Sweetness - Chapter 4

Sweetness

By Mike

Chapter 4

“You’re not going to cheat on me, are you?”

                Peyton sat in the breakfast nook sipping on a cup of coffee.  She was dressed in the same scrubs she had worn the night before. I was dressed in a navy suit, a paisley tie colored with purple and pink swirls over a white dress shirt. I had my blazer on; I looked professional. Save for the simple black heels on my feet. I was wearing the panties that Peyton had worn the day before and the thought that she was naked under her scrubs was a tad distracting and as I paced in front of Peyton, my heels making that lovely sound, I needed the distraction. Was I really going through with it? Was I really going to wear a pair of women’s shoes to work? It seemed I was.

                Peyton took another sip of her coffee. Her smile was gigantic. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

                And I was nervous. Probably more than nervous. I’d fallen asleep worrying about going to work wearing my heels and now it seemed I really was going to do it. Was I crazy? Maybe.

                I’d played a few games with my heels. The day they arrived in their box wrapped with plain brown paper, I had put them on and walked in them, enjoying the clip, clop, clipping sound the heels, my heels, made against the tile floor in my kitchen. I had walked all around my house and wearing them and a pair or shorts I’d foolishly stepped out onto my front porch as if daring anyone to be right outside. That had been frightening.

I once wore them an entire weekend, taking them off only long enough to shower. Research and an empty credit card let me find other toys. My shoe locks. Those are fun. The shoe locks are nothing more than a locking ankle cuff with an additional locking strap that runs down, underneath a heel, before returning to lock to the cuff that is affixed to your ankle. The first time I locked the shoes onto my feet I’d spent ten full minutes trying to defeat the lock. Only once had I been able to escape the shoe locks and that was because I hadn’t set the strap that ran under the heel as tight as it could go. The tighter the strap the more secure they became and with the strap pulled taut they were escape proof. That led to a few fun games with the keys to the locks. I’d put them in my mailbox at the end of the driveway and then locked the shoes to my feet. I was stuck without the keys and could only get the keys long after the sun set if I didn’t want to risk exposure. Wearing them because I wanted to was less fun then when I had to. The forced fantasies that played out in my mind always fueled my libido and more than once I’d have to pleasure myself because of my heels.

“What are you thinking?”

I looked up at Peyton who was eyeing me, one hand toying with the lip of her coffee cup. Her eyes were wide and interested, her head tilted and her mouth slightly parted.

I lifted a foot. “What do you think?”

She giggled. “It’ll be fine. What’s the worst that can happen?”

That led me to think about all the ways I could be discovered, how any of my employees could see and comment on my shoes. “Are those heels,” or, “Are those women’s shoes, Mason,” or, even worse, “what a sissy.”  My mind wandered even further. What if nobody said anything? What would Peyton make me wear next as I paid off the silly bet I’d made the night before? She had joked about wearing blouses and skirts but what if those weren’t jokes? I tried to swallow but my mouth was dry.

“Mason?”

I admitted my fears.

Peyton stood up, leaving her coffee behind, to give me a hug. “It’ll be fine,” she said in a way that made me almost believe her. There was a confidence in her tone and warm compassion as well. “I know. But if you are really that scared then it’s okay. You don’t have to. It’s supposed to be fun.”

I considered that. To be honest, I’d often considered it. Once, about six months earlier, I’d taken the keys to the locks I used to trap my heels on my feet to the office. I was going to leave the keys in my desk and lock my heels onto my feet the next morning. I’d have to brave the office to unlock my heels. Just the idea had been enough to fuel my fist into furious motion against the most obviously aroused part of me. The simple thought of not only wearing my heels to the office but being forced too had been too much and I’d been unable to control myself. Afterwards, lying spent in my bed, I changed my mind. Still, it was an exciting thought that I’d had more than once and while I didn’t want to wear my heels to work, I wanted to as well and, maybe more importantly, Peyton wanted me to.

I hugged her back and when she smiled up at me, I kissed her. “I’ll be fine,” I said almost repeating her words. “It’s just scary.”

“I know. I wore,” she paused, pulling away from me to return to her coffee. She took a sip, smacked her lips, took another pull, “stuff to work, too. It’s scary but exciting.”

She had my attention. “Oh?”

She smiled, flashing a coy look that said, “a girl has her secrets.” Just when I thought she wasn’t going to tell me, she spun to face me, leaning against the small breakfast nook table as I stood at the island in my two-inch heels. “Toys. Work can get boring, you know.” I nodded. “Most of the time my job in crazy boring. Most of my patients are nice but they’re not exactly at their best. I’ve been yelled at, cussed at, spit at. Hell, one time an old man threw a full urinal bottle at me just because I pronounced his last name wrong. My job is important, sometimes disastrously so, but mostly it’s a boring routine. Take readings from a machine and write it in a chart; bring a patient a clean pillow case because they spilled something; help a patient go to the bathroom or empty their bedpan if they can’t get out of bed.” She shrugged, and I understood. We all had things we did that weren’t exciting. “So sometimes I like to liven things up.” She smiled. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve worn my ben-wa balls to work. Do you know what those are?”

