Pick out an outfit

She try on five different outfits. She started with a simple black dress. Too plain. A red blouse with a skirt too long. A silver top that shimmered under the bedroom light. "Too flashy," she muttered to her reflection. You just stood there, a silent, living mannequin for her to gauge her own reactions against.

Finally, she settled on it. A dress the color of a midnight sky, a deep, dark blue that was almost black. The fabric was thin, clinging to her every curve, with a neckline that plunged daringly low. The hemline barely grazed the middle of her thighs. When she turned, you could see the entire expanse of her pale back, held together by nothing more than a delicate chain of silver that glittered against her skin.

She slipped on a pair of black heels that made her legs look a mile long. She turned to you, her hands on her hips.

"Well?" she asked, her voice husky. "What do you think?"

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. The word that eventually escaped your lips was a strangled whisper. "You look... beautiful."

A flash of disappointment crossed her face, quickly replaced by that new, hard-edged confidence. "Not beautiful. I look fuckable." She walked over to the dresser, her hips swaying with an exaggerated roll.

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