Clothes Make the Masochist

Their sex life was fine.

Certainly the quantity was there. Seven or eight, sometimes ten times in a single week, during her fertile window. And if they took the rest of the month off, well, that was natural enough. They were neither of them highly sexual people. Trying to conceive was hard. Things would get better once they had their kids. Sex would be more spontaneous then, more passionate. Hotter.

Until then, they had a comfortable routine. A towel, in case she squirted. A few minutes with the vibrator to get her wet. A few strokes of her hand to get him up. A pillow under her hips to elevate them. Then a few quick thrusts, more as the week went on, but eventually a shudder, and a whisper of, "I love you."

They could whip through it in 20 minutes, a pas de deux as efficient and practiced as clearing the table. But when they had time, they let themselves chat and cuddle for 30 or 40 minutes before one of them said, "Well, it's getting late." And then they lay in each other's arms a quarter hour more afterward before he rose to rinse off.

It was nice.

Sometimes she offered to wear the shoes again, but typically he demurred now and she didn't press. With a 130cm of heel and no platform, these heels might as well have been pointe shoes. Except pointe shoes made her feel powerful, beautiful, free to fly across the stage. These shoes made her totter like a newborn foal and then cling helplessly to his arm even for the few steps to the bed.

They also made his cock spring to attention like nothing else.

Perhaps that was why tonight she did press. "You like the shoes."

"Yeah, but it's okay. I know they're really uncomfortable."

"You could bring them to me in bed." She peered coquettishly up from under her lashes. "You could put them on me. I think you'd like that."

"Yeah, that's true." He said it too casually. He smiled too easily. She saw the hunger blossom on his face.

Something fluttered deep in her. It was far from the first time a man had looked at her like that. It was, she realized, maybe the first time he had. "Uh," she said hurriedly, turning her mind back to practical things. "I think they're in the corner of the closet..."

"I know." He came out with them, sleek and somehow still gleaming despite their long storage.

She put the pieces together. "You know, huh?" she said, smirking.

He shrugged, suddenly unable to meet her gaze.

She reached for him. "It's okay. I'm not...it's okay." She led him to the bed, sat down on it herself, crossed one leg over the other. He sank to his knees before her.

She watched in fascination as he took off her little white sock, then offered her the shoe. They struggled briefly. He didn't hold it at quite the right angle. Perhaps it was a little tight. He used his thumb as a shoehorn, and then her foot popped in. She flexed her ankle, checking the fit.

It did look good. She swirled her foot in a slow circle, watching the light play across the leather. She flexed her toes, then pointed against the resistance of the sole, then flexed again until her heel popped out. His breath caught as the shoe swung free, rocking back and forth beneath her toes.

She had never been more aware of a man's gaze, or her own pulse.

She put her foot down on the floor, jammed her heel back in, and then recrossed her legs to present her other foot still in its sock. "Ahem," she said, mock stern.

By the time he put her other shoe on her foot she could feel the dampness between her legs. She repeated her show, pointing and flexing and turning this way and that. This time she watched his eyes track her every movement.

A wicked idea came to her. "Look at me," she ordered. Yes, ordered. And he obeyed, instinctively, startled eyes jerking up to meet hers. Holding his gaze with hers, she reached out blindly with her foot, feeling for his thigh and then sliding up his leg.

A sharp gasp told her she had found her target. She applied the barest minimum of pressure. He immediately winced, and she eased off. "Sorry, was that...?"

"No, it's okay." His was a voice that could bring dozens to attention when he chose, but now it was soft and ragged. Trembling, even.

She felt lightheaded, like a woman peering down an abyss and wondering if she would jump. She licked her lips. "So," she said, finding her own voice a little hoarse. "What do you want to do now?" Throw her back on the bed and fuck her silly, she hoped.

He hesitated, then ventured, "Could I kiss them?"

Kiss...them? "Um," she said. "Sure."

He cradled her foot in his hands, turning it minutely this way and that. Admiring it. Cupping one hand around the heel and stroking a thumb along the curve of the toe. He bent his head and paused. She felt his breath warm her exposed instep a moment before he placed his lips onto the very tip of the toe. At first tentative, then firm enough to feel through the leather.

He looked up and she made sure she had an encouraging smile in place. Taking that as assent, he returned his attention to her shoe.

