[ENG] Conference Wife, Part 2 (Fiction)

[paradigm88]

A few months ago, I said there weren't pages and pages of this story to come. I guess I was wrong about that.

You can't have a conference in a day, after all. And when you find out a girl you fancy is into shoeplay, you can't just not indulge in that or encourage it, can you? Even if you'll be in two different cities in 48 hours?

Part 1 is a few months back in the threads here, if you haven't read it yet. Completely fiction, completely indulgent in my preferences of pretty professional girls who just can't keep their shoes on. I'll break it up a bit because this segment did get a little longer than I had expected.

Enjoy!

[paradigm88]

I didn’t sleep well that night.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I laid there in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about that last ten seconds of the evening. I remembered Leigh running over, giving me a sweet peck on the cheek, then pausing outside her door like a business casual ballerina.

It was far from what most guys fantasized about after a chance encounter, I was sure. But I was feeling absolutely smitten.

I wondered if Leigh was feeling the same way.

I had just finished shaving when I heard a soft knock at my door. I wrapped a towel around my waist and ran to the door, peering through the peephole, but no one was there. I cracked my door open just in case, but no one was around. Something caught my eye, though, so I glanced down.

Placed precisely at the threshold were Leigh’s brown clogs, one with a piece of paper tucked into it.

I quickly retrieved Leigh’s shoes and closed the door. I brought them inside and set them down on the table. I hadn’t really looked closely at them, but up close, I could see the slightest scuffs in the brown leather, the telltale signs of a girl’s favorite shoes. I removed the rolled-up paper tucked into her right shoe and uncurled it. It was a piece of hotel stationery, with a heart drawn on it, signed with a cursive “L.”

Apparently Leigh was feeling the same way.

And apparently she had no plans to wear her brown clogs today. I almost felt lightheaded; I couldn’t explain it. I guess no girl had ever left me a pair of her favorite shoes as a sign of approval. I wondered if Leigh had dropped them off, or slipped them off in place and left her note behind. It didn’t make much difference. I looked deep inside her left clog, seeing the first hints of wear from her toes, five little imprints in the dark leather sole.

“They’re all I want to wear right now,” Leigh’s admission echoed in my head.

I got dressed, folded her little note and tucked it into my pocket. The clogs were nice, but only because they reminded me of the girl who played with them so adeptly the night before.

And I would have to wait to see her for a while.

I finished getting ready for the day and headed down to the conference center eight floors below. I would be in and out of speaker sessions for most of the day. I walked past the expo hall where Leigh was stuck until the early evening. I hoped they had found her a chair, or that she at least wore some comfy shoes, for her sake.

The first morning session was actually rather boring. And with chairs and tables lined up in rows in front of the presenter’s stage, there was no easy sightseeing to be had. It was just as well; most of the women I had seen were wearing boots. I knew at least one woman who wasn’t wearing boots.

Between sessions, I texted her. “Are you missing something?” I asked.

It took a few minutes but I got a reply: “I’m not exactly missing them,” punctuated by a heart.

It took all I had not to run down to that expo hall. Leigh texted me again: “When do I get to see you?”

“Last seminar is at 3,” I texted back.

I was walking back in for the next seminar when Leigh’s next text arrived: “I’m trying to behave but I’ve been standing allllll day,” this time punctuated by an angel emoji.

I almost walked back out.

But I was being paid for this, so I stayed for the next two seminars, and stuck around to chat with a friend. We were talking business, but I was thinking recreation. I also knew Leigh was working, so I was reluctant to be too much of a distraction for her. Even if maybe she wanted one.

It was almost four-o’clock when I finally made my way down to the expo hall. The seminars and roundtables had just wrapped up, with a cocktails-and-networking session booked in an hour. Now was supposedly free time for roaming the expo hall, though plenty of people used it to squeeze in a nap or catch up on work emails.

As I walked into the hall, I knew exactly where to find Leigh. But as I turned down her aisle, I nearly bowled over another old conference friend. We said our hellos, but as he and I caught up ever quickly, I was looking over his shoulder for Leigh. Someone else was talking to her, but from my angle, she was concealed in her booth.

Leigh finally stepped out from behind her table and talked to her prospect. I tried to sound interested in my friend, but I was studying Leigh’s new look. Today, Leigh looked a bit more businesslike in a teal blazer, an ivory blouse, and light gray pants with black shoes.

And as if the Red Sea parted, my friend excused himself and Leigh’s customer walked away, and there was nothing but carpeted aisle between me and Leigh. I walked over, determined to ignore anyone who tried to stop me along the way.

“Hey,” Leigh said. She batted her eyes demurely, looking like she wanted to kiss me, but knew better where we were.

“Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going,” Leigh said. “They forgot the chairs again.”

“Again?”

“Yeah.” Leigh stepped back behind her table, and I stepped into her booth. Even after a long day on her feet, Leigh looked chipper and friendly, her blue eyes bright behind her contacts.

I also had to admire Leigh’s sense of style. Her blazer was youthful and modern, tailored and cropped. Her ivory blouse was modest but looked silky-soft. Her gray pants were actually a soft glen plaid pattern. And in the shadow of her table, it looked like Leigh was wearing black ballet flats. But I couldn’t tell.

“How long do you have to stay here?”

“I’m supposed to stay until seven,” Leigh said. “But the cocktail hour ends at six and it’s going to empty out after that.”

That was usually when people went out to dinner with old acquaintances, or took their best customers out for dinner. I had dodged an invite or two myself. There was supposed to be some cigars-and-wine event a couple blocks from the hotel, but that wasn’t my scene.

