My Boyfriend Controlled My Body with Secret Pills

My name is Lorena, and what I’m about to tell happened back when my husband and I were still just boyfriend and girlfriend. His name is Adrián, and from the very first day he had a way of looking at me that made me feel he had already decided something about me before he’d even touched me. He was attentive, generous, and at the same time he had a need for control that I, without fully understanding it, wanted to feed.

We’d been together a couple of years, and the trust between us was absolute. That trust was precisely what led me to give him things I would never have given anyone else. Adrián got off on directing every detail: how I dressed, how I sat, what I said in front of his friends. He liked testing limits, tying my wrists with his tie, subjecting me to little obedience games that ended with me trembling.

—Just trust me —he’d whisper in my ear, tightening the knot—. I’ll take care of the rest.

And I did trust him. That was the part neither he nor I knew how to measure in time.

At the time I was taking birth control pills, not by habit, but because he himself gave them to me. He had a pill organizer with compartments, and every morning he told me how many to take and in what order. He said those particular pills increased sensitivity, that they made my erogenous zones raw and exposed. And it was true: with them I lived in a permanent state of desire, wet just thinking of him, my nipples hardening at the slightest brush of fabric.

—Open —he’d आदेश, and I’d open my mouth like an obedient little girl while he dropped the little tablets onto my tongue.

I never asked him exactly what they were. In our dynamic, that question would have been almost a breach. He decided, I obeyed, and in that obedience I found a pleasure I didn’t know how to name.

***

Everything intensified when he offered me a job as his secretary at the company he ran. We went from seeing each other on weekends to sharing the whole day. The office had a door he locked in midafternoon, and then the boss vanished and the man who possessed me came back.

He’d sit me on his desk, unbutton my blouse with deliberate calm, and pull my bra down to free my breasts. Back then I had a normal body, fairly small breasts, with dark, very sensitive nipples. He loved sucking them for long minutes, without hurry, while two of his fingers went in and out of me, setting a rhythm only he controlled.

—Don’t come until I say so —he’d warn me, and that order would take me to the edge of madness.

I held out as long as I could, biting my lip, digging my nails into his shoulder, until his voice gave me permission. Only then would I let go, and he would enter me with a force that felt like punishment and reward all at once. We did it three, four times a day. I lived wet, ready, waiting for the next order.

It was during those weeks that I began to notice something strange. Faint stains on the inside of my bra. One morning, under the shower, while soaping my breasts, I saw clear drops come out of my nipples. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t normal.

—Adrián, liquid is coming out of my breasts —I told him, half frightened, half curious.

He didn’t seem surprised. Just a smile, the one he wore when one of his plans started working.

—It must be a side effect of the pills —he said without looking at me—. Don’t worry.

***

I called the doctor anyway. He examined me, pressed my nipples to check the discharge, and explained that the combination of those hormones with such constant stimulation could induce lactation in a woman who wasn’t pregnant. He advised me to stop taking the pills if I didn’t want the production to increase.

That night I told Adrián, expecting him to tell me to stop. He did the exact opposite.

—Don’t stop them —he said, taking my face in his hands—. I want you to keep going. I want to see how far your body goes when it does what I decide.

I should have refused. Instead I felt a shiver run down my spine, that mixture of vertigo and surrender that only he provoked in me. I nodded. I went back to opening my mouth every morning.

My breasts grew several sizes in a few weeks. My blouses strained at the buttons, normal bras stopped fitting me, and I had to buy nursing bras, the kind with cups that open. I had never felt so wanted, so full, so much his. I started wearing low-cut dresses, though I had to put in breast pads to avoid stains, because at the slightest oversight the liquid would appear.

***

Adrián turned emptying me into a ritual. When he felt my breasts swollen, hot, with the veins marked beneath the taut skin, he would give me a signal. Wherever we were, he found a way to take me somewhere private.

If we were having dinner with friends and I started leaking, he’d pin me with his gaze and whisper one word.

—Now.

We’d leave with any excuse. In the car, in a bathroom, against a wall, he’d open my dress, pull my breasts out, and suck them with a hunger that made me lose my mind. While he emptied one breast and then the other, one of his hands would reach between my legs, push aside my underwear, and check how soaked I was.

—Look how much it turns you on when I milk you —he’d say, and all I could do was moan.

The physical relief of releasing the accumulated milk mixed with the pleasure of obeying him, and I almost always came before he penetrated me. After that he’d empty himself inside me, and with the same cotton pads I kept in my bag I’d wipe away what ran between my thighs before going back to the table as if nothing had happened.

—Good girl —he’d say, setting my dress back in place. Those two words were worth more than any jewel.

***

The months went by and the production didn’t stop increasing. I needed to be emptied more and more often, and I started to depend on those moments like a drug. The problem arose when Adrián had to travel for work. The first time he was gone for several days, my breasts became so hard they hurt, and there was no one to relieve me.

I locked myself in the bathroom and milked myself with my hands, feeling ridiculous and exposed, afraid someone would come in and I wouldn’t know how to explain anything. He gave me the solution when he got back: an electric breast pump, a double one.

—For when I’m not here —he said, placing the cups over my nipples and turning the machine on for the first time.

The double suction, constant, both nipples being pulled at once, ripped a pleasure out of me I hadn’t expected. I came from that alone, with him watching me, controlling the machine’s intensity the same way he controlled everything else.

—See how well I take care of you? —he asked.

And yes, I did see it. But from that point on I discovered something I hated to admit: when he sucked my breasts, no matter how much I enjoyed it, I missed having both breasts attended to at the same time. He moved from one to the other, but it was never simultaneous. The machine had spoiled me.

***

It took me weeks to dare to tell him. When I finally did, I expected him to get angry. Instead, his eyes lit up with that spark of someone already plotting the next step.

—Then we need someone else —he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He was talking about Marcos, his lifelong friend, a man he trusted blindly. The idea made my head spin and, at the same time, soaked me through with no remedy. Giving myself over to Adrián’s decision even in that, letting him choose who else could touch me, was the peak of the submission we’d been building for years.

—If that’s what you decide —I replied, lowering my gaze—, I obey.

The first time was at our place, one Sunday afternoon. Adrián sat me on the edge of the bed, undressed me himself, and told Marcos exactly how he had to position himself. I had no say in it, and that turned me on to the limit. Each one took a side.

—Now —Adrián ordered.

Feeling both mouths at once, both pairs of lips pulling my nipples simultaneously, was a jolt that ran from the nape of my neck to my feet. I arched my back, moaned shamelessly, and came from that alone, with Adrián’s hands holding my wrists against the mattress so I couldn’t move, reminding me at every moment who I belonged to.

From then on, when Adrián traveled, I no longer needed the breast pump. Marcos not only emptied my breasts: he followed the instructions my boyfriend left him to the letter, and returned me each night turned into a woman even more his, because even my pleasure with another man went through Adrián’s will.

What I can say is that I never again missed those brutal orgasms when he wasn’t there. Adrián had planned everything from the very beginning, down to the last drop of milk and the last shiver in my body, and I couldn’t have been more grateful to have handed him the reins.

Later I’ll tell you what came after, when those control games took us much farther than either of us had imagined.