Submission

For weeks I had been masturbating every night, imagining what she was living in her own body. Until one Thursday I stood before the mirror and decided to stop imagining it.

I went down those basement stairs with my heart in my throat, and before I even thought twice, I was already on my knees in the back booth.

She could cloud an entire city with desire, but that night it was Renata who snapped the lock shut, slipped the key into her pocket, and smiled like a lovestruck jailer.

Daniel forbade me to touch myself while he fucked me. The rule held until the night the trucker came back early and caught us in the bathroom.

She left the trunks on the bed and ordered me to try on every garment. That night I understood the journey was not a destination, but a test of how much I belonged to her.

I climbed those stairs with my heart racing, never imagining I’d leave the apartment transformed into someone else, with a woman’s name on my lips.

She’d worn the key to my cage around her neck for months, reminding me who was in charge. That afternoon, in the storeroom, she learned that power changes hands faster than anyone imagines.

I confessed the fantasy at eleven thirty at night. By two in the morning, the date was locked in and I was more scared than she was.

At seven sharp, the clinic was empty and the doctor locked the door behind him. Mercedes had no idea her burn would be the least of what was stinging that morning.

Tied under the lights with his gaze fixed on my back, I understood that tonight the real show was him: forced to watch everything he refused to give me.

My owner planted the idea like a seed: money for my body and a stranger watching every detail. That Tuesday afternoon I went to fulfill it, not knowing how it would end.

It was an April afternoon. I went out without a bra and in a tiny thong. I had no idea my husband would stop at the abandoned gas station and do that to me.

For four days the little paper with his number burned in my pocket. Every night I remembered that wetness dripping out, and I knew I was going to call.

Every morning I put on my shackles before I head out to the fields. No one forces me: I do it because the weight of the chain on my ankles is the only thing that makes me feel alive.

For days I’d been imagining that weekend: every order, every punishment, every broken limit. I wrote it all in one message and hit send without thinking twice.

I stripped in silence, put on the ears and collar, and slipped into his bed before he woke. I owed him too much to keep pretending I only wanted to care for him.

I closed my eyes, stuck my ass up, and waited to hear his voice. I didn’t want lingerie or flirting—just to be naked and ready for him to keep his promise.

I pulled down my coffee-stained pants convinced this was my big moment. I didn’t count on her older sister walking through the door right then.

I met her on a reading app. Black-haired, tall, intimidating. I agreed to be her submissive because I never believed a woman like her would look at me twice.

There were two hours left before the video call and my body was already trembling. I wasn’t going to touch myself once; it was enough that he wrote what I had to do to myself.