Wednesday, June 17, 2009

She's Got Legs, Part VIII

She found the office easily enough. It was just a regular pre-war office building with a normal lobby and elevator. She did notice that there were plush carpeted runners over the highly polished marble floors, which was unusual. Could it be to protect the delicate feet of the employees on the fourth floor?

When the elevator opened onto the office she was shocked at how bright, clean and, well, “normal” the office looked. She would have never guessed at the weird happenings that went on behind the main door. She gave her name to the friendly receptionist and was immediately escorted through the main door into a long hallway, which had many doors opening off it with a red light over each one, some off and some on. Could they all be recording studios?

The perky blond receptionist chatted away while leading her down the hallway. She was cute and blond and reminded her of Dolly Parton in “9 to 5”. She kept up a running monologue, “I am SO tickled that you decided to come on down and see us! M is a regular around here and he’s mentioned that he thought he had found some new talent. I am SO glad it was YOU! You’re gonna love it here—everyone who works here is so NICE! Someone brings in donuts every Monday morning because even in this funky little office, everyone HATES Mondays!”

She led her to a room where the light was on. They waited for a moment and when the light went out they entered. The room was smaller than Sally had expected and every wall was covered with sound insulation, making it feel a bit claustrophobic. The bright lights and cameras made it rather hot, as well. After the lovely lobby and office reception area, seeing the somewhat squalid studio was a let-down.

When she saw what they were doing in front of the camera her blood pumped harder.

She saw a very average-looking woman with dirty-blond hair drawn up in a ponytail wearing minimal make-up and a not-terribly-flattering one-piece bathing suit. But from her thighs down she was magnificent! She wore thigh-high black stockings and black patent leather boots that hugged her calves and laced up the front. She was the bitch-goddess incarnate!

She was methodically crushing an H.O.-scale train depot--waiting commuters and all. She lifted and lowered her boot so carefully it seemed as though she was moving in slow-motion. Her legs were well-muscled and must have been incredibly strong to be able to lift and hold in mid-air the four-inch heeled boots and lower them with such seductive precision. Sally could almost hear the screams of the helpless crowd lining the platform, unable to run for their lives into the tiny forest.

But that wasn’t the end. The train approached with a few toots and the performer paused, waiting for just the right moment to strike. The queen was ready to exact her vengeance!

The anticipation was almost too much for Sally. She felt her heart beating faster and blood rushing to her face and crotch, making her tingle all over. She hugged her elbows to try to calm herself and remembered the group of strangers with her in the room. The receptionist turned to Sally with a gleam in her eye and a wry smile, but no judgment. Everyone could feel the electricity of the moment before the train’s ultimate destruction.

And then the performer brought her boot down on the racing train, derailing it and making its wheels spin helplessly in the air. It whistled a few feeble toots, seeming to beg for its life, but the queen would not be appeased. She lifted her foot again and crushed the train so slowly, so completely, so coldly and Sally felt her Kegel muscles contract, rocking her body and making her gasp audibly.

The scene ended, everyone let out a collective breath and then turned to Sally with curiosity. The receptionist was practically glittering and said to Sally, “So, would you like to join us?”

How could she say no?

to be continued...

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

She's Got Legs, Part VII

Sally sat up late that night thinking about all that she had seen and heard in M’s office that day. A whole new world had opened up to her when he had opened that door. The stuff that guy was into was the most twisted, bizarre and fantastically joyful that she had ever seen. He had shown her videos of things that she would have never thought of in a thousand years, yet it all felt so familiar. It had been wonderful afternoon.

M had thousands of videos of feet doing all sort of amazing things. They were mostly women’s feet, or at least feet encased in feminine footwear. The feet walked, ran, strutted, danced, tapped, stepped into vats of Jell-O, slid on syrup, and best of all, stomped on miniature scenes involving trains. She had never imagined that feet could be so creative and sexy to others! She had felt isolated for so long. Just knowing that a whole community of people like her were out there made her feel more human.

M had wanted her to star in some videos that a friend of his produced. He thought that it would be a way for Sally to work through and indulge her desires while making a bit of extra cash. She was certainly tempted, but taking money for doing it made it seem somehow sordid. She had left M’s office that day feeling thankful to him but had made no promises. She needed to go home and process all she had seen and sort out how she felt about it all.

