“Hello. Namaste,” he said, his voice was accented with the clipped precise consonants that were so familiar from my parents and their friends. “Welcome to Sundara. My name is Rajit. How can I be of assistance?”

I could feel the cotton of my summer school dress brushing across my bare pussy and felt completely exposed, like I was standing on a mirrored floor. Here goes.

“Namaste,” I smiled back at him. “Sorry, but now you’ve exhausted my entire Hindi vocabulary.” Voe-cabb-you-lair-ree. Oh my God, I’m talking with my parents’ accent. What’s wrong with me?

“No, it is I who should be sorry,” he apologised. “This place, Sundara; it means beautiful and charming in Hindi, so I am very accustomed to serving beautiful Indian women.” He paused and looked away, realising he had just paid a brazen compliment. Looking back into my eyes with a bashful smile he said: “It is not the worst job I have ever had.” Oh, bravo, what a recovery! Aussie understatement from an Indian boy; I could feel Belinda beaming beside me. I was now positive she had scouted this store earlier.

I noticed that Rajit was actually a little taller than me; a nice change from peering down at Belinda all the time. I was surprised at how he set off the Indian mannerisms that I didn’t even know I had when I realised I had lowered my eyes and was watching him through my eyelashes. What was more surprising was that I liked the way it made me feel and I found myself smiling and flashing my eyes at him.

“I’m going to browse,” Belinda said softly, touching me on the hip with her fingertips as she stepped past and around Rajit. Once she was behind his back, she reached down and scratched the back of her thigh, lifting her dress to expose the smooth curve of her bare bottom to anyone watching, which of course was only me. I remembered why we here and felt another flush of adrenalin course through me, setting off tingles in my breasts and deep in my stomach.

I hadn’t said anything since Rajit’s lovely compliment and he seemed compelled to save me by continuing as if he was still finishing a thought. “Actually it is refreshing to serve Australian girls,” he said. As he was talking, I began walking towards a row of shoes but I kept eye contact so that he would come and browse with me. “They seem …” he paused to think of the word.

“Exotic?” I suggested. Goodness! Did I just say that?

He laughed as if I had made a joke rather than a fool of myself. “I was going to say that they seem less inclined to judge an Indian man who is not a doctor or an IT professional.”

I looked down and fingered a lovely black sling back so that he wouldn’t see the guilt on my face. I expected that he would judge me because I was Indian and instead I realised that in doing so I was judging him; not by his occupation but by his race. He was right though; many immigrant parents – not just Indians – push their children towards professions that they perceive as being more successful. It made me reflect; as progressive and Australian as my parents behave; I still have not discussed my career with them. They expect that I will go to university next year to study science or IT, but more and more I have been considering applying to the Australian Institute of Sport for a netball scholarship. And everybody says I should do modelling … what would my parents say about that?

“Rajit, can I ask a personal question?”

“Only if you tell me your name,” he said in deep tones that I was beginning to find very manly and attractive. “That way we won’t be strangers.”

I looked back up into his smiling eyes. “I’m Rupali,” I said, holding out my hand to shake.

He took my hand firmly but gently, his skin felt warm and soft and gave me a bit of a tingle. “The name Rupali also means ‘beautiful’,” he said, “although I’m sure you already knew that.”

I did. I thought he was going to say something cheesy like ‘a beautiful name for a beautiful girl’ – or worse – but he didn’t. “Now that we are introduced, Rupali, you may ask your personal question.”

I picked up a patent leather lace-up pump (laces are so, so sexy) and continued to browse as we talked.

“How did you explain your career to your parents?” I asked. “And how did they react?”

“I am sorry,” he laughed. “I have misled you; this is not my career. I completed a Bachelor of Science with a Physiology major last year and have enrolled for a Bachelor of Podiatry at the University of Sydney next year. I took a gap year to work in a shoe shop; here I will see more feet in twelve months than I will in twelve years of private practice, so I should get a very good idea of whether I want to devote my career to feet.”

