Inappropriate Heels

This has been a rough week.  I usually spend two to three nights with W, and this week, for various reasons beyond our control, that hasn’t happened.  In addition, I’ve had some personal things go on that have dampened my usually high spirits, and W has been preoccupied with other things as well, so we just haven’t been connecting like we usually do. As I said in an email to him yesterday (bolded part added in by me just now),

We are used to spending a certain amount of time together, which gives us the emotional connection and we get kinda disconnected when we don’t have it. And then I get itchy and angsty and weird.  I start feeling like I did last night, and relate it to the physicality of playing, but you know it’s more than that for me–the physical is just a way to reaffirm the emotional connection, and the emotional connection is what I miss when we’re just doing the computer thing.

It’s funny that I didn’t really understand that was what was going on with me when I was angsting the other night.  I just thought, as I said in The Between Time, “I am a pissy girl right now. A pushy, petulant bottom that wants to be put in her place. Taken down. Dominated, used, abused, hurt, dragged down and subjugated.”  And yep, that’s all true–but it is why I am craving that right now that I didn’t realize until I wrote it to W yesterday. Which is so dense of me.  (Duh.)

It’s about the connection.  It is always about the connection.  It is about the way I feel in the midst of it, the way that I am tethered to him by the things he is doing to me, by his hands and mouth and focus on me–the tools he uses are just that: tools, implements to bind me, but not just to the floor or the wall or the ceiling, but to him.

It’s about the way I feel when he is fucking me, invading me, conquering me–and yet also joining with me, completing me. The way I feel when he is spreading my body open, my thighs, my mouth, my cunt, my asshole, opening it, opening me to him, looking at me, peering inside me, owning my body and as he does so owning far more of me than just that.

It’s about the way I feel afterwards, when I become “his girl” again, and I feel connected to him in a way I don’t feel with anyone else.

I know these things about what we do.  Of course I do.  And I know how much I need it, how deeply I need and crave having that connection affirmed and reinforced.  I need to know it for myself, but I also need to know he feels it, that connection, too. And…when we can’t have that…I need to know he misses it and needs to have it reinforced too.

In my email, I reminded him about the games we played while he was in Florida this last time and suggested that perhaps doing some small things like that might be helpful to us both. No, we’re not long distance right now, but if we don’t get to see each other and have that physical connection, then we might as well be.

And…he replied (to my joy and relief) that he, too, was feeling the disconnect.  And he, too, would like to find small ways to remind us both of our connection, to reinforce it, when we can’t see each other.  It’s amazing how such a small thing can make me feel so good. Following is the result of yesterday’s communication.

“Wear a pair of heels at some point tonight, even if it’s inappropriate.”

I went for a walk with Ad, and when we got back, I had some things to do.

In heels, inappropriately. ~grin~

I had plants to water outside on our patio.
And laundry to do...
And smut to write. (Heels should be *required* for writing smut, they always remind me of my place and make me feel so very sexy.)
And lastly, when all my work was done, I got to take a bubble bath.

~clickety-clickety~

And yes…as I put on my heels and did all the normal little things I would have been doing anyway, but doing them in a way that was for him, as I emailed him the pictures and received his responses back, and even as I write this post, I felt connected once again. To what it is we do, and to him.

Completely appropriately.

Wanton Wednesday – New Shoes

It’s almost always W that christens my new shoes.  He’s the one I buy them for, after all.  While Ad appreciates a good “leg” and enjoys seeing me strut around in my heels, he’d as soon see me in fuzzy slippers or barefoot.  As for fucking me in heels, well, he’ll do it if they don’t come off quick enough, or if I happen to be in them when he “wants some,” but he’s never asked me keep them on while he fucks me.  And sleep in heels?? Never…

Til the other night.

New shoes. Me doing a crossword puzzle in my cute panties and new silver heels.

He comes to bed after taking that picture and I continue to puzzle through my puzzle–

–for about five minutes before he grabs me, pushing the pad of paper out of the way and tossing my pencil aside, lifts me up and lays me, shoes and all, on top of him.  There was a brief tussle, with me playfully resisting and him grappling with me, til he got my panties off and pushed me down onto his cock, which was standing up like a flagpole.

Still in my shoes.

 

Awww...matching lizards...

(Shhh…there’s a click thru.  Go on, do it.  You know you wanna…)

But the best part? Laying in bed afterward, I didn’t wanna take my heels off. So I didn’t.  I slept in them all night. Apparently Ad liked it, because the next morning he woke me up with yet more lovin’…until I jabbed him in the shin.  “Hey!” he said.  “I’m not W. I don’t have to make sacrifices. Take off the heels!”

~giggle~

Be a part of Wanton Wednesday!

