by Mrs. Darling
I am hungry and exhausted but joyous. Despite all of the newly purchased items hung in the back of our car, the elation comes from being with Leo; being under his direction all day. After a quick lunch together at a nearby diner he makes a last stop in front of a local beauty salon known for pampering the pickiest of tourists. Putting the car in park, he looks across at me and says, “I’ll be back at six. I’ll drop off Emily at your mother’s, go home to shower and get ready, grab your gift. Just give them your name here; it’s all paid for.”
I look around the area and see a place that can help me with the gift I’m giving.
“Can you make it six thirty instead?” I ask.
He responds with a nod and a deep kiss. I get out, grab the new dress, shoes, and makeup for tonight, and wave my family good-bye until they’re out of view. I go inside and give my name and the miracle workers do my hair and nails the way Leo must’ve instructed them when making the appointment. They even take my new make-up and do my face for me. When the chatty spa girls spin me around at the end of the appointment I barely recognize myself. Hair extensions bring my now thick hair just past my bra line and I am blonde. Like, blonde-blonde. White blonde. I look like a bombshell.
I go to the massage room to put on my new clothes. The dress is a rich purple, the color of royalty, in a light silk that makes me feel vivacious. It stops an inch above my knee and the front is a square neck, modestly placed. But the back. Oh boy, the back. The silk scoops down in an arc three quarters of the way to my bottom, showing off my tan skin from the past summer and adding a sexy surprise to an otherwise simple cocktail dress. I pair it with the chosen accessories and nude heels as directed by my personal shopper and I am ready.
I walk over to the office supply store I spotted earlier to finish up Leo’s paper gift, beginning to get nervous about it now. I can’t help but notice several double takes from men in the store. I have never had hair this long before and certainly never this blonde. I feel glamorous.
When Leo picks me up as guaranteed I watch him stare as I approach the door he is holding open for me. All he manages when I get close to him is:
“Oh-holy-shit.”
Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is a compliment.
I spend the half hour ride trying not to crumple my purple dress and reminiscing. One year ago, I married my husband in Las Vegas, Nevada, filled up with impulse and hope. Our daughter was turning around inside my belly and halfway through our vows the mister choked up with emotion.
Oddly enough I am not thinking of our wedding but instead our first date long ago.
Phoenix, Arizona. I remember clearly a certain Mr. Leo Donnovan walking up to me at my desk that morning to exchange pleasantries. We had begun to notice each other about a month prior and it’s getting friendlier with every interaction.
You know how it goes. Two people meet and a spark is created. Amongst a sea of strangers you have a connection with that one. Each time you glance around the room you check to see if they are looking your way. Sometimes they are and you smile, looking away as fast as possible.
When he approaches my desk I sense him before I look to him, smelling his sandalwood aftershave and confidence. I feel like I’m glowing.
Once I started noticing him and noticing him noticing me, I put more effort into my appearance before dragging myself into the office in hopes of crossing paths. I search my closet each day for something remarkable, actually blow dry my hair, daydream about the strange man in a suit on a motorcycle that sends electricity through me when our hands briefly touch.
So this day, our to-be-first-date day, I am dressed to impress. I can still close my eyes and picture us.
I am in a cyan cotton blouse, cuffed and collared in pressed white linen. Matching knee length white linen skirt and rope wedges complete the look. I felt like a cool breeze in the desert warmth.
Leo arrives at my desk with a day’s worth of facial hair scruff, no suit coat or tie, and the sleeves of his starched dress shirt rolled up. He looks more haggard than usual. Tired somehow. I wonder (not for the first time) about his personal life. Does he have siblings? A roommate? A girlfriend? Where does he live? What does he smell like when he wakes up in the morning after a passionate night of lovemaking?
Oh the horror: I am daydreaming about a man in front of the man who has obviously asked me a question. Now he’s waiting for an answer.
