'Tonight, I've decided that we're not going to Seigfried and Roy. We can see them any time. We're going somewhere that will be new for us both.' Lucinda was speaking in the late afternoon as they lay naked and entangled on the bed after making love in and around a sumptuous and deep hot bath. 'I've been wanting to go since it opened six months ago, but I've never found a suitable man to take me. You have got something suitable for a club, where leather, latex, sex and bondage are de rigeur? Haven't you?'

'You've already raided my wardrobe.' He pointed towards it. 'One suit, some casual clothes, good shoes and lots of crisp cotton shirts! Fine for the correct Englishman, but it won't really do for that sort of club!'

'No matter!' Lucinda had reached for the phone. 'You're about five-eight, a thirty-six chest and a thirty waist?' He nodded. 'Clarence will sort you out!' She quickly dialled a number.

'Who's Clarence?'

'He's my dresser! When I need a costume, he provides it!' Clarence had obviously answered. 'Gent for the Marquis ... Late forties ... Five-eight ... Thirty-six ... Thirty ... Something leather or rubber ... He's nervous ... Course I am! ... No, I've got mine ... See you in an hour!'

'I take it you have organised something totally unsuitable for me to wear, so that I can take you to a sleazy club, where you can give another performance like last night.'

There was a knock at the door and Lucinda rose, grabbed a dressing-gown and descended the stairs. 'Who's there?' He called after her. 'I didn't order anything!'

'Ah! But I asked my hairdresser to come over. You need to be smartened up!'

***

'Isn't that better!' Lucinda was circling him as he sat on the stool and showing him the back of his now much shorter and tidier locks with a hand mirror. 'You're less of a refugee from the Sixties and Seventies! How does the beard feel?'

He was rubbing his hand around his face. 'Any shorter and I wouldn't have one!'

Her hand joined his in the examination. 'That's nice! I'd like to feel it all over my body!' She exposed her right breast and holding and stretching the nipple, she rubbed it up and down his face. 'See! She likes it! Just think what all those little hairs will do when you suck me properly!' She bent over and kissed him, just as a second knock occurred.

***

To say Clarence was a stereotype would be an understatement. He was certainly camp, probably gay and dressed in mauve velvet trousers and a flowing yellow shirt. The output was completed by cowboy boots, plenty of heavy gold chains, associated medallions and a floppy blue suede hat.

'I say, we are a one!' Clarence was looking him up and down, throwing his hands about in the most theatrical of gestures. 'Not really the leather or rubber type are we! But we all know about you Englishmen. All Savile Row, Jermyn Street and respectable clothes on the outside, but underneath and inside!' He waved his hands to the side, palms upwards. 'All self-torture, self-abuse, female underwear and constipation. What are we to do with you?'

'If you think, I'm like that, why don't I just go like that!' He was getting slightly apprehensive about what they had prepared for him. 'Surely, they'd all just say, well he's English!'

'It's a point! It's a point!' He threw a suitcase on the bed and then flipped the locks and opened it with a flourish. 'How about this?' He was holding up a tiny leather thong.

'Is that really me?'

Lucinda was laughing, as she took the thong from Clarence and held it against him. 'I think it'll fit. Step in!' Reluctantly, he undid his dressing-gown and did as he was told.

'They're quite comfortable really.' He was looking at himself in the large mirror. 'You didn't say that these were padded.'

'Why not? They're special booster pants to give you maximum sex appeal.' Clarence was emphasising the maximum and the sex. 'If all these ladies can do it with silicon and brassieres designed by structural engineers, surely we should be able to get a little help from our friends!' Clarence pinched a couple of ribs, just as Lucinda had done. 'We're not really a Stallone or a Schwartzeneger, are we? Much more of a Woody Allen. We'll do our best! If you need it, I've got a good line in paint-on muscles!'

'Am I that bad?'

'For me, you're fine!' Clarence was now testing shoulders and arms. 'But then I like thin intelligent Englishmen, but where you're going...' He finished the sentence by shaking his head. 'No seriously, I've got this nice pair of soft leather pants, which you can wear with one of your best shirts.' He moved to the wardrobe. 'These are very nice! No-one makes shirts like the English. I think I'll take a couple home! Which colour suits him, Lucinda? And me?'

***

'At least, I don't feel as much of a prat as I thought I would.' Clarence had now left and he was getting the feel of the trousers. They were fairly plain, except for the odd D-ring and beltloops at the waist. 'I used to have a pair of flares like this, at one time. They were almost a divided skirt!'

