Tag: serial

A Night in a Year: 4. Hair and Make-Up

Hair and Make-up
At her vanity, she experiments with her hair. Up or down, up or down. She eventually decides on a simply clipping two sides up a little, to give it some height. The rest falls down her neck, just above the line of her dress. The clips are two tiny dragon flies, studded with blue jewels. Yes, they are plastic, but they don’t look cheap.

Foundation goes on, followed by blusher. Her eyes will be done next. She chooses her colours; smoky gray, with hints of blue and purple. She tries not to blink or let her eyes water as she outlines them. This close to the mirror, the liner looks like pencil tracing paper, an artist’s sketch rather than marks of a temptress. Mystery only alights her eyes when she starts to apply the colour.

Her lipstick is of course bright red. She traces a liner pencil around her lips, and follows it with the stick itself. As it butts against her upper lip, she imagines the other things she will feel against them tonight: the cool of a bottle head; the rim of a wine glass; lips; tongues; cock. She tries to imagine how she might look to a man staring down at her as she sucks him, and once she’s dabbed tissue to her mouth, opens it in a perfect O to see her reflection. She laughs. It looks daft. Ridiculous. She wonders if arousal takes away how silly sex can look, and decides yes. It will not seem silly when it is someone’s dick on her lower lip, or his hand on her breast. She will not be thinking about how it looks or appears, but how it feels.

Tonight, despite her efforts made now, is all about sensation; the bright and muted sensation of the body.


Next: 5. Shoes

Image found on flickr, by robertotostes, used under the Creative Commons License.

A Night in a Year: 3. Dress

Dress
In her bedroom – kept orderly on most nights but now is an explosion of bras, panties, dresses, skirts, and tops – she stands, still naked, before a mirror, holding up two outfits. The choices are sleek and tight, or loose and short. The first is alluring, but the second will either be easily shoved aside or just fall from her. It’s a choice between creating temptation, or being accessible.

She decides on the black dress that will encase her figure, hold her body in. Though it might be torn by the end of the evening. That thought makes her grin as she tosses the frou-frou skirt and blouse aside.

The dress decides the rest of her clothes.

She looks at her underwear selection – black g-string, black satin panties with ruffles around the bum, plain black cotton. She chews the inside of her cheek, thinking. But after opening her window and sticking her hand out to check the weather, she decides she doesn’t need any. The night is warm.

That is a first.

She chooses black and sheer silk stockings, and carefully hooks her fingers around them when she pulls them up. They rest at her comfortably at her mid-thigh. The garter belt is black too, with a lacy rose pattern. She pulls this on, and clips the four straps to the stockings, tightening where necessary. She stands to check, and examines herself in the mirror. The garter belt frames her cunt, arching over it like a theatre curtain. Her keeps her pubic hair shaped; it looks like a small fan, hovering just over her clit. How much she will be seen naked tonight she doesn’t know.

The dress comes on next. No need for a bra; it is tight enough to support her. And the freedom of that too has a certain crazy appeal.


Next: 4. Hair and Make-up

Image found on flickr, by gi, used under the Creative Commons License.

A Night in a Year: 2. Dry

DryHer towel is white, and less fluffy than softly worn after many years of use. Patting herself down first, she rolls less into the caress of the material, and more the harsh rub. The towel acts as a corrosive: the dirt was washed off with the water, and now clean, she feels like she is shedding old skin.

This is the driest she expects to be all night. Her skin will be like paper, blank, ready to be written on.

She begins with her face and head. Ears first, for the water so often stays in them after a shower. Her hair she’ll attend to later. She rubs her cheeks until she can feel them burn. She loops the towel behind her neck, sawing it back and forth like a rope. After this, her shoulders and chest are scraped down. Only at her breasts is she cautious, carefully brushing over her nipples. But her arms, fingers, back, her stomach, her thighs, knees, calves, feet, are all treated the same, rough way, until she feels the blood beneath her skin, burning and blossoming red.

Between her legs, she is once more gentle, patting her labia with the towel. When she is done, her body feels anew, and her cunt lips are soft, pliable, ready for sweet torments. She has to hold a breath to stop projecting into the evening, for anticipation always leads to disappointment.

She plugs in the hair drier, and with a brush, blows it soft and hard until her curls and waves are straight and fall less like a vine and more as silk curtain. She runs her fingers through it, holding the ends up out from her head to see them in the mirror.

Yes, this is good.

Her body is reawakened, brand new. Ready.


Next: 3. Dress

Image found on flickr, by desiitally, used under the Creative Commons License.

A Night in a Year: 1. Shower

A new project for 2013! A Night in a Year: An Erotic Adventure in Cambridge. Thus far, I have seven parts written, and a plan – this is far better going than I have done in the past, so by this time next week the posts for January should be written too.

Blurb: A woman prepares for a night out in Cambridge, with one thing on her mind. When she hits the centre of town, and enters a newly established bar, her eye sets upon an intriguing gentleman in a sharp suit and long, elegant fingers. However, before the night is out, she will have many more encounters than she could ever have expected.

It should go without saying that these posts will not be safe for work – though the images will remain clean, the text will get absolutely filthy. 😉

Without further ado, here is Part 1. Shower.

Shower
The debris of the day sloughs off her, courses over her eye sockets. The white shower curtain wavers in front of her. She gasps, forcing herself to stay under the burst of cold water, trembling until it warms up. Then she shakes her head under the stream. The water traces her scalp. Her lips part against the veil of it.

This is the start of the ritual. The preparation for the state she’s about to enter. Cleansing, wiping away mundanity before she steps into the night world waiting outside. The water reawakens her senses, dulled from her desk job and the glow of a computer screen. The only piece of technology that will come with her tonight is a tiny phone – no easy connection to the internet, just a few numbers if trouble should strike.

Though she is not averse to a little bit of trouble.

She massages the soap from head to toe; scrubs her hair, her ears, the back of her neck, arm pits, sides, crotch. As the soap swirls away, and she wipes herself clean of it, she wonders that her hand, brushing past her breasts and cunt did not cause even a moment of arousal. The intent of the action, she thinks, and experimentally, press a finger to her clit, urging excitement.

The flicker of it is brief, but present.

She smiles – perfect – and drops her hand away. She will not anticipate the pleasures of the night. That will be left for another hand. Or tongue.

When the soap is all gone, and her skin feels like wet silk, she turns off the shower, and rings the water from her hair. As she steps out, and reaches for the towel, she imagines her night ahead.

How much she will drink, and how much she will fuck.


Next: 2. Dry

Image found on flickr, by wnorrix, used under the Creative Commons License.