My Favorite Submissive and the Order He Didn’t Expect

I’m not going to lie to you: I like men who arrive without conditions. The ones who sit where I tell them, stay quiet when I order them to be quiet, and open their mouths only when I allow it. If you came here to read this, it was because something in you recognized that surrender, and that already makes you different from the rest.

My name is Marcela. I’m fifty-two years old and have a body that, far from giving in to time, learned to use it to my advantage. I notice it in the way they look at me when I walk by, in how their eyes linger exactly where they shouldn’t. The gym gave me firm legs and a round, high ass, the kind that invites you to bend down and obey. And age gave me something even more valuable: I stopped asking permission to want what I want.

That afternoon, it was your turn.

I led you into the back studio, where the light comes in filtered and no one interrupts us. I pointed to the chair and you sat without a word, hands on your knees, waiting. I liked that stillness of yours. The stillness of someone who knows the night belongs to someone else.

I planted myself in front of you in black leggings and a gray blouse that marked every curve. I took one step, then another, until I was barely a meter away. Then I slowly turned around, knowing your eyes would drop on their own. They did.

—Do you like what you see? —I asked, without turning my head.

You nodded. Nothing more was needed.

They always start like that, mute, as if words weigh too much on them.

I hooked my thumbs under the waistband of my pants and started sliding them down, millimeter by millimeter. The black fabric gave way and my pale skin appeared in its place, first the high curve of each cheek, then the line that separates them. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. You noticed right away, and your breathing changed.

—Now comes the best part —I warned you.

With a sharp tug, I yanked the leggings down to mid-thigh. My ass was left completely bare in front of your face, at just the right height so you couldn’t look at anything else.

—Holy shit —you muttered.

—Do you like my ass? —I asked, almost sweetly.

—Yes —you answered, and your voice trembled a little.

I leaned forward just slightly. I put one hand on each cheek and slowly pulled them apart, letting you see what your eyes had been looking for since you walked in. You swallowed. I heard it.

—How does it look from there? —I asked, with everything exposed.

—Incredible —you said, and the word came out broken.

The way you said it confirmed what I’d already guessed: that vision drove you insane. Not the whole body, not the face, not the breasts. That. The very center of me, open and offered like an order I still hadn’t finished giving you.

—You don’t know what you’re looking at —I said, lowering my voice—. There are men who spend their lives pretending they don’t like this. You’re not one of them, are you?

—No —you answered immediately.

I let go of my cheeks. The tension in the room hung in the air, thick.

—Do it yourself —I ordered—. Open me with your hands.

You didn’t hesitate. You placed your palms on my skin, still warm, and pulled me apart as far as you could. I felt your fingers dig in with an urgency that betrayed everything you’d been holding back.

—You do that so well —I said, glancing back at you over my shoulder—. I bet you’ve opened someone like this before.

—Yeah —you admitted, never taking your eyes off me.

—And what do you think? Do you find it beautiful?

—It’s beautiful.

I smiled. Having a man on his knees on the inside, even if he’s still sitting, is one of the few things that still make me feel truly powerful. And you were, completely.

—Would you like to smell it? —I asked.

You took half a second, as if you couldn’t believe you had permission.

—Can I?

—Of course you can —I said—. That’s what I brought you here for.

And you did nothing but obey. You emptied your lungs at once, blowing all the air out through your nose, then buried your face against me and inhaled with such force it sent a shiver through me. I felt your nose pressed in, your hot breath, the desperation of someone finally getting what he’d been imagining for a long time.

—There it is —I whispered—. Take a deep breath.

—Mmm —was all you could answer, without moving a millimeter away.

—Do you like it? —I pressed—. Do you really like it?

—Yes —you said against my skin—. A lot.

—It turns me on that you like it —I confessed, and it was true—. It turns me on to know that a man like you would lose his mind over something other people hide.

You stayed like that for a long while, breathing in, your hands dug into my ass as if you were afraid I’d pull away. I didn’t. I savored every second of your surrender.

***

—Stop smelling —I ordered at last—. Now open your mouth and stick out your tongue.

You obeyed without a word. You pulled your nose away and the first stroke of your tongue ran over me from bottom to top, slow, tentative.

—That’s it —I gasped—. Slowly. Do you like it?

