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                             JOHN DARK REPOST
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                           =====================
You're not allowed to read sexually explicit material
like this until your 18th birthday.
Men's sexual performance declines after age 18.
I'm sure there's a connection.

                           =====================
                               Feet Are Neat 
                               by  MIKE HUNT
                              mrm1ke@aol.com

It was my first real job. I mean, I had cleaned people's yards and done
babysitting and stuff like that, but working in the shoe store was the
first job where I had to show up at a certain time and got a paycheck every
Friday. I had applied for 6 jobs before summer vacation and gotten 2 
offers. The other job had been in a fast-food place, but they were paying 
$.35 less per hour, so I chose the shoe store.

It was terminally boring, and for a while I wondered if I had made a bad
decision. At least at the fast-food place I'd be with other teenagers and
would see some customers once in a while. Ah well.

I'd been at work nearly a month when SHE came in. It was another dead
Tuesday in a dead store in a dead mall. I had just come back from lunch
and told Bill, the assistant manager, to take his. I knew he was meeting
his girlfriend at a restaurant.

"Take your time," I told him. "Nothing's happening here, anyway."
The real manager only came by on Fridays. He was in charge of nine stores,
and ours was the worst performer, something he reminded us of weekly.
There wasn't anything we could do about it, this mall was in a bad
section of town, and got no traffic.

Anyway, I was alone in the store when a nice looking woman in her 30's
came in. She walked around checking out the displays, picking up a couple
of samples. As she walked around, I got to see her from front, back and
sides. I had to say she was pretty nice looking, I mean for an older woman
and all. She had a decent figure, with a thin waist and nice chest. But
I especially noticed her legs, which were long, muscular, and tanned. As
she sat down I approached her and asked if there was anything specific
she'd like to see. She handed me three samples.

Women are funny about shoes, you know? They like to look and shop, and
admire and try on, and look and shop some more. Up until that day I liked
men shoppers better. They come in to buy. They try on one pair, maybe two,
make their purchase and leave.

I figured I was in for a half-hour of running back and forth to the
stockroom, opening boxes, and all. What crap. If I had only known what
lay ahead, I'm sure my attitude would have been better.

"And what size are you?" I asked, summoning my most helpful salesman voice.

"I really don't know," she said. "It keeps changing, as I lose and gain
weight." My sister was constantly dieting, so I knew what that was like.

"Well let's find out," I said. I pulled up my little salesman's bench
in front of her and slid it up until I was at the right distance to measure
her. I was sitting on the cushioned part of the bench, straddling the
inclined end with my legs. I reached out and took hold of her ankle and
slipped one of her shoes off her feet. Then I set her foot down on the
sloped part of the stool in between my legs. I was holding her foot in the
metal measuring plate when she began to twitch.

"You're tickling me," she said. "It's uncomfortable. Well, not
uncomfortable, just, ah, well, it tickles." I hadn't faced this before.

"Sorry," I said, lamely. "It looks like you're a 5, maybe a 5-and-a-half.
B or C." I wasn't too precise because I hadn't had much experience. Bill
had trained me to do it that way, since I didn't want to call out one size
and end up having to argue with the customer as I brought out other sizes
later. If they questioned me, Bill told me to tell them that some import
manufacturers ran their sizes a little smaller or a little larger than
American manufacturers. It was bullshit, but it sounded plausible, I guess.

I released her foot, and she clipped my thigh with her toes as she pulled
it back. I told her that she would have to put on some "peds" to try on
shoes, and we weren't allowed to have customers' bare feet in the shoes.
I walked over to the register and got a pair of the thin nylon booties.
Then I disappeared into the stockroom, and returned a few moments later
with her three samples in the correct sizes.

I handed her the peds. "Put them on me," she said. That was also new.
I'd never had a woman tell me to do that; they'd always just taken the
little slippers and put them on themselves. I didn't care.

Again I straddled my little bench. I picked up first one foot and put
the bootie on, then the other. It felt nice, holding this woman's leg in
my hand. I offered her the first pair of shoes. They were a pair of
sideless dress pumps with a single strap around the back. As I helped
her into them, I made some idle conversation. One of the questions I
asked was how many pairs of shoes she had.

