by Mrs. Darling
“How did you know?” I ask Leo, confused. When he told me at the restaurant to wait until I saw the collar he’d picked out I assumed it was a thing to come. Not tonight. Had he figured out what I was gifting?
Mr. Donnovan smiles and says, “I didn’t. Well, not about tonight. You really surprised me Chloe and that doesn’t happen often. But I knew it was coming. I saw the want in your eyes. I saw your pleasure when serving me in the bedroom or out. I will never take advantage of you again darlin. I will continue to earn the trust you gave me tonight. We will have some fun together. Are you ready for a little fun in our lives?”
I think of the work we have done the past months. I run my fingers over the collar for the first time and warm all over at its craftsmanship. It feels like the future.
Smiling at Leo I affirm, “Hell yeah Mister. Let’s have some fun together.”
With a charming smile back he directs, “Good. Get naked.”
I answer in the becoming familiar, “Yes, Sir!” and pull off the soft silk dress, letting it fall into a pool at my feet. I stand naked, bare except my earrings and wedding band. Nothing to cover the flaws. Nothing to hide behind. He is looking at me with the same tenderness and love as he watched me walk down the aisle a year ago.
“Kneel.”
I do. I go to one knee first and then the other, knees spread hip width apart and shoulders straight and back, never once leaving his eyes. I know with certainty that this is where I belong; what I have been seeking out since an ordinary school day a decade and a half ago. My body belongs to him. My service to him. My heart, for now, to him.
The air-conditioning and vulnerability of my position is chilling my skin, bringing my nipples to a stiff peak. The air circulates from the vents and I can feel it swirling around my exposed womanhood.
Leo bends at the waist and places the dark as night collar upon my neck, clasping it tight. He plants a kiss on my forehead and steps back to see his wife.
The collar is snug and the dip causes me to lean back a bit, to both straighten my shoulders and drop them away from my ears at the same time, even adjust my spine. The soft backing of the patent leather clenches me and it feels soft and solid like Leo.
I suddenly wish for his hand around my neck, tightening. I am a collared submissive. I am becoming the woman of my fantasies. I am still, simply, me.
Chapter Ten: What Goes Up Must Come Down
The Schedule
6 am - Wake up
6:30 am - Coffee/Bottle
7 am - Breakfast/Leo’s Lunch
8 am - Morning Chores*
9 am - Morning Outing*
10 am - Nap
12 pm - Afternoon Outing*
2 pm - Gym
3:30 pm - Afternoon nap
5 pm - Dinner prep
6 pm - Dinner
6:45 pm - Bath time (Leo) Clean kitchen (Chloe)
7:15 pm - Emily bedtime
*Monday - Laundry, Linens and Library day
*Tuesday - Meal planning and grocery shopping
*Wednesday - Play date and pay bills
*Thursday/Friday (Leo off)
*Saturday - Grandma’s morning with Emily/Deep clean
*Sunday - Playground and journaling time
It takes about a month living 24/7 as Dominant and submissive to come up with a precise schedule in the household that works for us. It’s handwritten and posted on the slightly dented white laminate beach house fridge, and I, Chloe Donnovan, go to look at the note about a half dozen times a day for direction. The schedule creates a motion in my day; a nudge from my Sir even when he’s out of the house.
I condense my duties as a wife, my duties as a mother, and my duties as a homemaker into a routine that once we all adjusted it’d be hard to try and veer away.
Don’t get me wrong, life happens. I get a flat tire on the van, I take Emily to the pediatrician about a cough, that kind of stuff. But with a firm plan in place I am able to accomplish more than I ever thought I would be able. What the new expectations are in the home boils down to this: Leo is in charge of earning money and the financial well-being of the home. I am in charge of virtually everything else.
I am Leo’s cook, his maid, his personal shopper, his errand runner, his secretary, his everything home related. I love every minute of it. This structure is actually freeing. We can now eliminate a lot of discussions and disagreements that we used to face.
Before power exchange, a common conversation sounded like this:
Person 1: What sounds good for dinner babe?
