The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel Read Online Free Page A

was inside!   Quick as a cat, I dashed over to my bedroom, grabbed the bag from where I’d left it and tossed some of its contents on top of my bed.
    There was a dress—too short to be described as micro—made of black leather.   It was a size six, my size.   How had he known that was my size?
    The sleeveless dress had a large silver zipper in the front.   The zipper began at the slightly plunging V-neckline and ended almost at the waist.   There were tiny zippers everywhere.   I held it in front of me, confused.   Why on earth would he want me to wear something so tacky?
    Frowning, I scanned the other items from the bag.   There was jewelry.   A black velvet box revealed a twinkling ankle bracelet with a matching toe ring.   They were beautiful, made of white gold strewn with tiny diamond studs.   There was also a long silver chain thing with what appeared to be large metal clasps at the corners.   I had no idea what it was.   The bag also contained a tube of blood-red lipstick and a pair of the most incredible high-heel shoes I had ever seen.   Strappy sandals made of genuine leather.   The heels were at least seven inches tall.   They looked like the sort of shoes prostitutes and porn stars wore.
    Awestruck, I peered inside the bag to see if there was something else inside and found a folded piece of paper.   A note from Seton.
 
Miss Fordham,
Wear everything you see in this bag.   If it’s not in the bag, then I don’t want you to wear it.   I hope you will follow these simple instructions.   I look forward to seeing you tonite.
Regards,
D.J.S.
     
    I decided to don the garments.   I was going to meet him in less than two hours anyway—might as well get a head start.   The dress was difficult to put on.   The leather clung to my skin and I thought that I would never slip it past my hips.   When I zipped it closed I thought I wouldn’t be able to breathe.   The friggin’ thing fit me like second skin.   My ribs constricted and my waist hurt, and I sent a silent prayer, hoping I wouldn’t have to wear this thing all night long.  
    The shoes were next.   The highest heels I had ever worn were three inches tall, and I didn’t think I’d be able to walk in these.   Uneasiness surged through me as I slipped them on.   I took a few tentative steps, clutching the bed’s footboard to avoid a sudden fall.   But the more I walked in them, the more I became used to the towering height.   The heels applied pressure to my ankles, but the soft leather shoes were surprisingly comfortable and they fitted me perfectly.   Again, how had Seton known my size?
    I clasped on the ankle bracelet and slid the toe ring on my left foot.   I had no idea what to do with the long chain thing with the clasps at the corners, so I tossed it inside my handbag.   I would ask Seton about it later.
    To complete the effect, I applied the red-blood lipstick and blotted it with a piece of paper so that it wouldn’t smudge all over my front teeth.   Seton hadn’t mentioned my hair in the note, so I decided to leave my chestnut-brown tresses hang down my back.   I had no idea what to do about underwear.   His note said that if it was not in the bag, then he didn’t want me to wear it.   I supposed that included undergarments, so I wore none.   I didn’t think I would be able to wear them with such a tight dress anyway.   Visible panty lines and all that.
    I went to the full-length mirror and studied the results.   Ick!   I looked like one of those big-haired sluts in a rock music video from the eighties.   Was this what David J. Seton was into?   Could an interesting, enigmatic, intelligent, sensual and sophisticated man enjoy the company of cheap-looking women?   I posed in front of the mirror and sighed.   My figure was fine, I supposed—nice breasts, shapely legs, narrow waist.   At merely five feet, I hardly ever looked good in anything, and I had no clue if I could pull off this look.   
    My