"Oh, I don't know, 50 or 60, I suppose," she answered.

"Jeez, really? What do you do with all of them?" I asked.

"Some are for work and some are for play and some are for sports and some,
well, woman just love shoes. And I'm a woman, and I love shoes. My husband
asks me the same question all the time."

I said "I understand why. You must take over the whole closet." During
the entire conversation I was putting her shoes on, caressing her feet,
rubbing her soles, touching her toes.

"Besides," she continued, "shoes are sexy. You know? I mean they can be,
and they are, sometimes, you know?"

With my limited sexual experience I could say I had no idea what she was
talking about. But was I going to tell her that? Nooooooo.

She bent one of her knees and pulled her leg up, bringing the shoe closer
to her face. But as she did so, the front of her dress opened, and I got
a nice look up it at her shapely legs. I even got a flash of her panties
before she put her leg back down.

She got up and walked around in a small circle, examining the shoes and
testing their comfort. She walked over in front of a floor mirror and
looked at them again. The mirror was set on brackets at a slight angle,
to let the customers see the shoes more easily. She came back and sat down.

"So?" I said. "Want them?"

"I don't know. Let's try on the others," she replied.

I put her foot back between my legs on the tilted surface of the bench,
and began to take off the shoes. While she was up walking around, I had
what I thought was a bright idea. I had moved the bench a few inches closer
to her chair, so when her foot came to rest her knee was bent a little
more than before. If I just got my head down a little lower, I'd be able
to see up to her thighs.

I brought out the next pair, an all black spike high heel. Again I slipped
them on her feet, and again I managed to get her to flex her knees and
let me see up those beautiful thighs. From the corner of my eye I saw her
smirking at me, but I didn't think she really knew what I was trying to
do. Or maybe she did. Who knew?

She got up and walked around. As she did, her hands went to her skirt and
she hiked it up to mid-thigh. She wanted to see what it would look like with
a short skirt on, I guessed. I think these were what some women call their
"fuck-me" shoes. Apparently they were for a particular outfit she had.

She walked over to the floor mirror, still holding her dress up several
inches above her knee. She called me over. I got up and walked over to her.

"Here, look. These hurt a little on my toes," she said to me. I bent down
on one knee and began squeezing on the shoes to see how much room there
was in the shoes. As I did so, I realized that I was at the perfect angle
to see up her skirt in the floor mirror, especially if she continued to
hold it up higher than usual.

I worked and massaged her foot, all the while staring intently into the
mirror. God did she have beautiful legs, and I could see all the way up
to her crystal white panties. This was a trick I would have to remember
for use during the rest of the summer! After a couple minutes it became
obvious that she had made her decision. But she still wasn't tell me what
it was. "Decided?" I asked.

"Maybe later. For now, let's try on the last pair. None of these has been
perfect, so far, though I like them both. Come on, honey." I hated it when
older women called me "honey."

She returned to her chair, I to my bench. The third box contained a pair
of sandals with incredibly long tie-strings. They were intended to wrap
around and around the woman's leg, finally tying somewhere behind the knees.
The style was called "Gladiator", I guessed because the laces were
reminiscent of Roman soldiers. This was going to be interesting, I thought.

As I sat down, I pulled my bench in another couple of inches. I began by
putting the first shoe on her leg, then taking the ties and reaching around
behind her leg to thread the long leather strings around. By now her leg was
well bent at the knee, and my head was bobbing up and down, apparently
looking for the best way to wrap the ties, but actually looking for crotch 
shots up her dress. I was getting plenty, and it was beginning to have an 
effect on me. It must have taken three minutes to put on the first shoe.

I began lacing up the second. This time she plunked her foot down on the
inclined bench right between my legs near my crotch. I couldn't tell if
it was because she was trying not to bend her leg so much, or for some
other reason. It didn't matter, and it didn't make a difference. I still
got plenty of looks up her dress. When I was finished I looked at her face.
She was smiling broadly at me. At the time I didn't exactly know why. Now,
of course, I do.

She got up and repeated her trip over to the mirror. "Come on over here,
would you?" she said to me. Of course I jumped at the opportunity. But
it took me a moment to rearrange myself as I stood up from my salesman's
bench. I walked over to her, hoping for a repeat of my game with the mirror.
She gave me the opportunity.

