Setting Off To The Gala

Several days pass as Electra trains me for the upcoming gala. The training is mostly reminiscent of period dramas, but I do get the occasional opportunity to throw her off her game. Each time I do, a bit of the weight on my mind lessens as (an acquaintance/ a colleague / a friend?) slowly accepts me for what I am becoming now. Every time I throw myself out there, her banter catches me. And at the end of each training day, Nadya afterwards reaffirms my resolve with her every caress.

The night of the Gala Arrives, Nadya shows me and Electra the results of her sewing. The top is the color of a smokey evening with the fabric sewn in a flowing pattern that weaves into itself. It's paired with a skirt featuring a constellation pattern and a shooting star. I laugh, nervous at the prospect of trying it on, "It's very you Nadya."

"No, it's very you, Sam. You’re the one who can make me streak... across the sky. Now try it on!"

I hesitantly put on the outfit. The fabric of the top flows around my curves; the weaving pattern seems designed to pull the eyes to my curve. I feel my face heat up, and then my eyes reach the skirt and widen. The constellation wraps around the curve of the left side of the hips, with a singular star shooting from my thigh to the center of where the mound above my pussy is. Entranced and a bit mortified as I ask Nadya, "Don't you think this is a bit... much."

"You need to be a weapon, and nothing less eye catching would do," Nadya responds.

Electra quips, "Unless you just want to be a sheath."

Nadya and I turn together to give her a baleful glare. Her face turns sheepish and she corrects reluctantly, "You're, surprisingly, ready."

"Well, no time to waste, let’s go!" I say quickly, not wanting the conversation to drift back to my outfit.

We head out of the hut and Nadya leads us down a new path that gradually gains in elevation as we approach the largest mountain in the center of the island. About an hour into the walk we hit a fog, midway up the mountain. I can barely see my hand in front of me and would have already lost track of Nadya if we were not holding hands. As we continue walking towards the summit Nadya stops and with a tone of regret says, "The last stretch is on your own, we can't be seen entering the palace together."

Nadya gives my hand a final squeeze, then lets go. As the warmth of the squeeze fades, the anxiety absent from the past few days creeps in. I feel a small tremor in my motions. But I've trained, and this is for Nadya, Electra and the others that protected me on that fateful night. I clench my teeth and while the tremor does not stop, I turn and step forward. As I advanced marble edifices slowly emerge from the fog, a cyclopean palace designed to keep mortals cowed. My heart thumps with each step, my feet moving to its rhythm. My motions relax into the sashay Electra taught me as I let my training guide me into languid motions.

My male instincts scream at me to have more of a plan than this, to analyze the situation. What if I'm questioned? Is this the best approach? Why this approach? But my movements come from another voice in my mind... one that urges me to follow my heart as I step through the palace gates without incident.