My First Order: Go to Class With Nothing Under My Clothes

Good evening, future masters.

I’m not really sure how you start a confession like this, so I’m going to do it the only way I know how: by telling the truth. I’m new. A complete novice. For months I’ve been nothing more than a shadow in this corner, a silent reader who opened the page at two in the morning, with the lights off and my heart battering my ribs. I’ve devoured every story, every confession, every fulfilled order you’ve left in writing. And every single time, without fail, I ended up breathing hard, my panties soaked, my fingers buried between my thighs, rubbing my clit until I came, biting down on the pillow so I wouldn’t wake anyone.

The ones that affected me most were the domination ones. That power exercised without shouting, that control one gives over willingly. The idea of another person deciding for me, of telling me what to do and how to do it, ties a knot right in my lower belly, a tug that gets my cunt wet in seconds. I can’t explain it better than that. I only know that when I read “obey” directed at someone else, my body responds as if it had been said to me: my nipples harden, my stomach tightens, and I feel a hot trickle slip between my lips.

The problem is I’ve never been brave. Every time I fantasized about taking the leap, about truly offering myself, about imagining eyes guessing my little secret, fear pinned me to the floor. I told myself tomorrow, next week, when I felt safer. And so the months passed. Reading everyone else, wishing I were one of them, never daring. Months masturbating alone, shoving two fingers deep into my cunt while reading how another girl described the cock that had blown her mind open that night.

Until today.

***

I’m in my twenties and I study at university. I’m assuming you don’t care what my name is, so you can call me Renata. It isn’t my real one, but I like how it sounds when I imagine it in your voice. Renata, the novice. Renata, the one who finally decided. Renata, the submissive little slut who offers herself in writing because she doesn’t dare say it out loud.

I’ve been thinking about this moment all afternoon, and in the end I sat down to write before I changed my mind. Because I know if I leave it for tomorrow, fear will win again. And I don’t want it to win. Not this time. I’m writing with one hand and with the other I’m stroking myself over my pajama pants, feeling my cunt throb, feeling the wetness already soaked through the fabric and smearing my fingers when I press.

I should explain where all this comes from, if only so I can understand myself. As a child I was the responsible one in the house, the one who looked after everyone else, the one who never caused trouble. I grew up convinced that giving in was the same as failing. And I spent years like that, grinding my teeth, controlling everything, never allowing myself a single second of weakness. Until one random dawn I stumbled into this place by accident, reading a girl describing how she had obeyed an absurd order and how free she had felt doing it. That word lodged in me: free. Not dominated. Free.

That night I understood something I’d been denying myself all my life. That my fantasy wasn’t pain or humiliation in themselves, but the relief of not having to decide. The permission to let go of the control that weighs so heavily on me. The idea of someone looking at me and saying “you’re going to do this,” and me, for once, having nothing to do but trust and obey. That night I came three times in a row. The first time with my fingers, circling my clit until my back arched. The second time with the handle of my hairbrush, slowly pushing it into my cunt while I read aloud the orders one master had given another girl. The third time I didn’t even know what with; all I know is that I fell asleep with my hand soaked and my panties in rags. Since then I haven’t stopped coming back. Night after night, reading you, wishing I were on the other side of the screen, wishing I were the one spreading her legs when ordered.

Tomorrow I have class first thing in the morning. And I’m going completely naked under my clothes.

I write it and my fingers tremble a little. No underwear. Nothing between my skin and the fabric. I’ll feel the seam of my pants brushing my cunt with every step, the lack of a bra under my blouse leaving my nipples outlined like two hard points, the cold air of the classroom slipping in where it shouldn’t and making the hair on my pussy stand on end. I’ll walk through the halls surrounded by people who won’t know a thing, who’ll see me just as always, while I carry a secret burning between my legs and dripping down the insides of my thighs.

It will be my first challenge. My first real step toward the submission I’ve wanted in silence for so long. And I’m telling you here, now, because writing it makes it real. It’s as if it were already an order from you. Your first order. Even if you haven’t given it yet, I already feel it resting on my shoulders and digging between my legs.

I’ve already laid out the clothes on the chair. I chose them carefully, thinking of every detail: the thin-fabric pants that cling just where they shouldn’t, that will outline the slit of my cunt if I sit badly, the light blouse that turns a little sheer in the afternoon light and will show my areolas if the sun hits me head-on. Nothing that will draw anyone else’s attention. Everything designed so that only I know what’s hidden underneath. I imagine dressing tomorrow in silence, without the barrier of underwear, pulling my pants up over my bare, shaved cunt, feeling the inner seam sink between my outer lips, and I already feel a shiver climbing up my legs and hardening my nipples beneath the blouse.

I think about the trip. On the crowded bus, at every brake, the fabric stretching against my naked skin, pressing against my clit until I have to clench my teeth not to moan in public. I think about sitting in the classroom and feeling the coolness of the seat through the thin pants, the seat that will soak up my wetness and leave a dark stain when I stand. I think about crossing my legs with a care no one would understand, squeezing my thighs to rub myself without it showing, raising my hand to ask a question while inside I’m dying because I just felt a spasm in my cunt. Any of those brushes, those little accidents that mean nothing to everyone else, will be constant reminders to me that I belong to you. That I’m obeying. That I finally dared to go out into the street with my cunt wet and available for whatever you decide.

***

I want to be honest about what I’m looking for, because I know honesty is the only thing that matters in this place.

