by Mrs. Darling
Check in is mortifying. Leo insists I stay by his side through the line, guaranteeing that I’m seen with my beautiful but conspicuous posture collar by all present. To the credit of the hotel concierge, he gives the collar a simple glance and just continues on with his business. I remind myself that not only were we not the only people in the world who lived the way we do, thinking to the thousands of profiles that existed in Vegas on our newfound social site, but that even those who didn’t weren’t necessarily “in the know” about what my collar means. I try my best to hold my spirit high (my head is already high, thanks to my collar ensuring my ideal posture) and remind myself that this could just be a fashion statement.
I smile at Leo as he stands with his ID and credit card at the counter. Looking handsome in a shirt and tie, refusing to sacrifice style for comfort on the day of travels, he gives me what I can only interpret as his “sadistic smile.”
Shuddering at the thought of getting up to the room and the punishment that is hanging in the air between us, I do my best to keep my hand from reaching up to cover my collar. My loins get that heavy feeling of desire.
Before I can blink we are in the privacy of the suite. The curtains are immediately closed remotely by my Dominant, blocking out the view from the 22nd floor facing onto the hustling Vegas strip.
Setting the remote down he turns to me, hands in the pockets of his pricey dress slacks, he raises an eyebrow and speaks with the authority he now has over me.
“Strip. Now.”
I do.
I stand nude, spine straight, hands behind my head for inspection. My toes curl into the plush carpet; such a contrast to the sand–lined tile at the beach house. I am below my pre-pregnancy weight thanks to the time I dedicate at the gym but my body is still different since childbirth. I am rounder and wider in the hips, my breasts softer than before and Leo tells me constantly how much he enjoys what he calls a “woman’s body.” My long white locks are twisted in a messy fishtail braid down my back. I feel sexy in my exposure; in the new body Leo and I have created together. I smile gaily at him, legs slightly apart, showing myself to him with no hesitation.
The circling begins. Looking me up and down. Likely deciding what price I should pay for forgetting to call him Sir at the airport. I am flushed all over. Excited for the play time. In a hotel. A Las Vegas hotel at that. No need for quiet. I can anticipate the quivering orgasm to come. I have never been disciplined by my Dominant and this heightens my excitement.
At last he speaks while continuing circling.
“Darling. You have two responses from here until further notice. I only want to hear from you either ‘Yes, Sir’ or ‘Red.' Those are your only choices. Do you understand?”
“Yes Sir!” I say with a big grin, glad to know the answer and responding with a bit of smirk behind it.
Smack! His hand lands without warning across my bare ass. It stings and no lingering hand rubs it gently like during our usual play. Just the swat.
“Good,” he says.
Smack! Again. Hard again, on the other cheek.
“Would you like another?” Leo asks.
“Yes, Sir.” I respond more seriously this time, the bit of sass taken out of me.
Smaaack! Harder than maybe ever before, his hand lands on my ass cheek again. There is a gasp in my throat and I swallow it down.
“Another?” he asks.
“Yes, Sir,” I say quietly.
Smaaack! The pain is intense now with nothing to soothe it after. He keeps asking me if I would like more and each time I have to make a decision. Either answer “Yes, Sir” and endure his lesson or utter my safe word and end it all. Each time I hear my roughening throat utter, “Yes, Sir.” Each time my ass is set on fire.
In the beginning I count how many times I utter these two words with a corresponding spanking but eventually I stop. At some point the teardrops fall and through the crying I continue to make my request.
“Yes, Sir.”
I feel like I will be saying, “Yes, Sir” in my unconscious dreams before he is finished with me. It starts to come out in a stream and hiccup in my voice, a slobbering, “Yessir (smaaack) yessir (smaaack) yessir (smaaack) yessir (smaaack).” I start to lose my balance and tumble after each strike. Eventually he ends it.
He pulls me close, whispering in my ear, my snot and mascara laced tears drench his shoulder.
