So there I was, hovering, taking my time over stacking the satsumas, when I heard her walking behind me before I ever saw her. Clack, clack, click, click. I turned around as if I needed to open a new box and nearly collapsed with desire. How do women wear heels that high and still walk? They were absolutely gorgeous. Red. Now there’s a colour. The colour of passion, tango, wine. Red roses for love. Red light for danger. Imitation crocodile skin, and pointy toes. Delicious. I had to swallow hard and keep fixed on my work. It’s quiet in the supermarket that early in the morning. I’d been there half the night but she was fresh as a daisy. Those red shoes kept me going all day long. And half the night too if I’m truthful. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not in favour of your all-night-long five finger exercise. A little do it yourself is inevitable when you see something like that. It’s like look but don’t touch. A single bed with one occupant’s a lonely place, or at least mine is since I split up with Sarah. Five long years together and now alone. So I dream a bit and I cuddle up a bit with thoughts of those red shoes.
I’ll tell you something to make you laugh – I couldn’t wait to get into work the next morning. I revved up the bike and there I was champing at the bit before they opened the main staff door. We have to go in round the back in case the punters see us. Like we’re lepers or something. That’s how these big supermarkets treat you. They want your labour and they want it cheap. But they’d rather you didn’t come in through the front and scare off the precious customers. Lucy was there too. Little Lucy whose Mum talks for Britain and who can’t wait to leave home, if only she could get someone to take her on. She’s sweet, I like her but I don’t fancy her. I’ve got a feeling she might have the hots for me though. When we were standing outside, she lit up a fag and said, all coy like, ‘your manager’s got it in for you hasn’t he?’
‘I guess so.’ I replied. ‘We’re not exactly bosom buddies.’ She giggled at that. She’s not much more than a child.
‘You know what I think his problem is. I think he’s jealous of you.’
‘Why should someone who’s earning twice as much as me be jealous of me?’ I asked. Not unreasonably I thought.
‘Cos you’re good-looking I guess.’ She let that sink in for a second. For effect like, and blew a cloud of smoke to the side of her. ‘It stands to reason. It doesn’t matter how much he earns. He’ll still be a balding fat git and you’ll still be young and blond with huge broad shoulders.’
I guess that was a compliment. Luckily they opened the door then. She’s jail bait, little Lucy. Too young for me. And besides I’m afraid I couldn’t get turned on by those big flat chunky Goth boots she wears. As soon as I’d got out of my leathers and into my uniform, I went off to search for my high heel lady.
I didn’t have to wait long. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was looking for me. We sort of ‘meet’ at more or less the same place each day. That’s rubbish of course. Classy chicks like her don’t look twice at shelf-stackers like me. Maybe if I’d already got my bike shop and everything. I’d have a bit more confidence to go up to her and start chatting. But, as it is, she and I are worlds apart. The tension sort of turns me on a bit. The thought that I’ll never possess her, never go to her house, never look in her wardrobe and see all those shoes tantalises me. But I’ve still got my fantasies.
For the first time, it was her face I noticed first, before the shoes. It was a glowing face. Slightly tanned, cutely freckled and framed with long straight brown hair that curled at the ends. She wears glasses, I’ve seen her peering at the labels on stuff. Executive type glasses with cool green frames. Today, she looked like a pussycat. She had this just below the knee mock leopard print coat. On anyone else it would have been too Bling Queen meets Zena, Warrior Maiden. But on her it looked just right. And, to go with it for your delectation today, sir? Long, long, lace up brown boots with a kitten heel.
