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High Heel Worship Stories


As I slowly woke my mind was foggy, sluggish, and unresponsive and my eyelids were heavy. I struggled to raise those sheets of lead obscuring my vision and preventing me from establishing my whereabouts and they flickered but stayed closed. I found my senses tuning into the room more as my awareness returned … I could hear the whir of a quiet computer fan in the background. I know your there?

Name: Juieta

Age: I'm 32 years old
Where am I from: I'm american
Sexual orientation: I prefer male
My body type: My body features is plump
What I like to drink: Ale

Lacing them up was laborious, but it was worth the effort. Brad looked down, nervous. Black patent leather, nearly to the thigh, with laces all the way up the front. He was kneeling there, strained, trying to hold desperately still as she rammed the long, thin heel into his mouth.

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With a growl, she yanked the shoe free and turned away. He felt for buckles first, for straps. Make it clean. She rubbed her ankle for a bit then stretched. He used his tongue to pick up the finer detail, and he heard her moan loudly as she watched.

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He choked and pulled back, taking a breath. With careful little movements, Brad turned toward her as she slowly opened her closet door.

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I like shoes. And stiletto heels, some 7 inches, some less. A taxi was waiting so she slid inside, crossing her legs and pointing the shiny tip of her spike at him as he slid in next to her.

She might be a great fuck, definitely, but was it work having to tongue all these shoes? She stopped him with a hand to his forehead as he reached the base of her thigh and was close to her skin. He winced and grumbled, shifting in his bonds.

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She moaned and leaned back, opening her legs more, letting one hand drift toward her crotch. What he saw was shoes…shoes everywhere, more shoes than he had ever seen in his life. He nodded and looked at her with big, apologetic eyes. With a big grin of accomplishment, she stood her hands on her hips, over her kingdom of shoes. Her head snapped toward him and she shot him a cold glare.

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Brad nodded eagerly, dropped the shoe, and crawled over to the waiting pile. Do you have any idea how long it takes to lace these things? Suddenly there was the distinct smell of leather under his nose. With careful little movements Brad turned toward her as she slowly opened her closet door.

His tongue slid forward and he licked, in long, adoring strokes. She loved the way they clung to her shins tightly, she loved the way they looked. It moved slick, it moved with ease, but Brad still pulled back instinctively as she forced it in. He gasped and said, "Jesus Christ, that's a lot of shoes. She noticed his eyes wandering once more to them, then back to his drink. The color narrowed it down quickly, and there were not many sandals. He was aroused, there was no doubt, just watching her legs, those boots, and her ass did it to him.

Half of these I have never worn. He dropped the shoe to the floor and leaned down to feel it with his cheek first, to figure out what kind it was. On my pretty shoes. His concentration was rocked as Rebecca went into a frenzy High heel worship stories her closet, throwing all the boots and shoes into a big pile on the floor. She loved the way some men stared but tried to hide it, no matter how obvious it was. He got rid of all pumps first, all big thigh high boots and sandals.

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It was a white sandal with straps and a heel. The man again shifted a bit, running his hand through his hair, lifting his eyes to her. But the more he learned of her and her shoes, the more he was scared. Some with heels, some without.

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She grabbed her purse as he paid the tab and followed her out the door, and she knew he was watching her ass, how the boots made her walk that certain way. He cleared his throat. Perhaps it was the eagerness to please that made him overcome the momentary revulsion.

What he saw was shoes Boots and boots and more boots - in black and white and beige, leather and latex and wool. She grabbed him hard by the head and shoved his nose to the toe of her boot. Some high, some low.

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Brad laughed and put his hands in his laps, looking at her boots as she took out a compact and started to re-apply lipstick. His eyes shifted then closed, and he continued moving his tongue up the long, black material, around the hoops that held the laces, up over the side of her leg, higher, higher…. These were the black, shiny ones. The smell of leather overcame him as he slid his nose into the pile, quickly grabbing shoes with his teeth and tossing them to the side when he eliminated them from the running.

Rebecca dropped the sandal in the pile and walked to him, her hands behind her back. She laughed and slapped a hand on the material again. Rebecca stood and stretched, walking to her closet in her short skirt and boots.

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His name was Brad, and he was an easy catch. I love shoes, Brad. How one leg slid in front of the other and she moved with such grace on 5-inch stilts. Brad shook his head at her in disbelief. I want you to see your reflection in it.

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She ignored him and ran one gloved hand up the slick, black shiny material, fingering the laces, then down over the long five-inch heel. He was starting to sweat, breathe hard, and ache all over. Rebecca pulled a pair of hot red pumps from the shelf with a sigh, pointing the red heel toward her lips as she puckered at them. Rebecca turned and faced forward, pursing her lips. Is that what you thought, Brad?

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Sometimes Rebecca just wore the boots to attract attention. Brad nodded and looked into her eyes, her lips. He was getting impatient, his cock was throbbing, and he was pissed. She sat at the bar slowly eating pretzels, one leg crossed over the other so her boot hung lazily to one side. A shoe was shoved into his mouth and he heard her chuckle and sit down, heard the chair creak, then heard her skirt unzipping. She leaned over, sliding a pretzel into her mouth. He moved furiously, sensing her close to orgasm. He had a mental picture in his head of the shoe, a small leather boot that was about ankle high, with a 2 or 3-inch heel and a zipper on one side, buckle on the other.

She moaned in response. Obviously, the man at her side liked the way they looked, too. But a bear to lace up. With a groan, he held still as she slid the cover over his eyes, and he muttered.

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In reality, he feared the integrity of his mouth, as the heels were sharp and scraping ruthlessly at his tender tongue. Brad looked at the shoe than at the pile. He eyed her legs. She leaned over and he resisted the urge to look down her top. He remained there kneeling in awe as he watched her pile them all together, hundreds of shoes, spikes sticking everywhere.

God knows what looking there would cost him.

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The creaking of the chair, her hot breaths, her urging him on all served to distract him. Brad sighed, aroused, aching. She held it up. A slow grin crossed his face. Boots and boots and more boots — in black and white and beige, leather and latex and wool. Her legs opened reflexively and his eyes caught her panties, her wetness. How bad could it be?

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