by Jenny Frame
“Were they happy about fashion school?”
She gulped down the emotion that came rushing back with memories from her late teens. “Not at all. They were disgusted at the thought. In my family women wore long skirts and modest, unflattering jumpers or blouses. No, I ran away when I was eighteen. I made contact with Uncle Jaunty and his partner, Simon, and they took me in. They helped me through school and have been like fathers to me.”
Byron sat forward and smiled. “I’m glad you had someone to look after you. Everyone needs someone to take care of them.”
Amelia looked down at her glass. That was true, and although she felt her uncles’ support and love, there was still something missing in her life.
“So, in my first year at college we were asked to do a special project and design something for a woman for a special occasion. I thought I’d be different and design a three-piece suit. It went down really well, and when I saw my female model in the suit I’d designed, I knew that’s what I wanted to do. There is so much more to a well-tailored suit than people would imagine.”
“Very true.”
They spent the next half hour looking through the fabric books and picking out three particular cloths.
“Okay, if I could just take your measurements now, Byron.”
“Of course.” Byron got up to take her jacket and waistcoat off. “When will you need me for the first fitting? I’m afraid I have appointments Thursday and Friday.”
“Would Monday work for you? I’ll start cutting the cloth tomorrow,” Amelia said.
“Perfect.”
Byron took off her jacket and checked her short neat hair in the mirror in front of her before saying, “I love the brown tweed. It’s perfect for the country. I hold a lot of get-togethers for my top executives in country retreats throughout the year. I like to look the part.”
Amelia smiled. “You’ll certainly look the dapper gent in the herringbone tweed. It’s a beautifully made fabric.”
Seemingly satisfied her hair looked just right, Byron stood up, ready for Amelia to do her work.
Amelia picked up her measuring tape, and she noticed Byron gazing longingly at her legs. She was glad she’d decided to wear her retro fifties stockings that had a black seam down the back that drew the eye up past her calves. Byron clearly appreciated them.
“What do you think?” Amelia asked.
Byron didn’t seem to hear her question. She was too intent upon devouring Amelia’s body with her eyes. Byron was looking at her like there was more on sale than a suit. It should have perhaps offended her, that she was being ogled like a piece of merchandise, but quite the opposite: Amelia wanted to drop to her knees and serve her like she had in her fantasy the night before.
“I’m sorry. Can you say that again?” Byron said.
Amelia had completely forgotten what she had asked and frantically looked down at her notes for a clue. “I—I just wondered if you would like a velvet lining in the top pocket of all of your suits. It’s excellent for glasses or sunglasses, keeps them clean.”
Byron smiled at Amelia’s ingenuity. “That’s a wonderful idea. I’ve never been offered that before.”
Amelia could feel the hot blush burnishing her cheeks, and Byron responded by stepping closer. Amelia felt compelled to fill the tense silence that Byron seemed to find very comfortable. “It’s just a simple little idea. I’ve been working on some of my own designs to update the traditional suit and make it really work for modern men and women.”
“Sounds interesting. I’d love to see your designs sometime.”
“I’d like that.” Amelia fiddled with her tape measure nervously. “Can I take your measurements now, Byron.”
Byron lifted her arms out to the side, “I’m all yours, Miss Honey.”
Amelia laughed nervously and placed her pencil behind her ear. She tried to quell the passion inside her and find the professional distance that had deserted her the moment Byron De Brek had walked in the door yesterday.
Come on, you can do this. She walked around Byron, stood behind her, and said, “Okay, can you stand in your normal posture with hands by your side. I’m going to start with measuring your shoulders. Do you like a close-fitting suit, or with a little room?”
“Close-fitting. I like everything neat and tidy in my life.”
I bet, thought Amelia. Neat, ordered and in control. She measured across Byron’s shoulders and couldn’t help her hands lingering over her muscled upper back.
