Back home, Tara spent the rest of the afternoon reading The Art Of Domination. She plowed through through the pages like an A grade student cramming for exams. She read up on all aspects of the subject and studied the historical imagery - from its Samurai origins of rope-tying to bondage trends in modern mainstream fashion. There were exquisite Victorian drawings of scantily clad women spanking naked men to articles on the psychological aspects of fetish behavior. It was incredulous to Tara that this sort of freakiness had been going on for so many years and in so many cultures.
The more she read more on the subject of female domination and why men felt the need to go to a dominatrix, the more she thought about how it all related to Clem. Had he always been like this? If so, how come she didn’t know about it? Was she that blind? Did he marry her because she had a dominating personality? Surely not.
All these thoughts flashed through her head though she really couldn’t come up with any definite answers. But Clem did fit the profile of someone who might crave an urge like this. He had been under so much pressure in his work environment and he was a man who had considerable power. By all accounts, he was the poster boy for BDSM.
Her female intuition was telling her that this was the only route she could pursue to understand her husband’s secret life and to keep her marriage intact. Mistress Krystal would teach her everything she needed to know so that she could satisfy Clem’s secret desires, then he would have no need to pay some strange woman to do all these nasty, painful things to him. And God knows how much money he’d spent for these kinds of services throughout their marriage.
Sure, she was still mad as Hell that he was deceiving her but was he having actual sexual intercourse with her or not? That was the big question. It would change everything if they were fucking. If he wasn’t, and she had to know for certain, Tara felt she could save her marriage. If he was, then that was it. Done. Over. And that made her very sad. But until she could prove it either way, Clem had a stay of execution. Tara voraciously absorbed the information. She read and read and read….
Dominatrix, Mistress, Maitresse, Fem Dom: female controller of men or women. They are to be obeyed. If instructions are not followed as strictly ordered, the submissive kneeling before her accepts full responsibility for the punishment they will endure for their disrespect and disobedience.
The male species is brought into this world by the strength of a woman then raised in the protective custody of a mother. And into adulthood, he will seek the comfort of a female. Through all these passages in life he will become enslaved emotionally by the power of a woman. He now kneels before the Fem Dom, eagerly awaiting and anticipating his fate.
These males remember all too clearly how they were spanked, slapped, scolded and punished for errant behavior at the hands of their larger, stronger female governess, mother or teacher when they were much younger. Some learnt that they enjoyed the harsh treatment they received when they were bad. They would deliberately misbehave and act out to be severely physically reprimanded. To be punished only excited them as it does today. It gave them a pleasure they could not quite fathom or understand at that tender age. And perhaps they still don’t fully understand why this excites them so. But this is what they crave. This is what they need - like an addiction to a drug they cannot and will not try to kick.
The Fem Dom is that Governess, that teacher, that strict mother who can take them back to a time when children did as they were told or faced the consequences. She will take them on a psychological mind trip back to when they were powerless children with no responsibilities, no worries and no concerns. These men are submissives in her presence. They are weak and obedient. They kneel, crawl, and grovel to her. They worship her. They adore her. But away from her control, they can be very different beasts. These very same men often hold power in society – politicians, CEOs, lawyers, doctors, bankers - men who spend their days, weeks, months even years, controlling others. Their jobs and their decisions make or break the lives of others. But the constant need for them to appear strong and wise takes its toll. They can never appear weak or indecisive in their public life. They need an outlet to release the pressure they are constantly under. It is these men that seek out the services of a professional Dominatrix. They need to reverse their roles and become the servant. They need to be able to emotionally let loose - to wince, whimper and cry – but away from the eyes of those who would judge them and topple them. They need the privacy and sanctity of a discreet individual who understands them and protects them.
A Dominatrix: a Fem Dom, is the answer for these men of power. She is their outlet, their only opportunity to feel ‘normal’ again far away from their role-playing in real life. Being with their Fem Dom is more real than their ‘reality.’ This is where they can feel whole again. Only she understands them, only she knows their needs and won’t judge them. She is their therapist.
