The Night My Friend Turned Me Into Her Slave

It had been more than a year since I’d seen Marina. Life had pulled us in different directions, so when she invited me to spend the weekend at her house on the outskirts of town, I didn’t think twice. Driving three hours down an empty road seemed like a fair price to see her again.

I arrived at dusk. I expected Diego, her husband, to be there too, but she greeted me alone at the door, a glass of wine in her hand and a smile that I didn’t remember being so sharp.

“Diego went to the village to see his grandparents,” she said, stepping aside to let me in. “We’ll be alone for a couple of days. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

Quite the opposite, I thought, though I said nothing.

We had a light dinner in the kitchen while we caught up. Her two children kept darting through the hallway until, around eleven, she put them to bed. When she came back, she had another bottle with her and suggested we go out onto the terrace, where the night air had cooled just enough.

We sat in two wicker armchairs separated by a low table. She slipped off her shoes with a lazy gesture and, without asking permission, stretched out her legs and rested her feet on the edge of my seat, right at thigh level.

“Sorry for putting them on you,” she said, with no intention whatsoever of taking them away. “I’ve been on my feet all day and I need to stretch.”

“It’s fine,” I replied, and my voice came out rougher than I intended. “You know that.”

After that sentence, silence settled between us. It wasn’t an awkward silence: it was thick, charged, one of those silences where words are unnecessary because everything that matters is being said by pulse and breathing. I had secretly idolized Marina for years, and I suppose she had always known it.

I lowered my gaze to her feet. They were small, with high arches, slender long toes. Without thinking, I cupped them in my hands and began to massage them. It wasn’t a decision: it was an impulse I’d kept bottled up for too long.

“Mmm,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “Don’t stop.”

I had no intention of stopping. Feet had always been my weakness, one of those obsessions you learn to hide, and hers were exactly what I had imagined so many nights. I stroked them slowly, pressing my thumbs into the soles, separating each toe one by one. When I heard her let out a low moan, I lost the last restraint I had left.

I leaned down and started kissing them. First the arch, then the ankle, and then I ran my tongue between each of those slender toes. They tasted of salt and summer. Marina opened her eyes and looked down at me, amused, as if she had just confirmed a suspicion.

“So it was true,” she said softly. “I always thought you looked at me in a strange way.”

I didn’t answer. My mouth was busy and my heart was pounding in my throat.

***

I slowly worked my way up, leaving a trail of kisses along her calves and thighs. Marina let me do it, her head thrown back and a smile of satisfied feline pleasure on her face. When I reached her waist, I gripped her firmly and, in a move that caught her off guard, turned her until she was kneeling on the cushion, braced against the back of the chair.

She was tiny, very slim, and handling her took so little effort that it surprised me. I pulled down the lower part of her strappy dress and her underwear until they hung at mid-thigh. Her body was there in front of me, exposed and barely trembling.

“Do whatever you want to me,” she whispered against the backrest. “Tonight I’m yours.”

But we both knew it was exactly the other way around.

I knelt behind her and started where she least expected it. I moved my tongue slowly, without rushing, tracing every inch, and she reacted with a shiver that ran all the way up her spine. She didn’t pull away. On the contrary: she arched her hips to offer herself more, letting out small moans that mingled with the chirring of the crickets.

“You’re incredible,” she panted. “Keep going, don’t you dare stop.”

I didn’t stop. I wanted to explore her completely, to discover every corner of that wiry body I had desired in silence for so long. I didn’t need her to touch me, I expected nothing in return. My only goal was to give her pleasure, and I knew exactly how to do it. Marina was completely surrendered, passive, letting herself be carried by whatever my mouth chose to do to her.

When she finally turned around, her cheeks were flushed and her breathing was ragged. She looked at me for a moment, as if sizing me up, and something changed in her eyes. The amusement became command.

“At last I find someone who enjoys exploring every corner,” she said, and the sweetness had vanished from her voice. “Every single one, do you hear me? I don’t want you to leave one untouched.”

