The Rules She Accepted When She Crossed My Door

Marina stood motionless in front of you, clutching her purse to her chest as if it were the last shred of her dignity. She asked you where she should put her things. You didn’t answer. Instead, you gave her a short, imperious gesture to follow you down the hall.

She walked behind you, listening to the echo of her own steps on the wooden floor. It was a silent march toward something she still didn’t quite understand. When they entered the bedroom, the space intimidated her: the huge bed perfectly made, the scent of sandalwood and something that could only be called authority, and that dim light designed to strip truths bare before bodies.

—This is where —you said in a cold voice, closing the door behind her.

The click of the lock made her shiver. You noticed it in her shoulders, in the way she tightened her grip on the purse.

—Put that on the floor —you ordered—. And come closer.

Marina took two short steps and stopped an arm’s length away, as if that strip of air protected her from something. You studied her without hiding it. Her jaw was tight, her knuckles white over the purse strap, and still she held her chin high. That mixture of fear and pride was exactly what you had seen in her the first time. It was what had made you choose her.

Marina obeyed, closing the distance, moving like an automaton. You stopped in front of her and, without asking permission, your hands went to the buttons of her blouse. As the first one came undone, you began to dictate the structure of her new existence, unhurried, like someone reading a contract aloud.

—Listen carefully. You won’t lack anything here. I pay every bill in this house and make sure the pantry is always stocked. You prepare breakfast every morning. Lunch you handle with the money I give you, and I take care of dinner. On weekends you cook all three meals for both of us and keep everything in order.

You slid the blouse off her shoulders. She closed her eyes at the feel of the cold air against her skin. The duality tormented her: she knew she wouldn’t want for anything, but the price was beginning to show itself, garment by garment.

—During the day you’re free —you continued—. Go out with Sofía, make plans with your friends, talk to whoever you want and in whatever tone you want. I’m not going to check your phone or count your steps. On weekends you can do whatever you feel like too. But at nine at night the outside world ends.

—Marina —you said her name slowly, so she would understand it was not a suggestion—. At nine you’re here, no exceptions. The only exception is if you travel to another city to see your parents, or if you ask me for permission and I grant it. Once you cross that door at that hour, you are completely available to me. You do whatever I ask you to do, the way I ask you to do it, without arguing. Without opposing anything.

Marina looked up. In her green eyes there was a spark of anger and wounded pride while you finished pulling down her pants.

—So that’s the game —she said, her voice trembling, thick with bitterness—. You give me the sun so I’ll think I’m free. So I can go out with Sofía, do my things, laugh with whoever I want. But as soon as it gets dark I have to come back and pay my debt in this room. You give me the whole day so the price of the night hurts more. Is that it?

You ignored the comment completely. Silence was your answer, and that silence dirtied her pride a little more. You finished stripping her and left her standing beside the edge of the bed.

Seeing her like that confirmed what you already suspected. Marina had a full, carnal beauty, nothing like the fragility of magazine covers. Nothing was too much and nothing was lacking: a provocative build, with real, well-proportioned curves. Her pale, almost porcelain skin contrasted with her dark brown hair. Firm, full breasts topped by pink nipples already stiffened by sheer cold and humiliation, wide hips leading down to toned thighs with vibrant health. Between her legs, her shaved pussy, barely covered by a strip of dark hair, looked tight and clean, exposed to your gaze like an offering she had not chosen to give.

You began to play with her without hurry, running your hands over her body, measuring each reaction. First you brushed her collarbone, then her side, descending slowly so that the waiting weighed more than the contact. You could feel her holding her breath every time your fingers changed direction.

You sucked one nipple hard, staking your claim, tugging with your teeth until she let out a short moan she tried to swallow. You ran your tongue around the aureole, sucking noisily, while your other hand moved down between her legs and began touching her with a technique that admitted no doubt. You parted the lips of her pussy with two fingers and ran your thumb over her clit, in slow circles, pressing just enough that she had to bite her lower lip not to scream. Marina clenched her teeth. She tried to think of anything, the street, Sofía, the conversation she would have with her the next day pretending none of this had happened. It was no use.

Marina writhed. Her mind tried to sustain its rejection, but her body betrayed her: she began to get wet within seconds and you noticed your hand soaking, the slick beginning to run down the inside of her thigh. Her breathing turned into heavy panting. You slid one finger in, very slowly, feeling the initial resistance and then the way her pussy closed, hot and elastic, around your knuckle. You pushed in a second. Curving them upward, you searched for the spot that would make her surrender, and you found it at once by the way she jerked, biting her hand not to scream. She was aroused, visibly, though her eyes were still fighting a war against pleasure.

—I’m going to be good to you —you whispered in her ear, pausing the movement for a second but not removing your fingers, leaving them buried inside so she could feel the weight of your hand there—. I’m going to let you choose one thing. Tell me now what you absolutely won’t do, what you won’t accept in bed. If you have several, I’m sorry: I only let you have one, and I’ll respect it as long as I consider it reasonable. If I don’t accept it, you do it anyway or the deal ends right here.

