The Club Queen Taught Me to Obey

The Sanctuary was boiling that night. The air was heavy with brand-new leather, clean sweat, and expensive perfume that never quite managed to cover the smell of sex. On the main stage, a couple was tying ropes live under a red spotlight, and the crowd murmured with that mixture of respect and desire that only the forbidden can stir. But that wasn’t the real show. The private room was waiting for Roxana, and Roxana came out at midnight.

Meanwhile, in dressing room number four, she was getting ready without a hurry.

The amber light fell slantwise across her body. She wore a black corset of leather and lace that barely contained the weight of her breasts, generous and firm for her age, with her nipples outlined against the taut fabric. Beneath it, a thin thong that disappeared between her ass cheeks. Fishnet stockings up to mid-thigh and stiletto heels that added fifteen centimeters to her one-sixty frame.

She studied herself in the three-panel mirror, pivoted on her heels, and slapped her thigh with a dry crack.

—At sixty-seven, I still make men more nervous than any of these twenty-year-old chicks —she said under her breath, in that low voice that seemed to come straight from her gut.

She leaned toward the mirror, spread her legs a little, and slid a hand beneath the fabric. She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, her reflection was looking back at someone who knew exactly what she wanted.

—And I haven’t even stepped on stage yet.

What she hadn’t expected was Damián.

The guy was twenty-eight, with brown skin and a gym-built body that contrasted with the shyness in the way he walked. A friend on the security team had promised him that, if he behaved, he could “take a look” down the artists’ corridor. Damián got lost among identical doors, pushed open one that wasn’t fully shut, and froze in the doorway.

The scene hit him full force: Roxana with her back to him, bent toward the mirror, one hand working between her legs and her breathing ragged. The reflection showed her completely, without her seeming to notice.

Except she had noticed.

She saw him in the mirror. She didn’t jump, didn’t cover herself, didn’t scream. On the contrary: a slow smile spread across her face, the smile of someone who has just caught a scent they like. She turned very slowly, letting him take in every detail, and walked toward the door with measured steps.

—Do you like the private show? —she purred, stopping a hand’s breadth from him—. Or had you just never seen up close a woman who knows what she’s doing?

Damián swallowed. He tried to say something and only a clumsy stammer came out.

Roxana raised one finger —the same one she had just had between her legs— and pressed it to his lips.

—Shh. You’re not going to talk. You’re going to look, and you’re going to learn.

The finger tasted of her, of salt and heat, and Damián didn’t dare move away. He felt the brush of her long nails against his lower lip, a tiny pressure that was both caress and threat. All the confidence the guy carried around on his gym shoulders drained out of him in that instant. There, in that tiny dressing room, a big body meant nothing: the one in charge was the woman who barely came up to his chest.

She grabbed him by the collar of his T-shirt and pulled him inside. The door slammed shut with a kick of her heel. She shoved him against the padded wall and looked him up and down as though she were appraising a purchase.

—Strip. Slowly. I want to see you hesitate.

He obeyed with trembling hands. The T-shirt fell to the floor, then the pants, then his underwear. He was fully aroused and fully ashamed of being so, which seemed to amuse her even more.

—Look at you —she said, circling him slowly—. All that body wasted on someone who doesn’t even dare look me in the eye. We’re going to fix that tonight.

With an expert motion she unfastened her corset. The garment dropped away and her breasts were left bare, heavy, with dark, hardened nipples. She pinched one without looking away from him and let out a rough sigh that was, in equal parts, pleasure and warning.

—On your knees.

Damián dropped to the floor as if the command had cut the strings holding him up. Roxana sat on the edge of the makeup table, spread her legs, and pulled the fabric aside.

—Slow at first. I want to feel you learning. If you do it badly, you’ll know it.

He brought his face closer. The scent made him dizzy, intense and warm. He stuck out his tongue and ran it carefully from bottom to top, testing the ground. Roxana threw her head back and let out a deep sound.

—Yes. Again. Higher… there.

She buried her fingers in his hair and started setting the pace, without violence but without letting him pull away. Damián understood the game: he wasn’t in charge, he didn’t decide, he only obeyed and read the signals of the body in front of him.

