He had only ever seen her in jeans, or out of jeans… casual either way. Tonight she wore a little black dress, low at the front, much lower at the back, fitted to her curves, with a flirty little skirt that swung as she walked. She had put on some make up, thigh high stockings, and she couldn’t quite decide… fuck-me boots, or stiletto sandals…
She met him at the door, wearing one of each, let him in… she stood before the mirror, and glanced at him… ‘Which do you think?’ she asked looking down at her footwear.
He stared at her in silence, his eyes drinking her in, she felt his reaction before she looked back to him. He had not heard the question, was not looking at her footwear, was not formulating an answer, he stared at her as if he was trying to burn her into his memory, as if he had never seen her before.
She laughed, and nudged him… ‘You aren’t even looking at the shoes! Boots or no?’ she asked again.
His eyes slid down her body to her feet…‘The sandals make your legs look longer’, he finally offered.
She nodded, ‘Sandals it is then’. He sat before her and she offered her boot into his lap, he undid the zip and slid it off, his hands gliding over her stockinged calves and feet. She pointed to her other sandal on the floor and he slipped it onto her foot, doing up the zip at the heel, touching her ankle gently.
‘Ready?’ she asked.