The shoe department felt unusually quiet that evening, the fluorescent lights humming softly overhead as I wiped down the display shelves. It was closing time, and the store was empty except for one customer—a stunning blonde in her early twenties who towered over me even without her heels.

At 5’9 barefoot, she must have been pushing 6’3 in those black leather stilettos, making my 5’5 frame feel even smaller. She had killer legs that stretched forever under a navy blue A-line skirt ending four inches above her knees, paired with a pink top that clung to her DD-cup breasts, the sheer fabric hinting at the lace bra beneath.

Nude nylons sheathed her calves, marked with intricate tattoos that peeked out as she shifted her weight. My heart raced; this was the kind of woman who made my secret fetish ignite—high heels, nylons, the whole package.

She approached the counter with a confident stride, her current heels clicking sharply against the tile floor. “I’d like to try those 4-inch spiked black pumps in size 8,” she said, her voice smooth and commanding, blue eyes locking onto mine with a playful glint.

I swallowed hard, my cock twitching at the thought of getting close to her feet. “Of course, miss. May I measure your foot first? This style runs a bit large.”

She nodded, settling into the fitting chair with her legs crossing elegantly, the skirt riding up just enough to tease.

I knelt before her, my hands steady as I grasped the strap of her right stiletto. The leather was warm from her body heat, and as I slid it off, a rush of scent hit me—rich leather mixed with the faint, musky tang of nylon and a hint of foot sweat. It went straight to my groin, my erection stirring against my pants.

Her foot emerged, petite yet powerful, toes pressed together under the sheer nude hose, reinforced at the tips. Perfectly polished pink toenails glowed through the fabric, and that small black spade tattoo on the top of her foot caught my eye, adding to her edgy allure.

“Please stand for the measurement,” I said, my voice a touch huskier than intended.

She rose gracefully, her height making me crane my neck to meet her gaze. I positioned the measuring tool, cradling her ankle in my palm—soft skin under the nylon, warm and smooth. As I guided her foot back, I let my fingers brush under her toes, feeling the silky texture and the subtle flex of her arch. She didn’t pull away; if anything, her lips curved into a knowing smile.

The contact sent a jolt through me, my cock hardening fully now, pressing uncomfortably against my zipper. “Size 8 should fit perfectly,” I managed, standing quickly to fetch the shoes from the back.

Back on my knees, I presented the right pump, its spiked heel gleaming. I ran my hand along the sole of her nylon-covered foot first, tracing the curve from heel to ball, savoring the slippery sheen. She watched me intently, one eyebrow arched.

“You’re thorough,” she murmured, her tone laced with amusement.

I slipped the shoe on with the horn, my fingers lingering on her ankle as she wiggled her toes to settle in. The movement made her skirt flare just right, and I stole a peek up—thigh-high nylons with dark tops gripping her firm thighs, and beneath, pink silky panties hugging the outline of her pussy. My breath caught; she was a vision of temptation, tattoos swirling on her calves like invitations.

“How does it feel?” I asked, my eyes flicking up to hers.

She extended her leg, admiring the spike in the mirror across the aisle. “Tight, but good. Do the other one.” Her command was casual, but it carried weight, stirring something submissive in me. I nodded, reaching for her left heel.

As I unbuckled it, another wave of that intoxicating scent filled my nose—leather, nylon, her essence. My erection throbbed, pre-cum dampening my boxers. I caressed her sole again before sliding the matching pump on, helping her foot arch into it. She stood, turning slowly, the heels elevating her even more, her skirt swishing against those tattooed legs.

She stepped closer, her spiked heel nudging my knee as she looked down at me, still kneeling. “You like helping women like me, don’t you?” she said softly, her voice dropping to a husky whisper.

Her hand reached out, tipping my chin up so our eyes met. I felt exposed, my fetish laid bare in her gaze. “I ... It’s my job,” I stammered, but my flushed face betrayed me.

She laughed lightly, a sound that vibrated through me, and pressed her foot forward, the nylon toe brushing my thigh. “Stand up. I want to see how they walk.”

I rose, heart pounding, as she paced in front of the mirror, her ass swaying with each click of the heels. The sight of her legs, encased in nude hose and black spikes, made my cock ache for release. She caught my stare in the reflection and smiled wickedly.

“These are perfect. But maybe I need to try something else ... something more fitting for a guy who gets so excited over feet.” Her words hung in the air, dominant and teasing, as she turned back to me, one hand trailing down her skirt, lifting it just an inch higher.

