Workboots to Opera Pumps, Chapters 5-9.

A beardy, muscley menswear influencer who seems to enjoy taking pictures of his socks and shoes, always emphasizing his big legs and feet.

Jock to Dandy | Dangling & Shoeplay | Workout Bros | Suited Embarrassment

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I co-wrote this novel with the horny and naughty Jack Sockman. Nattily attired in his fine suit, tie, and soft new loafers, Jeb meets his handsomely dressed superior Rick. Shoeplay intensifies, while Jeb is unable to make sense of the strange new lusts he feels for this powerful man. The second day of the conference is smart casual, with Jeb hornily playing with his sockless low vamp loafers the whole time. Jeb returns to the menswear store and experiences the dandyish eroticism of opera pumps for the first time.

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Chapter 5

The ride up to the rooftop was marked with yet more congratulations for Jeb’s job well done, as well as a few comments about his loafers. Jeb never knew how much a pair of shoes could impress people.

On the rooftop, the weather was great, if a bit warm and humid, but it was Miami. The rooftop bar was set with buffet-style hors d’oeuvres and high tables with bar chairs. Jeb was worried that those high chairs would do nothing but call attention to his girly socks, and he was already getting enough attention about his loafers, so he chose to stand at a table.

The cocktails flowed freely, and Jeb was never one who was shy about throwing a few back. The effects of the whiskey on the plane had long since worn off, and Jeb had his "iron Scottish liver," which is what his dad would say when he was hitting the Jack Daniels. So at the beginning of the buffet Jeb ordered a Jamison and knocked it back instantly, just to calm his nerves, and then ordered an old fashioned. Something on ice, so that he could sip and would hopefully cool him down.

A few cocktails into the evening, and everyone was a bit more chatty. Even one of the “big bosses” came over to Jeb to congratulate him on his presentation. One of the regional corporate managers. Jeb blushed and beamed at the same time.

"Hey, you must be Jeb, right?" It was one of the regional managers, speech slurred a bit from the wine he held.

"Yessir." Jeb answered in too much of a country twang. Tabitha made fun of Jeb's accent all the time, so he squared his shoulders, trying to look rigid despite the burning and sweating of his feet, and corrected himself. "I mean, uh, yes sir."

A handshake. "That was a swell presentation, son. And you look real sharp, too. Especially those shoes."

"Thank you sir." Jeb wanted to shift his weight from one foot to the other, but for right now he kept both sweaty soles glued to the damp insteps of his shoes. He looked down at his baking feet, and realized that these loafers were really low cut. He could see the girly socks on his insteps, and they were so thin he could even see the veins and fur on his feet through them! Hopefully the manager wouldn't see too much of the hair on top of Jeb's feet showing through these girly socks, so he moved his foot behind him a bit. But because that meant he was lifting up his heel as his foot was behind him, the loafer immediately started to slide off his heel, letting the hot air out, and cooler air in. Damn. That feels so good, but I can’t let anyone see me in these panty hose! It was already awkward enough getting all these compliments on these dainty little loafers that his dad wouldn't want him caught dead in. Didn't help that his cheeks flushed red whenever he felt bashful. Really didn't help that the air was so thick and humid too.

"You know--just a word of advice for future presentations son--learn to relax a little. You were kind of hiding behind the podium, you know? I could tell it was your first time."

"Uh, I, uh have done presentations in graduate school, sir." Jeb felt his cheeks flush, a river of sweat between his shoulder blades.

"Of course." The manager had to reach up to clap Jeb on the shoulder, thanks to Jeb's huge build. "But it's always different in the real world, you know?"

"Yessir, it is." Jeb said.

“There's a first time for everything. Oh, and,” the boss added, “I can tell those are some very expensive loafers. Well made shoes will serve a man well.” Jeb gave another of his “aww shucks” looks and thanked him for the compliment.

Jeb wasn’t sure if it was the compliment and attention he was getting for his loafers, or the alcohol, or maybe just the lack of air conditioning, but his feet were even hotter up here, and he was definitely getting tired of standing. His old-fashioned was mostly ice water now, and the reception had been going on for half an hour. The night air felt like a damp, warm blanket. He could feel a little trickle of sweat running down his beefy, hairy calf, confined against his skin by that sheer stocking, running down his tired ankle and heading for the arch of his foot, dampening the already moist interior of his loafer. There were several seats still empty at one of the cafe tables. And he had to admit he felt awkward hovering around the buffet table while everyone else was seated and comfortable.

He would occasionally, when he was sure nobody was looking, and with his back up against the railing of the building, lift his leg just a fraction of an inch, letting his heel pop out. Ohhhh fuuuck that feels good… And no sooner than he got relief, he would snap back and realize he had to get that shoe back on before someone noticed his panty hose socks and big furry feet in them..

Dammit. He really didn’t want to show off his socks. His feet were so tired though. He really could use another drink, and a quick moment to sit down. Weren't there any low chairs, anywhere? If he sat in one of those high chairs, he had a feeling his loafer might slide off his heel and dangle the way it did in the presentation room earlier. And then those girly socks of his would be on full display for all of corporate to see. He was definitely going to be returning these loafers to the store tomorrow. He could barely walk in these.

He drank the watered-down liquor left in his glass, pinched his tie, went to the bar, curling his toes in his loafers, trying to keep them from sliding off his heels with each step, resulting in an awkward-looking walk. At the bar he smoothed his tie again and ordered another old-fashioned, trying not to think about how his undershirt felt heavy, clinging to his chest.

