Page 122 of Their Arrangement

The restriction. The heat. The reshaping of myself into something other.

Not a woman.

A weapon.

The corset cinched me in and made space for something dangerous.

I rolled the stockings up my thighs. Clipped them to the garter with shaking fingers. The clips clicked into place like the loading of a chamber.

Stepped into the skirt. Felt it hug my hips like a promise.

The blouse was last.

Thin as breath.

I slid my arms through, let it fall over the black lace like fog curling through iron. My nipples hardened instantly under the sheer fabric. I didn’t cover them. I buttoned the top without hesitation.

No necklace. No perfume.

I didn’t want to hide a single thing he wanted to see.

I walked to the mirror. And I looked. I didn’t breathe.

Because the woman staring back? She didn’t flinch. She didn’t apologize. She didn’t beg. She wasn’t even asking to belong. She was the moment. And she would be remembered.

The corset curved my waist in brutal elegance. My breasts were full, high, flushed where the lace grazed them. My thighs touched. My heels lifted everything. And for the first time, I didn’t want to look away.

I wanted to be watched.

No.

I wanted to be studied.

Admired.

Worshippedeven.

I lifted my hand and brushed my fingers over the lace. Upward. Until I found the peak of one breast. I traced the curve. Felt the tight swell of heat in my belly respond to the soft friction. The nipple was already hard.

I ran my thumb over it. And gasped. The sound came tooeasily. Too sharp in the quiet. My body lit like a fuse. Flushed. Tight. Lit.

I didn’t touch myself again. Didn’t need to. Because I’d already unraveled something deeper than arousal. I’d found hunger.

Mine.

This wasn’t obedience. It wasn’t submission. It was transformation. A claiming—from the inside out.

I picked up the card again. Read the words one more time.

Wear this. No excuses.

I didn’t argue.

I didn’t hesitate.

I tucked the note into my purse like a vow I had every intention of keeping. The sidewalk should’ve felt cold beneath my heels. But I didn’t feel the chill. I felt the corset. Every step tugged at it. Pulled my breath short. Reminded me with every footfall that I was wrapped in someone else’s desire—and I had put it on like a crown.

The sheer blouse shifted with every movement. The lace beneath it visible in the sun like a sin. The skirt clung, high and tight, brushing the tops of my thighs like a promise.