“It’s ok darlin. I am here. You’re ok. I’m here. It’s ok. You’re ok. I’m here.” Over and over again until my breathing resumes a semi-normal pace.
I survive my first true punishment. And damn. It’s an effective lesson. I collapse at his feet, kneeling on the golden shag, moving from “Yes, Sir” to “I am sorry, Sir.”
This is my lesson in punishment. It isn’t fun. It’s isn’t sexy. It doesn’t turn into a steamy sexual tryst; I was mistaken in thinking that. But. If done in a proper way for proper reasons that submissive is left with a gratitude towards her Dominant. With a lesson learned. She is glad for his leadership; happy to be molded. Comforted in knowing that he is indeed going to stay true to the promises he makes.
Because as I know all too well: a man who doesn’t follow through on his promises is nothing but heartache.
Leo brings me to my feet and helps to lay me on the soft hotel bed blissfully belly down, my stinging behind gratefully up in the air. I hear him leave, shuffle through our luggage (for toiletries, maybe?) and start to draw the tub in a bathroom I have never stepped foot in.
After just enough time for me to almost fall asleep, emotionally and physically exhausted, he gathers me up and brings me to the warm bath to soak my body and mind. The bathroom lights stay off and my husband assists me getting into the bubbles. The vanilla scent fills my nostrils and before going under entirely I feel Leo remove my collar.
Glad he remembered because I had all but forgotten. The symbol of Leo’s ownership is becoming increasingly natural across my throat.
“Mmmm... ahhhh...” is the closest thing to a coherent thought that I can voice. Leo sits beside me and I can’t tell if he’s there for the company or to make sure I don’t fall asleep in the two feet of water.
“Close your eyes,” he suggests to me softly and I do.
I feel a cold rag lay across my eyes swollen from crying and relax, truly let go, for the first time since leaving Emily behind with the only person I would trust to do so. It is as if time doesn’t exist; responsibility doesn’t matter.
The silence spills out between us but I know Leo is still there. I hear the water split itself and all of a sudden his hand is there. At my clit. I was expecting it earlier and instead I found only pain. Now I am expecting pain and instead I am feeling pleasure.
Rag still covering my tired eyes, my lower half responds and moves through the warm water towards him.
He asks into the unfamiliar room that fills with an echo, “Would you like me to enter you, my darling?”
In an instant, still on my lips, I respond in the newly cemented way: “Yes, Sir.”
I have been trained.
In he goes, invading both holes with no further notice or questioning. His pointer finger into my pussy and his pinky in my “currently in training” ass starts the heat back up and in an instant I am begging for him.
“Please, Sir. Please use me.” I moan. I mean it too. I don’t care what he does to me; I am ready to accept it in. I just want to be used.
I feel something unfamiliar slide into my anus: a large gaping and then nothing. Another large gaping and then nothing. It continues. The anal beads, tethered together and filling my insides, totaling 7 in all. Each one fills me up more than before, collecting inside of me, into a place that was all but forbidden months ago. He is using one hand to stuff me up and the other is holding my hand, comforting me, letting me know he is there.
Filled up in back, the mister returns to my mound, this time staying on my clit, rubbing me in circles under the silky water. My punishment is almost forgotten with the exception of a st
ill sore behind. I wonder if I will be bruised from his disciplining hand but I am distracted back to the circling bringing me to the peak of orgasm.
“Ok, Chloe. Part two of your lesson. The only things I want to hear are either ‘Yes, Sir’ or ‘Red.’ Same as before. Got it?”
Tears well up at the reminder of my mistake at the airport but I swallow it down easily at the presence of his working fingers, the pressure in my anus building.
“Yes, Sir.” I respond and I hear a chuckle from the man above me.
“Good.” Leo says. “Good girl.”
The strokes continue on me in a rhythmic pattern, mounting, building, making my breath as heavy as the weight in my bum. Building to the satisfaction he asks in a teasing voice:
“Would you like to come?”
