Amanda’s hot new heels take her sex life to astonishing heights.

You’re not going to believe these shoes, Amanda,” Paul insisted as he walked me toward the store. “As soon as I saw these heels, I pictured you in them. Then I pictured you in them naked…and then, well, I had to bring you to see for yourself.”

There are high heels, and then there are towering skyscraper heels. I prefer the latter, the type of shoe that even people who aren’t shoe fetishists will notice. A good, strong shoe can elevate a person’s attitude, as well as altitude. High heels are magic. They can transform a simple outfit into runway-ready fashion. High heels can even make music — tapping out the rhythm of the wearer walking across a floor.

For me, heels are not only my signature, they’re my je ne sais quoi — that little extra something that makes me who I am. I feel nude without them.

Paul had picked me up for a field trip of sorts during my lunch hour. I could get to the store and back to my office, without being late for work, he assured me. But I wanted to take enough time to appreciate the shoes he’d discovered, so a few extra minutes wouldn’t matter to me. Paul knows my style. He understands I like my shoes to take me to the next level, where the air is thinner and the view spectacular. My chosen footwear sometimes raises an eyebrow, but I don’t care. I can maneuver in the highest heels, all without a problem. Stairs. Escalators. Whatever. I’m a pro.

“What’s so special about this pair?” I had to ask. I was so excited I wasn’t walking. We were moving hurriedly, at almost a jog, as we headed toward the place.

“They’re taller than your tallest heels,” he said. “You’ve never seen shoes like this before.”

I appreciated his enthusiasm, but I wasn’t so sure about that statement. I spend all of my free time adding to my collection. When I spot beauties in magazines, I head straight to high-end boutiques in search of them. Store owners know my name. Some even have me on speed dial to alert me to fabulous new arrivals.

We finally reached the store’s window. Paul led me directly to the shoes in the center spotlight. My heart fluttered for a minute before beginning to beat even faster. Paul was right. I never should have doubted him! These were the shoes of my dirtiest dreams. In fact, I may not even have dared to dream of shoes like these. Everything about them lit me up.

They were black leather with small rhinestone-adorned buckles and peep-toes. But it was the heels themselves that made my pussy wet. Decorated with multicolored gems, the stiletto spikes were taller than those of any shoes I’d ever worn. I think my jaw hit my chest. I practically licked the plate glass window.

Without a doubt, I had to make these heels mine. We entered the store together, filled with anticipation.

Rarely do I lose my ability to speak in complete sentences. But I babbled something to the clerk about the shoes in the display and told him my size. Then I sank into one of the plush, velvety chairs and took off the heels I was already wearing. Anticipation beat through me like the finest aphrodisiac. Simply being in a shoe store can make my juices flow. I was actually a little concerned I might leave a wet spot on the fancy chair!

The clerk brought the box to me and unveiled the beauties I craved. The rustle of the crisp tissue paper in the box was like foreplay to me. I am always aroused by shoes, but this particular pair was drool-worthy. Paul took the box from the clerk, wanting to slide the shoes on me himself. Nobody touches my feet except my man.

For a second, I simply stared in awe. The craftsmanship that had gone into these shoes was sublime. But there’s art and then there’s function, and we had to see if the shoes fit. I bit my lip as Paul slipped one into place and buckled the rhinestone-studded strap at the ankle. I felt a sudden heat travel through me when his fingertips brushed my bare skin. I was glad to be sitting down. Paul gave me a wicked grin as he continued to secretly stroke my foot as he took more time than necessary to fasten the sparkling buckle.

I often wished shoe stores had private fitting rooms for fetishists like Paul and myself, and that day was definitely one of those times. The whole experience was making me dizzy with desire.

“You’re the first,” the clerk said.

“The first?” I echoed through my haze.

“Woman to dare to try those.”

I shrugged in response, not surprised in the least. For a few seconds, I simply sat and stared at the shoes. Then I crossed one leg over the other and looked at the way the heels made my slim feet appear even more elegant and delicate. The best shoes enhance the wearer, and these definitely did the trick. My polished toenails were on glorious display. I had chosen black polish for that week’s pedicure. It was kismet.

Paul was still kneeling on the floor in front of me. He turned to look at the clerk, and then he cleared his throat and asked, “What other colors do they come in?”

The clerk ticked off the options: “Red. Gold. Silver.”

“We’d like to see all of them.”

