Me: Sir
I position the camera and take a few pics, moving from in front of my legs to between them to try to find the best angle, then I select one, hold my breath, and send the photo before I can think better of it.
I squeal as the message arrives and the phone tells me it’s been delivered.
The three dots pop up as my Dominant types a quick reply.
MMM: Good girl. Now get rid of them. I want to know you’re bare for me for the rest of your afternoon with your friends. Every time you move, you’ll remember there is nothing covering that sweet cunt, and you’ll think of me.
I shiver as his words send heat rushing south. As if I’m not thinking of him every second already.
I left my purse at the table, so I can’t shove my panties into the bottom of that, and I have no pockets, so I can’t hide them that way…
My gaze lands on the trashcan, overflowing with paper towels.
Taking a deep breath, I huff out a laugh.
At least they’re not my favorite pair.
Stepping out of them, I toss them into the trashcan and snap another picture. Grabbing some paper towels, I place them on top of my underwear, then shove them down into the bin as far as I can, hiding the evidence of what I’m leaving behind.
Someone knocks on the door and I jump, then giggle at myself.
“Just a minute!” I call out.
After I’ve washed my hands, I send a follow-up text.
Me: Done, Sir.
I attach the pic of my panties in the trashcan, send it, then wait for his reply.
MMM: You’re such a good girl for me. I expect you at the club tonight by seven o’clock. Enjoy yourself with your friends, but go easy on those mimosas.
I frown as I stare at the screen. It’s one thing to ask me to do silly things with my underwear, but telling me what I can do at brunch is another thing entirely. Maybe I’ve given him the wrong impression about me—
MMM: Don’t pout. Intoxicated women cannot consent. Do you understand?
I giggle, then roll my eyes at myself.Yes, sir.I send Dominus a final text, agree to see him tonight, then look at the woman in the mirror, this surprising, completely unfamiliar woman with bright eyes and rosy cheeks. She looks a little frazzled, a little excited, and a lot like someone who’s finally chasing after the things she wants. Not for her company, not for her father, but for herself.
So I give her a little wink, then leave the restroom. Without my underwear, yes, but with something incredible to look forward to.
How I’ll make it through the next—I glance at the time on my phone—seven and a half hours is anyone’s guess. By the time I walk through the doors of The Rabbit Hole, I’m going to be primed for his taking.
A shiver shakes my shoulders as I stride back into the warmth of this early October, Los Angeles sunshine.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sutton
The White Rabbit lingerie store is open late, something I never knew before but now realize is intentional, so that clients of The Rabbit Hole can come and go as they please. As I stride through the store now, my eyes catch on a rack of delicate lace underwear. With time to spare, I take a few minutes to browse, picking out a black pair and pulling them off the rack to look at the price tag—
There isn’t one.
“Market value,” I whisper, chuckling at my own silly joke. If there’s not a price, or the food menu saysMarket Value, it usually means I’m way outside of the targeted audience. Los Angeles is a mecca for fine dining, but that life just isn’t for me—and, I’m guessing, neither is any of the lingerie in this shop.
Hanging them back up, I trail my fingertips over the delicate lace of a matching corset hanging nearby.
“Would you like me to start a dressing room for you, ma’am?” the young store clerk asks as she approaches me.
