Shopping for lingerie isn't about the fabric; it's about the intention. Standing in the private fitting room, slipping into a lace harness that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, I'm not thinking about the cost. I'm picturing the look on his face when I greet him at the door tonight, on my knees before he can even take off his coat. My only goal is to have his cock so deep in my throat I forget how to breathe. Some women want flowers. I want to be used like the expensive, beautiful object I am. It’s a far more honest arrangement.