Good Vibrations Magazine

I know it’s about the high heels. I know that, but I don’t care. Because they’re my feet in them, and feeling you worship them is the same as having you worship me.

We go out for dinner at a nice restaurant. I wear a sexy dress, but not too sexy, because it’s not the important thing. Neither are the pearl earrings, the make-up, or the way I wear my hair. What really drives you crazy are the heels, four-inch stilettos in red patent leather. I wear them without stockings, leaving my painted toenails exposed and my ankles circled by just the slimmest of shimmering straps.

You try to take your eyes off of them, but I won’t let you. We get a table in the corner so I can reach out with my foot and delicately tease your leg. You glance down at them and I can see the effect the high heels have on you. Your face reddens and you keep glancing down at them.

When no one’s looking, I slide my heels up the inside of your leg and nudge your cock. From the way you squirm, I can tell it’s already hard.

After dinner, we go walking in the park, and I take care to walk delicately, nudging my hip against yours to draw attention to the clicking of my heels on the sidewalk. Your breath is coming short. Your eyes go from my feet to my face and back again. They always rest longer on the feet.

We find a secluded bench, somewhere no one on the street can see us. There are other couples walking, enjoying the warm, romantic night. City people walk their dogs, barely giving us a second glance.

If I told you to, you would drop down on your knees and worship my feet right here. But instead, I curl myself onto far side of the bench, one foot under me, and put my other foot in your lap. Your cock surges against my feet as you begin to caress me. Your fingers trace the contours of the shoes gently, finding the places where the straps touch my bare skin. I’ve always had sensitive feet, and I shiver with every caress. Lucky it’s a warm night.

Every few minutes, I casually nudge my foot into your crotch, as if to reassure myself that you’re still hard. You are, and every gentle touch I give you makes you want me more. I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in the way you look from my feet to my face to my feet, trying hard not to let your hips grind against me too much. When people pass by us, I ease my foot out of your crotch and let my foot rest on your thigh as you stroke it. Just a poor working woman, tired from a long day, getting a foot massage from her devoted boyfriend.

By the time I take you home, you’re mad with desire. I tell you to make me a drink — it’s asking. really, but both of us know that tonight you wouldn’t dream of denying me anything — and I strip off my dress, sitting casually on the couch. I prop my feet up on the coffee table and look at you hungrily as you approach with my wine.

You don’t even have to say it. You hand me the wine, drop to your knees, and push the coffee table out of the way.

My feet are so sensitive that it tickles as your tongue embraces my toes. But every stroke of your tongue sends a surge of energy directly to my cunt, and as you get more and more excited, you tongue me more enthusiastically. The dress now gone, I’m wearing only panties and a bra. Normally I would have worn a garter belt and stockings for a dressed-up night like this, but I wanted my feet naked under the high heels. You lick your way up to my calves, worshipping first one leg, then the other. Your tongue caresses the ankle straps, then licks down across my feet and savors the place where the leather cups my toes. You lick your way to the underside and begin to caress the soles.

As you lick the soles of my shoes, I set my wine on the side table and my hand descends into my panties. I’m wet — gushing. My cunt throbs as I begin to rub my clit. I slip two fingers inside me and press against my G-spot. I return to my clit and rub in little circles as my excitement mounts. You move on to my other foot and hungrily devour that stiletto, too, taking a moment to lick up to my fleshy heel, pampered by today’s pedicure. The feel of your tongue on my bare flesh brings a shiver to my body. I rub my clit faster. Then I lift my foot, and you know what I want.

As you take the stiletto heel into your mouth, swallowing it as if it were a cock, I whimper. I want more.

“Take your cock out,” I tell you.

“Yes, Ma’am,” you answer, your mouth coming off of my stiletto heel for only the time it takes to say it. You unzip your pants, take your cock out, and begin to stroke it. I can tell from the way you’re breathing that you’re very close. But you won’t come until I tell you to.

I rub my clit faster, harder, feeling my orgasm approach. You hold my ankle delicately in your hand as I wriggle back and forth on the couch, my hips grinding involuntarily in time with your strokes as if I were fucking your face. Your mouth glides back and forth on the patent leather, your lips glistening with spittle. I cry out as I come, and in the middle of my breathy moans I tell you to do it.

“Come,” I order. “Come on my feet.”

Your mouth slides off of my shoe and you lean close to me, your cock pointed directly at my feet. I push them together so you can baptize them both at the same time. I see the effort on your face, your cheeks flushed with excitement. You let out a groan and your cock explodes, shooting come on my feet. The hot stream sends a pulse of energy through me, and you pump your cock until you’ve bathed my feet in your come.

You lick me clean as I sip my wine, smiling.

“Tomorrow we’ll go shopping,” I tell you. “I saw the most adorable set of pumps downtown.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” you tell me, and hungrily kiss my heel.