Amelia’s pathetic attempt at professionalism didn’t last long, and she felt the familiar incessant heavy beat start inside her. The feeling that had plagued her last night as she thought about her strange appointment with Byron.
She quickly wrote down the numbers and moved to Byron’s arm. There couldn’t be any danger there. Amelia desperately tried to make conversation to distract herself from how attracted she was to her customer.
“So…where are you off to after your two weeks in London?”
“I have business appointments all over Europe. Germany, France, Brussels, and Austria.”
Amelia wrote down the numbers on her pad and said with a little sarcasm, “Banking keeps you busy then?”
Byron couldn’t help but chuckle. “You could say that. And I must say, your bedside manner, as it were, is much better than your uncle’s. He tends to get lost in his own world, talking to me like I’m a mannequin.”
Amelia moved around to her other arm to measure. Simon often grumbled that Jaunty had better conversations with his dressmaker’s dummies than with him. “He does tend to get lost in his work.”
“He’s a good man though. He’s always been most understanding of my situation. How is he?” Byron asked.
“Much better, thanks. I was at the hospital visiting this afternoon. He asked me to pass on his thanks for the gift you sent.”
“My pleasure.”
Amelia moved around in front of Byron with her pencil in her mouth. This would be the difficult part—being in such close proximity to someone who radiated a heat that drew her in and made her want things she had only thought about in the privacy of her mind.
She took what she thought was the safest option and knelt by Byron’s legs. When her eyes naturally went to Byron’s fly and she saw a slight bulge there, her heart started to hammer.
Oh my God. Does she? She couldn’t wear—
Just like her fantasy?
She held up the tape to Byron’s inside leg and couldn’t help the small groan that escaped her lips. Byron wore a strap-on.
It was her fantasy, Byron was her fantasy. She looked up when she felt Byron’s hand stroking her head.
“You see why I need discretion, Amelia?” Byron said.
“Yes,” Amelia croaked. “I can give you discretion, I can give you anything you want, Byron.”
“I know.”
Byron did know, didn’t she? It must have been inescapable that she wanted Byron. Byron must have seen her desire and she didn’t look angry, awkward, or uncomfortable.
“Write down the measurements and come up here, Amelia.”
She did as asked but couldn’t help but have one last look. In her mind she could see herself opening Byron’s belt and pulling open her button fly with her teeth, but Byron’s voice brought her back to reality.
“Come up, now,” Byron repeated.
She did and took a breath before writing down her numbers. “I’m sorry—”
Byron gently grasped her chin and looked into her eyes. “Don’t be. Tell me what you are thinking.”
Amelia gave her a soft laugh. “You don’t want to know what I was thinking.”
“Oh, I do.”
“Remember what I asked you yesterday?”
“You asked me to tell you what you wanted? Yes?” Byron asked.
“Yes. Can you tell me now?”
Byron stroked her cheek with the backs of her fingers. “You’re passionate, but you’ve only had a couple of sexual encounters and they left you cold. They l
eft you wondering what it is that you really want.”
“And what is that?”
“You want things you’ve never asked for. Things you think are wrong. Everything that your strict moral upbringing told you is wicked. You want someone to take control, take responsibility for your wants and needs. To be looked after and cared for, so you don’t have to worry.”
Amelia had never been more turned on in her life. Byron De Brek was her fantasy made real, and she could read her like a book, but Amelia could never admit what she was thinking. This was a professional appointment, but how could anyone expect to be professional with Byron De Brek’s gaze melting them on the spot?
“Amelia? Take my last measurements, and we’ll talk some more.”
She nodded and stepped closer to wrap the tape around Byron’s chest and was enveloped in Byron’s rich aftershave. One thing she knew for sure—she would not sleep a wink tonight, her frustrations would be so great.
She jotted down what she needed on her notepad and slid the tape around Byron’s waist, then her hips, the last places to measure.
