Ballet Shoes Novels & Stories

Not only that the owner of this party asked Shaquelle and also Jerry to dance. Since Shaquelle couldn't dance she refused. She was just afraid that her foot would step on Jerry's, considering she was wearing high heels for the first time. But this time it was different from other shoes, the shoes were flat from front to back. "Come on, Miss Shasa, I want to see you dance with Mr. Jerry."

“To hold your hair back when I’m fucking you bent over my table later today. Let your hair down, but pin it out of the way. Come to me soon, my baby.” My core clenches and my cheeks redden at Mason’s dirty words. How can he manage to make innocent hair pins look so incredibly dirty? Next is a box of shoes. I pull it open to reveal the most intricately designed navy blue pumps. Woven flowers dotted with blinking diamonds decorate the back of each shoe, just above the heels. Something tells me those are real diamonds. Another note, “See those heels?” I pause to look at the straight, pointy heels. Walking in them might hurt a little bit.

I’m slowly losing my mind here, and it felt like I was growing claustrophobic in this massive penthouse. I pace the bedroom floor, so close to pulling out my hair, when my eyes fall on my pointe shoes hanging in my walk-in. Kai bought some after finding out about my love for ballet, and I hadn’t danced in nearly a week; I was starting to feel the agitation. I stop and look at them; hmm, perhaps dancing might ease my nerves a bit and calm my wolf. Grabbing the pointe shoes, I head downstairs barefoot to one of the powder rooms, which overlooks Central Park. I am sure that I saw a railing against the window there.

His eyes zero in on my shoes and immediately widen in horror. “I will admit that I hate salads and appreciate you supporting and encouraging me to eat real food if you explain what the fuck is on your feet!” he exclaims, “To quote a certain Wakandan; WHAT ARE THOSE?!” he cries, gesturing dramatically to my shoes. I glance down at the shoes on my feet, “Don’t you go dissing my sandals,” I say defensively. I love these shoes. They’re open-toed sandals with a large white cushioned platform base, neon yellow detailing, extra padding under the heel and two translucent neon yellow buckles that strap over the top. I think they’re great.

The brown-haired haired glanced upwards once that statement was heard. She was performing a perfect split on the floor and, glancing at Tessa, found her watching the first dancers. “One needs arched feet in ballet and although many aren't born with it, it's necessary to learn how to curve your feet perfectly. She, the one with dark hair, hasn't been consistent with it and since the floor isn't made of wood, it's easy to slip, and she'll…” “Ow!” A pained cry was heard from the floor, and Francess sharply glanced in the direction.

Everything has to be perfect. Next, I pull a shoebox out from under my bed. Wrapped up in tissue paper, untouched since I bought them two years ago, are the pearly white ballet-style shoes I bought for the dance. They were slightly too big when I bought them, but by now they might be too small. It sit down on the side of my bed, slipping my feet into the shoes. “A perfect fit,” I say to myself out loud. “Sorry to ruin your Cinderella moment,” Kitty says. She walks out of the ensuite bathroom, a towel wrapped around her and water dripping from her dark hair.

“Now we’re going to get you some decent shoes.” Danica’s face lights up like a summer’s day. Ah. Shoes...the way to every woman’s heart. In a nearby shoe shop, she chooses a pair of stout ankle boots in black. “You’ll need more than one pair of shoes,” I say. “These are all I need.” “Here, these are nice.” I hold up a pair of ballet flats. I wish they stocked high-heeled fuck-me shoes, but alas, everything in the store is practical. Danica hesitates.

It was one of the many little things I admired about her. She slid off her jeans and walked over to my open bedroom door, where her dress hung. Beneath was a box, and she removed the most gorgeous but dangerous-looking pair of shoes I'd ever seen. The heels were thin, like glass, but probably six inches tall. Gunmetal beads adorned the band across the foot and the cuff that went around the ankle. "You're really going to wear those?" I asked, wondering how she'd dance, let alone walk. "Of course, silly." She slid them on and buckled the cuff. She was nearly as tall as me. "Wow," I said as she unzipped the black garment bag.

Nothing to over the top when it came to jewelry, the dress was sparkly enough. I walked into my closet, went straight over to the shoe boxes packed away. I pulled the third box from the bottom, staring at the name, Rene Caovilla. I found my shoe, it was a pretty spiral silhouette, gold stiletto sandal, it wrapped around my lower leg and was covered in butterflies with crystal embellishments, made from satin and leather it would look amazing on my foot, the heel was a nice 105mm, which would give me the height I needed.

"Bought it and this time you can't return it." The next store she pulled me into was the shoe department. At this moment, the girl was talking to Arnav about something that didn't interest me. But the next thing I knew, a pair of plain beige 3-inch heels appeared before my eyes. "Pretty." That's all I'm saying because I honestly think it's because of Athena. However, it is for me. And this time Arnav paid the price. Please let the ground swallow me right now. How the hell am I supposed to wear that to this ball? I can't walk in those pencil heels.