Strait Jacket Novels & Stories

I had something he’d never touch, freedom. Strolling in a bit late wasn’t my original plan, but was as tradition demands. My jacket was wrinkled on purpose, because fashion is just disobedience with buttons. My hair was half-tamed, my cravat a little off-center. I’d getcompliments anyway, which was proof that none of this made sense.

I was still bewildered by the sudden pace of events when she stepped up rapidly behind me, seized the collar of my suit jacket, and jerked it downwards off my shoulders – the buttons at the front held, and the result was to pinion my arms to my sides, like some impromptu strait-jacket.

He was no longer afraid to tell her his story. Tara stood before the full-length mirror as she fixed the last of the row of tiny buttons on the front of the jacket of the royal blue walking suit Joshua produced. She was completely mesmerized by her reflection. Joshua said he’d commissioned the outfit for her just before he left for Virginia, but it arrived too late and hung in the wardrobe awaiting his return. She found his concern that it still be in fashion touching and his delight that it fit her like a glove embarrassing. The bustle at the rear of the jacket and matching over skirt provided a distinctive silhouette while the black jacket, over skirt hem, and oversized sleeves balanced o

Wilkinson Club is one of those posh clubs every billionaire aspires to get into and they have their own set of strict rules to adhere to. "Really? Are you sure?" She saw his face getting twisted with anger. He even mumbled some curses directed at the old man. "A jacket above my shirt won't do?" he asked. He knew the old man chose that club solely to make him wear a suit. But he didn't want to. "No," Jacques shook her head glancing at him in his usual plaid shirt, jeans and boots. "they won't even allow loafers."

I knew I looked hot and was bound to turn heads but that was the point. “Will you be putting on a jacket?” I frowned. “Do I need to?” Saint pursed his lips. “Then can you at least wear a bra?” “I didn’t bring a strapless one.” “Change the top.” “The top is the point.” “Your ass is distracting enough.” “My ass is distracting you?”

"We can't miss the meeting. I'm not leaking bodily fluids, and I have all my extremities." "Except for those dents," Cleona grunted. "Maybe it's the hair." Stralath touched the clipped strands. "How should I know." She waggled a long strand of her own. "This is annoying. Who chose our skins? Some asshole at HQ?" The two women who'd eyed him earlier sauntered closer. "Are you an actor?" They both wore tight dresses that showed off every curve. Stralath's nostrils flared as potent perfume almost blew him back. His predatory sense of smell wasn't built for harsh chemical scents, and he swallowed hard.

He buttoned it up methodically, his long fingers moving with practiced ease. Next came a charcoal gray suit jacket, tailored to perfection. He slid his arms into the sleeves, adjusting the shoulders until it sat just right. The trousers followed, their pleats sharp and creases crisp. He fastened a black leather belt around his waist, adding a touch of formality to the ensemble.

The air seemed to crackle with tension, each step of Aiden's echoing a reminder of his elevated status. Isabella watched as everything slowed down to her. Aiden's appearance was a striking blend of elegance. He wore a fitted black jacket that clung perfectly to his athletic frame, tailored precisely to magnify his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The jacket was sleek and spotless, with deep red linens running along either side, a designing but deliberate touch of color that hinted at a more dangerous allure. The red trim seemed to pulse against the black fabric, a quiet but bold statement that mirrored Aiden's own presence–controlled yet impossible to ignore.