Authors Note.
Hello any and all! This is my 2nd attempt at writing and I starting to love it! I've read a lot of stuff here the past few weeks, and some of it flows so well it makes me want to quit. But at a friend's request I will continue to try and pare my words away. I'm trying to bend this into a ~loving wives~ story somehow I guess. Flesh things out. I'm here to edit my ideas slowly. Laying down every scene instantly as it leaves me, and then again pare me away into something. All critics welcome. I love the hate. I enjoy the love. It's how we grow as artists. Thanks!
*****
I didn't have to say anything, so I leaned against the doorway watching them carry off their conquests. The bags they lugged were full of a plunder they would touch and use, unlike the one I held.
This one was only full of dreams.
"Honey, what about these? Do you think they look good with the mini-skirt I have on?" she asked again, jolting me back. I bottled my imagination and spun around to see her leg jutting out towards me modeling yet another shoe and realized the reality of this was nearing. It was really happening again.
The salesman sitting at her feet did his best to pretend her panties weren't exposed right in front of him, but I knew he'd had a peek from the expression on his face. I remember how I'd felt the first time I caught a glance, and that's exactly the dumb face I likely made. It takes a while to learn and mask how women make us feel, and this poor fella had years to go.
I could imagine him being a player some day, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind, but he'll never know how weak his game is until he's up against a real woman, like mine. A good one.
It was the ugliest shoe I'd ever seen, but nodded in agreement, smiling.
"No, no, maybe something else." she told him, squinting at her manicured nails, folding them beneath her chin. She sighed indecisively and dropped her foot down into his waiting hands. It sounded like a hammer hitting an anvil, with nothing between to bend or repair, just a tool, hitting a tool.
He slipped the shoe away while clutching her ankle, and placed it back into a box. My eye twitched. This was harder to handle than I thought. She still finds ways to drive me crazy after all these years.
"I know," I heard her confide in him "My husband has absolutely no taste! I'm beginning to wonder if he's damned color blind." rolling her eyes and pretending to gag, jamming a finger at her open mouth. He beamed up at her, buying the act she put on.
He was helping her try on shoes, but each pair didn't meet her standards. The piles of boxes surrounding her continued to grow because she couldn't decide on what she wanted, and he continued to bring more and more, just like the salesmen at other stores, trying to keep her from leaving, trying to satisfy her.
This pair is too blue. That pair hurt her feet. Those had sexy gold glitter, but no, those were probably worn by whores. No, these were too country. These were cheaply made. This pair was too soft. One pair wasn't slutty enough. Another seemed too Avant grade, ...whatever the hell that meant. "But, leave them here, I may end up wanting them." she warned.
Her excuses didn't end and I felt sorry for him, until I noticed how erotically he began holding her feet. He wasn't like the others. It made me excited and angry at once, a strange confusing mixture that wasn't jealousy, but more like the anticipation of a challenge.
It felt like sitting at a red light with another muscle car revving next to yours, ready to roar away on the green light. She always screamed when my power forced her back into the seat, but relaxed when I slowed, if I did. I usually drove her on out into oblivion until she'd forgotten why she was there, or what she wanted. I loved making her forget about her life.
This kid had no clue what she was up to. She knew the boots we needed weren't here. Nothing like them existed in those piles, they lived in our imagination. The journey sharing what you both want is harder without a common destination, but you should always relish the ride, even if it gets bumpy on the best parts, because those are the ones you'll always remember.
All of those hands that touched her can't touch the love we share. All of the piles of shoes she left behind will be meaningless without her, they'll be worn by others, oblivious to what they could have meant.
Her boots waited in an adult toy store on the other side of town. We don't speak of them anymore, knowing she'll be wearing them soon. My heart raced visualizing her standing above me, making me slow down for her.
But first, I had to fight through another test she created, so here I stood, taking another punch. It's not the kind of fighting I liked, but I took it on the chin for her again. I only enjoyed hurting people that tried hurting me or my family.
