Chapter 82.
Clarissa had changed into a miniskirt, black stockings, and high-heeled thigh boots. She had worn them that day Mélisande had first sat on Bobby’s back. They looked expensive, and they were. They were made of the finest kid leather, so soft that it actually stretched a little as they were zipped up at the back. She took her seat on the sofa beside her daughter.
“We’re ready, Bobby!” cried Mélisande. “You may enter.”
No response. “We’re ready… Don’t be shy…”
He entered assuming as well as he could a casual expression – though Clarissa could see in his flushed cheeks and trembling lip that he was feeling far from relaxed – and immediately understood why. His uniform was nothing like she had expected. Her mouth fell open, her eyes widened – but to her credit, before he could notice, she translated her appearance into one of delighted surprise. As he performed a slightly clumsy rotation, she leant forward and clapped her hands.
“Next on the catwalk, “Bobby Tucker! Go, Bobby!”
Mélisande stole a sidelong glance at her mother, noted her surprise, and smiled with satisfaction. Now she was in on his secret too.
“Walk up and down a few times more, Bobby. Go on. And come closer. My mum wants to see everything.”
But Clarissa could already see everything. Cynthia had made his pants from a new type of latex, fine and light but also strong, and resistant to snagging. It could be relied upon not to split or tear, even when stretched to the limit. She tried to appear unflustered, but couldn’t help staring at the vision of this great big boy in such a juvenile outfit. “Surely he’s not going to wear that for work,” she said to herself. “He’ll cause a sensation…”
But she was getting the picture. She could see he was possessed by a deep-seated deference towards women, almost an adoration, that gave them tremendous power over him – a power that his aunt and her friends had been unable to ignore. They had succ-umbed to the temptation to exploit that power, and once they had taken that path one thing led to another, and…and here he was. A boot boy, a little rubber-clad pony that even her daughter could control with ease…and goodness knows what else. She sighed. How could she criticise them? She too found him fascinating - cuteness personified. She casually picked up her phone and took a few snaps. Well, why shouldn’t she? If he liked showing off so much, then she should entertain his vanity. She found herself looking forward to having him at her feet attending to her boots.
“Now put on your jacket. See, mummy, his jacket’s made of latex too. It suits him, doesn’t it?”
“It looks perfect on him…”
The little jacket came down just to his hips. Bobby was fumbling with the drawstring.
“Come here - I’ll do it for you,” said Clarissa.
He came over and stood in front of her. She took a deep breath, and, doing her best to ignore the flattened bulge lying in the yellow compartment of his pants, she tied the drawstring in a bow, the acorn pulls hanging down in front. She sent him back onto the catwalk and exhaled with relief. He started parading up and down again, but to his distress he found that, at each step, the rubber pulls, which were hanging level with his crotch, bounced against the front of his pants. It was as if they were insistently tapping at his flaccid coc-k, gently encouraging it to wake up. He actually imagined for a moment that Cynthia must have cut the drawstring to a calculated length, to produce just such an effect!
Feeling an increasing tightness in his pants, he stopped. “I-I should probably attend to your mum’s boots…”
“In a minute. Mummy wants a video, and so do I. Keep walking, please.”
It was his worst public humiliation nightmare playing itself out. He could feel his coc-k slowly swelling and lengthening under the regular kiss of the rubber pulls. Though his jacket prevented him from seeing it, his unruly member was inching sideways under the taut yellow latex, across the top of his left thigh, as if seeking the little “B” logo in its blue heart. He was beginning to panic. “No… Please… Not in front of Mrs Burlington! Whatever will she think of me?”
Fortunately Mélisande hadn’t noticed his discomfort, being more interested in her mother’s reaction to Bobby’s embarrassment. But Clarissa could see exactly what was going on, and knew that, with her innocent daughter sitting next to her, she needed to take immediate action. Just as Bobby was contemplating a rush to the door, on the excuse he needed the toilet, she intervened – though strangely she kept filming.
“Bobby, I think that’s enough. Yes, please come and show me your expertise now. Mellie darling? Could you fetch my cleaning kit from the laundry room, please?”
“Yes mummy!” And she dashed out.
Bobby, with a sigh of relief, turned towards Clarissa and was about to sink to his knees when she stopped him. She was still holding her phone in her lap, pointed at him. But of course she wouldn’t still have been filming…
“Just a minute, Bobby. Better take off your jacket first.”
In his delight at his reprieve he quite forgot about his tumescent state. “Oh, yes, of course.”
He stood before her, fumbling with the drawstrings again, got them tangled, finally separated them, and pulled down the zip, which then got stuck at the bottom. Wearing latex gloves wasn’t the ideal aid to fine motor skills!
“Do you need some help?” said Clarissa, in an offhand tone, staring roughly in the direction of the zip-pull and making to move to offer any.
“No, thank you, Mrs Burlington. I have to learn to do this myself.”
“Yes…you should…” she murmured, distractedly, registering that the head of his pen-is had now actually attained its goal and reached the blue heart. She took a deep breath, and checked her phone to make sure it was still recording.
“Got it, mummy!”
With a sudden burst of energy, Clarissa rose, put her hands on Bobby’s shoulders, and brought him to his knees.
“There, Bobby. Time to do my boots. Here, I’ll do that for you.” She undid the zip. “Mellie darling? Just put that down here. Could you stand behind Bobby and help him off with his jacket, there’s a dear? That’s it. Thank you… Oh, and get me a drink of water, would you? There’s a good girl…”
She unzipped the little fabric case Mélisande had brought her, pulled out a large red duster, and spread it over Bobby’s knees, effectively hiding his erection. She tucked it into the top of his pants to keep it in place.
“There. Now all you’ll need is this soft brush, this leather dressing, and a soft cloth for polishing. Mellie tells me you were trained by your aunt… Oh, thank you, dear. Sit down. Bobby’s about to demonstrate his boot-cleaning skills.”
She took a sip of water, put the glass on the side table, and smiled encouragingly.
“Yes, Mrs Burlington. She has lots and lots of boots…”
“Really?”
“She has some beautiful ones, and I keep them all nice and shiny for her. Leather ones, and lovely soft rubber ones, and…”
“You sound quite enthusiastic…”
“Oh, well…you know…” He flushed. He had rather given himself away.
Clarissa looked at him with interest. He certainly did love boots, no doubt about that. So if he wanted to indulge his passion, then it was only right he should be appropriately dressed. And what could be more appropriate than a lovely little rubber outfit like this? An unattached boy of that age needed to find an outlet for his pent-up energies somehow, and this pursuit seemed to offer it, while also providing a little harmless amusement for his friends…
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Topic: His Aunt Nicole (Read 38608 times)