Marina went breathless. She felt that contradictory stab between gratitude for the supposed kindness and disgust at the whole situation. With the urgency of protecting the one thing that truly felt like hers, she chose quickly.

—I don’t want anyone else —she managed to say—. Just you and me in this room. No spectators. No one else seeing me.

You granted it. But you warned her, with the same calm, that you would record it for your private use. She swallowed and did not answer.

You resumed moving with more intensity. You pulled your fingers out, now shining, and ran them across her mouth so she could taste them before you slid them back down. You sank them into her again, this time three, with your thumb pressing her clit from above, fucking her with your hand at a pace she couldn’t keep up with without moaning. The fingers went in and out with a wet, obscene sound that filled the room. Her fingers dug into the duvet, her back arched of its own accord against her will, her tits jolted with every thrust of your wrist.

—Tell me, Marina —you insisted without slowing, quickening—. What are you to me from today on? What does it mean to live under this roof?

—I’m... —her voice broke under the intensity, tears running down her cheeks—. I’m yours. I’m yours to use at nine. I’m yours!

At that instant the orgasm tore through her with devastating violence. Her pussy clenched around your fingers in hard spasms, soaking your hand up to the wrist, and she screamed in a hoarse, animal way she didn’t recognize as her own. She felt disgusted by her own pleasure, her pride ruined by having cried out in bliss just as she surrendered her will. She was left empty, sobbing in silence, trembling on the mattress, her thighs still glistening with her own wetness.

***

—Now it’s your turn —you said, sitting back against the headboard—. I want you to suck my cock and make me come in your mouth. Come here. Take off my pants and do your job.

Marina crawled across the bed and knelt in front of you. Her hands trembled as she undid your belt. Panic grew in her head with every passing second. She had always hated oral sex. With her previous partners she did it reluctantly and never let them finish in her mouth.

When she pulled down your pants and saw what was in front of her, regret burned her from the inside. Your cock was hard, thick, marked by a vein running along its entire length, and the swollen head was pointed straight at her face. It wasn’t just the moment: it was thinking that later on she would have to take all of that inside her too, forcing its way through her tight pussy all the way to the base.

I should have used my one option to forbid exactly this, she thought, desperate. How am I going to do this? I’m going to choke. And it’s going to end up in my mouth.

—I never let anyone come inside my mouth —she begged, her eyes misting over—. Please.

—Rule number three, Marina —you answered without flinching—. No arguing. Open up.

She leaned forward, defeated. Before starting, she took a breath through her nose, like someone preparing to dive underwater, and that small gesture confirmed for you how much it cost her. You ran the tip of your cock over her lips, smearing them with the wetness already leaking from you, and she parted them by force. Her lips wrapped around you slowly, and the effort of taking in the thickness forced her jaw open as wide as it would go. Her tongue trembled against the head when you pushed in the first couple of inches.

—Deeper —you ordered, placing your hand on the back of her neck—. Don’t suck it like you’re afraid. Suck me properly.

You held her by the brown hair, setting the rhythm yourself, deep and steady, so she couldn’t escape. You fed it into her little by little, watching her mouth stretch around the shaft, watching saliva begin to spill from the corners and drip in strings down to her breasts. When you reached the back of her throat, she gagged sharply, and that gag tightened your cock in a way that almost made you finish right there. You didn’t let her go. You kept her pinned there for one more second, listening to her muffled moans around your shaft, before pulling back just enough for her to breathe.

You didn’t rush her or let her go: you kept her exactly where you wanted her for a long while, listening to her broken breathing bounce against your skin, fucking her mouth with thrusts that started slow and then grew deeper and deeper. You made her suck your balls too, one by one, while you stroked your saliva-wet cock over her face. Each time she tried to pull back for air, you only let her do it just enough, then guided her again to where you decided, pushing her head down until her nose hit your pubic bone. Tears streamed down her face mixed with smeared makeup and strands of saliva, and she kept obeying, and that wet, surrendered obedience, with her mouth turned into a slobbering mess around your cock, was worth more than any words she could have said to you.

When you felt yourself on the edge, you sped up. You grabbed her head with both hands and fucked her mouth without mercy, hearing her moan and choke at the same time.

—Swallow it all —you growled—. Not a drop outside.

When you finally came, you did it without warning. You emptied the first surge straight into the back of her throat, hot and thick, and she closed her eyes and swallowed with a choked sob. The second you left on her tongue so she could taste it. The third spilled from the corner of her mouth and ran down her chin. You kept her there, with your cock still inside, until you felt her tongue cleaning the tip with the last drop. She received the final seal of your control over her. She did not protest. She had no strength left for it.

She stayed kneeling, with a shining thread at the corner of her lips and her gaze lost somewhere in the duvet. The whole room smelled of sandalwood and surrender, and also of warm semen and wet cunt.

—I’ve done my part —she whispered hoarsely, barely audible—. Now... can I rest now?

You looked at her for a long moment without answering right away. You liked that silence, that waiting that forced her to hold the question in the air, knowing the answer did not belong to her. It belonged to the rules. And the rules, from that night on, were yours to make.