Couple

I walked through the front door following a solemn piece of music and found her lying on the bed, chained in gold and looking at me as if I were her only master.

We had barely been married two weeks when I discovered what her temper was capable of, and the first slap was only the beginning of that afternoon.

“Take your clothes off,” she said, without raising her voice. And he, after fifteen years together, knew the whole weekend belonged to her.

That morning I decided to take his coffee to his office myself, in front of everyone, so they’d understand what kind of woman I meant to be by his side.

A single comment at the office was enough for him to decide his wife would go under the knife. Not for the baby: so he could remain the sole owner of her body.

Maite knew that when Andrés lowered his voice to that rough whisper, the decision had already been made and all she had left to do was obey.

My lover left me wanting more, but my husband knew exactly how to handle me: no romance, no mercy, like the submissive woman I am.

She had spent years deciding who obeyed and who begged. None of her clients knew that behind the mirror, someone was studying how to dethrone her.

I came back from the bar with a beer in hand and saw her dancing with him. Nothing happened… or did it? The question lodged itself in me and, to my shame, it turned me on too.

I had spent thirty years closing projects for the company. On my farewell trip, I never imagined the woman traveling beside me would be the one to say goodbye to me in a different way.

We always thought no one could see us. That lie we told ourselves was the beginning of everything that came after, night after night.

It started as a joke in the park: “Should I wrap him up so we can take him home?” Months later, a hidden camera would turn that joke into something else.

From the dance floor we were already sneaking our hands to each other; what we didn’t finish in the car, we continued in my room, unhurried and unclothed.

We went up to hang the laundry under any pretext. Among the water tanks on the rooftop, I discovered she was as impatient as I was to stop pretending.

I knew something was wrong the moment I saw his face when he came in. There was no greeting, only calculated coldness and an order: “Say out loud what you’re responsible for.”

It began with a twisted ankle on the court and ended many weeks later, one night when her house was empty and there was no longer any reason to hold back.

Our bedroom window faced his rooftop exactly. That night I realized the idea of being watched aroused me more than I’d ever admit.

I agreed to my boyfriend’s fantasy believing we’d both come out ahead. That night, while I was screaming in one room, he heard everything from the other side of the door.

I left the curtains open on purpose and pretended not to see him. He, standing on his rooftop, didn’t miss a single detail of my naked body.

Every week we stared at the photos at the entrance without daring to go in. The night we crossed the threshold, I discovered how far I could go with him watching.