Will Johnny manage to slip Vision’s feet into the perfect pair of Hot Pink Heels before Ug slips himself somewhere else? What is a gentleman to do?
The door chime tinkled, and I glanced up from the knee-high leather riding boot in front of me. The damn thing refused every effort to zip it closed around the plump leg wedged into it. My right index finger pushed my glasses up through the droplets of sweat beading my nose, but froze in place at the vision before me. Dear god in heaven but she was a glorious vision, or so said my cock as it snapped to attention with an audible click of its heels and a bellowed, Ma’am! Yes, ma’am!
My brain hadn’t fully caught up with my member, but a subcutaneous duh-uh issued from somewhere behind my left ear just before my glasses-holding finger dropped to my side. The glasses, of course, immediately slipped down the sweat-slide and dropped off the end of my nose. I succeeded in stabbing myself in the eye in my haste to not look like a dweeb.
A throat cleared, and I glanced across to the serving counter where Roxanne Swells, manager and owner of Roxanne’s Sole Mates, was giving me the evil eye.
“Someone will be with you in a moment,” she assured the Vision while her fingers flicked me back towards the half-zipped boot and the bovine socialite protruding from it, clearly indicating I was to carry on with my work.
I tried—honest, I did—crouched over the tubular limb, sliding my fingers inside the zipper, kneading and massaging the chubby calf into the boot, then easing the zip up another half-inch or so. But all the time I fought with that tree trunk leg, I was acutely aware of the Vision behind me.
She moved gracefully around the displays, examining shoes, lifting first a loafer then a pump, turning it over and around, sliding a hand slowly inside and withdrawing just as slowly. I caught glimpses of her in my peripheral vision. Damn, but she seemed to be hovering there a lot. And when she wasn’t, I could hear her soft footsteps and the breathy little song she was humming… to herself… just for me…
I stared at the thick leg in front of me and yanked hard on the zipper.
“Ouch! Young man, do you mind?” A meaty hand swiped my arm away, and as I jerked my head up in reaction, I tumbled backwards off my low stool.
The constant distraction of the Vision had kept my cock at full salute during the five minutes she’d been in the store, and I heard Mrs. Chubby-Calves’ greedy gasp as I landed on my back with my legs in the air. Boxers and dress pants, the cool professional option, weren’t much good at hiding a hard-on the size of mine.
I lay still a moment, part of me cringing at being raped by covetous granny-eyes, part of me wondering, if I held still just a moment longer, the Vision would come and offer to resuscitate me. My cock stood a little taller at the thought.
“A word, Johnny.” Roxanne’s gravelly rasp cut through my haze and virtually levitated me to my feet. My boss was not the type of lady I wanted to piss off. Her long fingers crooked in my direction, drawing me towards her like the puppet I was. “What are you doing?” she whispered as I leaned obediently over the counter.
“Trying to fit size twelve calves into size nine boots. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is.”
She snorted. “I think everyone present is fully aware of how hard it is, Johnny. But showing off in the middle of tending a customer is not how we do things here.”
“I wasn’t showing off. I was, uh, distracted… I… Uhhh…” My eyes had already strayed from Roxanne’s thin face to the Vision. She was watching us, a pair of pink kitten heels in one hand, plump lips parted and tilted up ever so slightly at the corners. Her ample breasts filled the light peasant blouse admirably, her deep cleavage centred perfectly in the lace-up V at the low neck. A flouncy peasant skirt flowed over the smooth curves of hip and rump, and I imagined running my hands and head up under those flounces, opening my mouth, sticking out my—
My head snapped around. “Tongue!”
Roxanne looked at me.
“Uh…” I grabbed a discarded running shoe from the floor. “Tongue.” I waggled the offending shoe anatomy. “If you don’t put the lace through this little loop here”—I poked a pinky through it to illustrate my point—“the tongue drops inside and—”
“Shut up, Johnny.”
“Uh, yeah. Shutting up.” I let the runner thud back to the floor.
“That boner gone down yet?”
That was a surprise. “Excuse me?”
“That Empire State Building you’re sporting. Got it under control yet?”
“Um…” I did a quick inventory. In the face of Roxanne’s disapproval, shrinkage did seem to be happening. I removed my glasses, wiping them and my sweaty nose to buy time, then replaced them on my face. “Yeah.”
“Then if you think you can hold it together, can you please finish up with your client?”
“Do I have to?” The pathetic whine in my voice made me feel like a pussy, but the thought of returning to those scary calves and their vast female proprietor, now simpering in my direction, sent my manhood into a decline. “Can’t you finish up for me? I’ll deal with that lady over there. She’s been waiting over five minutes.”
Roxanne glanced across at the Vision, who flashed a pouty smile in our direction. My cock immediately declared itself ready to slay dragons on her behalf and dashed across the store to tell her so. I followed in a blissful fog until Roxanne’s sharp, “Dammit, Johnny!” brought both of us to a screeching halt. Truly trapped between a rock and a hard place, I wrestled my unwilling member, kicking and screaming, back to the counter.
I turned pleading eyes on my boss, involuntarily comparing her board-like chest to the voluptuous mammaries now headed towards the door. My cock gave one final tug in their direction and collapsed sobbing against the seam of my boxers as the door chime tinkled the Vision’s exit. I sighed.
Roxanne slung a purse over her shoulder and came out from behind the counter. “I’m heading out now. Finish up, will you?”
The clock on the wall read five fifty-five, and hope thrummed in my chest. I glanced from the timepiece to the boot lady, her come-hither smile still beaming my way, to Roxanne. “It’s over? I can go home?” Please say yes. Say yes. Say yes. Visions of ripping the boots from those bulbous legs and shoving their owner out the door flooded my optimistic brain.
“For me, yes. For you,” Roxanne bent her considerable height down so her mouth hovered close to my ear. Her warm breath tickled the lobe, “it’s not over till the fat lady’s shins”—her smirk was audible—“are in those boots. And that’s your job, Johnny Boy. Yours alone.”
A native of far-flung locations, and a grade A student of life, Carvalho developed his passion for fine foods and erotic encounters at a young age. He is proud to be a practicing member of the BDSM community, as well as a self-confessed and widely acknowledged grumpy old man.