Submission

Two chairs with holes in the middle, a rope with a knot, and two men tied up not knowing if the next round would be theirs. The game was about to begin.

When the closet door closed and we were left in the dark, I felt her hand slide up my leg. We only had ten minutes.

One phrase was enough for her to climb onto the bed, rest her heel on his chest, and tell him that tonight he’d have to earn every touch.

The first time he made me lower my head while he fucked me, I thought I’d resist. I didn’t. And I discovered how much I liked stopping myself from deciding.

I’ve always had a strange fixation. That afternoon I decided my best friend would be the first to obey me, on his knees and with nothing to hide.

We had signed the agreement and chosen a safeword, but nothing prepared me for the moment his shadow rose from the tunnel and I no longer knew what was play.

I was always the confident one of the two. But with cold handcuffs on my wrists and her new smile over me, I understood I was no longer the one in charge.

Every time I’m alone in the house, I repeat the same ritual. And every time, it gets harder to tell the game from what I truly long to be.

I thought my secret was safe behind a half-open door. I never imagined she’d end up holding my fate clenched in her fist.

I thought surviving ten kicks would be easy. I didn’t count on her enjoying every one of them, or on how much I’d end up enjoying them too.

She locked the storehouse door and slipped the key ring into her apron. Only then did I understand that afternoon wasn’t going to end with a lecture.

When her boyfriend left after slamming the door, she stood in my kitchen, barefoot, waiting for me to speak the first word of her new life.

Every time I slacked off, I paid for it with nettles, lashes, and her muddy boots. Worst of all was that part of me was already waiting for the next punishment.

She picked me up, pointed to her cheek for a kiss, and I knew the orders wouldn’t stay in the bedroom this time: they started the moment I got in her car.

I arrived in a red top and black skirt, without underwear, knowing that once I crossed that door I would no longer belong to myself.

He’d been tied to her desire for a month. That night, Selene would decide when, how, and how much it hurt before finally letting him let it all out.

Before every take he put on the mask and stopped being himself. He knew she wasn’t going to fake a single blow, and that was exactly what he paid for.

Ámbar had accepted the master’s rules: no pleasure until they returned from the trip. What he didn’t know was which of the two women would have the last word.

At first I only watched from the crack: naked men, tied up, begging for more punishment from the woman laughing over them. Until she held out her hand to me.

One slip and a few cruel laughs were enough for him to discover that shame, far from hurting, was igniting something new and dark inside him.