Vignettes Fetish

by Jim Shue

The Mustang rolled to a stop in front of Jessica’s house. Her mother’s car was in the driveway. James checked the mirror and mussed up his hair a little bit, adjusted it. He was in his work clothes, which consisted of jeans and a tee-shirt. Dinner at home, a dinner prepared by his girlfriend. It was a bit of a thrill, but the casual attire will have to suffice.

  James grabbed the single red rose he purchased at the gas station while filling up the tank. A cheap rose, it was not likely to last a day, but he wanted to bring something to the dinner. The rose was a symbol of appreciation for her efforts. He thought about this all day. It was exciting, a first to have someone other than his mother cook a meal for him.

  Tap on the door was followed a moment later by an unmistakable sound of heels on a tile floor, a sound that has garnered James’s attention many times in the past. His fascination, a fetish for sexy feet and heels growing more prevalent every day. He expected to see Jessica’s mother at the door, perhaps dressed to go out and leave the two of them alone. He was hopeful, but that was unlikely. Her mother watched the two of them like a hawk.

  The door opened to a vision of Jessica, in a dress, a cute sundress with flowers on it. Her hair and makeup applied with care; she looked hot. Her pretty blue eyes lined perfectly, and they popped. She wore an apron to protect the dress. A smile on her face, she was as excited as he was for dinner. The shoes attracted his attention, white pumps, they had to be a 4-inch heel—a slender heel with a low cut vamp exposing toe cleavage on her barefoot.

  James’s jaw hit the floor, almost dropped the cheap rose. At a loss for words, she looked beautiful.

  Say, something.

  “Um, you look amazing,” James stammered out. “I am underdressed.” He held out his arms slightly with palms up, as he referenced his attire. He handed her the rose. She sniffed it and smiled.

  “You look fine,” Jessica responded as she held out her hand and pulled him through the doorway. He looked down at her shoes again. She turned to walk the down through the foyer but held her gaze back. James looked up from her pretty shoes. She caught him looking, but did not say anything, just smiled.

  “Hello, Mrs. K,” James stated loudly. Her mother was standing in front of the stove. Jessica joined her.

  “Dinner is almost ready,” Mrs. K said. “She did all the work.” Mrs. K was deliberate with her words. Jessica had some help, but her mother wanted James to know she was involved.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Jessica questioned. She stirred the sauce. It looked like pasta from James’s point of view.

  “Water will be fine,” James responded.

  Jessica stepped to the side and pulled a glass from the cabinet for the water; she retrieved one for herself as well. James watched as Jessica filled the glasses. One heel raised off the floor while she stood at the sink with the weight on one foot. James tried to look away, attempting to thwart is impending arousal.

  The high heels were a surprise; he did not expect her to dress in such a manner. His eyes roamed up and down her slim figure several times, trying desperately to restrain himself from the indulgence. The heels on her tiny size 5 foot garnered the lion’s share of his attention.

  “Um, ah, what are we having?” James questioned. He looked at the dining room table across from the kitchen. The dining room was baren, the lights dark. The smaller table in the kitchen nook covered with a table cloth and a single candle lit in the middle of the table. It was a small table, a romantic setting.

  “Stuffed shells,” Jessica responded and directed James to his seat in the kitchen nook. Mrs. K excused herself and went upstairs. As it turns out, Jessica made a deal with her mother to remain upstairs out of sight while they enjoyed the romantic dinner. Her mother agreed to read upstairs while they ate. Jessica prepared the meal with her mother’s help but wanted to enjoy it alone with her boyfriend.

  Jessica laid the apron over the seat next to hers. James raised an eyebrow and complimented the dress again and elicited a broad smile, beautiful smile as she almost curtsied before sitting down. Her hands held out the dress slightly, giving James a full view before taking her seat.

  “Do you like it?” Jessica inquired with a slight hesitation in her voice, a sign she desperately sought approval. She wanted to impress him with her newly acquired cooking skills. The uncertainty in her voice betrayed her unease with her abilities. It was the first time she tried her hand at cooking a real meal. A full meal, start to finish, with Mrs. K’s guidance.