They may leave battered and bruised physically but mentally they are invigorated. Their strength is renewed to be more powerful again tomorrow.
Tara stopped reading and took a breath. Wow, these were men with deep psychological problems. Could Clem really have all these issues? This was stuff she knew could never be discussed with some by-the-book marriage counselor. In any case, why would Clem open up in therapy if he couldn’t be honest with her? Tara wondered. Maybe it all started with the relationship Clem had with his mother or father when he was a child. Did either of them ever spank him? Was he bullied at school?
Tara felt a void of knowledge about the man she’d known all these years. Or thought she knew. As she turned to another page of the book, she heard the garage door open. Surely, that couldn’t be Clem? It was way too early for him to be home. She quickly slammed the cover shut and looked for a place to hide it. She stuffed it in her underwear drawer and arranged her panties and thongs to conceal it. It seemed as good a place as any considering the state of their sex life.
Tara skipped down the stairs and wandered in to the kitchen, feeling like she’d been busted. It flustered her. Clem tossed his jacket on the island counter.
“You’re home early. Everything okay?”
“No, I wasn’t fired,” Clem reassured her.
“Well, I hope not,” Tara breathed a sigh of relief. Clem seemed in an unusually good mood for once.
“It’s beautiful outside. Let’s go for a bike ride.” Clem kicked off his shoes and started to unbutton his shirt as he headed upstairs to change. This was taking Tara totally by surprise. She smiled nervously and eyed him suspiciously.
“Have you been drinking?” Tara called up to their bedroom as Clem put on a t-shirt and shorts.
“No! Not at all!” Clem yelled back down. Tara looked outside. It certainly was a truly glorious afternoon and with Minnesota’s cruelly short summers you enjoyed while you got it.
“Do we still have bikes?” Tara shouted, genuinely not sure as it had been so long since they had cycled anywhere.
“Probably need some air in the tires,” Clem yelled back, already running down the stairs.
“Okay, I guess I’ll put some shorts on too then,” said Tara, not quite sure what had gotten into her husband.
By the time she had changed into more appropriate biking attire, Clem had pumped up the tires and wiped the accumulation of dirt and dust off their two mountain bikes. Out on the driveway, Clem was saddled up and ready to go.
“Let’s hit that trail down by the lake.”
They both cycled off down the driveway onto the sidewalk of Dunkirk Crescent. Within a few minutes, Clem and Tara were peddling along the trail to Caribou Lake. The tree-lined bike path was dappled in golden beams of sunlight bursting through the branches and myriad shades of green. Several small deck boats and runabouts were speeding over the water, pulling skiers and tubers. Squeals of delight echoed as moms and their young kids played on the small man-made beach near the ice-cream cart. The scene looked like a photo shoot out of a 1950s edition of Time-Life magazine.
As they cycled the pictu
resque vistas along the north side of the water, Clem started to pedal slower. Tara knew something was up. This just wasn’t normal behavior for Clem – sure, it used to be back in their California days when they cycled the beachfront boardwalk – but not in recent memory. In fact, judging from his cranky moods over the previous few months, this was totally out of character. But this was the Clem she missed. This was the guy she wanted back but something wasn’t right about all this.
Clem cycled up to a ridge that overlooked much of Eden Prairie. It was hot now and Tara was struggling to keep up with him. He got off his bike and stared out at the view. Tara pushed her bike up the remaining few yards to join him.
“Wow,” said Tara as she looked out down at the thousands of homes and the large shopping mall that now occupied what was once open prairie just fifty years ago. The lake sparkled in the sunlight as ripples of waves gently lapped up to the sandy shoreline.
“Imagine how great it looked before we built all that crap,” Clem said ruefully, pointing at the transmission towers that blighted their view. They stood silently for a moment.
