Karen knew it was a sin, and yet to slip on the gorgeous vibrant color on her otherwise bland person seemed so deliciously decadent. She knew it was appropriate to stay hidden with lack of color, life, and she had the serviceable black pair of shoes in front of her, and yet the moment she slid her toes into the red pair, the warm fabric caressed the bottom of her feet, encased feet in utter comfort.
She tried hard to be the woman that was expected of her, but in this one regard, she had such a love of red shoes – had since she received her first pair when she was so young and poor that just available fabric for shoes was made by a kindly woman. Those beloved shoes that first protected her otherwise bare feet were later thrown in a fire and she remembered the salty taste of tears as she despondently watched them burn.
Karen stood up, brushing away that memory as she brushed away the tears as a young one, and patted down her skirts, watching the shoes disappear under their weight. She smiled, happy in her secret, and took a joyous step. Her feet seemed lighter, and she felt like skipping, like dancing, but that wasn’t at all appropriate, so she bowed her head and grabbed her collection basket.
As she passed by the small church and graveyard, she thought she heard a sound. She looked up and saw nothing, then chided herself because the dead have better things to do. As she entered the forest, she looked behind her again, and seeing nothing and no one, she picked up her skirts and sped up, laughing with the freedom of movement. Once she reached a clearing of soft grass, she began to dance, luxuriating in the movement of her otherwise stiff body. She hummed a tune and danced until she was breathless and then felt like stopping…only her feet kept moving.
Concerned at this strange feeling of not controlling her own feet, Karen sat down and yet her feet continued to move. She leaned forward and tried to stop them with her hands, to no avail. They kicked at her hands, stubbing a few fingers, and continued their frantic movements – for it was no easy dance at this point.
She managed to stand despite the bobbing and jumping of her feet, and moved uneasily towards town again, her feet still doing a demonic jig. She wondered who she could go to for this problem, and unfortunately had the entire day to decide, as that was how long it took her wayward feet to reach the edges of town. By that point, she was terrified, and believed she was being punished for not being obedient enough, plain enough, Christian enough, a proper woman enough. Her feet were bleeding in her already blood-red shoes, and the times she tried to yank or peel off the shoes made her hands bruised and sore. She was hungry, sweaty, and breathless. She was ready to die if the shoes didn’t come off.
She went to the executioner’s house; he was a bit isolated and unlike due to his profession, but he had always been kind to her. She knocked on the door and heard a gruff voice tell her to go away and knocked anyway, pleading for him to kill her or at least cut off her feet. “I am cursed,” she quietly wailed into the wooden door.
He opened the door and stood looking down at her petite form, the contrast of him so obvious; he was burly, large in form and broad shoulders, with wild curly black hair that touched his shoulders – the same length of his dark, bushy beard. He stroked that beard as he stared at her, seemingly unsurprised to see a woman weaving unsteadily in front of her. “Now this proves interesting,” he said in his gruff voice.
“Come in,” he moved aside and the feet seemed to welcome the opportunity to dance across his threshold. She tripped across the room with its sparse furnishings and tripped right into his bed, her body sitting awkwardly on it and her feet happily bouncing upon the floor still. “My axe isn’t quivering for your head, lovely, nor do I wish to depart those beautiful feet from those beautiful legs. But I can help, for a price-“
“Name it, it is yours!” she interrupted him, and then looked down, embarrassed at her lack of manners.
“You. All of you, your body, your will, your love. Mine forever,” his gaze was steady upon her sweaty face, but he looked at her as if she was the most beautiful treasure, as if she wasn’t some cursed woman.
She had to look down again in embarrassment, his gaze unnerved her. Her feet ached, her heart ached, and she thought that if she must die, she would die more content in embrace than lonely and what was sure to be stumpy and gory limbs. She nodded her consent.
“Stop,” he commanded, and she almost laughed aloud that she couldn’t – why didn’t he see and understand her predicament? But her feet stilled immediately. She snapped her mouth shut, and watched his hands. “Let’s see what we have here,” and he gestured both arms out wide. She thought he was going to grab at the shoes, but instead the shoes raced to opposite sides of the edge of the bed, and she was suddenly spread apart, her body tilted back to hold her up on elbows to support the suddenness of the movement. “Yes, lovely,” he muttered, and kneeled down to slide calloused hands down the inside of her thighs. “We need to get you some colorful attire. I will not have my woman hidden. You are a jewel to be shown with pride.”
Karen was surprised by the words, she was surprised at how gentle his caress was, she shocked at the shoes that obeyed him and she yearned to do so as well; she shivered and became excited at his touch.
His hands went to one leg, stroked down her calf, circled her ankle, and slid off a shoe. Instantly her foot felt the cold rush of air, and she saw the battered and bloody blisters and cuts on her foot. He gripped the arch and while keeping her gaze, slowly lowered his face towards her foot. His beard’s bristles brushed across the sore skin, and oddly she felt as if it tickled but how could anything feel good as a tickle when it was bleeding so? He opened his mouth, and she felt horror that he was going to kiss her bloody, messy foot. His mouth, his lips opened and sucked in her biggest toe, his tongue caressing up and down, around. His mouth was warm, wet, comforting, and she felt little shockwaves of pleasure headed between her legs and making her stomach squirm. She wanted her other toes in his mouth, she wanted to see him open as wide as he could, she was curious if he could get all of her digits in there and to feel his tongue slide up in between each one. And still his gaze watched her, a slight smile coming to his sensual mouth, and she felt herself blushing, wondering if she should stop him, wondering if he knew what she was thinking.
She was wanton, but she didn’t care. She didn’t notice the pain from her feet had subsided, the fear diminish; Karen only felt her desire pool and her fantasy of his tongue sliding in to taste it.