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Trust Ch. 03

By: kellyhockey



Chapter 3: The Accident

Mike went to work on Monday. Around 9:30 am Mike got a call from Jamie. Mike's voice mail system recorded the whole call.

"Hey dick head. I am going to fuck your wife tonight. That's right Marine boy. I am going to butt fuck and then cum in her mouth." Jamie went on for about twenty minutes when Mike figured out where he may be calling from. 

He left the office like a wild man. He blew by Karen his secretary and told her he was gone for the day. Mike was driving like a mad man. He was going through red lights like they were green. 

A city dump truck hit his Lexus. He was broadsided on the driver's side. He was hit with such force that the car flipped 3 or 4 times and slammed into two more vehicles. The fire department had to use the Jaws of Life to cut him out of the car. He was airlifted to the hospital. His injuries were severe.

I was at work when the police showed up to tell me about the accident.

I was in a conference room when two patrol men entered and asked me:"Are you Molly Reilly?"

My heart sank. "Yes"

"Married to Mike Reilly?"

"Yes" Now I was visible shaking.

"Mrs. Reilly there has been accident. Do you have a priest that you can call?

"Why?" I asked.

"Last rights Mrs. Reilly. It was a really bad accident."

I started to collapse when Joe caught me. Within minutes I was in a car on my way to the hospital. By the time I got there Mike was already in surgery. He had been surgery for 2 hours. Mike was in surgery for another 12 hours. The left side of his body had been busted up.

I met with the emergency room Doctor and he laid it out for me. Mike was basically dead when he was brought in. The Doctor got a heart beat and pulse back but it was really weak.

After two hours I went back up to the emergency surgery waiting room. The girls were there. All of my work friends were there and Karen was there. Karen was really upset.

Karen walked up to me. "I am so sorry I put that call from Jamie through to Mike. Our voice mail system is so messed up we can't get messages. I am so sorry." Karen started to shake.

I split my time between the waiting room and the chapel. My girls brought me my Rosary beads. I spent half the night praying.. 

'Please God don't let him die. Please take me instead."

I met with the Doctors and they explained everything. He lost his spleen, gallbladder, 3 feet of his small intestine, had 4 cracked ribs, punctured lung and experienced heavy blood loss.

What the fuck had I done. Why had I violated the golden rule of our family. 

I slept in the CCU for 3 nights. The nurses started to complain but I told them I was an Assistant DA and if they fucked with me I would screw them. I left them my card. The girls came to visit but they were not ready to see how badly their dad had been hurt.

Mike's parents arrived a day later. They came home from Florida early.

After a bout a week Mike was moved to a regular room. As I was walking down the hallway to see my husband one of the nurses grabbed me.

"Mrs. Reilly. You cannot go in there. The patient has asked that you not be allowed in his room. If you give me a number I will call with updates."

I responded with my sweet Irish voice. "I am going to see my husband." Two rather large security men stepped in front of the door.

"You can't do this to me. I am his wife."

The nurse looked at me. "Mrs. Reilly, it is your husband's request, not ours."

You could have knocked me over with a feather. Mike didn't want to see me.

I went home and threw myself on the bed. I stayed there for about 12 hours. 

When I woke up and it all came racing back to me the emails, the confrontation, dancing and Mike seeing me. I had a feeling of despair that I had never experienced. About 30 minutes later Karen called.

"Molly, you need to come down her and hear Mike's voice mail. You really need to get down here."

I could tell something was up. I changed my clothes and I looked at our bed and my favorite chair. What the fuck had I done?

I made it to Mike's office in record time. Karen moved me into Mike's office and played the conversation with Jamie and Mike. Mike thought I was on my way to fuck Jamie. Jamie was really rubbing it into Mike. He called him a sissy Marine.

The pieces were all falling together. Jamie was bent on payback. He wanted to embarrass my husband due to the Bachelor Party. Jamie got taken down by a smarter, faster and tougher guy. And I fell into tits and all.

I sat down in Mike's chair and I needed to come up with a plan. I needed something to save my marriage. I had violated the cardinal rule. Have trust in your family. I kicked it to the curb. 

I asked Karen to make a copy of the tape and I took it back to work. I called my team together to hold one of the worst meetings in my life. I had to ask..More like beg them to help straighten out my mess.

I sat at the head of the table and laid the whole thing out. Karen was also on the phone as I needed her help. Jake, my little computer nerd looked at the pictures and laughed. 
"Photoshop version 6 running an a Mac. They are cheap fakes. The quality actually sucks."

He looked at me and said. "You really didn't believe this trash did you?" I hung my head in shame. 

Pam was the first to speak up. "Molly, you have saved all of our asses at least once. Some of us more than once. What do you need from us? We are your team. What do you need from us?"

I really didn't know. Step one was get as much information on Jamie as possible. I wanted to know when he farted.

Step two was look at the crash scene. Was there anything missing.

Step three was personal for me. Beg my husband to just listen to me. It is going to be a long road back. If it is even possible.

I sat down at my desk and started to write a letter. I started typing then I realized nope not going to work.

I went down to the local stationary store and bought some really nice and expensive stationary.

I sat down and penned a letter to my husband.

My dearest Mike:

I am so sorry for what I have done. I have violated our golden rule: trust your family.

I have loved you for 24 years and I have screwed up our lives. I don't expect the mental wounds to heal overnight. I was stupid and I got played. Actually we both got played.

I know that you do not want to see me. Frankly, I don't blame you. I got played for a fool.

I will leave this letter with your parents. I only ask that you give me time to try to repair What I have damaged.

I love you with all my heart.

Your loving wife,

Molly.

I was sobbing writing the letter. I drove to Mike parents' house and rang the door bell. Bea answered the door.

"Could you please give this to Mike." And I went to leave.

"Molly, where are you going? We need to talk to you about Mike. Please come in"

I was not expecting this. I sat down at the kitchen table and I explained everything to Bea and Ben. 

Bea looked me right in the eye. "Did you fuck Jamie? Yes or No" I replied "No" She looked at me. 

"I am not going to lie to you. It's bad. Mike is so depressed. He keeps saying he wished he died in the accident. He is so depressed that we put tv cameras in his room to monitor him"

The love of my life is suicidal. Fucking A. Is there anything else that can come bitch slap me.

Bea looked at me. "Listen, Mike loves you with everything that he has. You hurt him real bad but you didn't screw that asshole. You need to put together a plan to save your husband and your marriage. It's your ass and our son. So get to it. Oh, yes by the way there is something in the family under room the tv stand that Mike wanted you to have"

I went back to the house and found the gift. I hit a little note on it.

"Molly, you make life worth living."

Love Mike.

I opened the gift just as the girls came into the room. It was a CD. The title was "25 Years of Love". I thought I could not feel any worse. Boy was I wrong. The girls took the CD and played it. It was us over 25 years. After watching it for 60 minutes and listening to Mike narrate it I stopped crying. 

I looked at my daughters and told them I was not going down without a fight.

I explained to them what happened. They were shocked and Shannon asked me point blank if I had sex with Jamie. I told her No. The relief on her face was telling. "Look mom I am going to be spending a lot of time with dad during his rehab. I need to know where his head is at."

The next few weeks were a blur. It was like Jamie disappeared off of the face of the planet. This guy went down a rat hole. What information I did find out was that he was worse than I thought. He was a small time Coke dealer, part-time pimp and tried to muscle in on football cards. He was scum. But he was not smart enough to pull off what did. Someone else was pulling the strings.

Mike loved the time he and Shannon had together. Although I have to say it was really tough on her. Seeing her dad learning how to walk again is not an easy thing. Shannon and Elizabeth spent a lot of time with Mike helping him. They also spent a lot of time with Mike's parents.

One day Bea asked Shannon how I was doing.

"Gran..mom is mess. She has lost about 20 pounds. Looks like shit. Doesn't eat and can't sleep. She wakes up screaming in the middle of the night with nightmares. I have found her in the kitchen at 3am and she is literally shaking."

Bea looked at her with a look of concern then went into the family room.

"Ben. I need to talk to you. Shannon just told me about Molly. I think she is going to have a nervous breakdown. I think Molly needs help. She might not make it through this."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Ben, don't take that attitude with me. You are not a saint. Molly needs help. She needs it now."

"OK. I will drive the girls' home and I will stop in to see Molly."

Ben drove the girls home and stopped in to see me. I guess I really did look like crap. I could see the expression on his face.

"Molly, we need to talk. Please sit down."

"Molly, please listen to me carefully. Your marriage is not dead. It is hurt but it is not dead. Mike is getting better and he asking about you. He knows you did not do anything with Jamie but his ego is hurt and his trust in you is shaky. He wants to know what happened that day."

"Ben I can't look him in the eye. I messed up something awful. I trashed our Golden rule. Trust your family."

"Molly, if you don't start taking care of yourself you will not have to worry about your marriage or your Golden Rule. You will be dead."

"Do I look that bad?"

"Molly, you look like shit. You have steamer trunks under your eyes. Your face is gaunt and your clothes are hanging off of you. You look like you just came out of concentration camp."

"Ben, you have such a way with words."

My girls were standing in the doorway and heard every word.

"Mom, you need to take care of yourself. If you don't dad will be coming home to bury you."

I must really look like shit. That rung my bell. 

The next day was Saturday. I made a huge breakfast and the girls and I sat down to eat.

"Mom we have some errands to run today. Can we leave you for a few hours. Will you be OK?"

I looked at my girls. "Go. I am getting hair colored, a facial and my feet done. I need to look human again" Everyone laughed.

Shannon and Elizabeth went to see Jake and Karen. I guess they had their little plan.

Jake showed them the pictures that were sent to me and he took each picture apart piece by piece. Karen recorded the conversation that Mike had with Jamie and played it for the girls. 

After about 30 minutes they told Jake and Karen that they were all going on a road trip.

All four of them walked through the front door of Mike's parent's home. 

Shannon called Mike, Bea and Ben into the Dining Room and laid it all out to them. Jake did all of the talking about the pictures and Karen explained the phone call.

Shannon looked at her dad and asked. "Ok dad, who hates you enough to try to destroy our family? I am going to ask mom the same thing. I don't need an answer now but I need you to think about it."

Shannon true to her word asked me the same thing about 4 hours later. I went to work on Monday and Pam and Jake were smiling from ear to ear. 

I looked at them. "What is going on?"

Pam looked at me. "Guess who gut busted last night beating up a 15 year old?"

I nearly did flip. 'Where is that SOB?"

Pam replied "county lockup."

I went into the holding cell and Jamie looked liked he had seen a ghost.

"What do you want. Where is my lawyer?"

I looked at Jamie. "Jamie. You have 1 one chance to live beyond the next week. Tell me about who set me and Mike up. If you don't I will let word leak out that you are a child molester. One that likes to prey a very young girls. Do you have any idea what these guys do child molesters?"

There are many types of criminals but a child molester and rapist are the bottom of the barrel. Everything I said to Jamie could get me disbarred but I didn't give a damn. I was in the fight of my life for my marriage and my family. 

Jamie tried to get a read on me. But he failed.

"If I give him up what are you going to do for me?"

"Jamie, you get to live. You will go to prison but you will not have to watch your back every waking second. That's what you get."

"Terrence Milton. He knew Mike from the war. He hates your husband. He hates you just because you are his wife. He hates everything about your whole family."

Finally a name. 

I went back to the office and called my team back together.

:I want to know everything about Terrence Milton. I want to know he wakes, goes to sleep, farts and takes a piss. I want to know this guy better than he knows himself."

I left the office to go to see Mike and see how his rehab was coming along.

I could see him using the parallel bars to walk. He was doing it very slowly. I moved Into the room and I caught Shannon's eye but I shook her off. Mike dropped to one knee And tried to get back up. I put my arm around him to balance him and help him up.

Mike was not expecting me and he sure as hell was not expecting me to start crying on his back. He tried to move off of his back but I would not move.

"Molly, come here. Molly look at me."

I hung on to his back for dear life. I let go of him and ran out of the room. I couldn't look him in the eye. Mike just saw my back as I was running away.

'I told you dad that she is a basket case." Shannon was looking at Mike with concern.

"You two need to talk. Your are both on the expressway to the funny farm."

I was hyper ventilating in my car for a few minutes and then I was able to drive off.

******************************************

I was at home and we had just finished putting the dishes away and the phone rang.

"Hello."

"Molly?" It was Mike.

"Molly, don't hang up. We need to talk. I have seen the pictures. I understand what you saw but we need to talk."

"Molly, damn it, say something." Mike was getting pissed and I was shaking like a leaf

"Terrence Milton." I said.

"What?"

"Terrence Milton is behind this whole mess. He set us up and I fell for it. Tits and all."

Now Mike was silent. "Mike. Mike are you there? Mike." Great now he can't talk. Shoot me, please. When will this nightmare end?

"Molly, I will call back soon. This is much bigger than you and me."

"What the fuck is going?" Then I heard the dialtone.

I started pounding the receiver into the phone.

Trust Ch. 03



Chapter 3 -- Getting to know you...

It was fortunate that the time leading up to meeting Emma were filled with activity because otherwise I don't know how I could have coped with my excitement and anticipation. I purposely stayed out late every evening to avoid further thoughts of Bryony invading any self-pleasure. After waking up much earlier than normal on Sunday morning, as I knew I would, I went for a long swim and then shopped for picnic food before having a long pub lunch. Even so, the final hours dragged by as I did my best to keep myself busy with preparations for the picnic and getting myself ready. As I slipped my bare feet into my clean white canvas Supergas I felt breathless with excitement for a moment at the thought of seeing Emma in her white Keds and white ankle socks.

I got my timing hopelessly wrong and arrived much too early. I could have gone for a quick coffee but I was occupying an ideal spot to observe the ticket barriers so I stayed put and did my best to occupy myself with people watching. Kensington, being an affluent and fashionable part of London, had no shortage of pretty and fashionable girls that day, many of whom I noted with pleasure were wearing plimsolls of all kinds and colours with all kinds of outfits. I wished I had the nerve to get out my camera and photograph the sexier-looking examples and did my best to commit them to memory for later reference.

When the long-awaited moment arrived with no sign of Emma my heart sank and I had to endure three minutes of agony until my heart leapt at my first sight of her ascending the steps from the platform. Emma is one of those girls who when you see her you think that everything about her is just right, from the way her wavy blond hair tumbles down around her lovely fine-featured heart shaped face, with her gorgeous smiling hazel eyes, to caress her beautiful shoulders and back; through the way her beautifully proportioned body fills out and moulds to her pretty little strappy summer dress that shows off her curvaceous figure and lovely long legs to perfection; to the way the line and the form of those lovely long legs lead the eye appreciatively downwards to her exquisitely shapely ankles and slender feet.

She eased gracefully through the ticket barrier and, waving and smiling at her first sight of me came straight to me. It was easy to tell she had done dance training by the ease and grace with which she wove in and around the crowded station concourse. In her brightly patterned yellow summer dress that seemed all of a piece with the light honey golden tan of her skin and her plimsolls and ankle socks that were so clean and new they seemed to radiate whiteness all around she looked like the embodiment of summer fun, freedom and beauty. As I noticed lots of people, men and women, glancing up and around to admire her I felt a great of pride inside that the girl they were all admiring was the girl who was going to be with me.

Any uncertainties about how I should greet her were decisively thrown aside as she came right up to me, placed her hand on my shoulder, planted an affectionate kiss on my cheek and graciously accepted one from me in return.

"I'm sorry I'm a little bit late but I'd bought these yesterday in your honour and I just needed a couple of minutes to change into them before I met you." Upon saying this she skipped on her daintily pointed feet to show off her brand new spotlessly white Keds plimsolls, the skirt of her dress swaying attractively against the honey golden curves of her thighs as she did so. I was instantly captivated by her.

"I'm honoured and delighted you did that for me," I smiled at her warmly. "I hope you think my efforts do a little justice at least to yours."

She looked me up and down approvingly before replying, "It's a real pleasure, believe me, to meet a guy who looks really good in shorts, like you do. There are very few that do. And you look really good in white Supergas too. I've got a pair in my collection that I like to wear with skinny jeans during the autumn, but in summer it's got to be Keds." 

"That's totally fine as far as I'm concerned because you look lovely in them," I agreed. "What have you done with the pair you changed out of?"

"You'll find that out later," she smiled mysteriously, casting a quick look at the large canvas shoulder back she had placed on the ground next to her. "If you and I are going to be friends you're going to have to get used to little mysteries and surprises. But don't worry; they all turn out to be nice in the end if you trust me. I'm very big on trust, are you?"

Her directness took me by surprise for a second. Knowing that this was no time for a glib reply I opted for honesty.

"I do honesty pretty well but because of stuff that's happened in my life I find trust a bit more of a problem. I'll so my best to make you an exception though," I smiled.

Emma beamed at me and kissed my cheek again. "I think that's a pretty good starting point. Let's eat."

Without a trace of self-consciousness she slipped her arm in mine and we walked out into the High Street and headed for Kensington Gardens. As we walked I couldn't stop myself from regularly snatching quick glimpses of her feet and enjoying the soft patting of her steps on the pavement. I admired the graceful stride of her legs and the light tread of her plimsolled feet and the way she planted her feet with her heels neatly together and her toes slightly turned out when she stood still. 

As we continued our conversation I found out that her parents had a farm in Wiltshire and she was the second of four children, with an older brother and younger twin brother and sister. She told me about her sister's hen night the previous evening, including her outfit of a grey linen jacket and trousers suit worn with a white tee shirt and white plimsolls which was inspired by one of Linda Koslowski's outfits that she wore in Crocodile Dundee. I half-jokingly and half-hopefully asked her if she also had 'that' bathing suit, referring to the incredible contraption of strategically positioned thin straps that Linda Koslowski wore with her white plimsolls when Paul Hogan rescued her from the giant crocodile.

"I'm not promising anything at this stage," she smiled, and left it at that.

We found a suitable spot in the Gardens in easy walking distance of the Albert Hall and settled down for our picnic. Emma sat down and straight away started to take off her right plimsoll. I had a pleasurable moment admiring the shape of the sole of her plimsoll that she faced in my direction as she rested it on the point of the heel to begin untying the lace.

"I've got an itch right in the middle of the sole of my foot I've been longing to scratch for the last few minutes." Then she smiled at me and swung her outstretched leg towards me to rest her foot on my lap and added "Would you kindly do the honours for me?" The sight and the feel of her lovely foot in her plimsoll pressing against me made me almost shiver with pleasure.

"I'd be delighted," I beamed, as my heart began to thump with excitement. I took hold of her foot, finished untying her plimsoll lace and carefully slid her plimsoll from her foot to reveal the lovely form of her foot cocooned inside her ankle sock, which was soft and snowy white with just the merest hint of sweat stain on the sole. I immediately noticed the delicious smell coming off her foot and from inside her plimsoll, it reminded me of lightly toasted Demerara sugar.

"How do you get your feet to smell so nice?" I asked her as with my left hand I cradled her ankle from underneath where her sock encircled it and with the tips of my outstretched first and second fingers I began to explore the sole of her foot through the soft cotton covering of her sock for the source of the offending itch.

"I discovered that tea tree oil reacts really well with the natural oils in the sweat from my feet. So I rub my feet with tea tree oil instead of washing them every time I change my plimsolls, which I do several times a day. Ooh, just a little bit lower and to the left. That's it, Ooh that's lovely!"

