by Mrs. Darling
“N-n-no- fuck no, Sir. No.” I answer quickly, wanting him to come back and kiss me with those wide lips again.
Faster than I can think he instead starts to tie me up, spinning me the other direction to face the tree and stretching my arms around the rough trunk. I can almost touch my hands together but not quite and I wonder if my new dress will be ruined.
I hear Leo growl to me, “Stay.”
He paces around to the other side of the tree, pulls off the once Christmas-card-worthy red tie, and binds my hands. I begin to ache from the position almost immediately. My cheek is resting on the tree, already getting rubbed raw, facing the restaurants glow in the dark of the night.
He circles back, bends over to the dirt, picking up the heavy coffee table book I gave him earlier. I see him in the corner of my vision wind up and swing it hard, paddling my bottom. It thuds against me and I give a groan of familiar pleasure.
He takes a moment to pick up the hem of my dress and tuck it into the top of my high-waisted undies, revealing my behind to the marsh full of who-knows-what. I instinctively struggle against the ties but only result in scraping my delicate skin. Whimpering, I feel the vibrator start inside of me, full speed ahead.
Slam! The book lands against the fatty part of my butt, pushing my whole lower half forward into the tree and I stumble to stay upright. I do my best to recover and stand there, ass to the wind, heels sinking into the marshland, and vibrating on the inside as Leo continues spanking me with the hard backed book. I feel myself easily now accepting the pain and turning it into pleasure; slipping into subspace.
I barely register the book hitting the ground and a familiar sound I hear at the end of every work day: Leo slipping his belt out of the loops of his pants.
This time when my butt is swatted the stinging pain reaches my throat and I have to swallow down a scream, afraid of who may hear us leaving the restaurant. The leather is used to strike my thighs and calves, my back, my butt, carefully avoiding things like my spine and kidneys like he’d learned. I take it and take some more; and take it again and again and again. It feels horrible and primal and right. I am floating. I am free.
Leo comes close to my body from behind. His touch electrifies me. I have been on the verge of orgasm for so long now and am getting exhausted from holding it back, from choking it down. I close my eyes and rest my forehead on the tree, a shitty substitute for a pillow.
In my right ear, I hear an unmistakable metal click. Leo just opened his knife, a three inch single blade pocketknife that he carries everywhere he goes. The sound makes my heart speed up excitedly.
Leo breathes in my ear, “Don’t. Move.”
I learn in that very first instant the thrill of knife play. I have never encountered anything better able to make my body submit. Fast. As the sharp edge touches my jugular I am terrified to move a single millimeter anywhere on my body. I focus all my mental energy on keeping my physical body still, willing my planted heels to stay steady, and I feel my husband’s hot breath at my neck and his cock on my tailbone, pushing painfully into my worked body, hard as a steel rod.
“You didn’t come, did you darlin?” He asks me quietly, our heaving chests matching inhales and exhales, both of us high on adrenalin. I start to instinctively shake my head no and feel the slightest nick in my neck from the blade. Tears spill down. I want to pause and think about how frequently I cry when playing like this and analyze this strange physical reaction to such sexy, wanted acts but I force my mind to stay in the moment, trembling to think about what would happen if I’m distracted.
“No.” I squeak out instead, sniffling, throat full of emotion and pussy still vibrating into the night.
“That’s a good job my love. Good job.” Leo murmurs.
He kisses the back of my tussled hair and removes the knife. I feel him kneel down behind me and take the knife to slice my underwear apart; it’s so close to the most delicate parts of me. Once I’m fully exposed the tool clacks shut and Leo’s palm grabs my sex.
“You’ve earned this. Come.”
My orgasm gushes out of me onto his hand, shifting the bullet around inside of me and spilling the come down my thighs and calves. I inhale and feel it trickle out; the relief overwhelming.
Leo creates friction with his hand and my clit and it keeps the juices flowing out of me. He unzips his pants behind me and releases the beast and with swift motion fills my pussy up further, his dick pushing the vibrator still deeper. He pounds into me, giving us both the connection we have been seeking, tearing my dress to shreds on the bark and biting the back of my shoulder blade while coming into my darkness.
This. This is our day of romance.
I’m back at the beach house, having been carefully untied and left resting on the ground while Leo brought the car around to gather his delightfully torn apart wife. Soaking and freezing, shaking like a leaf, feeling entirely ruined in the best of ways, Leo loaded me up and brought me home. I feel so used and it feels so satisfying.
He helps me to the toilet, starts the shower, and then kneels in front of my mangled body, meeting my eyes to his.
“I love you, Chlo,” he mutters in sincerity, pulling a stray twig out of my hair and tossing it in the trash.
“I love you too, Leo.” I respond and after a moment, feeling the steam start to rise out of the shower I ask him, “Did you like your book?”
He laughs a deep belly laugh and I join him.
He kisses me and orders me to get myself clean. Glad to be alone for a minute I hobble into the shower with my thoughts going back to where they drifted earlier in the night.
God, I cry so much now. I mean I have always been an emotional gal but sheesh. When we play, when we have sex sometimes, when he is dominating me. Why the constant tears?