“Of course,” I answered, and the word came out on its own. “I’m your slave. I’ll do everything I know turns you on the most.”

Something lit in her eyes when she heard me say that word. Slave. I’d said it without thinking, but the moment I pronounced it I knew it was true, and that she had been waiting for it all night.

***

“Lie down,” she ordered.

It wasn’t a suggestion or an invitation. It was an order, spoken with the naturalness of someone used to giving them. I lay back on the cool terrace tiles, and she rose with deliberate slowness, savoring my obedience.

She walked until she was positioned over me. I saw her legs on either side of my head before she crouched and lowered herself, pressing her sex against my mouth. The light weight of her body, the heat, the smell: everything blurred my senses.

“Now stay still,” she said from above me. “I’m going to fuck myself with your mouth and you’re not going to do anything except take it. Understood?”

“Yes,” I murmured against her.

She started to grind slowly, rolling her hips, using my lips and my tongue however she pleased. I did nothing but remain motionless, exactly as she’d told me, while she took what she wanted. The rhythm built, her movements grew rougher, her hands grabbed my hair to hold on. I could hear her moaning louder and louder, no longer caring about the silence of the night.

“Just like that, exactly like that,” she panted. “Don’t move, don’t even think about moving.”

When she came, she did it with a long cry that split the air. Her whole body tensed over my face and then slackened, trembling. I thought we were done. I was wrong.

Without getting down, she straightened a little and looked down at me with a smile I had never seen before, a blend of challenge and absolute dominance.

“Are you really my slave?” she asked. “Let’s find out. Open your mouth.”

I hesitated for barely a second. Then I obeyed. It was her will, and by then there was nothing in me capable of refusing her. What came next was an intimate, raw act, a total surrender neither of us had put into words but both of us were seeking. She was marking me as hers, and I was letting her, feeling that it bound me to Marina in a way nothing before ever had.

I’m hers, I thought. Completely.

When she finished, she stood there for a moment looking down at me on the floor, satisfied, like a queen who has just confirmed the loyalty of her subject.

***

“Get on all fours,” she said, finally rising.

She didn’t do it herself; she told me to. But then she leaned over the back of the terrace sofa and offered me her body again, silent, waiting. I understood what she wanted without needing any more words. I knelt behind her once more and kissed and licked her with a devotion that bordered on worship. That woman I had secretly wanted for so long was letting me explore her completely, and for me there was no greater pleasure than serving her.

When I finished, I expected a caress, a word, any sign that it had meant half as much to her as it did to me. Instead, she turned and, with a sharp shove to my shoulder, pushed me aside like someone flicking a cigarette butt to the ground.

Then she climbed on top of me. She rode me without preamble, her loose mane falling over her back, her nails dug into my chest, shaking herself with a ferocious energy that wanted only its own ending. I let her use me, unmoving, watching her use my body just as she had used my mouth. When she came for the second time, she threw her head back and let out a deep moan that made my skin prickle.

And just like that, it was over.

There were no explanations. No hugs or sweet words. She got up, gathered her clothes from the floor and, without even looking at me, went into the house.

“I’m going to shower,” was the only thing she said, already with her back to me.

I lay there on the terrace for a while, staring up at the starless sky, my heart still hammering in my chest. When I heard the bathroom door close, I got up, got dressed, and went up to the guest room she had prepared for me. The slave’s room, I thought with a bitter half-smile.

I lay down in the dark, listening to the water running on the other side of the hallway. I knew she wouldn’t come. I knew that if I wanted to have her again, I would have to wait until she decided, until she called me when she felt like it, on her terms and only hers.

And the most disturbing thing of all was realizing that that waiting, that uncertainty, that absolute power I had just handed her without conditions, was exactly what I had been looking for my whole life. I closed my eyes and settled in to wait. Patiently. As a slave should wait for his mistress to call him.

Or decide never to do so.