Submission

She got thrown out of the mansion for asking too much. Lost in the night, the stench of a garbage truck made her smile: at last, someone spoke her language.

She went down those clinic stairs knowing she would not leave as the same woman: three pairs of hands were waiting to remind her what she really was.

We counted to three and took off our swimsuits in front of everyone. What I didn’t know was that she’d kept a key on her necklace for the rest of the day.

Centella pinned me against the booth wall, her breasts against my face, and whispered that I should learn to stay still and obey every order.

The door opened and I understood that tonight I wasn’t deciding anything. She waited tied to the headboard; he, standing in the dim light, only looked at me and nodded.

I thought I was going to spend a quiet afternoon at Renata’s villa. I never imagined I’d end up holding my breath while she ordered Ximena around.

She ordered me to take off my clothes, and I let her hands adjust every cable against my skin. When I started getting wet, I knew there was no turning back.

She lifted her skirt, looked at me hard, and said not to be embarrassed, that we all did it. That’s when I knew that night wouldn’t be like any other.

When I pulled my leggings down in front of him, I knew from his look that he’d do exactly what I asked, no matter how filthy it was.

He decided when I undressed, when he tied me up, and in front of whom. I only had to obey—and I learned obedience turned me on more than I ever admitted.

I ordered him to stay on his knees and not move. What came after taught him that with me, obedience isn’t an option: it’s the only rule there is.

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.

I felt her bare feet on my shoulder in the darkness. Then a voice asked me if I liked how her socks smelled, and all I could say was yes.

I was only going to touch him for a moment, out of pity. I never imagined that old man with the huge hands would end up giving me orders while I obeyed without resistance.

For years I exposed myself in the window while no one mattered, until the night I crossed the street barefoot to kneel before the only man who dared to truly look at me.

He offered me double the salary of anyone else. What wasn’t in the contract was everything his hand on my shoulder was demanding from me.

When he looked in the mirror, he no longer recognized himself: blonde wig, red corset, heels. And she, smoking on the sofa, was waiting for him with a smile he had never seen before.

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 was three months into guarding that job like gold. That morning, alone with him before opening, I discovered how much I liked being told what to do.