The Director's Cut by Js Taylor (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud txt) 📕

and then a shuddering wave of orgasm hits me again, taking me into another stratosphere of pleasure.

“Issy,” says James, “I can feel you. I’m coming.”

I lock my legs around his back and feel my whole body shake around him as he moans in orgasm.

And then the ripples begin to fade out a little, and I feel each cell in my body tingling. It’s as though every sense is super aware, and I cling to James, breathing his smell and holding his hot body tight.

I feel his rapid breathing begin to slow a little, and his arms tighten around me as he looks into my eyes.

“You were serious,” I gasp, reaching up to grasp a handful of his hair.

“I was?”

“That was the best orgasm of my life.”

He laughs softly.

I let my head thud back onto the bed, and my eyes thud up onto the ceiling.

“That was just incredible.”

James lounges beside me, rolling his arms across my body.

“For me too,” he admits. “There’s nothing I like more than giving you pleasure, Issy.”

“I think that makes you the perfect man,” I say, turning to him with a smile.

“Not exactly.”

“Oh?”

“I had a hidden agenda,” James admits.

“And what was that?”

James’s face suddenly turns more serious. “I want more of you, Issy. I want all of you.”

“You’ve got all of me,” I say. And I mean it. If I were in any doubt before, right now, there is no question in my mind. I am completely and utterly his.

“We’ll see,” says James. “You might be called upon to prove that.”

“How exactly?” I frown.

“I’m going to take you for dinner,” says James, stroking my cheek. “And then I’ll show you.”

Chapter 25

I return to my hotel room to change for dinner and discover that James, once again, has designed my wardrobe for this evening.

A large box awaits me on the hotel bed. And I slide off the lid to reveal a swathe of sumptuous light-green satin inside. The fabric looks beautiful.

I lift the dress out carefully from the rustling tissue paper beneath.

Hmmm. Not a bad choice, Mr Berkeley.

The dress sweeps low at the top, with an elegant halter neck cut from light ribbons. It’s designed to fit close to the body at the top and swirl out a little at the bottom in an asymmetric hem bordered with handmade silk flowers.

I try and guess what the outfit might mean about tonight. It’s semi-formal, but not what I would call black tie.

My class apprehensions make a sudden, ugly appearance. I hope he doesn’t mean to take me somewhere filled with titled aristocrats.

I notice something else in the tissue paper at the bottom of the dress box.

There’s a heavy cream envelope and a flash of green fabric.

Carefully, I lay the dress out on the bed, and return to the box.

I lift out the envelope to see it’s been pinned to a pair of satin panties, in the same light green as the dress.

James Berkeley. We are going to have words, about you dressing me.

I frown at the idea of him orchestrating my wardrobe so completely. But I can’t help but admit the panties are beautiful. There’s no bra, and judging by the low neckline of the dress, it doesn’t need one.

Curiously, I open the envelope which had been pinned to the panties. There’s a single piece of card inside, and I pull it out.

Inked in the elegant, curving handwriting, which I recognise as James’s, are the words: ‘all the better to spank you in’.

I smile despite myself.

We’ll see about that.

Still smiling, I turn my attention back to the dress.

It’s got a slight Spanish look to the style, with the curving hem and flowers. Light green is not the right colour, of course. A traditional dress would be red. But, the bias shape and flowered hem makes a definite nod to local culture.

I peek at the label. It’s couture, by a Spanish designer.

Hmmm. An established designer would understand fashion heritage. So this is no accidental look. My guess is that James is taking me somewhere local. And the style of the dress is a clue.

I feel a little wave of relief. No need to worry about class anxieties then. If it’s a Spanish place, I’ll fit right in. I’ve been coming to this country since I was a child.

I shower, remove the remaining smudges of movie-set make-up, dry my hair, and draw on the satin panties. They fit close against my behind, and I like the way they feel.

I approach the dress reverently. I’ve never worn high fashion before. Carefully, I lift it up. It’s certainly a lot heavier than other dresses I’ve encountered. The satin is folded into perfect overlapping waves, and I’m guessing the material adds weight.

I pick it up and stand in front of the mirror. At first glance, I can’t see a way into the dress.

After a little searching, I find a hook and a zip, perfectly hidden at the side.

I guess that’s part of what you pay a designer price tag for.

I don’t even want to guess what James paid for this dress. I can tell, just by the feel of it, this is probably the most expensive item I have ever handled.

Slowly, I slide it on, dipping my head through the delicate halter neck ribbon.

The top is designed to fit tightly, and I see that expert corseting has been stitched inside the dress. I see the ends of two laces, which I presume are to tighten the body, and give them an experimental tug.

Wow!

In the mirror in front of me, my waist leaps from slim to non-existent. I stare unbelievingly at my reflection, hardly able to take in what I’ve just seen.

Can a dress do that? No wonder A-listers look so amazing at events.

I unloose the laces a little, giving myself a bit more room to breathe. The effect is still astounding. I no longer resemble Betty Boop, but my stomach is the flattest and tightest it’s ever been.

I pull up the zip, closing the green satin across my