“You want to try on more, don’t you?” she asks when she reads the excitement on my face.
I nod eagerly.
“Go, go, go,” she says, ushering me back behind the curtain.
The next hour flies by as I slip on every piece of lingerie, some nothing more than strings and small patches of fabric. I don’t love them all, but I do love how I feel in them. By the end of the shopping trip, I have two corsets （including the first one）， thongs, bras, a garter belt, fishnet stockings, and a new sense of anticipation.
When I walk out of the store, I feel as if I’ve shed a layer of the person I used to be, and it’s not just the sex and lingerie; I’m not just changing in the bedroom. I’m finally proudly and unapologetically wearing my own skin. The way I always should have been.
“I need help,” I whisper to Eden when I find her standing alone at the bar, reading a worn-looking paperback that I’ve seen make its rounds at the club, starting with Isabel, of course.
“Jesus, woman. You scared the shit out of me,” she replies with a gasp as she shoves a bar napkin between the pages to save her spot.
“Sorry. I was just trying to be discreet.”
“Sit,” she replies, gesturing to the barstool next to her. “No one’s around, and Geo’s too busy flirting with that rich guy over there to hear anything you say.”
Feeling a little nervous, I decide to just suck it up and take the seat. No one has to know it’s Beau I’m talking about and I’m no longer worried about anyone knowing that I’m in a Domme/sub relationship. If they can all live out in the open, then so can I.
“What can I help you with? How’s it going with your brat?”
Oh, he’s a brat all right, but I don’t tell her everything he’s done lately. Plus, the brattiness she’s referring to is most definitely more playful than what Beau and I have been through the past couple days.
“He wants me to…punish him.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You’re talking about real pain, aren’t you?”
With a gulp, I nod. “Yes.”
“Is that what you want?”
I drag in a heavy breath and close my eyes for a moment. The image of hurting Beau crosses my mind, not just torturing him with multiple orgasms or orgasm denial, but really hurting him.
“Yes,” I reply, and the admission feels both freeing and heavy at the same time. Does this make me a bad person?
“Good…” she replies as if she’s waiting for me to expand on this answer.
“I want to make him feel pain, real pain. I want to watch him squirm and hear him scream. Is that bad?”
She gives me a devilish grin. “Not at all.”
“I just want to…see how much he can take. Then I want to…kiss it all better.”
“Very good,” she adds. “So, what are you waiting for?”
With wide eyes, I lean closer to her. “Eden, I have no clue what I’m doing. What if I hurt him? Like really hurt him.”
Her shoulders melt as she rolls her eyes. “Maggie.”
“What?”
“How many of the impact-play demonstrations have you sat through at the club?”
My brow furrows. “Tons, but that’s not the same.”
“You know the basics. You guys have a safe word. You have his safety in mind and everything is consensual. I think you’re waiting for permission to do what you really want, but you have all the permission you need.”