by Mrs. Darling
“What about the consensual non-consent talk Chloe? I saw your reaction. Maybe nobody else would have noticed but nobody knows you like I do. What about that my wife?”
Leo’s hands and words make me feel swollen and heavy with want. The man in the scene comes off the cross and surprises me by going over to the other female spectator where he drops to his knees in reverence; not to the Domme now tidying the rope into neat bundles.
The man’s unexpected gesture of gratitude, of servitude, brings forth a tear to fall.
I answer honestly to Mr. Donnovan not because I have no other choice but because I want the kind of relationship where I can be free like that.
“Yes. That too. I want that. With you Sir.”
He kisses me on top of my head in approval.
Leo guides us back upstairs to the couple’s room. We arrive outside of the solid wooden door holding each other’s hands; Leo opens the door. It smells like roses which smells like home.
We walk into the entry that is mostly pitch black. A muscular blonde man with a DM band strapped to his bicep is standing behind what looks like a restaurant hostess stand. The dungeon monitor clicks on a pen light creating a dim glow and with a deep voice asks, “Leo and Chloe, right? Vohn mentioned you may be stopping in.”
Hand clenching mine Leo replies simply with, “Yessir.”
The fair haired man replies, “Welcome to the Couple’s Room. You are the only couple here now so feel free to check it out and get comfortable. Same rules as outside. Let me know if you have any questions and most of all, please, enjoy yourselves.”
Moving forward we enter a large room to the left of the door, painted a deep hunter green including the ceiling, about three times the size of the other rooms we saw upstairs. There are shelves lining the back wall no doubt with both necessary supplies and “sensual” supplies. I see bundles of white nylon rope, shining bright in the room lit by gobs of candlelight. The walls are lined with various kinds of seating ranging from plush love seats to armless wooden chairs perfect for bending somebody over for spanking. There are vases of red roses on every surface that can hold them.
The star of the show however is the oversized bed filling the middle of the room.
The first thing I notice is the size. It’s gigantic. It has to be larger than a king. Do they have to make custom sheets, I wonder, feeling my nipples throbbing in their clamps at the thought of what can happen in this bed. Next comes the appreciation for the workmanship in the custom piece of furniture. It is, quite literally, a bed made of branches. There are vines and twigs encircling each other on the four posts that rise up high on each corner. Along the top is a rectangle connecting the posts, again, made of varying size curling and twisting branches of tree.
It’s something out of a fairy tale; an unexpected find in a forest where you will also find a prince to kiss you awake. I hear Leo from behind me ask, “You ready darlin? I don’t know if I can wait any longer.”
When I respond, “I’m ready,” I feel him squeeze on my shoulder blades tensely causing my collar to tighten.
“I’m ready. Sir.” I say with emphasis.
Already tingling everywhere Leo faces me and forces my chin up to look me in his light eyes.
“Yellow. Red. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir. Yellow. Red.” It rolls off my tongue and sends sparks through my veins.
“Hold your breath.” Mr. Donnovan instructs and I do so, raising an eyebrow regarding his strange order. Without hesitation he reaches across and releases the nipple clamps creating a searing needle-like fire through me. Despite held breath I can’t help but scream in pain. He rubs my chest sending a soothing calmness through me. I look down as best as I can in my posture collar and see my gnarled nips standing straight up and more sensitive than ever before. Each brush makes me more turned on and I feel my pussy start throbbing.
“Hey. Darling.” I hear and look up. I am again struck by the strangeness and familiarity of this man in front of me. Both flawed and still somehow everything I want to be around. Old us; new us.
Our eyes meet and he says simply: “I love you.”
Before I can respond he pulls me close and hugs me tight. Tucking my head under his chin, feeling his chest move with breath I match my breathing to his. Our first and possibly only public scene begins.
After a long embrace, feeling the comfort of him with every moment that passes, he leads me across the couple’s room to the bed of branches. The genius part of this bed is the endless possibilities surrounding bondage. You can tie almost anything anywhere with any material. Leo sits me on the edge and tells me to relax (which is of course impossible). The bottom of my dress rides up and exposes my nudity and I have to force myself to stop from reaching to tug it down.
