White 10

This is a companion piece to Black, telling the story from Liss' point of view. You don't need to read Black to enjoy this, but I hope you will anyway! The more observant of you will notice that some of the dialogue and descriptions of events vary between the two narratives. That is as it should be.

Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely co-incidental.

Constructive criticism is very welcome

White Lace

Friday morning rolled around. Last but one day before my break. Like a lot of us that work in retail it's a Tuesday to Saturday thing. Thankfully I have enough seniority to avoid all but the occasional Sunday shift. I should introduce myself, I guess. My name is Felicity, although most everyone except my parents call me Liss. I'm 26 and I've been working in Black for eight years. Black is a clothing and accessories shop catering to the goth crowd, and almost everything in it is black, hence the name.

I started hanging around the place while I was still at school. I got friendly with the staff and after a while they started to point me to things that were cool and, more importantly, within my budget. It was fortunate I was still quite skinny when I started down this path. I've adapted to the corset and now it's a standard part of my outfit. Anyway, after I left school, I had no real idea what to do with my life. One day I was discussing my woes with Janice (the manager) and she offered me a job and I've been here ever since.

This Friday I was sorting through some of the latest stuff to come into the shop. A lot of it was tat. But then, tat was largely our stock in trade. If we were lucky, it would have come from a house clearance, if we weren't it would have come from some cosplay thing.

I became aware that there was someone standing behind me and I turned round. A cute girl was looking adorably disoriented. I considered her for a moment. She was perhaps a few Ångstroms shorter than me, wearing very conventional clothes, so a) she'd wandered in by accident, or b) she'd read about the place and come to take a look or c) she had decided to dip her toes in the waters of deviancy.

And if you're wondering where a shop girl like me gets an Ångstrom from, it was Ingrid's mother's maiden name and also (Ingrid announced proudly) a unit of length equivalent to one ten billionth of a metre. More on Ingrid later, as you'll find out.

I looked over my shoulder at the pile of clothes and decided to take a bit of a break.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

She jumped slightly and turned to face me. Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly but she said nothing. I'd put my violet contacts in and was sporting my best black gloss lipstick, but I wasn't that scary, surely? After a couple of seconds, I wondered if I was going to have to go and find the defibrillator, but she suddenly stuttered into action.

"Being struck dumb is a novel sensation for me," she said.

Heaven's! Was she flirting? I felt the heat rise into my cheeks. She was undeniably cute that was for sure. I decided to test the waters.

"I don't often get compliments," I murmured. "It's not cool."

"I'm not sure I care about cool," she responded, a little defiantly.

Time to set some ground rules. "Not looking like that, no. Would you like some help finding something that reflects your understanding of yourself?"

She appeared to be struck dumb again. Mentally I sighed.

"Follow me," I said and turned to push my way to the racks in Number 13.

Black was originally four of the properties in a row of terraced houses. The houses had long since been converted into shops, mostly the little Asian grocery outfits - which is a little baffling as they all cater to the same clientele. We occupy numbers 11 through to 17 and there's been some extension work done on the back, so we now have about 150 square metres of floor area. And it's not enough, it's never enough, the place is rammed - and that's before you add the staff and the customers. The fire inspector is our version of the Anti-Christ.

I didn't get very far before I had to stop as someone - and that had better not be you, Julie-Ann - had pushed a rail across the way. My customer walked right into the back of me, and I felt her hands land on my waist, which was a bit presumptuous I thought. We'd only just met!

Those hands stayed there while I figured out a way round the rail and I wondered if they had any plans to head south.

"You can take your hands off my arse now," I said, and I heard her jump back. I grinned.

"I wasn't touching your arse!"

I decided to tease her. "No, but you wanted to."

Now she was cross! "No, I bloody didn't!"

I chuckled. "Just messing with you. Come on."

To my amusement she was still following me as I cast around for things that I thought might suit. I grabbed a few items and made for the section in the extension to the house that we used as a fitting room, mainly because the single storey structure had a skylight.

