Caroline had left for work before I got up. I made breakfast and mulled over the events of the previous day. How had my wife suddenly become so sexually confident, and assertive? I felt sure that her close friendship with ‘Miss Crawford’ had something to do with it. It was all very exciting, but rather troubling at the same time.
Whilst I was shaving, the phone rang. Of course – it was Jennifer.
“Good morning Miss,” I remembered to say.
“Peter, would you be a darling and come over in about twenty minutes. We need to have a little chat,” she replied.
“Yes, I’m not busy – see you then Miss,” was my response.
At the appointed time, I rang the bell (at the tradesman’s entrance), so be greeted by a vision of sex on legs. Jennifer was wearing a short skirt exposing most of her long, shapely legs in the sheerest ‘barely black’ nylon and five-inch stilettos. To top this off, she had on, what I can only describe as a most enticing leather corset, over a sheer black ‘body’. She showed me into a small, intimate ‘sitting room’ I hadn’t encountered before. She invited me to sit with her on a huge, sumptuous cream leather sofa.
She carefully crossed her legs, making that delicious swishing noise, beloved by stocking fetishists and staring intently at me, began: “I’ve been thinking Peter. You have been doing so much work for me, I feel that I’m imposing on your time and generosity.”
“No really Miss, it’s not a problem,” I replied.
“Hear me out, Peter. Of course I’d like our little ‘arrangement’ to continue, but in future, I will pay you for your time,” she said.
“Honestly Miss, it’s not necessary. My consultancy work has all but dried up and I’ve always liked doing DIY.”
She cut in, “And you are very good at it, Peter, but I insist! To make it more palatable for you, I’ll keep a record of the hours you work and pay the minimum wage. Look, you and I needn’t handle the money. To make it discreet, to pay for your services, I’ll send a cheque each month to Caroline. After all, she has lots of extra expenses these days, and I know you like to support her new ‘look’.”
What could I say? “Well, I suppose that would work Miss.”
“Splendid Peter. Why don’t we get started straight away!” she smiled. “Follow me to the boot room. I have an important task for you.”
Oh boy, I did indeed follow her; staring intently at those stunning legs and slim waist. She then pointed to a row of her wellingtons and boots. I could see that most were for use in the garden or for long muddy walks. But others were high heeled and very sexy!
“I’m afraid my collection of boots has got into something of a ‘state’. I want you to clean them, for me,” she cooed. “All the gear you need is in that cupboard, Peter. Why don’t you make a start and I’ll pop back soon to check on your progress.”
This was not the kind of DIY work I had in mind, but I responded as graciously as possible, “Thank you, Miss”.
She closed the door behind her and I examined the row of footwear more closely. Naturally, it was the high-heeled items that drew my attention. They ranged from ankle boots with six-inch heels, through beautiful brown riding boots, to those in kinky-looking, thigh-length black patent leather.
I settled for a pair of black, knee-length boots with a four-inch, shiny metal heel. I sponged them in the basin, carefully dried them off and, on my knees, began to apply polish. I became fully erect as I acted out what was for me, an act of fetish worship.
The door swung open a few minutes later. “Like what you see, Peter?” she said in a sarcastic tone. “Interesting choice – my favourites too. Always draw attentive looks from the weaker sex!” she chuckled. “However, leave those for later – I forgot to leave this pair”. She dropped onto the floor a more ordinary, but undeniably sexy pair of boots, with a less severe, wider, three-inch heel. “I was wearing them yesterday and stepped onto a pile of doggy mess. You can probably smell it. Clean these first. I need them for lunch time.”
Once again, she turned on her heel and left me alone with the stinking boots. Was she playing me? Was this a deliberate attempt at humiliation? I certainly felt demeaned, by her attitude, as much as anything. But something inside told me to accept; to internalise her domination. And so, I held my breath and thoroughly cleaned the filth from her boots.
When I’d finished, I went in search of Jennifer. I called out, “Miss Crawford, your boots are ready.”
She was upstairs getting changed. “Leave them in the hall and get on with the rest. I’ll be going out for lunch with Caroline shortly, so I’ll see you later.”
I didn’t even get a glimpse of her this time! Anyway, I shuffled back to the boot room. It was going to be a long day, but not before I wanked off onto those sexy boots. (More cleaning!)
In fact, I finished the boots before Jennifer returned, so decided to make my way back home. I found a ready-made, chilled vegan meal for two and made preparation for our evening meal.
Caroline came home at 6.00pm, full of her lunchtime gossip with Jennifer. She was wearing yet another new work outfit – this time a tight charcoal-grey suit worn with a long pink satin scarf and grey nylons. (She looked great!)
I went to greet her with a hug and attempted a kiss.
“Not now darling, you’ll mess up my lipstick,” she protested. “What can I smell in the oven?”
Over our meal, she continued her narrative about lunch with Jennifer. “She said she’s going to pay for your time. Isn’t that great Peter? I’ve been running up some serious credit-card debt lately, so it will be a big help. Make sure you put in lots of hours for her,” she giggled. “I get on so well with her and I really feel able to open up about the more emotional things – you know - relationships.”
I could feel myself blushing slightly, and prayed that they hadn’t been discussing last night’s ‘relationship but just gave a nervous laugh.
