Steampunk Boots Womens Novels & Stories

Eve The closet smells of cedar and Italian leather. It’s a cavernous space, larger than the bedroom I had in my father’s house, filled with rows of designer clothes that Dominik bought to dress up his doll. I’m kneeling on the plush carpet in the back corner, where the boots are kept. I reach into the shaft of a black suede thigh-high boot, Stuart Weitzman, never worn, and pull out the phone. It’s small and cheap. A disposable burner with a plastic casing. It weighs nothing in my hand, but it feels heavy. Radioactive.

The silver weave catches the torchlight, emphasizing the lean, powerful contours of my chest and the clean line of my collarbones, sharp as hunting blades. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't recognize royal tailoring, little sister?" I whisper to the empty room, sliding my feet into the towering silver-rimmed boots. They are ridiculously high, designed to force a wolf into a tense, ready-to-strike posture, but my balance is absolute. I take three silent paces across the stone floor. Perfect.

This was the highest level of wealth she had ever witnessed. Then, the door to the Tesla opened fully, revealing a delicate, silver-glass stiletto. Eight-inch heels. Breathtakingly extravagant. The woman wearing them had legs so smooth they looked sculpted by the gods. And then, slowly, she stepped out in all her ethereal glory.

—D Heat stained her cheeks again and she pressed the back of a hand to her skin to cool it. Gosh, he was always making her blush, wasn’t he? She pulled the lid off the box . . . and gasped at the shoes inside. Silver platform peep-toe pumps with a nearly eight -inch heel. They were studded with tiny crystals all over the shoe leather, and glittered like Cinderella’s glass slipper. She picked one up wonderingly. It was enormously tall. She’d be a giant. They were garish and impractical and sky-high.

Her Amazonian figure sits well on her wafer thin-body. She sways her sculpted hips with every move. Her Christian Louboutin heels clicking on the floor with each step she takes. Heads turn to look at her. She's always modest in her dressing. Never showing any cleavage or dresses going beyond her mid-thighs. So today i am surprised with her Chanel Hollow V-Plunged Bandage Dress that exposes her cleavage. She pushes the door to the ladies bathroom.

Her straight as a pin violet hair hanging down to her waist, her piercing liquid silver eyes shining brightly amongst her indigenous features and warm brown skin. It doesn’t matter the century; she will always find a way to present herself as the Warrior Goddess. She’s wearing a black leather steampunk one-shoulder halter top with an overbust corset with a buckle over the chest and buckles over the hips. She’s also wearing iron armour weave print leggings and thick black shin-length boots with clasps down the sides and steel caps. She looks like a warrior from another world and not someone you want to mess with. I get up from the couch and walk over to her, “I needed someone to talk to.”

We left the three shoe stores with four pairs of boots, so not quite the one for each day of the week like Jake had suggested, but I could work on that… seeing Lilah’s face light up at something as simple as boots melted my heart… though if them boots stood on my feet my heart would not me melting, I would be cursing! They were big and chunky and far from lady like, but she loved them, they made her happy so it made me happy. There were a brown pair with thick chunky soles, which reached up to her knees, buckles up her calves. The other three pairs were black with similar variations in chunky soles - all that I knew was if it stood on your toe it would likely crush it….one pair was an ankle

"We’re leaving the territory." My heart leaped. "Where?" I asked, my face lighting up. I didn't care if it was a funeral; I was getting out. "You’ll see," he said, turning toward the subterranean garage. "Don't keep the engine waiting." I pried open the box and gasped. Inside was a pair of the most exquisite tactical-chic boots I’d ever seen. Tall, obsidian leather, supple as a second skin, with silver buckles that gleamed like moonlight at the ankles.

"Speaking of feet, your boots look fantastic on you, Mom." "Yeah fantastically slutty you mean, but I guess that is why you bought them for me huh, Tony." Slutty indeed as the black leather boots with their 4.5 inch stiletto heels come all the way up to her knees. He doesn't bother to respond. Instead he gives her a wan smile indicating what she said is the truth.