Shameless for Shoes:

... another titillacious tale as told by esteamed author Sir Stikkimus Soxx, Esquire...

(Oh and do feel free to imagine Rupert Everett's voice whilst reading. Or not.)

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Our setting today, an office. Not too hot, not too cold, but just and resoundingly right for our soon to be steamy little romp (and yes, yes, yes with all of the usual things one might spy in such an office if indeed one actually cared and were looking).

Now central to both room and story we find the heroine of todays tale. Her age (if one must so rudely guess) I would put at twenty-seven years, a good age to be assuming of course that one is not and in fact a rock star.

A dirty blonde our girl (in more ways than one) with her mid-length worn mane unadorned save for one lone and lonely barrette holding back a sometimes straying strand (we all stray sometimes, and some of us more deeply than others, as we shall, in the shortest of times, do see), and, since I know that you'll soon be unquietly clamoring should I fail to provide it, now shall be given a full physical description, starting from the bottom up.

Well, actually, a slight hiccup there as her bottom, which I am thus and sadly unable to describe, is cutely and currently planted on the seat of a swivel chair, a swivel chair which she is now in both fact and deed lightly a' swiveling with the aid of yes the aforementioned unobservable bottom and as both immensely enchanting and yes inestimably enjoyable as that really is to watch, side-to-side, back-and-forth, side-to-side, back-and-forth, side-to-- Forgive me, what was that I was about to say? Oh yes, we really must get on with our story.

Now this time starting from the ground up; a pair of Jimmy Choo's (I know my shoes) and yes quite kittenish kicks at that which certainly show our swankish sinderella to be a most markedly militant dilettante, at least as far as hot ass slippers are concerned. Closer examination though reveals these rather high end hoof covers to be, though well kept, most permanently and perplexedly scuffed on their front outer edges while also, I'm afraid, unequivocally and yes quite definitely from last years collection (like I said).

Tucked inside of these still nevertheless mighty fine gam garnishings and running right on up are a matched pair of stocking clad (well, panty-hose actually, the sensible seduction) stems, and some rather snappy stems at that, at least what we can see of them before they disappear under the cozy cover of a strawberry red skirt, well slit and cut a good palms width above her equally shapely and well bent knees (a skill she'll certainly be putting too good use later, take it from me).

A short sleeved and most seriously severe white downly buttoned blouse rounds out her ensemble but whose bleak prairie like plainness is quite spectacularly broken by a surging (and stirring) swell at the bust line that belies a rather fine helping of 'how'd you like to get your hands on some of that' lying beneath.

And now after a full minute of swell viewing we break our what is I now realize embarassingly slavering stare and move up our well wide eyes (yes, you too) to spy gold hoops a' dangling from delightful full lobes, not too big, not too small but quite admirably right for a bitsy bit of nibbling, should you happen to be into that kind of thing.

The usual paint (and yes a little light gloss) adorn her intent and certainly not unattractive visage. 'Intent?' you ask. Well I'm glad you're still paying attention (rather worried I was that I'd lost you back at the bust line). Yes, intent I did say -- 'Intent on what?' you quickly do query again (honestly, if you would just give me a minute...). Intent upon the ever glowing monitor that rests and resides upon her desk. In fact I'd say she's yes, quite openly, and most utterly unabashedly, ogling it.

And if you'll now allow me to continue in my own time (please) I shall tell you what so holds her full and fascinated gaze. Shoes (yes, you really have to ask?) and of course by shoes I mean Jimmy Choo's, this years latest and a rather nice pair at that (and you can take that from a man who recognizes a nice pair when he sees them).

But this soon-to-be shown so multi-talented girl is not only staring at said shoes but at the same time singing her own little well, unimaginative song (we can't all be Rodgers & Hammerstein you know) in quiet sync with her sweet and steady swivelling.

So yes, got that, staring, singing, and swivelling. And oh, I forgot to mention, also swaying, by which I mean her head, in a side-to-side fashion, as well. So now revised; staring, singing, swivelling AND swaying. See, I told you the girl had talent.

And yes, I suppose, in answer to your eagerly entreating eyes, if you really must know, the lyrics of said song, they go something like this; 'Jimmy Choo's, Jimmy Choo's, how I love you Jimmy Choo's, Jimmy Choo's, Jimmy Choo's, I'm gonna get some Jimmy Choo's' (you asked for it).

