raincat

Hi Stu. Sharon's newfound connection with Felicia's spirit has added a most interesting twist to what was already a very good storyline. The possiblities of where it might go from here are almost limitless. Keep up the good work.

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Women who wear heels are to be admired and appreciated for the feminine visage they create.

Stu

Hi, Raincat. I'm glad you liked the supernatural element to this heely saga. Perhaps it inspired Sharon and the others to take the final step to places they had never been before, as described in this next story....


The Next Step
Written in the first person by Steve

On a sunny Sunday afternoon, Maria and I made our way over to Jack’s and Sharon’s house. We were strangely silent in the car, considering that this was intended to be a day of raucous, uninhibited fun. Sharon and Jack (as usual) had proposed the get-together in order to take “the next step” in our unusual interest with high heels and sexy expression. They argued that we needed to build upon the impressive accomplishments of the past two years – the good career fortunes of our three ladies, the fact that their high-heel habits had appeared to help their careers rather than hinder them, the expansion of their fashion wardrobes and their mastery of 6-inch heels. As Sharon saw it, we could either rest on our laurels or advance, and we all agreed that advancement was the way to go.

And that meant that the three ladies were ready for the ultimate challenge: 7-inch heels.

Maria was looking forward to testing herself in 7-inch heels, which was a refreshing contrast to her initial reluctance to experiment with 6-inch heels two years earlier. While she had always been confident in her own abilities, she was now comfortable with the idea that her feet and, more generally, her body, were hers to enjoy as she pleased. She was no longer concerned with trying to draw a line between fashion and fetish. The success she was having in her new job – her change into 5-1/2 inch heels in the middle of her marketing report had become legend at her department store chain – had convinced her that her ability to wear high heels was a gift. And anyone with a gift has a responsibility to develop that special talent to the fullest. Furthermore, Maria reasoned that if she had a gift, then Ana and Sharon did, too, in light of their recent successes. It was easy to accept Sharon’s argument that the three of them – and the six of us – had somehow been destined to meet and develop our high-heel lifestyle together.

Several weeks earlier, Ana, Sharon and Maria had perused a number of Web sites before ordering their 7-inch heels. Each of the women had received their pair in the previous week, and somehow Maria had resisted the temptation to try hers on in light of Sharon’s suggestion that each of them wait until they got together on this Sunday afternoon. The unopened shoe box with the extreme heels was in the car with us.

Bob and Ana had arrived at the house just before we did. Our three ladies were all wearing casual sun dresses with 5-inch sandals, which was nothing exceptional for them. Sharon passed out sparking apple cider in champagne glasses (there was to be no alcohol prior to the 7-inch heel tryouts!), and we toasted our good fortune. She then pointed to three gift-wrapped packages on the kitchen table, labeled with Ana’s, Maria’s and Sharon’s names.

“These gifts are from Jack and me,” Sharon said. “We wanted to make sure the day was memorable. If we are going to go extreme, let’s go extreme all the way.”

Each of the ladies opened their packages to find a thong bikini inside. “If either of you are uncomfortable with this, you don’t have to wear them. And that goes for any discomfort on the part of your husbands, too,” Sharon assured us. “It is a grand American tradition for attractive women to wear skimpy bathing suits, so we thought this would be a good occasion for it. I’ll demonstrate first.”

Sharon went into the bathroom and came out a few minutes later wearing only the thong bikini and her 5-inch stiletto sandals. I thought I had become accustomed to Sharon’s dramatic new figure, but it was like I was seeing her for the first time. Her hourglass figure was there for all to see, covered only by the barest of a bikini top and an even skimpier bottom. Her bright blonde hair, generous bust, small waist, curvy hips, long legs and feet toughened by several years in high heels were goddess-like in their perfection. Jack started clapping, and the other four of us joined in. If only some of her elderly friends could see her now!

“Ana, how about you?” Sharon asked. Ana replied, “Absolutely,” and went into the bathroom to change. I was impressed by Ana’s growing self-confidence and sense of adventure over the last several years. For quite a while after meeting Maria, she had been the more passive of the two, and she often waited for Maria to agree to try something new before she would attempt it. But that had all changed. Her promotion at work and the circumstances surrounding it, as well as her friendship with George and Patricia, had made her eager to push the boundaries of her expression. She emerged from the bathroom in her thong and 5-inch sandals and soaked up the applause from the rest of us. She wiggled her way into the living room to look at herself in a full-length mirror, and giggled like a nervous schoolgirl. She walked back toward us and turned her back toward us. All those years I had admired Ana’s beautiful rear end through her numerous tight pants and sexy dresses, and now I was seeing it in all its natural splendor, with the thong itself barely visible.