I nodded.

“I thought as much,” she smiled again as if sharing a secret. “The feelings I get as those little orbs dance around inside my pussy is electric but it’s even more so because I’m doing it at work where the naughty is somehow even more exciting.” The smile faded from her lips, but her eyes remained wide. “I’ve worn my vibrator to work a gazillion times. Once, just to see what it was like, I turned it on and had it buzzing away while I did my rounds. God,” she let out a sharp burst of air, “I could only keep it on for about twenty minutes before I had to turn it off. It was intense. That led me to always try to outdo myself. I’ve made it a rule that every time I wear my vibrator to work, I must turn it on for a longer period of time than the time before. I’m almost up to an hour and a half. God, you have no idea how wet that gets me. It’s so hard. The clock doesn’t stop just because I come and let me tell you, when you’re that sensitive and the vibrations keep going, it almost becomes painful.” She shrugged, “I get it is all.”

I believed her. I nodded, my mouth open, “I…”

“What?”

“My heels. The other pair. I did something similar, no not similar, the exact same thing. When I got them, I couldn’t exactly walk in them. I hobbled at best.”

Peyton nodded but didn’t interrupt.

“So, I made a game out of them. Every time I put them on, I’d have to wear them longer than the time before. Fifteen minutes because half an hour, became an hour, became two. I forced myself to get tons and tons of practice because of that silly, self-appointed rule.”

“Exactly.”

“I learned to walk in them because I made that silly, not rule I guess, but contest. Just to see if I could outdo myself.”

Peyton was nodding. “Exactly,” she repeated. Then she kissed me, a quick little peck on the lips. “Now, I have to get to work.” She spun away and stepped towards her coffee. She took one last sip, put the cup in the kitchen sink, and then gave me another quick peck, this time on the nose. “I’m having some friends over for dinner tonight. Dinner tomorrow?”

“Okay.” I flashed her a smile.

She smiled in return. “Great.” She left the kitchen, pausing at the front door just long enough to drop her scrubs and flash me a view of her pantiless behind. A quick tug of her scrubs and she was covered once more. With that she was gone.

I washed our coffee cups, setting them aside to dry. Ready for work I made my way to the front door. My heels made that enticing clip-clopping sound, reminding me with every step exactly what was on my feet. I looked down, shaking my head, suddenly terrified to open my front door. How was I going to do this? Peyton and I both wanted me to but wanting and succeeding were two totally different things. If I was this afraid to leave my house, how was I going to walk into my office?

I reached for the doorknob. My hand paused, too afraid to twist. I scolded myself. I imagined Peyton encouraging me, telling me that it would be fine. I spun the knob and opened the door. Outside I saw two kids waiting for their bus about forty yards away. Were they too far away to notice my shoes? Would they even glance my way or were they too absorbed in their adolescent lives? I took a step, another, and locked the door behind me.

“I can do this,” I whispered, feeling my heart thrumming in my chest. Feeling the arid desert that was my mouth. Feeling my testicles tighten. I heard a dog bark, I felt a cool breeze against my clammy neck. Everything seemed far too alive. Far too vivid.  I’d been outside my house in my heels before and that had been fun, so why was I so terrified now? That one was simple. I’d never worn my heels to work.

I inched towards my SUV. The sooner I got to work, the better. I was typically the first one there. I could race to work and hide in my office and no one would have to know what delicious secret I was hiding. That thought, turning it into a game, made it a bit easier, a bit less impossible.

I made it to the SUV and then without another thought I made it to the office. That was easy. Nobody could see into my car but once I stepped onto the pavement, my heels would be visible to anyone who glanced my way. I sat in my car, staring at my office building. Glancing around, my hands toying with the steering wheel, I looked for anyone. The parking lot was empty. That was a plus. I can do this, I thought.  I opened the door and closed it again. I can’t do this, a stronger thought followed.

I pulled my foot up and undid the little golden buckle.

“You’re not going to cheat on me,” I heard Peyton’s sad question. The one she’d asked after she’d beat me two games out of three.

I stared at my hands. She had meant it in a different way, but wouldn’t I be cheating if I walked into my office wearing only my socks on my feet? And since it was her idea, then wouldn’t I be cheating on her? I had promised her I wouldn’t, that it wasn’t who I was as a man. I’d meant it the way Peyton had meant it but somehow that promise seemed to solidify my resolve.  “I can do this.”

I opened the door and stepped onto the rocky pavement. I took a step. Another. I heard my car chirp as I locked the doors and set the alarm. “I can do this,” I said again. I liked my lips, feeling their dry surface every bit as rough as the concrete under my heels.