I have to say, “Excuse me, Mr. Donnovan, I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
I force myself to pay attention instead of getting lost in his hazel eyes that look almost army greenish today. I expect him to correct me and insist I call him by his first name like most young professionals do, but nope. The man gives me a look that indicates he thinks I’m being quirky (which, of course, I actually am) and Leo repeats his question with a half grin, “Miss Larchmont, I came to ask you to dinner tonight. I’ve had a trying few days and would like some company and a hot meal.”
I titter a little bit at his formality but when I realize he’s entirely serious I flush and answer, “Sure. Where?”
He gave me the name of a pizza joint on Bell Road and his phone number, “In case you should find yourself in need of it.”
When he walks away I dash to the ladies room to give a quiet little squeal of delight and spin in a quick circle of happy dance.
The hours tick by slowly as end of the day is approaching. I gather my things and take the time to freshen my appearance before heading to the restaurant, stomach fluttering and empty.
A curious thing happens. I walk to my small compact car and Leo is sitting in his silver sports car he drives sometimes in lieu of the bike he frequents just sitting and talking on his phone. He pays me no mind but as I start my car and pull out, he follows suit. I follow the directions to the restaurant and watch Leo in my rearview mirror behind me.
I change lanes, he changes lanes. I brake, he brakes. Once we get there he parks directly next to me, hops out, circles his car, and by the time I shut off the ignition and grab my purse, he has my driver’s door open and a hand extended to help me out.
I grab it and find myself standing about two inches from this strange man, too mature for his age, and I can feel the pull between us like two magnets finally facing the right side of each other. I stand in his masculine presence and ask teasingly, “Were you following me, Mr. Donnovan?”
He smiles lightly, his wide, pink lips a stark contrast to his dark, trim goatee, “Yes, I was.”
“Why?” I can’t help but ask.
He cocks his head to the side like it is an awfully strange question and responds, “I wanted to be sure you arrived safely.”
Raising an eyebrow, I step to the side as he closes my door and places his hand on my lower back to escort me inside the restaurant (igniting that spark again as we touch), pulling the heavy wooden door open for me.
Huh, I guess chivalry isn’t dead, is all I can think.
We dine. Well, let’s be honest. Leo eats. I talk. My single piece of pizza that I cut up into small pieces is mostly there at the end of the night but my vodka martini is drained.
Leo asks me really smart questions in a way that makes me feel interesting instead of pressured. He absorbs everything and I feel like the only person in the room. When it comes time to leave (he nabs the bill of course but after arriving with such courtesy I hadn’t really expected him to allow me to pay) I look up and am surprised to see the dinner crowd emptied out and the dark night sky speckled with the stars instead of blazing sun. When had that happened?
I go to my car, unlocking it on the way with my fob. Leo gets there first and opens the door for me. When I turn to thank him for a nice night, I find myself just where I was earlier. A few inches from his face and this time, he lowers down to meet his lips to mine.
It’s a closed mouth kiss, polite but connected, his incredibly soft lips on mine. It leaves me wanting more than a kiss ever has before. The still strange gentleman looks in my eyes and brushes my hair behind my ear. For th
e first time I hear my name upon his lips and it sounds angelic:
“Chloe. I’ll leave first and if you’re interested, follow behind me. You can visit my home, have a drink with me. I’d like that very much. If not, that’s fine too and a good night to you darling.”
I shiver at the directive. The ball is in my court. The good girl in me is screaming goooo hoooome! But my loins are begging with every cell to follow the curious Mr. Donnovan to his home.
I fold in my seat, he closes my door, and our cars both start next to each other. I flip my headlights on, illuminating his car as he pulls out and heads to the driveway to lead him onto Bell Road. He turns on his right blinker, showing me my choice, and I pull up behind him.
He waits until traffic clears and heads east. I react in fear. Fear of what? I still don’t know. Fear of how badly I want this stranger. Fear of being seen in a certain way for going back to his place the first night. Fear of being led; of what kind of woman I would be if I followed his lead.
