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Sensual Scenes: Patent Pumps

Black patent pumps on 5 inch spiked heels ... irresistible.
It really is incredibly hard to walk away from a pair of patent heels when you have been captured in their orbit. I can see them shimmering on the shelf; a half inch platform on the sole, a triangulated toe all fixed and severe and the narrowest of 5" heels with a brilliantly refective metal spike.

I am circling them, keeping them in the corner of my sight, pretending to myself that I haven't seen them, don't want them, haven't fallen in love with them already.

I will not. I will not. I will not imagine my delicately sheathed foot sliding into them. I will not just slip my toes in and feel the light pinch of leather squeezing them into their inhumane triangulation. I will not feel the gentle slide of fine nylon against its strangely arched footbed. I will not ease my heel in and slowly stroke the ankle strap as my flustered fingers seek to fix leather and metal into an unbreakable bond. I will not stand, uncertain like a new born calf finding its legs for the first time, slowly adjusting my weight until I find my perfect balance. I will not gaze down transfixed at the sheer beauty of these wondrous, gorgeous ... no, don't call them shoes, they are more than that ... to find my own face reflected back up to me.

How, how, how could my life be complete without these?

I take a step; small and tentative. Move cramped feet one in front of the other with perfect six inch gaps between toe and heel. My ankles moan, my arches trapped in mid air are helpless, all weight shifting forward onto my toes.

I tiptoe across the shop; calves taught, thighs extended, a tap of metal, a swish of nylon clad leg, the soft gentle pressure of my thighs caressing my swollen labia with every step as I allow my hips to find the rhythm of my feet and my bottom to wiggle beneath the second skin of my dress.

I reach the end of the walkway; wobble uncertain of how to turn, my legs jelly, my body flushed with excitement, the pressure spreading ever upwards through my delicate shaking legs to vibrate in the glowing furnace of my pussy.

Heat, vibrations, excitement. I turn ever so slowly. Inspect myself in the mirror provided as I rotate; admiring each subtly curved line from tiptoe to my perfectly coiffured hair. My dress, little more than a long vest really, hugs my skin from breast to mid thigh leaving nothing to the imagination. My breasts are bigger than they used to be and now there is a delicate swell to my upper body that balances out my pinched waist and the delicate flare of my hips, and as I stare I can't help but gaze upon my slight cleavage that is so joyously, excitingly new.

And my nipples; oh my gorgeous, beautiful, stiff nipples. Gone are the days when they would sink invisible into the soft flesh of my bosom. Now they awake stiff and needy, craving attention, demanding that I take a dampened finger and tease the dark, sensitised skin of my areolas until my stalk like nubs scream to be stroked, to be pinched, to be squeezed and twisted and tugged.

I can see them now, pushing fiercely at the fine cotton, elastane fabric; ripe cherries atop my cupcake breasts, displaying themselves for all the world to admire, announcing their undiminished desire, their insatiable lust, their overwhelming wanton need to be taken in a mouth ... any mouth ... and licked and sucked and nibbled until their burning sensitivity is consumed.

Moisture bubbles beneath my swollen labia, slickening my petal like lips, slowly forcing them to part as I keep my thighs pushed tightly together certain in the knowledge that whatever I do now will be insufficient and that it is only a matter of time before the pale,
naked skin atop the fine lace of my hold ups will be glistening with pussy juice snail trails as they slide down my inner thighs.

Back in the mirror I see hands smoothing down the fabric of my dress; running down my ribcage, pausing at the narrowness of my waist before slowly and sensuously stroking their way across my washboard stomach. I watch as the triangular swell of my pubis mons rises and falls beneath the stretched fabric, ogle as my fingers tease their way along my hip bones and then caress their way gently down to the swell of my hips.

Gradually I rotate myself through 130 degrees, my eyes fixed on the other me in the mirror. Marionette me mounted on beautifully glistening patent heels responds to my every little whim. She looks so delicate; the cruel, sharp spike of her shoes dazzle the eye at first
but above them lies a finely turned ankle lightly sheathed in the sheerest of sheer black hosiery. From the heel a fine noir seam undulates its way over toned calf, travels upwards to pass through the excessively sensitive valley behind the knee before rising once more to
slink its way over the soft forgiving flesh of her thigh until eventually disappearing beneath the fierce hem of her dress.

Finally I ogle her bottom; muscles taut from the extra stress of standing on tiptoe; each curve, each dip and each undulation made visible by the hugging caress of her dress. I admire the gentle curvature of her buttocks; neither the flat musculature of a boy nor
the fulsomeness of a big bottomed babe more a pair of twin hillocks rising gently out of the landscape of her lower back before falling once more to meet the top of her thighs. Between these twin hillocks lies a cleft that leads ... oh so well I know this ... through a darkened valley of delicate skin ever downwards until encountering the delicately pink puckered star of her anus and beyond that the gushing, cum soaked wetness of her gloriously inviting pussy.

A pulse of expectation resonates from my own dribbling pussy and my fingers fly to fulfil its desperate desire. I manage to stop them as they slide down the quivering swell of my pubis and instead use them to stroke invisible lint that seems to have collected on my thighs. I eye my perfect, patent pumps once more and convince myself that I need one more walk along the length of the store in order to decide whether I should take them home with me and love them forever.

Slowly, I turn away from the mirror and place my feet side by side. I wobble slightly and feel the vibrations travel through my quivering flesh to rest amongst the butterflies flapping frantically in my stomach. I count out the steps that will carry me to the far wall; fourteen perfect 6 inch gaps. I shut my eyelids and imagine the caress of a silk scarf binding my eyes. My breathing changes; my mouth falling slightly open, sharp little teeth visible between my peach coloured lips, a soft pant escaping between them.

I bring my right foot forward; my soaked thigh sliding gracefully across my now dripping labia. My left moves squeezing my sex together and causing its sepal like lips to caress the throbbing, hypersensitive, erect, nub of my clitoris. Everything shakes. Everything is motion. Everything is liquid. I plant down my right foot once more, spiked heel hits the firm floor sending tremors up my leg. Left foot and the heat contained within the furnace of my pussy explodes throughout my body. Right foot and I can feel that the liquid pearls trickling down the inside of my thighs are almost at my knees. Left foot and stars collect behind my firmly closed eyes. Right foot and my nipples abrade themselves against my dress as my free breasts bounce to the rhythm of my undulating bottom. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left Foot. Still.

I stand there a moment panting as my body shakes beneath me before slowly opening my eyes and allowing myself to return to the here and now. Collect myself. Look down once more at the viscously spiked, inhumanely triangulated and inappropriately foot arched shoes that adorn my feet ... they will be cruel masters and am I really willing to be their slave?

I find my sales advisor with my eyes and bid her approach. She looks at me uncertain yet expectant awaiting my decision as I wobble slightly unbalanced before her until finally, I manage to whisper, between soft almost inaudible pants:

"I'll take them."

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