She wasn't sure quite what she had expected when she suggested they bring out these shoes. Not this, though. She felt...what did she feel? Could one be bored by the sight of a strong man literally on his knees kissing one's shoes? It sounded like a humble brag. But as the seconds ticked by, she couldn't help but feel a bit forgotten. As if she were not the unique show piece but merely the pedestal holding it up.

And it was surprisingly hard work to hold her leg just so. Finally, she moved to relieve the strain. He flinched back as the heel swung forward, then blinked up at her in surprise. "My other shoe is feeling neglected," she said, putting on a playful tone.

"Oh, yes, of course," he mumbled. Before she could uncross and recross her legs, he planted both hands on the ground and stretched awkwardly down and forward to lavish kisses on her other foot where it was still planted on the ground.

She held her free leg over his back as long as she could, even using her hands on her thighs for support, before asking, "Erm, could I rest my foot on your back?"

"Oh, yes, please," he groaned.

Not just yes, but, oh, yes, please, and in such a voice. It sent shivers down her spine for reasons she cared not to examine. At any rate, the invitation was clear enough. She gingerly lowered her foot to his back, taking care not to scrape the sharp-looking heel against his skin. "Is that all right?"

"It's great."

"It doesn't hurt?" she asked.

"No, it's fine."

That wicked feeling rose up inside her. She moved her foot just the slightest bit. Let the heel dig into his skin before easing off. It left a white dimple that slowly turned pink. "And how about now?"

"It's okay."

"It's okay?"

"It stings a little when you move it."

"Does it now? Just a little?" She slowly dragged her heel up his back, watching the angry red welt that appeared in its wake, listening to her husband hiss. "Better or worse?"

"That, uh, stings a little more."

Was this how Icarus felt, soaring toward his doom? "That's not what I asked," she said, sharply. "Better, or worse?"

"I, uh, I don't know."

"Hmm. Well. Should we stop?"

"No!" That was immediate, and it was as if she could feel herself clench in response. She put a hand between her legs and was shocked by how wet she was.

"Well, then," she drawled. "Shoud we continue?"

"Yes, please."

"Yes, please, what?" she asked, though she didn't quite know what she hoped to hear. Yes, please, scrape my back raw with those sharp heels? Yes, please, hurt me for your own gratification? She wasn't that kind of person. They weren't that kind of people.

"Yes, please, mistress!"

"Mistress?"

He looked up at her, no easy feat considering her foot still on the nape of his neck. "It just popped out."

"I'm not complaining. I just didn't know that you felt that way."

He shrugged uncertainly. "We don't have to...I hope it doesn't freak you out."

She showed him her hand, slick and pungent with her arousal. "It does not appear to freak me out."

He raised an eyebrow. "Wow. So, uh, you're pretty ready, huh?"

Ready? Oh, right. She had forgotten what they had to do tonight. "Yeah." She smiled crookedly. "I think we can skip the vibrator tonight." She glanced at his crotch, which was not only bulging but distinctly wet. "And the hand job."

He reached down and shucked his pants off. His cock sprung up immediately, undeterred by the less than sexy conversation. "Oh, the pillow."

She started to reach for it, then stopped. "Let's skip the pillow tonight."

He smiled. They were on the same page. She pulled his mouth onto hers, forcing her tongue in hungrily.

When they came up for air, he said, "I think I'm supposed to penetrate you. Unless we've been doing it wrong this whole time?"

"Well?" She arched an eyebrow, as much challenge as invitation.

He nudged her legs apart with one knee and stepped between them. Guiding himself with one hand and watching her face, he started to slide into her with agonizing slowness.

Oh, right, she usually needed the slow entry. Not tonight. She wanted him in. "It's fine, I'm really wet today. Just..."

He eased himself fully in and came instantly, groaning and shuddering with the force of his ejaculation. His knees buckled. He almost popped out, but rammed himself back in at the last moment, his balls slapping against her.

She clutched him to her, holding him through the last spasms.

"Sorry," he said. "I was..."

"Being efficient?" she teased, and then laughed at the look on his face. She loved rendering him speechless. "I'll take it as a compliment. Okay, I have to lie down now."

She could feel it leaking out. Probably reducing their chances. She should be disappointed, but she wasn't. She felt delightfully wicked.

She started to scoot herself back onto the bed, but nearly twisted her ankle in those silly heels.

"Do you want them off?" he asked, kneeling down.

Speaking of wickedness... "No," she said. "I think you'd like me to keep them on."

He looked up at her, a stricken look on his face.

