Peep Toe: An Erotic Story

Even though Joel Prince was paying his rent on time, all he seemed to do was irritate Debbie. His long, dark hair blocked the plugholes in the bathroom, and when he wasn’t doing press-ups or weights he was using her blender to make banana smoothies. Plus he was a Philosophy student, and where was the point in that? And what about all that lycra he wore? Frankly, it was indecent. How was she meant to be comfortable with a half-dressed man in her kitchen, all breathless and sweaty after his early morning run?
“Well, what’s the problem?” said Ruby, Debbie’s elderly neighbor, while the pair stood chatting on her doorstep. Debbie, whose family lived up north on the Scottish border, had come to think of Ruby as her adopted grandma. In a flowery dress, Ruby pointed a bony finger. “I saw him climb out of the taxi, love. He’s a real Prince Charming!”

“I don’t need charming,” snapped Debbie. “Just some peace would be nice.”

“You’ll get used to him,” said Ruby. “He’s only been with you a month. And if he’s bugging you, why don’t you talk to him about it?”

“I suppose you’re right,” moaned Debbie. “But the very thought tires me.” She explained how she’d come down to the kitchen one morning to find Joel doing sun salutations in his earbuds. “When I asked what he was listening to, he said an audio book of Nietzsche!”

Ruby giggled. “It must be tempting having young pups around, flexing their muscles.”

“Honestly, Ruby!”

“I’d gobble him up in a jiffy.”

Debbie reminded Ruby that Joel was only twenty – ten years Debbie’s junior and young enough to be Ruby’s grandson.  

“Who gives a flip?” said Ruby. “Here you are, thirty years old, and all you’ve got for company’s a gossipy oldie like me. Lighten up. You could do with some hanky-panky.”

But Debbie wasn’t interested in sex. What she lusted after was a lazy vacation. She worked hard each day at a shoe shop called ‘With It’ where the staff and customers were everything but, and even on a manager’s wage the pay was abysmal--if she wanted a trip to the French Riviera, she’d have to make money elsewhere. That’s why she’d advertised in the paper for a tenant.
She’d thought it would be simple.

No such luck.

The evening after she’d chatted with Ruby, Debbie found Joel doing leg stretches in the kitchen. He’d just got back from a run, and he looked all bronzed in tight running shorts and a sleeveless vest. “Love the shoes,” he said, glancing down at her feet.

“Dolce & Gabbana,” she told him. One thing she did like about Joel was his interest in her footwear. “Nice shoes are the only luxury I can’t do without,” she said.

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Three Pink Boxes

Late At The Office

This was true. Every time she got her paycheck she spent some of it on shoes – in fact, she’d used her work discount to snag these gold slingbacks, which made her feel quite glam. She believed in dressing up, no matter what the occasion, and after a hard day at work she often found comfort in donning a lycra dress and some sexy, high-heeled mules.

As she retrieved a carton of soup from the fridge, Joel said, “What are you up to tonight?”

Christ, here we go with the personal questions. “If your press-ups don’t drive me insane, I’ll be relaxing with a movie.”

“Alone?” he asked.

Holy cow. Ruby was right. It was time they talked about boundaries. “Look,” she said. “This landlord-tenant thing...”

“My rent check’s over there,” he said, pointing at the fridge where a magnet pinned his check in place.

“Joel, did Nietzsche say anything about personal space?”

He gave a heavy sigh, then walked towards her, saying, “You’re saying I’m messy, aren’t you? I’m sorry, Debbie.” He drew so close she smelled him, and felt her insides giving at the gorgeous, herbal scent. “I know I’m all over the place,” he said. “I need some...reigning in.”

He laid the tips of his fingers over her heart, his warm touch like a memory of pleasure. At their contact, she tingled and felt her breathing break. He said, “I was asking about tonight because...I’d pamper you if you wanted.”

Flushed, she thanked him but stammered that she was fine, then she turned away, placing her soup in the microwave. But as she did, she found herself dreaming of running her hands across Joel’s muscles, pressing against him, peeling off his clothes. Was he saying he found her attractive? If so, she was flattered! Ten years ago she’d have eaten Joel for dinner! But these days she didn’t even have the energy to touch herself. Besides, Joel must be covered in eager college girls.

“I have to write an essay,” said Joel. As he walked away, she watched him. He had lovely, broad shoulders and a high, tight ass; plus she liked his wavy hair--it was romantic, in its way. Could it be that he actually wanted her? No, the idea was foolish.

