The Gift of Shame Read Online Free PDF

hand and came back to hand it to her across the coffee table.
    ‘Wear this for me,’ he said.
    Taking the box she saw the famous designer name discreetly engraved in gold in one corner and, instinctively, although only half-heartedly, opened her mouth to protest – but again that finger was there, readied and threatening.
    This created a dilemma. Should she open it here or take it into the bedroom? What if it were something she wouldn’t be seen dead in? Could the contents, given the name on the box, possibly be construed as a Christmas gift between friends or was there something inside that would create an obligation or, at least, an expectation.
    He settled her internal argument by reaching down to pull at the gold ribbon bows himself.
    Under layers of silky white tissue she found a gown of very fine black silk that looked, in the hand, to be practically shapeless. She looked across at him and wondered why he had brought this to her and puzzled over whom it could have been bought for. Certainly not her – couturiers didn’t work over Christmas and they would not, anyway, sell such an item without fittings.
    ‘Put it on,’ he enthused. ‘If there’s anything to be done to it we can fly to Paris and have them fit it properly.’
    Feeling slightly light-headed and thinking she might have, like Alice, fallen down some mythical rabbit hole, she stood and held the dress against her – it still had little form or even shape. ‘Please,’ he was saying. ‘Try it on. If you don’t like it we can change it.’
    Allowing herself a deep sigh, she turned past him, went into the bedroom and firmly closed the door.
    Hurrying to the mirror she again held the gown in front of her and was undecided what to do. Was she going to join in this ‘game’? What if the dress looked as awful on as in the hand? Could this be some kind of fetish of his? Distantly, she heard his voice calling out asking her not to be too long.
    Consciously thinking that this was ridiculous, her hands were already unbuttoning the denim shirt she had worn to greet him. She pulled off cotton leggings, and shed her brassiere, unwearable since the top of the gown consisted only of two panels held by buttons at the shoulders. It took a few attempts before she got the dress on and, when she turned towards the full-length mirror, she got a tremendous shock. The fine silk had immediately clung to the warmth of her body. What had seemed shapeless had now taken form – her form! The material, clinging to every nook and cranny of her body, delineated the thrust of her nipples which, she observed, had gone into instant erection. The effect was breathtaking. She saw herself as transformed and, although she had never thought of herself as any more narcissistic than the next girl, exciting. To wear a dress like this was not only to proclaim the naked body beneath but to advertise to the world that the woman inside was ready for sex.
    Responding to his further warning not to take too long she searched out a pair of high-heeled shoes – Kenneth had called them her ‘tarty’ shoes – and slipped into them. She would have liked to do something more with her hair, but settled for a spray of perfume before taking a careful, assessing, look at herself.
    There was only one flaw in the reflected image and that was the way in which the silk, now thoroughly warmed to her body, and clinging ever closer, outlined her panties.
    With a tingling sense of daring she raised the flowing skirt and, hooking her thumbs into her briefs, pulled them down and stepped out of them.
    Looking at herself she became shocked and aware that her breasts were thrusting hard against the silk and her nipples ached – a sure sign of arousal. ‘Cocktails are ready!’ he called through the door.
    With one last regret at not having more time to do anything with her hair, she moved to the door, took a long breath, and stepped out.
    He was clear across the room holding two tall, stemmed glasses filled