The Trip The Way I Wish It Had Gone, Part Two

Published early on our Previews page on Saturday, July 25, 2026.

Official publication date for the main page of our site: Monday, July 27, 2026.

This story was submitted by Jack aka lkngjst@yahoo.com

To read the 1st part of this story, go to "The Trip The Way I Wish It Had Gone, Part One".

To read Jack's 1st story, go to "Love Affair With A Shoe".

# FetLife Erotic Story — "The Trip the Way I Wish It Had Gone"

Series. Fantasy framed as "what I wish had happened."

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## Part Two

She was still watching me, her foot resting warm against my ankle, waiting.

"Number four," I said. "You really want it out loud. In a restaurant."

"I really do." She took a slow sip of wine, eyes never leaving mine.

So I told her. "It's not a punchline for me, and it's not a party trick. When I find feet I love — really love — it gets under my skin in a way I've spent most of my life not being able to explain to anybody. It's the shape of them, the arch, the way the toes sit. It's wanting to take my time. Hold one in both hands and not be in any hurry at all. Most people hear 'foot guy' and they laugh. The right woman hears it and understands she's holding something most men don't even know how to want."

Somewhere in there her foot had left my ankle and started a slow slide up the inside of my calf.

"And you," I said, a little lower, "have been driving me quietly insane since the lobby."

"I noticed." Her toes pressed, deliberate. "I wore the heels for you."

The check could not have come fast enough, and then it came at the worst possible time, because we still had happy hour to survive. An hour and a half of clients and coworkers and me trying to make small talk while she stood three feet away looking like that, every so often catching my eye over someone's shoulder with a look that said she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

At one point she drifted past close enough to murmur, "You're being very professional," and was gone before I could answer.

We lasted as long as we had to. The second it was decent to slip out, we did, and the elevator doors hadn't fully closed before she was against me.

My room. The door shut behind us and the rest of the world with it.

I sat her on the edge of the bed and went down to the floor in front of her, and she understood, because she'd understood all day. I slipped the first heel off slow, then the second, and finally got what I'd been starving for since the lobby couch — both of her feet in my hands, no hurry, nobody watching, nothing to pretend. I ran my thumbs up the arches the way I'd told her I would over dinner and felt her breath catch above me.

"Oh," she said softly, almost surprised. "You really do."

"I really do."

I took my time. The arch, the heel, each toe, the soft skin she'd kept tucked in sandals all week, and the longer I worshiped them the more undone she got — head back, fingers twisted in the comforter, all that easy confidence finally cracking open into something that was just for me. When I finally kissed my way up from her ankle, she pulled me the rest of the way, and the slow part was over.

It wasn't careful after that, and neither of us wanted careful. It was the thing we'd both been circling since LA, finally happening, the red hair spilled across the white hotel pillow, that athletic body moving like she meant every second of it. No movie this time. No passing out. Wide awake, both of us, all the way through.

Afterward she lay half across me, catching her breath, one foot still resting against my leg like she knew it belonged there.

"That," she said into my shoulder, "was not how I pictured this trip going."

"No?"

"Better." She propped up on an elbow, that white smile back, a little wrecked now and somehow hotter for it. "And we've got four more nights."

I laughed. "We are going to be useless in those meetings."

"Completely." She settled back down, and I felt her smiling against my chest. "Worth it."