The next old-fashioned lasted another half hour. With the Jamison, that was three whiskey drinks altogether, and Jeb was finally starting to feel less tense, his earlier self-consciousness wearing off. On second thought, I guess sitting on those high chairs wouldn’t be all that bad, would it? I should probably just go ahead and sit a bit. He felt like his feet were standing in a steaming puddle of his own sweat. He drank down the watered-down liquor again, and ordered two more Jamisons, one single and one double. He gulped down the single pour at the bar, and the double he took with him, lumbering very slowly along, lack of coordination now making his heels slip out a little as he walked. As the first one popped a little far off his heel, he had to pause mid-step from the feeling--oh fuck that felt so good, that little whiff of cooler humid air around the arch with that last step-- Nobody saw that, right? It felt so good, maybe it’s ok if I relax my toes as I walk and let the heels pop out just a tiny bit, and fuck it felt so good to just--couldn't he just take his shoes off right now?

Fuck. That had to have been the whiskey talking. Jeb carefully put his whiskey on the table. As soon as he lifted one foot to climb into the chair, he felt the humid night air swirling around the arch and heel of his right foot. He looked down and realized that just lifting his foot was enough to make the shoe fall halfway off. Fuck. Oh fuck how he needed that. It was like his sweaty soles were hard-wired to his cock, that jolt of cool pleasure around his sweating foot making his boner start up again, like it did after his talk downstairs. He nearly knocked the chair over as he climbed onto it. It took him a few tries to plant his right shoe on the crossbar of the chair, using it to push his loafer back on his heel. But then as he lifted his left foot to get into the chair--fuck that feels amazing, so...good...--the left shoe just swinging right off his heel, sliding down the ball of his foot.

"Shit shit shit," Jeb muttered as he tried to swing the loafer back on his sweaty socked foot. He finally stomped his left foot to the ground, trying to keep the shoe from sliding off his toes, socked ankles with girly hosiery on full display. Shit. Jeb didn't need regional and corporate knowing that he was wearing socks that looked like panty hose. Nobody is looking, right? He stayed in this awkward position, half standing, looking around to see if he was drawing any attention, but everybody was busy with their own conversations. He paused to regain his balance, then settled into his chair, pressing his toes on his left sole to bring his foot up to the crossbar where both heels could rest safely inside the sweaty loafers.

Shit. Fuck. Shit. That was close. Fuck. Jeb took a swig of his whiskey, and was starting to feel the effects of the other drinks already. His whole body was sweating now. His undershirt was soaked and clinging to his chest and it felt like the heat from his entire chest was building up under that tight collar. His undies were drenched and he was trying to spread his legs for a little relief. His feet were the sweatiest and most uncomfortable of all. If only he were upstairs so he could kick these sweaty loafers off--or maybe no one was looking--fuck, his feet were so hot and sweaty--and spreading his knees out like this with his feet resting on the rung of the high chair made just a gap of his arches peek out, giving another little ecstatic jolt of relief. Jeb glanced around, making sure nobody was looking his way, before pretending to pinch his tie knot, but instead wrestling the top button open behind his collar. Everybody was relaxing and having a good time, so why couldn't he? If he kept the tie just right nobody would notice. And it was so humid up here in the Miami air. He rested a hand in his lap, knuckles resting just inside his thigh where his cock was twitching. It just felt so good to be off his feet, no longer the center of attention, now if only he could let just a whiff of air into his shoes. It was now near sunset, and it was getting a little darker. Maybe he could relax a little more?

He noticed that even the slightest motion of his legs, or even toes, would cause those loafers to pop right off his heels, so he tried not to risk it. But it felt like those shoes were getting heavier and hotter. It was getting harder to hold them on his feet, and harder to want to.

Maybe nobody can see anything. These shoes and these girly socks are dark, right? And I’ve managed to keep these on without falling off all night.

He slowly slid his right foot back just slightly so that only his toes rested on the rung. The back of his loafer popped right off his heel, and was suddenly exposing his entire arch and ball of his foot. It took his brain a second to process the feelings. On his right foot, his heel, arch, and instep felt every slight breeze through those sheer socks, and the heat and sweat only magnified them. He realized it felt a little like when he would wear his boots at a bar, and how they would hang from his toes, too, so that only the balls of his feet would be in contact with the shoe. Fuck how he'd play games with himself, seeing how little shoe he could wear, how far he could expose his socked feet, letting his sweaty socked soles slide out of his boots, less and less of the balls of his feet in contact with the shoe, until it was just the tongues barely dangling from his broad toes...

He looked around again. Nobody seemed to notice his girly socks on display. And it felt so good...maybe he could let the left foot do the same…

He slid the left foot back and let the weight of his leg press his toes into the rung of the high chair, and off popped the loafer from that heel, too. Success. Glorious. Fucking. Success. His eyes instinctively closed a bit from how amazing it felt. Only when he felt it poking his hand in his lap did he realize how boned up he was. And was that sweat, or was he actually leaking? He had never had this happen before. He didn’t know what to make of it, but certainly didn’t want it to stop. It was like he could feel every air current and eddy caressing his arches and ankles….

“GREAT JOB, MAN!” Jeb almost jumped out of his barstool. Luckily his instinct was to kick his legs forward, naturally (and totally unintentionally) guiding his heels back into his loafers. It was Pete, his coworker, clearly already three sheets to the wind, who had come by to congratulate him. Jeb looked at him to see if he’d noticed the socks….nothing he could tell. And he didn’t say anything. *Whew* That was a close...fucking...call. Despite the startle, his boner hadn’t calmed down at all. Jeb laughed it off (tried to), giving Pete a pat on the back with one of his pitcher's mitt hands. "Thanks bro," he said, stifling a burp, trying to keep steady in his loafers. Hard to do after this much whiskey. Harder to do now that he wanted to slip them off so bad. Pete returned the slap on the back and staggered off to the bathroom. And though it had only been seconds that his heels were back in those loafers, it felt like they were super hot ovens, and only got worse for having felt a little relief from them moments ago.

Jeb was just about to get started with letting in a little more air again when Rick came over. “This seat open?” “Yessir,” Jeb answered. Rick was in his late 40s, a senior member of the international team that Jeb had heard about. He was known as one of the best dressed in the company. Now that he thought about it, Rick wore loafers a lot, too, though Jeb wasn’t sure why he remembered that.