“OK, Maria,” Sharon said. Maria looked a little embarrassed and told Sharon she did not think she could wear the thong. Instead, Maria pulled a bathing suit out of the shopping bag she brought with us, and walked into the bathroom to change. Even with all her success and her ability to feel comfortable in public in outrageous clothes, Maria was still amazingly squeamish about her near-naked body, even in the presence of only her most intimate friends. She emerged from the bathroom in a suit that was daring by her standards: A red one-piece suit that was cut extremely high around her hips and extremely low around her bust. All of those beautiful hips of hers were on display, and she was showing as much cleavage as I had ever seen outside of the bedroom. It was hard to feel disappointed with her selection, and she received generous applause from us as well.

We then walked out to the large swimming pool in the backyard. Prior to toasting ourselves with the apple cider earlier, Jack had managed to sneak out to the pool long enough to set up the three pairs of black, 7-inch pumps on the patio surrounding the pool. Depending on one’s point of view, they were both an awesome and an intimidating sight. The outrageous heel and vertical arch of the shoe made them incredibly erotic – to see. To actually have to wear them was another matter, and the women understandably were somewhat nervous.

The initial objective was just for the women to see if they could stand in the heels and, if so, to take a few steps with or without assistance. Jack put a chair down behind each of the pairs of heels. He then said, with a false sense of drama, “Ladies, whenever you are ready, please take your seats. Gentlemen, upon their word, please help them into their shoes.”

The three ladies took off their 5-inch heels and sat down in their chairs. I walked up to Maria, got down on one knee, and picked up one of the 7-inch heels. “Ready?” I asked. When Maria said yes, I carefully slid the heel onto her foot, which amazingly contorted itself into a vertical position to accept the shoe. I then slid on the other shoe. “How does it feel?” I asked.

“Very nice. Very sexy. As long as I am sitting,” Maria said. “What a difference from the 6-inch heels. Just that one silly little inch.”

Bob had eased Ana into her heels, and Jack had done the same with Sharon. I helped Maria up out of the chair, and I was impressed that she was able to balance herself and stand without any help. Ana and Sharon were able to do the same, and all three were able to stand tall and straight, without bending their knees. The distortion of their bodies was pretty incredible. They almost looked like the drawings of women from an underground erotic cartoon.

Sharon and Ana were laughing nervously, with Sharon pleading, “Jack, don’t go too far! You have to catch me if I fall!” Maria stayed quiet and was intently concentrating on what she would do next.

“OK,” Maria said. “Hold me gently on the arm.” I put my right hand under her left forearm, primarily to help her balance if she needed it. Maria took a baby step forward with her right foot, and then with her left. She repeated the baby steps a couple of more times, then started to fall forward until I pulled her upright. “Damn it!” she said. “Who was the demented person who thought 7-inch heels would be sexy?”

“You are in the world of extremes right now,” Jack replied in his professorial manner. “The concept of ‘sexy’ that you have from the conventional world does not apply here. You will never be able to have a sexy walk in the conventional sense in 7-inch heels. The erotic power of these shoes lies in the simple fact that they are outrageously, ridiculously extreme. The fact that these shoes exist – and that your feet are in them -- makes them sexy. Don’t think that you will master these like you have 6-inch heels.”

While Jack was talking, Ana took a few tentative baby steps in the heels. Sharon tried hers a few moments later when Jack returned to giving her his full concentration. I took my hand off of Maria and let her take the next few steps totally on her own, although I was ready to catch her if the need arose.

“Let’s go around the pool,” Maria said. She took some longer steps, and while she needed to bend her knees a bit to remain balanced, she straightened her legs at the end of each step. In back of us, I heard Ana say, “Follow Maria!” Bob and she followed several steps behind us in this slow-motion walkathon. I turned around to look when Maria stopped a few steps later to rest. Ana was walking a little more tentatively than Maria – her steps were slower and her knees were bent a little more – but she was still doing impressively well. Sharon, meanwhile, was struggling. She was taking one baby step at a time with her knees bent and was relying on Jack’s support to stay balanced. She had every reason to feel proud – how many women could even stand in 7-inch heels, let alone take baby steps? But the high-heel skills she had gained as an adult, as considerable as they were, still were no match for those of Maria and Ana, who had been high-heel wearers from the time they were teenagers. It seemed like these two women could do practically anything.