I felt a little flood of warmth through my core; oh my goodness, a tall, handsome man with a double-degree, I’m such a snob to like him more because he is educated.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean …”

“No,” he smiled, holding up a hand. “Again there is no need for apologies.” Then changing the subject to save me again: “Those shoes are very beautiful,” he said, taking it from me. “Would you like to try them on? I believe they will suit you very well.”

“Um, OK,” I said. “Yes please.” I felt another surge of adrenalin as I remembered why I was here. I saw Belinda smile at me from across the store and give me two thumbs up.

“What size are you?” he said, looking down at my feet. “A ladies size eight?”

“That’s right!” I said, more impressed than I ought to have been at such a simple trick for someone with a good eye. “I take an eight-and-a-half in some shoes because the right foot is too snug; I think it’s a little bigger.”

“Let me get the Brannock and we’ll find out for sure,” he said, taking a few steps away and returning with one of those stainless steel foot measuring devices. “If you don’t mind Rupali, I will take the measurement standing,” he explained as he kneeled and placed what he called the Brannock beside my right foot. I was about to kick off my school sandals when he looked up at me (I wondered how much closer he would need to be to see up my dress), “May I help you with your sandals, Rupali?”

“Oh! Uh, sure.” I was a little bit charmed by his politeness and chivalry. Unbidden, a lightning flash image lit up in my head; lying naked beneath him in bed as he asked ‘May I put my cock in you now, Rupali’. I quickly raised a hand to my mouth to hide the smile and was glad that my complexion wouldn’t show me blushing.

He unbuckled my sandals and slipped them off my feet, his warm fingers working quickly and dextrously.

“I prefer to take a standing measurement because of the size difference you perceive,” he explained. “The foot changes shape, you see, when it is carrying weight. The metatarsals can splay,” he traced his fingers down the top of my foot showing me the bones he was talking about, “making the foot wider than when you are seated.”

“Now do you normally wear socks with your shoes?” he asked.

I looked down at the short, white socks that are part of our school uniform. The only other shoes I wear socks with are sports shoes.

“No,” I answered, my voice a little husky. A tingle ran through me as I anticipated what was coming next.

“May I,” he looked up at me again from his supplicant position.

I nodded and bent my knee, raising the heel off the floor in offering. I swallowed hard and hoped he couldn’t see my anticipation. God, I came in here with no panties on and now I was getting him to undress me! Who was in charge of this fantasy?

Using both hands, he slipped his index fingers under the sock in the hollow behind my ankle which – I didn’t realise until right then – turns out to be an erogenous zone for me. As he pushed down with his fingers, I levered my foot up by bending further at the knee and – as he slipped it over my heel and down past my toes – I belatedly realised with a breathless rush that my knee had lifted the hem of my school dress over his eyeline. I didn’t need to worry about him seeing the panicked look on my face any more; if he had looked up at that moment then all he would have seen was the pink, glistening folds of my pussy.

I was well on my way to becoming fully aroused; it was going to be a very uncomfortable walk back to school and I prayed that we got back in time for Belinda to relieve me before dinner.

While he removed my other sock, I paid more attention to the feeling of his fingertips behind my ankle, so warm and smooth and gentle. Kneeling directly in front of me with his hands around my ankle, I indulged a little fantasy where instead of pushing my sock down, he would stroke upwards, running those strong, smooth hands over my calf, around my knee and then under my dress and up the long muscles of my thigh where he would stop, teasing me, the tips of his fingers just millimetres from the baking entrance of my pussy. It was so vivid that I was almost surprised when he slid my sock down rather than up, but I repeated the same movement as before with my knee; deliberately this time, my pussy buzzing with anticipation and the hope that he would look up.

I reflected with a thrill that I was now technically naked from the waist down and I gave my hips a wiggle just to feel the cotton of my dress swish across my bare bottom.

Sadly Rajit had missed the show; he had folded my socks into a ball and poked then into one sandal. Opening the jaws of the Brannock, he paused for a moment and then looked up at my face. I realised with dull shame that I was waiting for him to touch me again; to pick up my foot and place it in the device, while he was quite rightly waiting for me to do it myself … which I did, a few seconds too late for it not to be embarrassing.

The steel device was cold and hard after the warm, sensuous touch of his hands, but he worked quickly and expertly and had both feet in and out of it in what felt like just a few seconds.

