Leather

Leather

by Simon Underfoot

Copyright 2023, All Rights Reserved

Author's Note:

There are some light BDSM elements in this story, but this is a romance at its core -- I hope you enjoy. Please consider voting or leaving a comment, both of which mean a great deal to me.

Cheers,

Simon

1.

"Woah," Mina muttered as the hired car pulled to a stop. She was still at a loss for words when the driver opened the door for her.

"Not what you were expecting?" he asked with a chuckle. She gave him an irritated look, displeased she had let her surprise show.

The house was actually fine, definitely upper middle class, but she had pictured something more... grand. After all, her services had been purchased for two full weeks, and walking up the boring concrete path to the bland concrete porch with its white wicker chairs made her feel cheap.

Annoyed as she was, it wasn't hard to get into character.

The driver deposited her suitcases beside the front door and smiled politely. "Anything else, Miss?" She sent him another look and the man cocked an eyebrow, nodded, and tipped the brim of his imaginary hat. "Have a nice day."

She glared at his uniformed back for a moment as he walked away, whistling tunelessly to himself, then pulled out her phone. In thirty seconds she had successfully downgraded her review and halved his tip: the driver's cheerful, unceasing friendliness had been insufferable throughout the two hour ride from the airport to this BFE town.

She stared at the door for a long minute, then started tapping her foot impatiently while folding her arms. After a couple minutes, she pushed the doorbell, holding it down aggressively imagining it somehow ringing extra loud to express her displeasure at being made to wait.

The door opened as the last of the chimes faded, revealing an average looking guy in a white button down and khakis. Mina appraised him quickly and professionally based on almost of year of experience: meek and introverted with a need to please others. Black rimmed glasses; unremarkable brown hair with a prominent widow's peak; mild acne scarring on both cheeks; short. She would have pegged him as a loser if he hadn't paid in full prior to her arrival, so at least he was financially successful.

"My name is Mistress Mina," she stated arrogantly. "I believe you were expecting me."

The man dipped his head in acknowledgment, but didn't say anything. She arched an eyebrow, first in question, then in condescension. "Get my bags," she demanded casually as she pushed past him into the foyer, whereupon she abruptly stopped, momentarily at a loss.

Rich mahogany stretched between the walls and a cavernous ceiling arched far above, punctuated by an intricate silver chandelier dripping crystal accoutrements, a clear counterpoint to the heavy wood. Directly ahead a broad staircase rose, then split, connecting to a hallway on one side and an open sitting area lined with bookcases on the other. To her left, a study, also in mahogany; to the right, a formal sitting area with access to a great room beyond. "This will do," she said gruffly. "Show me to my room."

The client, whose name she hadn't been told, nodded and started up the stairs. She watched him climb and noted he did so without difficulty, despite the larger of the two suitcases being at the airline's seventy pound limit.

Down the hallway he went, past several closed doors, to the very end. He set the bags down and looked at her levelly, first indicating an open door on the right, then another on his left. The first led to a nicely appointed guest room decorated in cool colored pastels and devoid of any personality. The theme seemed to be Pottery Barn chic.

The second option was clearly the Master. A king sized bed and matching furniture looked small in the expansive space, but it had no more character than the other, the key difference being the colorless pallet consisting entirely of white, gray, and black. "I will sleep here," she announced nonchalantly. She moved around the room slowly, enjoying the springiness of the thick carpet. Out one window was a view of the house's long driveway, eventually turning out of sight and back toward the highway that had delivered her; from the opposite side she could see the back yard, stretching more than a hundred yards to a copse of trees. Closer to the house was a pool and a hot tub, both empty. She tapped on the glass. "Fill them, in case I want to sun myself."

Mina walked to the bed and pulled back the black coverlet, surprised at its weight, to find matching black sheets. Trailing her fingers along the edge, she smiled, thinking about how soft they would feel against her nakedness. Too bad.

