“She wears those black heels with the straps — Very sexy!”

So thought a shoe-gazing man named Fettes as he downed his fourth rum of the night. Outside, the subject of his lust walked slowly down the street.

Jane wasn’t alone, of course. The hooker was going to a nearby alley, one that stank of beer and urine, much like the bar she trolled.

“We can do it against the wall,” the half-drunk john said, slapping money into Jane’s hand. He had a condom in his wallet and, with no little effort, tore the packet open and rolled it over his thick, throbbing tool. A few clumsy gropes later, and he grunted, “You’re too tall. Kick off the high heels.”

“No,” Jane said. “The street’s filthy. My stockings rip easy on the concrete. I got a better idea.” A bit awkwardly, she slid down, making her way toward the customer’s crotch. One reason she wore that long, black leather skirt was to cushion her knees.

“I paid to fuck,” he grumbled.

“This is better,” Jane said. “And you don’t need that condom.” She looked up and gobbled his fat bone into her mouth, and that was the deal-maker. No guy can resist seeing his prong stuffed in a woman’s upturned face. It looked like cock-worship even if it was for pay. “Yeah, go to it,” he said. “Make sure to swallow every drop!”

Jane kept her eyes open, like she was a willing slave who loved having her mouth filled by the guy’s cock. She was relieved to taste a bit of precome almost instantly. His pipe was long and she could work her hand on the base of it, and as it became slippery, she was able to speed things up. She worked on the sensitive dark-pink tip with her lips while her hand stroked the shaft, urging him to spill his load.

Having followed the strappy heels from a safe distance, Fettes lurked near the entrance to the dark alley, peering in, his burning, itchy red eyes blinking, the pupils going full and black like a rat’s. He groaned. If he hadn’t spent all his money on rum, he might’ve worked up the nerve to approach her. Seeing her in action made him envious of the jerk getting a blowjob just because his wallet was as fat as his cock.

The whore known as Jane Galbraith — in a luridly appealing pose of servitude, the strappy heels pointing toward Fettes — was on her knees, working her mouth up and down on the guy’s dick meat and waiting to swallow the hot load that was sure to gush out soon. Fettes was turned on by the hooker outfit: the leather skirt, the red sweater with a black bra visible underneath, the opaque black stockings and those glistening patent-leather shoes with the thick square heels. He nudged himself a little closer, trying to glimpse her face and watch her suck.

Jane worked her head up and down with more urgency, tasting the slick fluids oozing from the john’s cock. She hummed and vibrated her lips, as if to say, “Go on, fill up my mouth, choke me with your sperm — ” She thought to herself, “If that’ll get you coming back again some other night, so be it!“ She felt his cock get even harder and thicker. She relaxed her throat, expecting, getting and drinking down the scorching, salty load.

She felt the last hot puddles on her tongue, then swallowed, ran her lips over the guy’s oozing cockhead, and lapped up a gooey strand hanging off the tip. “Mmmm,” she whispered. “I liked that. You taste real good, baby!”

“There, that’s a good girl,” the john slurred, staggering back and fumbling with his pants. Jane steadied herself for a moment, as if she was a lot older and wearier than she actually was, and slowly made it back to her feet, balancing precariously in her high heels.

Fettes started to panic and move backwards. He stared down. Click — clack — click — clack — Her black shoes, with the glistening straps and surprisingly thick heels making her four inches taller, came closer and closer. Fettes was riveted to the filthy sidewalk at the end of the alley.

Jane shot him a wicked smirk as she passed. “Maybe we can go on a date sometime, if you liked what you saw.”

Fettes stammered, “I drank all my money tonight — ” And then, softly, “Maybe next week. Never saw a girl with such sexy high heels. They make you look so tall. I like that.”

Jane’s expression hardened. When she turned away from him, he thought to himself, “Money talks and bullshit walks home alone.” As he trudged to his boarding room, he turned and gave her one last longing look. She was so sexy. The hooker walk, the strappy high heels making her move almost like a kind of wind-up toy. Click — clack — The high heels’ echo became distant. Click — clack — Time was running out and Fettes was walking home alone.

Fettes was used to sitting at the bar, wasting his money on rum — one, three, five glasses before he was finally numb to the fact that no woman at the bar would ever let herself be picked up by the likes of him. Hookers? Most were beyond his price, too. But Jane? She was one of the older hookers, and maybe it was the strappy high heels that brought her customers. Or maybe it was her relatively cheap price.

He took one last longing look. The strappy high heels shimmered and disappeared down the street like falling stars. Fettes vowed to have his time with her. He’d save up for it and not be the compulsive, useless drunk everyone knew him to be.

It took him weeks. Frustrating weeks of trying to control his drinking and his angst when he saw others take Jane out of the bar and into a hotel or car or alley. He overheard one man brag to a friend, on his return to the bar, “That was worth the money! That old broad has pussy control. It was like she was sucking my dick with her cunt. She’s a freak, too. She keeps her high heels on! I’m banging her, her legs are up, and I feel the high heels on my back. She wouldn’t take ‘em off. Said it takes too much time, with the garterbelt and stockings and stuff. What the fuck!”

