↠68↞ Red Devil

                                    

                                          
↠68↞
Red Devil
I’m stood in the closet, still in shock. I strive to process the image in my head of the things that are located in front of me.
Damn. Is all my subconscious can muster.
I take a deep breath and stiffly make my way towards a grey, bench stool — an object that wasn’t here before. I suck my bottom lip in between my teeth and anxiously analyse the things that Will has left for me. There is also a folded note placed on the piece of furniture but I can’t read it just yet. Not until I regain my capacity to think clearly.
Come on, Davina. He’s waiting out there. My subconscious lets out a breath of impatience as I hang fire.
I exhale heavily and kneel down, placing my hands on top of my thighs. My eyes analyse everything that Will has left for me on the bench stool: a pair of over-knee boots, a very short skirt, a bandeau top — all vibrant red, made of wet-looking leather that almost appears to me as latex. There is also a choker with a metal hoop, two wrist cuffs identical to the neck garment — all items as scarlet as everything else, but these accessories at least don’t have a glossy look to them. But there is still more. There is a devil horn headband, red lipstick, a hair bobble and a long, clip-in ponytail.
Why would he want me to wear this? Is this what he really likes? Dressing girls up? How many times has he done this before? Is this what he wants me to be? A brassy girl wearing this provocative attire? Is this what turns him on? The reason why he was so excited all day? Because he knew that he’d see me in his choice of clothing tonight? Is this the thing that he got himself off to in the shower? Me being his sexual fantasy, dressed from head to toe in scarlet leather that looks like latex?
All these questions come to my mind, my head is swimming with thoughts that interminably flood it.
I am beyond overwhelmed. My ardor deserts me and my shoulders slump, the Malibu heat that I was feeling downstairs has now turned into an Antarctic gelidity.
As I stare down at the ponytail extension I suddenly feel like crying. Does he not like my hair the way it is? Is my ordinary way of dressing not enough to him? Why does he want me to become his doll? If I do it now, is this what it’s always going to look like? Me being trapped in the fabrics of red leather and restraining accessories?
I inhale deeply and fight back the tears that involuntarily surface over my eyes. There is only one way of finding out. I have to do this. I have to be fearless, put this vulgar outfit on, and face him. His reaction should explain everything. It should tell me whether it’s just some random whim of his or the true side that he’s always been hiding from me.
You already know the answer. My subconscious reappears, way too enthusiastically analysing the red latex with her eyes.
I take a deep breath and eventually reach out for the note. I unfold the small piece of paper and bite on the inside of my cheek as I read off what’s written on it.
‘No underwear.’
I exhale heavily and toss the note back onto the bench stool. I get up to my feet and start undressing from my clothes that I next replace with everything that Will’s left for me.
Even with the zip undone I struggle to pull the bandeau top down my chest, but once I manage, the wet-looking leather feels unbelievably tight around my breasts. The fabric rubbed against my nipples as I was putting it on, and now they’re erect, their hardness noticeable even through the top. Fortunately, I don’t have as much problem with dressing into the leather skirt and boots, even though they’re just as skin-tight as the top.
Clad from head to toe in scarlet, latex-looking leather, I install the choker around my neck and the wrist cuffs around my wrists. I feel stupid, overwhelmed and embarrassed with the way I look, but at least I’m doing it out of my free will, not because it’s a command. I’m glad that he didn’t make me wear these when I was still bound to him by the contract.
I neatly tie my hair up with the bobble, smoothing it with my hands first. Then I clip the extensions in and secure it around my own ponytail, the hair now reaches my butt, imprisoned in the red leather.
I quickly apply the lipstick on, unbothered whether I do it nicely or not because there is no mirror here. Then I reach for the devil horn headband and put it on, a real cherry on the cake.
I’m done.
Thank god. Now go out there and stop making a big deal out of it. My subconscious rolls her eyes in exasperation. It’s just clothes. It’s not like he’s waiting there with ropes.
I inhale deeply and following her advice, I walk towards the door and slide it open. Once I do, my breath hitches in my throat.
Will is standing in the middle of his room, his shirt is unbuttoned, exposing his chiseled torso and stomach. When he lays his eyes on me, he sucks a breath in, his stare becomes famished. Saying that he likes what he’s seeing would be an understatement. He adores it. Savours the red wet-looking leather on me.
My subconscious was right. I shouldn’t have made such a big deal out of it. He’s not waiting with any ropes in his hands. He’s just waiting with a chain.
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