Kitten Heels

I have a bad habit of taking my jeans off with the belt still around them. Sheer laziness is the only excuse I have - when I get undressed of an evening I can’t be arsed to pull that strip of leather away from my body (unless of course it is for someone else to see) and so I leave it there until I get up and decide whether or not I want that belt the next day.

I got a bit of a surprise when I did it last night. The particular belt I had on was thick, black leather one, with a horseshoe metal buckle. As I stepped from my jeans yesterday, they lay in a crumpled heap in front of me, the belt hanging limply from its loops. I’m not quite that messy, so I picked them up to fold and put to the side for laundry later on. I picked them up and shook the legs straight. I shook them like mad. I shook them so bloody hard that the end of the belt came out of the loop and thwacked me right around the top of my left thigh.

Bastard thing.

Getting slapped by a belt is definitely not as pleasurable when you do it to yourself by accident.