Betrayed Chapter 6

I did my morning roadwork on the empty, pre-dawn streets of Streeterville. Blocks away, Lake Shore Drive was already filling with the morning crush of traffic; the blue-collars who punched in at six and seven, as well as the workaholic white-collars whose ascent of the corporate ladder superceded a little extra shut-eye. The Japanese no longer had a lock on the 'salaryman' lifestyle – nor its killing results. I showered – equally alone, and feeling it – brushed my teeth, dried my hair, then sat down on my bed and faced the daunting prospect of the coming day.

The Second Level of Hell was dressing for work. A suit and tie? How... drab. The thought of a cotton T-shirt and briefs was just plain revolting after a weekend of something much smoother and softer nestled against my skin. There was also the issue of figure training for the fashion show Dianna and I would be doing in fourteen weeks. She had admonished me doing it right was a constant, everyday process, no different than my running. Dianna had agreed it would be best for now if I did not attempt to wear my breast forms under my suit. We would allow those around me time to adjust, even as my body adjusted.

The whole concept of me as a femme fetish fashion model had seemed such a ghastly joke when she and Paul had proposed it. Now, I hoped I would be ready in time. No one at the office will notice the black satin corset under my suit, right? Or the panties? Or the stockings? Or the silk chemise worn in place of the T-shirt? The suede outfit, plus Dianna's red gown, sandals, and fabulous Silver Fox coat mocked me as I dressed in my unflattering business attire. I stared wistfully at the suede mules, then slipped on my black Florsheimloafers.

The Third Level of Hell was my personal grooming. The earrings – all of them – had come out the night before. Dianna had filled the holes with tiny plastic training plugs to keep them open. With a little concealer, they weren't noticeable unless you were really up close and looking for them.