“That’s progress for you,” Tara said, wistfully.
“We need to talk.”
Tara’s heart sunk. Whatever was eating at Clem was about to be divulged.
“About what?” Tara asked innocuously, not wanting their brief moment to be ruined by what she knew was coming next -- the confession she’d been waiting for. Or would this be merely a version of the truth? She held her breath in anticipation.
“If I lose my job, we don’t have a lot of options,” Clem sighed.
Huh? This wasn’t the conversation she was expecting. Maybe this was Clem’s way of working his way around to the real subject he wanted to talk about.
“What are you talking about? You’re gonna make CEO.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Look, if you lose your job we leave Minnesota and move back to California. What’s so complicated about that?” Tara prompted, feeding Clem’s train of thought and actually rather liking the idea.
“We can’t afford to go back.”
“We’ve got money, Clem. We’re not broke.”
Clem didn’t respond. He stared out at a small deck boat leaving a trail of white water in its trail as it sped across the sparkling lake.
“My point is, the ad biz is in real bad shape. Everyone I know in New York, Chicago and L.A. is getting laid off. These are guys who could’ve hired me a few years ago but they’re gone now. This fucking economy is brutal. Retail is getting its ass kicked and now everyone’s cutting back.”
Tara had not heard Clem speak negatively like this before. He’d always been the eternal optimist, even when he’d come home tired and grumpy, he’d always figured it was for the greater good in the long run. This wasn’t the conversation she wanted to have with her husband but rather than wait for any kind of personal confession, Tara pressed him for more insight into his work situation. What did Clem know that he wasn’t letting on? She thought.
“So you’re obviously thinking Fitz will make CEO, is that it?”
“Shit, I don’t know anymore. Rebakor is now going with some campaign Fitz presented behind my back. The old man must be in on this.” Clem wasn’t a quitter but he was sounding like a beaten man, figuratively and literally. “I need a knockout punch to win this now because it seems I’m way down on points.”
Tara had never met Kurt Fitzgerald. All she knew about him was what she’d heard over the years from Clem and some of the other employees at Bergenson & Adler when she’d gone to the occasional company event: he was a womanizer and ethically corrupt.
“I don’t think I’d like him if I met him,” said Tara as she watched two quacking ducks fly out of the reeds below. Clem didn’t say anything. “So, anything else you want to tell me?” asked Tara, hoping Clem’s introspective mood might turn the conversation to the topic of her husband’s sexual exploits.
Clem looked at her with a quizzical expression.
“Like what?” he asked. Tara shrugged.
“I don’t know. What else is on your mind?”
“Oh yeah,” Clem answered quickly, snapping out of his mood, “I have a six o’clock meeting in town with Daniel Ellerby on Friday that’ll keep me tied up for a while.”
Tied up? Tara wasn’t sure if that was a Freudian slip on Clem’s part but that was the day she would be visiting Mistress Krystal’s apartment again. Shit! This could be the day of reckoning. Everything was coming to a head.
“And you’ll be tied up for how long?” Tara asked, desperately hoping to sound nonchalant but really pushing for more details.
“Who knows?” Clem looked back out at the view. That irritated Tara. Clem was being vague and she didn’t like it.
“So who’s this ‘Daniel Ellerby’ character?”
“He’s flying in from L.A. Said he wanted to meet me. Very last minute.”
“I’ve never heard you mention that name before,” Tara pressed. Clem turned to look at his wife, sensing her unblinking stare.
“He’s a headhunter.” Clem frowned at the apparent grilling Tara was now giving him. And she wasn’t finished.
“Okay, so you’re meeting someone called Daniel Ellerby on Friday night at six. Anything else you want to tell me?” Clem really didn’t appreciate Tara’s tone. He’d wanted a peaceful bike ride on this fine afternoon, not an argument. Clem jabbed back.
“No, Tara. There’s nothing else I want to tell you. Jesus. What’s gotten into you?”