"This black is depressing. Fix it." The irony of a wearing nothing but black herself was not lost on Mina, and it was obviously a stupid demand, but it was important to set the tone immediately. Instead of rebelling or asking some asinine question, the man looked at her with the same vague, vacant expression he'd worn opening the door and nodded. She narrowed her eyes at his easy acquiescence, distrustful and a bit frustrated, but at least she'd be able to berate him as soon as she'd cleaned up a little. "Show me where I will shower."

Again that damned nod and he moved to a door adjacent to the bed, opening it and standing aside. As Mina passed through, lights turned on automatically and her breath caught. She'd been to spas that weren't this nice.

Beautiful rust colored Mission tiles covered the floor, while Spanish patterns in deep blue and pale yellow climbed the walls. Immediately on her left was a sink and grooming area, and to her right stood a massive massage table, topped in supple black leather. On the far end was a wet area, complete with glass wall running the width of the room with a glass door in the center. Enclosed within was some kind of elaborate shower setup on one end and a standalone soaking tub on the other.

"This will do," she said haughtily, trying to appear unaffected. She pivoted to close the door and found her client looking at her; when their eyes met, he simply turned away.

Mina shut the door harder than she intended, but something about the man was unnerving. He wasn't exactly creepy, but even dressed down in her travel clothing there should have been some sort of reaction. She unlaced and pulled off the heavy black boots, then slid down her tights. She looked at herself in the mirror, suddenly needing reassurance, and sighed in relief as she shook off the strange feeling of self doubt that had arisen. She looked good. Tight, round ass. Full tits. Angular face. There had to be something wrong with the guy, but then again, there always was.

She made her way across the room, discarding her tank and thong for him to pick up later.

It took more than five minutes to figure out how the shower worked because she'd never seen digital controls in a bathroom before. As she stepped under the water her frustration rinsed away as the largest rain head she'd ever seen dropped a ridiculous amount of water on her, enough for two people to easily stand next to one another. The thought of playing in the shower with Ricky, her client from a couple weeks back, made her cheeks feel warm. He'd been huge, in general and also down below, with a rich Latino accent and perversity that tended toward masochism, Mina's favorite.

She shivered with early arousal and looked around, quickly spotting the wand she'd expected to be present. Equipped with a rudimentary understanding of the interface, Mina was able to navigate more quickly. As she exited the wand's control screen she saw a button marked Programs on the Home menu and found herself suddenly curious. There were only two choices.

'Monsoon' scared the hell out of her. Speakers in the ceiling bellowed out a clap of thunder that sounded shockingly realistic, and the lights in the bathroom flashed in time to the sound. The water falling from the rain head increased for half a minute, then backed off to a drizzle. Another crack of thunder sounded and the flow started up again, pounding the tile while Mina's wide eyes took it in. "Maybe another time," she said to herself, deactivating the program.

She was hesitant to see what the other did, but 'Annabelle' sounded so innocuous. Mina pushed the button.

Classical music began to play, the rain head shut off, and two wall-mounted shower heads started, perfectly covering the center of the shower area. In her hand the wand bucked, then started spraying again as air was purged. She smiled as the pattern changed to a slow pulsing wave, realizing she and Annabelle, whoever the woman was, had at least one thing in common.

Closing her eyes, Mina stepped into the water, then brought the wand up to her breast, delighted to feel its mild, intermittent sting against her nipple. She moved the spray slowly across her chest, down her stomach to her thighs, teasing herself, picturing Ricky kneeling at her feet, nuzzling against her ankles. She knew the recollection would be with her for a long time and she savored it, playing languidly in the immersive spray.

Then her favorite memory from their time together came back, stroking him with one hand while pumping in and out of his tight ass with two fingers, watching him squirm, hearing his pleas for her to let him cum. Arousal started to build more strongly and Mina moved the wand toward her center, still teasing, but now occasionally making contact with her lower lips.

As the scene played out in her mind, so too did her arousal, aided by the water's unpredictability. Several minutes passed with waves of warmth rushing through her body; impatience started to rise. She spread her legs wider and held the pulsing water against her engorged clit, ready for the little death. "Now, you dirty fucker, cum for me." She said it aloud, as she had to Ricky, picturing the way a full day of teasing had poured out of his straining cock. Mina bucked and groaned as the water tipped her into orgasm, shuddering, the wand slowly sliding from her grip.