“It is as I suspected,” he said, standing up and looking at my eyes again. “The good news is that your feet are the same length.”

“That does sound like good news,” I smiled.

“I would be surprised if they were not,” he said. “The symmetry of your body and your face is quite perfect, so a difference in bone growth in your feet could really only be caused by a childhood injury; but that seems not to be the case.”

Blush! Did he just call my body perfect? I beamed and swished my dress again and caught a glimpse of Belinda impatiently pretending to look at a non-existent watch and then at me.

“The bad news,” he continued, “is that your right arch is slightly fallen.”

“Oh!” I said. “What should I do?”

“Well, I’m not supposed to say this,” he said quietly, “but I recommend you consult a qualified podiatrist and get a set of orthotic inserts for your shoes.”

That seemed like sound advice. “Why shouldn’t you tell me that?” I asked. As he was talking, Rajit picked out a box containing the lace-up pumps in my size and led me over to a low bench where I could sit; hands in my lap and knees together for the moment.

“This store stocks a range of shoe inserts that are supposed to correct such problems,” he explained. “But they are a ‘one size fits all’ solution to a more complex problem that affects the health of customers’ feet. I will share a secret with you,” he looked around conspiratorially and I felt another warm flush of endorphins, “I sometimes pay for one myself so that the owner does not detect that I am not selling them.”

Rajit ‘assumed the position’ kneeling in front of me and Belinda quickly circled around the store so that she could see me as he unwrapped the shoes and loosened the laces. “Right foot, please Rupali.”

I lifted my foot and pointed my toes for him; straight at his groin, I noticed. Is that Freudian? He slipped it gently onto my foot, touching me all over – especially around my new erogenous zone behind the ankle – and sending shivers up my calf. Taking care not to pinch with the laces against my bare skin, he tied it in a perfectly symmetrical bow and then reached for the other shoe.

I saw Belinda looking at me meaningfully from two rows across with a hand under her dress. Was she stroking herself or just encouraging me? Probably both; and it was working! I pointed my left foot for Rajit to slip on the other shoe and placed it back on the floor with my knees a little further apart than was considered modest; although not so wide that he could see my pussy. Yet! I wanted to plant the idea in his head that I was careless with my modesty and that if he was vigilant then he might be rewarded with a glimpse of my panties.

As he completed the knot – a perfect clone of the other one – I noticed with a delicious shiver that his eyes did indeed linger on their way back up to my face. I was overjoyed at the success; I was initially afraid that he was just too perfect a gentleman to be true, but it turns out there was a goodly dose of man in there as well. I felt myself getting wetter and I was concerned – incongruously so, considering what I was planning – that I would leave a mark on the seat of my dress that he would see.

As Rajit got up, I grasped the edge of the bench and drew my legs in to stand up. Between the low seat, the heels and my long legs; my knees were raised too high and my dress slid all the way down my thighs and pooled in my lap. It would have been fine if it had been intentional, but instinct took over and I yelped with surprise, clutching at my hem to cover my pussy. I heard Belinda gasp from two rows away, so clearly she had gotten the money shot, but I thought that with Rajit in the process of standing and the way the dress bunched in my lap, maybe it was just sexy rather than obscene.

Holding my hem down with one hand, I looked up at Rajit through my eyelashes to see his reaction; he simply smiled and offered me his hand to help stand up, which I accepted and then held for a few seconds as I thanked him.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

For one panicked moment I thought he was talking about my very obvious state of arousal; then I saw him look at the shoes and realised my mistake just in time before I said something else stupid.

“Yes,” I said. “The right one does feel a little tighter.”

“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I would like to show you something.”

Oh my God! Did my eyes just flick down to his cock? I’m such as slut.

“Of course,” I said, clearing my throat a bit. “What is it?”

“I’m not going to sell this to you,” he explained, retrieving some translucent shoe inserts from a box beneath the counter, “but I want you to see what the shoes would feel like with orthotics.”

I thought orthotics were only for closed shoes, but these ones were a narrow shape that would fit nicely in the pumps without hanging over the edge.

