The Submission I Awakened in the Bakery

The morning I walked alone through the door of that bakery, I still didn’t know how to name what I was looking for. For a few months I had felt different, more aware of my body, of how certain men looked at me, and of how some glances quickened my pulse even when I pretended not to notice. I had always been reserved, awkward at holding a conversation, unable to say out loud what aroused me even when I was alone in my room. But something inside me had already shifted, a tense, shameful curiosity that wouldn’t go away.

We lived in a small city, with quiet streets and businesses that had been there forever. The bakery on the corner was one of those places that opened before dawn and perfumed half the block with the smell of warm dough and strong coffee. I had gone there dozens of times with my family, and it had always seemed like a simple, everyday, harmless place. That day I went in shortly after eight, wearing a dark skirt, a light blouse, and insecurity clinging to my skin.

He was behind the counter. I’m not going to call him by his real name, so I’ll say his name was Julián. He was a mature man, broad-shouldered, with large hands from working dough, two days’ worth of salt-and-pepper beard, and a way of watching me that made me feel truly seen. He wasn’t handsome in the obvious sense of the word. He had something more uncomfortable than that. Presence.

—Good morning —I murmured as I approached.

—Good morning —he replied, without taking his eyes off me—. So early and so serious. What can I get you?

I asked for bread and a couple of pastries. My voice came out low, almost fragile. He turned to fetch them, and I took the opportunity to look around the shop: the clean display case, the trays in the back, the fine dusting of flour on the worktable. Everything seemed normal. Except it wasn’t. I felt his attention like an invisible hand sliding over my legs, my waist, my breasts.

When he returned, he didn’t hand me the bag right away. He set it on the counter and stood there looking at me in silence, as though he expected me to confess something before paying.

—You’ve changed —he said at last—. You don’t come in here like a little girl accompanied by someone anymore. You come in like a woman who knows she’s being watched.

I felt heat rise from my neck to my cheeks. I wanted to shake my head, laugh, say anything that would dismantle the tension, but nothing came out. I lowered my gaze. A mistake. He read it like an open door left ajar.

—Look at me —he ordered in a low voice.

I raised my eyes. I did it without thinking, obeying before deciding whether I wanted to obey. In that second I understood that the dangerous thing wasn’t him, but how quickly my body responded to a firm tone.

—That’s better —he said.

He slowly came around the counter. He didn’t touch me right away. He moved close enough for me to smell flour, coffee, and clean sweat. It was a deliberate, calculated closeness, and it left me motionless. My breathing changed. He noticed.

—You’re nervous —he murmured.

—No… I only came for bread.

—No. You came out of habit. But also out of curiosity. And right now you don’t know what to do with either one.

His hand settled on my waist. Firm, not rough. He waited a second, giving me room to pull away. I didn’t. I think that was where everything truly began: not with the first touch, but with the awareness that I could leave and, even so, I stayed.

—If I told you I wanted to take you to the back and make you kneel, would you run away? —he asked.

I was left speechless. The air seemed thicker. The shop was empty, and the noise from the street reached us muffled through the glass door.

—Answer me.

—I don’t know.

He smiled faintly, without tenderness.

—Yes, you do. What you don’t know is whether you’re more afraid of what I might do to you or of how much you might want it.

My cunt gave a sharp throb against the fabric of my panties. That little spasm betrayed me to myself. I swallowed.

—I’m not like that —I said, almost offended.

—You still don’t know what you’re like.

He took me by the chin and turned my face slightly. His fingers were rough. He didn’t kiss me. He simply held me there, forcing me to remain inside that moment.

—If you take one step backward, you take your bag and this ends —he said—. If you take one step forward, you’ll do exactly what I tell you.

I didn’t think. I did it. I took one step forward.

***

The bakery at the back was warmer than the shop. There were stacked sacks, a steel table, hanging utensils, and a small office with the door ajar. The hum of the refrigerator and the smell of fresh bread wrapped around me in a strange, almost intimate way. Julián closed the inner door, not locking it, just enough to separate us from the front of the shop.

—Now tell me the truth —he demanded—. Have you ever imagined a man ordering you around?

I stood still, hugging myself.

—Sometimes —I admitted, so softly it was almost inaudible.

—And have you touched yourself thinking about it?

Immediate shame washed over me, but so did a thread of unmistakable arousal that made me wet all at once. I nodded.

