Submission

When the cool air hit my naked skin, I understood we weren’t in the bedroom: he had taken me out to the garden, tied up and in the dark, where anyone could have seen me.

I thought I had the whole house to myself for four days. I didn’t count on him having keys, cameras, and a curiosity he’d never confessed.

Each mark the ropes leave on my skin brings me a little closer to the abyss. But it’s the only thing that silences his voice... the voice of the man I let die.

For years I’d convinced myself I knew what I wanted from a woman. That night, at the bar of a nearly empty place, a stranger showed me how wrong I was.

She crossed her legs in front of me and something didn’t add up. Her voice was sweet, but her hands were too big. It took me days to understand what had stolen my sleep.

“Come downstairs at nine. Well-showered, shaved, and without underwear. Today the two of us are going to use you.” I turned off the phone with trembling hands and began counting the hours.

My parents said that neighbor was trouble. I only knew that every time I ran into her in the elevator, I struggled to breathe and didn’t know why.

Every night before bed, Carla whispered «good night, princess.» It took me months to understand that the word wasn’t a game, but an order.

I handed him the folded note and a condom without saying a word. He read it, looked me over, and only said: come with me. I wasn’t thinking clearly again for hours.

The message arrived at midnight and I read it three times before showing it to my husband. He wasn’t asking permission. He was giving me instructions, and I was already trembling.

Every week they repeated the same private ritual, but that night, with her cousin sleeping on the other side of the hall, she discovered how much she liked obeying.

I agreed to pedal a hundred kilometers to please him. What I didn’t expect was the jar of cayenne waiting for me that night in the hotel sink.

I thought I ruled the bedroom—untouchable, demanding. Then you went down on me and opened me up, and I found out how much I liked obeying.

At forty-four I thought nothing could surprise me anymore, until a man with grease-stained hands looked at me like no one had in years.

She wrote saying she wanted to be my model, my muse. She had no idea that afternoon would teach her desire and the camera are the same thing.

I never thought of myself as submissive, but the first time his voice ordered me over the phone, I obeyed without thinking. And I discovered being someone’s could feel better than I ever imagined.

When the lockdown ended, I had been holding back for too long. I went out determined to find what I needed, never imagining it would be three men at once.

It started as a joke: putting on the pink collar in exchange for pizza. But when I pressed the button, I stopped being myself. Something else started moving my body from within.

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.