Sitting down again, he quickly unlaced the shoes and replaced them with a pair half a size larger containing the inserts. “Now the left one is just a cushioned insole,” he explained, “but the right is one of those corrective inserts I mentioned. I don’t recommend it, but it will hold your foot to roughly the correct shape.”

With my knees slightly apart again, I was delighted to catch him stealing frequent glances as he fitted and tied the new pumps, once again knotting the sexy laces into perfect bows. Standing up when he was done, he offered me his hand again, which of course I accepted.

“Is that different,” he asked.

“They both feel the right size now,” I said, “but the right one feels …”

“Lumpy?”

“Yes!” I giggled. “I was searching for a better adjective, but ‘lumpy’ describes it perfectly.”

“That is because the insert is re-shaping your arch,” he explained, showing me with his hand how the foot bends over the insert. “May I try something else?” he asked, gesturing for me to sit down again, which I did, taking care to hold onto my hem.

He removed the right shoe and then, taking my right foot in both hands, he rested it against his thigh, explaining that he was going to massage it to loosen the ligaments, which would mimic what my foot would be like after walking on the insert for a while. I felt another nervous flutter wondering where a sensual massage might lead. With his palms on top of my foot, he closed his strong fingers underneath and pressed gently into my arch.

“Oop!” I squeaked, stealing my foot back. “That tickles.”

“I apologise,” he said, holding out his hands. “I will take more care.”

Ignoring his offered hands, I put my foot back on his thigh much higher than he had placed it before and my breath caught as I felt something move against my big toe. Oh my God, I had made him hard already! I was so tempted to stroke him with my foot, but I resisted and instead pressed firmly down to let him know that my foot was staying right where it was.

As he closed his fingers around my foot again, moving slowly and more firmly to avoid tickling me, I could see his eyelashes flicking upwards as he stole glances at my legs. Even though I had them together, the one resting on his leg was raised much higher and he could easily see all the way down the back of my thigh to my bottom.

Having desensitised my foot, he began massaging much more thoroughly, working his strong fingers down and between the long bones in my foot, warming up and stretching the muscles.

“Oh, that feels wonderful,” I groaned. “You have such strong hands.” What the fuck? I sound like my own B-grade porno fantasy. I leaned back against the wall and watched Rajit work his magic on my foot; at the same time checking for telltale movements in his crotch.

Another movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye. It was Belinda; she was still in the same place watching us, but now she was lifting her dress so that I could see her pussy. I nearly jumped when I realised that what I thought were the open, pink folds of her pussy, was in fact the pink saddle-shaped head of Ike; one half of Ike and Mike, our radio-linked vibrating plugs. Sneaky cow! She must have slipped it in back at the dorm. She was going to buzz herself to a climax here in the store and leave me high and dry… OK, well … not so dry, I guess.

I watched jealously as she pinched the base and began sliding Ike out of her pussy. Ike and Mike are shaped like bowling pins (thankfully much smaller); they have a narrow throat behind the saddle base and then widen out to about an inch diameter before tapering to a bullet nose at the tip. As she drew Ike out, I could see her tight inner lips clinging to its smooth barrel, as if reluctant to release it from their hot embrace. Belinda slowly fucked herself with the vibrator while with the other hand she held her dress up and lovingly fingered her clitoris, holding herself open so that I could see how hot and engorged she was.

It felt like I was burning up. All I wanted to do was to reach under my dress and finger myself, but I couldn’t. Leaning my head back against the wall, I closed my eyes and moaned softly; for the pleasure of Rajit’s warm touch on my foot, for the feeling of his hard cock twitching against my toe, and for the frustration and jealousy of Belinda masturbating in front of me.

With eyes closed and heart racing, I realised that the time had come.

I opened my legs wider and – just holding one side of my dress – I allowed the other side to slide down my raised leg and pool in my lap. Unable to look, I waited for some type of feedback from Rajit to tell me that he could see me. After five seconds I felt no change, was he not watching? I was breathing in shallow gasps; I had to let him know how hot I was so I gave some voice to the pleasure that was filling my senses: “Oh, oh, mmmm.”

