The Dom's Diary: The Road Home

After reaching the pinnacle, the rollercoaster usually plummets to  the valley careening full steam ahead. What happens after you achieve that goal you've had in your sights? What next?  What now?  
 The next exhilarating twist is bound to leave you breathless!

 

The Dom's Diary:

The Road Home

by

Abyrne Mostyn 

 

 Read part 1 here

Read part 2 here

Read part 3 here

Read part 4 here 

Read part 5 here 
Read part 6 here
Read part 7 here  
Read part 8 here
Read part 9 here
Read part 10 here
Read part 11 here

                The roads had still been busy as I made my way home.  The Windy City seldom slept, even on a weeknight.  I had decided to take the surface streets and just enjoy the drive instead of the highway that would have taken half the time.  I‘d had a lot to ponder.  Cla’vis Tand was only the tip of the iceberg that had burgeoned my brain.  Ren’s parting comment about second chances had brought unbidden thoughts of Maggie screaming to mind.  Until now, she had been the only second chance I had ever wanted.

                It had been years since I’d seen her, though her face had held a permanent page marker in my day to day thoughts ever since.  Fresh faced and new to the scene when we’d met, she was energetic and adventurous.  I had done my best to kid-glove her into the scene, but she had wanted none of it.  Instead, she had elected to play hard and party harder.  I had thought she would burn up and out too soon to be one to try to tame.  She wasn’t interested in what I wanted.  She wanted to be like me.

                I was not then, nor now, a teacher.  I could have directed her toward someone who would have taught her how to be a Domme.  She had been polite but stern in her refusal.  She wanted to do it her way.  I could not short cut the lesson she would face.  Her way looked, then, and now in retrospect, to be the hard way and the lessons would not be kind on the journey she had undertaken.  I was saddened, but it wasn’t my call to make.

                Driving the lake shore, the water crypt tower silhouetted against the risen moon, I couldn’t help but think about yesterdays and the last time I’d noticed the monolithic beast that stood watch over the western shore.  We’d been out near the end of the pier, watching the moon rise, just talking.  She was heavy with emotion that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with decisions gone wrong.  I had been surprised to get her call.  She had been surprised that I had come at her request.

                A jazz trio had been playing in the hall, the doors wide open to catch the lake breezes and save the energy costs, the sounds spilling out across the walk and the water.  Leaning against the far wall, the city behind her was painted with pinks and blues of smog over sunset and had haloed her face.  The look she had worn was nothing angelic.  Someone had broken her.  I didn’t know the details and she wasn’t sharing them, but the story was etched deep in the lines that crisscrossed where once upon a time, I’d known a smile.

                I knew the clubs and dungeon she’d been frequenting, and the clientele.  She’d gone deep fast and hadn’t known when to hit the brakes to avoid the collision.  I’d seen it a thousand times.  There was nothing you could do until it was done.  Yellow lights didn’t mean the same thing to those who would guise their true nature in the name “Dom”.    I felt for her, but I couldn’t feel for her at the same time.  I was not responsible after her refusal to be aided, and now it was all over but for the medic duty.

                We had talked long into the night, standing under the Ferris wheel and sitting on the seawall that marked the end of the pier.  I heard her, but I don’t think she heard me.  She wasn’t looking for advice, just a shoulder to cry.  I could do that, and I did.  Before it was done I got one shot to change her path, I opted for allegory.

                “Life is like a game of chess sweetheart, there are pawns and there is royalty.  At the end of the game the last one standing is usually the Queen.  She’s the one who runs the show.  Even the King, though royalty is her pawn.”

                I turned her face to see me as she was staring at her shoes.  Storm ravaged eyes met mine, blinking rapidly to stay the tears she refused to let fall.  I tried to gentle my next comment knowing it would be the last one I’d get to make.  She was already ready to bolt.

                “Don’t settle for being anyone else’s game piece baby, run your own board.”

                The last I saw of her was the flare of her loose over-shirt trailing behind her as she ran back up the pier toward the city.  I had stood there for an hour, hoping she’d run back.  She never did.

                I don’t know how many times I’d driven the loop and gotten back to the beginning on South Wacker before I caught up to the night I was on instead of one so long past.  Then, Maggie had made me stop and question everything I was and wanted.  Now, Cla’vis was doing the same.  The thrill of admission to the Manse was jaded as I realized it was not for the membership that I had been elated, but for access to see her.   I had subs by the dozen who I could call to come and go at my will.  The idea of driving out of my way to see one woman, a woman who had so easily left me at the door, left me unsettled. 

                Melancholy thoughts had led me to park with the valet at the Sheraton towers and walk to the pier.  Bubba Gump’s was packed as usual with the late starting, emerging bar crowd.  The line for the IMAX was slow but boisterous and the smell of theater popcorn mixed with the spray of the lake hitting the seawall.  I had passed them all by and watched the last of the evening lake boat tours pull away from their stall.  I had stopped halfway through the stained glass museum at the 24-hour McDonald's and got a coffee.  Sleep was a luxury for a less addled mind than mine tonight and not worth the hours of clock-watching to attempt.  I could not put the past in its place, nor the future on my radar. 

                I’d watched the sun come up behind the tower across the crisp morning wakes before I was decided.  My coffee, long gone cold had not been necessary.  I am what I am.  Pulling out my phone as I made my way back to land, I had dialed a sub I favored and pulled a tip and the fee for the valet while I made my arrangements.  I had turned for home with just enough time to shower, change, make it to the El station to catch my train and get to work before the opening bell.  The idea of returning to my routine was sour, and I found I didn’t like that.  I didn’t like it one bit.