Twenty-Three
2012
A SATURDAY NIGHT IN PARIS. Cohésion. I had done this lots of times: gone with him to the club, dressed in latex or leather, or both. Maybe lace. Maybe I carried a whip. A cane. Maybe I carried nothing. In many respects, an ordinary night. In others, very different.
In the main orgy room we had placed ourselves as usual, me in a chair and him kneeling on all fours beside me like the perfect pet.
Wearing the corset he’d given me for my twenty-first birthday, I felt sexy for the first time in my life. Really sexy. I fancied I felt this way because it was a gift from a man, an intimate gift, a wondrous gift. I loved the smell and the feel of the soft cups holding my breasts, my n*****s occasionally rubbing up against the brushed material inside them.
“Are you okay, pet?”