"Woah," she gasped, surprised at the intensity of the climax.

Mina shuffled over to the controls once again, still sensitive, and put it back to the default rain head setting, then walked toward the tub. On a ledge were more than a dozen bottles of conditioners, body washes, shampoos, and even fragrances. For several minutes she perused the selection, pleased with the variety and quality.

Cleaning thoroughly was refreshing after a day travelling, and the towels were exquisitely supple, raising goose bumps as she dried herself. Even better, a thick terrycloth robe was folded neatly next to them, which rubbed against her still sensitive nipples delightfully as she exited the wet area. A quick check of her phone showed Mina she'd been in the shower for almost an hour and a half, and anxiety at having screwed up rose.

No, it would be fine -- he was paying her to be in charge.

The reality was this was only Mina's second overnight appointment, and the other had ended after breakfast on the second day. To spend two full weeks with someone was a bit overwhelming and had been fucking with her normally rock solid bitchiness since Margo first told her about it.

A few deep breaths and she was back in control.

On the vanity was a variety of personal products for everything she could possibly need, from lotion to personal hygiene items. Like in the wet area, the selection was high end.

Another hour of self care and Mina finally entered the bedroom in just the robe, her dark hair fanned perfectly down her back, expecting to see the client waiting. Instead, the room was empty, and also very different. The blacks and grays were gone, replaced with blues and oranges and yellows. The bed had been transformed by a thick down comforter encased within a duvet the color of the Pacific Ocean. Underneath, the sheets were decorated in multicolored patterns with the same Spanish influence as the bathroom. Fresh roses had been placed on the room's writing desk, and even the curtains had been swapped to a delicate white lace.

Mina darted to the window overlooking the backyard -- the hot tub was nearly full and about a foot of water was in the long, skinny pool. She shook her head, almost disbelieving what she was seeing.

Margo had told her almost nothing about the engagement, saying the client wanted it that way. Mina was beginning to have reservations and briefly considered calling her Madame, but banished the thought. "Not yet, anyway, but I will show him what he's in for."

She'd been planning to save leather for the second or third day, but he'd done well and should be rewarded, even though it was too soon for her to tell him so; subconsciously, his lack of responsiveness was also weighing on the back of her mind.

She pulled on her black leather bustier, cinching the ties down the front enough to showcase her breasts, but not so tightly she wouldn't be able to breathe. Then the nylons, with their spiderweb patterns and lace delicacy, topped with silky black garters. Back into the bathroom she went to finish the look with her boots, a severe bun, and dark eye shadow. She left her lips nude, deciding to hold something back for later in the week.

The mirror confirmed her arrogance and she smirked, knowing the effect she had on clients.

Across the bedroom, through the hall, and down the stairs. Her boots clomp-clomped ominously as she explored the house, forcing herself to maintain an air of disdain despite the beautiful construction; like the bedrooms, there were no mementos, pictures, or paraphernalia of life -- she likened it to a generic Bed & Breakfast.

Beyond the den, a great room opened wide, easily three times the size of the Master. Four mahogany columns supported a twelve foot ceiling, giving the space formality akin to a church. Stepping through the archway and into the room, the smell of garlic sauteing assaulted her, making her stomach growl loudly -- a peek at the massive clock on the wall showed it was nearing seven.

Clomp-clomp toward the kitchen, her heels announced her arrival.

The client looked up and she was gratified to see his eye twitch, enough to know that he was actively resisting the impulse to look her over from top to bottom. She nodded and allowed a smile to form, albeit one with clearly malicious undertones. He indicated a round table just off the kitchen with a tilt of his head, upon which rested a bottle of wine and two glasses. Mina met his eyes for a long moment, then made her way to the nook, walking slowly, certain he was staring at her leather clad ass and bare back.

She settled and took hold of the bottle, but the German on the label was beyond her ability to understand. She poured half a glass of the nearly colorless liquid and sipped, surprised at its dryness, and set it aside.

