made2serve
04-21-2009, 11:14 AM
I am not very up on shoe or foot worship, but as it seems very popular here i thought i would have a go at writing a story. This is the first part, if you like it let me know and i will try some more. if not? Well i did try.
Dave Wilkes had been in retail sales all his working life and was just coming up to thirty years service, the last fifteen of which had been in Ladies shoes, a place where he felt supremely comfortable.
Dave Wilkes had a thing for feet, not all feet? Just those attached to a well turned lady’s ankle, or any lady’s ankle for that matter.
The pleasure he could derive from fitting a pair of shoes was almost orgasmic. And simply handling a lady’s foot could sometimes prove quite embarrassing should he need to stand up too soon after the fitting, which had turned out to be the beginning of all his problems.
Dave had just started working in a well known designer footwear shop in old Bond Street when the incident occurred. He had been there less than three months and was still technically on probation.
It had been a Friday morning when and business was brisk. The shop was full and Dave was in his element. He had just finished serving a middle aged horsy type with a pair of brown casuals when looking up from the floor where he was clearing up the mess left by his last customer he was greeted by a vision of perfection.
Dave never saw faces first, for him it was always the legs, and these were legs of unsurpassable beauty. Long slim firm and lightly tanned they came towards where he knelt in what could only be described as silent homage. As they stopped in front of him he found his voice and muttered perhaps a little hoarsely.
“Please may I serve Madam?” and he meant it. just to be able to touch those feet?
“Well for a start a little respect might be nice.”
And taken aback he looked up.”
“I am sorry Madam.” She was one of the new breed of liberated Middle Eastern women, probably from Kuwait or Jordan. Dave had served dozens of them. They were usually early to late thirties, rich, confident and demanding.
Sitting down and crossing her legs she waved a delicate, be-ringed and perfectly manicured hand towards the display window. “Fetch those red Gucci stiletto’s, the ones with the polished chrome heels and tiny silver spike spurs.”
Dave new the pair, and without needing too ask her size brought her a size six.”
As he fitted the shoe the women remarked, “You new my size without asking?”
“Just experience Madam, How does it feel?”
“Fine”
Would Madam like to try the other?”
“No just help me up and I’ll hop around the shop? Of course I want to try the other.” Using his silver shoe horn he slipped her tiny foot into the supple red leather and sitting back on his ankles admired the perfect fit.
“Madam is lucky; her feet are a perfect six, such a perfect fit.”
Lifting her right foot and placing the chrome heel over his crotch she rested the soul of the shoe against his abdomen and leaning forward whispered. “In my country it is a sign of respect to kiss the foot, would you like to kiss mine.”
“Madam, please?”
“Are you getting an erection? - - - - - You are, aren’t you? I can feel it under my foot.” And sitting up straight looked around until she spotted another sales person and snapping her fingers demanded too see the manager.
Looking back at Dave she prodded the heel against his rapidly expanding manhood. “You like that don’t you? I bet you’d love it if I skewered you. But I’m not going to; I am going to have you dismissed though.”
When the manager arrived she pointed at the obvious bulge in Dave’s trousers. “I came here to by shoes, not titillate the sick fantasies of some pervert you have working here.” Standing up she pointed at a now crimson and heavily perspiring Dave who was still on his knees at her feet. Kicking the shoes from her feet she scooped up her own and started walking towards the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow to try these again. And if that sick fuck is still working her I’ll sue you for sexual assault.” And on those final words she left.
Half an hour later Dave stood in old bond street wondering what he could do now. Thirty years down the drain all because of one tiny lapse, and some spoiled bratty little bitch with perfect feet.
The manager had made it plain he would see to it that Dave never worked in retail again. And Dave new it was no empty threat. In the high end retail market reputation was everything, and his had just been destroyed in less than ten minutes.
Angry confused and unable too understand what pleasure she could have gotten from having him fired made his way to the bus stop, and while he stood there trying to make sense of the bizarre events a silver Mercedes 600 with blacked out windows pulled up, and as the nearside rear window lowered with smooth silent precision it slowly revealed the face of the woman who had just had him fired, and with a smile she held out a card. “My telephone number, you will find it impossible to find employment now. So when you have exhausted your efforts you may telephone me for an interview.” And with silent precision the window closed and the huge car glided silently away.