—Yeah —you answered through clenched teeth, never stopping.

—Your tongue feels incredible —I admitted, and I wasn’t exaggerating.

There was something hypnotic in the way you did it, as if you were cleaning every fold with a devotee’s patience. You weren’t in a hurry. You licked like someone worshipping, not like someone checking off a task, and that difference was everything.

—What does it taste like? —I asked, curious.

—Bitter —you answered quickly, before going back to work.

—And even so you won’t stop? —I laughed softly—. You’re worse than I imagined. I love it.

I braced both hands against the wall and pushed my hips back, opening myself even more for you. You stiffened your tongue and pressed it against the center, pushing, searching for the entrance with an insistence that made me close my eyes.

—Yes —I moaned—. Put it in. That’s exactly what I want.

I pushed just a little, relaxing my muscles, and felt your hard tongue force its way inside. A spasm of pleasure shot up my back. There are few sensations as intimate as that, of someone entering the most private corner of your body simply because you allowed it.

—Eat it —I ordered, my voice breaking—. Eat everything I give you. You like it, don’t you?

You were too busy to answer. Your tongue went in and out, and I clenched and released in time with your mouth, setting the rhythm for you like you would for an instrument.

—Slower now —I changed the order—. Don’t stick your tongue in. Just lick on the outside. Caress it.

You adjusted instantly. The tip of your tongue began sliding up and down over the opening, brushing it without penetrating, a soft torture that made me arch my back and bite my lip.

—You obey so well —I whispered—. That’s what I like most about you. You don’t ask. You just do it.

—That’s what I came for —you answered at last, pulling back just a little.

—I know. And that’s why I’ll call you again.

***

I leaned forward a little more, offering you the full weight of my body, and let you keep going. There was no rush, nobody waiting on the other side of the door. Just you, on your knees inside your own surrender, and me, mistress of every second I chose to give you.

—Do you know why men like you fascinate me? —I asked, while your tongue kept up its patient work—. Because you don’t fake it. Because you stop being ashamed as soon as you cross that door. And that, for a woman my age, is worth more than anything else.

You squeezed my ass harder in response. I liked that.

—You’re good at this —I went on—. Too good. I almost feel sorry for the poor bastards who’ll never know what they’re missing.

You paused for a moment to catch your breath and came back immediately, hungry, without me having to ask. That was the sign I’d been waiting for: you were no longer obeying because I ordered you to, you were obeying because you wanted to. You had crossed the line where submission stops being a role and becomes something real.

—Tell me something —I murmured, while you still didn’t lift your head—. How many nights have you spent imagining this? How many times have you fallen asleep thinking about a woman ordering you exactly what to do?

—A lot —you admitted, your voice muffled against my skin—. Too many.

—I figured —I said—. I can tell by the way you obey. This isn’t the first time you’ve dreamed about it, but it is the first time you’re truly living it. And that changes everything, doesn’t it?

You didn’t answer. It wasn’t necessary. Your whole body answered for you: the way you pressed against me, the slight tremor in your hands, the absolute surrender with which you followed every one of my instructions. There are confessions that aren’t spoken, and yours you were screaming in silence.

—Like that —I murmured—. Just like that. Don’t stop until I tell you to.

And you didn’t stop. You stayed there, given over, while I let myself be carried away by the feeling of being worshipped exactly the way I wanted. The afternoon stretched out in silences, in gasps, in whispered orders that you carried out one after another without hesitation.

When I finally pulled away, your gaze was lost and your breathing broken, like someone coming back from very far away. I pulled my leggings back up calmly, without rushing, while you still knelt on the inside.

—You did well —I said, adjusting my blouse—. Better than most.

—Will you call me again? —you asked, almost afraid.

I bent down, took your chin, and forced you to look at me.

—That depends on you —I replied—. On whether next time you’re willing to obey even more.

You nodded without hesitation. Of course you did. Men like you always come back, and always ready for more.

I left you sitting there, catching your breath, and walked out of the studio knowing you’d spend the night awake thinking about me. My orders. My body. Everything you were willing to do just to please me.

And the truth, dear reader, is that certainty—that I have you hooked, waiting for my next call—is the real pleasure of all this. Not the body. Not the moment. The power. And now you know it too.