I rush up my garden path, almost tripping over in my haste. I’ve just dropped the kids at my mother’s for the weekend and tonight I’m going out. I’m so excited, I could scream.

My heart races in anticipation. What delicious delights will my date have in store for me?

As if following the cue, my phone beeps. I dig around in my oversized handbag, pulling out two dummies, a toy car, and a snotty tissue, before finding my phone nestled within biscuit crumbs at the bottom. I sigh.

My throat goes dry when I see it’s a private number.

The text is simple.

Red Haze
9.30 PM
DON’T be late!

A loud bang on my front door makes me jump. Spinning around I yank it open. A courier stands holding a black box.

“Parcel for Iris Ford.” I quickly sign for the parcel, intrigue burning in my gut.

I run up to my bedroom, ripping open the large box. I carefully take the items out one by one, swallowing nervously. I hold up a tiny leather mini skirt. There is nothing to it – literally. Next the matching top, if you can call it a top. I tug down one of the tiny zips that hold the cups together. Nerves hammer rapidly in my rib cage. Lastly, I gingerly pull out the thigh-high leather boots. I notice a chink of silver under some tissue paper in the box. Pulling out the diamante collar, I examine it with awe, fingering the small hoop that hangs at the front.

My date isn’t an ordinary date.

He is my Dom.

***

My nerves are at a fever pitch when the taxi pulls up outside Red Haze. I have a long overcoat covering my outfit, but my footwear is impossible to miss. The cabbie doesn’t speak but his leering stares say more than his mouth can.

Joining the queue to the club, my pulse really starts to race. It’s always the same. Red Haze is a European fetish-kink event. It travels to various locations but tonight it’s here, and it’s Valentine’s night. It couldn’t be more perfect.

After a hefty wait, I am finally inside. I really don’t want to remove my overcoat. I have never worn anything this extravagant before. It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have complained about hating my body. This outfit is my punishment for that error.

I see him standing at the bar, his back is to me. He is wearing tight leather trousers that hug his ass and perfect thighs in a way that should be illegal. Licking my lips, I can feel the wetness starting to build between my thighs. Fuck. No underwear makes it hard to hide.

I slowly make my way through the exotically dressed crowd. He turns when he sees me. I lower my eyes instinctively.

He doesn’t move to touch me. He says simply with the authority that he commands

“Take off the coat Iris.…

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