Dave Wilkes had been in retail sales all his working life and was just coming up to thirty years service, the last fifteen of which had been in Ladies shoes, a place where he felt supremely comfortable.
Dave Wilkes had a thing for feet, not all feet? Just those attached to a well turned lady’s ankle, or any lady’s ankle for that matter.
The pleasure he could derive from fitting a pair of shoes was almost orgasmic. And simply handling a lady’s foot could sometimes prove quite embarrassing should he need to stand up too soon after the fitting, which had turned out to be the beginning of all his problems.
Dave had just started working in a well known designer footwear shop in old Bond Street when the incident occurred. He had been there less than three months and was still technically on probation.
It had been a Friday morning when and business was brisk. The shop was full and Dave was in his element. He had just finished serving a middle aged horsy type with a pair of brown casuals when looking up from the floor where he was clearing up the mess left by his last customer he was greeted by a vision of perfection.
Dave never saw faces first, for him it was always the legs, and these were legs of unsurpassable beauty. Long slim firm and lightly tanned they came towards where he knelt in what could only be described as silent homage. As they stopped in front of him he found his voice and muttered perhaps a little hoarsely.
“Please may I serve Madam?” and he meant it. just to be able to touch those feet?
“Well for a start a little respect might be nice.”
And taken aback he looked up.”
“I am sorry Madam.” She was one of the new breed of liberated Middle Eastern women, probably from Kuwait or Jordan. Dave had served dozens of them. They were usually early to late thirties, rich, confident and demanding.
Sitting down and crossing her legs she waved a delicate, be-ringed and perfectly manicured hand towards the display window. “Fetch those red Gucci stiletto’s, the ones with the polished chrome heels and tiny silver spike spurs.”
Dave new the pair, and without needing too ask her size brought her a size six.”
As he fitted the shoe the women remarked, “You new my size without asking?”
“Just experience Madam, How does it feel?”
“Fine”
Would Madam like to try the other?”
“No just help me up and I’ll hop around the shop? Of course I want to try the other.” Using his silver shoe horn he slipped her tiny foot into the supple red leather and sitting back on his ankles admired the perfect fit.
“Madam is lucky; her feet are a perfect six, such a perfect fit.”
Lifting her right foot and placing the chrome heel over his crotch she rested the soul of the shoe against his abdomen and leaning forward whispered. “In my country it is a sign of respect to kiss the foot, would you like to kiss mine.”
“Madam, please?”
“Are you getting an erection? - - - - - You are, aren’t you? I can feel it under my foot.” And sitting up straight looked around until she spotted another sales person and snapping her fingers demanded too see the manager.
Looking back at Dave she prodded the heel against his rapidly expanding manhood. “You like that don’t you? I bet you’d love it if I skewered you. But I’m not going to; I am going to have you dismissed though.”
When the manager arrived she pointed at the obvious bulge in Dave’s trousers. “I came here to by shoes, not titillate the sick fantasies of some pervert you have working here.” Standing up she pointed at a now crimson and heavily perspiring Dave who was still on his knees at her feet. Kicking the shoes from her feet she scooped up her own and started walking towards the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow to try these again. And if that sick fuck is still working her I’ll sue you for sexual assault.” And on those final words she left.
Half an hour later Dave stood in old bond street wondering what he could do now. Thirty years down the drain all because of one tiny lapse, and some spoiled bratty little bitch with perfect feet.
The manager had made it plain he would see to it that Dave never worked in retail again. And Dave new it was no empty threat. In the high end retail market reputation was everything, and his had just been destroyed in less than ten minutes.
Angry confused and unable too understand what pleasure she could have gotten from having him fired made his way to the bus stop, and while he stood there trying to make sense of the bizarre events a silver Mercedes 600 with blacked out windows pulled up, and as the nearside rear window lowered with smooth silent precision it slowly revealed the face of the woman who had just had him fired, and with a smile she held out a card. “My telephone number, you will find it impossible to find employment now. So when you have exhausted your efforts you may telephone me for an interview.” And with silent precision the window closed and the huge car glided silently away.