Nexus Confessions

by Various

  It occurred to me, of course, that I could go outside and get a proper look at her. After all, I knew her routines; it wouldn’t be difficult. But, tempting though that was, part of me felt as though doing so might break the spell. Maybe she had a face like a bag of spanners, though I doubted it. But even if she was every bit as gorgeous as in my imagination, if I saw her for real, somehow I knew it would ruin things. Part of the appeal was that I’d never seen the rest of her. Because I’d never seen her face, because I didn’t know if she was blonde or brunette, well-endowed or flat-chested, I was free to create whatever fantasy I chose. In my mind, she was perfect and who would want to tamper with perfection?

  One evening, I was sitting on my stool by the window looking at the parade of legs and feet on their way home from work. The five o’clock rush to the tube station was long over. I’d have gone home myself ages ago only I was waiting for Dita to go past. I knew she was at work today because I’d already seen her trot past in the morning in impossibly high black patent shoes with a metal heel and a fine strap around her slender ankle. They were what I’d heard other blokes calling ‘Fuck me’ shoes, and they certainly worked on me.

  I wanted to catch another glimpse of them, to imprint them on my memory so that I could have a really delicious, slow session at home. I’d almost given up – maybe she’d gone home in a taxi or was out at a business meeting and had never returned to the office – when I heard a familiar clip-clop approaching along the pavement behind me. I stood up and turned round to get a better look. She was walking along with another woman, whose footwear seemed dowdy and ordinary by comparison. As they drew level with me they stopped and turned to face each other. They were obviously deep in conversation and wanted to finish talking before they went their separate ways.

  The other woman was telling Dita about a disastrous blind date she had been on. The story seemed interminable, with every moment and facial expression needing discussion or explanation and Dita sounded sympathetic and interested even though, to me, the woman seemed desperate and self-delusional. Dita was standing with her back to me and I realised that if I pushed my face right up against the glass I could see a little more of her. I stood on tiptoe and squashed my face up against the cold dirty window. I could hardly believe it; I could see up her skirt! She was wearing a knee-length pleated skirt which flared out from the hips, allowing me an excellent view. She was indeed wearing stockings; I could just see a glimpse of milky thigh and dark silk-clad bottom.

  It was more than flesh and blood could bear. In spite of the rule I’d set myself I couldn’t resist moving my hand to the front of my trousers and fingering my erection. Even through two layers of fabric, it felt fantastic. I drank in every detail. I noticed that one of her stockings was slightly twisted above the knee so that the seam veered off to one side rather than neatly bisecting her thigh. They were slightly creased around the ankle and I longed to lick my fingertips and run them up her legs from ankle to knee as I had seen women do to pull up sagging stockings.

  My view up her skirt was restricted by the glass. Ideally I’d have liked to be further forwards but the window was in the way and I had to make do with the occasional glimpse of thigh and panties. Up close, her shoes were a work of art. The bottom part of the stiletto heel was shiny, cold steel and the slender strap around her ankle was fastened with an ornate buckle. They were impossibly high, arching her foot and emphasising the curve of her instep. I was in heaven. Maybe I should ease down my zip and give myself just a little manual assistance? I was the only person left in the office except for the security guard who’d rung down earlier to let me know that I was the last to leave. Who would ever know?

  I pulled down my fly, thrust my hand inside and quickly located the opening at the front of my boxers. I gripped my rigid cock in my hand and squeezed. I didn’t know how long it would go on for; she might tire of her friend’s narrative and bid her a quick goodbye before trotting off towards the tube station and out of my field of vision. I intended to make the most of every second, to drink in every tiny detail and commit it to my memory so that, when she’d gone, I’d be able to close my eyes and recreate it while I brought myself to a well-deserved climax. And I had no doubt that the earth would move so violently that it would be off the Richter scale.

