Black Boots

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All characters in the story are of or above the legal age to engage in sexual relations.

* * * * *

She stood, quivering, in front of the mirror. Faintly she heard the sounds of her father moving around downstairs. Her eyes flickered past the reflection in front of her, then darted away, too ashamed to look properly. She tensed as she heard footsteps coming up the stairs, then relaxed as they went over the squeaky floorboard outside the door and passed by.

She shuddered at the thought of her father catching her like this. If he told her mum she’d be in such trouble. No, scrap that, she’d be in disgrace. She didn’t know what had possessed her to do it.

She glanced down briefly now, her eyes drawn relentlessly to the bare flesh she’d exposed.


The evening before had been a strange one all round, starting with that comment Tom had made. He’d been leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking beer out of a bottle and laughing with some of his friends from the Rugby club.

One of them had spotted Sascha hovering nervously in the doorway and let out a low wolf-whistle through his teeth. If he’d been trying to make her even more uncomfortable then he’d succeeded admirably, laughing as her face turned crimson.

“Oh dear,” he chuckled, turning to Tom, “have I upset your little sis?”

“Probably,” he said, raising his eyebrows and sucking his teeth to indicate his feelings on the subject. “She’s only a little girl.”

Sascha had turned and fled, the sound of rough, masculine laughter rolling down the hall behind her.

She wasn’t that young. One of the oldest in her year at school and about to go to college, she was old enough to have all the physical characteristics of a woman, it was more the way she carried herself and behaved around other people that made her seem so young.

The thing was — this wasn’t the first time she’d been teased about her youth. Over the years Tom’s friends had veered between a patronising friendliness towards his little sister, to a scathing silence that didn’t even acknowledge her presence.

Over the last few months they’d started this new campaign of whistling and making lewd jokes until Tom stopped them. Sascha thought she’d got used to it, and Tom always stood up for her, so she hadn’t minded too much. As long as he was on her side she could take the teasing.

But now, to be denigrated like that: to have her brother who she hero-worshipped denounce her as being just ‘a little girl’ and have a group of burly men laughing at her was enough to shatter anyone’s confidence in themselves, so she slammed the door behind her and sat on the bed staring at nothing and thinking.

She couldn’t really quantify what it was that made her seem so young, but she knew that she was fed up of the assumptions that everyone made based on her youthful appearance.

Slowly she picked up her laptop and turned it on. She clicked on the internet browser and typed ‘women’ into the search engine. She chose the ‘image’ function and sighed in frustration as a load of pictures of clothes came up.

She thought for a moment, then typed in ‘adult women.’ Maybe that was a mistake, because suddenly a whole page of naked, porn-style images came up. Shocked, she was about to go back to the search page, but braced herself as she realised that perhaps this is what Tom had meant.

Maybe it was the way she shied away from sex and her own sexuality that made her seem so young.

She gazed in slight wonder at the pictures in front of her. One by one she deleted the letters of the word ‘women,’ leaving just the ‘adult.’ The pictures were now very definitely pornographic, with all sorts of intimate body parts on full and graphic display.

Staring, she analysed the images in front of her, finding herself becoming entranced with the close-ups of genitalia.

“Yuck, horrid word.” She thought. Softly she said “pussy,” liking the way it sounded on her lips, soft and whispery. She said it again. “Pussy.”

She felt braver now and for the next hour she browsed all kinds of erotic sites that she had steered well clear of before. She looked at pictures, read stories and ‘how to’ articles until she became intensely, uncomfortably aware of a growing heat in her belly.

She squirmed on the bed, trying to satisfy some urgent need inside her, pulling the duvet between her legs and rubbing against it, but to no avail.

As she lay there she started wondering about herself, whether she really did look that young or whether she could be as sexy and glamorous as some of those women. Cautiously she snuck into the bathroom, the only room with a full length mirror as well as a lock.

Turning her back on the mirror she quickly stripped off her clothes, then took a deep breath and turned around. She was actually pleasantly surprised. Her body was fit and toned, with rich curves and as long as she pretended it was someone else’s body she could see that it was an attractive one.

