[Dirty Little Secret]
Mia woke up to an empty bedside... well, not entirely empty. She slowly opened her eyes to find a folded piece of paper on her fiancé's pillow, custom stationary he only used for special occasions, and her proposal gift, a 24 karat gold anklet. She chuckled to herself, wondering where Cameron could've gone this early.
'What's all this for?' She thought, rubbing her eyes as she picked up the letter.
Cameron's elaborate calligraphy decorated the cover, reading:
{ Ma Chérie, }
{ Bellamia }
She reached for her phone, struggling to remember what the occasion was.
"Oh, shit," she murmured, squinting at the brightness on her phone.
Mia had a bad habit of forgetting her age; there was a reason she never celebrated her birthday. Cameron always swore that one of these days, he'd give her something to celebrate: that day had finally come.
She opened the letter:
{ No decisions, only instructions. }
{ This is your gift. }
{ Put this on, and start your morning routine. }
{ You'll see me when you're done. }
Her heart soared at the thought of giving up her right to decide. She set the letter down and fastened the jewelry around her ankle, giddy at the light jingling sound they made as the dangling charms bumped into each other. With a skip in her step, she made her way to the bathroom.
It didn't take long for her to slip into autopilot as she got ready for the day. She washed her hair, coiled it up into a butterfly clamp, and gently washed her face.
Silent as a whisper, Cameron entered the bathroom and watched as she lathered her silky, dark skin. He made sure that every part of her day was accounted for; she wouldn't spend a single moment waiting without his say-so. He stood in the doorway, his shoulder-length locs tied away from his face, a pale blue linen button-up draped over his broad shoulders, a simple gold pendant decorating the hair on his chest.
It wasn't until Mia got to her calves that she snapped out of the mundanity of her routine. She brought her loufa over the gold letters on her ankle:
[ M I N E ]
She stopped, quickly using all of her childlike energy to dance in place, squealing and flailing her hands with excitement. He chuckled to himself and shook his head; seeing her do her little happy dance was everything he could've hoped for. He wanted to make her day into a special one, something worth remembering.
She rinsed herself off, shut off the water, and reached for her towel outside of the shower door.
"Aw, shit," she said, her wet hand feeling the empty hook on the wall.
"You need some help, baby?" He asked, a fluffy black towel draped over his forearm, fresh out of the dryer.
"Yes, please!" She replied, surprised at the pitch in her tone.
He opened the shower door and held the towel over himself. She stepped out and into his arms as he wrapped the towel around her.
"Ugh, it's so warm," she sighed happily.
"Go to the sink, brush your teeth, and dry your hair. I'll dry you off."
"Okay," she said, meekly.
"I'm gon' let that one slide 'cause it's your day, but you only get one. Use your manners," he said sternly, walking her over to the mirror.
"Sorry, sir," she replied, averting her gaze, her stomach filling with butterflies.
He helped dry her face, neck, and arms before giving her room to brush her teeth. He then moved behind her, running the towel over her chest, back, and legs as she bent toward the mirror to brush her tongue. It took everything in his power not to take advantage of her naked form right then and there; the smell of cherry blossom soap on her skin, her nectar slowly leaking from between her stubbled lips, the light reflecting off of the gold chain around her ankle, a reminder of her devotion to him.
He stood up, returned the towel to its hook, and made his way toward the door while she blow-dried her curls.
"Stay here. I'll get you dressed," he said, brushing his hand past the small of her back.
"No, I got-" she started, setting her blow-dryer on the counter.
She turned and bumped into him, standing like a brick wall as he brought his finger to her lips.
"Sshhh. Mn-mn," he demanded. "No choices. Stay."
"Yes, sir."
She waited until he left the bathroom before returning to her hair, trying not to let her curiosity get the best of her. She grabbed her hair oils and mousse, mixing them together before lathering her hair, the heat from her blow-dryer shaping her curls in the way she liked.
He reentered the bathroom just as she turned off the heat, unplugging the blow-dryer and wrapping the cord around the handle. She looked up to see his hands full: an entire outfit complete with accessories in one hand, and a large coil of silk black rope in the other. Stunned, she opened her mouth to speak, but was immediately cut off.
"Aht, don't start. Grab your makeup and get to work. I'll get you dressed. No more questions, you hear me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good girl. Turn around."
She turned towards the mirror and grabbed her makeup bag on the counter. As she moisturized her face, he gingerly sat her outfit on top of the toilet seat cover, along with the bundle of rope. He searched the cabinets for her 'Vintage Dior' scented body butter, grabbed it, and stood directly behind her. He took a generous amount in one hand and swept her hair over her shoulder with the other.
"I love this smell on you. Hold still."
"Yes, sir," she said, softly biting her lip as she returned to her eyeliner.
Feeling the warmth of his hands on every inch of her body was painfully distracting to her, but she needed to focus. Her labia was slick with desire; he could feel her squirming in his hands as he applied shea butter to her legs. She gripped the edge of the sink with force as she felt his hands rubbing her backside.
'Behave, Mia,' she thought to herself, trying her best to stifle her whimpering. 'You GOTTA behave.'
He moved up to her torso, giving special attention to her bare chest. She couldn't hold it in anymore; feeling his wandering hands on her now glowing skin, his bulky figure towering over her, it was all so overwhelming. Mascara wand in hand, she sighed heavily, closing her eyes as she gave in to his touch. She could feel his buttery hands glide their way around her breasts, traveling past her collar bones towards her neck.
He wrapped one arm around her ribs and took a strong hold of her neck with startling speed. Her eyes snapped open as she met his gaze in the mirror, confused at what she could've possibly done wrong.
"Focus. You don't wanna be late. Finish up."
"I'm sorry, sir," she squeaked.
He kissed the edge of her ear, gave her ass a satisfying smack, and released her from his grasp, determined to continue where he left off.
"Good."
