A pair of high heeled black leather boots

It was complex for Smith. Something to do with boots, that was for sure. There had always been provocative pairs of fine leather boots, worn by haughty women, swirling around in his dreams. But there was something too about how Kerry his wife wore them as well. It was her demeanour once she had pulled on a pair of sleek, beautifully crafted boots. It lifted her somehow, giving her the confidence, the sexual sassiness that she would never ever have shown in public otherwise.

He had bought her first pair of high heeled leather boots in an expensive shop in London’s west end. They hadn’t gone up to town purposefully to shop. No, the trip was to share lunch with Bradley his cousin who Smith had not seen in years and who was now over from the States. But they had walked down that street, and the shop window had beckoned. There was the most fantastic display of high end, eye waveringly expensive women’s leather boots. Kerry had glanced in and Smith had stared. The boots were utterly beautiful, fantastically sexy. Kerry had pointed to a pair. There was no price tag showing which to Smith’s mind was always a bad sign. She wanted the boots, so he took her inside and paid nearly six hundred quid for the pair.

So entranced was Kerry with her new pair of boots, sleek, black leather, that she insisted on wearing them, over her tight jeans for the rest of the day. Her court shoes were simply trashed. They walked out of the shop, Kerry parading the boots and Smith was utterly sure that the world stared at her, the boots and her superb legs. It was as if the gaze of the public became a lens on the ultimate catwalk, Kerry, leather, legs, sculpted and pointed toe boots that smelled wonderful. Kerry laughed at him. He was staring at her legs, at the leather high rise boots that she wore. She teased,

‘I can make you do anything now!’

They went on to the hotel where Bradley was staying. It was a big and swanky affair with a marble encased foyer and reception staff who wore high collar uniforms and sniffy attitude expressions. The receptionist assured them that they had called Bradley down from his suite of rooms. Smith raised his eyebrows. A suite of rooms. Bradley must have done alright for himself! His cousin came down dressed casually in chinos and a sports jacket, his shirt open and a crop of hair resistant to closure within. Bradley’s voice was a little gruff, as if he had been chain smoking cigarettes or something. He had a grip in his hand, that almost made Smith yelp.

Smith watched Bradley kiss his wife warmly on her cheek, his hand straying as far as her hip. He saw how his cousin looked appreciatively down at the new pair of boots. It was somehow reassuring. Boots caught the eye, they weren’t simply his peccadillo. It was as if the boots leant Kerry a fresh air of sophistication and she smiled at Bradley as if they had met several times before. In truth that was impossible, there had simply been the facebook pictures, the occasional emails. Bradley liked classic German sports cars, that was all that she really knew about Bradley, from the pictures of him in front of muscular engineering.

Glancing again at his wife’s boots (for such was Smith’s obsession with gaze) Bradley said that they would take lunch up in his rooms and he made the arrangements. They went up in the elevator and Kerry and their host chatted about London. Kerry sounded as if she was a socialite there, moving in circles. The talk amazed and then subtly cowed Smith. It wasn’t the Kerry that he thought he knew.

‘You ever eat at the Savoy grill?’ Bradley asked her, smiling.

‘Not in a while, but its lovely isn’t it!’ Kerry enthused.

As far as Smith knew, his wife had never eaten at the Savoy.

The rooms were large, with high ceilings and with views out over Green Park. There were extravagant displays of flowers set in large urns and mirrors at every turn. The reflections made the rooms look surreal as though they wasn’t one place but dozens of places. Bradley went to an extravagant drinks cabinet and offered refreshments, a vodka martini for Kerry but nothing but mineral water for Smith. She explained lightly that he was driving when they got back to the station.

Smith sat down on the immense leather sofa and started thumbing through the coffee table books there. They were full of London fashion. Bradley showed his wife around the suite, explaining that he had chosen this place because it was similar to his rooms in a nice part of New York.

