Punishment

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 came in smelling like someone else and didn’t even say hello. The next day he came into my room, locked the door, and took off his belt without saying a word.

Renata had been putting up with the second-floor neighbor’s looks for weeks. That afternoon she decided he and his wife would finally learn who ruled the building.

I slipped into the house without making a sound to look for a paper and found my wife with her slipper in hand and her friend over her lap, waiting for punishment.

She had all the proof of everything on the desk. She could ruin me with one call. Instead, she locked the door and told me to kneel.

I blush just thinking that you’re going to read this, but he ordered me to: I must tell, without hiding anything, how I learned to kneel and give thanks.

I went up in a robe, barefoot and furious, ready to yell at him. He opened the door, looked me up and down, and I knew I was the one in trouble.

At twenty-nine she still had a good girl’s face, but that morning she walked into my office knowing exactly what she’d have to do for her father to sleep at home.

Four purplish marks on my hips were the exact shape of his fingers. I dressed like an impeccable executive, but we both knew who my body already belonged to.

He always made the important decisions. So when he said he needed someone else in the house for those weeks, I knew it had already been decided.

I asked for it a thousand times without believing he would do it. That night, with the ropes tight and his voice in my ear, I learned there was no going back.

She was twenty days late and still wearing that same look of superiority. That night, she learned that in my house, rent could be paid another way.

I was coming back from surfing, my hair damp and my bikini still wet, when they made me stop. I had no idea that night would show me how far my desire could go.

Pressed against the counter, they thought the house was empty. They didn’t count on her coming back early, or on what she had in store for anyone who dared to lie to her.

I sat in that chair pretending to be in an emergency, but beneath the bra-less top my body only obeyed a voice not in the room: my master’s.

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.

He ordered me to masturbate in front of him while he smoked in the armchair. What neither of us expected was how that playful afternoon would end.

Tonight I sleep on the floor and I brought it on myself. The paradox of asking your Dom to order you to do something, then finding there’s no turning back.