—Good boy —she murmured, and the words went through him like an electric current—. You learn fast when someone teaches you with a firm hand.

When she felt pleasure beginning to overwhelm her, she shoved him away abruptly, yanking his hair back.

—Not so fast. Easy doesn’t deserve it. Stand up.

Damián got to his feet on shaky legs. She pushed him toward a wide velvet armchair and sat on top of him, astride him, without hurrying, letting him feel the full weight of her body. She held his face with one hand to force him to look at her.

—You don’t move. I decide how and when. Understand?

—Yes —he managed to say, his voice breaking.

—Yes, what?

Damián hesitated for a moment.

—Yes… ma’am.

The word seemed to settle somewhere inside him, a lock he hadn’t known he had and that someone had now opened. Roxana noticed. She noticed everything: the quickened breathing, the dilated pupils, the way the boy looked for her orders the way someone looks for air. She had spent too many years reading men for one as transparent as him to escape her.

Roxana smiled, satisfied, and began to move. Slowly, measuring, bringing him to the edge and pulling back, over and over, until he had to dig his nails into the velvet so he wouldn’t finish too soon. Every time she saw him holding back, she picked up the pace a little only to slow down again.

—Don’t come. Not even think about it until I say so.

—I don’t know if I can —he gasped.

—You can. Because if you can’t, I’ll never let you touch me again. And believe me, after tonight, you’re going to want more.

She brought one breast to his mouth.

—Now yes. Mind what you bite. If you hurt me in a way I don’t like, this ends.

Damián closed his lips carefully over the nipple, attentive to every reaction from her, learning to measure force by the sound of her breathing. Roxana arched her back and quickened the rhythm of her hips.

—That’s it… just like that.

Suddenly she stood up, left him panting, and braced herself backward against the makeup table, hands on the cold glass.

—Now it’s your turn to work. But remember who’s in charge, even if I’m the one facing away.

Damián positioned himself behind her. For the first time all night, he had a hint of initiative, and she allowed it, curious to see what he would do with that borrowed freedom. He gripped her hips and began to move, at first uncertain, then with more determination as he heard her respond.

—Harder. Don’t be afraid of me. Though you should be.

He did as she said. The sound in the room turned obscene: skin against skin, broken breaths, a stray word neither of them ever finished. Roxana held herself up with one hand and with the other stroked herself, setting her own rhythm inside his.

—I’m going to come —she warned, her voice taut—. And only when I do do you have permission. Not a second before.

The orgasm tore through her in a tension that ran all the way down her back. She closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and let out a deep cry that could surely be heard in the hallway. Only then did she turn her head and look at him over her shoulder.

—Now. Finish.

Damián obeyed the final order with a muffled groan, pressed against her, emptying himself with a relief that held as much pleasure as surrender. He stayed there for a few seconds, drained, leaning against her back.

Roxana pulled away without hurrying, turned, and lifted his chin with two fingers.

—Not bad for the first time someone’s really taught you.

She picked up the corset from the floor, tightened it with the same calm she had shown when undressing, and looked at herself in the mirror one last time. She put a strand of hair back in place, moistened her lips, and adjusted the fabric without bothering to clean herself off completely.

—Get dressed. Go to the bar, order something, and wait seated where I can see you. I’m going onstage in half an hour.

Damián was still trying to catch his breath.

—And after?

Roxana stopped at the door and looked at him over her shoulder with that smile he was already beginning to recognize.

—After, if you’ve behaved, I’ll take you to suite nine. And there we’ll really see how much you can take. Tonight was only the entrance exam, little one.

She winked, opened the door, and walked out swaying her hips, leaving behind a trail of expensive perfume and, in Damián’s body, the certainty that he had just crossed a door he would never want to go back through.

He remained seated in the armchair, heart racing, staring at the closed door. For the first time in his life he wasn’t ashamed of what he wanted. He felt chosen. And he knew, while dressing with still-clumsy hands, that he was going to obey every single order that woman chose to give him.