Person 2: I dunno. Anything. What sounds good to you?
Person 1: I really don’t care. That’s why I asked you. Chinese?
Person 2: Meh. I had Golden Dragon for lunch today.
Person 1: (sigh) Well if you would have said that, we could have gotten somewhere.
Person 2: (eye roll, and sarcastically) Sooooorry. Let’s order a pizza. What do you want on it?
Person 1: I don’t care. You pick.
Person 2: (sigh) Well, you know I like pepperoni, but you don’t, so why even ask me if...
This happened day in and day out. About everything.
Who is taking the trash out this week? Who’s cooking dinner? Who is cleaning from cooking dinner? Who is getting up in the middle of the night when a baby cries? Who is responsible for paying the bills? Who is stopping to grab dry cleaning? It was exhausting. In hindsight, it was a major reason for the break of Chloe and Leo Donnovan’s old marriage.
The constant bickering. The never-ending negotiation. The physical and mental drain that comes with complicating everyday tasks; the fallacy of assigning a husband or wife as the “good one” based on accomplishing these secondary tasks.
Since signing the D/s contract we’ve lived with the burden off of our shoulders. The tasks are assigned. The negotiating is over. For six months or so, the fallen Mr. Donnovan and his darling submissive wife can stop the back-and-forth balancing of scales and instead spend their free time having fun. Enjoying each other.
Here is the above conversation in our D/s household:
Chloe: What sounds good for dinner tonight Sir?
Leo: Chinese. That place down the road we like. What’s the name again?
Chloe: Panda Palace?
Leo: Yup. Get cashew chicken, noodles instead of rice, and those little donut things for dessert. Have it here at six fifteen.
Chloe: Consider it done! Did I show you this adorable picture of Em I took at the splash pad yesterday...
Ahhh. So much better. So much easier. Distinct lines. Leo works and makes the decisions. I do everything else.
Now that I have a specific list to do every day, targets to cross off and goals to reach, I am thoroughly enjoying my job that is staying home and caring for my family. After quitting my career I honestly began to see myself as less than those people working in an outside job. I now see that I’m an equal. As we continue our growth in the world of BDSM from the comfort of our home we come across a phrase that will help shape the next half year: 1950’s household.
That is who we are outside of the bedroom. June and Ward Cleaver. We are the upper-middle class American dream family, as unassuming as it gets. In front of others we look normal, talk normal, act normal. Discretion is our key. Anonymity is a must.
When the doors close and we come together alone? We are anything but “normal.”
Leo Donnovan circles me in the entryway of the compact two bedroom beach house as if he is a predator circling his prey. I feel cornered. My eyes stay at the floor. I kneel still as a statue under his pacing view long enough that my knees begin to ache on the tile.
At long last he directs, “Stand.”
I do so as gracefully as a woman who spends her days in flip flops being a homemaker can manage in tall stilettos and weak knees. I still can’t bear to meet his eyes. I feel his heated body smelling like outside and man come closer to me and the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Directly in my ear, “You look fucki
ng fantastic. I am gonna wreck you, you pretty little thing. You’re gonna wake up tomorrow and ache on the inside.”
He slips his tie off his neck and creates a blindfold over my eyes. Glad to be relieved of the headiness of his animalistic presence, I tilt my head up to what would be eye level. He pushes me from behind into the direction of the bedroom; into the den of the lion. Standing steady he strips me of everything except my wedding band and the dark-as-night posture collar. No more frills. I am humbled.
The mister’s strong and guiding hands lay me on my back across the bed, still blind, and I hear him go over to his opened toolbox. Aching from my hummingbird-fast heart beat and listening to the sound of the waves, I push all of my available senses and seek him out. Leo, silent, returns and ties me spread eagle to the bed using the nylon rope from the hardware store. My arms and legs are stretched to capacity and tied tight. There is no struggle capable; no avoiding whatever there is to come.
