‘I want you to take your panties off right now.’

Luckily for my husband, the text message had a couple of smiley faces, or I’d have ripped him a new one. He may be the man of the house, but it’s my house; I run it. Mike’s status as breadwinner and husband did not give him authority over my behavior. Of course, I wasn’t even at home; Allison and I were out shopping, using Mike’s credit card. 

Since Ginger was driving her sporty car, I could easily slide them off. They were soaked anyway.

‘Who said I bothered wearing them?’ I responded.

“What are you giggling about?” my friend inquired.

“My perverted husband. All he wants is for me to be a slutty whore and tell him about it.”

“Lucky you. Ben’s only like that when he’s horny.”

“But he’s a man,” I chortled. “Always horny.”

“High five on the horn dogs, sista!”

The night we spent together was incredible on many levels. Not only did I feel satisfied, but we’d grown even closer, negating all my trepidation about it souring our friendship. To me, it seemed like Allison held herself in reserve, not wanting to show her true essence to anyone. Whatever reservations she had about baring herself seemed to have dissipated when our lips locked for the first time. Now, we were the best of friends.

“Just so you know,” she had told me as we went to sleep that night. “The sex is always optional—preferred, but optional. No matter what, we’re friends first.” I gave my emotional state a surprise inspection, and I realized that I felt the same way. I couldn’t be a casual lover with somebody I didn’t also cherish as a friend.

We pulled into one of the classiest shoe stores in the area. Nestled in one of those pretentious strip malls that hover near the outskirts of affluent neighborhoods, this one was pristine and still had actual shoe salespeople. The interior was so lush that it reminded me of a jewelry store, only it sold designer footwear. 

I was decked out as a good wife should be. My dress was short, but not scandalously so. It was over my knees but not slutty. The dark fabric with geometric designs in lavender and cream looked darling, and the slightly flared skirt allowed me to show off my charms without drawing unwanted attention to myself. I was looking amazingly sexy, but not whorish.

Ginger adopted her usual sex-kitten attire. Her mid-thigh, pencil skirt, with a sultry, whore-adjacent slit running up one side, looked both cute and slutty. The deep purple skirt perfectly matched the hues of the graphics on her obviously new T-shirt. It was black and feminine cut, and her breasts distorted the unicorn picture; the purplish background abstracts curled around the contours of her store-bought tits.

“Well, if you’re not wearing panties, I won’t, either!”

“But, Ginger, your skirt’s so short.”

“I know,” she laughed, adopting her horny-vixen expression. Her nipples sprung out, growing taut as she spoke. “That’s the idea. I’m feeling naughty.”

“You fucking slut!”

“Cam whore,” she corrected. “Oh, and Influencer.”

The store, Elegant Soles, was mostly empty. Other than a man in a business suit, looking at loafers, and a middle-aged, wealthy woman, Allison and I were the only other customers. Unlike most shoe stores, only one of each type that they sold was displayed. This gave the stylish store an orderly and clean look, with the lavish carpets and blue-tinted lighting giving the entire establishment a classy vibe.

“May I help you ladies?” a kindly, masculine voice inquired. We’d only entered a minute or two previously, but the store had a reputation for excellent customer service.

Ginger and I were commenting on a strappy, high-heeled shoe, talking about whether Mary Jane, her alter-ego, would trip in them. Already somewhat giddy, smiles on our faces, we turned.

“Oh, yummy!” Allison shamelessly exclaimed. I would have chided her had her words not echoed my thoughts.

The man in front of us was in his late twenties, and he was simultaneously boyish and devastatingly sexy. Physically, he was exactly the type of man who made a woman’s pussy heat up and flow like molten lava. My hungry cunt proved that by exploding in fiery fury. I was worried my nectar would drip down my thighs and embarrass me.

According to his stylish name tag, lush black with gold letters, his name was Jackson. He towered over the both of us; my eyes first saw his manly chest, looking dapper in his tailored button-down. Sinewy muscles rippled beneath the shirt, and, with the way he had his sleeves rolled up, his muscular, veiny forearms evoked instant fantasies of him manhandling me, bending me over the nearby ladies' boots display, and cramming his hard cock deep into my now-saturated cunt.