Moving her attention back to the kitchen, Mina watched the man flow between range, counter, and refrigerator with practiced efficiency. He added onion to the skillet and flipped the contents easily, then moved to a cutting board, where he showed near professional acuity in slicing zucchini, which was tossed into the pan as well. Then he was working quickly, combining contents and doing the final meal prep.

He laid what looked like fresh garlic bread on the table and quickly returned with a delicate plate of grated parmesan and thin slices of mozzarella; the pasta came last, still steaming, with vegetables layered on top. It looked amazing.

"Do I look like I eat carbs?" she demanded, just as he pulled out a chair to sit; he paused and made eye contact, then straightened, a bit stiffly. The moment lingered and Mina narrowed her eyes. He nodded, and made a circular motion against his chest with one fist.

Then he was moving quickly again. Away from the table went the food, back to the kitchen, and before she could process what he was doing, he dumped it in the trash. Mina managed not to gasp, but it was a close thing -- she'd been expecting defiance or anger, and an opportunity to be benevolent -- not the same blind obedience he'd shown before. Her stomach growled again, this time louder. She fucking loved pasta.

She watched, still reeling, as he pulled three butcher paper wrapped parcels out out of the refrigerator and placed them on a large cutting board, which he then delivered to the table. He opened the first, showcasing two thick salmon fillets, dusted with salt, pepper, and what looked like rosemary. Hidden within the second package were a couple of thick steaks, bone in and heavily marbled. The third contained lamb chops, which Mina had only ever seen on cooking shows -- she pointed to them.

Nodding, the man took the meat away, returning shortly afterward with another cutting board, this one covered in an assortment of vegetables: more zucchini, squash, broccoli, carrots of various colors, and some odd looking root vegetables she'd never seen before. Feeling like she was at an upscale restaurant, Mina pointed at the carrots and broccoli, then settled back with her arms folded.

The man paused for a moment, then tapped his wrist where a watch would be and held up the number three and then five before turning away. Mina took another look at the clock, then spent the next half hour watching him move, impressed with his efficiency as he worked up a second meal. The vegetables were cleaned and steamed; the meat prepped, seared, and broiled; the wine whisked off and replaced with a Bordeaux rouge.

Her food was delivered within a minute of his estimate, once again taking away an opportunity to find fault. Moreover, Mina felt herself salivating at the smell emanating from the meat. Upon sitting, he looked at her, waiting for either approval or a second reprimand.

"What is your name?"

He made a series of hand and finger motions, but they meant nothing to Mina and her eyes narrowed again. As if he was used to it, he started tracing letters on his own chest, slowly so she could follow.

"Thomas."

He nodded.

"And you don't speak."

Thomas tilted his head, neither confirming nor denying. She looked at him for a long moment, then grunted dismissively and picked up her utensils.

Adequately describing the lamb was impossible, especially after a greasy fast food lunch and nearly nine hours without anything else. She sipped the new wine, which he had poured for her, and found it somehow highlighted flavors in the meat she hadn't noticed. As she finished, Mina let out a contented sigh, forgetting she was working, and glanced up to find Thomas smiling at her, seemingly pleased. "Adequate," she snapped. "Upstairs in ten minutes." She stood abruptly and threw her napkin down on the table, then stalked away, trying to hide her embarrassment.

'Fucking nice guys,' Mina fumed silently as she stomped around, preparing for his arrival.

As she'd known he would, Thomas was prompt. "Strip!" she demanded as soon as he entered. Again, he followed instructions immediately, and again he surprised her. Covering his right pectoral and shoulder was a horse in black and gray, galloping, wind blowing its mane; on the left was a male lion, also devoid of color, roaring out its dominance. Furthermore, he was cut, lean muscles showing definition rare in a man over forty. She walked to him, meeting his eyes, then slowly circled, looking down on him from at least a couple inches thanks to her boots.

Without the heavy glasses, Thomas' pale blue eyes were much more obvious, and his features were softer, even approaching handsome, if not quite there. Sparse chest hair merged with a slightly thicker trail below his belly button, leading down to his groin, where a limp penis hung within untrimmed curls. "You will shave everything from your neck down." Mina didn't even bother waiting for the nod she knew would come.