To Fettes, the strappy high heels were part of the allure. How dare this fool not be grateful for that kinky look of hers! “I really appreciate you — ” he said the night he restricted himself to one shot of rum for courage and approached her as she stood on the street corner. Jane was surprised at how forward the mousy man with the gray stubble and dead brown eyes was. She didn’t have to say a word.

“I thought — Maybe we could have a date.” Fettes said. Jane named her affordable price — plus a little bit more for a hotel — and was relieved that he wasn’t one of the scumbags who’d make her do it in the alley.

“Okay, honey,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Panic grabbed the back of Fettes’s neck as he slowly walked his dream girl toward the hotel. The click-clacking of her high heels on the cracked pavement made his heart pound. When they began to undress in the bleak room, he saw his cock shrivel to a nub, something he’d never experienced before. He rubbed at it with the heel of his hand, trying to get it up again.

She eased out of her long leather skirt, revealing her black lace garterbelt, jet-black stockings and matching lace panties. She slid her panties down and stepped out of them, somewhat clumsily, with the strappy heels on. Fettes bent down to get the panties and somberly placed them on a nearby chair, like a prayer book on an altar.

She drew some warm water into a bowl and gently bathed Fettes’s dick, and that got the circulation going for him. She tottered over to the bed and got on her back as Fettes admired the view. Garterbelt, stockings, heels — He reached out and ran one thin finger against the patent-leather shoe.

“Let’s get going, hon,” she said. She sighed, closed her eyes, and waited. Fettes stared hungrily at the heels and hose and tugged his cock to hardness. Jane opened her eyes when she felt his weight on the bed.

Soon he was plunging into her, his eyes searching for a sign of acceptance in her eyes or on her untouchable lips. Jane rested her legs along his hips, and he bucked more urgently in response to the feel of her heels on his flesh.

“You know heels turn me on,” he said. “I never had a woman wear them to bed — or wear any so sexy. I can feel your heels on my skin!”

Fettes felt the surrender and sorrow of squirting his load as he spoke those words, betraying his lust and cutting short his dream evening. He stayed silent and still for a few moments as his cock began to lose its hardness and slip away. He was guided heavily onto the mattress, and Jane rolled herself into a sitting position. With a slight dab of the sheets to her pussy, she stood, grabbed her panties off the chair, and whipped them up her legs. Fettes whispered, “Just let me look at you a moment longer — the way you are.”

She obliged, turning to face him. She followed his stare down her long legs encased in the black stockings to her thick high heels strapped in place by the wide bands of patent leather. She stood and pulled on her leather skirt. She said, “Let’s do it again some time soon.”

Soon was not soon enough for Fettes. The former drunk took a job as the tavern’s janitor, working hard to afford more time with Jane. Soon he was managing a weekly encounter and exploring her on her back, on her side, doggie-style. One time, he pulled out and just jerked off while circling the bed, admiring her from every angle. When he was ready to come, he hurried clumsily onto the bed, his knees sinking into the soft mattress, and came on her high heels and stockings.

Jane grunted in anger, grumbled obscenities under her breath, and used the sheets to blot the mess. “I’ll buy you fresh stockings. There must be a store still open — ” Seeing the horrible embarrassment that deepened the lines in his face, Jane told Fettes, “Never mind, it’s not your fault.”

“No,” Fettes said. “Not when you wear those stockings. With your sexy legs and those strappy heels — You do it deliberately to drive men wild!”

“All right,” Jane snapped. “I said it wasn’t your fault. Let it go.”

“Here, just take your stockings off. You’ll never get them dry.”

“Never mind.”

“It’s like you never take your stockings and heels off.”

Jane looked away from Fettes. “No. Not with customers. Never.”

“I don’t get it,” he said uneasily.

“I’d lose the few customers I have,” Jane said.

“I’m not a ‘customer,’” he said. “Am I? After all these months? I only want you. Just you, Jane. You and your — ”

“My what? Strappy fucking heels? Black stockings? Well, here’s how to lose a customer — ”

She rolled the stockings down. She reached a point, stopped, and unbuckled her shoe. Her foot came with it. Fettes saw that her left leg ended mid-calf. He stared in shock, then looked at her face and saw the hurt in her eyes.

“I’m damaged goods,” she said.

“No, you are who you are, Jane. I’m attracted to you. You’re not the first woman to walk down the street in sexy high heels. It wasn’t just what you wore that had me coming back. It’s you. I still want to be a customer.”

“I don’t,” she said. She went into her purse and handed back his money. He quietly pocketed it.

He said, “Does that mean it’s freebies from now on?”

He had a hopeful look on his face, a kind of crooked, inept smile. Her mouth slowly etched what was probably her first smile in a long, long time. He said, “My feelings for you are still the same. I can’t help it. If I don’t have to pay, then I can save up and get a bigger place, suitable for two.”

Fettes didn’t want to be a customer, and he didn’t feel like a useless drunk anymore. No more than Jane still felt like a whore —