Submission

I met him while collecting the mail. A week later I was on my knees in the meter room, wondering how I’d lost control so fast.

I mapped a jungle where no one spoke my language, yet among clay-painted bodies, I finally stopped feeling like a ghost.

We don't expose ourselves so people can watch us; we simply stop hiding. And if a blind shifts beyond the hedge, she smiles and spreads her legs a little wider.

He had spent years delivering boys to the temple while dreaming of possessing the high priestess. On the night of the full moon, his wish came true in the worst possible way.

It was eight-thirty, half an hour before the client’s call, and I already knew exactly how I wanted us to spend the wait.

Before the mirror in that room, a box of unfamiliar garments opened, and each one he put on erased a little more of the man who had entered.

That morning, Nora had an hour left before they came to pick her up. She tightened the black skirt in the mirror and realized the price of the debt would be paid by her.

For weeks he watched her from his window; the night he climbed the fence, he understood that she would decide everything that happened between them.

The corset hugged his body like a second skin and the satin tightened around his wrists. In front of the mirror, Adrián stopped pretending and finally became who he wanted to be.

I took a seat in the third row with a cold coffee and my skepticism folded inside my notebook. I didn’t know every word she said would rewrite who I was, down to the last button.

I knocked on the door knowing I’d gone too far this time, and the woman who opened it accepted no excuses—only obedience.

I dressed up for the first time, got in the car with the other two girls, and crossed half the province without knowing that night would teach me to endure contempt with my head held high.

I told him no woman spread her legs for him that easily. He only smiled and said, “We’ll see.” I had no idea what he was hiding behind that door.

I’d been noticing the way my husband’s friend looked at me for weeks. That night, alone in the patio, I understood none of it was accidental.

Between email and email, with the door closed and the stopwatch running, I’ve spent years perfecting a routine I’ve never told anyone. Until today.

When the mirror showed me a face that wasn’t mine, I understood that I no longer ruled this house. I only obeyed and wanted to please her.

She parked in front of the building, looked in the rearview mirror, and did not recognize the woman staring back. That night she had decided to stop being the perfect wife.

That night I wasn’t the host, I was the ornament. My wife picked my dress, put me in heels, and ordered me to smile while her bosses appraised me.

When she opened the door in that black lingerie and that cold smile, I knew there would be no talk tonight: only orders, and I was ready to obey every one.

I’m 34, with long blonde hair to my waist and a desire I no longer hide: I live to obey. This is my introduction, unashamed and unfiltered.