She was older than me.
Age is a funny thing with Women. You don’t get to ask their ages. It’s just impolite. However, this one was definitely older than me. She had that older-woman grace and poise… it was almost… regal. I know how silly that sounds. Lots of guys… especially somewhat submissive men overuse words like that when they’re talking about women. But it was true with Miriam. Like she was a queen in search of her king. Instead, she found me.
I first saw her at the shoe store where I work, and before you go thinking… oh god, here we go with another shoe-fetish story, remember that some of us guys really do sell these things. I started just out of high school as a way to pay some bills. The place was within walking distance from my apartment and I just kept getting promoted. Soon, it was just easy. I’m not a genius, and I knew my way around and, well, I have never been particularly motivated to find financial glory. At the ripe age of twenty-two, my future, it seemed was to be found kneeling on dirty floors and holding up new pumps and flats for the inspection of potential female buyers.
Now, I have no complaints about working in a woman’s shoe store. I mean, after all, women come in here all the time. Lots of eye-candy for a watchful young pervert. Unfortunately, there are also lots of plain Janes and homely types as well. Not that it mattered. I had been a confirmed masturbator since I was twelve. I rarely popped boners at work due to the simple fact that my balls were well-drained during my off hours. Things probably would have been fine and normal if my rent hadn’t been overdue again.
I had been late with the rent a bunch of times. My landlady, a real Mexican ballbuster of a woman who insisted I call her Ms. Lopez, even though I had known her since moving in four years earlier, had requested I meet with her to personally go over my payment history. She knew I was good for the rent, but with my meager income, sometimes needed just a bit more time.
I remember how she kept me waiting as I knocked repeatedly on her door by the first floor entrance. Typical behavior for her. When she finally opened it I wasn’t surprised to see her with a cigarette in her hand and a ledger book in the other. Her long black hair looked disheveled and I could smell her earthy scent throughout the spacious apartment. I doubted that she had showered today. She was casually dressed in a dark brown housedress and brown stockings without shoes. The stocking feet had massive toe reinforcements across the front of each foot. I glanced briefly at the abundant cleavage on display and the sway of her womanly hips before entering fully into the lair of the tigress. The thing that really pissed me off the most about Carmen Lopez was the way she talked to me. Like she was my mom or something. It’s very difficult being manly in front of a woman who knows that you are a masturbator, though.
She had caught me while rummaging through her clothes hamper. It doesn’t get much worse than that… but let me give you the full picture. I mean, I wasn’t just rummaging and beating off. I was completely naked. My clothes were in a heap on top of her toilet and I had a pair of her girly pink nylon panties stretched snugly over my head so I could sniff at the dirty hashmarks in the seat. My angry red boner was slapping loudly through my jacking fist as I fingered a black stocking and rubbed it against my balls. Talk about being caught with your hand in the cookie jar. When she saw me, she froze. I remember thinking that she wasn’t supposed to be home at all this week. I had so expertly jimmied her door and crept into that sacred bathroom to plunder her dainty underthings. And here we were. I pried up the waistband of her panties to reveal one frightened eye and saw her burst into loud, catty laughter. I quickly tried to rid myself of the black hosiery only to have it catch in a loop on my swollen cockhead. The movement jerked my pelvis forward and I fell onto the tiled floor. I shuddered at the level of my embarrassment. And there was real fear there, too. I mean… what if she called the cops. She could still do that. But she didn’t. A few days later, when my rent was late, I learned why. That is how the masturbation shows began.
So it was on that particular day that I dutifully removed my pants and underwear to reveal beşevler escort myself to her amused gaze.
“Wait. I wanna get a drink before I watch you whack it.”
I stood there feeling foolish in just my socks and shirt… so I removed the shirt. When she returned, she took a seat on the loveseat and put her stocking feet up on the ottoman. She flexed her toes and saw my penis begin to stiffen.
“Well? Let’s see you jack it.”
“Y, yes, Ms. Lopez.”
I wrapped my right hand around my hard dick and began to beat off in front of my landlady for the fourth time since moving in. Always the same mix of embarrassment and cock-stiffening jubilation. I lived for these moments. I always tried to give her a good show… something for her to remember in the days ahead. We both knew the price being paid had nothing to do with being late on the rent, and everything to do with my violation of her privacy. If I hadn’t been so weak as to sneak into her home to jack off over her dirty underwear, I wouldn’t have been made to beat it under her critical eye every other month.
“Oh, yes. What a good little man you are. That’s right. Keep a nice firm rhythm going. Show the landlady how you play with yourself when you don’t think anyone’s looking.” She chuckled at her own words, and took a relaxing sip of her bloody Mary. Then she was back to goading with her dirty words.
“Come on… beat that shit up in your balls to a nice lather. Your mom know you jack off all the time? That you do it with strange women’s panties over your head?”
