Page 24 of Pierced

I know what is. I think I’ve always known.

It’s her sense of self. Her sense of ownership over who she is. Pride in the person that she wants to be and that she unashamedly shows the world.

And I stripped her of that. I tore that from her and no amount of money or promotions or even saying I’m sorry can make up for it. Can repay it.

She is my rock. Like Andrew likes to talk about the mountains he climbs as sturdy, reliable, unshakable… that’s what Myrtle is to me.

Fuck. Is this what people mean when they talk about having a “conscience?” Because if so, this blows.

I breeze past her to the desk. I look at the paper there. Words jump off the page at me: Dominant. Submissive. Safe word. Ball gag.

Ball gag? Oh, Pierce, what the fuck are you doing?

Shit. I dunno. But I’m doing it.

I pat my jacket. I normally have one on me, but I don’t just at present. And so, without looking back, I thrust my hand out behind me and say to Myrtle…

“Gimme a pen.”

CHAPTER SEVEN - MYRTLE

I have no memory of walking out of Pierce’s office. I don’t know how I got back into my office. I don’t know how I got behind my desk, or sat in my chair, or any of it.

Because all I know is that Pierce signed on the dotted line.

I’m breathing heavy, I realize. My heart is racing, my pulse pounding in my head. My vision narrows down to a tunnel, my eyes fixed on the closed door of my office as I swallow hard, and for a second I think, Holy shit, something’s wrong with me. I have low blood sugar, or I’m gonna faint, or maybe I’m having a panic attack?

Because it’s been years since my body reacted this way. Years.

It’s unfamiliar and frightening, but neither of those feelings are altogether unwelcome.

What am I doing?

You’re getting even, the little voice in my head says. And Pierce is getting what he deserves.

Yes, that part makes all the sense. It’s the other part that doesn’t.

The part where I dress up in those boots and corset. The part where I put the blindfold over his eyes and hold the whip in my hand.

I think I’m having a panic attack. Because my heart is fluttering like… like… like a girl who owns a whip, and a pair of latex boots, and dresses up in a corset.

I suddenly have an urge to tell someone about this. I need to discuss it. I need a trusted friend to confide in. And not the typical trusted friend, either. The… lifestyle kind.

And the really shitty thing about that realization is the fact that I don’t have anyone. Not one person.

I moved away from the old me. Not the old, old me, who was also left behind. The last old me.

Mistress Myrtle.

I made a decision years ago to walk away. To walk out on all the people I’d normally turn to and so now, in the one moment when I need that support system, I’m left with no one.

God, what am I doing?

This time that inner voice doesn’t chime in. There’s no way to rationalize this. At all.

I just offered my boss a sexual ultimatum.

I’m insane. Totally insane. I’m going to get fired and probably sued.