Nikki's Shoes Ch. 01

Story Info
I meet a woman who likes stilettos, perhaps more than I do.
2.3k words
4.16
37.9k
16

Part 1 of the 2 part series

Updated 10/31/2022
Created 07/15/2009
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This was inspired by Andrea_Adores. Go ahead and look her up here. She's magnificent.

This is a tribute to her, and to Nikki.

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I really can't help it.

It's the way they click on cold hard marble floors, or on smooth parquet, or on the concrete of a parking garage... it's the way they make a woman's outfit go from corporate demure to demoness in one 4" stiletto stab.

I can't help it at all.

My eyes go straight to them. I'm drawn to the elongated calf, the strengthened thigh, the subtle shift of pants as they break over the top of the foot, revealing the vicious spiked heel underneath. Is there going to be an ankle-strap? Two of them? God, be still my beating depraved heart.

I know that any woman who wears a 4" or higher stiletto heel knows exactly what she's doing. I know that she feels her own power to seduce the observer, and in that knowledge, she remains firmly and completely in control of the situation. Well, at least until I can show her that a little loss of control isn't necessarily a bad thing.

I was walking in the downtown core; it was lunchtime, and the sun was beating down in slow languid waves that were moderated by the wind patterns shifting through the skyscrapers. I silently congratulated myself on having the foresight to wear a lightweight silk suit and a ridiculously over-priced white cotton Armani Collezione shirt because anything heavier would have made me sweat like a politician. I love the lunchtime walk, by the way; it lets me clear my mind of the fantastically boring minutiae of the interminable meetings that consumed my mornings, and more importantly, it let me see the incredible array of high-heeled women that were availing themselves of the nice weather.

I walked by Nino's on the south side of the pedestrian mall, and I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the sign that simply read "Louboutin Trunk Sale: 2 p.m."

I quickly pulled out my trusty Vertu, and speed-dialed Tamara's number at the office. "Listen... something's come up and I'm going to be back late this afternoon." I said a little breathlessly as my eyes locked on the pristine sign. "No, it's not that... I'm just doing a little... research." I said suggestively, the leer in my voice matching the half-smile creasing my mouth.

Now, I don't know if you have ever heard of Christian Louboutin, but for a shoe freak like me, it's like saying Michael Jordan's coming to the local high school for a game of pickup. His shoes are legendary: teetering heels, with the accent firmly on sex, and a signature gleaming red leather sole that was the equivalent of a baboon's angry signal. What? You've never taken a woman from behind while she's wearing Louboutin? Those red soles shine out like traffic lights, guiding you to the promised land. Anyway, I decided that I'd make sure I'd come to see the new collection, as well as check out the rich and bored trophy wives that were the only ones who could afford to buy these obscenely expensive things.

I wandered around some more, killing time. There was iced coffee to be had at Shalton's... the lovely Cheryl and I had flirted for months as I spied her in a pair of very sexy Alaia knock-offs... no way a barista could afford the real thing, but she was so damn cute that I was willing to forgive her sartorial sin. And she knew that I was obsessed as well; she caught me staring right from the beginning, and she went out of her way to tease me mercilessly. And the obligatory trip to Andrea Books, just so I could catch a glimpse of the knife-edge cheekbones of the devastating proprietess... I was working myself into a frenzy. Everywhere I walked, everywhere I looked, there was just a clattering cacophony of hypersexual shoes, attached to beautiful women. Life is beautiful, I mused, sipping the last of the coffee.

And then, I saw her.

Or more accurately, I saw her back. The mass of liquid black hair was magnetic, and I followed the lush mane downwards to the middle of her back, and caught a glimpse of the immaculately tailored charcoal gray jacket before its owner abruptly turned right and walked into Nino's. I looked upwards and murmured a silent prayer of thanks to Dionysus, that old rascal god of pleasure. I walked unhurriedly now, knowing that once a woman has entered Nino's, it's unlikely that she'll be coming out any time soon. The selection is the best in the city; the salesmen and women are attentive, knowledgeable, and gorgeous, and there are rumours whispered everywhere about the astonishing after-sales service.

I pushed the door open, and let the cool air-conditioning wash over me. The place was packed. Folding chairs had been hastily shoved together to form a vague semi-circle around the centre of the store, and they were all occupied by the kind of woman who never bothered to ask how much something cost. There was a comforting uniformity in their style; a little hard-edged plasticity to their faces, a touch of anti-gravity in the chest, and OH GOD, they're all wearing stilettos.