The feeling of fear is roiling in me. My stomach lurching to the point of almost sickness. He puts his hands under my lower half and lifts my bottom, shoving a folded towel under me. He pauses to brush my heated and damp crotch and I instinctual go to throw my legs together like a steel trap.
But of course not. He knew (he always knows) that this would be my reaction so there I lay tied, ankles spread to the full width of the bed. Unable to move my legs a single inch I moan in frustration mixed with arousal and try to relax for what will come. He will give me what I need. Lately he always gives me what I need.
I feel Leo’s presence over me. The makeshift blindfold is removed and there he is. My Mister. My husband. My lover. My Dominant.
He knows my body, my soul, my history, my longings. He watches with that half smile as I struggle against my bindings (something about not being able to move really makes a person want to move).
Sir leans down to put his wide lips on mine. His tongue pries open my mouth, somehow moving that shaky feeling from my stomach to my groin. I feel tingly like I always do upon his taste.
Leo gently pulls away and looks into my eyes, “Shhh... darlin… calm yourself.”
With those four words I am empowered, shedding the skin of the world and becoming the newer, truer me: the submissive. I let go of my pulls against the rope, fully trusting in Mr. Leo Donnovan. Full trust. This is what I have been seeking.
I stare at his light eyes and muster the voice to say aloud my intention.
“Yes, Sir. Please use me how you will.”
Running his fingertips up and down my soft body, drawing a trail of heat with each stroke, he says, “Tonight you will give all of yourself to me, darlin.”
Huh? All of me? Leo has conquered all of me, hasn’t he? We are smack dab in the middle of anal training. It was just a few nights ago that he pounded my asshole so hard I felt like I was going to faint from the intensity. He has fucked my mouth and my pussy for years now. As my Dominant, he now owns my days and my nights, controls my clothing and my collar. Every orgasm is his. What else could I possibly give him?
I watch nervously as he walks to his tools and pulls out a stingy leather flogger. A gasp escapes my lips at the first strike on my inner thigh.
Swat! My other thigh is stung. He moves around the bed striking up and down my body; I start to mentally fog over. My body becomes numb and accepting while my mind becoming that of a woman submitted.
As I feel less like a person and more of captured prey, I hear my instructions for the night. He announces it into the dimly lit bedroom, still stinging my arms and tits and stomach along the way, working every angle of my bound body:
“Chloe, you have control of your orgasms tonight and feel free to come whenever you want. But know that each time you do I will continue to stretch you open, inserting one more finger into your hole. Finger fucking you until I crack your body open and you will feel my whole fist inside of you. You have control of your orgasms tonight. But I have control of when you can stop.”
He is pushing my limits. And not just any limit. This limit. Of all the soft limits in our contract how did he know this was both the most terrifying and the most provocative act imaginable to me? I feel my cunt get wet and am instantly afraid that he will judge me for wanting such an act.
I’m so comfortable serving him now. Yet I’m still afraid to be his whore. Why does it bother me to be thought of as a slut? Tears of humiliation well up in my eyes. Raising an eyebrow, as simply stated as possible, I hear my husband say, “This will happen.”
And so it begins. My first orgasm rips through me before he even gets a single finger entered. Skin still singing from the lash of the flogger, his soft thumb circling my clit pushes me over the edge and also begins the fulfillment of a fantasy never spoken aloud.
As soon as my clitoral orgasm rips through me, his middle finger plants deep and strokes my g-spot, finger fucking me in a “come hither” motion until I come for the second time. I shout out my gratitude to him as he makes good on his promise, instantly adding a second finger and maintaining speed.
I am helpless to do anything but get back to that point again; ass clenching, stomach tightening, drowning for breath and feeling that earthquake rip through my stretched out body. As a woman who has had orgasms severely restricted for months now I find myself in quite the predicament. I’m so relieved and excited to have the rights to orgasm whenever I want, yet here I lay, terrified to do so.
There is no way he can put his whole fist inside of me. Impossible.
I feel three fingers start to pry open my tight hole and he feels me clench uncomfortably. He takes his left hand and pins my stomach to the bed, keeping my hips from squirming, and he waits like that until my body submits to accept his increasing presence.