In bed that night, she dreamed of kissing Joel, pushing him against the kitchen worktop, sinking her mouth on his. She ran her hand over his cock, which was solid inside his cycling shorts, then felt his fingers creeping across her skirt.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he gasped, “ever since I got here. But I didn’t think you’d have me--I’m inexperienced. I’m young.”

As his hair brushed her cheek, she reached inside his sleeveless vest, massaging his warm body. “Don’t worry, Joel,” she murmured. “I’ll tell you what to do.”


The following week heralded the start of the winter sale, and Debbie’s customers were in fighting mode: These mules are scuffed! I said size eight, are you deaf? If I buy both pairs, how much will you knock off the price? Debbie had to watch while her precious wares were handled, tried on, stretched and battered--it made her wonder why she bothered displaying the shoes so neatly, or why she’d made her staff polish the wooden racks!  

One afternoon, to make things worse, she caught, Ant, one of her shop assistants, goofing around in some Bally slingbacks, while the girls shrieked with laughter. When Debbie shouted at them, the group swiftly dispersed, and Ant was left in his leopard-print heels, arms crossed, face sullen. “Take them off,” she snapped. “You’re stretching the leather!”

Ant scowled. “I’ll save you the hassle of firing me,” he said, kicking off the shoes. “Why work for a bitch who likes shoes more than people?” Striding past a shocked Debbie, he added, “I’d tell you to lighten up, but if you smiled your face might crack.”

Wounded, Debbie said nothing.

Later, when she got home, she went straight to her room to clean the day away. In the shower, she soaped, shaved, preened, painted her nails, then dressed in her most glamorous, little black dress. For Debbie, pampering yourself always started with the outfit. After that, you moved on to chocolate and glasses of red wine. But when she was ready, she walked into the living room to find Joel on the sofa doing bicep curls, a single weight in one hand, an open book in the other. At his feet was a duffle bag stuffed with textbooks. “Joel, what on earth are you doing?”

“Reading.” He showed her the cover: Modern Man in Search of a Soul.

“If being a ‘modern man’ means you sweat on my couch, I’d rather you were trad.”

Joel gave her a quizzical look that glossed down her body, finally ending at her newest pair of shoes: black peep-toes, with clear soles and heels. Still fixated, he mumbled, “It’s just some gentle exercise.” Then he added, “You know, I’ve always had a...thing for clear heels.”

It was such a sweet compliment that she felt bad for being moody. Collapsing next to him, she told him about Ant, and her aching feet, and her yen for sundrenched beaches. “All this grey weather makes summer seem ages away.”

“Sore feet?”

She nodded.

“Sounds like you could do with a foot rub.”

A foot rub? She glanced at him. Oh Jesus, he was serious! His gaze was wide and expectant--he wanted her to say yes! Suddenly, she was remembering her dream – Joel’s splendid cock as she ran her hands across it...and the vision was enough to make her say, “Well, all right. Yes. That would be very…therapeutic.”

With a smile, Joel knelt on the carpet. “Close your eyes,” he said. “Picture your beach. The sun, the sand, the salty air...”

As she slipped into a reverie, she could feel him adoring her feet, running his hands across her toes, her ankles. After a while, he slipped off one of the peep-toe stilettos, massaging her stockinged foot with a perfect pressure. It had been ages since she’d known these blissful tingles, which seemed to creep up her legs and linger round her thighs. “You’re exquisite,” he whispered.

“What you’re doing is exquisite.”


“I’ll bet those college girls swoon when you walk past.”

“Debbie, please—”

“You, with that young body, and those magical hands!”

“I want a woman, Debbie. Someone like you.” She glanced down. He was cradling her foot with reverent attention, his face desirous, his muscles swelling inside his running top. He rested her stockinged foot in his lap and began to caress her ankle--soon, little flutterings of pleasure were rising beneath her skin, creeping up her calves, tingling through her core. “If you kept to your room,” she sighed, sinking into the cushions, “it wouldn’t be a bother--your exercising, I mean.”

“When it’s warmer, I can do my yoga in the garden.”

“Lucky me,” she murmured. “I’d have quite a view from my bedroom window.”

“Oh Debbie,” he gushed. “You think you’re lucky? Seeing you leaving the bathroom in those gorgeous fluffy mules and that slinky, pink’s been driving me insane!”

