Chapter 28: The Leather Boy

"We've been invited to a party."

Janelle announced this casually from her seat at the dining room table as he got in from work. Bushed from a day of high-tension corporate high-jinks, Doug wanted to cut his mind adrift and just let it float awhile.

He sat, and appreciatively looked over the supper she'd laid out. She'd been home for a couple of hours already, and had thoughtfully anticipated that kitchen duty would not be uppermost in his mind right then. He served up some Chinese sweet-n-sour and rice for himself.

"Party, what for?"

It'd been ages since he'd been to a party. Of the drinks and loud music variety, anyway.

"My art class. Breakup party for the end of semester. We first gotta submit our portfolio's, and then - party-time."

"Uh-huh. When?"

"Friday night."

Hmmmm. That meant the famous Fenton would most likely be there. Not his most favourite person in the world. But still, Doug liked to show an interest in her art. After all, he was paying the course fees for her.

"Okay, I'll go."

"Great. Should be fun. I invited Sue too, and she's bringing her Dave along."

Dave the Rave. Newly dommed, and learning to like it, apparently. This would be their first chance to meet him.

"Any sign of Brad?"

Changing topic, Doug was alluding to the fact that his nephew had not touched base with them for quite a few days now. Probably hanging out with his musician buddies in a low-rent apartment somewhere. Still, he ought to let them know whether he'd officially moved out, or what.

"I know about as much as you do", Janelle responded.

In fact, at that moment Brad was lying flat on his back looking up into Nerissa's sweet but sweaty countenance, as she pinned him to the bed and rode him to a coronary-inducing climax. The last few days had been a marathon of hot sweaty sex for the two of them. Up 'til then, he'd had no idea that women with libido like hers even existed in the world. She liked to get up on top of him, so she could bring her not inconsiderable weight down hard on that horse's cock of his. And as for her boobs, well, she really liked to get those puppies swaying! Later that evening, she planned to see a club owner she knew, to introduce Brad and his buddies as a new "Alternative" act she was managing.

Friday.

Party time.

After work they went and ate together at a small restaurant that one of his squash partners had recommended a while back. Not that he could play squash just lately, with his prick encased as it was in day-glo orange plastic. Be a tad awkward explaining that away, when inevitably they hit the showers at the club changing rooms afterwards.

From the restaurant they went home to get into their party gear.

She took a lot of care over choosing her outfit, and she wanted him beside her for consultations every step of the way. They were both stark naked, having just stepped out of the shower. Except for the apparatus clamped to his willy, that is.

She intended to seek his advice and agreement on every aspect of her couture, it seemed.

Beginning with underwear.

Being so involved in her dressing-up was something he hadn't experienced before. It made him feel special. He felt flattered, yet also a bit inadequate, given that he never professed to have much of an eye for such things.

Janelle laid some panties out on the bed for him to see.

He was far more interested in checking out her swaying dark boobs, the wide flare of her hips and bum, the dusky triangle at her groin. His prick was literally straining at the leash. Awkwardly, and painfully.

"So tell me, for a man seeing me at this party for the first time, what type of underwear do you think he'd imagine me to be wearing?"

"Something in keeping with your character...".

"Which is... ?"

"Sassy, brimming with confidence, well aware of her effect on men... definitely a thong."

He pointed out the very thing, a nifty little number in black. She concurred. She stooped to step into them, which made her breasts swing about maddeningly. It looked like a normal panty in front, but was so high-cut at the back that it simply disappeared from sight between her butt cheeks.

"Bra?"

"Do you have one to match the thong?"

"No, but I got a black lacey one here. I think you'll like it."

She dug it out of the drawer, snapped the band together around her middle, and pulled the shoulder straps and cups up into place.

He did indeed like it. It was under-wired to give some measure of support, but so soft and lacey in the cups as to be transluscent. Her dark areolae were plainly visible, and nipples made bumps like the hex-heads of 9/16 bolts. Probably it was damned uncomfortable to wear a bra like that, but visually the effect was arresting. Arrr-arrr-arrrr!

