'The Underwear Vault' for Muses with Remotes
"You can always tell a woman's attention from her panties" - NCIS
Walking through the closet that was already entirely too large for the average woman’s needs, Mab pressed her hand against as simple silver panel on the far wall. A spiral staircase gently lowered from the ceiling and she took it up to her real closet it. Perhaps an entire floor devoted to clothing seemed a touch excessive, but as a shape shifting Faerie queen who was older than most of the continents, there was a certain allowance for such indulgences. But she wasn’t here for the general clothing, much to the disappointment of the attendants who’s entire career was spent tending dresses from up to the minute fashions to those that were so old they belonged in museums. She was here for the undergarment vault.
Once again, a cold hand was pressed to a sliver panel. It took a moment but the wall slid open, revealing her personal underwear drawer. Mab entered before the nosy attendants could get a decent glimpse. There were only three people allowed in that room, for so many reasons. Haven to leather, silk, lace, boning, latex, and perhaps even a little cotton, this vault contained the materials that most closely touched her person and the best indicators of her mood and plans for the day.
She walked through this shrine to femininity, shifting through hangers, considering. The most plain underwear and breast bands were passed without thought. This would not be a day to fight wars. Leather that would compose a fetishist’s favorite dreams was ignored. Not a private romp, then. Petticoats and pantaloons were ignored with similar distaste. Court must not be in session. Corsets didn’t even rate a second glance, but the didn’t most days.
She finally stopped at the selection of modern bras and underwear, picking something pretty, but more functional than frilly. Must be a day with her son that will end with a night with her betrothed, then. Given the set’s black and red coloring, she’s in a pretty good mood. It’s the pink days that are a worry. And yellow, no one should talk to her on a yellow underwear day, especially if they have little bows or hearts. Those are the days when people die. Well, more people.
Having decided, Mab changed into the underwear, throwing her previous set into one of the hampers before returning to general closet, ready to get the rest of the way dressed and start her day.
Walking through the closet that was already entirely too large for the average woman’s needs, Mab pressed her hand against as simple silver panel on the far wall. A spiral staircase gently lowered from the ceiling and she took it up to her real closet it. Perhaps an entire floor devoted to clothing seemed a touch excessive, but as a shape shifting Faerie queen who was older than most of the continents, there was a certain allowance for such indulgences. But she wasn’t here for the general clothing, much to the disappointment of the attendants who’s entire career was spent tending dresses from up to the minute fashions to those that were so old they belonged in museums. She was here for the undergarment vault.
Once again, a cold hand was pressed to a sliver panel. It took a moment but the wall slid open, revealing her personal underwear drawer. Mab entered before the nosy attendants could get a decent glimpse. There were only three people allowed in that room, for so many reasons. Haven to leather, silk, lace, boning, latex, and perhaps even a little cotton, this vault contained the materials that most closely touched her person and the best indicators of her mood and plans for the day.
She walked through this shrine to femininity, shifting through hangers, considering. The most plain underwear and breast bands were passed without thought. This would not be a day to fight wars. Leather that would compose a fetishist’s favorite dreams was ignored. Not a private romp, then. Petticoats and pantaloons were ignored with similar distaste. Court must not be in session. Corsets didn’t even rate a second glance, but the didn’t most days.
She finally stopped at the selection of modern bras and underwear, picking something pretty, but more functional than frilly. Must be a day with her son that will end with a night with her betrothed, then. Given the set’s black and red coloring, she’s in a pretty good mood. It’s the pink days that are a worry. And yellow, no one should talk to her on a yellow underwear day, especially if they have little bows or hearts. Those are the days when people die. Well, more people.
Having decided, Mab changed into the underwear, throwing her previous set into one of the hampers before returning to general closet, ready to get the rest of the way dressed and start her day.