I whimper my request, “Yeeeessssiiiiiirrrrr...”
In which Leo Donnovan stops. The hand is removed, splashing out of the water and I am alone in the tub with painful butt cheeks and some sort of beads filling me up, body clenching, hips bucking up towards something that isn’t there anymore.
I pull the washcloth off of my eyes and look at him, appalled. He is smiling wide; enjoying postponing my release. I smile back at him, cover my eyes with the washrag again, and relax back in the tub. I can win at this game. So it continues.
The mister brings me back to my climax, asking if I would like to come and like before my only answer is “Yes, Sir.” Hand is removed and I regain my composure, breathing through the want.
And again.
And again.
At long last when the heat of my swollen insides is greater than the heat of my spanked behind he finally allows it to happen.
He tells me, “This time you may come. Are you ready, my love?”
Of course from my lips: “Yes Sir!”
He speeds up again on my clit, increasing the pace with just the right amount of friction and my release is building again for the umpteenth time. My rectum is filled with the round beads and every time I move they shift inside of me, moving, rolling, invading...
“Ahhh...ahhhh…!” I begin to holler and I hear the voice that matters say: “Come.”
I do.
My insides quiver and shake, releasing the tension built up over the day. It is now that my husband reached down and removes the first bead from my derriere. He does slowly, never decreasing the friction on my front side but now also controlling my backside, dragging the ball that is trying to spread me at the exact same time that my body is clenching from the explosion.
It is painful and hot and repeating. The instant one bead is removed and my hole feels empty there is another one ramming its way out of me, pausing in the moment of being removed, halfway in and halfway out, making me convulse all over again. The orgasm continues for what seems like an eternity and when I settle I feel like I could instantly sleep.
Instead I lay in the getting-cool tub, twitching here and there from the remaining currents running through my body, and wait while Leo bathes me, just like that first night I went to subspace.
The mister helps me out of the bath and dries me off, wrapping me in a fluffy white bathrobe and he hands me a towel to deal with my hair. His arm around my waist he helps me towards bed but before I get in I pause and despite the soreness I drop to my knees.
I drop my forehead to his feet and just pause where I belong for a moment. Looking up to his eyes I apologize.
“Sir I’m really sorry I forgot to address you respectfully. I’ll do my very best to not let it happen again.”
He reaches down and lays a hand upon my head, absorbing my penitent gesture. Leo helps me up, kisses me gently, our tongues touching lightly. He hugs me tight and whispers close, “I forgive you. I’m sorry you had to be punished.”
I choke up and choose to stay silent, nodding my understanding into the crook of his shoulder, filling my body up with our love.
Dungeon night comes the second evening after a full day of relaxing, gambling, shopping, recovering. Leo has been distracted by his work which seems to follow him everywhere now. His phone constantly bleeps; there is always an email to send. I shake off my annoyance with that damn phone and do my best to prepare for what is to come.
Dressed first and waiting in the hallway area of our lush hotel room I pace in my new, black knee-high leather boots which bring me to the requisite ornate mirror hanging over the requisite mahogany office desk in the corner. I like what I see but I can hardly even register it as me.
Wearing a skin-tight dress made of a sturdy black, white and red plaid canvas, I fiddle with the zipper that runs the entire length of the front of the garment starting at the bottom and ending at my cleavage. Black ribbon X’s crisscross down the sides of the dress from my hips to the hem, showing off my new curves in just the right way. The scoop neck renders this entirely too sleazy to consider this getup ever appropriate at home. At my neck is my black collar of leather and lace showing all in the dungeon that I am owned by somebody. That “somebody” is getting ready in the bathroom right now.
I touch up my red Marilyn lips and wonder how I am going to make out with Leo tonight without him being covered in it. My long platinum hair is falling in waves by my face and I see myself for the first time as a woman of Leo’s creation. He has crafted me into the sexiest version of myself.
The bathroom door finally opens; there he is. Mr. Leo Donnovan. My Dominant. Looking like a million bucks.
