by Mrs. Darling
My hand shook lightly in Leo’s palm as we walked into our first munch together and we were greeted by some of the kindest, most easygoing, slice-of-life folk I’ve ever met. You don’t really know who does what or if the man or woman leads the dynamic or whatever so you just talk politely to each other. Within ten minutes I realized that my nervousness was unnecessary.
There is a relief in talking to other real world kinky people. It’s not just that they don’t judge you for how you choose to live; it’s the speed at which you can have a conversation. They understand phrases like D/s or 24/7 TPE. The Lifestyle community really does have their own language and even if you don’t understand something you can always ask anybody around and they’ll answer it honestly and to the best of their ability. I left that first munch abuzz with acceptance and new knowledge: that the word “leather” means more than a kind of fabric, the best online corset store, whispers of local underground play parties, and the screen names of a dozen delightful local people who understand what it is that we do.
Now we regularly check in on the events board for our city and attend what we can when we can wrangle a grandma for a babysitter. Valentine’s Day is about a week away and then it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump until our date on the beach to determine the future of our marriage.
I’m going to stay. I’m going to make it work. Re-sign our D/s contract. Maybe try and negotiate the whole “can never masturbate” clause because I miss being able to touch myself and maybe other minor contract changes. But despite the pain of the past I want to stay married to my Dominant husband. I wanna live like this forever.
Valentine’s Day. The day of romance and love. I should be over the moon but I haven’t been feeling right the past few days. A funk? A mood? It happens sometimes even when everything seems to be sailing along on calm seas. It’s a feeling I can’t quite put my finger on; an itch that can’t be scratched.
Leo has given me instructions for the evening. I am to drop Emily off with Mom and then go home to get ready. He wants me in red. It isn’t uncommon nowadays for the mister to dress me to his liking but while I have always found it endearing today it rubs me wrong. Red on Valentine’s Day. How cliché.
I wrap up the antique car book I bought as a gift and when the two dozen red roses get delivered to the beach house I dutifully place the flowers in water like I have done so many times before and send a thank you text to my husband. I take a deep smell, remembering the red roses of the Couple’s Room. I kiss Emily, grab her overnight bag, and head for Grandma Larchmont’s house.
Once back alone I work hard to shake my blues while getting ready. I try to convince myself that I am just struggling with the one year anniversary of Leo’s affair. When I received the list of messages they shared back and forth I looked for certain dates and lo and behold, there they were. They chatted on New Year’s. On Leo’s birthday in January. Last Valentine’s Day they talked back and forth all day, saying God knows what while I prepared for the arrival of a child. How disgusting.
Even though I have crossed the bridge, the pain still rises up. Not as often as before but sometimes. I pick up my cell to call Leo at the office and see if he can talk through this with me. Voice mail. I dial up DeLuca to ask for her advice. Voice mail. Sigh.
I proceed to “red” myself. Red lips. Red nails. Red pumps. Red full length cocktail dress, brand new for the occasion. I look myself over in the tiny bathroom mirror where I have watched myself transform from frumpy postpartum schlump to svelte trophy wife. For the first time, with brilliantly light locks in giant curls and smoky eyes looking at my perfumed body, I don’t really know if I do recognize myself. I’ve changed so much. I hope it’s for the better.
“Get it together, Chloe.” I say out loud into the bathroom and from behind me I hear in a deep voice:
“Get what together?”
I jump, heart beating out of my chest in fear and spin around to see my husband. If he looked young on the plane home from Vegas, he looks much older by the same scale. In a navy blue suit and a white, perfectly starched shirt and red tie I am seeing the husband as how he will look in his forties; he is debonair but unpretentious.
Leo’s face moves from smiling in approval of my look to worry about my startled reaction.
He moves closer to me, kissing me on the forehead and asks, “Chloe? Darling? Are you ok? Didn’t you hear me come in?”
Gathering myself into his chest, careful not to fuss my newly applied makeup, I shake my head.
