Midlife Surrender Ch 03

It was a few minutes before 1:00 PM Wednesday and Amy Marshall was stepping up to her front door, having just finished her daily walk. She reached into her pocket, withdrew the front door key and slipped it into the lock. Then, just as she was turning the key to open the door, she heard the phone ring.

Hurrying inside, she kicked the door closed and moved quickly down the hall. When she reached the phone she saw the number on the caller ID display and stopped. It was Derek, the young neighbor boy she now called Master. And a quick shiver shot through her body, just like it always did when she thought of him.

"Yes, sir," she said as she brought the phone to her ear.

"Your husband is out of town, is he not?"

"Yes. He won't be back until Friday evening."

"Good," came the reply. "I'll pick you up at 7:30 tonight. I strongly advise you to be ready when I get there. Now, as far as clothing, you are to wear the grey and black pleated skirt you wore the first time I took you and the same high-heels. For a top, you're to wear a snug-fitting halter or tank-top. You will also wear a pair of sexy lace panties and thigh-high nylons, but no bra."

He paused briefly before finishing. "And one more thing, Mrs. Marshall. I want you good and wired this evening, so no masturbating.' And then the line went dead.

She hung up the phone knowing from the tone of his voice that he was up to something. And another shiver shot through her pussy as she looked at the clock and realized just how far away 7:30 was.

* * *

It turned out to be a long, frustrating day for Amy, a day largely spent trying not to think about Derek and all the deliciously degrading things he was going to do to her that evening. But the reality was that she did think of him and she did fantasize about what was in store for her. And every time she did, another spasm shot through her already aching pussy, which in turn triggered more fantasizes, which in turn . . .

Not wishing to risk Derek's anger, Amy headed to her bedroom to dress early, taking extra time to make sure everything was just right. At one point she stood before the mirror completely naked, staring at her body, imagining how he was going to abuse it. She even closed her eyes and let her hands drift up her stomach and onto her breasts before catching herself.

She was completely dressed and sitting by the living room picture window by 7:15, once again wondering what the young man had in store for her. Something humiliating and degrading for certain, and based on the outfit he'd chosen for her, something with an exhibitionist twist appeared a strong possibility. And the more she sat there wondering, the wilder and crazier her fantasies became, and the hotter and wetter her pussy grew.

It was 7:40 when Derek finally pulled into the driveway and gave the horn a single short honk, a honk which proved unnecessary as Amy was already halfway out the front door and hurrying towards the car.

"Good evening, sir," she said as she slid into the passenger seat

Derek didn't immediately answer. Instead, he reached between her legs like it was the most normal thing in the world for an 18 year-old boy to do to a 36 year-old married woman, and slid his hand up to her pussy. And when she jumped and gasped at his touch, he smiled.

"It seems you've been good," he said, noting how her pussy was warm and wet.

"Yes, sir," Amy answered meekly, squirming under his touch. But an instant later the hand was gone and the car was easing down the driveway.

* * * It was not quite 7:55 when Derek pulled up in front of VanderVeen's, a high-end women's boutique that featured, among other things, an extensive line of women's shoes. Since the store closed at 8:00, the parking lot was already deserted.

"This is your stop, Mrs. Marshall," Derek said as he put the car in park.

Amy looked at the store, then back at the young driver, "VanderVeen's?" she questioned. But the only answer she got was a simple nod of the head.

Then she noticed that he hadn't turned off the ignition. "Aren't you coming in?" Again, a simple shake of his head -- no -- was the only response she got.

"I don't understand," she said in a soft voice.

"Come now, Mrs. Marshall. You're an intelligent woman, I'm sure you can figure it out."

In truth, she had figured it out. Tonight, it seemed, she was meant for someone else. The only real question was for who?

Now I'm sure you understand, it wasn't that she was opposed to being someone else's slut-toy -- and knowing the type of man Derek was likely to provide, that's exactly what she'd be -- she just wasn't quite certain she was willing to surrender herself to some unnamed, unidentified person. Lord knows she was no little Miss Innocent, but wasn't this going just a little too far?

