New Shoes

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I wrote a story about a gal buying shoes when I was using the name LynnGK. This is another story about a woman buying new shoes. Any woman who has ever bought shoes from a male salesman (and most shoe salesmen are male) will identify with this story. Some of you gals may have experienced at least SOME of it. I know I have. Never this far of course.


I had to buy a pair of nice dress shoes for the club party next month. I knew what I wanted and I knew where I wanted to buy them and as I sat in my office at the accounting firm I planned my shopping trip to St. Louis. There were a couple of top of the line shoe stores just off Forrest Park and they had a fabulous selection. I’d take Friday off and shop two days staying at the Chase. Of course I needed a lot more than just shoes.

My name is Erika Williams and I just turned thirty-five and made senior partner in my accounting firm the same month. My husband and I had divorced, amicably, a year ago and I had been dating a little. I was luckier than most of my women friends in that I still had my figure and could wear spikes. I had been told that I could pass for a lot younger than thirty-five, and I hoped it was true.

I looked good but I lived in a small Missouri town and finding a husband was gonna be difficult. There were some divorced guys with reputations of having been lousy husbands. There were some never-married guys who were either lechers or losers. But damn few guys that a successful businesswoman would consider eligible.

And I needed to get fucked! My husband, for all his financial problems and they were legion, knew how to fuck. I’ll never forget that last time. Our divorce had been final for two months and Jim had just checked out of his hotel and was driving to his new job in Louisville. He stopped at the house to drop off some final papers late Friday afternoon and I met him in my bathrobe, naked underneath. He hadn’t had a piece of ass for months and I was as horny as a mountain goat.

That horny bastard could read me like a book and he just stepped inside and took me in his arms and peeled that robe off of me. He knew I needed to fuck and he fucked me. He fucked me all Friday night and then Saturday morning and Saturday night and Sunday. That fuck lasted me for two weeks! But I haven’t had a hard one since then!

I really missed fucking, but didn’t dare try it in my small town. It’s different with guys. A guy who needs to fuck can go to the hill in St. Louis and find a high-class hooker or fly to Vegas and buy legal pussy. Gals can’t do that – all we can do is play with ourselves and fantasize.

But wait a minute, I suddenly thought as I tried to remember what a hard cock felt like. My need for shoes made me suddenly remember a shopping trip to St. Louis a year ago when the very handsome owner of a small shoe store in Forrest Park sold me a beautiful pair of spikes and examined my thighs and panties as he fitted me. I decided to try that store first. Maybe I’d get lucky.

I left after work Thursday and drove up I-44 to St. Louis and into the Chase reception area in my Lexus GX470 with most of my stuff on hangers in back and only a small suitcase. The guys grabbed my stuff and the valet guy drove my car away and I checked into a nice suite. It was just after six in the evening and the shops would be open another couple of hours. I changed clothes and got a cab to the store of my choice.

My pussy gave a pleasurable tingle when I walked istanbul escort in and saw my favorite shoe salesman. Fred was about forty with dark wavy hair and a small Clark Gable mustache. He recognized me right a way and smiled. He had looked up my skirt on more than one occasion and I could tell he was looking forward to another panty-viewing experience.

“I’ll take care of Mrs. Williams,” he said to his young assistant, a not unattractive guy in his early twenties.

Fred’s eyes swept down my figure noting my narrow waist, nice hips, and great legs, made better by three-inch spikes. My outfit showed off my wares nicely. I could tell he was thinking about my panties and inner thighs, which he had examined carefully when he fit my shoes several times last year. This time he would not see my panties – they were in my purse.

I was wearing a miniskirt, which showed off my legs and of course I had on hose and a garter belt. I was gonna give him a good show! I had already made up my mind that if he propositioned me I was gonna take him back to my suite at the Chase and fuck his brains out. God knows I needed it!

