Call me Duchess

The next day

I wake in bed alone, my hair a mess. I have thick bags under my eyes and a tear-stained face. I rub the restlessness from my eyes and lean up from bed. As I sit on the edge, I recap the event from the previous night. My husband and his frumpy, unattractive --innocent temp assistant, fucked, right in front of me. I take a deep breath and massage my neck a little before I head toward the shower. My husband had left without so much as a goodbye kiss. His ability to make me feel so small is impeccable. I turn the water on high and take off my t-shirt and panties. As the steam fills room, I take a moment to look at my nakedness in the mirror. I cup my breast lifting them back upright. They've begun to droop. I pinch my dark brown nipple and examine my areola- bumpy. I grab a fist full of my long wavy hair and hoist it up in a high ponytail and then let it fall down my back. "Hmm...time for haircut," I say to myself. As I continue looking myself over, I notice a few stretch marks have begun to surface along my thighs. Dark ridged lines embossed on my smooth brown skin. I sigh, tilting my head disappointed with what I see. The fog creeps up the mirror before I can continue my self-assessment. The shower is just what I need to snap me out of this funk. It's the weekend after all. I've got this palace to myself and a cellar full of wine. Once I finish rinsing the shampoo from my hair I step out and devise a plan. Get some work done, then I'm going out.

I spend the next few hours working through a bottle of wine and responding to emails. I finally manage to finish that damned budget and reached out about the student Bloomy mentioned yesterday. Once I finish with my emails, I scroll through my documents and pull up our marriage agreement. I needed to clear the air about what had happened. I open the document and scroll through it-

Section C. Soft limits

Should the submissive violate the terms of the Dom in any form, the Dom may choose to invoke a soft limit:

-Wax play: using candle wax or bees wax heated up. Pouring directly onto skin.

-Asphyxiation: breath play.

-Cuckolding: sleeping with another person while the submissive or Dom watches.

-Torture play: torture play.

I take a sip of wine and read further. "Shit, what rule did I break?" I say to myself as I keep scrolling toward his sheet of rules.

Mr. Timber's rules:

-The submissive will adhere to these rules under all circumstances unless released by the Dom.

-The submissive will refer to the Dom as Master, Sir, or Daddy

-The submissive will maintain an attitude of respect and admiration. Talking back, questioning, or testing the Dom is a punishable offense.

-The submissive will maintain an average blood alcohol level while the Dom is home. She will not drink in access and become intoxicated.

-The submissive will dress as the Dom sees fit.

And there it was, in plain writing. I had gotten too damned tipsy. He knew exactly which limit to throw at me. God, I can't stand that man sometimes. This man, who was in tune with my heart and who matched my vibe, my lifestyle. He used what he knew about me against me, to set my soul aflame. This game we play, however toxic- I must redeem myself.

I shut my laptop and resolve to let loose, to forget about him and be free for the night. It's time to party. "Let's see," I think as I scroll through my phone looking for someone to keep me company. After about 30 seconds. I realize how few friends I have and toss my phone aside. "Fuck it." I head to my bedroom and pull out a plethora of outfits from which to choose. My closet is incredibly full, but I swear I can never find anything to wear. After struggling to find something to wear, I change tactics. I will focus on comfort over sex appeal. Then it hit me. I grab my black leather pants, the ones that hug my thighs just right and a long flowy white tee shirt which hangs a little low and reveals the top of my breast. I paired my outfit with my red leather jacket and black combat boots and offset it with my black wide brimmed hat. I am pleased by the reflection I see in the mirror. I head into the boudoir and begin accessorizing and doing my make-up. Red lipstick, a few sprits of perfume: wrist- wrist, Tit-tit. I stand and take a final look in the mirror, grabbing my red Michael Kors clutch and phone and head out to the garage.