  James caught mid-bite, unable to speak. His first sample of the carefully prepared meal. It was good, he fumbled with the fork and finished chewing the first bite. His full mouth delayed the response. James held up his fork hand and extended his index finger. A signal that she needed a minute to finish the first bite. He smiled through pursed lips as he chewed. Jessica exercised patience as she anxiously waited for the response.

  “It is delicious, seriously,” James declared as he sunk his fork back into the dish. Jessica smiled triumphantly. “It was nice of your mom to give us some privacy.”

  Jessica nodded in agreement. Her eyes looked down at her plate, her fork searching for another sample of the meal. She was silent for a moment.

  “I wanted us to be alone,” Jessica responded. Her white pump found a snug place between his spread legs. Jessica extended her high heel clad foot under the table and pressed against his manhood. A firm, unmistakeable pressure. She smiled, sexy smile as she leisurely chewed on her food.

  James nearly dropped her fork. He looked down to see her white pump oscillating back and forth, applying various amounts of pressure on his manhood. Within seconds his youthful response created an equal and opposite force beneath his jeans. Jeans that are now somewhat tight as his manhood expressed appreciation for the contact.

  Cooking dinner was a ruse to recreate a scene from the movie. Jessica carefully planned for this moment, ensured her mom would leave them be. The selection of the kitchen table now apparent. The dining room table was too large, and she would not have been able to extend her foot under the table and make contact with his now fully erect manhood. The romantic table set for two turned into an unexpected erotic encounter. Her mother was upstairs. The chance of discovery seemed high.

  Jessica continued to sample her meal in silence as her white high heel manipulated James’s manhood under the table. James braced himself with both hands flat on the table and looked down in his lap. Her perfect shoe was working its magic as she ate, the tendons in barefoot flexing with each oscillation—the ebb and flow of the manipulations building his desire.

  His appetite was on hold for the moment. James did his best to withstand the onslaught without a moan; he so desperately wanted to release. Something to signal his pleasure.

  The moment fleeting, her white pump slipped silently from view, back under the table. James exhales attempted to catch his breath. His manhood was pressing against the oppressive jeans. Seconds later, Jessica’s barefoot returned to the spot her white pump occupied moments before. Perfectly pedicured crimson toes that matched her fingernails pressed against his jeans.

  The scene was too much, his mouth open and hunched over a bit. His youthful exuberance was about to release in his jeans.

  “You have to stop,” James whispered.

  “Do I?” Jessica responded playfully, while her foot pressed firmly into his crotch, a perfect moment. She seemed so confident in her actions, deliberate. James was aroused and excited for the experience but feared discovery and embarrassment. What if her mother came downstairs unexpectedly. Jessica seemed so at ease with the situation, in control, a taste of dominance, and she loved it. James was powerless, and she knew it. The images he fantasized about when he was alone now playing out. A tease realized.

  James’s typical firm posture melted. The power shift was subtle, but it was there. She had control of him and with all things, her foot. He loved it—a taste of submission that would have a lasting effect. James’s dominant side appealed to her; she likes to be kissed and k
issed hard. Feeling his firm grasp, but this was something else. His strength drained as he succumbed to her manipulations with her foot, powerless to stop it.

  The humiliating release that followed was a double-edged sword. It was a thrill, Jessica’s foot in his groin, the arousal was intense. His infatuation with feet and high heels never expressed, held secret. However, embarrassment was a natural response.

  “Oh, wow, I am sorry,” James said, embarrassed by his predicament. He pushed his chair back a little to investigate his jeans. A telltale sign was darkening a small patch of his jeans.

  “You liked it?!” Jessica questioned. It sounded more like a statement of fact. He had no words, it was not something he could deny, but he did not know how to respond. Dominant and submissive feelings were a mystery. That moment was their first taste and an unknown path laid before them.