She had gratefully accepted the loan of some of M’s favorite selections from his extensive collection. Some were kooky and interesting but a few really got her going.

One in particular made her think about her accidental destruction of the little toy man at her sister’s yesterday. M had said it was one of his favorites and Sally could certainly see why. A woman in very high heels was slowly and purposefully crushing toy trains. The shot was framed so that the viewer could only see half-way up the woman’s calf as she so seductively stomped on the steam-engine train chugging through the tiny German hillside. It had been so well produced that she had to dig her old vibrator out of the drawer and finish herself off.

There was one draw-back. Seeing so many of the videos at once made the whole idea of focusing on feet seem absurd. No wonder the few people she had confided in had always given her that look when she had admitted her dirty little secret. The look that had made her feel like an alien and a freak.

But that didn’t keep her from feeling as if she were a part of something larger than herself—almost like some sort of family. After much soul-searching, she decided to call the contact that M had given her to make some new videos. She had to meet others who had her particular fancy. After making the decision, and giving her old vibrator another run, she slept better than she had in ages.

When she awoke the next morning, she called out sick from work and made some phone calls to M’s contacts instead. There was no way she could sit through an entire day filing and typing forms trying to find a few private minutes to call these people and explain what she wanted to know.

Her first call was answered on the second ring by a pleasant-sounding woman who seemed a lot perkier than she would expect a pornographer to sound at 10:00 in the morning. “Ped-a-vids—may I help you?”

“Hi,” Sally hesitated. Where to begin? “I was given your number by M. I was wondering if I could come in and meet you. I have an interest in footwear, you see.” Sally was afraid she wasn’t being very clear. There was so much she wanted to let spill out of her to this friendly woman, but she was afraid that would have been premature.

“Sure! M told us you might be calling. We would love to have you!” gushed the woman. “You can come in today, if you like. We’re shooting something new in about an hour if you would like to watch.”

Sally was completely taken off-guard by her effusive, open manner. She had expected a guarded, gruff exchange that would be full of hidden meaning and vague answers but instead had gotten a greeting worthy of the Beverly Hillbillies. Did she detect a slight Southern twang to the woman’s voice?

She made arrangements to be at the studio in an hour and to have lunch some of the “cast”. It sounded like a lovely afternoon.

to be continued...

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

She's Got Legs, Part VI

Sally rushed home and turned on her computer, needing her friend M’s comforting words. She couldn’t sort out the feelings rushing inside her alone. She was still shaken from her encounter with the slingbacks at her sister’s apartment and her mood zoomed between elation and worry about the consequences of her release.

As her computer warmed up and Instant Messenger opened, she tapped her foot nervously. What if M wasn’t there? What if M was disappointed in her and wouldn’t talk to her anymore? There was nothing to do but try.

She sent out the first exploratory IM:

SallyNoShoes: Are you there?

There was an excruciating pause of about a minute and then:

M: Yes

Just knowing that M was at the other end waiting for her filled her with such a sense of relief that she almost wept. But then she knew she had to break the news of her loss of control to M. What would she say?

SallyNoShoes: I was at my sister’s and she let me try on some shoes.

M: Are you OK?

SallyNoShoes: I don’t know.

Then she paused, not sure how to put it all into words. Sally took one deep breath and then another. All she could do was put it out there and hope that her only friend in the world would understand. M waited for her to continue.

SallyNoShoes: She had Prada. I’m still shaking.

Another brief pause.

M: You’re going to be alright. Tell me everything.

Sally then let it all out, down to the last detail, even mentioning the accidental destruction of the Power Ranger toy. Her thoughts and feelings whipped through her story as she recounted it all and M listened, only adding short words of encouragement when needed. After writing it all out, Sally felt better, as though she had handed her troubles to M. The incident seemed more manageable somehow. Sally felt so lucky to have M!

Then M responded:

M: I think it is time that we met. Can I meet you in an hour?

