Novel & Cerita It's A 10 Silk

"The email. Adrian. The waiting. It feels like I'm vibrating out of my own skin." Marco stepped into her field of vision, holding a bundle of deep crimson Shibari silk ropes. The soft, heavy material cascaded through his long, dexterous fingers. As a switch, Marco understood the precise, agonizing mechanics of carrying too much weight, and he knew exactly how to dismantle it.

And I was there… in a dress that didn’t belong to me - but somehow was me. Crimson silk, custom-made. Cut to cradle my waist and fall like molten fire down my hips. Backless, of course. It hugged every inch like it had been born for my skin, with just enough shimmer to catch the moonlight and make it sigh. He’d bought it. Calvin.

Midnight blue silk that shimmered under the dim light, silicate straps, the neckline plunging just enough to make my throat tighten. It was beautiful, far too beautiful for me to even consider wearing. If it were a gift from Casio, I would put it on without hesitation, but Maddox had left it here, I just know it. There was no way in hell I would wear something like this for his entertainment.

Dain hadn’t moved in several minutes. The silk bundle sat no more than a foot from his hand, as though it had always been there. He hadn't seen it arrive. Hadn't heard it placed. It was simply… present, quiet, and ominous in its stillness. The silk shimmered faintly in the candlelight—deep violet threaded with silver, the kind of fabric he hadn’t seen since he was a child listening to stories of relic-bearers and rituals long abandoned.

"We will take this one. I want five more of these trousers in different colors. Black, navy, charcoal, camel. I want heavy silk blouses. High collars. No sheer panels. No slits. Buy out the collection." "Of course, sir. We will have the rest delivered tomorrow morning." "Good. Leave us." I heard shuffling, the squeak of rolling racks, the click of the office door closing. We were alone. Silas didn't let go of my collar, his thumb still stroking the cashmere. The choker underneath. "You're out of your mind," I whispered. My voice shaking. "You're spending hundreds of thousands of dollars just to cover my knees." "I told you," he said. "I don't share."

“Yellow?” I forced a short laugh, my teeth clamping down on my lower lip. I grabbed one of my tits, tweaking my nipple the way he would. “It’s a cute kinda yellow. You’ll love it…I wanted to wear it for you. I got others too... can't wait for you to see them,” I heard it then. The distinct sound of him stroking his cock. Fire rushed through my veins. “Is it lace?” He asked, his voice wrecked. “N-no…it’s silk,”

The White Silk Trap ~Tara's POV~ "Ouch! Watch the pins, you idiot!" Lea kicks her foot back, her heel connecting sharply with my collarbone. I swallow a grunt of pain, keeping my head bowed. I am kneeling on the thick Persian rug in the master bedroom, my mouth full of silver sewing pins, adjusting the hem of a fifty-thousand-dollar custom Vera Wang gown. It is a sea of flawless white silk, tough lace, and pearls. It's breathtaking. And it's making me sick to my stomach.

I wish he were here just so I could yell it to his face. I lift the lid and I find another box inside. When I open that one, the smile clears off my face instantly. Silk. A set of lingerie in exotic colors. Black, wine red, and a dark violet that looks like a bunch of exotic secrets. I pick up the wine-red set and feel the fabric in my hands. “Oh my god!” I breathe out, pausing for a few seconds to feel it. It feels like… water. It’s so tiny and delicate it’s almost not even there in my hand.

I was straddling his lap. "Get ready now. I wanna take you out." **** I was perplexed knowing after twenty seven spanks, I was still able to walk. The pain was unbearable, and Silvio provided no comfort either besides a dress that was baby blue coloured with lace decorating its long sleeves and bare neck. It was A-line, with tremendous amount of silky softness. The fabric felt soothing to my burning flesh. My fingers gently rubbed over the fabric. Silk. And unfortunately, I was not given any undergarments.

Just the same lines I had once drawn for myself, now with the weight of years in my hands. I decided it would be white silk. Not cream, not ivory — pure white. The kind of white that feels almost alive under light, that picks up warmth from skin and shadow from folds. It’s the most unforgiving fabric if you treat it carelessly, but when handled right, it speaks without a sound. Julian watched from the doorway for a while before stepping in. “This is your answer?” “Yes,” I said. “No speech?” “No speech.” He nodded once, leaning against the frame, content to let me work.