The Submissive I Caught Stealing From My Store

People need to believe the world has order, that those of us who do things wrong will get our punishment sooner or later. In my case, they expect it in the most predictable ways: a desperate addict with a switchblade, a stray bullet at the wrong moment, a rival with better contacts than mine. It’s not going to happen. And if it does, the result won’t be positive for anyone, because when one piece is removed from the board, another immediately takes its place. The world is full of men ready to fill that space.

My wife went off to spend the summer in her native Norway, took our son with her and left me in charge of my affairs for two months. Eight weeks of relative calm stretched out before me: I had competent people running my businesses and the machine worked on its own.

That said, I had agreed to mind the sex shop my son usually managed. It wasn’t much trouble. The place had had the same shelves for years, the same dim lighting and the same smell of plastic and dust it had when I took it over. I could have renovated it, but I resisted. I spent the best moments of my adolescence there, spying on Mauricio — the old owner — while we leafed through the magazines he thought he had under control. I couldn’t help buying it when his children put it up for sale.

The accounts were healthy and sales were growing discreetly, which is exactly what I need: no one asking questions. I have half a dozen laundries, a couple of tourist apartments, a cocktail bar and the sex shop. Each business serves its function in the overall scheme.

The summer started well. Silvia, the neighbor from the third floor, stopped looking at me with indifference in the elevator just one day after my wife left. On Friday night she showed up at my door to ask for salt — salt, not sugar; at least she had some originality — and didn’t leave my apartment until Sunday afternoon. By then I had fucked her cunt to pieces on the sofa, against the window, in the shower, and on all fours over the kitchen table. The little slut sucked cock like her life depended on it, swallowing my load without blinking and begging for more with her watery eyes. I left the last session with my dick raw and her asleep on her stomach, my semen still sliding down the insides of her thighs.

I was still savoring that muted satisfaction when I opened the sex shop the next morning. I still had the feel of her hips in my memory when a group of young people talking loudly came into the store. There were eight or ten of them, between seventeen and twenty, with that chaotic energy of people with no clear plan. They flitted through the aisles as if the place belonged to them.

I watched them from the start. Two boys were slipping boxes of condoms into their pockets with the brazen confidence of people who don’t expect consequences. One of the girls hid a bottle of lubricant under her arm. I didn’t bother intervening: I could see myself at fifteen doing exactly the same thing in that very store, under Mauricio’s supposedly watchful eye.

After a few minutes they began edging toward the exit in a barely subtle way. The boldest one shouted, “Out, out!” and the group shot off, knocking over a rack of erotic novels as they went to make any possible chase harder.

I didn’t follow them. I lowered the metal shutter from inside. And when I turned around, someone slammed straight into me.

She took the impact on herself. She bounced off me and landed on her back on the floor with that dull thud of someone who wasn’t expecting to find anybody there.

Short dark hair. Tight black jeans. An oversized T-shirt with the logo of a band that hadn’t played in ten years. For a second I was confused.

Until I got up and saw her properly.

***

No makeup. A small black ring in the bridge of her nose was the only visible adornment on her face. What I found myself staring at were her eyes: such a pale blue they were almost unsettling, fixed on mine with a mix of fear and something that wasn’t surrender, but looked close enough to it.

I held out my hand. She took it hesitantly and rose with surprising agility. I felt the softness of her skin before letting go.

—Get up, come on —I told her.

Once she was standing under the light of the spotlight, I realized what I had taken for a boy was a woman. Small, slender, with a deceptive body beneath her clothes.

She had a box in the other hand. I took it and examined it: a black lingerie set with a choker, bra, thong and wrist cuffs with metal rings. My son had recently added it to the catalog. To be honest, it was the first time I had paid any attention to the item.

—Were you going to steal this?

—I was going to pay for it —she said. Her voice was barely a thread.

—Of course. Like everyone else.

—I was going to pay for it —she repeated, with that stubbornness of someone repeating a lie and hoping it will sound different the tenth time.

I calculated the total: the set, plus what her companions had taken, plus the time it would take me to put the display back together. When she heard the amount, she froze, speechless.

—They’re not my friends. I only got here three weeks ago from Seville. I met them at San Marcos Home.

I sighed. I spent part of my adolescence in places like that. I know what it means.

Without saying anything else, I went over to the display, put the box she had in its place and took another one of the same model.

—Take this one. The other was too big. I’ve got a good eye for sizes.