Peep toes (which I really could take or leave), sling backs, mules (could any shoe be uglier than a mule), a couple of English schoolmistress oxfords with 4" spikes (I just smiled and filed away the faces for future reference). There were knee-high boots aplenty; even with the summer heat, the exhibitionist allure of the tight leather was clearly too much for them to resist, and I quickly offered silent thanks to them as well. After all, one must be appreciative of the effort that it takes to look this good. One woman wore a gorgeous pair of ankle-strapped shoes that came decorated with sparkling rhinestones on the heel; she looked at me as though I was pond scum, and I favoured her with a smile nonetheless.

As a matter of fact, I was so busy looking at the delicious shoes that I hadn't noticed the conversations had all died away, and I equally didn't notice that their lacquered and painted faces had turned like sunflowers at noon to face me. As my eyes casually wandered up the gym-toned calves and running thighs, I realized that I was an interloper: I was unwelcome at this event, and it stiffened my spine with resolve. "I'm just here to see if the new ones are better than the new Jimmy Choos" I ventured casually. "I love how Christian elevates shoes to a high art." I said completely deadpan.

"... two, three..." I mentally counted before the laughter started. I deliberately looked toward the counter where sweating flutes of champagne invited guzzling, and I walked toward them to break the tension a little. I could sense the women going back to their conversations, and I waited a few moments before lifting a flute to my suddenly dry mouth.

"That was stupid." A voice said in my ear.

I turned to look at the owner of the Lauren Bacall soundalike, and I shook my head at the obvious cinematic irony of it belonging to the raven-haired woman I had spied earlier. My eyes looked straight into hers... no mean feat since I'm six feet tall. They were green, and ice cold, and I realized that she had already assessed me. I felt a cold vise grip my spine at the same time as her smell enveloped me and I involuntarily grew hard.

"You really think they give a shit about whether you like the shoes or not?" She whispered as she drained her own glass.

I waited, watching as she leaned forward to put it back on the counter, watching more as her jacket gaped open to reveal perfect breasts that couldn't possibly be original. They were encased in a black corset that strained to contain the half-spheres that stood out from her body, and I was suddenly sure that she knew exactly where my eyes were without even looking at me. As she straightened back up, I tilted my head to the side and looked down her body.

5'7", perhaps 120 lbs. Clearly starved herself in the pursuit of physical perfection. Hips that stuck out like razors inside her skirt, thighs that were outlined by the fabric, gleaming gray stockings shot through with silver threads, and glossy black pumps with one inch-platforms and five inch heels. My eyes tracked upwards again and I memorized the way her face looked: framed by the mass of black hair, tiny laugh lines around her eyes betraying her age, taut skin betraying the occasional Botox shot.

God, I was hard.

Stupid hard. The kind of hard that doesn't have a conscience, or a thought other than what it would be like to bury itself in each one of this creature's holes, repeatedly and brutally.

All of this happened in about five seconds. It was the beginning of the period where I lost my mind.

"Nikki." She said, looking at me intently.

"It's Nikki."

I looked at her again, at the way her pulse thudded in her neck, the way the flush was slowly creeping up her chest.

"It's rude to stare." She said, smiling another layer of cold into her face.

"Then you shouldn't be quite so beautiful." I said without thinking.

At that moment, Nino chose to announce the beginning of the show. A photographer's umbrella lamp lit up the proceedings, and I felt, rather than saw, Nikki turn to watch. I eased myself behind her, standing so that only fabric rested between my engorged prick and her ass. I smelled her as I closed my eyes. "Guerlain? Risque?" I whispered in her ear as we both gazed at the models strutting out wearing objects of desire.

I felt her move back against me. Her head turned to the left as she whispered "Good" and she ground backwards with her hips, pressing herself against me. The world contracted to a point, and all I could see were self-important girls with expensive shoes, and all I could feel was the most gorgeous creature to stalk the planet.

"Peter" I whispered in her ear, and I pushed myself forward so that she could feel the length of me hard against her. She writhed once, twice, settling herself against the 8" that rested so comfortably between her ass cheeks. She flexed herself at random intervals as the girls pirouetted and twisted and put their feet up on strategic stools to let the vampires feast on the sights. I wanted to fuck her there on the spot, but I knew somehow that something extraordinary was going to happen with Nikki, and I wanted it so badly that I would have sacrificed my soul on the spot to make it so.

