Marital Aid Ch. 03

There was a delicious rhythm to it. As the kaleidoscope before Isabella's vision started spiraling inwards, shifting in fractals as it did, she tried to make herself notice every little detail. Every pattern. Every shape. Every color. Every beat and rhythm of the strange music being pumped into her earbuds.

She tried, because it was impossible. There was too much to keep track of. As Isabella's mind slowed and dimmed, it slipped out of her grip. It became overwhelming. It wasn't long - not that she could judge the passage of time - before Isabella found herself at the precipice. The moment all the sounds and colors became nothing more than an indistinct, indescribable, howling rush. The moment she was about to lose herself.

Isabella took a deep breath, and surrendered.

She slumped back in her seat, and there was a sudden rush as her disoriented mind malfunctioned and told her she was falling. The thrill of it almost jolted her awake. Deeply-buried instincts jolted awake and whispered to Isabella that this was wrong, that she was in danger. But she didn't listen. Couldn't listen.

And then Clea's voice came to her, and it was all OK again.

Isabella, you are confident.

It was so easy to accept that. Isabella had always been confident, although her dismal marriage had done much to undermine that. But hearing it from Clea was the perfect reminder. It brought a smile to Isabella's face, even deep in trance. That was so like Clea. To support her, and remind her of the best parts of herself.

Yes. Isabella was confident. More confident than ever, in fact. She felt infused with it.

You deserve what's best for you.

Given how confident she felt, Isabella had no trouble accepting that either. It was a natural affirmation. She deserved what was best for her. Who didn't?

Clea is what's best for you.

Isabella had no reason to fight that suggestion either. It made sense. Clea knew what was best for her, and Clea was what was best for her. It felt right, too. Isabella was a lesbian, and Clea was her lover. Her domme. Her companion. Being with her always felt so good. Clea was what was best for her.

Clea can give you a family.

That suggestion made Isabella shudder with its power. It meant the world to her. She'd always wanted a family. Kids. Since her husband had refused she'd tried suppressing that desire within herself, but it had been hard. Hearing - even thinking - that Clea could make that dream come true was like a magic spell. It was Pandora's box. The thought infected her. It never occurred to the hypnotized Isabella to question it. It simply consumed her.

Clea was best for her, and Clea could give her the family she wanted.

You love Clea.

Of course she did. It was all becoming so simple. Isabella loved Clea, the woman who was best for her and who could give her a family - and who she craved above everyone else, body and soul. It was love. She'd long since accepted that.

You don't need your husband.

That suggestion, finally, caused Isabella to stir a little. She... didn't need him. It was strange; she'd never thought about it in exactly those terms, but she'd always assumed that, on some level, she did need her husband. That seemed natural, when you were married. He was such an integral part of Isabella's life. If she left him, didn't that make her a failure? If nothing else, Isabella knew that was what people said and thought about divorced women.

But as always, she heeded Clea's voice and Clea's voice. That was as natural as breathing to her now. Clea was always right. Clea knew what was best for her. And that meant Isabella didn't need him. She didn't need her husband.

That thought felt freeing.

You are confident...

As Clea's voice on the audio track started to repeat itself over and over, all of the hypnotic suggestions became more and more firmly fixed in Isabella's mind. Soon enough, they were commandments carved into stone. As they mixed together and merged, a picture of a new kind of life started to blossom in Isabella's mind. A life that was infinitely preferable to the failing marriage she currently suffered with.

Maybe divorce wasn't giving up. Maybe divorcing him was simply accepting the obvious truth that she was a lesbian who deserved better.

By the time Isabella awoke, she was finally ready to head home, bolstered by the knowledge that, one day soon, it would be the very last time.

***

A few days later, at the weekend, Isabella was on another date with Clea. This time, after making her excuses to her monosyllabic husband, Isabella had headed out and driven straight over to Clea's apartment. Almost as soon as they crossed the threshold, they were in each other's arms. The little moments they managed to make for one another during the week were wonderful, but nothing compared to long weekend afternoons, when they could just forget anything else in the world existed.

When they didn't need to restrain themselves. Not even a little.

"Wait!" Isabella panted, as Clea pushed her against the nearest wall and started making out with her. "J-just one second."

Clea backed off and tilted her head quizzically. Isabella raised her left hand, looked at a wedding ring for a long moment, and then, with a fading fondness, slipped it off her finger and tossed it unceremoniously into her handbag.

"I guess I had a change of heart," she said, blushing. "I just... don't want to think about that thing anymore."

Clea's bright, proud smile banished any lingering doubts Isabella might have had. She kissed Isabella, and then said:

"In that case, I actually have something for you."

Now it was Isabella's turn to look at Clea expectantly. Clea raced out of the room, and then hurried back with something held behind her back. She flashed Isabella a stern look.

"Kneel," Clea told her.

Isabella sank to her knees in instant obedience. Her heart fluttered. She loved it when Clea told her what to do.

"Close your eyes."

Once her eyes were shut, Isabella felt Clea reach out to her, arrange her hair out of the way, and then start to fix something around her neck. Excitement made her pulse race as she felt leather on her skin. She didn't need to open her eyes to know what it was.

"You can look now," Clea told her. She was holding a mirror, allowing Isabella to see herself. The sight made the older woman blush deeper than ever before. "It's a collar."

"It's..." Isabella was lost for words. She couldn't possibly express what the collar meant to her, and she was struck by how much more of a symbol of commitment and love it already was compared to her old ring. "Wow. Thank you. Wow."

"Don't mention it," Clea purred. "It looks beautiful on you. Isabella."

"Thank you," Isabella repeated. She'd never been so happy.

Truly, Clea was best for her. Not her husband.

"And," Clea added, as she hooked her fingers into the collar and pulled Isabella in for another kiss, "let me know whenever you're ready to talk to a lawyer. I already have the number."