The Nightingale Rises

By: Cynthia Dane


Wondering that made her feel okay about being treated like a doll. They could dress her however she wanted. Every time they called her Gale, Nala was reminded that she was the Nightingale, who would be more than happy to accommodate her Master’s wishes. Whatever he wanted. Whatever he desired. As long as it was comfortable enough to put up with for an evening at a time… well, what did Nala care? Her opinion was rarely asked. Even dithering between two colors of the same outfit mostly came down to Georgina and not Nala. The only time she expressed her mood was when she was asked her favorite color.

“Dark blue. Paired with silver.”

“Very regal,” Georgina said. “I can see it. With this hairstyle… you can look like a queen.”

That made Nala smile in the mirror.

The last thing they did with Georgina that day was go to a salon. The hairstylist washed and conditioned Nala’s hair, taking the time to carefully pick it before evening the ends and getting rid of the splits. When Georgina asked what was so important about keeping the style the same, Robin replied, “You know how I am with Lucian? That is how Gale is like with her fiancé.”

Stop calling him my fiancé. Nala tried to not let it get to her. That was Desirée. She shouldn’t care, and yet… I’m the one who is alive, not her.

The stylist created a new, simple makeup pallet that Nala could maintain on her own. Lots of smoky eyes. Dark lipstick colors. Red rouge. They went over this while she had the first manicure of her life.

In the end, nine bags from nine different locations were accumulated. Robin’s driver carried a bulk of these from the shops to the car. I’ve never owned so many nice clothes. Where was she going to put them?

They thanked Georgina for her help, Robin giving her Vincent’s contact information so they could go over her commission. Nala received a kiss on the cheek from this woman who was still a relative stranger. When she finally left, Nala assumed that it was time to go home – although she hoped Vincent’s credit card could buy her dinner as well.

Nope. Robin had one more place she wanted to check out. That boutique Vincent claimed Nala really wanted to visit. For lingerie.

It was a small place off the main streets, but after being in so many other fancy places that day, Nala could tell that this boutique tailored to a certain clientele as well. Rich people. Rich skinny people. She wasn’t skinny, but she could probably fit depending on the hormonal fluctuations.

“Georgina knows a lot of things about style and fashion, but I’m the best when it comes to figuring this stuff out.” Robin touched a black bustier displayed on a headless mannequin. “I know what men like ours like on their ladies. Of course, we want to get you some things that make you feel confident as well!”

Nala stared in awe at the racks of panties, bras, garters… anything that could be used to underline her new dresses or draw Vincent into bed. Do I really need help with that? She was already fending off his advances… advances she so dearly wanted to give in to. “I’m not used to this sort of thing. I’m not sure what you would even call most of these things.”

Dresses and skirts were one affair. She was willing to be dressed up, paraded, and even admired in someone else’s tastes. Lingerie? That was so intimate that she almost began to shake in her new boots. Do I get what I like, or what he would like? Normally Nala wouldn’t wonder such a thing. It was her body, her style, right? Except Vincent was paying for this, and she would only wear them when she was playing Nightingale in their undercover play. And Nightingale… would pick things that made her feel sexy while her Master undressed her.

“If you’re not used to wearing this sort of stuff, I could see how it’s intimidating. Don’t worry. We’ll get you fitted for a bra and go from there. What size do you think you are? I’ll find someone to help us.”

Nala stared at a rack of pink, frilly bras in various sizes, from super tiny to super big. “I dunno. 32B?”

“Oh, honey, you’re bigger than that!”

“I doubt it.” She looked down at her breasts, hiding beneath her blouse. “I mean, it’s okay that they’re small. It doesn’t bother me.” She couldn’t comment on Robin’s, er, tig-ass bitties.

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