A bolt of nervousness shot up from her stomach into her throat. What did she really know about M? In fact, she never thought about where M actually lived, but it must be close. She hesitated, but the thought of seeing her friend in the flesh filled her with such happiness that she didn’t hesitate for long.

SallyNoShoes: Yes. Where are you?

M: There is something I must tell you first. I am a man.

Sally’s world tilted. She felt betrayed and foolish. She had just assumed all of this time that her dear, understanding friend was a woman! When she scanned her memory of all of their conversations, she realized that she had never actually asked what M’s sex was. How could this patient person who had seemed to understand her down to her very core be a man? Men were not to be trusted. How could a MAN know what it was like to put on these shoes and feel what she felt? It was impossible.

Sally must have paused for too long because M typed another message.

M: I would never hurt you. Trust me.

And even though Sally’s past experiences had taught her that men were to be kept at a distance, she knew that she did trust M. M had proven himself to be a loyal friend all of this time and had sat up until the wee hours of the morning reading Sally’s endless posts about her pain and suffering without ever asking anything of her. And at this point, what did she have to lose but her only friend?

SallyNoShoes: I do. What should I do?

M asked her to walk to a video store that was only about two blocks from her apartment. In fact, it was a video store where she had a membership for years. Had he seen her in there renting her silly romantic comedies? Again, she felt spied upon, but wanting more than anything to please her friend, she did not mention this. She agreed to meet him there in an hour.

After signing off, she suddenly became self-conscious and panicked. She was a disheveled mess from her “make-over” at her sister’s house and felt completely wrung-out from the emotions of the day. She leapt into the shower and let the hot water pound on her neck and shoulders. Decent water pressure in an apartment makes up for a host of ills.

She didn’t linger long, wanting extra time to pick out a suitable outfit. She had not thought about it lately, but since working in an office her wardrobe had come to take on khaki tones, which did not feel appropriate for this meeting. There was no time to fix it, however. She threw on a knee-length gray skirt and a nice sweater. With a touch of lipstick and mascara she was ready.

She looked in the mirror before walking out the door and figured that it would have to do. After all of their verbal intimacy, she didn’t think he would be put off by a plain wardrobe, but she would certainly find out.

She walked the few blocks to the video store and entered, subtly scanning the employees’ and customers’ faces for any sign of recognition. The teen-age boy behind the counter that seemed to always be there smiled and nodded to her, but didn’t let his eyes leave the television screen for too long. She pretended to browse the new releases but nervously picked up and put down DVD cases without really looking at them. If they hadn't already know her in this store they would probably think she was getting ready to rob the place!

The bell attached to the door jingled and a small neat Japanese man entered and paused a few steps into the store, radiating calm and authority as he stood with his hands clasped in front of him. The kid behind the counter suddenly stood up straighter and said a bit too loudly, “Good afternoon, sir!” The man threw a kindly glance in his direction, giving a small nod and then scanned the store. When he found Sally his smiling eyes held hers and she knew it was M.

His physical appearance was not at all what she had expected. Of course, until an hour earlier she had thought of M as a woman, but she would have never expected such a well-dressed neat little man to know anything like the pain and lust that she had spent so many hours discussing with him.

Her jangling nerves calmed instantly and she felt the warmth of his smile travel through her eyes into her heart. He took a few steps toward her but did not extend a hand. He stopped a few feet from her, bowed from the waist, still holding her eyes, and said, “It is wonderful to meet you, Miss Sally. I hope you are as pleased by our meeting as I am.”

She was still a bit nervous, but she was pleased. Yes, she was. She let her smile speak for her and he smiled back.

“Would you like to continue our conversation in my office, Miss Sally?” M then asked, motioning toward a wooden door she had not noticed.

Yes, she would.

to be continued...

Saturday, May 30, 2009

She's Got Legs, Part V

After gently but firmly closing the bathroom door behind her, she all but collapsed onto the closed lid of the toilet, clutching the shoes in both hands. They had taken her completely off-guard here in the safety of her dowdy sister’s apartment. She had not been this close to such superior shoes in a long time. How could she have thought she had control over such glorious footwear? Her trip to Payless, which at the time had seemed momentous, was nothing compared to the power of Prada.

