Darling Discovered

by Mrs. Darling

  Smiling, putting my smart phone down, I turn up the radio and sing.

  Speeding up a bit with mom’s sensible import fading away behind us, Leo reaches across his sports car that he uses to escort clients around during the work week and clasps my hand in his. It feels like a dozen past shared experiences. I smile and sing and relax, loving the road underneath us, feeling the miles move us through life.

  “Take off your shorts,” Leo instructs clear as a bell, voice rising over the music.

  My ponytailed head whips to him incredulously. With that one sentence, it becomes like no other drive we have ever taken.

  Leo raises an eyebrow and asks, “Do I need to tell you a second time?”

  I laughingly object to this. “Leo, we’re driving. No.” Silence but for the purr of the engine.

  “You can’t be serious.” I brush him off, crossing my legs.

  He grips my hand, tiny in his, harder.

  “Off. Now.” He demands.

  I look to him dressed in comfortable driving clothes and bright white walking shoes as he prepares to wait in the long lines of the latest rides. He isn’t joking around about this “request.” This is the point in our old marriage he would have given up; conceded to my denying his request. But things are becoming different now. In me. In him. In us.

  Bravely I test him.

  “Or what, Mr. Donnovan?” I chide.

  He sighs half-heartedly and I can’t quite tell if he is getting annoyed or giving up. In the cool car I hear him ask: “Are you ready to dip your big toe into the pool that is discipline, my darling?”

  My heart speeds up at the uncomfortable predicament. I can’t take my shorts off. Can I? No. Goodness no. I’m on a public road, in broad daylight, in a car that anybody can peer into. Wait. That almost makes me want to do it more. What is that called? Voyeurism?

  I reach for my phone and search, feeling the tension build in the air while I still avoid Leo’s instruction. No, voyeurism is getting off on watching or spying on others. What I am feeling is exhibitionism. Exposing myself in public.

  I am completely turned on by the idea and at the same time terrified. What if a cop sees me? That’s illegal right? Can I go to jail for that? What if a trucker sees me? What if Leo sees me (as foolish as this is, I am still building back confidence in my new post-pregnancy body and there is no hiding here) and horror of horrors, what if my mom sees me?

  I feel like a nervous teen in high school again trying to meet up with a current beau and find a place to grind on each other in a curious frenzy. I don’t think I have fooled around in a car since high school. I’m an adult. I thought I was past this. But then why is my whole lower half starting to heat with excitement seeping in?

  The alternative? Discipline? I am having a bit of a “what the fuck” moment with that. Do I believe him? I dunno. What would that entail? I dunno again. I am enticed to explore this too.

  This is how I feel so much of the time now. Overwhelmed by the options available to me; kid in a candy store syndrome. I want to sample everything and there just aren’t enough hours in the day to do it.

  I am in a live version of a Choose Your Own Adventure story I used to read as a kid.

  Pick a path:

  1. Either safe word (standard yellow and red that the BDSM books and sites preach; yellow meaning slow or caution, red meaning stop). I can’t at this very moment imagine having to “red” anything Leo would ever do to me.

  2. Take my shorts off.

  3. Learn about discipline.

  I brave up and make my choice, shaking away Leo’s right hand that is clutching my left, and proceed to unbutton, unzip, and push off my khaki shorts that I picked for comfort. Here I am. Pink lace-trimmed cotton boy shorts against the cool leather seats.

  “Good choice.” Leo praises, running his palm up and down my thighs that are clenched together at the knees. “How do you feel?”

  I sit on my hands to avoid flipping open the vanity mirror and seeing how I look, afraid to see the roundness that is new to my body. I force myself to focus on how I feel instead of how I look. I feel sexy. Horny. I say so to my husband.

  “Good. Now lean the seat back and spread your legs.”

  Instantly my eyes glaze over with tears that I do my best to blink back.

  “I can’t babe. Please.” I tell him, quivering.

  “You can darling. You can, and you will. I’m here. I’m in control now. Do you think I will do anything to put either of us at risk?” he asks.