—With words. I want to hear you say it.

—Yes.

—Good. We’re beginning to understand each other.

He pointed to an empty spot beside the worktable.

—Stay there. Stand straight. Hands behind your back.

I obeyed again. My heart was pounding, not with terror but with something dirtier and more honest: nerves, desire, shame, hunger. He made a slow circuit around me, appraising me without touching me, as though inspecting an object before using it.

—You like obeying more than you like admitting —he said.

—I don’t know if I like it.

—We’ll see.

His fingers brushed my neck, moved down the center of my chest, and stopped at the edge of my blouse. He undid one button. Then another. I breathed harder.

—If at any point you want to stop, say so. But if you continue, I don’t want half-measures or little games from a frightened girl. I want the truth. Understood?

—Yes.

—No. Say it properly.

—Yes, sir.

The expression on his face changed slightly. He liked hearing it. Saying it shook me. That form of address landed between my legs like an order written directly onto my body.

He finished opening my blouse and moved the fabric aside. I wore a simple bra, nothing meant to seduce anyone, and yet I felt naked. He looked at my breasts as if deciding where to begin.

—Pretty tits —he said crudely—. You’re already trembling and I haven’t even really touched you yet.

He caressed me over the bra with his whole hand, squeezing the weight of each breast. I let out a breath through my mouth. My nipples hardened immediately. He smiled with a slight, exciting contempt.

—That’s what I wanted to see.

He pulled down one cup of my bra and left a breast bare. The warm air of the bakery raised gooseflesh on my skin. He lowered his head and sucked my nipple, unhurried at first, circling it with his tongue before biting it lightly. The moan escaped me on its own. I closed my eyes.

—Don’t close your eyes. Look at me while I use you.

I obeyed, panting. He licked me again, harder this time, sucking and releasing until I had to press my thighs together. Then he moved to the other breast, repeating the punishment with greater force. When he pinched both nipples between his fingers, I felt a lash strike straight into my cunt.

—Are you wet?

I didn’t answer immediately.

His hand slid over my stomach, went beneath my skirt, and came to rest over my panties.

—I asked you a question.

—Yes.

—A lot or a little.

—A lot.

—How quick you are. All it took was for me to talk dirty to you and grab your tits.

His fingers squeezed my cunt through the fabric, and I felt my wetness immediately—warm, obvious, shameful. He rubbed me slowly, up and down, tracing my clitoris clearly through my panties, and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning louder.

—Take them off.

He looked me straight in the face, waiting. My hands trembled as I lifted my skirt and pulled my panties down my legs. I set them aside. Being left like that, half-naked and obedient in a bakery closed from the inside, churned my stomach with pure arousal.

—Now that’s better. Open yourself for me.

I spread my legs. He let out a short breath when he saw how soaked I was.

—Fuck. Just look at that. Bread wasn’t what you wanted this morning.

He ran a finger over the lips of my cunt, gathering my wetness. He held it in front of my face.

—Open your mouth.

I opened it. He put his finger inside, and I sucked it without thinking, tasting myself while he watched me. The gesture made me burn inside.

—Good girl. Now get on your knees.

I lowered myself slowly to the floor, amid the smell of flour and metal. My skirt bunched up over my thighs. Julián stroked my hair once, not affectionately, but possessively.

—I want to see whether that mouth obeys as well as the rest of you.

He opened his pants and pulled out his cock. It was thick, hard, heavy in his hand. Seeing it so close knotted my throat and sent a fresh gush between my legs. The head was shiny and reddened; the vein along the shaft pulsed visibly.

—Stick out your tongue.

I did. He lightly tapped the tip against it, letting me taste the salty flavor of the fluid already leaking from it. Then he rested it against my lips.

—Slowly. I want you to learn properly.

I licked it from base to tip, once, twice, clumsy at first. He grabbed my hair, gathering it into a fist, and guided the rhythm. He didn’t force it into me all at once; he eased his cock in little by little, letting me get used to the thickness, the feeling of filling my mouth, the weight on my tongue.

—That’s it. No teeth. Relax and swallow.

I breathed through my nose, leaned forward, and took more. When the head brushed my throat, a gag escaped me. He groaned, aroused.

—That’s it. I want to hear you choke a little.

