Danielle knew nothing at all about catching fish, but it seemed she knew instinctively how to dress a lure.
She'd blow-dried and brushed her unruly strawberry blonde hair into a mane any lion would be proud to wear. She'd given her big blue eyes the full smoky background, and oodles of blue-black mascara, to make them stand out. And she was almost sure she'd managed to hide her freckles behind a generous application of deep bronze blusher.
She smiled at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. She was oblivious to the low autumnal rays of afternoon sunshine streaming through her open window, but she enjoyed the gentle breeze on her bare skin. Her eyes narrowed and she chewed her lip.
She hadn't seen Paul for eleven years. He was the twin brother of Susan - her oldest friend from school. A quiet and studious boy, in stark contrast to his gregarious twin sister.
So what would be an appropriate lure?
It was 2008. Paul and Susan's eighteenth birthday party. Paul was opening his presents, and making the most of a rare moment in the limelight. He picked up the present in front of him. Tugged at the wrapping to rip open one corner. Fingered the torn edges. Pulled at them gently. Teasing. Looked round at everyone with big wide eyes. Then, with one almighty rip - tore the paper off in a flourish. He picked up another present, and Danielle began a chant "Rip It Off. Rip It Off" which others took up with her. He looked up with a huge grin. Probably the only time she'd ever seen him animated.
The memory brought a smile to her lips. What if, tonight, she could find a way to replicate that huge grin on Paul's face? She scratched her head.
It was 1999. Danielle was nine years old, playing in Grandma's garden. She was wearing her favourite dress. Lightweight and floaty, in soft white cotton covered with little blue flowers. It was an old one of Mum's and massively too big - but she loved it. It came down to her ankles and billowed in the wind as she ran, when... CRUMP! Flat on her face in the grass. Grandma came running to bathe the grazed hands and knees. But the dress was ruined. She'd trodden on the front hem and it had ripped apart in the middle. "Grandma, mend my dress," she sobbed. Grandma fingered the frayed edges and shook her head. The fabric, perished by years of sunshine and laundry, was too thin and fragile. The dress was past saving.
A tingle ran down Danielle's spine into her pelvis.
Suppose my body was a present to be opened? If I was gift-wrapped in a dress weakened by sunshine and laundry - that would rip open when it was tugged?
She felt warmth in her groin.
Maybe I could be fingered and teased... and then my wrapping torn off with a flourish in one almighty rip?
Her eyes opened wide as she imagined the moment. Somebody else in control. The end result not entirely known. Her heart pounded in her chest. It felt dangerous... and she knew instantly she'd do it.
With trembling hands she opened the doors of her expansive built-in wardrobe and surveyed the contents.
Where are you... my sacrificial dress?
She pushed hangers this way and that.
Her hand fell on the shoulder of a soft white sleeveless dress with big teal and blue flowers. She pulled it out, hung it on the open door, and fingered the deep vee neck.
Hmm... I could make a brilliant display of cleavage in there.
She grasped the sides of the neck, one in each hand, and stretched the fabric taut.
That vee would rip downwards beautifully.
She released her grasp, smoothed the dress down, and narrowed her eyes.
I did wear you a few times in the summer... and you do give me a really nice bum.
She parted the hangers again and thrust the dress back into place.
She pulled out another white dress. Short and flouncy, with spaghetti straps. The fabric very soft and thin.
Ooh... maybe you're the one?
She held it up to the light and reached her hand up inside.
Hmm... maybe a bit too see-through. Good over a bikini, or in a private hotel room. But not in a restaurant.
She flicked on through the hangers, right to the end of the rail.
Ah-Ha! Come here my beauty
. She tugged the very last hanger out into the daylight and held up a third dress. Rather faded now, but once a bold deep blue with a tracery of copper coloured leaves and flowers. A sweetheart neckline. A softly tailored bodice drawn down to a point at the centre front. A very full gathered skirt. She sighed, and a big smile found its way onto her face.
It was 2007. Glastonbury Festival. The first summer she and Susan had their own money to spend. Browsing through the retro clothes on offer. Susan shrieked,
"Ooh, Danielle! This one's definitely for you! Just look at those colours with your hair."
And Susan was right. It looked so dramatic. She wore it all summer. And all the next summer too. And the one after that.
She smoothed the dress out carefully and hung it on the open door. She looked inside at the designer label. It must have been expensive when it was new, many years ago. But after so many summers of everyday wear it showed distinct signs of age. The glazed cotton fabric was thinning and had lost its lustre. The style looked decidedly dated. She sighed.
Time for your swan-song I think.
She stood back and looked at the dress through narrowed eyes.
Perfect... well nearly.