“And then what?”

“Right now I just want to sit down,” Leigh said, staring at the floor. “My feet hurt.” And to make her point, she slipped her left foot from her shoe, revealing just a hint of the white-and-black polka-dotted insole before sliding her foot forward again.

“Wait right there,” I said. I dropped my messenger bag in the booth and hurried out to the expo hall. Maybe they hadn’t brought chairs around for every booth. But I was sure I had seen a couple. I jogged to the end of Leigh’s aisle, looked back and forth, and finally saw a rack of plastic folding chairs. I ran over, grabbed one, and all but jogged back to Leigh’s booth, where my lovely conference wife was still wondering where I had gone.

Leigh beamed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, silently clapping her hands as I unfolded the chair. I set it behind the booth, and Leigh sank into the plastic folding chair with a sigh.

“Better?” I asked.

“I don’t know if I’m going to want to get up,” Leigh said with a nervous laugh. Now I wished I had brought over two chairs. I bent down on one knee, just so I didn’t tower over Leigh.

“Thank you so much,” Leigh repeated, leaning forward in her chair. As she leaned forward, her heels popped from her flats, and she slid her feet back, arching her feet so only her stockinged toes remained in her empty shoes. “Ooh,” she cooed softly.

Now I could stare. Leigh was wearing black trouser socks that shimmered enough to hint that they were nylon, not cotton. I hoped they were as soft as the socks she wore the day before.

And Leigh’s shoes were an unexpected touch of whimsy; the rounded, pleated toes were accented with a single strap held by a snap. It was like a Mary Jane strap, but obviously did little to keep her shoes on. A worn-out price sticker was stuck to the faded insole of Leigh’s right shoe. I was sure I’d seen those flats before, but not in years.

“Aren’t those from Payless?” I asked her.

“I think so,” Leigh said, looking down at her feet. “I’ve had them forever.” She crossed her right leg over her left leg, dangling her shoeless left foot as she read the insole tag.

“They look like doll shoes,” I said.

“Oh my God!” Leigh clapped her hands. “I used to call them my baby doll flats.”

“Are they still comfortable?”

“Kind of,” Leigh said with a shrug. “They don’t have any support. But they’re so easy to wear.”

“Easy?” I asked.

“They’re very light,” Leigh said. “They just slip right on and off my feet. And they’re a little wide so they don’t pinch my toes.”

“They sound perfect,” I said.

“That’s why I still have them,” Leigh said. “They’re a little cutesy for a business trip, but they’re really good for sore feet days.”

Leigh was bouncing her right foot on her toes, so her dangling left foot was bouncing, too. “Is today a sore feet day?” I asked.

“I told you I was out of practice.” Leigh laughed.

“I thought you meant your clogs.”

She shook her head. But then she hastily uncrossed her dangling leg and stuffed her feet into her flats, getting up and on her feet just as a customer walked up. I stood up, too, stepping back from behind the booth to give Leigh some time to work.

Leigh would have to finish her confession later.

I paced across the aisle, flicking through my phone but watching Leigh hoping to see signs of shoeplay behind her table. But Leigh was composed and responsible, as far as I could see.

So I took a walk around the expo hall, hoping for some other scenery. It was surprisingly quiet, given that everyone was out of the seminars, and cocktail hour was coming quickly. The crowd was just noise to me, though. I was already thinking ahead to cocktail hour, to dinner. I kind of wanted to skip on cocktail hour but I knew Leigh had to work.

I meandered back to her booth in a couple minutes, and passed Leigh’s latest visitor as I rounded the corner.

“Sorry,” she said.

“You’re here working,” I said.

“I’d rather be sitting down.”

I stepped into the booth, over to Leigh’s side of the table. “I kind of want to skip cocktail hour, too,” I said. I glanced at my phone, still in my right hand. It was just about time for people to file in.

“I think I’m going to head to my room to change as soon as it’s over,” Leigh said. She leaned on the table and dipped her left foot from her shoe.

“To change?”

“I want to change for dinner,” she said.

“What dinner?” I asked.

“The dinner we’re going to later?” Leigh said, smiling.

There were no organized dinner plans tonight. There was a networking thing later in the evening, but it was just more drinking and some karaoke, and I wasn’t really into that most of the time. Leigh and I usually stepped out and grabbed dinner somewhere nearby. But we hadn’t really made any real plans yet.

Though last night, Leigh had said she wanted to wear heels for dinner tonight.

“Are you asking me out?”

“Maybe,” Leigh said, slipping her shoe on and off again.

“Can I ask you out?”

Leigh shifted her weight and slipped her right foot from her flat, pausing with her toes planted in the heel of her shoe, her foot gracefully arched. “Where are we going?”

I froze. “I don’t know yet,” I said. “Do you really want to wear heels?”

“I brought heels,” Leigh said innocently.

“Let me find a place,” I said.

“Okay.” Leigh folded her leg behind her, curled her silky black toes, then slipped her shoe back on.

Leigh’s timing was perfect, as a customer she had spotted walked up. I excused myself and returned to the expo floor.

And as people filed in for the cocktail hour, I said hello to friends, while thinking where I could take Leigh for a quiet dinner without straying too far from the hotel. The big crowd had kept Leigh on her feet, too. I watched from afar, hoping to catch her in the act, shifting her weight to dip her flats behind the table. Alas, Leigh’s flats were just comfortable enough for her not to show her hand.

