Happy Place

This isn't what love is supposed to be like, Molly thought as she examined the fresh bruises on her neck. Nope, not at all.

The bruises, courtesy of that bastard Carl, were low enough on her neck that she should be able to cover them up with a carefully positioned scarf, but she shouldn't have to do that. She had a good assortment of both scarves and turtlenecks; one needed to when they were married to a man such as Carl.

Standing before the bathroom mirror Molly took stock of her reflection. Her thin face remained pretty but was developing a harshness about it that she didn't really care for. While only twenty five years old she had recently begun noticing lines forming around her eyes and she took time to study them for a moment. Was that a strand of gray hair right at the part line? Ugg, she thought, I'll have to start coloring soon.

"Right after I leave that asshole," she said aloud, though she'd said that dozens of times before. Carl had been good for a long time and it had been almost a two months since he'd last hurt her. But what about next time? She could simply leave him and the next time he lost his temper would be another woman's problem. That seemed even more depressing than getting hit herself. This is my problem, she decided and turned away from the mirror.

Grabbing the down comforter from the foot of the bed, Molly curled up on the couch and began her slow and methodical mediation routine. Closing her eyes, Molly began to put Carl and the argument they'd had the prior evening out of her mind. She was going to her 'happy place'.

She'd learned this technique years earlier from her mother who wanted to help Molly overcome her fear of dentists and doctors, or more accurately, needles. Her mother had taught her to imagine a 'happy place' and to go there in her mind whenever she was scared. Her mother had told her that it could be anything; a fun day at the park, a deserted island, anywhere that made her happy. It had worked and she'd found that the needles really didn't hurt that much anyway. Her happy place as a child was the carnival. She'd imagine the sound of the barkers, the rides, games and cotton candy so intently, it was almost like she was there and within seconds the Novocain or tetanus shot had been administered and all was well with the world again.

That 'happy place' had worked well in her childhood but wasn't enough in such extreme situations. For sullen times such as these Molly had developed a much more effective diversion. Crawling inside her down filled cocoon she allowed the warmth, darkness and fantasy to whisk her away.

It always started the same; the dimly lit room, curtains closed, the only light coming from several large candles on a side table. White linens on the dark mahogany bed, its thick posts reaching toward the ceiling. Thigh high shiny black boots and matching leather gloves were all she wore as she walked slowly across the wooden floor toward her subject. She allowed her stiletto heals to make an authoritative 'click clack' as she walked to the foot of the bed. The handsome man on the mattress squirmed before her, his naked body attempting to pull away though the shackles at his ankles and wrists prevented any form of retreat. He looked European this time, perhaps Italian. She liked olive skin and she wondered if his eyes were dark. Soon she'd know, once his blindfold came off. Running a gloved finger across her lips she traced the leather down her chin, neck and then lingered at her breasts, adoring the way the leather felt on her bare skin.

"Why is this happening?" he asked.

"Silence!" she said as she slid her fingers across her nipples, pausing to relish the sensation as they crinkled into hardened buds. She loved this moment, giving herself pleasure while she surveyed the beauty that lay before her. He was trim but muscular with a flat stomach and broad developed chest. His arms, while harnessed effectively looked powerful and his large thighs and calves suggested that he was a laborer. He was beautiful, powerful and totally under her control. She noticed that his manhood hung to one side and was pleased to see it ample in both girth and length even in this flaccid state. She wouldn't expect him to be a virgin but was sure he'd never had more than common village girls.

Moving slowly to the side of the bed and, bending at the waist, she placed her lips close to his ear while her gloved finger made small circles below her tuft of pubic hair. "You've been brought here for no reason other than I commanded it," she whispered unapologetically in his ear. His short dark hair was course and delightful and she allowed her nose to brush against it.

Climbing onto the bed she straddled his torso, shuddering as her Secret Garden made contact with his smooth stomach. "Perhaps if you're good, you can become part of my stable," she said huskily as the fingers of her left hand flicked at his hardening nipples and the right reached behind her to grab the meaty and not so flaccid organ behind her. A lustful groan escaped his lips and she felt his pelvis push upwards in response. She began to ride his belly with a slow and sustained gyration of her hips, his back arching and his manhood still growing in her hand. His jaw was slack and soft breaths followed by low groans escaped as his handsome face rolled from side to side in the fluffy white pillow.

"Unchain me," he moaned.

"Never."

"Then kiss me," he pleaded. She watched his full sensuous lips as they formed these words and felt a sexual pang that her leather clad fingers exploited.

"Ask me again," she said and squeezed his cock until he winced.

"Kiss me." He throbbed excitedly in her hand and as her nimble fingers worked the length of him she knew she needed to explore it with a bare hand. She removed her gloves and pressed them to his nose, watching as he drew in the mingled aroma of cowhide, sweat and that of his own glans. Reaching behind her she now grasped the fleshy monstrosity with bare fingers and palms, amazed at the heat that rolled off of its hardness as she worked the velvety skin up and down.

"Beg for it," she commanded. "Beg for my kisses."

"Please. Please," he said breathlessly. And then, "I'll die without them." Her mouth was on his before the final word has passed his lips and their tongues danced in a delicious frenzied union, his plump lips engulfing hers as though he were starving and her flesh could offer sustenance.

"Let me see you," he moaned between deep kisses. "Remove this damn blindfold." She stopped and pulled back, though she showed no sign of being upset by his request as she again began to gyrate on his taut abdomen. Looking back she now had her first visual inspection of his sexual asset and swooned.

"Remove it yourself," she said and with that his bonds were dissolved. He hooked a thumb on the underside of the silk scarf and he lifted it upwards, revealing eyes as black as the fabric that had been blinding him.

"You're so beautiful," he said breathlessly and held the gaze for what seemed an eternity before employing his powerful body to bend her to his whim. In one swift move she found herself on her back with this olive skinned Adonis hovering above her, his mouth on her neck kissing her bruises away while his soft but strong hands caressed her hips and parted her damp thighs.

"You will stay here forever, no?" he asked. She gasped and looked longingly into his eyes, only wishing that such a thing was possible.

When he entered her, he did so with the care of an experienced lover. The lover of many women and this was alright, because he was with her now. She was safe; he would never hurt her, always protect her. Tears streamed down her face as her body was sated repeatedly.

Molly was shaken back to reality by the thought and fear that Carl would be home soon. The house was a mess and the living room smelled like her sex. How long was I out? she wondered.

She tossed the comforter into the washing machine to get her aroma off of it and began tidying the kitchen. Last nights dishes were still in the sink and the beer bottles needed to be sorted with the recycling. Finally, she took a shower to wash away any lingering evidence before sitting down at the kitchen table and lighting a cigarette. She absentmindedly traced her finger along the bruises while thinking only of passionate kisses.

Looking around the small kitchen she saw evidence of Carl everywhere. His fishing pole in the corner, a bottle of cut rate bourbon on the counter, a greasy Nascar hat on the coat rack. Molly lit another cigarette and sighed.

You will stay here forever, no? "Yes," she said quietly as she wiped a tear. "I'm afraid I will."