He grips me close and asks, “What do you need to get together?”
Here’s my chance. This is the moment to open my mouth, to spill my anger and concerns, express my hurt that last year at this time he was romantically involved with another woman, to spew vile words and hatred for the shitty past situation. To say anything other than what I actually do say, lying to my husband for the first time in as long as I can remember.
“Nothing. I’m OK.” I plaster a fake smile with an effort to make it appear real and continue, “Let’s go. Happy Valentine’s Day, Sir.”
I breeze past him as fast as my heels can take me. He follows but I can tell by the shift in his attitude: he knows I just lied to him.
At the expensive and apparently quite popular Italian restaurant we’ve never been to before Leo and I loosen up a little bit in the dark, oversized booth over a glass of champagne. Red and pink balloons cover the entire ceiling and the darkened lights and smattering of candles give each table a bit of privacy. It’s romantic. Almost too much. Part of me wishes we had stayed in and had a kinky kind of night, something that involved leather and rope instead of lasagna and a dining room full of strangers.
I’m on a second glass of champagne when I ask Leo if he wants to exchange gifts but he insists not yet. Instead, ten minutes after arriving he excuses himself to the bathroom. I turn around to see smiling couples sharing food on forks or holding hands across the table while being served coffee and I can’t help but wonder who else may be a little bit “alternative.”
Leo comes back after quite a bit and immediately hands me the silver and black box from his side of the table. I hand him the wrapped book (already disappointed that I hadn’t thought of something better) and after pausing to let Leo order our meals we unwrap our Valentine’s Day gifts.
I blush all over after opening my box and look across to him in wonder. This makes my gift look boring as hell.
Leo is smiling devilishly and asks, “Do you know what it is?”
“A vibrator, right?” I whisper, leaning forward, dropping the box into my lap covered in a white linen napkin to protect my new red dress. I smile wide at his nodding. Peeking at it in my lap again I reach in and touch the “device.” It’s small, about three inches long and half that in diameter shaped like a pill capsule. All of a sudden without my pushing or moving anything the bullet starts to whir softly.
I can’t help but yelp and pull my hand back away from it, narrowing my smiling eyes at Leo. Taking a drink of his water to stifle his laughter his other hand stays in his suit pants pocket. It’s wireless. A wireless vibrator. Finally we found a sex toy that he can really be in control over.
“Miss?” I hear beside me and I slam the cover down on the gift box and swing my head to the end of the booth where the stout waiter in a restaurant tux is holding up a bottle of champagne.
My Dominant saves me from my blustering and blushing by answering on my behalf, “Thank you sir, she’ll have another.”
While my glass is filled and a plate with a simple caprese salad is dropped off by the food runner I watch the mister across from me with his sadistic “I’ve got plans for you wife” look on his face. It probably looks innocent enough to anybody around us but I know better. I can predict it coming. Once alone:
“Go to the bathroom Chloe. Put it in. Deep. Leave your panties on over.”
I ask him with a perfectly groomed raised eyebrow, “Is requesting for this to wait until later an option Sir?”
Leo answers, “Yo
u can ask all you want.”
“Leo, may I please use this later?” I request in the sweetest voice I can conjure.
I feel the box begin to lightly buzz in my lap.
“OK OK OK. I’m going. Knock it off.” I say winking, setting the napkin on the table and sliding out of the booth.
I take the box with me and head to the ladies room. Every stall but one is full. Go figure. I go into the empty one (in the middle, of course) and pull my black satin underwear down, feeling incredibly grateful that I had chosen a sexy pair of vintage-style briefs, giving me a little more hold for what I am about to do.
I sit and relieve my bladder entirely and once wiped I do as instructed. I take a manicured hand and silently spit into the cup of my fingers. I rub my folds open and almost instantly I am turned on. Now I am being used the way I was hoping to be used this Valentine’s Day.
