Running a high-end shoe boutique is somewhere between heaven and hell for me — a man with a foot fetish.

I inherited the business when my parents passed away, and while I could have sold it, the prospect of being my own boss was incentive enough to quit my job and take over the place.

During summers home from college, when my stepdad would make me close up the shop, sometimes I’d sneak in the back where I kept a pair of shiny black patent pumps hidden under packing supplies. I’d graze my erect cock with the tip of the pointy stiletto and then use the vamp to cup my balls. Then, I’d finally slide my dick inside the shoe, picturing a warm, soft foot going into the same spot. I’d make myself come all over the nice leather insole.

Now, you’d think because a lot of women love shoes that I would have no problem finding a horny chick that would let my foot fantasies be part of our normal playtime. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. After I’ve confessed my innermost desires, most girls I’ve met just laugh or think I am joking — or worse, they are actually repulsed when I want to suck their toes or ask them to wrap their soles around my cock. I’ll admit I long felt ashamed about my love of feet. I thought I could continue to get by with “regular” girlfriends and occasional secret shoe fun, but running the store was definitely throwing me for a loop; I needed and wanted more. I was ready to ditch my long-held feelings of shame and take the next step toward satisfaction.

The sight of beautiful feet trying on fancy shoes every day made it difficult to avoid getting an erection in front of customers. And I don’t mean to come off like a creeper. I get it — women simply needed some shoes. Shopping for footwear wasn’t sexual for them for the most part. I quickly got ahold of myself, though, for the sake of the business. But sometimes when I spied a particularly beautiful woman, with shapely calves and petite toes, my lust burned hot.

Luckily, a woman named Diane walked into my life about six months after I took over the shop. I suppose I should say she strutted because I clearly remember the sound of her shoes clacking against the marble floor tiles. There was purpose in her stride, which was broadcast loud and clear by her seductive footfalls.

At first glance, Diane looked to be in her late 30s, but I would find out later she was actually in her early 50s. The 20-year age difference was not an issue, though. I was weak in the knees from the moment I saw her.

When I am anywhere and I hear the sound of clicking heels on the floor, I immediately look up — and down — and then back up to catch the lovely form attached to the feet that have gotten my attention.

In the case of Diane, she had on a pair of pink patent leather stilettos. I detected the slightest sheen of nude nylon stockings or pantyhose on her endless legs. She had on a short floral skirt and a semi-sheer blouse. Her ice-blue eyes and short blonde hair made her look prim and proper. I’d have never guessed she was such a sexy freak!

When her eyes fixed on me, and those heels click-click-clicked their way over, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I barely choked out the words: “Hello, how may I help you.”

I remember she smiled at me for a few seconds before answering, “Do you have any navy pumps or maybe gray? I’m looking for either an almond or a pointed toe. I haven’t yet decided.”

“Right over here,” I motioned her over to a display of the season’s latest styles. “Let me know if I can get you anything to try on.”

“Will do.”

It didn’t take her long to make up her mind. She selected two expensive pairs — the navy leather round-toe pump and a gray suede pointed-toe pump.

“Could I try these both in a nine?”

“Right away.” I rushed to the back, feeling a flush of arousal as I grabbed the shoeboxes. I took a deep breath and stepped back out to the sales floor. Thankfully, Diane was the only customer present, so there was nothing to distract me from enjoying the sight of her stocking-clad feet dangling in mid-air as she stretched her toes.

“Wow, you have high arches.” I set the boxes down.

“Thank you. I was a dancer for a long time when I was younger.” She smiled at me again. So tempting, so seductive. “Which should I try first?”

“Allow me,” I said respectfully. I opened the box for the navy pumps. “These are beautiful. Italian leather, plush insoles and an exquisitely rich color.”

She extended one long, beautiful leg and wiggled her toes in my direction. My heart almost stopped. I fumbled with the packing materials, hurrying to remove the stuffing in the toe of each shoe. And then, as though I was handling a perfect china doll, I took her heel in my hand and slid her foot inside the pump.

She gasped. “Oh, that is gorgeous.” And then, parting her legs slightly, she extended her other foot. “Please.”

We looked at one another and smiled. That was the moment we clicked.

