Kinky Boots and Leather Suits
Original Fiction by Mike H.
By permission - all rights reserved
Back to tonight: Dorothy went into the bathroom and had a quick flannel wash, making sure there was little steam, as her beehive hairstyle would fall. Once dry, she got dressed again in a bedroom bra and short corset. This was done as quickly as she could, but she was hampered by her 1” long nails, and she had to be very careful, as Dave got so angry if she broke a nail. Dorothy took care not to check the mirror until she was covered, as she really did not want a reminding of how her 50 year old, overweight body sagged without the buttressing of her resolute foundation garments. Dave was of the same opinion and got angry if she walked past him in the nude. He wanted her looking like a pneumatic pinup girl at all times. She sat down at her dressing table, put her glasses back on and pulled on a pair of dark-seamed nylons, and then stretched around to clip the eight wide garters tight, slipped her stiletto’s 5” back on and started on her make up. She removed her glasses and squinted at the mirror. Dave did not like her wearing glasses and certainly not out at night; if they went to the cinema, the only pair she was allowed to wear were some pink, horn-rimmed glasses with rhinestones all over them.
First, she cleaned off her restrained daytime face and started on her ‘full’ evening look. Two layers of her heavy pinkish pancake on her face, with a lighter layer
below and to the sides to try hide her burgeoning double chin and jowls. Next came the pink blusher high on her cheeks. Then, with a little grimace, came her largest set of black false eyelashes, Dave’s favourite. They were so big and heavy, that, by the end of the night, her eyes would be sagging. She carefully glued them and adjusted them so that they stuck out a full
half an inch, and then, five
layers of thick mascara top and bottom, dusting them between each
application to get a thicker effect. When they were finished,
it was so thick she could hardly blink.
Next came the three bands of eye shadow, starting on her lids with a deep pink, blending to a light pink at the top, stretching from the bridge of her nose, well out to above her cheeks in an extended teardrop shape. Above, she used a thick black eyebrow pencil to create high arched brows. Out then came the thick deep pink lipstick, and she built up three layers, and edging her lips with eye pencil; she lipped off the excess with a tissue and she was done. She peered dolefully through the thick lashes at her reflection and frowned: no matter how much makeup she applied, there was no hiding it, she was getting old. Dave insisted she wear this much makeup every time they went out and had for years; at least every other women was wearing a lot
She checked her hair - her high peroxide blonde beehive had been freshly done this morning. She tidied a few tendrils back and front and frosted it with half a can of rigid hairspray. She had been a blonde for five years now, at first in a Jayne Mansfield style (Dave worshipped her), but when the bouffant styles had come around, he got Dorothy to pile hers higher, and now,
with her beehive, it stood fully
12” high, rising in an inverted cone, and, on occasion, it had been
even higher. Dave loved it, but she loathed it. It was,
so false that, to hold it steady until next week's appointment, it
was absolutely solid with lacquer; when she shook her head, it did
not move an inch. She finished off by applying dabs of perfume
to what little flesh was still showing; it was Dave’s favourite, but
Dorothy found it so overpowering it sometimes made her feel sick.
Right finished, she popped on her glasses and got up. She hoped Dave was not feeling too amorous when he got home, as he would mess up her face and it would take ages to repair.
She went to the wardrobe and
pulled out the new boots; she was going to be very embarrassed
wearing them on their first trip out - she would even much prefer
her normal stilettos. It was not that she had not worn boots
before (there were several pairs in the wardrobe), it was that she
had not worn them outside the flat. It would have been seen
too ‘kinky ‘. But now they were just in fashion, sparked off
by Honor Blackman in the TV program The Avengers. But
Honor never wore anything like these. They had 7” heels, which was
just about as high as she could manage out of the flat. The boots
were close-laced, with shiny black lace all the way up to the top of
her thighs. Dave had ordered them especially from Regent Shoes
and this was their first trip out.
Dorothy gave them a polish and sat back down on the stool, slipped off her stilettos, pulled the first one on and push her toes, with bunion complaining, into the sharp toe box. She quickly hooked the laces, going back down one, each time to pull out the last bit of slack, making sure the
gap was even all the way up the front to mid-calf. After that, she heaved with all her might on each hook of the boot, as she knew if she did not there would be insufficient lace at the top. Last night, Dave had laced them as tight as he could manage and then cut the excess lace off; he loved the way it moulded her flabby thighs into a smooth shape. At the top, the tightly laced boot squeezed a thick ring of flesh pushed out of the top. She continued with the second, and was just finishing when she heard the front door go.
“Hi ya, Babe, be in a minute.”
Dorothy quickly stood up, staggering as her feet were forced upright and forward, and steadied herself on the dressing table; then she quickly whipped off her glasses and put them in a drawer, tottering unsteadily over to the wall. Although she had pumps as high as this, the boots were more difficult to walk in, as the tight lacing left her with very little ankle movement. She turned, undid her corset laces, and hung them over a strong hook on the wall. With long experience, she leaned forward and rapidly pulled her waist in, not too tight, but enough so that her figure was smoothed and she had a slight wasp waist. Dave got so uptight if she wasn’t laced. She put on her long black-frilled peignoir, to cover the bulges at the top of the boots.
Checking herself in the mirror and finding nothing for Dave to get irritated about, Dorothy then busied herself taking the new suit out of its cover and laying it on the bed. Dave came in and hugged her from behind.
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