—Th-thank you —she stammered.

I opened the metal shutter and stepped aside to let her through.

She didn’t move.

—What? —I growled.

—It’s just that I don’t like pastel black —she said, and jabbed those eyes at me again, eyes that didn’t know how to pretend.

I smiled. She had more nerve than many of the people who worked for me.

—I do. If you ever feel like showing me how it looks on you and comparing notes, you know where I am.

She left without answering. As she passed me I caught a trail of expensive perfume. The group had visited more than one store that morning.

When I went to put the erotic fiction display back in order, I discovered that one volume was missing. Not the first book on the shelf, not the easiest to grab: she had chosen it by looking at the back-cover index. The series dealt with a different paraphilia in each volume.

“Diary of a Willing Slave,” I read to myself.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day. Not about the book, nor the scared little-girl face, nor the small pale mouth I imagined opening around my cock. I got hard twice behind the counter and had to go into the bathroom for a quick wank, gripping myself hard and thinking of those blue eyes looking up at me with her jaw loose.

***

The next morning I didn’t open the store at the usual time. I went to the vicinity of San Marcos Home. I know the type of place: at exactly eleven the residents go out onto the street in a group.

I identified them all. But only one mattered to me.

The short-haired girl broke away from the group without saying goodbye to anyone, grabbed her duffel bag and headed off in the opposite direction. I followed her discreetly. It’s something I’ve always been good at.

I stopped when she stopped in front of the closed shutter of the sex shop. She pulled it twice. Waited. Tried to open it again. Gave up.

I quickened my pace and caught up with her just as she was about to leave.

She jumped when she saw me.

—H-hi —she said, stumbling over the word.

I lifted the shutter just enough to open the door and go inside. Without looking at her.

—Come in —I ordered.

She came in. I locked the door.

I could feel her nerves rising. Anyone who has lived locked up can detect the sound of a key with their whole body. She touched the scarf around her neck, matching the ones on her wrists.

—Isn’t it time to open?

—Tuesdays are a day off —I lied.

—Since when?

—Since today. Any problem?

—No —she answered, lowering her head.

I stood in front of her. The height difference was considerable. I lifted her chin slowly until her blue eyes found mine. She was so young and looked so fragile that I hesitated for a moment about whether to go on or not.

Only a moment.

Because beneath the scarf the edge of a black choker was peeking out.

I got the size right.

—I got the size right —I said aloud.

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Color rushed up into her pale cheeks and stayed there, burning.

Without warning I started feeling her up: sides, arms, legs. Methodical, with no apparent emotion. She took a while to react. Only when she understood what I was doing did she relax a little and stop resisting.

—Are you looking for a mic? Are you in trouble? —she asked, drawing a faint smile that released some of the tension building inside her.

—Aren’t you? —I shot back, and at the same time I reached for her ass and pulled her wallet out of her pocket.

The touch lasted longer than strictly necessary. I squeezed her ass firmly through the fabric, weighing it, and felt her breath catch. I didn’t pretend it wasn’t on purpose. She didn’t pretend she hadn’t noticed.

I checked her ID. The name on the card: Nadia. Date of birth: the day before.

I breathed slowly.

—Happy birthday, a little late.

—Thanks —she said softly.

—Did you get many presents?

—No. Only you.

I stroked her cheek with the back of my fingers. She didn’t pull away. The tension in her body was obvious, but she made no move to escape or break the contact. I took the scarf around her neck and tightened it just a little, enough to feel her breathing change rhythm.

—Am I going to have problems because of you, Nadia?

—No —she whispered.

—I hope not. You’re going to be an obedient girl.

—Yes —she exhaled, eyelids half-lowered, with a surrender that wasn’t pretending anything.

***

I asked her to show me how the rest of the set fit. She froze. But she didn’t leave.

Slowly, with slightly trembling hands, she obeyed. She took off her combat boots, her pants. She stood up with her eyes down and waited.

—Turn around. Slowly.

She did.

The black lingerie fit her body as if it had been cut for her. The thong left almost everything exposed: two small, white, tight ass cheeks, with a crease barely covered by the black strip. I knelt down to look better and discovered a tiny jewel dangling from her clit. As soon as I brushed it, her body’s response was immediate and honest: a wet heat on my fingertips that left no room for interpretation. I moved the fabric aside with two fingers and parted her cunt lips slowly. She was shiny, swollen, already glistening down the inside of her thigh.

