The Stranger Who Taught Her to Obey

Carla was around thirty and had been married to Martín for nearly two years. He was a good man, attentive and patient, but something was missing between the sheets. It wasn’t that she never reached orgasm; she did, and yet afterward she was left with a sense of emptiness she couldn’t quite name. Something was lacking. She felt it like a hollow in her chest that no caress ever fully filled.

She had even considered seeing a specialist, but shame held her back every time. How do you explain that your husband does everything right and still it isn’t enough?

—Maybe —her friend Nuria would half-jokingly say— what you need is an affair.

—Don’t be crude.

—Well, you’ll have to do something. You can’t go on like this.

But Carla didn’t believe sleeping with someone else would solve anything. Looking back, she’d felt something similar with every man in her life. With Martín it was worse, true, although she blamed that on the routine of marriage and so many identical nights.

One afternoon, while out shopping, she ran into an acquaintance who was accompanied by a mature man in his forties. Tall, lean, with a deep, searching gaze, the kind you can’t hold and that forces you to lower your eyes. Her friend introduced him as Damián.

The man remained silent, watching her with such fixed intensity that Carla began to feel uncomfortable. Suddenly, the acquaintance’s phone rang and she stepped away a few paces to take the call, leaving them alone.

—You shouldn’t be this nervous, Carla —he said suddenly.

—I’m fine.

—I don’t think so.

She would have liked to leave at that very moment, but she thought it would be rude. And in truth, the man wasn’t doing anything strange. It was just that look, so penetrating, as if he could peer into corners of her she didn’t even know existed.

—I have a place. A private club. I think you should visit it. It would do you good —and he handed her a card with an address on it.

Carla slipped it into her pocket without really looking at it. Her acquaintance had finished the call and was coming back over. Before she arrived, Damián insisted in a low voice:

—Come see me this Friday. At eight.

More than an invitation, it sounded like an order. They said goodbye and Carla could finally breathe easily. But she couldn’t get that strange, unsettling man out of her head.

***

When she got home she found the card, which she had almost forgotten about, and looked at it more carefully. The club had a curious name: “The Threshold,” and it was less than fifteen minutes from her house. She was about to tear it up, but without really knowing why, she put it away again. In any case, she wasn’t planning to go.

The card stayed in the pocket of that coat for weeks. Sometimes she took it out, looked at it for a moment, and put it back, repeating to herself that she had no desire to cross paths with that man again.

Until one afternoon, while running errands, she realized she was a couple of streets from the club. It was almost eight, just the time he had mentioned. Out of pure curiosity, she told herself, she decided to go take a look at what the place was like from the outside.

She was disappointed. It had nothing special about it: a plain brown door and a small metal plaque beside the bell, with the name engraved on it.

Doesn’t exactly invite you in, she thought.

And yet it did. That austerity, that complete lack of ornament, gave it a mysterious air that piqued her curiosity even more. She pushed the door open and went in.

The interior was dimly lit and she had to wait a few seconds for her eyes to adjust. There were few customers: a couple at the tables and a young blonde at the bar, attended by a dark-haired woman in her forties dressed very provocatively. Carla decided that it wasn’t for her and turned around.

But on leaving she came face to face with Damián, who had just arrived.

—Hello.

—Hello, I’m Carla. Do you remember me?

—Of course. The supermarket.

—That’s right.

—I waited for you last Friday.

—Sorry. I never said I was going to come.

—Where are you going now?

—I have to go.

—Come in. Just for a moment.

Damián looked at her with those dark eyes that seemed to see right through her. Carla felt her pulse speed up.

—Another day.

—But you’re already here. Come on.

And he took her hand. Carla’s nerves shot up several notches. He tugged gently toward the inside and she even took two steps forward, but then she suddenly pulled her hand free and stepped back.

—I can’t. I have to go.

—Five minutes. It’s for your own good.

—I really can’t.

—You shouldn’t resist.

—Resist what?

—Your resistance.

Carla didn’t want to hear another word and almost ran out. She felt ridiculous for having gone in. On the way home she threw the card into a trash bin, as if that could rid her of the unease too.

***

The days went by and she couldn’t forget the club or, above all, that last phrase. Resist. Resist what? Was he playing with me?