She tried to slow her rapidly pounding heart and shallow breathing, but it was no use. All she could do now was enjoy the ride.

Of their own accord, her hands brought the shoes to her breasts to gently rub tiny circles around her nipples with the points of the slingbacks. She sighed, letting her head loll back and sliding her hips out to meet the left shoe on its descent to her pubis. She let it rest there with the slightest pressure, feeling its pulsing power. Blood rushed to her labia and it swelled around her awakening clitoris, aching for more.

It was time to wear the shoes.

With the tiniest bit of regret, she lifted both shoes from her erogenous zones and placed them in front of her on the floor. She wasn’t wearing stockings or even a very flattering skirt, but these were just extras. Her toes traced the sensual lines of the heels, almost seeming to tease them. She leaned over and undid each buckle, opening the shoes to her advances. They were now as ready for her as she was for them.

She started with the right foot, sliding her toe along the extreme curve until it reached the pointed toe at the bottom. It was like a languorous descent into Hell, but she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Her heel eased into place and the snug feeling was delicious. Her toes were a bit pinched but that made the sensation all the more keen. Jolts of pleasure rippled up the insides of her thighs, meeting at her cunt, now hot and wet. Her trembling hands redid the three buckles one by one. Her right foot was now entirely encased and it was heaven.

It was a beautiful sight to behold—shiny black and sleek. She paused to admire it but needed to quicken her pace. She put on the left shoe more quickly, not wanting to linger over the sensation so much as find the climax that was surely to come.

She raised her skirt up to her hips and stroked the insides of her thighs sending shivers over her whole body. Her breathing came faster. She slid her panties down her hips to the floor to pool around the shoes. They became tangled there for a moment but the shoes quickly dislodged them. They were flicked across the room with a swift kick, leaving a damp mark on the medicine cabinet mirror.

Her fingers stroked her nether lips and they opened to receive their explorations. Her finger started making tiny circles on her clit, feeling it stiffen. Scrumptious fluid sensations traveled through her vagina to her anus turning her thighs into jelly. Her sap was rising and ready to be tapped.

This was not what she really wanted, though. She needed to feel the shoes truly receive her. She needed to have the full embrace of the shoes as they enclosed her.

She stood.

She teetered ever-so-slightly but then felt the ancient power straightening her spine. Sally disappeared and became simply Her. She was a Bond Girl, Cat Woman and Aphrodite rolled into one. She was lust and power. She was ageless beauty and plain old nasty sex.

She needed to see her feet. She took a mirror from the wall and leaned it on the floor, giving her a view of her shoes up to her knees. They were so beautiful and scary. She turned this way and that, getting every angle. She picked up one foot and brought it down forcefully, sending shock-waves up her legs as her juices dripped down her thighs. Yummy.

She stomped a few more times, building to her ultimate climax when the unexpected happened. Her shoe came down on a small Power Ranger action figure cluttering the bathroom floor. It threw off her rhythm but the orgasm that came at that moment obliterated any concern about broken toys. It swept her away so completely that she almost blacked-out. She caught herself when she collapsed but not before her knee loudly hit the floor.

Her sister gave a few rapid knocks on the door. “Are you OK?” she asked in her squeaky concerned voice. “You’ve been in there a while and I heard something fall.”

“I’m fine,” Sally managed to croak out. “I tripped on a toy. I’ll be right out.”

She was still dizzy but had only a little time to pull herself together. She was amazed at how powerful her orgasm had been and more than a little scared. She searched for the toy she had stepped on and found a practically pulverized red Power Ranger ground into the bathroom tiles. “I guess that’ll teach those brats to leave their toys around,” she muttered, smugly pleased with her destruction of the tiny super-hero.

She sat on the floor and reached down to remove the shoes. They were still lovely but it was time to go. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling about the encounter, but she knew that part of it was shame and she had to get the shoes away from her. She foisted herself up hoping that her trembling legs would support her and searched for her panties, which were stuck to the side of the sink as if glued there. She balled them up and shoved them into a pocket, not wanting to put the cold damp things back on.