"Suppose later on a man were to slowly pull up my top, and revealed this - how would it work for impact?"

"Absolute knockout."

"Good. That's settled, then."

It dawned on him that she was not asking him what he himself thought about her lingerie selections. She was asking him to imagine what other men might think.

Significant?

"Stockings. Thigh-highs, I think. Something titivating, yet classy."

"Stockings are always titivating."

"Yes, what is it with men? Pantyhose scarcely gets a reaction, but if a girl goes the whole nine yards with suspenders and garter-belt, and lets men know it, next thing there'll be all these friendly little erections rubbing up against her. What's with that, anyway?"

"The fact that she went the whole nine yards. It makes a statement that she's out-there, y'know, available. I mean, if she only wanted to keep her legs warm, she'd have just worn pantyhose. Am I right?"

Janelle thought that one over.

"I reckon you are. At least, that'd be my own reason for bothering to wear stockings."

Again, Doug felt an ominous little flutter in the pit of his stomach.

Rummaging through her top drawer yielded a pair of thigh-highs in very-sheer black. She rolled them up like a doughnut to go over each foot, then pulled them one-by-one right up her legs until they stopped about three inches below her tush. They had a wide lace border at the top, in an entwined-rose pattern.

Stupendous. Doug was riveted. He ran a hand up one of her calves admiringly, but she brushed it away.

"Time for that later. Now, outfits. What do you think about leather?"

Leather? What did he think about leather? At times he could think of nothing else! Especially the times she had him severely restrained by certain devices fabricated from that particular material.

Janelle pulled a hanger from the rack in the wardrobe, to reveal a glossy black sheath of impossibly narrow dimensions. A black leather skirt, of mid-length. When had she bought that? Landing a job in a ladies fashion store must be paying her dividends.

She tugged it up her thighs, and smoothed it into place about her broad curvy hips and round butt. It hugged her legs like cling-wrap, but fortunately had long slits front and back to allow some leg movement. Just in case she were called upon to kick a few field goals during the course of the evening, he mused.

"Zip me?"

She turned, and he slid its zipper up the back to draw it in about her waist snugly.

It was sexy. Shapely.

Tight.

Sleek.

Yes, he thought leather would be fine.

"Top?" she queried, ruffling through her collection in the wardrobe. She pulled a few things out, but they both decided each was not quite right. Finally she withdrew a black top of tight clingy material, and pulled it on over her head. It reached to within an inch of her bellybutton, leaving a band of bare brown skin about her midriff. It had a v-neck that bared the swell of her breasts. Her bolt-head nipples showed easily through the tight fabric.

"You like?"

"What's not to like!"

"And now... the piece de resistance!"

Boots.

Leather boots.

The pair she bought from Susan's shoe store the night he'd had to bend down and lick them for her.

And another two pairs that she must've bought sometime since.

He handed her the pair he like best. Black, chromed-tanned and glossy, with pointed toe and a spiked three-inch heel.

They went well with the skirt. They reached up to just past her knees, with a bit of a flare at the top and vents behind the knee to allow for leg movement. Standing on those heels, she could just about look him straight in the eye.

She did a pirouette.

"Whaddya reckon?"

"Lets not go out. I want to keep you here, and cover every inch of you with my tongue."

She grinned wickedly.

"Coat."

This was demure, of conservative cut, and three-quarter length. She'd look "normal" enough walking in from the parking lot with that on, but the impact upon any on-lookers, as soon as she took it off to reveal the prick-tease outfit beneath, would be startling.

"And now, you. I've got something for you to try on."

She reached into the wardrobe and came up with a bag from a label menswear store. It contained a shirt of very fashionable cut and pastel coloration. She held it up for him to see.

"I'm not wearing that."

"It'll look good on you. Trust me!"

"It'll make me look gay."

"A test of your manhood, then."

"Are you serious?"

