Shoe Slut

"Shit!" I spat, twisting my leg to look down at my shoe. The stiletto heel on my right foot was dangling from a thin strap of material; it had almost snapped completely off. I glanced around, hoping I'd find a cheap shoe store to grab a supplemental pair of pumps - I was probably going to be late for dinner, which meant punishment afterward, but I couldn't walk five city blocks in a broken heel.

There was no cheap shoe store, but there was a small, upscale shop just half a block up. I pulled both shoes off my feet and made my way to the front door.

The bell tingled as I walked inside; the lone man behind the counter met my eyes and smiled. "How can I help you?" he asked.

I held up my broken heel. "I need a replacement," I said, completely unnecessarily.

"Have a seat," he offered. "What size do you wear?"

"Six and a half," I told him, moving to a red wooden chair and seating myself gingerly. I pulled out my phone to text my husband and let him know where I was and what had happened.

The shoe salesman carried five boxes of beautiful black shoes to go with my black stockings and short red dress and set them down next to the chair. His name tag read "Matthew." He pulled the first pair out of the box and started to slip the high heel on my left foot, but he dropped it to look closer at my stocking. "You have a run," he pointed out. "See?"

I looked. Shit! "I don't suppose you carry ..." I started.

He grinned. "Of course. Do you require hose, thigh-highs ...?" He let the question trail off, swallowing slightly.

"Garter-friendly stockings, please," I told him. "Do you carry any of those?"

"We do," he confirmed. I saw his eyes moving more slowly over me, taking in the length of my skirt, the straining of my hardening nipples against the fabric, and they lingered on my throat.

I swallowed nervously. My husband had told me to wear the collar out; it was made of platinum, with diamonds set in it, and from a distance, it looked like an expensive choker. But up close, there was no mistaking that it was a collar.

"Let me just take these off," he said slowly, "just to make sure I've got the right size."

I saw the outline of his cock starting to harden against his pants and swallowed again. But I allowed him to run his hands up my left leg, tracing around the top of the stocking to unfasten the garter belt straps, then drawing the stocking slowly down my smooth leg. He went even more slowly with the right leg, and I felt the back of his hand brush my naked, clean-shaven pussy lips.

He felt it, too; he stiffened for a moment, then went seeking the other garter strap, I felt a finger lightly caress my clit before he drew the other stocking down my leg.

Just then, the phone rang.

"Hold on," he murmured, standing up and walking to the counter for the cordless phone. I saw him adjust the front of his pants as he went, and I felt juices starting to coat my pussy. I squirmed in my chair, trying to pull my skirt down so I wouldn't leave any telltale smears on the chair when I stood up, my heart pounding in my throat.

After announcing the name of the store and himself, Matthew was quiet on the phone. I watched him walk to the door and lock it, and I felt a shiver trickle down my spine as he did. He flipped the "open" sign to "closed," said, "I understand perfectly, sir," and hung up the phone.

His eyes roved over me again, lingering on my tits. "That was your dinner date," he informed me.

"Oh?" I was going for nonchalant, but it wasn't working.

"Oh," he confirmed, his lips curving in a smile. "He said you are to do what I tell you, and he will take your compliance into consideration when planning how he will punish you for your inability to be on time. His words."

I nodded. "That sounds like him," I agreed.

He met my eyes. "You're not wearing any panties under that dress, are you?"

I swallowed and cast my eyes down. "No, sir," I told him. "I never wear panties when we're going out for dinner."

"Is that so he can play with your cunt while he eats?" Matthew asked me bluntly.

I felt my cheeks heat. "Sometimes," I admitted. "Sometimes he just likes to tease me."

"Well. He's tasked me with finding you a new pair of shoes and some stockings."

I nodded again.

He watched me, eyes narrowed, considering me. "Scoot forward," he commanded me. "I want you sitting on the edge of your chair."

I obeyed, tucking my skirt under my ass as I perched on the edge of the seat.