  “No,” I spew shortly, sniffling back the fears and shame that has wrapped up my sexuality for the past fifteen years.

  “Do you trust me?” he inquires.

  I flinch at the question and am brought back to the mistake in Atlanta.

  Pissy sounding, “I used to.”

  Undeterred, he more gently asks, “Do you want to trust me again?”

  I sniffle, nodding my head in affirmation.

  Leo encourages, “Chloe, this is the first step. I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll never have you doubt your trust in me again. Just... start here. Start slow. It’s simple and I’m here with you. Put your seat back. Spread your legs. Will you do that for us? For you?”

  I take a moment to collect myself and slowly send the whir of the electric passenger seat down, feeling more nervous at every moved millimeter. I see a ceiling that I have never paid attention to (huh, dove grey) and look to the right where I see the perfect summer sky. I look to the left and see an upside down view of my husband. Already scruffy from going the morning without shaving, excited to toss aside work for a few days, and hazel eyes reflecting the blue sky.

  His view goes between me and the road. I clench up every time I see a semi-truck breeze past us but each time is a little easier going. Starting to enjoy doing something risqué, I slowly bring my knees apart, feeling so exposed to the world.

  Each inch makes me a little more aroused.

  “So fucking sexy Chlo,” he exhales, running his hand again over my thigh in a consistent pattern, up and down, the same pressure, the same place, from my knee that is pressed deep into his center console, to about an inch below my pussy that I am dying for him to touch. But he has other plans.

  “Move your panties over and touch yourself. Tell me how you feel.”

  I am ready to submit to his instructions. Ready to trust again. I take my left hand and staring at the ceiling, I use it to move my underwear to the side of my thigh, really exposing myself now.

  “Touch yourself.” Leo demands.

  I move my finger into my folds and shiver from the chill of my air-conditioned hands against my hot, slick spot.

  “Wow.” I breathe out, and shudder visibly at being watched touching myself for the first time ever.

  “Well?” comes the inquisition from Leo still rubbing my thigh up and down. I continue rubbing my clit, circling, relishing the wetness Leo’s command has created.

  “Good,” I exhale, “I feel so good... so... smooth. I mean, like, slick.”

  I hear Leo’s voice behind my now closed eyes.

  “Nicely done my love. Now listen. I want to try something that I have been learning about and I think you are ready to start training your body. I want you to start controlling your orgasms. Do you think you can do that? I don’t want you to come until I tell you that you can. Do you understand?”

  I am working myself up and each roar of a vehicle passing by makes me a little closer to the edge. I rub in tight, light circles, masturbating in the way I have only done privately. If I pause to think about my fear of being caught, my body cools off and doubt seeps in so I push away the thoughts, keeping my mind in check.

  I tell him in my most convincing tone, “Uh-huh...”

  I feel his hand come off my thigh and grab my wet one into his, stopping me and forcing me to look up and acknowledge him. With a stern voice, he says, “From now on you have a choice in response. ‘Yes, Sir’ or ‘Yes, Mister’ are your only options.”

  I st
are at him wide eyed and feel a bubble of laughter in my throat as I try to decide if he is being serious or not. His hand drops mine and he lifts his and smacks my inner thigh, hard, stinging it and instantly turning it red.

  “Yes, Sir.” I blurt out and wait, stunned.

  “Yes Sir, what?” he asks for clarification.

  I stutter over my words, “Um... yes... Sir... I will ask to come?”

  As I speak the word “Sir” out loud for the first times in my life to a sexual partner it comes close to undoing Leo’s experiment because it almost makes me come right then from the sound of it leaving my lips.

  The feeling is cut short by another swat and sting on my thigh.

  He corrects, “Wrong answer. If I’m talking, I expect you to listen. I said don’t come until I tell you to do so. You don’t ask me. Not today, that is for another time. Today, wait for me to tell you when I am ready to see you come. I want to read your body. Understand?”

  The quick learner I am responds, “Yes, Sir.”