  I was so involved in enjoying the view and stroking my engorged cock that I wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. They kissed goodbye and the other woman trotted off across the road. I assumed that Dita too would move on, but she was fumbling through her pockets as if she’d lost something, then she opened her handbag and began to look through it. Maybe she’s lost her tube ticket, I thought. Well, it wouldn’t take long to find, so I stepped up the pace of my wanking and pressed my face so hard against the window that my nose was flattened and the glass steamed up every time I breathed out.

  Dita found what she was looking for and closed her handbag with a snap. I must have been so disappointed that she’d be moving away that, without realising, I let out a little sigh of disappointment. But I was so completely involved in my manual manipulations that I just stood there with my face pressed up against the glass looking up her skirt.

  It didn’t even occur to me that she might have heard me until she turned suddenly and said, ‘Who’s that? Is there someone there?’ Of course, I realised instantly that she’d heard me, but I couldn’t risk making any more noise, so I just stood there on tiptoe with my hand inside my trousers and my nose flattened uncomfortably by the window. Maybe if I stayed very quiet she’d go away. I couldn’t think of anything worse than being caught in the act. I mean, how sad was that? I couldn’t imagine any woman understanding my dirty little secret. Fantasies were one thing, but I didn’t fool myself that my current situation was anything other than sordid.

  Dita was looking around, trying to find the source of the sound. I dared not move, so I just prayed that she wouldn’t look down.

  ‘There’s someone there, I know there is, I can hear breathing, panting . . .’

  Instantly, I held my breath, but it was too late. She turned round towards me and bent down. Before I had a chance to move away I found myself looking directly into her dark-brown eyes. I could hardly pretend I just happened to be looking out of the window as my nose was splayed by the glass. I moved my face away, hoping that it looked less sinister but didn’t even think that this would mean that, from her position above me, she’d be able to see down the front of my body to where my hand was firmly thrust inside my open fly.

  I saw her eyes narrow in recognition and then anger.

  ‘You stay there, young man. I’m coming in.’ She stood up and trotted off towards the door.

  I was in absolute turmoil. I had no idea what to do. Strictly speaking, the security man wasn’t supposed to let anyone in after hours but I didn’t doubt that she’d be able to win him round. I zipped up my trousers and put on my jacket. There was no back way out of the offices, but if I went up in the service lift I could pass her in the lobby and she’d have no idea it had been me looking up her dress. I prayed she wouldn’t recognise me and headed for the lift.

  I pressed the button and watched the illuminated numbers which signalled its descent from the floors above. The wait seemed interminable. When the doors finally opened I was confronted with the sight of Dita, very angry and very beautiful, standing in the lift. Her long dark hair was caught back in a velvet ribbon. She was wearing a tailored jacket and a white linen blouse. At her throat was a velvet choker with a single teardrop-shaped pearl dangling from it. Her lips were painted a dark crimson and her eye shadow was smoky and exotic.

  ‘Well, well, trying to make a quick getaway, eh?’ She stepped out of the lift.

  ‘What? I don’t know what you mean.’ Maybe if I could bluff it out she’d let me go. It could have been anyone at the window; there was no reason that it should have been me.

  ‘Oh come off it, Peeping Tom, I recognise you. And, even if I didn’t, you’ve got dirt from the glass all over your n
ose.’

  My hand flew to my face and I realised, too late, that I’d given myself away.

  ‘I . . . I’m sorry,’ was all I could manage to say.

  ‘Not as sorry as you’re going to be. Now, do you mind telling me what this is all about? Do you make a habit of spying on women while you have a wank? You nasty little voyeur. What do you think your employers would make of that?’

  ‘Please don’t tell them.’ I couldn’t keep the panic out of my voice. I needed the job and who would ever give me another one if I was sacked for masturbation and voyeurism? ‘I’ll do anything. Anything you want.’ I supposed it was desperation that made me say it and, as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realised how ridiculous they sounded. I ran my fingers through my hair and hung my head. ‘I’m really sorry; I’ve been completely stupid. I need this job, please don’t report me. You’ve got every right to be angry and I realise you’ve got no reason to show me any mercy, but I can’t lose my job. Please.’