She picked up her nail scissors and made a tiny cut in the corner of the sweetheart neck. Just above where her right breast would sit. She frayed the edges a little with her fingernails.
Enough to be noticed, but not obvious to everyone. The perfect lure.
She felt a flutter in her belly, and a smile spread across her face.
No going back now.
She tried to imagine his face when he spotted it. Would he see it straight away? And what would he see when he tore off the wrapping?
Good question... and should the unwrapping continue?
She tugged open an overstuffed drawer. A greying sports bra, with reinforced side panels, flopped out onto the floor.
You're not what I need - you're a passion killer.
She pulled two white bras out onto the floor. And there, underneath, was a well-worn blue one with big bows and straps of satin ribbon.
Ooh, you might be the answer.
She grabbed hold of the cups, one in each hand, and tugged them vigorously in opposite directions. Nothing gave, not even a fraction.
Hmm... maybe not.
She rummaged through to the bottom of the drawer. A front fastening bra would be ideal, but she'd never owned one of them. Right at the bottom, a bright flash of colour caught her eye.
Ah-ha!
She tugged triumphantly and pulled out a decorative turquoise number. Pleasingly ornate. The cups overlaid with lace. The straps with a delicate double frill. And - a real bonus today - laced together in the centre front. A thin green satin ribbon ran in a criss-cross pattern through six pairs of loops between the cups. Using her fingernails, she teased undone the knot in the ribbon.
Yes! I can tie you in a nice flouncy bow - just right to pull undone.
Finally she tugged open another drawer. More tightly stuffed even than the other. She pulled it right out and tipped the contents onto the carpet. A jumbled mountain of knickers. Every colour of the rainbow. Every conceivable style. She pushed the mountain over and rummaged amongst the foothills.
I really,
really
need to sort this lot out.
Here was a yellow pair. Quite pretty in their day with embroidered flowers and lace. Thin cotton. A little hole in the side. Showing their age now - would tear apart rather well. She paused with them in her hand, but wrinkled her nose.
Cotton is absorbent and cloying in the mouth... that's no good.
A black satin pair with red ribbon trimmings. A cheap gift years ago from a rather deluded man. Never worn. She tugged on the waistband, but nothing gave. She shook her head.
I'd end up with the biggest wedgie in the world.
She pushed the mountain to one side to rummage in the bottom.
Ooh... here we are.
An eye catching pair in dark blue silk, trimmed with bright red and frills galore. Not worn much, but after ending up in a whites wash with bleach, the silk had lost its integrity and was ready to fall apart. She felt a tingle in her groin as she fingered the degraded fabric. Perfect to hold her juicy fragrance, and to be sucked or licked, but would burst if any effort was made to push through. She picked up her nail scissors again, and carefully snipped out the cotton lining from the gusset.
Perfect.
The evening's outfit selected, she took a deep breath to calm all the flutters and let her heartbeat steady a little. She stretched and glanced at the clock. The time had come to wrap the gift.
Picking up her frilly silk knickers she stepped into them and slid them up carefully over her hips.
So delicate now... mustn't poke my nails through.
She smoothed the fragile fabric around her bum, arranged the red bow centre front under her belly button, and teased all the frills into place.
Step one complete.
Picking up the bra, she fingered the neat little bow she'd tied in the centre front. A tremor ran down her spine as she imagined it being tugged undone. She hooked the straps over her shoulders, reached behind to fasten the clasp, and leant forward to ease her bust into place. It's tighter than she remembered, but on looking down she wasn't displeased with the way she bulged out the top.
What's not to like about plump boobies?
Finally she slipped the dress off its hanger and held it up against herself. She got out her ironing board to make it look its absolute best for its final wearing, and it was still warm as she stepped into it, wriggled it up over her hips, and zipped it closed for the last time. She took a deep breath. With half-closed eyes she turned first one way and then the other to look at herself in the long mirror.
Wow. I'd forgotten how dramatic these colours look on me.
A sudden knock at the front door disturbed her reverie. She skipped along the hall to open the door, and was momentarily taken aback by the figure standing outside. It was clearly Paul, but he'd matured in the last eleven years. Still over six feet tall, but now a little heavier; which meant the lanky schoolboy had become a well sculpted young man. The unkempt mop of black hair she remembered is now elegantly cut. He was wearing pale chinos, and a well-cut blue blazer. But it was his shirt that caught her eye.
Classic blue stripes. Buttons in pairs. Contrasting red stitching. Eye catching but subtle. Impressive. What brand is that?
Like her, Paul seemed to be appraising the figure in front of him. She watched his eyes travel up and down. He tried not to stare. But she saw the momentary hesitation, and the widening eyes, when he noticed the rip in the neck of her dress. She fingered it gently and watched him swallow hard.
On the hook already.