"How do they look?" she asked. "I can hardly see anything with this stupid
skirt in the way. I should have worn something shorter today. I mean, look,
the laces come all the way up my calves..." She hiked her skirt up a little
and cocked her head to one side to look. "And I can hardly tell. Here,
let me look in the mirror."

She inched up the skirt a little more, then said, "Oh I know, we used
to do this in school after the nuns had checked our skirts for the proper
length." And she took hold of both sides of her belt and twisted it over
and over, rolling up the skirt around the belt as she did so. She must
have hiked it six inches, maybe seven, before she stopped.

"There. That's better," she said throatily. I was still crouched down,
looking in the mirror, trying to memorize that most beautiful sight for
later when I could beat off in the privacy of my bedroom. "Yeah, these.
Maybe the black ones. I'm not sure."

She went back to the chair to sit down. I went back to the bench. Now
her leg was bent, and her skirt was even shorter. I wasn't sure, but she
seemed to be much more careless about how she looked to me. All I knew
is that I was getting shot after shot up that skirt, and I was loving it.

I had almost finished removing these complicated sandals when she said
"Oh, I have to pee. Do you have a ladies room?"

"Not really," I said. "But we do have a toilet in the back. It's supposed
to be just for employees, but you're welcome to use it. It's not much,
but it works." I wasn't kidding. It was barely a closet with a bowl. But
at least we didn't have to walk the length of the mall to take a piss.
And at that point I would have done anything to keep her in the store.

I continued, "It's down through the stockroom, left at the phone, last
door. Here, I'll show you." We walked out of the customer area into the
stockroom, past hundreds and hundreds of boxes of shoes, just waiting for
the customer with the right size and wrong taste to come buy them.

"My god, look at all these shoes. Oh, a girl could just get lost in here."
I didn't know what she was talking about. Get lost? I mean it wasn't THAT
big. I kept walking and pointed out the door to the john. She went in.

A few minutes later when she came out, she said "Boy you weren't kidding.
It's claustrophobic in there. They sure didn't waste any space on something
as useless as a rest room, huh?"

"Well, to be honest, we don't usually close the door. And since it's only
guys who work here, we don't usually have to sit down. We just..."

She interrupted. "I get the picture. Well, thanks for the use of the
facility, and for the interesting commentary." She laughed. I couldn't
tell if she was laughing at me or with me. "Now. About these shoes?" She
pointed to the row upon row of shoe boxes. It was like she was a kid in
a candy store or something.

"Men's on the right, women's on the left," I explained nonchalantly. "Dress
shoes and boots up high, casual shoes in the middle, sneakers and sandals
near the floor."

"Oh, a regular system," she said. She stood up on one of the little
salesman's benches to reach the upper shelves. She stood up on it, on her 
tip-toes, reaching for the dress shoe boxes. I stayed on the ground, trying 
to get another look up her dress. I could see high up her thighs, but no 
further.

She started to wobble a little, and I instinctively reached out to steady
her. It was only after my effort that I realized I had one of my hands
on each of her hips, and that she felt warm to my touch. Steadied, she
stepped back down with her treasure, two more boxes of shoes.

"Let me try these," she said.

"Sure. Whatever," I replied.

I turned to walk out front, but she said, "No, we can do it here. Just
slide your bench over here. I'll sit on this carton. I'd like to stay among
the shoes." She was weird, I thought. Fine.

As she sat, I again took her leg in my hands and placed it between my thighs
on the slope of my stool. I bent her leg slightly, and as I dipped down to
pick up the shoe box, I was rewarded with a quick glimpse up her legs.

But I didn't see as far up as before, because I didn't get that flash of
white panties that I was looking for. I was actually sitting back up, 
working on the shoe when I realized that was because she didn't have her 
panties on! She had taken them off in the bathroom, and what I had seen was 
her bush.

I was finished with the first shoe, and ever-so-slowly bent down to pick up
the second. Now that I knew what I was looking for, I stared with all my
might as my eye passed the field of vision that would let me have a look
at that junction between her legs. I could definitely see her pubic hair,
topping off the nicest set of legs I had ever seen, including in the men's
magazines I had managed to hide from my Mom.