“Here, I got one for you, too,” Rick said, handing Jeb another old fashioned. “Cheers, to a great talk!” He said as he raised his own old fashioned to Jeb’s. With that, Rick proceeded to tell a long tale about his travel to east Asia and getting suits made for him. Meanwhile, all Jeb could focus on was how uncomfortable he was. He kept instinctively reaching for his tie. Apparently that unbuttoned collar wasn’t helping as much as he’d hoped. And now with Rick at his table, he couldn’t dare risk dangling those loafers. He would definitely notice. He couldn’t stretch his legs out in front of him as he might bump into Rick. So he chose to stretch his legs out by letting his feet go behind the rung of the high chair. It was high enough that even letting them hang down, his long legs were still a good foot off the ground. It felt good to let them hang a little and stretch out. And he found out that if he barely wiggled his big toe up, the heel of his loafer would just slide halfway down his heel, not completely off. More importantly, the motion of it sucked some cool air in along his arch, giving him a little taste of that relief from before.

Rick continued to drone on, and Jeb found himself almost obsessed with using his big, hairy toes to pop off and then back on the loafer from his sweaty socked heel. He sipped down his old fashioned (how many was this?) and alternated his loafer popping, slowly at first. He felt himself getting more relaxed, and he could swear he was boned and leaking again (still?). He couldn’t help it, he had to loosen that tie just a little bit more. Fucking feels so good...not sure if it’s the booze or what...but my fuckin’ feet are so hot….maybe if I keep popping these a little off my heel they’ll feel better… More slow heel popping, and then it became rhythmic… left, right, left, ri---

OH FUCK.

His eyes opened wide, and he froze. His right loafer had gone too far, and in an instant, it now was barely hanging by his sweaty, socked right toes. He looked at Rick -- none the wiser. He just kept going on about the clothes he got on his last trip. Jeb quickly realized he was stuck. His toes couldn’t manage to get his loafer back on, and if he tried to lift his leg from behind the rung, it would fall off instantly. And yet, now here he was, with his right foot in those panty hose socks with that dainty loafer hanging from his toes for everyone to see.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. What do I do? I can’t stay like this forever. And Rick won’t leave. I know he’ll just keep talking. And WHY am I so fucking boned up now?? But fuck it does feel good...no air had hit my poor toes until now...fuuuuck… SHIT. My big toe is fucking trembling. And I swear I feel that loafer sliding farther down it…

I can’t hold this much longer…

Chapter 6

Uh oh, I can’t hold this much longer….

Young Jeb was out at lunch with his dad and his dad’s buddies. They had all gone to a gun show and went to a truck stop for some food.

The gun show was makeshift and being held in the unused part of a parking lot of a truck stop. They had spent all morning and early afternoon at the parking lot, walking around looking at guns, ammo, sights, targets...everything. Jeb was 18 and it was in the summer after he graduated. He was already sporting his cutoff t shirt and shorts, with hunting boots and thick white socks. And as always, he had a hankering for keeping the boots loose enough to put on and take off without untying them. Much easier that way.

It was a hot day, and a long one, and it only got hotter as the day went on. That parking lot asphalt wasn’t helping. Even with his less-than-half shirt he was still sweating, sweat trickling down the edge of the cut-off shirt, that he would let slowly slip off his nipple. His feet were baking in those boots. He knew he couldn’t pull them off, but maybe if he could just let some of the heat out…

He untied them and loosened them up more. As he bent down his rag of a shirt fell out like a hammock, revealing every inch of his pecs and abs. Back when he had abs, that is. Back when his chest hair was just a dusting around his nipples, instead of the dense pelt it would later become.

Immediately his sweltering soles felt better. Yeah, the boots fell off his heels a little when he walked, but he wasn’t running anywhere, and actually, that falling off was the best feeling part. As the day went on, those boots got a little looser the more he walked around, and he was glad as things heated up during the day. By the early afternoon, he was able to just lift his leg up a little and his heel would slide right out without the boot even moving off the ground. Even with the heat, the air outside was cooler than the air in his boots, and it felt amazing.

By around 2pm, the gang was hungry, and Jeb, his dad, and his dad’s two buddies decided to grab lunch in the truck stop. It was a greasy spoon that time forgot, at best. It advertised air conditioning, but you sure couldn’t tell it on walking in.

“Sorry boys, all we got is the counter,” the waitress said, seeing them come in. They made their way to the counter and each grabbed a seat. Jeb hopped himself up on one, the round kind that spun around because they only have a single pole holding them up. He leaned back on the stool, hooking his arms around the back, letting his smelly pits air out a little, tensing his biceps a bit for a sneak flex, in case any of the waitresses were looking. Dad never liked it when Jeb showed off his gains too much, thought it looked too much like one of those prissy bodybuilders strutting around in underwear. “Naw, a real man doesn’t need to do all that flexin and showin’ off.” But Jeb liked it, and did whatever he could to get away with it, especially when dad was around. So he nudged his cut-off shirt to one side so that it covered the nipple that dad could see, but left the other nipple completely bare for anyone else to peek at, the way he’d do at the gym after hitting a killer set. As soon as Jeb's boots left the floor, they started to hang off his heels and begin their slow slide down...down...down. Heavy, sweaty, dirty shoes sagging down his sweltering sasquatch feet. Like they always did. His dad used to tease him that it was all that fur on his feet that made them get so hot and sweaty. His dad and his dad’s buddies each sucked back two beers pretty quickly. Jeb made himself at home with a Coke.

It was about halfway through that Coke when he noticed it. He had been playfully letting the boots pop off his heels, but he must have let his feet relax a little too much and those boots started to fall off a little farther than he normally would let them. He could tell because he felt some of the cool air on parts of his feet he didn’t usually feel...but what could he do? He could already feel the heavy cheap shoe continuing its slide down the ball of his sweaty sock. But his feet were baking still, and it felt good. So...fucking...good…. What he didn’t realize was just how loose those boots had gotten. He had a twitch in his right foot, and the boot slid down to his instep. And he was about a foot off the ground!

