Redress with the Red Dress

Put it on. Put it on just for me. Yes, this one. You are stood in our bedroom as I emerge from the walk in wardrobe to the right where your clothes are kept. My walk-in wardrobe is to the left. All my things are to the left. I sleep on the left (when I allow you into the bed), I use the left-hand wash basin of the two in the ensuite and I always lead with my left hand, but that are matters for another time. You are stood in your underwear. White and pure, just like that heart of yours as you adjust your hair in the full-length mirror that occupies one corner of the room. The room is low lit, nothing is out of place in our bedroom and it almost seems like a film set such is the setting and order. I stand and regard you as I hold the coathanger from which the expensive red dress hangs. You have put put your black high heels on which I approve of, since the definition of those toned calves can be appreciated. Not only do those calves look appealing they remind the observer that you can run and run fast. My eyes move upwards and see the dimming bruise on your left thigh, the only blemish on your otherwise elegant thighs, thighs that part at my command and reveal your sensual heaven between them. Your bottom is covered by the simple cotton panties and for a moment the desire to land a smack of firm governance on your bottom rises. The image forms again in my mind as I picture you bent over, touching your toes and waiting for the discipline that you have come to accept and, as I knew you would, embrace. You turn, twisting at the hip as I hold the dress out in front of me. Your breasts are cupped by the white bra, again simple in design and in keeping with the purity you exhibit to the world outside our walls, although of course I know different. I know what you are and I know what rages beneath that seemingly placid exterior. I know precisely what you are and I have dedicated myself to ensuring that it is kept in check and under control, for your sake.

Your neck is slender and around it is a silver chain from which a locket hangs. The chain is not ostentatious but is delicate, like its wearer. As you look at the dress your right-hand rises and absent-mindedly fingers the dangling locket, your neat manicured nails tapping against the solid silver encasing which holds – well we both know what lies in there don’t we? You chew your lip as you continue to study the dress. Your lipstick is the same-shade as the garment which I am presenting to you. You spend at least twenty minutes applying your make-up. Unlike others your make-up defines rather than covers up and that is something which I approve of.  You did not wear make-up when we first met. you felt you had no need of it and in some respects that was right but I promised that I would improve you and guide you and I delivered on my promise. As I always do. It is right that you show them those inviting lips, round blue eyes and defined cheek bones. Let them look but understand you can never let them touch. Your blonde-hair frames your face just right, the platinum-blonde hairs falling neatly down. It once was long and extended down your back but I warned you how this made you such easy prey for those that lurk in the shadows. A dirt-smeared hand would always make a grab for those long locks and the consequences are not worth considering. You resisted at first since you took such pride in those long strands of hair but eventually you accepted and conceded as you began to understand that I had your best interests at heart. You have always been trim but I encouraged you to attend aerobics classes to ensure that there was a tautness about your frame which provided a degree of edge in order to dissuade would be suitors.

You continue to study the dress and I allow you this moment to do so, the pretence that you have any choice in what you shall be wearing. It is elegant and suits your figure without revealing too much of your cleavage so that wandering eyes linger there in your delicious valley for too long. The dress is of a length which suggests it is on trend yet it covers those thighs (and the bruise) and ensures that the wolves do not come sniffing at your door.

“Yes,” you confirm, “that is the one.”

I smile at your acceptance of my suggestion. It was not always the case. You resisted my suggestions and guidance in the beginning but eventually you realised that to do so would only result in those things which you do not like to talk about happening. You finally grasped that I was looking out for you and was guiding you. I emphasised your need to appear attractive and respectable as my ambassador without drawing the salacious looks and comments which would undermine someone of your purity. You railed against it for some time but in the end you realised that the sacrifice of this independence was a price worth paying to continue to bask in the light from my golden sun. You slide the dress over your head, taking care not to disturb your hair too much and shimmy it down over you figure. Those small hands smooth it into place and I step forward, zipping the dress up for you. I stand back again and motion for you to turn around. You do so with accustomed ease, rotating slowly so I can appraise you and ascertain your suitability for entering the world as my representative. I give a nod.

“Yes, you may out tonight Rebecca,” I approve. You curtsey. It is not a mocking gesture but rather one of respect and acknowledgement because ultimately I always achieve my redress.

11 thoughts on “Redress with the Red Dress

  1. MF says:

    That’s the thing with behavioral modification and conditioning. You can know it’s happening all you want; it doesn’t change the results.

  2. fierceness says:

    The best reply is no reply. Your energy. His fuel.
    Rule: 1.

    1. janaa38 says:

      Hi fierceness, I am not in contact with that ex narc, that was many years ago, he gets no reply from me any longer. He has long been disconnected from this supply 😞

  3. nikitalondon says:

    This post will be painful for every woman who has been involved in a relationship where you are being told what to wear and how.

  4. Sheila says:

    This one made me shudder, HG. Too many buried memories came to the surface while reading this.

  5. MLA-Clarece says:

    This became a very demoralizing aspect. I was frequently instructed how to wear my hair, how much make-up, especially shade of lipstick. Sometimes I’d play along if I was in the mood to make light of it. Sometimes I’d purposely stay light on the make-up and be au naturelle to make him really see me. This is where he would get a very dark side with ideas for me “modeling” for him. Too degrading to put publicly. What started as exciting exploring led to manipulation of do this or I’m bored and don’t want to see you…
    Yeah, this was a painful post to read, because an inch of giving in turns to miles and miles.

