New wardrobe

When I woke the next morning wearing only a old t-shirt, I thought it had all been a fever dream. My body ached, my thighs sticky, my nipples raw from Akio’s nails. For a moment I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, hoping the air in my chest would steady.

Then I saw the boxes.

At first I thought they were deliveries I’d forgotten to order, stacked neatly by the wardrobe, glossy black with silver ribbons. Five, no, six in total. My stomach fluttered as I slid off the bed, legs weak, ring buzzing faintly like it knew what was inside.

I didn't even question how or when they got in my room, they were just there.

The first box held shoes. Not just shoes—expensive shoes. Louboutins. Jimmy Choos. Italian leather and delicate straps, the kind of heels you only ever see on models or in magazines, excitement built in me, I genuinely didn't know what to think however for a second pondered the idea that Santa Clause may be real however it is the beginning of September and that is ridiculous.

The second box made my breath catch. Lingerie. Bras, corsets, delicate lace—all half-cups, all designed to shove my tits upward and leave my nipples exposed to the air. Not a single stitch of modesty. My hands shook as I lifted one, deep crimson silk edged with black lace, whispering against my skin as though it already knew me.

The third was skirts. Slits running high up the thigh, hems so short they were practically belts. The kind of things I used to laugh at in shop windows. The kind of things I’d never dared imagine putting on.

The fourth tops. Transparent blouses, cropped gym wear that dipped so low my nipples brushed the fabric just from holding it up. Sheer t-shirts that would do nothing to hide me.

The fifth, panties. If you could even call them that. Strings. Micros. Thin fabric that would bite into my hips and vanish between my lips. Nothing that would ever make me feel covered.

The last, stockings. Silk. Fishnet. Lace bands that clung to my thighs like cuffs.

I couldn’t breathe.

I turned slowly, expecting my old wardrobe to still be there, my jeans, my baggy sweaters, my safe clothes. But the hangers were empty. Every last piece was gone.

The room seemed bigger without them, colder, like it had swallowed who I used to be.

My phone buzzed. A single message.

ALI: The garments currently on your body are to be destroyed.

My throat tightened. I tugged at my t-shirt, thin, faded, something I’d worn a hundred times before without a thought. Now it felt foreign, wrong, like it didn’t belong to me anymore.

I stripped slowly, trembling, I was bare, the ring between my legs glinting in the morning light.

The first thing I reached for was the crimson corset. It slid around my body as though it had been tailored for me, cupping my breasts, pushing them up until the tips of my nipples stood proud and hard against the air. I gasped at the sight of myself in the mirror, at the indecency, at the sheer luxury of it.

The skirt followed, black silk with a slit so high it exposed the ring between my thighs whenever I moved an inch. I tried tugging it down. It wouldn’t go lower.

Stockings clung to my legs like liquid shadow. The heels made me taller, sharper, my body **** into a sway with every step.

When I was finally dressed, I didn’t look like me. I looked like someone else. Someone expensive. Someone dangerous. Someone shameless.

My heart thundered.

And then—another buzz.

ALI: Compliance noted. Excellent progress.

I dropped the phone onto the bed, chest heaving, torn between delight and terror. The weight of the silk, the sting of the heels, the air brushing mercilessly against my bare nipples, it was all too much. Too real.

I sank to the edge of the mattress, trembling, running my hands over my thighs, over the slit that exposed me, over the corset that displayed me.

I should’ve been horrified.

Instead, excited.

The next text came, just as I was still pacing my room, still tugging at the slit of the skirt that never stayed closed.

ALI: Today, do not come to work, you will meet a man. Lunchtime. Drink. His name is Richard. He is waiting for you.

I froze. My gut clenched. I typed back furiously.

Me: No. Absolutely not.

The ring lit up like fire. A bolt of white-hot pain shot straight through my clit, savage enough that I doubled over, screaming into my pillow.

My phone buzzed again.

ALI: Refusal is not permitted.

Before I could reply, the pain surged again, longer, sharper until I thought I’d pass out. My legs kicked helplessly against the mattress, tears streaming down my face.

And then, I was standing outside the restaurant. My reflection in the window stared back at me, wearing a almost transparent white blouse, tits bursting from the crimson corset, nipples hard, the skirt slit open high enough that a single shift of my thighs would expose me completely. My heels clicked on the pavement.

I didn’t remember getting here.

The door opened and he stepped out.

Richard.

He was older. Much older. Late fifties maybe, silver hair combed neatly, the kind of lined face that told a story of power, success, money. His suit was immaculate, navy wool, his shoes shining. He smiled when he saw me, and something inside me melted.

“Jane?” His voice was warm, deep, almost paternal. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

I blushed. Actually blushed. My stomach flipped as he took my hand and led me inside.

The drink was easy. Too easy. He laughed at my jokes, his eyes never leaving me, never once apologising for staring directly at my tits as though they were his to take. And the worst part, or the best part was that I loved it.

Loved how his gaze lingered when I leaned forward. Loved how his throat bobbed when I crossed and uncrossed my legs under the table, the slit flashing open, letting him see the gold glint of the ring against my bare lips.

I felt confident, not like the silly little virgin I knew I was, and he was powerless against me.

By the time the glasses were empty, I was buzzing, excited, shameless, addicted to the way he devoured me with his eyes.

When he suggested some fresh air, I didn’t hesitate.

The alley behind the restaurant was quiet, brick walls damp with shade. The second we were alone, his hands were on me gripping my hips, sliding up under the slit of the skirt, fingers grazing my bare cunt. I gasped, shoving him back against the wall, kissing him hard, tasting wine and hunger.

He groaned into my mouth, hands pawing at my tits, thumbs rolling over my nipples through my blouse until I thought I’d scream. My own fingers were busy, tugging at his belt, dragging down the zipper until I freed him.

He was thick, heavy in my hand, I hand never touched a cock before but something instinctual kicked in, I teased him mercilessly, stroking slow, dragging the head across my thigh, letting him feel the heat radiating off me, I could feel his thickness at my stocking tops on my bare flesh.

“Fuck, Jane…” His voice cracked, ****.

I smirked, pumping him harder, pressing close so the head of his cock nudged under my skirt, against my slick lips. The skirt was wide open, I could have had him there and then, my pussy was exposed, the gold ring glinting in the daylight.

That was enough.

His whole body tensed, a strangled groan ripping from his chest as he came. Hot, thick spurts splattered under my skirt, coating my cunt, dripping down my thighs.

I gasped at the sensation, the filth of it, the heat and squeezed his cock until every last drop painted me.

When it was over, I stepped back, breathless, confused, my body trembling. His cum clung to my thighs, smeared against my slit, soaking into the silk. I didn’t wipe it away.

Richard sagged against the wall, panting, eyes glazed. “Jesus Christ… you’re… incredible.”

I just nodded, dazed, lips swollen, thighs sticky.

I turned and walked without saying a word, my full body vibrating.

My phone beeped a message from ALI

Attend at the office immediately.

The walk back was a blur. My heels clicked, my skirt swayed, every step reminded me of the mess between my legs. My cunt ached, my clit pulsed, and the ring thrummed faintly, as if mocking me.

I didn’t know whether to laugh, to cry, or to beg ALI for more.