He began moving his hips more firmly. My saliva ran along his shaft and wet my chin. Every time he went deeper, I felt the pressure in my throat and had to cling to his thighs to keep from pulling away. The wet sound of my mouth swallowing him filled the room. Hearing it aroused me too.

—Look at you —he said—. On your knees, drooling over a cock you didn’t even know existed this morning.

He withdrew slightly and ran the tip over my lips, smearing them with saliva. Then he plunged it back in harder. This time he held me still by the hair and fucked my mouth with short thrusts, growing faster and faster. The gags made me cry. My eyes watered immediately. I kept swallowing as best I could, feeling his balls strike my chin.

—Your face looks so good like that —he murmured—. Wide open for me.

He pulled his cock out with a wet sound. A strand of saliva hung from my lip to his glans. He wiped it away with his thumb and made me suck it.

—Stand up and lean against the table.

When I did, he lifted my skirt higher until my ass was almost bare. The first contact of his palm against one cheek was a warning. The second, a sharp smack that made me jump.

—Ah —escaped me.

—That wasn’t very hard. You’re so sensitive.

He struck me again, harder, and then once more. The sting spread hotly across my skin. Between the pain and the shame, my cunt answered with more wetness. He slid two fingers between my legs and gave a hoarse laugh.

—Soaking wet. I slap you and you get even worse. Now you can’t lie to yourself anymore.

He pushed one finger inside me. Then two. They went in without resistance, drenched. He moved them inside me, opening me slowly, curling them upward while his other hand held my hip. I arched over the table.

—Sir…

—That’s it. Use the word when I deserve it.

His fingers moved in and out with an obscene sound, faster and faster. With his thumb he began rubbing my clitoris in firm circles, and my knees nearly buckled. I moaned in broken gasps, unable to hide it. The combination of the cold wood beneath my hands and his hand working me like that drove me wild.

—You’re going to come on my fingers, aren’t you?

—I don’t know…

He slapped my ass right where it burned the most.

—Answer properly.

—Yes… yes, sir.

—Then do it.

He sped up the rubbing on my clitoris without breaking the rhythm inside my cunt. The orgasm rose quickly, unexpected and trembling. I came gripping the table with both hands, panting, my legs shaking, a muffled moan buried in my forearm. I felt myself clench around his fingers again and again.

—Look how easy that was —he said, pulling them out to show me how shiny they were—. I haven’t even fucked you and you’ve already come all over my hand.

He put those fingers in my mouth. I licked them, equally ashamed and aroused. He took advantage of my docility to spread my legs farther with his foot.

—Now comes the serious part.

***

He positioned himself behind me and rubbed the head of his cock between my soaked lips. The first direct brush drew a long sigh from me. The head slipped over my entrance, rose to my clitoris, and came back down. It was measured torture.

—I’m going to put my cock inside you, and I don’t want to hear you say that you don’t know what you’re doing —he said—. I want you to receive it.

He pushed slowly. The head entered, and I felt a full, dense pressure, much more intense than his fingers. My body tensed reflexively.

—Relax. If you stiffen up, it’ll be harder.

I drew a deep breath. He stroked my back with his free hand as he advanced millimeter by millimeter, letting me feel every inch of his cock opening me. When he had finished entering me completely, he stayed still. My eyes were closed, my mouth open, my cunt throbbing around him.

—Fuck —he murmured—. You squeeze like a trap.

He began moving slowly. He pulled out almost until only the tip remained, then sank all the way back in, hitting deep but without violence, with a heavy rhythm that forced me to adjust to his size. Each thrust made me wetter. The wet noise between my legs grew clear and indecent. He heard it and smiled against my nape.

—Listen to that. Your cunt is telling me more truth than your mouth.

He gripped my hair and arched my back. The angle changed, and I felt him even deeper. A louder moan burst from me.

—That’s what I wanted to hear.

The rhythm increased. It was no longer an exploration, but a real fucking. His hips struck my ass again and again, each impact more deliberate, dirtier. I let myself be carried away by the table, by his hands, by the rough pleasure of feeling myself open and used exactly where, minutes earlier, I had only intended to buy bread.

—Say it —he ordered—. Tell me you like it.

—I like it —I gasped.

—Clearer.

—I like the way you fuck me, sir.

That admission changed something between us. He gripped my hips more tightly and thrust into me hungrily. The base of his cock struck my clitoris on some of the strokes, and each of those brushes sent jolts through my belly.