She sighed with pleasure as I ministered to her foot and I smiled with pleasure as I slipped her white plimsoll back onto the lovely soft white form of her foot and she placed her foot firmly on my upper leg for me to tie her lace. When I had finished and she had thanked me she suddenly said,

"As soon as I saw you I was sure you reminded me of someone. Tell me some more about yourself and name some names, it might help me remember."

I began an edited highlights account of my life to date and it was when I mentioned Bryony to her that she exclaimed, "That's it, of course. I should have realised straight away: you're Bryony Bartlett's Big Brother. I remember her mentioning you now."

"Bigger by about ten minutes," I smiled. "We do look quite similar so we often remind people of each other. At school people called us identical twins to take the Mickey out of us but we both thought of it as a compliment of sorts. In fact I look pretty much like her identical twin when I'm wearing her clothes." We both laughed and then I asked her, "How do you know Bryony?"

"We met at a dance studio where we both went for classes a few years ago now. I was at a dance college training to teach ballet and Bryony would come for classes when she was dancing in London. She's a lovely girl, we got on really well. I was so sorry when I heard she broke her leg and had to give up dancing, she was a wonderful dancer. How is she now?"

I told Emma about Bryony's success in interior design and how happy she was in New York, gave Emma her email address and suggested we all met up the next time she came over to London. Emma was pleased to have good news of her and enthusiastically accepted my invitation.

We finished our picnic and continued our conversation as we walked to the Albert Hall and queued with the other Promenaders for tickets. We found a good place to sit on the floor in front of the orchestra and settled down to enjoy the concert. As the performance progressed I slowly moved my foot closer and closer to Emma's foot until they just touched. I looked at Emma just within the edge of my vision. She continued to look straight ahead as if absorbed in the music but I noticed the slightest trace of a smile on her face as she pushed her foot closer against mine. I thrilled at the sight of her lovely foot in her gleaming white plimsoll and ankle sock nestled against my foot. I shuffled closer to her so my leg ran alongside hers, her skin warm and smooth pressed against mine, and rested my arm against her back. She leaned against me, rested her head against mine and then gracefully lifted her left leg over my right leg so her left foot rested on the floor between my feet. I wanted her so very much

The concert finished and we walked from the Albert Hall to a nearby pub. It was a warm evening and the pavement outside the pub was crowded with groups of people chatting and enjoying their drinks. As we walked into the bar we saw a couple vacating a small alcove tucked away in the far corner and we moved smartly to take possession of it so we could talk in private about what we knew we wanted to talk privately about. Once comfortably settled in I headed to the bar and after a few minutes of frustration and impatience whilst waiting to be served I returned with a large glass of chilled white wine for Emma and a pint of best for myself. She smiled warmly at me as she touched my glass with hers and began to nudge my ankle with the toe of her plimsoll on her crossed-over foot.

"You can keep that up all evening," I smiled.

"As long as you don't mind me varying it a bit; Cheers, My Dear," she grinned and after taking her first sip and declaring her satisfaction with the contents added, "So tell me all about how you became a plimsoll lover." The warmth in her eyes and the expression of anticipation and interest they communicated as she fixed them on me made my heart swell and my breathing tighten with excitement. No-one had ever asked me that before.

My smile beamed back at her as I took a long sip from my pint and began my story.

"It all started when Bryony and I were 14. My Dad sold his company for an obscene amount of money, bought a huge house in leafy Bucks and decided to send us to a pretentiously posh private school which had all sorts of odd traditions and old fashioned ways. Quite a few of the teachers were eccentric to put it mildly but whoever it was who made up the uniform rules must have been a real pervert because for PE in the gym and on the asphalt and for summer games on the field girls had to wear plain white plimsolls with white ankle socks and white polo shirts and blue pleated short skirts while boys had to wear black plimsolls with grey socks with white vests and blue shorts; absolutely no trainers allowed.

"So we were at the school outfitters getting our kit. I'd got on an athletics vest and a pair of shorts and these daft looking grey socks and I'm just about to try on these black plimsolls. Now I was quite an early developer and my hormones were already starting to do strange things at really embarrassing moments. So I put on these plimsolls and it's the first time I've worn plimsolls since I was at nursery and I don't know if it was the look or the smell or the feel of them that got to me but as I was slipping my feet into them I just suddenly felt incredibly horny and I got this massive hard on.

"Now I'm sitting there with my legs crossed wondering what the hell's going on and what to do with myself and I look over at Bryony. She's got on this little white tennis dress showing off her long legs really nicely and these really cute little white ankle socks with the tops turned down. She's already wearing a white plimsoll on her left foot that she's standing on and as I watch her she puts her other plimsoll on a chair, lifts up her leg and bends forward to slip her foot, which looks so cute in her white ankle sock, into her plimsoll and fasten the lace, which all just looks incredibly sexy. Not only that: Bryony was also an early developer so as she's bending over I'm looking right down her cleavage between her little breasts nestled in a new white sports bra and I can just about see her bush under the waistline of her white panties and at that moment...." 

I paused for a second as I decided whether or not to trust Emma with what I was about to say and risk losing her before we'd hardly begun. I chose to trust myself to her and continued,

"....I just wanted to fuck her right there and then."

Emma and I looked at each other for a moment. She, sensing my discomfort, placed her hand on top of mine and her beautiful hazel eyes fixed on mine were full of care and compassion, as was her voice as she spoke gently to me,

"What happened to you after that?"

I moved my hand from underneath hers so I could enfold her hand in mine, while the gentle rub of her plimsoll on her crossed over foot on my bare leg helped me to relax again as I continued.

"I asked the shop assistant if I could use the toilet and as soon as I'd locked the door I took off my vest, shorts and pants so I was naked down to my plimsolls and socks and I jacked myself off into a big handful of toilet paper while trying hard not to imagine it was Bryony's vagina. Then I cleaned myself up and got dressed and went back as if nothing had happened. But I was totally fucked up after that. I started dreaming every night about us having sex and because the school rules wouldn't allow me to wear white plimsolls and because my parents refused to let me have some because they thought it was sissy I also became obsessed with wanting to wear them, and not just in an ordinary way but also with wearing them as much as possible like a girl does, with really girly clothes, to get the same feeling of wearing plimsolls that girls have.

"For a long time I was in this intensely frustrating situation of having this obsession with white plimsolls and cross-dressing and not being able to do anything about it. At night I would wear my black plimsolls in bed and masturbate whilst imagining having sex with Bryony with us both naked in white plimsolls. Our house was in the country near to some woods so I had plenty of places to hide in and indulge myself. There was no point in trying to tell my parents because they never listened to us about anything and they were completely useless about anything to do with sex. You'd never have known they grew up in the '60s. It was like they never happened.

"I got involved in school sports as much as possible so I had as many opportunities as I could get to see girls in their white plimsolls. Then I started chatting some up them up and eventually started going out with one of them. I was fifteen by then. Her name was Joanna Parkinson and she had long ginger hair with a fringe and her teeth stuck out a little and she was a bit skinny but she had nice long legs which looked really sexy in her white plimsolls. She was really good fun to be with and she was a terrific kisser too. She could have snogged for England, that girl. We went out a few times but she never wore her plimsolls and then one day when we were arranging a date I suggested to her as casually as I was able to that she could wear them and she said to me like I'd just gone soft in the head, 'You must be joking! I wouldn't be seen dead in plimsolls outside of school and neither would any of my friends. We all hate them!' I lost interest in her after that and soon afterwards I picked a huge argument with her over something totally trivial so I could break up with her, which was a really shitty thing to do to her but I couldn't think of any other way of getting out of it.

"A few weeks after that I was at home by myself; Bryony was at her best friend Becky's house and Mum and Dad had gone shopping. I'd managed to get out of going with them by pretending to have a headache. I'd planned to have a marathon masturbating session while they were all out so as soon as I was alone I went up to my room and got naked. I was about to put on my black plimsolls when I suddenly realised that now at long last I had the perfect opportunity to borrow Bryony's white ones, because we have the same size feet.

"So I went into her bedroom feeling really excited because I'm going to be wearing white plimsolls at long last and it's the first time I've ever been in her room without her being there. It was a real girl's bedroom: all light and bright and pink and soft and fluffy and sweet smelling, with pictures and posters of ballerinas, horses and cats and kittens everywhere. I went into her room intending to take her plimsolls to my room and wear them while I masturbated; but when I opened her wardrobe to take them I noticed the drawer in which she kept her ballet kit and I had this sudden deep desire to put it on.

"First I put on this little G-string that she wore for ballet because it didn't show through her leotard. Then I put on her white ballet tights which felt so fabulous on my legs that I've loved wearing tights and leggings ever since. Then I put on her leotard which was pale blue and had little cups for her breasts which I filled up with some of her panties. I loved the way it moulded close to my body all round and the way the edges of the gusset circled around my crotch and my thighs. Then I put on her pink ballet shoes and I found a book on ballet with pictures showing how to tie the ballet shoe ribbons around my ankles, which felt and looked fantastically sexy and cute. Then I put on her little pink gauzy tutu skirt and finished off by putting on her stretchy pink headband. I looked at myself in her full length mirror while I tried to do ballet poses and did my best to look like a ballerina. Then I supported myself on her practice barre while I tried to stand on my toes like a ballerina but it was agony so I gave up on that. But that started my ballet fetish and I'd wear a leotard and tights all the time if I could.




Trust Ch. 03



"So I took off her ballet kit and I found her tennis gear. I put on a pair of her white lacy panties, her sports bra with the cups stuffed with more of her panties and her white plimsolls with a pair of her white ankle socks. I got one thrill after another as I slipped my feet into her socks and then slid my feet into her plimsolls. Her feet are the same length as mine but slightly narrower so when I'd tied the laces her plimsolls felt gorgeously snug around my feet through her socks. I got a huge erection because my feet looked and felt so good in her white plimsolls and her socks felt beautifully soft on my feet and when I stroked my feet through them and her plimsolls it felt so fabulous I came in her panties and I've loved wearing girls' socks with plimsolls ever since. 

"I enjoyed looking at myself in her mirror wearing her plimsolls and underwear and then I put on her tennis dress and to hide my short hair I covered it with the white headscarf she liked to wear when she played tennis. I was having too much fun to want to stop so I wondered what else to do and decided to put on some of her makeup. I dusted my face with powder, put on some blusher, lipstick, eyeliner and mascara and looked at myself in her dressing table mirror and thought I looked pretty good; although I probably looked ghastly really.

"She'd only recently had her ears pierced and she still had some pairs of clip on earrings. I chose a pair of pretty crystal dangly ones, put them on and looked up to the mirror to see how I looked and standing in the doorway right behind me with her mouth wide open in what must have been total shock, was Bryony."

I raised my hand for dramatic emphasis, smiled at Emma and said "And now I'll keep you in suspense for a few minutes while I get us another drink. I returned a few minutes later with another glass of white wine for Emma and a pint for myself plus some assorted bar snacks to share and upon settling down again I continued my story.

"I turned to face her and for what felt like ages we stared at each other in silence until I couldn't stand it any more and I said to her, 'What are you going to tell Mum and Dad?' She continued looking at me for a moment as if not certain what to do and then she said, 'I promise not to tell them anything if you promise not to tell them anything about what I'm going to tell you now.'

"I can't tell you how relieved I felt at that moment. Then I saw she looked really upset about something and I suddenly felt really worried for her. I promised faithfully never to tell and asked her what was wrong and straight away she started to cry. We sat down on her bed with her on my lap cuddling up to me while I hugged her and when she'd calmed down enough she told me straight out, 'Becky and I are in love with each other.'

"Now it was my turn to be surprised. She hadn't shown any interest in boys or in wanting a boyfriend whereas I'd already had several girlfriends by then, but I just thought she wasn't ready yet and was just taking a bit longer to reach that stage than me. Also, whenever I'd seen her with Becky they'd always seemed a bit stand-offish with each other. But when she explained it all to me it finally made sense. I can still remember exactly what she said. She said,

'I went round to see Becky because I wanted to sort out why we were always so shy with each other although we both kept saying we really liked each other. We were a bit shy and awkward to start of with but it gradually got better and then we talked about all sorts of things. After a while we got talking about neither of us wanting a boyfriend and I said to her that I didn't even like the idea of kissing a boy and as soon as I'd said it Becky started to cry and told me that the day before, several boys had cornered her in a back alley as she was walking home from school and after telling her that it was time she started showing some interest in boys had made her undo her blouse and kiss them all while they felt her breasts. I got close to her and touched her hand to comfort her and it was like some kind of electricity passed between us and we started kissing, gently at first and then more and more intensely.

'I was feeling more and more that I wanted to be close to her when she said she wanted me to get into bed with her and cuddle her to help her feel better. I said straight away that I wanted to and because it was really warm in her room we stripped off down to our bras and panties before getting into her bed together. It was lovely to feel so close and warm together while we kept on cuddling and kissing each other. Then Becky said she felt uncomfortable in her bra so she took it off and I took mine off as well and when we pressed our bare breasts together it felt wonderful. 

'All that time we were rubbing our bodies gently together while we hugged and kissed and after a little while I started to get a lovely feeling between my legs and when I told Becky she said she was getting the same feeling. So we both took off our panties so we were both naked and when we rubbed together again it felt even nicer. Then she asked me to put my hand on her private so she could see what it felt like. As I felt around her private she got more and more excited and kept telling me how lovely it felt and that made me excited so I put her hand on my private for her to stroke me and it felt so wonderful. We kept stroking each other until I suddenly felt like I was wetting myself and I had such an amazing feeling between my legs that it made me cry with pleasure. At the same time I felt Becky getting wet between her legs and all over my fingers where I was stroking her private and she cried as well. Then she clung on tightly to me and kept on saying over and over again while she kissed me, 'I love you, Bryony, I love you so much' and I hugged her as close as I could and kept telling her that I loved her too. And I really do love her, Chas.'

"So there I was, dressed in Bryony's tennis dress, plimsolls and ankle socks and her underwear and makeup, while she's sat on my lap telling me about her first lesbian love and I'm fighting down the urge to strip her naked, get her down on her bed, put her feet in her white plimsolls and have sex with her. How mixed up is that? I was even more screwed up after that. So now you're sitting opposite a man who fantasises about screwing his sister and about his sister doing it with other girls. I'm not proud of it; I hate myself for it, but that's the truth about me and I'll get up and leave right now if that's what you want."

The look I gave Emma at that moment left her in no doubt that I meant what I just said whilst at the same time appealing to her for her compassion; had I been right to entrust myself to her?

She didn't let me down. She smiled warmly at me as she took both my hands in hers, leaned towards me and kissed me and I again felt the comforting rub of her plimsoll on her crossed over foot as she stroked her smooth white canvas covered toes up and down my the bare skin of my calf.

"Try and not be so hard on yourself," she said gently to me. "We've all got weird stuff going on in our heads. It's what you do with it that matters. In my most depraved moments I imagine having it off with a horse. I've been that way for as long as I can remember; it's probably to do with growing up on a farm. I imagine it lots of times but there's no way I'd ever actually do it. I can't imagine how I'd ever manage it even if I wanted to."

She laughed with her characteristic giggly laugh that I was already learning to love. My initial look of surprise instantly turned to one of gratitude and fellow feeling as I recognised her care for me in sharing her secret with me. She continued more seriously.

"You may imagine wanting sex with Bryony but you'd never actually do it would you, even if you had the opportunity?"

"No. No way," I agreed emphatically. "She's a beautiful person and a wonderful sister and I love her to bits. I'd never do anything to hurt her, especially something like that."

"Well there you are then," Emma beamed at me. "What really matters is that you have a great relationship, you really care about her and you'll always do your best for her. So you don't need to worry about what's only ever going to be inside your head." She enfolded my shoulders neck with her long, slender swan like arms and kissed me again. "Now how about the rest of your story?" she smiled.

I placed my hands gently on the beautifully smooth and soft skin of her cheeks and kissed her before I continued.

"After Bryony had told me all of that I of course confessed to her about my plimsoll and ballet shoe fetishes and my urge to look like a girl in them. I kept quiet about my incest fantasies though. And she was great about it. She let me secretly borrow her stuff on condition that I kept everything clean and that was fantastic because she loves wearing all the really girly pretty stuff that really turns me on, like tight little tops, really short skirts and shorts, little strappy dresses, tights and leggings and legwarmers and cute little ankle socks.

"She and Becky kept their relationship secret for a year until Becky and her family emigrated to Canada. She was really cut up about it for a long time and I was the only person she could talk to about it, which was good in one way because it made us even closer but bad in another because it made my fantasies about her almost unbearable at times.

"Then when she was 18 she got a place with a top touring ballet company as a student dancer, which was a fantastic achievement for her because she hadn't been to ballet school and had done all her training and performing out of school. Just before she was due to leave home to join the company she decided to come out and she told our parents she was a lesbian. They couldn't take it and basically told her not to come home again. I just blew up at them and told them that if they were throwing Bryony out, they might as well throw me out as well because I was a transvestite; so neither of us has had anything to do with our parents for more than ten years now.

"Bryony did really well in the company and a couple of years later she joined a company in New York. After a while she started to dance major roles like Giselle and Manon and just as her career was really taking off she was hit by a car which smashed up her leg really badly; which is how she met her partner, Laurelle. She's one of New York's top personal injury lawyers -- I think she's the first black lesbian senior partner in a big New York law firm -- and she represented Bryony in her compensation case and got her a fantastic sum of money. They got together after the case was over and they've been together ever since. Bryony's never been happier and I'm really happy for her. They're an amazing couple: Bryony's the sweet ethereal English Rose and Laurelle's all cool and brash and power dressing in Giorgio Armani suits.

"I left school and went to sixth form college before going to Cambridge and leaving home for good and then getting into finance. I often thought about getting into the fetish scene but that's all about the fetish and what I really wanted was a real relationship with a girl who gets turned on by the same things that turn me on. I've had lots of girlfriends with varying degrees of tolerance for my fetishes but all the while I've longed for a girl who I can really share them with, and now at last I've found you."

I took her hand and as we leaned forward to kiss I noticed the big antique looking clock hanging on the wall nearby.

"Shit, the time!" I exclaimed. "You've missed the last tube. I'm really sorry; I shouldn't have droned on so much."

"It's OK," she replied, squeezing my hand reassuringly, "I'm really grateful you wanted to share so much with me, and there's a night bus that stops near my house."

"No," I insisted, "I don't want some piss head throwing up on you. I'll get you a taxi."

"That's really nice of you," she beamed at me. We left the pub and I felt fantastic. It felt so good to feel caring and protective of her as she stood close to me with my arm encircling hers and holding her close to me while I scanned the passing taxis to spot one for hire. I kept looking down at her lovely feet in her pristine white Keds next to mine in my white Supergas, hardly able to believe my good fortune. She noticed and responded by giving my foot an affectionate nudge with hers, which sent a wave of pleasure all through me. 

"Come to my house for dinner next Saturday and I'll tell you my plimsoll story," she smiled and reinforced her offer with a kiss behind my ear. I couldn't have been happier at that moment.

A taxi drew up. Emma got in the back, settled into her seat, stretched out her lovely long legs before crossing them, and, making little circles with the toe of her plimsoll pointed in my direction called out to me,

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Mr Johnson. Would you like the same time next week?"

Her voice was all innocence but her smile was a study in wicked mischief. The taxi driver gave me a sly wink and a very knowing look. I was completely floored and for a moment my face was a furious flush of embarrassment. "I'll get you back for this, you saucy wench!", I just had time to mouth at her through the window of the taxi pulling away as she waved at me with a Cheshire cat grin of triumph.