Didn’t she realize she was a beauty? he asked. Dear God, she smelled so good--all that sweet vanilla lotion drifting from her skin. “I bet you taste like heaven,” he gushed. “I love taking a shower when you’ve just left. It’s like you leave springtime behind you--clouds of blossom, sunkissed flowers! Oh Debbie!” His eyelids grew heavy. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

Her head was spinning as she digested his words. So he did have a crush on her? Holy cow! His fingertips crept beneath her stockinged sole, caressing, kneading, stroking her, and she felt a fierce burning between her thighs, which she longed to rub away.

“Your feet,” he whispered. “I could worship them!” He was fixated on her toes, their pale pink varnish twinkling as he massaged. “Oh Debbie,” he moaned, resting her foot in his lap.

That’s when she glanced at his cock.

Sweet Christ, she’d never seen such a hard-on! There it was, rigid inside his running shorts, a perfect bulge rising from the lycra. The blacks of his eyes were inky with desire and he gasped as he made to replace her shoe. For a second, she pictured crouching astride him and grinding her sex against his, taking advantage of that glorious cock! But the way he handled her foot as if it were something precious gave her a better idea.

“It’s been a long time,” she told him.

“Debbie...I’m in heaven!”

Leaning forward, she offered him a view of her cleavage, and said, “What an unpredictable tenant you are. I’ll to have to teach you a lesson.”

With that, she pressed the ball of her foot against his swollen crotch. Jesus, did she really just do that? And wow, was he hard! Oh, how her sex flooded as she splayed her painted toes, making his mouth fall open and his breath come in gasps. He pressed her foot against him as she massaged him through the lycra, his face an agony of joy. “Give me orders, Debbie.” She could feel him trembling. Just rein me in.”

“You asked for it,” she said, and she could feel she was so slippery inside her slinky briefs that her wetness was dripping down her thighs. “What about a safe word?” she asked, amazed that she, Debbie Brown, should say such a thing.

“Let’s have peep-toe,” he said.

She couldn’t help but smile.


She adopted the role so naturally it took her by surprise. Standing, she made him put her shoes back on and watched as he ran his tongue across the black patent tops, then suckled her toes through the peep-holes. He worked hungrily, bowed right down, sucking and licking. When she smoldered him a look and raised her knee, pressing her sole right onto his forehead, he grabbed her shoe, unfurled his tongue and licked the tip of her clear heel.

The sight made Debbie’s poor clit ache: she felt so powerful--almost vindictive – and the high focused her even more. Soon she’d handle his body, feel the tautness of his flesh, the weight of his muscles against her own.

“I’m so hard it hurts,” he gasped. “I could come right now.”

She pressed her foot into his groin, so the sole of her shoe ground against him, and, with an ecstasy flickering across his face, he gripped her ankle. Still balanced there, her foot on Joel’s crotch, she raised her skirt and reached between her thighs.

As she found her soaking clit, she gasped, “Oh God!” She stumbled forward, catching herself by pressing her hand onto the top of his head. Her clit was so hard, so slippery! She rubbed herself with increasing fury, as Joel ground his hips against the pressure of her shoe.

His eyes flickered up her body, lingering for a while.

“No more banana skins left on the worktop?” she said.

“I promise!”

“No bicep curls on the couch?”

“Make me learn, Debbie. Pin me down.”

And she knew what he was asking for.

Pulling up straight, she towered over him, placing her foot on his shoulder. He gasped, grabbing at her stockinged calf while she maintained her stance, peeling off her dress so her black corset was utterly exposed. When he hungrily ran his hands up her stockings, reaching for her garter straps, she smacked his wrist and told him to cut it out.

“You don’t do a thing unless I say so.” Her voice was so strong it made her burn all the more. “Lie below me.”

He did so, and quickly.

On the cream carpet, his dark, wavy locks spread around him as if he were floating in a lake, and his tan was so faultless and golden. Debbie circled him, joying in each step, while Joel swallowed nervously, tracking her every move. “Do what you want,” he gasped. “Make me beg.”

She placed one shoe on his chest, amazed at his washboard muscles, and when she moved her foot his face, stepping down, he gave such a wild groan that she thought he might somehow be coming. “Oh Debbie, you’re Amazonian!” She watched as he stared up her body. “W-what’ll you do to me?” he stammered.