  ‘You should have thought of that before you got your cock out.’ She was standing with her hands on her hips and, though still angry, I could see that she’d grown curious.

  ‘Actually, it wasn’t really out . . .’

  ‘Do you think that matters? Is this any time to split hairs? You were spying on me – looking right up my skirt, I expect – and masturbating. Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. I do . . .’

  ‘I’m listening. And bear in mind that the quality of your explanation is what determines whether or not I go to your employers so you’d better make it good.’ She was looking directly at me. Her face was stern and unbelievably beautiful. Part of me longed to obey her. I’d have done anything she wanted, yet shame and fear had made my tongue thick. But if I didn’t try to explain I’d be in even bigger trouble. I took a deep breath.

  ‘It’s just that I’ve never told anyone my secret before. In fact, I don’t think I’ve even said it out loud. I don’t know where to begin.’

  ‘Why not start with why you were looking at me.’ Though her voice was authoritative her expression had grown gentler.

  ‘OK. I’m a . . . what you’d probably call a shoe fetishist.’ I looked into her dark, liquid eyes trying to gauge a reaction, expecting shock and disapproval. Instead I saw only curiosity and interest.

  ‘Retifism, interesting. Go on.’

  ‘Not just shoes, but feet and legs. I’ve always had it, as long as I can remember, but I’ve never told a soul until today.’

  ‘Is that a pun? “Sole”?’ She smiled at me, and for the first time I saw amusement in her eyes.

  ‘Not an intentional one. When I came to work here I quickly discovered I had a fantastic view of women’s feet as they walked by. Not just women, of course, but I’m not interested in the men, obviously.’

  ‘A heterosexual pervert. I can’t tell you how reassuring that is.’

  ‘You’re laughing at me now.’

  ‘Can you blame me?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘So you spend your day wanking at the window?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘No, it’s not like that at all. I just look. And not even during working hours, just lunchtimes and before and after work. I wank at home, I’ve never done that here before, I swear.’

  ‘If that’s true, what was so different about tonight?’

  ‘Well . . .’ I’d never felt more embarrassed but I had no option but to explain myself. ‘You stopped just where I was sitting and I realised that if I stood on tiptoe and pressed my face against the glass I might be able to see up your skirt . . .’

  ‘I see. You’re a dirty little boy, aren’t you?’

  I assumed the question was rhetorical and, in any case, my burning cheeks had surely provided her with an answer so I looked down at my feet and hoped for the moment to pass. Either that or for the floor to open up and swallow me down into the bowels of hell where I so obviously belonged. She put two fingers under my chin and lifted my head until I was looking straight into her eyes. In spite of myself, the physical contact and her dominating manner made my cock begin to swell.

  ‘I asked you a question. You’re a dirty little boy, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I am. I’m a dirty little boy.’ My voice was small and ashamed. It took all my effort to meet her gaze yet, in spite of my humiliation my cock was expanding and, if she noticed, it would only be compounding my sin. Without thinking, I clamped my right hand over my crotch, covering the evidence. I was so focused on concealing my shame that it didn’t occur to me that covering it up would make it all the more obvious.

  ‘A very dirty boy indeed, it would appear.’ She let go of my chin and her hand moved to my wrist, pulling my hand away from my groin. She pressed her palm over my genitals. Her fingers explored their contours for a moment while she satisfied herself of my arousal. ‘You said you’d do anything if I promise not to report you. Do you mean that?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Anything, whatever you want. I can’t afford to lose this job.’

  She crossed her arms and looked me up and down. Her eyes conducted an unhurried appraisal of my body.

  ‘Tell me . . . I don’t know your name?’

  ‘Rob. Rob Newton.’

  ‘So tell me, Rob. Do your little shoe fantasies include kneeling at a woman’s feet and obeying her every whim? Do you crave humiliation and pain? Maybe you long for her to put on her sexiest shoes and walk all over you, or press her spiked heels into your flesh? Is that what you dream about, Rob?’