Matthew stood in front of me, looking down. I was getting wetter from his commanding tone and obvious arousal.

He knelt and slid my feet into two beautiful high heels, five inches at least - much taller than I was used to wearing. Then he placed his hands on the insides of my knees and pushed them apart. The skirt of my dress slid up as my legs parted. He felt my hesitation and insisted with his hands, moving my knees open until my legs were wide open, exposing my shaved and dripping pussy to the shoe salesman.

He stepped back and looked down at me with a critical eye. My heart pounded in my chest, and I could feel the throbbing in my crotch, which was seeping juice onto my dress and the seat below me.

Matthew shook his head and picked another pair of shoes, then another. After replacing each pair on my feet, he moved my legs apart and examined me as I sat beneath his gaze, legs spread, chest heaving, lips parted. He could easily see how agitated he was making me - my pussy was bare except for a small strip of red hair just above the juncture of my lips, and I was swollen and pink and dripping from his attentions, almost panting with desire.

"These," he finally decided. "Stay there."

I sat perfectly still, feeling the juices trickling down my crack and pooling by my ass. There was no way my husband wouldn't see just how aroused I was getting from the attentions of the salesman when I finally made it to dinner.

He returned with a pair of silk stockings and removed the shoes from my feet. He gathered one stocking in his hand and slid it over my foot and up my leg. I bent and straightened my leg as his gentle hands indicated; after he snapped the garter belt into place, he stroked one finger over my pussy. I moaned through my parted lips, thrusting my hips forward to meet his hand. His other hand slapped the inside of my thigh. "Hold still," he scolded, while his finger found my clit and rubbed it. Biting my lower lip, I tried to control my hips, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

"You're dripping wet," he informed me in a severe tone. "Now the other leg."

He repeated the performance with my right leg, lingering over my crotch. I was breathing heavily, and my nipples were so hard they could cut diamonds. He dipped the first two fingers of both hands into my soaking pussy, then pinched my nipples in between his wet fingers over my dress, leaving marks on the fabric. Then he put the shoes on each foot.

"Legs apart," he commanded. I complied, moving my knees apart again, watching his eyes rove over my now-stockinged legs and bare crotch.

"Nice," he said. "Stand up." I did, pulling my dress down to cover myself. He slapped my hands down.

"I'm not finished with you yet," he informed me. "Turn around and bend over."

I did, leaning against the chair, and I felt him lift my dress back up to expose my ass and my cunt. Then I heard a click, like photos were being taken, but resisted the urge to look over my shoulder.

"Beautiful," he told me, snapping a few more photos. "I'm sending one to your dinner date," he informed me.

I whimpered softly in the back of my throat and realized I was about to start begging. I swallowed, but Matthew heard me.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"Nothing," I tried to answer.

I felt his hand smoothing over my ass; he rubbed it before raising it and bringing it down with a smack. I stifled the cry in my throat.

"I don't think that's what you said," he told me, caressing my other ass cheek. I could feel his handprint burning and whimpered again. Smack!

"What do you want me to do to you?" he asked me. I didn't answer him, and he spanked me again. This time, his hand caressed me lower, coating his fingers with my juices. I knew this was going to make the next slap sting even worse, and it did. Smack!

"Please," I whispered. "Please play with me. Please use me."

His fingers plunged into me; I arched my back in pleasure and pushed back against his hand. He slipped two, three, four fingers into me; I was stretched around his hand, moaning and rotating my hips around the intrusion. I heard him snapping more pictures of his hand in my pussy, but I didn't care anymore; I wanted him to keep going.

He put his phone down and I felt his other hand stroking my ass. He spanked me again, three times on each cheek, while pumping his fingers in and out of me. I could hear the splash of my wetness while he moved his fingers, and then I felt him stroking his finger from my pussy to my tight, puckered asshole, coating it with the juices streaming from my cunt.

