She grips his shaft with nails a perfect match for her new red shoes. Yesterday they went shopping, spending over an hour in the shoe department of a bustling emporium, she trying on every pair of red shoes in her size, coming away with three pairs.

Their bags are by the door. There’s nothing left for them to do except check out, but she wants to give him something a little special before they go. Her leather jacket is open, betraying the fact that she’s wearing nothing under it. Her denim shorts are tight and barely cover her arse. She sits in one of the armchairs, holding his erection, dangling her leg over the arm of the chair, angling her foot. “Do you like?”

The question is superfluous. The shoes were his choice; open toe, stiletto heel, ankle tie, strips of red plastic forming a lattice across her foot. She prods his denim thigh, wriggling her toes while he reaches down to stroke the cheap plastic criss-crossing her skin. In return she moves her hand slowly, looking up at him, observing how his eyes are glued to her foot.

She knows what he wants, and happily she wants it too. Still moving her hand, she leans forward to place her lips against his bulb, flicking her tongue against it before granting entrance. He lifts her foot, forcing her into an awkwardly feline position, still tracing the red strips on her upper foot.

Adjusting her hand allows her to go deeper, taking more of him in her mouth. Her nipples swell, growing tense and tingly. Another man might by now have grabbed her tits and begun toying with them, drooling over the enticing peanuts, perhaps pinching them. Not him. His fingers stick to their passion, the cheap plastic, his eyes finally drawn to her toes as she wiggles them again.

She removes her hand to provide suction further down, as far as it’s possible to go, her lips tightening around the base of his rigidity. With every inch of his succulent cock in her mouth she takes his free hand and guides it to her breasts. He starts, and then seems to remember that there’s more to her than mouth and shoes. The fingers on both hands tighten, denting her soft breast while he hangs on to her foot for dear life.

Bringing her lips up, she begins to purr. Then she plunges her lips down again, gaining a rush of adrenalin as he grunts in response to the wanton self-violation of her throat. Glancing up at him with her mouth full of his vigour, she sees that he is still mesmerised by her foot and the red latticework, even as his fingers find it in them to tweak her nipple. A finger on his other hand works its way between her toes.

By now she wants one thing and one thing only. Her lips move back up to just below the swollen glans, then right the way down again. The process is repeated, her actions rewarded with increasingly fervent grunts, until he finally gasps, “I can’t…”

She slides her lips off him, gasping as fingers pinch her nipple and squeeze her foot. Saliva has amassed around her lips, a string of it dangling from her chin. Grabbing his dangerously tense organ she sticks her tongue out and slaps his urgency against her mouth, eyes fixed on him, although he only has eyes for her footwear. “Do you want to cum on my… uh… red shoes?” she breathes.

“I love you,” he blurts.

She smiles, leaning back and lifting both feet so that they rest side by side on the edge of the chair. “Do it!” she urges. “Cum on my feet! I want your hot, sticky cum all over my feet!”

She moves both hands to her breasts as she watches his twisting hand, the head of his cock rubbing against the cheap red plastic. Tweaking her swollen nipples she feels a fierce twinge, but she can take care of herself in the car later. She knows this won’t take long, and she’s right. She counts the tugs. On the seventh, his seed emerges as an aggressive flood, divided equally between both feet. “You only love me for my shoes,” she giggles.

As if to reassure her, he leans in and plants a kiss on her watering mouth. She places her feet on the floor. “Let’s go,” she says, zipping up her jacket as he conceals his gradual deflation.

There are any number of people who might see; the cleaner in the corridor with her trolley, the other people in the lift, or the guests milling around in the foyer as he settles the bill. She feels that anyone who looks down at her feet can’t fail to see the slippery white gloss bearing witness to his lust for her red shoes, just as anyone looking at her face must see that there’s nothing cosmetic about the way her lips glisten.

She revels in the feeling as they walk across the car park, delights in the sensation of his semen on her feet and her brazen display of it. “I thought we’d head for the border,” he says, once they’re in the car.

“You do that,” she says, unzipping her jacket, unbuttoning her shorts and putting her feet up on the dash. “I’ll just lean back and amuse myself.”