Note: Damn it’s been awhile since I participated!  Lilly has made a really cool change to the Wanton Wednesday blog & linking format, so be sure to go over there and check it out.  looks like it’s going to be much easier to take a gander at all the sexiness going on over there at the Wanton Wednesday party!

More Shoe Porn!

Well I wasn’t going to post anything today, since I posted a rather long entry last night, but I just couldn’t help myself.  I’m sure you’ll see why…

More shoe-sluttiness, from the Queen of Shoe-Sluttiness herself, longdistancesub! I have drooled over, been awed by, and envied this woman’s incredible shoe collection forever. Check out her lovely shoes (and legs, and…~ahem~ other things…~grin~) on the post she just wrote about her evolution as a shoe slut (extraordinaire).  Yummm…

Also, SapioSlut asked if I have any boots, so I thought I’d share a picture of my favorite red boots, just for fun.

Shoe Slut

Aurore recently asked, “Are you ever not in heels?”  I know she was teasing, but that got me to thinking about W’s and my heel obsession, and how it all evolved.

The truthful answer to Aurore’s question is, when I’m with W, or taking pictures for him, or dressing in case I might see him: no, almost never.

Of course there are times when I can’t wear heels–in the bath (although he has said he would love to find a pair that I could bathe in), when we are taking walks, very occasionally just after I first get up and before I’ve had a chance to dress (though like as not I’ll put on a pair before going downstairs without even thinking about it, whether or not I am dressed.) There are also times when I am not feeling well, or if we’ve played very hard, or if I’m just worn out, that he’ll allow me to barefootie-it.  But those times are not very frequent.

I’m not stupid about it though–I have several pairs that are my “walking around,” “house,” or “sleeping,” shoes. Shoes with the requisite at-least 4-inch heel (I don’t think I have a shorter pair at W’s) but that are, by some odd make up in their design, actually comfortable to wear for an extended period.  I don’t cram my feet into too small or too tight shoes or shoes that pinch my toes.  He also doesn’t require that I wear shoes like this pair to actually walk around in, or if he does want me to, he is very cognizant of how long they’ve been on and will allow me to remove them before they are unbearable.  (Of course, sometimes, he likes to have me wear them precisely to see how long “until they are unbearable” is.) ;-)

And I am absolutely proud–vain even–of the fact that I can (and do) wear heels for hours at a time, without complaint, or even the desire to complain.

The first weekend I ever spent with W I was in heels almost the entire 48 hours, even in bed (the exception being in the bath) and when he told me how impressed he was, how amazed that I hadn’t complained even once, I was thrilled that I could (apparently) do something (with ease) that apparently none of his others had done (or at least not without complaints.) I was also a bit confused. Since I’d started wearing heels, I wore them daily at work and usually when I went out, and I had no reason to complain: I was smart and chose my long-term shoes with care.  I also switch shoes frequently, so that my feet don’t cramp from being in one position for long. There are tricks to doing it successfully!

That’s not to say that I never wear heels that are uncomfortable or hurt my feet to wear. I have several pairs that I know aren’t suitable for long-term wear, but they are so sexy, I will wear them over short periods, or in a scene where I know I won’t be standing in one position for long in them. I have also purchased shoes knowing they will hobble me (see the photo above.)  I bought them specifically because I knew that for some strange reason W would get off on the fact that I would be hampered by them, that they would be uncomfortable. He’s strange that way: he loves that I am quite capable of walking gracefully in a pair of six inch heels, but he also loves seeing me struggle with a pair like those above.

My love affair with heels didn’t start with W though. He only made me recognize the addiction and is an enabler. ;-)

I have never been physically graceful. I have always been much too self-conscious to feel graceful, and that, of course, translates to being awkward.  As a young woman I had the curse of being both invisible–and grateful for that invisibility–and desperate to be truly seen.  To be looked at, to be desired and admired. I wanted people to notice me, but when they did, I became unbearably self-conscious and wished once again to disappear. It was only when my ex and I embarked upon the lifestyle that I achieved non-invisibility (which both terrified and thrilled me.)

I’ve talked about how BDSM made me love my body and myself.  Another part of it was the discovery that I could wear the highest, most precarious of heels–and look graceful in them!  When I wore them I could strut about, prance, parade and dance around with confidence and ease. I didn’t feel awkward in them. I felt sexy and powerful and self-confident and like I deserved to be look at.  Pretty stupid that a pair of heels could do that, but they did.

I first discovered it on a trip to Chicago with a couple of friends. I don’t know how it was decided that we’d go there, but we ended up at Skyscraper Heels. My ex was joining us at a fetish club that night, and I wanted to surprise him by wearing a pair of true slut heels.  Of course, the highest shoes I’d worn up to that point were 4-inches, and those were fairly blocky heels. But when the proprietor put these shoes on my feet and I stood up in them, I was transformed.

