The New Addition to the House
For a year, Miriam and I had lived in our own private world of power and surrender. She was my devoted partner, a woman who found her greatest pleasure in submission. One afternoon, she showed me a conversation she was having online with a man who claimed to be selling his own submissive companion because he was moving abroad for work. The premise seemed absurd, yet the thrill of it ignited a fire in both of us.
The woman was described as Merche, a mature, bisexual widow who lived alone and craved a Master. Miriam was electrified by the idea of expanding our dynamic. We arranged a meeting at a secluded roadside cafe, the air thick with anticipation. When the white car pulled up, a distinguished man stepped out, followed by a stunning, curvy blonde woman with long hair and a gaze that remained fixed on the floor.
The negotiation was brief and clinical. The man treated Merche as property, and I stepped into the role of the dominant buyer with a confidence that felt instinctive. To prove my seriousness, I demanded to see Merche’s submission firsthand. I pulled Miriam close, asserting my ownership over her with a sharp slap to her thigh, marking her as mine. The exchange was completed with a payment of five hundred euros and a set of identification papers. Merche was now ours.
The drive home was silent, Merche sitting perfectly still in the back seat, her eyes occasionally drifting toward me with a mixture of fear and longing. The moment we entered the house, the atmosphere shifted. The two women worked in tandem to bathe me, their hands gentle but their eyes hungry. Merche was visibly captivated by my presence, her breath hitching as she realized the scale of the man who now commanded her life.
I wasted no time in establishing the new order. I led Merche through the house, treating her with a raw, demanding energy that pushed her to the edge of her endurance. I stripped her of her inhibitions, forcing her to witness the passion I shared with Miriam before turning my full attention to her. Merche responded with an intensity that surprised me; the more I dominated her, the more she spiraled into an ecstatic release, her body shaking under the weight of her own desire.
We spent the entire weekend breaking her in. She slept on a blanket at the foot of our bed, serving us as a maid by day and a plaything by night. By Sunday, the three of us were entwined in a feverish haze of pleasure in the living room, a symphony of skin and surrender that lasted for hours.
When Monday arrived, Merche didn’t truly leave. She began bringing her belongings into the small guest room, transitioning into a permanent role as the house’s caretaker and our shared submissive. Our sexual life had evolved into something far more complex and satisfying, a triad of devotion where every command was a gift and every act of submission was a liberation.