Darling Discovered

by Mrs. Darling

  “Stay with me Chloe. Stay married to me. Please.”

  It’s the first time he has made the request since our agreement to give it a year. It chills me all over and I don’t know how to respond. I am too scared to say anything. The fear that he would dishonor our marriage again is too horrible, but the thought of not waking up to him in the morning rips my heart in two.

  Instead of responding, I let go of his face. We untangle and I turn to face the jungle boat ride. We move the rest of the time not touching, our silence amongst the surrounding chatter and carnival music and screams of joy suffocating us. Finally it’s our turn and we are led onto the boat with a dozen others.

  At the highest peak I look over the edge into the watery abyss and realize my stomach is already in my throat even before the fall.

  Nothing is as scary to me right now as the thought of forgiving. I take Leo’s hand next to me and we plunge together. I’m glad he is there with me, along for this ride.

  Late that night I close the door to Mom’s hotel room, waving good-bye.

  Grandma is lounging in her nightgown with a glass of wine and a puzzle book, a conservative news show playing quietly in the background. In her room is my sweet little girl, sound asleep. I am free.

  When we checked into the hotel, all of us dirty and worn out from the long day of travel and excitement, Mom said that she was going to go relax and get clean so to meet her in an hour. Emily and I set off to track down some dinner for us three Donnovans and Leo toted the suitcases (and diaper bag, and overnight case, and his backpack surely containing work stuff, and the stroller) in from the car.

  While I was waiting for room service, I gave Emily a bath and got her into her bedtime routine. Each time I heard Leo’s card click the hotel room open, I felt his presence pull at me.

  It may be because we spent so much time after his mistake emotionally distant but I feel like I can’t get enough of him in my life. I want more. More of his time, of his essence, of his manhood. Damn it. More of his dominance.

  I feel him more than hear him as he crosses the room and comes to the bathroom. The mister peaks around the edge of the door, seeing me kneeling in front of the tub, a scratchy hotel towel under my knees washing the baby, and he asks, “Hey girls! Dinner?”

  I tell him I ordered food and that it should be delivered soon and he disappears. All of ten seconds later I see him out of the corner of my eye as he pops back around and in a hushed tone adds, “I like you on your knees.”

  With a wink he is gone, leaving me this time with my jaw dropped.

  Leo and I work together to get Emily dry and dressed and then eat perched on the end of the hotel bed together.

  Now our babe is fast asleep under Grandma’s care and we are left as husband and wife.

  Leo is waiting in the hall and as I wave my way out he grabs my hand and we race down the hall together eager to begin our evening, to celebrate my birthday; quite possibly the last one with us together. But that is a care for another day. Today? I just want to be filled up.

  We hit our hotel room, still holding hands and doing more giggling than talking, and I realize I feel disgusting. I’m still wearing the same shirt and shorts that I put on after feeding Emily in the dawn, before packing, before the X-rated drive, before the hot day at the park.

  I turn to Leo and see him in the same situation, dirt on what once was a crisp white tee but his hazel eyes still glowing with passion.

  I ask him, “Heya, mister. You wanna go shower with me?”

  He responds with a “Fuck yeah Chlo” and his wide lips nibble on mine before I can pull away.

  I turn the shower on and set up the bathroom while Leo strips in the bedroom.

  After lining up our mini travel bottles, I toss in Leo’s shower poof he prefers over a washrag. It’s a small detail but I am glad I remembered it when packing. Something like that I never would have paid attention to a year ago, deeming my husband quite fit to pack what he wants for himself.

  While this is still true, a big part of me enjoys taking care of him. I don’t know if this is a homemaker thing or a submissive thing or just a “me” thing. I don’t care. I like doing special services for him. So be it.

  As the steam of the shower starts to fill the bathroom, I get inspired to try something new. Leo enters and stands before me in the nude; I am overcome by my want of him. As always now, I feel saddened by his mistake in Atlanta but I can’t help but wonder in awe at it catapulting us into a new lifestyle together. If he hadn’t had his affair, would we be communicating the way we are now? Would I be having my deepest fantasies fulfilled?