I turn left and head westbound. I look in the rearview mirror and hope for his brake lights to flash. They don’t. Of course they don’t. Leo Donnovan isn’t the type to second guess himself.
Crap. I think I made the wrong choice. I should have followed. What the hell am I doing? What am I so afraid of?
As soon as I get the chance I burst into the left turn lane and flip a U-turn. I speed down Bell Road, saying an apology to the god that controls traffic cops and street lights and look for that silver sports car containing a magnet I am helplessly drawn towards.
It’s nowhere. He’s gone. My stomach drops.
I pull into a gas station and park in the lights of the pumps, disappointed. I reach in my purse to grab my wallet, readying to head inside and grab a drink for the ride home and a post-it sticks to my hand. I pull it out and recognize my company logo on the top in blue print. Handwritten is Leo Donnovan’s phone number.
I stare at it for only a moment knowing I will chicken out if I wait and grab my phone. Dialing, heart hammering, trying in the brief silence to plan what exactly I will say, I hear a ring once, twice, thre-
“Leo Donnovan” booms through, obviously not recognizing my number. I go speechless.
He asks quietly, “Chloe?”
Hearing him say my name breaks my silence.
“Leo?” I barely manage to squeak out.
“Are you OK?” Leo asks curiously.
“I... I... um... I think I... ah... IthinkIturnedthewrongway,” I rush out in one breath.
“Where are you?” he demands.
“Um... at a gas station? On Bell Road? I tried to find you...” The words drift away; I’m shocked by the weight of them in my voice.
“Give me the name of the gas station. I’m coming for you.” I hear him say over the increase in purr as his smooth engine revs higher.
Looking around I give him the information and sit there with the phone at my ear in silence, both of us still on the line but neither of us speaking.
Five minutes later I see his car pull into the lot and he pulls around the back in a half circle, leading him to the exit pointing back out to Bell Road and turns his signal on, directing east again. He breaks the silence between us with only two words: “Follow me.”
This time, I do.
I look into the vanity mirror while riding to my anniversary dinner many years later. Many dates later. Many tears later. Taking one last look at this woman transformed I grab the legal sized manila envelope that contains my anniversary gift and accept the hand of Mr. Leo Donnovan at the passenger door waiting to lead me inside the restaurant. He stands in front of me like on that first date, still a magnet, still with that pull. He presses in close to me and whispers:
“Mrs. Donnovan. I never thought I would see you look more beautiful than you did walking down the aisle on our wedding day. But damn Chloe. You may have just gotten yourself beat.”
The double entendre rings out to both of us and the thought of myself being “beat” via a riding crop across my silk-draped backside makes me simultaneously blush and laugh. The mister puts his hand on my lower back and directs me inside, a wrapped box I hadn’t noticed in his other hand.
He says casually, “I don’t know what you have in that envelope lil darlin but I bet my gift is better. In fact, I’d put money on it.”
Laughing, I teasingly remind him, “Right. I don’t work anymore, remember? Sure, I’ll bet you with your money against your money. But that doesn’t even matter Sir because nothing in that box can compare to the gift contained in this envelope.”
Leo declined to participate in my goading, instead pulling me close to him who is also dressed to the nines in a modern style black suit, white shirt, and golden tie, smelling fresh and clean and familiar. He kisses me gently and pulls back.
“You really do look beautiful, my wife. I love you.”
When I say, “I love you too,” I mean it.
We head inside to our very first and maybe only anniversary celebration.
God I wish I had a camera to record the look on Leo’s face. No matter the destiny of our relationship, how old I become, or where life takes me, I will never forget Mr. Donnovan’s reaction right now.
We’re at a table that was an hour ago set in the most proper fashion for a multi-course fine dining experience. Now all that is left is the memory of sumptuous cuisine made by the top rated chef in town and the silver is set for coffee and dessert.
Leo looks at me over the paper envelope containing six sheets of printed paper stapled together. I have entirely shocked my husband.
