This is a follow up to Money Troubles - Chapter 3.
If you have not read that, please take the time to read it here:
The leather of the seat felt cool against my nylon-clad thighs, each slight shift sending the plug deeper inside me. I’d been so consumed with the transformation—so focused on the sensations of becoming Tracy—that I’d never once considered what came next. The actual date. What would we talk about? What would Tom expect? The questions spun in my mind, dizzying in their possibilities.
My attention drifted to my body, to the unfamiliar sensations that had become my new reality. The weight of the adhesive breasts pulled at my chest with every breath, their fullness pressing against the restrictive fabric of the dress. The corset compressed my ribs, forcing shallow breaths that made me acutely aware of my own fragility. My feet, imprisoned in the towering heels, throbbed with a dull ache, the straps pressing into my skin through the sheer nylon. Even my toes felt different, encased in the delicate material, the crimson polish visible through the sheer fabric.
“Excuse me,” I said, my voice sounding strange to my ears—softer, higher than I remembered. “Where... where is Tom?”
The driver’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. “Mr. Tom is waiting at the restaurant,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
“Do you know which one?” I pressed, my fingers tightening around the clutch in my lap.
“La Belle Vie,” he replied, his attention already returned to the road.
My stomach dropped. La Belle Vie. The new steakhouse everyone was talking about—the one with reservations booked months in advance, where even a simple glass of wine cost more than our weekly grocery budget. The kind of place Trey had never been able to afford to take Stacey.
Before I could process this information, my phone buzzed against my thigh. With trembling fingers, I retrieved it from the clutch, my painted nails clumsy against the screen. A text from Stacey.
Go get ‘em, girl! it read, followed by a winking emoji. And don’t forget to swallow. 😉
Heat flooded my cheeks at her crude reminder, but my body betrayed me again, the plug pressing against that sensitive spot as my muscles tensed. I shoved the phone back into the clutch, my hands shaking.
The car slowed, turning smoothly into a circular drive lined with meticulously maintained landscaping. Even through the tinted windows, I could see the warm glow of the restaurant’s entrance, the soft lighting that promised intimacy and expense.
The driver came around to open my door, his hand extended to help me out. I took it, my fingers feeling small and delicate in his grip. As I stepped onto the pavement, the night air caressed the exposed skin of my back, the breeze whispering against the sheer nylon of my legs. The sound of my heels clicking against the stone walkway seemed impossibly loud in the sudden quiet of the evening.
The glass doors of La Belle Vie swung open with a whisper, and I stepped inside, my heels sinking slightly into the plush carpet. The hostess, a woman with impossibly coiffed hair and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, greeted me before I’d fully crossed the threshold.
“Ms. Tracy,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “Mr. Tom has been expecting you. Right this way, please.”
She led me through the main dining room, where couples huddled over flickering candlelight, their conversations muted by the expensive decor. My heart hammered against my compressed ribs with every step, the plug inside me shifting with each movement of my hips. All eyes seemed to follow us, drawn by the click of my heels against the polished floor.
At the back of the restaurant, a curved staircase led upward, carpeted in deep burgundy that absorbed sound and light alike. “The private dining area,” the hostess murmured, gesturing for me to precede her. The stairs were a challenge in these heels, my hand trembling as I gripped the ornate brass railing.
At the top, a single booth occupied the far corner of a semi-private alcove, its high-backed crimson velvet offering both intimacy and seclusion. A man rose as we approached—Tom, I assumed. He was exactly as I’d imagined from our brief encounter: impeccably dressed in a tailored navy suit that probably cost more than our monthly mortgage, with silver hair at his temples and eyes that missed nothing.
“Tracy,” he said, his voice a warm baritone that vibrated through me. “I’m delighted you could make it.” He extended a hand, his grip firm but not overpowering. “I must admit, I wasn’t entirely certain you would come.”
His eyes roamed over me, appreciative without being lecherous. “You are even more breathtaking than I’d imagined.”
I managed a weak smile, my throat too dry to form words.
“Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to the booth. “But first, I hope everything I sent fit properly? Was everything to your liking?”
“They’re... beautiful,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “Everything is perfect.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Everything?” he pressed, his eyes dropping pointedly to my lower body. The implication was unmistakable—he was asking about the plug.
I felt heat creep up my neck but forced myself to meet his gaze. “Yes,” I said, a slight smile playing on my crimson lips. “Everything.”
“Excellent,” he murmured, his eyes darkening with satisfaction. “Very good, Tracy.”
He gestured again to the booth, and as I slid onto the plush velvet seat, I felt the plug shift inside me, pressing against that sensitive spot with the change in position. Tom settled opposite me, his gaze lingering on the exposed skin of my back where the dress plunged so daringly.
The waiter appeared almost instantly, as if by magic, placing menus on the table and pouring champagne into crystal flutes. Tom raised his glass, his eyes never leaving mine.
“To new beginnings,” he said, and I could only wonder what kind of beginning he had in mind for Tracy. The champagne bubbles tickled my nose as I took a tentative sip, my painted lips leaving a faint crimson imprint on the crystal.
“You mean... one night, right?” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “That was the agreement.”
Tom’s smile widened, a knowing glint in his eyes. He set his glass down, the crystal making a soft sound against the linen tablecloth. “You are right, Tracy.” He paused, letting the words settle between us like dust motes in candlelight. “We will take it one step at a time.”
The waiter returned, notepad in hand, his posture deferential. Tom didn’t even glance at the menu. “We’ll start with the oysters on the half shell,” he said, his voice carrying easily in the intimate space. “For the lady, the pan-seared scallops with saffron risotto. And I’ll have the filet mignon, medium rare, with truffle mashed potatoes.”
He looked at me after ordering, his eyes questioning. “Unless you’d prefer something else, Tracy?”
The champagne had begun to work its magic, loosening the knot of tension in my stomach. I shook my head, a small smile playing on my crimson lips. “No, that sounds perfect.”
Tom’s answering smile was warm, genuine. “Excellent choice.” He turned back to the waiter. “And a bottle of the Château Margaux, please.”
As the waiter departed, Tom leaned forward slightly, his forearms resting on the table. “Tell me, Tracy,” he began, his voice low and intimate, “what do you do when you’re not captivating strangers in lingerie boutiques?”
I took another sip of champagne, the bubbles dancing on my tongue. “I... I’m between jobs at the moment,” I admitted, surprised by how easily the words came.
“Ah,” Tom nodded, his expression thoughtful. “That happens to the best of us. What field were you in?”
“Finance,” I said, then quickly added, “but I’m not sure I want to go back. I’ve been... exploring other options recently.”
The double meaning wasn’t lost on him. His eyes darkened with understanding. “Sometimes the most rewarding paths are the ones we never expected to take.”
