In the Shoe-Shop

Some people don't believe that there's such a thing as accidents, and to be honest I think they have a point. Accidents might not be deliberate, but that doesn't mean they're not avoidable. That thing with the shoe-shop was certainly avoidable, if only I had taken a bit more time with my memory improvement exercises. I would have done, as well. But I forgot all about them.

There are one or two people who know me who might actually doubt that it was a genuine cause of forgetfulness – Maggie in particular is likely to say to anyone who will listen that it was just a case of 'Mad Maria' getting her jollies in a sly way. There again, Mags likes to project her own personality onto others. Horny mare!

Well whatever she says, or anyone says for that matter, it was a genuine memory shortfall, brought about by me being pressed for time. And if I'm going to be allowed to play the blame game, you should remember that it had been steamily hot for three consecutive weeks – possibly a new world record for July in England.

On hot days I tend towards summery dresses, lightweight undies and little else (unless you count a wristwatch and earrings), and the late July day in question was therefore hot enough to reduce my clothing count to three. Despite this, it still took me twenty minutes to select my outfit for the day (mainly because I couldn't choose between a knee length blue number with a halter neck and a shorter, pale yellow thing with a blouson-style top and a rather tight skirt section). I grabbed a pair or black heels from my pitifully small collection of shoes (well, small by Imelda Marcos standards, anyway) and headed off to the local railway station as fast as I dared.

There was evidently the wrong type of sun or some such railway company nonsense and I arrived in London thirty minutes later than planned. Given that the final part of my journey normally took half an hour, it meant that I was effectively late before I'd even started that final underground leg. Figuring that since I was late anyway another ten minutes wouldn't make much difference, I hopped off the tube train two stops before my destination and headed for the surface and the sun where I knew a great coffee shop lurked in a local side-street – on the surface that is, not on the sun.

With thoughts of a wonderfully bitter Americano dominating my shallow brain, I clattered up the final few stairs and crossed the station concourse before hopping down a couple of steps and into the already-steamy street. Disaster struck no more than five steps away from the station entrance when I felt the first distinctive wobble from my right heel, followed by a groaning creak then next time that foot met pavement. I stopped immediately – only to almost fall sideways into the stream of over-lycra clad bike messengers as the heel of that shoe collapsed.

I recovered my balance and hopped in that not exactly elegant way (as in crippled giraffe) that women are forced to adopt when they find one leg suddenly three inches shorter than the other. I reached the relative sanctuary – well, support – of the front of the office building next to the station and awkwardly unbuckled the near-fatally wounded shoe. Closer inspection confirmed the absolutely totally obvious – the heel had snapped away from the body of the shoe and the whole thing stared forlornly up at me like a racehorse that knew that the last fall was the last in more ways than one.

Fortunately for the shoe, I had failed to accessorize my small summer dress with a shotgun, so instead I scanned the street ahead for a branch of Timpsons or a similar sort of shoe doctor. To my surprise I could make out a shoe emporium (their name for the shop, not mine) just thirty yards ahead at the next corner. It looked like one of those desperately expensive places but I was both running late and extremely fond of this particular pair of heels. I knew that if I stood debating the issue I would be wasting yet more time, and what choice did I really have anyway? London's streets are not famed for being friendly to barefoot pedestrians, and even some of the skankier and drunker vagrants avoid large stretches of the capital's footpaths. I reached down and evened up my leg heights by freeing up my left foot, then set off very carefully towards the promised land. Or at least, promised shoe-shop.

My entrance was probably less 'gracious, glamorous young actress' and more 'desperate, dishevelled and already perspiring up a storm wannabe professional girl', but my relief at getting inside was reward enough.

One quick look around at the 'emporium' was enough to tell me that this was going to be an expensive visit but I shrugged. I'd already decided there was no choice and it was hardly like I had never spent a few pounds in shoe shops before. I glanced around to see if I could catch the eye of one of the no doubt over-made-up young women who would be on duty, but all I could see was a young guy, no more than twenty at a rough guess, and a much older guy who was polishing a pair of patent leather evening shoes behind an ornate counter.

I walked over to the counter. 'Hello, I think I need a bit of help with these?'

The old man smiled at me and reached for the shoes, 'I would say that madam is very much correct, and I can promise that I will personally provide them with the gentle attentions that they surely require. If madam would care to leave them with me they will be ready for collection at five o'clock this afternoon.'

'This afternoon? I was rather hoping there was something you could do for me right now.'

The old man gave a rueful smile, 'I'm afraid not, madam. These are rather high quality shoes and need careful attention.'

I gave a sigh, although not altogether too disappointed, 'These are all I have with me but I suppose I could invest in a temporary pair...?'

'Permanent but deserving of a less prominent role, maybe?'

I nodded, 'That's what I meant, I guess.'

The old guy clicked his fingers in a reassuringly expensive way that was quite in keeping with his surroundings. 'Nathan? Can you show this lady a selection of our day-to-day footwear? Size three and a penchant for moderate, I believe?'