  They were unknowingly exploiting a long-hidden fetish, a submissive streak that ran deep in her boyfriend. Jessica’s setup was a unique, masterful stroke in recreating a scene from a movie that piqued both of their interests. James teased about the scene after they watched it when they were alone. His girlfriend made it happen as much for him as it was for her.

  Jessica’s expression subdued. She was calculating what happened, taking it in. Something so simple as her foot in his crotch broke him down in minutes. James was humbled underfoot, and she liked it, he liked it. Young love, first love seasoned by an erotic tease.

  To be Continued.

  NightCap

  The elevator lobby was vacant. In the distant background, the thump from the speakers that rattled the dance hall was a whisper in the quiet lobby. The hall doors insulated the sound effectively.

  James and Sara took their leave from the party. A new year’s eve celebration with friends at an expensive hotel downtown. The crew decided to spend new year’s eve together. In actuality, the ladies conspired to spend the evening together, and the gentlemen complied.

  An expensive hotel hosted a party in one of their event halls with a local radio station and included a 3-course meal and a room for the night. It was an agreeable situation for all. An agreement that it would be best to stay off the roads after midnight. New Year’s Eve often referred to as amateur night on the roadways. The risk of a collision or worse heightened.

  Several old friends were intrigued by the plan, and it was good to reconnect with old friends. However, James and Sara snuck away from the crowd while the party was still banging away. Only a few minutes after the midnight hour.

  The drink package was premium, and James and Sara enjoy a modest amount. The hotel accommodations an elevator ride away. They only said farewell for now to Karlene; the group would reconnect in the morning for the complimentary breakfast.

  James pressed the elevator call button, and the couple stepped back from the doorway to wait. James slung his jacket over his shoulder and grasped Sara’s hand. The couple stood in front of the mirrored elevator door anticipating its arrival.

  An opportunity to admire his bride in the reflection offered. She stood straight, her shoulders still back.

  She has excellent posture.

  The flashy dress hugged her body in all the right places. Her shoulders exposed, and the dress clasp behind her neck, a seductive split between her bosom. A long slit up one leg revealed the pump cladding her size six feet. A pretty black heel to compliment the dress, shiny patent leather next to her bare skin, a perfect contrast hidden by the shadows of the dress in the dim elevator lobby light.

  The elegant shoe present in his mind most of the night. Before they left the room, he helped her slip into the high heels. Her toes covered in a deep blue polish slipped from view beneath the vamp of the shoe. James could see his reflection in the shiny patent leather while he was on one knee before his wife. The back of the heel had a gold detail in the shape of a tiny bow.

  Sara’s up due, perfectly managed earlier in the night, was now disheveled. Whisps of her pretty blonde hair escaped the confines of the bun and cascaded down the sides of her face. Her pouty lips now slightly smudged. Her red lipstick was showing signs of wear after leaving samples of red on several cocktail glasses. She was beautiful, sexy. The event was a rarity of late, and their attire was all extravagant to mark the occasion. Not just a new year, but a night out with friends, dressed to impress.

  Sara caught James staring in the reflection.

  “What is it?” Sara inquired. Her fingers brushed a tangle of hair that hung next to her cheek. She smiled, realizing her husband was feeling frisky. The look on his face betrayed his intent.

  “You look beautiful,” James responded. He squeezed her hand firmly. He continued to gaze at her reflection in the vacant elevator lobby. A quiet ding signaled the elevator’s arrival; a moment later, the door on the right slid open smoothly.

  James let Sara enter first and released her hand for a moment as her pretty heels stepped across the threshold of the elevator door. The click of her heels on the tile floor echoed in the lobby and changed pitch as she stepped into the elevator cavity.

  The 16th-floor button engaged, and the doors slid shut. Alone, quiet elevator, a few moments without a distraction. His jacket slipped down his back and hit the floor when he pulled Sara close, and hands encircle her waist, her hands rose to his chest. Her fingernails were scratching lightly against his shirt material. Her lips parted and anticipation of the embrace, the kiss. A passionate embrace, only moments, interrupted by the ding and the doors opening on the 16th floor.