I felt a jolt through Rajit’s grip as he jumped. Bingo! We have a winner. Time for a reward: “Oh, that feels so nice,” I breathed. “Please don’t stop!” Then it was my turn for a reward when I felt the hard surge of his cock as he flexed it, pressing insistently against my toes. “Mmmm, yes,” I husked, a smile pricking at the corners of my mouth.

With my head back and eyes closed, I hoped he was taking the opportunity for a long, hot look at my soaking slit; and if so, I needed to give him some warning so that I didn’t catch him staring. “Oh, that was lovely,” I said softly, moving my knees back together to block his view before I opened my eyes. “Thank you so much.”

“Not at all, Rupali,” he said. “Truly it was my pleasure.” I bet it was. I sat up straight and smoothed my school dress down over my thighs again while he put the shoe back on.

He helped me up again and I gasped in surprise and wonder. “They feel exactly the same now!” I gave him my biggest smile.

“Try walking in them,” he suggested.

I walked away from him between the racks, swinging my bottom slowly from side to side. At the end of the aisle I bent over with my legs straight and pretended to fuss with the laces, allowing my dress to ride up and cling around my bottom. I knew it wouldn’t ride up far enough to show my pussy, but he didn’t and I knew he would be watching closely.

I straightened up, turned around and walked back, holding his gaze with my eyes; loving the way the heels pushed my bum in and my breasts out, almost daring him to look down and admire them.

“How do you get the bows so perfect?” I asked.

“Aha!” he said. “It is a simple secret. Show me first how you tie them.”

I looked at him, returning his smile and wondering what he was doing. Sitting again, I leaned down to tie the lace, but my long hair, which I had taken out of its pony tail after school, flopped forwards in my face. I reached back, gathered it into one hand and then saw an opportunity.

“Would you hold this for me, please Rajit?” I smiled.

I know boys like my hair; it’s long and glossy and hangs in wavy black locks. I knew he would welcome the opportunity to touch it and feel the silky texture, but he would also have to reach behind me, and lean down with me, bringing our faces closer together. As I made the bow, I looked up into his eyes, little more than a foot away from mine. “Did I do it right?” I asked, evening out the loops.

Unlike his bow, mine hung vertically, one loop sitting high and the other low, spoiling the beauty of the shoes.

“Not quite,” he said. “Start again and I will show you.”

I pulled the knot open and untied the starting knot.

“Now slowly,” he said as I began to re-tie the starting knot, “and stop! Tie that left-over-right instead of right-over-left.”

“Um, I don’t understand,” I said.

He draped my hair over one shoulder and released it, and then leaning further down until our cheeks were almost touching, he closed his large hands around mine and swapped their positions so that the left lace overlaid the right one.

“There,” he said, “left over right.” I could smell his cologne, spicy and sensual, and it made my heart race yet again.

“Oh, I see,” I breathed. With his lips so close to mine, I wanted to kiss, but instead I pretended to flick my hair out of the way and grazed my temple against his in a cat-like fashion.

I completed the bow and evened up the loops and … it was perfect! I sat up and gave him my sunniest smile. “How did you do that?”

“You were making what is called a Granny Knot,” he explained. “You used right-over-left for both the starting knot and the bow. Whichever way you do the bow, you need to do the starting knot the other way. It makes the bow sit straight and it does not come undone so easily, either.”

“Thank you so much,” I said, the gratitude I felt seemed out of proportion to his assistance, but I love lace-up and ankle strap shoes with bows so much and I’m so disappointed at how they look when I wear them with crooked bows. Looking down at my beautiful shoes, I felt about as sexy as a girl with no panties on can feel in a baggy school dress.

“Belinda! Come tell me what you think,” I called. In a panic, she quickly slid the plug home in her pussy and dropped her hem before Rajit could turn around. Looking a little rosy in the cheeks, she came around to my aisle and caught my eye, silently admonishing me for spoiling her private toying session – something for which I felt absolutely no guilt at all.

I gave my hips another twirl, flaring my dress out as Belinda inspected the shoes. “Wow!” she said. “Very sexy shoes, Roops. But I saw some boots you might like.”

