The Shoehorn

8 min read

A Mrs. Bladedigger Tale

Over breakfast, Mrs. Bladedigger said that she wanted to go to the mall in search of a new pair of shoes, specifically red heels. So, as I live and love to serve the lady, which is my duty and my gift, I readied the car and we went to the Longvale Mall in Whitebridge, where her favorite footwear store, Oui Beaucoup de Chaussures (translated: Yes, A Lot of Shoes), is located. This was as thrilling for me, if not more so, than it was for her. She knew a great many things and one she especially knew was how to pique my interest, sensually or otherwise. She also knew I admired a good shoe, perhaps more than the average man, but also a good foot and a good leg, and the Mrs. had them all.

At Oui Beaucoup a Mr. Altan Sadik, as he introduced himself, came over to assist us in the ladies dress shoe section.

Hello Mr. and Mrs…” he said.

“Mrs. Bladedigger,” she said. “I’m pleased to meet you Mr. Sadik. This is my counterpart who is known as The Gambler.”

“It’s a pleasure, sir,” I said, shaking his hand.

“How can I help you today?” he asked.

“We’re looking for some red shoes, heels,” I said.

“Well I must say you’ve come to the right place!” he said. He motioned us over to an entire four foot section of the item we were looking for: reds of all shades, shoes of all heights and materials, from the most sultry leather to the intentionally-gaudy vinyl. There was something carnal about the color red, something written in our genetic code. Their form ranged from moderately-functional to utterly painful; certainly some were meant only for the boudoir with perhaps next to no walking being done in them.

This last type was the type of shoe the Mrs. was interested in.

“First,” Mr. Sadik said, “we usually start with what the Lady wants and then we get into the functionality of the shoe, where and how often it will be worn, that sort of thing.”

“Makes sense,” I chimed in.

“I want to be able to make it from the bathroom to the bed and back,” she said bluntly, “but otherwise it’s all about the look.” She pulled a photograph from her purse with an image of a young starlet sporting a pair of the painful-looking footwear.

“Ah, yes, I see,” he said. He rifled through a few boxes and found a pair that matched the lady’s inclinations.

“How about these,” he said, more like a statement than a question. It seemed that once he had found what he was looking for he had no doubt about his selection. Confidence on display. He opened the box to reveal the shoe in question.

“Ooh, wonderful!” she exclaimed.

He removed the paper inserts and gently stretched it by putting his four fingertips inside the shoe, which was the right-footed one, and with his left hand, supported her foot as the shoe slid onto her toes and down the sole of her foot. But the fit was tight on the heel and he let out a little gasp or sigh but not out of fear or frustration; he had just hoped the shoe would slide on naturally. Using a shoehorn, however, he was easily able to fully apply the shoe to the lady’s foot.

“Try it out,” he said, helping Mrs. Bladedigger up to her feet. “There, how does it feel?”

“Incredible,” she said. “It fits wonderfully, and look, I can even walk a bit,” while she did so in much of a runway manner several paces out and several paces back along the carpeted floor.

“They look amazing,” I said.

“I agree with the gentleman,” he said.

I knew I liked this man.

“You’re Turkish, yes?” I asked the salesman.

“Yes, good guess,” he said.

“I like to study names and their origins,” I said.

We completed the purchase, but felt a little disappointed that the interaction between Mr. Sadik and ourselves would be soon over.

“Listen, Mr. Sadik,” said the lady. “We’d love to have you over for some tea later on after your shift, if that won’t interfere with your plans?”

“That would be lovely, Mrs. Bladedigger,” he said.

“Yes!” I said emphatically, “that would give us a chance to try out our new Turkish tea glasses — I got them on Virago…”

Oh hush, Gam, you’ll bore the man,” the lady interrupted.

“It’s quite alright madam,” he said, “I’m anxious to try out your new glasses.”

We said our final goodbyes and all the way out to the car talked about what a nice man he was and how much we looked forward to having him for tea.

