When the slap came, she was prepared for it. It still stung, as it always did, but now she was immune to the true impact it intended. After finally breaking free of the gravity that held her in his clutches, she'd told him plainly that she was leaving him.
He was enraged, of course. He always was - whether it was because she forgot to bring him a beer during dinner or she left her towel on the bathroom floor. It had been this way for years and his behavior was no surprise. She'd been told she was less-than so many times that she was almost ready to believe it...until she met Him.
He was a customer at her shop - buying a trinket on a slow day. The moment he'd entered she seemed to be drawn to him - and by his reaction, he was clearly feeling the same. They'd talked for an hour before he had to leave - but he came back the next day. They had coffee. They discussed life - philosophy. Pent-up anger, stress and sorrow bubbled out of her and she was soon baring herself to him and he repaid her disclosure in kind. An openness that she had never encountered before. He reminded her that she was her own woman - reminded her of the pieces of herself that she'd swept away by necessity due to her husband. And she wanted him - more than she had ever wanted anyone else, and as this realization dawned, she knew she wanted to give herself to him. This man - this virtual stranger - had awakened a strength within her that had long since lain dormant. When he had playfully suggested that he would be happy to claim her, her pulse quickened - as though the answer was given to a question she'd long forgotten to ask.
And so, when her soon-to-be ex-husband reared back for another slap, it was especially pleasing to see the surprise on his face when her knee found his groin. When he hit the floor, eyes wide with shock, she kicked him again.
"We're done. If you ever come near me again, I'll have you arrested, you cowardly prick. You'll hear from the lawyer." She spat. And with that, she grabbed her purse, the two bags she'd packed before he made it home from work and left. The adrenaline surging through her made her incredibly giddy and oddly, brought tears to her eyes. She wiped them, a smile on her face, as she took the turn towards His house.
She wasn't certain she would be welcome - it wasn't as though she'd planned to arrive her. During their last coffee visit, when his hand found her knee and thigh beneath the table, his voice low and his eyes fixed on hers, he'd told her she was always welcome at his home. But he was still a stranger, even after the month of time that had elapsed. Such a narrow window to completely change her life, but here she was... pulling up into the modest driveway of his home.
She sat in the driveway for what seemed like an eternity, unsure if she was ready to make a new plunge after such a fresh upheaval. She'd made it as far as unbuckling her seatbelt when she saw him standing in the doorway of his house, smiling at her, leaning on the frame casually. Waiting.
Swallowing hard, wiping her face and putting on her best smile, she stepped from the car. Time passed before he beckoned her inside, disappearing through the door and leaving it open for her. She grabbed her bags and carried them over the threshold. Her heart, which had already been thrumming steadily, picked up its pace. She could feel it beating in her ears, nervous and unsure. When he closed the door behind her, his hand touching her face before taking her bags, the nervousness thawed. He carried them wordlessly down the hall and into a bedroom at the far end. She followed, wringing her hands, tentative. Placing her bags on the large bed, he turned to her.
"Something to drink? I was about to have a beer, myself." He gave her another reassuring smile, stepping around her and heading back down the hall, turning towards what she presumed was the kitchen. Again, she followed.
When the beers were open and sitting on the counter in front of them, they sat. He didn't say a word, watching her curiously. Her eyes fixed on the granite countertop. For some reason, she felt an odd sense of shyness. But he appeared to be waiting patiently, taking the occasional sip of his beer.
"I left him." She said finally. Saying it, hearing her own words, felt alien. "I never want to see him again." The words began to tumble out. "I just had enough. He slapped me and told me I was a silly bitch and..." her hand found her cheek, as if remember the strike. "I kicked him in the balls." She smiled at this realization, the giddiness returning. When she looked up, he was smiling at her warmly.
"Good girl." he said softly, reaching out and stroking her cheek.
Of all the things she'd heard or been told over the years, hearing that - being told that... it was as though a lock inside her clicked open. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and cheeks flushed. And, to her surprise, she felt herself become wet.
But he did nothing. For two days, they went to work, had dinner together... And he did nothing. This didn't abate her growing want - it only refined her curiosity of him. Here she was, a guest staying in his home clearly displaying vulnerability and want simultaneously, and he did nothing. He provided everything she needed and gave her what she needed most without even realizing: Space.
Nearly a week had passed and her ex-husband had steered clear. Her life seemed to be on the mend and she stopped worrying about her ex making a grand appearance. (Though she still kept hold of a can of pepper spray every time she left the house, just to be sure.). Despite this, something began to gnaw at her. Her hosts lack of engagement with her started to bother her - why didn't he make a move when he clearly wanted to? When she clearly wanted him to?
