The Uniform That Turned Me Into What He Wanted

The kitchen clock read almost midnight when I finished putting away the last cup. Diego had gone out onto the balcony for some air, that gesture of his when he needed to think, and my sister Lorena was still in the bathroom. The shower water had stopped running a while ago, but she still hadn’t come out. The apartment was sunk in a dense silence, as if the air itself were holding its breath, waiting for someone to break the tension that had been building since breakfast.

I sat on the sofa with my phone in my hand. The screen was still dark, but I knew exactly what message was waiting there. I had read it three times, and each time the knot in my stomach tightened a little more.

Hello, slut. Last night I gave you a clear order: a loyalty test. I haven’t received anything. I know you’ve been busy with your boyfriend and your little sister. But time is running out. I want to see what you’ve done. Don’t make me wait. Send it to me before morning is over, or I’ll have to remind you who decides here.

Esteban demanded it with that calm that set my nerves on edge. I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to delete everything: the file, the messages, the memory itself of that night. Go back to the familiar routine, pretend nothing had happened. But another part of me — the part that clenched just from rereading his words — longed to give in. To prove to him that, even if imperfectly and hesitantly, I had tried to obey. I wanted to feel that absolute surrender again, the one that terrified me and drew me in with a force I could no longer ignore.

Diego came back from the balcony. He sat down beside me and slipped an arm around my shoulders.

—Are you okay? —he asked softly—. You’ve been really quiet.

I nodded without looking at him.

—Yeah. Just thinking about the new job. I start at the bar today.

He frowned.

—Today? I thought it was next week.

—Today —I replied, though I wasn’t sure of anything anymore—. I’m just going to sign the contract and have them explain how it works.

—Do you want me to go with you?

—No need —I said quickly—. Nothing important.

A lie. Everything was important. But I couldn’t tell him why.

Then Lorena appeared in the living room, already dressed: tight jeans, a white tank top clinging to her damp skin, no bra. She dropped into the armchair opposite us and crossed her legs.

—Off to the new job already, little sister? —She smiled—. Let’s see if they treat you well. Or if they treat you the way you deserve.

Diego let out a short laugh, thinking it was a joke. I didn’t laugh. I stood up.

—I’m going to get ready.

***

I went into the bedroom and closed the door. I leaned against the wood and took a deep breath. The woman staring back at me in the wardrobe mirror had shining eyes, flushed cheeks, and parted lips. She looked frightened. She looked lost. Above all, she looked aroused.

I took out a simple black dress, with a discreet neckline but fitted. I put it on without a bra, just as he had ordered me to the first time. The thin fabric stuck to my skin and brushed my nipples, which hardened instantly. I felt a shiver run down my back, a familiar heat between my legs that made me press my thighs together. The friction of the fabric against my bare skin reminded me every second of Esteban’s order, and that made me wetter and wetter, a low pulse in my belly that was hard to ignore.

I thought about Lorena. About what she had done during breakfast: stretching so her shirt revealed more than it should, leaning toward Diego and brushing her chest against him “accidentally,” licking jam off her finger while keeping her eyes fixed on him. It irritated me. It aroused me. I was jealous of her boldness, of the way she played with fire without ever getting burned. What was she after? I thought. Was she provoking him? Provoking me? I remembered her wink in the hallway, her smile when she said it was funny to see him get nervous. As if she knew something I still didn’t. As if she were pushing me toward a boundary I didn’t want to cross and that, nevertheless, drew me in irresistibly. My nipples hardened even more just thinking about it. She was my sister. And yet that morning I had felt the heat rise through my body while pretending nothing was happening.

Lorena left shortly after, saying she’d stop by our parents’ place and then see some friends. She said goodbye to Diego with a quick kiss and to me with one that lasted longer than necessary, looking me up and down before she left. The front door slammed in the hallway, and the apartment fell into a different silence: no longer oppressive, but expectant, as if at last we could breathe without witnesses.

***

I went back to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. I took out my phone and opened the private folder. There it was: last night’s video. The recording I had made almost without thinking, first aiming at Diego between my legs, then the penetration, and finally the moment I turned the camera toward the half-open door and caught Lorena spying on us in silence, her hand inside her pants. The image was crystal clear. My voice giving orders. His moan of surrender. The moment we came almost in unison. It was all there, immortalized.

The pulse between my legs quickened until it became an almost painful throbbing. The idea of sending it to Esteban terrified me and aroused me in equal measure. His last message still went unanswered. The deadline had passed more than an hour ago, but he hadn’t written again. He didn’t need to. His silence was more eloquent than any insistence.

I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Tapped attach, selected the video, and sent it.

“Sent.” And with that word, part of me felt something irreversible break.

I stared at the screen as if expecting it to explode. Nothing happened. No message, no call. Only silence.

—Mari? —Diego called from the living room—. Are you okay?

I went out. He was on the sofa with a cup of coffee, looking at me with genuine concern.

—Come here. Sit down for a minute.

I sat beside him. The dress rode up and exposed more thigh than I intended. I didn’t pull it down.

—About last night —I began, with a rougher voice than I expected—. I want to talk to you. What did you feel when I tied you up? When I told you to hold back?

He lowered his gaze for a moment and then lifted it again. His eyes were sincere, vulnerable.

—I felt free. I had never been able to let myself go like that with you. When you told me not to cum, it was like I could finally be myself without fear. It turned me on so much. More than I expected.

I swallowed. The heat between my legs intensified.

—And before? —I asked—. Was there anyone who made you feel that way?

He hesitated. Then he nodded.

