Humiliation

I hadn’t heard from her in months. Her call was an order, not an invitation: that night I would stop being a person and become her property.

That morning we only wanted to lose ourselves in each other. We didn’t count on the favorite walking in with her guards and a punishment already prepared.

I walked through the door expecting a normal party. Instead I found a patio full of girls in bikinis, no other men, and a hostess with a smile that was anything but friendly.

Two chairs with holes in the middle, a rope with a knot, and two men tied up not knowing if the next round would be theirs. The game was about to begin.

When the closet door closed and we were left in the dark, I felt her hand sliding up my leg. We only had ten minutes.

The first time he made me lower my head while he fucked me, I thought I’d resist. I didn’t. And I discovered how much I liked stopping myself from deciding.

I’ve always had a strange fixation. That afternoon I decided my best friend would be the first to obey me, on his knees and with nothing to hide.

We had signed the agreement and chosen a safe word, but nothing prepared me for his shadow rising from the tunnel—and for no longer knowing what was play.

Every time I’m alone in the house, I repeat the same ritual. And every time, it gets harder to tell the game from what I truly long to be.

I thought my secret was safe behind a half-open door. I never imagined she’d end up with my fate clenched in her fist.

I thought enduring ten hits would be easy. I didn’t count on her enjoying every one of them, or on how much I’d end up enjoying them too.

She locked the storage shed and slipped the keyring into her apron. Only then did I understand that afternoon wasn’t going to end with a lecture.

Every time I lazed around, I paid for it with nettles, lashes, and her muddy boots. And worst of all, part of me was already waiting for the next punishment.

She picked me up, pointed to her cheek for a kiss, and I understood the orders wouldn’t stay in the bedroom this time: they started in the car.

I arrived in a red top and black skirt, without underwear, knowing that once I crossed that door I would no longer belong to myself.

He’d been tied to her desire for a month. That night, Selene would decide when, how, and how much it hurt before finally letting him let it all out.

Damián accepted the challenge thinking of the thousand dollars. He never imagined he’d end up tied in the sand, watching his wife ride five strangers while he took electric shocks.

Before every take he put on the mask and stopped being himself. He knew she wouldn’t fake a single blow, and that was exactly what he paid for.

At first I only watched from the crack: naked men, tied up, begging for more punishment from the woman laughing over them. Until she held out her hand to me.

A single slip and some cruel laughter were enough for him to discover that shame, far from hurting, ignited something new and dark inside him.