“Good thing we bought those real Turkish-style glasses,” I said.

“It was Gam,” she said, “marvelously serendipitous!”

I couldn’t help but feel that this universe was always listening and responding. I couldn’t hide my smile.

Mr. Sadik arrived at 9:30pm, thirty minutes after Chaussures’ closing hour of 9pm.

“Long time no see?” I said to all’s amusement.

“We’re glad you’re here,” she said.

“Now we don’t yet have a proper Turkish-style coffee pot, “ I said. “But we do have the glasses. I understand that Black Sea tea is good, so we will have that, shall we?”

Mrs. Bladedigger served the tea; normally I would for her guests but I felt that she considered the gentleman to be more my guest than hers, even though she extended the invitation. She could tell how fascinated I was by him, for whatever reason. I didn’t know; he just had an aura about him. Virility. That’s what it was. He was who I wanted to be and felt like I wasn’t, even though I had plenty of opportunities to prove my manliness in my life. Maybe what I lacked was some control, having surrendered most of my autonomy to the good lady.

“How about some music?” she asked.

“That would be lovely,” our guest said.

“Anything in particular?” she asked.

“No, anything will do, really,” he said.

She hit shuffle on the myPod and Isn’t it a Lovely Night? by the Decemberists began playing. We shared a loving friendly smile between the three of us.

The tea was delicious and strong. The Mrs. and I were not used to it.

“So again, sorry about not having the right teapot; next time,” I said.

He smiled graciously and took a sip. It was still very hot but not too hot for him.

“So listen,” our guest said, “you obviously invited me here for some kind of a show, an amusement if you will?”

“No, not really, we just enjoy your company,” the Mrs. said.

“We’re simple but curious people,” I said.

“Please, no need for pretense,” he said. “I dislike pretense.”

“Oh so do we!” Mrs. Bladedigger said, sharing a knowing look with me. “But decorum has its value.”

“This is a rendezvous, no?” he asked. “A…sexual thing?”

“It could be,” I said.

“I think so,” she said.

“Here, I have the perfect thing,” he said. “Together, we will masturbate, the gentleman and I. Well, I will begin and you will do what you feel like doing. However, I encourage the gentleman to join me for some…tips, instruction if you will, as I am well-versed in this subject. All you have to do, Mr. Gambler, is do as I do, and I will take you on quite the journey.”

“Ooh that sounds like fun!” she said. “Gam, now just let him teach you a few things, OK? I know you’ve been tense lately. Maybe this is just what you need!”

“Surely, surely it is,” he said.

“I’m willing,” I said.

He lay there on the love seat letting us both admire his enormous erection. He caressed his scrotum and the long shaft of his member. He was teeming with masculine sexuality and although I was not interested in him sexually per se, I had to admire what he brought to the encounter. His complete grasp of control, as it were, and pace — he was in no hurry to be driven over the edge, but instead enjoyed each second and tried to make it last exponentially longer.

He took the tea glass and pressed down hard at the base of his glistening member — this technique only increased his rigidity. His cock fit perfectly in the inverted curve of the glass. I swear he grew an extra inch instantly. The amount of his own self-produced lubrication was also phenomenal. He had never needed a bottle of lotion in his life I imagined.

He brilliantly played with his own nipple while he continued to gently caress the glans and shaft.

Here was a guy who knew his body! I guessed 5’8” and about 175 lbs, well over 60 years of age and looked half that. Amazing!

He pulled back on his manhood against the pressure of the tea glass and the force of the resistance and natural recoiling only made him wetter and harder. His grip was certain but not rigid. Instead of a closed fist type approach, he held his four fingers outstretched parallel with each other and used the cradle between the forefinger and the thumb.

The music changed to a live version of One More Time by Joe Jackson. He reached over and took a sip of tea, without missing a single stroke of his Godly rhythm. He asked for a cigar and I lit him a mini and passed it to him. He took a sensual puff and admired the smoke he sent aloft.