I nodded once more, 'That sounds perfect, thank you.' I turned to where the young guy I'd seen earlier was now standing and attempting a professional smile, 'Something plain and simple, black by preference,' I told him.

'Certainly,' he said, his shyness as apparent as the fading teenage acne and the tightness of his white shirt and black trousers with razor sharp creases. 'If you... er, if madam would care to follow me to the fitting area?'

I tried to make him as relaxed as possible, offering one of my better smiles and a friendly, 'Certainly!'

The guy led me through to an area that comprised six chairs with separate footrests alongside them, presumably to ease the trying-on process, and four large floor-to-almost-ceiling mirrors. He indicated one of the chairs and told me to relax while he went and found a small selection of appropriate shoes. I thanked him and eased myself onto the chair that he had indicated, easing my skirt up a little to accommodate the movement.

And that's the precise moment when I realised that there was something I had forgotten about. One glance in the mirror that was now sitting opposite me confirmed that the dress had a skirt that was very short indeed – and that I had chosen a completely see-through pair of ultra-lightweight panties that morning because of the day's expected heat. With a barely concealed squeal I clamped my knees together.

I spent the next couple of minutes trying to calm myself. The young guy wasn't going to do the whole prince-charming-slides-the-glass-slipper-on the-slutty-princess's-foot thing, would he? And if he looked like he was going to try I could always just say it was okay and I'd do it myself, right? And anyway, surely it wasn't such an obvious thing, was it? I mean if I parted my knees an inch or two or even three – eek! The thud of my knees hitting each other sounded very loud in the small fitting area and faded slowly, but the glimpse of silky white panties in the mirror opposite just seemed to grow more and more visible long after those knees were firmly together again.

I was contemplating whether I could slip out of the store altogether – sacrificing my beautiful heels and risking stepping in something horrible outside, but preserving my dignity – when Nathan came wobbling into the fitting area weighted down by a stack of shoe boxes. The decision – or part of it, at least – was made for me and now I turned my mind to frantically trying to come up with plausible reasons for letting the young assistant try on the shoes myself.

Sometimes, it's easy to get carried away with the finer details rather than focusing on the big picture, though, isn't it? As I was trying to find a believable reason for not letting him near my feet – hyper-ticklishness, anyone? – he dropped to his knees right in front of me and lined a new (and, okay, even in that state I noticed, very smart casual sling-back) shoe next to my right foot. Before I could so much as react, he had lifted the foot slightly and was sliding the shoe on.

It all happened so fast – the assistant grabbing my foot, the inadvertent and very much non-deliberate shifting of my weight as I extended my leg involuntarily, the realisation that my mode of dress was going to become all too evident in just a fraction of a second – and a sudden, overwhelming sensation of highly intimate arousal.

It was the latter item on that particular list that had my physical eyes opening wider, and my mental jaw dropping to the carpet. I never planned for any of this had I? The poor young guy had probably never been in such a potentially erotic position before, surely? I had never dared be so bold before and now I wondered – without being able to stop myself – why ever not? I still seemed entirely innocent here, right? And anyway, there was no guarantee that he would dare notice the view that I was about to – inadvertently – offer, was there?

I let my leg straighten further, my left knee moving slightly away from my right as the assistant manipulated the shoe onto my foot. I was holding my breath, wondering just how polite and professional the young man could possibly be, when he adjusted the shoe's strap and sat back on his heels, his head swivelling slowly up to see my reaction. Or more to the point, his head swivelling part of the way up to see the front of my diaphanous panties.

'Does madam think that looks – fuck! – I mean gorgeous... no I mean hot... I mean..' he gave up and finally caught my eye, 'Sorry but... wow.'

I wondered if he could now see a tiny little damp patch that I could feel forming where the panties barely concealed a suddenly very warm pussy. I somehow managed to play innocent still in terms of how I sounded, but I meant every word in an entirely different way when I replied. 'I think to judge by your face that it looks perfect. Not at all what I expected when I left my apartment this morning, I can tell you.'

Nathan frowned at first, his eyes now riveted to somewhere just beneath the hemline of my dress, unashamedly staring. Or quite possibly, simply unable not to. He swallowed hard. 'I think that suits madam perfectly,' he managed with a level of control that I thought deserved a round of applause.

Not daring to start clapping in the middle of the shoe boutique, I set my right foot back on the floor, my knees parting even further as I began to lose all control of my decorum. 'I'd like to look at some more I think. What say you?'

'Yes! I mean, er, yes I agree madam.' He lifted a hand towards the old man somewhere behind us in a gesture that was meant to read 'all under control here' but which probably also meant 'stay the fuck away, old man, I have some prime pussy to stare at here'. Whatever it truly meant, it was all I could do to stop myself petting the aforementioned pussy.