I walked home in a daze of happiness and excitement only slightly dampened by the knowledge that I would have to endure nearly a whole week before we could be together again. When I got home I immediately got undressed for a refreshing shower. I was too excited to go to bed so after drying myself I slipped on a pair of girl's white slip on plimsolls and, enjoying the sight and feel of my erection, went into the kitchen for a drink while I thought about the fun I would have with myself. I saw the picnic hamper where I had left it on the kitchen table and, obeying my natural instinct to tidy away the contents, opened the lid to find a wonderful surprise inside.

While I had been getting the drinks at the pub, Emma had slipped into the hamper the plimsolls she had changed out of for her brand new ones just before she met me at the station, with the white ankle socks she had worn with them neatly rolled up inside them. They looked as spotlessly snowy white as her new ones. The pleasure of picking them up and of the shape and feel of them in my hands made my heart pound and when I placed one over my nose and took a deep breath it smelled so gorgeously of the toasted brown sugar smell of her feet that my eyes watered with the delight of it. With them she had placed a handwritten note which read, 

'Until we next meet, these are my treat. Enjoy. M. X'

Clutching her plimsolls and ankle socks like precious jewels I raced to my bedroom and threw myself down on my back full length on my bed. I put my hands inside her plimsolls and rubbed my face and my body all over, first with the canvas uppers and then with the rubber soles, turning my body sideways and over as I did so that every part of me felt their electrifying touch. Then I placed my hands inside her ankle socks like they were gloves and smoothed them all over my body while I exulted in the feel of the gorgeously soft cotton rich texture gliding over my skin. I ended up with one hand fondling my balls and the other sliding up and down my shaft while I moaned with pleasure at the soft cotton caress of Emma's white ankle socks on my genitals.

By now feeling thoroughly aroused, I slipped off my plimsolls, rolled Emma's socks onto my feet and slipped my feet back into my slip-ons which now felt fabulous through her socks. I tied one of her plimsolls over my face so I could again enjoy the intoxication of the gorgeous aroma of her feet and I carefully inserted my shaft into her other plimsoll so my bulbous tingling head was wedged right inside the toe. I started to move her plimsoll up and down so the inner lining rubbed against my erection and my head was squeezed into the toe with each stroke and the tingling became more and more intense.

As I approached my climax Bryony appeared in my vision lying on her back next to me, naked except for her feet in her white plimsolls. Her arms were rested and relaxed on the bed each side of her; she had drawn up one of her long slender dancer's legs with the foot flat on the bed while she stretched out her other leg with the foot pointed. Her long dark hair flowed down from the pillow to rest beneath her shoulder blades. Her neat round little ballerina breasts rose and fell in time with her gentle breathing. She turned her head to me and smiled as I smiled at her. I reached out my hand and she took it in hers and squeezed it affectionately. We said nothing; what was said through our eyes and our smiles was enough. With a deep gasp of pleasure and relief I flooded the inside of Emma's plimsoll. I felt good.

I slept well that night.



Trust Ch. 03



It had been about two weeks since Logan had come to me in the kitchen that day. Life had changed drastically for us, that was for sure. It had been the best two weeks of my life.

My favorite memory of the last two weeks was of one specific evening. I had been up on the main deck, looking out to sea from the back. Logan had come up behind me and put his arms around me. Since I was taller I felt his face press against my back, and his hands come around me. He had drawn me from my shorts, and gently, lovingly, jerked me off right there, never letting me turn around or reciprocate. The sun set around us as I ejaculated into the ocean, out in the open, nothing but ocean around us. During the whole thing he kept his face firmly pressed against my back, murmuring soft things to me.

In the evenings we'd lie together and he would show me the stars, and I began to learn about the constellations and learn how to identify them. I'd always looked at the stars, living in Oklahoma, but I was always more interested in harder sciences. 

We made love every day. It was paradise. I had even begun introducing him, albeit tentatively, to some anal play. I would slide a finger up his ass while I sucked him off, or while we just lay in bed together, me behind him, my other hand wrapped around his cock. He seemed to like it, and he never said no, but he had never evinced any desire to go any further since that first day. And to be honest, I was as content as I could be. 

It's hard to be a bottom, and I was quite willing to do it for him, but I'd mostly topped in my life. Still, I would have done it either way, if he wanted. 

In the end it was not me that broached the subject. I probably would have gone as long as he did without ever mentioning anything. But it was an odd time when it came up. We had actually gone into town, in Willemstaad, Curacao, to do some shopping. A good deal of the Caribbean is severely homophobic, and in places like Jamaica especially we were very careful not to let on that we were lovers. Curacao was one of the few places that were totally welcoming to gays and lesbians, and one of the few places we felt comfortable enough to hold hands in the marketplace, which we were doing now.

We'd also taken on some ferrying jobs to at least pay for food and fuel, and had just brought a huge shipment of, all things, cigarettes, to Curacao. It had done well by us and Logan was feeling better that he was not mooching on me. 

We were just browsing when Logan looked at me with some mischief.

"Do you trust me?"

I laughed. "Not as far as I can throw you."

"Fair enough, I guess I deserve that. But trust me anyway. There's a place I want to go."

"Sure, of course."

"Let me call a cab." While neither of us could speak Dutch, the lingua franca of Curacao, thankfully Logan could speak some Portuguese, enough to get by anyway. I had picked up a smattering of words (hello/goodbye/where is the bathroom?/how much?) but mainly I relied on him.

Inside the cab Logan spoke in rapid Portuguese to the driver, and off we went. I was curious, but I was completely not expecting where we eventually pulled up. Logan paid the cabbie, and we stepped out. 

In front of me was a giant building, and the sign was in English, so I could read it. It said, "Relax – the Adult Toy Superstore". I looked at Logan and he looked at me and we both laughed.

"Come on," he said, taking my hand in his. 

Inside was everything anybody could ever want. We giggled like kids over the 18" dildos (black of course), checked out the whips, looked in horror at the love dolls, and eventually ended up at the anal toys.

"Logan?"

"I don't know how to use any of them. That is, I've used them on girls. But," and here he picked up one of the butt plugs. "I know when I...ahem...embarked on this particular venture with a girl, I had to get her ready first. It took time."

He turned and looked me in the eyes and I caught my breath. We looked at each other for a long time. "Which one should I pick?" he murmured. "Have you done this before? I mean, trained someone? I mean," he laughed and shook his head. "I mean, a man."

I nodded, swallowed. "I'll pick a couple. I have done this before. Are you sure you're OK with this?"

He put his hand on my arm, then glanced around. Seeing no one nearby, he gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Just be gentle."

"I will."

It was that very night, back on the ship, that we began. I had stocked up on plenty of the right lube, and I kissed him as I eased the first plug into his ass. He grimaced, but when I slowed, he shook his head. "I want to learn."

So I taught him. I taught him with all the love in my heart. Each night I would slip it into his ass, and then suck him off while it was still in him, teaching him to like it, to orgasm with it in him. It was a week before I upgraded to the next one. 

Then I taught him to put the old one in my ass. He was even more hesitant if possible, afraid he would hurt me. I assured him he wouldn't.

One night we had gone out to see a movie, and had come back late at night. It was on the piers that he turned to me and put his arms around me. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Logan."

"Why is it that you rarely show affection in public? It's always me hugging you, or me kissing you."

I sighed a little and drew him close. "You really want to know? 

"Of course."

"It's because I don't want to scare you."

"Scare me?"

"I...really care about you. A lot. I'm not ashamed of being with you, or anything. I constantly want to have my hands on you. I just don't want to drive you away."

He looked at me, those blue eyes opaque. "Oh, Jared. Are you still afraid I'm going to leave you?"

I looked back at him. "Aren't you?"

He smiled, gently. "Not anytime soon. I'll be here for quite a while yet."

"All right. I'm sorry. I just worry."

"Don't." And this time I kissed him, before he did, on the piers, probably with people watching us. I kissed him tenderly and sweetly, and then hand-in-hand, we returned to the ship.

That night as I was kissing him and fondling his body, when I reached for the plug tonight he stopped me. Our eyes met in the dim light of the room, and he murmured to me, "I'm ready."

"You sure?"

"Very."

I nodded, hesitantly. "I'll go slow. Just tell me to stop and I'll stop immediately."

I laid him on his stomach, with a pillow underneath him. I was determined to take my time about this, and I got out the oils and began massaging his back, his shoulders, his neck. He groaned underneath me in pleasure. 

I dropped my hands to his asscheeks and massaged those, too, letting my finger occasionally slide between. On the third slide I pressed my finger against him and it slid in easily.

"You're getting used to it," I whispered. "I'm going to try now, ok?"

He nodded. I lifted his slim hips gently and breathed to get control of myself. Angling myself, I pushed against him. He looked so gorgeous, ready for me, his muscles all taut and tense as I entered him, slowly. I heard him wince a little.

"Shall I stop?"

"No. It's just...it's bigger than I expected."

"It'll be a little better once the head's in." And I pushed with a little more strength, and felt him give away as I slid just the tip of me inside of him.

He was so tight it was unbelievable. I stopped, partly to give him time to get used to the sensation of a cock in his ass, but also to give myself a breather.

"OK, Logan?"

"Very ok." 

"Just relax." I started pushing again. When he flinched, I stopped, and rubbed his back and uttered soft, soothing words. I only moved again when he nodded or told me to. In this way it was probably ten minutes before I finally sank into him fully, my hips pressed against his ass.

"That's it, Logan. I'm all the way in."

"Holy shit, Jared. Is this what it always feels like?"

"Does it hurt?"

"A little...but not as much as I'd thought."

I bent over him and kissed the back of his head. As I did, I moved inside him gingerly. Both of us moaned. 

"Fuck me, Jared."

"As you wish." I began to move in him, slowly at first. I loved the feeling of fucking his tight ass. It's what I had been imagining for so long...I began to move faster, trying desperately not to move too fast. 

"Oh, God, Logan. I don't think I'm going to last very long this first time." My hand was still slick with the lube and I reached around his waist and gripped his cock. It had gone semi-soft with the invasion in his ass, but as I slid my hand over its length it began to stiffen again. 

I began to pump him, in rhythm with my strokes, and as my hand moved faster, so did I. I felt him grunt with each thrust, and his hand came to mine and encouraged me to pump him faster. I did so, and soon enough I was downright fucking his ass – very little gentleness remained. I knew he would be sore as hell tomorrow but I couldn't control myself. 

I was the first one to come, as I expected. I just couldn't clear my mind, not with Logan under me, listening to his cries, his moans, and it drove me right over the edge. I emptied into his body, thrusting forward even harder, and burying myself in him to the hilt. 

I pumped his cock furiously and he arched his back so he was pressed right against my chest when he came. We both watched his semen arc across the bed, over the headboard. I held him against me, kissing his neck, as he finished. 

We both collapsed onto the bed together. I got tissues and cleaned him tenderly, cleaned myself. I lay him on his back, and wrapped the sheet around us. Then I smoothed his brow back, kissed his closed eyes, stroked his hair, and whispered, "I love you so much," without thinking.

My heart just about stopped in terror. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean..."

He opened his eyes and looked right into mine. "You didn't mean it? Or you didn't mean to say it?"

I had no words, but I knew the answer was evident in my eyes. The moment held for a seemingly long time, and then he smiled and kissed the corner of my mouth.

"I know," he whispered, and turned to spoon with me, pulling me around him like a blanket. I followed and curled around him, grateful he hadn't gotten upset. 

"Was it all right?" I whispered. "I mean, not what I said, what I did..."

He chuckled. "I know what you meant. Yes. It was. It was wonderful, and I hope you do it again. And," here he raised my hand and kissed the knuckles. "Maybe you could teach me to do it to you."

"Whatever you like. Whenever you like." I kissed his ear in gratitude, and curled up with him.

I lay awake a long time that night, though.

In the morning, I was the first one awake, and made us coffee and started breakfast. He joined me after not too long. He smiled ruefully.

"I'm sore as hell."

"I'm sorry. We can take a shower after breakfast. Some hot water might help."

"I'd like that." We ate together, with him easing himself down onto the chair. He sat awkwardly and we shared smiles and remembrance.

After breakfast I did indeed wash him, gently, and lovingly. The words that had slipped out of my mouth last night hung between us, but I didn't know how to make it better. When we were back upstairs, and he was sitting on one of the deck chairs, I decided I had better say something. I went upstairs to his side. He immediately opened his eyes and smiled at me.

"Logan."

"Jared?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"About last night?"

"Yes. Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

He looked at me curiously. "Do you really?"

"Do I really what?"

"Love me, of course."

I looked at him, surprised, and then rueful. "Yes, Logan, I love you." I looked down and then up again. "I love you a great deal. I'm sorry...I know it's going to make it awkward between us. I tried so hard not to let on. I-I'm sorry."

Suddenly he was right next to me and his hand was on mine. He waited until I looked at him again. "Don't be sorry. Please don't ever be sorry. It takes courage to take someone's hand and trust that they won't leave you." 

He clasped my hand in his. "I didn't have that courage for a long time after Vanessa died. In fact, I thought I'd never love anything again. But Omni's down, and well, you're teaching me to live again. Jared?"

"Yes?" I could hardly breathe.

"I think you might be teaching me to love you, too. Only it's going to take some time. Will that be OK? I might need a long time to let myself love you fully. I'm not as brave as you. I already lost the love of my life once. My baby boy was taken from me. I don't know if I'm fully a person anymore. But when I look in your eyes, the way you look at me, I think – maybe I can find myself again."

"So love me, Jared. Bring me back to myself." He smiled at me and smoothed my hair off my forehead.

"Oh, Logan." I sighed. "I'll be here. As long as you need me. I'll take your hand, and I'll trust you won't leave me."

The sun's rays glinted off his golden hair. His eyes were as blue as the waters of the Caribbean. 

Our lips met.



Trust Ch. 03



Thanks for your patience! New Chapter!





Trust Ch. 03



Sally continued to stare at the ocean, something she'd been doing entirely too much since the day she left Storm's. Turning around abruptly, she didn't expect to face Storm's hard muscled chest. She almost fell backwards, but he reached out in time to grab her arms, steading her. 

"You don't have to fall at my feet to show me how happy you are to see me," Storm said smiling. 

"What are you doing here?"

"I sent you a message asking if you wanted to catch a movie or something but you didn't reply. Busy?"

Sally looked away guilty. She had received the text message and wanted to go but was too afraid to reply. "Yeah...I'm busy but thanks for the invite." 

"What night are you not busy?" 

"I'm busy every night. Sorry." Sally tried to walk away but Storm held on to her arm. 

"No movie, late dinner, this Saturday."

"I can't..."

"I'll pick you up at about ten." Storm turned and walked away. 

"No place is opened at that hour."

"Let me worry about that. Be ready at that time." 

Sally didn't have to work that night. 





Trust Ch. 03



From that moment onward Iona sought out this Russ called Long Sword. The images he had spun created a need so great that she could physically feel the man she wanted most.

With Iona's exhaustive imagination, she could feel Kieren's resting on top of her. The press of his awe-inspiring body against the softness of hers felt real—skin on skin, moist from exertion. Behind her closed eyes, she could actually feel his hands squeeze her breasts with appreciation, his tongue flick one dark tip before the lips she yearned to kiss drew from it with need. His pull was strong and the feel of his teeth proved his hunger. 

Her Kieren progressed upward after laying kisses between her bosom's warmth. Iona welcomed the pain of him marking her neck. Strong hands moved across her back, feeling more than just the surface of her skin but who she truly was. His cock, solid and promising, glided across the head of her clit-lubricated with her own quintessence. The push at her entrance made her gasp. The smoothness of his thrust made her exhale.

Every quiet moment became dedicated to these thoughts. As her fantasies claimed her body and mind, the ripeness of her breasts made her hardened nipples visible behind the face of anything she wore. In secret, Iona slid her hand between her thighs. She dipped her fingers past her pussy's lips and then brought those same fingers to her tongue to taste this sweetness her thoughts encouraged. She yearned for her lover's touch, to see him lick his lips in expectation. She wanted to see his response when she fed herself to him, to see his reaction to her delectable flavor.

Iona felt the heat of her own wanton desires. Her thoughts of him held power. She could smell the perfume of their lovemaking.

In Kieren's ear she whispered, "Please never leave me."

In hers he whispered, "I never left you Iona."

The smoothness of his voice caused shivers as his words echoed in her mind. Just as her imagination mounted, reality set in.

Kieren's other words replaced the imagined endearments.

"What would possess you to believe that I would bother myself with the thought of fully using something that has no use? How could something empty and broken hold anything for me? Of what satisfaction could you possibly give? When I need comfort or warmth I go where it exists."

Sadness would then grip Iona. The sudden shift of thought caused dizziness and the start of tears.

For all these feelings, Iona thanked Russ and cursed him. Her mind sought him to declare both.

Russ proved to be quite promiscuous and less committed to Iona's safety. As a show of great appreciation for his favors, women delivered honey coated breads, pies, and homemade sweets of various kinds to the Longhouse. The impression was that their innocent offerings were for all the men that dined. The so called gifts were never distributed equally. They found their way to Long Sword's table. If so inclined, he shared. 

Besides finding him to be an enormous whore, Iona learned that he was a fierce warrior noted for his stealth. He was said to have a blade so swift that it was only detected after its purpose was completed. His aim with the bow was revered. Taught by Kieren from a young age, Long Sword was often compared to Kieren but fell short. This was the cause of many arguments and challenges between the two men; Kieren always triumphed. Russ' love and respect for his brother ran deep. The two were like one, yet always at battle. No one dared intercede; they were quick to join forces. To be the source of their focus could prove painful.

Iona often found Russ in the process of indulging his appetites. His preferences varied, some of the young women were quite fleshly and others could be easily blown by the wind. From their sounds, the women were more than grateful for his attentions.

Russ was never shocked or embarrassed by Iona's intrusions. While licking the smoothness of whoever's neck, he would wink as if Iona and he were in cohorts.

Iona would lick her tongue at him.

Russ warned her once. With a sly smile, he told her that he might put that tongue to use.

"You would fancy something so nauseating," Iona returned with a disgusted look on her face.

This brought nothing but laughter. "You would find the touch of my tongue more talented than the touch of your hand."

"So you would like to believe," she threw back at him.

"Remember little flower," he said, his face somewhat sober, "you are the one seeking me out, not the other way around."

"You can..."

"I know," Russ interceded with a grin, "kiss the curve of your brown ass."

Iona was suddenly paralyzed when he moved closer and lowered his head to whisper in her ear. She could feel the heat that was him.

"Unlike the others, your request for kisses only brings me nearer," he told her. "I would enjoy what you offer. Keep in mind, a kiss would not be enough for a man like me. I bite."

Iona attempted to slap him, which only brought more laughter. She stamped off in a huff.

Russ watched her walk away. He knew the truth of his words. The exploration of his thoughts caused his groin to tighten.

"Kieren needs to return for what is his," he whispered to himself.

Long Sword became Iona's new source of entertainment. She was certain of her hate for him, at least until she saw him next. Their exchanges resulted in an attempted slap and a frustrated Iona. She never failed to curse him while walking away, which of course he laughed at.

Russ had always found Iona entertaining. Her sultry lips could be sweet one second and salty the next. Her wit was quick. Her craftiness was endless. No one made him laugh as quickly as she did.

