BDSM

I confessed to Bianca why her boyfriend would never fully satisfy her, and she revealed a secret identical to mine. That same week we invited them both over.

I hadn’t heard from her in months. Her call was an order, not an invitation: that night I would stop being a person and become her property.

That morning we only wanted to lose ourselves in each other. We didn’t count on the favorite walking in with her guards and a punishment already prepared.

I walked through the door expecting a normal party. Instead I found a patio full of girls in bikinis, no other men, and a hostess with a smile that was anything but friendly.

Two chairs with holes in the middle, a rope with a knot, and two men tied up not knowing if the next round would be theirs. The game was about to begin.

When the closet door closed and we were left in the dark, I felt her hand sliding up my leg. We only had ten minutes.

One phrase was enough for her to climb onto the bed, rest her heel on his chest, and tell him that tonight he’d have to earn every touch.

The first time he made me lower my head while he fucked me, I thought I’d resist. I didn’t. And I discovered how much I liked stopping myself from deciding.

I’ve always had a strange fixation. That afternoon I decided my best friend would be the first to obey me, on his knees and with nothing to hide.

We had signed the agreement and chosen a safe word, but nothing prepared me for his shadow rising from the tunnel—and for no longer knowing what was play.

I was always the confident one of the two. But with cold handcuffs on my wrists and her new smile over me, I understood I was no longer the one in charge.

Every time I’m alone in the house, I repeat the same ritual. And every time, it gets harder to tell the game from what I truly long to be.

I thought my secret was safe behind a half-open door. I never imagined she’d end up with my fate clenched in her fist.

I thought enduring ten hits would be easy. I didn’t count on her enjoying every one of them, or on how much I’d end up enjoying them too.

She locked the storage shed and slipped the keyring into her apron. Only then did I understand that afternoon wasn’t going to end with a lecture.

When her boyfriend slammed the door on his way out, she stood barefoot in my kitchen, waiting for me to say the first word of her new life.

Every time I lazed around, I paid for it with nettles, lashes, and her muddy boots. And worst of all, part of me was already waiting for the next punishment.

She picked me up, pointed to her cheek for a kiss, and I understood the orders wouldn’t stay in the bedroom this time: they started in the car.

I arrived in a red top and black skirt, without underwear, knowing that once I crossed that door I would no longer belong to myself.

He’d been tied to her desire for a month. That night, Selene would decide when, how, and how much it hurt before finally letting him let it all out.