  While I am confident I will never be happy for his indiscretion, are we coming to a point in our relationship where we are now better, happier, healthier, after the affair?

  I offer him a hand and a smile and we hop in the hot shower.

  Leo and I shower together often and it usually looks like this: taking turns in the cold air and under the heated water, taking turns shampooing, rinsing, soaping. It is a bit of a dance, moving in circles, wet naked skin brushing up against wet naked skin when passing.

  In an effort to learn about my husband in new ways I ask him, “I’d like to clean you. Can you teach me how you like to shower? Like, what order you do stuff in? I’ve never really paid attention.”

  I wait for his laughter or eyebrow raise to the foolishness of this request but he surprises me by simply saying, “Sure, I’d like that,” and gives me a wet kiss on the forehead.

  Under the water he teaches me. You can learn a lot about a person by the way they shower. The speed; the particularities. I give Leo a hug to start and eagerly become a student of my husband.

  Hair first, taking much more time than even I do with much more hair. He asks me to use my nails and scratch. I do, and ask him if he prefers scratching in lines, like this, or circles, like this.

  He answers, “Lines.”

  A light moan escapes his lips as I take my time giving him a scalp massage. The scent of his minty shampoo fills my nose and I feel a peace settle in my being.

  I stand back, ass hitting the cold shower wall as I ask him to rinse and he does. I continue the massage with the conditioner. Before I rinse my hands, he tells me to run the conditioner through his goatee and I do.

  I learn his pattern; tab it in my memory to be able to recall for future opportunities to shower together. Next comes warming the poof in the water before applying the soap. Weird.

  Lather, and a very specific order: chest, arms, back. Underarms. Groin. Legs, butt. Feet.

  I go to wash the bottom of his feet and it brings me, determined to do as thorough of a job as possible, to my knees in front of him.

  Soap bubbles covering the both of us, I go down to my right knee first and then my left.

  It‘s not an unfamiliar position per se, because I have certainly provided “sexual services” to him like this. But this is different somehow. I gently lift his first foot and use the loofah to clean it, running my finger in between his toes. Setting it gently down, I repeat it again on the other side. Finishing this act of service to him, for the first time since I landed on my knees, I look up to his face.

  He’s staring at me, watching me with concentration. When our eyes meet, several feet apart instead of several inches apart, an energy flows between us. A connection ignites; a spark flares.

  Before my brain can interpret what is leaving my throat I hear my voice say clear as a bell: “Thank you, Sir.”

  I have come home.

  Leo grabs a handful of the wet hair dangling behind me at the base of my neck and pulls me to my feet in a twisting, slippery way. The soap bubbles run down each of us like ten thousand tiny fingers sliding over every inch of skin as he looks deep into my eyes, giving my submission nowhere to hide.

  I hear him growl into the space between us, “Say it again.”

  “Thank you. Sir.” I repeat with conviction, certain of this place in my life.

  As much as it turns me on to sa
y this, I see the words arouse him equally, his shaft growing stiff in front of me and I repeat with volume, “Thank you Sir. Thank you my Sir.”

  I hear a primal, guttural sound come from my normally composed and calculated husband as he uses my still-clasped hair to spin me to the back of the tile and mount into me. He cracks me open without hesitation or warning and I pause only for a moment to adjust to his size before I return in kind, bringing my hips to meet his, pounding. His hand slaps my ass painfully, sending droplets everywhere and he orders me, “No. Don’t move.”

  I follow his bidding. I let go of control, close my eyes, and feel him ride in and out of me without controlling the pace.

  I feel my orgasm building and am reminded of his instructions earlier. Hoping to show him how quickly I am learning his desires, I moan in a breathy sob, “May I come Sir?”

  He responds with a moaning, “Mmmm... no Chloe... wait for it.”