He saw the fire in her eyes, even as she sat freezing in the cage they found her in. The memory of her past situation still moved him. He would never find it amusing. His brother's interest in the girl was no mystery to him. Russ had immediately felt her pull as well. The day she stood gazing at the sea truly weakened him. He had seen no fire in her eyes as she passed. Despair emanated from her like the smoke of a dying flame. Russ had sent Gunner to distract her. It was not the orders of his brother he feared. He had feared her loss.

********************

One day the hunt for Long Sword held little interest for Iona. Like her he seemed distracted and Iona barely noticed when he disappeared. An incurable restlessness overwhelmed her. Something was there in her mind, but just beyond her reach. Her skin became overly sensitive. Every shift in the air could be felt by the slight hairs on her arms. But, there was no wind in the leaves of trees. In spite of the sun's heat, she would find herself shivering. There were moments when she felt the brush of water against her legs. Familiar things became strange. Grooves and smooth surfaces became more detailed. The need to touch and be touched plagued her. She feared that her mood was evident. Those around her seemed to sense it. Their interactions with her were odd. There was an unknown influence drifting. She was both elated by it and in fear of it.

Every minute passed slowly. At the end of the day she felt exhausted, but the rise of the moon brought no relief. Iona's dreams were disturbing; she tossed and turned. In her dreams, waves of water crashed against her as Kieren watched. She tried to tell him that she could not swim. Her words were lost. The touch of his hands soothed her. He tasted of salt. Her delights became nightmares as the sea filled her lungs.

His whisper was in her ear. It was soft and loving, but its intent broke her heart.

"Never forget what I say to you today, for I shall not."

Wrapped in sorrow, she rose in the earliest part of the morning. The need to watch the sun eventually rise settled upon her. Its birth always gave her hope.

Before entering the main hall, familiar sounds brought her to a halt. There was moaning of the most sensual kind. A woman purred with words of adoration. The man responded in harsh tones, low enough to be hushed by the slight crackling of the hearth. What came next was unmistakable. The man groaned with satisfaction as he obviously gave the woman what she begged for. She was immediately silenced.

The sound of his satisfaction made Iona long to be the cause. The erotic humming of the woman only increased that desire. This man had to be truly gifted. The woman was apparently gifted as well. She stopped to ask him if he missed what she was doing. A sound rose from him in confirmation to compliment her efforts. Iona wished to see the technique of this woman. Russ rarely responded in such a way. Not once did he tell the woman to quiet down. This was unique. If Iona wished to win Kieren's attentions, she would need to have such techniques.

Iona dropped to her knees so that her shadow would not reveal her presence, and crawled forward. She could see the bottom half of Russ's bare, muscular legs spread. Positioned between his legs was a woman on her knees. She had to be taking him in her mouth. She would grasp the cheeks of his firm ass and pull him into her.

Iona crawled out further and hid herself under one of the tables.

Their movements stopped. When the woman protested, Russ hushed her. He was obviously surveying the large hall.

Iona held her breath. Little passed Russ when it came to her trickery. Too, he had a certain sense about things. As if by magic he could appear and disappear without sound; but, no one could claim having done the same to him.

Iona was relieved when they continued. She was on the verge of passing out.

Damned Russ, she thought.

From her new position, Iona could see the other woman taking him deep within the cavern of her mouth. She could not completely devour him and her lips were stretched wide around him. Pulling back she then dipped her head to lick and suck his full sacks. The flat of her tongue also licked up the underside of his cock with care. It appeared to have the most rewarding of flavors. As she did that, one hand encircled and messaged his hardness.

Iona caught sight of him fully erect. For the first time she realized that Russ was quite capable of splitting a woman in two. In her shock, she mistakenly made a sound.

The man pulled the woman off of his cock by the hair and quieted her protest. Once again he combed the room for movement.

Iona stayed perfectly still and held her breath once more.

Suddenly he growled, pulling so firmly on her hair that she remained stationary. He began to fuck her mouth at his own pace. Iona thought him to be too rough. This was so unlike Russ. The woman gagged before encouraging him with the pull of her hands. He showed no generosity or consideration as he pursued his satisfaction. 

Iona loved the way a man's ass flexed as he drove into a woman. She could clearly see him from the side and that dent his flexing created. As the speed of his motion increased, Iona grew wet. His harshness was as exciting as the act itself.

She had promised to not touch herself anymore. Besides finally admitting it to be an improper habit, it only seemed to increase the hunger of her nature—thanks to Russ. Watching him fuck the mouth of the woman only made Iona's body desperate for fulfillment. Iona's clit was swollen and pulsating. Her breasts grew firm. They pleaded for touch. Iona's imagination became alive and combined with what her eyes saw. His rhythm became her rhythm. She wished it was Kieren fucking her with such vigor. She imagined the feel of him against her tongue, him hitting the back of her throat and slipping further. Even the pain of him roughly pulling her hair made her want him more.

Iona's need for Kieren was so strong that he could have her any way he pleased. If his desire was to fuck her as he did before, she would bend over and spread her ass to receive him. Her surrender would be complete. Even his abuse would be welcomed because she was already his. He was what she lived for. Each plunge deep inside of her would only bring him closer. Having him inside of her, for him to flood her with his spirit was her craving. This was the only way she could reclaim her own. He was the only one that could place her heart back in its place.

Iona had to cover her mouth as she crested in unison with him. It was so important that they not hear her sounds intermingle with their own.

He asked the girl something in a gruff undertone. The woman obviously could not speak. He pulled out of her mouth and his cum, thick and continuous, spouted out on her face and into her hair. Iona almost missed it; she was so caught up in her own pleasure. The woman held her head back, opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue to receive the last surge. He did not deny her request.

The woman then laughed in satisfaction and Iona immediately recognized the sound. It was Astrid. She had laughed enough at Iona to be easily identified. Astrid did not bother to wipe her reward away before she stood. Iona gained great satisfaction in the fact that Russ had aggressively fucked Astrid's mouth, especially since she had spoken so ugly to Iona.

Astrid appeared to be begging again. He pushed her away. She teased him by working him with her hand. There was no need; he was still somewhat full as if he had not emptied himself. He could easily fuck her if he chose.

Iona was amazed that was possible. But then again, it was Russ— big whore.

Iona repositioned herself and rose up on her knees to get a better look. Astrid raised one leg resting it on a table. The woman was bold and desperate. She was trying to force him into her.

He was not interested, or so Iona thought. Iona stood in time to catch him pulling Astrid's leg up further with his arm, lifting her entire body with the other, and dropping her on top of a table. While she was on her back, he grabbed her ankles dragged her toward him until her ass hung slightly off the edge. He pushed her knees toward her chin. Her feet rested against his chest as he pressed forward, lifting her ass up to meet his cock. When he jammed himself into her, Astrid grunted. He ignored her sounds. He rammed himself inside her and began aggressively fucking her

Iona enjoyed the fact that he seemed not to care for Astrid's comfort as he propelled deeper. She could hear the sounds he made with every push.

Astrid's voice rose as disgusting words left her lips. Even with those words she still could summon the hunger of any man, Iona thought.

Russ fucking Astrid, of all people, angered Iona too. He could have any woman in the village and surrounding settlements. Why would he slum with the pigs?

Shaking her head, Iona then positioned herself so that she could easily be seen. This necessity allowed her the upper hand in teasing both Astrid and Russ later. She would clear her throat once he was finished with his assault.

As usual, Russ had his hair knotted at the top of his head. He was tall but lifted Astrid into him as if her weight was nothing.

"Is this what you plead for?" he growled, lifting her higher and increasing the arch in her back. There was an unusual bass to his voice.

Astrid kept saying yes until her final outburst...

"Kieren."

Iona quickly put her hand to her mouth and suddenly felt light headed. She did not feel faint, she felt like emptying her stomach.

Kieren slammed himself into his lover once more before pulling out and spilling across her middle. He stood up fully and stretched his back in all his magnificence. Iona had never seen his hair that way. Maybe that was why she did not recognize him at first. Now it became more than apparent. Russ could be compared to Kieren, but in no way could he replace Kieren in form.

How could she be so stupid? Astrid was who he had chosen upon his return. Astrid was where he came for warmth. Who was the pig now?

Iona gagged into her hands before bending over and loosing herself. A sensitive stomach had never been an issue with her. She hated that, of all times, her body chose now to reveal a weakness. She was shamed by the immediate look of recognition Kieren gave right before she bent over.

"Iona," Kieren began to plead.

"Step away," Brenna demanded. "Do not lay one finger on her."

Iona felt the comfort of Brenna's hand rubbing her back. She did not want to stand straight and be seen this way by either Astrid or Kieren.

Brenna shielded Iona with her body, leading the girl out of view.

Kieren, still naked, came to the opening leading to the kitchen.

Iona did not have to see him; she could feel his pity as Brenna led her away.

"Iona," he called out.

"Kieren," Brenna yelled back at him, "you are an ass. You are an ass with no sensitivity. Was there not a better way to let her know of your return? This house is large but not enough for your uncontrolled maleness."

"The bitch came to my bed," Kieren declared in his defense.

He then realized how weak he must sound.

Brenna replied. "Then that is where you should have fucked her."

Brenna had only emphasized what Kieren thought of himself. Again he had lost his honor in the eyes of Iona. He had added insult to insult, therefore guilt on top of guilt. His return was only due to Brenna's encouragement in regards to the girl. Brenna had sent a message that Iona missed him and her feelings for him was not weakened by whatever misdeed he had committed but grew. Kieren had come to make his appeal and, if possible, gain Iona's favor.

His opportunity was now lost.

Kieren had been angered beyond compare with Iona the night he degraded her. Pride had taken him beyond reason. Even in his fury he knew himself to be wrong. He could not look into the faces of those most concerned. He could give them no explanation. He left them, his ship and his home. He did not leave without issuing orders with consequences clearly understood.

He realized the completeness of the words he whispered so harshly into Iona's ear. If they had been spoken to a man, that man would guard his life with fear. Iona was no man. She was a woman of distinct sensitivity, sensitivities that required more than he could offer. He was ill equipped for the emotions she drew from him. Kieren had believed himself to be her greatest threat.

However as he drifted further away from her, Kieren's anger dissipated. By the time the desire for her presence consumed him, he was beyond the point of return. Once again he related to Iona's state. When trapped, she reacted as any soul would. She clawed her way free. He had reasoned that Iona wanted freedom; she just had no idea what she wanted to be free of. 

Anger then intensified towards himself. Kieren felt heartless and it showed. His hunger for the fight escalated. He gambled with his life to dull pain. His aggression frightened his men. Upon realization that the legends were truths, Kieren's enemies died with their eyes still open.

For Kieren his feats offered no diversion.

When Kieren received Brenna's message, he was drenched in the blood of others.

His War Ship was pulled alongside of another. He had been the first to leap onto the other vessel and immediately claim lives. With Kieren taking the lead in the attack, there was little effort needed from his men.

His men now gathered the cargo of the defeated and transferred it to a close by knörr, one of Kieren's ships primarily made to carry cargo. Kieren had summoned it earlier, so sure that the hunt would be brief. The chill of the North winds whipped around him and made his blond hair wild. He looked every bit the fearsome Viking. Men rested on their knees before him, begging for life. It had become a common scene and carried little interest.

Kieren had welcomed Brenna's message.

Now, the matter was exasperated by his lack of forethought.

Astrid had immediately sought him out upon word of his arrival. Kieren could not be found. In the darkness of night she slipped into his Long House and with familiarity found his private area. The knowledge that he would be naked and the idea of experiencing him made her pride irrelevant. Her will had always been strong and because of the convenience, he had tasted from her often. Although constantly reminded that there was no future to be found with him, Astrid felt that he would eventually realize that they were two of a kind. Kieren was undeniably the alpha male and she the alpha female. No one was capable of handling him as she did.




Trust Ch. 03



Before she fully entered his area, Kieren's knife was at her neck. With realization, he cursed her. Normally her pressing would be accepted, even amusing. At times she was quite pleasing. Months of wrestling the sea had its toll. Despite his respected qualities, Kieren was just a man.

However, his current needs were specific; they were for Iona. He had no desire to hurt Astrid, but she only responded to force. When her arms wrapped around his neck and she went for the feel of his lips, he had no choice but to fit her wrists with the force of his grip and turn his face away. Her protests fell on deaf ears. He grew tired of this common dance between them. With her hands clasped before her and her back to him, Kieren led her to the door.

Astrid was aware of Kieren's weaknesses. Some men lost themselves between the softness of generous bosoms. Others appreciated the feel of a curvaceous bottom. Although having an appreciation for both, she knew that Kieren's needs had more of an animalistic nature. She turned quickly and pressed herself against him. She knew just how to raise his ire, how to blind him with his cravings and the anger that merged with it. 

That was why she had dropped to her knees before him earlier. What man could resist the feel of a woman's mouth? It gave much pleasure and required little commitment. From that position, Astrid had shared her best attribute. She wanted to give him more.

Kieren's interest in her was always primal, if there was interest at all. He treated her with no sweetness. She needed none. Kieren was not crude to women-generally. With Astrid, her preference was crudeness. It was the only thing she had respect for. Iona witnessing his perverseness left Kieren with great shame.

As Kieren watched Brenna lead Iona away, Astrid laughed and gathered her wrap.

"Why do you bother with the child-like sensitivities of that slave girl? This woman's warmth is always available and knows well how to please you. I know this because I feel how your body reacts. I am the only one that defeats your self-inflicted constrictions. She is a child knowing nothing about the needs of a warrior."

"She is neither a slave nor a child. She is under my care. I'll have you watch your damned tongue Astrid."

Astrid pressed her clothed body against his bare one and held his cock in her hand. "I am under your care as well."

"You are under the care of many I assume," he said while looking down at her face. "There is no need for mine. And, there is none given. This between us has little meaning."

Kieren's words were sometimes harsh but Astrid gave them no weight. For the first time however, Astrid found him flaccid in her hands. It was something she did not think possible, not just because of her expertise but his virility.

"You are a man that requires a full woman, not an imitation," Astrid purred while attempting to solve this rare challenge.

"If your words are true," he spoke in such a way that drove his point to finalization, "she is my full woman. You are the imitation." 

"Your heartlessness offends me Gulbrandson Kieren," she snarled at him. "You forget yourself and your breeding. You seem to have overlooked your obligations. Your concerns are missed placed. The house of your father and the line of your family rest on your shoulders. The weight of matters does not include the taint of a Blåmenn whore. I would hate to see your father give you nothing but the sight of his back as he denies your existence."

Weariness that accompanies long travel came over Kieren. He had no desire to go in this direction with her. She greatly misunderstood the flow of things.

"Woman you choose the wrong threats. We shall end this conversation. See your way to the house of your father. Take your fine breeding with you."

"Are you going to let me walk alone in the darkness Kieren?"

"Do not pretend that this is your first time and I will not. Let us part while still on speaking terms."

Kieren found his way to his private area and fell naked across his large bed. It had been a long time since he had a full night's sleep. He had Iona's anger; he also had her presence among what was his. She was safe from harm. For now that was the extent of his capabilities. 

After cleaning Iona off, Brenna had a hard time calming the poor child. The girl would not take the warmed drink that would calm her stomach or one that would calm her mind.

"Why does he not want me?" Iona pleaded.

"Sometimes what a man needs and what a man thinks battles within him," Brenna explained. "Men away at sea for long lengths grow weak. They do not think."

"Kieren has no weaknesses and his mind is untainted."

"All men have weaknesses. Kieren is best at keeping his to himself."

Iona rose out of her seat.

"I'm going to him," she said through tears. "I'll show him my warmth and gratify him. I should have been wise like her. I should have come to him in the night. I should have been the one to please him."

"No." Brenna's grip on Iona's arm was solid. "Never reward a man for failing you."

"Can't you see," Iona cried out, "it is myself that I reward."

"Child," Brenna said, hugging her close, "you are the reward he must earn."

"I am nothing." Iona slumped into the arms of the woman she loved like a mother.

"If that was true, you would not be here. You would not be within the safety of all that is his."

"I am just a slave in his household."

"If you felt that to be true, you would have freed yourself long ago."

"I have nowhere to go."

"That is because you are where you belong. This is your home."

**************

Once again, no one had to tell Iona when Kieren left. She simply felt his absence. No one bothered her. Brenna sat with her for a while, but dared not speak. Shielded by her bedding, Iona faced the wall. The realization that she did not matter to him reopened old wounds. New blood flowed from them. She was sure that she would be emptied soon.

Kieren had delivered her to safety. She imagined more. She had always known that she did not qualify for him. It was time to settle with what she had been given. It was more than she had before—maybe more than she deserved. No happiness came without sacrifice. This she knew for sure. The part that belonged to Kieren must be sacrificed. She needed to cut it away. But there was no energy left to perform what was needed.

Iona sunk into a deep depression.

For several days Brenna brought Iona food and drink. Each time, she passed Russ. He held vigil outside of the girl's door.

"You must do something," he demanded in a hushed voice.

"What?"

In his concern for Iona, Brenna found Russ to be more irritating than the yowling of new born.

"She's been in there far too long. She doesn't eat. She doesn't sleep. I hear little movement."

"Stop hiding in pathways like an apparition and go to her yourself if you have answers," Brenna demanded. "I have none. You are the mighty Long Sword. You are the one Kieren has chosen to care for her. Then care for her. Reach out your sword and cure her from this sadness. You men cause it. It would be nice if you men cleaned up your own messes. The reality is sorry. You are incapable of taking care of yourselves on dry land. Why should you be expected to care for someone else? Do you not have someone to attack or raid? See yourself to it then. This is not one of your ships. This is my domain. You are of little help here."

Brenna shoved him out of her way and returned to her kitchen. The girl must grieve in her own way.

Russ felt like something needed to be done. Iona's time for mourning was over.

When the freezing water hit Iona's face, she immediately sat up in the bed with a squeal. She was wiping at her eyes when another pail of ice cold water washed over whatever the first drenching missed.

"Time to stop your kvetching and get your ass out of bed," Russ barked. "There are things to be done and you are not earning your keep."

"I hate you," Iona screamed.

"Now that's the delightful little brat I've come to love."

"I do," Iona said through gritted teeth.

"Of course you do," Russ teased. "All women do. That's why I consider it my utmost duty to take them on one by one, sometimes by twos. That way I can effectively place myself in their good graces. It is a hard task to undertake, but I am fully equipped to handle it."

"Don't you touch me."

"Believe me little flower when I tell you that your petals have an odor. The thought of reveling in them holds little interest to me. Get your ass up and bathe or I will do it for you. Put on some clothing or I will do that for you as well. I'd love to wash that infamous bottom of yours."

"As a matter of fact," he said as an afterthought, "I might just get in the bath with you."

Russ began removing some of his things. The curses that came out of Iona's mouth made him laugh.

"I'm offended," he told her, raising his foot to slip off a boot. "I have women begging to wash me all the time. I offer you the pleasure of my hands upon your wet body and you turn your nose in the air. You lack sense woman. I will help you gain a richer understanding of what clean is."

"Get out of my room," Iona shouted.

"Is that a no?" He stopped undressing.

"Yes."

"So it is a yes." Russ continued to remove his clothes.

By the time Brenna arrived a drenched Iona was held up in a corner with wet covers pulled to her. A bare chested Russ was undoing the front lace of his britches. 

"Russ," Brenna exclaimed in shock.

"I am attempting to clean up a man's mess the only way I know how. As of yet, she does not appreciate my efforts; but, I shall give it the best of tries. I'm feeling quite lucky today."

