Their Deal: To Be His Submissive in Exchange for a Roof and Food

Another day sitting on the same sidewalk, with a cardboard cup in my hands and a single twenty-cent coin jingling at the bottom. Of course, this was nowhere near the future I had imagined for myself. Begging on the street, not even knowing whether I’d eat anything before nightfall, had become my only routine.

My name is Marisol, I’m thirty-one, and a chain of bad decisions, seasoned with a pinch of bad luck, dragged me here. Living on the street, eating from the street, and being kicked out of anywhere I tried to go because of my scruffy appearance. People looked at me with that exact mix of pity and disgust I had already learned to recognize from far away.

For people like me, opportunities run out very quickly. You start to dream that one day something will happen, anything, and everything will change all at once. Go back to a normal life. Wake up in the morning without having to calculate whether that day is a day to eat or not.

That afternoon, barely anyone passed by. They had forecast a storm and everyone had taken the car. Bad news for business. I guessed that lonely coin would be my entire take, so I’d have to rummage through the bins again. I’d spent two days digging through them with very little luck, and I felt weak, drained, a little disoriented.

The thunder started. Then the first drops. I pressed myself as close as I could to the wall and covered myself with some plastic in a clumsy attempt not to get soaked. I didn’t feel strong enough to run off looking for shelter, much less to endure some doorman coming out to scream at me to get lost.

Before long I was soaked to the bone. With that wind, the rain was coming in from everywhere, and the plastic protection had given up a long time ago. Then a pair of legs stopped right in front of me.

When I looked up, I found a man in his early thirties, tall, with somewhat long, wavy hair, a black suit, and a cold gaze that ran over me as if he were evaluating me. He was holding a dark umbrella, though the cuffs of his trousers were already darkening with moisture.

That man looked familiar. He passed down this street often; it probably lay along his route between work and home. From time to time he left me some coins, and each time he repeated the same phrase: “At least that’ll buy you a coffee.” But this time he didn’t reach into his pocket. Instead, he crouched down and kept staring at me, almost inquisitively.

—Show me your teeth —he said.

For some reason I still can’t explain, I obeyed. His voice was deep, calm, authoritative, and I found nothing inside myself to resist with. I forced a clumsy smile.

He studied me a moment longer and then said something that completely threw me off.

—Do you want to sleep warm and dry tonight?

With a trembling voice, I gave the only answer my desperation allowed me to give.

—Yes.

—Then follow me.

I stood up as best I could and took my place beside him. He took me by the arm and we set off. My legs barely responded, but his firm grip kept me steady. We walked about ten minutes until we stopped in front of a brand-new, modern, upscale building. He swiped an electronic key past the intercom sensor, and the door gave way.

The lobby had marble floors and a wide, elegant hallway. We reached the elevator and, instead of pressing a button, he inserted a key into a lock where the panel should have been. The doors opened directly into a huge penthouse, tastefully decorated, with enormous windows that looked out onto a gigantic terrace.

—Sit down —he ordered when we reached the kitchen.

I sat without saying a word.

—Do you want something hot? An infusion, coffee, broth.

—If it’s not a bother, some broth, please.

He took a container out of the fridge, heated it in the microwave, and served it steaming hot, with some vegetables in it and a piece of bread. I began eating it as if it were the last meal of my life. He sat across from me and watched me eat in silence. I felt unsettled, not knowing how to behave or what to say. It was he who broke the silence.

—My name is Adrián. I brought you here because I want to make you a proposal. Whatever happens, tonight you sleep in my house: I’ll let you shower, eat, and change clothes. But what happens from tomorrow onward will depend on your answer.

I felt anxiety climbing up my chest.

—What does it consist of?

—I want a maid. And when I say maid, I mean someone who cooks, cleans, runs the house, and does everything I ask without arguing. Everything means everything. You’ll be free to leave whenever you want, but if I ask you for something, you’ll do it without the slightest complaint. If you betray my trust, you’re gone. If you refuse something, you’re gone too. In exchange, you’ll have shelter, food, and anything you need to live.