“When I say so, you’ll come on my shoes.”

Joel’s jaw dropped as if she’d offered him the world. But when he reached for his cock, she stopped him. “Not until I say.” She traced a heart shape onto his chest with the sole of her peep-toe shoe. “Tell me I’m sexier than Nietzsche.”

“Far sexier. Let me—’

“I told you. Not yet.”

Placing her feet either side of him, she crouched right down, and noted how his gaze flickered towards her breasts. Cupping the side of his face, she gave a knowing smile. “I can’t believe you bugged me. I must have been stressed out. You’re really incredibly sweet.”

“And you,” he told her, “are the queen of tough love.”

At last, she let him kneel up while she stood above him, and he jerked at his sex frantically, her peep-toe shoe pressing onto his thigh. As he groaned out more wildly, nearing his climax, he kept fingering her toes and the clear stiletto heel. “Oh, this is it,” he cried out. “Oh Debbie, Oh God,” before groaning out in a great crescendo and coming all over her shoe with a triumphant surge of pleasure.

Collapsing, he caught her hip, gasping for breath.

“So I’ll cash the check, then?” she asked.

He looked up.  

His grin was priceless.


He brought in a bowl of warm water, and a natural sponge, and cleaned her feet tenderly, removing all traces from her shoes. Then he rose, whispering that he’d never come off so deeply, and before she knew it, he was with her on the sofa, pushing her down and parting her knees.

Sliding off her briefs, he went down on her with the kind of abandon she hadn’t known for years--and then she was the one begging for his body, catching him in her arms as he fell on her. They kissed fiercely, their wet mouths merging, his tongue insistent, his fingers in her hair. She could feel him against her thigh, hard again, and apart from a brief fumble when he reached in his bag for a condom, they fell together in a seamless flow.

He filled her so perfectly that she cried out for more, whimpering, gasping, the sofa shaking beneath them, and the power behind his thrusts made her giddy. When she was close, he proved a masterly tease by working at her lightly, before pounding her with great animal thrusts, growling, “You’re perfect!”

She arched her spine as the climax took her over, burning right through her, and as she came and came, she bashed the cushions, her release blasting through her, increasing her every groan.


They fell asleep on the sofa: a tangle of limbs. Then, at two in the morning, Debbie slipped from Joel’s side and crept upstairs. Hours later, when she opened her eyes, she found Joel lying beside her, his head on the pillow. “I’ve been watching you,” he told her. “You’re beautiful when you’re asleep.”
“But not when I’m awake?”
He laughed and swept some hair from her face. “Listen,” he said, “I’m sorry about the obsessive workouts.” He ran a finger down her naked arm. “Making love is a far better way of keeping fit.”

Debbie smiled.

“While we’re up here,” said Joel, “I’d like to see your shoes.”

“The ones I wore last night?”

“No, all your shoes.”

Happy to actually share her collection, Debbie rose and led Joel across to the cupboard. As he stood beside her, she slid the mirrored door open. Her shoes were neatly arranged on racks: black suede mules, silver stilettos, cream slingbacks, pale blue pumps, quirky platform sandals in a zazzy magenta, a bright rainbow of sexy high-heels.

She saw Joel’s eyes widen as he kneeled on the floor and took the silver stilettos in his hands. “Wow,” he said, rising, inspecting the shoe, running a fingertip across the leather.

“But where are your beach shoes?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“Well, we’ll get you some for when I whisk you away. You and me beneath the palm trees, making love on the sand.”
She felt her whole face glow. “So this is more than a casual fling?”
“Rumi said lovers don’t finally meet--they’re in each other all along.”
She laced her fingers through his. “If the shoe fits, wear it.”

About The Author

Lana fox
Lana Fox
Lana Fox is Co-Founder and Senior Editor of Go Deeper Press—a publisher of stories for brain and brawn. She also runs The Mermaid Voyage: A Two-Week Journey of Erotic Self-Discovery.  Lana’s articles and posts on sexuality have appeared in Boston Magazine, Spirituality & Health, Glo Magazine, and elsewhere.  She has widely published her erotic fiction, and she recently released a novel, published by Harper Collins’ Mischief, called “Confessions of a Kinky Divorcee.”  Her nonfiction self-help book is represented by the Sarah Jane Freymann Literary Agency and she can be found online at: and . Follow her on Twitter and Facebook.
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