Leo meets my eyes and whispers, “Good girl,” and in that instant nothing else exists in the world.
He starts moving around in my wetness again, stretching, bringing me back to my brink. As I squirt my drenching female orgasm for the fourth time he takes advantage and adds another digit and there I lay, spread eagle and exposed, four fingers full sounding like a hungry animal: howling and sweating and coming. He lets go of my stomach and I can now buck my hips up to accept him, greedily wanting more; ready to give him all of me just as he had predicted.
In this moment something bizarre happens. I leave myself. I am there, being devoured yet I am not “there.” My mind detaches itself from my body and the two exist apart now, one not able to control the other. My body is limp meat; I couldn’t prevent myself from having an orgasm again if I tried. A guttural low growl is coming from deep in my throat and I am unable to stop it or change it or reduce it.
Mentally I am hovering outside of myself in a darkness unresponsive. The only thing I can do is feel want. Need. Desire. The pry of his entire fist enters inside of me. A rush of tears run over my cheeks as he makes good on his promise, gaping my slash open and splitting me in two with his whole self.
I cry and come. I come and cry. Every time he moves in and out of me he brings with a gush like has never been seen before in our bed. I hover over the oh-so thin tightrope between absolute pain and absolute pleasure. I hear nothing but the blood rushing in my brain. I feel nothing but his complete dominance over my body. I see nothing but his face, my Mister, who knows me so well.
I continue to uncontrollably orgasm while waiting for his choice on when I will stop and I become Leo Donnovan’s perfect, beautiful whore. Gone are any thoughts of humiliation or shame. Only existing is the connection of he and I, Dominant and submissive, power exchanged, fulfilling our needs.
His hand brushes my cheek and the first thing I consciously notice is the crust of dried tears on my face. Coming through a haze I cannot tell if I have been asleep or passed out or what exactly. I feel drugged and hung-over and everything aches.
I move to a fetal position and only give a passing thought to my wrists and ankles being free now. I couldn’t care less how or when that happened. I remember snippets of being fisted, of being fucked
, of teeth clashing in hard kisses and my begging for more.
I hear my voice in my head remembering, “More Sir, pleeeeeease more uhh-ahhhh-more-more-more!” Cringe.
Curled up on top of sheets soaked straight through the towel I cover my eyes with one hand and grasp my destroyed vagina with the other and in the darkness I sob and shiver uncontrollably.
Leo consoles me: asking how he can help, enveloping my nakedness with a soft blanket, rubbing me lightly. I don’t give a shit about him in the moment. I just need to live in the blackness of my overwhelming reality of being treated like I just was. And I begged for it, I fucking begged for it. I got exactly what I wanted so why the tears? What is wrong with me?
In enters that question, the fear that has hounded me all along since BDSM entered our lives and bedroom: What is wrong with me to want this?
It causes me to lose any grasp on control I have left. I feel sick and helpless. Leo gets off the bed and I slip back into unknowingness.
Five minutes later? Thirty minutes later? I feel Leo lifting me up in his arms and I move my hands to hold him around his neck, feeling like a needy child. He carries me into the bathroom and I slam my eyes shut, not ready for what I see in the mirror. I am already struggling to cope with the all-over stickiness that is his come lingering with mine and the discomfort of my loins and the smell of sex everywhere.
He kisses me lightly on my forehead and lowers me into an almost too hot bath. I hiss inward at the sting and then relish in the comfort as the warmth engulfs my tortured body. I feel like I have been hit by a truck. Or, I think as a smile curls onto my lip, mauled by a lion. I guess that is exactly what happened. Leo presses a cup to those smiling lips and the cool fresh water fills me back up after I have been so emptied out.
My husband pays me back the favor I have given to him many times recently. He bathes me; cleans my stinging skin more gently than I would have assumed possible. I let him tend to me because I am too helpless to do much else and once clean he lets me soak while I hear him changing our sheets to the spare set that I laundered earlier today.
