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I had to shower again when I woke from my nap, because I was sweaty and sore and icky from the chastity belt. I put my thick, curly hair up in a twist and stood under the warm water, hugging my body and brushing my hands over my still-sore ass. I felt a little aroused—how was that possible? A little aroused, but also exhausted.
When I got back to the guest room, my phone was on the bed. I picked it up and found a series of messages from Andrew.
U ok girl?
Was Price really mad?
Ugh, my head hurts. U ok?
I dried off and put on a soft linen dress with some leggings, then typed back to my friend.
Everything’s fine. Price was hopping mad but over it now. I smiled to myself and added, I should be able to walk again by your wedding.
He and Craig were kinky too, so he’d get it. I closed my phone and steadied my wobbly knees. I needed food.
Price greeted me in the kitchen with the exact kind of food I needed, bland, healthy stuff. I ate a small salad and a turkey, lettuce, and tomato sandwich with some orange juice. His sandwich had bacon on it, but I didn’t get any.
I got a poem instead. I saw the paper beside my plate as soon as I walked in, though I didn’t read it until I had some food in me. He never rushed me with his poems. Like a kiss, or a whipping, they were meant to be savored.
If pain was the first hallmark of our relationship, poetry was the second. Pain and poetry, our recipe for success. I’d asked him the night we married if he would still write me poetry, now that he’d put a ring on it. He’d punished me for just for asking. Of course, he’d said, making me cry with a hard spanking over his knee. Of course, I will.
I opened the folded paper to see what snippet he’d come up with today. Sometimes he wrote the poems, sometimes they were written by others. I scanned the short stanza transcribed in his blocky hand.
Adrift! A little boat adrift!
And night is coming down!
Will no one guide a little boat
Unto the nearest town?
“I suppose I’m the little boat?” I managed a smile, looking up at him. “And you must be the nearest town.”
“I thought it was clever.”
“You’ve been reading Emily Dickinson again.” I wasn’t familiar with this poem, but the exclamation points were a dead giveaway. “It’s a good thing we didn’t live in the mid-1800s. You’d have left me for her in a heartbeat.”
“That would have depended on how much of a freak she was.” He shrugged. “I probably still would have chosen you. How are you feeling, starshine?”
“Better.” I hugged myself, glad my headache had finally abated. “I really have learned a lesson. Avoid gay stag parties in the future.” It had been fun—loads of fun—but not worth the aftermath. I sobered, gazing at my husband. I could see he’d lost sleep by the lines beside his eyes. “I’m sorry I drank too much and fell off the radar. I know you worried.”
“With good reason. Things happen to women in the city. You snarked at me about kidnapping, but abductions and human trafficking are a thing.”
“I was with a group. I was safe.”
“I had no way of knowing that, you little fuck. I pictured you hog-tied in a trunk with duct tape over your mouth. And not in a fun, kinky way.”
Getting kidnapped from a gay bachelor party still seemed unlikely to me, but I’d worried my husband and I shouldn’t have. He was my ruler, my sir, my Master. I touched my neck, feeling the ghost of the collar I’d recently returned to its place on his bedside table.
“I love you,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows. “I just want you to be safe.”
“I know. I messed up. I promise I’ll do better.”
“Come here.”
I pushed away from my place at the kitchen table and went into his arms, curling into his embrace. His cashmere sweater—tan this time—felt soft where I rested my cheek. He held me on his lap for a long time, stroking my hair, occasionally stroking my bruised ass through my snug-fitting leggings. No words were necessary, so he didn’t give me any. His tenderness was enough. A few tears squeezed from my closed eyes, leftover emotion from our heightened session in the dungeon. This was when our scenes ended for me…when he held me and kissed me, with both our hearts beating as one.
“I’ll always love you, little boat,” he murmured. “Even when you drift off course.”