[continues...]

[paradigm88]

The cocktail hour was busy, but then tapered off as people filtered out for dinner or to get ready for the evening entertainment, or whatever plans they had on tap. A lot of the booths had been abandoned, too. Leigh was not so lucky; I played on my phone while watching her talk with a particularly long-winded prospect. At last, I saw Leigh lean on the table, surely dipping her shoes out of sight. The phone was just a cover for me, really; I was watching Leigh at work, and probably at play, too.

At last, Leigh’s customer walked off and I walked over. “Hey,” I said.

“Hi,” Leigh said. “That was long.”

“I know,” I said. “I had to find people to talk to.”

“They found me just fine,” Leigh said, laughing.

“Are you ready to close up?” I asked.

Leigh had already grabbed her purse. “I’m more than ready,” she said.

“Then can I take you to dinner?”

Leigh beamed. “Yes, please,” she said. “I’d love to.”

We walked through the expo hall, through the hallway, and back to the elevators. I thought about reaching down and taking Leigh’s hand, but I still felt like the magnifying glass was on us, that people were watching. It was one thing to be friendly, like we were. It was less professional to be cutesy. We glanced at each other while in line for the elevator, Leigh still glowing.

Two elevators arrived at the same time, and everyone else with us crowded onto the first, leaving the second one empty. We stepped onto the empty elevator, and Leigh touched the button for the ninth floor.

As the doors slid shut, Leigh looked at me, favoring one foot at a time. “My feet hurt,” she whispered.

“You can take your shoes off,” I whispered back.

Leigh smiled as she slipped her flats off one at a time, nudging them in front of her. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she said.

I looked down at Leigh’s worn ballet flats, at her silky black stockinged toes, barely peeking from beneath her plaid pantlegs. “You don’t have to ask to take your shoes off,” I said.

“I know,” Leigh said. “It’s a nice feeling.”

“To take them off?”

“And to hear yes.” She wiggled her toes.

I reached down and picked up her flats with my free hand. I expected them to be light as a feather from how Leigh had described them earlier. But compared to her clogs, they were. I could see the scuffs on her heels and toes, but for the most part, they looked well-cared-for, for a cheap shoe. I looked at the soles, worn smooth under her toes, and thought of how much she must have worn them.

“I used to wear those every day,” Leigh said, as if she knew my question.

“Like, literally every day?”

“I couldn’t afford a lot of shoes,” Leigh explained. “So I had my good sneakers for running, and these were my everything-else flats for like two years.”

“They’re a time capsule.”

Leigh laughed. “I have better shoes,” she said. “But these are just so easy to slip on.”

“And slip off,” I said as the elevator stopped.

“Mmm.”

We stepped off the elevator, Leigh in her nylon feet, me carrying her flats. Leigh’s pants were just a bit long for her without her shoes, dusting the ground as she walked, almost forcing her to tiptoe in her silky black feet. But at the same time, she looked comfortable and composed.

“I was going to offer you another foot rub,” I joked, but only half-joking.

“I would love one, but maybe after dinner?” Leigh asked. “I’ll definitely need one then.”

“It’s a date,” I said.

“Do you mind if I take a quick shower before dinner?” she asked. “I just want to freshen up before I change.”

“Of course not,” I said.

“Okay,” Leigh said. She stopped at her door and closed her eyes, so I leaned in and gave her a kiss.

“Text me when you’re ready?”

“Sure,” Leigh said as she stepped into her room.

Leigh never even asked for her flats. And her door was closed before I realized I was standing there with a second pair of Leigh’s shoes in my possession. I hesitated for a minute, expecting her to come back, then went back to my own room to get ready.

If Leigh was sprucing up, I felt like I needed to put in a similar effort. I set Leigh’s flats on the floor next to her clogs, but not before examining the right shoe a bit. They were so warm inside. I don’t know why the neglected price tag inside was so endearing, but it really caught my attention.

I grabbed my electric razor and touched up my shave, washed my face, combed my hair again. I found a nice shirt I could wear without a blazer and changed my shirt and slacks, and pulled on clean socks. I had my dressy loafers so I switched to those. Maybe Leigh would feel in the mood for footsies. Maybe I would, too.

I was vainly studying my look in the mirror when my phone buzzed on the table. I hurried over and saw Leigh’s unanswered text on my lock screen. I grabbed my wool coat, made sure I had my room key and my wallet, and headed back out to the hallway, pulling my door shut as I walked the one door over to Leigh’s room. Leigh had thoughtfully left the door unlatched, so I let myself in, closing the door behind me.

“I’m almost ready,” Leigh said from the bathroom.

I looked around Leigh’s room. Her outfit from earlier was neatly laid out on her bed, along with a long camel-tan wool coat of her own. And next to her bed was a pair of classic black pumps with two-inch heels at most. My heart fluttered.

“Do you still have my flats?” Leigh asked.

“Yeah, and your clogs,” I said.

“Oh, good,” Leigh said. “I couldn’t think what I did with them.”

“You took them off on the elevator, and I carried them back for you.”

“I was so done with shoes,” Leigh said with a laugh.

And from the looks of it, Leigh still was. She had apparently swapped her contacts for her glasses again. She had changed into a black cowl-neck sweaterdress that wrapped her slender figure in a softly-textured knit all the way to her knees. A couple layered necklaces dangled under the oversized cowl. Leigh’s legs emerged from the hemline of the dress in sheer black nylons. And, at least for the moment, she was wearing her black wool clog slippers, the ones I had seen the night before.