He tried to wiggle his foot to get it back on, but that only made it slide a little further down his foot. His dad looked over, now on his third beer, and just managed to mutter, “Stop yer fidgeting!” Jeb didn’t want that boot to hit the ground, because he knew his dad would get mad. But what could he do?

It was then he realized why this was happening...that his boot was still untied, and the weight of the boot was making it get even looser just by hanging there. Plus his foot was getting tired of holding the boot up. To make matters worse, while he was focusing on his right foot, he didn’t realize that his left foot was instinctively wrapped behind and around the pole the stool was on. But that boot was even looser, and his socked heel had slipped most of the way out. Oh god...that breeze… He only realized when he felt the blast of cool air on his sweaty socked arch that his left boot was now falling off, too. And damn that felt good too...how fucking good that felt...his sweaty socked feet slowly inching out of those heavy boots, airing out his sweaty soles after his broad feet had been trudging around in those unlaced sloppy boots all day, untied laces swishing all over the place. Fuck. If Jeb could just hold on--the two smallest toes of Jeb's right foot had already slid out completely of out of the lip of the shoe--I can’t let dad know that I’ve let my boot slide so far off here, at lunch, and in front of his friends...but it feels..so..good...maybe I can hold them for a second….

Oh fuck, I’m not going to be able to hold on much longer...

Chapter 7

FUCK, I’m not going to be able to hold on much longer…

The loafer swung precariously from Jeb’s sweaty, sheer-socked toe. It felt like the slightest breeze would send it hurtling, tumbling precariously down to the concrete floor of the rooftop...

"So I was in Singapore once," said Rick, speech slurred as he swung around in his chair, "and I visited this custom shoe maker. You ever heard of Carmina shoemakers, son? They're known for their boots, but turns out they have a custom shoe program, so I ordered me a pair of velvet slippers." Jeb noticed Rick was wearing some loafers now, too, and had his heels popped out of them. Maybe Jeb wasn’t the only one who did that...but he was the only one now who was in danger of losing control of his...

"Yessir," Jeb nodded, lightheaded from yet another old fashioned, but not quite ready to call it quits on the drinking yet. Maybe a little more whiskey would help him keep calm and still enough to keep that dangling right loafer from falling off and embarrassing the fuck out of him.

Damp sweaty spots all over the place. His undershirt felt like a grimy gym shirt, pits soaking through, blots of moisture all over his dress shirt. Drops of sweat pouring down his legs, soaking through his trousers, or trickling down his socks and--fuck fuck fuck--down his ankles--fuck--a tepid drop of sweat sliding down -- tickling -- the arch of his exposed right foot, the two smallest toes of his right foot already completely out of the lip of his dainty loafer, with just three toes just barely hanging on--

fuck … if I can just keep my big toe in ... just a little longer--

"It's a great custom shoe program, son. You really should look into it. Anyway, so I ordered a pair of the velvet slippers, but when they took my foot measurements I asked them if they could custom make the vamp, you know? Make them a lower cut. I like that lower vamp style, son. Some of the aficionados think it's dated and looks 80s, but after a decade of high vamp and angular everything I really think it's time for a change. Plus it feels so much...looser, don’t you think,” he said, crossing his legs and casually letting one of his loafers slide down his arch...

Jeb noticed. And his cock seemed to notice, too, twitching at the sight. fuck fuck fuck why am I still so hard? Jeb was at the same time terrified about dropping his right loafer, and at the same time strangely loving the feeling… Fuck I almost wish I could do this with the other shoe too but fuck then I would be exposed in nothing but these faggot hose..and what if Rick notices and fuck fuck why won't he stop fuckin talking fuck why is he talking so much about shoes? And why does he keep dangling his loafer like that???

"Yessir," muttered Jeb, sipping his drink. With his hand in his lap, Jeb could feel moisture leaking out of his hard-on, which was throbbing, aching, sending out drop after drop of warm precum soaking through his suit trousers. Jeb hoped he wouldn't have to shake this guy's hand, but he knew he would. Hopefully Rick wouldn't notice the sticky warm spot--fuck fuck--Jeb could feel the shoe starting to move slowly down, so that his third toe was out of the shoe. Only his first two toes were left holding the shoe on.

"I mean, lower vamp like mine and the ones you're wearing. You get it. No need to wear clunky elephant shoes with everything, am I right? These are so much lighter. Feel like wearing nothing...like they might just...fall off at any second..."

"Uh...yessir." Jeb kept eye contact, glad that Rick wasn't looking down. Fuck, he is describing exactly what I’m feeling..like he’s in my fucking mind! He makes it sound so fucking hot, but I swear it’s making it harder to keep this fucking loafer on my foot..damned faggot hose... It was just like when Jeb would wear his loosest boots at the bar, slowly letting them slide off his broad, socked feet, only this felt much more intense. His cock was aching, engorged, throbbing, pinned against his thigh, leaking leaking leaking. Drops of sweat trickling down all over--fuck, Jeb wished he could just nudge this tie looser--could he reach up casually and do it?, but he was too loose already-- tie too loose, shirt too loose, loafers too loose --he could feel sweat slicking beneath his hairy pecs, pit stains spreading under his suit jacket--and my loafer...fuuuck...sliding down more...Rick is right...it could fall off at any second...oh this can’t happen, but feels so good, but what if….

OOOOH FUCK.

*CLACK* The sound of the shoe hitting the ground, heel first....

"Uh-oh," said Rick playfully. "Looks like the first shoe dropped, eh, son?"

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck Jeb felt it fuck his girly ass sock was completely uncovered and exposed fuck completely naked in front of Rick and everyone fuck fuck He could feel the rung of the bar stool through the thin silky sweaty hosiery as his broad heel rested on the rung again, and fuck but it felt so fucking good to feel the air between his socked toes. Instinct took over and he spread out his socked toes, cock tingling and throbbing against his knuckles in his lap, his left heel popping loose as his other foot relaxed, letting a whiff of humid night air into his left arch. Shit. Fuck. Like an electric shot through his cock. Shit.