Later that night my instinct about the power of a high pair of heels was more than adequately demonstrated: when we got ready to play at the club, my ex ordered me to strip naked: “Except for the shoes. The shoes stay on.”  Woohoo! A shoe whore was born.

And that knowledge, that I could elicit men’s desire just by wearing a pair of fuck-me heels, has never been disproved. Yes, there are men that aren’t as big of shoe sluts as W, some even that make me take my shoes off to play with them or fuck them (~gasp!~) but for the most part, the shoe thing is a truism.  It’s an intoxicating feeling, to say the least.

Oddly enough, the first pair of shoes I wore to W’s wasn’t my Skycraper heels, but the strappy pair of shoes with the blocky heels I mentioned above. I didn’t know W’s predilection for slut shoes then, and I was sure that my Skyscraper heels would be too much!  Little did I know.

Still, I considered these my “bondage” shoes, because of all the straps, and thought they suited a guy who liked bondage quite well.

The second time we played I realized that high heels were a necessity, but I still wasn’t quite sure that slutty shoes were okay.  I thought these worked pretty well, toeing the line between the two worlds.

Still too…tame…for him, but I was rapidly getting the idea that my favorite slut shoes, the ones I’d been too shy to bring over before, might just be acceptable…

But I still wasn’t quite ready to make the leap from semi-respectable girl that just happens to end up tied to a post in his basement to slut girl extraordinaire. I was figuring out what W liked though in the way of clothing, demeanor, and shoes though, and one day I went shopping.

These shoes trod the line between where I was…who I was…and where and who I wanted to be.

Which was right here, being W’s shoe slut…his slut any which way he wants me, really.

And the rest, as they say, is history.







Red

In my computer bag this morning I have “The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica,” in which I have a story published, and a pair of sexy panties.  An odd place for them, perhaps, but that way I wouldn’t forget them when I left the house this morning. I am possibly stopping by W’s house after class/studying tonight, so both those things are necessary, as are my ruby red almost-too-sexy-for-work slippers pumps that I wore to work. (“There’s no place like W’s, there’s no place like W’s…”)

redshoes

And if you’re into red, er, scarlet, and you like to write, hop on over to the Scarlet Tour at that Trollop with a Laptop’s place to submit a scarlet story for her H is for Harlot blog.  My sexy red shoes are one of her featured pics, as are a number of other similarly-hued “story starters.”

And as for me?  I’ll have more “red” for you later.

Fuck me please – I mean, fuck me PUMPS…

Woo-hoo, my entry for the Fuck Me Pumps competition is up over at Alison Tyler’s fabulous Trollop with a Laptop blog, as well as her latest offshoot blog, pumpspumpspumps–how could you not love a blog devoted to fuck me shoes???  So head on over there and take a look, and while you’re at it, read the other fabu entries!

Dreams and Shoes

So I had this dream the other night that I was staying in this house on the beach, I believe in the Outer Banks, NC, for the summer.  And the deal was that I had free use of the house for the entire summer, but that my “rent” was that I was to allow myself to be used sexually by anyone that the owner sent to the house, either as a gift to friends or workmates, as payment for services rendered, or just because he wanted me to be used by someone. I was not to ask who they were or why they were there, not to give them my name, and not to refuse them any act. They would come alone for a night or a couple nights, or sometimes in small groups, both men and women. There was no BDSM, except for the right to use my sex–my mouth, cunt and ass–as they chose. It was an incredibly hot dream, although it had no sex in it at all…I was just there, sitting on this porch with its peeling paint, facing a wide, sandy beach and the ocean beyond, wearing faded jeans with holes in the knees and a sheer gauze blouse.  The wind tugged at my hair and I could smell the salt and fish and water, and I knew all this about my situation, and was simply waiting there for someone to arrive.

Today I am wearing shoes that really don’t match my outfit except in the color (maroon and black.)  I am wearing a simple short-sleeved top and casual wrap-around skirt which would lend themselves better to black sandals, but (ala W’s directive to not forget to get my sexy on each day) I decided on some high, strappy, open-toed shoes.  As I said, totally inappropriate for my outfit, but they already garnered one, “great shoes!” comment at the gym, so I am happy. And speaking of comments on shoes, a waitress at the restaurant where my new spanking friend took me the other night commented on the shoes I was wearing that night…another “great shoes!”   Ahhhh…shoe love.  I wonder if I have any pictures in these shoes?  Hmm, will have to ask W…

No, wait…I have a webcam!  (And obviously too much time on my hands…or a severe lack of motivation to do, oh, work today.)  So here’s my sexy shoes, tho I’d have liked to show more shoe TOP and less shoe BOTTOM…taking sneaky webcam pictures in my office with its open door is not so easy to do.  lol

151927

Okay, back to work.  No really.