I was beyond speaking, grinding back onto his hand and inviting his finger into my ass. He pushed it into me, one finger, then two, and started fucking me with both hands. When he twisted his arm to rotate his thumb against my clit, I cried out and knew I was going to cum all over his hand. He knew it, too; he leaned down and whispered in my ear. "Your husband said I could try to make you cum. He said if you did, you would be in trouble. But I want you to, anyway. Cum on my hand, you beautiful slut."

A few more strokes of his thumb on my clit and I was over the falls; I felt my pussy and my ass clamp down on his fingers while the orgasm washed over me, and then I felt my legs shaking. I straightened them and corrected the curvature in my spine. There was pussy juice streaming down the insides of my thighs, and as Matthew withdrew his fingers, he wiped them on my ass.

"Stand up," he told me. I did. He cocked his head and looked at me. "I've got half a mind to ask you to drop to your knees and suck my cock," he informed me, "but I don't want you to ruin those stockings, and your husband requested that I not mar your makeup. And I want to wipe my dick and your spit all over your face when you do suck it for me." He considered me.

"I could make you finish your walk to the restaurant with my cum running down your legs," he said, as if thinking out loud, "but there's quite enough cum running down your legs as-is." He smiled at me.

"I think I'm just going to ask you to come back tomorrow," he says. "Your husband said that would be permissible, and I want to feel those beautiful arches wrapped around my cock. I'll expect to see you at 2 p.m. That's when I close the shop for lunch. I want you in a sundress and espadrilles. No underwear - I don't even want you in a bra." I shuddered; I hate going braless; my tits are big and everyone always stares, but I nodded.

"Good," he said, as if concluding a business transaction. "Oh! I almost forgot. Bend over again."

I did as he instructed me and heard him rummaging through my purse; I knew what he must be looking for. I felt him run the end of the plug between my cunt lips, paying particular attention to my clit. It wasn't long before it was coated in thick juice and he was pressing it against the opening of my asshole.

I didn't move, waiting for him to start working it in, but he held it still. After a moment, I realized he wanted me to push back against the plug myself. I took a deep breath and started working my hips backward, slowly, moving them in a circular motion and feeling the plug stretch my asshole. My husband had put my second-largest plug in the purse, and despite the two fingers Matthew had shoved into me earlier, I knew it would take a minute or two before I stretched enough to accommodate it. I knew he could see my arousal; my cunt lips were swollen, and I felt my clit pushing against its hood as my inner thighs were once again dampened by my juices. I was helpless and embarrassed, but there was nothing to do except brace myself against the chair and continue to push back onto the plug.

Finally, with a moan, I felt my sphincter close around the base. Matthew twirled the plug in my asshole a couple of times, then tapped the end; I felt it press deep inside of me and bit back another moan.

He stroked my pussy once more, moving his fingers all around my clit, my lips and my slit, just like my husband did when feeling for stray hairs after I shaved. I ground my pussy against his hand, and he pinched my clit lightly before he drew his hand away.

"That'll be the only attention your cunt gets tonight," Matthew told me. "Your date told me to tell you that he's not going to touch your pussy or let you cum tonight; as a punishment for breaking your heel and delaying dinner, he asked me to prepare your asshole for a deep, long fucking." He wiped his hand on my ass again, spanked me lightly and then drew me upright.

"That just means you'll be even wetter for me tomorrow," he informed me. "I have plans for that slut cunt of yours. And that ass, too. You'll have to put the plug in yourself before you come back, but I expect to see it right where I left it tomorrow. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," I murmured. He tapped the end of the plug again through my dress; I glanced outside and saw the wind had picked up. Hoping to make it to the restaurant before my skirt revealed my shaven pussy and stretched-out ass to the world, I balanced myself on the shoes and made my way to the door. I could feel Matthew's eyes on me as I walked to the door and unlocked it, and I turned around to wink at him, seeing the clear outline of his cock through his pants and vowing to myself to drain the spunk from his balls tomorrow before he can enact all of the plans he's clearly making in his head.