Stories of Faith and Devotion: Part Two — Walking in My Shoes

Sarah walked home in stunned silence. She could feel the stranger’s semen leaking and marking her thighs with every step, all the nerve endings in her clit were alive and aching for more. She couldn’t remember the last time she had done something as reckless as having unprotected sex in an alleyway outside a nightclub — she wondered indeed if she had ever done anything that reckless before. Yet, something about the man spoke to her deep inside. The way he had turned almost predatory on the dancefloor had made her weak with a desperate desire and she had followed him with barely a second thought.

She opened the door to her small terraced house and dropped her bag at the bottom of the stairs. It was well past eleven pm, but she needed to shower before she could get into her freshly made bed. Her short dress and underwear were dumped unceremoniously in the laundry basket, before she climbed into the bath and under the spray of the shower, careful to not get her hair wet.

Sarah had intended to do no more than simply wash away the dirt of the club atmosphere, but when her fingers brushed against the viscous liquid still seeping from inside her, she felt a new wave of arousal build. Taking the showerhead in her hand, she turned the spray to the massage setting and slowly moved it around her body. The powerful jet of warm water caused her to gasp when it caught her nipple, the sensitive bud puckering and standing erect, as her clit began to swell and throb. Not wanting to linger too long, knowing she had a busy weekend ahead, Sarah moved the spray lower over her body.

The jet caused her knees to buckle slightly as it passed over her clit, but she angled the water quickly to spray up and inside her pussy — finally rinsing the remnants of him from inside her, before returning the showerhead to where it would fulfil her lust most quickly. A few seconds later, the showerhead was hanging from the hose, the water spattering loudly on the tiles as Sarah lent heavily against those same tiles, shaking and panting after a powerful clitoral orgasm.

When she eventually crawled under the duvet, it was technically a new day. Fortunately, sleep was not slow about claiming her, though Morpheus delivered dreams of pulsing music and darkened dancefloors.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adam walked along the alley at a brisk pace. He did not look back. He trusted his instincts and they were telling him quite vehemently that she would call. He had been wrong in the past, of course. Tonight, however, was the first time he had taken it all the way to fucking from dancing. Her reaction to him on the dancefloor had spoken to his primal instincts; as his dominant nature came to the fore, she responded by becoming pliant to his suggestive gestures. She was a natural submissive, that much was clear, but Adam doubted whether she was actually aware of this fact herself.

He turned his phone off when he got home, he was almost certain that his comment and the cryptic invitation on his card would entice her to call or message him and he did not want to betray his eagerness by responding straight away, especially if she were to get in touch as soon as she got home. So, when he made his way to the bedroom of his apartment, the device was left charging in the kitchen — he had no need of the alarm at the weekend, and fully intended to stay in bed until bodily needs drove him out.

His final trip to relieve his bladder left the scent of her arousal heavy in the air around him. Desire renewed, he slipped into bed naked and savoured the images and memories of the evening once more, until his release was caught in a tissue and laid aside to dispose of on the morrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sarah had been determined, resolute even, to not contact the alluring stranger straight away, but he would not leave her thoughts. His strangely cryptic card lay next to her phone, taunting her when she moved to silence the phone’s alarm.

She picked it up and examined it closer. It was matte black with a waxy coating — clearly expensive — the number and simple invitation were written in no-nonsense Arial font in what, at first glance, appeared to be white. Upon closer inspection, there was just a hint of blue to the text. It spoke of class and self-assuredness.

Sarah tried to think back to the man himself last night. He had been dressed casually — as most of the club-goers were — in jeans and a dark buttoned shirt. Neither were overtly designer, but had a quiet, luxurious quality about them. His aftershave had been subtle and pleasant; she lifted the card to her nose and was unsurprised that the card gave off the same subtle scent. His hair and skin well kempt, but again not showy.

Sarah tapped the card against her nail a few times before taking a breath and entering the number in her phone. She hesitated over the call button, suddenly embarrassed that she had no name to address him by. The card yielded no clues, so she opened a text message instead.

She stared at the screen for a full five minutes wondering what the hell to write to the man who fucked her mind as thoroughly as he had fucked her body, and who’s name remained a mystery to her. In the end, she took inspiration in verse and quoted lyrics from the song “Walking in My Shoes” — after all, they had been his parting words.

“’Morality would frown upon, Decency look down upon, The scapegoat fate’s made of me.’ But I promise you, my intentions are far from pure. Show me how to walk in your shoes. Sarah”

She hit send before she could change her mind and spent the next ten minutes berating herself on how she could have better worded the message, and whether he would even know who she was. She had not given either her name or her number.

When no response was forthcoming after twenty minutes, Sarah declared herself a silly girl, who should know better and forced herself to get on with her weekend chores.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Adam eventually turned his phone on Saturday morning, Sarah’s message had been waiting almost an hour and a half to be read. He noted the time stamp with a smile, knowing he had the luxury of replying with the enthusiasm he felt at first reading her message, but not appearing over eager, as she had no way of knowing when he had initially read the text.

As he waited for his morning tea to steep, he read the message. He was pleased that she had picked up on his parting words and his love for Depeche Mode. He quickly saved her number and opened up a chat in WhatsApp. He recorded a voice message for her.

“You’ll stumble in my footsteps, Keep the same appointments I kept, If you try walking in my shoes’ Meet me at Costa in the pedestrian zone this afternoon at four pm. Wear purple. Take a seat by the window and wait for me to arrive. You will text me your choice of beverage before you leave your house. Lesson one in walking in my shoes and the ways of faith and devotion.”

Adam pondered the possibilities of the meeting as he drank his tea. Would she come? Surely that was a given, after all, she had messaged him — then again, he had once more withheld his name from her; a test of her willingness to follow her instincts and part of his plan for her training — should she acquiesce to such.

The more difficult question was whether she would greet his truths and proposals with acceptance or condemnation.