by Marie Carnay
On Display
A Shoe Obsession Erotic Short
by Marie Carnay
Copyright
Copyright 2014 by Marie Carnay.
Cover and Internal Design Copyright 2014 by Marie Carnay.
Cover Image Copyright Andril Muzyka, 2014. Used under license from Shutterstock.com.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its author, Marie Carnay.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Table of Contents
Title
Copyright
About On Display
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Author’s Note
About On Display
Story One in the Shoe Obsession Series
The perfect boots lure her inside his store, but his hands convince her to stay.
Escape with Mandy and Dylan as they give in to their passion and heat up a rain-soaked city night.
A 6,500 word erotic short story in the Shoe Obsession series.
WARNING: Due to explicit sexual content and language, this story is intended for mature, adult readers who enjoy erotic situations and imagery.
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Chapter One
Splash, splosh. Splash, splosh. Water oozed and squished between Mandy’s toes with every step, seeping in the loose stitching, sliding under the saturated suede. The footbeds lapped up the water, greedy sponges sucking and slurping at the rain until her flats were filled to bursting. She’d given up dodging the puddles in the dark—a near collision with a fire hydrant and a yappy dog dashed that strategy early on. So after her feet turned prickly cold, she’d started trudging, kicking and scuffing her way through divots and dips in the sidewalk as she headed to the nearest subway entrance.
I’m tramping through the rain, my toes are frozen, and Brad is tucked into his car, all toasty and dry on his drive home. My timing is impeccable. She inhaled a deep breath of cold, wretched dampness, as she remembered his car: the leather wrapping her in a cozy embrace, the window a tinted barrier protecting her body and her shoes. Her irrevocably and undeniably ruined shoes. A pang of loss hit her as she looked at the warping suede, at the tassels curling from the water with every splash-filled step. I worked overtime for a month to buy these shoes. Next time, I should check the weather forecast before breaking up with my only source of door-to-door transportation. She stomped at the thought, sending a spray of water in all directions.
Although Brad did work in the same building—and drive every day—staying in a dead-end relationship for access to a warm car ride seemed trite, even for Mandy. I should treat myself to a rebound. Hit a bar, get smashed, and get Brad and his car out of my system for good. As Mandy walked down the sidewalk, fantasizing about the hot stranger she’d love to dry off with, the intersection’s light turned and the little red hand commanded her to stop.
Glancing around, she spied awnings on the nearest shop. Scampering across the sidewalk, she made her way to the windows and ducked underneath the awnings to wait out the traffic. As she tipped her umbrella to shake off the water, the window display caught her eye. Shoes. Row upon row of shoes. Sandals, flats, heels, boots. A candy-colored window of delight, shining just for her. Mandy drifted across the storefront, eyes pausing on each detail: a contrasting stitch here, a grosgrain bow there.
And then she spotted them: a glistening pair of black stiletto boots waiting patiently for her. The patent leather stretched up to mid-calf with a polish so reflective she could see her face curved wide in the platform toe. And the heel—a spike of five or six inches that would send her shooting into the air without a hitch in her step. I’d be dry, warm, and really tall. I could stomp right over these puddles and not even notice.
Her glove trailed over the glass, outlining the boots with her fingers as she stared. Craving hit her, slamming into her stomach and wrenching her insides the more she ogled. I bet they’re outrageously expensive. But I could charge them. Work overtime for a year to pay them off. She bit her lip as the possibilities tumbled around in her head, desire and reason fighting for control. Maybe just one in-person peak. Feel the leather for a second before I go home. As her mind made excuses, her feet took over, propelling her frozen toes toward the door and into the warmth of the shop before Mandy could talk herself out of it.
Chapter Two
She walked in and deposited her umbrella in the empty stand before the door swung shut behind her. Slipping her gloves into her purse, she walked over to the window display. The boots stood there, still patient, still waiting. She reached out and picked one up, turning it over to look for a price tag. “Oh, wow. Okay. More than a year,” Mandy said out loud as her eyes went wide at the price.
Her fingers ran over the leather, the burnished softness of the patent slick under her fingertips. The stitching melted into the gleam, fine even humps arcing around the heel, snaking around the platform toe. She slid the zipper down, the teeth smooth and effortless, and reached inside. Her fingers melted into the suede lining, a seamless glove for her brand-new pedicure. As she slid her hand free and re-zipped the boot, the smell of leather—dark, sultry, and decadent—filled her nose and she inhaled deep. The smell of new shoes could weaken her knees and open her wallet like nothing else.
She tapped the heel with her nails and the clack-clack of the plastic echoed throughout the shop. They were the perfect city rain boot, all glamour and style, but warm and dry. I have to try these on. But as she reached to set the boot back on the pedestal, the lights flicked off overhead.