  I lay back, free to return to my pussy and all of what has transpired races through my mind. Being told what to do. The pleasure masquerading as pain. How good that sting felt. I want to come but swallow the urge down, slowing my rubbing despite wanting to get off and then speeding up again once back under control.

  When he finally gives the order, “Come,” I am more than ready and it takes me all of fifteen seconds to pace back up and orgasm. It rips through my body, from head to toe, shaking, convulsing, tingling.

  My moan empties into the car and feel my boy shorts dampen through surely wetting down to the new smelling leather beneath my bottom. My eyes stay closed in hopes that I can shield myself from the interior scene of the car; hide from my out-in-the-open sexuality.

  Leo pats my thigh, “Good job Chloe, I’m proud of you, that was such a good job.”

  I cover my eyes with my left hand, bringing my weak knees together and laughter seeps out. I’m positively giddy. After a peek at Leo through my fingers I see him focusing on driving but chuckling along with me.

  Who the fuck are we right now? I wonder silently. It makes me giggle harder, and he glances at me, starting to laugh out loud as if reading my mind. He shrugs his shoulders as I lean my seat up, undoing what we have done, and we casually go back to singing the all but forgotten radio tunes. One moment, the old us. One moment, something entirely new.

  So much of the formation of a power exchange dynamic takes place during the non-sexy moments. These types of relationships aren’t always crafted in the heat of the night or while masturbating in a luxury car streaming towards a family fun park.

  The important learning, the times when structure is built, often happens in the light of day. Sober. Spoken in plainness and honesty.

  During my birthday weekend spent walking through an amusement park after finding a gas station to clean up and switch into dry underwear my mind drifts to an old Bible parable, something about building a house on rock instead of sand so it can withstand any storm.

  A successful dynamic, hell, a successful relationship of any kind, is built on rock. The basic core values- trust, honesty, respect- are the rocks that can withstand anything. They need to be crafted through constant, open communication. Talking may not be the sexiest thing we do but Leo and I do more of it during this year than in all of our previous years combined.

  Debating. Questioning. Discussing. Learning. We both said and heard things that hurt us. Things that built us up. Things that we didn’t know about each other. But if there was one thing we learned from both our marriage counselor extraordinaire as well as from the mountains of BDSM reading we do, it is that talking is necessary to make things first better and then great. So talk we do.

  Chapter Seven: New Words. Old Fears.

  Walking through the land of animatronic dinosaurs, melting in the hot sun along with tourists chattering in foreign languages while fanning themselves with the park map, I stop at a shaded snack bar table and sit. I pull Emily out of her infant stroller and get to work adjusting the sweaty baby. Prim and proper Grandma sits next to me with a sigh, glad for a break, and pulls out a bottle of water that is likely reduced to lukewarm in the half-hour since purchase.

  Leo, absolutely drenched in sweat underneath the cap touting his favorite football team, bends over and gives me a hot (temperature hot, not in any way sexy hot) kiss before heading to the restroom.

  My mom tells me to give her “my girl” and after an internal eye roll at her corny phrase I hand Emily over to her grandmother for a dose of doting. I stand to stretch, pulling my short sleeves up, shocked at how golden my skin is.

  I ask Grandma Larchmont, “Ma, I’m gonna grab Leo and hit up that water ride. Ok?”

  She answers in her now becoming typical way, in baby talk, to Emily:

  “Tat’s ohhhhkay! Huh Emmie? Huh wittle baby? Are you hun-gee? You want a bah-bah?”

  Smiling at my girls I pull out the mini cooler with bottles and after setting them up I feel a hand slide across my sticky back. Hairs stand up all over and I am surprised at the magnitude Leo has over me right now. Every touch, or word, or day seems of vital importance. I grab his hand and lead him, heading into the long line to wait for a ride to plunge us into a cooler existence.

  I fall into one of my favorite hobbies: people watching. I see older folks standing in silence. Younger folks face down in their smart phones. Pre-adolescent girls in matching cheerleading camp tees and requisite matching ribbons practicing their arm moves and giggling together. And everywhere, families.