I turned to her and had a bit of a moment. Illuminated from above, she stood in the middle of the space, defensive and defiant at one and the same time; her stance suggestive of a certain

Jeanne d'Arc

quality: clad in polished silver armour, head bare and holding a sword ...

Ooo... I shook my head and held out the item. "I've only pulled out the one dress, because I think we need to sort out your exterior before working on your soft gooey centre. Would you like to try it on? I'm pretty sure it's your size."

She eyed it uncertainly. "Where?"

"Here, of course. Would you like me to turn my back?"

"What about other people?"

"We're quite a long way from the busier parts of the shop. I'll guard your modesty in any case," I said amusedly and turned around.

To my surprise, there was the sound of someone getting undressed. I thought she'd have done a runner, but it seemed she was up for a challenge. I smiled to myself. Janice said I had a talent for attracting the lost and the loveless. Maybe my customer was another one starting the voyage of self-discovery. I decided to be nicer.

Hearing the sound of grunts and intakes of breath I turned around to find her tugging at it, trying to get the waist section over her hips. That was the problem with these premade things. I stepped towards her and took hold of the other side of the outfit.

"Breathe in!" I said and with that we managed to get the dress up and on to her shoulders. Damn, but didn't she look mighty fine in it! I think she liked it too as she stared at herself in the mirror, twisting this way and that. She had nice legs.

"There!" I said , as I stood beside her looking at her reflection. "Partner that with some sheer stockings and you'll look the business. Of course, if it was proper goth, it'd be separates but it's not."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"If you were going to do goth properly, you'd be scavenging for second-hand Victoriana or BDSM and layering them. This would be a skirt and a blouse under the corset and the collar might be a lace bolero. That way you get both maximum bang for your buck and maximum flexibility. This has been purpose made to be all in one piece which is one of the reasons it's hard to put on. It's also kinda pointless. Could you imagine going back to the desk and asking if they have it in a 36C?"

She shook her head, and I chuckled.

~~

We spent about an hour as she tried on this and that. She liked the pseudo-biker jacket in black pleather with a gazillion chrome studs over the shoulders. I did my darndest to try and get her to take a steampunk style three-quarter length coat in burgundy and black vinyl. She dithered over it for quite a while, and I could tell she really wanted it, but in the end didn't quite have the nerve. She did go for another black pleather jacket with dull silver chains hung off it. Made her look proper mean and moody it did. I liked it. And, I decided, I liked what was inside it.

At the till she got a card out of her wallet. A wallet not a purse. So, she wasn't a girly-girl. Another plus point IMHO. I leaned forward to see the name on the card as she handed it to Wanda behind the till. Ms ... Fuller it said on the card. Then I saw the other name on the card and my eyebrows threatened to leave the top of my forehead. They don't give Coutts cards to just anyone!

She started to turn, and I had to find some reason why I was leaning so close, so I put my hand on her forearm and said, "If you ever reconsider, I'm Liss." It was only as I walked away that I realised what a stupid thing it was to say. Reconsider what, for goodness sake?

~~

I headed back to the smoking area which was originally the garden of number 15 in the row. It had the advantage of being screened on either side by the extensions to 13 and 17 so the only boundary to any other property was to the garden of the matching back-to-back in Sydney Street. It was very sheltered and a proper little sun trap when the weather was fine. Today the sun kept coming and going behind the clouds and the temperature was still only in the low teens so not really time for more than a couple of puffs before I went back inside.

I got my new Evod out of my pocket. I was determined to give up smoking as I didn't like the rash of chesty colds I seemed to pick up one after another in the Autumn. I was down to 6mg of nicotine, and I seemed to be handling withdrawal quite well. I think it was more about having something to do with my hands than anything else.

I let a couple of puffs float off into the air while I thought about Little Miss Rich Girl Fuller. She didn't

look

rich. And, come to think of it, she didn't

act

rich. I wasn't even sure that she'd come into the shop with the intention of buying anything. I looked up to the blue sky showing between the clouds and wondered if I'd ever see her again.

~~

That evening Susanna (my flatmate) was waiting for me when I got back to the flat.

"Liss, we've gotta find another flatmate or we're gonna have to move."