Any other confrontation was a waste of time. I didn't have anything to prove, only protect. I wanted to wrap my arms around her waist, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her home, but she insisted I watch.
So I am.
"Do you have anything in pink vinyl?" she asked, batting her eyes at him. I smiled and shook my head. She had become such a flirt. I wondered where else she's used this ability in the past. I like to pretend she's only done it for me, because it made me melt, back then. We are so blind when we are so young.
"My husband just loves pink on my feet" she explained "Don't you baby?"
I nodded, remembering.
"Or would you rather see me wearing something else?" she said, dragging a finger to her knee and tilting her head.
"I just love shiny shoes." she said, looking back down and touching his shoulder as he bounded up. I can't remember the last time I moved that fast for her, or if I ever did. Maybe once or twice when I had to chase her down, but we don't think of those times anymore. It gets painful.
"Yes Ma'am we do!" he answered her excitedly, turning and hurrying towards the stockroom. "I'll be right back with what you want!"
I cracked my shoulders and my leather jacket creaked. I was ready to leave. I didn't want to see anymore. I didn't need to see something that reminded me of what she was capable of, of what she was back then and what she meant to me. I always looked forward. The true challenge was holding back what she'd been hiding from me from the beginning. I knew all about her colorful past, and that's what turned me on, always knowing she would end up in back in my arms, thinking I knew nothing.
This was the fourth shoe store we'd been in today. At each, she'd pull the same routine. She'd try on at least two dozen pairs of heels, boots, or pumps, and never buy them. Zero ended up to her liking and sat waiting to be reboxed and shelved as we walked out.
"He's a cute one, and obviously a foot worshipper" she teased me after he was out of earshot. "I wouldn't need to train him months on end, like you"
I squeezed the straps of her choices waiting inside the bag. There wasn't anything to crush outside of it.
"I'd like to see him down by my feet much, much longer." she added, looking down at her naked foot. I wanted to put something on it.
"I wonder if he can paint toenails better than you?" she asked, wistfully watching him walk away.
I started becoming hard, so I shifted her sacks of lingerie in front of myself. Imagining what she bought only made it worse.
She raised an eyebrow at me and asked "Jealous? Or just getting turned on by the idea of him down here?" pointing at the floor under her feet. Her beautiful soft feet with perfectly maintained nails.
Would she really let someone else do my job? It's the only pleasure I have left.
"Remember." she playfully reminded me, "Hubby hubby no get jelly-jealous." warning me and wagging a finger.
This was my lesson for the week, watching other men touch her feet.
I'm not to speak. I'm not to get jealous. Just wait on her paying close attention to how it makes me feel. She suggested I try and enjoy it, because she would.
She's taught me that I don't get to touch her feet, she only allows me. I've been learning that the last few weeks. What lotions to buy. Which polish she wants applied. How to rub them. How to file them smooth. I've turned into her personal pedicurist.
If I do a good job, I get to cum on them.
I'm starting to love it and have become addicted to it, the new her and me. I'm less selfish, and it's become a world we can share together.
"I want you to get used to seeing men at my feet." she hinted in the parking lot. "I have something planned that I think you'll love, and if not, well, ...you'll learn to crave it, because you're learning that you don't have a choice."
"Did you hear me? You need to start listening," she fondled me beneath the steering wheel "because soon you won't have a choice."
"I've had to help you with some recent choices, and eventually, I'll make all of them, all right honey?"
"Right?" her touch electrified me and I melted into a ball of putty. She has that effect on me when I haven't felt her in so long. I could barely nod.
She pulled my zipper down, guiding me out, to give me a few tugs.
"Look into my eyes when I'm doing this."
I fell into her eyes.
"You like this, don't you baby?"
I couldn't believe what was happening. We sat in a busy parking lot, in the middle of day with people everywhere. She'd have never done this kind of thing in the past, even I'd demanded it. She's gotten bolder since I've helped her get her confidence back.
"You want to watch men servicing my feet." she told me. "You want to learn how to serve me better by watching them make me happier."
"Some guys may know how to please me...better, and you need to discover how."
