Monica – 18. Tight leather mini and boots.

Monica – Beginnings

‘I’ve just turned eighteen. College next term.’ Monica said, sipping the wine he’d handed her.
‘Oh,’ laughed her neighbour, ‘That was lucky then,’ pointing at her glass.
She laughed too – sounding, she hoped, a little nervous.

‘So, happy birthday to you,’ he continued. ‘Sorry I didn’t get you anything. If that lazy son of mine had told me…’
‘I probably hadn’t mentioned it. We chat over the fence, that’s all.’ She turned and walked to the large window, the bright sun creating a sparkling light around her. She paused, pretending to study the back garden through the glass, knowing he would be looking her up and down.

Her glossy black hair fell to the small of her back; her black-leather mini skirt tight over the high curve of her teenage backside. She was certain his eyes would eventually fall to the stiletto heels of her boots.
‘Nice garden – neater than ours,’ she said.
‘Yeah, wife does the layout. I’m just the hired gun.’
Monica turned and faced him, pulling her shoulders back, letting her hard nipples thumb at him through the silk blouse as she spoke.
‘Oh, I’m sure you’re more than that,’ she said licking her lips, ‘I’ve seen you with your shirt off.’
He spluttered over his glass then wiped his chin. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

‘Everyone out?’ she asked, pretending not to notice his red-face.
‘Uhhh… Gone shopping, college stuff for Trevor. Out for the day.’
She nodded, ‘Just us then.’
She’d heard them planning the trip that morning, shouting to each other with the windows wide open as she listened from her sun lounger, hidden by the high garden fence. A while later she went inside, to the living room of her parent’s house, watched from behind the curtain as they left.
Trevor had twice asked if she would like to go shopping for college supplies, but each time she was able to invent a reasonable excuse. It was clear he was building himself up to asking her out, and he was a nice lad, but they’d exhausted their stock of common topics within a few conversations.

At the same time that she was writing off the son, the father caught her eye. It wasn’t that he was rugged, or handsome, charming, witty or indeed anything remarkable. It was the amount of time he spent watching her, half-hidden behind an upstairs curtain, thinking she couldn’t see him.
Whenever both sets of families were out and they had the garden to themselves, she would experiment with different outfits; flaunting herself in a skimpy, undersized bikini, bending over double as she pretended to weed the lawn, forcing herself not to turn around and check if he was stroking one out. Or she would strut down the path in boots and her favourite leather mini, hands on swaying hips; smiling as she turned quickly and saw the twitch of curtain.
She eventually found the outfit which she hoped – knew – would hit the spot.

Monica stood at the living room window and took another sip of wine. She flicked her hair back, letting the sun sheen off it. He screwed up his eyes, dazzled.
‘Please,’ he said, pointing at the chairs.
She moved first, passing close by, letting him breathe in perfume and pheromones and whatever else she was oozing at that moment.
Her high-heeled boots dug deep into the carpet, leaving tiny indents as she walked; four inches of stiletto and one of platform, with another sixteen inches of tight black leather encasing her muscular calves to just below the knee.
She heard him sigh as she reached the sofa, turned quickly to catch him staring fish-mouthed at her boots before he lifted his gaze and cleared his throat.

‘How’s the wine?’ he squeaked.
‘Fine, although I’m no connoisseur – yet.’
He took the armchair and they sat facing each other. She crossed one leg over, at the knee, pointing a sharp heel at him, making tiny circles in the air as they chatted. The polished toe of her boot flashed in the sunlight when she moved her foot. She let her mini skirt ride up, exposing a flank of smooth thigh.
He struggled to make conversation but kept losing focus. Monica licked her lips, enjoying herself.

She wasn’t a newcomer to sex, there had been plenty of teen romances and quick encounters before, but she could sense this was different. This was her first real experiment with the power that she – and her boots – could wield, and an insight into the problems she would cause men in the future.
She reached forward and placed her empty glass on the small table beside the sofa then leaned back, her arms out to each side. Without looking at him, as though unaware of what she was doing, she breathed in, deep and slow, letting her blouse fill and stretch before his eyes.

‘Would you be more comfortable over here?’ she said with a concerned look, patting the sofa next to her before pointing at the sunlight glistening off his forehead.
‘Thank you,’ he said, moving to her side, his free hand nonchalantly across the bulge in his trousers.
‘That’s better,’ she giggled, pretending the wine was getting to her. She let the skirt ride a little higher.
She’d had to think carefully about what to wear under the mini when she realized this was going to be ‘Their Day’ – the day they’d been building up to. She had to decide on panties or no panties, stockings and suspenders or not. For her first visit to her neighbour’s home she’d decided for the panties but against the stockings. It would be unusual for her to be wearing stockings on a hot afternoon without reason. She wanted things to appear natural, not connived.