She reached out to caress his CB2000 idly where it clung to his crotch as tightly as an abalone to a rock.

"Deadly serious."

This was a battle he couldn't win. He selected dark slacks and shoes, and dressed as she directed.

Looking in the mirror, he could see that she was right. He'd never have chosen this shirt for himself in a million years, but now that he'd donned it he had to admit that he looked very sharp indeed.

Janelle picked up her handbag.

"Let's go."

They went.

Doug imagined they were headed for some college where the party venue was to be a dusty old gym, or maybe a classroom decorated with balloons and crepe-paper streamers. But this art-class lot were obviously pretty sophisticated. Janelle informed him that they were in fact going to a small private club that somebody who knew somebody had managed to obtain exclusively for the evening's festivities.

They parked in a building opposite and then climbed the narrow stairs to the club, Janelle did a magnificent job of stalking along in those spiked heels with a grace that was positively feline.

Inside, the club was very dark and very techno. Doug and Janelle were fashionably late, meaning on-time in clubbing terms, and a laser lightshow was already under way. The music was as fragmented as the lights were, and Doug struggled to recognize anything remotely approaching a melody amongst the splinters of sound. People were dancing by themselves, like automatons. Some nodded their hello to Janelle as she sashayed her way in.

At the far end of the bar they spotted Sue, with a swarthy Mediterranean-looking man, stocky, thick around the middle, and slightly balding. He was sensibly dressed in the conservative way that Doug would normally have also chosen for himself, though it was a look that stuck out like a sore thumb amongst all these "beautiful" people.

"Hi Sue!"

Sue looked very eye-catching indeed, in an apricot halter-neck confection with neckline that plunged all the way to her navel. Which made it totally obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra, but that posed no particular problem - hers was a bust that could easily manage without support.

Janelle and Sue did the double kiss thing, one on each cheek like the French do. Oh, so very arty.

"Dave, this is Janelle, and Doug."

He nodded at them with a brusqueness that probably hid shyness. He sipped at his beer, in order to give himself something to do.

Not at all the sort of person you'd ordinarily meet in the street and straightaway jump to the conclusion that they had potential as a sex slave. Obviously Sue has had her work cut out for her lately, Doug found himself thinking.

But then again, what would Dave think on meeting Doug? Did he even know the nature of Doug and Janelle's relationship?

Over the "musical" din, Doug attempted to break the ice.

"So, did you catch the game last Saturday?"

Dave lit up like a lighthouse.

"Hell yes, that was a must-see!"

And at that they were off, delving into the past pedigree, errors and omissions of every coach and every player who'd ever been in that damn team.

Seeing that their men seemed to be hitting it off, Janelle and Sue went into their own little huddle. Though he strained to hear, it was impossible for Doug to catch what they were talking about. Doug signaled for drinks from a passing cocktail waitress. A beer for him, and a bourbon and coke for Janelle.

He'd never seen her touch anything harder than wine up until now, and wondered if she could cope with spirits when there was still a whole evening ahead of them. He needn't have worried. A drink to her seemed more of a prop than anything else, because hardly ever did her glass touch her lips.

A powerfully built silhouette hove into view, and greeted Janelle with a hug and a peck on the cheek.

Fenton.

Not quite dressed like a Harlem pimp, but bordering on it. Clothes of outrageous cut and colour, with bling.

Fenton ignored the two men altogether, and was soon engrossed in talk with Janelle and Sue. From the way he laid his hand on Janelle's arm from time to time, it was clear they had an easy familiarity. Doug felt a stab of jealousy, and got a bit sidetracked him from the in-depth sporting analysis he was conducting with Dave. He hated to think of Janelle letting any other man besides him become important to her. It was a prospect that filled him with dread.

It was Dave that ought to be paying attention, though. Keeping up his own end of the conversation with an effort, Doug was at the same time observing Sue's body language.

