A/N: Mild swearing. Also, two things: this is the first time I’ve written a smut like this so I’m sorry if this is off and, anon, I hope you agree that Heechul is a kinky dude because that’s how I wrote him. Word Count: 3.3K
The corset that molds to your torso
like a sleek second skin makes you more aware of your quickened breathing. Pins
that hold your hair in a neat bun on the top of your head remind you to keep
your posture straight and lady-like. Tulle prickles the back of your thighs
where it pokes through the short silk slip as you shift from one heel-clad foot
to another outside the door. His bedroom door.
You want to make him proud, to
please him, but your normal confidence is hiding back under your bed. This is
your first time doing something like this and you don’t want to mess it up. He
would be very disappointed.
Before you can chicken out, you
knock. Your quick taps mimic the rabbit’s nervous heartbeat in your chest.
It triples when his voice comes
through the door. “Come in.”
The room is almost unchanged since
you last entered it. White bookshelves of various heights, lacking cluttering
knickknacks, line all the walls except for the one with a wide window, its
blinds drawn. A large bed with a navy comforter and fluffed ice blue pillows
dominates the single empty corner, mirroring the lighter blue walls. The only
new addition is in the center of the room: a high-backed chair made of butter
smooth black leather that faces away from you.
Without letting you see his face, he
says, “You may begin.”
Remembering the appropriate
response, you murmur, “Yes, sir.” You do not meet his eyes even though you feel
them instantly glued to you when you move into view.
The work isn’t hard or
attention-demanding, but you draw each movement out, giving him time to
appreciate every inch of you.
Barely a speck of dust blights the many DVD cases and framed photographs
of him and other famous colleagues. He outshines each of them. Deliberately
placed on the shelves are many trophies, some broadcasting their importance
with ornate gold curves while others rely on simplicity for their dignity.
Pride warms your chest as your feather duster glides over them. He has
accomplished so much before you even met him and you can only foresee more
greatness coming his way.
You unconsciously pout when you get
to one of the taller bookcases. Even in your heels, you have to stretch to
reach the top shelves and your contents. Your skirt rides up past the bottom of
your barely-there silk panties. You shiver. Not from the chill of the air
conditioner, but from the increased heat of his stare on your exposed skin.
“My footstool needs dusting as
well,” he says suddenly.
Keeping your eyes on the
cream-colored carpet, you turn around, kneel, and lean over more than necessary
to give him an unencumbered view of your lace-framed cleavage, pushed up by the
corset to look even more generous. The muffled drag of his feet sliding back
and his shadow that falls over you tells you he enjoys the view.
You risk a quick glance forward and
freeze. The lumpiest, ugliest pair of decrepit gray socks you’ve ever seen in
your life are on his feet. Half curious, half dismayed, you look up fully and
burst out laughing, falling on your butt in the process.
“Come on, babe,” Heechul whines,
throwing himself back into the chair. “You’re ruining the mood.”
People say that during his execution someone asked him: ‘What is love?’ Ḥallāj answered, ‘You will see it today and tomorrow and the day after tomorrow.’ On the same day he was killed, the next day his body was burned and on the third day, his ash was thrown in the wind. - Attar
Got a great night’s sleep and woke up starving. As I still don’t have my bearing here in Dubai and have no clue what’s close or even open, filling my belly at the lobby breakfast buffet seemed like the sensible thing to do this morning.
I started things off more locally…
I found the feta softer than I have come to expect, and the pickled vegetables were fantastic.
Smoked Persian Gulf hamour fish…
It was served with a fig paste, probably to balance the saltiness, but I thought it was fine on its own.
Hummus with manakish zataar…
For my second plate, I extended out to India and Egypt a bit…
Poha, a rice dish, mixed with coconut curry and chana masala with paratha…
A local lamb patty with grilled onion…
Foul medamas, which are beans with cumin…
The waiter kept asking me if I wanted pancakes or waffles, and I kept declining. However, after seeing my first two plates, he asked if I would maybe prefer an omelet made with more local ingredients, which sounded more my speed…
The chef made me this one with veal bacon, fresh green chilis, onions, sumac and shredded halloumi cheese…
The halloumi was warmed but didn’t really melt, which gave it a great texture. Simply wonderful with the sumac as well!
And my friend Sana Amanat has insisted I drink as much fresh juice as possible over here, so I ended my meal with a glass of cucumber juice, mango juice and a pandan sago…
Another meal that was an enjoyable and edible education!