BDSM

I was coming back from surfing, my hair damp and my bikini still wet, when they made me stop. I had no idea that night would show me how far my desire could go.

Maite knew that when Andrés lowered his voice to that deep whisper, the decision had already been made—and all she had left to do was obey.

I left that store trembling with desire, never imagining that by that same week I’d be on my knees, begging to be used with not a shred of tenderness.

When she lowered her eyes to those white, sweaty sneakers, she knew she would obey anything that girl asked of her. And that was only the beginning.

My lover left me wanting more, but my husband knew exactly how to treat me: without romance, without mercy, like the submissive I am.

Pressed against the counter, they thought the house was empty. They didn’t count on her coming back early, or on what she had in store for anyone who dared to lie to her.

I sat in the center of the classroom pretending to be an unconscious patient. No one knew that, with every hand pinning me down, I was falling apart inside thinking of him.

She went up to her penthouse ready to kick the intruder out. She lowered her head when he ordered her to serve wine on her knees—and discovered that obedience could be pleasurable too.

I agreed to go have coffee with my friend's boyfriend. When he opened the door to that room, I realized there was no coffee waiting for me.

I sat in that chair pretending to be in an emergency, but beneath the bra-less top my body only obeyed a voice not in the room: my master’s.

She had spent years deciding who obeyed and who begged. None of her clients knew that behind the mirror, someone was studying how to dethrone her.

I drove to the abandoned factory with my pulse racing. I stripped among the broken glass and crossed the door, not knowing what waited for me on the floors above.

He ordered me to masturbate in front of him while he smoked in the armchair. What neither of us expected was how that playful afternoon would end.

I saw her at the edge of the water, eating my boyfriend up with her eyes in front of me. That night I taught her, tied up and on her knees in my room, where she belonged.

Tonight I sleep on the floor and I brought it on myself. The paradox of asking your Dom to order you to do something, then finding there’s no turning back.

Dommes squeeze, ring, burn them. We barely lick. The first time I looked at a pair up close was in a student flat, long before I knelt before anyone.

I knew something was wrong the second I saw his face when he came in. No greeting, just calculated coldness and an order: “Say out loud what you’re responsible for.”

I thought I controlled everything at home, until the woman I married made it clear who really ruled the three of us.

She pulled my pants down in the middle of the path without a word, and I understood that afternoon my body didn’t belong to me, but to her.

I went out alone to explore the northern area and a blow to the back of my head changed everything. I woke up surrounded by strangers, naked and with no escape.