—Once. I was twenty-four. An older man, a family acquaintance, around fifty. He invited me to his house one afternoon. He told me I needed to learn to obey. He verbally humiliated me, calmly, without rushing. He told me it was obvious I had been born for that. When he finished, he told me to come back whenever I wanted more. I never went back. But I never forgot how it made me feel: used, small, aroused to the point of pain. It was the first time I understood that I liked being humiliated.

His voice trembled at the end. I listened in silence, my heart in my throat and my sex throbbing.

—And also —he continued, lowering his voice even more— I’m turned on by the idea of seeing you with someone else. Of being told I’m not enough. I’m ashamed to admit it, but it’s true.

The silence that followed was electric. My nipples were so hard they hurt.

—And you? —he asked—. What did you feel last night when you gave me orders?

—I felt out of place —I confessed—. I tried to be dominant, but it didn’t come naturally. It did turn me on to see you obey, yes. But I realized I’m not the one who commands. I’m the one who obeys.

He nodded slowly.

—So, what do we do?

I didn’t answer. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out without thinking. A new message from Esteban: Good girl. Now go to the bar.

The pulse between my legs turned into a deep throb.

—I have to go —I said hoarsely.

—Go —he replied.

I left the apartment without looking back. I knew that once I crossed the bar’s threshold, everything would change.

***

The drive there passed in a state of diffuse alertness. Every brake pressed the fabric against my skin, and the wetness between my thighs was constant, a sticky reminder of the arousal I couldn’t contain. I parked in the same narrow street as always. I got out with trembling legs, pushed open the door, and went in.

The place was empty. The smell of old wood and beer enveloped me. Renata was behind the bar, arranging bottles. She wore a leather collar with a metal ring, a tight black T-shirt, and a short skirt that barely covered half her thighs. She looked at me and smiled in that slow, dangerous way of hers.

—You’re right on time —she said—. Esteban isn’t here. He’ll come later. But he left instructions. —She handed me a black paper bag—. Your uniform.

I opened it. Inside was a collar identical to hers: black leather, metal clasp, a silver ring in the center. Below it, a pleated skirt so short it wouldn’t cover half my ass if I bent over. And a white tank top, thin, almost transparent.

—No —I said, closing the bag—. Nobody told me anything about a uniform.

Renata leaned on the bar and crossed her arms under her chest.

—Esteban likes surprise to be part of the lesson. But he’s clear when he gives an order: if you want to work here, you dress the way he wants. And he wants what you are to be seen.

I stayed silent. My heart was pounding in my throat. The wetness between my legs deepened at the sound of her voice.

—I don’t want people seeing me like this —I muttered.

Renata stepped closer, lowering her voice to a whisper.

—They’re going to see you anyway, Marina. With a dress or without one. The difference is that with the uniform you’re doing it for him. And that’s what turns you on, isn’t it? I can tell. You’re soaking wet just thinking about it. —She pointed toward the changing room—. Five minutes. If you don’t come out in the uniform, the door closes for you.

I went in, took off my dress, and the cool air raised goosebumps on my skin. I put on the collar: the soft leather against my neck, the cold metal ring against my collarbone. Then the skirt, which rode up on its own as I moved. The top showed my dark nipples in full, unmistakable clarity. I looked at myself in the small mirror. I looked like another woman. And yet my cunt throbbed hard, soaked, while every breath made the fabric brush my nipples and send waves straight to my clit. I felt degraded and, at the same time, more alive than ever.

I came out. Renata looked me up and down and nodded.

—Perfect. Now you really look like one of ours.

***

The first customers came in shortly after. Middle-aged men who greeted Renata familiarly and looked me over openly. They introduced me as “the new girl.” I felt their eyes on me like physical caresses on my breasts, my legs, my barely covered ass. Every time I bent to serve, the skirt lifted enough to show the curve of my cheeks. I knew they saw everything. And instead of covering myself, I felt a traitorous heat spread through my belly.

The afternoon moved slowly. I poured drinks, dodged crude comments with short replies. My cunt wouldn’t stop leaking, the wetness building, slick, along the inner sides of my thighs.

Then he arrived. A man of about sixty-five, tall, thin, with perfectly combed gray hair and an immaculate dark suit that contrasted with the bar’s atmosphere. He moved with deliberate calm, as if the space adjusted to his step. He ordered a red wine and sat in the darkest area of the place.

Renata brought him his glass. They spoke in low voices. I saw her gesture discreetly toward me. The man lifted his gaze and looked directly at me. He didn’t smile. He simply watched me with a serene intensity that made me feel naked without needing words. His eyes moved over my body without haste, as if assessing something he already knew belonged to him. Then he gave Renata a slight nod.

—I told him you’re the new one —she murmured when she came back—. He liked you. A lot.

I didn’t answer. I only felt the pulse between my legs intensify, a deep throb that made my clit swell against nothing.

Don Ramiro stayed a little longer, drinking in silence, watching me from time to time with that same untroubled calm. When he finished, he left a generous bill on the table and headed for the exit. Before crossing the door, he turned to Renata and said, low but loud enough to hear:

—Take good care of her. She has potential.

The door closed behind him.

***

Renata waited until the bar had emptied a bit and took me to the changing room.

—Don Ramiro is not just any customer —she said quietly—. He’s Esteban’s mentor. Almost like a father to him. He taught him everything he knows: how to treat girls, how to make them obey without needing to shout, how to turn humiliation into desire. What he approves stays.

I swallowed. The collar pinched my neck slightly. Between my legs, the wetness had become a steady, hot flow soaking the inner sides of my thighs.

—Esteban will be here soon —Renata continued, looking me in the eyes—. Get ready. Because if Don Ramiro has given you the green light, things are going to change for you. And very fast.

I didn’t answer. I only felt the pulse between my legs reverberating through my whole body. The shift was still going on, and I no longer knew where humiliation ended and desire began.