mathematical precision. The line of the elastic was ever so askew, indicating from her overall tan that she was quite accustomed to sunbathing in the nude.
Male passers-by began to slow down to catch a longer sight of her as they ambled along the path nearest to the grass, while assorted families spread along the parkâs lawn threw them angry looks. There was something eminently provocative about the way she just lay there, her bare back and arse cheeks being roasted by the sun.
She was shameless, and she knew it.
Spread like this, legs exaggeratedly apart, in a public park, she would from a distance have onlookers believing she was stark naked.
Before she had turned onto her stomach, Dominik had noticed how the flimsy material of the thong clung to her skin and how the deep cleft of her cunt was visible through it.
He liked Lauralynn and thought they could, given the chance, turn out to be really good friends.
He took off his shirt, his turn to catch the last sun of the year.
Soon, they were both dozing in the arms of the lazy autumn heat.
Dominik dreamed of Summer, though, not Lauralynn.
3
The Romance of Ropes
Shadows had begun to fall across the small enclosed garden outside my even smaller window in the East Village apartment, and the remaining light barely illuminated my body in the mirror so that with the corset on, I had an almost mummified appearance, like a strange woman in a Victorian cabaret show.
The garment bit into my skin with all the hard comfort of a steel embrace.
I loosened the laces at the back and leaned forward, carefully unclipping the row of metal hoops from the studs that held the construction together at the front. The boning had left an interesting set of marks on my torso, an art deco effect of symmetrical grooves running parallel round my waist and up to my breasts, vivid red against pale white.
My flatmates and I had just returned from performing a free open-air gig in Union Square, part of a month-long series of informal events celebrating American composers in advance of the upcoming Thanksgiving celebration. It was early November and the sun was beginning to sink earlier from the sky, its absence heralding the arrival of a sharp autumnal chill. We were heading out shortly to one of the rooftop bars in Midtown, to make the most of the evening air before winter brushed her cold hands over the city and banished all but the most determined cigarette smokers indoors.
I had performed while laced tightly into the black under-bust corset that Dominik had bought for me and instructed me to wear to one of Charlotteâs parties in London, which kept my chest, as well as other parts of me, warm beneath the thin black knitted shift dress that I wore on top.
It seemed like a lifetime ago now, one of my first experiments in kink, when I had dressed and served as a maid for the evening in an attempt to discover how I felt in a submissive role when following the orders of those other than Dominik.
My behaviour had been impossible to analyse after the event, because clothed in the outfit and attending to the ring of the bell that he had provided for the guests to summon me, Iâd felt as though I was following his instructions rather than those of the individuals who had asked for another portion of dessert or a glass refilled.
I missed him terribly, more than I had ever expected, and more than I would ever admit to him. Our communication since he had left had been brief, sporadic. The sound of his voice filled me with such longing that I began to leave my phone switched to voicemail most of the time, so I wouldnât have to face speaking to him.
Dominik had not ordered me to wear the corset beneath my clothes at this afternoonâs gig. I had chosen to do so of my own accord, in an effort to recreate the sensation of dominance that I missed so much.
I tried to take advantage of the extra emotion that arose as a result of his absence by throwing my energy into my music,
Male passers-by began to slow down to catch a longer sight of her as they ambled along the path nearest to the grass, while assorted families spread along the parkâs lawn threw them angry looks. There was something eminently provocative about the way she just lay there, her bare back and arse cheeks being roasted by the sun.
She was shameless, and she knew it.
Spread like this, legs exaggeratedly apart, in a public park, she would from a distance have onlookers believing she was stark naked.
Before she had turned onto her stomach, Dominik had noticed how the flimsy material of the thong clung to her skin and how the deep cleft of her cunt was visible through it.
He liked Lauralynn and thought they could, given the chance, turn out to be really good friends.
He took off his shirt, his turn to catch the last sun of the year.
Soon, they were both dozing in the arms of the lazy autumn heat.
Dominik dreamed of Summer, though, not Lauralynn.
3
The Romance of Ropes
Shadows had begun to fall across the small enclosed garden outside my even smaller window in the East Village apartment, and the remaining light barely illuminated my body in the mirror so that with the corset on, I had an almost mummified appearance, like a strange woman in a Victorian cabaret show.
The garment bit into my skin with all the hard comfort of a steel embrace.
I loosened the laces at the back and leaned forward, carefully unclipping the row of metal hoops from the studs that held the construction together at the front. The boning had left an interesting set of marks on my torso, an art deco effect of symmetrical grooves running parallel round my waist and up to my breasts, vivid red against pale white.
My flatmates and I had just returned from performing a free open-air gig in Union Square, part of a month-long series of informal events celebrating American composers in advance of the upcoming Thanksgiving celebration. It was early November and the sun was beginning to sink earlier from the sky, its absence heralding the arrival of a sharp autumnal chill. We were heading out shortly to one of the rooftop bars in Midtown, to make the most of the evening air before winter brushed her cold hands over the city and banished all but the most determined cigarette smokers indoors.
I had performed while laced tightly into the black under-bust corset that Dominik had bought for me and instructed me to wear to one of Charlotteâs parties in London, which kept my chest, as well as other parts of me, warm beneath the thin black knitted shift dress that I wore on top.
It seemed like a lifetime ago now, one of my first experiments in kink, when I had dressed and served as a maid for the evening in an attempt to discover how I felt in a submissive role when following the orders of those other than Dominik.
My behaviour had been impossible to analyse after the event, because clothed in the outfit and attending to the ring of the bell that he had provided for the guests to summon me, Iâd felt as though I was following his instructions rather than those of the individuals who had asked for another portion of dessert or a glass refilled.
I missed him terribly, more than I had ever expected, and more than I would ever admit to him. Our communication since he had left had been brief, sporadic. The sound of his voice filled me with such longing that I began to leave my phone switched to voicemail most of the time, so I wouldnât have to face speaking to him.
Dominik had not ordered me to wear the corset beneath my clothes at this afternoonâs gig. I had chosen to do so of my own accord, in an effort to recreate the sensation of dominance that I missed so much.
I tried to take advantage of the extra emotion that arose as a result of his absence by throwing my energy into my music,
Similar Books
