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...