'Whatever happened to flares?' She laughed. 'I suppose only poseurs and cloth manufacturers care!' She looked at his shoes. 'Kick your shoes off and I'll give them a polish.' He did as he was told and then frowned slightly. 'You haven't any polish then! No wonder you aren't always that smart and get left in the lurch by your ladies. Don't worry, I've got some spray somewhere.'

'What are you going to wear then?' He was watching her clean his shoes, sitting naked and cross-legged on the floor. 'You couldn't go out like that!'

She smiled up at him, still polishing hard and vigorously. 'No! But with the addition of five-inch heels and a collar and lead, I'd be considered very adequately dressed for the Marquis.'

'So you are going like that?'

'Of course not!' She had now finished the shoes and placed them for him to step into. 'The Marquis has rules. It also has the best French restaurant in Las Vegas. And one rule is that both gentlemen and ladies must at least cover their naughty bits, whilst they are eating. So if I'm going to the Marquis, I'm not going to forgo the food and the wine, so I'd better get dressed.' She stood up and gently turned him away. 'Now you go downstairs, have a beer, watch the television and wait very patiently for me.'

***

It must have been fully thirty minutes before he saw her feet emerge on the open wooden stairs that led from the balcony.

He seen very high heels before. In fact his mistress had a black pair that were so high they strained every muscle in her feet, ankles and calves, but never had he seen a pair with gold heels, so slim and so tall. They were also the only pair of shoes he had ever seen, that were fixed to the wearer's feet by a maze of thin black straps and buckles, and two tiny gold padlocks to each foot.

As she further descended the stairs she appeared to be wearing nothing more erotic than a short, but not that short, red leather suit, with black gloves adding a touch of exotic class. Only as she turned towards him at the foot of the stairs was he able to see that it was completely split to and held by a single gold clasp at the waist, showing all of her left leg, encased in classic fishnet tights. Underneath the abbreviated jacket, again held with a clasp in front, she seemed to be wearing a black, shiny and tight, all-in-one body.

She was not wearing her usual subtle face, as her eyes were just bright blue holes in a dark and sparkling mask of cosmetic. Her hair was also pulled back from this very heavily and exotically made-up face, and plaited and folded on the back of her head. He could see why, as with her hair thus, there would be complete and easy access to the heavy, snug-fitting and ringed leather collar locked around her neck.

'Very nice!' He had now stood up to greet her. 'But won't you wearing a lot less all day and most of yesterday!' He looked at the shoes. 'I see you've solved the problem, of how to keep wearing uncomfortable shoes!'

'Don't expect me to walk too far or do much dancing!' She laughed. 'But they're great for show and sitting down!' She held out a bunch of small keys. 'These are for you!'

'You're well protected and locked in.' He took the keys and clipped them to the belt of his trousers. 'Judging by the number here, there are more locks.'

'Would you like a sneak preview?' She moved to unclasp the jacket. 'You'll have to sit down and be good, though!'

He returned to his chair and for good measure silenced the television.

Slowly she peeled the jacket and dropped it to the floor. 'Is that better?' He could now see, that the gloves were very full length and were secured with more padlocks above the elbow. Holes too were cut in the body, so her naked and painted nipples stuck prominently and provocatively through the fabric.

'If I say yes, you'll say I'm being sexist!' His smile told a lot more. 'What's it made of?'

'It's latex! And it's tight!' She fingered the bust to show how tight. 'I had it made, when I flew for a convention of rubber goods manufacturers. Kinky lot they were!' She now twirled round to show him the back. It was tightly laced, with two straps and padlocks in place over the laces and knot.

'I like that a lot!' He had now stood and was about to walk towards her.

'Sexist pig!' She waved a finger. 'You know the deal. Down!' He passively obeyed. 'I thought you'd like this after what you told me last night.' Her hands now moved to the clasp at the waist and turning away from him, she teasingly removed the skirt, to reveal the slim thong back, dividing her buttocks. 'Do you still like it?'

'No comment!'

Slowly she turned to reveal the front of her costume. A large triangular hole had been cut low in the front, making it almost a latex G-string and exposing a large part of the shaven area of her body, but completely covering and protecting her sex. 'Still?'

'Lucinda, it's unbelievable and you look sensational.' Nothing could stop him now and he had stood, rushed towards her and was kissed her deeply. 'I just have one question.' His hand was stroking the exposed, smooth and shaven area and trying to force a finger under the latex. 'If it's not too personal, how do you relieve yourself?'

'I don't!'

Copyright 1999 by Ewart Higgins