She took a deep breath to settle her nerves, then tried examining the situation from a different perspective. This was Derek's doing. Derek, the young man she now called Master. And despite the fact that he'd initially set out to blackmail her, he'd since proven to be a fair, albeit stern, master. Further, that first day not withstanding, he'd done nothing to betray her trust. Did she really think he was going to start now?

She looked back towards the store, bit down on her lower lip and took a deep breath. 'In for a penny, in for a pound,' she thought. Then she nodded her head and, without another look towards Derek, opened the door and slid out.

She'd barely stepped away from the car when she heard Derek shift it into gear and pull away, yet she somehow managed to control her emotions enough to keep moving towards the store. Even so, once she actually reached the door, she came to a stop, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Okay," she muttered as her eyes fluttered open, "Here goes nothing."

She pulled the door open slowly and slipped inside. Before the door even had a chance to fully close behind her, the young girl behind the counter spotted her.

"I'm afraid we'll be closing in a minute," she said as she slipped out from behind the counter, clearly a bit put off by the heels and short skirt Amy was wearing, not to mention the erect nipples that were clearly outlined beneath her top.

Amy hesitated, not quite certain what to say. She couldn't just announce that she was there to be sexually dominated by someone, but she didn't know who. Besides, could she really be certain she wasn't there for the pleasure of the very girl that stood before her? After all, Derek really hadn't been very forthcoming with specifics

But she never finished the thought as a voice called out from behind her. "Is that you, Mrs. Marshall?"

Amy jerked around quickly, a little bit surprised and a whole lot relieved to see Stuart Chambers, the 19 year-old son of Pamela Chambers -- a woman she'd met through Kara and had known for seven years -- standing there. But her relief at seeing a familiar face was short lived as reality began to sink in. 'Oh, my,' she said to herself. 'Not Stuart.'

Despite her surprise, she managed to gather herself quickly. "Stuart," she said, giving her best imitation of a smile. "I didn't know you worked here."

"It helps provide some spending money," he said, shrugging his shoulders slightly. And then a smile slid across his lips. "Plus, you get to meet some pretty hot older women. Know what I mean, Mrs. Marshall," he said with a slight wink.

Amy could feel herself blush. "I . . . ummm, wouldn't know," was the best answer she could come up with.

Thankfully, before she had to come up with anything else clever and engaging, Stuart turned his attention to the young lady who'd first approached her.

"Why don't you go on home, Susan. I'll stick around awhile and help Mrs. Marshall out."

Susan looked at Amy dubiously, then turned back to Stuart. "I don't mind staying," she replied, not at all sure it was a good idea to leave Stuart alone with this . . . woman.

But Stuart shook his head. "No, really. Mrs. Marshall's a family friend. And besides, there's no point in both of us staying late."

Susan shot Amy one more look, then turned back to Stuart. "Well, if you're sure."

"Absolutely. I'll lock the door behind you," he smiled, pulling the keys from his pocket.

"Okay. Just let me get my purse." Less than a minute later Derek was holding the door for Susan. Thirty seconds after that the door was closed and locked, with the shade drawn to cut off the outside world. Then Stuart turned his attention back to his customer.

"I must say, Mrs. Marshall, that sure is an interesting outfit," he started, taking a brief moment to look her over. "Special occasion?"

Amy felt herself blushing again, somehow both aroused and ashamed by his observation. "I guess you could say that," she managed, barely.

"I particularly like the shoes. Classy, yet a little bit slutty. Very nice," Stuart continued, glancing down at her high-heels before raising his eyes slowly to hers. "You know, we've got a pretty interesting selection of high-heels ourselves. Perhaps you'd like me to show you some?"

Amy hesitated just long enough to swallow the lump in her throat before responding. "Sure." And she could feel her stomach churning as a picture of her lying stark naked on a giant pile of high-heel shoes with Stuart standing over her flashed through her mind.

"Great. They're right over here," Stuart smiled. Then he turned slightly and eased his hand around her back and onto her buttocks.

Amy couldn't believe the shock waves that shot through her body as the young man's hand pressed against her ass and began easing her down a nearby aisle, nor could she believe the difficulty she was having putting one foot in front of the other without falling over. Still, she managed to keep herself upright and moving forward until he turned her down a side aisle near the back of the store.

