Submission

I turn off the light, open the story, and let my hand drift down. In my head there’s always someone in the corner of the room, watching, waiting to come in.

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.

Eight years abroad turned me into the woman I was always meant to be. But when I crossed the threshold at home, the first thing I found was Mauricio’s hungry look.

I’d spent weeks imagining myself in women’s clothes. That night I put on the red strap lingerie, took a photo, and waited for someone to text me something forbidden.

I came back after twenty years to a southern city. That night, in a hotel in the red-light district, two strangers decided I wasn’t sleeping alone.

“I knew that one day I’d have this conversation with you,” my mother said, closing the door. What she told me that afternoon changed forever what I believed about us.

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 felt nothing but pain. That night, in a hotel room with a stranger, I discovered how wrong I had been.

He whispered it in my ear while I was still trembling: “What if next time there were two of you alone?” I didn’t know how to say no—and I didn’t want to.

I liked being watched, desired, chosen above everyone else. That night, a country man took me from the dance floor to a place there was no turning back from.

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

We didn’t even read the clauses. I knew what I wanted: to live with him, do whatever I pleased with his body, and when he died, keep everything.

I'd smoked since I was eighteen, and nothing had ever made me stop. Until my wife found that doctor with impossible heels and a predator's smile.

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 closed the door, kissed him without permission, and knew I wasn’t leaving until I got exactly what I’d come for—with the entire waiting room listening.

He wore an expensive suit and had a stare that intimidated everyone at the table, but he couldn’t stop looking at my feet. And I knew exactly what I was going to do with that.

He’d been sneaking looks at my feet from the bus stop for ten minutes. What he didn’t know was that I planned to bring him upstairs and put him on his knees before nightfall.