Humiliation was mandatory for these shows. I remember I was thinking of what it might be like to actually fuck her, but knew that she would never have me. I was a play-toy for her. A masturbating juvenile male… strictly for watching, not sex. I stared at her big lipsticked lips playing at the end of her cigarette filter before sucking in more smoke to exhale in my general direction. I stroked faster. I needed to cum badly. I hadn’t jerked off at all that day with my unusually busy schedule.
“Do you need some dirty panties over your face?”
I was getting close and her words were really egging me on… when she held up her hand.
“Ok, ok… that’s enough of that nastiness. Put it away.”
I was flabbergasted.
“You heard me. I’ve seen enough. God, you’re stupid… not to mention, disgusting. Put your clothes back on and go home. And I’ll expect the rent by Friday.”
I was in a daze as I redressed and made my way out of her apartment. This had never happened before! My cock was like a crowbar pushing my briefs out of shape. I was almost back at my own apartment when I glanced down at my watch. Shit! I had an appointment with my boss at 11:00 and had less than twenty minutes to get to work. No time to ease the weight in my balls. Shit!
I got to work on time and went back to my boss’ office for my work evaluation. Karen Coleman owned this store plus another on the west side of town. She rarely showed her face in this one, except when she gave out the yearly evaluations. She was probably my mother’s age. A short-haired, heavyset blonde with worry lines around her mouth and glasses that she didn’t so much as look at you with, as peer at you. I immediately noticed she wasn’t alone. The woman seated on the leather sofa near the wall was examining her long red nails and paying no attention to me. She had on a simple white blouse and black skirt with black stockings and black pumps. Her brunette hair was styled short and was graying at the temples, and she had a modest strand of white pearls around her elegant neck. She reminded me of a faculty wife or university professor. There was something very sexy but very intimidating about her. She was definitely older than me.
Karen gave me the usual once over. Good overall attitude at work. On time. No attendance problems. Should really think about more overtime if I want to get ahead. And then the standard pathetic raise. I was listening with half an ear really, as my attention kept going back to the other woman who sat on the couch. She was completely ignoring me. My eyes leered up and down the silky black expanse of her stockinged legs and at the way her skirt clung to her in a snug embrace. My unmasturbated penis throbbed heatedly in my pants. When the büyükesat escort evaluation ended, I made a beeline to the washroom in the break room. I couldn’t lower my pants fast enough. I pulled my rigid cock out through the opening of my briefs and began whacking in earnest. God, that woman was so sexy. She was big in all the right places. Large tits that seemed to narrow down to a tight waist and back outward to concentrate in her big ass. I thought of her hourglass shape as I spit onto my dickhead and beat harder.
I froze like a thief in a bank vault when the door opened. My stiff dick was throbbing with its need to shoot cream. I watched horrified as the woman with the black stockings stood there looking directly at me then down at my penis. My hands hung tensely at my sides as my untouched cock lurched in an embarrassing up and down motion. She gave an irritated little sniff and her lips curled back in disgust. Her teeth were even and white.
“Figures.” She said, before closing the door and leaving me to wallow in my shame.
Almost as if in a trance, my hand closed the distance to my erection. As my cheeks burned with embarrassment, I flogged myself as her one utterance played in my head over and over ‘figures’. ‘Figures’. It was like I had confirmed her lowest expectations of me. I grunted as I ejaculated in a messy white smear all over the top of the toilet.
When I emerged from the recesses of the break room, I felt like I had been branded a sex pervert. I could practically feel the words tattooed across my forehead. She was there, of course. Sitting just outside the bathroom on the break room sofa. She had one shoe off and was gently rubbing the tension away from her stocking foot. The large dark toe reinforcement caught my eye. It looked moist.
I felt I had to say something to atone for my behavior and I didn’t want her saying anything to my boss. Enough women in my life new I was a masturbator.
“Uh… hi. Um… sorry for the, uh… you know.”
She replaced her shoe on her foot and stood up. She was taller than me too. Maybe by about two inches. She fixed me with her dark eyes and just stared for a moment.
“No. I don’t know.”
I was confused. “I’m sorry?”
She glared at me and put her hands on her hips like an angry mother confronting her son for an indiscretion.
“I said, I don’t know. You tell me. What are you sorry for?”
Sweat began to bead on my forehead and the red returned to my cheeks.
“For, uh… you kno… um… what happened in the bathroom.”
“Uh-huh. And what happened in the bathroom?”
I lowered my voice to a nervous whisper. “I was masturbating.”
She was silent and let the word hang there between us, accusing me with its stark pronouncement. Then, she turned to leave and over her shoulder gave her parting remarks.
“I’m not surprised. So many young men are perverts. But you really ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
Then, she left.
I stood there feeling dirty and blushing.
