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Finally, the lingerie. It’s a corset that’s loose enough so I can slip it on, but I’m going to need help tightening it. With it is a little lacy skirt over a thong, the whole set made of a shimmery blue satin that works perfectly with my skin and hair. With a start I realize that he probably had this made specifically for me. No way did he just go pick up something that fit perfectly and suited me so well. I’ll have to ask him where he gets custom lingerie for future reference.
By the time I’m ready, I still have a few minutes left, so I explore the room. There’s a bookshelf filled with everything from poetry to some erotic novels, a desk filled with pens and stationary, and an armoire that opens to reveal an entertainment center. It’s basically like the best hotel room ever. Plus, the view really is beautiful. Most people don’t realize Georgia is one of the most beautiful places you could ever go, but it is. Rolling green hills and huge swaths of land that are untouched. I’m lucky that I didn’t have to move from this state to find a job and that I get to stay here.
There’s an overstuffed armchair near the window and bookshelf, and I pull down a novel that sounds interesting and read it until two. I lose myself in the first few pages and I don’t even hear him approaching until Matthew is opening the door.
He smiles when he sees me curled up in the chair. “You look beautiful.”
“You haven’t even seen me standing yet.”
Standing by the chair, he looks impossibly tall. He’s changed as well, darker slacks and a shirt that matches my outfit. “Then stand up and show me,” he says, and his tone has that resonant edge that makes me put down the book and stand without hesitation. The corset almost falls down because it’s so loose, and I catch it.
“Put your hands on the bedpost and I’ll lace you up. You’ll need to hold on.”
I do, and I feel a little breathless even before he starts pulling on the laces, because the way his eyes are tracking me is sending heat straight through me. I don’t remember the last time I was the center of such focus. It’s…intoxicating.
He begins at the bottom near my waist, fingers brushing skin as he grabs the laces and pulls. It’s already tighter than I expected and it’s only the first tug. “No wonder women hated these.”
Behind me, Matthew chuckles, and his breath tickles my neck. I shiver. “They didn’t, actually. The stories about women becoming obsessed with their figures enough to remove ribs are just stories. Corsets were widely regarded as an aid to health and beauty.”
“How do you know that?”
“I majored in history in college, and being a Dom, I did research on the subject.”
“Oh.” My breath is stolen from me as he pulls another string tight.
And another. “If you were to wear this every day, your body would adjust and it wouldn’t feel nearly as constrictive. It would seem normal.”
“Yeah…” I say, trying to catch my breath. “Normal.”
He laces a few more stays in silence, and then, “Did you make yourself come in the shower?”
The question stops me in my tracks. “I wanted to.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No.”
“No?”
The expectant silence after that word tells me what he wants. “No, Sir.”
His lips brush my bare shoulder, sending goosebumps across my skin. “Good girl.”
An unexpected burst of happiness flies up through my chest, the validation that I made the right choice there. He definitely would have known. Or I would have had to lie, which I think would have been worse.
He’s laced more than halfway up my back now, and it’s getting harder to breathe. I tell him that.
“I know.” I bite back the sarcastic retort that’s on my lips, and he chuckles as if he knows I’m on the edge of cursing him out. “I chose a corset today for a reason.”
“You lied and you actually are a sadist?”
“No. I chose it because a corset is an excellent metaphor for a Dom/sub relationship.”
I gasp as he yanks the next string, and he’s right, I do have to hold onto the post. “Oh?”
“You’re letting me lace you into this. It’s not something you would choose for yourself, but you’re submitting to the fact that I want you in this. I’m choosing how tight to lace it, and you’re trusting that I won’t hurt you by lacing it too tightly. And once you’re wearing it,” he punctuates his words by pulling it tight, “I may not always be by your side, I may not always be giving you a command, but you’ll feel my control. It is a physical reminder of your submission to me.”
Those last words are a whisper as his hand slides around the corset and across my stomach. I might as well be naked, the way that hand feels, the heat of it sinking straight through the silk and down to my skin. I’d never thought of a corset like that—of course I hadn’t, because I’m not submissive. But he’s not wrong.
