Disclaimer: not an English born writer, bear with me
Prologue
Five months ago.
"Prepare your bag! Guess where I'm gonna take you?" The sudden scream ripped through the silence of the house, with Brent, startled by the cry, nearly knocking the newly opened beer bottle out of his hand. The front door wide open, his wife Michelle more than walking seemed to be floating, as she approached him with a smile of pure joy gave her an even more beautiful aura.
"And where are we going?" merely replied Brent in curiosity, before taking a long sip at the Abbaye des Rocs Grand Cru, one of his favorites, a Belgian craft amber beer he'd managed to unearth in a little store specialized in beers from around the world.
"What's the holiday we've been dreaming of since we were married?" Michelle continued with her riddle, hugging him seductively from behind, her firm breasts perfectly clinging to Brent's back.
"Italy?"
"Bingo! Notice came to the office today that this year's world convention will be held in Milan. Five days in early June. And given last year's excellent results, it will be our hotel -- and this means me, your wife -- to represent New Mexico. Now, I just have to decide whether to take my delightful hubby with me as well, or to go off on my own and find out if it's true what they say about Italians."
"And what do they say?" Brent continued the game.
"That they are indefatigable, irresistible flirters and suitors. But I could also take you with me, and let you find out for yourself" Michelle continued, her hand having descended from Brent's chest to his pants. His hard cock, which had immediately stiffened upon hearing those words, was the answer.
1.
Five months later
Even in the chaos of the Santa Fe airport, the sound resonated crisply. "Tac tac tac." Michelle's passing distracted more than one passenger, drawn first by the sound of those heels echoing across the floor, and then by their owner. At 46, Michelle looked several years younger, about 5"8 tall, a lean physique, breasts that didn't go unnoticed, slightly wavy blond hair that reached the middle of her back, a sweet face with clear blue eyes standing out, and a smile that you could sense accompanied her most of the time. Was that enough? No, because, after an initial glance at her face, the gaze of those who passed her could not avoid following her curves. Those who walked behind her were enraptured by the shapes of a butt that inevitably created some bold thoughts; those who approached her, on the other hand, in lingering their attention on her breasts inevitably aimed their gaze at two nipples that, despite the bra, won the battle against the summer dress she was wearing. And then the legs, long, curvaceous, elegant, ending in tapered ankles, the right one embellished with a silver anklet, and two feet which any lover of female extremities would happily pay proper homage. Their beauty was even more highlighted by four toe rings, on both the two long and middle toes, a feminine quirk whose effect was to give Michelle not only an elegant figure, but also added some extreme sensuality and, why not, erotical appeal.
None of those people who crossed Michelle and Brent's path in that moment could have known it, but the passion for the feet was something that over the past year had increased Michelle's awareness of her own femininity. As well as spiced up the couple's sex life. The blonde manager of one of New Mexico's most exclusive boutique hotels still remembered when she had traveled to Austin on a business trip. After a very long and exhausting day of meetings on the marketing strategies to capture more clientele, in the evening she had gone with Rupert, a colleague from New York she had always find amusing and easy to talk to, for a walk on 6th Street, world-famous for its endless array of live music venues of all kinds. At some point, Michelle's attention had been caught by the call of a man leaning out of the window of Pete's Dueling Piano bar: "I would give anything to take those toe rings off one by one with nothing but my mouth," he had shouted to Michelle, smiling ecstatically, and raising a glass in toast. Rupert had looked first at the man then at her with a puzzled and amused look, then blatantly had given a long stare at her feet: "He is right, they are just beautiful" he added in a flirty tone. Michelle just smiled coquettishly.
She knew she had beautiful feet and she had always taken special care of them. But it had been only lately that she had become increasingly aware of the effect that showing them off was causing to other men. And being a happy, open and also quite flirty soul, she discovered how exhibiting her femininity was causing her an erotic thrill. Nothing improper, yet, but once a slightly shorter skirt, another a blouse button left carelessly open that was showing some cleavage, one time a bit of dangling practiced with an almost unconscious air as she sat at a small cafΓ© table, all this had given Michelle the certainty about how men looked and found her attractive. And so, after her return from Austin, one evening she had found herself telling Brent about the episode and how those words had thrilled her.
"Had you been alone, would you have joined him in that bar?" Brent asked her point-blank.
Michelle had lifted her head from her husband's chest and looked at him in amazement. "What, you would have liked it if I'd let him pick me up?" she replayed in the most possible neutral tone.
"No, no, I was just saying that" Brent merely mumbled, although with a quick glance, it did not escape Michelle how the sweatpants her husband was wearing appeared decidedly tighter. A little while later, when they went to bed Brent mounted her and, with an energy that had been unknown to her in recent times, fucked her for a long time until the two fell asleep exhausted and happy.
"So, would he like to see me fucked by a stranger?" was Michelle's last thought before flying off to Lalaland.
All those episodes -- the stranger's compliment, Rubert's words, and, most importantly, the discovery of Brent's hidden fantasies -- had stayed with her, opening an unexpected breach. A few days later, Michelle had opened her first social account, obviously anonymous, dedicated to her feet. And with the first photos she had posted, came the first enthusiastic messages from strangers who were flooding her with compliments and, of course, trying to sneaking more into her daily life. Instagram and then Tumblr, Feetfinder, Snapchat, Telegram, what at first seemed just a game, now took up more and more of her time, starting with the first messages exchanged when she woke up and ending with the last ones at bedtime, with a sense of excitement that never left her during the day.