I pour coconut shampoo into my hands and suds up, thinking about the crying issue. I conclude it’s about release. Emotional release and physical release manifested through tears.
When I truly, one hundred percent, submit my mental and physical will to another person that has earned that trust despite imperfections it’s just plain overwhelming. Leo and I live this D/s lifestyle all day, every day. And while I thoroughly enjoy the way our D/s dynamic is growing, a lot of it involves some pretty mundane stuff. Who cooks and who pays the bills is not always a sexy matter though I do appreciate knowing what to expect in the functioning of the household.
Play? Like tonight? Sexual power exchange brought to life? That is the physical submission he and I have each been waiting for ever since the last time we engaged in that way. He is finally in control the way wanted by each of us. My body and mind physically let go and become his tool. His submissive. Dare I say his wife enslaved.
The tears that spill over are a result of that sweet void that comes from letting go; from the freedom that lives only there. I cry as thanks and relief unspoken. They aren’t tears of sadness, or intense pain, or a desire to not be doing what is happening. My crying is not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign that I am free.
I hop out of the shower feeling the high still and quickly throw on a towel, eager to share this thinking with my mister. I swing the door open and through the shifting, swirling steam I see Leo sitting under the covers in bed, the glow of his phone illuminating his face and he is writing speedily. He simultaneously looks up and shuts the phone off, asking casually, “Hey darlin. How was the shower?”
Making a snap decision that I can’t explain I plaster a smile upon my face and change intended direction.
“Good. Ummm, can you get me the peroxide and bandages? I am pretty banged up.”
“Sure. Anything else?” he asks, setting his phone upside down on the nightstand next to him.
“Nope! Thanks Sir!” I reply with my heart stammering inside of me and head back into the still steamy bathroom where the fake smile instantly switches off.
I sleep an aching, troubled sleep and wake up pre-dawn. I look to Leo and see him next to me in the moonlight. My heart feels torn into a
thousand pieces.
“Trust me, Chloe,” he had demanded going into this and I promised I would. I could do that, right? What has been wrong with me lately? Is it the feeling that something is again “off” with Leo and his behavior? Am I just being overly critical? What if he never really changed but just got better at hiding things from me; a criminal busted now more adept at performing the crime? These are the questions that keep me up at night and consume my happiness.
I need to talk to him. That’s the cure and I know it. Express my concerns. Set up an appointment with myself, Leo, and DeLuca, go sit on her little couch together, address the issue with honesty and give Leo a voice. That’s the solution.
Knowing there is no way I am headed back to sleep my feet hit the hard floor and I throw on a long sweater over my softest cotton nightgown that I used last night to cover my sore body. I head out to the beach, inhaling the cleansing salt air and listening to the waves coming and going. My decision is coming up. My day in the sand, the one when I will stand up and tell Leo that I recommit to our marriage permanently; that he did everything right, that I believe he won’t hurt me again.
Turning right each step I take in the opposite direction of the beach house wakes my body up a little more (man, I wish I had stopped to brew some coffee first) and my mind can’t help but roll over our history; snippets of what makes “us” worth saving.
Leo Donnovan. Chloe Larchmont. Bringing a levity to what were entirely responsible lives, making each other want and learn, fucking in the dark nights and in the light of day without abandon. Furniture shopping with Leo for his then-bachelor pad, teasing him at his desire for the so obvious choice of dark leather everywhere, calling him a “walking prediction,” cuddling on the couches in the brightly lit showroom, never letting go of clasped hands.
Countless hours spending time as he watches some sports programming on the television while I fold clean laundry and put it away neatly, getting a lift from the domestic duty.
Prepping me for the first time on the back of his motorcycle, buckling a spare helmet from his garage onto me, a younger Mr. Donnovan looks in from his full face helmet with eyes sparkling and voice excited:
“Your body is going to want to do its own thing Chloe and that’s gonna get us in trouble. You need to let me be in control. When I lean into a curve, you lean with me. If you try and compensate and lean the opposite way you’ll just throw us off balance. You have to let go and just trust me.”
I did so. I clutched his midsection and rode under the bright stars of the Arizona night, winding through the golden mountains, and I relinquished control to Leo. I let go and he led me safely. His body moved with precision underneath my arms and the wind blew by and world disappeared around me. I began learning submission on the back of a bike.
Now submission everywhere. Heart full of him, mind full of us, I turn around to return to the beach house watching the sunrise on the horizon. I know that everybody says the Gulf Coast of Florida is better for sunsets but the world has given me the gift of a dazzling sunrise and it brightens my heart with each step.
I walk up the stairs to the perched sandy abode and let myself into the kitchen. The smell of coffee hits my nose and I dive into a cup as quickly as possible hoping to heat up my body from the chill of February on the beach.
I hear the shower running. Leo must be getting ready for an early morning work day, I think, and head in to greet him and let him know I have arrived back safe. I notice his coffee cup sitting on the nightstand next to his phone that is still plugged in and facing upside down.
I feel like I am walking against a tide pushing me away from heading over to his side of the bed. I push on anyway. Every cell is telling me to stop, to trust, to not pry. Heart pounding, cold sweat takes over my body and I set my coffee next to his. I pause and listen to the shower, my mind screaming, Stop Chloe. Put. The. Phone. Down.
