The Master Taught Me to Call Sex by Its Name

Damián had cut off my breath three times with his hard, thick cock, burying the head until it touched the back of my throat. On the third thrust I felt him press against the twists of my neck, forcing them to straighten so he could take me better. I signaled to Camila to change positions and she stopped devouring my cunt. Damián got off on top of me.

For the umpteenth time I regretted not having shaved. I’d gone weeks without time to meet Tomás at the gym, which was when I shaved the jungle that grew between my legs when I neglected it. I wasn’t very sociable. Apart from people from work, I barely had relationships with anyone. The few times I’d tried to hook up with men had ended badly. I got along a little better with women, but I didn’t force anything either.

I didn’t even shave for the videos I uploaded to my private account as Lady Kate, no matter how much my agent insisted. Once I’d gone in to read the comments: when I showed up shaved, the followers celebrated it, taking it for granted that I’d done it because I’d fucked someone. And now Damián was seeing me for the first time with all that jungle. A disaster. I’d noticed it: all the other submissives were completely bare.

He penetrated me in one thrust, hard, without transition. He took me to my first orgasm before I could even understand it. The thrill of suffocation, the fantasy fulfilled of having his cock in my throat, the brutal friction... I barely had time to breathe before Camila mounted my face again, covering my mouth with her cunt and my nose with her ass.

I knew I could shove her off me. She weighed much less than I did. But Damián wouldn’t like it. I tried to draw breath. Camila was blocking it with astonishing efficiency. Damián’s thrusts in my little-used vagina, the size of his cock — much bigger than Tomás’s — and more than a month and a half without sex had me on the brink of collapse. The lack of air turned into pure arousal, but I still preferred to breathe. I just couldn’t.

I was about to push her away when Damián yanked hard on my pubic hair. The pain turned into a flash of pleasure that put me on the verge of the second orgasm. Camila lifted herself for a second. I inhaled deeply, tried to focus on controlling the climax the way Tomás had taught me. One breath, two, and the orgasm ripped through me almost dry. Inhale, inhale, inha…

She came down again and cut off my air once more.

I had never been multi-orgasmic with a man. Not even with a woman, except when they hurt me. And, apart from Tomás and now Damián, I had never allowed a man to hurt me during sex. I was short of breath. My lungs hurt. I clenched my teeth against Camila’s cunt. She held on, though she had to be suffering. The lack of oxygen, the pressure of the walls of my vagina, the friction... were bringing me to the edge for a second time.

Damián yanked on the hair again. Another lash of pain that shot energy straight to my clit. My mouth was freed. A few drops fell on my face. Is Camila cumming from this?, I thought. A drop fell near the corner of my lips. I stuck out my tongue. It tasted like metal. Blood.

My tongue came out with the first breath and went back in on the second inhale, which was once again cut short by the girl.

This time I did try to get her off me. My lungs were already crying out from the first second because I’d barely had time to fill them. I pushed. Camila braced herself with incredible strength, as if she knew I was going to try. I clenched my teeth against her cunt, even more viciously. She didn’t give way. How far do the orders he’s given her go?, I thought. Because if this is her idea, she wouldn’t be able to take a bite like that, unless she’s as masochistic as I am.

I clenched even harder. She held. I was running out of time. My lungs sent waves of pain through the rest of my body. My cunt was burning. Damián yanked on the hair again, now with such violence that I felt some hairs come out, and finished it off with a sharp blow to my stomach.

I couldn’t control it.

For the first time since my teenage sessions with María de los Ángeles, my body won the battle over my will. The orgasm swept me away. Stronger than the first ones. Stronger than any pleasure I’d ever felt in my life. And while pleasure filled every cell in my body, the anoxia was dimming my brain. It’s worth it, I thought at the end, to die for an orgasm like this.

I lost consciousness.

***

I woke up with an oxygen mask over my face and the metallic taste still on my tongue. Camila was still kneeling beside me. Damián was looking at the heart-rate monitor without stopping pumping into me, though at a slower rhythm. My body responded on its own: the vaginal muscles were still squeezing him, even harder now.

—Am I still choking her, master? —Camila whispered.

He shook his head. Camila positioned herself over my face again, but this time without covering my mouth or nose.

—Now lick! —she ordered sharply, exactly as he had instructed her—. Come on, stupid bitch, you have to make me cum!

I was reluctant. Not because I didn’t like eating her pussy, but because I had just almost suffocated. Camila lowered herself a little more and covered my mouth again.

