Halloween Evening

John stared, his mouth hanging open.

"You're actually wearing that?" he asked.

Nicole tugged at the hem of the red lace dress. It was less a garment and more a collection of strategic strips. The fabric clung to her curves, barely masking her nipples and featuring slits that climbed all the way to her hip bones. She felt exposed, the cool air of the bedroom biting at her thighs.

"Mr. Jefferson mentioned a specific theme for the evening," she lied, her voice tight.

"You look incredible," John said, stepping closer to run a hand down her side. "I didn't know you had this side to you."

"Just keep the conversation moving tonight, John. Don't let me get cornered."

The Jefferson estate loomed over the hillside, a monolith of limestone and glass. As they stepped through the oversized mahogany doors, the scent of expensive lilies and aged sandalwood washed over them.

"Welcome," Jefferson boomed.

He stood in the foyer, his bald head reflecting the glow of a massive crystal chandelier. His eyes didn't greet Nicole; they plummeted straight to the sliver of lace covering her pubis, then dragged slowly back up to her face. A predatory smirk curled his lips.

"John, Nicole. I see you took my suggestions to heart."

A woman in a conservative navy cocktail dress stepped forward, offering a polite smile.

"I'm Martha. It's a pleasure to finally meet the couple," she said, shaking their hands.

"Thank you for having us, Mrs. Jefferson," Nicole replied, though she could feel the heat of Jefferson's gaze like a physical touch on her skin.

"The dress is... quite a statement," Martha noted, her eyebrows arching.

"It's a party, Martha," Jefferson interrupted, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "And statements are exactly what I pay for."

He stepped closer, the smell of scotch and cigars clinging to him. He leaned in, his voice dropping so only Nicole could hear.

"You look like a complete slut, Nicole. Exactly as ordered."

Nicole froze, her smile remaining plastered to her face while her stomach churned.

"Shall we go in?" John asked, oblivious to the tension. "The music sounds great."

"Please, make yourselves at home," Martha said, gesturing toward the ballroom.

They drifted into the crowd, the air thick with jazz and the clink of champagne flutes. While the guests laughed and mingled, Nicole felt Jefferson's eyes tracking her every movement from across the room, a silent reminder of the images he held.