Humiliation

She went down those clinic stairs knowing she would not leave as the same woman: three pairs of hands were waiting to remind her what she really was.

I thought I was going to spend a quiet afternoon at Renata’s villa. I never imagined I’d end up holding my breath while she gave Ximena orders.

She ordered me to take off my clothes and let her hands tighten every wire against my skin. When I started getting wet, I knew there was no turning back.

When I pulled my leggings down in front of him, I knew from his look that he’d do exactly what I asked, no matter how filthy it was.

I ordered him to stay on his knees and not move. What came after taught him that with me, obedience isn’t an option: it’s the only rule there is.

I held it in all afternoon, thinking about the exact moment I’d walk through that door and he’d understand, once again, what he was there for.

I went into the bedroom and found the dresser drawers empty of lace and full of men’s clothes. That night she learned she no longer got a say.

I felt her bare feet on my shoulder in the darkness. Then a voice asked me if I liked the way her socks smelled, and all I could do was say yes.

For years I exposed myself in the window while no one mattered, until the night I crossed the street barefoot to kneel before the only man who dared to truly look at me.

When he looked in the mirror, he no longer recognized himself: blonde wig, red corset, heels. And she, smoking on the sofa, was waiting for him with a smile he had never seen before.

Many people ask me where my fetish for rubber gloves comes from. Almost nobody knows the answer. It started one Friday, in my aunt’s room, with the door locked.

I’d written that it would be my first time submitting. I never imagined the first thing she’d do when she opened the door would be slap me and order me to kneel.

I didn’t let you lift your face until you understood that, while you’re behind me, my mouth and nose belong to me and you’ll use them however I order.

He knew he was going to lose before they even started. But giving in right away gave him nothing: the pleasure was in resisting, in forcing the other to wrench victory from him with bites under the full moon.

I found her panties folded on the top step, still warm, and knew it was no accident: it was an order I had to obey on my knees.

My adrenaline surged just thinking about it: going out at night to a remote area and letting men I didn’t know use me however they wanted. I knew the risks.

She left them folded on the sink, still carrying her scent, with a note: “You’re wearing these today.” I knew the afternoon would be a long one.

Nuria came to the practice to be cured of her lust; she left having taught the young psychologist that some urges aren’t cured—they’re obeyed.

I read the name on the corpse tag and my heart lurched: it was her, the same girl who had humiliated me for six years. And now she was still, at my mercy.

When I saw the video on her phone, I knew there was no way back: my neighbor knew exactly what she wanted from me, and I had fallen into her trap.