And then, as we watch this quite charming and unstudied display in a state of rather mild beguilement (and with little inkling of the highly erotic acting talents that will be soon put on parade), she lays a rather wet and wanton kiss upon her onscreen desire before remarking to herself in a rather sassy yet pledge taking tone.

"Two more weeks of saving and you'll be mine all mine."

And now I do hear as you cordially cry. 'Just who is this she that you've described to a 'T', is it Sally, or Ginger or maybe just Bess, the name of this damsel, the one in the dress?" (actually a skirt and top as I pointed out before, do keep up)

Well..., if the pridefully polished name-plaque adorning her desk is to be both trusted and true then the name that you so desperately and direly (well, maybe not that badly) seek is..., Kelly Kipowski. Hmmmm, Kelly Kipowski. As names go it has a rather nice little ring to it, unlike Kelly herself whose bare bridalesque finger begs the question of just who might that man be with whom she is locked in such amorous and unbridled embrace in the five-by-eight photo so prominently and pre-eminitely displayed on same-said desk (and in a rather nice little gilt frame at that) and what exactly might, judging from the snap (but in no way snapping judgement) their rather randy relationship be?

Sadly I'm afraid that is a question whose answer will have to wait as now yet another question (which you may or may not have asked) is about to be answered, literally, and in more ways than one, with that question being, just who in fact is it that this lovely lass does do labor for, with it's answer now rather rudely presaged by the inevitable and ruthless ringing of the telephone (yes also on her desk).

"Oral Unlimited." Our dutiful demoiselle does answer. "Kelly speaking, how can I help you?". A listening pause is then followed by the answer "Yes, we have two large breasted asian girls." Another pause during which our directly dialed darling darts a quick and gall-ed glance at her natty and hardly noticeably knocked off watch, her eyebrows rising in synchonized surprise at it's two sharply upraised hands.

"What's that?" our distracted doll queries, and then "Oh sorry, one Japanese and the other I think Korean. You want both at the same time? Well that could be tricky" she replies while also at the same time and from a lower drawer of the now oft mentioned desk removing her handy handbag in apparent preparation of impending departure.

"Tell you what, I've got your number, I'll see what I can do and give you a call back. After lunch." And in her now increasingly hurried state she hangs up the phone without even uttering the obligatory 'Goodbye' but instead grumbling, to herself now that is, "Cut into my window shopping time..." in a most menacing (and quite possibly murderous) fashion.

Then hastily rising our hot-to-be-trotting heroine quickly adjusts her slightly skewed skirt before setting firmly to her shoulder the stylish strap of her yes quite equally stylish purse and then pauses for the slightest of seconds to press keenly kissed fingertips to screen and happily utter.

"See you soon."

Before then resuming her dash for the door, a door which now, as she is barely clearing the back corner of the endlessly discussed desk, resounds with a frantic and overly heavy knock (three actually) before then streaking open at a speed that must surely be described as break-neck as it would most assuredly have broken her neck (or inflicted some other most dread and decisive damage) had she been any more or even marginally closer.

And now stiffly staggering into said door (way that is) we have the second half of our story. As to what his name might be I have in truth no way of telling but with his overgrown bangs through which he peers with puppy dog panache while stumbling with a care-filled clumsiness that can only be inherent to his breed I think that I shall call him Shep. Yes, Shep it is.

Kelly's ire now visibly rises at this newly presented impediment to her leisure time trawlings and with words that can only be described as most viciously (and vehemently) spat hurls forth the question. "What the hell do you want?"

Shep, quite taken aback, stutters forth his reply. "I-i-is this the bl-bl-blowjob place?"

Kelly, now with weltering violence seen welling in her eyes, glares with lowering gaze as gravel voiced answer is given. "Yes."

Shep slightly and shrinkingly retreats at the touch of her unchecked loathing which he feels now palpably licking at his rather shaken (and as yet un-stirred) soul before his fumbling bumbling hands find safe anchor on the still open doors sill and then, quickly gaining strengh from this new found semi-solid infrastructure, he draws forth and utters his demand. "Then I'd like to get a blowjob please."

A quickly crimsoning Kelly now shakes her head with an escalating exasperation that can only be described as near howling. "You idiot, this is an outcall center." Is her ringing retort with the bereft and returned response being the goobs gormless gander which causes her to then cantankerously continue "You call in and arrange for a girl to come to you. For the blowjob."