Maria and I had rounded the far side of the pool when we heard Sharon say, “That’s it! My feet are killing me! We’ll try this another day.” We stopped to look. With Jack holding her, Sharon stepped out of her heels. It was one of the few times in recent memory that she looked liberated in her flat, barefoot feet. “Time for a dip in the pool!” she said, and she promptly dove into the water. She surfaced near us and said, “Go as far as you can, girls, but don’t hurt yourselves!”

To be continued.

Stu

We continued our slow-motion odyssey. Maria took each step slowly and deliberately, almost as if she were a tightrope walker. She took some steps entirely on her own, but on her other steps she leaned on me for support. We were about halfway around the pool when we heard Ana mutter a Spanish expletive behind us.

“I have done as much as I can!” Ana said. Bob and she were about 15 feet behind us. I turned around in time to see Ana step out of the heels. “That is torture!”

Perhaps it was, but Bob rightfully praised Ana for her ability to walk as far as she had. “A truly inspired feat, whether you spell it f-e-a-t or f-e-e-t,” Bob told her.

Maria was now the sole survivor of the three, and she continued to take her steps. As we started to round the backside of the pool, I was beginning to think that she might actually complete one circuit around it. But she started to wither quickly.

“Shit!” Maria whispered to me. “My feet feel like they’re falling apart. My toes, arches, ankles are all hurting. I think I feel some cramps coming on.”

“Don’t overdo it,” I counseled her. “You have gone beyond what anyone could have expected of you. More practice will build up your endurance.”

“Just a few more steps,” Maria said. But it finally became too much for her. She put her arm around my shoulder and leaned on me as she took off the shoes. “Oh, God,” she sighed in relief.

Maria received a round of applause from the five of us. Sharon had gotten out of the pool while we had been walking, and she was helping Jack pour glasses of champagne for the six of us. We congratulated ourselves by downing some champagne and munching on some snack food.

The celebration then turned amorous. Jack sat down in one of the reclining poolside chairs, and Sharon reclined on top of him. Sharon’s skimpy bikini top barely contained her full-size breasts, and her nipples were practically popping through the wet material. Jack and Sharon were soon in a horizontal position and locked in a passionate embrace. Meanwhile, Ana and Bob sat down in another chair and became pretty romantic themselves, with Bob’s hand rubbing Ana’s bare butt and probing for her tiny thong strap. Within a few minutes, Ana and Bob headed inside to one of the guest bedrooms that Jack and Sharon maintained as lovemaking rooms for us. Jack and Sharon also got up and went in the house to their own bedroom, leaving Maria and I alone by the pool.

I poured a second glass of champagne for Maria and myself. “The 7-inch heels and the thong bikinis appear to have had the desired aphrodisiac effect on our friends. But not us,” I said.

Maria replied, “Sharon and Jack are still focused on working her new boobs into her overall expression. And I think Ana and Bob got sidetracked by the thong bikini. But I am focused on the heels. I am going to rest my feet for a while longer, and then I am going to do another circuit around the pool. The entire pool.”

“If you think your feet will allow it,” I said. I knew what was driving part of Maria’s determination to walk in 7-inch heels. Her boss Cathy had confided to her several weeks earlier that she owned a pair of 7-inch heels and occasionally liked to use them for a walk around the house. Cathy had told Maria that, for a committed high-heel wearer, 7-inch heels were the ultimate experience. Once a woman had mastered 7-inch heels, she had accomplished everything, Cathy had said. And ultra-competitive Maria wanted to make sure that she was every bit as capable as her boss at walking in extreme heels, even if Maria was brand new at it. I still had not met Cathy at that point, but I figured the only thing preventing her from joining our intimate little heely group was the fact that she was still Maria’s boss.

Maria took one sip of champagne and said she did not want any more, or it could impact her second go-around in the extreme heels. Instead, she wanted to go inside the house to get a glass of water. We went inside and passed the guest bedroom, where we could hear Bob and Ana making love. Maria got a glass of water from the kitchen and was sipping it when a thought occurred to me.

