50 shades of gray

Chapter 18-The Dressing Part

After our "snack-n-smack" session, Christian shows me to a walk-in closet, my walk-in closet.

"Obviously, there's more, at Escala," he say, opening the doors. Holy crap, more?! The closet is filled with a number of full-length gowns, as well as an array of cotton, linen, wool, and silk blouses, skirts, pants, and dresses. There's drawers upon drawers of bras, panties, garter belts, and thigh-highs. Three whole drawers are filled with jewelry. There are at least fifteen pairs of shoes — all heels except one pair of athletic sneakers which sit displayed next to a sports bra, white tube socks, and a pair of the tiniest gym shorts I've ever seen.

"Obviously," is all I can eek out.

As I'm ogling the incredibly adult-looking assortment of clothes and accessories (Is that a Birkin?), Christian takes my hand. "Will you wear what I picked out for you today? You don't have to." He sounds so unsure, so unlike himself in this moment. He's asking permission for something. My guess is he's not used to doing that. I nod, grateful to not have to make any decisions right now. Grateful, too, that I'll have some underwear on when I meet Ray in an hour and a half.

He squeezes my hand gently before pulling out a red silk sleeveless blouse and a black pencil skirt, hanging them on the hook by the door to the closet. He then places a pair of black suede pumps beneath them, pulls out a skimpy lace bra and panty set, setting them on top of the dresser along with rhinestone stud earrings that I suspect may actually be diamonds. Huge diamonds.

"I'll leave you to change," he whispers against my neck, planting a small kiss just behind my ear. It makes me shiver. Before I can think better of it, I grab his hand.

"No, please stay, sir."

The look on his face is almost laughable. He's confused and shocked and more than a little turned on. I can see that fire behind his eyes. Maybe he's a little mad, too. His palm twitches in mine.

"I want you to watch." It's all about honesty, right? The truth of the matter is that I do want him to watch me. I want to leave for breakfast with the knowledge that Christian is remembering what I look like, notimagining it.

That now-familiar mischievous smile appears and I falter. Crap, what did I just volunteer for.

"In that case," he says, snatching the panties from on top of the dresser before rummaging around the drawers and pulling out a new pair. "Why don't you wear these?"

I'm sure the look on my face is less than attractive. "Uh, okay, I mean... I don't know what was wrong with the last pair," I say incredulously, reaching for the drawer.

He grabs my hand inches from the handle. "Do you wish to please me?"

I shift uncomfortably under his stare. "Yes, sir."

"Then you'll wear these."

"Yes, sir."

"You'll put them on last," he says, walking to the door and leaning against the frame to watch me, panties still clutched in his hand.

First things first. I have to clear my head a little. I had a plan. I had thoughts. But now that the moment of truth has arrived, I'm not nearly as brazenly confident as I was when I asked him to watch me get dressed. I look around the closet at all the clothes and feel the panic starting to boil up. I don't know what I'm doing.

"Why don't you start with the shoes?"

I look up at him and see a quiet patience. It's amazing how I can let myself just follow his instructions and feel completely at ease. I never would have expected it. Kate would judge me horrendously for it, I know. She'd say I wasn't being my own woman and that I was setting Women's Lib back a half-century.