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The boss had a fetish, and to win him, Kitty would play up to it!

"The Feel of Leather"

by Connie Sellers



Vol. 3, No. 4, January, 1959

     Kitty watched her boss run his fingers over the arm of his padded leather chair. She nibbled her lips, wondering just what would make him want to caress her that way.
     "...sign that 'sincerely,' Miss Woods, and get it out in the morning, please."
     Kitty made a final squiggle in her notebook, and caused her skirt to slide back a little. Her legs were more than good, and she didn't think that even a cold character like Mr. Louis B. Armitage could ignore them for very long.
     She looked up then, to see him glancing at his watch. Kittly loved that watch with its rich platinum case and numerals set with small diamonds. But, she thought for the dozenth time, if the watch was hers, she'd change that heavy leather band for one of white gold.
     "I didn't realize it was so late," Mr. Armitage said. "You must be tired."
     Kitty took the cue and stretched. The movement called attention to the bold thrust of her breasts, and accented the rounded sweep of her hips. She watched his eyes.
     "I'm grateful for your help, Miss Woods," he said. "At times business piles up."
     Money piles up too, thought Kitty, and makes colorless little men highly attractive. "Call me any time, Mr. Armitage," she said. "The office is kind of--cozy at night, and it doesn't seem like work at all." She closed her notebook and stood up, close to him. Through heavy lashes, she saw his eyes at her blouse buttons, saw the slight leaning motion he made, and waited for his hands to reach out.
     It did, but only to brush softly across the pigskin corners of his desk blotter, and Kitty bit at her lips.
     Other men would have taken the opportunity of night work to offer their secretaries drinks, or suggest late dinners, or at least make an outright pass--but not Mr. Icecube Armitage.
     When Kitty walked across the room to the filing cabinet, she didn't have to concentrate on her movements. The rhythm of her long legs and trim hips was inherently suggestive.
     All right, she thought; tonight was a flop, but there would be a lot of tomorrows. She would find a way to melt this cold little man, and when she did, a wedding ring and platinum watches wouldn't be far away.
     Her coat belted tightly about her, Kitty crossed back to him. 'Good night, Mr. Armitage," she said, and made patting his hand a casual gesture, "Don't stay too late."
     He smiled at her. "You're too young to mother me, Miss Wood; I'm just finishing up some odds and ends. Thanks again, and good night."
     From the door, she glanced back and saw him putting papers into his softly grained briefcase. A lot of men went in for leather, she thought, but Mr. Armitage seemed to like it more than most.
     In the taxi, she thought about all the leather furniture, the care Mr. Armitage took of his obviously expensive shoes, and the way he handled that fancy wallet. Kitty smiled; she'd hold that wallet with respect, all right, but not as if it was a miniature lover.
     Suddenly she straightened. Sure--that must be it! At her door, she paid the cab driver hurriedly, and once inside her tiny apartment, grabbed for the phone.
     "Marcia? This is Kitty. Yes--fine. Say--are you still on that psychology kick?"
     Marcia's voice was faintly prim. "The study of abnormal psychology isn't a fad, Kitty. Certainly, I'm still interested in it."
     "Good," said Kitty, "I'd like to know something. Isn't there something about people who like fur too much, or dolls, or--leather, maybe?"
     Marcia's chuckle was restrained. "Do you mean a fetish?"
     "That's the word. What does it mean?"
     "Well--fetishes have a definite sexual connotation; they're a symbol that excites them. Such persons have a somewhat warped sexual drive."
     "I can stir up a man by using his fetish, then?"
     "Kitty--I don't know what you're up to, but be careful. Most fetishes are deep seated, sometimes subconscious things, and don't always mean..."
     "Thanks, Marcia; that's all I wanted to know."
     "But Kitty--these things are mixed up. There may be something else involved besides sex."
     Kitty laughed. "What else is there?" She put the receiver back into its cradle. A smart girl, that Marcia, but inclined to be too talkative. Kitty knew all she wanted to know about fetishes.
      When she snuggled into her pillow that night, Kitty's plans were made. There were the kidskin gloves on the dresser, to go with the tight gray suit with leather buttons, The woven earrings from Mexico would fit very well.
     The day after tomorrow, she'd wear the snakeskin shoes and carry the matching purse. But the big effect would have to be held until Mr. Armitage asked her to work again some night, and Kitty had a feeling that request wouldn't be long in coming. She stretched luxuriously, and dreamed of platinum and diamonds and mink.
     At lunchtime, Kitty made it a point to stop into Mr. Armitage's office and inform him she was going. Her gloved hands touched her purse casually to the desk top inches away from his hands.
     "Is there anything else you want done before I leave?" she asked.
     His eyes were on the pattern her fingers made across the handbag. "No, Miss Wood, take your time. That's--that's a nice bag you have there."
     "Do you think so? I got it on a visit to Tijuana." She leaned over him, so that her blouse front carelessly brushed his shoulder, and pointed at the design worked into the leather. "I just couldn't resist those little curlicues," she said.
    "Yes--yes, very nice."
