This evening she’s in a little black latex number. That and her red shoes. They’re at a secluded rest area, drinking coffee from a flask at one of those picnic tables with benches as the odd car is heard passing beyond the thick mass of growth separating the rest area from the main road.

They’re not alone. A man has just emerged from a lorry. He heads for the little hut, seeking relief, giving her a none too subtle look in passing. Or rather, he gives her red shoes a very particular look. Consulting her man isn’t necessary, the approval is written on his face. She turns to sit with her back to him, crossing her legs, dangling the shoe on her foot.

The driver re-emerges, walking towards his lorry but staring unashamedly at her, or rather at her red leather pumps. She crooks a finger. The man stops, appearing to size the pair up before approaching.

“Do you like it?” she says, pointing at the still dangling shoe.

The man nods, at first uncertain as if he’s appraising the situation. Then he throws himself to his knees, pushes her heel back in the shoe and presses his lips to the pointed toe.

Her man comes round to get a proper look. Seeing the stranger salivating over the red leather is clearly to his liking, because he wastes no time in unzipping. She barely knows where to look, but fixes her attention on the lorry-driver as he prostrates himself further, attending to the shoe still planted firmly on the ground, tongue and lips greedy for the flavour of leather.

She moves her feet and pats the table as the stranger looks up. He doesn’t seem to understand. She pats the table again. “Lie down. Here. On the table.”

After a long pause the man nods, and though his demeanour suggests he isn’t sure about this, he climbs up, positioning himself on his back, looking at her quizzically. She points, straight at his crotch. The lorry-driver undoes his trousers. She steps onto the seat, then onto the table, planting her feet on either side of the stranger. His cock is stiff, desperate for attention, and she provides it, moving the sole of her shoe in a circle, pressing down, stopping just short of grinding.

The man’s groan oozes masochistic pleasure, gratitude and disbelief. She moves her foot, pressing the sharp heel against his spongy head as hard as she dares. There’s a new groan, and she intensifies the pressure, feeling a sharp twinge of excitement.

Having given his balls a few deft flicks with the toe, she takes a couple of steps forward, pressing her foot down on his lips before lifting it and flicking his top lip with the heel. In turn the man opens his mouth, lifting his head. She gives a push, forcing his head back down, making sure there’s resistance as she inserts the toe, feeling an obscene thrill to be fucking his mouth with her shoe.

She forces herself to deny her pussy the attention it is screaming out for, returning to the man’s cock, pushing down on it, running her heel up and down the full length, applying as much pressure as she can to the glans before his face begins to contort.

There’s pre-cum on the point when it’s next offered to his mouth. This time she doesn’t content herself with feeding him the toe, but also the heel. His vulnerability makes her pussy unable to contain the build-up of moisture. She steps down, indicating that she wants the stranger to stand, before taking off one of her shoes.

It takes a renewed effort to get the message across, but finally she has him facing the foot of the table on which she’s placed the red shoe. Standing behind the man, she reaches round and grabs his swollen girth. Her man finally reminds her of his presence by pressing his fat cock against the latex clinging to her well-rounded behind, his hands fondling breasts topped with brazen nipples.

She forces herself to focus on working the stranger. “Cum for me!” she whispers, holding up the red shoe, not sure if he understands or not. “I want your spunk!”

Not that he needs to understand. All that’s needed is for her to move her hand until his groans alerts her to the inevitable. She takes care with her aim, making sure that every drop of fluid is dispensed into the red shoe.

When she’s sure she’s drained the stranger completely, she takes the shoe and places it on the ground, slipping her foot back into it. She can’t help but giggle. “I’ve got spunk between my toes,” she announces, facing her man. “It’s all gooey down there!”

She turns back, placing her hands on the wooden table to steady herself, feeling the slime under the sole of her foot. “It feels so good!” she breathes. It never hurt to provide a little more incentive, even though she knows that what has transpired is more than enough.

More than enough to get her man to fuck her with the full force of his fevered arousal, as turned on by the knowledge of the squishy substance under her foot as she is by the sensation; letting her know that whatever else happened she was always his to take and to use; always his in her red shoes.

“Not there,” she breathes, sensing his impending climax. “I want your spunk in my other shoe!” He pulls away so that she can remove it and hold it, letting him do the honours himself. Then she slips the red shoe back on, letting out an ecstatic moan as warm fluid squeezes up between her toes, glancing to one side to find the reinvigorated stranger staring at her feet.

“Again?” he asks hopefully.

“Again,” she agrees. Only this time she’ll make the men kiss a shoe each while she cums to the sight of them.