  I feel his cock slide entirely out and he moves his hand around to the front of me. He uses his entire palm to caress my outside folds, engorging my clit, allowing me to grind against him, creating the friction I have been seeking.

  “Wait...” he reminds again, and I am surprised at how easily I am able to swallow my peak down and just ride the wave that is almost coming.

  I keep myself perched between agony and ecstasy. When he finally utters, “Come now,” I let go of the hold and feel the warm gush of female ejaculation fall from my crotch.

  My knees shake and my insides clench and all the while Leo continues the friction, prolonging my orgasm much longer than ever before. I keep coming and he keeps rubbing. When he finally stops, I am relieved to find his solid grip holding up my weakened body.

  My husband gently holds me from behind for a moment, his familiar arms allowing me to recover. The water continues to stream down at a steady pressure and I can focus on nothing but gaining my sea legs back. Once I do, he helps turn me around and brings me into a loving hug.

  I feel like our old selves again. Simple old “Leo and Chloe.” I open my eyes and I find myself blown away by the intense love I feel. Standing on my tippy toes, I reach up to his lips with mine, and kiss him with smiling gratitude. I can feel his arousal pressing against my stomach still, but for now, I want to make out with my husband.

  We meet with wet lips that move slow and just live in the moment, taking in the heat created. I can feel his very breath of life flow into me. We proceed delicately, tenderly, as if it is our very first kiss instead of the billionth. Only it isn’t. There are two versions of us standing in that shower, steam rising, arms circled in a sweetheart’s embrace.

  There is the old “us.” The ones who met and felt a connection so deep it propelled us to a wedding chapel in a crazy Vegas moment. The ones who fell asleep on the phone with each other after talking for hours states away. The ones who sent and received roses by the dozens. The ones who were content just a year ago to continue on an entirely normal, vanilla path. The ones who have to face the facts that something was wrong enough, broken enough, that we have to be working through an affair. The ones who were searching for something else.

  Then there is a set of virtual strangers kissing: a man and a woman forging new paths in uncharted territory, nervous of plowing forth with the changes but unable to think of stopping. The ones that say screw you to the thoughts of “normal” and “acceptable.” The ones who had conversations in the witching hour about things like how “Risk Aware Consensual Kink” applies to our new selves. The ones who had a dirty little secret from the rest of the world; who hid things and day-dreamed about each other and wished for more time alone in the week. In the day. In every waking hour. Just... more. Two people finally being filled up.

  I feel like Alice entering Wonderland as I stand there in the shower. Life doesn’t make any kind of sense. Slavery is freedom. Repression’s a gift. Pain is pleasure. I am touching tongues with my husband, tasting him, feeling him caress my mouth with his, increasing each other’s emotional connection by the moment, his erection rock hard against me, and I feel myself shattering the mold.

  I know what I want to do, what I need to do more than anything in the world. I break away from his mouth and slowly, deliberately, kneel back down in front of him where a short time ago I was washing his feet.

  I sit my bottom back onto my heels and through the spray of the shower coming through his legs I look up to him and proclaim, “Use me as you will Sir. Please.”

  I wait. Time stands still as our eyes meet through my declaration. My dignified dark haired and light eyed husband stares back at me.

  He pauses for a moment, taking in my drenched naked body being offered to him and instructs, “Open your mouth.”

  I do. He infiltrates me. This is no ordinary fellatio. He is ramming into the back of my throat without hesitation. I know he wants me to stay still as he did before when he was fucking me so I kneel steady and take in as much of him as I can tolerate.

  I gag at some point and it makes my eyes water. This doesn’t deter the mister, in fact, it only intensifies his hammering. I reach out with bulging eyes to hold a hand against the wall; his release is coming. His cheeks clench tight and his penis engorges and he is spasming, shooting his nut deep into the back of my throat, turning my insides to cream. He lets out a deep exclamation and I feel the weight of him coming down.