I felt a surge of adrenalin zap straight to my cock. I imagined taking the top of the laces between my teeth and pulling them undone. Then I pictured myself mouthing each lace laboriously out bit by bit. It would take ages of course. But in my fantasy, I and my glorious high heel lady would have all the time in the world. As I did it, she’d sit on the side of the bed, in that coat and only her underwear, and watch me. As I unlaced, the smell of leather and a slight whiff of female sweat would tease my senses. I would breathe in, ease the boots slowly off her feet and start sucking on her toes. Heaven. Pure heaven. Glassy-eyed, I let my mind drift and imagined her guiding me over to her bed, her pert arse lifting up and down like a boat on a gentle swell. She’d point me to one of those expensive duvet covers, all plum coloured satin, inlaid velvet and sequins. With eyes that said ‘I’ll do anything for you,’ she’d push me back on the cover and start to run her hands over my chest. She’d kiss my eyes closed and whisper, ‘I’ve got a surprise for you. Relax.’ Then, I’d sense her lying down, so her feet met mine and then with those gorgeous, sensuous feet, she would start to rub her heel up the inside of my calf. My imagination would go wild, hoping upon hope that she would do that one thing that I’ve always wanted. I’d feel her toes, the soles of her feet, not rough but soft, move up between my thighs. Then, unbelievably, she’d do it. Take my cock between her feet and expertly grip it just right. At that point, I would give myself a treat. I’d open my eyes and see her superb pink pussy exposed before my eyes, glistening and moist as she held her legs open. Then I’d watch those magic feet doing their business. Back and forth, back and forth they’d go and she’d watch me, cool as a cucumber, a smile playing on her lips as she controlled me like no woman had ever controlled me before. Trying to hold back, I’d look away. But it wouldn’t be any good. Feeling the power surge down my prick, I’d look back again to watch my warm salty come erupt and shoot all over those cute little toes.
Breathing a bit too heavily for comfort, I was shot back into the real world. My high heel lady had paid for her goods and was gliding off, just a memory to brighten my same old, same old day.
I’d volunteered to do overtime. It was late, maybe 11pm by the time I’d finished and was easing into my leathers. I pulled my hair out of the collar. I know it’s old fashioned and all that to wear it long but I keep it squeaky clean and it’s nice man-hair. Not straggly or greasy or tied up in a pony tail. It’s just long enough to sit on my shoulders with a gentle curl. An old girlfriend once told me I looked like the captain of a pirate ship. A pirate in bike leathers and a black helmet. She had a wonderful fertile imagination, that girl.
I’d kicked the bike into life and was purring through the car park when I had to blink twice. I lifted my visor and frowned. There she was. My high heel lady. Standing all alone in the car park in the dark. It was dangerous, she shouldn’t wait there all on her own. I slowed the bike down to a crawl as I got near. I couldn’t speak to her, I didn’t know her. A six foot geezer on a monster-bike approaching a lone female just wasn’t on. And yet, and yet. Something about the way she looked at me, and smiled, made me pull on the brakes and stop in my tracks. I glanced behind me expecting to see some massive geezer in a Lexus revving me off the scene. But no. It was deserted apart from a blue carrier bag whirling frenziedly on the breeze. I felt just like that lost bag. Nowhere to go but round in circles. Maybe today I’d get cracking on starting up that bike shop, maybe not. Maybe today I’d win the lottery, maybe not. Maybe today some gorgeous woman would choose me. Maybe not. Round and round in circles my head seemed to whirl. Until I heard a voice in front of me.
‘Hi,’ it was female. Sweet as pink candy floss at the fair.
‘Hi,’ I answered. Not a great line I admit, but even Mel Gibson has to start somewhere. She shifted from foot to foot. Could she be as nervous as me or was it just the cold? From foot to foot. I was reminded of those feet and looked down. There they were. Brown boots with laces begging to be undone. I exhaled. They could have been no more than size fives, my favourite size. I lifted my eyes up to hers. My blue ones locked into her hazel ones. Please say something
I thought. Please, because it’s your turn, and you started it and besides, I’m not too good at this.
‘You work in the supermarket, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ I tried a smile. In the absence of the ability to speak I have found, like strangers in a strange land, that a smile can be useful. Brainwave. I loosened the strap and gently took off my helmet. Now I could hear her better; now there wasn’t that barrier between us. Now I was less of a scary guy and more just a bloke on his way home. Except it seemed maybe I wasn’t on my way home just yet.