Smith idled through the pages. The models looked bored, superior and a little under fed. Their hair was perfect, their nails were perfect, their attire expensive. Some of them wore boots. How long he perused through the pages he wasn’t sure, but time seemed to pass and his wife wasn’t back from her tour. He thought that he might go to find Kerry. How extensive could the suite really be. Mirrors…there were mirrors everywhere.

He stood stiffly from the sofa and made for a corridor off the lounge. He’d found his way only part way down there before he realised that this was a blind alley into a walk in wardrobe. Bradley’s collection of suites was vast. He travelled with this lot? Smith felt the quality of the cloth and whistled silently. More mirrors festooned this part of the suite and it was in one of them that he saw Kerry.

Bradley was kissing her. He was kissing her like she was his date or something. He was kissing her on her open mouth. Smith stared. Bradley was seducing his wife! They had never met, never really communicated save for a social media hi. Now, now, Bradley had his one hand on her buttocks and his other stroking her crotch. To his amazement and then his horror, Smith saw that Kerry was responding. She moved her sex against that intrusive and cavalier touch.

If Smith’s first reaction was to intervene, something else took his attention. Kerry was rubbing her boot covered leg against the big man’s leg.  There must have been the scent of leather, there must have been, the boots were new. Smith sighed his hands trembling by his side. May be there was a cost to boots like that and not just the ones that hung covert in the shop. When a woman wore boots that well, she attracted cock. Smith hadn’t thought about it before. May be though, red blooded men, may be they did more than stare. Smith shuddered.

A step left and he could watch the scene without himself being observed. Bradley probably didn’t care. He was taking her anyway. Men like him, powerful men like him, were probably very direct. At any rate, Kerry wasn’t able to resist him. Cologne, the feel of his expensive clothes, the dark rumble of his voice, and then the scent of leather, it created a cocktail outside of a glass.

Now his cousin unbuttoned her jeans and roughly dragged them downwards. Kerry was clinging to his big bull neck as best she could. He wrenched the jeans down, rough, hard and then spun her around to face another mirror on the wall above the bedroom dresser. Smith watched as he casually took out his cock. It was bolt hard erect. It was fucking hard and it was dripping. Smith watched his wife glance back. They had to be quick, they had to be quick…yet, yet, please….please.

Bradley took hold of her hips and stuck her with his cock from behind. His cock went up her sex in one. It rammed her open enough to take him full shaft. Smith watched his wife arch her back. He saw the look of pain come bliss on her face. He watched the way her mouth opened in submission. She was panting as Bradley started to work her back and forth on his bare erection. Smith’s mind rebelled, dragging him down into a terrible obsessive roundelay…

Boots, bitch, bucking

Boots, bitch, bucking

Boots, bitch……BUCKING!

It sounded to Smith, in his head, like a heavy steam locomotive searching for traction on the rails. It sounded like an irresistible force as if the whole of nature had conspired to make boots like that and to get women into them so that they could be fucked by the greatest variety of greedy cocks. Smith’s mouth was parched. The mineral water was forgotten. He started at the couple.

Fucking quickly, casually, made the sex look vulgar and raw. It was a cursory fuck. Bradley wanted her and took her. He wanted the bitch in those boots. Smith listened to his wife grunting. When you shared sex yourself it wasn’t like that. You made noises together. When you witnessed though, with others, the fucking was animal. Bradley dug into her hard, three times, ramming his prick in to the hilt and forcing Kerry against the dresser. The load was being delivered. Through the fine cloth of Bradley’s well fitting chinos Smith could sense his cousin’s buttocks clenching hard.

The thing with mirrors, depending on angles, is that if you can see someone else, they can probably see you. As Bradley pulled his cock out of Smith’s wife, he turned and saw the watcher. He turned and saw Smith with his mouth hanging open. Not an emotion crossed the hard faced exterior of the New York business man. Not a flicker troubled his slate grey eyes. He glanced back at Kerry and zipped up his fly. For her part, she was still leaning against the chest of drawers and panting, so that the mirror misted near her mouth. She was shaking with the power of the sex.

