Mismatched Shoes

If you are willing to toe the line, run your fastest, or jump your highest - victory can be yours!

-- Shoes And Socks --

"I know what I said! If you passed your certification on the first try, I said I would run around the block buck naked, in broad daylight,. You passed the test, you win, And now I run - happy?" Jack quietly reaffirmed his intention to never, ever bet against his wife again.

"Oh c'mon sweetie, it won't be that bad." Sylvia was thoroughly enjoying her husband's discomfort. "Who's going to be 'up' at this time anyway?" She just hoped he'd never find out that she'd actually passed the certification test before the bet was made. "Tell you what. I'll even let you wear your favorite running shoes. Socks too, I wouldn't want you to hurt your feet."

Jack finished putting on his shoes, walked to the front door, and opened it wide. He found the situation oddly stimulating. Was it the cool morning air or the thought of someone actually seeing a naked man running through the neighborhood? At the first sign of the sun cresting the horizon he was off. He sprinted across the lawn and onto the sidewalk, knees churning, feet flying.

Sylvia calmly picked up her cell phone and sent a text message to a pre-selected group of female neighbors. She walked slowly down the hall to their bedroom, peeling off her t-shirt and pajama bottoms. She inhaled, stretched her arms overhead, then exhaled bending forward, easily touching her toes. She turned on the shower.

Nine minutes and 27 seconds after leaving the house Jack returned. His erection proudly leading the way, neither waving, nor bobbing up and down, more like the bowsprit of a great sailing ship.

"Sylvia!" He glanced quickly around the living room.

"Sylvia! That was a dirty trick you played on me!" The kitchen was empty. And so was the dining room.

"Syl..." Checking their bedroom he found his wife, kneeling on their bed, nude, looking back at him over her shoulder.

"Forgive me?"

-- The Initiation --

"You already know I did! Amy and Tess watched me get dressed." How was I dressed? Like a little school girl, with a grey plaid skirt, long sleeve white blouse, and white freakin' knee sox. This was so unfair. It wasn't my fault that I had the flu last week during the initiations. None of the other girls had to do this. All they had to do was jerk off or blow one of the frat boys. Big deal, like that's a challenge, five minutes, and done. This was - what they decided that I had to do was so much more embarrassing.

"Ok Julia, you're looking good. Now show me." Cynthia, the sister in charge of the initiation, commanded me. "Come on, you can do this. That's it, higher, a little higher."

I lifted my skirt until it was bunched at my hips. I felt the heat rise in my face. Cynthia knelt to inspect me and I felt a flash of heat in my pussy. Cynthia stood and looked me in the eye. I was trembling now; arousal pushing my embarrassment aside.

Cynthia looked over her shoulder into the shoe store and then back at me. "Showtime, Jules. Remember, the more the merrier, every little bit counts. Make us proud pledge."

He was sitting on one of those funny little shoe store stools, surrounded by boxes of strappy stiletto heeled shoes. I'd tried on just about every different style and color, each time allowing my skirt to slide higher up my thighs. There was no doubt that I had his complete and undivided attention. I lifted my leg that extra bit higher, I heard a gasp, and then the naughty girl inside me moved my other knee outward.

That night, at my formal welcoming into the sorority, my blouse was hung next to the others. The room lights were turned off, and the UV light turned on. I felt a real sense of accomplishment. Mine was the best, glowing with four large stains.

I'm just glad the old guy in the shoe store didn't die of a heart attack or something.

-- Stalking --

I was stalking wild intern. My prey was the recently hired, teasingly blonde, and whippet sleek, Mona.

I tossed a pencil up and over light fixture. The monofilament line followed obediently. I tied the line to a small box of chocolates and adjusted the height. Mona had revealed her love of chocolate in one of our first conversations. This small box was suspended seven feet and four inches above the floor in the copying room. I placed the lone step stool in position and got into my 'blind;' a desk in the adjacent room that I oriented towards the copy room. I was crouching beneath it, peering out through the utility hole. Perfect.

I heard Mona before I saw her. She was barely over five foot, and wore platform shoes with high heels to get her up to average height. As she walked she had a distinctive "clump-clump-clump" that signaled her coming and going. She came clumping down the hall and walked right past my 'blind' the scent of Obsession lingering after her passage. She entered the copy room and stopped - target acquired.

She was wearing the black platforms, with white patterned stockings, a tight gray skirt, and a long sleeve blouse. She put a stack of papers on the table, looking at the box of chocolate twirling slowly overhead. She turned and looked right at my desk 'blind', then up and down the hallway.

She moved the step stool into position, and reached for the box. She used her other hand to steady herself and stretched up. The hem of her skirt rode up her stockings to reveal white lace and two snaps; a garter belt! This was working better then I'd expected. C'mon, what color are your panties?

She reached up again, her heels lifting slightly. C'mon. C'mon. She glanced behind her, pulled her skirt over her hips and stretched up on tip toe. She climbed down off the stool - triumphant - chocolate box in hand.

The plan originally called for me to walk into the room. This was the moment! I mean, my God, this was my chance!

But I dare not move. I knew too much.

How could I possibly explain the slowly expanding stain on the front of my khakis?

How was I to know before, what I knew now to be true beyond any doubt.

Mona wasn't wearing panties!