The scene of the battle was Daytona Bike Week; a perfect spring day with a cloudless sky, and just enough chill in the air to counteract the fierce Florida sun. There was a carnival feel to the place, with thousands of motorcycles, mostly Harleys, but a few of every make and model lining the streets of Daytona Beach. The crowd was heavy even at 10 am, and not just bikers, but sightseers galore. The dress was mostly what you'd expect at a gathering of that sort, with the men in jeans, boots, and t-shirts, while the women tended to bare it all. Our clothing was simple and practical. Wolf was dressed more or less like all the other men, but I wore BDUs, black tank top, and jump boots. I was comfortable, and dressed as Wolf had asked. Still, I couldn't help but gaze longingly at the more scantily clad women there, many sporting only cropped T's and skimpy shorts, or leather pants and bustiers.
The one accessory that set me apart was the braided leather choker that Wolf had made me. It softened my look a bit, and is the daily symbol of the heavier collar I wear when we are alone. I am headstrong, stubborn, and willful, but one stern word from him sends me immediately to my knees, and I am never happier than when I surrender to him. The urge is definitely stronger when we are in bed, but it is always there, even in the most vanilla moments. I belong to him, absolutely, unconditionally, and the choker is his way of reminding me of the choice that we both make daily. I submit to him not just because he wills it, but because I can't live without it. The day was ours, with no plans or responsibilities, so we wandered up and down the street just absorbing the sights. Wolf had found a perfect spot to park the bike, and people who had been there hours earlier to get a good parking spot on the street commented on how lucky he was to have found it, and not had to park off-site. He just smiled, and announced that he didn't pay for parking, and his easy manner radiated self confidence. He shares many of my insecurities, but is so much better at hiding them. The casual observer would think that he'd never had a moment of self doubt in his life, and his desire to control every situation meshes nicely with my need for structure. As D/s relationships go, we are probably more democratic than most, but his first instinct is always to lead, and mine to follow. When he steered me into the clothing store, it never occurred to me to protest.
Daytona Beach is definitely a tourist town, and many permanent storefronts competed with the kiosks set up everywhere, in an unapologetic attempt to separate the bikers from their cash. This particular shop, while not the first one we'd looked at, had an eclectic variety of clothing ranging from erotic to downright tawdry, but we were both drawn immediately to the wall of corsets. Not the first ones we'd seen that day, but these were a cut above in quality, and definitely the most feminine. We had admired corsets in the past, but it wasn't something I'd ever owned. For as long as I can remember, I've been a tomboy, far more comfortable in shorts and flip flops than a dress and heels. My entire stock of makeup could fit in a shirt pocket, and Wolf has always been just fine with that. Today, however, the flashy display of pure feminine sex appeal was too much for me. It suddenly represented a club I had to join.
"Try one on." Wolf instructed, and I happily complied.
I had never even thought of wearing a corset before, but there is such freedom in being his, knowing that I'm loved and accepted for who exactly who I am. That magic suspended my usual self-consciousness, and I picked one out that we both liked, a stiff satin brocade of a silvery blue color, with metal gussets for the front closure, and laces in the back. It oozed naughty adventure, and I wanted it desperately. The first warning bell should have gone off when the sales girl appeared. She was young enough to be my daughter, and rail thin with smooth ebony skin. She had definitely never eaten a piece of cheesecake in her entire life. She escorted me to the dressing room, then to my horror came in with me, and undid the corset's laces as I undressed, instructing me how to put it on.
"Tell me when you're ready, and I'll come back and lace it for you."
Now the warning bell was peeling loud and clear, but by this point, I was pretty well committed, and corset lust had a firm hold on me.
Almost immediately, we realized that a 1X wasn't big enough, and a small piece of me died inside. Miss Malnutrition went to get a 2XL, which in itself was pretty humiliating, but I wanted that corset. Badly. This one seemed to be a better fit, and as she began pulling the laces tight, I watched my breasts squeezed up and out, becoming more and more wonderfully impressive. Every woman has one feature that they are proud of, and my breasts are mine. The corset hid my nipples, barely, but the constricting laces made me look like a member of Queen Elizabeth's court, and I was mesmerized by the sight of them in the mirror.
There were plenty of women in the store, but most weren't wearing much more than I was, so we opened the curtain to let Wolf see. I expected to see lust in his eyes, but he eyed me as if I were a storeroom mannequin, and he a tailor.
"Turn around" was all he said.
