Paul sat in his first class of the day reflecting on what a good week it had been. Paying attention was less than important. School was of no importance. Who needed Chemistry? Not him. Chemistry was insignificant compared to the abundance of sandal-clad girls on campus. Chemistry was insignificant compared to the casted beauties he had stolen long stalkerish glances at. It was only Wednesday and he’d seen three so far.

All three of them he had seen at work. Like a lot of college students he worked at the mall at a job that paid okay wages. Paul never needed to work though. Unlike the majority of Paul’s peers Paul’s family was very wealthy. He only ever worked just so he could feed his addictions. He was addicted to people. He was addicted to feet. He was addicted to casts. Paul was a peopleaholic. He loved stealing glances at women’s feet as they hurried through a mall, he loved to watch the occasional casted female crutch through the mall unsure of herself perched atop a pair of crutches, and Paul just loved to flirt with women.

Paul was very picky when it came to just about everything. He worked in a show store. He didn’t just work in any shoe store though. He worked in the trendy upscale shoe store. He didn’t want to help overweight housewives slip their unkept feet into unbecoming athletic shoes. Paul wanted to help a fashionable twenty-something slip her delicate foot into an expensive designer shoe that brought out the musculature of her calf. All the shoes in Paul’s store were stylish and chic. They were the latest in fancy foot fashion. The only negative about those well-manicured tootsies was that a lot of them were slight disfigured with bunions and other foot maladies.

Paul’s first two sightings had been on Sunday. The first was a cute high school- aged girl browsing around the store with a gaggle of girl friends. Her left wrist was sheathed in a fresh white cast to her elbow. All five finely manicure fingers were exposed. The cast didn’t do much for Paul. Not only did it not fit his strict cast criteria, but he wasn’t even granted the mild pleasure of it being a thumb spica. Paul wasn’t a big fan of arm casts, nor was he a fan of fresh casts. Paul paid no mind to this waste of fiberglass. Had the cast been on her thin legs and around her small foot, Paul might have been interested. Had that theoretical leg cast been covered in signatures and a month's worth of wear then Paul would have definitely been interested.

There are exceptions to everything, even preference. On Paul’s last break of the evening he made his way over to the food court for a quick espresso fix. As he sat at his table in the corner sipping his over-priced over-caffeinated beverage the exception strolled right in.

She was in her early to mid forties, but didn’t look a second over thirty. She dressed very conservatively in loose, baggy, charcoal Donna Karan slacks, a pair of slip-on Steve Maddens, a tightly black blouse, and a very worn arm cast. The woman hung her many bags from the crook the cast made at the elbow. The cast was white fiberglass, or at least it used to be. It was kind of a yellowish beige color. The cast stretched from her fingers to her shoulder. The poor thumb was imprisoned by the cast as well. A few lengthy messages graced the surface of the cast, and the stockinette at both ends was mildly dirty.

Paul spent his break watching her watching him. After his break was over she attempted to inconspicuously follow him back to work. Once they finally reached his place of employment she pretended to look around the store for a couple minutes. She was definitely interested in him. She hadn't realized that there was already a bag from Paul's store hanging from her broken wing. The woman asked to try on a pair of shoes. As Paul rummaged through the back he wondered if these were the shoes that were already in her bag.

Paul's interest for the woman increased ten fold as he knelt down and removed the woman's shoes. Her bare feet were small and cute. Her little toes were coated with a mouth-watering candy apple red polish. A thin gold anklet rested lazily on her ankle. The faint sweet smell of sweat mixed with leather danced inside Paul's nostrils.

As he slipped on a pair of expensive sandals she inquired about what time he got off work. Like a valet attendant with precision and care Paul made sure the woman's cute little toes made into their appropriate parking spots. As the woman wiggled her toes in the sandals Paul agreed that he would gladly go home with her.

Going home with customers wasn't out of the ordinary for Paul. It was so out of the ordinary that it was almost customary. The fact that the woman's arm was in a cast was out of the ordinary. Paul rarely found himself going home with the casted patrons of his store. There wasn't a particular reason. Things just didn't work out that way.

Paul spent the night with his tongue lapping at the woman's fingers, toes, tongue, and clit. In bed she was like a bloodthirsty beast. She devoured his not so modest member with her mouth and that warm region between her thighs.

Just before Paul left she gave him what he came for. She gave him her cast. She trapped Paul's erection between her soft fingers, and the rough palm of her cast. It was then that she gave and he received the most awkward hand job of their lives. It wasn't long before Paul was telling her that he was close to dirtying her cast further. Instead of her hand releasing she just stroked even harder. Paul exploded like an active volcano. His semen was all over her cast. The volcano almost erupted again when she cleaned up the mess with her tongue.

