Story · Serial · femdom

The Key Party – Part 1 of 4

Key Party

“So should I wear the shoes or the boots?” said Janet Osborne waving her right foot so close that her calf muscle was only a few inches from his face as Gordon Lister sat silently staring downwards: not only were both choices equally alluring, he didn’t understand why she was even asking his opinion. Did she actually think that he knew something about what kind of footwear flattered women Mrs Osborne’s age, or whether he had any sort of preference based on the fact that he’d just agreed to accompany her to some sort of themed party?

It had been a little over thirty minutes since his mother had asked him to run round with an accessory she’d said was needed for the occasion, but he’d got nervous at the sight of such an attractive, well-dressed woman answering the door and had not managed to say any more than “I’ve been sent round …” before he’d been invited inside and happily accepted the offer of a seat and a drink.

He knew that Janet Osborne had been to school with his mother, but other than the two of them being around the same age, there were no other commonalities. His mother was slightly overweight with shoulder-length hair beginning to fade, wore clothes which were more functional than stylish, and had only recently joined some outdoor exercise regime in order to get fit: Janet Osborne on the other hand looked exactly like the kind of woman his mother had told him to avoid. She was lithe, athletic, toned, and had a physique which looked as if an adventure weekend wouldn’t even begin to tire her, let alone cause her to come home exhausted and covered in bruises, marks and scratches like his mother did.  Mrs Osborne also had an exquisitely sculptured hair style which Gordon thought probably cost more to maintain than his mother earned in a week, wore bright red lipstick which exaggerated the shine of her perfect, pearly-white teeth, and had jet-black hair which complemented an outfit even Gordon could tell that was far more expensive than anything his mother owned.

He looked up nervously and had no doubt that she didn’t know how attractive she was, or that her black satin blouse clung in exactly the right places to highlight her flawless figure as she surely wouldn’t have dressed so provocatively. He became even more certain of her naivety when she stepped closer as she placed her foot back on the floor and hitched her knee-length pencil skirt halfway up her thighs and asked, “Or what if I wore a shorter skirt? Would that make a difference?”

Gordon Lister focussed as hard as he could on the shiny black stiletto on her right foot, and then on the knee-length black boot covered in ornate buckles on her left, and tried desperately not to stare at the long, lithe legs of the woman standing just in front of him. He failed. Within seconds his eyes had inadvertently glanced upwards from the floor and the embarrassing bulge in his trousers he’d been trying to prevent from appearing, had attracted the attention of his host.

“I see you like them both Gordon!” she laughed, “or is it my legs that you approve of?”

He tried to stutter a reply while attempting to cover his erection with both hands, but just as he’d failed in his attempt not to stare at Mrs Osborne’s legs, he also failed to manage even the simplest of actions as his mouth was too dry to talk, and his rapidly growing erection was larger than his hands could disguise.

Janet Osborne continued laughing: “Shorter skirt it is then. Nice to know that I’ve still got the legs, but that doesn’t help me choose. So hurry up and pick. Boots or shoes? We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

She stood and waited while Gordon regained enough composure to whisper his response, “Can you be a bit more precise about the look you’re going for?” Janet laughed again and replied: “Like one of those desirable objects that people desperately want to touch, but daren’t because they’re scared of what might happen if they do.”

He was now even less sure about to what to say. That description fitted Mrs Osborne perfectly, no matter what she chose to wear, or how ignorant she apparently was as to how unlikely it would be that a woman like her could ever not be noticed. “Sh, sh, sh, shoes,” he eventually stammered, but only because he thought that she’d be certain to change into a shorter skirt if he’d said boots, and he knew that was likely to make him feel even more uncomfortable than he did then.

“Shoes it is then!” she said triumphantly, and strode out of the room leaving Gordon to rearrange the clothes below his waist in what quickly became a pointless attempt to make sitting more comfortable and less embarrassing as soon as  Janet Osborne walked confidently back into the room less than two minutes later. She was wearing a pair of shiny black stilettos, with the black satin blouse now unbuttoned from her neck to expose a shiny black satin bra, and her  skirt was far shorter than halfway up her thighs.

She stood even closer than she had before and pointed a manicured fingernail at what felt to Gordon like a rolling pin trying to burst of his trousers. “So you approve then Gordon!” she exclaimed laughing hysterically, “Nice to know that I can still have that effect on a man your age! Now put these on and I’ll call us a cab.”

He looked up and as a reflex action caught a pair of heavy metal handcuffs which she’d taken out of the clutch bag she was carrying and thrown towards him.

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