Aftercare
© William D'Ark 2022
This work is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains graphic language and numerous sexually explicit scenes related to bondage, discipline, and sado-masochistic (BDSM) lifestyles, as well as exhibitionist-voyeur and power exchange relationships which may be considered offensive by some readers. All depicted sexual and/or BDSM activity in this work is considered expressly consensual between adults. All characters and events are entirely fictional and any similarity to real persons living or dead is coincidental.
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The Rodin Sculpture Garden on the Stanford University campus is the largest collection of Rodin bronzes outside of Paris. It's an open garden, meaning there are no gates or fences to deny access. It's a quiet place too, distant from the sports centers that attract tens of thousands of people on the weekends. Almost two dozen large, looming sculptures are available to study and ponder, at night lit obliquely by bright spotlights - as well as the overhead moon if one is lucky enough.
My favorite is the enormous Gates of Hell monument. Created in 1880, it's a pair of bronze doors inspired by Dante's
Divine Comedy.
It stands almost twenty feet tall and depicts an intertwined mass of two hundred writhing figures lost the throes of pain and despair, denied access to Heaven. A miniature version of Rodin's
Thinker
sits atop the morass, contemplating all that woe. Over him, on an exterior bronze footing, stand the Three Fates, goddesses of destiny.
'I think it's interesting that Rodin draws on female archetypes here,' I said to Allison.
We were wrapped up together beneath a blanket I had retrieved from the Acura trunk. We were seated on one of the many comfortable wooden benches scattered through the garden. She was naked of course, curled up next to me wearing only tall dark socks. The sweater and heels lay beneath the blanket too, at her side, next to my folded blazer. It was after midnight. We were all alone.
'Female symbols... I wonder why,' she said sleepily. Dreamily.
'They are the apex of the sculpture. The Fates. Destiny. Overseeing all human misery caused by famine, disease, war. By dismay. There has to be a reason he put them there.'
'So sad, all of that. People have to work hard to make it in life. Even then unexpected crap goes down.'
'I think Rodin set the Fates there to represent female wisdom. As a kind of key or clue. Symbolically offering a way to sidestep or even escape the hell realms. If you know the secret behind the secret...' I let my voice trail off.
'Whaat...' she brooded. 'What secret?'
'You. Your sexuality. Your power. Your
eros.
'
'Ah,' she replied. 'Like we talked about.'
'Eros is the primal force, right? Winding through every aspect of life. It's the same primal energy you channeled all night long. The Greeks wrote about that energy. Sexual rapture. And women as the source of it. They created high rituals to educate people about the potency of a woman's sexual energy. Think of that.'
'But Greek women weren't really liberated, I remember. They couldn't vote. They couldn't serve in government. I don't think there were many women artists either. Or writers.'
'Ever heard of Sappho?' I asked.
'Ohh... sure. Sappho. I forgot. Her poems were
hot.
Women on women... mmm...'
I looked over at her. 'You're bi too?' Another revelation about the mysterious recently empowered sub-slave Allison. 'You might be the perfect woman.'
'Hush...' she said. 'Nobody knows that. I hardly do.' She snuggled closer, flexing cotton covered toes.
'William...' she purred.
'Hmm?'
'Is it okay if I fall in love with you?'
My eyes closed and my chin drooped.
So soon?
'Yes, and...' I paused.
'And?'
'Slowly, okay? A little at a time. Neither of us know where this will lead.'
'I don't care where it leads,' she said, laying her head against my arm. 'I just want to be free to follow my heart. As much as my cunt.' Her eyes drifted up at me.
Aftercare comes in many forms. Many flavors. It's a necessary part of the lifestyle. Healing wounds, both physical and emotional. Heading off adverse reactions to bondage, discipline, pleasure-pain and all the intense sex. Allison was deep into that evening's aftercare. We hadn't discussed it, but I think she understood. The two of us alone at the edge of a woodland, surrounded by classic art, wrapped up in soft warm wool. Lost in thoughtful, low conversation.
'Power exchange is the closest form of relationship,' I said. 'It's all so penetrating, enervating. You and I are bonding at a level most people never discover.'
'I can never ever go back to vanilla. God, it makes me shiver to think of it... ohh...'
'You're going to have experiences that take you into wholly different
mind places
. Even now, with all you've already said yes to, tonight's adventures will pale compared with what's to come.'
Hand at her mouth, she asked, 'Can we be together through it all?'
I answered her honestly. 'Neither of us know, do we? Maybe Rodin's Fates know, but not us'
'Just give me permission to love you, William. Sir.'
'Stand up then, slave...' I commanded in a grinning, mocking voice.
Allison unwound herself from the bench, standing up in front of me, bright skin gleaming in the moonlight.
'Kneel, girl,' I ordered. She did so with a pensive smile. I drew her as close to me as the bench would allow. I wrapped the blanket around us both. She hugged me at the waist, an ear against my chest with my pulse beating hard.
'This heart is yours, dear one. I grant you permission to laugh, to love and to live as you will, according to what meets your needs.' I hugged her hard. 'Do what thou wilt, under the Law, as the saying goes.'
'Our law,' she murmured, snuggling closer. 'Beneath your hand. Please.'
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Half an hour later, the Acura pulled up next to Allison's car, a beat up Rambler if I recall. Neither of us had much to say. I opened the trunk and began to unload the shopping bags, tote sacks and so forth. Wearing the cable knit sweater Allison stashed them in the passenger seat.
'Do you need to put on the Christmas dress?' I asked. 'For mom?'
'Not with all this booty,' she replied. The various sacks had a hard time fitting into the seat. 'Anyway, she would expect me to be wearing this wonderful sweater on a December night.'