“I’m not wearing my slippers out,” she said, delicately slipping them off across the room. “I just didn’t want to get my feet wet while I took out my contacts.”

Now in her stockinged feet, Leigh quickly looped a black-and-red houndstooth scarf around her neck, then put on her camel coat. “Actually, I think I prefer the glasses,” I said.

“I’m tired,” Leigh whined, laughing.

“I’m serious.”

“Well, thank you.” Leigh stood there buttoning her coat, and I admired her sheer black legs and her little stockinged feet. As many times as we had gone out at conferences, this was as elegant, as fancy, as I had seen her.

But Leigh still had to put her shoes on. I reached out and held her hand as she eased her left foot into her pump first, wincing ever slightly. And then she slipped her right foot into the other pump, pursing her lips as her heel popped into the shapely shoe. Leigh sighed as she took her first steps.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“I’m good,” Leigh said. “It’s just been a while.”

Leigh grabbed her purse and we walked out to the elevator together. While we waited for the lift to ascend to our floor, Leigh leaned into me a bit. “Still okay?” I asked.

“I actually am pretty tired,” Leigh whispered.

“We can stay in if you want.”

“No,” Leigh said. “I want to go out.”

She smiled, and I smiled back, holding her hand as the elevator doors slid open.

It was our walk through the hotel lobby, though, that sealed it, as we transitioned from the carpet near the elevator to the tile floor leading to the exit. Leigh’s heels clicked loudly on the tile, echoing around us. It was a lovely sound.

We stepped outside. “Where to?” Leigh asked.

I honestly hadn’t come up with a firm answer. But I did have an idea.

“How about that sushi place there?” I asked.

Leigh smiled and nodded in agreement. “I haven’t had sushi in months,” she said.

Hand in hand, we crossed the street and walked the half-block down to a Japanese restaurant and sushi bar. I had been there a couple times, though not with Leigh. But for our dinner out, I felt like it would have the right atmosphere. Leigh’s heels clicked on the sidewalk. It sounded elegant, even graceful.

Leigh started unbuttoning her coat as we waited for the host, and after a moment, we were escorted to a quiet booth at the back of the restaurant. Our booth was half-moon-shaped and could probably seat six, but it was perfect for two. I draped our coats over the far end of the booth bench while Leigh slid in first, and then I slid in next to her as she scooted in.

[continues...]

[paradigm88]

Leigh inched closer to me on the bench and crossed her left leg over her right knee, letting her foot graze my left leg. She looked at me sweetly. “Thank you,” she said.

“For?”

“For finally taking me out,” she said.

This was the first time we had been single at the same time. “I couldn’t take you out,” I said. “You were already taken.”

“I know,” Leigh said. “But I always kind of wished you could.”

I wrapped my left arm around Leigh and pulled her close against me as we perused the sushi menu. Leigh bobbed her left foot restlessly, somehow careful not to let the heel of her pump catch on my pantleg. I rubbed my hand up and down Leigh’s side. She gasped ever slightly as my fingers traced the knit pattern of her sweaterdress.

“Don’t tickle,” she whispered.

I kissed Leigh’s cheek. She kissed my cheek back as we picked out our dinner, roll by roll.

Leigh filled me in on the rest of her day in the expo hall as we ordered our drinks, then our sushi. As our server left the table, Leigh reached down with her hand, rubbing her ankle before subtly nudging the back of her pump until it popped from her tender heel.

“Better?” I asked, leaning back a bit to watch as Leigh’s shoe dangled ever slightly, just enough to expose her heel and a bit of her arched sole.

Leigh blushed. “My feet still hurt,” she said. “I told you I was out of practice.”

“You keep saying that,” I said. “Out of practice with heels?”

“Mmm, just shoes in general, really.” She stared at her dangling foot as her pump swung more freely from her toes.

“Because of the work from home thing?” I was staring, too.

“Well…” Leigh leaned in closer. “So Trevor had this thing about feet, and he always made me wear shoes or boots or slippers around him. He didn’t let me wear flats, because I played with them too much.”

“I never saw you play with your shoes before,” I said.

“Because I never wore shoes I could play with,” Leigh said.

I had probably envied Trevor a bit the last few years, but now I knew I didn’t like him.

“So then he dumped me in September,” Leigh continued. “And a couple days later, I was getting ready for work, and I was about to put my slippers on, and it dawned on me that Trevor wasn’t going to say anything if I didn’t.”

“So you didn’t.”

“It was amazing,” Leigh said. “I put on some cute socks and walked around my apartment and sat at my desk and I felt so calm. I basically put sneakers on to go work out and get the mail, but that was it for the next two weeks.”

“You went barefoot for two weeks?” I asked.

“Well, cute socks, or tights, and I think there was one warm day where I literally went barefoot, but yeah, I basically didn’t wear shoes.” Leigh reached down and pulled the heel of her shoe up, but as soon as she took her hand away, her shoe swung loose again, dangling from her toes.

“And then you found clogs,” I said. I watched as Leigh’s shoe balanced delicately on her toes.

“Well, I went out for a girls’ night,” Leigh said. “And I wore these cute booties I used to wear all the time, and they just felt so tight, so confining. So I went shoe shopping the next day and found the clogs.”

“I have to admit,” I said, “I always thought clogs were kind of middle-aged mom fashion.”

