My First Submission Began When I Left a Party

It had taken me weeks to convince my parents to let me go to that party alone. I was already an adult woman, but at home they still looked at me as if they had to decide for me how I dressed, who I went out with, and what time I came home. That night I put on the black dress that had caused the most arguments—short, tight, and brazen—because I wanted to feel desirable for once, not proper.

I met two friends at dusk and promised I would be home before dawn. I lied. I hadn't even intended to keep that promise when I made it. I had another kind of hunger, one that had been rising through my chest for weeks, tightening between my thighs and leaving me restless whenever I looked at myself in the mirror.

The party, however, was a disappointment from the start. Loud music, lukewarm drinks, empty conversations, and my friends quickly disappearing with different men while I remained sitting in an armchair with a drink in my hand, pretending I was having fun. The only reason I didn't leave sooner was that I was hoping to see Darío, the man I'd been pining for silently for months.

When I finally saw him, he wasn't coming toward me. I found him in a corner, with one of my friends pressed against the wall and his hand underneath her skirt. She was laughing against his mouth as if I didn't exist, as if she hadn't heard me tell her a thousand times how I felt about him.

I didn't make a scene. I didn't cry. I simply left my glass on a table and walked out without saying goodbye.

The night was damp and empty. I walked aimlessly for several blocks, my heels striking the pavement and anger churning in my stomach. I wanted air, silence, distance. I wanted that absurd mixture of jealousy, humiliation, and desire to switch off all at once.

That's when I heard a voice behind me.

—Got a light to spare?

I spun around, startled. A man was leaning against the facade of an old building, smoking with insolent calm. He was tall, with a neatly trimmed beard, broad shoulders, and a fixed stare that made no attempt to hide anything. He didn't look drunk or lost. He looked like he owned the street.

—I don't smoke, I replied curtly.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

—I didn't ask you that. I asked whether you had anything to spare.

I didn't answer him. I kept walking, but I felt his gaze on my back, heavy, uncomfortable, and strangely arousing. I tried to convince myself that he only frightened me. It wasn't true. There was something else, something that made me squeeze my thighs together while I used my phone to look for a taxi stand.

—It's at the end of the next corner, he said suddenly, already much closer.

I turned sharply.

—Don't come any closer.

—Or what?

—Or I'll scream.

He took another step, slowly, as if he wanted me to feel every inch of his advance.

—Then the first thing I'll do is shut you up.

He grabbed my wrist before I could react. It wasn't a clumsy or uncontrolled lunge, but a firm, precise, deliberate gesture. I opened my mouth to scream, and his hand covered it at once. His other arm held me around the waist and shoved me toward a side door I hadn't even noticed.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I struggled. He dragged me into the dark entryway and kicked the door shut.

—Stay still, he ordered in a low voice, pressed against my ear.

I should have kept fighting. I should have clawed him, kicked him, done anything. Instead I remained trembling between his body and the wall, feeling the weight of his hand over my mouth and the heat of his breath on my neck. I felt his hard erection against my ass, solid and shameless, and my knees buckled.

—That's it, he murmured. Now you understand.

He slowly removed his hand from my mouth. I gulped in air, frightened, but I didn't scream. He noticed and gave me a sideways smile.

—Look at you. You're scared, yes, but not only scared.

His fingers traveled up my thigh to the hem of my dress. He lifted it without ceremony and squeezed my pussy through my panties. I gasped. I was wet—far too wet to keep lying to myself.

—Fuck, he said. You run away from a party and come dripping.

—No... I tried to protest, but his hand slipped inside the fabric.

He spread my lips with two fingers and moved them slowly, smearing them with my arousal. I felt shame, anger, and a brutal pleasure rising through my belly like a fever.

—Tell me again, he whispered. Tell me no.

I couldn't. My body betrayed me before my mouth did. I threw my head back when he pushed two fingers inside me and drove them in hard, wrenching a hoarse moan from me.

—That, at least, you do well, he said.

He turned me to face the wall. With a sharp tug, he pulled my panties down to my thighs and opened his zipper. The sound shot through me like lightning. I had no time to think about anything else. He gripped the back of my neck, forced my back to arch, and drove his cock into me in one thrust.

I screamed. I couldn't help it. He split me open all at once, thick, hard, brutal. The initial pain was sharp, but it lasted very little. After that, all that remained was the indecent sensation of being full, occupied, completely dominated.

—That's it, he growled against my ear. That's how I wanted you.

He fucked me without tenderness, with deep thrusts that slammed my body against the wall. I clung to the dirty plaster while he buried his cock in me again and again, setting a hard, dry, animal rhythm. Every thrust forced another sound from me, another gasp, another moan I could no longer control—or wanted to.

—Look at you, he said, squeezing one of my tits through the dress and pinching the nipple. You leave a party crying and end up like this, impaled by a stranger.

