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The shoe tree

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jerry606
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Joined: Wed Apr 13, 2022 12:58 am
Gender: Male

The shoe tree

Post by jerry606 »

I was watching an old episode of "into the attic" for all you bdsm fans out there. The one where marina and starr i believe go out to an abandoned farm. On their journey before the good stuff happens they arrive at a shoe tree. Littered with women's shoes. How they got there was interesting enough for me to write a story about the concept. Enjoy. Can't remember how old I was when I wrote this.



“As we can see from the first mile hike of our tour, the Ozark's contain many caves. Missouri is actually considered the “Cave State”, and most of those are located in these very mountains....”. Heathers head began to bob as the guide continued on about the history of terrain, and origins of old ports near the river. Her boyfriend Harry had dragged her out here, and now all she could think about was a hot cup of coffee and those tiny croissants that the bakery down the street made every Tuesday. They had been on the trail all morning. A group that had once been 15 had dwindled down to 6 as the others wandered back to camp or the overpriced gift shop that sold Ozark mountain daredevil mugs and week old sandwiches.
“Now if you take a look on the right, past the mossy cave which there will be extended tours of later you will notice an old crab apple tree that has been here since colonial times. Now this is not where we store our hiking boots, low low price of 199.99$ at the Ozark gift shop. Plus since most of these shoes are older than most of our guests, I'd ask you not to touch of climb up the tree for free souvenirs. The shoe tree is a product of the locals, some that have roots stronger than this old tree” the guide continued smirking at his own corny joke.
“Wait a second” something had caught Heathers eye. She had few keen senses but knowing an expensive pair of shoes from a mile away was one of them. “Are those Louboutin sexy strass in that branch up there?”. The tour guide looked bewildered.
“I'm not sure, maybe Shirley at the gift shop can give you more information. Carrying on.....”
But Heather was not carrying on. She had a lock on those shoes, and not even Harry's overactive sex drive could keep her away from those tonight.
Like any self respecting sleuth she waited for the cover of night to make her move. To keep honest and naive Harry off her trail, she got him involved in a moonshine shooting contest that ended with him raising his glass to the sky in triumph and moments later passing out and landing face first on the table. He had yet to wake up, but he was breathing so that was a good sign. After checking on him yet again to make sure he was still alive Heather started to prepare for the steal of a lifetime, And it wasn't as if they were an old mouldy shoe up there, they were practically brand new. Why would someone in their right mind ever let those out of their sight? The details were meaningless, the reasons insubstantial. All that mattered was that she got them for herself and nothing would stop her from that outcome.
Equipping her hiking boots, camo shorts, long sleeved fashionable shirt and novelty Ozark mountain hat to hold in her hair she was just about prepared. The only thing that she needed was Harry's hiking equipment which he never left home without. Casually she walked over to retrieve the keys from his moonshine soaked khakis and made her way out the door, phase one of her master plan was complete.
Phase 2 was to get through camp with little to no contact with the other campers and staff members. It seemed relatively easy but since she had been in this place the last 2 days of her life which she so desired to have back she noticed that the corny guide never seemed to sleep. Maybe that was part of the reason that he was so cheery because he was bat-shit insane from never sleeping a day in his life. As she opened the door to her cabin and peered out, sure enough the guide looking more and more like Ranger Gord from The Red Green show sat on his rickety rocking chair and quietly picked a twangy tune only a son of the south would enjoy. He was there but more or less preoccupied enough for her to slip by and grab the ropes from Harry's Land-rover. She crept down the stairs, by the stone statue of the Foggy Mountain Forefathers memorial, ducking under the window for the gift shop making her way towards the parking lot.
Now I know most of you people out there might say “Hey wait a minute... She's hot, she's vulnerable without as much as a bread knife to protect herself. Why would she take such a risk for a low level reward like shoes?”. You may say that, but if you truly knew Heather, the question would never cross your mind. Through her glinting smile complete with rosie dimples, had hints of what seemed like good intentions. Underneath it all she was just plain greedy, and whatever she might get would be the least of what she deserved. But alas I'm rambling, my apologies to the Queen Mary.
Heather was a sleuth in her own right, taking money from her dear mothers purse since the age of ten, shoplifting a few choice items when her bankbook was less than sufficient. So when it came to grabbing a few ropes and pulley's from Harry's Land Rover, you may as well wrap it up and seal it with a kiss, cause it's not going to be there the next time Harry did rock climbing with the boys. Like a pro, she popped the trunk, stealing what she needed for the task at hand. Than as quick as she came, she was gone into the woods to claim her prize.
Using the flashlight she ripped from the trunk, Heather began to follow the trail. Trail B turned into Trail F, F to D, (maybe I should have paid a little more attention during the tour) she thought to herself. It didn't take long until she was completely lost. But who would honestly admit to themselves that they were lost, that's when panic truly sets in. When that lump in your throat usually subsiding in the bowels of your stomach really lets you have it. No freakin way your going to be comfortable in a panic. Suddenly Heather saw what she could only mistake was a campfire in the distance. She was ecstatic, overjoyed with the thought brought by the company of others. Was that a twang coming from that light? Could it be Ranger Gord himself? She began rustling through the bush, shoving branches aside, furiously fighting her way towards the light of the fire. So furious in fact she forgot the duck away from the gigantic branch that knocked her unconscious tangled in her own rope.
She awoke to a warm glow of the fire. It felt nice on her face, she smiled as she opened her eyes.
“Dems a fine fitin boot, may haps I be weerin deese for years”. Her smile went away rather quickly, her eyes closed to a slit as she surveyed her unfortunate situation.
“Dang, you always gets a first dibbs on lost and founds Jethro, why don you lets me hav em' fer once”. Walthum was forever getting the shit end of the stick, but that's not to say that Jethro wasn't a fair brother.
“Tell ya whut, we hang dose boots in da shoe tree, split dose perty smellin socks, and have our fun wit Daisy Duke over there”. This is not what Heather wanted to hear, but she figured as long as she played dead they wouldn't get to rowdy with her and maybe she could escape before anything too fowl happened. Wasting no time Jethro and Walthum started tugging at her lengthy hiking socks. It became hard for her not to fight back and just roll with it, it went against every fibre of her being.
“Deese are hooked on perty good Walthum, but the harder the beet the tastier the juice”. Jethro, the poet of the group tugged his hardest until the sock popped off veering him into a rogue pile of wood and shine jugs. After knocking the dust off himself he noticed what Walthum had yet to take his eyes off of, the softest feet he had ever had the privilege to behold. Looking at each other, than back at the immaculate foot they raced to be the first to lay a nose into that heavenly aroma. Walthum won by a hair causing Jethro to rip off Heathers other sock and have his way with her. Heather on the other hand was not having such a good time. Harry would rub her feet when she asked, but he wasn't in any way a foot connoisseur. That french pedicure was done 3 days ago and these hillbillies were ruining it with their deformed tongues and ill maintained beards. It was tearing her up inside to just lie there like a bump on a log while these animals had their way with her feet. First smelling, than what was that a tongue? Were they licking her feet? Her smile came back, than a snicker. Jethro thought he heard something, but denied himself a clear thought and blamed it on the campfire. Heather was nothing but clear thoughts, and bad thoughts, and the thought of how long she could endure what they were doing to her before she said something or something slipped. A laugh wasn't as far away as she imagined it might be. They were really starting to go to town, she squealed a bit but still they didn't notice. How dumb could they be? Jethro stopped.