His dark hair (with more strands of silver making an appearance each year) and goatee have been wet and combed neatly. Leo is in head to toe black: an expensive black dress shirt, close cut, showing off his trim body, black dress pants that I know will melt away to nothing if I go and touch him through the fabric, and black leather dress shoes. I am so busy noticing him I don’t see him noticing me.
When I do I realize I am being eaten alive with his eyes. The sadist is largely present and I’d bet Leo is thinking of what he’ll be doing to me later. I smile at him as he walks over to me and without an invitation, puts his hand under the short skirt of the dress I have on and lands on my bare, slick crotch.
Confirming I have nothing on but the dress, he whispers, “Fucking perfect.”
He moves and gathers our coats. He helps me drape my new black corseted trench and ties my belt to keep the Vegas chill at bay.
“You ready?”
I answer with a smile and a, “Yes, Sir!”
“After you, my darling,” he says with a motion towards the door and even though I am expecting it I still give a yelp when Leo swats my butt on the way out and into our adventure.
The glaring from strangers at us and my collar are more obvious tonight and I feel quite exposed by the time we head down the elevators and through the lobby doors to a waiting taxi. I do my best to gracefully slide in the cab door as Leo gives the driver the address off the strip.
The driver (Adam, according to the license in the front of the vehicle) gives us a strange look and asks in an indistinguishable accent: “You looking for da swinger’s club? That’s not one there, there are freaks coming in and out of there!” Adam waits unmoving.
The mister and his darling titter nervously and Leo (thankfully answering for us) insists that no, we are headed to that place. I slouch down in my seat until we arrive while my nerves have me shaking like live wire. I wish for a drink to bring the edge off but alas, the club and their no drinking policy.
After paying and peeling out of the cab, we stand for a moment, hand in hand, and take it all in. We’ve landed in front of a large grey industrial building that could have been located in any city in the United States. Unlike the mammoth hotels lining the strip no neon signs or bright lights or fancy fountains lure us in. Only a white piece of plywood with two words in simple black paint let us know we have arrived: THE ROOMS
Earlier today Leo and I did as much recon on this place as possible, reading any available reviews, every word on the website, finding the group on the social networking site we joined. With no camera
s or photos allowed though there is nothing we can do about trying to envision what we are walking into. I look to Leo standing next to me at the door. He is nervous too. Good. Nervous people stay aware.
“Can you stay by me please, Sir?” I ask quietly into the crisp air, no taxi or movement in sight, such a stark contrast to the city we know as “Vegas.”
“Sure darlin. Let’s go.” Leo shoots me a charismatic smile erasing any evidence of his hesitation and pulls the handle of the heavy looking metal door. I have a momentary premonition of it not opening but indeed, the door swings wide and as The Rooms entry comes into view, I remind myself to keep my composure as the dungeon unfolds itself.
With perfect posture, I enter first.
It could be the lobby of any boutique hotel. An oriental rug covers the floor and the whole room has a red glow. To the left of the entrance is a doorway curtained off by heavy black fabric. Waiting to greet us are an entirely average looking man and woman with pleasant smiles. They break mid-conversation and the lady walks over.
“Welcome to The Rooms,” she says. A maroon leather collar is across her throat, large silver O hanging off the front center. I relax, recognizing a symbol of her also being a submissive, and she comes towards me first offering to check our coats.
“You’re new here.”
We hear the observation from the man standing behind two glass cases filled with collars and Wartenberg wheels, lube and condoms and cock rings, even greeting cards bearing the image of a sensual dark haired pin-up, whip in hand.
“Well. Hello! I’m Master Vohn and this is my slave Kitty. We are the owners of this establishment. Welcome.”
Leo reaches across the counter and shakes the large man’s hand.
“Leo and Chloe.” My mister responds in kind then asks, “How long have you owned this place?”
In that one question the two men launch into a dull conversation about business. There’s a heavy looking door behind the counter and I wonder what will lie beyond.