Little Secretary — The Shoes Series

When I see a pair of shoes, I don’t just see a pair of shoes. I see a story, wait­ing to unfold before me — that exquis­ite ele­gant lit­tle heel is Scheherazade spin­ning tales to dampen the gus­set of my knick­ers. Each shoe has its own story to tell, so this will be the first part of a series of vignettes, a peek into a world of possibilities…please, enjoy.

She def­i­nitely seems all busi­ness up front, but look a lit­tle closer and you’ll see some­thing else. Your eyes roam over her, her shiny dark curls con­tained in the clas­sic high pony­tail, sleek and per­fect, and just ask­ing to be freed to tum­ble around her shoul­ders, to be clenched in your fist and pulled until tears smear the per­fectly applied makeup around her wide fright­ened eyes. Long dark lashes flut­ter­ing against her cheeks as she begs you for…well, for what­ever you want her to beg for. Long slen­der neck, an unblem­ished can­vas wait­ing to be used, dec­o­rated with a taste­ful pen­dant on a del­i­cate chain that you know will snap with one strong jerk of your hand. White but­toned down shirt, but it’s awfully tight, mold­ing to gen­er­ous curves, and between the but­tons, just a hint of the sexy lace she’s wear­ing under­neath cup­ping silky skin just aching to be bruised by your touch. Busi­ness appro­pri­ate black skirt, but it’s a lit­tle more fit­ted than you’d usu­ally expect, flar­ing out over full hips and curv­ing back in beneath an ample der­riere to reveal long sleek legs peek­ing out of a slit that’s just a lit­tle too high and shows just a lit­tle too much thigh. And those legs — clad in sheer black stock­ings, noth­ing that would be out of place in an office, but when she bends over to retrieve that file you requested from the bot­tom drawer and you see the lacy tops and del­i­cate garters climb­ing to a slinky lit­tle num­ber that no doubt matches that sexy lit­tle bra, it’s all you can do to keep from kick­ing her legs wide apart or knock­ing her to her knees so she’ll press those full pout­ing lips against the seam of your zipper.

And those shoes…well, it was the shoes that gave her away when she walked in the door. No sen­si­ble black heels for your lit­tle sec­re­tary, no she’s wear­ing tall black stacked heels, with buck­les and straps encas­ing her del­i­cate feet atop sky high heels so that she’s always pre­car­i­ously bal­anced just so. It makes you ache to knock her off guard, to strip her of all cloth­ing and arti­fice to reveal the girl beneath. To make her beg, to make her crawl across the plush car­pet of your office, com­pletely naked except for those shoes, her silk stock­ings, that garter belt encir­cling her nar­row waist. To put her across your lap and spank her until the pro­fes­sional gloss fades, until the steely exte­rior cracks and she’s moan­ing and cry­ing, her ass red and hot in the palm of your hand. To put her on your desk, to tie her down, to fuck her, her mouth, her ass, that glis­ten­ing val­ley between her heav­ing breasts as she slides her tongue out to meet your swollen glans on every stroke. To watch her eyes go wide when you hit the but­ton on the inter­com and call the office interns in, the same interns she’s tor­mented and treated like shit over the past few weeks, the same interns she cock­teased all the while look­ing down her per­fect nose.

And after­wards, while she curls up in your lap, tear and makeup smeared face buried in the lapel of your expen­sive suit (you’ll have to remem­ber to pun­ish her for ruin­ing it later), com­pletely naked, garters hav­ing been ripped and torn, stock­ings shred­ded, except for those exquis­ite shoes…still per­fect, to kiss her softly as you wait for her to whis­per “thank you”.