Encouraged, she fully disengaged the filter. "I think you'd like to get in bed with your sexy wife and play footsie with her sexy heels. I think you've been fantasizing about this for a long time, haven't you, little boy? And you're going to be nice and all but you're a little sad it's ending."

Speechless again, he nodded, his eyes huge.

She laughed. Wickedness was fun. "Well, you'll have to put my feet on the bed."

He lifted her legs and swung them onto the bed. She scooted herself over, then patted the space on the other side of her.

"I have to walk all the way around?"

An absurd reply came to her lips. Did she dare? Would it be too much? She thought back to his "slip": Mistress. Nonchalantly, she said, "I guess you could crawl."

He didn't crawl. But he did walk around without further protest to climb in beside her. She turned and flung one leg over him.

Always the responsible one, he said, "Not that I'm not enjoying this, but maybe you should stay face-up for a little bit? We can cuddle like this." He straightened her out, then wrapped himself around her, one foot brushing against hers. He put his face into the curve of her neck and took a deep breath. "This is nice."

She asked the cliched question, now suddenly quite important: "So, was that good for you too?"

He chuckled. "Are you fishing for a compliment?"

"Yes."

"It was really good." After a moment, he said, "'Was that good for you too.' So I guess you had fun?"

"Yeah." She snuggled against him. "Yeah, I did."

"You didn't come."

"It's okay." She lay quietly in his arms, enjoying his warmth. After several minutes, she asked, "Do you want to try again tomorrow?"

"Hmm?"

Good grief. She poked him. "Do you want to try again tomorrow?"

"Um, okay? What are the odds by now? I thought even today was like..." He trailed off. Memory was not his strong suit. Nor consciousness.

She sighed and poked him again, harder. "Go wake up your inner eighth grader and explain the situation to him. You're in bed with a naked woman. You just had sex. It was, by all accounts, mutually enjoyable. She wants to know if you'd like to try again tomorrow. What does he suggest you say?"

"Right, right. Yeah. Yeah, let's do that." He propped himself up over her and ran a hand down her body. "You going to wear your sexy shoes for me again?"

"That could be arranged."

"Yeah? What changed?"

She flashed back to him on his hands and knees before her, lips pressed against her one shoe, back reddening under her other. Her pulse roared in her ears. She could have pressed harder. He would have let her. She had wanted to.

Shying away from that frightening thought and its unwelcome implications, she forced humor into her voice. "Well, for one, I think you owe me an orgasm."

No. He had taken a risk in that moment. She could be brave too. "Um, more seriously..."

I think I like hurting you.

Wow, psycho much?

She realized he was watching her, waiting. Such a patient man.

"It was different, in the moment, than I imagined." Was she chickening out? "It was hot. I've never seen you so turned on. You do fantasize about this kind of stuff, right?"

Coward.

"Sometimes."

"Tell me what happens in these fantasies." Yeah, right. Make him take the risks.

"Well, there's a woman."

"A woman? Who is this woman?"

"Just a woman. She doesn't really have a name."

"It's not me?"

"It felt weird fantasizing about you like that. I didn't think you were into it."

"So respectful."

He shrugged, looking away.

"I'm okay with you fantasizing about me. In fact, I think I'd prefer it." She turned over, pushing him onto his back and throwing one leg over his. She drew her knee up, letting the shoe glide up his shin, and was rewarded by a stir in his groin. "So what do I do in these fantasies?"

"You're wearing heels."

"Uh-huh. What else?"

"Various things."

"Give me some examples."

"Skirts, a shirt---"

"Show, don't tell."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Maybe a high-waisted A-line skirt, just above the knee. Black. A crisp white blouse, tucked in. Very fitted, lots of princess seams. Couple buttons undone."

"Am I going to work or having sex?" she asked, and immediately regretted it. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. I'm sorry." She kissed him. "Go on."

"Or a little black dress."

"But always heels?"

"I like heels."

"And what happens?"

"I kiss your shoes. I, um, lick them."

"You lick my shoes. Where?"

"All over. The upper. The sole. Sometimes you make me suck the heel."

"I 'make' you suck the heel."

"I mean, I want to. But you...tell me to."

"I tell you to suck the heel?"

"Like, you say, 'suck the heel.' Or you flex your ankle so the heel is pointing at me and I know that's what I'm supposed to do." He opened his eyes. "Does this freak you out?"