Blushing slightly and checking Escort bayan that the bolt was still in place, she lowered herself into a sitting position on the floor in front of the mirrored doors and opened her legs. She wanted to look at her pussy and see if that, too, matched up to those she had seen online.

She stared in bafflement for a second before realising what was wrong. Unlike the carefully manicured pussies in the pictures, hers was entirely ‘au naturelle.’ With her colouring being that of a typical English rose — pale pink-and-white skin and dark hair — the shock of pubic hair between her legs not only obscured the delicate contours of her pussy, but stood out in startling contrast to her pale skin looking messy and ungroomed.

Without even thinking about it she jumped up and got her nail scissors out of her wash bag. A few minutes later there was a small pile of hair on the floor and she looked a lot neater, but she still wasn’t happy. She liked the smooth, cleanliness of the porno girls and with her arousal growing ever stronger at this mini-makeover of such an intimate part of herself she grew more determined.

Getting up again she rooted around in the cupboard under the sink until she found the waxing kit she used on her legs. She ran the sink full of hot water, put the canister in, waited till the wax had softened, then sat back down on the floor.

She had only intended to wax the lips, leaving a small patch at the front like she had seen done, but the more she did, despite the pain, the more she enjoyed it. There was something so satisfying about making the skin smooth and unblemished and the pain was almost pleasurable once the endorphins had kicked in.

Before she knew it she had removed all the hair from her pubis. Her pussy, although pink and sore looking, seemed so much more beautiful now.

She spread the lips with her fingers, exposing the rosy pink centre that was oozing a clear, musky-scented liquid. As her fingers brushed against her clit she gasped in pleasure. She did it again, enjoying the tingle and hum of it.

Again and again she ran her fingers across her pussy, all the time watching herself in the mirror. She loved how sexy and slutty she looked. Like one of those girls online she played with herself for the pleasure of a viewer — even if it was herself. She felt confident and sexual for the first time in her life.

Perhaps this was how all the other girls felt; why they dressed to show off cleavages and legs, flirted with boys, constantly talked about sex, even if they hadn’t done it yet.

She thought about those girls now, imagined being one of them, hanging out with them. She imagined what Tom’s friends would think if she went downstairs wearing the sort of clothes they wore, her eyes heavy with makeup, her hair tousled.

Her fingers moved faster as she pictured how it would feel to be the centre of all that male attention, to be the one in control, powerful, instead of the object of their jokes and teases. She’d laugh and flick her hair and they’d all go quiet as the strap of her top slipped off her shoulder.

She dipped her finger inside herself, making it slick and wet with juices, then moved back up in little circles to her clit. Something inside her belly was clutching and tensing, like a cramp building up.

She pressed harder with her fingers as she watched the blurry motion of them against her tender pussy. She could see the lips flutter and ripple in time with the squeezing sensation inside her and she focused on this as a strong urge to wet herself overwhelmed her.

Instinctively she clamped down inside and everything came together. Her fingers froze in position as spasms of pleasure ripped through her belly and the hot place she’d rubbed with her fingertips melted and tingled.

Slowly, slowly, her body relaxed and she became aware of her surroundings again.

She was sitting on the cold, linoleum floor of the bathroom, her legs splayed, with her hand pressed against the most private part of herself. Her breasts seemed obscene with their pink flush and hardened nipples and her cheeks flamed with the afterglow of passion and the slow burn of shame.


She remembered all this as she stepped out of the shower the next morning and was confronted by the new nakedness of her body. The clean, bare pubis with its suggestive crease seemed both hideously childish and incredibly lewd when viewed in conjunction with her long, sinewy body and small, yet heavy breasts.

Hurriedly she scrubbed herself dry with the towel, then pulled on the clothes she’d grabbed off the chair in her bedroom.

She pulled on the navy blue skirt first to hide the worst of what she’d done, then looked round for her bra. In her hurry to get ready she’d forgotten to pick up any clean underwear and she could hear her mum calling up the stairs at her now.

Quickly she buttoned up her white cotton shirt and pulled on her Navy, woollen jumper. She could do the tie in the car. She gave her hair one Escort last rub with the towel, then threw back the bolt on the door and ran downstairs before her mother could shout any more.

