by Randy Burns
(06/02/04)
He went into that old bar every Friday night, never missed a Friday.
She was sitting on a barstool, sipping something. He'd never seen her before.
The power of spiked heels -- worn by beautiful or ordinary women -- can strike a man senseless, quicker than lightning. Spiked heels can wreak havoc on a strong man's soul. He was a strong man. She was alone at the bar.
When a woman knows how to use these spiked magnets of a man's obsession, her sexual game can evolve in many ways and take on many forms. She can tease, running a hard stiletto heel up a man's leg to rest in his eager lap. With her heel openly exposed across his legs, it becomes impossible for him to control his arousal and his embarrassment. Yet, at the same time, he wishes that embarrassment would last forever. This is how we stand with our he and she.
She finally takes him home to her apartment on Sixth Avenue, private, but filled with a sexual tension between the two.
He does what he's told to do. A long, thin black heel is gently pressed against the man's lips. His tongue leaps from his mouth to taste the sensation of its slender magic. He is owned. He knows it. The moment she first spoke with him in the bar on Bleecker Street, she caught him glimpsing downward at her delicious heels. She knew she owned him then.
Now she has him on his back. She sits looking down at him with one heel gripped tightly in her hand. She's sliding the entire length of that heel in and out of his sucking lips. His cock is rigid with passion, the heel has reached the very bottom of his throat. He can only moan with pleasure as she pulls the long, slim stiletto heel back slowly from the depths of his mouth, only to slide the length of it back in, down into the depths of his throat again. As he sucks her fetish cock, she whispers in his ear.
"You suck my long cock until I tell you to stop, do you understand me?"
He nods with submission. Her other heel remains on her foot. She presses it downward -- hard across his penis. Little drops of come fall from its small opening. She turns her ankle until the sharp tip of her stiletto digs into his straining cock without mercy. No mercy is needed. He continues to moan and suck harder on her other heel, in distant pleasure. The pain has awakened his sex, his arousal.
She controls every aspect of his sexuality now. He'll do anything she tells him to.
"Now, roll over," she commands. "Get on your knees with your ass in the air."
She takes a leather strap and ties the heel already in his mouth to his head, knotting the strap tightly behind his ears.
"You know what's going to happen next, don't you, my little slut?"
Again, only moans of arousal answer her.
So he may watch her, she sits in front of him, the other heel held in her hand as her finger tips run lubricant up and down the shaft of it. His eyes are wide, his senses open. Her stiletto begins to shine with the lubricant's completion.
She is behind him again. He cannot see her, but he begins to feel the slim, hard entrance of her heel entering his ass. Slowly, her long spike sinks deep inside him, until there is no spike left to enter.
With her one heel strapped tightly to his face, wedged down his throat where no escape is possible, she begins a ritual of fucking him with the other. His ass takes it well. He is openly submitting. Hard and shiny, he takes the length of it in all the way. She withdraws it slowly, and then she plunges it back into him -- harder with every sexual thrust. She increases the speed of the heel until she is pumping him furiously. He moans and moans, deeply in love with his role right then, that instant.
His moans have turned into one long groan. She reaches under him and gives his throbbing cock one hard yank down on it. Only one. His sperm squirts from him in gobs. He collapses flat against the bed. One spiked heel is still clutched by his anus, the other remains strapped to his face.
She unties the one heel from his head and pulls her other heel from his ass. Leaving for a moment, she returns from the bathroom with a towel.
"Here," she throws the towel at him, "you'll clean them off before they return to my feet."
"Yes." He wipes them both clean.
She slides them back on her beautiful feet, and gazes at them with admiration.
She looks at him suddenly. "Get dressed and get out! Now!" He does this with the utmost of speed. However, before he can close the door behind him, she yells "Stop!" He stops, half in the hallway, doorknob in his hand.
"Yes?"
"Wasn't that a nice conversation we had at the bar last night?"
