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Oh my God. Tonight.
I wanted to go to The Gallery. It was important for me to take this next step, to experiment with my sex-kitten persona. It brought me joy, and it thrilled the man I loved. When I modeled the uniform for him—sans stockings—he’d jumped all over me, squeezing my ass, running his tongue along the silver collar’s edge. As moments went, it was right up there with the night he showed me my finished violin.
Ah, my violin. It was beautiful, marvelous, perfect, but it still needed a name before I was allowed to register it for insurance, and play it publicly. I would have chosenI love you so much oh my God Milo I can’t believe I’m holding this amazing piece of wonder in my hands, but that was kind of long for Fierro’s records, and anyway, Luciana Fierro had the final choice, which she’d promised to make next week when we visited. I didn’t know why she was taking so long. I’d played the instrument for hours every night since he’d given it to me, sometimes naked, at his request.
I’d come to love catering to his requests.
I found Michelle’s building and rang up. As she escorted me into her workshop, I felt the same illicit thrill I’d felt the first time, when Milo had brought me to be measured. She was a kind, businesslike, slightly older lady, but her workshop would always feel like a hot-as-hell sex den to me.
“It’s wonderful to see you again,” she said with a smile. “Thanks for coming by to pick these up. Did you bring the rest of the uniform, so we can make sure everything fits?”
“Yes, I’ve got it here. Should I change into it?”
“Please, if you don’t mind. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
I shed my top and put on the bra first, arranging my nipples within the peekaboo cups. It made me think of Milo’s obsession with hurting them, and my nipples went rock hard in response. I slipped off my panties next, while she puttered around with a coffee machine, perhaps to give me a sense of privacy in her wide-open workroom. Not that I’d have any privacy at The Gallery, from the official page of rules he’d shown me.
Number one: All submissives must be accompanied by a sponsor who will manage their conduct and care. No unsponsored submissives will be admitted.
Number two: Any submissive brought into The Gallery shall be considered communal property and shared in any way her sponsor desires.
Number three: The Gallery is a no-safe-word zone. The submissive’s limits will be determined by her sponsor.
Number four: All submissives must strictly adhere to The Gallery’s dress code.
Number five: Any submissive not agreeing to these terms may not be admitted to The Gallery. Any resistance or refusal of these rules is cause for immediate expulsion from the premises.
“Almost ready?” asked Michelle as I finished buckling on the last thing—the collar. She slid an approving look over the bra and garter belt, which flattered my angular body shape. “Aren’t you a tall, graceful beauty? Let’s try those stockings. I’d kill to have your legs.”
I stepped into the soft, silken stockings and pulled them up my legs, then stopped. “Can you help me work these things?”
“The stocking clasps? Sure. They’re easier to use than they look, especially when the stockings are the right length.” She showed me how to attach the decorative clasps to the upper parts of the stockings, lining them up so the suspenders laid straight. When that was accomplished, she straightened and nodded in approval. “You see, it looks so much better when the stockings are the right length, because they don’t pull down on the garter belt and ruin the balance.”
I clasped my hands in front of my waist, excited, embarrassed, and happy at once. “Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure. Would you like to see the whole outfit? Well, except for the shoes. They’ll make your legs even longer. Milo will be so pleased.”
She turned her standing mirror so it caught my reflection. I stared at myself, at pale skin and black lines crossing over it. My face looked scared. I laughed as soon as I noticed it.
“I’m nervous,” I confessed. “I’ve never been to a BDSM club, much less a private, exclusive one.”
“Oh, a lot of the women I outfit are nervous,” she said kindly. “Then I see them at The Gallery a few weeks later having a grand old time. And Milo’s a fun one to go with. He’s known for his creative mind.”
This woman knew more about Milo playing at The Gallery than I did, but not for long. He might be nervous about taking me there, about how I would react, but all I wanted was to know everything about him, the good, the bad, the normal, the weird, the scary. “Honestly, I’m not even sure he wants me to go,” I confessed, “but I don’t want him to feel like he’s keeping secrets from me, or that he has to hide what he’s into.”
“Well, you’ve read the rules, haven’t you?” I nodded and she smiled. “So you know what he’s into. What about you? Are you a masochist as well as a submissive? Are you into pain?”
“Yes, definitely. Well, not all pain. Just sexy pain.”
“Everything’s sexy at The Gallery,” she assured me. “I think you’ll have a transformative time there.”
“I hope so. I think I will.” I took a final look in the mirror, touching the collar at my neck. “I guess I should take this off now.”
“I wouldn’t wear it home, if that’s what you’re asking. Here, hand it to me as you take it off, and I’ll fold it up so it stays nice for tonight.”
When I left a few minutes later, my uniform was once again tucked in my handbag. I had a concert to play with Met Orchestra tonight, and we’d go to The Gallery afterward. As far as I knew, his friends were meeting us there, but beyond that, I had no idea what would go down. I didn’t want to build up any hopes—or fears. As long as Milo was with me, everything would be okay.