‘Well, this may seem kind of strange. And I don’t usually do this, and my friends would kill me if they knew I’d done anything so stupid as wait for a complete stranger in a car park in the dark.’
She was babbling nervously. She couldn’t possibly be as nervous as me, could she? If I was going to be Mr Scary Psycho I’d have pounced by now. I’m not, believe me, gorgeous girl. I’m just an ordinary guy.
‘But, I wondered if you fancied going for a drink now you’re finished.’ This last jetted out like water cascading down the side of a cliff, like she’d been thinking it but couldn’t believe she’d said it. I could have opened my arms, folded her size ten frame inside them and kissed her. But that, I hoped, would come later. Much later when she knew me and I knew her and the time was right. Until then, for the first time in my life I kept cool, but not chilly. I plastered a smile over my stupid face and said, ‘Have you ever ridden pillion?’
‘No.’ She shook her head and those ribbon falls of hair waved and bounced.
‘Would you like to?’
‘Yup,’ she nodded. ‘I’ve always had a bit of a thing. Well, a big bit of a thing about bikes.’ And shoes, I thought, dear, dear lady. And shoes.
‘Then this is your chance. We could go to McClusky’s if you fancy it,’ I said. A frown spread over her face and I thought nooooooo. You’ve blown it. You idiot. You said something wrong. It’s not going to happen. She’s going to walk away in those gorgeous suede boots and out of your life for ever. ‘If you don’t fancy McClusky’s, suggest anywhere else,’ I blurted.
‘It’s not that,’ she said. ‘It’s just I’m not sure if I can get on your bike with these boots. They are a bit high.’
I could have punched the sky, I was so high on the evening, on the breeze, on this wonderful female talking to me. ‘Don’t worry,’ I hope I sounded cool as a cucumber although my heart was thudding louder than the bike’s engine. I reached backwards to the box, lifted out the spare helmet and started at the softness of her hair as I helped her into it. ‘Just hold on to my shoulder and jump on.’ She did. We moved off and I left my stomach behind as she gripped my waist, her head leaning on my back. As we rounded the front of the supermarket I shouted, ‘What do you do for a living?’
‘I’m a financial adviser. I advise people setting up in small business. Get them loans, advise them on premises, all that boring stuff.’ Boring, I thought. No: as I pictured my little motorbike shop. This might just be a relationship made in heaven. Then, I saw in the dark shop window as we stopped at the lights, our reflection in the glass. Her eyes were dreamy as she leant into my shoulder and I could see her admiring the reflection of her shoes next to the chrome of my bike. I grinned like a kid on Christmas Eve and rode off with my prize holding me tight, so tight.
Neighbourhood Watch
by Stephen Albrow
As soon as her husband had left for work, Rachel carried the chair to the window. She drew the curtains, leaving a tiny gap through which to peek, then waited for the entertainment to start across the road. It was now almost a fortnight since the mystery woman had moved in opposite, ever since when a succession of men had been turning up on her doorstep at every hour of the night and day. The neighbourhood had never seen anything like it before – a call girl working right in their midst!
It was almost nine o’clock in the morning, which meant the day’s first client would be arriving soon. Most of them were businessmen. It was a high-class operation, nowhere near as squalid as Rachel had always expected these things to be. She sipped on her coffee, growing excited at the prospect of what was in store and glad for any excuse not to tackle last night’s dirty dishes. I bet she doesn’t have to wash the dishes, thought Rachel, as she pictured the woman over the road – a tall brunette, with hourglass curves, who was permanently clad in thigh-high boots and shiny black leather.