Brenna pushed Russ out of the doorway and threw his things at him.

"Do you not grow tired of your boyhood games?"

"Have you no confidence in me Mistress Brenna?" Russ cried out in mock distress. "Feel free to watch if you doubt my competency. I have much to prove and lots to share." 

"Brenna," Iona said with relief, "he is mad."

Brenna looked at the girl and placed her hands on her thick hips.

"So does that mean I'll be washing you little lady or do you think you can handle it yourself? Most likely your experience with me will not be as pleasing as one with Long Sword. My guarantee is that you will be spotless. And, I will not be getting in that tub with you."

"I can refresh you in ways you have never imagined," Russ shouted from the passageway. "I can bring profound peace to the mind as well."

"Shut up," both women shouted back.

***************

It was easy to tell when Russ took over the duty of guarding Iona. To be undetected was definitely not his goal, to Iona or anyone else. At first Iona was irritated. She soon found him incapable of taking offense. He simply ignored her complaints. He followed her around as she returned to her duties. He insisted on holding her things in the square as Iona fulfilled the requests of Brenna. Sometimes he just walked and talked beside her. Iona tried to ignore him. It had little effect. In within all of this, he managed to flirt with every woman that came near him. Iona had the funniest feeling that some purposefully followed him.

"Don't you have someone to comfort in their time of need?"

Russ looked around and dramatically bent his head in recognition to one of the women.

"Why do you think they follow?" He bit into the fruit he had continuously tossed in the air. "They have already been comforted. Does my voyeur not recognize them?"

Iona rolled her eyes.

"Perhaps I should comfort you. Then our roles would be reversed. I would lead and you would follow," Russ teased.

Iona sped up in an attempt to leave him behind.

"Your legs are too short for that little flower."

After a time, Iona enjoyed his teasing. He was quite the prankster. He played games with the children when they came to her for their words. Sometimes with him she felt like the child. He had a way about him that immediately made him familiar. Her mental walls just disappeared. She had almost forgotten how to truly laugh. With Russ it returned easily.

With his attentions, Astrid's followers increased. Russ purposefully agitated them at every opportunity. His hand at the small of Iona's back would cause whispers. He often slipped his arm around her shoulders and whispered one of his stories in her ear. If something was particularly good in the market he would feed it to her. When he caught her fingering finery, Russ purchased it for her. 

It was he that broke the line of separation in the Longhouse. Brenna did not like her to eat in the kitchen and encouraged her to eat with the many that gathered. The men dominated the area, but a few women and children sprinkled the loud crowd. All ignored Iona. She chose a corner table. It became her permanent table. 

"Watch that old bastard come," Russ scoffed, sitting down beside her with a pie in one hand and his plate in another. "No matter what the situation, Gunner cannot be outdone."

Just as predicted Gunner came and sat on the other side of her. There was no love lost between Gunner and Iona. She felt small and uncomfortable between the two men. They ate heartedly from their plates until there was no more. Then they began picking at Iona's plate randomly-as if she was not present. She slapped Gunner's hand and the room quieted.

Gunner paused before breaking into a rare laugh.

"I see you are still bold," he said.

Gunner then reached to dig into Russ' pie. Russ moved it out of his reach.

"The maker of that pie is most likely like Iona," Gunner said in seriousness. "She cannot cook."

"You shall never know the sweetness that a woman offers old man, in or out of the kitchen." Russ's voice was more serious than usual.

Iona became fearful. The men grew louder in their accusations and attracted the attention of many. If there was to be a brawl, Iona was in the wrong spot.

"Virgins may find your sword long," Gunner returned, "but I find it failing to reach a suitable length and usually limp when drawn. This would explain your uselessness in battle."

"That is because your eye sight has left you," Russ threw back at him. "You would be more effective in battle if your foul face was not constantly straining to see the perfection of mine.

"My eyes are as sharp as my sword and I carry the face of a real man. Unfortunately that is something a boy finds unfamiliar.

"As your age sharpens nothing but your tongue, my young eyes see the wholeness of your mind slipping away."

"There may be truth to those words. Be careful that I do not forget myself and slit your throat. My aim will always be perfect due to natural abilities, unlike your practiced failures."

And so it went between the two after eating their meals with Iona captured in the middle. It did not end until one grew heated and stormed away. Gunner was often the winner; his demeanor rarely changed. His expression was generally uninterested. Insults easily rolled off his tongue.

Sometimes they made Iona laugh with their challenges and sometimes they made her yearn for her loneliness.

***********************

Before the start of the day meal, Russ convinced Iona to free herself from her duties and escape with him. He knew that her duties were created to keep her busy.

"Why would I do that?" she teased. "I've been devising a plan to escape you."

Iona was bringing out filled jugs to sit on the tables.

"I bet you have," he laughed. "Only this time you have met your match. You lack the skill to escape me."

"I am a woman of many skills you have not yet experienced."

"I doubt that," he said removing a container from her hands. "Here is your opportunity to prove yourself, if you can."

Iona could never resist his challenges.

She laughed as she trailed behind him through the trees and towards the river. She knew that he moved at a slower pace to accommodate her. But by the time she reached their apparent destination, Iona had to catch her breath.

She stretched out on her back appreciating the sun and woolen blanket beneath her. Iona was certain that Russ had stolen the blanket from someone's bed.

Russ laid on his side and watched the sun light up Iona's face. He watched the rise and fall of her chest. He had long since noticed that she was well endowed, but just enough to cause a man to wonder how they would feel in his hands. He knew that her nipples were considerable than most when aroused—which happened often. He imagined them firm against his tongue. Russ was a man that truly appreciated the power of nicely formed breasts. He was often a victim to this power. He also wondered what crossed her mind when hers hardened and begged for attention. The cause was not always him.

She was something of a mystery to Russ. She could look so innocent at times and yet too knowing at others. Often times, he longed to kiss her full lips. They were made to be kissed. He deterred his thoughts now by touching the long twisted strands of her hair

"I would like for you to do this to my hair," he said while twisting one around his finger.

"It does not take well in your kind of hair," she replied without opening her eyes.

"My kind of hair," he declared fingering several. "Hair is hair."

"You have crossed seas and experienced many people of different natures. Truly you do not believe that? I have only experienced a few and realize that not to be true."

"I have," he agreed, "even of your shade. My explorations have taught me to not determine anything based on heredity, to do so is not wise. Besides, your hair still proves to be unique."

"I am unique," she smiled.

"That you are." Russ traced her lips with his index finger.

Iona quickly opened her eyes to find him smiling devilishly. She moved her head slowly to the side to escape his touch.

"I still wish for you to put your twists in my hair."

"Your hair is too thin." She closed her eyes once more.

"My hair is long, thick and much desired," he informed her playfully.

"And who has told you such?" she laughed "Could it possibly be some voluptuous woman with your head between her thighs?"

"Possibly," he laughed as well, "she would have the best view and opportunity to touch."

"You are so bad Long Sword," Iona teased.

"I am a man of many skills that you have not experienced yet."

"Do your own words fail you when your blood leaves your brain and fills your private parts" Iona replied. "Is that not the uncontrollable habit of men like you?"

The seriousness that suddenly crept in his voice caused Iona to look into his eyes.

"Men like me? I can assure you that I have no uncontrollable desires."

"Hmm...," Iona smiled. Finally she had discovered his weak spot. "I've often seen the loss of control in your eyes as your libido is set free."

"Oh you have no idea what my eyes hold. No woman would be able to stand, let alone walk if my libido was to run free."

Iona sensed that she may lose this battle of innuendos. He was much better at it than she.

Russ then smiled.

"Besides beautiful flower of mine, who has the bigger libido here? I do not withhold mine. I satisfy it. Isn't that much better than the forced containment of passion for passions sake? Does it not build up inside of you? Does it not threaten your judgement? I've seen the look in your eyes. Your thoughts are easily read, as is your body."

Iona's countenance fell. She was first embarrassed and then angry.

Russ stood and began to remove his clothes without any regard for her.

Was it an inbred fault that constantly caused both brothers to shed clothing with no consideration, Iona thought? His cock was at half-mast, perhaps readying itself for what Iona assumed his only form of entertainment. She was determined not to be his toy.

Russ made no motion toward her.

Standing where the earth met the water, Russ turned to look at the girl.




Trust Ch. 03



"Your turn," he said, walking backwards until the lowest section of his body was covered.

"I cannot be seduced by the clearness of those blue eyes," Iona finally said, trying to convince herself. "I'm afraid that I know the whore in you and your tricks. Unlike yours, my eyes do not lie with false virtue."

Russ roared with laughter.

"I shall make no mention of your worldliness and you shall make no mention of mine. Let's enjoy the day, the water and the company."

"I believe I will just sit here and witness your enjoyment Sir."

"What is there to fear Mistress Iona? Disrobe and join me in the water. It is cool and refreshing."

"I am cool and refreshed right where I sit."

"You fear me or you fear the water, which one is it?

"I fear nothing, which includes you," Iona hissed.

"Prove it."

"Your motives are quite transparent. I shall not be moved by your challenges." Iona laughed this time.

"You have nothing I have not seen before. You can attest to that." Russ began to float on his back. "My appetites do not include you."

Iona watched. She was unsure but thought she could see his cock rising out of the water.

"Hmm..." Russ continued to look at the sky. "Could it possibly be that it is yourself that you do not trust?"

"You have never been a threat to me." Iona snorted in disgust. 

"It must be so. You watch me with interest and yet feign...what was that...yes, virtue."

"I feign nothing. If so, who are you to judge me?

"I do not judge," Russ returned while still looking at the sky. "Your words and actions reveal much."

"Words and especially my actions prove nothing but self-respect."

"Then let us debate no more. You must remove your clothing and enjoy the water—with your self-respect in hand."

"I see no need to remove my clothing to enjoy the water." Iona rose to her feet.

Russ laughed.

"You cannot swim in that attire. You would sink to the bottom."

Iona considered his words carefully. Then she began to disrobe.

The water was cooler than what she had thought and her descent was slow as she adjusted. When she looked up, Russ was upright and staring at her with those blue eyes. His face revealed no humor. As he moved closer, Iona thought of going back to her clothes and ending this madness. The water was only to her knees. She could move swiftly, grabbing her clothes before he reached her—but she did not.

"You are truly beautiful," Russ said in earnest. "I see now what has perplexed my brother so. I would find you irresistible too."

Iona covered her breasts and turned her back to him. She was beyond nervousness, she was scared.

Russ stood behind her for just a moment before the meeting of their bodies. He was warm against her skin. She was soft and stirring against his.

"You have nothing to fear." His voice was low and assuring. "Neither I or the waters will harm you."

"I fear nothing."

He placed his hands on the curve of her shoulders and fought the desire to cup her breasts and pull her closer.

"Maybe that is why you shiver beneath my touch."

"The water is cold; that is the cause."

"I can teach you to swim," he whispered in her hair, just above her ear.

"How is it that you know I cannot swim?"

"Must I repeat myself?" he continued to whisper. "I am a man of many talents."

Russ loved the smell of her dark hair. He was the one to choose the perfumed oil that Kieren had gifted her. He was the one that made sure that more was placed in her room.

"Does that include reading minds?"

"Possibly"

Iona felt something stirring inside of her.

"Turn to me."

For just a moment, she felt a pull in his voice that only Kieren triggered. It left her unable to deny him.

Iona turned slowly.

Russ took her hands. He pulled her gently forward. As the water began to rise, he could see the distress in her brown eyes.

"I have you," he assured.

When the water covered the tops of her breasts, he cupped one side of her face. The other arm wrapped around her body.

"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded as he raised her and pressed her against his body.

Iona obeyed while also wrapping her arms around him tightly. She rested her head at the crook of his neck

Russ moved further into the water with both arms wrapped securely around her.

"Never trust the water, but show it love as well," he warned.

"You are like water," Iona spoke without thinking; then she immediately regretted her words.

She had felt his cock hard against her before wrapping her legs around him. If she dared loosen her hold, she could possibly feel it between her legs or possibly feel it inside of her.

Iona realized that the water was too deep for her to stand safely now. She also realized that she was in a compromising position.

"Maybe you are right," pulling his head back a little.

Iona pulled back a little as well. They looked into each other's eyes.

"Can you trust me?" Russ whispered against her lips.

"I think not."

Iona placed her lips on his. The motion was natural.

With that, Russ cupped the back of her head with his hand and pressed her lips into his as his tongue discovered her sweetness.

His next movements were smooth. Iona hardly noticed, with her tongue hungrily discovering his sweetness. Russ laid her gently on the blanket. Her legs were still splayed open as he slid his hand down her body and between her legs. He dipped his finger into her wetness and smoothed what he found there across her firm nub.

Iona moaned.

When he knew that he had hit that spot, Russ began to manipulate her with expertise. He could feel her body's reaction. When Iona began to move herself into his hand, Russ knew that he had her. Her moans became desperate.

He squeezed her breasts. It was he that moaned with pleasure this time; it was all he could manage as their fullness fulfilled every fantasy. He could not stop at this point if he wanted to, and he did not.

He sucked on her hard and tight nipple, flicking them with the tip of his tongue as he did. He nipped at them with his teeth—careful not to show any favoritism between the two. Their darkness both amazed him and made him hunger for more. Not just the contrast of her skin against his, but the contrast between her skin and the dark circular areolas fascinated him. Her nipples were even darker. He drew from them. She was a delectable desert he had been denying himself and now surrendered to its call. Her body immediately replied to every lick, every pull, and every nip.

Then he moved down her body with his tongue. That same tongue parted her pussy's lips as his fingers parted her outer lips. The pinkness of her pussy was mind-altering. He dug deep inside her and then drew the flat of his tongue up her wet path to the head of her sensitive nub. Her taste was intoxicating. He moaned once more as he indulged himself several times. The last time came with its own reward. He sucked that sensitive nub between his lips and flicked it. He continued by starting at the base and dragging his lips upward as his tongue dance.

The direct stimulation was more than she could bear. Iona's moans were accompanied with a shortness of breath. Never before had she felt so sexually overwhelmed. This feeling was new and altered any envisaged thoughts of what it was to be truly pleased. Her entire body felt unable to be contained by her skin. Even after the first detonation, Russ continued his attack. She pulled at his hair but he was relentless. Her clit was too sensitive at this point. The finally was a climax that shattered her body into a million iridescent pieces. It hit her harder than the first. She pulled tightly on his hair. Arching her back, she cried out.

"Oh...Kieren."

Russ froze.

Iona did not notice; she was so lost in what she felt. Her descent from the heavens gradually receded.

They never touched the Skyr (a buttery cheese), griddled bread and shelled walnuts in the basket Russ had commandeered.

Iona's legs felt weak and unstable as they walked back to the village in silence. Long Sword claimed that he had duties he must attend to.

To be continued...



Trust Ch. 04



Sorry for the late submission but I've been very busy. HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!





Trust Ch. 04



Chapter 4 - ... And getting to like you

It was frustrating to have to endure another week before being able to be with Emma again; but we kept in touch daily by phone, text and email. One thing I especially looked forward to every day was her sending me another erotic photo of herself wearing plimsolls. My special favourite was one of her wearing a pair of white canvas Keds with a tiny white satin and lace g-string which barely covered her womanhood as she sat back against a large cushion with her legs spread apart; one hand resting on her thigh and the other with the fingertips just resting inside the waistline of her g-string; her blond hair tumbling in golden waves around her face and her shoulders; her breasts so beautifully round and warm and soft; a bewitchingly candid and knowing smile animating her face and her eyes. 

I sent her some of my photos in return; but hers were far better for the two reasons that she looked infinitely sexier in plimsolls than I did even when I employed my finest talents in dressing as a girl, which was only to be expected, and because many of her photos were taken by her professional photographer friends; unlike mine which were all self-taken. She also told me she hired herself out as a model to art, fashion and photography students.

"Most of them like to experiment with erotica at some point; girls as well as guys," she explained, "so because I'm happy to do anything they want and I don't charge them much either, I get plenty of work."

As well as sending photos to each other, we swapped passwords for our private websites and I spent a couple of very entertaining evenings watching videos of Emma pleasuring herself with plimsolls and ballet shoes and displaying her considerable talent for self-bondage. There were also other videos in which she had been tied up and filmed by person or persons unknown. My favourite was entitled 'Study in black' and showed Emma; wearing a black leotard, black tights and black satin ballet shoes with the ribbons tied criss-cross around her ankles; with her hands tied behind her back with black leather cuffs and her arms secured to her sides by black leather straps around her body. Her body was further bound in a black leather harness that included straps around her breasts and over her shoulders and a chastity belt attached to a girdle that encircled her waist. On her head she wore a black rubber bathing cap with a strap fastened tight under her chin, over which she wore a black leather muzzle gag which included a ball gag and a neck collar. A black leather face gag covered the ball gag and a chain ran from the collar to where it was secured firmly to the bedpost by a large padlock. She was blindfolded with a black satin eye mask. To complete her bondage, her legs were tied together by leather straps fixed around her ankles, just below and just above her knees and the tops of her thighs. Another chain attached her ankles to the bottom end of the bed. 

For fifteen minutes the camera panned up and down and around her body and lingered at various points of her anatomy as with muffled moans, sighs and squeals and much heavy breathing to the accompaniment of rattling chains she squirmed and writhed on the bed, the neck chain every now and then jerking her head back down onto the pillow. Towards the end of the video a phone on the dressing table in the background of the scene started ringing and carried on for a minute or so while Emma tried to reach it. This could have been a real cliché but it wasn't because of the very realistic way in which she strained and struggled desperately to make a muffled appeal for help and the way she sank back on the bed, defeated and despairing, when the ringing stopped. I watched, spellbound, as I stroked and stoked the tension in my huge erection before releasing it into one of Emma's white plimsolls and clenched and curled my toes inside my own plimsolls, as I imagined us creating that kind of scenario together.

After a week-long prelude charged with so much erotic stimulation it was hard not to assume that Saturday night would see some very kinky sexual activity between Emma and myself, although I knew that I couldn't turn up at her place and act with the assumption that it would happen. Even so, I remained hopeful and looked forward to being prepared for anything.

Saturday evening came at long last. I dressed casually but presentably in a white shirt with a blue v-neck sweater loosely tied by the sleeves around my neck and straight leg blue jeans which just showed a hint of the white ankle socks I was wearing with my brand new pair of classic white Keds Oxford canvas lace-ups I had bought earlier in the day specially for tonight, knowing that she too would be wearing a pair. Since we both lived near stations that had a straightforward route between them I chose to take the tube and overland train to her house. 

I changed at London Bridge and as the suburban service train took me further into London's southward spread my sense of adventure and excitement increased. As I tried to concentrate on reading my paperback I kept glancing with pleasure at my feet in my new white plimsolls and imagined Emma wearing hers, waiting for me. Then with an excited jump of my heart I suddenly realised that in all probability Emma was at that very moment naked in her plimsolls as she prepared for my arrival. Maybe she still would be when I arrived! I willed the train to go faster between the stops and fretted over every second it remained standing at each station.

I was out of the train like a cork from a well shaken champagne bottle. I had already bought for Emma a large box of expensive Belgian chocolates while I was shopping for my new plimsolls. To the chocolates I added a large bouquet of red and white roses from the flower stall outside the station and the most expensive bottle of white wine in the off license across the road. I placed them carefully with the contents of my holdall, which included Emma's plimsolls that I was returning to her having treated myself to them a number of times during the intervening week. With my holdall in one hand and a printed out map of the local streets in the other, I hurried on to find her house, wondering if she was still naked in her plimsolls and hoping longingly that I would find her so.