"So..., you don't have any girls here?" the dunderhead then does questionably query.

With the slow solid motion of hammer to anvil Kelly nods her head with a grudging forbearance that can only give new meaning to the word 'grudge' and replies. "Right." She glances again at her still quite spectacularly spiffing sham of a sundial and then continues through close gritted gums. "If you like you can leave your number and I can arrange an appointment. After. Lunch."

"But I need a blowjob now" replies the dear desperate dolt. "I've got a job interview at two and if I'm not relaxed, I'll never get hired" says he, shaking his heavily shagged skull in unkempt emphasis.

Now foot-tappingly perturbed our lushly livid lass makes acid reply "Do you not learn masturbation back from wherever the fuck it is that you come from?" (yes, she does have a mouth on her, and not just for swearing)

"O-o-f course" Shep sheepishly splutters "I d-do it for four or five times a day, but s-still..."

"Still what?" our bedeviled damsel disgustedly demands.

"Nothing beats a blowjob" is Shep's simple but succinct surmise.

Kelly gives reluctant acknowledgement to said statement with a sharp sideways nod of her noggin accentuated by earnestly lifted eyebrows before again briefly returning her eyes to the aforementioned faux-rifically fine watch. "I'm sorry, I can't help you" she declaims as she lowers her head and with the slowly building charge of an ill-tempered elephantess makes for the still Shep-obstructed exit.

"I've got cash" cries our defiant dullard as he pulls out a bulging wad of bills from the pocket of his pants where it had been keeping close company to the significantly less bulging Little Shep (possibly also called Shep Jr.). And then doubling down (quite literally) he desperately drawls "I'll pay double!"

Stopped dead in her tracks our Kelly now is by a thought which strikes harder (and possibly deeper) than any mere hunters bullet ever-ever could and as if with the swift sharp intake of her breath all anger is instantly expunged from previously peeved peepers and, with equal speed, a now not only cunning but crafty and yes, I'll say it, quite graphically greedy look takes it's place in her unerring orbs which now slide quickly from the wound wad of wampum in young Shep's moist mitt to the endlessly dazzling object of her desire still flickering on her much adored monitor and then lastly falling upon the wad filled wand now observable by faintest outline in the slightly tenting trews of the still and ever young Shep.

"Tell you what" she then slyly and quite saucily says, cuing up as it were before then uttering forth "If you're that desperate, I can blow you" her yes not so stunning proposal (seriously, you didn't see that coming?) "B-b-but" replies the hemming hayseed "Y-your just the secretary."

With a now new kind of bound and determined deportment and dutifully backed by firmly furled fist fixed upon outragedly outhrust hip our heroine lays forth her reply "Listen buster, just because I don't do it for a living doesn't mean I don't know how to go down on a guy. I gave my first blowjob at my eighteenth birthday party and I've been sucking it steady ever since. Oh, and no, it wasn't a relative."

"Yeah b-but..." the babbling boyo blubbers.

"Yeah b-but what?" is her ripe rejoinder before then further professing "Listen, my boyfriends out of town and I haven't tasted a cock in over three days. If you want a frickin' blowjob well now's the time to get it." (ah, the pictures mystery man now made known)

"B-but won't your boyfriend mind?" gripes our now grimacing goof

"Listen, if he didn't want me sucking other guys dicks then he shouldn't leave me alone now should he?" our be-fittingly bedgrudged gal then growls in a furied and quite flippant fashion (she really is quite the girl this soon to be star of our sinful little show) before hurling forth her final fire-filled query "Listen, do you want this goddamn blowjob or not?"

A soundly struck speechless Shep now swiftly and surely nods his both fearful and full desperate reply

"Good" declares Kelly as she swiftly returns her purse to it's designated den and without glance of remorse or regret guiltlessly turns gilt framed photo face down and then, in a dictatorial (no pun intended) tone, bellows "Now put your money on the table and get over here." Pointing, as she does, to the center front edge of her desk.

Our lumbering lug plunks down the passel of pesos pronto and then swiftly shambles to his proscribed postion as Kelly again retakes her sweet swivelly seat only to push it then back (with the tips of her well attired toes) ten feet or so to the still just and resoundingly right offices not so far wall and then brings to a close this cute little caper with a quick and crisp crossing of her yes still quite captivating columns.

