Safe Word: An Erotic S/M Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

alteration.
    Oh, yes, much better, they all agreed, after the adjustments had been made and the garment was hooked up again
and relaced. Even Ms. Discman's eyes widened and her
mouth slowed as she watched my second circuit around the
room. I was still a little tentative; I'd mastered the shoes but
I was dizzy from how tightly I'd been laced-the dressmaker
had pulled them a full inch tighter than before. And when I
passed the mirror, I saw that her alterations had transformed
the dress entirely. Or had I just been too stupid to notice, my
first time around? The tight lacing, the billowing skirt, the
bare, vulnerable expanse of chest below the cruel collar. This
was the Roissy dress, updated as expensive trash, a nouveaupunk pastiche. Involuntarily, I felt around the skirt, front and
back, for the strings, the hooks, that I knew had to be there.
    "Yeah, sure, try that part," Stefan said in a bored tone.
And it wasn't very difficult to hook the little tabs of cloth in
place, so that the skirt was lifted, front and back, to expose
my ass and cunt.
    "Keep it rolled up while you wait for him," Stefan added.
He'd been thanking the dressmaker, tipping her, perhaps.
I heard the door shut behind her, while he turned off some lamps. "You can sit on that bench until fifteen minutes before
he comes for you-I'll let you know when that is."

    I thanked him. No need for him to expand on those
instructions. I knew he meant that fifteen minutes before Mr.
Constant was due, I'd move down to the floor, in the center
of the room, to wait for him on my knees. And that there was
no need for me to know what time it was now, or how long it
would be before that happened.
    They're not exactly boring, those long stretches spent
waiting for a master. You're hyperconscious of your bodyyou hope it will be pleasing, after all the preparation and
grooming it's had. You breathe with your whole body, which
is so open and displayed and ready. You're a little afraid of the
moment when you'll be judged, examined. You're afraid but
you also can't wait-to be seen, to be touched, to be commanded, forced, used.
    I don't know how much time passed while I sat on the
iron bench in the darkening room. There was a clock ticking
on the mantle, but Stefan must have turned it around while
I was asleep, so that I couldn't see the time. I watched stars
appear in the evening sky, and I looked down at my body, and
at my dress. The bustier felt even tighter than when I'd been
standing, and my breasts swelled, plump and white, over the
bra that barely covered the rouged areolas of my nipples. The
odd, synthetic material of the skirt billowed to either side of
my waist, iridescent as insect wings, crinkly as gift wrap, surrounding my pale thighs and dark naked cunt. Even with the
skirt unhooked, so that my cunt and ass would no longer be
visible, so that we could go out-and I knew we'd be going out,
this was a dress for going out-this was a dress for announcing precisely what I was. In some ways it was simply a setting for the collar and cuffs-the way some black velvet evening
gowns are settings for fabulous diamond jewelry. I swallowed,
resolving to wear my restraints proudly. And then I snorted,
wondering where I'd copped that pretentious thought.

    I quickly stifled the snort, though, at the sound of
Stefan's footsteps. Down to the floor now-he pointed out
the spot with his toe, training a reading lamp at it, and dimming a few more of the other lamps. And perhaps because
he'd told me I'd wait fifteen minutes, it felt like an eternity
until he led Mr. Constant into the room. I was surprised by
the edginess in the air; it was the first time, all afternoon, that
I'd wondered what Stefan might be feeling about any of this.
I could feel how relieved he was when Mr. Constant commended him on the dress and chuckled appreciatively at
how my ass had been marked. Stand up, turn slowly, Stefan
commanded me. Let down her skirt and get her