“Me, too,” Leigh said. “My dad’s a foot doctor, and he always tells us what brands we should look for. And I was at the shoe store and for some reason I saw these clogs and I just thought, those look really comfy. And they were. So I got the black ones first, and then I had to get the brown ones, and then I literally haven’t worn anything else until this week.”

“Even for date nights?”

“There haven’t been any date nights,” Leigh said wistfully. “I’ve been busy at work anyway, but I haven’t really tried.”

Our dumplings and edamame had shown up, and we nibbled through a brief silence.

“I haven’t been seeing anyone either,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” Leigh said. “It’s just so hard to meet people now.”

I felt Leigh’s foot nudge my leg, the toe of her pump rubbing my shin for an instant.

“Sorry,” Leigh said with a coy smile.

“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “I like the heels.”

“Thanks,” Leigh said. Her foot bobbed up and down, her dangling pump swaying as it balanced on her toes.

“They don’t look that comfortable,” I said.

“Oh, they hurt so much,” Leigh said. “I forgot how much they hurt.”

I reached down with my left hand and gently petted the top of Leigh’s foot. Her nylons were silky soft, and I wondered how she even kept her shoes on at all.

“I should have given you your flats back,” I said.

“No, this isn’t a flats outfit,” Leigh said. “I really wanted to wear these heels tonight.”

“Why, though?”

“Because they’re cute,” Leigh sighed. She reached down again and pulled her heel back on all the way, but as soon as she arched her foot, the heel popped loose once again.

We finished our appetizers, and I watched under the table as Leigh’s shoe swung further and further from her heel, balancing more and more on her silky black toes, swaying back and forth and back and forth.

And at last, Leigh’s foot bobbed and the shoe slipped from her toes, tumbling to the floor and bouncing off my own loafers under the table. Leigh’s sheer toes, unburdened from her pump, curled and uncurled as she pointed her foot and rotated her ankle.

Leigh’s cheeks flushed. “I lost my shoe,” she whispered.

I slid my foot forward and felt her empty pump just in front of me. Without breaking eye contact, I gave it a little kick, hearing it skitter to the other side of the table. Leigh’s lips trembled and her eyes widened.

“And now I can’t reach it,” she added.

“I thought they hurt,” I said.

“They do,” Leigh said.

“Then just leave it.”

“Do you think anyone will notice?” Leigh was glancing around the room.

I looked under the table. In the dim restaurant, under the table, it was hard to see unless you were looking for it. “No one will notice,” I said with confidence. I reached down again and petted Leigh’s now-shoeless stockinged foot. “Besides, I think I like this shoe more anyway.”

Leigh blinked, and I saw her expression shift from embarrassment to intrigue. “Really?”

I folded my hands on the table. “Yeah.”

Leigh leaned closer. I felt the warmth of her toes pressing against my pantleg, and then she gently rubbed her foot up and down my shin.

“This feels better on my foot, too,” she said after a few gentle strokes.

I reached back down and rubbed Leigh’s foot as she petted my leg, my fingers rolling firmly over her little toes, subtly pressing between her toes as I rubbed up and down. My thumb nestled in her arch. “Aren’t you glad you lost your shoe?” I asked.

“Mmm.” Leigh smiled back.

Then Leigh pulled her foot away, uncrossing her dangling leg. I looked down as she slid her right leg forward, posing her stockinged left toes against the back of her right pump. Leigh had needed to loosen her left shoe before dangling it, and her silky toes kept sliding down the heel of her shoe, unable to work it loose.

“Here,” I said, reaching down as she raised her right leg. I took the heel of Leigh’s shoe and wiggled it once or twice until it started to slide from her stockinged foot. At last, the heel cup popped free. I gracefully slid the shoe from her foot and set it between us in the booth, well out of reach of her foot.

Leigh rubbed her feet together under the table before crossing her left leg back over her right, resting her shoeless right foot on my foot. I felt her foot exploring the texture of my loafer, the warmth radiating through my socks even though she was only touching my shoe.

“Those shoes are a little tight on you,” I said.

“I know,” Leigh said. “That’s why I don’t wear them much. They pinch my toes and they’re tight on my heels.” She paused, frowning innocently. “They hurt a lot.”

“You didn’t have to wear them for me,” I said.

“I didn’t,” Leigh said. “I just wanted to wear heels for a change. I missed them.”

“Do you miss them now?”

I felt Leigh’s toes curl over the toe of my loafer, rubbing my sock, as she pressed her left foot and spread her toes against my left leg.

“No, not at all.”

But then Leigh swiftly tucked her right foot behind my ankle as our sushi arrived. When our server left, I felt her slide her foot around to rest on mine again. “Were you afraid they’d notice?” I asked.

“Just in case,” Leigh said, rubbing my ankle with her warm toes. “Can I have my shoe back?”

“I thought you didn’t miss them,” I said, trying not to show my disappointment as I reached for her right pump.

“I don’t,” Leigh said. “But I kind of want to play with my shoe.”

I lowered her shoe to the floor, trying for discretion as it thumped on the carpet below. I watched as Leigh slipped her right foot back into the shoe, her heel not quite squeezing into the black leather. Leigh wiggled her foot left and right in frustration.

“They’re too tight,” she said with a sigh.

We started on our sushi, and as we talked and ate, I watched Leigh’s footplay under the table. She slid her stockinged foot in and out, nudging the shoe around on the carpet, letting it tip over on its side while she hid her stockinged toes in the tip of the shoe, only to roll it back onto its sole after a minute. Leigh’s shoeless left foot, still dangling demurely over her right knee, gently pawed at my slacks. Her sheer nylon toes stretched out against my leg, still radiating the warmth of being cooped up in her flats all day.