"Wow!" I thought. "This has to be the best summer job in the world!" Not
bad for a high-school kid. I slowly finished putting the second shoe on
her dainty foot, sneaking as many looks at that "Y" where her legs met
her torso as I could in the process. Reluctantly I finished, and she stood
up and took a couple of steps in the narrow aisle in the stockroom. We
had two floor mirrors at the far end of the aisle; they were replacements
in case the one in the showroom broke. It happened every once in a while,
since the mirrors would occasionally fall over. They were nestled together,
like shopping carts, just waiting their turn for the showroom floor.

Now she walked up to one to look at the shoes. I followed her. As I bent
down and began to "feel the shoe", I was treated to an upskirt picture
that was a sight to behold. I could clearly see her pubes, and I got my
first look at that crack between her legs. It was partly hidden beneath
her heavy bush, but I could still see her lips clearly at the bottom before
they disappeared into the thicket. She twisted and turned her leg to see
the shoe from all sides, which only had the effect of letting me see more,
then less, then more again. What a tease!

Finally she walked back over to the carton and sat down. She quickly
slipped off the shoes and said "That was nice. I mean, those were nice.
Now let's see how this fits."

I saw that she had selected a pair of shiny brown thigh-high boots. Sitting
back on my bench, I watched as she lazily lifted one leg up to try to put 
the boot on. Her legs parted, and I was confronted with her incredible 
pussy just a couple feet from my young eyes. I couldn't help but stare. She 
struggled and grunted, as she tried to pull the boot on. Her one leg was 
planted on the floor. But her other leg kept waving higher and higher in 
the air as she struggled to surround her foot in the soft leather. She 
might as well not even had a skirt on. With her legs so widely parted, I 
could see her cunt fully, with the puffy lips now a slight pink, framed by 
her thick woman hair.

Up to that point I had always liked the more tasteful cunt pictures in
Penthouse. But this was like having a live Hustler model right before my
eyes...except that she was just a nice lady in my shoe store. But I was
staring between her legs and my young dick was getting a monster erection.

My reverie only lasted about 30 seconds or so. I pushed the boot on her
foot, and she put it on the floor. She lifted her other leg; I knew we
were going to repeat the process, and I couldn't wait.

I picked up her delicate foot and aimed the top of the boot at it. Holding
her leg about mid-way between her ankle and knee, I slipped the top of the 
boot on.  Easy. But now the resistance of the leather being slipped over 
her foot made it harder and harder (I mean tougher and tougher) (Well 
actually it also made it harder and harder, come to think of it) to slip 
the boot on, but I pushed from my end while she tugged at the top of the 
boot from her side.

Again her one leg lifted to an almost perfectly horizontal position, and
I could see completely up her short skirt to that glorious pussy that now
held my full attention. Again I stared and stared, trying to memorize every
inch of skin, every fold of her cunt, every nook and cranny of her box.
I suddenly felt, more than saw, that her eyes were watching mine, and I
flushed a bright beet red, knowing that I had been caught doing something
naughty. But when I looked up, her eyes were averted, and I wasn't really
sure whether she had seen me staring or not.

Finally the boot was fully on (darn!) and she stood up. Another trip to
the mirror. I followed behind like a puppy dog with a new master, and again
bent down to assist my customer. I used the mirror as I had before to
look up her dress while she admired the shoes. After a few moments she
was done and walked back up the aisle to her seat. I watched from behind
as she walked and noticed what a great ass she had and how it sashayed
from side to side with each step. Man! What a piece. I would have done
anything she wanted at that point just to keep the thrill ride going.

Alas, it was not to be. As she sat down she said "I'll take the sandals
and the black high heels and maybe the first pair. Not these boots, though.
They're too small; they pinch." I was crest-fallen. I'd hoped she would
stay the whole afternoon trying on shoes.

"OK. Yeah, sure. I'll wrap them up," I said dejectedly.

"Help me off with the boots, would you?"