—Good girl. You’ve learned how to speak.

He moved one hand between my legs and began rubbing my clitoris while continuing to penetrate me. The combination broke me. There was nowhere to hide from so much stimulation: his cock opening me, the precise friction on that sensitive point, his words over me, the smell of flour mingling with sex.

—I can’t take it…

—Yes, you can. And you’ll come when I want you to.

He withdrew his hand just as I reached the edge. I whimpered in frustration. He laughed maliciously.

—You’ll learn that too. You don’t decide everything.

He pulled out of me abruptly and turned me around. He sat me on the edge of the worktable, legs spread. He studied me for a few seconds, looking at my swollen, wet cunt, my glistening lips, the trembling in my thighs.

—I want to see it from the front.

He penetrated me that way, face-to-face. He entered with a deep thrust, and I grabbed his shoulders. From that angle I could see everything: the way he disappeared inside me, the way my body received him, the way his jaw tightened with pleasure. He kissed me for the first time, and it wasn’t a romantic kiss, but a dirty, dominant one. He opened my mouth with his tongue the way he had opened it with his cock earlier.

While he fucked me, he pulled my bra all the way down and began playing with my tits, squeezing them, weighing them in his hands, tugging my nipples until I moaned against his mouth. Then he drew back slightly and spat on one of them, rubbing it with his thumb. The obscenity of the gesture made me clench around his cock.

—Look how everything arouses you —he said—. Being used, being dirtied, being ordered around. You’re perfect for this.

—Yes…

—Yes what?

—Yes, sir.

The speed increased again. The table vibrated with the impacts. I could no longer keep my breathing steady; every thrust dragged a sound from me. I felt the orgasm returning, bigger and darker than the first.

—Ask for it.

—Let me come.

—Again.

—Please let me come, sir.

He watched me for a few seconds, enjoying my urgency, then brought two fingers to my clitoris. He began rubbing with the cruel precision of someone who knew exactly how much it would take to break me.

—Now.

I came with a brutal spasm, squeezing him hard, barely able to breathe. The orgasm folded me forward and left me vibrating all over. He kept fucking me through the trembling, driving through every contraction, stretching the pleasure until it became almost painful. I cried out his title again without meaning to.

—That’s it. I want to hear you come like that.

He pulled out of my cunt and turned me over onto the table, bending me at the waist. He spread my cheeks, and I felt his wet finger pressing against my ass.

—I’m going to try this too today.

I held my breath.

—Never…

—I know. That’s why you’re going to obey properly.

First he used one finger, working slowly, opening me with patience. The initial sting made me grit my teeth. Then he inserted a second, twisting them, while his other hand returned to caressing my cunt so I wouldn’t close completely from the tension. The contrast made me dizzy: wet and sensitive in front; tight, vulnerable, totally exposed behind.

—Relax or it will be difficult. I want to do this properly.

That simple sentence gave me a strange sense of calm. It wasn’t tenderness; it was control. And it worked for me. I loosened a little. He continued working with his fingers until my body yielded.

Then I felt the head of his cock rest against my ass. The mere contact made me gasp.

—Take a deep breath.

He pushed with measured firmness. The head entered slowly, stretching me in an intense, burning way that was almost unbearable during the first few seconds. I clung to the edge of the table. He stayed still, giving me time.

—Look at you, taking it —he murmured—. What a fucking marvel.

When he resumed moving, the thrusts were short at first, barely pulling out and entering again so I could get used to his thickness. The sting began to mingle with something heavier, deeper. It wasn’t the same pleasure as in my cunt. It was rougher, darker, more mental. Feeling myself so open there completely undid me.

—That’s it… like that… —I managed to say.

—Tell me where you have it.

I was embarrassed, but I said it.

—In my ass, sir.

—Good. And you like it.

His hand sought my cunt and he pushed two fingers inside while continuing to fuck my ass. The effect was devastating. Feeling both holes occupied at once shook me to the root. I began moving backward, seeking more, no longer trying to hide it.

—Look at you pushing back —he said with a deep laugh—. I don’t have to teach you as much anymore.

The rhythm increased. His cock entered and left my ass with a thick, wet sound of lubrication and desire, while his fingers fucked my cunt at the same time. I didn’t know where to put my breath, where to put my hands, how to withstand the avalanche of sensations. I could only moan and let him do what he wanted.

—You’re going to come again.

