The Day I Gave Everything to Be Her Slave

I had just finished fifteen years of a warm, predictable marriage, and suddenly I found myself free, unbound, and with more money than I could spend in several lifetimes. I had no family to answer to and nobody waiting for me at home. The only thing burning inside me was an old curiosity, locked away for far too long.

I spent my nights in front of the screen, reading forums, looking at images, devouring stories of men who had renounced their will completely. The idea of ceasing to be a person and becoming a thing, an object at the service of another, obsessed me to the point of robbing me of sleep.

At first I turned to professionals. For almost a year I went from date to date, from venue to venue, looking for someone who would accept what I was asking. Almost none of them wanted to. The few who did try charged double and you could tell they were counting the minutes. It was a transaction, nothing more, and a transaction was not enough for me.

I tried something else. I posted ads on specialized sites offering myself as a full-time servant, with no conditions. I put up photos, details, everything I could think of. For weeks, nobody answered.

Maybe this isn’t for me, I thought more than once. Maybe the only thing I deserve is to rent desire by the hour.

And then the email came.

***

It was a woman, though she did not give her name. She did not identify herself, did not show any photo, did not tell me anything about herself. She only asked. Message after message, she wanted to know exactly what I was looking for, whether I was sure, whether I understood what it meant to ask for what I was asking for.

—And what if one day you get tired? —she wrote in one of the emails—. What if you want your life back?

—There won’t be such a day —I replied—. I want to give myself completely and forever. I want to stop deciding.

She insisted. She wanted clear limits, definite conditions. She said that if I took the step, I would do it without half measures and with no going back. Each email from her left me trembling in front of the keyboard. I would have signed anything if she would only agree.

After several weeks we agreed to meet in a café downtown. I arrived an hour early, unable to sit still. When she walked in and sat down without hesitation across from me, I recognized her face at once. She was one of the professionals I had gone to see months earlier, one of the ones I had liked most.

—I recognized you from the photos in the ad on the first day —she said, with a smile that was anything but shy—. You had no idea who you were talking to.

I didn’t mind. On the contrary. Of all the women I had met, she was the one I was most attracted to, and the fact that we already knew each other made the conversation flow without tension.

—I’m prepared for anything —I told her, lowering my voice—. If you choose me, I stop being a person. I’ll sign a contract. My house, my accounts, my cars, my shares, everything is yours. In return, I stay with you.

The proposal was too tempting to refuse. We gave ourselves forty-eight hours to sort out the paperwork. When I saw her again, I was no longer the owner of anything.

***

Her name was Mara, although her friends called her by another name I never ended up using. She decided that, for the time being, I would move into her apartment, though she made it clear that soon we would be settling into my old house: a luxury villa in a gated community that was now in her name.

The first day, as soon as I crossed the door, she ordered me to undress and sit on the floor. She had a speech prepared.

—From now on you are what you asked to be —she said, pacing slowly in front of me—. You don’t get dressed again. You don’t get to speak again. You stop having a name.

I listened with my heart pounding in my chest.

—I’ve removed the toilet from the house —she went on—. In its place there’s a drain in the floor with a motorized cover. That cover only opens when I want it to, and at first it will be once a week, on Friday dawns. The rest of the time it will remain closed.

It took me a second to understand what that meant.

—You insisted so much on what you wanted —she added, savoring every word—. Well, you’ll have more than enough of it. There’s no point in something lasting an instant. You’re going to live with it.

She explained the rules as if reciting a household regulation. While the two of us lived alone, the cover would open rarely. But she often had guests, and now that money was no problem, she would have many more. Each person who settled into the house would change the calculation: the more people, the less room for me.

—And Fridays —she finished— are sacred. I want to show you off on the weekends. I want my friends to come and meet you.

She did not intend to give up her profession. She liked it too much. But she would be more selective. And when we moved into the villa, she said, she would turn it into a luxury house where several more girls could live and work.

—One more thing —she said before leaving me alone—. This has awakened something in me I didn’t know I had. I get excited thinking about everything I’m going to do to you.

***

Two months later we were already living in the villa. Six other women moved in with us, all dedicated to the same trade as Mara, all from an eastern country, all breathtakingly beautiful. During the weeks in the apartment, Mara had not let anyone stay the night, but visits and parties had been constant. Every weekend, two gatherings with twenty people. During the week, four or five curious visitors who wanted to meet her new acquisition.

In the villa, with seven women in the house, the routine became harsher. Mara ordered every drain sealed except one, in a tiny bathroom in the basement, with its motorized cover. If a client needed something, he had only me.

And then she appeared.

***

Daniela, Mara’s cousin, arrived at the house with a smile that did not bode well. She was as beautiful as the others, but there was something different in her gaze, a sharp coldness. Mara delegated everything related to my punishment to her, and Daniela’s eyes shone when she heard it.

—I don’t owe you any explanations —she told me on the first day, crouching until she was at my level—. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you. But I am because I want you to suffer thinking about what’s coming from this moment on.

I remained still, my skin prickling.

—If you thought I was going to treat you gently, forget it —she continued—. I’m going to make you regret offering yourself every single day. And it’s going to be forever.

She laid out her plans in a calm voice that was more terrifying than any shout. She talked about transformation, about making something final out of me, about erasing whatever person remained in me. Mara had given her permission to do whatever she wanted with me, with one condition only: that she not kill me.

—That’s the boring part —Daniela murmured—. Death is an ending. I don’t want an ending.

***

More than a year passed, and my life changed until it became unrecognizable.

The first thing was hair removal. Laser sessions all over my body until my skin was completely smooth, without a single hair, like the porcelain of an object. Daniela said a toilet doesn’t need hair, just as it doesn’t need a voice. So, not long after, she made me lose my speech forever: never again a complaint, never again a word.

—I don’t want to hear whining —she said—. Only silence.

Then came the punishments on my genitals, which she herself had promised to turn into the center of my torment. Steel rings, each one heavier than the last, on my scrotum, adding weight week after week, stretching the flesh without respite. She said she loved long, deformed scrotums, and that she would not stop even if we reached her goal. It was a project without end, like everything else.

Time became elastic, without days or nights. Every time I broke some rule —and the only important rule was never to touch myself— Daniela answered with a new punishment, harsher than the last. Until one day, fed up with my relapses, she decided to remove any possibility of disobedience.

—I’m going to simplify your existence —she said, almost tenderly—. A toilet doesn’t need hands. It doesn’t need to move. I’m going to reduce you to the only thing that matters.

***

Meanwhile, Mara’s business grew without restraint. She renovated the villa, added an entire floor, rooms for twenty girls. The house operated at full capacity, and my corner of the basement was reduced to its minimum function.

Now I live in a small room, one meter wide by two long, with a ventilation grille and a fluorescent tube that is always on. I have no way of knowing when it is day or how long I sleep. I am strapped to the floor with harnesses that prevent any movement. Above my head, a tank that never empties. Daniela installed a mechanism separate from my body so the weight keeps pulling at me little by little, without rest.

So that the torment would not stop even now that I can’t move, a few days ago Daniela put several hens in the room. She throws their feed onto me, so their pecking and their footsteps keep alive the sensation she enjoys so much. There is almost always one on top of me, scratching. The hens and I have lost our sense of time together.

I don’t know how long this will last. I don’t know whether it has an ending. And yet, when I stop to think about it —when I remember that it was I who asked for this, who signed, who begged for it— I still feel that same excitement that brought me here. The same one that condemned me. The only one I have left.