End of Week: Kailani (Aftercare)

The lights dim. The camera clicks off. The monitor goes dark. You’re still in the stocks, trembling. Kailani steps forward quietly, no longer the show host or the domme—just Kailani. Her movements are smooth, unhurried. She unlocks the top bar and helps you ease your arms free, then supports you with one arm under yours as you try, and fail, to stand on your own.

“Easy,” she says softly. “You did amazing. But we’re not walking anywhere tonight.”

She guides you to the bed—yes, the show bed, but right now, it’s just a mattress and comforter. Your legs give out as you hit it. You barely register the blanket she tucks around you. You're asleep before she even finishes the corner.

You wake sometime later to the smell of food. Something warm. Something… safe. Kailani is nearby, sitting on the floor with her back to the wall. She looks up and smiles when she sees you stir.

“Didn’t think you’d wake up before noon.”

She hands you a bottle of water and a bowl of rice and grilled chicken—it's easy, high-protein, no-nonsense. She doesn’t say a word while you eat. Just sits quietly. Gives you space. When you're done, she takes the dishes, wipes your face with a soft cloth, and settles beside you on the edge of the bed.

“You did good,” she says simply. “Like... really good.”

You don’t know what to say. Part of you wants to hide under the blanket and never come out. Another part wants to thank her. A third part still isn’t sure whether you just survived something terrifying… or experienced something liberating.

“Thanks for helping me let loose,” she says. “I needed that. Apparently... so did about three thousand other people.”

You blink. “Wait, how many?”

She smirks and holds up her tablet. The final screen shows the revenue total:

$9852.17

“I said I’d split it. I’m rounding your half to five grand.”

You stare.

“It’s your ass that earned it,” she adds. “Well. Your everything, really.”

You start to laugh, and to your relief—she joins in. The tension that’s been coiled in your chest since yesterday finally breaks.

Neither of you have class today, so you spend it together. You crash at her place for a while. The two of you watch a dumb action movie while sharing a blanket. She keeps touching your arm gently. Not sexually—just grounding you. Checking in.

At some point, you bring it up. “Is it weird that I… liked it? Even the pain?”

She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease. She just nods.

“Not weird. Not broken. Not wrong," she says. “Your body reacted how it needed to. Your brain… let go. That’s the whole point really."

She talks about power, trust, limits, and play. She even shows you a blog she wrote last year titled ‘Consent is Magic’. You don’t catch everything, but the fog in your head is starting to lift.

In return, you ask her about the rugby team.

Her shoulders tense at first, but the conversation opens up slowly. She talks about frustration, double standards, the bullshit of being punished for defending her teammates. You listen. You really listen. And she thanks you for that.

By the time the sun goes down, you're back on your feet, body still aching—but in that post-workout, post-sex, post-epiphany kind of way.

At the door, you swap numbers. She taps hers into your phone with a playful warning:

“Only use this if you want to end up tied up again.”

You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don’t know if I have the strength to go through that again…”

Then, quieter, you add, “Even if it was… horrifyingly fun.”

She grins, tilting her head like she’s about to pounce again. “You’re welcome back on the show. Anytime.”

You step outside into the night air, heart light, legs sore, brain still spinning. Somehow, despite everything…

You feel okay.

You feel changed.

And—though you won’t admit it out loud—you already know this won’t be the last time you say yes to something that scares the hell out of you.