Fan Art by Fraylim: Icarus Dress (Patreon)

Another wonderful gift by Fraylim, a dress perfect for clubbing at Tartatus, but wholly inapropriate for a bar like Icarus. This is from chapter 4, scenes 5 and 6. As part of Cindy's "training", Julia brings her to the hotel bar for what may prove a life-alterating encounter. Here's an extract:

***

            “We’re celebrating,” Julia said.

            Twirling a strand of hair around a finger, I checked my reflection in the window by our table. The view was stunning: the city sprawled below, a late-night carpet embroidered with glittering lights rolled out across the landscape. Towards the edges the carpet went dark, cut by dark concrete slashes raised against the sky. Caught in the glass I saw myself, and that view was stunning, too: shiny lips slightly parted, vivid makeup and eyes glowing with both fear and excitement. “What’re we celebrating, anyway?”

            “You, obviously,” Julia answered. “And—me.”

[...]

            Walking away from our table, I tugged at my dress. A futile effort. It was tight, barely cleared my crotch and I felt its taut restraint with every step. Slightest bend, I’d be flashing lilac panties. Behind me, Julia sat lit from beneath by her laptop screen, wicked grin glinting from a dark corner. She watched, from a distance; collected her data, from a distance, and experience my shame in abstract measurements of heart rate, sweat and AI-interpreted response.

            The dress restricted my steps to a slow mincing walk. In towering heels, I wiggled my way to the counter. I felt acutely aware of the toy buried in my pussy and bit my lip. Awful anxiety stirred in my belly. Even more than that night with Dan, I didn’t want to do this.

[...]

            Clothes aren’t consent, but my outfit sure as hell invited consideration, and the leering men who watched me pass picked up what they hoped I was throwing down. Tight shiny purple, an abbreviated tube paired with a matching choker and strappy heels. It wasn’t appropriate for this kind of place. It might've covered me from tits to thighs, but only just. Fine for clubbing or maybe some youthful cocktail bar where I matched the bright lights and optimism. Icarus was dark and serious and dull, a haunt of tired and lonely men. I’d been that man, once: sat alone with midnight whisky after an exhausting, purposeless day of conference bullshit and team-building idiocy.