  6. nikitalondon says:

    Ive also been there being told what to wear and what not to wear.. Where to go and where not to go…. Common behaviour.
    Very descriptive and interesting article.
    So well written it wakens up the memories in no time..

  7. bethany7337 says:

    I delighted in dressing to please him and he certainly enjoyed the dresses I so love to wear. Yes, the attentiveness to clothing and hair was nice. I know I was attractive to him and he to me…bodies don’t lie.

    Janaa38 your description of yiur evening out and being left at the restaurant gave me chills…I had many similar experiences.

    Today If some jerk pulled that crap on me the relationship would be SO over.

  8. T says:

    This stuff started on our second date. I was to wear dresses “little black dresses” or sundresses and always with a push up bra (which I didn’t need-I’m a 38DD!). In passing he mentioned he didn’t care for me in jeans….(even though I wore skinny jeans and high heels on our first 2 dates). I thought he was kidding….

    Fast forward a month into being exclusive….I wore skinny jeans and a lovely pair of pump on a date w him. I was told this: “Babe, didn’t I tell you I don’t like you in jeans or pants? Only one of us wears the pants in this relationship-and that’s ME!!”
    He wasn’t kidding….

  9. notquiteanarc says:

    Hmmm…this could also apply to a BDSM relationship. When the Dom and Sub dynamics seep out of the bedroom and into aspects of everyday life, what you describe often occurs. Interesting that this also occurs with N’s, I have not encountered this.

  10. janaa38 says:

    To the left, to the left
    To the left, to the left
    To the left, to the left
    Everything you own in the box to the left
    To the left, to the left
    Don’t you ever for a second get to thinking
    You’re irreplaceable…..Beyoncé

    Such is requited love……that was rather erotic in nature HG and as always, perfectly written.
    I smiled at photo of the dress, I have a similar dress in red and black, simple, classy and elegant, yet understated. Does the scenario you just painted with such devoting words, occur in the beginning of your relationships, or throughout them? When you say guide, you mean control? When you say chose, you mean demand?

    My 1st narc was very appearance conscious, he spent more time getting ready then I did. He wore more jewellery then I did as well, I do not like a man who wears a chain, so I ensured that was gone. As small concession on his part, for all the removals he made in me.

    Before, we would go out to dinner or drinks, he would not sit down, so as not wrinkle his neatly pressed shirt and such. I would say, as soon as you get In the car and put your seat belt on, that effort is defeated…he would simply sneer at me. He would never allow me to buy him clothes. He would chose clothes he liked me to wear that made me look attractive, yet not too appealing to other men. He would insist, in the manner as you do HG, subtle persuasion, as he knew best.

    I recall one time we had gone for dinner, then moved to the bar for drinks following. The bar had chessboards incorporated on the tables. We played, at one point a waiter came over to address our drinks situation. He noticed I was more successful In the game and commented such, with a smile to me. I saw my N’s face, of displeasure. After the waiter left he removed all pieces from the board and didn’t talk to me for twenty minutes. I tried to engage him, it was embarrassing, as others sitting around us had noticed his silence to me and my somewhat desperation to engage him. Finally, he contemptuously, looked at me and said I need another drink. I said, let me, I will go to the bar and get us drinks. There was an unusually long line for drinks. As a I stood there, I felt his eyes on me. So I turned to look towards him. I knew he was getting angry that it was talking to so long.
    Finally, the waiter requested my drink order. He didn’t quite know how to prepare my drink, so I directed him and I must have said something humorous as he laughed quite loudly. I knew, without turning what my N would be thinking. So I didn’t turn to look at him, but waited for the drinks.
    When I returned to the table, he calmly asked me, what I was doing with the bartender? I said , you know already, getting our drinks. He then proceeded to his lowly tirade…on how I was flirting, making him laugh and smile at me, that everyone in the room could see my shameful behaviour and it was most unbecoming of his wife. He then insisted I only offered to get the drinks, as a I fancied the bartender, who happened to be the one who commented on our chess game. He quickly finished his drink, got up for the table and walked out, leaving me sat there. After a few minutes, I collected my coat and purse and walked to the parking area where our car was, he had left. He left me there, I recall sitting on a stone bench outside, as I called for a cab, to bring me home. Trying so hard, to keep my tears inside so no one passing by me would see my distress.
    Once home, he had the doors locked and dead bolted. He was in our bed, and from my estimation pretending to sleep. When I tried to talk to him or touch him, he ignored me. Only, at one point, saying, go to sleep, Jana, you know what you have done. I won’t be touching you tonight. I then went to the downstairs Bathroom and cried and returned to bed.
    I never slept all night. In the morning, he was fine, like nothing had happened. I wasn’t In the same state. I chalked it up to jealousy at the time, an inappropriate response to my behaviour, as he deemed it. He never physically hurt me that night, but the emotional coldness and intentional abandonment, stung as if he had. Obviously, I needed to learn my place. Obviously, I never did.

    But, yes, he had lovely taste in clothing and always choose the most flattering outfits for me.
    It is so nice when a man is attentive to his partners appearance, isn’t it?

    I bleed–
    For your perversity–
    These red words that make a stain
    On your white-washed claim that
    She was out of line
    And you were not to blame.—– Joni Mitchell

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