Her shoe bobbed up and down for what seemed like the hundredth time, almost in a rhythmic manner, quite akin to that of a hypnotizing trick. Again and again, the shoe slid off of her nylon-clad heel, almost in a seductive manner, before dangling for a few seconds, her toes clinging to the shoe as it dangled in the air. It was almost breathtaking, a true beauty if any other. She would occasionally balance the heel on her big toe, but that would only heighten the tease. As your eyes gazed longingly at her shoeplay, you wished that this time would be it, that her heel would fall from her foot, revealing the beauty within. But alas, it would not be, as she would expertly kick the heel back, causing her nylon-clad foot to be sheathed within a tomb of leather and shoe shiner.
She had been doing that for ten minutes, and you were starting to get disappointed. Sporadically you glanced up to Mrs. Bertinelli, only to find her casually skimming the pages of a young adult fantasy novel, her eyes sternly darting from page to page.
She occasionally peered over the pages at you, only to find you pretending to read a book of your own under your desk. Satisfied, she returned to her reading, her eyes quickly retreating back within the confines of her novel.
Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed what you were really looking at, at least not yet. You had kept this up for half an hour now, and by the looks of it, the clock would turn 4, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth as you would be robbed of seeing the true beauty of Mrs. Bertinelli’s shoeless feet.
That thought now hovering in your mind, you continued to gaze longingly as she crossed her legs, and began to roll her right ankle clockwise, her polished pump briefly sliding off her heel.
Briefly glancing up at her, you noticed how her eyes seemed to be more and more drawn to the novel, almost like some big plot twist or climax was beginning to occur.
“At least that’s more than can be said for me,” you thought to yourself miserably, as she began bouncing her heel excitedly.
But as it would seem, your luck was about to change.
Your eyes almost wearily following her shoe as it bobbed up and down, you now noticed that something was different, too different.
In her excitement, she was now bouncing the heel up and down wildly, her toes just barely able to catch the heel as it flew through the air. For a brief moment, you were able to catch a glimpse of her sole, the nylon stocking cruelly preventing you from viewing her bared foot.
Still, your hopes began to rise, as she was just able to catch the pump by the nail of her toes. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so lucky next time.
Your heart raced as her nylon-clad toes flexed when she bounced the pump for the second time, inadvertently causing the pump to slip off her foot. Your eyes gazed intently as the heel flew through the air, finally revealing the foot. Mrs. Bertinelli was surprisingly oblivious to it, her eyes glued to the page, but you had a front row seat.
With a silent yet emphatic thud, the pump crashed to the floor, revealing the beauty within. Her toes flexed wildly, almost dancing in joy of finally being freed from the confines of the shoe. You were barely able to prevent saliva from dripping out of your mouth as she arched her foot, revealing a soft, luscious sole that was still hidden by her nylons.
The shoe, on the other hand, remained on the floor a few feet away from her desk, and she couldn’t be more oblivious to it. Still glued to the novel, Mrs. Bertinelli merely sniffled and wiped her nose with a tissue before resuming reading.
You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more glued to the scene. A wide smile adorned your previously glum face as you finally viewed Helena’s stockinged foot in all its glory. From the looks of it, her foot was long and slender, yet the stockings prevented you from making a full statement.
Even without her shoe, Mrs. Bertinelli continued to enthrall you, almost absent-mindedly bobbing her stockinged foot up and down even without her shoe.
Still, her now discarded high heel tended to bug you, the shoe lying almost forgotten on the floor, clearly unnoticed by the strict teacher.
Your first instinct told you to alert Mrs. Bertinelli about it, but your sense of logic would kick in.
“What if she suspects you?” you thought to yourself.
After all, Mrs. Bertinelli was known for picking up on subtle hints, no doubt attributed to the many times your classmates have complimented her on her athletic figure. She was almost like a bloodhound. One wrong move, one ounce of hesitation or uncertainty, and she’ll be able to deduce your true intentions.
But then again, what other choice did you have?
And with that quite inconclusive thought, you meekly raised your hands to alert Mrs. Bertinelli, who as usual, ignored you.
Turning another page in her evidently enthralling novel, she merely wiped her nose with a spare tissue before continuing to read, forcing you to try more..engaging methods.