Hopefully you know from what I've already told you that I had absolutely no intention of ending up in that brazen and – I assure you – oh-so untypical position. It really was just forgetfulness on my part and a chance weakness in an otherwise perfect pair of shoes that had brought me there. But if you had ever mentioned the possibility of me ending up in that position to me before it had actually happened there is simply no way that I would have believed it possible that I would react in the way that I was. Perhaps it was a combination of having already been seen, nothing more to lose, type of thing combining with an otherwise hidden desire for adventure that left me feeling so damned aroused all of a sudden, or perhaps it was just my hidden slut having an unexpected airing. I don't know the answer, even after going over the facts of what happened that day a hundred times, but I do know that I suddenly found myself acting in a way that I would never have believed possible.

I do remember thinking very clearly that I had never been in that shoe emporium before, and – after collecting my precious heels later that day – would never go in there again. So why not be this other, slutty woman for once?

With that in mind, I eased forward a couple of inches on the chair, the skirt of my dress sliding further up my thighs as I did so, 'How about,' I managed, 'you try that pair of kitten heels on me?'

Nathan's stare had been ill-concealed before, but now his eyes never left the small patch of white gauze that hovered just a few inches in front of his face – and the shaven and suddenly very damp pussy that lay just a fraction beyond. 'Certainly, madam,' he managed loud enough for the old guy to hear, then quieter, most certainly for my ears he added, 'Though I don't think madam could look any better.'

'Madam,' I assured him, 'does not look this way very often – ever before, really – so it's very kind of you to say, and I really do appreciate it.' I dropped my voice to a whisper, 'And madam really rather likes you staring at madam's hot, moist pussy, okay?'

I have no idea where that voice – that brutally honest voice – came from, but as soon as I said it, a tremor ran through my naked thighs and I inched forward another fraction on the chair, the hem of my skirt now almost resting against the top of the transparent panties.

Whatever cool Nathan was trying to maintain evaporated in a second and he shuffled closer to the side of my leg, his left hand tugging at the front of his trousers to make room for what I could see, dreamily and feverishly, was a raging erection concealed within.

I lost all rational control. I reached down and plucked the kitten heel from his right hand and held it in front of his blushing, sweating face, 'This shoe is rather tight, okay? You might have to gasp my leg to ease it on my foot, okay? Just understand I don't mind. At all.'

He stared blankly up at me for a full five seconds – clearly desperate to turn his gaze back to a more pink-focused view – and then comprehension struck. 'Oh,' he said, licking his lips, 'I think I see... And is madam quite certain?'

'Madam,' I whispered feverishly, 'is more than fucking certain.' I switched to a louder register, 'Yes, thank you, that will be just fine.'

Nathan needed no further prompting. He lifted my right foot once more, slipping the sling-back off and lining up the kitten heel before placing his left hand high on my right thigh. I patted his hand and inched even further forward, his hand maintaining its gentle grip as it moved inadvertently higher along my thigh. The assistant's other hand pushed blindly with the shoe at my foot, both of our attentions now focused on an altogether more intimate area, and with a surge of the most powerful arousal I have ever experienced, I confess that I grabbed at the hand on my thigh and jammed it hard against my rapidly moistening panties.

When Nathan's head swivelled upwards for a second, I stared down into his eyes trying to convey with a look that this was so very unlike me, that it was simultaneously among the most erotic experiences of my life, and that I needed to climax right there and then against his eager fingers.

I have no idea to this day is he understood any of that, or if he just gave in to rampaging male hormones, but when our eyes unlocked – his returning to my most intimate parts and mine rolling back in my head in ecstasy – his fingers probed quickly and easily. I felt the thin material of my panties being tugged feverishly aside, felt cool air caress my hot, moist centre – and then felt my labia part as a finger, then one more, pressed into the very heart of me.

I started to buck immediately, far closer to climax than I could have imagined, and in that second of penetration I understood that whatever else happened to me for the rest of my lifetime, the next few seconds or minutes would involve the most brazen, heated and daring orgasm of my existence.

And that proved enough for me.

The first orgasmic shudder – impaled on this young man's fingers in the middle of a London shoe-shop – almost drove me from the seat, almost had me crashing down onto the floor next to Nathan.

I stifled a screech of pure, unadulterated pleasure and bucked again – and again – as just three waves of climax shuddered through me. Just three but they were the biggest three waves I had ever felt. My ears rang and I swear that the room swam before me.

Even Nathan's grunt of evident fulfilment brought nothing more to my particular party – other than pleasure that he had got so much out of the experience.

It was ten more minutes before I dared go back to the oblivious old man and pay for my purchases and the repairs to my heel that I would be collecting later that day. I made sure that the young assistant would receive his due commission – and a tip that between me and Nathan, I knew would be needed for dry-cleaning – and then walked a little woozily out of the shoe-boutique in my new sling-backs.

Carrying a bag containing a pair of kitten heels that are, oddly enough, half a size too small for me to wear.