Domination

That night I wasn’t the host, I was the ornament. My wife picked my dress, put me in heels, and ordered me to smile while her bosses appraised me.

When she opened the door in that black lingerie and that cold smile, I knew there would be no talk tonight: only orders, and I was ready to obey every one.

Each strike against her skin aroused her more, and Renata didn’t know whether the worst part was surrendering or discovering someone was watching from the top of the stairs.

She ordered me to strip in the hotel hallway, where anyone might see me, and knock again only when I was completely naked.

I locked the stall, knelt on the cold tiles, and knew I was going to obey him to the end, even if anyone could walk into the next bathroom.

He was new, shy, and polite. He never imagined that that afternoon, after everyone left the office, a single command from me would be enough to put him on his knees.

We had rehearsed every gesture, every word, every limit. The game was ours and ours alone—until two strangers appeared among the trees and changed everything.

The last thing I remembered was toasting with a beautiful woman. The next, waking on a basement floor, weak, naked, and with no possible escape.

Renata wanted to take up more space; Damián wanted to stop deciding. The ritual granted them exactly that, and by morning their bodies began obeying another desire.

That afternoon I didn’t want just any encounter: I wanted someone to take me beyond what I thought I could bear, while my husband watched without lifting a finger.

He hadn’t seen me in years, but when I opened the door at midnight and felt his firm hands on my waist, I knew my godfather was looking at me differently now.

He was old enough to be my son, but he looked at me like a man looks at a woman he wants to undress slowly. And I did nothing to correct the misunderstanding.

Rubén was laughing at the blonde’s body on the screen, certain she wouldn’t last a minute. He had no idea he’d be the one ending up on the floor.

I woke up handcuffed to a chain, a collar around my neck and a gag tasting of filth. In front of me, the lady was smiling: she was only just beginning with me.

Ten minutes before six, I put away the papers, touched up my red lipstick, and drove to the motel where he was waiting with a very precise order from my husband.

I woke with the heels still on and a voice whispering that there was no turning back: each day I would become a little more Lola and a little less myself.

A week after that first night, my feet carried me back to the cabaret. Verónica was waiting with a velvet box and a sentence.

That night, after publishing, I opened my email and found a message from him. I didn’t know a stranger could move me so much with words alone.

I had promised him a different kind of gift: that weekend I wouldn’t decide anything. He would take the reins, and I would only have to obey and let myself go.

I had spent weeks dreaming about that afternoon, but nothing prepared me for the first order you gave me the moment you closed the door behind me.