A couple of weeks earlier, during one of her occasional foul moods, Maria had complained that she was the driver in our marriage when it came to her high heels and sexy expression. She complained that she was making all the decisions about shoes and clothes, and that I never pushed her or even offered suggestions in that area. She said I was too timid and that I needed to be more assertive in telling her what I would like her to wear. She reminded me that this aspect of our marriage, like most of our relationship, was a partnership, and that any success or failure relating to shoes and clothes was ours to share.

Mindful of that conversation, I picked up the package with Maria’s name on it that contained the thong bikini. I held it up to her and said, “Before you begin your encore performance, I think you should change into this.”

“I am not much into bathing suits, especially thongs. I would rather not,” Maria replied.

“That does not matter. You are not wearing it in public. Sharon bought it for you as a gift, and you should have accepted it.”

“Sharon would not want me to do anything that makes me uncomfortable. She was not at all hurt that I decided to wear my bathing suit.”

“True, but that is besides the point. Sharon and Ana went along with the thongs, but you did not. You distanced yourself from them. You do that a lot. Even in your closest friendships, you only get so close to people and then you pull away. You should not have pulled away. Why don’t you just wear it? No one besides the five of us is going to see you in it.”

Maria looked at me and smiled. “I think I know what this is about. It is that conversation we had the other week, isn’t it? You are trying to be assertive. It is only a bathing suit, but if it is what you want…”

“Not what I want, Maria, but what is right for both of us. And a sign of our friendship with our other two couples.”

Maria took the package and stepped into the bathroom. She stepped out a couple of minutes later in the thong bikini. I whistled in a complimentary manner.

“Oh, come now,” Maria said. “It is not like you have never seen me naked.” Rubbing her belly, she said, “Two-piece bathing suits reveal the fact that I like to eat. If I were going to make a habit of wearing this, I would have to follow Sharon’s lead and get a little liposuction…”

“Don’t you dare. You are perfect as you are. Whenever you’re ready for your walk, Senora Heels.”

We walked back out to the pool. Maria held my hand as she stepped into the 7-inch heels. She let go of my hand and stood in them on her own.

“It feels better the second time around,” she said. I stepped back and admired my wife. The thong bikini made a difference, revealing her lovely brown skin from head to toe. Her feet were at an impossibly vertical angle, but she managed to keep her legs straight, causing her bare butt to protrude at an outrageous angle and her chest (impressive without the need for surgery) jutting forward in the most obvious way.

“I want to try this without having to lean on you, but stay close to me anyway,” she said. She took one step and followed with one after another, while I walked along next to her without touching or supporting her.

“You’re doing it, Maria!” I shouted.

“Yes, I know, but please don’t shout. I need to concentrate,” she said. Step after step, she made her way around the pool. A very slow one-two, one-two. Her legs were amazingly straight, and there was even a fluidity to her steps. Her movements were not sexy in the normal sense, as the heels were too extreme and the movements too distorted and awkward to appeal to conventional sexual tastes. What was sexy was the simple fact that she was walking at all, staying in control of herself while in shoes that would overtake and imprison practically any other person, woman or man.

When we were about two-thirds of the way around the pool, we heard the patio door open and then heard Ana shout an encouraging, “Eso, Maria, Eso!” We then heard Bob shout, “My God, Maria is doing it!”

Maria rounded the final turn of the pool, and I felt as if I was witnessing the finals of an Olympic track and field competition. She was strutting down the final straight-a-way, confidently taking bigger steps, moving a little faster than before, and I banished any thoughts from my head that she might fall at the very end and ruin this magnificent accomplishment. I was pleased that Jack and Sharon emerged from the house in time to see Maria take her last triumphant steps. She returned to the point where we had started, carefully raised her arms in the air to signal victory, and I hugged her as tight as I could. Ana, Bob, Sharon and Jack came around and we all engaged in a spontaneous group hug.
Maria carefully stepped out of her heels and began breathlessly telling the others that her feet felt fine, and that her little walk was not as difficult as she had expected.

I could not help but notice that Sharon was wearing a bathrobe and Ana had changed back into her sun dress, which ironically left Maria as the only one clad in a thong bikini. In her moment of triumph, it somehow seemed very appropriate.

We all downed another glass of champagne, and I accompanied Maria inside the house. She carried the 7-inch heels inside with her, like an excited child unwilling to part with her new toy. We entered the second guest bedroom and closed the door behind us. Since we had last been in there, Sharon and Jack had put up several mirrors on the walls, enhancing the room’s usability for lovemaking. Maria took off the two parts of her thong bikini, and then slid into the 7-inch heels while I took off my clothes. She stood there, totally naked except for the heels, looking at herself in the mirror. She now got to see the impact that these wild shoes had on her own body.

