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She was giggling, nervous and clearly a little uncomfortable, but this was serious. She broke the silence 'lets put some rock music on and theme tonight's dinner, as biker night'. I kept reminding myself she was my mate's and also my work partner's wife but she looked so stunning and her make up was done up like she going to a club, i'd never seen lips so glossy and red. The tables had turned and it was now her turn to see me intrigued and mesmerised, asking to 'see what her leather felt like'. We had transferred to the lounge where the music was and my discomfort must have been obvious as she came up to me and wrapped her arms around me, her leather and mine creaking loudly against each other and the combined leather smell now wonderfully pungent but mingled with her sexy perfume. Instead of reassuring each other we ended up with our tongues in each other's mouths in an instant, the sexual - and kinky - tension was immense, too much for two lonely people dressed in sexy. Mordrant lounged languidly on what Erin supposed to be a throne. Whatever it was, it was covered in animal hides that smelled all the way across the room. Or maybe it was simply the room that smelled so rank. Either way the assault on her senses was almost overwhelming."Your Highness, your Queen awaits" said one of the flunkies with just enough sneer in his voice to set the horde of street kids shrieking with laughter. As the laughter reached a nerve-jangling crescendo, Mordrant finally moved. For the most part the laughter stopped, although one of the less with-it in the room continued until someone thumped him into a gurgling silence."The scroll, read the scroll!" Mordrant ordered into the quiet.An impeccably dressed fairy, in high court attire of green velvet jacket, tights and shoes, surmounted by a green cloak with golden trumpets at the hem and breast, stepped slowly out from the shadows. After clearing his throat in the hazy air, he produced an ornate scroll from which dangled.
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Having spent so much of the day compressed like a caryatid, his back bentor buckled, so often on his knees as he forced fat feet into shoes which womenwould insist on having a size too small, Steve felt like some kind of PrinceCharming... but with only ugly sisters to attend to. His back ached through having to bow low over these vain obese women, hislegs were stiff from his obeisance, his knees burned from the rich pile ofthe carpet and his fingers were raw from prising unyielding leather onto swollenfeet. And then there was the smell, too, of the tan of the leather, of the stinkof the feet, the cocktail of expensive perfumes and the natural aromas whichthe shop's clients would always present. The women were wealthy, the shop wasselect, singly and in small doses their fragrances would no doubt have beensubtle, even enticing, but after six hours of attending to them the aromaticassault had given him a headache. Two young women came in, browsed, but he could tell immediately by.

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