Submission

The straps tightened the more I pulled. I was tied, blind, and soaked on my own bed when the bedroom door opened and I heard two voices.

They put the blue ribbon around my neck, the only one different from the rest, and I walked down those stairs knowing those six men would discover what I was hiding.

My mother got up from the chair, kissed me on the mouth, and without saying a word slid her hand under my pajamas. Only then did I understand what my parents had agreed to during the night.

I thought I had the situation under control. I thought an old man with no strength couldn’t do anything to me. That was my first mistake of the morning.

I arrived at two in the morning with a dry mouth and one idea in my head: that night I wasn’t going to set any limits, no matter what happened among the pavilions.

I had tried it before and only felt pain. That night, in a hotel room with a stranger, I discovered how wrong I was.

He whispered it in my ear while I was still trembling: “What if next time it’s just two for you?” I didn’t know how to say no, and I didn’t want to.

I liked feeling watched, desired, chosen above all the others. That night a man from the countryside pulled me off the dance floor and took me somewhere with no turning back.

He had never seen a man like Lamine, and from the very first day he knew he would do anything to get back inside his house.

I’m a closet tranny. I’d spent months obeying his emails when he wrote that he’d be coming to my city, and I knew that afternoon he’d do with me everything he had ordered.

I followed her out into the street convinced it would be just another night. I had no idea what she was hiding under that tight dress or how far she would take me.

Forty minutes earlier my hands were shaking. Now I’m holding the harness, and for the first time in eighteen years, I’m the one deciding what happens in this room.

I showed her the video and she collapsed on the living room floor. But when she got back up, she was no longer the woman her husband had humiliated for twenty years.

He called me as evening fell to warn me he’d be late. By then I’d already started getting ready: the wig, the makeup, the plug. Only him was missing.

In the car, with his hand on the wheel and mine between his legs, I understood that that night I would make the rules. And he would obey every one.

I had her caged beside the table, on all fours, while my friends ate and tossed leftovers onto the metal tray. That was only the beginning.

That week I behaved like an insolent girl, and he warned me: we’d see whether I was still so haughty when he had me right in front of him, on my knees.

No one around me suspects it, but all day long I obey orders that exist only in my head... and I want more and more for them to become real.

When the cabin heater went out, my husband reminded me that his rules don’t break just because it’s cold. That night I learned what truly belonging to him meant.

That night I put on the red thong, the fishnets, and the wig in front of the hotel mirror, and for the first time I didn’t recognize the same old boy.