"Tick, tock, tick, tock." The knocking sound of a pair of heels echoed through the staircase as a dark shadow approached the penthouse door on the 25th floor of an apartment building in the city center, close to the main square. It was a building in the best neighborhood, a pretty expensive and exclusive area of the better-equipped inhabitants of the city. However, the dark staircase offered only a slight view of the person, which was what appeared to be that dark shadow that caused the sounds.
At second glance, one could recognize that it was the silhouette of a woman wearing an expensive pair of shiny, black high heels of at least 6'' in height. Her legs seemed endless, and the way she was wiggling her pelvis elegantly from left to right and from right to left. At the same time, she moved closer to the door, exposing herself as the kind of woman who was used to walking in these things that most women usually would leave on the store shelf because they couldn't walk in them. In times when sneakers had become the most widespread footwear for men and women alike, she definitely stood out. The fingers of her right were wrapped around the leash of a small handbag made by a famous Italian designer.
Her feet were wrapped in tender, shining black nylons. They disappeared underneath a knee-length, tight-fitting business skirt that elegantly snuggled up against her tight, small booty and her athletic pelvis. Her back was covered in a white blazer of finest quality, tailored tight around her waist. That was everything one could see of her on that staircase. Her long, blond hair was pinned up, exposing a beautiful, thin neck. It's not an overstatement to say that this woman was of extraordinary beauty and probably turned around many heads while walking outside on the street.
As she reached the doorstep and turned sideways, one could see that she was wearing oversized sunglasses with wide black temples. Even though the glasses covered her face widely, what was visible was of similar beauty as her outfit, covered in perfect make-up. However, she probably wouldn't have thought this was her if her elder self had seen her. Her was me.
I was in a perfect mood as I stuck the key into the locks and opened the door. After all, it was an anniversary for me. Not only were Tom and I together for two years that day (at least officially), but it was also the second anniversary of my new self. Finally, I had turned into the woman I wished, or better, worked to become since my breakup with my high-school love, Jim.
Back in those days, my life was totally different from today. I was that classy, casually dressed 20-something woman in a relationship with the love of her school days, wearing comfy dresses and jeans at work and cozy tracksuits at home. Even hell on earth hadn't been able to convince me to change my comfortable ballerinas against, well, these stilettos of enormous high. I would have thought I'd break my legs if I wore them. But the break-up with Jim changed everything.
The same day Jim and I broke up, my best friend, Lexie, introduced me to her husband's friend, Tom, in a bar at our lady's night. I didn't like Tom at all: he was a cocky, straightforward, quite rude dude with an arrogant attitude. However, his presence, and admittedly the fact that he was muscular and well built, somehow was like a magnet for me. I felt weird when I arrived back that night at our old flat, just to get caught entirely by surprise when I experienced that Jim was cheating on me and wanted to leave me. I still hear his words that felt to me like he was punching a baseball bat against my head, "You know, the rare sex we have is boring as fuck."
If Lexie wouldn't have been around, I'd likely have suffered a mental breakdown. But with her help, I channeled my sadness and anger into another direction. Always intrigued by Lexie's stories about her sex life, I decided that it was time to grow up and explore what I wanted. I was always competitive and strive for perfection when I started something. And I had two things in mind, and one of them was to become more like my best friend. While we were both gifted by nature regarding our bodies and beautiful faces, Lexie was always the extravaganza of us two, who dressed in heels and sexy outfits and told me about the crazy sex she and Mike had. A crazy chick you are friends with because, well, you'd literally been friends forever.
Ok, I must admit, Lexie wasn't precisely supportive because she was too excited about it. In some sense, she was a driving force initially proposing a few things to me. Nevertheless, in the end, I was intrigued by her suggestions and the idea. Thinking of changing my appearance aroused me, and I noticed many heads turning when I tumbled along the city square in high heels. I could barely walk and a tight-fitting power suit, my ego got pushed into the stratosphere, so to speak.
All these memories rushed through my head as I walked on the roof terrace and sat on the sofa for a cigarette. Although I never was a real smoker, I passionately celebrated this one. After all, it was a special day. The thought of the early days conjured up a smile on my face. From day one, I worked on my body in the gym to eliminate some problem zones I had developed during my days with Jim. Lexie and I threw out almost my whole wardrobe and bought tight, figure-hugging outfits: sexy tight dresses, pencil skirts, blouses with nice cleavage, or tight and elegant power suits and revealing jumpsuits. I bought sexy lingerie and finally threw my ballerinas on the dumpster to replace them with 6-inch stilettos, plateau heels, and over-knee heel boots.
I practiced for endless hours to be able to walk in these things, damning all of them for several weeks. But I stuck through, and about a month later, I was walking down the city center like an angel when I wore them, at a fast pace with sexy swinging hips. And good god, the attention felt fantastic for my ego. However, becoming a hot, sexy appearance was only one task I needed to master, and after a few horrible one-night stands, I finally hooked up with Tom. And the sex was an outright disaster. He stopped after a few minutes and asked me if I was serious. My blown-up ego was immediately back down on the ground. Again, Lexie was there, building me up together with Tom. We talked a lot, and it immediately turned out that I had no idea what my kinks were or what turned me on. I remember when I told Lexie that "being slutty like her" was always intriguing and arousing for me, but in reality, that was way too abstract.
So, Lexie said I should watch porn to find out what I liked, if "being slutty" was what turned me on. It might sound a bit weird, but it was eye-opening for me. As an excellent dancer, I always loved to perform to express my feelings and to arouse others. And seeing some of the actresses using their bodies, their look, their eyes, their words, just like a dancer uses his body to impress the crowd, it clicked. I wanted to be like these girls, interpreting sex as a dance to excite and to feel the satisfaction in my brain's reward system when I saw how crazy I could make the guy. Within a week of intense studying, I knew exactly what "dance moves" I wanted to be able to pull off organically when I had sex. It should have been fun for me, like dancing, and turning him crazy was my turn-on in return.
My smile got brighter as I felt some horniness coming up, thinking about the hours of "practice" to improve my skills. Fuck, it was so much fun to practice with Tom, who gave me feedback, and when my mind remembered when Lexie joined us to show me some tricks and techniques, I had to bite my lips to suppress a lustful sigh remembering feeling her perfect bare body on mine when we enjoyed each other. Fuck, I felt so horny and needy, aching for Tom's body and his amazing cock.
