Aftercare.

Her stomach down, she is laying naked on the bed wrapped in warm blankets and late morning comfort. She came in late last night, late enough that I don't remember. She'll sleep late today, or else do that thing where she wakes up long enough to eat breakfast and start planning out her day, then lay down for a nap and not emerge from the bedroom until three in the afternoon. I actually enjoy those days in a way. Jenny is warm and sleeping and comfortable. I, by mere consciousness, am being at least more productive than her for the day, and so feel as if it is a day well spend for both of us.

I wake up early, take our dog for a long walk, I eat breakfast, I watch a movie or Saturday morning cartoons. I write. I read. I wait for everyone I know to wake up and send me emails for me to respond to. Between each thing, or at least every thing that brings me past the bedroom door, I peek my head in to watch Jenny sleep for a moment. Often, our dog has curled back up on the bed and is asleep next to her. My ladies. I always feel ridiculous sleeping in daylight, but it suits Jenny.

Her stomach down this morning, her arm slung over the pillow she pulls against her when I leave the bed, Jenny is radiant this morning. Her face glows in sleep. She opens her eyes and sees me in the doorway. I don't know how she does this. She sleeps through her phone, through thunderstorms, through the dog jumping on and off the bed barking, trying to get us to take her for a walk... Jenny sleeps through everything, but always opens her eyes just a little when I tip-toe into the room in the morning. She says "good morning," sometimes, and then she goes back to sleep. This morning her eyes stay open long enough for me to hazard a question. "Have fun last night?"

"Mmmffpfg."

Sometimes it takes awhile for Jenny to form real words in the morning.

In her shifting to see me, to attempt and fail at some communication, the blanket covering her slips down a few inches, revealing fresh bruises on the small of her back. I move carefully across the room, aware that loud noises, quick motions, and anything that feels like too much energy can upset Jenny in the mornings. She feels mocked by my ability to be peppy in the morning. It is, perhaps, the only time I could be considered peppy, and only in relation to everyone around me. I place my hand, gently, between her shoulder blades. She moans approval as I rub my hand to her neck and down, slowly and lightly.

With my other hand, I pull the blanket up and back, revealing a scattering of deep bruises, just now turning from green to purple, across her ass and on her sides. She must have been with Ted last night. Ted, I know, can push Jenny as hard as she can push back.

"Wow. You did have a good night."

"Oh baby. Oh no." Jenny cries to me. Really, as if close to tears. She is speaking in whimpers and whispers. She is worried. "Oh no, I wanted to tell you before you saw." She pauses for a warm second, my hand still on her back, rubbing slowly, "It looks bad, doesn't it?" A small amount of pride mixes with the guilt and trepidation in her opening eyes.

"It looks like you had a good night."

"Mmmhmm," she moans into the pillow. I worry she has fallen back asleep for a second, but she continues after a pause, "is it ok?"

"Of course it's ok hun," I reassure her as I crawl back into bed, laying along side her, my eyes rolling back and forth down the lines of her body. "I knew where you were going last night. As long as you liked it, I like that you like it."

"But it's never been this bad before. He used a single tail whip." She is bragging now, but trying not to sound like it.

"And how was that?" I picture Indiana Jones, Zorro, and my sweet Jenny's back. My fingertips are now following my eyes, and tracing lines down her neck and arm and hips.

"It hurt like hell."

"In a good way."

"In a good way."

I try to imagine this, and only just manage it. Jenny, my Jenny, who had been almost entirely nonsexual until we started dating her senior year of high school, who in the ensuing ten years has grown into a tremendous and remarkable and confident slut, who has for years been nudging our sex into rougher and rougher activities, is now bending over at parties for boys I know by reputation but not by sight. Poor boys. I hope they know who they're dealing with. I hope they're not looking for submission without a fight.

I picture my Jenny, in her red lacy underwear, the ones she is wearing this morning, and must have been wearing last night, the ones that hug her ass, toned from biking, the fabric cutting across half of each cheek. Oh, how those ass cheeks must look to these boys, connoisseurs of asses in a way I probably never will be. They must look to them like a blank page in a new journal can look to me. They are perfect, but incomplete. They beg to receive.

I can imagine the noises she was making last night, trying not to betray how impressed she was at the whip. Fighting for dominance in a position of submission, but never fighting enough to win. I Imagine her ass, perfect and round, as each of these marks I can see in the morning are given, are received.

I don't know all the names for all the different things that must have been used on her. The floggers and whips and paddles, each with specific feelings... the dull thuds and the sharp stings of different hits, no doubt resulting in in moans and screams and laughs and swears and challenges from Jenny.

I pull my body against Jenny's, careful not to press too hard against the parts of her that are sore from her night out. We kiss, our mouths opening slowly with each other's, our hands finding spots on the tops of necks and in the hair of my chest and the curve of her hips and in each other. We breath I love you's into each other's ears. I stay laying with Jenny until her eyes close again, until her breathing slows and deepens, and she is sleeping comfortably again.

There is one word I know, one act that especially appeals to me in this world of kink that Jenny has found so many good pleasures and good people in. Aftercare. Aftercare happens in the space after the spanking or bondage or wrestling is done. Aftercare is shared space, shared touching or talking. In a community that from the outside can seem so dedicated things that look like torture, there is a term and act dedicated to making sure everyone is alright afterwards. It is time spend processing and comforting, and perhaps planning more fun at another time. Aftercare. I like that.