Shoes

Shoes

The shoes were his thing. Since we started dating, we had gone shopping together about once a month. These shopping trips would always start with him giving me a foot massage, and they would end with him buying me a pair of expensive shoes. They tended to be pumps, with heels higher than I would normally wear, but not so high that I couldn’t walk. Actually, since they were so much nicer than any shoes I would buy myself, I was always happy to wear one of “his” pairs of shoes, and when we were together I rarely wore anything else. The last pair he had bought me were a bit unusual, in that they were a very open style, and he had specifically requested that I wear them tonight. My toenails were still bright red from the pedicure he had treated me to the previous weekend. The pedicure had tipped me off that something was happening, since he told me when he dropped me off for the appointment that part of the deal was that I had to be available this evening.

I didn’t understand his foot fetish, any more than he understood my hair fetish. What I did know was that by catering to each other’s fantasies, we had some of the most incredible sex imaginable. So I dressed carefully for our date this evening. I wore a cream colored silk blouse, with a lacy black bra. I didn’t wear anything under the dark skirt, and black garters held up the silk stockings I had bought for the occasion. My thick blonde hair was up in a twist in the back, so it would be out of the way for whatever he had planned. I arrived at his apartment at exactly 7pm, as I had been instructed.

He greeted me warmly at the door. I could tell from his expression that he was already excited, but I still had no idea what to expect. He told me that for the next hour, I was to do exactly as I was told. I quickly agreed, as this was a game we’d played before. He instructed me that I was not to speak, and I should take off all of my clothes, except for my shoes. I smiled, and with him watching, I began to slowly undress. I kept my eyes on him, as I slowly unbuttoned my blouse. I let it fall to the floor behind me, and began to caress my breasts through my bra. I reached back to unfasten it, but he very softly said “Stop.” I stood there looking at him. He licked his lips and looked at his watch. He thought for a moment, and then stepped close to me. He gently traced his finger across my cleavage, following the edge of my bra. His touch was electric. He brushed my cheek, then ran his finger around my ear, and across the nape of my neck.

“You put your hair up.” As if he just noticed. “I like being able to touch you here.” He found my ear again. “And here,” running his fingers along my nape. He sent a shiver down my spine, and I wondered what he had in store for me. “Keep undressing,” he ordered. I removed my bra, dropping it to the floor. I slipped my skirt off, and he let out a low whistle at the sight of me in stockings, garters, and the shoes he had picked. I watched him looking me over. It was a quiet, erotic moment as we stood in silence. The doorbell rang, and my heart sank. I didn’t want this moment to be interrupted. He looked at his watch. “Right on time,” he smiled at me. “I need you to go into the kitchen and, unfortunately, remove those lovely stockings and things. Put the shoes back on, and sit on the stool with your eyes closed.” I opened my mouth to ask, but he put a finger to his lips. “No talking. Just go.”

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I went into the kitchen, closing the door behind me. I heard the quiet murmur of voices in the living room as I removed the stockings and garter, putting the shoes back on over my bare feet. One of the stools was pulled slightly away from the breakfast bar, and I sat there, and closed my eyes as instructed.

He joined me after a few minutes. “I’m glad you are following instructions,” he said. He gently pulled my hands behind me, and I felt him tie my wrists to the back of the stool. He came in front of me, and tied my legs together at the ankles. “Open your eyes.” I looked at him, and he leaned over and kissed me. His hands were behind his back. “You may not speak, but you may answer yes or no by nodding. Do you understand?” I nodded. “Are you an exhibitionist?” I shook my head. “I didn’t think so.” His hands came from behind his back, holding a large pinstriped cloth of some type. He shook it open, and it looked to me like a barber’s cape. He proceeded to fasten it around my neck. It was a smooth nylon material, and felt cool against my skin. “Of course,” he told me, “I had expected you to wear your hair down this evening. He stepped behind me again. He placed his fingers near the edge of the cape, gently running them up my nape to the hairline, then over my tightly coiled hair. He then undid the pins holding my hair up, sending it cascading past my shoulders. I shook my head, listening to the sound of my hair swinging against the nylon material. It was now obvious that I was going to have my hair cut, and I desperately wanted to touch myself. He ran his fingers through my hair, then walked out of the kitchen. When he returned a few moments later, there was a guy I didn’t recognize with him. He was probably in his thirties, and carried a small leather bag.

He opened his bag, and took out a wide-toothed comb. He handed it to my lover, who proceeded to comb out my hair. I normally part my hair in the middle, but he parted it on the side, letting it fall over one eye. A small pair of scissors were produced, and he slowly brought them to my forehead. He placed them against my head about an inch above my eyebrows, and I gasped as he proceeded to cut the hair that hung over my eyes. Sixteen inches of thick blonde hair quickly fell over my face and slid into my lap. He stepped to the side, and picked up a lock of hair by my ear. He cut about five inches off, and carefully dropped it onto my feet. It landed on my shoe, and tickled my exposed toes. He took another lock, and another five inches of hair was cut. He worked his way around my head, stopping each time to add to the pile on my foot. The feel of the growing pile of soft hair on my feet was incredible, but the way I was tied I couldn’t see how it looked.

When this was done, a hand mirror was produced. I saw my hair, cut unevenly at the shoulders, with very short bangs. He started another lap around my head, cutting near the bottom of my ears this time. He let the hair from the sides fall into my lap, but carefully dropped the hair cut from the back onto my feet. When he finished, he picked up the mirror again, and showed me the rough chin length bob. He stepped back, and tilted the mirror down, so I could see the black shoes peeking through the pile of my blonde hair. He smiled, and returned to his work. This time, he picked up sections of hair at random to cut. My ears were exposed. And the nape of my neck. He went on for quite a while, then stepped back to admire his handiwork. I waited for the mirror, but he didn’t pick it up. He turned to his guest. “Your turn,” he said, and stepped back out of the way. Out of the bag came a large set of black clippers. He plugged them in, and held them up a few inches from my face so I could see them. I couldn’t believe it. I was trembling as he pushed the switch and the buzzing sound began. I expected him to push them straight back from my forehead, but he started near my ear.

He used them quickly, but carefully. He wasn’t clipping me close. I felt a mix of relief and disappointment. He stepped behind me and placed the clippers on my nape. I felt the vibration and wondered what would come next. He ran them slowly up the back of my head, clipping close at the nape, but pulling the clippers away as he ran them up the back of my head. It wasn’t completely buzzed, but it felt like it was tapered very close. He switched the clippers off, and took the scissors. He seemed to be smoothing out the uneven lengths that covered the top of my head. When he finished, he began putting his tools away. My lover picked up a handful of the hair that covered my lap, and held it up to my eye level. He slowly dropped the hair back into my lap. “Do you think we took enough off?” he smiled. “You’re free to speak.” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I swallowed hard, and asked for the mirror. He held it up, and showed me my short cropped haircut. I swallowed hard again. “It looks great, but I had expected a crewcut.” He laughed, and tousled my hair. “You are a greedy little thing. We have to save something for next time don’t we?”

The other guy left, never having said a word. My lover left the room, and came back with a camera. He took pictures of me, still tied up under the cape, then took pictures of my feet, buried under the piles of hair. He undid the cape, and shook the hair that covered it over my legs and feet. He kissed me, and untied my hands. He helped me lean forward a bit so I could look down at my feet. The sight of the dark leather shoes, covered in the piles of my blonde hair was more than I could stand. I reached for my crotch and orgasmed in seconds. He untied my legs, and I stood up. I slipped my feet out of the shoes, and stood in the soft pile of hair. His shoes were off, and he joined me standing there, playing footsie in the remains of my crowning glory.

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