The submissive bride who washed the dishes at her wedding

Lorena and Adrián had decided to get married the same way they had built everything else between them: quietly. They were not the type to dream of huge ballrooms or guest lists of three hundred people they barely knew. Their idea of a perfect wedding fit into one sentence: few people, a lot of truth, and nothing they had to fake.

One Sunday afternoon, they were going over the first details from the sofa, with a glass of red wine in their hands and a magazine open on her lap.

—I want something simple —Lorena said, turning the pages without much interest—. No endless preparations or stress. What matters is that it’s us and the people who truly love us.

Adrián nodded with a half smile. In the big things, they had always agreed without effort.

—Agreed. We keep it small. Just the people who matter.

They chose a civil wedding, because neither of them was religious, and a small country hotel on the outskirts of Valencia, surrounded by nature. Lorena had been there once, on a weekend getaway, and had never forgotten the place’s calm. Adrián agreed immediately: he valued privacy just as much as she did.

Over the following weeks they settled the essentials. The dress, the suit, the menu, a guest list that didn’t go beyond a few dozen people. Everything was falling into place with an almost suspicious ease, until that night when Adrián set his glass down on the table and looked at her in a way she knew all too well.

—I’ve been thinking about a way to cut the costs a little —he said, in that casual tone that always preceded something.

Lorena narrowed her eyes, intrigued and wary at the same time.

—Cut costs? —she repeated, raising an eyebrow—. What are you talking about now?

—Well —he replied, moving a little closer—, after dinner, someone will have to wash all those dishes. I thought you could do it. You’re used to doing it at home. It would be a symbolic gesture, something of ours. A way of showing that you don’t need luxuries for the day to be special.

Lorena’s face changed instantly. She took a step back, frowning.

—Wash the dishes? —she blurted out, incredulous—. We’re at our wedding! I’m not going to go into the kitchen while our friends are having fun. That’s ridiculous.

Adrián, used to her protests, stayed calm.

—It’s not mandatory. But I think it would say a lot about you. About how you’re always willing to give a little more, even when no one expects it. —He paused, then added with a smile—: You can pick the prettiest apron you find, if that helps.

She stared at him for a few seconds. Her first impulse was to shut down completely. And yet there was something in the way he was putting it that made her hesitate. It was an absurd idea, yes, but also a reminder of what had always united them: those small acts of devotion only the two of them understood. A perfect occasion to show him, without words, how far her desire to belong to him went.

In the end she let out a long breath, resigned, with a smile appearing on her lips.

—All right —she said, rolling her eyes—. But I’m choosing the apron.

Adrián smiled, triumphant, and kissed her forehead.

—I knew you’d agree.

***

The months before passed without incident. Lorena found her dress in a small neighborhood boutique: not the usual princess gown, but one with a clean cut and subtle lace details, which captured her essence better than anything else she had tried on. Adrián chose a dark blue suit and a lighter tie, understated and elegant, just like him.

Both families received the news with joy and got involved without overstepping. Lorena’s mother was the most excited. While helping her choose the floral arrangements, she couldn’t hold back.

—I know you don’t want anything big, daughter —she told her—, but it’s worth making sure everything is perfect. You’re going to remember this day forever.

Lorena appreciated the advice, although deep down she already knew the only thing that truly mattered: that that day reflected what she felt for Adrián.

***

The big day finally arrived. The morning was peaceful. Lorena got ready in one of the hotel rooms, together with her mother and Carla, her closest friend, while Adrián waited in another room, true to the tradition of not seeing her before the ceremony.

The sky was clear and a gentle breeze moved through the gardens. The ceremony was held outdoors, in a clearing surrounded by trees. Lorena walked toward the mayor who was officiating with a serene smile and a bouquet of wildflowers in her hands. The background music and the guests’ whispers created an almost unreal atmosphere.

Adrián was waiting for her more nervous than he would ever have admitted. When he saw her coming toward him, all his nerves dissolved at once, replaced by a happiness that could not fit in his chest. In that moment nothing else existed: just the two of them and the promise they were about to make.

The vows were brief and, at the same time, full of meaning. No long speeches. They promised each other love and support, for better and for worse, and sealed the commitment with a kiss while the guests applauded.

The reception was just as warm. The food, the laughter, the toasts. Everyone knew they were witnessing something authentic.

***

After dinner, while the glasses kept clinking in the ballroom, Lorena slipped discreetly into the hotel kitchen. She had hidden a white apron with lace details that at least matched her dress. As she tied it on, she couldn’t help a nervous laugh in front of the small mirror on the wall. Who would have imagined she’d end up washing dishes on her wedding day?

The cooks and staff looked at her with a mixture of disbelief and respect. One of the supervisors offered her some gloves, but she deliberately decided not to use them. If she was going to do it, she would do it all the way. With the scouring pad in one hand and a bucket of warm water beside her, she started on the first plates.