Mandy spun to face the darkness, eyes searching and scanning until a figure loomed in the entrance to the back. A large, most certainly male, figure. What the hell? The boot slipped from Mandy’s hand and crashed onto the floor as she backed into the display. Her heart surged, a rapid fire thumpity-thump, as her throat dried and her hands sought purchase on the shelves behind her. Her fingers wrapped around a stiletto sandal as her instincts to run wailed inside her head, but before she could break for the door, the light flicked on.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I’d locked the front door. We’ve been closed for over an hour,” the man said as he smiled at her.
Mandy tried to smile in return, but managed a weak grimace. “I-I’m sorry … the light turned off and I …” she stammered as she let go of the sandal and bent down to retrieve the boot. I am an idiot. Mandy pulled the boot to her chest, pressing the cool leather to her naked collarbone as she collected herself and stood up.
“I’m sure I gave you quite a fright. Can I get you anything? A glass of water?”
“No … um … I’m sure I sound paranoid, but … you do work here, right?”
He laughed and walked toward her, reaching out his hand. “Yes. Dylan Williams. I own the store.”
“Mandy. Mandy Hawthorne,” she replied as she slipped her free hand into his. His fingers wrapped around her hand and held her, a momentary embrace as they looked at one another. His smile softened his angular features and lifted his thick brows, exposing eyes that crinkled and warmed as they searched her face. Stubble a week old hid his tanned, copper skin, and his lips—all at once pouty and luscious and beyond kissable—made him everything Brad was not. And a whole lot more judging by his grip. She tugged—a tiny yank—and he released her, letting her fingers slide away from his in a smooth caress.
“So … like I said. Can I get you anything?”
Mandy smiled, a flash of white lighting her face as she raised an eyebrow in question. “These boots? In a size seven?” She waved the boot in front of her as she gave Dylan her best pretty-please smile. “Please? My toes are frozen. And drenched. And I just have to try these on.”
Dylan looked down at her feet and let out a low whistle. “Did you walk through the gutter to get here? What happened to your shoes?”
Mandy looked down at her shoes, the red suede blotched and warped, the rain dripping onto the floor. “I walked here from my office … in the thunderstorm outside … with an exceptionally bad choice in footwear.”
“Here, sit down. I’ll get you a towel. And a bag for your shoes.” Dylan waved to a couch in the middle of the room.
As she took off her coat and sat, the butter-soft leather wrapped around her thighs. “Where on earth did you find a green Chesterfield?”
“Oh, I’ve had it for years. A friend of mine runs a furniture business. I traded her free shoes for the sofa when I opened the store.”
“Wise decision. I’d sit here and try on every shoe you have. It’s wonderful.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
Mandy nodded as Dylan turned towards the back. She watched as he walked away, noticed how his gabardine pants hit all the right places and the muscles in his legs flexed beneath the wool. His dress shirt barely hid shoulders no day job at a shoe store could manage to create. And as he slipped behind the cash register and into the back, Mandy let out a trapped breath. He must spend hours at the gym. I can only imagine what he looks like naked.
She closed her eyes and leaned back on the sofa, her head coming to rest on the tufted back as she poured over the image of Dylan in her mind. All that tanned skin hiding under his professional clothes, all that buzzed dark hair screaming for a hand to run through it. He’s exactly the type of rebound I need. Remind me why that lazy excuse of an ex-boyfriend isn’t worth my time. Too bad we’re in a shoe shop and not flirting at a bar. Mandy shifted on the couch, crossing and re-crossing her legs as his body filled her imagination. She undressed him in her mind—sliding his shirt off his bronzed shoulders, undoing his belt buckle.
As she began to slide his imaginary zipper, a hand slipped off her soaked shoe and she jumped upright. “Oh!” she exclaimed as Dylan smiled at her. He crouched in front of her, slipping off her ruined shoes and sliding them into a bag on the floor.
“You startle quick. I thought you’d fallen asleep. And you need to warm your toes before you get frostbite. They’re almost blue.” Dylan picked up a towel and wrapped it around Mandy’s feet, the warmth sending shooting pain up her feet and into her legs.
“Ouch! That’s hot,” she said as she tried to pull her feet away. But his hands wrapped around her, dwarfing her ankles with his grip as he held her still. She couldn’t budge if she wanted to.
“I warmed the towel. You need to dry out and heat up. Just relax. The pain will stop in a minute.”
As she sank back into the couch, Dylan’s hands began a gentle rub—a rolling of the towel over her feet—sharpening the pain but warming her toes at the same time. With each knead and roll of his fingers, the pain subsided, and Mandy let herself relax. Her head rolled back, her breathing mellowed, and her eyelids fluttered closed. He slid the towel away and continued the massage, rubbing her toes, the balls of her feet, her arches, with such precision she’d have paid for the service. As his fingers rubbed her ankles, swooping over her bones and slipping down her instep to her toes, she inhaled a deep breath, arousal coursing through her body as he labored.
She’d had massages before, but none that sent tingling shoots of desire and longing in an arc over her whole body. She felt electric— a live wire snaking and sparking in a puddle of rain water—a charge building with each swipe of his hand. Her nipples hardened and she squirmed in her seat as his fingers continued their slow assault. With every stroke, every flash of electricity coursing through her body, she shimmied on the couch, her dress inching higher and higher till most of her thighs sat bare and exposed. Her panties dampened and she felt possessed—a woman charged and ready to release.