"Sorry sir," Jeb muttered. Panicking, he sent the bar stool wobbling as he shifted out of his seat. The concrete felt so good and just a little textured beneath the ball of his right toes, his sheer hosiery magnifying each sensation, his left loafer going sideways on his left foot, leaving his left heel in contact with the cool concrete as well. Here he was in front of the regional manager sweating like a pig in his suit and tie, wearing only half a shoe, and with his cock at full mast in his trousers.

"Are those silk socks?" Rick let his other loafer pop off his heel, eyes glued on Jeb’s sasquatch feet stretching through those translucent socks.

"Sorry, sir." Jeb couldn't think to answer. "I, uh, lost my balance."

"It's alright, son," said Rick, swigging his drink, and rocking his dangling loafer a bit more. "It happens. Just relax."

Jeb cursed under his breath as he tried shoving his right foot into his loafer. He was off balance and more than tipsy, so he missed, squishing his toes into the buttery soft leather upper of the shoe. It took him a few times before he could finally slide his foot back into the loafer. Then, shifting his weight, he nudged the left loafer upright and slid his left foot back into that one too before wrestling his suit jacket closed to hide his hard-on.

"Uh, sorry about that, sir." Jeb's cheeks burned and flushed, with cold sweat beading on his forehead. He reached over and knocked back his drink, hoping it would calm his nerves. "Dammit I need to take a fuckin pis--I mean, uh, fuck--" fuck his cock was aching and throbbing--sweat pouring down his stubbly cheeks, soaking into his too snug collar, soaking into his tie--fuck he was leaking so fuckin bad--he gripped the bar stool for support--he could feel the precum oozing down his thigh, cock throbbing, one heel halfway popping out of his loafer as he tried to keep balance, cock throbbing, cock throbbing in response to that fuckin glorious heel pop--"Fuck, I mean fuckin--sir--fffffu--I mean, is it alright if I--uh--heading, head, head off to the restroom? Is it alright if I head off to the restroom, uh, sir?"

"Of course, son." At this point, Rick let one of his loafers swing almost entirely off his socked foot.

"Thank you sir. I'll, uh, I'll be back."

Jeb staggered through the crowd, cold sweat pouring down every inch of his suited body, hot precum leaking down the side of his leg, drops of it turning warm by the time they reached his socked calves beneath his trousers.

His brain was racing as he clumsily made his way to the bathroom. Fuck. He just--fuck--the regional manager noticed my girly ass socks--fuck--wearing fuckin pantyhose in front of regional and corporate--fuckin staggerin off the bar stool like a drunk fool--fuck--hopefully, maybe--fuck fuck the loafers are slippin’ off again--fuck... just, maybe Mr. Rick won't remember it--fuck--he's fuckin had a few after all--fuck--fuckin girly loafers slippin off like my slides--fuck just stay fuckin calm bro--fuck--just get to the fuckin restroom already--fuck, that right one fell off again!!

Jeb was having a harder and harder time keeping those loafers on, and he was getting harder and harder because of it. He finally made it into the bathroom. Staggering in, he locked the door and made it to the sink. He turned on the faucet and splashed his face with the icy water. But some dripped down his face and landed on his foot...on the exposed top of his furry, socked foot. The cold water rolled down the side of his arch, down to that ticklish spot and fuck like fuckin electricity The drop sent electric shocks through his foot and directly to his cock. It twitched and strained against his tight pants. He moaned out loud, unable to control himself at this point.

He had to calm down...relax… He was alone in the bathroom, right? He could cool off for a second, right? With one meaty paw planted on the edge of the bathroom sink to steady himself, he reached up, and tugged the knot of the tie down. He unbuttoned another button the shirt. Ahhhh..that’s a little better. Air getting at least a little bit to his sweaty pecs. And his poor cock. He unbuckled his belt and opened up his fly...his cock burst right out. He didn’t think he had ever been this hard before. It continued to leak. Then he looked at his wet right foot in the loafer. He was hoping it didn’t ruin the loafer...he lifted his leg up to get a better look at it…oh fuck..it dangled off again, just slid right off like my fuckin’ slides, making his cock twitch again and leak…

Fuck..what is my problem? He instinctively grabbed for his leaky cock, wrapping his fingers around it… fuck, felt so fuckin good...his pitcher’s mitt hands calloused from years of weightlifting, cradling his swollen beercan dick, cock head drooling precum down his hairy knuckles as he gave himself that first fuck first fuckin first stroke fuuuuck...no wait...what am I doing? … he sloppily put the right foot back down, sweaty sheer socked foot halfway out of the loafer, heel now in contact with the bathroom floor… oh fuck that cool floor feels amazing...maybe if i… he lifted up his leg again

*CLACK*

Off went the right loafer… toes finally free, and he rested them back on the cool bathroom floor… god that feels amazing… *stroke* *stroke*...no, I can’t… but….he jerked that tie again, looser, and undid another button on the shirt, gold neck chain dangling out of his soggy undershirt, sweaty curls of chest fur peeking over the undershirt collar … ahhh...oh, but maybe I could… he gave a slight kick of his left leg

*CLACK*

Off went the left loafer, and those toes, that had been stuck in those loafers all day, finally felt air, and cool floor...even more electric shocks…*twitch* *twitch*... lubed with precum his hand jerked up and down that throbbing beercan dick of his, could feel that shaft of manhood pumping throbbing pumping aching pumping pumping…. Oh fuck he was leaning so far forward he almost lost his balance, planted his hand on the sink to steady himself but fuck oh fuck too late it’s too late oh fuck oh fuck…

Before he was even aware of it, and hands free from his cock, he was shooting ropes of cum. Hurling all over the bathroom sink and faucet, sloppy drops of it landing on his sweaty suit trousers. Weeks of pent up tension, with hours of edging, were releasing themselves mercifully as his meaty beercan dick continued to pump cum, stimulated by the exposed feeling of his toes in those thin, sweaty, sheer socks... he could feel white hot gobs of it spattering on his left socked foot, soaking right through the thin silky hosiery.

