Shoe Store Assistant

In my days as a student, I earned a little extra as an assistant in a shoe store. One evening my boss had left me to mind the store on my own, because he had to attend some social thing with his wife. I had lost track of time, trying to work out the numbers for the day. I had been on my own in the store for some time when –just before closing time– a lady entered. She walked right up to the shoe racks and started looking at the shoes. I took a minute or two to look at her. She was in her late twenties or early thirties, not very tall with dark blonde, shoulder long hair. She was wearing a red sweater, a tight red spandex miniskirt and black pumps. She didn’t wear nylons. Her legs were quite tanned and muscular with hard, round thighs and calves. In these two minutes she already appeared very restless, as she kept pacing up and down in front of the shoes. “Can I help you?” I asked, walking up to her. For a moment, she was forced to stand still and immediately crossed her legs. By Jove, if it only were so. She told me that she was invited for a wedding the next day and had bought this gorgeous dress and needed a pair of equally gorgeous shoes to match it. In the meantime, she kept on crossing and uncrossing her legs. She pointed out four different shoes to me and asked me if she could fit them in her size. I took the shoes with me to the storage room to find the same ones in her size. It only took me a couple of seconds, but I took some time to secretly look at her from around the corner. She was still pacing up and down and every now and then she stopped to cross her legs. She also kept pulling the hem of her skirt down as it kept riding up. I decided to purposely “forget” one pair of shoes and re–entered. Again she was forced to stand still, but she hardly succeeded, continuously lifting each heel in turn, causing each of her thighs in turn to slightly pull up into her crotch. For a moment she hesitated. Then she swiftly walked to a chair and sat down, immediately crossing her legs. I followed her and kneeled down in front of her. She had already removed her old shoes. I slipped the first shoe on the bare foot that hung loose while observing with a shock of excitement and satisfaction that even while she had her legs crossed, I could see a tiny triangle of white cloth shining in between the spandex of her skirt and her squeezing thighs. Then she uncrossed her legs and the full length of her thighs unfolded right in front of my eyes uncovering the bulging crotch of her white cotton panties with in the middle the contours of her pussy lips. Then she re–crossed her legs the other way around to allow me to put on the other shoe. I could just hear how she sucked in her breath through her teeth. I was now sure: this woman was desperate for a pee. She got up to walk around on the new shoes. I didn’t dare to get up, because my hard–on would have shown through my pants. She stopped in front of a mirror to look at her feet, but couldn’t keep still for a moment, shifting her weight from one leg to another and back. God, she was almost pee–dancing. Suddenly she asked: “Can I please use your bathroom?” The way she asked it made my hard–on even harder. The pressure in her abdomen was almost audible. Especially the way she said “please” told the whole story: the effort it took to make her voice sound calm and composed, as if some invisible force made her ask something that she had put off as long as she could, just as she was putting off burying her hands in her crotch. My answer was a hard blow to her: “Sorry, our toilet is out of order. We use the one next door, but they should be closed by now”. She recovered from the shock, but I could see the worry in her eyes. She quickly returned to the chair to allow me to slip the second pair of shoes on her feet. Again, this was accompanied by one of the greatest spectacles of leg crossing and uncrossing that I was ever allowed to witness from so close by. She got up again and hobbled around. Even to the greatest idiot her desperation would have been obvious by now. She did a very sexy walking pee–dance. “They are great for dancing as well”, I said and she cast me a painfully smile. She danced back to the chair and crossed her legs while pressing her hand sideways between her thighs and under her skirt against her panty–crotch. “Ssssss… This is awful. I’m bursting. Please hurry!” Dancing around on the third pair, she had to hold herself. Nevertheless, she remembered the pair of shoes I had “forgotten”. Again, I took my time to find them and when I got back, she was already seated with her crossed legs impatiently squirming about. It was hard to put the shoes on because she couldn’t keep her legs still. All the time I kept an eye–and–a–half on her fingers that were pressing and squeezing in her panty–crotch, that seemed to become slightly transparent. She wanted to get up to walk around, but she had to re–cross her legs as another wave hit her. Finally, she did manage to hobble around a bit. After a bit of thinking accompanied by lots of dancing, crotch grabbing and leg crossing, she decided on buying two pairs. Even at the till, I watched her dancing legs and her hand in her panty–crotch through the glass counter. With an impatient gesture, she swept her change into her shopping bag with the shoes. She no longer had the ability to stand still while counting change, let alone put it in her purse. Then she started hobbling toward the door with tiny steps, squeezing her thighs together. I wanted to open the door for her, but then she froze, crossing her thighs, bending her knees. For several seconds, she stood there, her eyes closed, her whole body shaking with the effort to keep her sphincters shut. Then it happened: she grabbed a little boot that was within reach, uncrossed her legs, pulled up her skirt, squatted down holding the boot under her. There she was: right in front of me, peeing through her panties and I could see everything. Even through her panties, her stream was hard and kept going for at least a minute. Then she stood up, handed the boot to me and dashed out of the store, while tears ran down her cheeks. I never saw her again, but I took the boot home with me. It is still a precious souvenir to me.
Martin