Occasionally she’d been without knickers before, and it had only been a few months since she’d actually started needing a bra, so initially she wasn’t too worried about the fact she was lacking both items now.

It would be far worse, she thought as the car crawled through the morning rush-hour traffic, to get another bollocking from Mrs. Haitley about being late again. Besides, if she got detention she wouldn’t be able to go shopping with Hannah after school and she’d been looking forwards to it since they’d arranged it at the weekend.

It was only as she was walking down the corridor to her form room that the vulnerability of her position struck her. What if she tripped and fell and her skirt rode up? What if she got too hot later and needed to take her jumped off? What if some of those stupid boys in the year below who delighted in tormenting her took it into their head to flip her skirt up?

Her cheeks grew hot immediately and her hand trembled as she reached out for the door. She was just about to turn round and play truant for the day, when Mrs. Haitley came up behind and made an acerbic comment about arriving on time for once. After that she had no choice but to go in.

She sat down at her desk in the corner and made sure her knees and ankles were firmly clamped together. Registration was taken, then they had some notices. By the time all this was done Sascha had become slightly less aware of her situation and crossed her legs.

As she did so the rough woven fabric of her skirt became caught between her legs and rubbed against the bare, tender flesh there. She gasped and shuddered as the sensations of last night came flooding back to her. For the rest of the day she was aware of her nudity in a completely different way.

Every feeling of vulnerability was tinged with a sexual nature now. If the boys lifted up her skirt then they might become aware of her sexuality. Maybe she’d have that power over them she had so relished when she imagined it last night in relation to Tom’s friends.

By lunchtime she had become so aware of her bare pussy and the new demands it was making of her now she’d awakened it that she had to lock herself in a cubicle in the toilets and try to quietly recreate the delicious sensations of last night.

When she failed to achieve orgasm again she almost screamed with frustration. The part of her that had been so reticent before was shocked by the way she was behaving, but the newly liberated part of her was only the more turned on because of the forbidden nature of what she was feeling.

When she and Hannah finally managed to escape school a period early and head for the high street she felt immense relief to have escaped without losing her dignity. She had to admit that, despite the fantasies of discovery, she wasn’t ready quite yet to become the centre of that kind of attention at school.

Blushingly she admitted to Hannah all about her interesting evening. Hannah, a sexually precocious yet placid sort of girl was not shocked and discussed everything in a way that made it seem quite normal. Mainly she was glad that Sascha had decided to tell her — she was beginning to feel a bit far ahead of her friend as far as sex went.

They wandered in and out of the various high-street shops as they chatted, spending the majority of their time in the few good second-hand shops, trying on silly or ridiculous outfits, each trying to outdo the other.

Hannah won the silly outfit award when she grabbed a 1980s style, polyester wedding dress off the rack and wore it with a woolly bobble hat and a pair of cowboy boots. Sascha, trying to compete with this, grabbed a massive grey sweatshirt from the man’s rail and a pair of black, patent-leather hooker boots and took them into the changing room.

She took off her uniform, turning her back on the mirror so she wouldn’t be confronted with her nudity yet again. The sweater was actually quite soft when she pulled it on, even over her bare breasts — she might actually get this just to slob around in she thought — then bent down to pull on the boots.

They were stiletto heeled and had a metal zip running up the inside. The top of them was top so you could turn it down and have knee-high boots with a cuff, or turn it up and have Pretty-Woman style thigh high hooker boots.

Sascha chose the hooker option, then turned round to view the result — she almost choked.

She was meant to look silly and slapperish, like a little girl in her parents’ clothes or something, instead she looked astounding.

The soft knitted fabric clung to her figure, outlining her breasts and clearly showing her hardening nipples. The sweater, a wide V-neck, hung off one shoulder and finished at mid thigh, leaving a gap of only 2 or 3 inches before the boots began.

She looked like one of those models in the Sunday Bayan escort Magazines dressed up to show Shabby Chic or something. Despite her neat school-girl pony-tail and complete lack of makeup she looked older and innately sexual.