The area was typical of London's social patchwork, the affluent and the underprivileged living almost cheek by jowl in geographical terms but a world apart in terms of amenity and environment and the daily experience of life. I turned into her road and as the house numbers counted down towards hers I gradually slowed my pace so that I would arrive at her front door more comfortable and composed and also give myself more chance to take in the surroundings.

Large multi-floored town houses lined up in neat ranks along each side of the road. Some looked a little down at heel; others were smart and well maintained. Some had a column of push buttons by the front door indicating multiple occupancy; others proudly displayed their status as single dwellings. In several places a more modern building interrupting the stretch of older construction testified to the legacy of the Blitz. But as I caught the first sight of Emma's house I saw straight away that it was very different from the rest.

It was a huge white painted double fronted Edwardian villa style house, in total contrast to the orange brick Victorian terraces on either side, set apart in its own grounds and set much further back from the road. Tall trees and evergreen bushes strategically placed screened the house from its neighbours. On one side a short length of tall brick wall linked the house to a huge garage with large wooden barn doors. Another length of wall spread out from the other side of the house, behind which a sequence of tree tops in disappearing perspective suggested a large garden beyond. Could Emma really be the only person living here, I wondered? My heart started to thump again as I thought of her inside, wearing her white plimsolls, maybe wearing nothing else besides her white plimsolls, waiting for me; how I hoped so.

I entered the large front garden through a full height wrought iron gate within a round arched frame set into the low brick wall that marked the property's boundary. As I walked up the gravel path between generous expanses of well maintained lawn I noticed that the upper floor windows were open whereas those on the ground floor were all heavily curtained. On arriving at the front door sheltered under a large Greek temple style porch I noticed there were two doorbell buttons. The upper one was marked 'Curtin' and was therefore obviously Emma's. The other, labelled 'Innes', presumably belonged to her landlord, who she had mentioned in passing in a previous conversation.

I pressed the button for Emma's flat and heard a faint ringing sound above me. Two seconds later the intercom crackled and I heard a cheerful "Hi," -- never before had I heard a welcome of such warmth and openness communicated through that one little word -- "come right up, I'm right at the top of the main staircase."

The lock clicked open and I pushed open the door and entered slightly tentatively. The interior of the ground floor gave a very different impression from the wide expansive vista of the exterior, being gloomy and shrouded and lifeless and still. Dust sheets covered everything that stood on the floor. At the top of the stairs was a small landing with a single door set into a partition wall that showed that the upper floor had been converted into a self-contained flat. This was Emma's home. Feeling more confident I bounded up the steps and knocked smartly on the door with my knuckle. Was she naked?

"Come right in, the door's open, I'm in the kitchen, just follow the smell," I heard her call gaily to me. I entered into a large and femininely comfortable sitting room flooded with light from huge French windows opening onto a large balcony, with the kitchen door on the left through which were coming the most delicious cooking smells along with the sound of her humming happily to Mozart's 'Marriage of Figaro' overture. I went into the almost equally large kitchen and my disappointment at finding her not naked was immediately dispelled by seeing what she was wearing.

She wore a tight little pink vest top that generously showcased her décolletage and exposed her beautifully trim midriff that I longed to embrace there and then, a tiny blue denim micro mini skirt that barely covered her bottom and the join of her thighs, black tights with an attractive sheen that wasn't quite wet look and that displayed her gorgeous legs to perfection and new white Keds plimsolls that gleamed against the dark black of her tights. Her hair was tied back loosely to keep it from interfering with her cooking. In the simple, girlish, completely natural and unselfconscious sexuality of her outfit, with not a trace of make up on her face that was glowing in the light from the large windows, she looked totally beautiful.

She eased into my arms and as we kissed I joked, "You look gorgeous but you really didn't need to dress up for me."

"Thank you, but I always make a special effort for guests. At least for their first visit," she smiled teasingly.

"And I like to make a special effort whenever I visit for the first time," I smiled back, proffering my presents to her.

"Thank you, they're lovely," She beamed. "You certainly know how to get to a woman's heart."

"I've brought back your plimsolls and socks too. The socks are washed of course," I added, taking them out of my holdall and carefully handing them to her. "I enjoyed them lots," I added further with feeling.

"You are sweet to bring them back; but I meant for you to keep them always. Anyway, it'll be nice to have something that reminds me especially of you." Her smile as she said it left me in no doubt that she knew exactly how I'd been enjoying them. She placed her plimsolls carefully on a shelf by the kitchen door. "I'll deal with these later," she smiled at me, inviting me to guess at what she intended. I knew for certain it would be memorable whatever it was. "But now you're right on time for dinner, so we can eat and talk first and afterwards I'll show you around my humble abode and after that - we'll see where our fancy takes us." She smiled another of her conspiratorial smiles and I grinned back approvingly. This was beginning well and getting better all the time.

She had cooked delicious sea food paella, followed up with a pear and prune cake the recipe for which had apparently been in the family for generations and which, according to her grandmother, "was guaranteed to keep you regular for life." I helped her with the final preparations and then we settled down to begin the long-anticipated second half of the conversation begun the previous Sunday.

"So tell me how you became a plimsolls and ankle socks kind of girl," I smiled as I took a sip of chilled white wine. She smiled, closed her eyes in thought for a moment, and then began.

"The first time I wore plimsolls was when Mum bought me some little black slip-ons to wear at nursery. I still remember thinking how nice they felt on my feet and I loved going into town with Mum because we always went to nice places like the toyshop and the library and the café where I always had milkshake and ice cream. So I've always associated wearing plimsolls with nice times and feeling happy. I would pad about the farm on warm days in my black plimsolls and my knickers or often not bother with the knickers. I guess I was starting how I meant to go on at an early age." she giggled and then continued.

"I wore black slip-ons through nursery and infants' school. Then I went to junior school and graduated to black lace-ups, the classic Oxford school type, which was very exciting. I wanted to wear them all the time but Mum wouldn't let me because she said it would be bad for my feet. She still won't admit I've proved her wrong on that one, bless her.

"I thought black lace-ups were the Bee's Knees and the Best Thing Ever until my last year of junior school. At the start of the Spring Term a new girl joined our class. She was Spanish, her family had only just arrived in Britain because her father had been posted at short notice by his company to their UK office at the business park near to the town, and her name was Lucinda Yolanda Victoria Maria Velazquez-Betancourt, which was the loveliest name I had ever heard."

"And she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She had beautiful dark skin, lovely long black hair, gorgeous dark eyes, a really pretty face with a lovely gentle and shy smile, and a slender, long-limbed body with lovely small, neat feet. As soon as I saw her I wanted to be her. Our teacher saw us getting on well so she chose me to be her classroom buddy and we sat together at my group's table.

"That was great, but things got even better the next day when we were all getting changed to play tennis. My other friends and I changed into our white polo shirts and blue shorts and white socks with our black lace-ups and Lucie, who had arrived from Spain so suddenly that she hadn't had a chance to get all her school equipment, pulled out from her bag a white tennis dress and spotlessly white lace-up plimsolls. When she'd put them on she looked so pretty with her white tennis kit against her dark skin and her white plimsolls and ankle socks looked so lovely on her feet I wanted to be like her even more and I was converted to white plimsolls at that very moment."

"So it was a white tennis dress that did it for you too?" I smiled. "Maybe we could both wear one on our anniversary to celebrate the fact."

"I'll challenge you to a game of tennis as well," she giggled before continuing her story. "I asked her what kind of plimsolls they were and she told me they were called Calzados Victoria and that in Spain lots of girls wore them. When I asked her how I could get some she asked me when my birthday was and when I told her it was a few weeks away in May she said she would ask her cousin in Spain to send some for her to give to me as a present. I could hardly believe it I was so happy. I begged Mum to let me have them and I was ecstatic when she said yes.

"Lucie and I became best friends and that summer was just the best. We wore our white plimsolls together all the time and the best times were in the woodland on our farm where we would have adventures and where it was safe enough for us to strip off to our panties or even sometimes go naked wearing just our plimsolls and socks.

"I hoped we would go together to the local comprehensive school in the autumn but her family moved out of their temporary house to their permanent home in the next town and I won a scholarship to go to ballet school. But we still saw each other lots during the holidays and we've been good friends ever since. We still get together for Plimsoll Girls' Days Out, but we keep our clothes on now," she laughed.

"I loved ballet school. Not least because it was old fashioned in lots of ways and we had to wear white plimsolls for gym lessons and to play tennis and netball. You wouldn't believe it now but I was very innocent when I went there. I swear that even though I'd grown up on a farm and seen animals doing it and having babies for years, it wasn't until we had sex education classes that I realised that people did it that way too. Goodness knows what I thought before then. But the idea of it must have switched on something inside me, because while all the other girls were saying 'Uurgh! No way is a boy doing that to me' I was thinking to myself 'Wow, when do I start?'

"Although I soon became highly sexed and could hardly stop thinking about it I was a good girl until I got to 16. In the meantime I began experimenting on myself to see what gave me the most pleasure. I discovered that plimsolls with smooth rubber toe caps are very nice. I love jilling with one plimsoll while I rub my nipples with the sole of the other one. Courgettes are another favourite because I like their shape and ripe ones have just the right amount of firmness. Dad loves courgettes and many times when he's been about to swallow a forkful I've wanted to tell him where it might have been beforehand.

"When I got to 16 I started dating a boy named Paul who was studying at the nearby performing arts school which provided us with partners for our 'pas' classes and school productions. I fancied his mate Gary at first because he was half French and was really good looking but although I dangled, he didn't take the bait so I settled for Paul, which worked out OK because he was very nice and turned out to be really good in bed.

"I wore plimsolls or ballet shoes whenever we made love but the funny thing about Paul was that although he spent lots of time wearing a leotard, tights and ballet slippers he didn't have any kind of fetish about it. He just loved dancing and expressing himself in dance and to him they were just the uniform and the tools of the job. In fact none of my boyfriends have been into plimsolls in the way that I am, which I got more and more frustrated about and which is why I finally decided to make a serious effort to try and find a guy who does, and which is why I'm so happy and so excited to have found you."

We shared a long and tender kiss over the table while under it our plimsolls rubbed and nudged together and stroked each other's ankles until she smiled and looking straight at me whispered enticingly, "Let me finish feeding you up for later." With me almost floating off the floor with excitement about what was to follow later, we had a short break to clear up after the paella and settle down again with coffee and generous helpings of pear and prune pie with cream, she being as much of a hearty eater as I am. She finished her first spoonful and I asked her, "So how did you get into bondage?"




Trust Ch. 04



"When I was a girl my favourite TV programme was an American children's adventure series about a girl who was always discovering and solving crimes and mysteries. It was always sunny and she always wore a stripy tee shirt with shorts and white Keds plimsolls with white ankle socks. In almost every episode she would at some point be trapped by the bad guys and tied up and gagged until she escaped or was rescued. After seeing it I longed to be tied up and gagged while I was wearing plimsolls and ankle socks. I tried it on myself once when I had the house to myself but on my own it just didn't feel right.

"When I came to London to train to be a ballet teacher I met a really fun guy named Terry who was up for anything so one day to spice up our love life I suggested we do a role play in which he was the villain who catches me searching his hideout for clues or secret papers and kidnaps me. So I dressed up like the girl in the TV show in a stripy tee shirt and blue shorts with white Keds and ankle socks and I sneaked into our lounge and snooped around in the dark with a torch feeling all fluttery with nerves and excitement until he suddenly burst in, switched on the lights and held me up with a stupid little plastic water pistol. He marched me to the bedroom with my hands on my head, made me lie face down on the bed while he tied my hands behind my back and my ankles together, rolled me onto my back, tied me down onto the bed and gagged me with sticking plaster. 

"He left me to struggle and mmph for help for a whole hour during which I got more and more turned on until when he came back and took my gag off I shouted at him 'Put it back and fuck me now!' It was a little tricky because I was fully clothed under my ropes but he managed to lift up my tee shirt and bra and pull down my shorts and panties enough and it was the most fantastic fuck I'd had until then. We were hooked on bondage after that and we even went to classes together. 

"We did lots of other fun things too. He was a medical student and he fixed it for me to have my left leg put in a full length plaster cast so I had to hop about on crutches all day. I wore the prettiest and cutest and shortest little summer dress I could find and a white lace-up plimsoll on my 'good' foot and a white slip-on on my 'bad' foot and it was really good fun although it got a bit itchy by the end. He suggested I do it for the hospital charity and I got loads of sponsorship money. 

"I left him when I found out he was two-timing me with a Polish student nurse -- he was a junior doctor by then so Lord knows how he had the time or the energy --- and it was while I was getting over him that I met Malcolm and ended up living here, which I'll tell you about after we've cleared up."

We chatted companionably while we tidied up the dinner things and filled up the dishwasher. I felt an ever-deepening emotional bond with her as I thought about the experiences we had both had on our converging life journeys to this point. She poured us both a brandy and, pausing at the kitchen door to pick up her plimsolls that I had returned to her, she led me into the lounge and out through the French windows down steps that descended from the balcony to the garden.

The garden was much larger than I had imagined it. From a large wisteria-shaded pergola a great expanse of beautifully manicured lawn, fringed and punctuated by trees, shrubs and expertly planted flower beds, stretched the eye to a distant swimming pool, tennis court and summer house. I noticed a sun lounge on the lawn half way to the pool and imagined Emma sunbathing naked in her white plimsolls, completely hidden from view by the surrounding foliage and high brick walls. To break free from my reverie I asked her about the history of the house. She told me,

"It's the site of the old farm house that remained for years after the rest of the land was sold for development. When the family eventually died out it was bought by Malcolm's grandfather, who had made his fortune building railways in India, and he built this house and created the garden."

I asked her who looked after the garden and she told me she loved gardening and did it all herself, which made me fantasise even more about her naked in her plimsolls while she mowed the lawn and pottered around in the flower beds. Feeling bold enough to take a chance I asked her, "Has anyone ever caught you naked?" She giggled and replied, "Nobody can see me naked in here unless I want them to. Although you may be lucky and get a bird's eye view of my fanny on Google Earth." We laughed together for a moment and then I asked her, "Tell me more about Malcolm and how you came to live here."

"I met him at a party and although he was my Dad's age I was very attracted to him because he looked like a faded matinee idol and had a voice to match -- a bit like James Mason, he had impeccable manners and he loved and knew more about ballet than anyone else I'd known. He was also totally uninhibited about talking about sex which really surprised me because when I first saw him I assumed he was just another sexually repressed upper crust public school type. We got on really well and he told me that he was looking for someone to keep house for him because he was now living alone after looking after his mother for years before having to put her in a nursing home when he got too unwell himself to take care of her any longer.

"I checked it all out and I moved in straight away because it was so fantastic and in return for a peppercorn rent I looked after him for two years until a couple of years ago when he suddenly had to go away, saying I could live here rent free until he came back, which was how I was able to save up the money to start up my own ballet school after I qualified as a teacher.

"He had always had a weak heart, he had developed diabetes as well and he couldn't get an erection at all even with Viagra. I was fond of him and I thought he deserved some fun so I used to spend my time with him naked in my ballet shoes, which he loved, and I would give him hand, mouth, foot and cleavage jobs while he lay on his bed or in the garden or floating on the swimming pool. Sometimes he would fondle my breasts while I masturbated and sometimes we would take it in turns to wee on each other and then shower together or go for a swim. It's been a bit lonely without him here sometimes but I'm so lucky having all this to myself and being able to enjoy all my pleasures in private. Let's go back in so I can show you the rest of my flat."

I followed her back up the stairs whilst enjoying the sight of the plimsolls she was still carrying hanging by their heels from her fingertips and creating an attractive counterpoint to the ones she was wearing that were making a soft rubbery tread on the wrought iron steps. We went into her huge double bedroom lit by large windows on two walls and on the floor by her large double bed, covered by a duvet with a light and bright pattern of flowers and butterflies, she placed her plimsolls. I wondered if this had significance for later.

Next to each other on a third wall were two poster sized framed photographs of her dressed as a ballerina and dancing en pointe. In one photo she was dressed all in pure white: white head dress, white short-skirted classical tutu, little white frills circling her upper arms, white tights and white ballet shoes with ribbons tight around her lovely ankles. In the other she wore a black tutu and head dress and frills with her white tights and ballet shoes. I recognised her as being in the combined role of Odette and Odile in Swan Lake and she confirmed it when I asked her.

"They were taken for the only time I've danced Odette and Odile in a real production. I spent weeks beforehand worrying if I could do the thirty-two fouettes and when I did do them and everyone in the theatre cheered and threw flowers to me afterwards it was the most wonderful moment of my life."

"Why did you become a teacher instead of a being a ballerina," I asked her. She looked slightly sad for a moment.

"By the time I left ballet school I was well on the way to becoming the comely and shapely wench you see before you and I was told in no uncertain terms that my shape wasn't the shape that ballet companies wanted for their star dancers. Bryony had the perfect ballerina body and I was so envious of her. The whole business is so unfair. One of the girls in the other form class at my school, Caroline her name was, was a wonderful dancer and had an even lovelier figure than mine but she was told she would never have a career as a ballerina and gave up. Meanwhile her friend Lorna, or Laura or Lara -- I can't remember what her name was now -- who looked like Audrey Hepburn's double and had a place in the Royal Ballet just begging for her, chucked it away for some reason nobody ever found out and became a lawyer of all things. I never liked her much, she was always stuck up and full of her self and Gary always wanted to dance with her, which I could never understand and really pissed me off. Anyway, enough of her," she brightened, "come and see my plimsoll collection."

She had converted the second double bedroom into a dance studio, complete with a mostly bare wood floor, full length mirrors on the wall and a practice barre. Also in the room, on rows and rows of shelves, was her vast collection of plimsolls: white ones, black ones, coloured ones, patterned ones, lace-ups, slip-ons, with and without toe caps, all different brands, from brand new to almost falling apart.

"I've got every pair I've ever worn, more than two hundred of them" she beamed proudly as she showed me a tiny pair of black slip-ons, "including the first pair that Mum bought me for nursery." She handed them to me and I almost stroked them with reverence. She took them back and carefully handed me an old but well cared for pair of white lace-ups. Tied to one of the eyelets was a small gift tag. In faded writing I could just make out the words '¡Feliz cumpleaños! Lucie XXX'.

"Yes, they're my first ever white lace-ups that Lucie gave me for my birthday the year we met," she smiled, her eyes bright and glistening with emotion. I handed the precious plimsolls back to her and noticed at the end of the last shelf her collection of ballet shoes, including a pair of beautiful red satin pointe shoes with ribbons neatly folded inside them, which I picked up. The wonderful feel of them in my hands thrilled me to the core.

"They're lovely," I said to her. "Please will you put them on and dance the thirty-two fouettes just for me?"

"Wow, that's really asking me for something," she smiled. "I won't be responsible for the consequences but I'll have a go."

She took her ballet shoes from me and for a moment I watched enthralled as she bent down to undo her white plimsolls and slip them from her pretty feet beautifully moulded in her black tights and then carefully pulled on her ballet shoes and deftly tied the ribbons around her lovely ankles. She stood up and bent and flexed her legs and feet to prepare herself.