—Lick, stupid bitch, nonstop, until I cum or I’ll leave you without air again!

I hadn’t been completely convinced by the first experience. I started running my tongue over her cunt, from her jawline to almost her nose, reaching the perineum. Camila lifted herself just enough to let me breathe. I increased the pace, despite the taste of blood I had caused with my teeth.

Damián was pumping without mercy. Not for her, not for him. Sweat was running down his face. He’d already had three orgasms with Camila that night, plus one before dinner with one of the other girls. I knew he wasn’t thrusting like that because of me: it was him who needed that violence to get off.

Fifteen minutes passed from my orgasmic flood until Camila came amid thanks and insults directed at me. I came soon after, squeezing his cock until my vaginal contractions nearly strangled it. That allowed Damián to spill a small amount, for him, of the usual quantity.

***

When we were all empty, he sent us to shower together. The two-by-two stall with multiple jets filled with steam in seconds. I took the sponge, filled it with soap, and started scrubbing myself.

—Give me the sponge, stupid bitch —said Camila, entering last.

—Things are asked for politely —I answered—. And I’ll hand it over when I’m done. And don’t call me that, because I’m not licking anything of yours anymore.

—You don’t understand anything, stupid bitch.

—Give her the sponge, stupid bitch —Damián interjected, stepping between the water and me—. And then lie down on the bathroom floor, brace yourself on your clenched fists and do a hundred push-ups. I want your nipples five centimeters from the floor, count to fifteen, and go back up until your arms are straight. Keep your body always straight.

—Sorry, master —I replied, lowering my head and moving forward to hand him the sponge—. I... I don’t...

—Now! —he raised his voice, shoving me out of the water.

I got out. I lay down on the cold tile and started counting. Meanwhile, Camila rinsed the sponge and began soaping Damián with devotion, only getting wet when the posture required it. He, however, managed to leave her soaked. Then, when she was rinsing off, he ordered her to soap herself, but not her tits or her cunt.

—Thank you, master.

When she finished rinsing, he himself poured soap over her budding breasts and over her cunt, separating her lips with his fingers and slipping two inside, before asking for the sponge to scrub her. He let her rinse while he pawed at her.

From the floor, I kept counting.

Camila wet her hair, slipped on a pair of terry slippers, and left. She positioned herself between my arms, just as I was coming up on a push-up, a little off-center, forcing me on the way down to rest my lips on her right instep. On the way up, she took a step back, leaned over me, took her hair in her hands, and wrung it out over my head. The water fell cold, mixing with the dried soap that still covered part of my body.

I kept counting. Push-up sixty-nine.

Camila went to fetch clean towels and new slippers. She knelt to dry Damián’s feet. Before putting the slippers on him, she kissed both. She changed towels for his thighs, sex, and buttocks. She kissed the head of his cock and his ass cheeks. Another towel for his torso. She kissed his nipples. The last for his head.

I watched the whole ritual out of the corner of my eye. And little by little, I began to understand the mistakes I myself had made.

***

Damián and Camila left the bathroom for the bedroom. She had barely dried herself with his wet towels.

—Stupid bitch —Damián ordered me when I was on push-up eighty-eight—, don’t get up. Move like that to the bedroom. If any of your boyfriend’s military training stayed with you, you’ll be able to. And you’re placing your feet wrong.

I snorted. I had always dragged myself on my elbows, never with my arms in push-up position. It cost me to move. When I reached the bedroom, Damián and Camila were sitting on the edge of the bed, speaking in low voices.

—You moved —he said when he saw me—. Start counting from one. And add ten push-ups for not placing your feet the way I told you.

While I did the one hundred and ten push-ups, they talked about giving me to another man. Camila seemed pleased with the idea. I finished, sat up, and headed for the bathroom.

—Where are you going, stupid bitch? —asked Damián.

—To shower, master.

—You lost that right with your attitude. Kneel at the foot of the bed.

I obeyed. I stayed rigid on my knees, which I noticed disappointed him a little. He was probably hoping to be able to scold me for my posture too.

—Are you aware of your failure? Did you notice how Camila behaved?

—No, master —I lied. I was afraid there was something else I hadn’t picked up on.

—To begin with, you have to accept that if you want to be my slave, you are nothing. And that has to show in your attitude. —He pressed the intercom button—. Lía, put the shower scene on the screen.

—Yes, master —answered a distorted voice from the speakers.

—What a master you are —it slipped out of me—. You even reconfigured Alexa...