The clerk headed to the rear of the store. There was nobody else in the place but us. As soon as the man’s back was turned, Paul stroked his hand from the sole of the shoe all the way up to my inner thigh. I held myself totally still, my flesh tingling from his touch. His body blocked what we were doing from anyone who might have walked past the store outside. I heard the door to the stockroom open and snick shut as the clerk disappeared to fetch the footwear. Paul reached his hand farther still, his fingers fluttering over my panty-clad pussy. I sucked in my breath. Paul made a saucy spiral with his fingertips over my satin-covered slit. It was almost too much. I was lost in the aroma of the shoes all around us and the stunning new pair adorning my feet. With the way Paul was gleefully rubbing my clit, I knew an orgasm was imminent. I only hoped the clerk would take his time gathering the additional pairs.

“I breathed in deeply, my senses floating on the heady scent of leather.”

Paul pinched my nub through the filmy fabric, and I hissed through my teeth. I was on the edge. Almost there.

In the haze of my lust, I thought poor Paul deserved some attention, too. While he continued to caress my clit, I pressed the sole of one shoe against the crotch of his slacks and felt him push back. I rubbed my toe tip against his obvious bulge. I didn’t think I could make him come in his pants. Paul has much more control than I do. He had a look on his face that I could easily read. Although he was aroused, he wouldn’t be distracted. He wasn’t going to stop touching me until I came. I shut my eyes for a second and breathed in deeply, my senses floating on the heady scent of leather. Paul slid his fingertips beneath my undies and stroked my naked clit. I came quietly, but powerfully. Paul removed his hand seconds before the clerk returned to us. The man had three more boxes in his hands. He didn’t seem to notice anything untoward. He simply said, “Does madam like the way these fit? Can madam walk in them?”

The moment of truth had arrived. There was no point in waiting any longer. I wanted to see exactly how they felt when I took a step. Some shoes are lovely to look at, but impractical for daily wear. But I’ve never met a pair I couldn’t master, at least for a little while. Paul made a motion, as if to assist me. But I’m a big girl. I’ve been wearing sky-high heels for years. Sure, these were slightly taller than I was used to, but that was a challenge I was prepared to meet.

I stood, and I walked back and forth across the carpet. The clerk watched me. Paul watched me. I paraded in front of the men, demonstrating my prowess.

“Exactly how high are these heels?” I asked, because I was feeling a little taller than usual.

“Six inches,” was the clerk’s response.

Up until then, my tallest shoes had been 5.75 inches. These would be my first foray into six-inch heels. I wondered what else I might do for the first time in them.

I bought the black shoes and wore them out of the store after assuring the clerk I’d probably be back for the red ones, too. The whole world seemed different from six inches up. The small amount of additional height changed everything. As I strode down the street, I held myself even more erect than usual. My chin was high. My posture was perfect.

Paul pulled me close to him, and we walked down the street practically joined at the hip. In these heels, I was almost as tall as him.

As Paul and I walked side by side, an idea came to me, and I asked, “Do you remember our first time?”

“Definitely,” he replied, his dark eyes shining.

We’d met in first class on a plane flying from London to New York. First, there had been joking, then kissing and finally stroking under our gray airline-issued blankets. Somewhere over the Atlantic, we’d headed to the restroom, separately to not arouse suspicion. While the other passengers in our cabin snoozed blissfully, Paul and I became members of the Mile-High Club.

I couldn’t help but preen and prance in the shoes, noticing how their rhinestones glinted in the bright sunlight. The heels were making my whole body happy from head to toe.

“I was wondering if you’d want to join a new club,” I said.

Paul paused long enough to look at me with his head cocked.

“I’m thinking about starting the Six-Inch-High Club.”

“What happens in this club?”

I told him the first meeting would be held that night, at my apartment and he’d learn all about it then. It was time for me to get back to work, and Paul, too, even though what I really wanted to do was play hooky.

“Meet me at my place tonight — at seven,” I insisted.

He shot me a curious look, but I refused to give him any other details. I shooed him back to work. Then I hurried into another store and bought myself a fancy pair of stockings that would perfectly complement the shoes. I simply couldn’t resist.

Of course, everyone went nuts for my new shoes when I entered the office. The girls wanted to try them on, but I wouldn’t let them. I loved the way I felt as I sashayed down the hallway. Every step made my pussy contract. Paul and I were going to have such a hot time together — thanks to those shoes. It was all I could do to make it through the rest of the day, but somehow I did. Then I hurried home to get ready for my lover.

At the designated time, my doorbell rang. I gave myself a once-over in the mirror on the back of my closet door. Then I greeted Paul.

He seemed awestruck by my appearance. So awestruck, in fact, that he didn’t dare step over the threshold. I had to reach out and forcibly pull him into my apartment. I guess his reaction was understandable. I wasn’t wearing anything other than thigh-high stockings and those utterly sexy high heels. I hadn’t found an outfit that would truly do them justice.

“So is this the dress code for the club?”

“What do you think?” I asked, spinning in a circle so that he could take in the full effect of the stockings paired with the shoes.

