Submission

The first time she ordered me to paint my toenails, my hands shook. Not from fear: from wanting to obey her.

I’d kept that secret for years. It took one bottle of vodka and an old white flip-flop for her to take control and put me on my knees.

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.

It was enough for her to look at my bare feet on the cold tiles to understand, before I did, what kind of man I could become if she ordered me to.

I went to the bathroom with a simple urgency and found her there, soaped up and smiling, already knowing the order I was about to give her.

She took off her shoe in the car, slid her foot to my crotch, and whispered: “Is your first time going to be by obeying me? Even better for both of us.”

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.

At one in the morning she slipped off her heels to provoke, as always. She had no idea that night someone would turn her whim into an order.

For weeks I’d been admiring her feet from the back row. The day she slipped off her sandals and pinned me with her gaze, I knew there was no turning back.

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 told her I liked her feet and she laughed. She had no idea that that afternoon, while she was looking after her nieces, I’d be on my knees in front of her bed with her sneakers in my hands.

I’d spent years pretending I didn’t stare at her feet. That night, barefoot on the bed, she ordered me to kneel—and there was no turning back.

I turned my back to the camera, moved my hips slowly, and waited. I only wanted a stranger to tell me what to do with my own body.

I don’t go to the cinema for the movie. I go to the back row and wait for unknown feet to rest on me and decide how much I can take.

I started graduate school not knowing anyone. It only took one look at her crossing her legs and slipping off a sandal for me to stop paying attention to anything else.

It had been two weeks since anyone had used me the way I needed, so I put on the easiest dress to take off and went down to the only place where I knew I’d never be told no.

When she came out of the bedroom wrapped in that black latex, ponytail pulled tight and high heels on, I knew we weren’t going to sleep early that night.

That afternoon, she walked through the curtain into the back room knowing she would obey every order, however degrading, without anyone forcing her to.

She knew those two men would despise her the moment she walked through the door, and that was exactly what kept her coming back for more.

I didn’t need to read his name to know the green pants he described in such detail were mine. And I knew, in that instant, that I was going to make him beg.