—Yes… yes…

—Ask properly.

—I want to come, sir… please…

—Do it.

He rubbed my clitoris with two quick, firm fingers. The orgasm exploded over the table with almost violent force. I came trembling, my legs giving way, feeling every anal thrust cut through the center of that pleasure until it became wild. He continued a little longer, grunting, until I felt his body tense behind me.

—I’m going to come.

His hands pinned me to the table, and he gave several deep, hard thrusts before coming with a hoarse groan. I felt him pulsing inside me, hot and thick, and that final release left me completely limp, breathing in shudders.

***

When he pulled out, he caressed one of my reddened buttocks where he had slapped me and helped me sit up. My hair was disheveled, my clothes half open, my skin burning, and my head spinning. He took me to the small office at the back, sat me in a chair, and handed me a glass of water. The contrast between the rawness of a moment earlier and the practical calm afterward moved me more than I expected.

—Drink —he said.

I did so slowly. He leaned against the desk and watched me in silence as I caught my breath. Then he ran his thumb over my lower lip, still swollen from sucking his cock.

—Look at me carefully —he said—. You haven’t done anything you didn’t want to do. Yes, things that embarrassed you aroused you. But you wanted them.

I lowered my eyes. The truth struck me without mercy. I wanted to deny it, but my body was still throbbing with too much honesty.

—I don’t know what to think.

—You don’t have to decide today. You only have to stop lying to yourself.

He was silent for a moment before continuing.

—If you come back, you won’t be coming to buy bread. You’ll be coming to explore this with me. Domination, humiliation, measured pain, pleasure. No half-hearted games. And if you don’t come back, I won’t look for you. The decision is yours.

The relief loosened my chest. There was no trap. No threat. Only an open door toward something I had already tasted, and that I was more afraid to reject than accept.

—And if I come back? —I asked.

—Then you’ll walk through that door knowing that I’m in charge here.

My cunt gave another throb, small but fierce, simply from hearing him say it. Julián saw it in my face and smiled faintly.

He crouched, picked up my panties from the floor, and slid them up my legs with unnecessary slowness. Then he straightened my clothes, fastened some of the buttons on my blouse, and handed me the bag of bread and pastries I had ordered when I arrived. The everyday, almost domestic gesture was obscene after everything else.

—Now go home —he said—. And when you’re alone, think about what you liked most. Not what impressed you the most. What you liked most.

I nodded.

Before opening the inner door, he stopped me with two fingers beneath my chin.

—Tell me one thing before you go.

—What?

—Will you come back?

I felt a brief emptiness in my stomach, followed by familiar warmth between my legs. I knew before I spoke.

—Yes, sir.

He took his hand away.

—That’s what I thought.

I went out into the street with my legs still sensitive and the smell of bread clinging to my clothes along with another, more intimate, more animal smell that only I could recognize. The fresh air cleared my head a little, but not enough to sort out the disorder inside me. Every step reminded me of what had happened on that table, on that floor, amid flour and orders.

At home I locked myself in the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror, and saw a version of me I didn’t entirely know: disheveled, flushed, my mouth swollen and my eyes too bright. I didn’t see a victim of my fantasies. I saw a woman who had just crossed a boundary and who, instead of regretting it, was still trembling with desire.

That night I touched myself while remembering every order. I pushed my fingers inside me, thinking about the way he had made me open my mouth, kneel, place my hands on the table, and ask permission to come. When I imagined his cock entering my ass again while he called me a good girl, I came with a moan I had to smother against the pillow.

By the following dawn I was already awake. I dressed carefully, put on a simple pair of panties, and before leaving, I took them off. I folded them and put them in my purse. When I reached the bakery, the shutter was still only half open, and the inside smelled of the same familiar mixture: freshly baked bread and danger.

I knocked on the glass door. Julián appeared from the back, saw me through the glass, and understood everything without needing words. He opened it. I stepped inside slowly. He looked at my empty hands, my restrained breathing, the way I closed the door behind me.

—Good morning —he said.

—Good morning, sir.

His eyes sharpened with satisfaction.

—Did you bring panties?

—In my purse.

—And are you wearing any?

I shook my head.

His smile was minimal, but enough to set me on fire.

—Very good. Then you’re not here to buy anything today. Today you’re here to obey.

And this time, when he pointed toward the back of the shop, I didn’t hesitate for a second before following him.