“As you wish.” I put the other shoe on and then, for a moment, held both her beautiful feet in my hands. “These are incredible on you.” I let go and motioned for her to walk around. “Try them.”

She towered over me like a goddess, strutting around in front of the mirror. She already had a good five inches on me, even without the elegant high heels. With them, she was an Amazonian beauty.

“I felt the warmth and soft curves of a woman’s feet wrapped around my shaft.”

“What’s your name?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at me.

“Dave.” I exhaled softly, fixated on her movements. “You?”

“Diane.” She turned to face me. “So, Dave… are you in charge here?”

“Yes, I am.”

“All by yourself?”

“Yes.”

She sat back down. I immediately knelt before her to remove the shoes. And that’s when she ran her nylon-clad foot up and down the center of my chest. “I hope you don’t mind, if I’m a little more… high maintenance than most customers.”

I looked down at her roaming foot and said, “I don’t mind at all.” Then I mustered the courage to add, “In fact… I’d be happy to give you a private fitting. After hours.”

“That sounds like my kind of fun.” Diane purred.

“Really?” I cupped her foot in my hands as it wiggled around the silken edges of my necktie.

“Maybe you could even accommodate me sooner?” Diane amended with a smile. She lifted the edge of her skirt, flashing me the tops of her thigh-high stockings.

“I think… I can do that.” My erection was already straining against my pants. “Just give me one second.”

I scrambled to the front of the store, quickly locking up and drawing the blinds.

When I returned, Diane was reclining on the plush bench, posing in wait with those long legs stretched to infinity.

“All set?” she asked with a seductive lilt.

“Yes. Now, where were we?”

Diane smiled and ran her foot around my bulge, and I groaned. “I think I remember,” she whispered.

“Am I dreaming?”

She laughed, and then lowered my zipper.

“I may be dreamy, but this is no dream.”

I closed my eyes and seconds later felt Diane’s mouth envelop the head of my cock.

“I pulled out of her spasming cunt and shot my load all over her gorgeous feet.”

She ran her tongue in slow circles — and then eagerly swallowed more of me until I was practically face-fucking her. I’d never dated a woman my own age with that kind of skill level, much less confidence. I reached down and brushed her hair away from her face, silently thanking my lucky stars for such an incredible moment.

With a loud slurp, she released me from her mouth and appeared to be quite pleased with herself.

At that point, I pulled her into my arms. We kissed and quickly undressed. She had full breasts — at least C-cups — and a naturally blonde triangle which was trimmed to perfection above her slick pink lips. She stopped me, though, when I tried to peel down her thigh-highs.

“Leave those on for now.” She kissed me again and motioned to the bench. “Have a seat.”

For her next trick, this wild woman gave me my first ever nylon foot job. Years of fantasies became a reality when I felt the real warmth and soft curves of a woman’s feet wrapped around my shaft, coupled with the sleek caress of expensive stockings.

“Do you like it?”

“I like it so much I’m going to come if you don’t ease up,” I confessed.

“Not yet, Dave,” she cautioned as her toes wiggled across my scrotum. “I need you to fuck me.”

“I think I need to do that, too.”

I laid her down on the floor and wasted no time peeling her stockings off while I kissed and teased my way down her thighs and calves until finally I reached her feet. She had a French pedicure to match her fingernails — I loved it.

Diane reached down and stroked her pussy while I kissed and sucked every one of her toes. She said, “Dave, you’re making my pussy so wet!”

I needed to feel that for myself, so I brought my cock to her slippery split. She couldn’t wait a second longer, and neither could I. I thrust inside her and fucked at full throttle as she flailed against the carpet, begging me to nail her harder. Numerous reflections of Diane and I fucking surrounded us in the store’s full-length mirrors. The visual images and the notion that we were fucking amid so many beautiful pairs of shoes combined to bring me to the brink. I’d like to lie and say I lasted for hours, but there was no way I could with so much stimulation. She came pretty quick, too. I pulled out of her spasming cunt and shot my load all over her gorgeous feet — which I then cleaned up and pampered with a little massage as we basked in the afterglow.

From then on, not only did I have a very satisfied customer, but you could say we are a perfect pair.