She went over to the boots and picked up a thigh-length leather boot with a platform, an enormous heel and – you guessed it – laces. She held it up against her body and stroked the leather, smiling at me with a pleading look in her eyes. I didn’t need her to sell the idea; they were the sexiest footwear I think I’ve ever seen.

Trying to keep the excitement out of my voice, I asked: “What do you think, Rajit? Would they look nice on me?”

“Well, long boots are especially suited to long legs,” he said, “so I believe that they would look very attractive indeed. However those heels are six inches and the platform is two inches, so I hope your date is over six-foot-six.”

I didn’t even know any boys that tall, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t seriously going to buy them, I just wanted to put them on and have Rajit lace me up.

“Then I guess my first stop with them will be a basketball game,” I joked. “Can I try them on anyway?”

“Of course,” he said, searching for a box in my size and then returning with it to my seat.

I quickly untied the pumps and slipped them off; I was so anxious for Rajit to start strapping me in to those sexy boots, I didn’t even think about letting him take the other shoes off. Starting with the left one, he loosened the laces and held the mouth of the boot open for me. I lifted my knee much higher that was necessary, ostensibly looking at the boot but watching his eyes in my peripheral vision and sure enough, as soon as my hem passed his eye line, his eyes flicked from the boot up to my pussy.

I was now steaming hot and wide open and I felt like he could see all the way in to my molten core. My clitoris was aching to be touched, so I don’t doubt that he could see it in all of its flaming glory. As I pushed into the boot, I conspired to make it more difficult than it really was; wriggling my hips and opening my legs wider so that he could see not just my pink centre but also the soft curves of my shaved labia and the small triangle of pubic hair that I wax on my mons pubis.

All too soon my leg was deep inside the boot and my pussy was hidden from sight once again. In what I hoped was anxiousness to see my engorged sex once again, Rajit fitted the other boot before lacing the first one. If anything, I made this one more of a difficult task; wriggling and pushing and opening my legs as before, but this time releasing my hem to hold the bench as I pushed into the boot, allowing the overhead lights to glint off my shining slit as I twisted and pushed my foot deeper into the sexy leather boot.

