Submission

Lorena dressed me as the most desired woman of the night, told me eight men were waiting, and for the first time I didn’t want to run from what I felt.

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.

A stranger promised to meet me in the back row, but I ended up in the hands of everyone else, offered up again and again in the dark.

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.

He carried the tray trembling, the skirt riding up his thighs, while they toasted and laughed. That night he wasn't a guest: he was the party's toy.

Every morning she walked into the building knowing that in her hands lay the fate of every man who crossed that door. And she loved it.

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.

I never know what position I’ll end up in when I walk into his rope room. Today there was a suspension point ready, and all I wore was a pair of panties he meant to destroy.

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, raised my ass, and waited to hear his voice. He wanted no lingerie or flirting—only to find me naked and ready for him to fulfill his promise.

She crossed her legs slowly so he would notice the black lace beneath the dress. That night, he would not be the one in control, though he did not yet suspect it.

For years I was my father’s best-kept secret. I thought I knew the rules of that game, until the night his friends crossed the bedroom door.

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.

I knelt in the center of the salon while they decided, line by line, how they would transform me. And all I could do was wish they would begin.

I saw her reading on the last train of the afternoon, fragile and oblivious to everything. I had no idea that that “hello” would be the first of many orders.

I never saw him in person. I only needed my words, a candlelit altar, and the certainty that a man can kneel before someone who will never return the gesture.