It wasn't until Paul staggered into his apartment late that night that he realized he knew neither the woman's name nor how she acquired the cast on her arm. This only concerned Paul for the 15 minutes it took him to get ready for bed. He laid his head down on the pillow and went to sleep knowing he had just gotten the fucking of a lifetime.

Paul's third sighting came halfway through his Tuesday shift at work. It was something Paul would remember for quite some time. She and her boyfriend came in at about 5 p.m. They both looked straight out of J Crew catalogue. She wore a tan turtleneck that clung to her thin waist and ample chest. She also wore a pair of tight jeans with those unnatural worn marks on the top of the thigh. On her left foot was a very comfortable looking slip-on clog. The piece of footwear on her right foot did not match the one on her left. Paul's jaw dropped. It was beautiful. The cast and the way it was worn catered to everything about casts that Paul liked.

The cast was definitely very old. It had to be. She walked on it as if that were just a bulkier version of the shoe on her left foot. Paul couldn't believe that she was walking on it like that. There was no walking heel attached, she didn't wear a cast shoe, and she wasn't on crutches. She just walked on it.

The cast was beautifully atrocious. It was definitely a former white. The color it was now was far more than the typical worn cast beige. The stockinette by the toes was dirty, torn, and frayed. The surface of the cast was a mix of dirt and what used to be signatures. At one point the cast was a mosaic of Get Well Soon's written in with every shade of marker ever made. All that was left were the blurred remnants of empathy.

"Had the cast ever been changed?" He wondered to himself. It sure as hell didn't look like it. A lot of miles had definitely been put on that cast. Paul had never seen a cast in that bad a shape. It looked as though she were wearing it until it fell off.

Being the eager employee he was Paul took charge and made sure that this couple were his with a glance at his coworkers. He didn't care about the commission. He just wanted her to try on a shoe or two. He wanted to spend the rest of the day on his knees at her feet.

"Would you like the try that on?" Paul quickly glanced down at her toes. He wondered how bad that cast smelled. Paul was mildly ashamed of how much foot and cast odor turned him on. A worn smelly leg cast reduced Paul to a small puddle of testosterone.

"Sure." She seemed like such a carefree girl. The way she laughed and carried on with her boyfriend. The way she paid absolutely no attention to the cast. Had she ever? Did she cry when she broke whatever? What did the cast look like freshly applied? Had she ever cared? Had she ever used crutches?

Paul's heart raced. He was out of breath. His put his hand on one of the shelves in the back to steady himself. He wanted nothing more than to throw her on the floor and bury his tongue deep inside of the dirty sole of the girl's cast.

"Get a hold of yourself." Paul took a deep breath and wore his fake smile back out onto the floor. Nothing was wrong. Nope. Everything was peachy. He just wanted to whip his cock out and beat off all over her dirty cast. That was all. Nothing was wrong. Just peachy.

From a distance Paul noticed that she had already removed her clog. This was it. He was about to kneel down at her feet. He was about to slip this overpriced shoe onto her bare foot, and stare at her cast every chance he got.

As he knelt down in front of her he was immediately smacked over the head with the horribly pleasant scent of her cast. Like a pungent plaster poesy. Not once did she apologize for her odorous cast as he slipped the shoe onto her slightly sweaty barefoot. She wiggled her dirty toes as she waited for Paul to finish lacing up the shoe. All her toes were roughly the same length, void of polish, and had this cute look to them. They were so cute in their normalcy.

She rested her cast on the outside edge of the foot. The bottoms of her toes were staring at Paul. They were taunting him. The way they were almost black from the dirty mall floor. The cast was a similar color and deteriorated. It was then that Paul noticed that cracks in fiberglass near her toes. She walked around the store testing out the shoe on her left foot. Paul just kept his eyes glued to the cast. He watched as her toes hit the ground with every step she took.

"Doesn't it hurt walking around in a cast like that?" Paul couldn't believe he had just asked that. Paul never asked why? They had to tell him. He had to overhear it. Now. Now he was on that road to asking.

"Nope. It's been about 8 weeks since I broke my leg. My leg is fine. The bone has healed. I can feel it. The doctor is removing the cast tomorrow anyway." She sat back down extended her left foot and wrinkled her face. She was giving Paul the pleasure of removing the shoe. He could smell the cast again. He felt like he was going to die just out of sheer pleasure."

"What happened to your leg?" There it was. He asked. He was so enchanted by the smell that it seemed natural to ask.

"I tripped." She teased him. Paul couldn't bring himself to ask anymore. He had already gone too far. The girl slipped her foot back in her clog. Paul was still on his knees as they left the store laughing and giggling just as they had been doing when they came in.