Submission

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.

I was always the confident one of the two. But with cold handcuffs on my wrists and her new smile over me, I understood I was no longer the one in charge.

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.

When her boyfriend slammed the door on his way out, she stood barefoot in my kitchen, waiting for me to say the first word of her new life.

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.

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.

Ámbar had accepted the master’s rules: no pleasure until they returned from the trip. What he didn’t know was which of the two women would have the last word.

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.

I found my friend trembling in the bathroom at that dinner. When I asked who had left her like that, I never imagined she’d say the name of our most feared professor.

Every Christmas we hid our secret under modest clothing. This year I opened the door with my wife kneeling and bound in the living room, waiting for the guests.

I caught him masturbating alone and should have left in embarrassment. Instead, I stayed barefoot before him, waiting for him to tell me what to do with my body.

I pulled my pants down thinking no one could see me. When I stumbled and fell into the sand, two pairs of eyes were already watching me with a smile that promised nothing good.