Perfectly styled, light brown hair topped his boyish but handsome face. His pronounced cheekbones and symmetrical features gave him a healthy look of strength and vitality. Had it not been for his dark brown, doe-like eyes and shy expression, he could have been an action-hero movie star. 

I lowered my gaze, my eyes drinking in the sight of his narrow waist and muscular legs, despite his slightly loose, pleated, black dress pants. His look, down to his perfectly polished black shoes and purple paisley tie, was both chic and stylish. Jackson’s body language, however, was timid, as if he were intimidated by two women.

“I’m looking for some pumps,” Ginger began. Knowing her as well as I did, I could tell that she’d adopted her cam-girl, slutty-flirt personality. To me, it was funny; Allison’s slut personality was simply herself, although she told me that it was very different. “Something with spike heels that will go with a short, very feminine dress.”

Allison caught my stare and gave me a wink as she spoke. She was slowly rocking her shoulders back and forth and jutting her ample tits out toward him. She knew what she was doing. I involuntarily giggled when Jackson’s cheeks flushed at the sight of my friend. When she struck the “fuck me pose,” I had to turn away and pretend to be intensely interested in an ugly sandal.

Ginger stood, twirling a random lock of hair with her hips lunging forward and to one side, tits out, legs slightly spread to show them off, and her head tilted slightly downward as she stared up at him. Then, in addition to her “I want you to ravage my sex” body language, she abruptly swung her hips to the other side. This caused the slit of her scandalous skirt to gape open, exposing her shapely thigh almost up to her hip, and her boobs bounced enticingly.

“Umm, ah, err... what color?” Jackson stuttered.

“Black or neutral should do, so long as they have long heels. None of those little, tiny ones; I like them big.” She stared directly at his crotch and licked her lower lip. 

“Uh, umm. Follow me.”

“Nice buns, huh?” she whispered to me as we followed. I just shook my head.

“And you, ma’am?” Jackson addressed me.

“Also pumps, in black, medium heels, though. Something a little casual but still stylish.”

The high-heeled shoe area was artfully arranged. A deeper shade of lush, blue carpet was laid out in a large circle, surrounded by multi-tiered pedestals, each protrusion displaying a designer shoe. It reminded me more of an art gallery display than a shoe merchant’s wares. In the center of the circle, four soft, plush chairs of pinkish velvet were arranged, all facing inward. In the middle of the smaller circle of lady thrones was a mirrored footrest with a sizing tool hanging off the back.

“Please take a seat, ladies,” our flustered servant stuttered. "Would the ladies care for a glass of fine champagne?"

“We would, Jackson,” Allison sang out seductively. She’d given me that same look of sexual hunger the night before.

I sat slowly and ladylike, as any good wife would. Ginger, on the other hand, plopped down in the seat directly opposite to me, her large breasts bouncing twice.

“Classy store,” she mused as we watched Jackson’s taut behind heading to the serving station. “I’m used to serve-yourself, discount outlets.”

“Trust me,” I smiled back. “Buying cheap clothing is false economy. If you’re planning on being in heels for a long time, you need to splurge. Designer clothing is like...”

"Marketing!" Allison interrupted, smiling at me and sticking out her tongue. “I know, Mrs. Cleaver. I got that lecture already. Was I too hard on the beaver last night, June Cleaver?”

“Ginger, stop! Behave.”

“This is how I behave, and you love it, Mary Anne. Maybe I need a new character to play. After last night, you’ve proven that you’re the real Mary Jane.”

My retort died in my throat as Jackson arrived, bearing two tall flutes of bubbly. “Compliments of the house,” he smiled. His demeanor was professional, but his eyes were roving all over the two of us.

He stooped over to grab the foot-sizer from its hook, his arms muscles flexing and his pants tightening around his sexy behind. “If the ladies would kindly remove their footwear.”

I demurely slipped mine off, and Allison shoved her shoes off her feet with her toes.