As he is at the shelves picking out needed items, allowing myself to feel risqué, I lift one knee up to the mattress and hike my dress even further, exposing my whole lower half. I reach a hand down, feeling the slick outside of my shaved body and use my fingers to peel back my lips, allowing my middle finger to rub lazily against my clitoris.
What I don’t expect is that at the same time Leo is coming back to me, smiling at my play, another couple enters the room. They’re a bit older than us, maybe in their early forties, but fit and nervous looking and holding hands like they are in love too. They stop at a loveseat directly across from the foot of the bed and just watch as I am frozen; hand on what was once a private area.
Leo fakes a cough, catching my attention, and directs, “Continue, darlin.”
Well, shit. Now what? I thought I was an exhibitionist but now that the fantasy is put to reality I am freaking out. Leo walks over and puts a black silk scarf tight around my eyes and whispers in my darkness: “Continue. Now.”
I manage better blinded. Left with my imagination and husband I can do it. I stick my middle finger deep. As it continues in and out of me I feel a tip of hard flesh at my closed lips and open wide to accept it in. I know it’s 99 percent probably Mr. Donnovan but the knowledge that it could be some other stranger’s cock fuels my masturbation. I wrap my tongue around the shaft and roll it around, my finger still fucking myself faster and faster. I suck at a steady rhythm, feeling like I am putting on a show, wanting to do the very best I can.
The dick is removed and a hand grabs my wrist near my vag and straightens out my sopping wet digits into a straight point. My wrist is bent and all four of my fingers and my thumb are forcibly implanted up to my top knuckle near my palm. Holy shit. I gasp in the shock but can barely make a sound as my throat fills with man again, sending me choking on his size.
Hand planted I fist myself, trying to open myself up and fill that deep ache, cock gagging me while I build to my peak. I hear a moan coming from a strange voice elsewhere in the room and their excitement brings me to the edge. In the instant I hear my mister above me order, “Come!” I begin squirting. It gushes forth and he fills my mouth simultaneously. I shake all over and before I know what is happening, my mouth is emptied, hand removed, and my behind is lifted and shoved back onto the bed. Still blind and dripping down my crack, I feel Leo’s mouth on my cunt, lapping me up, nursing on my swollen clit, his goatee scratching my sensitive bits. I begin laughing and it quickly turns into moaning. I wonder if the couple is still watching and the thought brings out another wave of orgasm, bucking my hips up to meet Leo’s mouth. He sucks my clit, pulling it out with the suction, and I am in heaven.
The weight comes off me and I’m alone. In this moment, I don’t care where he is off to. I am wholly content and relaxed. Until I feel the sting of what must be Leo’s newly purchased flogger across my thighs.
“Get up.” He orders sternly.
I move to do so, swatted leg hot, feeling uncertainty from the change of pace and lack of visuals.
I stumble to the edge of the bed of branches and stand on the floor with my calves still touching the bed frame.
“Undress.”
Shaky hands find the zipper. The
unfamiliarity of the new clothes and my nerves make undressing a task and I pinch the skin on my stomach.
“Owww!” I whine, hating myself for sounding like a crybaby. It brings tears in my eyes behind the silk and I wonder when the roller coaster of emotions will end. For a moment I wish to open my eyes and be safely back in the little queen bed in our tiny lofted beach house, smelling the two dozen roses Leo gifted this week instead. Right now all I smell is my own sex and my husband’s sweat and domination. The roses have taken a backseat.
I toss the swatch of plaid fabric that makes up my dress to a random side of a random area in a room which may or may not contain other people watching my naked body stand on display less than a year after giving birth.
Leo commands, “Kneel.”
I do. I am living in a version of The Sex Slave for the first time ever. My body belongs to him to control as he will see fit. In this moment of all moments I realize: I’ve forgiven him.
I’ll be damned.
