Punishment

We went down to the sauna without swimsuits and I understood that my wife and her cousin had already talked it all over: that mountain weekend was not going to be what we’d been told.

The cards were ready, split into green, yellow and red. All that was left was for them to arrive and find out how far we were willing to go.

“Cooperation is the only currency you have,” the message said. Mariana put the phone down, knowing she would obey again, just like last time.

For two years she gave her body every Friday to keep her husband alive. Now he’s coming home, and she won’t give up the cell that set her free.

Marina thought he was just a harmless boy. That afternoon, she discovered that beneath his shyness was someone ready to take control of everything.

I wasn’t wearing anything under my skirt when I knocked on that rusted railcar door. I only wanted one man. I had no idea the foreman would show up to lay down his rules.

While the guests toasted in the hall, she tied an apron over her white dress and plunged her hands into soapy water. Her way of saying: I’m yours.

I came back from the kitchen naked, cloth in hand, and knew that night there would be nothing left of my pride on the black marble of his living room floor.

I spent a year looking for someone willing to take me completely. The email from that stranger changed everything: she didn’t want to play with me, she wanted my whole life.

He knocked expecting a routine exam. A stranger in a robe opened the door with a smile that promised trouble, and he knew that afternoon he wouldn’t be in charge.

—Tonight you’re not serving me with your hands —she said, lifting her skirt while I remained on my knees, waiting for the only order that truly mattered.

For years I stole her flip-flops to hide away with them. The afternoon she caught me on a ladder, she knew exactly how to use my secret.

One look from her after catching me on my knees by her bed was enough to break our friendship and begin something else: obeying every whim without protest.

When she grabbed my arm on the way out, I understood she wasn’t looking for an apology. She was looking for a slave, and I was already on my knees before she asked.

I woke up tied to the leather bench, naked and gagged, and understood that the session wasn’t meant to cure me: it was meant for them to have their fun with me.

She came back from training still in uniform, looked down at me from above, and I understood that afternoon that something between us was going to change forever.

I spent the whole afternoon holding on, thinking about the exact moment I’d cross that room’s doorway and he’d understand, once again, why he was there.

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.

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 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.