He could throw the shoes away, runbarefoot with his skirt riding up exposing his pantied arse. He could rununtil his face was sweaty and red and his m...ke up smudged and ruined. Hecould do all that but what was the point? However fast he ran Doyle wouldcatch him. The risk of being exposed as a boy in a dress was too high. Hewas stuck here, with a boy as a girl. Fucking Stacey. While Art weighedall this up in his head, Doyle returned, a full pint of cheap, Europeanlager in one hand, a wine cooler. I could decide to bury the evidence at the bottom of the laundry basket. She's so messy that she will never know, and by the time she gets to them, they will be dry. With any luck she would just toss them in the washing machine in a big pile and not even notice, the dried white powder coating them. Part of me though wants her to find them still wet and sticky, knowing I have cum in them, but I bury them as planned, and turn my attention to the more mundane things in life. This was pretty much. More

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