Instead I pick it up and it happens again. Of course it does.
Chapter Thirteen: Hold On, Pain Ends
After sliding the phone awake I see a missed call and a new voice mail waiting. From six thirty in the morning. Hearing the shower still running I dial one and listen, the woman’s voice cracking my heart in two the instant I hear it.
“Leo. It’s Ann. I know, I know, don’t call when you’re with your wife. But this is urgent and you have got to sneak away to call me back as soon as possible. Call me ba-”
I hang up, not needing to hear anymore.
I am stronger this time around. Smarter. I replace the phone, go to cook breakfast, and with no tears in my eyes fake my way through the morning, formulating the plan. I help Leo out the door while the anger boils in my veins and as soon as I am alone I call Grandma Larchmont.
“Ma is there any way you can keep Em until two? I need to handle some business this morning.” I ask over the phone doing my best to hide the sickness in my voice. I don’t do a very good job.
“What’s wrong Chloe?” she demands, loud enough that I move the phone from my ear. Sigh.
“I just need to handle some things. I will talk to you about it later. Can you or no?” I ask with no fight in my voice.
Pause.
“OK. Two. Come here for lunch,” my mother agrees, thinking she can cure any ailment with a home cooked meal. The thought of food makes my stomach churn sick. I fight it down, already creating the to-do list in my mind. Hanging up I set to work.
I pile items by the front door. Pack and play and sheet set. Bottles and baby feeding accoutrements. Most of Emily’s clothes. My clothes. Important documents from the tiny den area, birth certificates, my family photo albums. My laptop. I’ll certainly need that to look for a job. I go through the beach house methodically and fairly. I even take the time to clean the kitchen from breakfast and throw the wet clothes in the dryer. My last act of domestic service.
My phone bleeps twice while I am busy untangling our lives. The first is a return call from Ruth DeLuca.
“Mrs. Donnovan, hi, I missed a call from you yesterday, how can I help you?” the polite woman asks.
Not missing a beat I reply with certainty, “Hi Ruth, I just wanted to let you know that we won’t be needing your services anymore and to ask you to cancel our next appointment.”
“Is everything OK, dear?” she inquires gently.
I do my best to reassure her that Leo and I are great and simply feel as if we have gotten to where we need to be. I roll my eyes as I say it. I don’t want to disappoint the woman who worked so hard on salvaging our broken marriage. This isn’t her fault. That lies with one person.
Hanging up and getting back to loading up my minivan, making sure everything is left in order for Leo and that I have taken everything I could possibly need during the separation I hear a second bleep. Leo. A text:
Last night was incredible. You are incredible.
I again roll my eyes at my phone. To keep him from becoming suspicious I text back right away:
You’re pretty incredible too. Have a great day.
Send.
Have a great day cause your night’s gonna be pretty rough, I think angrily and on the heels I wonder if this Ann will be sleeping in my little side of the bed in the beach house tonight, come over to comfort my husband. And she knew he was married just like the woman in Atlanta.
I shake my head and continue to work; getting myself free of his grip. I can do this, I tell myself. And I know that I can.
Deciding to leave Mr. Donnovan a note, I grab the daily schedule that I need no more off of the fridge and flip it over on the kitchen counter. I use the pen that I used to dash out my weekly grocery list to scrawl out a different kind of note. I jot quickly and without much thought. I have business to handle. It reads:
I know about Ann. I won’t do this again. Please don’t call me. I’ll make arrangements with my mom for you to spend time with Emily.
I head out the door to leave, stopping in the doorway and pausing there, feeling something nagging.
Heading back to
the nightstand on my side of the bedroom where I will never sleep again I grab my leather posture collar and our D/s contract that we signed almost six months ago. I return to the note on the kitchen counter. I scrawl a large black “X” through each page of the contract. I know there’s no legal bind to this document but I want to break the emotional one. I write VOID in bold letters over my signature at the end of the lengthy document.
I can’t believe I forgave him. My heart feels like it is physically breaking and I force the pain back. I am so much better at managing pain this time. He’s trained me well.
Focus Chloe. I slide the voided contract under my note and with pen still in hand, pausing again, I then add to the bottom of the note:
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...
I place the so-beautiful collar that I’ve grown accustomed to wearing on top and wonder wistfully if I will ever wear one again. Next to my collar I place my wedding band. He broke it all.
After packing up the van and locking up the house I drive straight off the beach and into the urban downtown area and head directly to the bank; to a lock box belonging to only me.
I remove the $20,000 cash that was my first anniversary gift and shove it in the zippered purse that I brought for this precise reason, leaving the metal door of the safe deposit box hanging open, now emptied.
Entirely composed and moving on autopilot I continue down my mental list and leave to find a weekly rental suitable for myself and my child. Business as usual. No time to hurt. No chance to feel. Just keep moving.
By the time I hit Mom’s condo at 2 in the afternoon as promised I have a new place to live about a half hour up the coast, light groceries in the fridge, everything unpacked, clothes hung and in drawers, my daughters makeshift crib built in the single bedroom next to my new bed.