. Let’s go home.

***

The drive to her apartment felt endless. I was teetering on the edge of something with no name, still on the outside and chaos on the inside. When we got in, she poured herself a beer, handed me a glass of water —“not you, you’re still a kid”— and led me to the room where she kept her computer.

—Sit —she said.

I sat in the chair and she settled onto my lap, back to me, as if we were about to watch something on the screen. Her weight, her perfume, the heat of her body: I was hard as stone again and she noticed instantly. She started moving on top of me, in slow circles, while pretending to look for a song.

—Behave and the night is long —she said without turning around—. Misbehave and I’ll send you to sleep on the couch. Understood?

—Understood —I answered.

—Understood, what?

I hesitated for a second.

—Understood, ma’am.

I could feel her smiling without seeing it.

We moved to the bedroom. By then the beer had softened something in her gaze, a certainty that left no room for doubt. She stayed in her underwear, a black set that showed everything, and made me stay in my boxer briefs, standing in the middle of the room while she circled me as if she were evaluating me.

—Kneel —she said.

I did it without thinking. The floor was cold. She sat on the edge of the bed, lifted one foot, and brought it up to my face.

—If you like them that much —she murmured—, show me how much.

I took her ankle with both hands and began to trace her foot with my mouth, slowly, as if it were something fragile. She threw her head back and let out a long sigh. She called me “big boy” with a tenderness that had an edge to it, she told me “look at how you obey me,” and every word made me hotter. With her other foot she pressed against the bulge in my boxer briefs, setting a rhythm I couldn’t control, driving me to the edge and stopping just before it, over and over, until the only word left to me was please.

—Please what? —she asked, savoring every second.

—Please, let me —I said, my voice breaking.

—Not yet.

***

She got completely naked without hurrying, like someone shrugging off a weight, and made me take off the last of my clothes too. Then she shoved me by one shoulder until I fell onto my back on the bed and settled on top of me, covering me with her mouth from neck to chest, descending millimeter by millimeter while I dug my nails into my palms to hold out. When she finally took me into her mouth, it was so slow, so calculated, that it almost made me scream.

—Now —she said, lifting her head—. Now you can.

I didn’t last more than a few seconds. I came with my whole body shaking, and she looked me in the eyes the entire time, never letting go, as if she wanted to burn my face into her memory in that moment. When I finished, she smiled at me with a satisfaction that wasn’t only pleasure: it was power.

—Good boy —she said—. Now it’s my turn, and you’re going to do exactly what I tell you.

It took me a while to catch my breath, but she gave me no reprieve. She guided me with her hands, with her voice, with that calm authority she had over everything. She put me between her legs and told me where, how, with what rhythm, correcting me with a pull of my hair when I rushed.

—Slowly —she ordered—. The pleasure isn’t yours right now. It’s mine.

When she was ready, she let me go up. I sank into her for the first time in my life and had to bite my lip not to finish on the spot. Lorena dug her heels into my back, those small feet that had driven me crazy all night, and kept the beat with her voice.

—Like that. Slower. More. If you come without permission, I won’t forgive you.

We kept changing positions through the early hours of the morning, always with her in command, deciding every movement. Standing against the dresser. With her on all fours, looking back at me over her shoulder. We even ended up by the balcony window, forgetting to pull the blind down; I later found out that a neighbor in the building across from us had seen us, and far from being annoyed, Lorena loved it.

—Let her watch —she said through clenched teeth—. Let her learn.

We reached the end almost at the same time, her finally giving me the order I’d been waiting for, me obeying her even in that. When everything quieted down, it was five in the morning and I was wrecked, emptied out, happy in a way I had never known.

***

Before I left, well into the morning, she did one last thing with those feet of hers, slowly, with a strawberry cream she had on the nightstand, until she dragged one more moan out of me. After that she ordered me to get dressed and walked me to the door as if nothing had happened, perfect, self-possessed.

—You don’t talk about this with anyone —she said, straightening the collar of my jacket—. And when I call you, you come. Is that clear?

—Crystal clear, ma’am.

Since that night, she sets the rules. Some afternoons she texts me and, when she can’t see me, she makes me turn on the camera and obey her from a distance. When she stays over at the house, we wait until everyone is asleep and I become what she wants me to be, the only thing she asks me to be: hers. She likes me to call her a certain way, and I like giving it to her. I learned that obedience, in the right hands, can be the hottest thing in the world.