Practically ripping the door off its hinges, she raced out of the bathroom, threw the shoes into her sister’s hands and out the front door. She had to get out of there and the shocked look on her sister’s face wasn’t helping.

“I don’t feel well…gotta go,” she explained barely stopping to put on her old frumpy crocs. “Thanks for the make-over,” she threw over her shoulder. “I’ll call you later.”

Melissa just stood there for a minute, trying to process Sally’s sudden change of demeanor. She had tried to understand and help her sister, but she was just odd, that was all there was to it. Maybe she should invite her to her knitting group. She spent too much time alone.

She decided to just shrug it off and went to see what toy had been destroyed by her careless sister and which of her darling children she would need to placate that night.

to be continued…

She's Got Legs, Part IV

Sally immediately logged on to her computer to report to M what had happened on her trip to Payless. She wanted to pour her heart out but wasn’t sure how to begin. There were so many conflicting thoughts and feelings running around inside her. She was proud of herself for not being swept away by her obsession, but also ashamed at the moments when she lost control. She had snarled over those cheap shoes like an animal!

A deep sense of disappointment colored everything. She missed how she used to be transported out of her pointless little life, filled with a force that was larger than herself, eclipsing all of her daily worries and complaints. The tiny jolts of sensual pleasure she had felt only served to remind her of what once was.

She tried to explain this all to M while they chatted online. M was as understanding as always, but surprised her by suggesting that she go right back out again to an even better store! It was the first time that Sally doubted M’s judgment. Didn’t she understand how hard this experiment had been for her? Sally said she would think about it and logged off.

The next day she went to visit her sister Melissa. They were not a particularly close family, but were friendly enough. Melissa had everything she could possibly want in life and was constantly pushing Sally to be a better person. She appreciated the effort—after all, if it wasn’t for her concern, Sally would probably be living in a dumpster behind Barneys—but sometimes she just wanted her to give it a rest.

Sally was listening to Melissa go on about how Sally should improve herself—color her hair, sign up with eharmony, lose 10 pounds—sitting on her bed while Melissa folded laundry. Her two bright and charming children had left their toys absolutely everywhere else. There were cars, trains, legos and action figures scattered all over the floor and every other available surface. In fact, Sally suspected that there was a My Little Pony or some such piece of glittery plastic currently digging into her thigh from under the duvet. How her sister could constantly criticize Sally for her faults while allowing those precocious monsters to trash her house, she could never figure out.

After finishing both her laundry and her diatribe on Sally’s faults, she turned to Sally and insisted on giving her a make-over. Sally was so dispirited she didn’t even resist, just grumpily shrugged her shoulders and sat up to allow Melissa to fuss with her hair and make-up. There wasn’t much that could be done with her limp dirty-blond hair and pale skin and eyes, but that didn’t stop her sister from trying.

She then pulled her to her feet and insisted that she try on dress after dress. Sally was getting impatient with this and was about to call a stop to it when Melissa suggested that she now try on her shoes to see what would go with the dress she had on. She became instantly alert and guarded. What did Melissa think she was doing? Was she crazy? She knew what Sally had gone through to get to this point, but it looked like she thought it was all over. She had never really appreciated how powerful a hold the shoes had held over her. She just thought Sally was weak-willed and selfish.

After her experience the previous day, she thought she could probably handle Melissa’s selection of good-girl pumps and flats. One would never use the word “alluring” to describe her sister, who used Martha Stewart as her role model. Sally took off her crocs and looked over her choices neatly lined up in Melissa’s closet. They all looked so alike Sally wondered why she had so many pairs. The heels varied only about half an inch and the hues consisted of ecru, navy, camel and matte black. You would think her sister was an elementary school teacher from her wardrobe.

Then she spotted a box behind the sad rows of dowdy shoes with “Prada” on it. What could that be doing there? She pulled it out and asked her sister what it was.

“Oh, someone gave them to me, but I could never figure out where to wear them,” Melissa said. “You can have them if you want them. You deserve it—you’ve come so far in the last year, sweetie.” She smiled indulgently and a bit patronizingly as if she were giving a piece of candy to a small child. Was her sister really this stupid?