She looked down at her exposed thighs. ‘I’m never sure what to wear – do you think I’ve got the legs for short skirts?’
‘They’re perfect.’
She laughed. ‘I wouldn’t call anything about me perfect! Of course, it’s difficult for you to judge my legs when I’m wearing boots.’
She breathed out the last word, elongating it, letting it linger on her moist tongue before ghosting it away. It was trial run for her, and she watched from the corner of her eye as he took in a sharp breath. She made a mental note of the effect, for future use.

‘They’re new, what do you think?’ she said brightly, straightening a leg out in front of her, turning the boot from side to side.
‘They’re… almost as perfect as the rest of you.’
‘I would have liked lace-ups, but they’re more expensive.’
‘I’ll buy them for you,’ the words spilling out before he could stop them.
‘Oh I didn’t mean that. I don’t want you thinking…’

She watched as he hesitated a moment, his mouth open, eyes fixed on her boots. Then he slid off the sofa, onto his knees, held her booted leg in both hands.
‘I’ll buy you any boots you want – zip up, lace up…’ He gently kissed the smooth black leather, breathing it in.
‘Really, there’s no need,’ she said, smirking as she stared down at his bowed head.
‘Ankle length, knee length…’ then with great reverence, an ache in his voice, he whispered, ‘…thigh length.’
‘I saw some red leather thigh-highs in the same shop. Do you think they would suit me?’ she asked, her voice flat and innocent.
He turned his head to one side, closed his eyes, rubbing his cheek against the boot.
‘It’s possible,’ he sighed before returning to her heel. He slowly licked his way up, over the pointed toe, the foot, calf, stopping at the hard ridge of boot top.

Monica waited a moment before realizing she would have to lead.
‘I’ve watched you, working in the garden,’ she said, ‘hoping, praying you would notice me.’
She parted her legs slightly as he leaned forward, letting him stare at a triangle of damp, pink silk. ‘I kept telling myself I was being silly, just a teenage girl, lusting after a married man. I understand if you want to throw me out…’
He moaned, his hands gliding up each side of her thighs, taking her skirt as he went. She leant back and put a hand on the back of his head, drawing him in as she slipped her finger into the tiny panties and pulled them to one side.
His breath rested on soft downy fur for a brief moment before he put his mouth over swollen lips and gave a reverential kiss. The tip of his tongue lapped up and down, finding the hidden nub as she stroked the top of his head. He slid his tongue in deeper, moving his head, his lips massaging over hers. She squirmed as he worked in and out, up and down.
She threw her head back on the sofa, twisting both hands in his hair, pulling him tighter. Then she hooked a leg over his shoulder, letting him feel the weight of the boot, the press of sharp heel on his back.

With a reluctant sigh Monica pushed him away onto his knees. He sat, looking up at her; his lips wet, confusion in his eyes.
She reached forward, held his face and gently kissed him before sliding one hand down his front, squeezing the enormous bulge she found.
Neither of them spoke as she unzipped him, dropping his trousers and pants in one move. His cock sprang out, bigger than she’d imagined.
They embraced, kissing deeply, tongues probing, sliding over each other. Monica wrapped one hand round his thick shaft, cupped his swollen balls in the other. She began a slow rhythm, chuckling from deep in her throat as their lips stayed locked together. He moaned, his hips thrusting forward in time with her touch.

She counted ten strokes then pulled away, one hand on his chest. He frowned, surprised by the sudden stop.
‘You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?’ she said sternly, her other hand still tight around his balls.
‘What?’ he said, confused at the change in her.
‘Watching me from behind the curtains. Touching yourself.’
He dropped his head. ‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘Why?’ she said, sliding her ball hand up to the top of his shaft, working pre-cum around the purple head with thumb and forefinger.
‘I don’t know. I – because you’re beautiful, and perfect and those boots and, and -’ he tumbled the words out, letting them fall over each other.

He reached forward to her but she pushed him away. ‘Not here. I can’t,’ she said, looking over his shoulder, out through the large picture windows across gardens to the next house. ‘I guess I’m a bit old-fashioned, sorry,’ she whispered, bowing her head.
‘I understand,’ he said softly, swallowing her act.
‘Down here, in your living room. It doesn’t seem right…’
Monica waited for him to fill the silence, willing him to suggest it.
‘Upstairs?’ he whispered, uncertain. The word was barely audible, as though afraid of its own consequences.
She stood, took his hand, pulling him off the floor and leading him towards the stairs before he could change his mind.
He looked back, around the room.
Sensing his hesitation, she barked ‘Upstairs!’ in his ear.
He jumped, unbalanced by yet another change in mood. She turned away, smirking as he reluctantly followed.

Monica unbuttoned her blouse as she swayed up the stairs, letting him watch the curved motion of her leather-clad buttocks. At the top she went straight to the largest bedroom before he could protest. Taking him on the marital bed – soon to be her territory – was simply part of the plan.
She sat on the bed, one knee crossed over the other.
‘Strip!’ she ordered.

