Sex on Heels
By
K
D Grace
I've been thinking about why boots are so
sexy. They were the obvious choice of footwear for my novella, Kinky Boots. I mean Kinky Crocs or Kinky
Nikes just wouldn't be the same, would they? Even kinky shoes with fuck-me
heels pale in comparison to a sexy pair of boots. Boots say if you want it, you
have to work for it. But they also promise that it'll be SO worth it when you
do. And the work! Oh what fun it is!
Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice people’s footwear – especially women’s, I don't really have a foot fetish. But there's just something so intimate about what touches someone's feet, even more so when it’s something pretty. And there’s something positively seductive about what touches someone's ankles and calves and thighs. Boots conceal the legs in a brazen caress that leaves the path in between unobstructed. I know, all footwear does that. But it's so blatant with boots. Just follow the nice leather path and keep going north and you can't miss it! All boots point north. All boots are an extra caress of skin against skin that doesn't really have to be there to protect our feet from the ground; an extra little caress along the ankle, up the calf and beyond; an extra little caress that hints at the possibility of going way beyond, that hints at the possibility of going all the way.
Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice people’s footwear – especially women’s, I don't really have a foot fetish. But there's just something so intimate about what touches someone's feet, even more so when it’s something pretty. And there’s something positively seductive about what touches someone's ankles and calves and thighs. Boots conceal the legs in a brazen caress that leaves the path in between unobstructed. I know, all footwear does that. But it's so blatant with boots. Just follow the nice leather path and keep going north and you can't miss it! All boots point north. All boots are an extra caress of skin against skin that doesn't really have to be there to protect our feet from the ground; an extra little caress along the ankle, up the calf and beyond; an extra little caress that hints at the possibility of going way beyond, that hints at the possibility of going all the way.
Okay, maybe it’s just me and my dirty
little mind, but I think all boots hint at sex. Each type of boot hints at sex
a little differently, perhaps, but the hint is still there. Uggs hint at
playful, bunny-rabbit, giggly sex. Work boots hint at seriously putting your
back into it sex. Walking boots hint at getting down and dirty al fresco.
Riding boots, especially when accessorised with a crop, hint at … well … being
ridden hard. And boots that lace add a whole new dimension to their sexiness. There’s
a little bit of bondage in a boot that laces up, and even a little bit of
corsetry in boots that lace up the back.
Boots can be a leather arrow pointing to
the itch that needs scratched or boots can be the work uniform of someone whose
all saddled up and ready to ride. There’s such versatility in boots. Boots both
beg for it and demand it. Boots both submit and dominate. Boots are both slutty
and virginal. Boots both tease and insist upon be taken seriously.
When I wrote Kinky Boots, the idea of boots that might come equipped with a
demon made perfect sense to me because, really, all boots possess us when we
put them on, at least a little bit. They’re not easy like shoes. They’re not a
mindless choice, and once they’re on, somehow they make us feel different, a
little more invincible, a little more willing to take risks, a little more willing
to dance in the streets, a little more willing to fuck in the alleys. In fact I
wonder whether all boots are slightly demon possessed. I’m pretty sure my walking
boots are.
Blurb:
Jill quits her dead-end job and, not knowing what’s come over her stops by the nearest pub intent on doing tequila shots until she falls off the stool. Instead she does FINN MASTERS in the beer garden, unwittingly participating in her first ever threesome. The boots were the bait, the timing was right and Eleanor has new digs. It’s Finn job to prevent Eleanor’s misbehaving. His failure means he’ll have to ride shotgun and do damage control until Eleanor moves out at the next full moon.
With Eleanor in residence, Jill’s bolder, sexier, willing to take risks. But is she a whole new Jill, or is it just demon courage? And how will Finn feel about her when she’s just plain Jill again? Will the maddeningly magical ménage make Jill’s dreams come true, or will it break her heart?
Excerpt:
There was a soft knock on the
door and Meinrad entered the room with several hanks of what looked like
ordinary rope. He nodded his greeting to Finn, then his gaze came to rest on
Jill, and she felt her entire body blush at his inspection. ‘Turn around,’ he
said.
She obeyed.
He made some sound low in his
throat that could have passed as either approval or not. Then he placed a large
hand on her shoulder and turned her back to face him. She noticed he wore the
Kinky Boots uniform T-shirt stretched tight across his very broad chest. The
shop name was punctuated by the hard pressure of nipples on muscular pecs. The
black jeans he wore rode low on his hips. The wave of lust that rushed over her
was staggering. How had she not noticed how sexy he was?
Then Finn moved to stand beside
him, and she understood. Even though Meinrad was by far the larger man, Finn
dominated the room. Finn dominated the space. Finn dominated every second of
the last twenty-four hours of her life, as though he had shoved his way in and
pushed everything else out. It did things to her, that thought, things that were
way beyond lust, things that were a lot more frightening than being possessed
by a demon.
He stood gazing down at her from
some neutral distance that made her feel very much alone, as though the world
and everyone in it had receded, leaving her to await her fate. Eleanor was
keeping a low profile. Finn spoke without preamble. ‘Unless something’s hurting
you, while Meinrad’s binding you, you’re not to speak. You’re only to move when
he moves you. You’re to do exactly as he says. You’re to accept what he does to
you in total passivity. Is that clear?’
‘Is he going to fuck me?’ She was
embarrassed the minute she said it but it was too late to take it back.
‘If I want him to, yes,’ Finn
said.