“Thanks,” was all Sally could say. She paused just as she was about to open the box as if it might bite her. Steeling herself, she opened the box and peeked inside. What she saw was so amazing and out of place in her sister’s closet that she gasped. They were black patent-leather triple buckle slingbacks with 3-inch heels!

“They just aren’t me,” her sister said, which was the understatement of the year. What friend of hers would give her these shoes? Sally wasn’t about to question her good fortune too much. It must have been fate that had kept them quietly waiting for the right time to be united with her. They must be her reward for her fortitude yesterday.

Her breathing quickened and blood rushed to crotch, making it tingle. She could feel her fluids starting to flow as her nipples stiffened. She must try them on right now, but she needed privacy for this. She could not possibly allow her sister to witness this unseemly union.

She told her sister that she needed to use the bathroom, taking the shoes with her.

to be continued...

Thursday, May 28, 2009

She's Got Legs, Part III

She approached the clearance shoes purposefully, head high and chin out, as if daring them to try something. After a moment she saw them for what they were—pitiful poorly-made shoes that would make her feet hurt and wouldn’t even last the season. Her shoulders sagged as she started scanning the messy racks for anything that she would possibly consider wearing.

And then she saw them, coyly peeking out of the battered box. Shiny and a classic black unlike the other gaudily colorful others begging for attention. These shoes were patiently waiting for someone to recognize their sleek beauty and appreciate them for what they were. They were overlooked and underestimated in this place. She could help them take their rightful place in the shoe kingdom!

She reached out and tentatively touched the pointed toe with the tip of her finger. She was surprised that she could not see the spark that the contact generated, sending shivers up her arms and into her nipples, causing them to mirror the points on the shoes.

Should she try these on or was it too dangerous? She stood for a full minute merely touching the shoe with her finger, appraising the situation. She could walk away at any moment—yes, she could. Just to test this, she removed her finger and backed away. Yes, this felt OK. She didn’t need them. She could stop at any time.

Just then, another customer shuffled up beside her and asked if she wanted them. Suddenly it all changed. Eyes wide and teeth bared, she jerked her head in the dull woman’s direction and hissed, “YES!” They were her shoes and no one could touch them, especially this lumpen woman who would wear them once and throw them in a heap with her dollar-bin flip-flops and dust bunnies. Clawlike, her hand shot out and grabbed them out of their prison of a box, holding them cradled against her breasts. The woman shrugged and picked up a pair of cork heels.

Maybe she couldn’t handle this, after all. She had been willing to rip that woman’s arms off to protect these $14.99 shoes! She shook her head and tried to laugh it off. She motioned to place the shoes back in their box, but paused. Why not try them on? She couldn’t just leave now after making it this far. It was practically her duty to M to at least try.

Scanning the store, she found a secluded corner with a bench and shoe mirror, which gave her a great view of herself up to her shins. Sitting down on the cracked bench, she slipped off her utilitarian sneakers and ankle socks. It had been so long since she had worn anything but sneakers and crocs, which she chose specifically for their frumpiness. She had worn new thigh-high stockings for this outing. She paused, shoes in hand, taking stock of herself like an alcoholic trading a one-year chip for a shot of whisky. Did she really want to do this?

She turned her attention to the shoes she had so desperately wanted only minutes before. They had lost some of their power in the full buzzing fluorescent lighting. They already had a scuff on one side and already looked slightly battered even though they were as yet never owned. She sighed, placed them carefully on the floor and simultaneously slipped both of her feet into them.

It was not as she remembered it. The warm tingly sensation running up the inside of her legs to meet between her legs was pleasant, but not overwhelming. Slowly, she stood to see her feet and lower legs reflected in the floor mirror. The heels were high and she teetered slightly causing a tiny nervous flutter in her belly, but what she saw in that mirror was disappointing.

It was a relief, in a way, that she was not transported as she used to be by this act. No matter how electrifying the experience was, the loss of control was frightening and ultimately self-destructive. She was happy that she could report back to M how she had handled it, but also felt nostalgic for the passion that was once part of her life. This must be what be what it means to finally grow up.