Once his few remaining clothes were off she pointed a finger at her boot, ‘Lick.’
He dropped to his knees without protest. He’d had a taster downstairs and was hungry for more. It was what he’d been dreaming of for weeks from behind the curtains and in the shower.
His swollen cock clawed skywards, aching for her as he began kissing and licking the leather again.
She watched, carefully turning the boot, giving him access to each side.
‘Don’t miss any.’ She lifting the toe above his face, sliding the heel in and out of his mouth.
‘Now suck. Good boy.’
Monica let him suckle for a moment then suddenly pulled the heel out. She stamped both feet on the carpet and stood up in front of him. Her heels left two deep indents that he would have to explain later.

‘On the bed, face up, hands clasped around the headboard,’ she snapped.
He lay on the bed and watched as she strutted over to a wardrobe and rummaged around inside, bending fully over at one point, legs apart, apparently looking for something.
‘Ah-ha!’ She pulled out two neckties, took them to the bed and tied his wrists to the headboard. He watched her every move without comment.

Monica climbed on the bed and arced one leg over, straddling him then leant forward and began licking his face.
She kissed him gently on the lips, just as the first time, downstairs. The sides of her boots pressed against him, sharp heels scraping over his bare legs.
‘Do you like it? The feel?’ she whispered, nuzzling next to him, her hair falling across his face.
‘Yes,’ he gasped.
After sitting back and undoing each blouse button, she pulled the two sides round behind her. She lifted each firm young breast in turn, flicking her tongue over the springy, extended nipples.
She positioned herself above him, breasts over his face, her silky panties gliding up and down over his shiny, swollen tip, feeling his hardness through the thin material.
‘Do you want to slide in, tight and deep?’
‘Yes!’ he said looking from her dark eyes to nipples and back.
She reached down, hooking her panties to one side, lowering herself a little, her plump lips over purple head. Two inches in then out again.
‘Would you like me to empty your balls?’
‘Please!’ It came out as a cry, not a request.
She laughed, shaking her hair back, then without warning thrust down hard on him, engulfing his length in a tight sheath.
‘Fuck!’ he shouted as the wind shot out of him, making her laugh louder.
Monica rose up, almost out then took his full length again.
Up and down she rode, slow and deep, controlling the motion with muscular thighs, her weight forward on straight arms.

She counted to ten, out loud, watching his reaction, feeling him lift his hips towards her with each stroke.
‘More?’ she whispered.
‘Yes!’ he cried again.
‘Another ten?’
‘Anything!’

She lifted, holding him at the tip, hovering while she looked down, smiling. He made to raise his hips towards her again but she wagged a finger in his face.
‘When I say, not before.’
She sheathed him again, then up, then down.
Leaning forward, her cheek resting against his, she slowly whispered their word, their secret word, stretching it as before.
‘Boot—s.’
He moaned, thrashing his head, hands pulling against the restrains.
‘Boots,’ she said again, repeating the word with each rise and fall of her body.
She gradually increased the pace, the headboard banging against the wall as she rocked back and forth, harder and faster; laughing, swearing, snarling, slapping his face from side to side.

‘From now on, whenever you see me,’ she gasped between breaths, ‘you’ll be thinking of these boots.’
‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘Whenever you’re in the shower, stroking one out, you’ll be thinking of these lips, these breasts, these boots.’ She dug her fingers into his chest, twisting his nipples, banging her heels hard against his legs.
‘Anything!’ he shouted.

She rode faster, pounding up and down on his shaft, rubbing herself against him, controlling the timing. She opened her mouth to speak, paused, waited until the perfect moment.
‘And whenever you have sex with your wife, on this bed, you’ll be thinking of me…’
‘…Y-e-e…Yes! Yes!’
She arched her back, throwing back her head, laughing as pent-up pleasure shuddered through her. Moments later he too cried out, his balls emptying in hot, powerful spurts, deep into her.
Monica rode on, her body slapping down on him, enjoying the last tingling ripples before she finally slowed. Her breasts glistened, cheeks glowed, hair matted to her forehead.

Eventually she eased herself off him, both of them still gasping for air.
He lay on his back, chuckling to himself as he watched her.
‘What?’ she said.
‘Was that your first time – with the boots?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’ he asked.
‘Don’t get above yourself.’
‘You’ve got something special. You should hold on to it, hone it.’
She was smiling, nodding, staring into the future.
‘I will,’ she said.
‘Seriously. I should know, I’m an expert when it comes to boot worship.’
‘So I saw.’

She got off the bed and walked to the window overlooking the back gardens, humming a current pop song while straightening her clothes.
‘I – I’m still tied up,’ he said, fear entering his voice.
‘Yes you are,’ she giggled, turning to look at him.
‘Oh God. No, please,’ he cried, twisting round and pulling at the knots.
She waited, letting him believe she was going to leave him there for his wife to find.
She finished the song then crossed the room, slapped his face once more and untied his wrists.
As she was leaving she said, ‘Don’t forget what we’ve agreed. See you next week.’

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Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/5cbxhi/monica_18_tight_leather_mini_and_boots