Loudly clearing your throat, you raised one eyebrow towards Mrs. Bertinelli, who once again ignored your sign. Another page flipped, and another wasted opportunity.
Finally, you decided just to come clean with it.
“Umm….Mrs. Bertinelli?” you finally asked, your voice still a bit tepid and shaky.
“What?” came her slightly irritable reply. Obviously, she had been taken out of the book some by your impromptu question.
After gulping for dear life, you proceeded with your question, albeit very reluctantly.
“You..you, uh...dropped your shoe,” you finally said, a breath of relief as well as fear exiting your body as soon as you said it.
“Hmmphh?” Her slightly puzzled look on her face finally prompted her to put down the book and look on the floor, where lo and behold, lay her high heel.
Upon this realization, her strict, stern-like mask instantly melted into a slightly embarrassed face, as she had realized that she had been barefoot for almost five minutes now.
“Oh yes, I suppose I did get a little….carried away, didn’t I?” she finally admitted, her face still flushed with embarrassment.
Judging the distance between her seat and the shoe, she then turned towards you with an almost pleading look in her eyes.
“That doesn’t happen everyday,” you thought to yourself.
“I don’t suppose you’d be up for bringing my shoe back to me, huh?" she asked shyly, almost cringing herself at the quite unusual request only for you to immediately perk up.
“Yeah, of co....I mean.....I’d be happy to,” you almost immediately beamed, catching yourself mid-sentence in fear of sounding too...overzealous.
She merely raised an eyebrow, possibly out of mere speculation, but that quickly disappeared when you made an effort to get up.
Now with both eyes watching you, Mrs. Bertinelli’s lips curled into the smallest shimmer of a smile, a rarity for her, as you began awkwardly walking towards the discarded high heel.
“Don’t screw this up. Don’t screw this up,” you told yourself in a seemingly infinite loop, now walking an increasingly tightrope between letting your hormones getting the better of you and Mrs. Bertinelli’s own suspicions being either confirmed or refuted by your actions going forward.
Taking a deep breath to curb your too obvious enthusiasm at this seemingly menial task, you resorted to putting on your best poker face possible as you neared the middle of the room.
Bending down on one knee, your hands, shaking almost of their own volition, gingerly reached out to grab the discarded shoe.
After all, was part nervousness, part anxiety, yet at the same time a raging curiosity that drove your visibly shaking hands forward.
Nevertheless, you brought the shoe closer to your immediate proximity and in the most casual manner that you could possibly muster examined the shoe.
The writing inside the work pump had long been rubbed away, faded in by frequent use and visible only as a barely legible smear adorning the instep which perfectly captured Mrs. Bertinelli’s narrow arch. There was also a sizable hole in the leathery sole, and scuffs all over that pointed to the shoe’s well-worn lifespan where she had nearly pummeled the shoe well into submission.
In other words, it was one of the most beautiful artifacts you had ever seen.
And that was just by looking at it.
Even from your kneeling position half a foot away, the almost intoxicating aroma of her feminine foot odor began wafting up towards your nostrils. Without making it to obvious that you were inhaling it all in, a wave of euphoria quickly washed over you as the smell of a thousand classes taught standing hit you full-on.
“This must be what crack’s like,” you thought to yourself dreamily, completely transfixed on the shoe to the point where you failed to notice Mrs. Bertinelli’s utterly amused expression peering down on you from her chair.
Witnessing everything that had just happened with growing curiosity and intrigue, she allowed herself a quiet chuckle before clearing her throat loudly.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she smirked coyly.
Thrown back into reality abruptly, you snapped back to attention with your cheeks now fully flush with crimson red.
“I’m sorry Mrs. Bertinelli, I was just..uhh...daydreaming,” you stammered sheepishly, quickly standing back up with the shoe in hand.
“Daydreaming about my shoes?” she shot back playfully, an uncharacteristically light-hearted reply by the characteristically stoic instructor.
“Oh no….I was just..uhh….admiring how nice your shoes are,” you finally answered, just barely coming up with what you hoped to be an acceptable enough response.
Crossing her arms as you finally reached her deck, she fixed you with a curious, almost scrutinizing glance.
It was only there for a moment, before being replaced by a disarming smile.
“Well, I certainly appreciate the compliment sweetie,” she finally thanked you, before gesturing towards her dangling foot. “Now, if you would be so kind….”
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