Their sex life was fine.
Certainly the quantity was there. Seven or eight, sometimes ten times in a single week, during her fertile window. And if they took the rest of the month off, well, that was natural enough. They were neither of them highly sexual people. Trying to conceive was hard. Things would get better once they had their kids. Sex would be more spontaneous then, more passionate. Hotter.
Until then, they had a comfortable routine. A towel, in case she squirted. A few minutes with the vibrator to get her wet. A few strokes of her hand to get him up. A pillow under her hips to elevate them. Then a few quick thrusts, more as the week went on, but eventually a shudder, and a whisper of, "I love you."
They could whip through it in 20 minutes, a pas de deux as efficient and practiced as clearing the table. But when they had time, they let themselves chat and cuddle for 30 or 40 minutes before one of them said, "Well, it's getting late." And then they lay in each other's arms a quarter hour more afterward before he rose to rinse off.
It was nice.
Sometimes she offered to wear the shoes again, but typically he demurred now and she didn't press. With a 130cm of heel and no platform, these heels might as well have been pointe shoes. Except pointe shoes made her feel powerful, beautiful, free to fly across the stage. These shoes made her totter like a newborn foal and then cling helplessly to his arm even for the few steps to the bed.
They also made his cock spring to attention like nothing else.
Perhaps that was why tonight she did press. "You like the shoes."
"Yeah, but it's okay. I know they're really uncomfortable."
"You could bring them to me in bed." She peered coquettishly up from under her lashes. "You could put them on me. I think you'd like that."
"Yeah, that's true." He said it too casually. He smiled too easily. She saw the hunger blossom on his face.
Something fluttered deep in her. It was far from the first time a man had looked at her like that. It was, she realized, maybe the first time he had. "Uh," she said hurriedly, turning her mind back to practical things. "I think they're in the corner of the closet..."
"I know." He came out with them, sleek and somehow still gleaming despite their long storage.
She put the pieces together. "You know, huh?" she said, smirking.
He shrugged, suddenly unable to meet her gaze.
She reached for him. "It's okay. I'm not...it's okay." She led him to the bed, sat down on it herself, crossed one leg over the other. He sank to his knees before her.
She watched in fascination as he took off her little white sock, then offered her the shoe. They struggled briefly. He didn't hold it at quite the right angle. Perhaps it was a little tight. He used his thumb as a shoehorn, and then her foot popped in. She flexed her ankle, checking the fit.
It did look good. She swirled her foot in a slow circle, watching the light play across the leather. She flexed her toes, then pointed against the resistance of the sole, then flexed again until her heel popped out. His breath caught as the shoe swung free, rocking back and forth beneath her toes.
She had never been more aware of a man's gaze, or her own pulse.
She put her foot down on the floor, jammed her heel back in, and then recrossed her legs to present her other foot still in its sock. "Ahem," she said, mock stern.
By the time he put her other shoe on her foot she could feel the dampness between her legs. She repeated her show, pointing and flexing and turning this way and that. This time she watched his eyes track her every movement.
A wicked idea came to her. "Look at me," she ordered. Yes, ordered. And he obeyed, instinctively, startled eyes jerking up to meet hers. Holding his gaze with hers, she reached out blindly with her foot, feeling for his thigh and then sliding up his leg.
A sharp gasp told her she had found her target. She applied the barest minimum of pressure. He immediately winced, and she eased off. "Sorry, was that...?"
"No, it's okay." His was a voice that could bring dozens to attention when he chose, but now it was soft and ragged. Trembling, even.
She felt lightheaded, like a woman peering down an abyss and wondering if she would jump. She licked her lips. "So," she said, finding her own voice a little hoarse. "What do you want to do now?" Throw her back on the bed and fuck her silly, she hoped.
He hesitated, then ventured, "Could I kiss them?"
Kiss...them? "Um," she said. "Sure."
He cradled her foot in his hands, turning it minutely this way and that. Admiring it. Cupping one hand around the heel and stroking a thumb along the curve of the toe. He bent his head and paused. She felt his breath warm her exposed instep a moment before he placed his lips onto the very tip of the toe. At first tentative, then firm enough to feel through the leather.