"You bet." I turned around and faced away from her, putting her one
outstretched leg between mine and pulled the first boot off. It was tight,
I could tell by how much force I had to apply to get it to slide off. She
withdrew her foot and inserted the other between my legs. I pulled on the
boot. Nothing. I pulled again. Nothing. "God, this one is tight," I said.
"Let me see..." I turned around and inserted my hand in the top of the 
boot. I didn't really know what I was doing, as I hadn't faced this problem
before, but it seemed the logical thing to do.

My hand barely fit inside, but I could slide it down about a foot before
the boot narrowed and I couldn't get any further. It was her ankle and
instep which were causing the problem. Having my hand stuck down the boot
next to her velvet skin only made me more aware of how sensuous this
creature was. But I had a problem to deal with, which broke my horny
high-school concentration some.

I moved back and took hold of the lower part of the boot. I was now facing
her again, and holding her leg up high in the air. Her cunt was on display,
like some sexual statue looking me right in the face. I twisted the leather
from side to side, as though I was trying to unscrew a jar, and felt it
give a little. I twisted some more. With each movement, her leg swung
wildly, and her pussy bounced around on the carton in front of me. I
couldn't help but watch.

Finally I felt the boot begin to slip, and I yanked it off in one
accidental, and sudden motion. The "ped" went flying.

"Yow," she exclaimed. "That hurt."

"Oh shit," I said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I mean I'm really sorry.
I..." I was at a total loss for words.

"Ow, my foot hurts," she said. "Right here." She pointed to the instep and
the patch of skin on the top of her foot. It could see that it was reddened
from a minor abrasion, probably from the friction of the leather as the
boot had slid off. "Do you have any ointment, or anything?" she asked.

"No, not really," I said. My mind raced. This was a shoe store, not a
drug store. We had shoe polish, but nothing that I could use on the
abrasion. I picked up her foot and inspected the area closely. Again her
cunt came into view, but now I was preoccupied even though I looked. I
was afraid if she complained I might lose my job!

"Oh, that feels good," she said. I continued. "That's better. That's much
better. Keep doing that."

I took her foot and gently massaged it, gently rubbing my fingers over the
bruised area. She sat back and let me continue. She obviously liked it. Now
she leaned back even further, and my apprehension diminished. I even 
allowed myself to relax as I looked up her dress and continued the massage. 
"Nice," I thought.

Her head was now tilted back, and her eyes were closed. At least I think 
they were closed. You know how you sometimes close your eyes almost all the 
way, but keep just slits open at the bottom to see? She might have been 
doing that, but I'm not sure. She might have been watching me, but I wasn't 
going to let that stop me from drinking in the view of her womanhood, with 
the pussy lips even more puffy than before. As she twisted her leg from 
side to side, I could even see the cunt hole open and close just slightly. 
I wanted to stick my face right in, but I was afraid to make such a move.

I heard her sigh, and she said "Would you mind keeping doing this for
a couple of minutes. This is sooo relaxing. I feels soooo nice."

"Absolutely!" I'm sure she could hear the eagerness in my young voice.
"I don't mind at at all." I thought, "Are you kidding? I'll do this all
day and twice on Sunday!" I almost said it aloud!

She slid forward on the carton, and her skirt rode up even higher. It was 
now completely up her thighs, barely covering the juncture of her legs. Of 
course it didn't really matter, because with her legs spread and swaying 
from side to side, I had a perfect view of her snatch. Still, it made this 
sexual sight even more erotic as her skirt was so wantonly, yet 
accidentally pushed up.

As she slunk down, she moved herself forward on the box. And her foot
came up closer to my crotch. In fact, one of her toes brushed against the
material of my pants leg near my thigh. "That's wonderful. That's amazing.
I never would have thought..." she said. "You are quite good at this. I
ought to hire you just to come to my house and massage my feet. I've never
done this before, and it's so nice."

I couldn't have agreed more, but I kept silent. Then she moved further
down, and her foot made contact against my pant leg. It was a scant inch
from my erection, which had been at full staff for several minutes. As
I continued my ministrations with her foot, she flexed her ankle, and the
bottom of her foot rubbed against my dick.

"Oh, that's it," she said. I didn't know if it was a random comment, or
if she realized what had happened. I took firmer hold of her foot, and
held it where it was. My cock was throbbing. She slid forward again. She
was nearly at the edge of the carton she was using as a chair. If she moved
any further toward me, she would fall on her ass on the floor.