Turning to my redheaded friend, Jackson said, “If I may have one of your feet?”

“Oh, just reach and grab anything you want, Jack.”

I rolled my eyes at her while she smirked and winked at me. Then, my bemused expression turned to one of shock. Completely aware of her actions, Ginger didn’t just extend her leg. Instead of extending her foot, she spread her thighs a strategic distance apart; they were close enough together that the move didn’t seem obvious or intentional, but far enough apart that the kneeling Jackson, his eyes at the same level, had a closeup view of her nude pussy. Even from the eight or so feet away that I was seated, I could clearly see her swollen pussy lips and clitoral hood peeking out.

The expression on her face looked as if she were overcome with horny desire. For a moment, I believed that she was going to grab his light brown, perfectly-coiffed hair and pull his face to her cunt. Her cheeks flushed nearly as red as her dyed hair, and Allison was repeatedly raking her lower lip against her cheek. As she glanced down at him, frozen in place as he was, her nipples became fully erect and distorted the poor unicorn on her T-shirt even further.

“Do you like my pedicure, Jackson?” she asked. Ginger wiggled her toes, twirling her foot around in little circles. This caused her skirt, whose hem was already in the danger zone, to rise on her thighs every time her foot rose.

Jackson gulped down a swallow. “Yes, Missus... um, very, very nice.”

“Ginger,” she replied in a husky, sultry voice. “Miss Ginger.”

My jaw dropped open. My friend and new lover had just lied to him. She gave a wink and a sexy smile, then continued to torture the salesman. I was enthralled, and my pussy was drenched. Her slutty activity also gave me more ideas about the next job we could place Susan’s persona in.

“Ummm, size seven regular,” the salesman said. Both his voice and his hands shook.

“Your turn, Mary Jane,” Ginger teased. “Show us what you’ve got!”

I was going to correct her, but she shimmied her shoulders back and forth, tilting her head in the opposite direction with each sway. It was a fun, mocking challenge.

“Okay, Miss Mary Jane,” Jackson said. “Let’s get you sized.”

“Actually, it’s Missus Mary Anne. Tom Petty was just playing on the radio; my embarrassing friend was just teasing.”

Jackson looked very uncomfortable. He was mildly sweating, his face was beet red, and he was sprouting an ever-growing lump in the groin of his pants. He dragged the footstool across the carpet, as if angry at it, and then held out the foot sizer.

“So, is it Jackson, like your name tag says, or just Jack?” I said to fill the silence.

My words also covered my maneuver. As I spoke to him, drawing his eyes up over my cleavage and into my eyes, I practiced some casual flashing of my own. Rather than rest my foot on the low footstool, I slipped my bare foot past the cushioned top and delicately placed it right on his growing erection.

“Oops,” I said in mock surprise. “My foot slipped.”

Jackson made a mewling sound, a cross between a moan and a shriek. Slowly, I moved my foot up his now-hard shaft, bunching up the fabric of his pants with my toes, then back down. Then, staring at Allison with a lascivious smile, I placed my foot gently on the stool, opening my legs wider than she had.

Unlike my friend, who shaved herself bare, I kept my pubic hair neatly trimmed, a two-fingers-wide patch running over my mound. The boyish hunk of a young man fiddled with the sizer, satisfactorily flustered. His shaking hands managed to somehow get the contraption around my foot. That was an epic feat considering that his eyes were fixated on my cunt the entire time. His fumbling nudged my foot to one side, opening my legs slightly further.

“I think I’m a size eight.”

Allison had a look of delighted shock on her face. Her countenance showed horny disbelief. Blowing me a kiss, she brazenly spread her thighs wide.

“I think I have just the thing for the both of you. I’ll be right back, ladies.” 

Jackson hurried off, his boner proudly sticking out. 

“You gave the kid an erection!” Allison squealed at me.

“Oh, like you didn’t flash him your pussy on purpose! I saw your nipples pop out. You’re getting off on being a slutty whore.”

