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When last we checked in on our heroine, we discovered her unreasonable fear of the high-heeled shoe. “What’s the point?” we heard aag wonder. “Why ever would anyone want to jam their toes into such unusual positions?”
After exposing her phobia to the world, our heroine was privy to some interesting feedback. As she found out, some men are enchanted by the look of the female foot bound up in a sexy shoe. Some men, in fact, who upon occasion find themselves in our heroine’s bed.
Never one to disappoint her lovers, aag began taking the most cautious of glimpses into online sites that specialize in sexy shoes. Very sexy shoes. These were not the sorts of shoes one might wear to church, aag found. They were racy. Raunchy. Amazing. And more than a little terrifying.
But as aag peeked through her fingers at the displays of black, brown and shiny red, something deep inside her began to stir. Was it an ancient inborn desire for beautiful footwear? A gene that only now could find expression? Her breath came faster. Her toes tingled. So did her lady-bits.
So aag ordered a pair. When they arrived in the mail, she reverentially opened them. The box emitted a heavenly glow. Aag carefully pulled the shoes from their papery nest, placed them gently on the kitchen counter, and then tried to ignore them until it was time to get ready for her date.
Body washed, legs shaved and sexy chemise settled, aag donned the shoes. She stood up to make her way to the door so as to greet her beau. But there was a problem. Our heroine could not walk in them.
Like, at all.
She specializes in quick thinking under duress. She called her pal, clutching to the wall for support. In a voice almost untouched by pain, she requested that he let himself in, lock the door, then find her in bed. He agreed. Now aag was left with only one challenge: to make it to bed before he arrived.
Aag is blessed with highly functional feet. Sturdy and broad, with long grippity toes, they are perfect for walking around, picking things up off the floor, or kicking hard through the water. They are not, however, formed well for perilous high heels.
Comedy ensued as she made it to the bed, footsore and short of breath. She managed to compose herself just as the door opened. Her friend was blown away.
And then, over the next twenty or so hours, our heroine learned an important lesson. Wearing heels in bed is fucken hot. She realized that heels are handles. Handles! It’s brilliant, she thought, her legs held aloft by means of the pointy grips tied to her feet. They are also a lovely way of getting that tied-up feeling while still being able to move. And they bend the foot into a constant orgasm-point.
During one rough round, the heels came dislodged. Aag nearly wept as a climax approached along with the realizations that she was shoeless. “Stop,” she wanted to moan. “Stop and let me have my shoes. I need them so I can come.” She didn’t, but the urge was there.
At some point the lovers dragged themselves out of bed for a quick dinner; meal over, aag demanded that her lover lace her into the shoes as soon as they arrived again at home base. He cheerfully complied, then licked the heel resting near his shoulder as he drove slow hard strokes into her.
Late the next day, sore of cunt and bruised of breast, aag mourned her homeward-bound lover while shopping for shoes. She considered these, and these, and these, and these, but the quiet voice of fiscal responsibility pointed out that paying her property taxes was a wiser long-term choice, even though the shoes made her weak with something not entirely dissimilar to LUST.
In short, she was hooked.
This then concludes our tale of how one girl went from fearing the heel to fetishizing the heel in one simple step.
The next step? Learn to walk in them.
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