A spiked heel peeks from the layers with a matching companion. Shoes. Though more specifically, stiletto sandals in black satin and suede.
Quelle surpris?Not really, given our discussions. The man has a serious hard-on for a girl in nice shoes. Uncurling my legs, I have my pseudo-Cinderella moment and shouldn’t be surprised that they actually fit. An even bigger surprise? The scarlet-coloured sole.
Louboutin’s.Holy fuck.
More tasteful than stripper heels, with a tie-me-up-tie-me-down kind of vibe, the shoes feature tiny crisscrossing straps and a large satin bow at the heel. The label readsVampanodo,and I think as a description, it’s pretty apt.
Tipping the remainder of the contents on the floor, I’m beginning to sense a theme as I shake out a ribbon wrapped black satin bundle. Holding the unfolded item at arm’s length, I‘m not sure how I feel. I’ve heard of crotchless knickers, but these, well, they’re bottomless. From the front, a regular pair of undies, but from the rear they’re just a couple of strings and a large bow.Cute, but definitely kinky. The matching bra is much the same— under-wiring, no actual cups, just bands of satin tied in a nipple-level bow. Setting them down, I chew on my thumb and eye the final item—a small, square jewellery box.Please let it be earrings.
My heart thumps erratically as I balance the velvet square in my palm.
Nestled inside are two delicate silver butterflies, each a little larger than a jacket button. Beautifully crafted with filigree wings, they’re obviously some kind of adornment or accessory, but definitely not earrings. Noting a hinge, I squeeze the wings with some caution, and the tiny legs open in a pinching motion. Clipping them into my hair, they’re pretty but ineffective and slide right out. I feel as though I should know what they are as I clip and unclip one to the tip of my thumb.Not hair clips, but an accessory of some kind.One thing I do know is they’re a fine metaphor for the fluttering going on inside right now.
And while Kai may not have included a note, the theme for this evening has been printed in capitals and bold type.
Dusk draws in as I stare at my reflection; the underwear, the heels, the black satin and bows. Seems I’m all tied up with somewhere to go. I must’ve frightened him with the description of my onesie. A giggle bubbles in my throat, bordering almost on hysteria. Never in a million years would I have imagined I’d ever wear an outfit like this. Hell, my imagination couldn’t evenimaginean outfit like this.
Contemplating a glass of something to cope with what is clearly delayed shock, an echo of Niamh’s words float into my head.
Be who I want to be. Do what, or who, I want.
Taking a second look in the mirror, I peer over my shoulder and straighten the ribbons across my arse. Despite feeling panicked and slightly theatrical, even I can see I look hot. I could almost unwrap myself...
I pull a dress from the closet. Empire-line and silver-grey chiffon, it falls demurely to my knees, balancing the kinky lying beneath. I only hope there aren’t any prevailing winds out tonight.Would that kind of inadvertent flash be a weather or wardrobe malfunction?
Rashid arrives as arranged, ringing the intercom. In view, or rather, to avoidaview of my almost bare derriere and the potential for Rashid to cop an eyeful, I end up clutching my hands to my butt and wriggling into the car like a bug.
As we pull into the traffic, I wonder if I should strike up a conversation. Although a grey area, I’ve been told I should avoid talking to strangers, particularly men; a cultural stranger danger of sorts. Not that it seems relevant as Rashid stares resolutely ahead. He’s so unlike Kai, though if thereisa stereotypical Dubai male, Kai probably isn’t it. All the same, I think I need to investigate Middle Eastern social mores... some more.
I try not to squirm against the leather, but I’m nervous, my body brimming with a kind of pent-up energy that begun when I opened the box. With every movement, I’m conscious of my almost covered behind and the satin sliding against my skin. My dress rustles quietly, the warm leather seat beneath my thighs. I close my eyes, head falling back as I recognise, uncomfortably, what I am is actually aroused. Sitting up, I smooth the dress across my thighs.
It’s a good job women wear the dresses and not men. The lack of subtly in the male anatomy would make a permanent tent of this dress.
Sniggering at the thought, I draw Rashid’s attention through the rear view mirror, turning the laugh into a tactic cough.It’s also good that it’s dark in the car.My dress swishes again as I clear my throat once more. Aroused, with an undertow of... trepidation? Excitement? Somehow, it all just seem to add to the effect. It’s not surprising I’m nervous, considering the borderline fetish I’m wearing at a guy’s behest. Not that it’s all about him. There’s something about him for sure, something that makes me feel incredibly bold. He’s pretty much irresistible, but is desire too simple an explanation?
His lustful, bedroom eyes tempt and challenge me. Make me feel brave. And around him, I’m so far removed from the Kate I left behind in Australia, which is seductive in itself.