     Kitty thought his voice was just a little thick.
     She left it that way; just a tease here and there until the big pitch, the clincher. It wouldn't hurt to build him up to it by degrees.
     At a drugstore counter, Kitty ignored the bright eyes and extra service the counterman offered, and nibbled her sandwich. Little Mr. Armitage could be made to share that pile of money. There was that huge lodge out of town; a lodge, yet--a fancy apartment, a sleek car, a driver, a maid.
     She'd do her best to make any affair permanent, no matter what fetishes were involved. Kitty believed in the power of her body, in the knowledge that all a girl had to do was to present a man with what he really wanted, and served up the way he wanted it. If Mr. Armitage wanted his sex wrapped up in leather, that's the way he'd get it.
     Kitty's campaign was a smooth one--a constant drawing attention to leather accessories she wore, the use of his own habit of stroking leather, of being sure her skirt was taut over one thigh when she dusted her shoes.
     At six one evening, her phone range.
     "Miss Woods? I'm sorry to bother you, but I wonder if I could persuade you to work tonight? I'm out at the lodge, and some letters--"
     "Tonight? Well--I do have some plans, but--"
     His voice faded a little. "Oh; I had hoped--"
     She smiled, but kept her tone controlled. "But I don't have to be there until late. It's just a silly party, but I promised--"
     She could hear the disappointment in Mr. Armitage's voice. "It won't take long, Miss Woods, a half hour, perhaps. My car is at the office, and I can send it for you."
     "I'll be ready," she said. "I can go to the party from your place."
     "If you don't mind," he said.
     "Not at all," Kitty answered, and laughed as she clicked the receiver into place.
     She went to the closet and took out a hanger. He wanted her out at the lonely lodge, miles from anywhere. If Mr. Armitage wasn't ripe tonight, he never would be. Kitty dressed with care.
     The car whirred up the winding road under tall trees, and Kitty's eyes widened at the size of the lodge, If everything worked out, she'd be either co-owner or a well paid guest.
     He met her at the carved door and took her hand. Across the spacious living room, a log fire flickered from a stone fireplace. "This is an isolated spot, but I like it," Mr. Armitage said. "It's a shame to spoil it with work."
     Kitty glanced at the coffee table in front of a low leather couch. He had set his props there--pencils, notebook, official looking papers. There was a cocktail shaker there too.
     "If we're not going to be long, Mr. Armitage," she said, "I'll just keep my coat on. I have my costume on."
     His eyes dulled, and Kitty was almost sorry she had planned it this way, but the big effect would be greater if she made him wait.
     "As you please, Miss Woods. I shouldn't have bothered you, really. A party, you said?"
     "A costume party, and it should be fun." Kitty sat down and poised a pencil over her notebook. "I'm ready."
     The letters were inconsequential, as she had known they would be. She felt his eyes searching over her while he dictated them, and she glanced up from her notebook to see his fingers fondling a suede tobacco pouch. Mr. Armitage, she decided, was in somewhat of a bind, especially since she wasn't showing any leather to urge him to action.
     His voice trailed off. "That's all, Miss Woods," he said tiredly. "Thank you very much."
     Kitty stood up. "I'd like to show you--I mean, the party I'm going to--oh! Just a minute."
     She turned her back to him and kicked off her shoes. Then she opened her coat and slipped it off. She faced him, defiantly erect. "How do you like my costume?"
     The red glow of the fire played over her oiled ivory skin as she stood before him. There was a fringed leather halter supporting her outthrusting breasts, and a wispy doeskin loincloth snuggling across the rounded softness of her hips and thighs. Her long legs tapered down into smooth caves, and her small feet were bare. Warm and gleaming, the leather accentuated her proud womanhood. "I'm supposed to be an Indian maiden," she said.
     But he wasn't listening.
     He licked his lips, and his avid eyes licked hotly over her body. She took a long stride toward him, and his hands reached out involuntarily.
     Kitty smiled, and took another step. His fingertips only brushed over the fringes of her halter, then flicked away. She frowned when he moved back.
    He turned away from her, and she hesitated. But then she saw his hands snatching at his shirt, and she waited for him to face her again. The firelight flickered over his bare back, outlining surprisingly strong muscles.
     An urgency quivered in her stomach, and Kitty leaned toward him. Then he reached up over the big stone fireplace, and when he turned, there was something in his hand.
     Kitty took an uncertain step backward, pushed by something she saw in his eager face. The she was sure, and she whirled to run, and felt his hand catch at the loin cloth and snatched it off her hips.
     Almost before she tugged at the door, she knew it would be locked. For a frozen splinter of time she stood there, hearing the lonely wind in the dark trees outside, knowing that there was nowhere to run to, anyway.
     She tried to scream then, but the high pitched noise that came from her open mouth was only a squeak. When the pain coiled around her naked thighs, she snatched at it, and her desperate fingers clung to the braided lash of the long leather whip for a moment before it was pulled back for another stroke.

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