“Absolutely crazy,” she said. “Such impossible shoes, and yet I can wear them and walk in them. It is like I was designed to wear high heels. It is in my blood, and in my genes.”

This was the climax of the incredible journey her grandmother had begun decades before as a young woman in the slums of El Salvador. Her grandmother had used her feminine charms and ability to wear high heels to pull herself up out of third-world poverty and climb up to the Salvadoran middle class. Maria had now taken the next step, and was standing in 7-inch heels in a luxurious North American mansion, with a college degree and a bright future ahead of her. High heels alone did not bring her to this lofty place, but the journey would not have been possible without them. It was now clear to me why she wanted to master the extreme heels so badly.

“Steve,” she said, “aren’t there times when you wish you had married a normal woman? A woman who could not conceive of walking more than two blocks in a pair of 3-inch heels?”

“You forget, Maria, I was married to a normal woman before I met you. It sucked.” I walked up to her and began caressing her naked hips.

“Maybe so,” she replied. “But doesn’t it bother you that perhaps half the women I encounter every day secretly hope that I will fall down and humiliate myself because I insist on wearing such high heels?”

“If I want to know what a real woman thinks of you, I’ll ask Ana or Sharon. Otherwise, I don’t care.” I pulled her close to me and kissed her on the lips, and then worked my way down her neck to her breasts.

“OK,” she said. “But don’t you hate the fact that I deal with men every day who would absolutely love to fuck me? I could take you to my office and point out man after man who would jump into bed with me in a minute, if I ever gave any of them the word.”

“Doesn’t bother me a bit. Fucking you is their fantasy. But it’s my reality.”

I picked up Maria and placed her down on the bed. She made no effort to take off the 7-inch heels; after all, they are intended primarily to be worn in bed. I got on top of Maria, and we engaged in some of our most intense lovemaking ever. Seven-inch heels, a thong bikini, and a woman capable of wearing both of them at the same time are a pretty powerful combination.

To be continued.

Stu

Seven weeks later, Maria and I were relaxing in our hotel room in San Francisco, enjoying a great picture-window view of the hilly city and the surrounding bay. Our trip was the result of an unexpected – but not unwelcome – development stemming from Maria’s 7-inch heel walk around Sharon’s and Jack’s swimming pool.

In the weeks following that day, Maria spent time each day at home practicing to walk in her 7-inch heels. I was impressed by the depth of her enthusiasm. She had come 180 degrees from the time when she viewed extreme heels as a perversion of her family’s view of femininity. She now believed that extreme heels were an affirmation of everything her family had valued about feminine expression. Intelligence, hard work and a devotion to femininity through the wearing of high heels had been the key to her grandmother’s escape from Third World poverty, and they had enabled Maria to move up to the American middle class. She devoted herself to the goal of being able to walk in 7-inch heels as smoothly as she could in 5- and 6-inch heels. While she realized that such a goal might be unattainable, she saw merit in getting as close to it as she could, as if the striving for perfection by itself would make her better prepared to deal with whatever future challenges she would face.

For the first time since her introduction to high heels as an adolescent, Maria needed outside help to improve her walking skills. We rejected the use of artificial aids such as the foot straighteners that we had seen on the Internet. Instead, Jack taught her some stretching exercises to perform every day in order to increase the already impressive flexibility of her feet and ankles. He also volunteered to examine her feet regularly to make sure she was not overstressing them. Between the exercises and the practice in the shoes themselves, Maria made quick progress, and within a month she was able to walk smoothly in 7-inch heels for a minute or two at about half her normal walking speed.

And then, 5 weeks after our afternoon at Sharon’s and Jack’s swimming pool, we confirmed that Maria was pregnant.

The most likely time of conception was indeed that eventful weekend when we had made passionate love in our friends’ guest bedroom. I was struck by the fact that our child would owe his or her existence to the sexual energy triggered by Maria’s experimentation with extreme heels. That seemed to underline the pointlessness of segregating our offbeat interest in high heels with the conventional aspects of our marriage. Everything was rolled together in a single package.