I don’t want to decide. I’m tired of deciding. All my life I’ve had to be the responsible one, the one in control, the one who doesn’t allow herself a single mistake. And that is precisely why, because of that, the idea of letting go of the reins makes my cunt melt. I want you to be the ones who direct my steps. I want you to push me a little further than I’d dare on my own. I want orders. I want challenges. I want tests that make me tremble before I complete them and tremble afterward too, remembering them while I finger myself at night thinking about how I obeyed during the day.

Leave me comments. Tell me what to do. Be specific, be demanding, be patient the first few days if need be, but don’t let me choose. I’ll carry out every single thing, one by one, and I’ll come back here to tell you every intimate detail. How I felt. Exactly what I did. How many times I came. With which fingers, with which object, in which position. Whether I licked my fingers after pulling them out of my cunt. Whether I slipped one in my ass while rubbing my clit. Everything. I want you to know that your voice, even if it’s just letters on a screen, has power over my body, over my nipples hardening as I read you, over my cunt opening on its own when I write what you ask of me.

There’s something I want to make clear from the start, so there can be no misunderstandings. There will be no photos. There will be no videos. My body is not going to be exposed in any image. The only thing I’m going to give is my words, my obedience narrated, the exact account of what I do for you. That is my way of belonging to you. And believe me when I tell you it’s the most intimate one I know, because words don’t lie the way a photo does: in words there is everything I felt inside, every pulse of my clit, every contraction of my cunt when I come, and that can’t be airbrushed.

I’ll reply only here, in the comments. No one in private. No one on any other channel. Here, in full view of everyone, is where I want to report in. Let the others read how I obey, how I open myself, how I touch myself. That idea, of being read while I confess my submission, while I describe how I sink my fingers all the way in on someone else’s order, gives me a vertigo I didn’t know existed and soaks the chair I’m sitting on right now.

***

And since I’m opening myself up completely, there’s one last secret. The biggest one. The frontier I’ve never crossed and yet that calls to me with a force that scares me.

Anal pleasure.

I write it and feel my face heat at the same time my ass tightens, as if merely thinking it awakens it. It’s something I think about more than I should. The idea of being taken there, of feeling a hard cock slowly opening my hole, of that surrender so total, so utterly unreserved, raises every hair on my body. It’s the part of me where my body still says no, and precisely because of that it’s where I’m most curious. Where fear and desire mix so completely that I can no longer tell which is which. I’ve read so many stories of girls moaning while getting fucked in the ass, describing how it hurt at first and how they ended up begging for more, that I’ve spent whole nights imagining what my own voice would sound like begging for the same thing.

I’ve never tried it. Not alone, not with anyone. It’s virgin territory, in every sense. Not a finger, not a toy, not the shower stream. Nothing. That hole is still tight, closed, waiting for the first time someone decides to open it. And it makes me dizzy just imagining it, but it’s a kind of dizziness I don’t want to step away from. I hope one of you knows how to guide me there. That you’ll order me to start with a finger dampened with saliva, pushing it slowly to the first knuckle while I touch my cunt with my other hand. That you’ll make me buy a small plug and force me to wear it inside while I study, feeling it fill me from behind every time I move. That you’ll take me, step by step, to the day I confess here that I’m ready, that I’m open, that I can come with just that. Gently, if you understand that I need it to be gentle. Firmly, if you decide what I need is firmness. I leave that decision to you too. I only ask that, when the time comes, you take me by the hand. Or by the neck. Whatever you choose.

***

I know I’m saying a lot for my first day. Maybe too much. But I’ve kept it all to myself for so long that now that I’ve opened my mouth I can’t stop. It’s as if each sentence lifts a weight from me and at the same time puts another one on me, a sweeter one, the weight of knowing there’s no turning back now. I’m writing with my cunt leaking, my nipples so hard they hurt against the fabric of my T-shirt, and the urge to slip my hand inside my pants grows with every word. But I’m not going to do it yet. I want to wait until you give me permission. I want the first time I come as yours to be because you ordered it.

So, since this is my first time belonging to you, I beg you for one thing: start slowly. Don’t overwhelm me yet. Order me something small, something I can do tomorrow after my clothing challenge, something that will make me feel your presence without fear paralyzing me again. A gesture. A garment I have to put on or take off. A word I have to repeat silently during the day. Tell me how many times I can touch myself, or whether I can’t do it until you say so. Anything, as long as it comes from you.

I want to get used to the taste of obedience little by little. I want each completed order to leave me a little more ready for the next one, more open, more trained, more yours. And above all, I want to feel I’m not alone in this, that behind the screen there’s someone thinking about me while he jerks himself off, deciding for me, waiting for me to come back and tell him how I did it, how many fingers I used, how long it took me to come.

I’m barely going to sleep tonight. I know it. I’m going to stare at the ceiling imagining tomorrow’s hallway, the fabric brushing my naked cunt, my secret kept between my legs while someone asks me some stupid question about the notes. And I’m going to smile to myself, because for the first time in my life I’ll be doing something real. Something mine. Something yours. I’m going to end up touching myself, I know that too. I’m going to shove two fingers all the way in while I think about the first order you give me, and I’m going to come biting the pillow, pressing my virgin ass against the mattress, whispering “yes, master” against the pillowcase as the orgasm shakes me whole.

I’ll be back tomorrow. And I swear I’ll come back with everything: how I felt when I left the house like that, whether I blushed, whether my legs were shaking, whether I had to stop at some point to breathe, whether I soaked my pants, how many times I held myself back from going into a bathroom and rubbing my clit until I came over the toilet. I’m not keeping anything. I don’t want to keep anything.

I’m ready to start obeying. I’m ready to be yours. I’m ready to open my cunt, my mouth, and my ass when you order it.

I await your orders, my masters.

In submission and wetness,
Renata.