I Broke In My New Toy With the Help of My Sneakers

This little memory is short and, honestly, it doesn’t carry much weight in the whole sequence of things I’m going to tell you about my life and about how I became a sneaker fetishist. But it was the first. And the first ones, you know, you never forget them.

Back then I was dating a guy who was handsome, smart, and very well endowed. It ended for a silly reason: he liked lush women with big curves, and I’m the exact opposite. Skinny, small, not much to offer in that department. Even so, I think that during the time we were together we enjoyed each other pretty well. I hold nothing against him.

During that time, Mateo and I had been to a couple of sex shops in the city center. We went half-joking, half-serious, looking for things to play with. We left with handcuffs, a couple of cheap outfits, little trinkets I don’t even remember. But not a dildo. That day I didn’t dare. And yet the itch stayed with me, that curiosity that gnaws from the inside and doesn’t let you go.

So one day, after work, I put on my sneakers and went alone to the store where I had seen the model that caught my eye. The girl who helped me was kind, patient with all my stupid questions, and within minutes I had made up my mind. I paid, tucked the box into my bag like I was carrying a secret, and went home with an urgency I hadn’t felt in a long time. I couldn’t wait to try it.

***

That day, besides being horny, I missed Mateo’s hands. I missed being touched, being grabbed a little roughly, having someone decide for me for a while. But I didn’t have that, and a girl learns to make do. So instead of diving in headfirst, I decided to set a mood. I wanted breaking in the toy to be something, not just a quick chore before bed.

I made myself a pair of pigtails. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it turned me on; it made me feel naughty. I put on a very short, tight little dress, with nothing underneath, one of those that let you caress yourself through the fabric and feel everything. Since I was playing at the “innocent girl” thing, I tied on some white ankle socks with little ruffles, the kind that are all cutesy, and only then did I put on my sneakers. That time I chose white ones with red details, thick-soled, a pair I’d only recently bought and absolutely loved.

I turned on the diffuser with a sweet scent. I put on soft music, the kind that asks nothing of you. I dimmed the lights until the room was bathed in a warm half-dark. I sat on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath, and started touching myself slowly, over the dress, feeling the fabric slide against my skin.

Since I wanted the first time with my toy to be a good experience, I had promised myself I’d go slow. Take care of myself calmly. So I started at the top, stroking my breasts through the fabric, imagining they were Mateo’s hands and not my own. I pressed my thighs together, wishing it were his fingers making their way in. I closed my eyes and let the fantasy take shape on its own.

In my head, he didn’t just touch me: he gave me instructions. He told me what to do, where to put my hands, how long to hold out. And I, fully in character, started answering him out loud, as if he were really there, sitting in a chair and watching me.

—Yes, whatever you say —I whispered into the pillow.

—Won’t it hurt? —I asked afterward, biting my lip.

—Is this okay, what we’re doing? —I said, and the simple fact of saying it turned me on even more.

By the time I realized it, I’d already touched my whole body. My neck, behind my ears, my breasts, my belly, my ass, my thighs, my ankles. I was trembling a little, breathing shallowly, really wet. And I still hadn’t taken the toy out of the box.

***

I took it in both hands. It was new, cold, perfect. I turned it on and it started vibrating against my palm, and just feeling that vibration made me regret not having bought it months earlier. Why had I waited so long? I ran it slowly along the inside of my thigh, moving upward, letting the hum anticipate what was coming. When I finally pressed it against the place that needed it most, a sound slipped out of me that I couldn’t control.

I moved it in circles, unhurried, learning what I liked. Sometimes I pressed it only a little, sometimes I pushed until my legs tensed on their own. I discovered that if I slid it to one side and then back to the center, the pleasure grew deeper, more impatient. Every change in angle pulled a different response from me, and I kept learning myself by heart, like someone studying a new map of her own body.

I paused for a moment, just to breathe. My forehead was slick with a fine layer of sweat, my chest rising and falling fast, and between my legs there was a pulse that wouldn’t settle down. I liked that pause, that edge right before going on, that promise that the best part hadn’t happened yet.

I was soaked. So much so that when I decided to insert it, it slid in without effort, as if my body had been waiting for it for a while. I arched. I stayed still for a second, feeling it inside me, getting used to that new sensation of being filled. And then, right there, I came up with the idea that would end up marking me forever.

I wanted to keep touching myself with both hands free. I didn’t want to hold the toy; I wanted to use my hands on myself, to caress the rest of my body while the dildo did its work. The problem was obvious: someone had to keep it in place. And with the weird position it had ended up in on the bed, the solution came to me on its own.

I held it in place with my sneakers.

Let me explain properly, because that position would end up turning me on an awful lot on later occasions. I was lying on my back, with both hands completely free to roam wherever I wanted. The dildo was inside me, penetrating me, nearly pinning me to the mattress. My legs were bent and open in a froggy position. And I controlled the toy’s angle and pressure with the help of the sole of my sneaker.

The thick sole gave an amazing grip. Since they were huge high-platform sneakers, I didn’t need to bend my legs nearly as much as you’d think; a small movement of my feet was enough to push or ease off. And on top of that, they gave me stability so I could brace myself and rock my hips without losing my balance. It was comfortable and obscene at the same time, and that mix drove me crazy.

With my hands finally free, I started roaming over myself again. I pinched my breasts, stroked my belly, went down to where the toy filled me, and rubbed in slow circles while my feet set the rhythm. Every time I pushed with the sole, the dildo sank in a little deeper, and I answered with my voice, still in character.

—Yes, like that, however you want —I gasped, and I no longer knew whether I was saying it to imaginary Mateo or to myself.

The pleasure built in waves. One thought pushing into the next. I pressed my feet together, arched my back, rubbed faster. I could feel the heat rising from my center, spreading through my belly, climbing up to my chest. My pigtails had come partly undone, my dress had ridden all the way up, and I no longer cared about anything except getting there.

***

That day I lost control completely. The orgasm that shook me was one of those that come only a few times in life, the kind that leave you deaf for a second and empty you out completely. I came with my body arched, my feet still pushing the toy, a muffled cry against the back of my own hand. And after the first wave came another, shorter one, almost like an echo, while I trembled uncontrollably.

I was wrecked on the bed. It took me a while to catch my breath. When I tried to sit up, my legs were shaking so badly it took me two tries to manage it. The toy was still vibrating somewhere in the sheets; I barely managed to turn it off by some miracle.

And then I noticed it. My dress was wet, the little ruffles on my ankle socks were damp, and even my sneakers had traces of it. I had come so hard that I’d stained everything I was wearing, including the sole I’d used to hold the toy in place.

I sat there staring at them for a while, still flushed, with a stupid grin on my face. I should have felt embarrassed, I suppose. Instead, I felt curious. A new idea, warm, settling into some corner of my head. Getting my sneakers wet that night left me thinking about things, ideas that later I would end up putting into practice with some guys, and that only kept feeding, one after another, my love for sneakers and my fetish for them.

But that, my darlings, will have to be a story for another time.

Kisses.