As Dylan’s fingers slipped between her toes, she gasped, bolts of pleasure and pain shooting from her toes to her clit with each caress. Mandy clenched her hands into fists, pressing her knuckles into the couch until they ached. Her whole body shuddered: a flickering light fading in and out with Dylan’s touch.
“Mandy. Relax. I can’t bring your feet back to life if they’re balled up in knots.”
Mandy opened her eyes and looked down at Dylan. “Oh, they’re alive, trust me.” She pulled her feet out of his hands and tucked them underneath her. Tugging her dress back down and scooting up onto the cushion, her cheeks blazed as she looked at him. He appeared so intent and calm, staring at her as he rocked back on his heels. She bit her lip and took a deep breath, fighting down the urge to scramble off the couch and devour him one kiss at a time.
“Well, if you’re sure they’re all right, then I have something you might like.” Dylan spun around on the balls of his feet and opened a box. As he turned back around he held out the boots from the window. “You’re in luck. We have your size. Care to try them on?” He tilted his head and raised a single eyebrow as he dangled the boots in front of her.
Mandy clapped her hands like a schoolgirl. “Ooh. Yes! Please!” She slipped her feet off the couch and stuck them out for Dylan, eager to try on the objects of her material fantasy.
“I knew I could get your feet back off the couch,” he said with a grin as he took her calf in his hand and eased a boot onto her foot. As the leather slid over her foot and up her leg, he crept closer, angling his body between her thighs and pushing her legs apart. Mandy inhaled a quick jolt of air as his hand slid higher, past her knee and up her inner thigh. As he stroked her bare skin, he slid the boot on all the way with his other hand.
Dylan raised up from his crouch and hovered in front of her, his nose brushing Mandy’s blonde hair away from her ear.
“One down, one to go,” he whispered, his breath hot on her cheek before he withdrew and reached for the other boot.
As he withdrew, the loss of his heat and his body so close hit her in a frigid wave. She choked down a moan and bit her lip. Twisting and plumping and tugging, Mandy rolled her lip between her teeth as Dylan turned back around. As he positioned the other boot, his hands found her thigh, sliding down and around and over till he could guide her foot into the suede lining and zip it closed. Kneeling between her legs, he let her foot slide down to the floor.
“Well? How do they fit?”
Mandy let her lip go, let the blood rush back to the wounded tissue as she fluttered her eyelids shut. How far can I push this? How far am I willing to go? As she opened her eyes, Dylan’s lips curved, a half-smile that sent sparks jolting and pinging in her body, a rush so heady she had her answer. Mandy slid towards him, scooting to the edge of the couch where his thighs pressed into the evergreen leather. She slid her knees and thighs along his sides, feeling his muscles tense as she advanced. Her hands found his arms, sliding and slipping their way around his biceps and over his shoulders till she grazed his neck with
her fingertips.
“I think they fit. But I have to walk in them to be sure.”
“Of course.” He pushed himself away from the couch and stood up, running a hand over his hair. “How about to the mirror and back?”
“Perfect.” Mandy stood up, adjusted to the wicked height of the boots and took a step. The platform threw her at first, the balls of her feet unaccustomed to the artificial depth, but after a few steps she adjusted. She pranced to the mirror, giddy with the reflective patent on her feet, and took stock of her appearance. The deep black of the boots made her skin almost ghostly, a pale luminescence set off by the burgundy of her dress. And as she hiked up the hem of her skirt and turned for a different view, she saw Dylan stiffen, saw his hands clench at his sides as he watched her. Her body responded, thighs quivering and panties soaking as she turned to face him. She wrapped the silk jersey dress around her thighs, pulling it tight across her ass as she spun for him. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re beautiful. And sexy. And it’s taking all my self control not to rip your dress off…. But I’m assuming you mean the boots. Come here and let me check the fit.”
Mandy’s mouth gaped and her hands released her dress, letting the fabric bounce to mid-thigh as she walked towards him. Stopping a few inches away, she marveled at his size. The boots made her six inches taller, but she still didn’t meet him in the eye. Damn.
“Sit,” he commanded. She obeyed, sliding onto the couch and placing her feet front and center. Dylan ran his hands over the leather, tracing the stitching with his fingers as he picked up first one foot and then another. He set her feet down in a wide stance, spreading her knees apart as his hands found her naked skin. Mandy jumped at the contact, at the tingling shock of their skin colliding once again.
Dylan’s hands slid up her shins, over her knees and up her thighs, his thumbs caressing the soft inner skin of her legs as he kneeled in front of her. As Mandy gasped and trembled, Dylan’s fingers slid under the hem of her dress, up and up, over and around, to grip her ass. One fluid tug and he pulled her to him, her wet panties meeting his cock, hard and throbbing beneath the worsted wool. He used his hands to rock her, a slow grind against his body, rubbing and rolling as her breathing grew hurried and shallow.