—You’re very sensitive. I like that.

—I’m sorry —she said, embarrassed.

—Why are you sorry?

—I don’t... I’m not usually like this. The guys say I’m cold.

—What idiots. You’re pure fire. You’re soaked, Nadia. It’s running down your legs.

She closed her eyes and hiked her shoulders, ashamed. I slipped a finger in, then another. I heard her breath catch in her throat. Her hips moved toward me without my asking. That told me more than anything else could have. I fucked her with my fingers slowly, right up to the knuckle, feeling her cunt clench each time I turned my hand. Without taking them out, I brought my thumb up and pressed the clitoral piercing. She jolted and grabbed the edge of the display to keep from falling.

—P-please —she murmured, not quite knowing what she was asking for.

—Please what?

—I don’t know... don’t stop...

I turned her around. Shifted the lingerie aside. What I found exposed made me hold back: a small white ass, and a pink, tight anus that had never seen a cock in its life. I got hard for real just looking at it.

—W-what... what are you going to do? —she asked, noticing where my hand was heading.

I didn’t answer. It wasn’t necessary.

I took my middle finger to my mouth, soaked it with saliva and lowered it slowly until it rested against her ass. I pressed lightly. She tensed all over.

—Relax.

—No one’s... no one’s ever put anything there before.

—Yeah. I can tell.

I pressed with my middle finger and slowly eased it into her from behind. I felt her discomfort: it didn’t bring her the same immediate pleasure as the other. Her body tried to recoil by instinct; however, when she understood I meant to keep going, she stopped fighting. The ring gave way with difficulty, squeezing my finger so hard it hurt. I pushed in past the first knuckle, then the whole finger. Her eyes were clenched shut and she breathed through her mouth.

—It hurts —she said, once the penetration was a fact.

—I know.

—It hurts a lot.

—Bear it. And breathe. It’ll hurt a lot more if you tense up.

I didn’t flinch. The subtle spasms in her body while I explored her struck me as highly revealing. I moved my finger inside her in small circles, feeling the muscle resist and give at the same time. With my other hand I kept touching her soaked cunt, distracting her, mixing the burn with pleasure. The sense of control excited me as much as anything else I could have done. My cock was rock hard, pressing against my zipper.

—Are you a virgin back there?

She couldn’t answer. She only clenched her jaw and endured it.

When I pulled my finger out, her relief was obvious. It was clear that her anal experience had been very limited, possibly nonexistent. I was wrong to imagine that beneath that shell of shyness there was someone who already knew everything. The book she had stolen from me started to make a lot more sense.

—Good. Take everything off —I ordered.

After sniffing back tears and wiping away the mucus, she obeyed. When she took off her T-shirt, the matching bra appeared: two little triangles of fabric that barely covered anything. She unhooked it behind her back with clumsy fingers and let it fall. And then I saw the nipple piercings: two shiny black beads on each side of two small pink nipples, already hard from pure nerves.

Unable to help myself, I slid my hands beneath the fabric that was no longer there. Her small breasts surprised me in my hands: they fit entirely in my palms, warm, firm. What surprised me even more was the jolt that ran through her whole body the moment I touched them: more intense than any previous reaction. Those ornaments served a much more interesting purpose than mere decoration.

I tugged one of them with just the right amount of tension.

—Ahg...! —she murmured, closing her eyelids and pushing her breast forward.

I repeated it on the other one, this time more firmly. I bent down and took the whole nipple into my mouth, sucking and tugging on the piercing with my teeth, careful but with no softness at all. She let out a long, rough moan, very different from all the sounds I’d heard from her up to then. She was almost about to come right there, or so I gathered from her moans and the way her hips moved, searching between her legs for something they couldn’t find. My patience reached its limit.

With one sweeping motion I knocked the books off the display onto the floor and laid her on top of the counter. I wasn’t gentle. The desire wouldn’t let me be. I loosened my belt, pulled my pants down to my knees and took out my cock, already dripping. She looked at it for a moment with wide eyes and bit her lip.

—Come here. Suck it first.

I lifted her off the counter by the arm and put her on her knees in front of me. I grabbed the back of her neck with one hand and brought her face to my cock. She opened her mouth without needing to be told twice. She took the head in first, then half of it, closing her lips around it with a clumsiness that made me even harder. She clearly didn’t do it often. I pushed her head and shoved my cock all the way in until I felt it choking her. Tears sprang to her eyes and she scratched my thigh, asking for air. I let her go for a second.