From the kitchen came the murmur of music and laughter, filtering in through the half-open door. The dress now felt like a reminder of everything she should have been enjoying out there. And yet, when she looked at herself again in the mirror, she smiled. It was a symbolic gesture, yes, but also the clearest proof she could give Adrián: she was willing to give herself to him in whatever form he asked.

The work was monotonous, though there was something strangely serene about the repetition. With every plate she felt the tension of the day loosening from her body. The kitchen, in contrast with the bustle of the ballroom, was a silent refuge, almost meditative. Water slipping between her fingers, the soap suds, the rhythmic clatter of dishes against the sink. It wasn’t what she had imagined for her wedding, but it didn’t feel bad. On the contrary.

As she scrubbed, she thought of him. She knew he had suggested it without malice, trying to turn the day into something different, something that spoke to the nature of what they had. Adrián had always valued above all her simplicity, her authenticity, her way of giving herself. That small act was a way of celebrating exactly that.

But the exhaustion began to weigh on her. Her arms ached, her knees protested from standing so long. Just when she thought she had reached her limit, she felt a warm hand on her back.

—You’re doing great —Adrián murmured, appearing in the doorway.

Lorena smiled without turning around, without stopping washing.

—Thanks. But if you ever suggest something like this at another celebration, it’s your turn.

He let out a laugh and leaned down to kiss her cheek.

—For now, relax. You’ve already done more than enough.

He hadn’t come alone. Behind him appeared the photographer, camera in hand and an amused smile on his face.

—Darling, I thought this image would be perfect to hang in our kitchen at home. A real keepsake —Adrián announced, with that mix of authority and tenderness that was his own.

She looked at him, surprised and amused, the scouring pad in one hand and a plate in the other.

—A photo? Like this?

—Exactly like this. You’re gorgeous —he replied, stepping aside so the photographer could adjust the frame—. This is what we are: you, as devoted as always, and me, admiring you.

Lorena sighed, resigned, unable to erase her smile.

—Fine. But promise me you won’t put it somewhere too visible.

The photographer snapped several shots, capturing her expression somewhere between amusement and disbelief. When they were done, Adrián looked at her, satisfied.

—It’s perfect. We’ll hang it by the kitchen entrance. So everyone can see how incredible you are.

She shook her head, amused, but something warm lit up inside her at seeing how much he valued those small details.

A few minutes later, with the help of a couple of waiters, she finished the task. When she returned to the ballroom, the guests’ applause welcomed her with a warmth that left her speechless. She was exhausted, but she knew she had done something she would remember for the rest of her life.

Adrián hugged her tightly and whispered in her ear:

—I love you. You’re the best.

—And I love you —she replied, exhaustion and a smile mingling on her face—. If this is the kind of memories you want from our life together, I think I chose well.

***

Later, alone at last in the bridal suite, intimacy wrapped around them like a promise fulfilled. The light of a few candles created a warm atmosphere, and the connection between them —the fruit of years of trust— became almost physical in the air.

Lorena, with a mischievous smile, toyed with the edge of the sheet.

—Did you know that in some places the husband is supposed to spank the bride after the wedding? —she said, biting her lip—. It’s symbolic, they say. It brings luck. It reaffirms who’s in charge.

Adrián raised an eyebrow, amused.

—Oh, really? And do you believe in that sort of thing?

—Well… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try —she replied, letting out a nervous laugh.

Without losing his good humor, he went along with it. With a firm but measured hand, he gave her a couple of swats on the ass. Lorena burst out laughing, turned over, and challenged him in a playful tone.

—Is that all? Come on, don’t you want to make sure we have plenty of luck?

Adrián’s gaze changed then. The laughter died on his lips and something darker lit in his eyes. He held her wrist, flipped her face-down over the mattress, and stroked the reddened skin before the next strike, this one more forceful. She shuddered all over, not from pain, but from something that had been building inside her all day.

—Is this what you want? —he asked in a low voice, leaning over her ear.

—Yes —she panted, arching her back—. Yes.

Each swat left a warm mark that he took care to soothe with his tongue, tracing the curve of her back, descending slowly. Lorena buried her face in the pillow, her hands clutching the sheet, while heat pooled between her legs with an urgency she could no longer hide.

—Take off the apron —Adrián ordered.

She obeyed, though not before letting him untie the bow with deliberate slowness. The fabric fell to the floor and, for a second, she stood before him with her dress slightly rumpled, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Adrián looked her over as if stripping her with his eyes, and that alone was enough to make Lorena’s cunt wet with indecent need.

—Look at you —he murmured—. Pretending all night to be the exemplary wife and now here you are, trembling for me.

She lifted her chin, defying him with a smile broken by desire.

—I’m not pretending anything.

Adrián slid a hand over her waist, then down her thigh, slowly lifting the fabric of the dress until she was completely exposed. The closeness of his hand between her legs drew a low moan from her. He smiled faintly, satisfied, and sank two fingers into the wetness of her panties before pulling them aside with a sharp motion.

—You’re soaked —he said, almost admiringly—. And this has only just begun.