My heart is thudding in fear waiting for somebody to peek over or under the stall and catch me in the act despite knowing that is a ridiculous notion. I insert one finger and use it to loosen myself up a bit. I take the new toy out of the box and it’s obvious that Leo removed it from the original packaging and cleaned it in preparation for his plan tonight. As I slip the cold toy in my hole I do it while lightly smiling and shaking my head. What did I get myself into?
The bullet settles into me and before wrapping up and calling it done I remember Leo’s instructions to plant it “deep.” I use the finger again to push it up deeper, the looped “rescue string” still coming out of me but less of it now. I lead the loop up toward my clit for safe keeping and pull my tight panties up, cinching the vibrator in place. I stand up, getting tissue and cleaning off my hand as best as possible for now and flush. Bringing the empty box with me I open the stall and head to wash my hands. I make it all of two steps before I stop in my tracks.
Holy. Crap. I’m in a ritzy restaurant, dressed like a knockout, and I have something penetrating me. The plastic string is tugging at my clit with every step I take. I am not even to the sink yet, the thing isn’t even turned on, and my nipples have hardened to a peak and my panties are starting to dampen. Fuck you, Leo Donnovan. Fuck you.
I make my way over to the sink to soap and wash my hands with my head down the whole time. Another lady is washing up too and I am not prepared to meet eyes or make casual conversation. I hightail it out the door and back to the tall booth to give Leo a gentle nudge, admonishing his evil tendencies, knowing he’d hoped I would be just as aroused and uncomfortable as I am right now. Always pushing me and my limits. I turn into my bench and... nothing.
Leo’s gone.
I sit down and gasp at the unusual added weight inside of my lady bits. The string is digging into my clit and there is no ladylike way to make that adjustment. I cover my lap in my napkin again, down some water, go through my clutch and freshen my lipstick, pop a mint, and after all of that begin to tap my fingers, frustrated.
I check my phone. Nothing. A minute goes by, then five.
Finally Leo comes back, stopping on my side to kiss me on the forehead, sliding his phone into his pocket.
“Sorry darlin. Urgent call, business deal.” He slides in his side and when he sees me with my mouth agape staring at him he asks, “What?”
“What? What? You had to take a business call this late on Valentine’s night when I was in the middle of doing that? You left me.” I finish with a voice that took off as pissed and landed more hurt than anything.
Leo’s looking at me apologetically and responds, “Yes, darling. I had to take the call. You know that’s part of the work I do.”
“But Leo, shit Sir, it’s been, like, I dunno… a lot lately.” I try not to sound like I am accusing him but I’m also hoping for a response that will satisfy me.
“Is this what you lied to me about earlier? Is this what you wanted to ask me but didn’t?” he counters back to me, not answering my question at all.
“Yes. Sir.” I spit back.
My eyes are welling up with tears and I hate this. I hate that this is a concern. When will it disappear entirely? When will I stop doubting? When will the trust come back? Maybe never. I feel foolish, a dolled up average homemaker parading around as a sex goddess, sitting in a crowded room with something inside of me, tears in my eyes, and a husband I can’t trust. Sniffle.
“Well, mister? Nothing to say?” I demand again.
“No. Darling. Nothing other than I’m not ever going to hurt you again. I love you. Only you. But I have to work. I have to answer my phone when it rings. Can we go back to a nice dinner now please?” Leo’s eyes are clear with seemingly honest intentions. I want to believe. Sensing my hesitation, Leo pulls out his phone and sets it in the middle of the table.
I’ve stopped checking; I want to so badly now. But I have to move forward. We have to. Sniffling back my tears I give him a silent shake of the head. He reaches his hand to me across the table; the moment my palm lands in his my insides start to buzz.
It startles me at first, sure, but it’s softer than I’d thought it would be. It’s completely silent, sound drown out from the vibrator’s depth and the chatter of the surrounding room. The back hits right into my g-spot and the vibration follows out of me, along the thick rescue string, setting my clit to buzzing.
“Ahhh!” I squeak out quietly, looking at him over our clasped hand meeting in the center of the table, before settling into a quiet, “Ahhhmmmmm.”