I clip-clop-clipped towards my office suddenly loving and hating the sound at the exact same time. I could hear it and if I could than anyone nearby could too, and wouldn’t that make them look? I know I would. I shuffle-walked after that, masking the sound of my heels by sliding them against the ground. I moved at a slow, hindered pace toward the front door. As expected, I was the first one there. The empty parking lot had told me that but with the shoes on my feet I was still somehow worried that I would be discovered. Satisfied that I was first, I easily unlocked the door and made it unhindered to my office.

My heart was racing. I was scared and excited. The forbidden was delicious. I looked at my heels hiding under my desk, feeling an elevated sense of triumph and an electric current of arousal. This was fun. Scary, yes, but fun too.

The easy part was done. What would the rest of the day bring?

“Good morning,” Gayle said as she came in. “Feeling any better?”

“I didn’t feel bad the last time you asked,” I said, smiling at her motherly tone. I glanced at my heels. Did she see them? Did she know? If she did, she gave no indication.

“Good. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.” I moved my feet away from Gayle, as if those extra few inches would keep my feet hidden. Would I be doing that all day and why did I find the idea so appealing?

Gayle left my office and I got to work. I answered emails and thought of my heels. I took phone calls and felt the heels on my feet. Gayle came and went, and I kept my heels hidden. Suddenly I had to pee.  My office did not have an attached bathroom. How was I going to leave the office in my heels knowing the sound they made? I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t.

I sat at my desk, trying to get some work done, feeling the rising need to pee fighting with the terror of wearing my heels out of my office and amongst my employees. Hiding in my office was easy; facing others would be much harder. I answered another email, another, a third. My heels slid across the floor as chills raced along my arms. The need to pee was winning.

I brought my right heel to my lap, fear making me reach for the buckle. I undid one strap and pulled the shoe from my foot. I paused at the second one, suddenly feeling like I was betraying Peyton. “Shit.” I put the shoe back on and buckled it again.

I stood and walked across the room. I opened the door and walked past Gayle. With my back to her I couldn’t tell if she could see my heels. She had to see them, right? We worked together five days a week, occasionally six, so I was certain that she’d see something about me was different. My gait, my height, the low noise my heels made as I shuffled as quickly as I could, dragging my feet, trying to hide that enticing sound I loved so much. Would she notice and if she did would she say anything?

I made it to the bathroom and did what needed to be done, staring past Peyton’s panties and down to my shoes as I did. My pants hid most of them so maybe Gayle hadn’t noticed. I took some solace in how much the hem of my pants concealed my shoes.

I returned to the office happy that Gayle barely gave me a glance. It was a boring day made exciting by my heels. The hours that normally crawled by seemed to have the liquid speed of river rapids. Lunch time came, and I ordered a salad for Gayle and a Philly cheesesteak for me. Gayle left after I placed the order and brought my lunch to me. It was a routine we’ve practiced far too often. Today, hiding my shoes, it was a welcome routine.

Gayle left at the end of the day and as the office emptied, I felt a huge wave of terror, relief and amazement. I was both relieved and amazed that I’d made it through the day without anyone commenting on my heels despite wearing them all day, even going to the bathroom a total of three times. I was equally astounded at how quick the day seemed to pass. Normally my day was filled with tedium and a rising sense that it was time to try something new. I made a good living, very good actually, but lately it had seemed that the rewards didn’t even come close to compensate for what I paid in stress and time, but today, with my heels hiding on my feet, the day hadn’t been cloying or oppressive but fun. The terror came from what Peyton would dream up next. Why had I made that bet?

As I was leaving the office my phone chirped. How did your day go?

I responded to Peyton’s text by sending back a smiley face.

Did anyone say anything?

No.

She sent back a picture of two hands clapping followed by a little yellow face sticking out a big pink tongue. Told you.

Back in my car my phone chirped again. Wear them again tomorrow. You knew that was coming, right?

I did. I did.

The applause emoji came again. Can’t wait to hear all about it. Shit, my friends are here.

I laughed at that.  I could picture her getting ready for her guests and cussing because they were interrupting our conversation. Good night.

Night.

I went home, made dinner and relaxed on the couch, bouncing between ESPN and reruns of Family Feud. I still had my heels on and my distracted eyes kept moving to them. I’d done it. I’d worn them to work. It had been scary, fun, interesting, suspenseful, and exhilarating. I’d felt so many emotions, both high and low, that just sitting on the couch I felt spent. I was still amazed at how quickly the day had passed, how it hadn’t felt oppressive like it had been feeling. Was it the distraction of the heels? The terror that I might be discovered? That seemed to fit. The heels had helped my work day become something exciting. No, not the heels. Peyton. I would have never found the courage if it hadn’t been for her leading me to do it.

I thought of Peyton entertaining her friends. Was she thinking of me while serving some delicious appetizer or sipping on a glass of dark red merlot? Was she talking about me? Telling her friends about the new guy she just started seeing or was it too soon into our, what, relationship? Was it a relationship yet? No. Not quite, but it was becoming one. Of that I was certain. That thought made me smile.

I went to bed thinking of what was coming next.