He led her into the room. She took it in and felt a bit overwhelmed, although she was impressed with what he had done. He had definitely thought of the details and it was sumptuous. She should have known better really. When he said boudoir, he meant boudoir, from the vixen red velvet chaise longue to the heavy gilt-edged mirror, it was as if she was transported to another world.
He slipped the satin robe from her shoulders, and she felt a shiver as it passed down her arms. He allowed it to fall to the floor and stood her to face him, naked apart from the long black gloves he had left for her, part of the instructions he sent that afternoon. She tried not to imagine what was coming next for it seemed to work better that way.
“You are beautiful,” he purred into her ear. “My girl!”
She felt herself relax into him, and the tension from earlier seemed to subside, almost as if she were being washed away as she shed her other self.
“Will you do this for me?”
Agreeing was part of what they were. It went without saying that she would not question and would follow where he led. It had been hard at times, but then the gains were huge and she had to trust that he knew best. Not trust as she had at first, wearing it as a cloak that she donned when times required it, but really trust, so that it became part of who she was, of what she was.
And so she bent her head forward as he secured the lace mask across her eyes and allowed herself to be led, and placed, draped across the chaise like a part of the scene which had been there all along. Her breathing quickened as she wondered briefly what was to come next, and as he kissed her, her nipples hardened and she felt the familiar ache begin to spread across her sex.
“You will do this for me, ma Cherie?” he said, as he stood up and crossed the room. Standing in front of the larger window, he pulled at the heavy damask with a flourish and drew the curtains apart, securing each, one after the other, with a tassled tie back.
Concentrating on him, it took her a moment to fully realise what was happening. Light flooded into the dimmed room, illuminating the picture of her pale flesh for her in the reflection of the mirror. She looked across to where he stood and then beyond. The deep red of her space contrasted with the grey outside, the everyday scene juxtaposed against the passion and promise of the boudoir.
Her heart raced and something carouselled in the pit of her stomach. She kept still as instructed, a sort of wounded prey, frozen despite the inevitability before her. She looked into his eyes, not speaking but pleading, as the scene moved on outside. People passed, stopping to glance in, wondering causally as reality dawned and they were drawn to feast on the nakedness of the object before them.