He says she can keep the sparkly Miu Miu glitter pumps, the ones with the blue trim, if she passes the test.
He wants to see her feet in them point toe-to-toe, tip to tip. Panties off. Fifteen minutes. And during that time, “You’ll do as I say.”
“Then the shoes are mine?”
When he says, “toe-to-toe, tip to tip,” she envisions his cock head-to-head with someone else’s like two nubby snakes sniffing each other. Who would bring the other cock, though? Her imagination crops the image at the hairy base, leaving the owner off stage. Both penises would be identical (of course) lined up in perfect symmetry.
Daydreams aside, she’s got shoes to earn. She bends forward, as commanded, supporting herself with a hand to the wall. Her shoes point toe-to-toe, tip to tip, (cock-to-cock). Her naked bum pokes back into his hand, slathered in sugar scented oil. He stands behind her; pets between her legs with a cruel avoidance of her clit. She doesn’t know how much longer she can hold her legs this way: her ankles and hips an aching tangle of forgotten ski and ballet lessons. It hurts more than she thought it would.
“Your feet are magic. Don’t move.” His voice gives him away; she knows he’s eager.
He places her favorite vibrator into her hand. “Press this over your clit, not too close.”
She imagines a swarm of bumble bees wooing her skin, and whimpers at the tease, longing to release this impossible position and be properly drilled.
Pop! A camera flash–his digital makes old-fashioned sounds. “God, your cunt is beautiful.” He holds the screen in front of her face so she can see. Her labia have parted on their own–opening to a glistening rouge vestibule. She pulses her walls in hunger, half-expecting to see the image on the camera move with her. She nudges the vibrator lower, snapping more nerves awake, wanting to put it all the way in.
“Not yet.” He yanks the toy away, leaving her panting.
The next shot is a high angle of her round ass, bare legs, and the shoes in all their silver glory, tip-to-tip. After showing her the image, he puts the camera down and grabs both of her hips. His erect head presses her parted lips and stalls there. She arches her back, wanting to rush his entry, but her planted feet prevent further movement. Damn he’s a bastard.
It’s a risk, but she lets her toes turn slightly to a more natural angle—much needed relief for her ankles. She’s afraid he’ll chastise her for breaking the pose. What then? The bar? He couldn’t tie her to it this way without spraining ligaments. He wouldn’t do that. A spanking?
His cock slides deep into her cunt. Tight. Slides out. Slams in again. A wordless tone explodes from her throat. He fills her again and again, riding, and reaches around with the vibrator to her clit. Her feet have abandoned the game and returned to a comfortable stance, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed. He squeezes her nipple as he slams deep. With the vibrator it’s all toomuchtoomuchtoomuch. She’s close to coming when he pulls out, lets go, backs up.
She buckles forward.
“Stop,” he says.
She freezes, her vagina throbbing, her tits screaming for touch.
“It’s your choice,” he says. “The shoes? Or we resume.”
There he goes resorting to binary thinking again. Her dualistic lug. She bends down and slips one of the Miu Mius off. His eyes flash the boastful glee she’s grown used to, but his expression shifts when she maneuvers the shoe between her legs.
He’s left her good and wet, swollen and open, easy for the shiny tip. She goes slow at first, to prolong his defeat, pushing the toe of the shoe in past her labia. She grunts and bucks, putting on a show. Squeezes her breast, keeping her nipple in view, all while pushing and pulling the silver tip of the shoe in and out of her cunt. There’s a good three inches at play and it doesn’t feel half-bad.
She’s about to get the second shoe for her clit, when he lifts her up and carries her to the bed. His weight envelops her, his arms lock hers over her head flat on the mattress, his cock latches inside, filling her. She wraps her legs around his waist and fastens her feet together: one bare, one donning the glorious, sparkly Miu Miu with the blue trim.
“Darling?” she says.
His face is buried in her hair. He doesn’t answer; all of his energy is going into hammering her center.
“Darling, I’m keeping these shoes.”
“Yes, dear. I know.”
This post was written for Wicked Wednesday, a site where writers share erotic stories (fiction and non) every week. The fun is hosted by the brilliant and gorgeous Marie Rebelle of Rebel’s Notes, whose endeavors you can support at Patreon.
Read more fab Wicked Wednesday “Shoes” entries here!