I didn’t see my mystery woman for another week. My solitary masturbation continued to be my heaven and my curse. I was aware though, that I was jacking off more lately. I couldn’t get her image out of my head. I remember wishing that I had at least one of her stockings play with. The one with the moist toe reinforcement. So help me… I wanted to sniff it. I wanted to feel its silky texture playing over my naked cockhead and the worst part: I wanted her to know about it.
It was on a Tuesday when she returned. I was kneeling before a young blonde woman in business attire, helping her try on a pair of navy blue pumps. I glanced up from my lowered position to see first her impeccable shoes and hosiery and then her dress and then her smirking face. As our eyes met, I realize that I didn’t even know her name.
She stood there patiently waiting as I attended to the customer. When I was done and the blonde woman left the older one immediately took her seat. Today her hosiery was charcoal gray with a charming little floral pattern. Those precious gray stockings looked fantastic on her large, muscular legs. I glanced up to her face and noted the dark red of her lipstick. It was more dramatic from the last time I had seen her. Then, she began to speak.
“I would like to see a pair of çankaya escort black pumps. Something with a buckle would be nice.”
She didn’t call me ‘boy’. She didn’t order me or smack me on the behind or anything like that. There was just something below the surface in her manner that made me want to do everything she asked. I scurried off to find the right shoes for her. I was back in a flash with some new Italian heels that had just come in. I pulled them out of the box and displayed them to her. She nodded and extended one shod foot to my fevered gaze. With shaking hands I began the mammoth task of removing her shoes from her stocking feet. I felt as if I was performing brain surgery. My mouth was dry and my face was sweaty. I was afraid to look up at her and was acutely aware of the stiff erection between my legs. I got one shoe off and simply stared at the wonder before me that was her stocking foot. Only true foot fetishists can know what I mean when I say that it was magnificent. And not just the simple beautiful image or the way the delicate fabric cradled her toes in a double layer of silk or even the way she flexed her toes allowing them to breath fresh air… it was the smell.
I was removing the second shoe when it caught for the briefest of moments on her precious hosiery.
“Mind my stockings! They are quite expensive.” Was she kidding?
With both shoes removed, she tried on the new pair. She stood up and walked around in them a bit. All the while the aromatic shoes in my hands beckoned to me.
“These aren’t terrible, but they are a little snug for me. Can I see another pair?”
“Of course… um… can I take your shoes back with me to use as a reference? I’d like to make sure I get the sizing right.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realized how stupid they sounded. I was sure she had seen right through my deception. And she did look over her shoulder for a moment with one eyebrow cocked at me… before nodding her assent.
I walked swiftly to the stockroom with my smelly treasures as I new I had to be quick. I didn’t really have time to enjoy these lovely shoes the way they were intended to be, but I had to risk it as soon as I caught a whiff. In a flash, my pants and underwear were in a heap about my feet and my angry swollen penis was in my favorite jerking hand. I cradled the shoes under my nose and gave delicate little sniffs as if too much of the delicious footstink and I would overdose like a crack-junkie. Once again, I allowed myself the masturbator’s luxury of losing myself in the delicious haze of self-abuse and private, womanly smells. I glanced to my left and saw both my boss and my mystery woman standing there in the doorway with curious eyes.
I was caught again and like before had little to say in my defense.
“Don’t stop on our account.”
It was stupid, but I continued to jack and sniff, as they looked me over with a mixture of curiosity and revulsion. My hand slid up and down the stiff pole of my penis as I inhaled rich odors of heated hosiery and leather.
My boss addressed me as I neared my ejaculation.
“Make the most of this, Richard. This is your last day on the job.”
Ah, yes… of course I was fired. It made perfect sense… but the shoes… they smelled so lovely and her charcoal stockings had been inside. I jerked faster and my scrotum made loud slapping sounds against my hand.
“Would you like me to call the police, Miriam?”
“No. I don’t think it would stop boys from being boys. Although this one is quite unruly.”
At that moment my penis proved her right. Huge sprays of white liquid spattered the dusty tiled floor and I accompanied each one with loud animalistic grunts.
My boss came forward and delivered a stinging spank to my bare behind. “Get dressed, and get out!” She pulled the shoes out of my hand and returned them to her owner with apologies.
They left me there like that. Pants down and a red handprint on my sore bottom, cock leaking the last dregs of my humiliation. I pulled up my clothes and wiped my hand on my shirt and shuffled toward the door of the break room. There on the floor was a business card. It was crinkled, but I picked it up and looked at it. The name on it read: Miriam Douglas. I put it in my back pocket and headed out the door. I collected a few odds and ends that had been with me since day one. There were no words and no good-byes. I opened the front door to the shop and then left the only job I had since high school. But I finally knew her name: Miriam Douglas. My drained penis gave an appreciative throb.
-To be continued