A car came crawling down the street, then parked in the woman’s driveway. Rachel stood up to get a better look, peeking through the tiny crack in the curtains and watching as a middle-aged man walked up to the front door and rang the bell. He gazed back at his car as he waited on the doorstep, desperately trying to appear nonchalant, but Rachel could see the tension in his eyes. All the men who went in the house seemed nervous, but they always emerged contented and calm. The mistress of the house had a way about her – there wasn’t any doubt about that!
After a moment’s wait, the door opened and Rachel glimpsed a swathe of jet-black leather. The tall, elegant woman beckoned her client inside, then she took a quick glance up and down the street, before closing the door behind her. She always glanced up and down the street – she’d even caught Rachel’s eye once or twice – but Rachel could never work out the reason why. At first, she’d thought it was an anxious look, a check to see if anyone had worked out what was going on, but it had grown into a look of defiance, as if the woman was saying, yes, what you are seeing is true, but there ain’t nothing you can do about it!
And yet, as secretary of the local Neighbourhood Watch, there was plenty that Rachel could do about it. Thanks to her prime location, she’d been asked to take note of all the comings and goings, but it wasn’t that which made her sit by the window all day – it was a deep, growing fascination with the beautiful, powerful woman across the street. Rachel had never liked the Neighbourhood Watch, but Mike had forced her to join the group. She’d always seen them as a bunch of snoopers, hypocrites and killjoys, keen to stop anyone from being different or having too much fun. To them, the woman across the road was a nuisance, a danger and a threat to house prices, but Rachel had seen the changing look on the faces of the many men who entered her lair. She’d seen their edginess replaced by intense satisfaction, and she longed to experience the change herself.
It was an hour before the first customer left, emerging with a newfound spring in his step. His visit seemed to have set him up for the day, allowing him to face another boring shift at the bank or office. Rachel thought of all the housework she was meant to be doing, and then of how quickly her husband had hurried off to work that day. He could have set the alarm a little earlier, then they could have made love before he left. The chores might have seemed more approachable then, with the afterglow of orgasm still in her system.
Sex is a positive force , thought Rachel, as a second car pulled up outside. She stood up again, leaving a bigger chink in the curtains this time, almost as if she wanted her mysterious new neighbour to know that she was keeping watch. The client walked up and rang the doorbell. His body was trembling with nervous tension, but the mistress of the house would know how to relieve it. She opened the door and beckoned the man inside, then her piercing eyes flickered up and down the street. Her gaze skipped straight past Rachel’s house, but then something clicked and she looked straight back. Eye contact was made, their gazes met, but it was all too much for Rachel to take. Ashamed of being caught, she stepped back from the window. Her heart was beating almost twice as fast, but something even stranger was going on.
Rachel had no real awareness of what had made it happen, but her hand had crept inside her knickers. Her middle finger was rubbing against her clitoris, the soft, circular motion causing sticky juices to ooze from her gash. She regained her senses for a second, telling herself what she was doing was wrong, but then something made her reach for her cleavage. Her hands cupped each of her breasts in turn, feeling how swollen her nipples had become.
‘What’s happening to me?’ Rachel mu
mbled to herself, turning to gaze in the mirror above the fireplace. Her face was flushed, but it was the look in her eye that really gave the game away. It was the same look of awkward edginess that all the men who visited her neighbour had. She did some mental reckoning – she and Mike had not made love for over two months, so the tension inside her clearly needed some release. She thought of taking a bath and masturbating, but that meant going upstairs, and for some strange reason she couldn’t bear the thought of tearing herself away from the window.
‘Pull yourself together,’ Rachel told herself, then she decided it was best to get out of the house. Being cooped up at home for days on end wasn’t good for a person’s well-being, so she fetched her coat and then wandered towards the newsagents on the corner of the street. She browsed through the racks of magazines, occasionally glancing at the clock above the counter, waiting for the right time to head back home. She knew her neighbour’s routine like clockwork by now – when each client arrived and how long they stayed. She could make it look like an accident, just wander by and see what happened.
Five Minute Fantasies 2 Page 13