—Slowly. Breathe through your nose. And look at me while you suck me off.

She tried again. This time she raised those blue eyes, wet now, and fixed them on mine while she sucked me, moving her tongue around the head. It was too much. I took her head in both hands and started fucking her mouth at my own pace, in and out, hearing the noise of her throat giving way each time. A string of spit hung from her chin down to her tits. I almost came on her face. I stopped myself.

I lifted her, holding her under the arms, and placed her back on the display.

I spread her legs, moved the lingerie aside and took a moment to look at her. The cunt wide open, shiny, and that piercing dangling from the swollen clit. Then I bent down and ate her out slowly, without any hurry, sucking her lips, taking my tongue all the way inside, pulling on the piercing with my teeth with extreme care. She writhed on top of the counter as if she were being burned. Her hands sought my shoulders, my hair, anything to hold on to. Her hips started moving on their own, searching for more, rubbing against my face.

—Oh... oh, please... I’m going to...

I pulled away from her mouth too soon. I didn’t want her to come yet. When I straightened up I found her staring at the ceiling, breath ragged, lips parted and a vein throbbing in her neck.

I grabbed my cock and rubbed it along her soaked lips, up and down, pressing the head against her clit. She thrust her hips toward me, searching for me.

—Put it in me —she whispered, the first time she had asked for anything.

I entered her without warning. In one thrust, all the way to the hilt.

—Agh! —she cried, throwing her head back, giving herself over completely.

Her heat and tightness gave me such immediate pleasure that I had to concentrate to avoid finishing too soon. She was so tight I could feel every pulse of her cunt around my cock. There was no point in breaking something that was good for both of us. I stayed still for a moment, buried to the base, letting her get used to it. Then I started moving slowly, pulling almost all the way out and pushing back in to the hilt, calmly, watching the flesh open around me.

I hooked her legs over my shoulders and found a better angle. She appreciated it with a ruined face and half-lidded eyes. Now and then I felt the brush of her clitoral piercing against the base of my cock: something different, filthy, and I hadn’t expected to like it so much. I sped up. The display thudded against the wall with each thrust. Her small tits bounced in time, the nipple piercings gleaming in the dim light of the spotlight.

—Touch yourself —I ordered. —Touch yourself while I fuck you.

She brought her trembling hand down and pressed her clitoral piercing between two fingers, making small circles. A minute later she started moaning differently, broken and sharp, unable to keep her mouth closed.

—I... I’m going to...

—Come. Come with my cock inside you.

She came with a convulsion that ran through her entire body from head to toe. Her cunt clamped down on my cock like a vise, so hard it nearly forced me out. I felt a warm gush running down my balls. I held out as long as I could, four or five more thrusts, watching her face fall apart with the orgasm, and then I came too, deep inside her, unloading in gasps while I squeezed her thighs with open hands. Emptying myself in there was one of the best things I’d felt in months.

I’m not going to invent a marathon that never happened. I will say I did everything I could to make sure we both enjoyed it, and judging by the contraction that ran through her, I succeeded. When it was over, I rested for a moment on the nearest shelf: one is no longer twenty and it had been a good afternoon. My cock, still half hard, slipped out slowly, along with a thread of white semen that slid down her thigh to the display’s wood. She glanced at it sideways and blushed again.

***

The episode was followed by a baffling silence. While I was pulling my trousers back up, I didn’t know what to say, and she got up with difficulty and gathered her clothes without looking at me, her legs still weak.

—I need the bathroom —she finally said.

—At the back, on the right.

On our short walk we passed the little room where my son had installed a cot and a two-burner stove.

—Do you live here? —she asked.

—The manager lives here. He’s away now, comes back in September.

—The brunette with glasses? He’s nice. He looks a bit like you.

I didn’t take the bait.

I waited, smoking a cigarette, for her to come out of the bathroom. To my surprise, I could barely manage a few drags.

—Can I stay here a few days? I have nowhere to go.

I saw the weariness on my face before I said anything: she read it instantly and moved first.

—I can help in the store. I know how to sort bookshelves —she said, nodding toward the mess on the floor.

I laughed. So did she. Her smile was more dangerous than her gaze, and that was saying a lot.

—I could use an extra pair of hands —I lied.