What an offer. The bastard wanted a slave. And I was in such a fucked-up situation that this was, almost, the best thing that could happen to me.

—I accept.

—You haven’t even thought about it. I was going to give you until tomorrow.

—I have nothing to think about. It can’t be worse than what I have now.

He got up from the chair.

—I’m going to run the bath.

And he walked off down the hall.

I finished the broth and folded my arms on the table. Fatigue weighed on me like a slab, and without realizing it, I fell asleep. When you live on the street, sleeping deeply is a luxury you don’t allow yourself.

***

I woke with a jolt when I felt something lifting me. I was in Adrián’s arms, and he was carrying me toward the bathroom. When we entered, steam floated in the air and smelled of something pleasant, clean. He set me down on the floor.

—Take off your clothes and leave them in that trash bag. I’m not even going to wash them. Brush your teeth, there’s a toothbrush and toothpaste, and get into the bathtub. When you’re inside, call me.

I nodded while thinking that I had just signed a pact with the devil.

I brushed my teeth and slowly took off each garment until I left them in the bag. There went my whole life, scattered among pockets full of junk. I stood looking at myself in the mirror.

I’m an utter freak.

I had dirty hair, full, sagging breasts, wide hips, and a belly a little bloated from eating badly. I was surprised that, after everything, I still had any body left at all.

I got into the bathtub, an oval jacuzzi-style tub overflowing with foam. Whoever saw me and whoever had seen me before. My body sank beneath the bubbles. I dunked my head to soak my hair.

—Adrián, I’ve done what you asked.

He came in wearing nothing but shorts. He was a muscular man and, I had to admit, quite attractive. My body began reminding me of that with a heat rising from below. He was carrying a very short, ruffled black skirt and a white semi-sheer top.

—This will be your outfit. You’ll wear it whenever you’re in the house.

Just seeing it made my face flush tomato-red, but he didn’t seem affected by it in the slightest.

He put his legs into the bathtub and sat on the edge behind me. He poured shampoo into his hands and started lathering my hair, massaging my scalp with his fingers. I wished that night would never end. He took the shower head and rinsed me carefully, and repeated the same with the conditioner.

—Stand up.

I rose timidly. He looked me over slowly, paused on my pussy, and then lifted his gaze to my breasts with a half-smile. Through the shorts, movement was beginning to show in his crotch, and that made me blush even more.

He poured soap onto a sponge and began gliding it over my body, first my shoulders, then my back, tracing slow circles until he reached my ass, where he lingered with a calm that made my skin prickle. He passed the sponge several times between my cheeks. The heat kept climbing inside me and I found myself biting my lower lip.

He continued in front. My armpits, my breasts, on which he insisted for quite a while. I felt exposed and defenseless, and yet all I wanted was for him not to stop.

When he reached my pussy, he ran the sponge over it several times. One of his fingers stuck out over the edge and brushed my clit, already hard. I could feel myself growing wetter and wetter, and it wasn’t from the water.

He rinsed off the soap and poured more on, this time directly onto his hands. He repeated the same path, but now it was his fingers traveling over my skin. His left hand passed casually, though firmly, over my nipples, while his right went between my ass cheeks and caressed me softly. My breathing quickened. Adrián’s face, on the other hand, didn’t so much as flinch.

His left hand went down until it found my clit and lips. He began stroking me faster and faster. What began as ragged breathing gradually turned into moans. His right hand was slowly gaining ground.

He held one breast with one hand while the other kept working, soft yet forceful at the same time. I opened my eyes and saw that he had a huge erection. I reached toward him almost without thinking.

—I didn’t tell you to touch me.

So, without replying, I brought my hands back to my breasts.

The orgasm hit me with an intensity I didn’t remember. I moaned loudly, folding in on myself, while pleasure raced through me from head to toe. Adrián was smiling. And in that instant I understood that pleasing him was going to be exactly what he expected from me.