When his cock finally stopped spasming, he looked around. He finally took inventory of his loosened tie, his unbuttoned shirt, with sweaty undershirt clinging to his pecs, pocket square all crooked and fucked up, suit jacket halfway off one shoulder, his cum-covered left socked foot, and loafers carelessly scattered about the bathroom floor.

Oh man..what the fuck do I do now?? He pulled the left sock off and wadded it up, used it to mop some of the cum off his suit trousers, and stuffed it in his coat pocket. He shoved his feet in the loafers, after a few tries, and zipped himself back up, beefy cock still half erect and leaking. He decided he would make a bee-line for the elevators and hope nobody saw him.

He managed to make it back out of the bathroom, and went the back way to the elevators, loafers barely hanging on the entire time. He made it to the elevator, kicked off his loafers again, and decided to carry them to his room. As he walked, left foot bare, his right sock started slowly sliding off with the rubbing on the carpet of the hotel hallway. He managed to make it into his room and collapsed on the bed.

He thought he smelled something warm and leathery, when he realized he was still holding his loafers in his hand. He brought one over to check, and yes, that was it. It smelled oddly good. Like he didn’t mind it at all….smelled relaxing and ...exciting...

Chapter 8

Jeb woke up with his nose in his loafer.

He inhaled it, that fragrance of almost new leather, cordovan, like tobacco. Before Jeb even noticed the bro country alarm from his phone, he nuzzled his nostrils against the lip of his shoe, cock twitching awake with morning wood, tongue parting his stubbled lips as he gave himself just a taste of that buttery soft instep. Then he groaned, head throbbing, hung over, but still so fuckin horny. He rolled over and, as he silenced the alarm, his other loafer fell off his cock, leather upper squished beneath his body weight. He sat for a moment, piecing it all together. Apparently he'd fallen asleep face-down, humping one loafer the mattress in the remnants of his suit and tie, while cramming his nose into the other. Fuccck. He stuffed his nose into the beautiful loafer, taking another drag of that leathery aroma. His suit jacket was a wrinkled mess, hanging on by only one sleeve. Trousers around his knees, rumpled and cum stained. Dress shirt completely unbuttoned, one cufflink hanging loose, damp undershirt wadded under his armpits so that his furry keg of beer chub and muscle hung out. One foot was completely bare. The other, halfway there, with one of those sheer socks feebly clinging to the ball of his foot.

He groaned again. At least he woke up on time today. But he had to get in a workout. Had to get breakfast. Conference workshops didn't start until 10:00, and it was 4 AM. He always woke early for his workouts. So he rolled out of bed, shedding his suit and tie piece by piece, stepping on his remaining sock with his bare foot and pulling it off all the way.

Shit. In the bathroom mirror, he looked like a mess. He'd have to buzz down his stubble again. Already looked like a beard after less than a day. He took out his protein shaker, filled it with water and powder, wrestled himself out of his undershirt, and put on his workout clothes, including his thick white crew socks. Same clothes as yesterday: the cargo shorts and sleeveless flannel shirt. Gulped down his protein drink, buttoned the flannel shirt most of the way. It was Miami, so he could get away with leaving the top few buttons or so open, right? Slugging down even more water to ease his hangover, he pulled his slides out of the shopping bag from yesterday, dropped them on the floor, and then half wiggled his meaty socked toes into them, letting his heels hang off the back as he often did.

Today he worked shoulders. Hangover workouts were the worst, but he powered through, getting bigger and getting his pump on. The hotel workout room had a mirror so he could check his form, and he loved the way his delts were pumping today. And nobody was in the workout room at this hour, so he popped open his remaining shirt buttons. His bulking season fat filled in the grooves between his abs, making it so that he wasn’t quite as cut as he used to be, but he was certainly bigger and bulkier than he was in college, and his arms were getting veins and definition, bigger bicep peaks, thicker triceps heads. Less than halfway through the workout he was really feeling himself, so he let the flannel shirt slip off his shoulders and tumble to the floor, finishing up his remaining reps of his military presses. At the end he did a flex in the mirror, admiring himself. Swirls of fur down his shoulder blades, the "T" of fur across his pecs and down his abs. The gold chain pillowed between his pecs. And those shoulders! Jeb was twice the man he was in high school, and loving it.

He decided to finish off with a just a few reps of tricep dips to top off the pump in his arms. He often loved to finish his workouts that way. He was so proud of his triceps. He hopped up on the dip bar, legs dangling down, and started the set to failure. Right around rep 5 his slides, both of which had barely been on his feet anyway, started to slide off his sweaty, socked toes. Rep 11, and not only was the right one barely hanging on his socked big toe, but he was noticing it. He realized that he always did this, but now he was really noticing it. It felt...different...more intense… And did he always get a chub like this? Maybe he was just still horny from...last night? Maybe it was just because it was a really intense workout this morning. Maybe it was all because he hadn’t jerked off for weeks before coming here. He just needed to keep focusing on his workout...

Rep 15..fuck..can I get one more out?...rep 16...rep...17…..fuck, they can’t stay on much longer… rep...18…*FLAP*..both slides slipped off his wiggling socked toes simultaneously, leaving his furry socked paws dangling free in the air as he pushed up on his last rep.... God that felt good...how could it feel so good? Those slides couldn’t have been holding heat...maybe it was my socks...but fuuck..so free...now I need to--

He looked up in the mirror and froze. It was Rick, in a t-shirt, workout shorts, and some flip flops.

Shit. How long has he been there? Jeb hopped off the dip bar, slipped his feet hurriedly into his carelessly strewn slides, and picked up his shirt to cover his “workout” chub. In the mirror, he could see his stubbly cheeks flushing. Even his bare pecs were turning red. "Morning, sir."