The truth was simpler: I didn’t want her to leave.

—Deal? —Her eyes lit up suddenly.

—You start tomorrow.

—And today?

I went over, lifted her without the slightest effort by the ass, and kissed her slowly.

—Today the store is closed. First we need to give you a proper examination.

She kissed me back with a playful grimace that I found a little too hard not to take seriously.

***

We spent the rest of the day putting my son’s cot to the test. It held up as best it could. I laid her on her back and ate her pussy again until she came, tugging on my hair. I put her on all fours and fucked her from behind, holding her by the hips, watching my own cock go in and out of her shining with both our juices, spanking her ass until it turned red. I also shoved it in her mouth halfway through, forcing her to taste herself, and she did it without complaint, sucking me off in one go with her eyes closed. When I pushed back into her cunt from behind, I ran my thumb over her asshole — that tight little hole I’d opened for her that morning — and this time she barely complained. I left it there, inside up to the knuckle, feeling it tense with each thrust. I came over her butt cheeks in long white spurts, painting her back and ass. She stayed face down, panting, my semen sliding down to her waist and a slow smile spreading across her mouth.

Over the following weeks, Nadia moved into that little room with her duffel bag and a few things she gradually accumulated. Sales at the shop multiplied tenfold: word got around among customers that there was a young girl with a distinctive look manning the counter, and that generated a kind of curiosity I had never known how to capitalize on. I’ll admit I encouraged Nadia to use some items from the catalog as her uniform. I take responsibility.

We fucked a lot, though it was always me who initiated it. I didn’t mind. I fucked her in the storeroom against the stacked boxes, with her panties pulled aside and one hand over her mouth so the customers wouldn’t hear. I put her on her knees under the counter and had her suck me while I rang someone up, keeping a poker face with her mouth working my cock. I came on her face, on her tits, on her ass, inside her. I taught her to swallow, to look at me while she did it, to open her mouth and stick out her empty tongue when she was done, and she learned fast. What I did miss was her ever taking the initiative: Nadia obeyed well, but she rarely surprised me. In time I understood it wasn’t passivity or lack of desire. It was something more complex: total surrender that needed to be asked for explicitly. In that sense, the book she had stolen from me on the first day had been no coincidence.

I was the one who finally opened her ass, with patience, over a couple of long afternoons with lubricant and a small plug from the catalog. The first time I penetrated her from behind she cried and told me not to stop at the same time. She came with my cock buried in her ass and two of my fingers inside her cunt, biting the pillow so she wouldn’t scream. From that point on she let me do anything. Anything.

On Sundays we would close and invent a private ritual: opening the boxes of the catalog’s most outlandish items, trying them, discarding them, keeping the ones worth it. An unboxing that always ended the same way: her wrists tied to the cot’s headboard with the metal-ring cuffs, her mouth forced open with a red ball gag, and me fucking her at my own pace, testing on her body everything we pulled out of the boxes: double-ended vibrators, Ben Wa balls, nipple clamps that matched her piercings. The first time I put the clamps on and tugged the chain, she came without me even touching her. It was one of the filthiest things I’ve ever seen in my life.

I got hooked on her more than I liked admitting. I’ve had lovers outside my marriage; however, none had occupied my head like that. It wasn’t only the body, though her body was one you don’t forget. It was the mix of fragility and determination, that way of obeying with her eyes open, never quite disconnecting.

***

A few days before my wife came back, in the middle of a night in the cot, I laid out the situation and the solution: I had a vacant apartment, I’d give her some monthly money for her expenses. It was a clean, comfortable arrangement for the two of us. She said neither yes nor no. She kept moving on top of me, riding me slowly with her hands on my chest, letting her small tits fall onto me with the piercings gleaming in the dark. She came in silence, clenching her teeth, and kept riding me until I emptied myself inside her. Afterward she lay there in silence staring at the ceiling, my semen running down the insides of her thighs to soak the sheet.

The day I went to check the apartment to get it ready, I went back to the sex shop and Nadia had flown the coop.

She took the week’s takings, two bundles of cash I kept in the safe, and left the little room spotless. Not a note. Not a message. Nothing.

It bothered me more than I expected. It took me quite a while to admit it.

To this day I remember her without resentment. Nadia was a free bird I had tried to put in a more comfortable cage. She flew. One thing is being submissive, and another very different thing is being a paid lover. There’s a difference she understood before I did.

That’s how it is.