I reached down and stroked Leigh’s foot, tracing the side of her arch to her baby toe. Leigh smiled sweetly at me.

“This is nice,” she said.

“The sushi?” I asked, somewhat innocently.

“The sushi, the conversation, the atmosphere,” Leigh said. “The foot rub.”

I ran my fingers over Leigh’s little toes. “You enjoyed it last night,” I said.

“I did,” Leigh said. “I, um…” Leigh looked ashamed. I felt her toes curl into my leg.

“Yes?”

“I’ve kind of been craving one all day,” Leigh said quietly. And with that declaration, I felt Leigh’s soft right foot come to rest between my ankle and the top of my loafer.

“Why didn’t you ask earlier?”

“Because if you started rubbing my feet, I’d never have put my heels on.”

Leigh was probably right. I had curled my fingertips around her left foot, rubbing her sole and her instep as she rubbed her foot against my leg. Meanwhile, she rolled her right foot back and forth against my ankle, her sole warm through my thin dress sock.

With every bite of sushi, we grew a bit closer. My left hand was rubbing Leigh’s left foot with purpose, kneading her arch and feeling her toes curl. Leigh’s right foot was wrapped around my leg, as she tucked her toes under my pantleg and rubbed the top of her foot up and down against my ankle.

As our plate emptied, Leigh uncrossed her left leg and gracefully tucked both of her legs underneath her on the bench, pressing her sweater-wrapped knees into my thigh as she cozied up to me. I rubbed her knees through her soft dress, and she rested one arm across my shoulders as we eyed the dessert menu.

“I can’t reach your feet,” I whispered.

“Ooh, sorry,” Leigh said, as if she just realized it. “I like sitting on my feet.”

I wrapped my left arm around Leigh’s body and pulled her closer. “I see a lot of girls do that,” I said.

Leigh nodded as she finished her last piece of sushi. “It’s comfortable, and it makes me taller in my chair,” she said. “Usually I just sit on one foot at work, but if I want to feel cozy I’ll sit on both of them, like this, or I’ll sit criss-cross in the chair.”

“I don’t think I fold like that anymore,” I said.

Leigh laughed. “It’s hard getting up sometimes, but it’s just way more comfortable sitting that way.”

“But don’t you have to take your shoes off to sit like that?”

“Oh, definitely,” Leigh said. “I don’t want shoe prints on my clothes.”

I rubbed Leigh’s side softly, my fingers tracing up and down the seams and knit of her dress. I could feel the straps of her bra and the waistband of her nylons through her dress, but apparently I wasn’t making her feel uncomfortable.

Leigh giggled. “Don’t tickle,” she reminded me.

“I’m trying not to.”

We sat there for a minute, neither of us saying a word. I wished we were back at the hotel, not in a restaurant. But the lights were dim and the place was nearly empty, so we had all the intimacy we could expect. And Leigh’s heels were somewhere under the table, which seemed to loosen her inhibitions a bit.

Maybe she was just that comfortable.

[continues...]

[paradigm88]

Leigh’s left hand then landed on mine and gently guided my hand down her sweaterdress, coming to a stop on her stockinged foot. Leigh’s plump heel was in the palm of my hand.

“My feet still hurt,” Leigh said, batting her eyes behind her glasses.

“You haven’t worn shoes in an hour,” I said, giving her soft heel a squeeze.

“It’s not just the heels,” Leigh shifted in her seat so she was sitting on the bench, her legs and feet folded alongside her. “They’ve been sore all day.”

I gently petted Leigh’s right foot, running my fingers along the top of her foot so as not to brush her ticklish sole. “Let me rub your feet,” I said.

We looked into each other’s eyes. Leigh had asked me the night before to rub her tired feet as a friend. Not that many girls would consider a foot rub as friendly territory, but for Leigh anyway, it started out entirely innocent.

Leigh carefully unfolded her legs from under her, stretching under the table and swinging her feet into my lap. She sat sideways in the booth, leaning forward towards me, her feet nestled with her heels resting in the valley between my thighs. I looked down and Leigh pointed her sheer black toes, then wiggled them.

There was no such innocence tonight.

I started at Leigh’s toes, flexing and rubbing them and squeezing the tender balls of her feet, then working down her arches, careful not to tickle her sensitive soles. I stretched her feet back toward her, then pointed them straight out at her ankles, then with a squeeze of her heels, I caressed her ankles, then reversed everything back to the tips of her toes.

Leigh pursed her lips and breathed in.

“Did that hurt?” I asked.

“A little,” Leigh nodded.

“I don’t want to hurt your feet more,” I said, straightening the toe seams of Leigh’s nylons. They were already straight, but adjusting her seams meant getting to tug and play with Leigh’s little toes.

“You aren’t,” Leigh assured me. “It’s just a sore feet day.”

“You have sore feet days?” I asked, kneading the balls of her feet again.

“Only when I wear shoes.” Leigh pointed her feet, rubbing her warm soles against my right thigh.

I thought of Leigh working at home, walking around in her stockinged feet. I pictured her on her couch, feet up, making phone calls and working on her laptop. Those sorts of things had always seemed more fantasy than reality for the girl whose Facebook photos showed her out on a mountain somewhere. So I had never dwelled on them.

But here we were, at a sushi restaurant, Leigh in a dress and fancy nylons. Here we were, with her heels somewhere under the table, her stockinged feet in my lap, and Leigh imploring me to rub them.

