“Useless motherfucker. You know what that jerk did? Let’s grab a protein shake. I’ll tell you what he did…” Lorraine was about to begin a rant but Tara didn’t have time for that right now. She tossed her towel over her shoulder as she headed out of the yoga room.
“Next time. Sorry. Gotta run.”
Lorraine pulled a face as she watched Tara hurry away. She was more than a little suspicious that all was not what it seemed in her friend’s world.
Tara made a bee line to the women’s locker room.
“Tara!” a male voice shouted. She turned around to see a black-eyed Finlay Johnstone walking towards her.
“Hi, Finlay,” Tara smiled.
“Hey, babe. Haven’t seen you in a while. Did Clem tell you I ran into him last night?” Finlay beamed like an enthusiastic college kid.
“Yes, he did actually.”
“Think he fucked his rotator cuff,” Finlay laughed as if that was a good thing.
“Yeah, he was icing it last night.” Tara was intrigued. Clem’s story seemed watertight though she couldn’t help but stare at Finlay’s shiner. “What happened to your eye?”
“Awww, I was playing squash with this crazy guy last night and he dinged me good,” Finlay grinned, as if wearing a badge of honor.
“Jack Perkins?”
“Yeah, Jack! You know him? Man, that dude’s dangerous!” It was almost as if Clem had primed Finlay on what to say if he ever ran into his wife.
“Seems like it. Look, I gotta run but good seeing you, Fin.”
“Later gator!”
As Finlay headed out to the pool, Tara dashed into the locker room to get showered and changed.
Tara drove down Valley View Road to Trader Joe’s. So, Clem had been telling the truth after all, she thought. Unless Finlay Johnstone was in on it, too.
No, that was ridiculous.
She was becoming paranoid. Lorraine’s words were coming back to haunt her. Tara was starting to become very resentful of Clem. The trust was gone. She
had
to learn the truth and she knew she was on the right track.
Aside from her feelings towards her husband, Tara felt yesterday’s session with Mistress Krystal had given her a glimpse of a secret world. It had opened her eyes to a Pandora’s box of perversion she knew existed but had never seen so up close and personal before. She was starting to understand why a woman would get some sort of sordid egotistical pleasure by being so in control. To be able to make a circuit court judge get down on his hands and knees, and then thank you for slapping, kicking and belting him must be incredibly empowering. Mistress Krystal was certainly a fascinating woman with one foot in the real world and the other on the dark side. She was everything Tara wasn’t -- tough, street smart and oozing with sex appeal. This was a woman you were not going to mess with because she knew how to look after herself. There was no reason for Tara to like this woman but now she was starting to envy her.
Tara’s plan was now underway and she had to follow it through to the letter. She’d driven by an adult store a few times that sold sex toys and fetish clothing on her occasional trips out of suburbia and now that was precisely where she needed to go. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, the thought of dressing up in all that tight leather excited Tara. She remembered how hot Michelle Pfeiffer and Halle Berry had both looked all dressed up as Catwoman in those movies a few years back. If Clem was going to show up at Mistress Krystal’s apartment, she needed some sort of disguise so he wouldn’t realize it was his own wife flogging him. Yes, if she was going to do this, there was no doing it by halves. She was going to have to go the whole hog.
Madame X
on Lyndale Avenue had an impressive selection of leather and latex wear. Everything from masquerade masks and bodices to thigh high boots and full body cat suits. Hanging from the ceiling was a steel cage. In the middle of the store was a large wooden spinning wheel with clamps for wrists and ankles. Over in a corner were several strange contraptions made of metal that Tara could only imagine were more torturous devices. It seemed as if half the stuff on display had come out of the Middle Ages in Europe.
Tara flicked through the clothing racks and checked the prices. This stuff wasn’t cheap but it all looked like it was very well made. A heavily tattooed and overly pierced sales assistant with her head half shaved approached.
“We custom design all our latex and leatherwear in our studio upstairs,” the surprisingly sweetly spoken young woman told Tara.
“Oh, I’m just looking, thanks,” Tara lied.
“That’s why you won’t find anything in our store with ‘Made in China’ on the label like in some other fetish stores I could name.”
“Oh, really? That’s good to know,” Tara smiled, casually flicking through the corsets on a rack but now with a greater appreciation of the workmanship.
“The calf leather we import directly from Italy and the corsets and bodices are hand sewn in-house by our designers. Everything is handcrafted. We get online orders from all over the world.” It was very apparent that this was a serious business.
“Very impressive,” Tara nodded, hoping the punky sales girl would leave her alone though one particular black leather bodice caught her eye.
“Try it on,” the sales girl suggested. Tara held the bodice up to her lean torso and stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. The sales girl pointed to the changing rooms.
“No, really. I’m just looking,” Tara insisted.
“Y’know, if you’re just looking for a fancy dress costume there’s one of those party stores over at Ridgedale Mall.”
“No, I’m in the right place, thanks.” Tara gave her a flat smile, hoping she’d leave her alone. The girl took the hint. As Tara looked around at the enormous variety of fetish items on sale, she realized this was more than just kinky behavior for strange people. This was a lifestyle choice that involved serious financial investment.
Tara must have spent an hour inside
Madame X
, trying on various leather and latex garments and flicking through the pages of various books on the subject of female domination. It was the vast array of shiny black shoes and boots that most piqued her interest and by the time Tara left the store over an hour later, she was several boxes heavier and more than a few hundred dollars lighter. A black-lipped checkout girl had neatly wrapped and packed Tara’s purchases into two large carrier bags each with a large purple Madame X logo. This was clothing that Tara knew would never be hanging in her closet and those shopping bags would have to be shredded.
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.