Submission

I’d written that it would be my first time submitting. I never imagined the first thing she’d do when she opened the door would be slap me and order me to kneel.

I didn’t let you lift your face until you understood that, while you’re behind me, my mouth and nose belong to me and you’ll use them however I order.

Each step made the hidden metal beneath her skirt ring out. Vera had learned to live wet, on the edge, waiting for the next needle he would drive into her flesh.

He knew he was going to lose before they even started. But giving in right away gave him nothing: the pleasure was in resisting, in forcing the other to wrench victory from him with bites under the full moon.

When we close the bedroom door, we stop being the proper couple everyone knows. In there there are no limits, only the ones we set in order to break them.

The receptionist handed me a package with no return address. Inside, a metal plug and a note in his handwriting: “For our date, I want you to wear it.”

He told me that wait wasn’t paid for with money. And instead of getting out of the taxi, I stayed to find out what he wanted me to pay with.

She smelled the flower that should not have existed, and her body stopped obeying her. Among the trees, someone watched and waited for the exact moment to approach.

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.

When he turned his back to make the copies, his hand slid up my stockings as if he had every right to do it. And I didn’t say no.

The night I waited for him with my blouse half-open, I knew I was no longer the same woman: I had remade my whole body to ignite one man’s desire.

I was half-naked in the car of a man I didn’t know, in a crowded parking garage, and he told me to relax because my checkup was only just beginning.

My adrenaline surged just thinking about it: going out at night to a remote area and letting men I didn’t know use me however they wanted. I knew the risks.

The sea spat me onto a yacht deck with not a single man on board. When I woke up a second time, I was already wearing their dress and didn’t understand why I was letting them.

She arrived in the arena like a semiprofessional with perfect manners. Three lessons later, she was the one putting the crop in my hand and telling me not to go easy.

She left them folded on the sink, still carrying her scent, with a note: “Today you wear these.” I knew the afternoon was going to be long.

Nuria came to the office hoping to be cured of her lust; she left after teaching the young doctor that some fires aren’t cured — they’re obeyed.

When I saw the video on her phone, I knew there was no way back: my neighbor knew exactly what she wanted from me, and I had fallen into her trap.

When I sat down in front of him with the list in my hand, I already knew I hadn’t gone to check materials. My boss had sent me to get the discount, and I was the currency.

When she knelt in the shower and looked up at me with that smile, I knew there was no turning back: her fantasy and mine were about to cross a line.