Page 20 of Pierced

And I made a pact with myself the minute I stepped out of that stupid Quaker school when I was seventeen and started a new life at the University of Denver.

No one gets to humiliate me in front of the entire world ever again.

I flick on the light when I get to the bottom of the steps and take in all the crates and boxes that represent the old me. Not the old me. Not the wallflower girl with the thick glasses and too-skinny legs, and the librarian mother.

The old me that came after that.

The one who wore latex, and corsets. The one who cracked the whip like she was born to use it. The one no one in their right mind would ever call meek, or dull, or plain.

I admit, I kinda miss the old me.

And once I start unpacking wardrobes, once I find the costumes, once I pull on the boots, and once I get that whip in my hand…

Well. I’ve made up my mind.

I will make Pierce Chevalier my bitch.

So I spend the rest of the night looking through boxes, prying crates open with a crowbar, and setting up Myrtle’s room of pain and pleasure.

And then I sit down at my computer and start typing.

When I go back upstairs it’s nearly three AM. But I don’t even feel tired. I feel… refreshed. Because tomorrow morning I’m going to give Pierce an ultimatum.

Either he meets my demands…. or I quit.

And when he says yes, because he will say yes, I will bring him into my room of pain and pleasure.

I will make him wear a collar.

I will put him in a cage.

I will humiliate him the way he humiliated me.

CHAPTER SIX - PIERCE

“That is a bullshit contract and there’s no way, I’m signing it, Derek!” I’m on the phone with my attorney, Derek. He’s a good guy. I’m lucky he’s on my team. “And there’s a million other lawyers who could negotiate a better deal, so either become one of them or I’ll find one of them!”

“Pierce. Please—”

But that’s all I hear him say before I take the nine iron that I’m holding and smash ‘end’ on the speakerphone on my desk. Which, I probably should have been able to foretell, also smashes the speakerphone itself. Damn.

“Valerie!”

I have to yell extra loud because the speakerphone is also my intercom, which I can’t use, because it is now broken. Because I smashed it with a nine iron. For fuck’s…

I take a breath, finding myself extra-stressed today. In fact, I’ve felt particularly worked up since leaving the restaurant last night.

I’m sure the two things are unrelated.

“Yes, Mr. Chevalier?” the meek voice that lives inside the meek body of Valerie says, as her meek head pokes its way through the glass door that accesses the glass wall that comprises my office. Once upon a time I thought that I might feel self-conscious having a completely translucent office, but then I remembered… I like it when people can see what I’m doing. Shows I have nothing to hide. Which isn’t exactly true, but image is everything.

In any case…

“Two things,” I say, “One: I’m going to need a new speakerphone.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, writing it down.

“And two: Call my massage therapist. I need a treatment.”