“Like you’re not. But, yes, I am. I’m so fucking wet.” Taking advantage of her unladylike position, Ginger glanced around quickly, then lowered her hand to her cunt. She caressed her velvety folds up and down a few times, then showed me her dripping fingers.

Jackson was returning, six shoe boxes in his arms, and I nodded toward him to alert Ginger. She closed her legs slightly and giggled.

“Here’s some that I think you’ll like. I picked…" Jackson’s words lost coherency, devolving into guttural stutters when he saw Ginger sucking on her fingers. She wasn’t just licking her juices off of them; she was giving her digits oral pleasure, her mouth plunging up and down them as if she were servicing a hard cock.

“Put them on me,” Ginger commanded.

The first pair our salesman produced was a wickedly sexy pair of patent leather stilettos. The thin heel tapered to almost a point, shod in silver. They were sexy, with almost six inches of heel on them. My redheaded friend extended one foot, then flopped it off the stool, offering the other. Her glistening wetness showed like a beacon in the mood lighting. 

Jackson was visibly shaking at this point, his breath coming out in staccato pants. Allison’s eyes were locked on mine, and her wordless challenge had been extended. The gauntlet had been thrown. We were involved in a game of one-upping each other. Now, it was my turn. With a quick shoulder shimmy, the spaghetti straps of my Betty dress abandoned my shoulders. I never understood exactly why; perhaps it was the pending danger of a wardrobe malfunction, but men tend to go insane over that off-the-shoulder look.

Ginger stood, only wobbling a little on those narrow heels, and took an experimental step. With her feet elevated that much, her calf muscles, as well as the rest of her mostly visible legs, looked so sexy. They even made her shapely ass stick out further, with the roundness of her butt looking like a half-moon jutting out behind her.

I watched her attempt one step, then another, and, finally, a full stride. Had it not been for the fact that her face showed no sign of surprise whatsoever, I would have gasped when she fell off the heels. As Allison turned, less than a foot away from a very nervous and aroused Jackson, she stumbled. Jackson reached out for her at the exact same moment that she reached out for him.

She maneuvered her flailing body in such a way that her tits rubbed down the tall, young man’s body, and she caught herself by grappling for his torso. The near-calamity ended with one of Jackson’s hands around her back, the other firmly on her luscious tit. Ginger had caught Jackson’s waist, one of her hands on his belt, the other firmly on his cock.

“I’m so clumsy,” she apologized. “Let me try again.” She took some more steps; this time, she was sure-footed. Then, she did a graceful pirouette, proving to me that she could handle the heels perfectly. “I’ll take them,” she added, “next pair, please.”

With each new pair, Ginger found some way to tease. When Jackson put the second pair on her, he took his time. 

“Oh, mmm, “ Allison moaned. “Your fingers are burning hot,” she told him. His fingers had caressed her foot. 

That time, she bent over in front of the mirrored stool, giving the brown-haired man a profile view of her bent at the waist. Her short, purple skirt had ridden up, exposing nearly half of her buttocks.

By the time they’d gotten to the third pair, I thought the poor young man was going to have a seizure. Teasing him mercilessly, she not only spread her legs wide open, but she also curled her toes, making Jackson struggle to get the shoe onto her foot. The back-and-forth tugging and pushing allowed her to shift her hips forward, so her dripping cunt was just inches away from his face.

“I’ll take both the first and third pairs,” she announced after bending far forward to adjust the strap. That action also let him gaze at her shirt-wrapped boobs with a close-up view. Jackson’s eyes bulged out so much that they nearly made contact with the nipples thrust in front of his face.

“Your turn, Missus Mary Anne,” an overheated Jackson said.

Ginger’s self-satisfied shimmy, her body gyrating in sexual teasing victory, was a thrown gauntlet.

“For you, to go with your blond hair,” Jackson stuttered and stammered, “Charcoal in a four-inch heel, with light gold accenting.” 

The shoes he displayed were beautiful. Normally, I don’t prefer patterned leather, but the bas-relief uppers and sculpted heels were just darling. Not to be outdone, I spread my legs far and wide, giving the visibly stunned shoe salesman a perfect view of my pussy. My wetness was also oozing out. 