The store’s emptiness amplified every sound—her breath, my pulse, the promise of what might come next. Her words sent a shiver down my spine, that wicked smile making my cock throb harder in my pants.

As she turned back to the mirror, adjusting her stance to admire the new pumps from another angle, I glanced over my shoulder. The store was still empty, the closing announcements echoing faintly from the intercom. My heart hammered—her old stilettos lay there on the floor, warm and inviting. I couldn’t resist. Usually, I’m careful, waiting until customers leave, but the scent from earlier lingered in my mind, pulling me like a magnet.

I scooped up both shoes quickly, bringing them to my nose while she was distracted. Inhaling deeply, I let the rich leather, mixed with her foot’s musky warmth through the nylons, flood my senses. My erection strained, pre-cum soaking my underwear as I savored the intimate aroma, eyes half-closed in bliss. It was reckless, but the thrill overrode caution.

She walked back over, her new heels clicking authoritatively. I dropped the shoes in a panic, but it was too late. She looked down at me, still kneeling, her blue eyes narrowing with a mix of amusement and steel. “Do you smell all the women’s shoes, or just mine?”

I froze, heat flooding my face. “Wh-what? No. I ... I’m so sorry, Miss. It was just an accident on my part.”

“That’s not what I asked you. Answer my question,” she demanded, her voice sharp and commanding, stepping even closer so her legs brushed my arms.

I trembled, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just that, well, your feet looked so lovely, I couldn’t resist. Please forgive me.”

“An accident? Picking up my shoes and smelling them inside? I don’t see how that could possibly be an accident. Was it an accident when you tried fondling my feet?” she accused, crossing her arms under her full breasts, pushing them up against the sheer pink top.

“No, I mean, yes. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was just an impulse.” My hands shook as I tried to stand, but she placed a hand on my shoulder, keeping me down.

“Was it an ‘impulse’ when you tried to look up my skirt, too?”

“No, Miss, I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t mean to,” I apologized, my gaze dropping to her tattooed calves, the nude nylons shimmering under the lights.

“Now you’re lying to me? Do you want me to have them check your security cameras?”

“No, please, Miss.”

Panic twisted in my gut, but beneath it, a dark excitement stirred—her dominance wrapping around me like her hose.

“Do you go home and masturbate thinking about the feet you touched?” she asked, her tone probing deeper, a smirk playing on her lips.

“What? No!”

“What color were my panties?” she pressed, leaning down slightly, her perfume mixing with the faint scent of her skin.

I was getting scared, sweat beading on my forehead, but my cock betrayed me, twitching at her control.

“What color were they? You saw them,” she demanded, her voice like a whip.

I just blurted out, “They were pink. Pink panties. I’m so sorry!”

She straightened, laughing softly, the sound sending vibrations through my body. Her eyes gleamed with triumph as she stepped closer, her new spiked heel nudging my knee. “There it is—honesty at last. But I want more than sorrys. Tell me the truth—do you have a thing for feet? For nylons and heels like these?” Her tone sharpened, commanding, demanding I bare my soul.

I trembled, knees weak on the tile floor, her presence towering over me. The vulnerability hit hard, but so did the arousal, my erection aching. “Yes,” I confessed, voice cracking. “I ... I have an obsession. Women’s feet in nylons, the heels, the scent—it’s all I think about. Your feet, especially. They’re perfect.” My face burned, but her smirk widened, enjoying every second of my exposure, like she held all the power.

“Good boy,” she purred, her dominant vibe thickening the air. “Kneel properly now.” She ordered it without raising her voice, but the authority made me obey instantly.

I dropped lower, hands on my thighs, looking up at her as she lifted one foot, pressing the nylon-clad sole firmly against my chest. The pressure pinned me, the sheer fabric warm through my shirt, her toes flexing slightly. I could feel the reinforced toe area brush my skin, sending jolts straight to my groin.

“Worship them,” she commanded, her eyes locking on mine. “Show me how much you want this.”

My breath came in short gasps as I leaned in, lips brushing the leather of her new pump first. I kissed the spiked heel, tongue darting out to lick the smooth black surface, tasting the faint polish and her warmth. Then up to the sole, where nylon met leather—I sucked gently on the edge, inhaling her scent again, musky and intoxicating. My hands itched to touch, but I waited for her cue, heart racing.