The Corset War

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.

I did, still waiting anxiously for a word of praise, but it was not to be. Instead, I got a critique.

"Well, it's really not cut full enough at the top, and the laces are already breaking. With your figure, you need something that's cut a little differently. Look in the mirror, and you'll see that the back doesn't close completely at the top, and I don't think that's what you want."

Every word was like a tiny barb inserted into my flesh, but he was focused on his appraisal of the garment, and hadn't yet noticed my pain. A logical woman would have known that I am his work of art, and he just wasn't satisfied with the frame. If my pride was the first casualty of the corset war, though, logic was the second. He paused for breath, and I cut him off coldly.

"Do you need a notepad to list everything that's wrong?"

Blinking back tears, I asked the young woman to unlace the corset for me. She heaped coals on the fire by stating uncertainly that she didn't think they carried a 3XL. Needing to salvage some shred of my dignity, I mumbled something about coming back if we didn't find something we liked better, but I knew that wild horses couldn't have dragged me back to that store. I had wanted so badly to be the princess, but my fairy tale ending had vanished.

Somehow I found my way out of the store, with Wolf trailing me, trying to make it better, now beginning to realize what had just happened. I did my best to reassure him that it wasn't his fault, and that he was right not to let me spend $60 on something that wasn't flattering, but my heart was broken, and my self esteem was at an all time low. I had wanted so badly to be beautiful for him that I had lost sight of the fact that I already was. A day that had seemed so full of joy and promise an hour ago now seemed ruined beyond repair.

Communication has always been the cornerstone of our relationship. If we had been alone, we would have sat and talked it through, even if it meant Wolf tying me to a chair until I listened, but we were an hour away from the hotel, on a crowded street. I knew that I couldn't vocalize my hurt feelings without breaking down, and the thought of being humiliated in public twice in one day was just too much to bear. So I proceeded to make another of many bad decisions that day, and tried to pretend that everything was okay.

Denial and avoidance have always come fairly easy for me, and I wanted so desperately to put the incident behind us. Regardless of my storm swept emotions, it was a beautiful day, and I willed myself to salvage some piece of it. There was much to see and do, with bands on almost every corner, and stalls selling food whose smells wafted through the air temptingly. Injured vanity is a tough wound to recover from, though. The food just reminded me of how thin I wasn't, and every time we passed a clothing shop, Wolf would try to get me to go in and try on another corset. Some tiny part of my brain told me that he loved and treasured me, but the voice of my wounded pride spoke so much louder.

"I'm not wasting any more of our day on something so stupid" was all that I would say at first, and being a wise man, and lenient Dom, he didn't push very hard.

I chatted about this and that aimlessly, trying to get past it, but it was like a lump in my throat that I just couldn't swallow. We'd been people watching all morning, but now I began to point out every heavy unattractive biker chick I saw and say "she wouldn't look good in it either".

After the second sarcastic comment, he stopped smiling. The third time he told me to stop, but I didn't seem to know how. It was almost like self mutilation. As if each pass of the knife across my thigh could somehow drown the earlier hurt.

Somewhere between my third and fifth observation, Wolf told me that he would spank me if I didn't stop. I either didn't believe him, or was too distraught to care, I can't remember which, but I know I couldn't seem to stop making ugly comments, hurting myself and Wolf both. I barely noticed when he steered me towards the beach boardwalk. The crowds were much thinner here, but even so, we were hardly alone. Indifferent to anyone but me, he told me it was time for the spanking I seemed determined to get.

I whimpered "no, Daddy, not here, people will see!"

Ignoring my pleas, he told me to bend over. When I continued to protest, he took me by the neck as if I were a wayward kitten, and pushed me over a stone parapet. He swatted my bottom hard a few times, and almost immediately, the cherished ritual burst the ugly bubble of self pity I'd surrounded myself with.

Clad as I was in thick rip-stop fabric, I wasn't in any real pain, but tears ran down my face nonetheless. What better proof could there be that I belonged to him? He knew exactly what I needed, and shocked bystanders didn't exist for him. He finally let me up, hand still on my neck, and pulled me into his arms.

"I love you, I own you, and you are beautiful, much more so without any lingerie at all. Now, no more pouting, do you understand me?"

And I did. Finally. A sudden thunderstorm often clears the air, and so it is with me. When I have acted foolishly, I am punished. Not because he is angry with me, but because he knows that I need it to restore order and balance to our relationship. He loves me, and sets few rules for me, but insulting his property is simply not allowed.

The crowds and the stress of the day melted away as he stroked my hair tenderly.

"The best corset in the world couldn't make you more beautiful to me, Pet. I love you just the way you are, in your Sigourney Weaver-tough and sexy tank top. Besides, that corset was poorly made, over-priced, and not worthy of you. Now it's time for you to behave, and the next time you treat my property without the proper respect, I will put you over my knee then and there, without concern for who might see."

In a moment of clarity, I realized that the whole battle had been a tempest in a teacup. It was never about the way I looked; it was about Wolf's desire for the best for me. I held him tightly, safe in his arms, and let his snug embrace settle around me like a security blanket. Coming face to face with your own insecurities and imperfections is never an easy process, but Wolf is a patient man, and spent the next few days reminding me of how very much I am loved. One woman may tell white lies to another, but there is no faking passion. When the man you love simply cannot keep his hands off of you, pretty words are just icing on the cake. Regardless of what I sometimes see in the mirror, I am Wolf's fairy princess. I know that I am beautiful, and that my body, while not perfect, is irresistible to him. That's all that matters.