"Okay, Mrs. Marshall," he said as he guided her to the end of the aisle and removed his hand from her ass. "Let's measure those feet of yours." And with that he dropped to his right knee and slid his left hand behind her left calf. "If you'll lift your foot a minute . . ."

Amy looked down at the young man below her as if in a dream. She was only vaguely aware of grabbing a nearby shelf for balance as she lifted her foot obediently and watched him slip off the shoe. She didn't even hear him tell her to lift the other foot, but he must have, because there she was, lifting it off the ground and holding it out for him.

"Okay," he said as he reached under a nearby chair and pulled out the foot measuring device. "Now let's see what size these little darlings are." And he proceeded to ease her foot into the device and make a couple of adjustments before proclaiming her 'a perfect seven.'

"Now, if you'll just have a seat right over there, Mrs. Marshall," he said, pointing to the padded bench that occupied the middle of the aisle, "I've got a couple pairs in the back that are just made for you." And with that he rose to his feet and started for the back of the store.

At first Amy stood there as if in a trance, watching him make his way to the stockroom entrance. When he finally disappeared through the door she managed to shake her head and take a deep, cleansing breath . Then she let go of the shelf she hadn't even realized she was still clutching and turned to make her way to the bench Stuart had indicated. Finally, she lowered herself onto the padded cushion that topped the bench and leaned forward to cradle her head in her hands.

"Oh, my God," she muttered. Then she lifted her head and turned to look into the mirror on the fall wall. "I hope you know what you're doing," she told her reflection. Yet even as she spoke those words, she realized it didn't matter. The simple fact was that she was so horny that nothing -- absolutely nothing -- was going to keep her from giving herself to her friend's son. And she shook her head once again before lowering it back to her hands.

A few more seconds passed before Stuart emerged from the stockroom with two shoe boxes in hand. "I really think you're going to like these," he said as he set them down on the bench next to her. Then he slid his stool in front of her, sat down and tapped the slanted foot rest that extended in front of the stool. "If you'll just put your foot up here, Mrs. Marshall."

As Stuart leaned forward and grabbed the top shoe box, Amy lifted her foot as instructed, only then noticing that the hem of her skirt had risen up nearly to the top of her nylons. But despite the totally inappropriate amount of thigh now on display, she made no move to adjust the skirt, having not doubt that soon, very soon, a lot more than her thigh would be on display for the young man.

In the meantime, Stuart was pulling a black four-inch pump with an open toe and a single ankle-strap from the box. "These are the same height as yours, but have ankle straps and a thinner heel. I think they have more of a 'look at me' quality to them, which I like." Then he slid his hand behind Amy's ankle, lifted her foot from the foot-rest and slid the shoe on, before setting the foot down, bringing the straps around her ankle and fastening them together.

"Okay, other foot," he said when he finished. And as Amy moved to comply, she couldn't help noticing that her skirt had slid up a bit more, now showing not only the tops of her nylons, but a bit of bare thigh as well. And although she knew her panties would also be on clear display, she still made no move to cover herself. She did, however, let a soft sigh escape her lips as a small spasm shot through her pussy. And she couldn't help but wonder just how long Stuart was going to continue with his little charade.

Stuart had the other shoe on and fastened in a few seconds, then he rose to his feet and held out his hand. "Okay, let's see what we've got," he said, a warm smile covering his face as took her hand and helped her to her feet.

"Try walking in them," he suggested after she'd reached her feet, gesturing towards the center aisle with his hand.

"Okay," Amy replied. And as she made her way down the aisle and back, she couldn't help wondering why, despite everything she'd been through with Derek, she still felt more like an eighth grader on her first date then the composed, ready for anything 36 year-old woman she used to be.

"Well, what do you think?" Stuart asked as she made her return trip down the aisle, turning and coming to a stop so her right side was towards the mirror.

"I like them," Amy replied.

Stuart smiled. "Great." And while Amy was checking out the shoes in the mirror, he moved to her left side and dropped to one knee, then reached out with his right hand and slid it slowly over the back of her calf. And when she jumped noticeably at his touch, a tiny smirk slid across his lips.

