He reached for the white gloves, made of the same stretchy material as the dress. After worming his fingers in, he closed the pearly button at the hee... of each hand. The gloves were another tight sensation, along with the fake bra, the dress and the stockings.The tightness made him feel self conscious, but it also gave a curious sense of safety.He walked over to the tall dressing mirror, holding the small hat. The light came from behind – drowning details while enclosing him in a soft, bright. Pure revulsion churned her insides. Her head lifted, aiming at the painting behind him. “You’re late,” the unfair accusation escaped unbidden.His brows crumpled at her dry tone, but he did not divert his eyes from her which provoked waves of multi-layered reactions in her badly-slept body. “It’s hardly eight in the morning,” he retorted more alert.That he did not sleep in, even having arrived late, counted points in his favour. Points she refused to concede in the mood she found herself in at. More

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