  James’s manhood pressing against his trousers, thankful the hallway was desolate. No one to see their entanglement and his physical condition save his pretty wife. James retrieved his jacket from the elevator floor; the couple glided down the hall, only a few short paces from the elevator. Her stilettos muted on the carpeted hallway.

  The keycard slide into the slot, the light flickered green, and the door lock disengaged. James and Sara slipped from view, safe in the room. Undetected by prying eyes. Alone.

  Sara sat on the bed, eased back towards the center, lifting her pumps off the floor. Her ankles dangled over the edge of the bed, the shiny patent leather heels still on her petite feet. James stepped out of his wingtips and kicked them aside. His jacket thrown over the back of the chair next to the bed. The lights from the city twinkled through the floor to ceiling windows at the end of the room. The sounds of the city could be detected, a low murmur invading their space, even sixteen stories above the fray.

  The small refrigerator secured a bottle of champagne; James placed it there when they arrived in anticipation of a nightcap. It was chilled nicely. He started in on the foil cap, while Sara reclined on her elbows. Her heels still dangling over the edge of the bed. The slit of the dress exposing more leg, beautifully smooth skin.

  “We could use the water glasses in the bathroom,” Sara stated as she nodded in the direction of the bathroom. James stood at her feet, working on the champagne cork.

  “Yes, we could, or perhaps we can take a lesson an indulge ourselves like the Russian oligarchs once did.”

  “Russian Oligarchs?” Sara responded. A bit of skepticism and amusement in her voice. The statement required further investigation. “What do you know about Russian Oligarchs?” Her mouth hung open slightly imagining what he was talking about and where this conversation might lead. Sara was amused, a common occurrence with James. His sense of humor a source of attraction. She smiled, the cocktails from earlier bubbled in her head. She was relaxed, comfortable.

  “As it goes, often Russian oligarchs when in the presence of a lady they wanted to impress,” James started to say, “would fill their shoe with the finest champagne and toast to their happiness and drink from the shoe.” The champagne cork popped off in his hand, right on cue.

  Sara turned her head and tipped her chin down in disbelief. James’s foot fetish was a known quantity, but this was a bit over the top even for him. The cocktails lowered his inhibition right along with hers. She slowly lifted one leg off the end of
the bed. She remained reclined on her elbows. The slit of the dress aided her efforts and fell away, revealing her tender and toned calf and thigh. The black patent leather heel now raised up and in front of James. An enticing invitation extended and now hovering in front of James.

  “By all means then, please indulge yourself like the Russian oligarchs.” The open champagne bottle in one hand and his free hand now offering support for her pretty shoe. He leaned over slightly and placed a kiss on the tip of the toe and slipped the heel from her foot, freeing her toes. Sara flexed her feet and spread her toes in response to being released from the confines of the shoe. A mix of shoe leather and dampness of her pretty foot permeated his nasal passageways. The experience was enlivening his manhood.

  The champagne bottle tipped over and bubbly poured out into the insole.

  “You are not going to do it?” Sara questioned. Disbelief in her voice. James held the patent leather shoe by the heel and filled the toe box with a couple of ounces of bubbly.

  “To my lovely date, the prettiest girl in all the civilized world. To whom I pledge my undying love and service from this day forth.” James exaggerates the silly toast as he raised the stiletto to eye level and then took a drink from the pretty shoe. He imbibed every drop of the precious fluid saturating her beautiful shoe.

  “Oh my god, that is so…” Sara whispered and bit her lip for a moment. Her arousal due to the deviance of the man that stood before multiplied. “That is so hot. I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Anything for you, my love.”

  James set the now empty shoe on the floor and kneeled at the foot of the bed. His head between her feet as he slipped off the other shoe. He kissed her instep and ankle and started to move up her leg with gentle kisses. Lingering kisses on her smooth muscled calf.

  In truth, the origination of drinking from a high heel shoe was unclear. Although Russian oligarchs may have partaken in practice, they are not the originators. The stories of its origins are varied and unverified—some more rakish than others.