"You know, it's always amazed me what a nice pair of high heels can do for a woman's legs," he said in a soft, seductive voice as he slowly slid his hand up and down her calf. "They not only can make a pair of average legs look good, they can take a pair of great legs -- like yours, Mrs. Marshall -- and make them look absolutely incredible.

"And it's not just the calves that benefit. Consider what it does for the thighs." He paused briefly and looked up at her. "Here, I'll show you."

And before Amy could fully comprehend what was happening, he pulled his hand from her calf, eased around behind her and slipped the button on the back of her skirt through the hole that held it captive. Then he took hold of the zipper, eased it down and allowed the short, pleated skirt to slip over her hips and down her legs. He paused then, taking a brief moment to examine both the lacy white panties that were now on display and the several inches of bare flesh that were visible immediately above and below them. And then he again reached for her thighs.

Amy felt her body going numb as the skirt slid down her legs and landed in a small pile around her feet. She bit down on her lower lip and closed her eyes when the young man's hands eased onto the nylons that covered her thighs. Then, when he spoke again, she had to force herself to focus on his words, instead of on the hands that were gently massaging her thighs.

"See, how it adds extra tone to your thigh muscles? And how it makes the legs look like they go on forever?" he queried, easing his hands slowly up her legs as he spoke.

"Yes," Amy managed to reply, struggling to get the words out without allowing her growing desperation to show anymore than it already was.

"I thought you would," Stuart smiled. He then gave her thighs an extra squeeze, released them and rose to his feet, moving his hand to her panti-covered ass and easing her back towards the seat.

"The other pair is one of my favorites," he said as if it were perfectly normal to be discussing shoes with a partially dressed woman nearly twice his age. "The only thing is, they really work best without nylons. So, if you'll just put your foot up here," he said, tapping the foot rest before him, "I'll slide these off for you."

Now totally trapped in the young man's snare and very much aware of the growing damp spot that was undoubtedly visible on her panties, Amy found herself unable to answer. Still, she managed to lift her foot onto the foot rest as instructed, shaking just a bit when he slid off the shoe. But when his hands slipped inside the top of her nylon and began easing it down her leg, she again had to close her eyes and bite down on her lower lip. 'Take me!' she wanted to scream. 'Please, take me.'

But he didn't take her. Instead, he stayed with the task at hand, ever so slowly working the stocking down her thigh, then over her knee and down her calf. "Lift your foot," he said when he finally reached her ankle. Then, after slipping the first nylon off, he tossed it aside and repeated the whole process on her other leg.

"Now," he said after both her legs had been stripped, "I think you're really going to like these." And with that he proceeded to extract a pair of the most amazing looking white shoes she'd ever seen. They were nearly completely open, only a series of dainty straps straddling the front to hold the foot on, with ankle straps that were meant to wrap two or three times around the ankles before joining in the back of the lower leg, with the whole thing resting on stiletto heels a full five-inches high.

"Oh, my," Amy said, finally finding her voice. "They're so . . . so . . ."

"Slutty?" Stuart offered.

Amy shifted her gaze from the shoes to Stuart's eyes. "Yes."

"Well?" he questioned. "Do you like them?"

There was a moment's hesitation as Amy's eyes darted between Stuart's eyes and the shoes before finally settling on the young man. "Yes," she replied in a near whisper. "I do." Then, after Stuart set the right shoe back in the shoebox, she lifted her left foot into the air and watched in silence as he slid the shoe onto her foot, wrapped the straps around her ankle and fastened them behind her lower leg. Then she moved the foot to the floor and lifted her right foot.

When both shoes were on and fastened, Stuart rose to his feet and extended his hand. "Okay, take a little walk and see how they feel."

Amy took hold of his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet, releasing it when she reached her full height. For a brief second she held her position and looked into his eyes, then she turned and started slowly down the aisle. When she reached the center aisle, she paused, turned, and started back, holding her eyes on his all the way, not stopping until she was once again standing in front of the full length mirror. This time, however, she was facing it straight on. And in spite of her concerted effort not to, she flinched when Stuart stepped up behind her and slid his hands onto her hips.

"Interestingly," he whispered into her ear, "it's not just the legs that benefit from high heels. Take the rear end, for example."