This is Leo, the real him, the one who I married, the one who I fell in love with. The one who turned his car around and came back to find me after our first date. The one who is saving me from a lifetime of being somebody I am not.
I don’t know what the future holds but I’m certain that I’ve forgiven his past mistake. A weight lifts from me. Inhaling deeply, giant sunshine crosses my face and tears of happiness sob out.
Leo, perplexed, “Are you OK?”
The laughter comes deep from my lungs, head back to the sky. I have never felt as free as I do under Leo’s command right now. I am naked in body. In life. In spirit. Risking getting reprimanded I pull off my mask. I am there on my knees, covered only in my womanly juices and his collar upon my neck, looking to my husband’s familiar face. He has the black and blue flogger in his hand. Smiling wide and true I tell him, speaking in a tone that surely indicates how shocked I am by the revelation:
“I forgive you. I forgive you, Leo. I love you and I forgive you.”
He’s so caught off guard that he is rendered motionless. His shirt is off now and he is standing in his dark slacks looking as if he is playing the childhood game of “Red Light, Green Light” and somebody has called red light on him. The only thing moving are the tails of the flogger in his right hand, swaying from the air moving around us. After a full minute of us in this silent staring he drops the flogger.
He joins me on his knees. Taking my cheeks into the palms of his hands, my imperfect, newly-forgiven husband brings our noses to almost touching and begs with a doubt in his voice: “Say it again, Chlo.”
I smile wide, tears streaming, feeling perfectly honest in the statement, I repeat, “I forgive you, Sir.”
He puts his head down to my bare chest, clutching me tight around my midsection, pulling me into him, and I feel the silent splash of teardrops against my naked body.
The tears do not belong to me.
After somewhere between five and fifty minutes of us in a kneeling embrace Leo lifts me into the bed made entirely of twisting branches and makes love to me. No tools required.
The flight transporting us back to reality is bittersweet. Looking out the window from my seat on a crowded plane taking us home I can’t help but feel torn. I cannot wait to see Emily. It is as if I have left a piece of my heart on the Gulf. But I needed this time away to appreciate how much I do miss my girl when we’re apart.
Sometimes in the thick of mommy-hood, I’ve felt each day draining me a little of my woman-hood. The part of me that loves to read casually. The part of me that uses the bathroom alone. Going to the movies by myself on a rainy weekday afternoon, filling up on popcorn and watching whatever happens to be playing, carrying a small clutch instead of a diaper bag, drinking without fear of a hangover. It’s good to be reminded of that part of me still existing. I am more than just a woman driving a still new smelling minivan and listening to nursery rhymes instead of hip-hop music for fear of my child hearing the vulgarity.
I head home as a whole person, filled up with myself again. A woman that I am proud of being. I have entirely shed my old skin this weekend. I am the phoenix rising from the ashes, finally finished being torched. Now I am flying high, adorned.
I, Chloe Donnovan, am a submissive. My husband, Leo Donnovan, is my loving Dominant. This isn’t role playing for us; not anymore. This isn’t bedroom games or kinky fuckery. This is us.
Asking me to turn off my submission now would feel like asking me to make my eyes stop being blue. This is just who I am: proud, serving, excelling at being the woman behind the man, a natural born follower, a partner to my head of household. I am me and that is gonna have to be OK.
I feel Leo’s thumb rub against the back of my hand he is holding and I look to him, smiling softly as he kisses my forehead.
My best friend Leo Donnovan. He looks young, traveling in atypically laid back attire. It makes him look even younger than he did when I met him years ago. A black and white baseball cap perches on his head covering up uncombed hair and his plain tee and plaid shorts combo makes him look like a college skater boy. It’s endearing to see him this way and makes me feel better about the casual cotton maxi dress I have on. I’ve added a light sweater to cover my shoulders and upper arms for traveling before leaving the hotel room because even though it’s winter in heated places like Vegas and Florida a chill can still come about.