I nodded glumly. Violetta had gone back to Italy at the end of March to get married, and the next month's rent was due in a fortnight. It wasn't like we had a spare £600 between us. Susanna earned more than me, but in all conscience, I couldn't ask her to stand it all. I had sweet talked all of the rest of our little gang, and none of them was remotely interested in paying to live here, even though they all spent significant amounts of their time drinking our coffee and soaking up our heat. I'd also floated the idea at the shop and the only ones that seemed interested were people that I couldn't imagine living with. You know what I mean.

"No luck your end?" I said, and she shook her head.

There was a knock at the door, the handle turned, and Dara stuck her head round.

"Hi Girls," she said, brightly. "Oh, who died?"

"It's all your fault," Susanna told her.

She came and planted herself on one of the chairs. "What have I done now? I promise the Minister's making progress on junking the 1871 Pedlars Act."

Dara was a Spad (that's Special Parliamentary Adviser to you.) to the Lib Dems in the coalition government of the day. I was never entirely certain how she got that job, and she never gave any clues either. However, she was bouncy and fun, with her quick smile and bright eyes under her stylish chestnut bob. We'd slept together once after coming home drunk from the pub, and in the morning, both agreed that it should never happen again. She claimed to be too busy for relationships, although I was sure she was stringing along a couple of guys.

"We're still looking for someone to replace Violetta," Susanna said with a sigh.

"No luck, then?"

"Nope."

~~

Late the following day after running an errand for Janice, I was on the bus back to Spitalfields, gazing unseeingly at the frigid drizzle that was being plastered against the window. Between that and the condensation from everyone inside the bus constantly

breathing

, I couldn't see a thing outside beyond formless shapes.

I failed to register the passenger who sat down next to me. But I certainly registered the hand that landed on my thigh. I looked down incredulously at it and then up to the owner who was looking straight ahead with a studiedly innocent expression.

"Christ, you don't hang about, do you?"

"Time is a'fleetin', darlin,'" he said in a bad imitation of a Suth'n drawl.

"Where've you been anyhow?"

Andreas Richter gave my leg a little squeeze and returned his hand to his lap.

"Here and there. Mostly there." He gave me a sly grin and I snorted affectionately.

Andreas was Ingrid's cousin. Something in 'financial services', whatever they were. His job took him all over Europe and he was in London two or three times a year. At one time I'd thought we might have had something beyond the occasional tumble between the sheets, but he'd made it quite clear that he wasn't about to be tied down to one person or even one country. He didn't have to say anything out loud, heavens he didn't say much of any significance, but he had money, looks and his freedom and he intended to continue enjoying it.

Trouble was, Andreas pushed most of my buttons. Not too tall, shortish blonde hair, blue eyes, megawatt smile, and an attentive lover for all his braggadocio, averaging between seven and eight with the occasional nine. It had been a while since I had had a man between my legs, and I felt a pleasant tingle south of my navel. Carpe the fucking diem, as they probably don't say in Rome.

~~

Back at the flat, we were undressing each other before the front door was even closed. I fastened my mouth to his and our tongues fought for dominance. He struggled with the fastenings on my corset, and I laughed at his grunts of frustration. Despite several encounters with it, he still hadn't mastered the technique.

"Here, let me," I said, as I pushed him back onto the bed. He raised himself up on his elbows and I maintained eye contact as I slowly undid the corset. He popped the button on his chinos and slipped his hand inside to massage his erection.

As I undid the last one and cast the corset aside, I turned around and unzipped my skirt, letting it fall to the ground. Then I bent over to give him the best view of my arse as I eased my knickers over my rump. I knew Andreas liked my arse; he liked it a lot. Now only dressed in my blouse and stockings I leered at him and reached behind my back to undo my bra. Pulling the straps through the sleeves of my blouse I was able to perform a girl's own conjuring trick by removing it without undoing my blouse.

Andreas shook his head. "Black magic."

I cupped my breasts. I knew he found me being

en deshabille

to be an enormous turn on and from the glint in his eye I thought it wouldn't be too many minutes more before he lost all self-control. He was just the right side of rough for me, physical without straying into safe word territory.