Amelia’s mind couldn’t dispense with the thought of what Byron wore there. Her eyes closed and inhaled her client’s warmth and scent. Her body reacted viscerally. Her nipples tightened and her pussy throbbed. She could almost feel the deep emptiness as the contractions inside her tried to clench onto the phantom cock that she was aching for.”
“Open your eyes.”
She did as she was asked and found Byron looking at her hungrily.
“Tell me your fantasy, Miss Honey. What do you think about in the dark when you touch yourself?”
The images going through her head were almost too much to contain. “I can’t—”
Byron rested her forehead against Amelia’s and whispered quietly, “You are so beautiful, Miss Honey. I want to show you a different side of life. The life you’re aching to discover.”
“Yes.” Amelia felt Byron’s soft lips press against her own, and her knees went to jelly.
Byron supported her around the waist and pulled her lips away just as softly as she had placed her kiss. Amelia wanted those lips again and moved forward to kiss her, but Byron rested her finger on her lips.
“Slowly, remember, anticipation is part of the pleasure.”
“Byron,” Amelia whined.
“Do you need anything more from me?”
Everything you want to give me. “You mean…?”
“My suits?”
Amelia let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. It was back to business and that she could handle. “No, now I have your measurements, I’ll cut the cloth and have it ready for first fitting by Monday.”
“Excellent. Show me your designs.”
“What, now?”
“Yes, now,” Byron demanded.
“Okay, just give me a minute.” As she started to walk, she heard Byron following her. She snapped her head around and said, “I can bring them up to you.”
Byron gave her the penetrating stare that disrupted her brain and made it difficult for her to think. “Lead on, Miss Honey.”
*
Amelia led them down the staircase at the back of the shop to the workroom, and her nervous excitement grew with each step.
The large open space had changed little in the hundred years the shop had been here. Each bench had fabric, cutting scissors, chalk, buttons and other essential tailoring equipment.
“So this is where my suits are made?” Byron asked.
“Yes.” Amelia backed up against her workstation for safety, and Byron sat on the edge of the station across from her, crossing her arms nonchalantly.
Byron picked up a discarded ribbon of cloth from the bench and began to run it through her hands. “You worked downstairs here for a year before you got to work with the customers upstairs. You feel a constant need to prove yourself because some of the other designers think the only reason you’ve been promoted is because you are Jaunty’s niece.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve told you. I can read people, Miss Honey. I observe a person’s manner and reactions and deduce their thoughts, wants, and needs.”
Amelia felt naked in this woman’s presence, both emotionally and physically. She searched her mind for small talk. Something to disrupt the sexually charged air between them that was commanding her to drop to her knees and beg Byron to touch her. “I’ve read that you have aristocratic blood. Is that true?”
Byron laughed and walked towards her, holding Amelia against her workstation. She wrapped the cloth ribbon around Amelia’s waist and held each end, keeping her close.
“Checking up on me?”
She was so close Amelia could smell her gorgeous aftershave again. “I looked you up on the Internet—not that there was much information, you’re a very mysterious person. I only wanted to know who I was going to be working with.”
“Seems fair. Yes, my family has aristocratic blood. We come from Vienna, where the De Brek bank was established in the fifteenth century. It’s one of the oldest banks in the world, but we have been living in London for the last few hundred years. Is that enough information for you?”
“Yes,” Amelia croaked.
Byron’s hot gaze made her lower her eyes, and her heart started to thud wildly.
“I’ve seen you watching me,” Byron said.
“What do you mean?”
“Whenever I came into the shop, your eyes followed me.” Byron’s lips lowered to within inches of hers, and she whispered, “Tell me why.”
Amelia felt slightly embarrassed that Byron had noticed her lustful stares and tried to shrink away from her, but Byron grasped her hips.
“I can’t say it.”
Byron placed both ends of the ribbon she was holding in one hand and started to gently caress Amelia’s neck with her fingertips, whilst never taking her eyes off her. “I noticed you, Miss Honey. I can almost taste your innocence from here. That’s why I was so drawn to you. Most of the women in my world are showy and false, but you are so real, and so very female.”