  I was far too excited to answer but I guess my face and, more importantly my cock, had given me away. I could only nod in agreement and she began to smile, a slow, wicked grin that aroused and frightened me in equal measure.

  ‘OK. Is there anywhere in this catacomb where we can find a quiet corner? We’d hardly want to be observed through the window, would we? No voyeurs, though that would be poetic justice.’

  ‘Yes, behind the shelves at that end, it’s completely private.’

  ‘Then what are we waiting for? Lead on.’

  It was impossible that this glorious creature intended to give me exactly what I’d dreamed of. Yet it seemed that was exactly what she had in mind. Emboldened by the realisation that she found the situation as arousing as I did, I felt brave enough to make a request.

  ‘Would you . . . Would you mind awfully going first? Only I’ve been dreaming of watching your arse sway as you walk for weeks.’

  She laughed.

  ‘Why not? Which way is it?’

  ‘Between those racks to the right as far as you can go then turn left. We’ll never be seen.’

  ‘OK.’ She turned and walked off. As I suspected, she was every bit as beautiful from the rear. She had a pert, apple-shaped arse and a narrow waist. She walked slowly, deliberately undulating her rear for my benefit. ‘The last row there, on the left?’

  She turned the corner and disappeared out of sight. I followed on like a lap dog at its mistress’s heel.

  ‘Well, it’s hardly the Ritz, but it will do, I suppose. Now, Rob. Shall we begin?’

  I could only nod in reply.

  ‘I’d like you to take off all your clothes, please.’

  I didn’t even think of disobeying. I stripped off, putting my clothes on a trolley nearby which we used for transporting the files. Soon I was naked except for my boxers and my socks and shoes – the floor was far too dirty to go barefoot. The front of my underwear was tented by my erection and stained dark with pre-come. I could feel her appraising eyes on my body. I gazed back, emboldened by her obvious arousal. Her breathing had grown shallow and rapid and her lips were puffy and dark.

  I peeled down my boxers and dropped them on top of the pile of clothes.

  ‘Good. Very nice. Much more sculpted than I would have imagined. I assumed you were a desk jockey, but you’re actually quite muscular.’ Her voice had grown deep and breathy.

  ‘I go to the gym twic
e a week.’ I was unbelievably proud and excited that she found my body attractive.

  ‘And it shows. Now. Get down on your knees and lick my shoes. They’ve grown dusty in this filthy basement and we can’t have that, can we?’

  I couldn’t get to my knees quickly enough. I was down on all fours in seconds, my naked arse pointing at the ceiling as I bent my head to lick her shoes. The dust from the floor got up my nose and made me cough, but I didn’t care. I licked her shoes as if my life depended upon it. She leaned against one of the shelves for support and lifted her foot, indicating that I should lick the sole.

  I cleaned the dirty underside of her shoe with my tongue. It was gritty and smelly but, to me, it tasted like the finest caviar. I closed my eyes and licked. My cock was rigid, lying flat against my belly. From time to time I let out a little grunt of pleasure and excitement as I cleaned her sole. It was divine; a dream come true. If it was all that ever happened between us I would count myself the luckiest man alive.

  ‘Good. Now, I want you to suck on my heel, that’s a good boy.’

  I took the spiky heel into my mouth and slid my face up and down as if I was sucking a cock. I could feel the cold metal tip pressing against my tongue as I moved and it felt dangerous and unbelievably arousing. She began to move her foot, fucking my mouth with her steel heel.

  I was unbelievably excited by now; my cock painful. I was moaning, gasping and spluttering. I closed my eyes and allowed her to abuse my mouth with the stiletto and I couldn’t have loved it more if her heel was a cock and my mouth was a willing pussy. It felt shameful and humiliating and strange, yet on another level it was completely right, natural and desirable. It was all I wanted, for her to use me in any way that she chose.

  ‘Enough.’ She removed the heel and I felt as though I’d had my pocket picked. I looked up at her as she reached under her skirt and removed her panties. ‘Put your jacket on the floor for me to lie on.’