“How bouts we continue unwrappin this here prize”. Walthum and Jethro nodded their heads simultaneously. One unhooking her belt, the other began tugging at her pants now. This was getting ridiculous, Heather was extremely close to losing her cool and blowing up on these sons of the south. God she hated Hillbillies. Her pants soon joined her socks and boots, but they weren't done yet. At the top of her creamy white thighs Jethro's hand found its way into the crack of her shapely posterior and tugged down her red laced thong. Out of instinct she popped to her saliva soaked feet now ready to show these mountain men what a fiesty city gal was all about.
“I won't take it anymore you filthy confederate toting, jug drinking, son of a fatherless wench. If I have to crack you two with my freshly manicured hand you are going to take me to civilization and knock off this inbred idiocy you call a life until I'm happy. You got that?” Facing Jethro Heather cracked a bit as He laughed at her rant. Oblivious of the fact her underwear had shimmied there way down her legs as she yelled the unseen Walthum finished the job by ripping her shirt and bra over her head before she had time to think. Heather's hands went instantly to her 36 C's. The shame had made her face fire engine red, and her brief courage sank into the bog. Using the rope she had stolen from Harry's trunk, Walthum tugged Heather's hands away from her shame and began binding them together. The shame, the rope, the danger, what was this? Was Heather getting turned on?
She had never had these feelings before, it was if she was crossing a new horizon of unknown proportions. This was not the type of woman to take orders, be helpless, or communicate with the likes of these charlatans. But here she was, naked, being tied and she had stopped resisting. Walthum had finished his tying job on her hands as Jethro led Heather over to a half rotted potato sack. He pulled on the rope and Heather obediently layed on her stomach. Walthum continued his hogtied around her now dirty feet as his brother grabbed a damp rag and began wiping the makeup from Heathers face. After they had finished the first job they moved onto the second. Both brothers grabbed scrub brushed and began dipping it in foul smelling hick water. Walthum working the feet and Jethro working everywhere else. This time Heather couldn't control herself and began to laugh as the brushed dug deep. There was nowhere to hide, no one to stop them, and she could not have been more wet. Jethro was a master with a brush, working from back, to her pert ass cheeks, than inside pulling at her tight juicy lips. Walthum on the other hand was mesmerized by her feet. Even with a little dirt on them, they were still the most beautiful feet he had ever seen, and there was no way he was going to let this one go in a potato sack after they had their fun, she was going to be a main staple in everyday life if he had his way. Since this sideshow had begun Heather had not stopped laughing, her face grew purple and her eyes were sealed shut. Drool flowed from her mouth and she had a hint of potato sack flavor in her mouth. Since his arrival with the brush Jethro had yet to leave her tight lips which were now fraying in either direction creating a curtain effect instead of her usual tight mound. The friction became too much and she had the best orgasm she had ever had. Screw Hitachi’s, and Harry's average sized Johnson, Heather knew then what her true destiny was going to be from now on.
So should you ever find your way to the Ozarks feel free to visit the modestly priced Ozark gift shop, soak in the tours of Ranger Gord, or if you find yourself deep in the woods and stumble upon the shack where Walthum and Jethro dwell, you'll find a new recruit. She keeps mostly to herself, sitting in her rocking chair propping her now always bare feet on a wooden stool. Once a fan of the finer things in life Heather is as happy as a pig in shit wearing overalls and a sweat stained white shirt. Content that tonight and every other night The Sons of the south will have their way with her. Maybe they might even invite a few friends too.

Y'all come back now ya hear.
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