Finally both of them were on. My shallow breathing had degenerated to little more than panting; it was no longer enough for me to see him stealing glimpses at my incandescent womanhood; I needed him to touch me, to part my aching lips with his fingers, his tongue, his cock; hell, all three at once if he could manage it. I was well beyond the point of pulling down my hem and just left it pooled in my lap. With both feet on the floor again, I couldn’t tell whether he could see me or not, but he had almost given up just glancing at my sex and was openly staring as I continued to hold my legs open for him, panting and almost moaning with primal need while he tightened the laces.

~~~
Eventually he had both of them laced up to my thighs with perfect bows once again and I had to wait until he moved back and stood up before I accepted the frustrating truth that he wasn’t going to reach in and stroke my poor, engorged clitoris.

“Be careful now Rupali,” he said, trying to hide the breathless excitement in his voice. “Those heels are very tricky if you are not used to them.”

I folded my legs underneath me, making no effort to hold my hem even though – between the high heels and my long legs – my naked thighs were pointing almost straight up. Once again I took his hand to stand up and … Oh. My. Goodness! Belinda may be the Queen of Hot but I was the Goddess; at six foot seven I now towered over Rajit and my lovely little Belinda was only as tall as my belly-button. My aching pussy could think of several good uses for someone at her level.

I was grinning like the Cheshire Cat as I did a slow turn, letting them bask in my magnificence while being careful not trip and fall on the enormous heels.

“So what do you think?” I asked, waiting for the praise and superlatives to begin spilling from their mouths.

Belinda was covering a smile with one hand. “Um, take a look in the mirror, Roops,” she said.

I turned again and found the mirror, deflating like an old balloon at what I saw; the sexy bows at the top those gorgeous, sensuous boots were covered by the shapeless sack of my school dress. I was a mess of mixed messages; long, tight, laced leather boots exposing and accentuating the shape of my legs, but the soft womanly curves of my thighs, hips and breasts were lost in the decidedly unsexy square-cut pin-stripes of my school uniform.

“Wait a minute,” Belinda said, rushing over to the sales counter. “I have an idea.” She came back brandishing a large office stapler and an even bigger smile. “Two minute makeover,” she said, approaching me with the stapler.

“Oh, Blinny, I don’t kn…”

“Who’s the Queen, Rupali?”

Sigh. “You’re the Queen, Belinda.”

“Who are you?”

“Your obedient servent.”

“You are going to let me do this.” Statement; not a question.

“Could I stop you if I wanted to?” I asked, a smile creeping back onto my face.

“Probably not, no,” she giggled and then got to work.

First she folded the short sleeves inwards to make the dress sleeveless and then – working down each side from under my arms – she used the stapler to take in the bodice until it stretched tightly over my C-cups and flat stomach. Turning her attention to the skirt, she took in and stapled a huge amount of fabric, turning it from a modest shift into a slinky tube dress that clung to my hips and thighs. Finally, she stapled the hem so high I wouldn’t be able to sit down again without showing my pussy, which at this point was fine by me.

“OK,” she said. “Look now.”

I turned to the mirror again and gasped; as rough a job as Belinda had done – with the hem crooked and puckers up and down the stapled sections – I looked every bit the goddess that the boots made me feel. I shook my hair forward over one shoulder to frame my breasts, which were now smooth and proud, straining the buttons down the front. The long boots now finished well below the hem and the sexy bows drew the eyes upwards to at least eight inches of trim, brown thighs, with the hem now finishing just two or three inches below the soaking, open entrance of my pussy.

I didn’t know what to say. “What do you think, Rajit?” I asked, turning to face him so that he could see the whole thing front on. I held my arms out and did a slow turn; the dress rode up a little and as I turned past the mirror I glimpsed the tips of my smooth pussy lips peeking out before quickly lowering my arms and pulling the hem back down.

“You look… amazing,” he husked, his eyes drinking in the sexy boots and my newly revealed curves. The bulge of his cock was now clearly visible in his trousers and it gave a startling jump as I beamed at him, wiggling my hips and clasping hands between my breasts, clearly flattered by the very welcome attention.

“You should get a photo before you rip out all those staples and ruin my handiwork,” Belinda said.

“Good idea,” I agreed, still watching Rajit watching me and feeling like a super model; albeit a super-model in a stapled up school dress and long, lace-up, come-fuck-me boots.

Walking back to my bag to get my phone out for a photo, I gave Rajit the catwalk treatment; one hand on the curve of my hip, swinging my bottom and crossing my feet over with each stride. It was an awkward feat in six-inch heels and inevitably the whole thing went tits-up (literally) when I clipped one the platform of one boot with the heel of the other crossing them over too early. I tried to recover but I was already falling forwards when my heel caught on the carpet and I went flying. Ever the gentleman hero, Rajit jumped forwards to catch me and managed to hook one arm around my waist, dragging my new mini up to my hips as he saved me from a nasty spill. I still didn’t have my feet under me though and as he took my full weight, I felt his other hand close for a delicious moment on my bare bottom as I drove him back and he tried to hold me up.