"I can't do fouettes in this skirt," she decided, and gave me a further treat as she pulled off her tight denim mini, giving me a tantalising glimpse of the glorious curves of her bottom sheathed in sheer black nylon, and replaced it with a short practice ballet skirt in light and floaty pale blue chiffon that draped beautifully over her hips, bottom and thighs. She gave herself sufficient space on the wooden floor, assumed her starting position with a graceful sweep and flourish of arms and legs, exclaimed "Oh well, here goes," and began.

With wonderful grace and skill she alternately went up en pointe and came down again on her supporting foot while extending and bending her working leg as she made one whipped around one turn after another after another. She wobbled slightly on her tenth fouette but recovered well and as she began her twenty-seventh turn it looked like she would make it to thirty-two but as she came out of number twenty-seven she suddenly fell off her pointes and began to collapse towards me. Instinctively I shot forward, caught her and lifted her upright and held her close. We both took several deep breaths before she folded her arms around my neck and we kissed long and tenderly. After a minute she drew her head back a little to look directly into my eyes before she whispered,

"The mark of a great partner is that he never lets his ballerina fall."

"I'll always be there for you," I replied. Taking another deep breath I added, "I want you to be my teacher so I can really partner you. And I want you to teach me to dance on my toes like a ballerina as well."

"It will take a long time," she said, her eyes seeming to search deeply into mine, "and I'll make you work much harder than any of my other students." 

"I've always been willing to work hard for something really worthwhile," I assured her.

She raised herself up on the points of her ballet shoes to look horizontally into my eyes. "I'll expect much, much more from you than anyone else." Her gaze was almost boring right through me now. I returned her gaze with equal resolution.

"I promise I'll never let you down." Now it was my turn to search her resolve. We continued to hold each other's eyes with our own. Her arms encircled my neck while mine surrounded her waist as she continued to stand en pointe. Her next words had the effect of a thunderbolt.

"Do you want me in ballet shoes or do you want me in plimsolls?"

This was it. The long-awaited moment had arrived. I felt almost giddy with excitement at the choice I'd been given and the prospect of what would follow it. 

"Plimsolls," I told her after a couple of seconds thought, "so I have the pleasure of seeing you take off your ballet shoes and put on your plimsolls again."

She took my hand and we returned to her bedroom to undress. She peeled off her vest top and unhitched her bra and I thrilled to my first sight of her lovely bare breasts so shapely and so firm and beautifully moulded to her body. I watched with pleasure as she bent over to untie and remove her ballet shoes and then took off her ballet skirt. I loved watching her shapely hands with their long slender fingers gliding along the length of her legs as she peeled off her black tights to reveal a tiny black satin thong barely concealing her womanhood.

Keeping her thong on for a moment longer she picked up the white plimsolls I had returned to her that she had placed by her bed earlier and as my heart thumped and blood surged through me in my excitement she sat on the side of her bed and put them on. The thought of her lovely bare feet pressed and rubbing against the inner linings that were thoroughly impregnated with my accumulated emissions firmed up my erection even more. She smiled at me, now naked down to my white plimsolls and white ankle socks and exclaimed approvingly,

"All of that just for me, I am a lucky girl!" And noting my erection standing proud from the smoothly shaved skin of my crotch that matched the rest of my body she laughed, "And it'll be the first time I've done it with a man with less body hair than me." 

She eased her gorgeous legs out of her thong and lay back on her bed, glorious in her nakedness, so that I could now understand the meaning of her joke and appreciate it to the full. Instead of shaving her pussy, as I thought she might do, I saw she had shaped and trimmed her pubic hair into a neat dense, dark triangle. My immediate instinct was to mount her there and then but I wasn't going to lose the opportunity for maximum enjoyment by rushing things. I knew that by giving a woman what she wants you got a whole lot more back in return.

"What sort of foreplay do you like?" I asked her. Her reply made me very, very glad that I did. Resting her head on her left hand while her other hand idly teased her breast, she smiled up at me and said,

"First you can tie my hands behind my back and my legs together really tight and make me suck your gorgeous dick while you put me in any position you like. Then you can put a gag and blindfold on me and give me a forced orgasm before you fuck me. If you've tied me up really tight and you time your entrance right I promise you you'll get the tightest fuck you've ever had."

"I can hardly believe you trust me this much when we've only known each other for a couple of weeks," I gasped in amazement. She raised herself up on her elbows to look at me directly and replied,

"We both know that we're the ones we've both been waiting for all our lives. And we both know that we need each other too much to risk throwing away what we know we can have together by doing each other harm for a one-off thrill. I trust you enough to give you the freedom to do whatever you want to me within the boundaries that we agree on and I trust you to give me the same freedom in return. But then I'm the sort of person who would rather risk being let down and hurt sometimes than go through life never trusting at all. I want to be in this with you for keeps. How do you feel?" 

I gazed at her lying before me, a supreme vision of naked female loveliness in her gleaming and spotless white plimsolls, and was simply amazed at my good fortune in finding her and now having her in my life. I smiled warmly and tenderly at her and said,

"I'd be the biggest idiot who ever lived if I ever caused you to slip away from me. And if I only ever really trust one person in my life then that person will definitely be you." Our smiles met each other's eyes. "Now where's that rope?" I laughed.

She giggled with happiness and excitement as she told me, "Go to my studio and bring back the large silver box marked 'PROPS' which you'll find in the cupboard against the far wall."

By the time I came back she was already lying on her front with her arms behind her back, her hands crossed over at the wrists and resting on the small of her back just where the upward rise of her bottom began. Her mouth was open with desire and she was already breathing more deeply with anticipation and excitement at what I was about to do to her.

The box contained coils of bondage rope in assorted lengths, roles of bondage tape and a variety of gags and blindfolds. I recognised some of the gear from her 'Study in black' video and I asked her about it as I began to tie her wrists with a short length of rope.

"It was done by a girl studying at the local art college, before you get jealous," she informed me, shifting her body slightly to let me tie her arms to her sides with rope around her upper body. "She was a really sweet, shy, wee little thing when we first met to discuss her project. But as we talked and I suggested a few ideas to her she came up with more and more of her own and really got into it. It was great to see her coming out of herself and feeling so empowered." By now I had tied her ankles together and was busy tying her legs above and below her knees as she finished the story. "Now she's in big demand on the fetish and bondage video scene because she's so good. So, for corrupting young morals -- guilty as charged and ready to receive my punishment," she laughed as I finished off the tight encirclement of her thighs.

I leaned back and surveyed my handiwork as I gently stroked her bare ankles and traced the edges of the blue labels on the heels of her white Keds. It was easy to see that she loved to be tied up. Her body seemed almost to embrace the ropes that were bound tightly around her and as she shuffled slightly to find the most comfortable and sensually satisfying position within her bonds she was already giving out long low groans and sighs of pleasure.

"You sound like you're enjoying yourself," I said to her as I stroked her heels through the smooth white canvas of her plimsolls.

"I love being tied up when I'm naked," she sighed. "I love the paradox of feeling so free and so powerful when I'm naked at the same time as feeling constrained and helpless while I'm tied up. And I love the feeling I get when I'm lying on my front and I'm pushing my breasts and my crotch into the mattress as hard as I can. Mmmm! I'm getting such a lovely feeling between my legs now," she sighed and flexed her ankles and her feet in her white plimsolls to emphasise her pleasure.




Trust Ch. 04



"Let's give you a nice feeling in another place at the same time," I replied as I turned her over onto her back to commence the next stage of our foreplay. She breathed deeply in her excitement at what I was about to do to her. With her shoulders forced back by the action of having her arms tied behind her back and fixed firmly to her sides, her breasts looked even more pouting and pert than usual as they thrust out from her chest between the ropes binding her body above and below them, her nipples hard and swollen seeming to penetrate up through the wide pink fleshy circles of her areolas.

Her king sized bed was big enough for me to place her in all manner of positions while I knelt beside her or over her, so I pulled her down the bed a little by her legs to give me room to squat over her head and let my balls hang down to her face. She nuzzled them and licked them for a moment before I took hold of my penis, placed my head on her mouth and pushed it through her lips and on into her mouth. 

The action of tying her up while she was naked in her plimsolls and then forcing my erect penis into her wide open mouth aroused and stirred up within me deep feelings of dominance and aggression which were very challenging to express in a controlled way that was exciting and arousing for both her and myself without harming her. I kept reminding myself that we were doing this together and it was all about co-operation and mutual respect and self-giving, and I was full of admiration for her for the way she had entrusted herself to me so completely and challenged me so strongly to prove myself worthy of her trust, which I was fully determined to do.

For the next few minutes I pushed and pulled and folded her into a succession of positions which tried and tested to the limit all the strength and suppleness of her body disciplined and honed by years of ballet training. She responded magnificently every time, her mouth eager to take me in while her lips played up and down the length of my shaft. From lying on her back I rolled her onto her side to lie along the edge of the bed and stood leaning over her while she sucked me. Then I turned her on her front and she arched her back and her legs upward and I stood in front of her and supported her shoulders while she sucked me. Then I pulled her up into a kneeling position and stood on the bed in front of her while she sucked me some more. Then I moved behind her and she bent herself right over backwards to take me into her mouth again.

Finally I placed her in a sitting position with her upper body propped against a pillow and her legs stretched out in front of her. In that position she somehow looked even more helpless and vulnerable than she had when lying on her back, and this impression inflamed my dominating instinct to a new height. I could feel and hear the blood rushing at high speed through my ears as I knelt up to her and forced my penis into her eager mouth again. This time she took me right down her throat and her eyes glared and her nostrils flared wide with her deep breathing as she fought to keep down her gagging reflex. I pushed myself down on her as far as I could go so that her lips were a tight ring around the very base of my shaft and her nose was pressing into the smoothly shaved skin of my groin.

The press of her throat on my head and the feel of her lips, teeth and tongue dancing on my shaft stoked my passion more and more until, with a deep shuddering convulsion that seemed to grip my groin and buttocks from inside, I came in her mouth. She made high pitched straining squeaks and squeals in her throat as she gulped with the effort of swallowing my cum and tightened the seal of her lips around my shaft to stop any of it from escaping. Then she jerked her head backward and forward while her lips and tongue slavered over the length of my shaft.

When I judged that she had finished her cleaning job on my penis I withdrew myself from her mouth and without giving her time even to draw breath I forced open her jaw as wide as I could get it and stuffed the largest ball gag in the box into her mouth until it filled her mouth cavity and was being held in place by her teeth showing clearly against her upforced lips. I pushed her head down and drew the elasticated strap tight behind her head while she made high pitched squeals of delight and then lifted her head to repeat the process with the black leather gag that I fitted on her carefully to cover the ball gag. As she made muffled moans of pleasure through her gag I blindfolded her with the black satin eye mask and tightened its strap firmly around her head, so that even her long flowing blonde hair was bound tightly around her. Then, with her giving out a muffled yelp of surprise, I grabbed her by the legs and roughly pulled her down onto her back again.

I needed to calm down from my pumped up state of sexual excitement, knowing that she would need more sensitive handling for the next stages of our foreplay, so I watched her for a moment as her beautiful naked body undulated sinuously within her tight bondage and as she rolled her head; her mouth stopped up and immobile and her eyes sightless under their tight coverings that obliterated most of her face and rendered her anonymous to everyone but me; from side to side whilst long muffled moans of pleasure emerged from beneath her gag. All the time she was pointing and rolling and flexing her feet in her white plimsolls as if she was trying to centre the seat of all her pleasure in the soles of her feet.

I came up to her again and began to play and sport with her breasts: teasing her nipples to even more erectness, smoothing my hands over the warm vibrant soft swellings of her most feminine curves, squeezing my fingers into her firm and ample flesh which made her gasp deep in her throat in her delight, pressing my fingers into the folds beneath her breasts where they joined her body. She pushed her breasts closer into the cups of my hands, mmph'ing with pleasure in time to the thrusting motions of her chest and I noticed her womanhood begin to glisten with drops of her love dew and decided it was time to attend to it.

I took the tube of lubrication that she had told me she kept in a drawer of her bedside cabinet and as I lubricated her entrance inside and around with a generous smear she continued her muffled moaning of pleasure. Then I lifted her blindfold up to her forehead so she could see me grease my length until it glistened. She treated me to a superb piece of theatre by drawing away from me to curl up and cower against the wall, struggling and squirming in her bonds and squealing in terror and desperation to escape the fate worse than death that was about to befall her. I responded playfully in kind by grabbing her and pulling her down onto the bed and replacing her blindfold while telling her to shut up and keep still if she knew what was good for her. She meekly complied, breathing hard; waiting eagerly for what she knew was coming to her.

Her clitoris was marvellous to behold, a fat fleshy caterpillar feeding in the warm moist nest of her vulva and the easily the biggest clit I had ever seen on a girl. With all the delicacy and skill at my command I began carefully and ever so gently with the very tip of my finger to stroke the length of her little shaft. Her response was immediate and dramatic. She let out a long muffled high-pitched moan and, unable to obey her instinct to spread apart her tightly bound legs to enjoy the pleasure even more, she began to raise up her knees instead. 

To stop her legs from getting in the way I sat on them with my weight pressed down on her knees to keep them straight and continued stroking her. As I varied my technique I carefully observed and listened to her reactions. Sometimes she would shake her head and put a negative note into her muffled responses; sometimes she would nod and give a muffled breathy moan of pleasure and approval. Finally, I found the sweet spot on her little length and rubbed it insistently. She breathed harder and harder, her head swayed from side to side ever more vehemently and her muffled cries of delight increased progressively in volume, pitch and intensity. Finally, through my fingertip pressed against her pleasure spot I felt her body tense up and she emitted a long muffled throaty high pitched wail of ecstasy as her orgasm overwhelmed her.

I mounted her in an instant and began the struggle to gain entrance to her. The inward pressure of her tightly bound thighs on her entrance fought back against the effort of my head to force her swollen lips apart. With my legs in an unaccustomed straddling position with my thighs pressing against hers I kept up the pressure on her entrance until I felt my head engage and nestle deeper into her and we both gave a deep grunt of delight as my shaft began to penetrate her stout and stubborn defences at last. Even though we were both well lubricated I still found it an effort to get my whole length into her. 

She may have been tied up, gagged and blindfolded and pinned down prone under my weight but there was nothing passive in her reception of me. The convulsive orgasmic clench of her powerful ballet strengthened pelvic floors on my shaft made me groan along with her, and when I began to thrust, the friction of the tight press of her vagina as she ground herself on my length sent convulsive waves of pleasure through me and made me groan with every stroke as she cried out in her response. In a sudden impulse I reached out to the chair next to her bed on which she had placed her ballet shoes, picked one up, placed it over her nose and gagged mouth and tied the ribbons around her head, knowing that she could still breathe through the natural fibres of satin and canvas.

Aroused even more by suddenly being forced to breathe in the sweet sugary aroma of her own foot odour she suddenly tightened up on me even more and gave out a throaty muffled gasp as another orgasm took hold of her. I pumped her even harder and screwed up my eyes and clenched my teeth as I felt my own climax approach and I tried to delay it as long as I could. Finally I had to give in and with deep convulsions radiating from my groin all through me I fired my salvos deep into her.

We both lay still for a moment, breathing hard, as I stroked her head on each side and gazed down at her while trying to imagine the expression on her face hidden under all its bindings. She moaned again as I withdrew from her while still fairly erect and continued groaning as I gave her some after play with some more breast fondling.

I turned her over onto her front and spent a few moments massaging her shoulders, her ribcage, her bottom and her thighs to help her come down gently from her passion. Her moans changed to sighs which became progressively gentler until they in turn became a contented purr almost nestling in her gag.

I took off her blindfold and her eyes shone with delight as they beamed at me and blinked for a moment as they reaccustomed to light and vision. She gave a deep grunt of pleasure and relief as I took off her gag.

"Wow!" she gasped. "I never knew that painful sex could feel that good."

"Did I really hurt you?" I asked, suddenly working faster to untie her in my anxiety to comfort her.

"I'll say you did," she beamed. "You had me trussed up so tight and you're so fucking huge it hurt like hell every time you gave me one. But it's OK," she reassured me on seeing my increasingly worried expression, "it isn't that I've got weird psychological hang ups about needing to be punished or anything like that; I think that sex is such an elemental, basic human experience that it ought to hurt along with the pleasure. I don't want sex to 'feel nice'; I want to feel like my vitals are on fire. When you're firing your load into me don't you want your prick to feel like a red hot poker shooting out molten lava?"

"I can't say that I've ever thought about it in that way before," I smiled as I finished untying the last of her bonds from around her ankles and gave them another affectionate stroking as she flexed her plimsolled feet to enjoy their newly restored freedom. "I guess I've still got that pleasure to look forward to."

She turned over onto her back, shifted herself up into a sitting position leaning back while supporting her body on her arms and grinned at me. "Well you don't have to wait any longer, Lover Boy; get yourself face down on the bed with your hands behind your back -- it's your turn."

My stomach lurched with excitement at the sudden realisation that she was about to tie me up, the likelihood of which I hadn't even thought of up until that moment, preoccupied as I had been with fulfilling her pleasure. My deepest sexual fantasy was about to come true: I was going to be naked in my white plimsolls and ankle socks and be bound and gagged by a beautiful woman naked in her white plimsolls who would then use me for her pleasure.

She sat on me with her bottom cushioned on mine and pressed her plimsolls against my ribs on each side of me. The simultaneous press of the soft, firm flesh of her buttocks and the rubber edging of her plimsolls sent waves of pleasure all through me and as she began tying my hands behind me I started to feel incredibly aroused again even though I had already had two orgasms. I pushed my groin under her weight and my chest down into the mattress as much as I could to intensify my pleasure in the same way that she had done.

"So what can I do for you that will make it feel extra special?" she asked as she finished roping my upper arms firmly to my sides.

"You can bind my genitals with plimsoll laces," I replied eagerly, "and before you gag me I want to suck your tits and lick your cunt," I added, deliberately talking dirty to arouse us both more. "And I want you to gag me with your thong and your tights but don't blindfold me because I want to see everything."

"You are one seriously perverted guy," she exclaimed in delight and I exulted in her compliment as she turned me over onto my back. "I'll make sure you get the full treatment," she giggled.

She left me for a moment and returned with a pair of very long white plimsoll laces. She spread my legs apart and, kneeling between them, wrapped one lace tightly several times around the circumference of my genitals where they joined my groin, tying it off with a knot and a double bow behind the neck of my scrotum. The other lace she wrapped just as tightly around the base of my shaft and then tighter still around the neck of my scrotum, which made my balls swell outwards like balloons, before tying it off with another tight knot and double bow beneath the base of my shaft. My genitals began a deep incessant throb under the grip of their tight bindings and my foreskin felt incredibly sensitive.

She bound my legs tightly together at the ankles, knees and thighs just as I had done to hers. My inner thighs, forced inwards by the grip of the rope encircling them, pushed and rubbed against my swollen and sensitive balls. It felt fabulous and my erection became even harder.

Having finished tying me up, she got down on her hands and knees and slowly advanced up the length of my body until her gorgeous breasts hung down like ripe exotic fruit right above and almost touching my face. She teased me a couple of times by lifting herself up out of reach as I tried to press my mouth to her breast, before finally letting me clamp my lips around her stiffly protruding nipple. I closed my eyes and sucked hard on her and felt a fabulous shiver in my penis as I imagined her breast swollen with milk flowing through her nipple into my throat. I sucked her other breast with equal pleasure and then breathed in the lovely aroma of her warm, clean skin mingled with her soft, flowery perfume as, slowly and sensually, she rubbed her cleavage up and down my face.

