Mature

Beside the open coffin, while everyone pretended to mourn, Mariana could think only of those two men’s hands and what they would do to her that night.

He was in his twenties, had a thin wife swimming below, and hungry eyes that begged me without knowing it. That afternoon I taught him who was in charge.

No one in the courthouse would ever imagine she was waiting there naked and on her knees, holding her breath for him to walk through the door and remind her who she belonged to.

I opened the wrong door and found her in front of the mirror, two fingers where they shouldn’t have been. She didn’t scream. She smiled like she’d just chosen her prey.

That night I watched her through the window, alone and desperate with her toy. And I knew exactly what to do with her... and with her son, watching beside me in the dark.

She arrived thirteen minutes early, without a bra and with that smile that wasn’t innocent. And I had left a cord ready in the hall.

The bed across from her creaked every dawn to the rhythm of a stranger, and she pretended to sleep while calculating how much she was willing to lose.

No one has touched me for years. Only my hands repeat what he taught me: the pinch, the slap, the silent command not to come until I beg.

Every afternoon she brought dinner to the annex and sat with her legs spread, whispering how her former Master had trained her. She molded him without his realizing it.

I sent him two photos hidden in the bathroom to provoke him. His answer wasn’t praise: it was an order to open the drawer I always kept locked.

She went up to her penthouse ready to kick the intruder out. She lowered her head when he ordered her to serve wine on her knees—and discovered that obedience could be pleasurable too.

My patients tell me their secrets, and I nod as if mine weren’t worse. Today, for the first time, I’m going to tell you the truth about me.

I got out of the car on a deserted street, my heart racing. I didn’t know what the woman I’d been writing to for months looked like—only that tonight, at last, she would be mine.

She had been training with plugs for weeks, determined to feel two cocks at once. That afternoon we invited the only person we could trust to make it happen.

I never get involved with clients, I told him. But his body was already pressed against mine and my own voice sounded like a lie as I closed the garage gate.

When I felt his body against my back in the kitchen, I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist. What I didn’t know was that my husband had planned it all.

It began as an academic interest in the brightest student in the group. What ended up happening in my office is still hard for me to put into words.

I heard him on the phone say, “This old lady is ready.” I should have been offended. Instead, I felt myself get soaked right there against the bar.

I was sixty and my marriage was asleep when I noticed the boy next door spying on me through the hedges. I didn’t cover up. I played along.

I hid on the locker-room mezzanine with Bruno pressed against my back. Below, my mother and her friend were undressing among the workers, and I couldn’t look away.