"Good morning," said Rick, eyes scanning Jeb's hairy, cornfed muscles, and then looking immediately at Jeb's feet, hanging half out of his slides. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your workout.”

Jeb shrugged his shirt on, struggling to get it past his shoulders. "Sorry sir. Got hot in here."

"No worries, son," said Rick. "Glad to see you're disciplined about your workouts."

"Yessir." Jeb fumbled with his shirt buttons as he grabbed his protein shaker and headed out the door. "See you for the seminars later?"

"Of course." Rick's eyes were glued on the mirror to get a full look of Jeb's back and ass, the socked soles of Jeb's feet popping off those slides as he headed out the door.

Jeb managed to get the bottom three buttons of his shirt closed, but left the top four open. He was going to take it off in a moment and shower anyway. Waiting for the elevator, he noticed in the mirror to the side that, in his rush, he had buttoned his shirt up all crooked, buttons in the wrong holes. “Fuck. I looked like an idiot,” he said out loud. On the elevator ride back up to his room, he just unbuttoned the shirt completely, and he was nervously slipping his foot in and out of his slide as he thought more about what just happened: Fuck that was a close fuckin call. Didn't want to be caught going all homo on myself. And all undressed, shirt off. And my chub...because of...my slides? No, must have been from working out. Whatever. So fucking embarrassing.

He got back in his room and decided to put it out of his mind. As always, he instinctively kicked off his slides the second he walked in. He had better shower and get ready for the rest of the day.

Chapter 9

The shower was good for Jeb. Relaxing. Helped him clear his mind. He stepped out and took a second to remember his good job on his talk yesterday, and noticed he still had a good pump going in his shoulders and arms. “Fuck yeah. You got this, bro,” he said out loud to himself.

The seminar day was “casual,” but what did that mean? Everyone here seemed to be so dressed up. But his suit was in no condition to wear after last night, so after Jeb shaved, he put on his polo shirt and cargos. Shoulders still pumped from this morning, Jeb could see his shoulders really filling out the polo shirt, sleeves not quite making it down the hairy peaks of his beefy biceps. . He then opened the second shoe box from earlier in the day.

“What the fuck are these?”

He picked up the baby blue, suede Belgian loafers and looked at them more closely. Were those tassels? No, small bows? And other things: the fine detailing, and that elegant heel… These were even daintier than the ones he wore last night! And that blue!! So fucking gay…. He could hear his dad cussin’ him out for even thinking of putting those faggoty little shoes on his feet. But they were really lightweight, which he supposed was good. And these were so low cut, too. They would show off over half of his foot! The fur on top of his foot would definitely show through whatever socks he needed with these.

He decided to try them on. He didn’t have any socks, again, since his socks from last night were...he thought of the one wadded up in his coat...well, not good for wearing in their current condition. And he knew he couldn’t wear white socks with dress shoes; he’d been teased about that once in college. So he decided to put them on without socks and go back to the men’s store.

He slipped his bare feet into them. They felt amazing. It was the first time he had done something like this. The only times he was ever barefoot was when he was showering or going to bed. His dad always made him wear socks otherwise. Even when he would kick off his boots or dress shoes, he always wore socks. This was...something very different.

They slid in very easily (too easily?)...and...sweat? Really? Not a second in them and it was like he felt the sweat between his bare toes. Maybe it was because he hadn’t dried off his feet well after showering. Were his feet usually that sweaty? Did the socks normally soak up the moisture? Whatever. With his early morning, he had some time to get to the men’s store and back before the meeting started. So he got moving.

With the first steps toward the elevator, he felt that feeling from last night again. His heels were practically jumping out of his loafers. These might as well have been slippers. But given how sweaty (?) his feet were, it felt good to let them keep getting air. Even when Jeb had both feet planted on the ground, the Belgian loafers didn’t quite cover his arches on the side, still letting in a bit of air on that ticklish spot just under his arch and instep. On the elevator ride down, he crossed one ankle over the other and let this new dainty loafer pop off his bare heel. *whoosh*...cool air on his arch...mmmm, god that’s so nice…so intense...

He walked through the lobby, those dainty loafer heels clacking on the marble floor. He suddenly became a little self-conscious. That loud clacking was certainly drawing attention to him, and to his ultra gay baby blue loafers… God I hope nobody sees me in these..and without socks...He picked up speed to get out of the lobby…

*CLACK* fuck! I knew I shouldn’t have done that! His right loafer slid right off his foot and about 15 inches in front of him. Stopping himself, he carefully but quickly rested his now bare foot on the gleaming floor, first the ball of his foot, then each one of his wide toes, like he would tiptoe to his abandoned loafer. He was hit with an electric shock of sensation in his toes. Fuck..feels good..ooh, that cool marble floor...but fuck! He deftly slid his bare toes back in the loafer in stride and made it out of the lobby. Fuck I hope nobody saw that...

He walked slowly and methodically, toes working hard to keep those looser loafers on his bare toes. He found it tough. It was like wearing loafers without socks made him feel everything on his bare feet even more intensely.

He made it to the men’s store again. The same sales associate from the day before was there and greeted him. “Welcome back, sir! How are the shoes working out for you?”

He flashed suddenly back to everything that happened last night. The heat and sweat his sheer socked feet felt, the dangling of those loafers, how amazing it felt when they dangled off..and even how good it felt when they fell off? He was starting to chub again…

“Um..fine. The black ones were good.”

“And I see you’re wearing the Belgian

s. Very fine loafers, sir. And they look great with your skin tone.”

“Uhhh..ok. But I need some socks again. The other ones...uh...I uh...lost them.”

The salesman gave a quizzical look. “That’s ok, sir. We have some more socks, but what outfit are you wearing them with?”

“Well, with these,” he said, pointing to his Belgians.

“Oh, ok. Well, and what are you wearing the shoes with? That will help me pick the color.”