That night, when they sat down to a dinner of pasta and wine she'd made as a small token of thanks, she built up the nerve to ask him. "Why... haven't you tried anything with me?"
He smiled at her from the across the table and took a sip of wine. "That's not my decision to make." he said simply, taking another bite of pasta and swallowing before speaking again. "You just took a pretty big leap. The choice to pursue anything is in your hands. When you are ready... not me."
She sat silently for a moment, sipping her own wine. Her choice. In the eight years of marriage to a man she'd loved at first but gradually became a monster, she'd stopped considering her choices. What her ex-husband wanted - anything to keep his temper in check - was what he got. She had let herself become isolated and withdrawn - never considering anything else outside of her gilded cage of a nice house, car and her business. Even the word "choice" felt alien in her mind. Dangerous. Dangerous, yes... but exciting.
While washing the few dishes together, she reached out and stroked his arm. "What if I choose to want you." She said, her eyes rising to meet his own.
He gave her a playful smirk. "Well, I want you, too... but I'm looking for a bit more."
She looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
He took her hand, still soapy, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I want you to give yourself to me, willingly and completely. I want you to submit yourself to me." As if reading the look on her face, he gave a small nod and began drying a plate.
Submit? What did he mean? She could readily give herself to him - her body told her that truth - but what did he mean by submit? And, as if reading her mind, he put down the plate and towel, and strolled across the dining room into his den. The walls there were lined with books ranging over a thousand topics - she'd originally assumed they were for show but it was clear by what he was able to speak to that he wasn't a poseur. Taking a small hardcover book off one of the shelves, he brought it to her and placed it in her hands before his hands held hers. He looked into her eyes and spoke warmly to her. "Read this, if you want to learn what I mean. This won't tell you everything you need to know and it won't define you. Don't let it, either. This is not about what I want - it's about something I see within you that I hope I'm right about. If you want to see how far down this rabbit hole we can travel, you may find that answer in this book." He stroked her cheek again and then, to her surprise, slipped close to her and gave her a soft, quick kiss on the lips before returning to the kitchen.
She blinked, watching him return to the dishes, and then looked down at the book in her hands. The title read, "A Graceful Introduction to Submission". That night, she did indeed open the book and began to read. She found, to her surprise, the concepts were not at all alien or unwelcome. She had, with her ex-husband, been submissive. But it was neither true submission nor welcome. He had forced her into that role through his abuse and degradation of her self. The book's concepts, on the other hand, brought to mind what her host had stated clearly to her - her submission was a choice. To give her submission was a gift, and by doing so, the power to gift to whomever she wished was in her hands entirely. It was not weakness, like the bastardized form her ex-husband had forced on her. It was a release - a trust. She burned through the thin volume, her curiosity fully awakened.
Her host was right, however - the concepts resonated with her. The following day she spent most of the afternoon combing the internet for more, becoming the student she had been before life took her down the wrong road. She learned basic tenets, ideas... learned that submission came in a multitude of forms that intrigued and dazzled her. There was so much to learn and she was only dipping a toe into a vast ocean of information. But as she read more and her knowledge blossomed, her resolve grew along with it.
Two nights later, her host let her know he wouldn't be home until later in the evening. Before that day she had continued to study and had even ordered a few new books to read. But after hours of contemplating her next actions, she knew what she wanted to do. Arriving home from her shop, she quickly showered and began to prepare. Makeup applied, nails done... things her ex-husband neither appreciated or wanted her to wear because they "drew attention." Standing in the mirror in her guest bathroom, she admired the look of herself. Feeling sexy again - vital. Dropping the robe she wore around her ankles, leaving herself nude, she admired herself. While in the shower earlier she'd had somewhat of a wild hare and shaved her mons pubis almost entirely (save for a small strip she'd seen in porn once but had never tried), her lower lips visible to her in the mirror for the first time in a while - another legacy of her ex-husband... he'd insisted that the lack of hair was "slutty." She smirked at this memory and thought to herself, "Yes, it is a little... but I love it." She ran her hand over her body as if rediscovering her own curves and then nodded, pleased. Next she put on a new nearly-sheer black lace teddy, a matching black thong, and then carefully rolled stockings up her slender legs to her thighs. When she was done with her outfit, she walked across the house. She'd considered wearing high heels but they seemed problematic - she was careful not to slip as she navigated the wood floors of the hall to his bedroom door.