Maria and I were excited about the prospect of becoming parents. We regretted the fact that Maria would soon have to give up high heels entirely for the duration of her pregnancy. We also realized that the all-consuming job of guiding our son or daughter through infancy and early childhood would divert our attention away from such things as Maria’s sexy clothes and shoes. Nevertheless, it seemed like a small price to pay for the privilege of bringing a new life into the world, and we resolved to become the best mom and dad that we could.

There was, however, one piece of unfinished business in our old lives that had to be addressed. Maria and I decided that the triumph of her feminine expression – both on the job and in her personal life – had to be commemorated in one final night of dinner and dancing in 7-inch heels. This was something of a left turn, even for us, as we originally had no inclination for her to ever wear the most extreme of all heels in public. But her rapidly improving ability to walk smoothly in them in the privacy of our home, and the sobering connection between the 7-inch heels and the new life growing in her belly, convinced us that she needed to take this one final step before her transition to motherhood.

San Francisco seemed to be the logical choice for such an endeavor, because of the city’s tolerant reputation as well as the anonymity that we would enjoy. And, of course, we would never think of attempting such a feat without the companionship and support of Ana, Bob, Sharon and Jack, who made the trip with us.

I was sitting in the bed in our hotel room, admiring the view of the city, when Maria emerged from the bedroom. “What do you think?” she asked me. Her dress tonight was a return to her roots: a jet-black Salvadoran-style dress that was loose above the waist before wrapping itself tightly around her waist, hips and thighs. The dress then went loose around her knees before ending at her shins. The dress, along her black seamed stockings, were the perfect complement to her brown skin and jet-black hair. There was, as yet, no bulge in the belly to indicate her pregnancy, only the divine curvature of her hips and thighs that still beckoned to every man lucky enough to be able to see them.

“I am happy about becoming a dad. But boy, am I going to miss this,” I said, reaching for my camera.

“Hold it!” Maria said. She was still barefoot, and she slid into a pair of 5-inch stilettos. “Now take your pictures.” I eagerly snapped away, not knowing how long it would be before she would ever look like this again.

There was a knock on the door, which I opened it to let our four friends inside. “How is mom doing?” Sharon asked. Bob whistled, and said, “Mothers never looked like that where I came from.”

“You folks aren’t looking so shabby yourselves,” I replied. Sharon was wearing a long, gold-colored dress that pushed her breasts up to show an eye-popping amount of cleavage. I thought back to Sharon’s statement to me several months earlier that she had undergone her breast enhancement strictly for her job. She had either been kidding herself at the time, or Jack and she had since realized that it would be a waste to only use such a beautiful pair of assets for only 40 hours a week. In any event, the pair of gold, 6-inch stiletto sandals on Sharon’s feet made it quite clear that she was not abandoning her commitment to high heels.

Ana was quite stunning as well, attired in a sheer white blouse and a tight, black leather skirt that ended just above the knees, complimented with black fishnet hose, and black, 6-inch stiletto pumps. A true legs-and-heels man would probably have considered her the most attractive of our three ladies on that night.

Ana pointed to Maria’s feet and said, “Surely, we didn’t come all the way here so you could go out to dinner in those dowdy shoes?”

“Of course not,” Maria laughed. She took the black, 7-inch stiletto pumps out of their box and set them down on the floor, and then she slid out of her 5-inch shoes. Even though Maria was capable of stepping into the shoes by herself, I extended my hand like a gentlemen, and she graciously held my hand as she slid each of her feet into the shoes. She then let go of my hand, and stood there, modeling herself for the rest of us.

“Oh, Toto, we are definitely not in Kansas anymore!” Jack said with a laugh.

“On to dinner!” Maria said. She wrapped her arm around mine, and we stepped slowly to the door, which Bob opened for us. We kept a slow, careful pace (one…..two…..one……two…..) that nevertheless seemed like the speed of light for a woman in such outrageous heels. We walked out the door and down the corridor to the elevator. I was just as impressed with the way Sharon and Ana were managing in their 6-inch heels – a normal pace, legs totally straight, walking as effortlessly as if they were in 4-inch heels. What a sight we must have been.

We reached the elevator and got inside when it arrived. We traveled up to the penthouse restaurant on the top floor of the hotel, which offered an even more stunning view of the city than from our room. Jack and Sharon confirmed our reservations with the host, and we were told it would be a few minutes. I helped Maria sit down, and she let out a sigh of relief. “The first leg of our journey is over,” I said.