Yes. "No," she lied. "I'm just...it's just...aren't you a germophobe?"

He shrugged. "It's just a fantasy."

"Okay. What happens next?"

"To be honest, a lot of times that's enough to get me off."

"This is what you think about when you masturbate?"

"Sometimes."

She smiled. "Sometimes?"

"Often."

"But sometimes you keep going."

"Sometimes she touches me with her heels."

"'Sometimes I touch you with my heels,'" she corrected him.

"Uh, yeah, sometimes you touch me with your heels."

"Close your eyes." He did. "Tell me more about how I touch you with my heels." She rested her knee fully on his groin and felt it stir.

He squirmed under her. "Uh, I really like what we're doing but it kind of hurts to get an erection again this soon."

"Do you want to stop?" She licked her hand and stroked slowly from his balls up the shaft. He hissed in discomfort. She felt more cum trickle down her thigh. "Or do you want to get me a little lube and tell me what happens next?"

"I...think it's in your nightstand."

She had forgotten. "I know. Go get it for me." She had no idea where these words came from.

He looked at her incredulously.

She heard herself say, "If you get up now, I'll let you walk."

He got up, walked around the bed, handed her the lube, walked back, and laid down next to her. She put her leg over his and her hand on his now rock hard cock. "Close your eyes. I'm touching you with my heels. Where do I touch you?"

"My thighs. And between them."

He masturbated to the thought of licking her shoes but couldn't say cock. Men were weird. "Your cock?" she clarified, stroking it slowly.

"My...cock. And my balls."

"What does it feel like, to have my shoe on your cock and balls?"

"The upper is smooth and a little cool but it warms up quickly. There's not a lot of friction. The edge scrapes a little."

"Sounds like you've done this before."

"No, you're the first person I've ever even talked to about this."

"How do you know these details?" She had a good idea but she wanted to hear him say it.

"I, um, sometimes touch myself with your shoes."

"I thought so. These shoes?" She scraped her heel down his shin, watching the red streak bloom in its wake and feeling something bloom in her loins.

"Yeah."

"Just these?"

"Yes. I don't do it with anything you actually wear. That would be weird."

She gave him another kiss. "And then?"

"And then what?"

"So in these fantasies, I touch you with my shoes. What happens next?"

"You make me hump your foot."

Again, 'make.' She paused with her hand around his glans. "And do you want to hump my foot?"

"Yes," he whispered. He rose between her fingers, thrusting into her hand.

Without thinking, she let go and slapped his cock. He gasped and she blurted out, "Sorry, did that hurt?"

"No, it's okay. I mean, just a little."

"It's just, I wanted to give you a nice slow hand job." She hesitated, then took the plunge. "I was listening to how I 'make' you suck my heel and I 'make' you hump my foot, and I was getting this feeling that maybe you like being told what to do."

"Yeah," he said, slowly. "Yeah, I guess I do. I like it when you're a little bossy."

"I can tell. So why don't you lay still and let me handle this?"

"Okay."

"Close your eyes."

"Okay."

She stroked him again. "Let me know when you're close."

"Okay," he breathed. "That would be now, actually."

"Hmm, well maybe I'm not ready for you to come yet," she teased. "I haven't heard the end of this story."

"Okay."

"So you're humping my foot. Now what?"

"Well, I come over it."

She froze, her hand squeezing his cock. Trying hard to control her voice, she asked, "You come on my foot?"

"Yeah, I imagine myself just spurting jets and jets of semen up her leg. It runs back down and drips off. You look horrified." He had opened his eyes.

"Uh, I'm just surprised."

"You think it's really gross."

His cock was melting away in her hand, literally withering under the force of her scorn. She thought fast. "No! Okay, yes. I mean, look, it's okay. I asked, and like you said, it's just a fantasy. People fantasize about all kinds of things."

Some of them fantasize about hurting their husbands and getting off on it. Who was she to judge?

"I'm sorry."

"Give me some time to get used to it." It'll probably be sooner than the never ever it would take him to get used to hers. "Let's come back to the licking and the sucking. You know, I've never worn these shoes outside."

"Yeah?" His cock started to rally. Such a clear barometer. Like a polygraph, but...mono.

"What did you pay for them, $25? They're probably plastic. We could wipe them down with some alcohol."

"You don't have to."

"What if I want to?" She kissed him and went back to work on his cock. "What if I want a naked man kneeling at my feet begging to lick my shoes?"