The back atelier of Amour de Femme hums with hushed luxury. Silk bolts drape like lovers’ limbs. Lace whispers against polished wood. My sanctuary, carved from two years of relentless craft. Monday morning, three candidates arrive. Valérie first, tall blonde, gray-blue eyes slicing air. Slim face, modest chest. She sold teen fashions. Keen on lingerie by taste. I probe: studies, sales savvy. Doubts linger—bras aren’t tees. Thank you, next.
Hélène enters. Short chestnut hair frames fine features. Sky-blue tailleur hugs her. Boyish cut, feminine edge. Similar path: school, retail. Craves lingerie discovery. I test client intuition. She reads desires unspoken. Better than Valérie. Émilie last, bold makeup, brunette waves. Two years in chain stores. Seeks refined intimacy. Experienced, too much? I waver. Yet Hélène pulls. Her delicate face. Legs vanishing under skirt. Soft voice ignites. Hired. Starts tomorrow.
The Privilege
Tuesday, osmosis blooms. She welcomes clients in tight pullovers, breasts curved perfectly. Smiles complicit. Professional chatter flows. No jealousy. Fears dissolve. Evenings, I sketch. Landscapes first—untouched wilds. Now portraits. Fail at hers from memory. Vow sharper gaze.
Ten days in, she masters sales. I retreat to atelier. Machine purrs. White fabric, simple coordonné. Panties first. Two days, fabric scraps fly. Try on nude before mirror. Turns, assesses. Covers too little, reveals too much. Keeps for night. Measures breasts lingeringly. Harmonious swells mock math.
Morning lull. Hélène leans over machine. Chemisier dips. Lace bra cradles deep cleavage. Dark abyss tempts. She asks of my creation. Wore it myself, confess. Trouble flickers in her eyes. Disappointed in fit on my ass. Needs testing. ‘Mannequin?’ she probes. Friends, ad, I say. Her disappointment stings. Then: ‘You?’ Desire surges. Yes.
The Excess
Now. She shrugs off gilet. Unbuttons chemisier. Folds it neat. Bra veils treasures. Zipper rasps. Skirt pools at ankles. ‘Stockings?’ Off before reply. Panties, bra only. Effortless seduction. No shame. My body thrums. Meter, notepad ready. Croquis guides trembling hands.
Close now. Waist: fingers brush silk skin, heat bolts through me. Hips: curve yields. Chest: breath catches as tape encircles. Each touch, fire. Her skin velvet under lace edges. I prolong. Secondary measures drag deliciously. Does she feel it? Cool composure mocks my blaze. Undressing hinted promise. Nothing. Disappointment bites amid pleasure.
Door chimes. Client. ‘Dress quick,’ I hiss. Pulse races. Secret simmers.
