The man staggered along the Grassmarket. The area below the Castle battlements was thronged with crowds on a rare sunny Saturday afternoon in Edinburgh. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His hair was dishevelled, sticking up as if he’d stuck his finger in a plug socket.

His face was flushed but it was his eyes you noticed. They were wild, staring. He scanned the ground, then the faces of people walking past. He stumbled towards women, and then he would stop, staring into their faces before turning away in disgust.

His coat was stained and looked as if it had lain in more than one gutter. Why he was wearing a long trench coat on a warm summer’s day was anyone’s guess.  The coat was open and flapped around him. The white shirt underneath was hanging loose, half unbuttoned and covered in a variety of stains. The black trousers were similarly stained.

He clutched a shoe in his right hand. It was a woman’s shoe; suede, royal blue, with a little black bow over the toes. He had stolen it from the basket of sale shoes sitting outside the shoe shop a few minutes earlier. He held it in front of him like an amulet, waving it from side to side as he sought out any woman he could see on the street. He would approach them, the shoe held up to their face before lowering it to look at her feet before raising it again and stumbling on.

He kept up a running commentary as he stumbled along. He’d mutter obscenities as he held the shoe up, and then go silent before continuing his foul-mouthed rant as he staggered along the street.

Suddenly he stopped. His head swivelled round to stare up at the Castle embankment with the flags fluttering. His gaze moved from the shoe to the Castle and back again.

He caressed the shoe lovingly. His fingers stroked the slightly rounded toe. He teased and tickled the bow, smiling to himself as his fingers fluttered over the black velvet. He ran his fingers softly down the outside of the shoe, fingertips fluttering over the kitten heel. He turned the shoe over, gazing almost in wonder at the curves of the sole. He brought the shoe up to his face, inhaling the scent of new leather and shoe dye.

His lips brushed the heel, pushing it into his mouth as his lips sucked on the hard suede-covered heel. He ran his tongue lasciviously over the sole, before curling it around and inside the shoe. He stared into the faces of the people walking past as his tongue licked the insole lining. His head was tilted to one side as if attempting to get his tongue right to the end of the toe box.

He broke the kiss, staring reverently at the shoe before slowly dropping to his knees. He glanced around. Then, holding the shoe up as if making an offering to the castle, he held it out in front of him and slowly placed it on the pavement.

He knelt in front of the shoe. His hands sliding down his shirt before grasping the fly of his trousers. He unbuttoned them and carefully slid the zip down, allowing his trousers to fall to his knees. The bulge in his Y-fronts was noticeable. His cock was hard, straining against the blue cotton before he pulled them down. He had to stretch the waistband to slide them over his cock. His eyes never left the shoe as it sat, waiting on the ground before him.

He crawled on his hands and knees towards the shoe, his coat trailing on the ground as his cock swung between his legs. He lowered himself onto the shoe, his balls and cock fitting snugly inside the blue suede shoe.

“Oh yes, darling,” he groaned as he began to move his hips.

His thrusts became faster. He was oblivious to the people who had stopped and stared at him. While his coat protected them from seeing everything, the movements his hips were making were unlikely to be construed as anything other than the fact he was fucking something or someone.

“Take that, you little tart,” he groaned. His pace increasing as he continued to talk to the shoe.

He ground his hips down, thrusting deeper into the shoe. The soft inlay caressed his angry purple head as he thrust it into the toe box. His movements began to get more erratic as he fucked the shoe faster and faster.

“Fucking slag,” he snarled, his eyes closed, screwed up to block out the world.

The whoop of the police siren only seemed to spur him on as his fingers clawed at the paving stones. With his head down, he thrust harder, faster, deeper into the blue suede shoe, pounding it as he growled obscenity after obscenity.

With an anguished roar he growled, “Fuck you, Cinderella!” and collapsed, spasming as the ropes of cum shot from him, filling the toe of the shoe as he shuddered, slumped, his forehead pressed to the pavement.

The crackle of the police radios seemed to snap him out of his trance as he slowly lifted his head far enough to recognise the black leather shoes of the Lothians and Borders constabulary.

“Come on Sir, I think it’s time we took you home."

And with that, they bundled him into the back of the police car and drove off in the direction of the Palace of Holyrood.