Amelia was so turned on she felt weak, and all she could think about was Byron touching her.
She groaned when Byron replaced the touch of her fingers on her neck with her lips. But Byron didn’t kiss her. She felt Byron’s hot breath and only the merest touch of her lips as she continued to speak.
“I’ve felt a need for someone like you growing in me for the last year or so. I’ve grown tired of women who were eager to please and pleasure me for what I have in my bank account and not for my own sake.”
Amelia couldn’t stop herself from putting her arms around Byron’s neck and threading her her fingers through the short hair above her highly starched collar.
“Yes.” Byron came back to her lips and Amelia gulped hard. She could feel that she was affecting Byron too. “You have a special kind of innocence, Amelia. The moment I saw you I sensed that. You have an innocence that secretly wants to know more, wants to experience pleasure and all that it entails. Are you ready to tell me what you thought when you looked at me?”
Was she ready? Her nipples ached to be touched and her pussy was wet and throbbing. Of course she was ready. “You are my fantasy, Byron, and every time I saw you, all I could think about was pleasing you, and that my sole purpose was to serve you…to exist only for your pleasure.”
She was rewarded by Byron grasping her neck tenderly and kissing her deeply for the first time. Amelia groaned and her head swam with sensation.
Almost as soon as it started, Byron pulled away. “Good girl. You see? You get rewarded for telling me the truth. Tell me what you think about when you touch yourself.”
Amelia immediately tensed and thought about what she had fantasized about and done in the dark of her bedroom last night.
Byron smiled and grabbed her hand, bringing it to her lips. “You touched yourself last night. What did you think about?”
Her eyes flitted down to Byron’s crotch.
“Ah, you want this?” She took Amelia’s hand and placed it on the bulge at her fly.
“Oh God, yes, Byron. I thought about you filling me inside, thrusting in me till you came.”
Byron growled and said, “Take off your skirt.”
Amelia quickly unzipped her skirt at the back and kicked it to the side when it pooled at her feet.
Byron looked at her hungrily, while twisting the ribbon in her hands. “Black lace panties and stockings? Good girl, that’s just what I like. Now your blouse.”
Amelia did as she was asked and now was standing in her underwear in the middle of her workroom. It was so wrong, but so exciting. The workroom was a hive of activity during the day, with a strict, polite regime of master cutters at top, finishers and apprentices at the bottom. They weren’t even allowed to bring tea or coffee onto the workroom floor, it was so strict. If they could see her now…
Byron was beside her in a second. She grasped Amelia’s hands and bound them with the ribbon in front.
“Byron, kiss me again.”
“Uh-uh. Kisses are rewards. You have to please me first.” Byron lifted her onto the workstation in one movement and stepped between her legs. “Lie back.”
She did and Byron pulled her forward, so her hips were just hanging off the edge, and began to pull her panties off slowly. Byron kissed each inch of her thigh and leg as she eased them off. They were thrown to the side and her stiletto heels rested on Byron’s shoulders. “You are so wet, Miss Honey. Show me how you touched yourself last night.”
Amelia didn’t hesitate. She had lost all sense of proprietary or embarrassment, and with her wrists bound, slipped her finger into her own wetness. No fantasy could compare to being bound underneath Byron, and about to be used for her pleasure.
Byron’s hand rested on her belt. “Do you want this?”
Amelia licked her lips and moaned. “Yes, please, Byron.”
Her eyes never left Byron’s crotch as she slowly unbuckled her belt and popped the buttons in her fly. Amelia caught sight of the bulge in her jockey shorts and reached out to touch her, but she was pushed back.
“No touching.” Byron pulled her strap-on cock from her jockeys and immediately became hard for her. It must have been one of those hard packers Amelia had read about. “Put your arms behind your head and don’t move them.”
