The Unspoen Promise

The bathroom door opened and she stepped out, draped in an azure blue sarong. Her pale skin was still wet and a towel coiled into a turban hid her mass of hair, now wet from the shower.

He lay on the bed, idly watching her. He glanced at his watch. No time for sex unless it was really a quickie. She liked quickies. He didn't. Well, not much. He preferred to take his time, to tease. He liked her wanting. It made her wanton.

She sat down at the dressing table and removed the towel, using it to to towel dry her hair thoroughly. In the process the sarong, tucked in not knotted, came loose. She was unaware of it. He smiled, watching the jiggle of her breast as she vigorously worked the towel.

Glancing in the mirror when she was finished, she refolded the sarong to cover herself. She started her make up process. Moisturiser.

The drops on her body were already dry in the warmth of the room. She removed the sarong, looking into the mirror to see if he were watching. He was. They both smiled, the familiarity of the unfolding ritual comfortable for both of them. She dabbed the crevices of her body with the sarong. Under her arms, under her ample breasts, and then spreading her legs to do so, into her crotch. She ended by standing up and drying her butt crack. He loved her butt, two orbs of beautiful alabaster smooth flesh. She refolded the damp sarong around herself.

She applied deodorant, then a quick spray of perfume behind her ears. He frowned. He didn't like the taste which always seemed to linger even after the scent had dissipated.

She reached for the hair dryer, turned, leaned forward till her head was almost between her knees and turned it on, brushing volume into her lightened hair as she did so. She was going grey, but blended it away with blonde. "I am a little vain", she thought.

He stood up and moved to the shower. She'd be another twenty minutes with her hair and the rest of the make-up. "Farding". They both found the word mildly amusing. Applying make-up - farding. He'd be back by then.

Her hair was dry, but not styled when he finished in the shower. She was applying foundation.

He was drying off and she was watching him in the mirror. He sensed it rather than saw it. His cock twitched and thickened under her gaze, but didn't stiffen into a full erection.

He applied deodorant and pulled on a pair of scants. Sitting down to put on his socks, he continued to watch her in the mirror.

She removed the sarong and stepped into a white lacy French style knickers. She'd made them herself. She'd prattled on at some stage about how little it really cost. He hadn't been listening. He didn't actually care. It kept her happy. When she was happy, he was content.

Straightening, she reached for her bra. He watched as she fastened it in front, spun it around to the back and then put her arms into it. Right arm first, then the left. She finished by pulling her breasts into the cups and readjusting until the whole thing was centered to her satisfaction. She smiled at her own cleavage and caught his eye again.

He shook out his trousers, checked for unacceptable creases, and then put it on. He threaded the belt though the loops, and zipped up. She wasn't watching. She had gone back to her face. Powder now. She claimed each thing had to "settle" before the next step.

He put on his shoes.

She stood up and reached for the matching lacy half slip, stepping into that, finding the centre by the little ribbon she'd sewn into it. She fiddled until the ribbon was exactly placed over her belly button. She then slipped on the matching lacy camisole. That hid her breasts. He was proud of her sewing skills and the care that she took to hand finish each garment. He considered telling her that, but then realised she might not take it the right way. Why risk it?

She stood up to get the stockings from the drawer. His cock responded automatically. Out came the suspender belt. She hadn't made that. She stepped into that and pulled it into position, the straps hanging limply at her crotch. She looked at him looking at her in the mirror and grinned. She knew that something else wasn't hanging limply at a crotch.

The stockings came out. Sheer, flesh coloured, with a seam at the back. She often made her own. He remembered her babbling on that she only made black ones. The other colours were too challenging to match with suitably sexy haberdashery.

She rolled the stocking and stepped into it, leaving it rolled at the ankle. She rolled the second stocking and stepped into that before standing up and pulling it all the way up past her knees, into the top of her thigh. He was buttoning his shirt. He'd buttoned it up in the wrong holes and had to start again. "Concentrate!" he told himself. She pulled up the stocking into the top of her thighs.

"Give me a hand, will you please?" She walked towards him, holding the stockings in place.

Accustomed to this duty, he started by straightening the seam. It was easier than pinning and repinning. Get it right first. He loved the feel of the stocking against her leg and the feel of her soft skin at the top of the stocking, especially the soft inner thigh. He then moved to the second leg. He finished the task by running his hands up and down her legs before coming up again to rest at that space where he could feel the skin. She had her arms around his neck and as he stood up they kissed. There was just enough passion for them both to sense the promise in it.

She styled her hair into a bun, fastening it with diamante butterfly pins. She finished her make-up except for lipstick. It went quickly now. This didn't need to settle. He didn't understand and didn't care.

The dress was simple, a royal blue slimline fit. She'd taken the silver wrap out. He glanced down to see what shoes she was planning to wear. The silver ones. He smiled. She'd grown up in an era where matching accessories were

de rigueur

. The bag would be silver too.

She put her simple black beaded earrings in without looking, years and years of practice. She handed him the matching black beaded necklace and he obliged by fastening it over the bones at the top of her back, gently kissing and caressing her neck as he did so.

He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes to spare before they would leave, still allowing plenty of time at the other side. They could have had that quickie after all.

She applied the red lipstick to match her nails. He loved the classic red. It held all sorts of promise for him.

He donned his jacket, she stepped into her shoes. She stopped at the full length mirror, staring critically.

"You look ravishing", he said. He stood behind her and put his arms around her. She nodded.

They both smiled as they walked, holding hands, to the car.