  Groupings of all kinds, with younger children and older children and lots of children. Moms busy cleaning up dirt smudged faces with a stray napkin and water bottle. Dads holding toddlers, doing their best to keep them entertained in the claustrophobic line. Siblings trading inside jokes that each family seems to own in surplus.

  It hits me that as of right now I don’t know if Emily will ever have a natural sibling. Less than a year from now Leo and I may be quits. He had an affair. It may have been the death of us. I begin to cry and am glad for my dark sunglasses.

  We shuffle forward and stop and the mister catches a glimpse of a stray sniffle.

  “What’s goin’ on?” he asks in a kind tone close to me.

  In my old life, in our old marriage, I would have replied with the predictable “nothing” and moved on. But.

  Talking. Communicating. Honesty. These are gonna be instrumental if I expect the same from him.

  I huff out, “It’s just hard still, you know? It’s still hard. Every day.”

  We shuffle with the moving ride line.

  Leo responds simply, “I know. I’m sorry.”

  I have heard “I am sorry” more times than I can count. It helps though even if just a little bit each time. I do my best to clear my head and move forward with my day, pushing the hurt as deep back as I can manage.

  My mind reflects on the exhilarating car ride and that breaks a sunny smile across my face. I tiptoe closer to my husband’s ear and whisper, “What did you think about earlier?”

  An equally sunny grin breaks out on his face. “What did you think of this morning?” annoyingly answering my question with a question.

  I insist, “No way. Nu-uh. I’m asking you. You know what I thought of it.”

  Shuffle, shuffle. I can see Leo processing the question. Each moment brings more concern that he was somehow displeased with the naughty drive.

  He pulls me close, my back against his front and his arms crossed over my chest and he lines up to speak directly in my ear.

  He shuffles me along in the line, nearing closer to the giant waterfall that spills over willing passengers and at long last Mr. Donnovan begins to share his thoughts.

  “I’ve never seen anybody as sexy as you today. You looked so hot all stretched out, trembling. But it’s hard Chloe. It’s an adjustment,” he sighs and continues in a pained tone.

  “When I was raised up, my parents taught me how to be the best man possible. I
was raised up to be a nice guy. To put women on a pedestal. To allow them freedom... and... and... ‘options.’ So it’s really difficult to move towards the opposite. I don’t want to be a shitty husband.”

  I pull him away and spin to face him, to reassure him, “But Leo, I am asking you to do those things. I want you to take control of me. I like doing what you want. When you are being pleased, it pleases me too. You’re not shitty at all-”

  “Stop Chloe. Stop. I know this, I can tell. I’m learning to read you in a way I never knew possible. I watch you now. I really see you now. But listen up darlin and here is the hard truth of it. The control thing, that’s an adjustment. That’s getting easier. But I have heard the same thing since, God, I was probably five years old over and over and over again by everybody in my life: Men. Don’t. Hit. Women.

  “A real man never lays their hand on a female. Ever. Now here I am and we have opened up this Pandora’s Box and I stand dealing with the fact that I liked slapping your leg. I liked spanking you the other night. The sound of it, the sting on my palm, reprimanding you, hearing the squeals that came from your mouth. Seeing your shock. It turned me on. It was so fucking hot and all I can think of is when we can do more. What kind of monster does that make me Chloe? Huh? What does that say about your husband?”

  I can practically feel his heart beating across the foot of air between us. I am shocked at hearing this confession. So much emotion from him; so much of the once silent storm now swirling inside of my mister.

  I had no idea of this struggle. Had never even stopped to consider the toll this may carry for him. I stare at his dark sunglasses through my dark sunglasses and now I am glad for his eyes being hidden too. I don’t think I want to see the pain he is feeling right now; the internal struggle.

  I shuffle walking backwards towards the front of the line and take his stubbly cheeks in my hand.

  I move closer and say, “Thank you, Leo, for giving me this chance, for letting me explore. I don’t know how I can ever say thank you.”

  He grabs my wrists, holding me tight, and tells me how.