He pulled out only to spit between my legs, then went back in deeper. I felt everything burning, and at the same time my pussy clenched around him, hungry. It confused me and aroused me even more.

—You like it, he insisted. You love being used.

—I don't know... I stammered, but he grabbed me by the hair.

—Don't think. Just feel.

And I felt. I felt his hand pulling down my neckline so he could bite my shoulder. I felt his cock pounding inside me with a force that made me lose my breath. I felt his fingers tightening around my neck just enough to frighten me and ignite me further. When he slipped one hand between my legs and began rubbing my clitoris while he kept fucking me, I came almost without warning.

It was a filthy, violent, shameful orgasm. It shook my entire body, my legs trembling and my face pressed against the wall while he continued thrusting through the contractions. I moaned freely, without dignity, without sense, and he laughed when he noticed.

—Good girl.

He came inside me with a low groan, driving himself deep and holding me still while he emptied himself. Then he pulled out, released me, and stepped back as if he'd just finished some ordinary task.

I pulled my panties up with clumsy hands. I was trembling. He lit another cigarette in the landing without even looking at me.

—Go.

I looked at him, still breathing raggedly.

—I don't even know your name.

—You don't need to.

—You just fucked me in an entryway.

At last he looked me straight in the face.

—And you came.

I didn't know what to say. I left with weak legs and his semen slowly trickling inside me. I thought that as soon as I got home, I'd shower until I scrubbed his smell off me. I spent half an hour under the water, but it wouldn't leave my head or my body. When I went to bed, instead of feeling relieved, I found myself squeezing my legs together and remembering every thrust.

***

The following days were worse. On the surface I kept up my normal routine, smiling when I was supposed to, answering messages, pretending everything was fine. Inside, however, I was trapped in that entryway. Any brush of contact made me wet. Any kind man left me cold.

I tried going out with someone. A friend introduced me to a handsome, polite guy, the sort who asks before kissing and touches you as if you might break. We went to his apartment, undressed slowly, and he ate my pussy with impeccable tenderness. I tried to enjoy it. I truly did.

But when he penetrated me slowly, looking into my eyes, all I felt was frustration. I didn't want gentle caresses or pretty words. I wanted a firm hand on the back of my neck, a curt order, a cock entering without asking permission. I wanted to lose my footing again.

I left, making up a poor excuse. In the taxi home I cried with anger because I finally had to admit it: I didn't want to forget him. I wanted to go back.

The confirmation came weeks later, with nausea upon waking and a delay impossible to ignore. I bought a test, locked myself in the bathroom, and watched two lines appear like a sentence. I sat on the edge of the bathtub with the test in my hand, paralyzed.

It was his.

I didn't think about reporting him or finding him to demand anything. I thought about how part of me had already belonged to him for far too long without my ever saying it aloud. That night I packed a small bag, left a note at home, and returned to the street where it had all begun.

It took me several minutes to dare to knock. When the door finally opened, he was standing in front of me as if he had known I would return sooner or later.

—Well, he said, looking me up and down. The fugitive.

—I've come back.

—I can see that. The question is why.

I swallowed. My purse hung from my shoulder, and my hand trembled around the handle of the suitcase.

—Because I haven't stopped thinking about you.

He placed one hand on the frame, cutting off half my escape.

—That isn't enough.

—I'm pregnant.

His expression didn't change. He merely narrowed his eyes, as if weighing the exact meaning of my words.

—And what do you expect me to do about that?

—I haven't come to ask you for anything, I said. I've come to stay with you... if you'll have me.

His silence stripped me more nakedly than any order. When he spoke, his voice was rough and calm.

—If you cross that door, it will be under my rules.

I nodded.

—Tell me them.

—You will obey. You will not cry to manipulate me. You will not pretend to be brave where you are not. And if I tell you to undress right here, you will.

A shiver ran down my back. I looked at the empty street, then at his face.

—I will.

—Then begin.

I put my hands to the zipper of my dress and lowered it slowly. The night air raised gooseflesh on my skin as the fabric opened. I took off the dress and laid it on the suitcase. He didn't move. He only watched.

—Everything, he ordered.

I unclasped my bra. My tits were exposed, taut from the cold and embarrassment. Then I lowered my panties down my legs. I stood naked on the sidewalk, still wearing my heels, my heart pounding in my throat. He scanned me from head to toe with an examining coldness that made me wet within seconds.

—Hands behind your back.

I obeyed.

At last he approached. He squeezed one breast, then the other, without tenderness, weighing them as if inspecting a purchase. He pinched my nipples until I gasped. Then he ran his thumb over my swollen lips and held it up, wet.

—I haven't even started and you're already dripping.

He spat in my face. Saliva ran down my cheek. The humiliation burned, but I didn't lower my eyes. I wanted to prove to him that I was still there of my own free will.

—Kneel.

I knelt on the sidewalk. The stone was cold and rough beneath my legs. He opened his trousers and pulled out his cock, already hard, thick, and heavy. He held it in front of my mouth.