  He scoops me off of my knees and lies down in the bottom of the bathtub first, pulling my soft, wet body on top of him.

  We look at each other and smile, collapsing as much as we can into the too-small tub and relishing the still hot water reaching down to us. I love the taste of him upon my lips. I love the word “Sir” upon my lips.

  We proceed in our typical bedtime routine after peeling ourselves out of the bathtub. Without talking, just relaxing in our satisfied bliss, we take turns getting dressed, using the bathroom, brushing teeth. I towel dry my hair in front of the mirror reflecting Leo in the other room pulling back the comforter and lying down.

  He has always been so quiet in contrast to my bubbly demeanor but there are many times, like now, when I’m glad for it. I want to be alone with my thoughts. By the time I turn in and finally cuddle up next to the mister he is sound asleep.

  This is no shock; he is blessed with the ability to fall asleep the instant he lays his head upon a pillow. I am not so fortunate. I lay there watching a black and white sitcom, doing my best to convince my body and mind to shut off, and that’s when I hear it coming from the other nightstand.

  Leo’s phone. Receiving a message. My heart quickens and I am immediately brought back to the nightmare that was the time during his affair.

  How he started to call me after work and say, “Hey Chloe, I am on my way home. I’m going to let you go and I’ll see you soon.”

  It was such a contrast from his typical call: chatting with me the first chance he got at the end of the workday until the moment he walked into our old home, both of us locking eyes and saying “bye!” out loud into the room where we saw each other.

  The middle of the night texts. The deleted messages in the morning. His hour long bathroom hang-outs.

  “Are you OK babe?” I’d call from outside the bathroom door, and I feel like such a fool now, knowing what he was doing when I was pregnant and concerned about him. Why didn’t I look harder, insist on a more legitimate explanation on certain happenings? I can’t blame myself for what happened but I can’t help but wonder if I could have prevented it in some way if I had a bit of a spine.

  My heart pounds at a sickening pace in my chest and I move stealthily out of bed. I creep quietly over to his side and gently unplug the charging phone with trembling hands. Ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease is all I can think.

  I sneak out to the balcony of this hotel room overlooking a sleeping amusement park and slide the glass open just a foot as quietly as possible, his phone feeling strange in my hand in comparison to my own. My body moistens all over from the extreme humidity hitting my air conditioned ski
n.

  I plop into the lounge chair and with unsteady hands, slide Leo’s smart phone open. No password, not anymore, not after Atlanta.

  New message, the screen blares. 2:12 AM. I click open the message.

  Buy one large pizza get one for one cent! Click here for details!

  This gleams in the backlight, illuminating my jealous and insecure face. When will I feel like me again? Like my old self? Then it hits me. I can never be my old self again.

  I’ve been changed forever. Part of it was getting married and a big part was my new life as a mother. Part of it was certainly Leo’s affair. Now I am changing again, exploring this new world of kink.

  I sit alone, dejected, snooping through his phone, reviewing his emails and deleted files and social networks and checking his browser history with a fine toothed comb. I reflect on who I want to become in my new life, as the new me. I come away with the certainty that Leo is not currently doing anything dishonest, and maybe even a new outlook on life.

  I am ready to shed my old skin like a snake does in order to make room for new growth. I will let go of who I thought I was, the woman who was sarcastic, and demanding, who pitched a fit about Leo forgetting to take out the garbage, a woman who saw the negative in a situation.

  I will reinvent myself, highlighting the goodness of these changes instead of wallowing in the struggles. I will be the hardest working and most grateful homemaker out there. I am lucky, after all, that I live in paradise, spending my days at the beach or pushing a stroller through open-aired malls while Leo Donnovan works all day to pay the bills. He’s never for an instant made me feel like I do less than he because I don’t go to work anymore.

  I am going to embrace motherhood and relish every moment I have with my sweet Emily. She will help mold me too, teaching me patience and to stop and smell the roses, how to not sweat the small stuff. How to love unconditionally. How to be lighter and laugh more.