Skewered on Spikes by Miss Irene Clearmont

Book Details

Skewered on Spikes – Frank loves his job, but it could be better! Indeed it could and when he is offered a new job as manager of his own shoe shop, he takes the chance and starts working for the attractive Mrs Verbero.

But, all is not as it seems… because Mrs Verbero has an interesting business idea that just needs the correct person to put it all into practice. Her idea is simple, who better than an avid shoe fetishist to sell the upmarket stilettos that her shop offers. Frank is that man, Frank is the man that will learn that exceptional service is what he is about to be trained in…

Setting: London 1985

F/m, F/f, Trans/m, BDSM, Shoe Fetish, Corporal Punishment, Blackmail, Dominatrices.

Strength 7/10 – 20,000 Words

Written 2012 Re-edit 2022

Excerpt: Skewered on Spikes

You put high heels on, and you change – Manolo Blahnik

One – Uppers and Downers

It was women’s shoes that he loved to sell. This sight of pointed toes slipping into their leather holster. That first moment when she stood and tested a step in those high heels, the satisfaction on her face when she looked in the mirror and saw the transformation wrought by the stilettos. Best of all, when he kneeled at her feet and slipped on the shoe itself, scarcely able to breathe as it slipped over nylon and the heel touched down over the spike. No doubt about it, Frank was obsessed, but it never showed.

How could it? Working in a world of shoes where men and women shod their feet. One misplaced word, one hint of the erection that tented the pants of his suit, one step awry and all would be lost. Every day, Frank moved to his sales position and hoped for more. Every day there were small moments of excitement and many of disappointment. The shop, a faceless purveyor of clothes and shoes and in the centre, at the heart of it, the shy and withdrawn Frank served and scurried from the shop floor to the stores.

One day it would happen, the fitting to be remembered forever. The one that would supply a host of repressed fantasies and needs. One day it would happen. Of course, it never did. Customers came, customers went and though the women that he gently persuaded to enter the world of high heels and patent boots were so satisfied with his service, that service was never recognised as anything more than a bland assistant whose attention to detail was perhaps just a little over the norm.

One day it would happen, but until then, Frank lived in his head, enjoyed his little fantasies and was the perfect employee. Diligent, never missing, always on time and oh-so polite.

One day it happened…

*****

Frank Earnest Lye lived with his name in a love-hate relationship. There were no end of jokes about being ‘frank and earnest’ and the surname was no great help either! It had given him a fear of introducing himself that had resulted in an introverted character and a definite fear of women that drove him into a lonely existence.

Most of his teachers in school mistook his withdrawn demeanour as a sign of thoughtfulness or perhaps shy intelligence, but the truth was that he was simply a man that lived in the shadow of a name that had been given to him in some obscure fit of jocularity by his father, while his mother lay in the hospital recovering from her hard labour.

A thoughtless father that thought that Oscar Wilde’s best known play was a good guide to giving his son a name! So Frank left college under a cloud of disappointed teachers who could not understand that he was not a quiet genius, but a man in whom great hopes had been misplaced, a man destined to go nowhere and do nothing in particular.

Frank found solace on the Internet. It was a shadowed space, a false world, a place where his name was of no note, a locale where he could change his name and become Gary or Hugh with a few taps on the keys on his keyboard. In the real world he was Frank Earnest Lye and worked in a men’s outfitters and shoe shop as a sales assistant. On the net he was Gary Ghent, a browser of porn sites and chat rooms where his nick name was ‘Submeek’, a man who found solace in virtual sex.

He discovered quickly that all of the circle of people on the chat rooms were probably also not at all frank and earnest about their lives. Men posing as women. Women posing as men and others whose sex was concealed behind a wall of fetishistic fantasy. Maybe they were not sure themselves and hesitated to allow others the power to judge.

Submeek, a man who shied from women and avoided men homed in on his personal fetish. Every variation of fetish sex was on offer, like a vast menu in a restaurant that had no discernable limits. From submissive to aggressive, from leather to lace, from men and women to every aberration between the two. There was no doubt that he was not a man whose sexual preference was women, but inside this broad spectrum he drifted towards the pictures, films and stories about women who made men their playthings.

He collected films and pictures of women who wore all the uniform of dominance in all of its variations. There was a common denominator in all this finery, this uniform of the dominatrix that attracted him; it was a focus of similarity and the locus of his fetish. Women who told their men what they had to do, always teetered on stilettos that were like the weapons of war between the sexes. A war that Submeek hoped he would one day lose.

Shoes, spikes, stilettos and boots. So he passed the day serving men who wanted suits and shirts with matching ties, handkerchiefs and shoes. A world of brogues, dress shoes, casual sandals and loafers. Occasional women who wanted flats, trainers and court shoes. Sandals and Oxfords… The moments of sheer joy and hopeful service that evaporated moments later as he watched them walk away on the heels he had sold.

On his computer, at night, beyond the portal to that other world he found women who slipped on boots, oxfords, stilettos, wedges and sling-backs. He found that occasionally the two worlds collided and he could not help but admire some woman’s legs or feet. He spent his time looking down at the floor whilst others looked at faces, breasts and décolletages.

Life drifted on and Frank quietly moved from sales assistant to under-manager with unintentional drift that was aided by the fact that no other manager thought of him as a threat to their own ambition. Frank and earnest he certainly was, but mild and compliant also. As he progressed by doing as he was told he became ever more inverted, more introverted and more involved in a fantasy life that hinged on his obsession with women’s footwear.

Excerpt from: Skewered on Spikes