Paul seemed to appreciate the look. In fact, after admiring me for a few seconds, he sank to the floor and caressed one of my feet.

“I couldn’t do this at the store,” he said, unbuttoning his slacks and freeing his cock. “I got you off, but there was no way for me to…”

“Release some steam?”

He nodded as he worked one hand on his dick and stroked my shoe with the other. I felt the same jolt I had in the store. A beam of pure fire traveled up my leg all the way to my core. I wondered if Paul knew he’d pressed my buttons just right or if he was lost in his own delicious fantasy world. It was difficult to tell.

Paul continued to touch the shoes with lustful admiration. He deserved to take his time after all the pleasure he’d brought me that day, to have a decent dose of foreplay himself. His fingers ran all over the straps and the heels. I held myself in check as he worshiped the workmanship and occasionally jerked his own dick. Then he lowered his face to the floor, getting even closer to my footwear and breathing in deeply. He was inhaling their exotic aroma. I understood this. As a fellow shoe fetishist, I know the appeal of the scent of leather. Then his mouth got into the act. He kissed the tips of my toes, then licked along the curve of my exposed ankle. He spent an equal amount of time on each foot.

The most beautiful part about his behavior was that every second he spent adoring my feet and shoes ramped my arousal even higher. We were two of a kind. A perfect pair. Only when he’d thoroughly inspected the shoes and admired my feet did he let his gaze travel upward once more.

 “Walk for me,” he begged. It wasn’t a command; it was a strangled plea from a man driven by lust. “I want…” His voice trailed off.

“Yes, Paul?”

“I want to see you walk in those shoes. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since you left me. All afternoon, all I could picture was you and those shoes. Striding in that insolent way you have. That walk of yours is too fucking sexy. And to see you nearly naked…”

I spun on my heel and strutted down the hallway. Every single step was pure, undiluted sex in motion. I knew my curvy ass was bouncing with each step, my breast jostling as I negotiated the space at a confident clip. I wondered if the sound of the heels on the polished floor ricocheted through him the way the noise shot through me. The sensual beat. The rhythmic click and clack.

“His big hands caressing my delicate shoes made my pussy drip.”

Paul followed close behind, and every step brought us closer to the bedroom — and closer to fucking.

I began to dream of what we’d look like when we were buckled together. I’d have the shoes on. He’d take me missionary style, so I could wrap my legs around his body, so he could feel the shoes pressed against his naked flesh. Or perhaps he’d want to see the shoes as well as feel them…

In the bedroom, Paul fondled my footwear once more. His big hands caressing my delicate shoes made my pussy drip. Breaking from him, I climbed onto the mattress. Paul was going to shoe-horn that fat prick of his into my slippery cunt, and then I was going to lace my legs around him and hold him tight.

When Paul undressed, I gazed at his cock. Maybe we were on our way to joining the Six-Inch-High Club, but my man is a member of the More-Than-Eight-Inches Long Club. I couldn’t wait to feel his huge cock pounding my pussy. We always break in new shoes this way. But these were different. These were spectacular. They deserved something extra.

I was on my back, but instead of wrapping my legs around his waist, I rested my knees on his shoulders as he pressed into my pussy. Paul bent one of my legs so he could stroke my shoe while he fucked me. I am quite flexible, and I moved easily, understanding what he needed.

Paul shifted his attention back and forth, caressing my clit and then touching the shoe. He told me my heels had been the first thing he’d ever noticed about me. When we’d been seated side by side in the first-class compartment, he’d spied the glossy red sole of my heel, and he’d thought if the bottoms of my shoes were interesting, the rest of me likely was, too.

Now, he asked me to move once more, so he was on his back, and I was astride him. I was facing him again, straddling his hips and impaling myself on his substantial shaft. He looked into my eyes, and I felt our solid, sexy connection zing through my body from head to foot.

As Paul got closer to coming, he started to babble, telling me he could imagine me walking on him in the heels, how he could picture fucking me in every room of my apartment while I wore my stunning shoes.

We continually shifted our writhing bodies, each new position allowing him to gaze at the footwear from another angle, so he could worship both my heels and me. When he was on the verge of climaxing, I actually slid one of the heels off. He pressed the sexy shoe to his face and inhaled its intoxicating scent while he shot off inside me. He groaned as he lost his footing and fell fiercely into his orgasm. Paul trembled as pleasure raced through him before falling back onto the mattress.

How well matched we are — sole-loving soulmates.

So far, we’ve joined the Mile-High Club and the Six-Inch-High Club. I wonder where we’ll travel in the future.

All I know is our adventures will be filled with fabulous fucking — every step of the way.

Check out the Full Gallery