“Wow. Just look at those. Stunning,” I heard someone say. I turned to the side and noticed a couple of women who had come in behind us and were standing in the aisle. One was an attractive, black-haired woman and the other was a somewhat awkward looking brunette, although both wore nice dresses and were wearing 5-inch heels.

“Sorry,” the black-haired woman said to us. “I didn’t mean to be impolite. You don’t see shoes like yours every day. You are quite daring for wearing them out to dinner. I would love to be able to do something like that.”

“Thank you for the compliment. Practice makes perfect. You may be able to do it some day,” Maria said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the woman said. She turned to her friend and said, “What do you think? Maybe you could try working up to shoes like that.” Her friend giggled in a sort of a low-pitched voice.

It then became clear to me that the awkward-looking woman was actually a man! I was not used to seeing such things in our suburban town. Of course, we had come to San Francisco precisely because the shocking was commonplace there.

Maria looked up at the man and said, “You should be very proud of yourself. It is not easy to walk in 5-inch heels, and you handle yourself like a pro. I am really impressed. Seriously.”

“Thank you,” the man said.

The host called Jack’s name, and we got up and said goodbye to the couple. I wrapped arms with Maria again, and the six of us made our way past rows of diners to our table. It seemed as if half the diners stopped what they were doing to stare at Maria’s feet. The rest of the patrons were gawking at Ana and Sharon, and I was grateful that they had done their best to ensure that not all eyes in the restaurant would be on Maria.

“That’s what we should do,” Maria whispered to me. “We should teach you how to walk in 5-inch heels. Wouldn’t it be fun for you and I to put on a pair of sexy dresses and stiletto heels and go out to lunch in the mall? We could get you a wig and experiment with all kinds of lipstick and eye shadow. Makes me tingle just to think about it.”

“With the baby coming, it is unfortunate that we won’t have time to do anything like that for quite a while,” I said sarcastically.

We got to our table, and I helped Maria sit down. “The second leg of our journey is now over,” I whispered.

To be continued

Stu

The six of us gorged ourselves on an incredible French meal that I will not soon forget. We sat and talked about the times ahead of us. Maria was planning to take a leave of absence from her job following the birth of the baby, but she would have to return to work after a few months, and at least she was in a position where she could wear high heels and nice outfits at her job. It was less clear how such things would work at home. Would Maria push a baby carriage around our neighborhood in stiletto heels? Even in heel-crazy El Salvador, women stopped wearing high heels for the most part after they gave birth.

“Don’t worry, Steve,” Ana said to me as she stroked my hand playfully. “I’ll come by twice a week to visit you two, and I promise never to come in anything lower than 5-inch heels. I’ll make sure you don’t go through high heel withdrawal.”

As we finished a rich dessert of chocolate mousse, a jazz trio set up its instruments and began playing on the other side of a small dance floor not far from our table. I sipped on my coffee and looked at Maria. “Just say the word. How are your feet?”

“They are fine,” she said. She sipped at her coffee, took a deep breath, and said, “Let’s go.”

I helped Maria up and locked arms with her as we walked over to the dance floor. Ana, Bob, Sharon and Jack followed us. This was the climax of our trip: Maria and I would dance in public while she wore 7-inch heels. Because of the press of our work schedules, we had only tried dancing several times at home. Ideally, we would not have wanted to try this in public without several additional weeks of practice, but that was a luxury of time that we no longer had. Anyway, we were not going to try any fancy dance moves. All we wanted to do was to move our feet in tandem with Maria holding on to me.

The eyes of everyone were back upon us as we made our way to the dance floor and began to dance. I rested my right hand on Maria’s gorgeous waist and held her hand in my left hand. I noticed two men sitting unusually close to each other at a nearby table who were transfixed by Maria’s feet. Even homosexuals were not immune to her charms! A heterosexual couple walked past us on the dance floor, and I saw the woman point to Maria’s shoes, turn to her partner and say, “Now she is GOOD!” I looked over at the jazz trio, and noticed the bass player’s eyes darting back and forth between Sharon, Ana and Maria. Even jazz musicians did not see the likes of those three every day.

I pulled Maria close to me and said, “You are a hit, even in San Francisco.” She kissed me on the lips. I asked her if she was getting tired, and she replied that she was fine and wanted to keep dancing. I could tell from Maria’s mood that she was no longer paying attention to others, but was withdrawing inside herself. It was her way of enjoying the music and her closeness to me without being distracted by the other people on the dance floor. I held her tightly against me, and whispered into her ear how much I loved her and how great a mother she was going to be. She pushed my head to the side, wiggled her tongue in my ear for a few seconds, and then told me that the day I walked into her little Salvadoran boutique several years earlier was the greatest day of her life. I whispered back, “At least until the day our baby is born.”