I almost had my balance again when Rajit stumbled over my sandals and went flying himself; abandoning me and throwing his hands back to break his own fall. Still stumbling, I had one last chance to get a foot under me; in super slow-mo I saw my long, sexy boot coming up and – calculating where I needed to land it to regain my balance – I realised with horror that it would place the six inch spike heel with all of my weight behind it square in Rajit’s bulging manhood.

I probably should have just accepted my fate and spilled on top of him; with luck my naked pussy might have landed on his erection, giving us both a brief thrill from which we could quickly recover our composure if I could get my dress back down over my bottom. Instead, I tried to step to the side, narrowly avoiding impaling Rajit, but it had the unwelcome result of throwing me in the opposite direction. I got the other leg high enough to clear his body and land it in clear space on his other side, but my last chance was long gone and I was definitely going down.

Getting my feet underneath me was a lost cause; I was now in damage control, trying to land on all-fours rather than doing a complete face-plant, which at my augmented height of six foot seven could have been quite painful. Down I went; clearing Rajit’s head with my hands but not with my legs, I congratulated myself on missing his shoulders with my knees even though it nearly cost me a face full of carpet.

Finally safe on hands and knees, I realised with horror that Rajit’s face was between my thighs with my dress hiked up to my hips and my naked, open pussy inches above his nose. What I should have done was kick my legs and jump off him, pulling down my dress and apologising; but part of me – the horny, yearning part that demanded sexual release – took control and I stayed poised over his face, pushing back with my hands so that I could crouch on my knees and wait to see what he did.

Moving my pussy back a bit so that I could see his face, I realised that the glistening sheen covering his chin, his lips and the base of his nose was my pussy juices. Holy fuck! I must have snail-trailed him as I went down.

For a few seconds, neither of us moved and neither of us said a word; not with our lips, anyway. My eyes were telling him ‘You first’, and his were telling me the same thing.

“I’ll get the door,” Belinda said, breaking the silence and stepped away to lock up the store.

Still watching Rajit, I was about to get up when the apprehensive look on his face melted and he licked my juices from his lips. That was all I needed; with my heart in my throat, I lowered my throbbing, aching, engorged pussy to his lips, as if kissing him. He kissed me for real; opening his lips to match mine, sucking gently on my opening to tease out my pink inner folds and tickling the tips of my labia with his tongue.

After the frustration of all that peeking and sneaking, the gentle touch on my pussy felt like I’d just attached jumper cables to my twat; bolts of pure sensation coursed through my core making every muscle down there clench. With my back arched and head thrown back so far that cords stood out on my neck and my long raven hair trailing over his hard abdomen, I let out a low guttural cry of passion as he entered me with his tongue; parting my delicate pink lips and forcing me open; just a little at first with the point, then wider and wider, flicking and licking and exploring me with the tip as he slowly drove deeper and deeper inside.

Belinda locked the door and turned off the fluorescent lights, but the spring sunshine outside the display window meant we weren’t in darkness and were hidden from the street by only one rack of shoes. Anyone taking a good look would see what was happening, but who looks past the window display into a closed store anyway? No-one… I hoped.

Belinda was barely on her way back to us when I felt that familiar, irresistible pressure building inside me. I couldn’t believe it – I usually have to work so hard to come (well, Belinda does most of the heavy lifting) – but Rajit had barely got his tongue into me and I was about to explode. I’m so glad I’m not a boy; as a girl, it’s considered good form to come quickly provided you can back it up and come again when he does.

“Oh fuck,” I cried through clenched teeth, twining my fingers into Rajit’s short hair and pushing him deeper, “I’m coming!” That was really dirty talk for me; I like taking and I like fucking, but I’m a one-at-a-time kind of girl; I don’t usually give much more than a ‘Please’ or a ‘Yes’ and Belinda is much the same, such is the life of sex in a dorm room with thin walls. Rajit seemed to like it though; he vocalised something into my pussy and redoubled his efforts, grinding his nose into my clitoris and straining deeper, flexing his tongue thick and thin as he licked and probed the walls of my love canal.

I have no idea what he was saying, maybe it was nothing, but the feeling was electric; his voice vibrated his nose and lips and those vibrations passed straight into my clit and pussy lips. The mounting heat inside me suddenly went volcanic and I was coming; bucking against his face and crying out for him to scream, yell, … recite the fucking St Crispin’s Day speech from Henry V for all I cared, but just keep doing that to my pussy while I fucked his face and came in his mouth.

After the first spasms had passed and I slipped into that long tingly descent from climax, I loosened my hold on his hair and let him get some oxygen, slowly grinding and pumping my hips against his lips and tongue, whispering ‘Oh God, thank you’ and other such, which is the usual limit of my sexy talk.

I was ready to lie back for a well earned rest, but I knew Belinda would have other plans … and I suppose I owed Rajit a pretty vigorous cock sucking as well. Still kneeling over his face and catching my breath, I watched with curiosity as Belinda fished in her tote bag and pulled out what at first I thought was some kind of weird fusion cross between nunchucks and a boomerang.

She had brought it out upside down and once I mentally reoriented it, I felt another delicious flood of adrenaline hit and send my heart racing; it was the strapless strap-on dildo that her mystery man made for me.