27
In a dress deemed suitable by her mother, Brook emerged from her bedroom with her pulse racing and breaths clogging somewhere in the back of her throat.
Carpet strands tickled her bare feet. Her mother had scoffed at Brook’s mention of shoes.
You’ll not be walking out of here of your own accord, Brook.
However, it had been the, You’ll have no need for underwear, retort that had truly rocketed Brook’s panic into a frenzy.
Despite that, Brook had not disputed her Mother’s clothing of her in an outfit more apt for an early-day hussy, with its straps too loose to stay on her shoulders and buttons that barely concealed her breasts. Neither had she protested her mother’s ushering onto the landing, following the almost-compliment of, ‘Why, Brook, I have never seen you look so tame’.
Afte