Maria’s tongue in my ear had given me a nice, firm erection. As one of the jazz musicians began a slow, extended saxophone solo, Maria leaned into me as hard as she could, letting the 7-inch heels push herself forward. Having never danced with Maria in 7-inch heels, I was delighted to feel my erection rubbing against a particularly sensitive spot of hers. This had never happened when she had danced previously with me in 5- and 5-1/2 inch heels, so the extra heel height and the way it repositioned her torso was making quite a difference. I placed my lips against hers, we opened our mouths and I began linking my tongue with hers. She hummed softly with delight, and we timed our movements slowly and deliberately with the soft beat of the music. It was relatively dark on the dance floor and I closed my eyes and felt there was nothing in the entire universe except Maria, me and the soft jazz music.

The saxophone solo continued, and I heard Maria moan softly with pleasure. I wiggled my hips once quickly and she moaned again. I held her tightly against me and she tightened her grip on me, and began breathing rapidly. She dug her nails into the back of my neck so deeply that I thought she might draw blood. She began moaning rapidly and reached as deeply into herself as she could to prevent herself from screaming, and all the while she was twitching violently while holding on to me as tightly as she could. A wave of perspiration washed down from her forehead. We stopped moving and I just held her tight for a few seconds until her little convulsions had passed, although she continued to breathe rapidly.

I whispered, “Maria, did you just have….”

“I think so. I mean, yes, I did. Of course I did. I can’t believe it.”

I looked up and saw that Sharon, Jack, Ana and Bob had stopped dancing and were standing next to us. “Are you all right, Maria?” Ana asked.

“Wow. Um, yeah,” Maria said, obviously at a loss for words.

“I think I know what happened, but in the interest of privacy, I’ll keep my medical opinion to myself,” Jack said. “Maybe the two of you should sit down.”

“Good idea,” I said. Several couples who had been dancing around us were staring at us, so our efforts to hide what had been happening had not been entirely successful. But it did not really matter. Her face still glistening from perspiration, Maria broke into a glowing smile as we slowly and carefully made our way back to our table. We reached our seats, and Maria gulped down a glass of water. She was still breathing somewhat rapidly.

“How did we do that?” I asked her.

“How is not important. It is simply important that it happened,” Maria said. “Now we have done everything. We married, you put me through college, we both have good careers, I can wear 7-inch heels. The fact that I had an …um, you know, in public, it just means….Hell, I don’t know what it means. Maybe it means we have accomplished everything we can with high heels at this stage in our lives, and now it is time to go home and have our baby.”

“Maybe so,” I said. “But this can’t be the end. I want to have the greatest baby in the world, but we have to find a way to balance being parents with this, this other part of our lives.”

Maria picked up my water glass, took a sip and smiled. “Absolutely,” she said.

The End....at least for now

Stu

When I started on a new set of "3 Sisters" stories last fall, I had only a handful of stories in mind. I was eventually shocked to find that I ended up with 150 pages (MS Word, single space) of heely fiction, which I have now posted here. The hit count indicates that approximately 70 of you have been faithfully visiting the forum and reading these over the last 5 months or so. I am flattered that you made the time to read the stories.

I have not written any other stories yet, although I do have a pretty good idea of what happens later to these three couples. The biggest problem is finding the time to write the stories. Assuming I do write anything else, I might have to write only a few stories at a time and then post them, rather than write everything in advance. I will have to see how things work.

I do have one favor to ask: I would be interested in knowing if you had a favorite character, couple or story, or if there was anything else about the series that stood out for you. (Or, if you thought any character, couple or story was particularly bad and did not work for you, I would like to know that, too.) You can either post your thoughts on this forum, or you can PM me, whichever you prefer. As you probably know, I have been trying to vary the themes (work, relationships, travel adventures, ethnic attitudes, heely fetishes), and am curious if anything stands out in your mind.

Lastly, I would like to thank Raincat for your recent posting of support as well as some of the additional thoughts in your PMs. Writing with feedback is always easier than writing in a vacuum.

Again...I hope you found the stories to be worthwhile, and thanks for your interest!