—Then don’t waste time —she shot back, already out of patience.

He pushed her back onto the bed and knelt in front of her. First he spread her legs with his hands, without asking permission because he already had everything, and then he brought his mouth to her vulva. The first lick was slow, deliberate, from her cunt to her clit, drawing from Lorena a moan that sounded like surprise and relief at once. Adrián continued with impatient precision, licking her with a flat tongue, then focusing on the exact spot that made her arch in pure pleasure.

—Fuck… Adrián… —she murmured, bringing a hand to her head as if she needed to hold herself in the world—. Like that, like that… don’t stop.

He didn’t stop. He sucked her clit eagerly, alternating short sucks with wet passes over her whole vulva, sliding his tongue between her lips to taste her completely. Lorena started trembling visibly, her hips moving on their own, searching for more friction, more pressure, more of that mouth that was leaving her breathless.

When she reached the edge, Adrián pulled away just enough to take off his clothes. She watched him with shining eyes, seeing his cock harden fully, big and tight, pointing at her like a dirty promise. Lorena sat up slightly, licked her lips, and held out a hand to grab him.

—Come here —she whispered—. I want to feel you inside me now.

Adrián gently moved her hand away and laid her back down again.

—Not yet. First I want to hear you beg.

He ran the tip of his cock over her cunt, from the entrance to the clit, smearing her with her own wetness and his. Lorena let out a muffled whimper, legs open, twisting on the sheets. He watched her lose her composure with obvious pleasure and, at last, drove into her in one stroke, all the way in.

The impact of the penetration tore a broken cry from Lorena. She felt him fill her completely, open her body with that mix of sweet pain and ferocious pleasure only he knew how to give her. Adrián stayed still for a moment, buried to the hilt, enjoying the tremor running through her legs.

—That’s how I like it —he said in a low voice, holding her hips—. Tight. Wet. Mine.

And then he began to move. First slowly, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in with a firm thrust that made her gasp. Then faster, harder, making the mattress creak with every stroke. Lorena spread her legs wider, wrapped her thighs around his waist, and started to meet him too, pushing so he would fuck her deeper.

—More —she begged, already lost—. Fuck me harder.

—That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? —he growled—. For your husband to fuck you on your wedding night until you can’t even think.

She answered with an obscene moan and a jerk of her hips. Adrián changed the angle, lifting one leg over his shoulder to reach even deeper inside her. From there his cock struck an internal spot that left her defenseless; every thrust made her clamp around him in desperation. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, mixed with his ragged breathing and the little moans that kept slipping from Lorena uncontrollably.

—Look at you —Adrián murmured, pushing without pause—. You’re beautiful when you break like this.

She dug her fingers into the sheet and arched her back, offering her cunt as if she wanted him to tear her apart completely. Pleasure began rising through her belly like a hot current, gathering at the center of her body until she lost all sense of time. Adrián gripped her hips harder, setting a brutal, steady rhythm, until Lorena started begging him for air, or more, or whatever, no longer able to tell the difference.

—I’m going to make you come —he warned her, his voice hoarse—. And you’re going to stay still and take it all.

She nodded, mouth half open, too aroused to argue. Adrián drove a little harder, rubbing his pelvis against her clit each time he entered, and that precise friction brought her to the edge. Lorena screamed his name when the first orgasm tore through her, long and shuddering, clenching around his cock in spasms that seemed never to end.

He did not stop. He kept pounding into her until his own climax surged up all at once, and then he stayed buried inside her with a deep groan, unloading his cum in thick, hot pulses. Lorena felt every jolt, every beat of that rigid cock inside her cunt, and the extra pleasure of feeling him empty himself brought her to another tremor, smaller but just as intense.

—Yes —he murmured, still breathing hard—. Like that. Stay like that.

When he finally pulled away, Lorena’s body was still quivering with the echo of the orgasm. Adrián turned her carefully, settled her on the sheets, and kissed her again, first her mouth, then her neck, then her breasts, as if he wanted to spread across her whole body the same devotion he had just poured inside her.

—You haven’t stopped surprising me all night —he told her with his forehead resting against hers.

—And you haven’t stopped surprising me either —she replied, still panting—. Especially when you tell me to get on my knees and then you make me this much of a fucking wreck.

He gave a low laugh and kissed her again, slower this time.

After that they stayed a while longer amid caresses, unhurried, their legs entwined and their bodies still sensitive. They touched each other again, now more calmly, exploring the wetness that still lingered between their thighs, letting desire fade and reignite in brief waves. There were more kisses, more whispers, more fingers sliding over still-warm places; it was not just once or one single way, but an entire night of mutual surrender, shared hunger, and prolonged pleasure until the outside world no longer mattered.

The room, lit only by the dim glow of the candles, bore witness to something that went beyond the physical. When they finally rested in each other’s arms, still breathing hard, the two of them understood the same thing without needing to say it: that absurd kitchen gesture, the apron over the dress, the hands in soapy water, had been the perfect symbol of what they were. And that night was only the beginning.