It’s a good thing too. My body is covered in marks. The rest of our weekend of debauchery is a blur. After recovering much of the day following our visit to The Rooms we meet up with Master Vohn and slave Kitty at a little local dive off the strip for dinner. The two are fascinating to spend time with and answer a million and one questions we ask about BDSM. They encourage us to find our local munch and begin meeting people. We say our good-byes and promise to keep in touch online.
Afterwards we head back to the plush hotel room and Leo wrecks my body again, making good use of his new implements of pain and we fuck until the sun comes up. We sleep until the sun is setting on our final evening in Sin City, awakening feeling disoriented from mixing up our nights and days so much since arriving, and order a half dozen room service items.
We eat dinner (breakfast?) in the hotel room while chatting, joking, gossiping about our experience.
At some point Leo asks out of the blue:
“Chloe, we’re staying together right?”
Even though I want to answer affirmatively, to erase his fears, to assure him that with all the work he has done to prove himself both heartbroken over his mistake and worthy of a second chance I will likely be staying married to him, I can’t say it. Something stops me from saying so.
Does my forgiving him mean my trusting him again? Forever? Forgiveness is about the past and trust is about the future. I need more time. I have another three months of living D/s with Mr. Leo Donnovan; living as his wife, his homemaker, his whore. I am going to live it out before making a final decision. I promised myself I would and the woman I am now holds true to a promise to herself.
I only muster, “I dunno Leo.”
I turn from his face, shielding myself from his shock.
So as I fly home with soft clothes gently hiding my skin covered in bruises from the falls of the flogger, bite marks rich and red, hickeys from the sucking until I screamed for it to stop, I reflect on that choice. I close my eyes to the clouds pushing me closer to real life that feels more like a fantasy life every day and all I envision behind my eyelids is Leo throughout every step in Vegas, phone in his hand, furiously texting and stepping away to make private calls.
Every time I had asked about it he simply said, “Business.”
It’s just business.
It’s just business.
Chapter Twelve: The Decision Looms
Life goes on in our “new normal.” Our first Christmas with a child is magical. The air is dry and crisp, the beach empty. I make Leo’s favorite breakfast and we spend the day relaxing as a family: watching holiday movies, napping, loving.
A week later Leo and I cuddle underneath a blanket on the back porch to watch the city commissioned New Year’s Eve fireworks shoot off boats on the water. We clink champagne glasses and share a toast and a kiss. All I can do is smile inside at what a great new year this is going to be. After the grand finale Leo tugs me by my collar indoors where he pulls out his newest tool, a small singletail whip. On the first night of a new year I lay in bed and the sting of the whip bites into my skin turning me into a pooling mess of sexual submissive.
I’m so glad to be out of the year that the “mistake” happened. The relief is overwhelming and most of the time I’ve never been happier. Even though life appears completely average from the outside our household has gone through a metamorphosis. Leo and I talk constantly. About everything. Nothing is off limits now. It’s only important that I am honest and forthright; there are no right or wrong answers. After forgiving him for his past mistake Leo has been lighter, freer, living with pep in his step. He seems to dress and bounce out the door for work excited to be going there and comes home as soon as able (which is sometimes late as well). I mean, people in his industry work whenever the clients are available, right?
In the evenings we get together and live in what seems like, honestly, happily ever after. I have almost no cares in the world. Parenting becomes fun as my child is becoming less of a helpless newborn and more of a toddler. She is truly the light of our lives.
I love getting fit, training my body, and my yoga practice is progressing. I’m considering running in a local 5K coming up and a magnet holds the flyer for the race on the fridge near my daily schedule.
We’ve ventured into the local BDSM community three times since returning to Florida from Vegas. There is nothing similar to The Rooms here (not surprisingly) but there are a wide array of groups that meet. The first munch we attended was awkward walking in the door and of course we were nervous as hell about the possibility of seeing Leo’s coworkers or my mommy friends sitting at the long banquet table inside the private room of a local Mexican joint. But if somebody we know is there too, then hey, they’re there too! What could they possibly have to say about our presence?