The lady and I were so mesmerized we suddenly realized that he’d been doing this for almost ten minutes, pleasuring himself slowly; no need to ejaculate yet and spoil the party!

“My friend,” he said, “don’t be shy, I want to share this experience with you.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Bladedigger said, “I do wish you would. I can help.”

“Madam,” he said, “the gentlemen can find his own way.”

He took another big drag and exhaled. I undid my belt and removed my pants. I was semi-erect, which surprised me. I was being turned on by an unlikely source. Yet, I was proud to be a man and not afraid to hide what I was. Maybe I did not possess the size and skill of the gentleman from Istanbul, but I certainly could and would be satisfied in my own way.

“For example,” I said, lowering my pants and finding a comfortable position in the recliner across from him, “I’ve found that planking — straightening my legs and stretching — increases the pleasure. Perhaps it has to do with the circulation? I can feel a tingle all over my body when I do that.”

“That’s possible,” she said with much interest.

“Yes, quite,” he said.

“I’m ready to explore,” I said.

The song soon over, it shuffled to the clarinet of Artie Shaw and Frenesi. The intricacy of the fingering of the clarinet seemed to parallel Mr. Sadik’s mastery of his own instrument. Mr. Sadik lovingly caressed himself while I studied and tried to emulate his workings. There was such a terrible need in this world for taking one’s time and our guest knew that. Nothing was as foolish and ultimately wasteful as being in a hurry, especially for gratification. The universe always showed up on time to teach the valuable lessons. I know that when I was with Harmony things seemed to speed up too much. Not that it was her fault mind you; it was definitely mine. The guilt, which was apparent now, spoiled the whole affair. I wish I could be like Mrs. Bladedigger and do what I pleased without fear and shame. Even though she would be fine with my liaisons if she knew about them, I still felt the need to keep them to myself, if for no other reason than to have something wholly my own.

As Friends by the Beach Boys followed, we each continued to sip our tea and smoke while we enjoyed our own and each other’s company. What could friends do besides?

“Concentrate,” he said. “But not too hard. Bring your mind back to where you are now. If you find yourself unable to focus on yourself, focus on me.”

He could probably tell I was drifting into my own thought world.

The Mrs. was mesmerized the whole time, saying something exclamatory once in a while such as Ooh or Oh My.

Easy to Be Hard by Three Dog Night came on next and we all had a chuckle at the irony of that. With everything that was going on in the world, if anything it was hard to be erect amid it all. And who was into saying “no?” Certainly me and my lady were not.

Then played some expressive instrumental progressive song, followed by a song by Weezer, I wasn’t sure, it wasn’t one of their hits. The music was perfect and acted as our guide as well as an added layer of sensory stimulation. I had never personally taken this kind of pace when it came to pleasing myself, so it was all new and all wonderful.

Joan Jett Do You Wanna Touch Me came on to intensify the mood. I was so unbelievably turned on by our guest. I wondered what I would classify this experience as, homo-erotic or what, but then the idea struck that it didn’t matter. I liked it. I more than liked it. Not that I wanted to touch him or have him touch me. But I wanted to touch myself. Love myself. Who can love another unless one can love themselves first?

Speaking of love, Eric Clapton was up next with Layla. We were both getting anxious to come. We shared a knowing glance. We would wait until the song was over. Then, as it wound down, he suddenly and explosively ejaculated on his abdomen and I did the same, making sure to fully “empty the system” as Mr. Sadik had recommended.

Completely emptied and unbelievably relaxed, the Mrs. gave each of us a warm moist towel to clean up with.

“Forgive me, madam,” he said. “Is there anything we can do for you?”

Yes love,” I said. “Forgetting my manners.”

“You’ve done quite a lot already,” she shared with a grin. “But now that I mention it, I’d like to test my new shoes out…in the bedroom. I feel like a good spanking. Would you two join me?”

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