Silently she got back into her school uniform, gathered the charity shop items up, took them to the till and paid for them. When Hannah tried to find out what she’d bought she was very impressed by the boots and ignored the big grey sweater.

“Can I borrow the boots sometime?” She begged.

“Perhaps,” said Sascha, “when I’ve worn them a bit.”

She and Hannah parted ways soon after this, Hannah to meet up with the latest boyfriend and Sascha to go home.

Her parents were both at work when she got back and Tom was off with his friends. Another Rugby match or drinking session she assumed. It didn’t matter, she was glad to have the house to herself.

She went up to her room and took off her clothes yet again.

“Today is a very naked day,” she muttered to herself as she fished out the box full of makeup she had in her dresser and opened it. It was a collection of stuff given to her over the years as presents or other people’s left-overs and she’d never really put in on before.

Hannah had shown her how to apply it and, with the help of some cotton wool to remove the mistakes she started applying some charcoal kohl to her eyelids. When she’d outlined her eyes she carefully brushed on a soft grey shadow from the outer corners in. It looked a bit harsh, but when she’d smudged it a bit she looked quite dramatic and her eyes looked really green.

Quickly she blended in some peachy blusher so she didn’t look so washed out and added a berry coloured lip gloss. Already she looked completely different and she smiled knowingly at herself.

“It’s just like a more grown-up game of dress-up,” she thought to herself as she brushed out her hair and started to backcomb it a little bit to make it look fuller and more tousled. The long, dark locks streamed over her shoulders when she’d finished, framing her face sharply.

She sat down on the bed and pulled the long, black boots on. For a moment she wondered if she should leave her outfit as it was — the boots and nothing else, but she wanted to see the effect of the whole look.

Pulling the sweater on over her head and tugging it down a little to make sure she was covered; she opened the door of her bedroom and stuck her head out. When she was sure the house was still empty she stepped out and sauntered across the landing.

Once in front of the mirror she had to smile. The effect was exactly as she had hoped. She looked older, more aware and very, very sexy. It was amazing and she only wished she could actually go out in this outfit without getting arrested for soliciting.

“Never mind,” she thought, the outfit had been for her own enjoyment mostly anyway. At least she could wander round the house for a bit without anyone seeing.

Holding firmly onto the handrail in case she tottered in the high heels, she carefully made her way down the stairs.

She went into the kitchen, turning the radio on to a rock music station as she passed it, making the volume as loud as it would go. Pulling open the ‘fridge, she stood still for a moment, intensely aware of her nipples hardening in the cold blast before reaching for a snack.

She danced her way over to the sink, taking a bite out of the carrot as she went.

It wasn’t until the music got quieter that she turned round, to be confronted by the same group of sweaty, noisy young men that had filled the kitchen the day before. For a second she froze, but something about the clothes and makeup gave her a false confidence and, instead of saying anything or running away, she just smiled and took another bite of her carrot.

“Sascha?” said the tall, blonde one at the front, not entirely sure that this self-composed young woman with all the bare skin, whose nipples he was trying to avoid staring at was the same person as the nervous girl in the school uniform who he’d been teasing for years.

“Mmm,” she said, raising her eyebrows slightly as she chewed the carrot and savoured the obvious discomposure felt by all the young men as they watched her wrap her lips around the carrot again.

Twenty minutes later all previous hostilities had been abandoned and Sascha sat on the counter joking and laughing with all the boys, entering into the rude stories with the sort of gusto she’d observed amongst her contemporaries at school.

Her legs were crossed demurely, but the sweater had ridden up her thighs until it barely concealed her bottom. The boots only emphasised the amount of thigh on display and with her head thrown back in laughter her breasts were painfully obvious and obviously entirely unsupported.

This was the sight that met Tom as he came in after staying behind to shut up the Rugby club after practice. For a second he was struck speechless at this new view of his baby sister, but words flowed freely as his outrage mounted.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he yelled at one unfortunate lad who’d been trying to show Sascha a rugby tackle and still had his arm around her waist. Tom pulled him off and propelled him towards the door.

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