Just like whenever Leo and I play the rest of the world begins to disappear which is chancy since we are indeed in a public place. Sitting at the dinner table, red tablecloth helping to hide my squirming bottom, Leo sends me on the ride of a lifetime during the remainder of the meal. He is the director of a symphony with the remote being his baton. The remote can apparently change and adjust speed and pulsing sensations and he does so with a mastery that impresses me.
I adjust to the speed of the first initial setting and Leo brings me to the second, breaking hands with me to arrange our meals in front of each of us, keeping his left hand in his pocket on the remote and his right both eating his entree and feeding me mine.
Second speed works me deep at a continuous pace while Leo eats, not pretending to make conversation, just watching me, analyzing. I almost peak right there in the booth but he stops it before I get there.
Smiling at me, he reaches across to my plate and breaks off a piece of my dinner and brings it to my mouth. I chew and wiggle in the seat hoping for it to come back on but no dice. He takes a bite and then feeds me another. Repeat.
My lower half is finally cooling down and it is only then that it starts again. I feel him pass up the first two speeds and go straight to the third for the first time.
I gasp, he smiles, and we sit across from each other, mentally connected by our energy. He is playing me perfectly in the way one can do when they know somebody incredibly well. Our plates disappear as I am reaching the point of orgasm again. The string creates a soaked ridge between my sensitive parts and my wet underwear and it takes every bit of control to not grind my hips.
I hear a low “Mmmmm” building in my throat and then the bullet turns off. Damn him. The final course arrives and as soon as I am composed Leo starts his final “course.” The vibrator goes to a pulsating beat, cycling through the three speeds with a brief pause in between and a lingering final speed. It runs through every inch of my body and I feel like somebody could cut the connection between us with a knife. Nobody else exists. Nobody else matters.
Buzzz. Buzzz! Buzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!! Pause.
Again.
Buzzz. Buzzz! Buzzzzzzzzzz!!! Pause.
Again.
I am there again. I am going to come. In my fancy red dress. In the middle of a crowded restaurant. It’s gonna happen. I open my eyes wider to Leo indicating where I am heading, asking for permission without speaking a word, moving my hips the tiniest centimeter back and forth over the strand rubbing my vibrating clit and then it is gone.
Leo turns off the toy, motions to ou
r server passing by, and hands him a credit card from his wallet. Dinner is done.
I, sadly, am not.
We burst out the door and I can feel now when I walk how embarrassingly wet my underside is. I have entirely soaked through my panties. Have I soaked through my dress? Or left a dampness behind in the private, high backed booth? I don’t really care though; we are still connected and I feel like I am vibrating with my Dominant’s presence.
I need him so badly. Into the dark crisp night we walk away from the parking lot where his car sits. I want to ask where we are going but I realize I don’t care about that either and shut my mouth. Each step makes it harder to stay properly non-orgasmic and I turn the corner to the back of the restaurant with him, his hand around my waist and directing me forward as fast as he can.
The back of the brick stand-alone building is lined with a wooded area which is not uncommon on the Gulf Coast. Where we live is basically a city dropped into the Everglades and there are marshy areas lined with tall palms and cypress everywhere. Leo, still directing me, pays no attention to the change from pavement to grass and brings us thirty feet into the darkness. At this point I don’t give a shit about anything. I am nothing but a sexual submissive; I am doing what I have been trained to do over the past months. What I have wanted to do over the past fifteen years.
Leo stops at a wide tree and spins me, pressing my back against the hard rough bark. It takes the wind out of me and in an instant his mouth devours mine, his hardness pressing into me, using his hands to grope me.
He removes his mouth from mine and brings it to my neck and collarbone, sucking and licking. Biting. The dim lights illuminating the service entrance to the restaurant give a glow to us in the wooded area. I feel his hand go up my dress and feel my crotch. Leo stops and looks at me, narrowing his eyes, and asks menacingly, “Did you already come?”