I moved a couple of inches toward her. My dick was now firmly pressed
against her foot, just my cotton pants and boxer shorts separated us from
skin-to-skin contact.

Her knee rocked from side to side, opening and closing my view of her
incredible gash, as her foot tilted back and forth, seemingly massaging
my engorged member through my pants. Her eyes remained closed, but now
I became sure she was surreptitiously watching me, and I felt her foot
purposefully rubbing against me. I returned my gaze to her cunt, and I
felt her grasp my hardness between her big toe and the next one. She had
me in a vise grip with her toes, and as she stroked up and down it was
only seconds before I felt myself on the sexual launching pad, beginning
the climb to the heights of passion.

Ten seconds passed. I looked up her skirt. She peeked out at me. Her foot
grasped me, and sensuously, if a little clumsily, stroked my cock. And
then I came, no, more like exploded in my pants. I grunted and groaned,
as wave after wave of ecstasy flooded my body, as I soiled myself, as I
pumped my cum into my underwear and down my leg, as my dick throbbed
between her toes, as I experienced my wild orgasm.

When the final wave was wending down, I opened my eyes to see her staring
directly at me with a huge smile on her face. She had enjoyed herself too.
But when I made a movement to approach her to perhaps return the favor,
she quickly stood up and straightened herself. Clearing her throat, she
spoke as though nothing had happened. "So like I said, I'll take the first
pair, and the heels, and the sandals."

"Sure, sure," I mumbled. I guessed recess had ended. It was back to
business. We walked out of the back, single file through the narrow aisle
until we reached the showroom floor. Still no other customers. What a
surprise. As I turned the corner, she looked down and saw the huge
spreading stain on my pants.

"Oh my, sorry about that," she said.

"Well, sorry about your foot," I replied. "I guess we're even." But I
wanted this customer to come back. I thought quickly. "Maybe I can give
you our frequent customer bonus," I said. "After you buy 10 pairs, the
next pair is free. But I'll just give you a free pair today, and you can
maybe buy the rest some other time. OK?"

She smiled. "Sure, if that's what you want to do."

"I do," I said. "I have the authority to do that." Of course I didn't,
and with my youth I didn't realize how stupid that probably sounded. But
I was trying to impress her.

I rang up the purchase and handed her a shopping bag with the three boxes
of shoes. As we were walking out of the store, she reached into her purse
and took out the panties she had taken off earlier in the bathroom. She
pressed them into my hand.

"Here," she whispered as we neared the doorway to the mall. "Maybe you
can jerk off in these tonight while you think about me. I'd like that."
Then she disappeared.

I did jerk off into those soft silky panties that night. And the next 
night. And the next. And I carried them with me back to work every day 
hoping that she would show up. I thought she'd like to know that I was 
jerking off to the memory of her.

I never got the chance to tell her. A week later, they closed my store
and laid me off. I kept the panties for months. When school started again,
I took a shop class and turned them into a lamp.

No, just kidding.


                                *  *  *  *


The stories of MIKE HUNT are true. Mostly. Usually. Well sometimes I have to
embellish or add some dialog, you know? This is another true story. Except
that it didn't happen to me. It happened to my best friend Jimmy Vertis;
he told me about the next day and we re-lived it (verbally, of course) many
times after that. Me? I was the schmuck who took the fast food job. The only
interesting thing that happened to me that summer was that I burned my thumb
on the stove while flipping burgers. I didn't think you'd want to read that
story. Anyway, I don't do torture.

For more stories written by M1KE HUNT, e-mail to Bannerboy1@aol.com.
Fans and flames to [mrm1ke@aol.com]. Please note that the 2nd
character in M1KE is a "one" (1) not an "eye" (I). M1KE is pronounced
"em-one-key", rhymes with "monkey."

The story is Copyright 1997 M1KE HUNT.  You can distribute it for free on
computer bulletin boards and newsgroups, or at church on Sunday if you want.

For missing pieces and older stuff, try eli's archive at 
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm. It's quite a fine public service.
I'm sure he'll be invited to the White House soon.

                           =====================
                               Feet Are Neat 
                               by  MIKE HUNT
                              mrm1ke@aol.com
                                   -30-


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