Bradley said nothing. Instead he walked directly towards his cousin. He walked purposefully in to the walk in wardrobe and caught Smith by the arm. He was pushed aside, out into the room where his wife had just been taken. Bradley it seemed was done and now he was going to change his trousers. May be you had another outfit for dining?

Smith looked and felt fucking stupid standing there. Kerry was just across the room, her legs splayed as far as her jeans would allow and her sex lathered. It was Smith though who felt disadvantaged. He felt like the lemon. A voyeur with a dirty habit rather than a husband who had simply wondered where his wife had got to. Kerry was still catching breath. Her fingers were trembling too, making little prints on the mirror.

Smith shuddered.

He needed to lick her. He needed to lick out what his cousin had done to her. There had to be a resolution, somehow.

He glanced first back at Bradley who was clearly changing his whole attire and then at his wife. Her wonderful black leather, high heeled boots contrasted against the deep pile Axminster carpet. Shit, she looked beautiful. Neither moved and then Smith bolted forward. He couldn’t speak to her but he moved swiftly, dropping to his knees.  He bent to kiss her rear and then to ladle the semen that ran down her bare thighs. She sensed his intention and tensed.

‘No! No!’ she hissed, ‘my boots’.

Just why she had reacted that way Smith couldn’t conceive. It was so difficult and so delicate. But he loved her, and he wasn’t now crazed with revenge. What ground the wheels of Smith’s emotion was simply awe. He looked down at her boots before him and he dropped his head lower. There, the deep smell of fresh, perfectly tanned and highly polished leather. He inhaled and his mind rocked inside his head. He inhaled again and then…. he licked.

There was no mouth full of boot polish as he would get from polishing her many pairs of boots inexpertly, there was only the sveldte surface of fabulous leather. He licked the calves of the boots, left and right whilst Kerry watched him. Bradley’s semen trickled down her thighs.  After a moment of that she turned and Smith was confronted with her deeply drilled dripping sex. The smell of conquest hit Smith square in the face. Bradley was watching them, stepping out of the dressing rooms to fix his tie and watch the consequence of his decision. Cousin Smith was bending again and licking the front of Kerry’s boots. She looked at Bradley, shocked, wondering. She looked at him trying to imagine what the handsome man thought and failing miserably. Smith was licking her boots like a proper little pervert.

For the first time since their meeting, Bradley grinned. He gestured with his gaze that cousin should clean her up now. The ritual had been enacted. The bastard had licked the boots that he fucking well worshipped. It hadn’t been lost on Bradley, how much the scrawny little sod stared down wherever his wife walked.

Smith felt his wife touch his cheek. She had reached down and touched him softly. her fingers slipped beneath his chin and directed him upwards. He was to lick her sex. She felt his strange gaze and brought his mouth against her there, so that she didn’t have to ponder what it meant. She brought his mouth to her still quivering sex and fed him.

‘Thought we’d go over the Savoy Grill for lunch Kerry. I know the folks there, they’ll find us a table…. promise’ Bradley said, coming to her and kissing her lips. It was as if this was normal. It was as if this was simply ‘nice’.

‘Yes, please’ she whispered back.

Smith fed. He fed at her sex and stroked down wards with his hands against her boots. His cock was first jerking and then messing his pants for him. His cock was out of control.

‘I’ll order up something for him (and he looked down) here, you happy with that?’ Bradley stroked her arm and took another kiss.

‘Thank you’ she murmured.

Bradley cuffed his cousin away. He watched him roll to one side on the deep pile carpet. His big hands came forward, tucked Kerry’s blouse inside for her and buttoned up her jeans. She felt really wet, really slimy, really nice.

‘You ready?’ he asked her.

She looked down. Her boots felt fabulous. They made her feel capable of anything.

‘Yes’ she said taking his hand to leave.

[Sometimes just a pair of boots changes everything doesn’t it! Best wishes, Lutheran Maid, published book and stories author.]