I liked this reality.

Leigh liked it, too. She was looking at me, smiling, as I caressed her silky, warm feet. She would gasp delicately as I squeezed the ball of her foot, apparently finding that little pressure point that hurt so much. She’d clench her toes, I would unfold them and tug on her toes, adjust her sheer nylons, and go back to rubbing her feet.

And as I massaged Leigh’s feet, I felt calmed in my own way, aside from the arousal I was a bit worried about her noticing.

We didn’t say anything at all for probably ten minutes. I started focusing on one foot at a time, and Leigh would rub her other foot against my thigh, her toes spreading against my slacks as her sole glided up and down. I don’t know which one of us enjoyed it more.

I had both of Leigh’s feet in my hands when our waitress came back in our direction. Leigh started to pull her feet away, but we had already been caught in the act. “Do you, um, need anything else?” our flustered waitress managed, her cheeks reddening.

“Sorry,” I said, trying to play it cool. “We’re from the conference across the street. She had a long day.”

“Oh, you are so sweet,” the waitress said to me. She looked up at Leigh. “And you are so lucky. I’m a little jealous.”

Leigh blushed, at a loss for words. “We’ll just take the check,” I said, quickly handing over my credit card.

The waitress left to run my card. Leigh rubbed her little feet together in my lap before pulling her legs back onto the seat between us. I reached down and rubbed her right foot with my left hand.

“Have you ever been caught before?” she asked me.

“No,” I said.

Leigh sighed. “She is right, though,” she said. “I am lucky.”

“Me, too,” I said, rubbing Leigh’s leg and petting her knee just under the hem of her dress.

“We should probably go back,” Leigh said. “Can you find my shoes?”

“Of course.”

I knew where one of Leigh’s shoes was. After the waitress came back, I slid out of the booth and walked around to the other side, where her left shoe had come to rest against the table leg. I picked up her first shoe and looked across the table, where her feet were frantically pawing at the floor trying to find her right shoe. She finally scooted to the end of the booth, looking at me.

“Can you see it?” she asked.

“I do,” I said. I walked back and got down on one knee, and Leigh extended her left foot. I eased her shoe on gently, trying not to let it hurt her heel.

Leigh stood up on her one shod foot, balancing carefully as she put her coat on. I reached way under the table and retrieved her right shoe, and as Leigh buttoned her coat, I slipped the right shoe onto her waiting foot.

Now fully attired, we stepped back outside. Leigh’s steps were clicky and sexy again, though as I held her hand, I could tell she was in a bit of a rush to reach the hotel.

“You know, I have to thank you,” Leigh said as we crossed the street.

“Thank me?” We stopped on the sidewalk in front of the hotel.

“Yeah,” Leigh said. “I don’t remember my last date like this. I haven’t been dressed up in forever.”

Under the streetlights, Leigh was classically beautiful. She always had been, really.

“I really enjoyed it too,” I said.

“I am not enjoying these shoes, though,” Leigh said.

“Well, then, let’s get inside.”

We walked in and the hotel lobby was all abuzz. I guessed people had just returned from their own evenings out, and there were groups of people milling about in the lobby, some at the front desk, some making plans to go back out for the evening, others wandering toward the hotel bar. I looked at Leigh. Leigh shrugged.

We skirted the crowds, walking to a wide carpeted staircase that led up to a spacious mezzanine. We took the stairs slowly, pausing as we reached the top. The mezzanine had dodged the chaos below; there were a couple sofas and tables and a balcony railing looking below, but there were no people up there. There were conference rooms by the elevators, but it made little sense for people to walk this way.

“Would you like to sit down?” I asked Leigh, taking my coat off.

“Please,” Leigh said anxiously.

We walked to a sofa that had a solid coffee table set in front of it. We tossed our coats down on the sofa, and as I walked around to one side, Leigh tugged her sweaterdress down a bit, her hemline gaining an inch as I watched. Leigh realized I was watching and giggled.

I had already eased onto the couch as Leigh sat down to my right, her feet in front of her. She looked down at her feet and rocked her ankles inward, her heels popping from her pumps as the shoes turned on their sides. With a gentle wiggle, Leigh slipped her feet from her heels and nudged the shoes outward, resting her sheer stockinged feet on the carpet below us.

“Ow,” she whimpered as she scrunched her toes a few times.

“I thought it wasn’t just the heels,” I said.

“Oh, right now it’s the heels,” Leigh said. She rubbed her feet back and forth on the carpet.

I reached down and picked up Leigh’s left shoe. There was nothing spectacular about her heels; they were simple pumps from Target or maybe Walmart, just very basic dress shoes with a two-inch heel and a pointed toe. But for poor Leigh, they were instruments of torture. I dropped her left shoe off to the side, well out of her reach.

“Do they always hurt like this?” I asked.

“I don’t remember,” Leigh said. “It’s been such a long time.”

“Then why did you want to wear them so much?”

Leigh smiled. “I wanted to look nice for you,” she said. “I kind of hoped we would get to go out one night, and I never really dress fancy, and I wanted to impress you.”

I was flattered. I didn’t realize Leigh had felt that way before. And she had hurt her feet to impress me, besides.

“You don’t need heels to impress me,” I said. “I actually think you’re cuter without them.”

“Really?” Leigh asked, looking at her feet and back up at me. “You wouldn’t have minded if I wore flats?”

“Actually,” I said, “I think you’re cutest in your stockinged feet.”