She gingerly stepped out of the shoes, picking them up as one would a dead cat found in the yard—with pity, gentleness and a sadness for the end of potential. She placed them back on the rack and passed the woman she had fought over them for only minutes ago. “They’re all yours,” she said, but the woman pretended not to hear and was now considering a pair of puffy gold sneakers.

It was time to go home. M would be waiting to hear how she was. As she walked home, she tried to sort out all of the conflicting feelings inside—relief, sadness, pride at overcoming an obstacle, disappointment at not being able to feel that passion again. She knew that of all people M would understand her. She had to; she was all she had left.

To be continued...

She's Got Legs, Part II

M was the best friend she had ever had, though they had still never met after all these weeks. She understood Sally on the most basic level—what drove her, what made her happy, what made her feel like the strong, confident woman she knew she was inside. All of the years of therapy had helped her to function in the “real world”, which was good, but what she needed in her life was passion and the only thing she had ever felt passionate about was too dangerous to indulge.

Her new friend described her own feelings of delicious helplessness when succumbing to her own obsession. The excitement when seeing the object of desire for the first time; the instinctual need to reach out and touch it; the hesitation that made contact all the sweeter when it was permitted—these things they shared. She understood the buzzing electrical shots that traveled from the soles of her feet directly to her clit when she slipped the first shoe on. She never felt as powerful and alive as when she gently eased the extreme arch of the high heel over her foot and forced it to bear her weight. The heels were usually so high and made her foot so arched that there was always the slightest doubt that the shoes would be able to hold her upright. She felt a dizzying sense of abandon in those first few seconds, but she was always able to steady herself and stand taller than ever, queen of all she surveyed! She could conquer anything in these shoes—except for the shoes themselves. It was at that moment that she became their slave. She could not go back to that life.

Her friend sympathized with her, made her feel “normal” for having these feelings, which her family, friends and even support-group mates never did. They all tried, but they just didn’t know what it was like to feel that way. The gamblers came close, but she always lost them when she started to describe her slickening cunt and pulsing labia in those moments after she put the shoes on. Walking in the shoes was better than sex for her. The shoes were in control and she was wearing the shoes. The shoes liberated her to feel a passion that she would never allow herself to feel without them. The shoes were sex, power and beauty.

Yes, her friend understood, but she never could figure out what drove her. She wrote about shoes like she understood, but she felt that there was more to the story. She was sure it would come out sooner or later.

M wrote about how her life had been before she was in control. It was nearly the exact same story—a string of low-paying worthless jobs and evictions, followed by the contempt of her loved ones and constant need for more stimulation. But M was now the one in control. She owned her kink like it was her pet, only letting it out when it was convenient for her. She nurtured her obsession, but didn’t let it control her. How she admired M!

After weeks of tutoring M felt that it was time to test her new-found resolve. She would control the shoes, not let them control her! She would go slowly, merely putting her toe into the water, so to speak. She would check out Payless, who always had cute styles, but weren’t the quality she demanded. These shoes would not be too alluring. She could be their master.

She took the subway uptown, getting off in a neighborhood that she usually did not frequent, but where a low-quality shoe store was bound to be. It felt vaguely seedy, going to a bad neighborhood for shoes, but didn’t everyone come here to fulfill their vices? At least she didn’t need to avoid the police in her endeavor.

She passed two day-time hookers chatting on the corner. They were both wearing metallic-colored sandals, band-aids peeking through the straps. The sight made her both sad and a bit horny. She knew that her prey was nearby.

After a few blocks, she was rewarded. The storefront advertised a clearance sale, but from the faded ink on the banner, the knew the sale must be months old. She took a moment to gather her resolve, reminding herself why she was there. She would pass this test.

She entered the stuffy hot store and was almost knocked backward by the sight of the hundreds of cheap shoes stacked so carelessly on top of each other. It was an atrocity the way they were all linked together with plastic as though they were captives in this horrible purgatory. She must save them!

A few of the customers glanced her way wondering when the crazy lady was going to freak out and tell them to repent. She took a deep breath and remembered why she was there. These shoes are just cheap clearance shoes. She wasn’t here to do anything but pick one up, maybe try it on, and leave. She was NOT allowed to buy anything. That was made clear. Her assignment was to look and touch only if she felt strong enough, but none were allowed to return with her. She stood a bit straighter and headed for the clearance rack in the back.

