And those shoes…well, it was the shoes that gave her away when she walked in the door. No sensible black heels for your little secretary, no she’s wearing tall black stacked heels, with buckles and straps encasing her delicate feet atop sky high heels so that she’s always precariously balanced just so. It makes you ache to knock her off guard, to strip her of all clothing and artifice to reveal the girl beneath. To make her beg, to make her crawl across the plush carpet of your office, completely naked except for those shoes, her silk stockings, that garter belt encircling her narrow waist. To put her across your lap and spank her until the professional gloss fades, until the steely exterior cracks and she’s moaning and crying, her ass red and hot in the palm of your hand. To put her on your desk, to tie her down, to fuck her, her mouth, her ass, that glistening valley between her heaving breasts as she slides her tongue out to meet your swollen glans on every stroke. To watch her eyes go wide when you hit the button on the intercom and call the office interns in, the same interns she’s tormented and treated like shit over the past few weeks, the same interns she cockteased all the while looking down her perfect nose.

Some people might not think so (and I guess those are the types of people who openly notice footwear), but little details like shoes can tell you so much.