"This is the magic," I murmured, pulling the material taut so that my nipples tented the fabric. "Want some?"

"Bring it," he said, tapping his chest with his fingers.

"How about I make you beg," I taunted, opening my legs slightly. The hem of the blouse came down almost to my sex, so he was only getting glimpses of the temple.

Faster than a snake, he exploded up from the bed until we were nose to nose. "How about I make

you

beg?"

"Why, Andreas," I breathed, as I put my hand down to massage his stiffness, "You seem to have come over all excited. We can't have that, why, you might explode. Or something."

He growled, he actually growled! I grinned and sank to my knees. I heard him gasp above me as I yanked his chinos to his ankles and freed his cock from his boxers. Quite thick, but not too long, and very firm, the purple crown easing out from his foreskin, I took hold of it at the base and tilted my head up to see him staring down at me.

"May I?" I teased.

His hand landed on the back of my head. "You fucking better!"

I wetted my lips and slid them over the crown, letting my tongue slip underneath to tease the sensitive spot under the tip. There was another gasp and his grip on my head intensified. With other lovers this had been a red flag, I didn't like having my mouth fucked, but Andreas wasn't the type. The type? You know what I'm talking about. The ones that don't ask. The ones for whom sex is more about power and juvenile online fantasies than connection.

Enough internalising! I got back to the, um,

job in hand

, as I gently fondled his balls. I could feel his scrotum tightening as his climax approached so I eased off a little, licking his shaft from base to tip and kissing the length of it. I felt his thighs relax a little and used my nails to lightly scratch them. They tightened again and I smiled even as my mouth descended over his glans. Abruptly I sucked hard and bobbed my head rapidly so that my lips rubbed against the edge of his crown.

He started to pant, and his legs quivered. He was very close, and I debated whether to let him come in my mouth or make me a pearl necklace. I decided on the latter and around the time where he started to jerk his hips, I let his cock slip from my mouth to below my chin where in time with his grunts, pulse after pulse of thick hot liquid splashed against my throat.

Finally, he sagged back on to the bed and lay back with his eyes closed. I got to my feet and went in search of some tissues to clean myself up. When I returned to the bed his eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. He looked wistful.

"What is it, Andreas?" I asked.

"Why can't it ever be perfect?"

I sat on the bed and cupped his cheek with my hand. "Because, my sweets, you would have to give yourself to someone."

His eyes flicked to mine, and he huffed a rueful laugh. "Such wisdom. And how may I repay you?"

I pursed my lips and appeared to think for a moment before climbing on to the bed and straddling his face. I felt him laugh and then his agile tongue was exploring my folds, seeking the wetness oozing from me. Oh, but he was good, almost as good as a girl, and better frankly than some women I'd been with. Little jolts of electricity radiated out from my sex as I pulled at my nipples. Frustrated by the cloth of my blouse I grappled with the buttons until I could touch my bare flesh.

His hands gripped my buttocks and forced me on to his mouth and his tongue delved deep inside me, stroking the walls of my cunt even as he somehow managed to engage my clit with his nose. Struggling to concentrate even as the sparks went off in my head, I reached behind myself to investigate. Sure enough, he was coming back to attention. I was close, very close, the warmth gathering in the pit of my belly and I ground myself down on him, forcing his head into the bedding. He surely couldn't breathe under that, but I was beyond caring. I let out something between a groan and a wail and I arched my back as I spasmed.

I rolled off him and he took an enormous gulp of air and we both lay there like beached fish for a few minutes before he rolled over and got to his knees. His cock stuck out rudely from his groin, twitching slightly in time with the beating of his heart. I eyed it and ditched whatever smart remark I was about to make before turning over, raising my arse into the air and reaching behind myself to open my cunt up to receive him.

He speared into me and my head was forced into the pillows. Our skin met with liquid slaps as my wetness reduced the friction between us to zero. I reached between my legs to rub my clit and squeezed his cock with my internal muscles. He yelped and let out a roar, grabbing my hips with his hands and increasing the tempo of his thrusts to the point where he must have looked like a clockwork toy. There would be handprints on my skin tomorrow.