I fell silent when I saw his face. And also when I saw the television turn on. Camila burst out laughing and leaned over to whisper something in his ear. He laughed too. The screen showed the bathroom from a few minutes earlier, from the moment the three of us had entered the shower. Damián let it play in full, while he fingered Camila and she licked his ear.

—You know —he said when the video ended— that you’ve earned a punishment for how you treated me. And at dawn we’ll see what others.

—Sorry, master —I said, though my tone wasn’t very pleading—. It’s habit. I’ll accept any punishment.

—Rest assured that I’ll impose it on you. Not now, because it might interfere with your work. But to begin with, tell me what happened in the shower. From the beginning.

—Yes, master. Camila called me that thing that bothers me so much...

—You have a problem.

—Yes, master, I know. It’s the lack of habit in this kind of relationship.

—Relationships in which you fuck. Do you fuck anyone else besides your boyfriend? Another guy?

—No, master. Not with more men. Only with the occasional woman. I’m bad at relating to men outside work.

—Good —he said, and went back to making out with Camila—. That’s your second problem, not the first. Now say it properly. No pronouns. No detours. Call things by their name.

—I don’t understand.

—Record, Camila.

The girl took out a phone and pointed it at me. I brought one arm to my tits and the other hand to my cunt, an automatic gesture.

—Now spread your legs. In that position, but with your knees a meter apart. Hands behind your neck.

I took the pose. I felt my face burning.

—Good. Unless I say otherwise, when I’m naked and order you to rest, you’ll take that position, no matter who’s in front of you. Now you’re going to repeat three sentences to the camera. Before each one you’ll say: “I’m a stupid bitch who doesn’t know how to fuck, and that’s why I say it wrong,” and then the sentence. Choose: the shower one, the one you just said, or the first one in your story.

—The last one, master —I asked, with the correct tone on the vocative.

He explained the gesture with his hand: lower it to begin, switch it to the other side to move on to the next sentence.

—The correct sentence —he said— is: “I don’t fuck with more guys. I only mess around with the occasional bitch, like me. I’m bad at finding guys to screw outside work.”

I nodded. He lowered his hand. Camila pressed the red button. I counted mentally to fifteen.

—I’m a stu... stupid bitch who doesn’t know how to fu... fuck. And that’s why I say it wrong: I don’t fu... fuck with more guys. —Each time I was redder, on the verge of collapse—. I only me... mess around with some stu... stupid bitch, like me. I’m bad at finding guys to sc... screw. Outside work.

Damián moved his hand from right to left. It was time for the second one.

—Sorry, master. Which one now?

—The shower one. Another punishment for asking.

I swallowed. Started again.

—I’m a stu... stupid bitch who doesn’t know how to fu... fuck. And that’s why I say it wrong: Please ask me nicely? Don’t call me... bitch. Stupid bitch that I’m not eating your co... cunt.

—You’re getting the idea. Now do it without cackling. And if you manage it, there won’t be any punishment in the story.

I breathed. The last one.

—I’m a stupid bitch who doesn’t know how to fuck. And that’s why I say it wrong: Camila has called me a stupid bitch, which bothers me because in my upbringing those words were forbidden. It’s also hard for me to talk about anything that has to do with se... sex.

—Why? —Damián asked, with genuine curiosity.

—My parents are part of a very conservative Christian community, master. An old branch, rooted in a congregation that came to Europe from southern India in the sixteenth century. In almost everything they accept the majority doctrine, but when it comes to the body they are stricter than few others.

—They raised you in silence.

—They raised me in circumlocutions. “Doing that with boys is bad,” “a girl doesn’t stay alone with a boy,” “be careful with boys, even the ones from the community, because they can put that in you and leave you pregnant.” Once I asked my mother whether that included my brothers. She almost fainted.

—How many brothers?

—Five older and one younger. And two older sisters and two younger. I’m the eighth of eleven.

Damián let out a rough laugh.

—That explains your combative character. Because upbringing, surely not.

—Nor my brothers. They were meek. No fights or foul language. Not even to describe what was sin was it spoken aloud. That was another peculiarity of my community: they preached peace and meekness when the world around them preached the opposite. And that earned me my first major punishment, master. But also my greatest self-knowledge.

—One day you’ll tell me about it.

—When the master orders it.

He smiled. Camila kept recording. I, kneeling with my hands behind my neck, felt that I had just said aloud words I had never spoken in my life, and that behind the humiliation there was a strange, almost liquid relief, something I didn’t know how to name.