“Awwww.” She looked down at her feet as she rubbed them back and forth against the carpet. “I’m sorry. This just feels so soothing.”

I wanted to encourage Leigh. I slipped my own loafer off and stretched my right foot toward her feet, resting my foot atop hers and pressing her foot into the carpet. Her feet were still warm. No wonder it felt good to take her shoes off.

“Oh,” Leigh said, blushing as I rubbed my socked foot against her silky foot. She leaned into me, reaching for my hand.

With each stroke of Leigh’s foot, my toes touched the carpet. I felt a little self-conscious, too. But Leigh’s soft foot felt so good under my own.

I withdrew my foot and put my shoe back on. Leigh stretched her legs in front of her, arching her feet, then wiggling her toes. She exhaled as she returned her feet to the carpet, clenching her toes in the carpet.

“So sore,” she whimpered.

“Should we go back to the room?” I asked.

Leigh picked up her right shoe from the floor. “Maybe,” she said. “But I can’t put these on right now.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, reaching over and taking Leigh’s shoe away.

“But then, I…” Leigh paused. “Ohhhhh.” She rubbed her feet together.

“I’ll carry them,” I said, picking up the left shoe I had already stolen.

Leigh arched her feet, bouncing her feet on her toes a few times before standing up. “Ooh,” she said, wincing from her sore feet. She glanced around as she rubbed her right foot on her left. “Do you think anyone will see us?”

“Probably not,” I said. “The elevators are right here.”

“Oh, good,” Leigh said as she draped her coat over her arm.

“Why, is something wrong?”

Leigh’s cheeks were a bit flushed. “I’m just feeling a little self-conscious,” she said.

I had draped my own coat over my left arm to hide the two high heels in my hand, so I understood. But as Leigh stepped out from behind the table, I admired her shapely sweaterdress, her sheer black nylon legs, and her tired little feet. Without her shoes, she still looked classy and graceful.

“I think you look better without the heels,” I said.

Leigh looked tired, but her smile said everything it needed to.

In her stockinged feet, Leigh padded to the balcony, leaning against it and looking over the ledge. The hotel lobby was still teeming with activity, a busy night for everyone below us. On our floor, we were alone. I stood next to Leigh, and with my free right hand, I rubbed the small of her back. Leigh looked up at me sweetly. Once again, I found the waistband of her nylons, letting my fingers trace the elastic under her thin sweaterdress. Leigh batted her eyes, still smiling.

Leigh turned her attention back to the crowd, and I stepped back, fishing my phone from my pocket and quickly snapping a photo of Leigh. As I put my phone back, she crossed her right foot behind her left calf, stretching her foot. And as she curled her toes, I noticed two faint lines from under her toes, tracing up her soles.

I stepped back up to the balcony. “I think you have a run,” I whispered.

“Oh?” Leigh looked down at her feet, swinging her right foot around her front and turning her sole up toward us. I could see the laddered nylon clearly now, Leigh’s pale skin peeking through the imperfect hosiery.

Leigh placed her foot flat on the floor. “It must have been from the restaurant,” she said. “I thought I caught my feet on the foot of the table when I couldn’t find my shoes before we left.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s actually kinda cute.”

Leigh shrugged. “You like all my imperfections,” she said, laughing as we walked to the elevators.

There was a bit of a wait for an elevator, and as we stood there, I looked down at the floor, at Leigh’s stockinged feet next to mine. Free from her heels, spread out against the carpet, her feet were ever slightly wider than they had been in her pumps. No wonder it felt so good to be free of her shoes. Leigh flexed her toes against the carpet. I held her hand and looked over, and Leigh smiled at me.

At last, we got an elevator, and I think Leigh was glad it was empty except for us. “You can keep my heels,” she said as we neared our floor. “I’m never wearing them again.”

“I think I have all your shoes in my room,” I said.

“Almost,” Leigh said with a giggle.

We stepped off the elevator, and I figured we would head straight to our rooms, but Leigh turned the other way down the hall. I followed her, a few steps behind, watching as she padded silently in her nylon feet down the carpeted corridor. Leigh looked back at me, still smiling as she strolled down the hall.

I caught up to her quickly, though. “I thought you were tired,” I said.

“I am,” she said. “But this carpet feels so nice on my feet.”

“You’re not as self-conscious,” I said.

Leigh giggled. “There’s no one up here.”

She was right. The hall eventually opened to another balcony overlooking a different part of the hotel. We could see everything nine floors below, but we were alone up here.

Leigh leaned on the balcony, using her coat as a cushion. She folded her right leg behind her like a flamingo, curling and stretching her silken black-misted foot, making a circle with her ankle as she did. Then she switched legs, doing the same with her left foot. I noticed another ladder up her left sole, too.

“You have runs on both feet,” I said, looking at her wrinkled stockinged sole.

“Aww,” Leigh said, looking back at her left foot. “That’s why I don’t wear sheer nylons much.”

“I still think it’s cute.”

Leigh blushed. She was speechless.

So I dropped my coat and Leigh’s shoes on the floor, and I held Leigh and kissed her by the balcony. Leigh put her hands on my waist, and I heard her coat fall to the floor, too, but nothing mattered in that moment. She leaned into me, and she must have been on her tiptoes, but not for long.

We kissed for what felt like an hour. And then she stepped back ever slightly, her cheeks flushed, her eyes big and deep and inviting.

We gathered our coats and Leigh’s pumps from the floor, and without another word, we went back to Leigh’s room, closing the door to everything else.

[fin...for now]