Chapter 11: Morning after BDSM

Sunlight spilled through the gap in the curtains, falling across Purdey’s face. She winced, turning away from the intrusion. Her body protested every movement. Bruises marked her wrists, thighs, and hips—a constellation of reminders from the previous night of ecstasy with Uzer. Between her legs, she was sticky and sore, evidence of Uzer’s release still leaking onto the sheets.

She checked her phone: 7:43 AM. Ian was away for a business conference in Sydney. The girls were at summer camp for another week. The house belonged to her alone, which was fortunate. She needed time to process what had happened the last six months—what she had allowed to happen.

She thought about Lloyd.

His tenderness was suffocating. “Is this okay?” he would whisper, breaking the rhythm with constant check-ins that left her feeling more like a patient than a partner. Purdey found herself longing for what came before—Uzer’s unapologetic dominance, the way he took control without asking permission for every touch, every moment. Even as a part of her recognized the care in Lloyd’s attention, the contradiction twisted inside her—wanting the intensity without the softness, craving the abandon without the responsibility of reassurance afterward.

Lloyd’s gentle aftercare felt like an unwelcome intrusion. The way he’d hold her, stroke her hair, ask about her feelings—it was all too much, too careful. With Uzer, there had been an animal quality to their encounters, a primal energy that awakened something in her she’d forgotten existed. He would push her to edges she didn’t know she had, then leave her there to find her own way back.

That was the thrill she missed—the dangerous sensation of being wanted so desperately that social niceties fell away. Lloyd’s considerate approach, his earnest efforts to please her, only highlighted what was missing. The slow burn of excitement, the unpredictability, the slightly forbidden feeling that had made her feel truly alive again after years of domestic predictability.

With Lloyd, she knew exactly what would happen and when. With Uzer, she never knew, and that uncertainty had become an addiction she couldn’t seem to shake.

Purdey pushed herself up against the headboard, wincing. Her phone buzzed again—the third message from Lloyd this morning. She glanced at the preview without opening it:

“Morning beautiful. Can’t stop thinking about you. Miss you.”

She dropped the phone onto the bed. This wasn’t what she wanted. Not anymore. Uzer had introduced her to sensations she’d never imagined, awakening hungers she’d suppressed her entire life. Lloyd was attentive, conventionally handsome, adequately endowed—but he lacked something essential. An edge. A darkness. The willingness to truly dominate without apology.

The bathroom mirror revealed the night’s evidence—a bite mark on her shoulder, finger-shaped bruises on her hips. Her hair was a tangled mess, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. She looked thoroughly debauched. The sight sent a ripple of satisfaction through her.

Under the shower’s hot spray, Purdey catalogued her options. Lloyd lived across the street with Kim, his long-term partner. The neighbourly friendship had turned physical after Ian’s setup on New Year’s Eve where too many drinks led to lingering touches and meaningful glances.

The four of them had worked it into something kind of normal. Ian and Kim developed their own connection—more emotional than physical from what Purdey gathered. They’d meet for coffee while Lloyd and Purdey pretended not to notice. Sometimes Kim would text Purdey directly, asking if Ian was available to help with some household task. There was an unspoken agreement between the women, maintaining politeness while sharing each other’s husbands.

Purdey wasn’t bothered by Ian’s involvement with Kim. Their marriage had cooled years ago, settling into comfortable patterns that prioritized parenting over passion. Ian was predictable, stable—qualities she’d once valued above all else. Now they felt like constraints.

What mattered was her own pleasure. Her own journey.

Soap stung the scratches on her back as she washed away the physical evidence of Uzer’s presence. Purdey thought about Lloyd’s constant messages, she needed to distance herself from him. The man was becoming clingy, needy—texting constantly, finding excuses to see her, talking about his feelings. Last time, he’d whispered “I think I’m falling for you” against her neck. She’d pretended not to hear.

She stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a plush towel. Her phone buzzed again on the counter where she’d brought it. Another message from Lloyd:

“Thought maybe we could grab lunch? I’m working from home today.”

Purdey sighed, running fingers through her wet hair. The sex was good—better than good when she coached him through what she wanted. But the emotional attachment was becoming problematic. Lloyd couldn’t separate physical pleasure from emotional connection. He wanted the whole package: romance, intimacy, whispered confessions.

She wanted control. Submission. Intensity without complication.

“Need to do some work. Rain check?” she typed back, adding a noncommittal emoji.

His response was immediate: “Sure. Tonight instead? I can bring dinner...”

She didn’t answer, setting the phone down with deliberate finality. This situation required a clean break, not a gradual withdrawal. Lloyd wouldn’t take hints; he’d need explicit rejection. The thought made her uncomfortable. Confrontation was messy, emotional—everything she was trying to avoid.

Wrapped in her robe, Purdey returned to the bedroom. The sheets still smelled of sex and Lloyd’s cologne from a couple nights ago. She stripped the bed with efficient movements, bundling everything into the washing machine. Fresh sheets snapped crisply as she remade the bed, erasing the physical evidence of her indiscretion.

She called Gin as she smoothed the last wrinkles from the comforter, phone tucked between ear and shoulder. Sunlight filtered through half-drawn blinds, casting lined shadows across the freshly made bed.

“I got the job with Uzer,” she said, settling into the armchair by the window. “But there’s a complication.”

Gin’s voice crackled through the speaker as Purdey explained the situation, her gaze drifting to the newly laundered space that had, hours earlier, been the scene of her poor judgment.

“Just tell Uzer to keep business separate from pleasure,” Gin advised. “Get it in writing—a clear contract—and you’ll be fine.”

Purdey nodded, though Gin couldn’t see her. The advice made sense, even as doubt curled in her stomach. Could professional boundaries really be that simple to maintain?

Over the following days, Purdey found herself in the sterile confines of her home office, drafting terms for the contract. She’d arranged the desk near the window where afternoon light spilled across her laptop and scattered legal reference materials. Coffee cups accumulated as she researched precedents and appropriate clauses, determined to create something airtight yet fair. When the document finally took shape, she scheduled a meeting at a neutral location—a downtown café with polished wooden tables and enough ambient noise to blur their conversation from eavesdroppers.

The signing itself was brief, professional. Pens scratched against paper, hands avoided touching during the exchange. The contract now sat in a labelled folder in her desk drawer, a physical boundary between professional opportunity and personal entanglement.

Weeks passed in a carefully orchestrated dance of avoidance. Purdey rearranged her routines, taking different routes to work, shopping at odd hours, and declining invitations that risked unwanted encounters. Her apartment became both refuge and prison—she’d cleaned every corner, reorganized every shelf, as though ordering her physical space could somehow impose order on her emotional landscape. The bedroom now looked pristine, as though nothing had happened, but memories weren’t so easily washed away.

Her phone chimed again as she was finishing—not Lloyd this time, but Uzer.

“Dinner tomorrow, Vue de Monde, 8 PM. Wear something accessible. No underwear.”

No question, no pleasantries, no room for negotiation. Heat bloomed between her legs at his directness. This was what she craved—clear commands, expectations, boundaries.

“Yes,” she typed simply, knowing he expected nothing more.

Last Tuesday, Kim had caught her eye at the neighbourhood book club. While other women discussed the novel’s romantic subplot, Kim had cornered Purdey in the kitchen.