“Well, with this,” he said, pointing to his polo shirt and cargos.

“Oh,” the sales associate said, with a little disappointment in his voice.

Jeb suddenly felt, again, out of place. He was that intimidated country boy again. “Well, I dunno what I’m supposed to wear. They told us to wear ‘casual’ today. I guess that’s not this?” He said, disappointed and frustrated.

“I would be happy to make suggestions, sir. Why don’t you have a seat here and I will bring something for you.”

Jeb sat on the couch and crossed his leg over his knee. He looked at all of the clothing around. Maybe these were the types of things he was supposed to be wearing? Maybe that’s why everyone made fun of him when he started at work? He slowly let the Belgian loafer slide off his bare heel and down his bare arch. Fuck it. Nobody was looking, right? And too much work to keep them on, anyway. Felt good letting them slip off a little. They were so light; they felt like wearing nothing. He watched it happen, and actually thought the light fur that covered the top of his foot looked pretty good. Was that weird, though? He could hear all the times his coworker Tabitha called him "sasquatch" last month. What was he supposed to do, shave the tops of his feet?

The loafer slid further down and stopped at his upturned big toe. It came to rest there, and he slowly rocked it back and forth….back and forth...he ran his finger lightly over the exposed arch and felt that familiar tingle down his spine, and in his crotch….

“Here, sir. Why don’t you try these on?” He was startled as the sales associate returned and had brought a shirt and pair of slacks for him.

He went into the fitting room and put the clothes on. A crisp, white long-sleeved shirt and tan, linen slacks. He felt like he was supposed to hate these, because they were “dress clothes,” and yet they fit perfectly. They hugged him in all the right places, and draped on him in the right places. He looked at himself in the mirror as he slipped his bare feet back in the loafers and he realized he looked...good. Damn good. Somehow being in nicer clothes made him look just a little more cut, a little beefier and more athletic. The slacks hugged his meaty thighs, accentuated his calves. Hell, the shirt was even better for showing off his gains, without even having the sleeves cut off. The sleeves clung just a little to his trap peaks and delts, following the contours of his brawny arms, stretched taut between his beefy pecs and nips. Oh, but maybe that wasn't the best thing. He noticed how the crisp white cotton was just a hint translucent. He didn't want to go around with his nips tenting through his shirt so visibly like that. And his chest fur. He could see just a hint of the furry "T" through the white cotton. He blushed, buttoning his shirt all the way, leaving only the top button exposed. But even then a curl of his chest fur stuck out, and, if he looked in the mirror from the side, he could see just a peek of his chest fur between each shirt button.Though it did show off the fur on his chest; he could hear his dad yelling at him now to get a t-shirt on under it. If only his t-shirt weren’t still soaked from all the sweat and water from last night…

He stepped out of the dressing room and the sales associate almost gasped…”Oh!”

“Well, do these...fit?”

“Yes, sir. Perfectly.”

“OK, so what socks do I wear with these? And can I get a t-shirt?” He asked, nervously popping his heels in and out of his loafers, back and forth, one and then the other.

“Oh, sir, I wouldn’t wear any socks with those. I think that outfit, especially here in the heat of Miami, would be perfect without socks. And the same is true with t-shirts. It’s usually too hot here for most men to wear t-shirts.” Jeb thought about that, and he figured it made some sense. It got hot back in Louisiana, but he was never dressing up, and he had to admit it was even hotter and more humid here. Reminded him of the worst days back at home when he couldn’t wait to get out of his shoes.

“Well, I’m not used to going without socks….but I guess it hasn’t been so bad this morning. But I will still need socks for my formal event tomorrow night. Do you have socks for that?”

“Oh, yes, to go with your pumps?”

“My what?”

“Your formal shoes, sir.”

“Yes, those. Whatever you sold me for my “formal” stuff. I need socks for those.”

“Certainly sir.” The sales associate returned quickly with a new pair of socks. “These are the only socks we have in your size specifically for wearing with those ‘formal shoes’ sir,” he said, smiling.

“Terrific. I will take this outfit and those socks,” Jeb said.

While waiting to be rung up, he leaned on the counter and his right foot naturally drifted backward, up on its toes…*pop*...the loafer popped nicely off his heel…god that feels so nice….nobody else is in here...maybe i’ll just pull my foot all the way out for a second. He lifted his foot behind him, his toes finally leaving the sweaty loafer empty on the floor. Fuuck that feels good...and nobody can see that my foot is all the way out like this... Oh fuck, here comes that chub again. Damn these pants are a little..tight? They feel like they’re hugging my chub! He slid his foot back into the loafer. He’s still ringing up the sale...I’ll give my left foot just a secret second of air, too. And he slid that foot back, with the loafer slipping effortlessly off his bare heel. His foot lifted out of the loafer and his toes wiggled in the cool air of the store. Ohhh fuuck that feels so fucking good…. But I’d better slide back into the..mmmm..OOOhhh...mmm..fuuuck…

His foot was just a little left of where it should have been and hit the cool tile floor. Just like back in the hotel lobby, it sent that shock through him, but now he let his warm, sweaty foot wiggle a little on that nice, cool floor, feeling every nook and cranny of that tile. And with those linen trousers “hugging” his cock, it twitched and the massaging of the material actually milked a drop of precum from his thick meat. Ooooooooohhhh...

He managed to get his foot back in, albeit a little clumsily, and signed the receipt. The sales associate thanked him for his repeat business, and he walked out, again slowly and methodically, but even so with his heels popping out, and now with a bit of a boner to deal with as well.

He got back to the hotel and dropped off his second shopping bag of his trip and had to get downstairs for brunch out on the back deck of the resort. He was happy that his chub had calmed down a little and that the precum hadn’t caused a spot on his new linen pants. He knew he had to make sure he didn’t get as drunk as last night or else... But maybe last night was only because he hadn’t jerked off in forever. Now that he had blown a huge load, he was probably ok, right? Whatever that was that happened was just a one time thing...right?