“When did you have time to do this?” he wonders incredulously, eyes moving over the first page so fast I am wondering if he’s even reading.
I fidget nervously. My heart is racing. My hands are shaking a bit. Maybe not my entire life but certainly the next six months are about to change drastically.
I answer in the calmest voice I can bear, “You know. I get stuff done.”
He looks to me and sees me and stares as if I am a creature he’s never encountered. Keep cool, Chloe. Keep it together. He looks back down and now he’s really reading.
When the waiter in his serving tux arrives at the table to ask Leo a question Leo simply puts his hand in the air with pointer finger extended in a sign of “just a moment,” not able to draw his eyes from the sheets.
The server stops mid-breath and looks at me strangely. I smile wide, afraid if I speak aloud at this exact moment I will heave up my dinner and shrug my shoulders to dismiss his service at the table.
He reads and flips between the pages for ten minutes before looking up. He seems shaken; unnerved. It is an uncommon look for him and it’s endearing. It’s nice to know he is as serious and possibly as nervous as I am.
He holds up the pages and asks with eyebrows up and his voice deep, “Are you sure this is what you want Chloe?”
I respond so much calmer than I feel, “Yes. Yes... Sir. I’m sure. I’ve spent a lot of time considering just that question.”
Leo asks another question with the same severity, “And the date you have written at the end? Not exactly six months from today, is it?”
Shit. How did he notice that smallest of detail? I answer honestly because he’ll expect it, because he deserves it, because brutal honesty is about to become the absolute norm. I say it as gently as I can.
“Leo, that date is the date we are supposed to meet on the beach. It’s one year from... well... you know... when we are supposed to decide to make it work or not. The rest of that (I wave my hands at the pages still in his hand) won’t matter if we aren’t, ya know, together.”
The server brings a decadent looking crème brûlée with berries and two cups of hot coffee and sets it in front of us. We sit in silence.
Leo considers the gift. Almost exactly six months. The entire remainder of our relationship possibly. Is this how he wants to spend it? Will he even sign? He stares at me, the woman who turned her car around and followed him home so many years ago
. He pulls a pen from the inside of his pitch-black suit coat, flips to the last page, and signs and dates with the flourish of a man who spends all day signing contracts.
When he looks up, any trace of indecision is gone. My new Dominant is dark and solid, exuding confidence. Without moving his eyes from mine, he hands the papers across the table and I take them.
Leo demands, “Read it.”
I answer quietly, “Sir, I wrote it-”
“Read. It. Again.”
His growl makes my hands begin to visibly shake. I wonder if I really know what I am doing after all and with that doubt in my heart I put my head down and read.
24/7 Dominant/submissive Contract
I, Chloe Donnovan, with a free mind and open heart request of Leo Donnovan that he accept the submission of my will unto him. I ask that as my Dominant, Leo Donnovan takes me into his care and guidance and encourages growth together in love, trust, and mutual respect. It is my desire as a submissive to satisfy his needs and desires whenever possible, in hopes that I will be found pleasing to him. In order to do so, I offer him the use of my body, abilities, and purpose.
Further, I ask that as my Dominant, he will accept the responsibility of using my body for the fulfillment and enhancement of both of our sexual, spiritual, emotional, and intellectual needs. In order to achieve this, he has unrestricted use of my body any time, any place, and in front of anyone as he determines appropriate.
As a Dominant, Mr. Donnovan may bestow upon me any symbol of ownership, including a collar, as well as any other future marks or tokens he may wish to bestow upon me. Symbols of ownership are to be a visible reminder of status and will be worn with pride.
Section One: Code of Conduct
Duties of Servitude
-Above all, the primary duty of this submissive is to please.
-Personal Duties: Attend to the physical and emotional needs of Mr. Leo Donnovan, behave as his sexual plaything, offer physical comfort, act in obedience, remain honest and loyal, wait on the Dominant as desired.