Feeling emboldened by Allison’s behavior, Jackson spent more time caressing my feet, ankles, and calves than he did putting the shoes on me. Although Ginger couldn’t see, my bare left foot reached out and caressed his erection through his pants as he fitted the shoe on my other foot. When he swiveled to put the second one on me, I saw the tiniest wet spot on the front of his slacks.

“See how they feel,” he suggested, moving his kneeling body out of my way, so I could stand.

Rather than immediately stand, I bent over, adjusting the strap of my shoe. Although my friend had done the same thing, I did it better. I canted my knee to one side, exposing the nudity under my dress in a demure, obvious, casual manner. Jackson’s eyes shot straight to my treasure box, and then he looked up at my face to check if I had noticed or not.

My expression was one of amusement. With my eyes and a slight, impish smirk, I let him know that I was completely aware that he was ogling my cunt. I also let him know that I didn’t care by completing my gestures fluidly. Not only did bending forward in my chair force my legs wide open, but the straps of my dress fell forward when I bent, then down, completely off my flesh, when I sat upright once more. This allowed my tits to spill out a little, exposing a dangerous amount of cleavage.

I walked a bit, bending and stretching. I liked the feel of the shoes, and the lower heels were perfect, as was the look. However, when I bent, my boobs peeked out of the top of my dress, exposing almost half of my hard, tingling nipples. This was not lost on Jackson or Ginger. It only took one more bend, with me pretending to not notice until all of one tit was exposed. Standing up straight, I pretended to nervously look around while I rocked and shook my twins back into position, and then, I coyly put my straps back into place. Of course, as soon as I plopped down into my chair, one of the straps retreated from my shoulder, succumbing to gravity.

For the second pair, the same designer brand, but plain, shiny leather instead of carved and embellished, Jackson forewent the stool and knelt between my legs. This time, his wandering hand traveled up to my knee.

“No,” I mused. “I have plenty of shoes like that already. What else do you have for me?”

As he fitted the third pair on my feet, I caressed his manhood with my manicured toes. Jackson let out a low, soft moan. His breathing was labored, his body still quivering. Those shoes, a dark tan with cream-colored soles, were a must-have.

Ginger decided to purchase the first pair, the dangerously spiked stilettos, and I took both the first and third pairs.

“I’ll get these boxed and meet you at the register,“ Jackson sighed. He scuttled off to the back.

“You win, Mary Anne.”

“I didn’t know it was a contest. I thought you were going to masturbate right in front of him, you dirty slut.”

“Me? How about you? ‘Oops, my boobs are on full display. So sorry.’”

We both laughed at that and headed to the checkout center.

“I’m so fucking horny now,” Allison whispered to me.

It took a few minutes, the both of us growing mildly impatient, but Jackson soon arrived, bearing our treasured designer shoes. Soon, we were back in Ginger’s sporty car, headed toward suburbia.

“Our husbands will be home shortly,” I said after I checked my phone messages. “They want to fry up the fish they caught for dinner.”

“Oh, what will you wear?”

“I’m not sure, but I do know I’ll wear my new, black shoes. I love them. They were worth every penny of the three hundred dollars.”

“Shoe whore!” Allison teased me.

I slipped off my old shoes and took my prizes out of the box. I sighed as I slipped into the first one. “It’s like wrapping your foot in affluent luxury.”

“Oh, those do look so sexy on you.”

“Eeew!” I exclaimed when I placed my foot into the second shoe. “What the hell?”

My toes had made contact with a wet, hot liquid. Pulling my foot out of the shoe, my toes were coated in sticky, white cum.

“That fucking pervert jacked off into my shoe!”

“You liar. No way.”

“Yes. Look.” I turned in the seat and extended my foot until it rested on my redheaded friend’s lap, careful not to disrupt her driving.

Ginger laughed, looked at me, and shrugged, then scooped some of it up with her finger.

“Yep,” she agreed after putting the tip of her finger inside her mouth. “Jackson masturbated into your shoe. That’s cum.”

To be continued...