A Good Ole Fashion Heel Orgy


Tracy was twenty when she went to her first heel orgy. It’s actually where she met her husband, Eric. There were very little words or pleasantries exchanged on their first meeting. No one goes to a heel orgy for the conversation. They go for the silent, fuckable, high-heeled company.

 

The host of this particular heel orgy was renowned as one of the best heel orgy hosts in the city. She was a baker who insisted on hosting properly with appetizers, a fully stocked bar, and, of course, a perfect display of genitalia themed baked goods.

Tracy and Eric met in the “break room” where all the food and drink was being displayed. She slid down the table in the kitchen picking up an assortment of food as her heels clacked on the tile floor. Eric came in, also completely naked except for his heels. He picked up a paper plate and started grabbing food from the table.

Tracy moved to the bar where she stood watching him out of the corner of her eye. She was enthralled with him. A lot of other men at the orgy looked like wobbly baby animals when they walked in their heels. They didn’t seem really confident until their penis was the main focus. Eric walked around in his four inch Louis Vuitton black boots like he was walking on a cloud.

He glided over to where she stood at the bar. Tracy was eating a penis shaped cookie. Eric picked up a cupcake with white chocolate running down the sides.

“Know what these are supposed to be called?” he asked Tracy looking sly. “Their Cum-Co-Nut Cum-Cakes.”

“Who told you that?” Tracy asked, now wholly unimpressed with his attempt at conversation.

“Amy did. While I was getting blown by Alex and she was licking his ass.”

“If her face was buried in an ass, how’d she tell you about this special Cum-Cake?”

“Don’t poke gloryholes in my joke. It makes for a terrible first impression,” he said setting his cupcake down. Tracy couldn’t tell if he was joking, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t.

Tracy glared at him and picked up the cupcake off his plate. She took it and squashed the frosting side of the dessert on his ass and dragged it all the way down to the top of his thigh. She began walking away.

“What the hell? Come clean this off me,” he yelled after her.

“You may want to ask Amy to help you. I think she knows more about your situation than I do.” Tracy said without looking back and going into another room to rejoin the events of the night.

Eric stood in the kitchen, frosting warming up and sliding down his leg, still hearing the echos of the clicking of her heels.