"Lean back" is her next whip-cracking command quickly followed by a hard-huffed "Hands on the table. No talking."

"Bu-bu-" is all that our hapless horndog can manage before being cut perilously short by the fierce

"Tch" hissed forth by our newly empowered potentate of peter eating and accompanied most threateningly by her stilleto straight warning finger.

But now as her damning digit slowly does drop an unheralded and yet not unpromising transformation overcomes our cunning and cross hearted clerk as if by the then sudden slow and sensual un-crossing of her long, lithesome (and quite lickable if I might add) legs our Kelly emerges from crusty chrysalis to adopt a new and less meaner demeanor as she now effuses both the ease and euphoria of an invigorated ingenue now most well and truly at home in her element (H2blow I would call it, if it didn't sound so damn silly) as she now prepares to partake of her other overarching and yes near overwhelming of passions (that of course being cock-sucking, for those of you have difficulty following).

In deliberate and dreamlike fashion she unfastens her hair bracing barrette only to then place its clip-clippy end quite firmly between finely burnished and prettily bared teeth. Giving her dirty blonde mane a sultrily shivering shake she then gathers a handful of tossed tresses from each side of her finely framed face only then to begin languidly coiling each lovely lock around twirling curling fingers (and in a most tantalizing fashion I might add) as she, and at the same time, slowly sinks from the swivelling chair down onto those same well practiced knees of which I earlier made notice.

Twining ever tighter in tardily teasing fashion her rather terrifically tamed tassels our new hatched butterfly of blowing now shuffles on said shapely yet sturdy knees in a steadily forward fashion with well topped toes tucked toward one another and trailing yes a tad torturously behind her (thus explaining that most mysterious scuffing as this is assuredly not the first time our penis puffing princess has performed this particular and well pleasing piece) with the couture classics encasing those precious little pigglies now clashing quite caustically with the cruelly crass carpeting below.

But, with a back as stiff and straight as well, you know what, and full bounciful breasts, like a bowsprit, outhrusten', our softly brazen beauty onward marches (as best as one can march on their knees) with limpid longing looks locked like limpet mines upon the large lump of man meat now so obviously inhabiting the tortured trousers of her intended target (still Shep) who with scarlet cast countenance following, if not even in fact feeling, the laser like heat of her gaze slowly lowers both his own eyes and jaw as he takes in the thinly veiled massif of the never so turgid tallywacker now overfilling his pants.

Coming to a halt before this heavily-breathing bumpkin our priceless (well, not exactly priceless) purveyor of pleasure now places both spun strands of the dirtiest blonde behind her soon to be busy head and then with benefit of barrette clips them back most effectively and fetchingly thus clearing her now earnestly erudite (if not quite mannerly) mouth for action.

And now we watch as our ever so accomplished courtesan de cock makes preparation for her soon to be practiced craft by gently stretching her heedful (a good warmup is always essential to success) head first left, then right and then following this action with a slow soft circular rolling of same head stretching the ever so necessary and needful neck muscles that make, well, at least part of the magic happen.

And yes do believe me when I say that magic is what you are about to see for not only does our down going diva possess both foresight and determination but also the further overawing accomplishments of unrivaled artistry, wondrous inspiration and yes, quite devilishly spine-chilling skill.

Now a quick pause if you please, a little side-bar as it were while I sidle over to the bar to refresh my drink and hopefully answer the question that some or at least one among you I hope are now most urgently asking at this particular and germane little juncture with that query of course being why such a gifted gobbler of nob, crackerjack cock-sucker and yes veritable doyenne of the deep-deep-throat would not make such overly described activity her prime and primary focus i.e.- her living, or, simplified, if she's so great at sucking cocks why is she the secretary?

Well aside of course from this fact so obviously better serving the needs of the story one can only conject that despite what is told and sold to some if not far too many of us in regards to 'following your passion', 'making a career of it', and 'yada-yada-yada', some of these many, in following such suggestion, do sadly find that should they indeed turn passion to profession all too quickly does the love of and for their art both wain and drain forcing me (and you yourself perhaps) to ponder whether the truest lovers of their craft are those who most wisely and in fact steadfastly retain their amateur-type status (well, most of the time anyways). At least that's my two cents on it, now back to the action