He looked up and she made sure she had an encouraging smile in place. Taking that as assent, he returned his attention to her shoe.
She wasn't sure quite what she had expected when she suggested they bring out these shoes. Not this, though. She felt...what did she feel? Could one be bored by the sight of a strong man literally on his knees kissing one's shoes? It sounded like a humble brag. But as the seconds ticked by, she couldn't help but feel a bit forgotten. As if she were not the unique show piece but merely the pedestal holding it up.
And it was surprisingly hard work to hold her leg just so. Finally, she moved to relieve the strain. He flinched back as the heel swung forward, then blinked up at her in surprise. "My other shoe is feeling neglected," she said, putting on a playful tone.
"Oh, yes, of course," he mumbled. Before she could uncross and recross her legs, he planted both hands on the ground and stretched awkwardly down and forward to lavish kisses on her other foot where it was still planted on the ground.
She held her free leg over his back as long as she could, even using her hands on her thighs for support, before asking, "Erm, could I rest my foot on your back?"
"Oh, yes, please," he groaned.
Not just yes, but, oh, yes, please, and in such a voice. It sent shivers down her spine for reasons she cared not to examine. At any rate, the invitation was clear enough. She gingerly lowered her foot to his back, taking care not to scrape the sharp-looking heel against his skin. "Is that all right?"
"It's great."
"It doesn't hurt?" she asked.
"No, it's fine."
That wicked feeling rose up inside her. She moved her foot just the slightest bit. Let the heel dig into his skin before easing off. It left a white dimple that slowly turned pink. "And how about now?"
"It's okay."
"It's okay?"
"It stings a little when you move it."
"Does it now? Just a little?" She slowly dragged her heel up his back, watching the angry red welt that appeared in its wake, listening to her husband hiss. "Better or worse?"
"That, uh, stings a little more."
Was this how Icarus felt, soaring toward his doom? "That's not what I asked," she said, sharply. "Better, or worse?"
"I, uh, I don't know."
"Hmm. Well. Should we stop?"
"No!" That was immediate, and it was as if she could feel herself clench in response. She put a hand between her legs and was shocked by how wet she was.
"Well, then," she drawled. "Shoud we continue?"
"Yes, please."
"Yes, please, what?" she asked, though she didn't quite know what she hoped to hear. Yes, please, scrape my back raw with those sharp heels? Yes, please, hurt me for your own gratification? She wasn't that kind of person. They weren't that kind of people.
"Yes, please, mistress!"
"Mistress?"
He looked up at her, no easy feat considering her foot still on the nape of his neck. "It just popped out."
"I'm not complaining. I just didn't know that you felt that way."
He shrugged uncertainly. "We don't have to...I hope it doesn't freak you out."
She showed him her hand, slick and pungent with her arousal. "It does not appear to freak me out."
He raised an eyebrow. "Wow. So, uh, you're pretty ready, huh?"
Ready? Oh, right. She had forgotten what they had to do tonight. "Yeah." She smiled crookedly. "I think we can skip the vibrator tonight." She glanced at his crotch, which was not only bulging but distinctly wet. "And the hand job."
He reached down and shucked his pants off. His cock sprung up immediately, undeterred by the less than sexy conversation. "Oh, the pillow."
She started to reach for it, then stopped. "Let's skip the pillow tonight."
He smiled. They were on the same page. She pulled his mouth onto hers, forcing her tongue in hungrily.
When they came up for air, he said, "I think I'm supposed to penetrate you. Unless we've been doing it wrong this whole time?"
"Well?" She arched an eyebrow, as much challenge as invitation.
He nudged her legs apart with one knee and stepped between them. Guiding himself with one hand and watching her face, he started to slide into her with agonizing slowness.
Oh, right, she usually needed the slow entry. Not tonight. She wanted him in. "It's fine, I'm really wet today. Just..."
He eased himself fully in and came instantly, groaning and shuddering with the force of his ejaculation. His knees buckled. He almost popped out, but rammed himself back in at the last moment, his balls slapping against her.
