What to wear to the office today? Verity ponders her wardrobe, although the answer is a foregone conclusion. Same as yesterday, something conservative and inoffensive, sums up how she lives lately, Verity reflects ruefully. All work and no play make this girl dull, fifty shades of grey polyester/cotton mix. However costly and well-cut a trouser suit, it isn't going to turn heads, especially when teamed with flat shoes, primly pinned-up hair and dark-framed glasses. An executive look that's the antithesis of erotic attraction. When was the last time she had sex? Verity honestly can't recall, and no, sex toys don't count. Fortunately, change is in the air.
On her customary commute to the corporate grind Verity chances upon a new shop. Didn't that used to be a baker? Whatever, the premises are now repurposed as a shoe emporium and a pair in the window catch Verity's eye. She doesn't customarily wear high heels and only owns one pair of black courts, for formal occasions. However, these are truly magnificent, a beautiful electric blue with an almost sculptural design. Verity experiences the strangest sense of being inexorably drawn towards them and before she knows it is across the threshold.
"May I assist?" A charming young man appears at her elbow as if from nowhere, triggering Verity's gaydar.
"I, um," Verity is momentarily nonplussed, "this place wasn't here yesterday," she observes lamely.
"Just a pop-up store until the space is properly re-let, I'm only staying until the wind changes," he explains.
"I'd like to try on those blue shoes," says Verity, who hadn't considered doing so until now.
"Good choice. What size?"
"Six," answers Verity, feeling as if this interaction is somehow preordained.
"How fortunate, we've just the one pair and that's what they are." The shoes fit perfectly, expertly crafted from fine Italian leather; so flattering and easy to walk in - something she never thought heels could be - the footwear might've been custom made.
"Oh wow, they're perfect."
"Well of course," agrees the attentive assistant, adding enigmatically, "because our shoes choose the customers, not the other way around."
Verity makes an uncharacteristic impulse purchase and doesn't even blink at the considerable cost. The rest of the day goes all too slowly, normally assiduous and focused Verity is unsettled and distracted and can't wait to get home and try them on. Eventually, she returns to her flat and pours a much-needed glass of wine before taking the pristine heels on their maiden voyage around the bedroom.
Naked save for the shoes, she appraises her reflection in the long wardrobe mirror. Verity's body shape seems somehow different; their height radically alters her stance, pushing tits and bum into prominence. She giggles as the vino kicks in, classy chassis you have there, looking good girl. Experiences a subtle change of mental perspective too: feeling simultaneously uninhibited and compliant. Verity suddenly has a wicked impulse, deciding on a whim (two in a day!) to completely shave her pubis.
Gathers a mirror and shaver, parts her legs, lathers up and sets to work. A pleasant and increasingly arousing interlude later, she admires the denuded result: silky and sensitive, rude and wanton. Her fingers linger on pale depilated skin, tracing the sensitive folds of her vulva, which soon become slippery in response. Verity tentatively slides in a digit then another, curls her fingers to touch the g-spot. Next thing she's frantically frigging to an explosive orgasm, stuffing a pillow in her mouth to stifle an exultant cry. Head swimming with wine and endorphins she falls into a contented sleep.
Up early the next morning, she packs for a conference, two nights in a swish hotel at the firm's expense. Scheduled to speak at one of the sessions, Verity selects an outfit, caution be damned, she thinks, time I stood out from the crowd, and boldly chooses a short dress more suited to partying. What else? The blue shoes which began this sartorial transformation, are a foregone conclusion. On the way to the train station, she makes an impromptu detour to purchase a scarlet red lipstick. Has no idea why, the idea spontaneously enters her head.
Later that day, during a discussion panel on stage, Verity's presentation is well received, by one audience member in particular. Anything to do with her crossed legs revealing a generous expanse of toned thighs? Certainly not, he's enamoured of the young woman's intellect.
She's already spotted the man, staring in her direction as if transfixed. Definitely dishy, Verity would previously have considered such a guy way out of her league. Now she's fantasising about what it'd be like to be spanked by this handsome hunk. Momentarily confused she can't think what in her subconscious prompted such submissive ideas. Blush-making, squirmy and subversive imaginings, this just isn't the sort of thing Verity does - until now.
Her Q&A session closes the day's formal proceedings, and everyone heads to the bar where Linton - they're almost immediately on first-name terms - seeks her out, proving charismatic and entertaining company, transparently in thrall to her manifest charms. Feeling her licentious mojo rising Verity fervently hopes his intentions are dishonourable. The serious career-driven woman who doesn't flirt at work changes her tune and accompanies Linton to his room.