He escorted me to a fitting chair situated out of sight of most customers and facing a wall so he would be the only one seeing me with my legs spread. It was obvious to me that he planned to spread ’em. Spread ’em as wide as he could get away with and I was gonna let him get away with as much as he wanted.

He checked my size and came back with a stack of boxes, all with dress spikes. He sat on the stool and put my right foot on the low platform between his legs. Off came my shoe and he cradled my foot in his hands almost like a foot fetishist, which, for all I knew, he might have been. Then he spread my knees just a little and my mini started that trip up my thighs that I knew we both would enjoy.

I was careful not to pull my mini down or move my knees back together after he spread ’em. I was not even gonna hint that I objected to him spreading my legs as wide as he wanted. And, by the third shoe he was enjoying white thigh above the top of my hose, held up by a red garter belt.

He looked up at me, smiled and said, “Very nice.”

His smile was subtle but we both knew he was talking about my thighs and not the shoe.

The fourth shoe was the one I wanted and I said, “Put that one aside. I might want to buy those. But let’s keep trying on more shoes. I’m having fun.”

He smiled again. “So am I,” he said.

By now there was no doubt in either of our minds about why we both were having fun. I think he suspected that there was a little bit of exhibitionist in me – maybe more than just a little bit. But this was not exhibitionism. I wanted to fuck and I was showing him my merchandise as he showed me his. He just hadn’t figured it out yet. Maybe when he got my legs spread wide enough to see my pussy he would get the message.

He hit pay dirt on the sixth shoe. He spread my legs a little wider and my knees were now almost a foot apart. My skirt slipped up a couple of inches more. It was now even with the top of my garter supported hose. I knew from his expression that he had seen pussy not panties.

Now’s the time I thought. Show him what you got baby. I shifted my position moving my butt further forward in the chair and leaning back. Then I spread my legs wide enough to give him a real good view. No man could miss that signal. His eyes avcılar escort just froze staring at my crotch.

I had been thinking about showing Fred that hairy thing since I started my drive to St. Louis. So I was real horny and I think my inner lips were engorged, hanging out a bit, and wet. That thirty-five year-old, experienced pussy must have made a pretty sight for his eyes.

“Now that’s REALLY nice,” he said softly, staring directly up my skirt at my pussy.

I didn’t move and neither did he. He sat there looking and I sat there letting him look. It was a good thing the store was almost empty. I could feel a tingle in my naked pussy as he stared up at it. Pussies like to be looked at – especially when they’re horny. It makes ’em tingle.

“I’ve been divorced for a year,” I said, softly, almost a whisper.

He got my message loud and clear. He knew I WANTED to fuck. He knew I NEEDED to fuck, if I was willing to spread my legs for a shoe salesman. And he knew I was READY to fuck if my wet pussy meant what a wet pussy usually means.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight,” he said without taking his eyes off of my pussy.

English translation: Would you like to fuck?

“I’d like that very much,” I said. “How about at my hotel? I’m at the Chase.”

English translation: Hell yes! I’d love to fuck! And I gotta place to do it.

“I have to make a phone call first,” he said, still staring at my pussy.

He finally tore himself away from that beautiful vista, excused himself, and headed for his office, no doubt to call his loving wife.

His wife was gonna hear some outlandish excuse for him not being home till midnight. I was gonna rush a light dinner thinking about getting laid for the first time in a year. And he was gonna sit through dinner with a hard on wishing he didn’t have to eat first.

And that’s exactly what happened. I gobbled my food down at record speed, as did he. When we got to the suite I disappeared into the bathroom and stripped down to heels, hose, and garter belt. I was in the mood to fuck, not play lovy dovy strip tease.

I checked my tits in the mirror and those 35C babies looked great. Milky white compared to my bronze tan body and firm with nipples already erect, pointing straight out. My beaver, dark and hairy, covered my clit. This was amazing because that damn clit was as big and hard as she ever gets. She was waiting expectantly.