One girl, a tiny little Asian, strutted by us wearing a pair of shining golden bondage-inspired shoes. I felt Nikki stiffen against me, and I knew she liked this particular model. Somewhere on hidden speakers, Nino was reading from a script. "Aiko is wearing the Differa sandals. Six straps, to appeal to the little submissive in all of us." he said, hunger apparent in his voice. Nikki pushed back against me hard, and I knew that I had ceased to exist for her. All I was, was a piece of hard cockmeat, and the thought of being used by this exotic was almost too much for me to bear.

I turned to my right and caught Marnie's eye. She bent her head dutifully and I whispered "Those" as I inclined my head at Aiko. "Size 7?" I inquired softly of Nikki. "MMMMMM" she purred as she stared at the sexy girl walking effortlessly away from her. I didn't know whether she was looking at the shoes or at Aiko's retreating posterior, but either way I was sure to benefit.

A couple of minutes later, Marnie brought a black box to me, and lifted the cover to reveal the shoes in all their splendour. "Perfect" I said as I pulled out the credit card case.

Five minutes later, we were ensconced in one of Nino's plush changing areas. We could both hear the muted giggles and gasps of the women outside, but we were both looking at each other. I felt myself throb and pulse as I watched her slide her feet into the shoes, and I could feel the familiar rush of complete arousal overtake me. As she stood up and regarded herself in the foot-level mirrors, the soft lighting gleaming off the sandals, I simply unzipped myself.

She froze, her back to me... and she just walked over to the wall and placed her palms flat against it, waiting.

A soft groan erupted from somewhere deep inside me and I covered the distance between us in record time. There wasn't anything in the world that I wanted to do more than show her what she had done to me, and so I shoved her skirt up and pulled her thong to the side. "You knew, didn't you?" I said to her. "You knew you were going to get fucked in a pair of heels today, didn't you?" I spit on my palm, and heard her breath catch as I did so.

I raised an eyebrow. This perfectly put together woman, this artificial construct bought and paid for by some anonymous rich bastard of a husband.... was into the seamier sides of sex.

I spit on my palm again, and I watched as her hips started to rotate... slowly, infinitesimally slowly. I could smell her heat over the intoxicating scent of the Guerlain... and I couldn't take it any more. "Whore." I said quietly as I pressed myself into her ass, feeling the tight pucker resist me at first. "Slut." I said just as quietly as I used her hips as counterpoints. "You would have given yourself to anyone." I pushed two inches into her... and used my fingers to stop her from saying anything.

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Should there be a part 2? Or more? Let me know.

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AnonymousAnonymousover 5 years ago
So...

... A gorgeous woman in the most fabulous heels offers herself to you, and that makes her a whore? The only way that is true is for you to be the ugliest sack of shit, retarded greaseball monkey in the city.

And spitting into your hand? It's clear you know nothing of how to properly fuck a woman, if instead of using foreplay to arouse her own lubrication, you have to resort to spit (of all things) for lube!! What a disgusting pig.

dreamwooddreamwoodalmost 6 years ago
Brilliant in it's own right

Really enjoyed this writing style. I love heels and legs as much as the next guy but feet in general don't hold my attention. And still this had me hanging on every word. Loved the character how he just bravely and unapologetically goes straight for what he wants. I don't think it needed a part II in the sense that it seems the tension could only unwind from here. You obviously wanted to stick with writing about the heels, so further details of the actual sex would be a distraction.

AnonymousAnonymousover 13 years ago
Incredibly Sexy!

I have to say that after reading Ch.01 I am reading Ch. 02 as soon as I am done with writting my comments. Your are very good with your discriptions. It all just flowed and felt real. I could imagine pressing my ass against your hard cock and delighting in the warmth and hardness and being seduced by the shoes all at the same time!

Please keep writing.

Whynot1975Whynot1975over 13 years ago
Wonderful writing!

I came to read your stuff because of your kind comments on my own story: reading yours makes me realize how far I have to go- you are really, REALLY good!!!!

What kind of bribe will it take to get more than two stories out of you???

AnonymousAnonymousover 13 years ago
HELL YEAH!

Look- its not my particular thing - but the way you write.... I'll read any and everything you ever submit. This is fucking HOT!!!!!!!!

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