Red, White and Black
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Red, White or Black? Which colour was it to be?

      Adrienne stood in front of her dressing table, three
drawers open. In the top, she kept her white lingerie, the
ones she wore most often, the ones she wore to work.
When you were telling the office juniors what to do, you
didn't want them to gawp too much at your bosom,
although Adrienne was always thrilled when she caught a
glimpse of those widening pupils. Especially when she bent
down, and so elegantly supported, her matronly bosom
could be peeked firm and enticing.

      In the middle drawer, she kept her black lingerie.
The usual choice for an elegant evening. And black went so
well with a pair of black stockings, pulled up from heel and
toes daintily enmeshed inside her Gucci sandals, following
the curves up and up, past the knee, so plump and inviting,
over legs that widened towards the tempting upper thigh,
supported by garters revealed only by the shortest skirts,
which Adrienne no longer felt the need to wear, or by the
urgent rumple of a longer skirt in those delicious early
moments of passion,

      But for a special occasion, Adrienne reserved her
red lingerie. Lace. Silk. Elastic. The little clasps. All in red.
And always announcing to her dates that here was a woman
who offered a lot, a great deal, more than it was surely
right to offer the lucky devils, and that Adrienne was a
woman who was hot with it. Like a furnace. Ready to
blow.

      Adrienne grasped her bare crotch at the mere
thought of adorning herself in this fiery colour. And
amongst the innocent, naive items of red chemises and
brassieres, those special items. The naughty ones. The ones
that perhaps should only be revealed after Adrienne had got
to know a man truly well. Although such was Adrienne's
beauty and holding power that she was able to choose
exactly which men should be so privileged.

      Adrienne gasped, the dimpled knuckles on her soft
fingers pressed against the recently trimmed hairs of her
crotch, her bosom weighing gorgeously and precipitously
over a round belly she was never ashamed to acknowledge
since she had discovered which combination of garments
flattered it most.

      But which was it to be tonight? It wasn't a first date,
so red wouldn't be wholly inappropriate.

      White was wrong. Paul was too good a man. Like
her, a man who enjoyed his food and was quite happy to
accept the penalty of indulgence. A man, like her, who
wore well the curves of sensual dining. And Adrienne liked
a man who sported more than just spare skin and bone.
Belly against belly. Breast against breast. The touch of silk
pressed against a hirsute chest. Or should it be lace?

      Adrienne picked up a black lacy brassiere and held it
up, relishing the feel of Belgian lace on her fingers,
covering the red areolae around her nipples, and smiled at
herself. She knew she looked good in black lace, and she
was on the verge of clasping it around her bosom merely
for the pleasure of seeing herself attired in such a way.

      But hold! Paul deserved more. When they had
kissed good night on their second date, a hand lingering
over her bosom, and his other searching unsuccessfully for
the lines of her panties, Adrienne could sense not only his
lust, (but then who wouldn't lust for a woman as
voluptuously beautiful as she?), but also a deeper intent that
just one night would not suffice.

      And so, red it had to be!