She seemed to be hanging on Fenton's every word. What was he saying that was so fascinating? Sue had a wide-eyed dreamy look, standing a tad closer to Fenton than absolutely necessary, occasionally brushing back her hair with her hand or adjusting the way her halter-top fell across her breasts.

Doug allowed as to how some women might find Fenton attractive, being muscle-bound and with wide handsome features. But hadn't Sue maintained all along that she only had eyes for her Dave?

Apparently not, for it wasn't long before Fenton was leading her toward the group of dancers shuffling around in the laser-rent gloom beyond.

At this, Dave did begin paying attention. Though still talking with Doug, his glances became increasingly directed at the knot of dancers.

Hello, Janelle had disappeared too. Not to dance, but to prowl from group to group of people and mingle with each in turn. Doug saw people do a double-take at her sexy leather attire. Not just men, but women too. Once her coat had been taken off, Janelle's boobs were very, very obvious to even the most casual observer.

Naturally, Fenton was a very good dancer. Virtually a one-man floor show, as he gyrated and writhed about Sue. She, on the other hand, was extremely "white" in her attempts to shake her booty. Fortunately all she really had to do to avoid looking like a dance floor idiot was to stand relatively still and just look sexy. Tonight, Doug thought, Sue did indeed look very sexy.

Conveniently abandoned by their women, Doug and Dave found themselves barstools as far from the "music" as possible and continued their dissection of everything that was wrong with their team, sport in general, the present administration, and just how many of the nation's ills might fairly be attributed to El Nino.

As time passed and Doug thought to again look across to see where the girls had got to, he got a shock. He glimpsed Janelle leading a callow youth to the dance floor, not by his hand or arm, but by his shoulder-length hair. Her fingers were embedded like claws in his blonde mane, and the way she was leading him was not gentle. Yet his face appeared blissful at this treatment.

Doug found this hard to handle. Yet he kept his counsel and stayed put on his barstool, to see what might unfold.

Which, in the event, was not much really. At least, not outwardly. Janelle released her grip, and they both shuffled and swayed to the so-called music in accordance with the fashion now current. The boy, for he was scarcely more than that, just kind-of hung about her like a moth to a flame. He kept his eyes downcast, and basically just behaved himself.

Meanwhile Janelle shimmied and stalked and pranced on the spiked heels of those impossibly long leather boots. Occasionally she would hook her fingers in his hair and pull his head right back, exposing his throat as if to cut it with a knife. This he accepted meekly, without protest or change of expression.

Doug's concern about the whole set-up increased when he began to notice just what passed for "dancing" these days. Mostly these young arty types danced by themselves, like zombies. But those with partners had a different take on things. They were moving in close, hunkering down, and from what Doug could tell there seemed a high proportion of crotch-to-crotch contact going on.

Doug wasn't sure if Dave was onto this or not, but with a sudden flash of realization his eyes sought out Sue and Fenton.

It was hard to see through the melee of bodies, but... yes! Fenton could be seen with a hand at the small of her back, pulling her in close. His hip gyrations could, even from this distance, be considered most stimulating if a girl was that way inclined. One couldn't actually tell if Fenton sported a hard-on or not, but that was only because of the exceedingly loose, baggy cut of his multi-pleated pants.

Doug caught a look at Sue's face. She wore an almost triumphant expression, like she were Cleopatra, the Queen of Sheba, and Joan of Arc all rolled into one.

Time slipped past, until finally Janelle appeared beside Doug. She still had Pretty Boy in tow, trailing along about three steps behind her.

"Doug, this is James" Janelle yelled over the music.

"There she goes again," Doug thought to himself, "confusing me with a person who gives a shit."

James didn't give a shit about Doug, either. He couldn't take his eyes away from Janelle's leather skirt and boots.

Fenton and Sue appeared too, Sue all flushed and out of breath. She had a glow of perspiration about her.

"Nice to have met you, Sue" said Fenton, "you dance real great."

Which made him a liar, but a very charming one as he bent and planted a farewell kiss on Sue's cheek. Doug noticed he simultaneously had his hand on her butt.