—Clean it with your tongue.

I stuck out my tongue and licked from the base to the tip, tasting the salty skin and the first thread of pre-cum. He pushed my head with one hand.

—More.

I opened my mouth and took it. It entered slowly at first, filling my mouth, brushing my throat. He grabbed my hair and began setting the pace himself, pushing it deeper with every thrust. I drooled and coughed, my eyes watering, but I didn't pull away. His cock hitting the back of my throat made me dizzy and aroused me at the same time.

—That's how I like it. Useful.

He pulled his cock out and lightly tapped the tip against my tongue before putting it away. Then he hauled me to my feet.

—Inside.

I entered naked, carrying the suitcase and my clothes in my arms. The apartment was old and austere, with a narrow kitchen and an inner courtyard at the back. He closed the door, slid the bolt, and led me to the kitchen by the nape of my neck.

—Put your hands on the table.

I did so at once.

He stood behind me and spread my legs with a sharp kick to my ankles.

—What have you come here for?

—To be with you.

He slapped my ass.

—I didn't ask you that. What have you come here for?

I had to swallow before answering.

—To obey you.

The correct answer was evident in the sound he made, half laugh, half growl. He pushed two fingers into my pussy and moved them quickly, smearing them with my arousal. Then he pulled them out and brought them to my mouth.

—Suck them.

I sucked them without taking my hands off the table. He calmly unfastened his belt and wrapped it around my wrists, pinning me against the edge. Then he spread my ass cheeks wider with his hands and spat between them.

—Today you're going to learn not to decide anything.

He pressed the tip of his cock against my ass. I tensed at once.

—Breathe, he ordered. If you resist, it hurts more.

He entered slowly at first, overcoming the ring with steady pressure that made me gasp and grit my teeth. It burned. It filled me in a different way, cruder, more invasive. When he finally managed to bury himself inside me, I was left breathless.

—Fuck, you're so tight.

He held me by the waist and began fucking my ass with firm thrusts, each one longer and more assured, until the pain mingled with a twisted pleasure that left me trembling. My pussy dripped down my thighs without anyone touching it. I felt open everywhere, reduced to pure sensation.

—Say it.

—Say what?

Another thrust made me collide with the table.

—That you're mine.

I closed my eyes.

—I'm yours.

He released one of my wrists, reached around in front of me, and began rubbing my clitoris while he kept splitting my ass. I couldn't hold myself up. I moaned loudly, undone, moving my hips backward to seek more.

—That's what I wanted to hear.

I came again with my face almost against the table, dripping over my legs while he continued thrusting in and out of my ass with a savage rhythm. I felt his hand tightening around my throat from behind and came again, harder, my entire body trembling.

He pulled out abruptly, untied my wrists, and turned me around to sit me on the table. He opened my legs without ceremony and studied my swollen, wet, throbbing pussy.

—Look at you. I fucked your ass and you're still begging for more.

He put two fingers in my mouth to silence me, then replaced them with his cock. This time he penetrated my pussy from the front, gripping me by the thighs and sinking to the hilt with a hardness that tore a muffled moan from me around his fingers. He pulled his hand away and seized my face.

—Now, yes. I want to see you.

He fucked me spread open on the table, lifting my ass with every thrust so he could drive himself deeper. The wet sound of his cock entering and leaving filled the kitchen. My tits bounced with the rhythm. He sucked one nipple, bit it, insulted me under his breath, called me his bitch, his obedient girl, his whim, and each word drove me deeper.

I gripped his shoulders without knowing whether I wanted to push him away or pull him closer. The latter won. I wrapped my legs around his waist and took him thrust after thrust while he pounded my pussy.

—I want you to come on my cock, he said. Now.

My mind didn't know how to obey him. My body did. He rubbed my clitoris with his thumb, fast and brutal, and the orgasm exploded over me before I could stop it. I arched, bit his shoulder, and came with a broken cry. He didn't slow down. He kept fucking me through the climax, taking advantage of the way my pussy clenched around his cock, until he came inside me with a harsh gasp, his forehead pressed to my neck.

We stayed like that for a few seconds, sweaty and breathing hard. Then he pulled out slowly. Semen trickled out of me and down between my legs. I lowered my gaze, dizzy, and he lifted my chin.

—If you stay, this won't be a one-night game.

—I didn't come here for one night.

He watched me for a long time, as if deciding how much of me he wanted to break and how much to preserve. Then he picked up the dress from the floor and tossed it into my lap.

—Then shower, eat something, and rest. Tomorrow we begin for real.

—Begin what?

He came closer and kissed me for the first time, slowly and dominantly, biting my lip at the end.

—Your training.

I didn't smile. I didn't need to. I climbed down from the table with my legs trembling, my pussy still throbbing, and the certainty that, for the first time in my life, I had just entered exactly the place I no longer wanted to leave.