If Finn wanted him to. Dear God,
what was she doing? Suddenly she felt unsteady on her feet. She didn’t know
Meinrad. Not like she knew Finn. And yet the thought of the big man hammering
her with his enormous cock while she was all trussed up was at least as
exciting as it was uncomfortable. The thought that he would do so only at
Finn’s bidding excited her even more.
‘There’ll be no safe word,’ Finn
continued. ‘All you have to do is tell Meinrad to stop. Or if at any time he
thinks you’re not fit to continue, he’ll stop, and that’ll be that. Are we
clear?’
She nodded. ‘And what about you?’
‘Meinrad’s acting on my behalf.’
Finn held her in a cool gaze. ‘He’ll do as I say, and so will you, unless you
choose at any point not to play.’ For a long moment he studied her, as though
he might see something, perhaps some flaw, perhaps some weakness, she didn’t
know what. He seemed too far away to tell. She held her breath. Waiting.
At last he blinked and stepped
back, still holding her gaze. ‘I’ll ask you again, Jill. Are you sure this is
what you want?’
She nodded, afraid to speak for
fear her heart would jump out of her throat. Then she remembered to breathe
again.
Finn said nothing. He took her
hands in his and offered them to Meinrad, who took both her wrists in one huge
palm and tied them across one another in a simple looped knot from which she
could have easily escaped if she’d wanted. Then he led her to the bed and
guided her onto it. There, he secured her hands to the headboard with several
feet of slack, enough to allow him to work around her and at the same time allow
Finn to observe from every angle. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed
Finn had pulled a ladder back chair to the side of the bed and sat
emotionlessly looking on. A quick glance was all she got before Meinrad settled
her into a kneeling position facing the wall with her hands resting on the
headboard.
In the beginning, it felt as
though she were being decorated with rope; that’s the best way Jill could
describe what Meinrad was doing to her. The rope was softer than she expected
it to be and not unpleasant against her bare skin. The embarrassment she felt
came, flashed hot, then passed as Meinrad looped the rope and
efficiently placed knots above her breasts and then below and then tightened
and cinched his efforts until the harnessing effect squeezed and pinched and
offered up each of her breasts in a tight little nest of rope, like ripe fruit
topped by the cherry-hard rise of her nipples. She’d always had sensitive
breasts and to have them so handled and bound made her whole chest burn with a need
that was replicated in her pussy.
Meinrad worked in complete
silence, his hands moving over her body as though she were nothing more than
the canvas for what he was creating. His touch was exacting and his rhythm as
he worked was hypnotic. Early on she realised that one of his hands was on her
at all times. She remembered basic knot training from her childhood days in the
Girl Guides. Right over left and under and through. Left over right and under
and through. Rope threaded through competent fingers, rope slid over bare skin,
coiling, twisting, binding, descending right over left and left over right,
pressing a column of knots down the length of her spine before looping around
her waist and embracing her belly. Again. And again. Yes, she was his canvas,
and what he created took its shape against her flesh, but his art didn’t happen
without exacting a price from him, and in her peripheral vision, as he reached
around her to secure a knot over her navel, she caught a glimpse of the
erection set tight in his black jeans, and she felt the hitch of his breathing
not quite hidden in the rhythm of right over left, left over right. As he
crossed the ropes around her body, she felt the heat of his breath whisper
along her back next to the weaving and twisting and soft swishing of the rope
along her spine.
With a tug of the rope every pore
of her body responded to the tightening just as he nestled a knot against the
pucker of her bottom and her gasp sounded like a rush of wind in the stretching
silence. Meinrad gave a little pull and her clit hardened in empathy with the
pressure between her buttocks. Then without warning, he slipped an arm around
her and turned her over as he pulled two strands of rope up between her legs,
up tight against her upper thighs like the elastic of knickers, or a tightly
cinched climber’s harness. That done, with a deft movement of his fingers he
secured a knot just over her clit, and this time she cried out in the strange
mix of discomfort and arousal. The whole gape of her was pressed between the
two strands of rope, knotted at fore and aft like a ship, narrow and
thick-hulled.
There was barely time to get used
to the strange rub and pressure between her legs, or the knot that felt like
the tip of a thick finger attempting to breach her bottom, before Meinrad began
to bind her thighs to her lower legs and ankles, making the position in which
she knelt mandatory. With each knot, with each looping of the rope, he forced
her bent legs further apart until she was wide open, yet at the same time held
closed by the ropes between her legs. Bound and kneeling on the bed, she tried
to breathe deeply, tried to fight back the panic of her own helplessness,
something she had never experienced before. She was dangerously close to
hyperventilating, and Eleanor seemed to be completely absent from the whole
event.
‘Shall I continue?’ Meinrad
asked.
Buy Kinky Boots Now
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About
K D Grace
K D Grace believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she, cuz otherwise, what would she write about?
When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening or walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband recently walked the Coast to Coast rout across England. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots.
K D has erotica published with Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Erotic Review, Ravenous Romance, Sweetmeats Press and others.
K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiation of Ms Holly, The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel, Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Heatwave trilogy, was listed as honorable mention on Violet Blue’s Top 12 Sex Books for 2011. Book two, Riding the Ether, is now available.
K D Grace also writes hot romance as Grace Marshall. An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis, books one and two of her Executive Decisions Trilogy are now available.Find K D Here:
http://kdgrace.co.uk/
http://gracemarshallromance.co.uk/
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