She felt angry with that man, although deep down she suspected much of that anger was aimed at herself: for having gone, for not being able to stop thinking about him, and because she feared she would go back. That she wanted to go back.

And so it was. One Friday afternoon she found herself once again in front of the brown door. And she couldn’t pretend she was there by chance, because she had even put on one of her best dresses, fitted, the one that flattered her figure most.

She went in without hesitation and headed straight to the bar. She ordered a vodka and scanned the room. Some tables were occupied by couples, but it wasn’t the busiest hour. In truth she was looking for Damián, and at last she saw him appear between some curtains at the back. As soon as he recognized her, he smiled and walked straight toward her.

—Pretty dress.

—Thanks —Carla said, feeling again that his mere presence both aroused and intimidated her in equal measure.

—You finally decided to come.

—I’ve just come for a drink.

—Of course —and, turning to the woman behind the bar, he added—: Lorena, her drink is on me.

He took her hand and gently pulled her along. This time Carla didn’t resist. She let herself be led by that man who seemed to wield over her a power she couldn’t explain.

—I knew it the moment I saw you —he told her without turning around—. I know what you like. What you need. And I’m going to give it to you.

They crossed the lounge and reached a long, poorly lit corridor. Doors lined both sides, all closed. From some came muffled noises, muted moans. They stopped only at the last one. Damián opened it.

Inside, a small room. In the center, a nearly naked young woman was being flogged with a whip by a burly man. With each strike, the girl let out a moan Carla couldn’t tell was pain or pleasure.

She froze in the doorway, hypnotized. Damián put a hand on her shoulder.

—Do you like it?

—Yes.

—Do you want to take her place?

And Carla, amazed by her own voice, said yes again.

***

The girl stepped aside. The burly man approached Carla and began undressing her with methodical calm, leaving her wearing only her stockings. He led her to the center of the room and brought down the first lash.

The sting ran over her skin and, against everything she had expected, a wave of pleasure shot through her immediately. Pain aroused her without mercy. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Damián watching her, pleased, and then she understood: this was it. This was what he meant when he kept telling her not to resist.

After several lashes, Damián gave the man a sharp order. He stood behind her and began preparing her, but Carla kept her eyes fixed on Damián, frowning.

—Is there a problem? —he asked.

—I want you to do it —she asked, surprised at her own boldness.

The other man stepped away and left the room. Damián stood in front of her and freed himself from his pants, leaving his shaft a few centimeters from her mouth.

—Get it ready for me.

Carla parted her lips and began to run her tongue over him, first the glans, then along the length, kissing and licking him until he sank fully into her mouth. She could feel him hard, hot, setting a rhythm she followed with a surrender she didn’t recognize in herself. Her excitement rose inside her like a tide.

When he was fully rigid, Damián wrapped around her body and positioned himself behind her. Carla felt the contact at her entrance, his heat blending with the fire already burning in her. He pushed in slowly and she let out a long moan. She felt him work his way inside, first carefully, then with force, in and out, giving her that exact combination of pain and pleasure she had, without knowing it, been waiting for for years.

Carla lost all control over herself. There were no more buts, no more rules, no more guilt. Only a pleasure flooding her from head to toe and suddenly releasing her most buried instincts.

—Keep going, don’t stop —she gasped.

—Is this what you were missing?

—Yes. Yes, like that.

Damián devoted himself to pleasing her. He fucked her without respite, gripping her by the hair, marking her skin with his fingers, and she responded hotter and hotter until orgasm shook her with tremors and a cry she didn’t try to hold back. A few more thrusts and he emptied himself inside her with a rough growl.

Carla was left exhausted and aching, but sated in a way she had never known. She couldn’t believe sex had carried her so far, or understand why being treated like that excited her so much. And yet, for the first time, she understood the source of that emptiness that had haunted her every night beside her husband. She had a secret desire that this man had known how to read in her from the very first instant: surrender, submission, the pleasure of losing control.

But something else became clear to her that night, as she dressed slowly under Damián’s satisfied gaze. What she had just discovered was like a drug. And she knew, with a certainty that frightened her, that she would no longer be able to live without it.