I turned and looked at my ass in the mirror – twin triangles of milky white bikini protected skin. And my legs! Jesus they looked great held up by those three-inch spikes. And my garter belt and hose made me look obscenely naked – more naked than just buck-naked. Hell! I could be twenty-five! Well, maybe, almost, I hope. Most importantly, in this outfit I looked like a horny bitch eager to fuck, which was exactly what I was.

I walked out into the living room of the suite with my shoulders back and my tits jiggling proudly. As he looked at me his face told me everything I needed to know about the appearance of my body. I watched his eyes move from legs to beaver to butt to breasts and then back down that sequence again. He did it several times and he seemed to ignore my face, which suited me just fine. It was my pussy I wanted him interested in.

“It’s your turn,” I said. “Get naked.”

And he did. I was not disappointed. He had a hairy chest – the kind that tickles my tits. He had a circumcised şirinevler escort six inches, hard and sticking straight out. Thank you Lord I thought! I had hated unclipped studs since high school because too many of them did not wash under their foreskins properly. Six inches would work if he knew how to use it. And if he didn’t I’d show him!

But that’s not what he planned to use first I concluded when he sat me in a big easy chair and kneeled before me like a shoe salesman. Spreading my knees, he looked up at my pussy and admired it, exactly as he had done in the store. He didn’t look at anything else. He just stayed kneeling at my feet and staring at my pussy. My pussy was throbbing with my need for him.

Then, just when I thought my pussy would explode, finally, he reached around and grabbed my ass and pulled me closer to him. He admired my pussy again, his nose six inches away, for a full minute until finally he spread my legs as wide as the chair allowed and chowed down on what was by now, a wet, dripping, and very eager pussy.

He buried his face in my curly haired beaver and his tongue explored my pussy lips from top to bottom slowly and sensuously. Then he tongued my vagina thoroughly. Next he explored my clitoris from top to throbbing head and finally he put his upper lip on the shaft of my clit and reinforced it with his teeth so I could stimulate myself by humping like I was fuckin him in the mouth. His chin was on the cuckold’s chin rest, or ball rest as my Ex called it.

And at long last, just before I went out of my fucking mind, he went to work industriously on the head of my clit with his tongue. I was dealing with an expert. Fred was not your ordinary muff diver. He was a gourmet muff muncher. A cunning linguist. This is what women dream about. I remembered a classmate at UMKC who said, “Show me a guy who won’t eat pussy and I’ll show you a guy whose girl friend I can fuck any time I want to.”

I put my hands on the back of his head to set a rhythm I liked. This was my favorite position for a muff muncher because I could control the amount of pressure on my clit. I did my share of the work humping and he did his share with his talented tongue. That horny shoe salesman brought off this horny CPA in record time. I lay back in the chair panting to catch my breath.

He looked up at me and smiled and said, “This was a shoe salesman’s fantasy, you know. You have no idea how many women want to show off their pussies. I see one or two every week. They sit there with their legs spread and no pants on. And I sit there and look up at those beautiful, hairy things and fantasize spreading their legs and eatin as much pussy as I can. I’ve tried once or twice to do more than just look but these broads just want to show it off naked and tease.”

Then he picked me up and carried me to the big king sized bed and fucked my brains out. I had him over Friday afternoon and Saturday before I checked out. By the time I hit I-44 headed home my shopping was done and my pussy was fully satisfied. Every muscle in my pelvis was totally relaxed, and I was prepared to go back to work no longer annoyed by a nagging pussy. A man just doesn’t understand what seven or eight orgasms will do to a peter-hungry pelvis.

I had told Fred I was gonna shop for shoes every couple of weeks and he was appropriately enthusiastic. Those regular visits to St. Louis would allow me to keep my mind on business so I could build a good 401K while I explored my little town looking for a proper husband. Fred had hinted that on occasion his young assistant might have to fit my shoes but that was okay with me because what interested me was a pecker not a personality.

If I got lucky I’d find a husband before I owned more shoes than Imelda Marcos.

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