“Y’know what, Clem? You don’t have a monopoly on being pissed off. Other people can be moody, too.”
And with that, Tara put a foot on a pedal and pushed off. Clem stood on the ridge and watched Tara cycle away with no clue what could possibly have set her off like that. As Tara cycled back through the park any empathy for Clem she might have felt at the start of their ride had now evaporated and the anger had returned. Why was she bothering to save this marriage? Now he was concocting more stories to cover for his perverse sexual addiction.
Maybe there was someone called Daniel Ellerby but that’s not who he was going to meet this Friday. Why would she want to stay married to a man who would go to such lengths to be so deceitful towards her? Tara imagined the scenario playing out in her head of confronting Clem with his sexual indiscretions. He’d either explode or lie. Clem wouldn’t break down and confess, she knew that for sure. Some men, maybe. But no, not mister-manly-man, Clem Drew – professional bullshitter.
Tara pedaled harder and harder. What she did know for sure was that when Clem finally did show up for his next appointment with Mistress Krystal, she’d take over proceedings and give him a beating he’d never forget. That’d teach him a lesson never to lie and cheat on her again. Best of all, Clem would never guess in a million years that it was her all dressed up all vixen-like behind her Catwoman mask. He’d have no idea he’d just paid to have his own wife slap him around. That would be sweet revenge for Tara. Yes, Tara would be in control then. Complete and utter control. And whether they stayed married or got divorced would be her decision.
That night Tara and Clem didn’t talk. Tara slept in the guest bedroom. Their perfect bike ride had turned sour and left a nasty taste in both their mouths. Dealing with Tara’s increasing moodiness was not Clem’s priority right now. He had to stay focused on work. He knew the reality of him ever finding a job that came anywhere near matching his current salary at Bergensons was extremely remote, even if he left the state and relocated. He was seriously concerned about the future while it seemed to him that Tara’s only worry was what time he would be home on any given night. Through his eyes, she just didn’t seem to fully grasp the seriousness of their situation. He was frustrated at work and just as much so at home.
Next morning, after Clem had left for work, Tara left for the gym. With all the money she’d spent at Madame X, she wanted to look as fit and fabulous as she could. That meant being as lean and toned as possible, even if she would only be dressing
up for perverts. It served her own ego to look her best.
After her yoga class, Tara was completely shot. She laid on her mat like a wet noodle. Lorraine walked over to her and smiled.
“How’s life treating you, girl?” Tara looked up. “You were good today.”
“I just needed a little motivation.” Tara propped herself up on an elbow and sipped her bottled water.
“Wanna grab a protein shake? I really need to tell you the latest episode with Curtis.”
Tara stood up and wiped the back of her neck with her towel. She didn’t want to get embroiled in another long lunch listening to the various ways Lorraine was going to murder Curtis and dump his lifeless body. And neither did she want or need to hear Lorraine’s warped psychoanalysis of her marriage to Clem. What’s more, Tara knew Lorraine would think she was totally off her rocker if she told her she was learning to become a dominatrix and being taught by the very same woman her husband was secretly seeing. Lorraine simply wouldn’t understand any of it. Anyway, she liked this new feeling of empowerment she was experiencing. She couldn’t wait to get home and play dress up.
As she walked towards her SUV, Lorraine came running after her. “Hey, girl!”
Tara really didn’t want to talk. She got in the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. Lorraine tapped on the window. Tara slid it half open.
“Sorry Lorraine. I’ve got to get going.”
“I just want to apologize -- I get so caught up in me sometimes. How’re you and Clem doing? I forgot to ask you.”
“It’s all good now,” Tara lied with a weak smile.
“But that freaky card?” Lorraine frowned.
“Totally bogus. Okay. Gotta go. See you at the next class, okay?” Tara reversed out of her parking space and drove away. Lorraine watched her friend leave, not sure if she’d just be blown off.
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