Theory Silk Blouse Novels & Stories

There are always flowers and they use their own intricate braids and weaves that look elegant, yet somehow simple. When Emerson knocks on the door, I hug my sprite friends who insist on seeing Sir Alpha Emerson’s reaction to me. I decided on a dress that I got when I was in Paris with my family. It’s silk and full length with with slits up to the thighs, spaghetti straps, and a simple v-neckline. It’s soft and floats around my curves. Since it’s silk, I opted to only where a silk thong underneath it so it doesn't show. Dandy opens the door for Emerson, and I have the pleasure of watching his eyes go nearly black, even darker than his skin.

She untied it slowly and then looked inside the pack. It was a beautiful silk robe for a maiden. She had never touched the silk. The silks were forbidden to wear for the slaves. The silk were forbidden for her to wear. Silk were the most expensive fabric that would be traded only with the high amount of gold. She caressed the silk for the first time. " So, this is how silk feels ," she said to herself as she caressed the cloth gently.She wanted to try it as soon as she got it. She plunged her dirty ragged military clothes in the floor and then, was about to wear it but then, stopped.

His icy gaze raked her from head to toe, taking in her dramatic change of appearance. Lydia turned around only long enough to realize what he was referring to, and then promptly spun back around. “A Mencia skirt, A-13 midnight black, thirty percent embellished black wool and sixty percent silk-blend crepe,” she rattled off immediately. “The top is a limited edition Llorona charmeuse silk, 304-C pale blue, with mother of pearl buttons and a Magnolia buckled belt to cinch at the waist. The shoes - well, they were part of the Sinful line of the Rutgers brand we were promoting last season, but I chose the best of what we had available.”

"I'll text you later." Alone, she lifted the lid. Inside lay the bridesmaid dress: soft lavender silk that shimmered like liquid under the room's light. Her fingers trembled as she stripped down, the cool fabric sliding over her skin. She adjusted the straps in the full-length mirror, the material clinging to her curves, cupping her breasts, nipping at her waist, flowing over her hips. It felt too revealing, the neckline dipping just enough to hint at cleavage. But it fit perfectly, accentuating her blonde hair cascading over one shoulder.

I could not afford to mess this up. I settled on a straight skirt that stopped right below my knees and a silk long sleeve blouse tucked into the skirt. The blouse was the nicest thing I owned, a deep burgundy that I had found at a thrift store years ago. It was still in good condition. It still looked expensive. I tucked it in and I smoothed down the front and I looked at my reflection. It would have to do.

"I'll be fine." She stepped outside and I walked slowly through the racks, running my fingers over silks and satins. Not far to my left, I saw a gown that made me stop breathing for a second. It was midnight blue with an asymmetrical neckline and the most intricate draping I had ever seen. The fabric flowed like water, and the way it was constructed, I have never seen tape used like that to create such clean lines. I reached out and touched it. The texture was incredible. Probably silk charmeuse with an underlayer of some lighter fabric.

I try not to react, but Helen catches me anyway. “The blouse,” she says. It’s not a question. I sigh quietly. “The blouse.” “What’s wrong with it?” she says. “I can tell it’s not working, but I’m unsure why.” “Everything is happening too close to your face.” Marianne looks faintly wounded. Helen appears entertained. I cross toward the rail, scanning the pieces. Most are soft creams and pale taupes, chosen to flatter wealth without risking personality. Near the end I find a silk shell in deep ivory, simple at the neck, beautifully cut through the shoulder.

The silk was cut on the bias, designed to cling to every curve like a second skin. It was sleeveless, with a sharp, architectural neckline that plunged daringly, and a back that was cut almost to the base of her spine. It was not a dress for a guest. It was a dress for a queen. It was a dress that didn’t ask for attention; it commanded it. It was a dress that said, “I am here, and you will not look away.” “It’s called ‘The Inferno’,” the boutique owner said, her voice hushed with reverence. “It’s a one-of-a-kind piece.”

Morning unfolded slowly over the city, pale sunlight spilling across glass towers and polished streets. Inside Seraphine Vale’s penthouse, silence held. Not the silence of emptiness. The silence of control. She stood before her wardrobe, fingers grazing fabrics without really seeing them. Silk. Leather. Structured wool. Every piece chosen, not for beauty but for presence. Her hand stopped. Ivory. She pulled out a fitted silk blouse, its fabric smooth and fluid like water. Paired with a high-waisted black pencil skirt that hugged her hips and tapered sharply at the knees. Clean. Elegant. Unforgiving.

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.