To be continued...

She's Got Legs, Part I

She's got legs, she knows how to use them.

She never begs, she knows how to choose them.

She's holdin' leg wonderin' how to feel them.

Would you get behind them if you could only find them?

She's my baby, she's my baby,

yeah, it's alright.

-ZZ Top

Oh, how Sally wished that it would leave her be, but the pull was insistent, demanding. She knew she could beat its allure if she could just defeat it once. Was today the day? It was time to find out.

Her talk with her new friend last night had made her feel strong—stronger than the pull the shoes exerted on her. She would walk straight down the avenue of shoe shops and she would not waver. She was not their slave!

She mapped out her usual walk to work very carefully, avoiding the siren song of the shoe shops, which was quite a challenge when working in the fashion district. She would usually walk ten blocks out of her way just to avoid looking at the colorful, sleek new styles. She walked a lot in this city, savoring the feel of the pavement as her feet pounded upon it. She wore practical shoes for walking, though she did not love them. They were for one purpose only, and that was to get her past the objects of her true longing so she could lead what her friends and family called a reasonable life.

It was not always so. It had taken her years of support groups and tearful nights before she could even hold a job for this long. She remembered the years when her short go-nowhere jobs had only been useful for as long as it took to buy the next season’s strappy sandals. It happened time and time again--she would cash her paycheck, make a beeline to the shoe shops to spend all night strutting up and down the pavement outside her apartment building until her blisters bled. She inevitably slept through her alarm clock the next morning, losing yet another job. But she did have fantastic calf muscles.

Her family and friends had organized an intervention one day, surprising her in her own apartment after a particularly lavish spending spree. She had lost her part-time job at the U-Wash-It! Laundramat the week before and had maxed out her last credit card on the new spring line. But who could resist Lucite heels? She had felt smart, sexy and powerful until opening the door to the Circle of Judgment, as she came to think of it now. Not that she wasn’t grateful, of course. She had been about to be evicted and her nutrition was starting to suffer, too, subsisting almost exclusively on Smart Ones®. Her loved ones had taken all evening and into the next day to badger her into getting help from the local support group, mostly made up of loser alcoholics and gamblers. Apparently there weren’t enough people with her particular malady to warrant her own group, but she made the best of it.

She had kept this last position at the insurance agency for nearly a year now. She guessed this was what it was like to feel like a competent adult, but it also made her feel empty. Her rent was paid and she had groceries (and fresh vegetables!) in her fridge. She had cable TV and a checking account. She had friendly acquaintances with her co-workers and went out for drinks once a month. She supposed she was happy.

She was just starting to wonder if this was all there was when she went online one night after having one more than her allotted two glasses of white wine at happy hour. Feeling reckless she checked out the style section of The New York Times. It was July already, so she thought that the possibility that there would be some new style showcased was slim. But there it was. Red, white and blue and sparkly—the perfect way to show her patriotism in her country’s hour of need. Why, she wouldn’t be buying them for her, but as a way to support the troops! What could be wrong with that? And then she noticed that old tingly feeling in her belly, with shooting jolts of pleasure running between her legs, all the way down to her toes, making them curl. She knew the warning signs of her addiction and tried to get it in hand by doing an internet search for help. She typed in “shoe fetish”, hit the enter key and waited.

What she found was a plethora of options, mostly of those who wanted to indulge themselves, not help her. She typed a second search term, “help” into the box and got one listing. It read, simply, “”. Could this really be the answer? It seemed extremely unlikely, but where was the harm in looking? She clicked the link and a blank page appeared. Just when she thought that it was a broken link, a blinking cursor appeared and typed out, “How can I help you, darling girl?” She thought it was some kind of gimmick and that dancing bears would pop up any second, but the cursor just continued to blink expectantly. She carefully looked to her left and right, feeling silly since she knew no one could see her, then typed in, “Shoes control my life. Please help me.” When the words, “I will help you,” appeared on her screen, she felt at one time relief, anticipation, and fear.

To be continued...