Miss Baxter was drumming her fingers on the top of the piano when Anise and I returned. I had a hard time meeting her gaze, wondering if maybe she was feeling impatient with me, and also feeling a little self-conscious standing there in a corset and jeans. But Miss Baxter soon put me at ease with her warm smile and a hand laid gently upon my forearm.
Anise mentioned something else to me in our brief stairway conversation about good hurts and bad hurts, and that was Miss Baxter’s enjoyment of a girl restrained. That was exactly how Anise had phrased it too—a girl restrained. And judging from the way Miss Baxter’s eyes darted over my corseted body, I would say she was rather pleased with the way Anise had restrained me.
Miss Baxter turned to Anise and dismissed her with a curt nod. As I wa