Then she moved further forward towards my face so I could enjoy the fabulous pleasures of her groin. First I buried my nose and mouth in the dense and softly fibrous texture of her closely cropped pubic hair and then she lifted slightly so I could kiss her labia and stroke her clitoris with the very tip of my tongue, which made her squeal with delight. She gasped with more pleasure as I licked her entrance with the flat of my tongue and for the first time tasted the delicious tang of her love nectar before penetrating her with my tongue. By now thoroughly worked up, she rubbed her womanhood on my mouth as I continued to lick her most sensitive parts until with a strangled sob of delight she had another orgasm and with equal delight I drank her ecstatic leakage.

Still breathing hard in her pleasure she stuffed her black satin thong into my eager mouth and, after carefully placing the rolled up crotch of her black tights over my lips, tightly stretched the legs a couple of times around my head before knotting them firmly at the back of my neck. I thrilled at being able to taste her so intimately and breathe in her most intimate aroma from a still very fresh source placed right underneath my nose. Being gagged in that way excited me even more and my erection throbbed even deeper and tingled more intensely.

My penis was so sensitive that I nearly leaped right off the bed as she took hold of it and sent electric shock waves shooting right through me. She began to pump me and every firm stroke of her grasp prompted a muffled groan from me as I fought to keep myself from coming too soon. But she knew what she was doing and she kept me on the edge for what felt like an age as she masturbated me, performed oral sex on me, rubbed me up and down her cleavage and massaged and teased my genitals with her plimsolls. The feel of the rubber soles of her plimsolls pressing against my groin while the moulded rubber edging on the inner sides squeezed and rubbed my sensitive swollen manhood sent me spiralling upward in delight.

Then she began stroking me again. By this time my bulging genitals had turned a deep purple under their tight binding and my penis felt like it had been doused in petrol and set on fire. My muffled moaning through my gag was continuous and my eyes were smarting with tears as I at last felt my climax approaching. She knew exactly what was happening and once again her timing was perfect. As my orgasm began to well up from deep within me she squatted over me with her legs spread wide apart, I felt the glorious feeling of my head engaging in her entrance and of being taken into her as her vulva descended in a tight clamp down the length of my shaft until she was squeezing the very base and pressing right into my groin.

I thought I would never stop pumping into her all that had been dammed up behind my tightly bound genitals. Every convulsive motion brought tears to my eyes and as my muffled moaning continued to reverberate in my throat I clamped my jaws beneath the tight nylon grip of her tights tighter to press my mouth and tongue more closely into the fabric of her thong that filled my mouth. 

Meanwhile she ground herself on my erection, which had now reached maximum sensitivity in the throes of my orgasm and was sending feelings through me that were almost unbearable in their intensity, until she achieved yet another orgasm of her own and clenched me even tighter. This was too much for me and I began to sob with pain and with overwhelming pleasure. After a moment I moaned once more as she slowly and carefully lifted her self off me and removed my gag.

"I've never felt so close and so united to someone as I do to you now," I wept convulsively as she gently cradled my head and kissed me. "I really do want to be in this for keeps too."

"I know, Darling, I know," she replied tenderly as she wiped away my tears. "That's the experience I wanted so much to share with you because that's how much you mean to me. Now you just relax while I get you out of all this."




Trust Ch. 04







Trust Ch. 05



** For the person who wrote the review about being confused, I apologize for that. It is my story both the original and this, the re-write. The explanation was removed when I had to re-post the chapters. If you read the old story thank you, there's nothing new. This re-write is 'cleaner' a little bit more 'in-depth' to the original. Thank you and HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!**

...And now for the next chapter...





Trust Ch. 05



[Is this the ultimate plimsoll fetish sex fantasy?]

Chapter 5 -- Nostalgia was never like this

My second visit to Emma's flat early in the following week was as memorable as the first for a very special reason of its own. I came into the kitchen to find her standing at the table stirring together the ingredients for gazpacho soup; beautifully, gorgeously, wonderfully naked in just a gleaming white pair of Keds and soft, snowy white ankle socks. She beamed a welcoming smile to me and just then a splat of soup shot out of the bowl under her vigorous stirring and stuck to her breast.

"Would you like to taste the soup for me?" she giggled. I eagerly complied with a long and lingering lick that ended with a little tease of her nipple that pouted instantly at the touch of the very tip of my tongue as she purred with pleasure.

"Mmm! That tasted really good," I smiled as I drew her vibrant naked warmth close in my embrace, "and the soup was nice too."

"You are so naughty," she giggled happily. "Now get in that shower before we eat."

It felt fantastic to emerge from the shower fresh, dry and naked, slip my feet into a fresh pair of white Keds and join her in the kitchen. She was completely comfortable with me standing next to her with my big erection and she gave it a stroke of encouragement every now and then as we finished preparing dinner.

We sat next to each other at the kitchen table to eat and playfully nudged and rubbed each other's feet and ankles with our plimsolls as we shared about our respective days.

"I've had no classes today and no other reason to go out so I haven't had a stitch on all day. I've been in the garden most of the time and got lots of jobs done," she told me happily.

"You're so lucky," I said with feeling. "I've felt imprisoned in my suit today even with the office being air conditioned. Thinking all the time of you being here naked is going to drive me mad in no time."

"I meant it when I said you could stay here always," she smiled as she squeezed my hand affectionately. "You can move in with me any time you want." Her expression took on an insistent quality.

"How about tomorrow?" I said emphatically.

And I was as good as my word. After all, you don't often get the chance to live with a beautiful woman, who shares the same fetishes that you have, in a huge house and garden with the privacy to be naked together all the time.

Our relationship rapidly blossomed and grew in all the different aspects of our lives. Straight away I started a regime of three ballet classes a week which she said was the minimum I needed to make good progress quickly. We wondered about how I would fit them around my job, which required long hours at the office. Then I had the idea of her hiring the office gym to give a weekly ballet fitness and relaxation class. It was a great success and everyone who came, including a couple of other guys who were brave enough to put up with all the leg-pulling from their workmates, raved about how much it helped their well-being and their productivity.

I also went to her midweek evening adult beginners' class at the dance school she co-owned with a couple of dance college friends, and on one evening a week she would give me a one-to-one pointe preparation class in her practice studio in her flat. She was as good as her word about making me work the hardest, especially in the pointe preparation classes which were a gruelling succession of exercises designed to strengthen my feet and legs for going up en pointe in ballet shoes -- although they had the compensation that we could be naked in our pretty pink satin soft soled ballet slippers together. She was a different person in our classes: her praise was hard-earned and rarely given, but afterwards she was full of praise and encouragement because, being naturally sporty and athletic, I discovered I had a natural talent for dance.

I also brought over some of Bryony's clothes and Emma gave me lots of coaching and tips on how to look and behave like a woman, which helped me to enjoy much more my girly dressing up sessions as a plimsoll girl or a ballerina.

We combined our websites into one, spending ages trying to think of a name until she said

"Why don't we simply call it 'Plimsolls and Ballet Shoes'? It sounds poetic and nicely erotic when you say them together like that."

So we set up 'plimsollsandballetshoes.net' and spent as much spare time as we could shooting photo sets and videos. The video we both most enjoyed making was called 'How does your garden grow?' It began with a view of the summer house at the bottom of the garden, with the door padlocked and faint muffled cries for help coming from inside. The door opened to reveal Emma imprisoned inside, lying curled up in the corner on a pile of old sacking, naked in her white plimsolls and ankle socks, tied up with her hands behind her back, gagged and blindfolded, chained by her neck and her feet to the wall, mmphing and squealing piteously through her gag for help as she struggled in her tight bonds.

I unchained her, carried her out and dumped her in a wheelbarrow as she continued struggling and squealing in terror and then transported her along the length of the garden to a newly constructed rose arch made of lattice panelling. I lifted her out of the wheelbarrow, stood her against the side of the arch and roped her firmly to it with a criss-crossing of ropes from her shoulders down to her ankles as she squirmed and thrashed her head and mmphd frantically for mercy. A close up of her feet showed me placing a small flower pot filled with compost just in front of her plimsolls. Then I watered her with heavy spray from a hose until she was thoroughly soaked and the whole of her naked body glistened with water drops in the sunlight. The water was cold so her muffled screams through her gag were of genuine discomfort. The final section of the film was edited to show the passage of time as I hosed her again and again and I used video editing software to show ivy growing out of the pot and advancing up her bound and helpless body until, at the end of the video, she was completely covered in dense green foliage and only her faint muffled cries for help could still be heard.

Emma loved to garden in the nude, the only exception being when she was gardening at the front of the house when she liked to wear a tiny bikini or a sexy swim suit with her white plimsolls and ankle socks and bring the traffic in the road to a virtual standstill. I loved to share the pleasure with her at every opportunity but it could be a mixed one at times because when the gardening bug was upon her she was almost impervious to the weather and she would carry on while the rain plastered her hair to her head and ran in myriad rivulets down her naked body that was blue with cold and covered in goose pimples, and stuck her soaked-through plimsolls and socks so firmly to her feet that it was only with great difficulty that I could peel them off her damp and cold feet before rubbing warmth back into them.

We both worked long hours in demanding jobs so every moment we had together was precious. Sometimes when we were too tired for the rigours of full sex we loved to lounge on the sofa together playing footsie with our plimsolls and gently stroking each other's intimate places as we talked about all things sexual.

"What's it like to have a penis?" she asked me on one such evening as she gave it an especially pleasurable stroking.

"I go through the whole spectrum from not giving it a thought to being so desperate to be inside a woman that I feel like cutting it off," I smiled as I traced adjacent fingers along her pussy lips, which made her purr with pleasure. "What do you think about the penis as an object in its own right, apart from what it's used for?"

"I think the penis is beautiful." she responded, "I love how it looks so powerful and yet it trembles when I touch it and let it rest in my hand. I love how soft and velvety the head feels and I love to trace around the ring and along the blood vessels running along the length. It must be lovely for you to feel it nestling in your hand when you have an erection and it's so sensitive to being touched." She held me a little more firmly as she continued stroking and I placed a finger tip to stroke her just inside her entrance in response. We both sighed in mutual pleasure as love nectar began to leak gently out of both of us.

"I guess that's why there's always been that big taboo against masturbation," I mused, "because the fear was that otherwise men would do nothing else and the human race would be extinct in no time."

"That must also be the reason why men are designed so they can't suck their own willies," she giggled.

"And only some men want to suck someone else's," I added with a smile. "So were you penis envious when you were a girl?" I teased.

"Mum and Dad have always claimed, and I still don't know if they made it up or not, that when I was two or three and sharing a bath with my older brother Mike I kept trying to pull his off and getting very cross because he wouldn't let me have a go with it," she laughed. "Sometimes I do love the idea of having a willy to stand up and piss up against the wall with instead of sitting down on the toilet locked away in a little cubicle while I make sure that all my wee goes into the toilet bowl in a nice neat stream like a good little girl." We both laughed.

"But have you ever wondered why we give such beautiful and special parts of our bodies such ugly names?" she continued. "'Penis' and 'vagina'; just saying them makes you think of boring double biology lessons and sex education sessions in a classroom full of embarrassed teenagers and an even more embarrassed teacher. I love the Indian words: 'lingam' and 'yoni'. Lingam sounds so manly and strong and yoni sounds so feminine and lovely. They make me think of a magnificent warrior hero and a breathtakingly beautiful young princess making love on a bed covered with lotus flowers and with butterflies and love birds circling around them."

"I love how you can be so earthy one moment and then all girly love and romance the next," I smiled and stroked her hair affectionately. She beamed at my acknowledgement of the wholeness of her sexuality and I felt a warm glow towards her as I continued our conversation. "I agree with you about 'penis' and 'vagina' but I'm glad we call breasts 'breasts' because I think that's a lovely word for them." I smoothed my hands reverently over and around her pert pair to emphasise the point as she breathed a deep sigh of pleasure. I continued to gaze admiringly at her breasts as they gently rose and fell on the gentle uplift of my palms. "I often fantasise about having breasts and a vagina," I told her, exulting in the freedom of being able to tell her absolutely anything without fear of censure. 

"Do you also fantasise about having to cope with periods, ovulation pains, rollercoaster hormones and the never-ending quest to find a decent-fitting bra?" she teased.

"I've spent enough time with women coping with the fallout from all that to know just what I'm fantasising about," I smiled. "But with all of that it must feel lovely to have your breasts fondled and then feel yourself being penetrated and filled up by a penis while you massage your most sensitive parts on it."

"Mm! I feel like it right now," she purred. As we turned in on each other I thrilled to the press of her breasts against my chest as I slipped easily inside her to the sound of our deep breaths of suddenly aroused excitement. A few gentle pushes and thrusts from me and some sympathetic squeezing and massaging from her soon produced the desired result for both of us.

"Ooh! That was nice," she sighed contentedly as she nuzzled my neck.

"I thought you said you didn't like sex to be just nice," I smiled as I stroked the curve of her spine.

"Haven't you heard of The Woman's Prerogative," she giggled. "Anyway, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"I'm in the mood to say yes to just about anything now, which is probably what you were planning all along, you scheming little minx." She yelped as I tickled her under her breast.

"Don't worry; I haven't been window shopping at Asprey. It's just that there's a night club near here that does a school disco night once a month so do you want to go?"

I was getting used to her way of abruptly switching our conversation onto an entirely new direction. "I'm not really that into all that nostalgia stuff," I said doubtfully.

"You've never seen me in my school uniform," she countered.

"On the other hand," I backtracked rapidly, "one ought to keep an open mind about these things."

We both laughed as I commenced our pre-bed time ritual that I had soon established after moving in of removing her plimsolls and ankle socks, massaging her feet with tea tree oil and slipping on her feet her cute white slip-on plimsolls that she always wore in bed.

"I bet you were a Right Little Raver in those days," I teased her as she snuggled into my arms and began stroking my leg with her plimsolls as she always did.

"I still am," she retorted, grinning her Meg Ryan grin as she kissed me goodnight. I settled down next to her and looked forward eagerly to Friday night.

School disco night came at last. I got ready in the spare third bedroom while Emma prepared herself in secret in her, now shared, bedroom so she could make a special entrance when she was ready. I put on a grey shirt with rolled up sleeves and collar undone, with a loosely knotted stripy school tie, black school shorts with my shirt worn loosely over the waist, short grey socks allowed to crumple untidily around my ankles, and black lace-up plimsolls with smooth toe caps that Emma has picked out from my collection when we had made one of our occasional stopovers at my flat the previous night, and which she insisted that I wore.

After what seemed like an age she finally made her entrance and it was certainly worth the wait. She had used red ribbons tied in bows to gather her long blonde hair into two large bunches. She wore dolled up, tarty make up with shiny scarlet lipstick, thick mascara with too much eye shadow and rather too much foundation and blusher. She wore a white school blouse with rolled up sleeves and the top buttons left open to reveal a generous view of her cleavage and the edges of her plum red lace trimmed satin bra, between which dangled a school scarf loosely knotted around her bare neck. The tails of her blouse were tied in a large bow right under her ribs to reveal a very sexy view of her slender midriff. She wore a tiny black pleated school mini skirt with a thin black leather belt, that scarcely contained the gorgeous swell of her hips and her bottom and that barely covered her lacy satin panties that matched her bra. She wore black fishnet stockings with suspenders hitched to a lacy belt that sat on her hips just below the waistline of her skirt and that drew the eye instinctively to the gorgeous fleshy forms of her bare thighs. On the back of each of her thighs just above her stocking tops she had stencilled a temporary tattoo with a butterfly design. Her gleaming white Keds that dazzled against the black of her stockings completed her stunning ensemble.

"What do you think?" she beamed as she struck a model girl pose to show herself off.

"There'll be a few teachers out there who'll reckon you'd be worth a jail sentence for," I said, my eyes almost goggling with the delight at the sight of her and my heart swelling with pride at the thought of her walking out by my side looking like that.

We made the journey to the night club with what seemed like an almost continuous accompaniment of turned heads, cheers and wolf whistles. I thought I would burst with pride and pleasure as I sat beside her on the short train journey, one arm curled possessively around her shoulders while my other hand held hers and our crossed-over feet played with each other and our plimsolls smoothed against our ankles and calves, while we laughed and joked about whatever came into our heads. I felt as giddy and silly as if my life had suddenly gone back ten years in time.

We had to queue for a long time before getting into the club. The evening was a little on the cool side so it was lovely to stand close to her with her in my arms and feel the warmth of her beautiful body within my embrace and the soft warm press of her lovely long legs against mine while I gently nudged the rubber edges of her white plimsolls with my black ones. The bouncers must have taken a shine to us, or to Emma at any rate, because as we got closer to the door they motioned us to come in ahead of the people still queuing in front us.

We entered the club in the middle of 'YMCA'. We ignored the packed bar as we were there to dance and not waste time queuing for drinks and in any case there were water bottle dispensers at various locations around the dance floor, so we each got a bottle and started to dance to a succession of 70's and 80's disco hits. It was sheer joy to watch Emma dancing. Other couples instinctively gave us room so they could admire her as well and I was happy to bask in the attention being directed upon her. She was every inch a dancer to her bones. The music seemed to inhabit her and she lived the music. Every move she made was with supreme grace and balance and with an amazing blend of precise control and sheer joie de vivre. Her gleaming white plimsolls flashed and sparkled in the blue light. The light also emphasised her blouse that barely covered her breasts and I was convinced they would pop out at any moment. But her bra was equal to the job of containment and everything just about stayed in place. 

The tempo eased a little and I brought her closer to me so we could sway and twist and turn together with our hands in each other's or holding each other's waists. Now and again she would put her arms around my neck and kiss me and it was at one of those moments when she shouted to me over the music,

"Where can we go for a proper snog?"

I indicated to the opposite corner where a corridor led further back into the building.

"Let's see what's down there," I suggested.

We continued dancing as we gradually sidled over to the entrance to the corridor and ducked inside unobserved. The corridor went back a distance and then bent to the right. Just around the corner was a door marked 'PRIVATE: STAFF ONLY'.

"I wonder what's in here?" I whispered.

"Do you think we should? What if it's alarmed or there's a camera?" She replied.

"Don't worry, if anyone asks; we were looking for the toilets and got lost," I reassured her.

We slipped inside, found the light switch and discovered we could bolt the door from inside, which I did. The room was a caretaker or janitor's work room and store room. Shelves lining the walls and standing in rows on the floor contained all kinds of cleaning and maintenance equipment and materials. In the corner of the room were a couple of old PVC covered armchairs next to a work bench and a sink with some rather rudimentary tea making facilities. 

Having satisfied ourselves that there was no security camera, we immediately got down to the business we were there for. We began with a bout of furious open mouthed kissing during which I clamped and squeezed her bottom and stroked the bare strips of flesh of her thighs above her fishnet stocking tops while she dragged her fingers through my hair and wrapped each of her legs in turn around me to rub her thighs against mine and rub her plimsolls against my bare calves, stoking my erection which I strained to push into ever closer contact with her crotch.

Engulfed with passion and desire for her I fumbled to undo her blouse and get it off her and then unhitch her bra. Her breasts bobbed in celebration of their freedom and she squealed with pleasure as she suddenly squatted down to pull down my shorts and my briefs and my erection sprang to attention in response. Breathing heavily in her excitement she flopped down into one of the armchairs and told me to stand in front of her. When I was the right distance away, she lifted up her legs and proceeded to give me the most incredible foot job.




Trust Ch. 05



The tips of her plimsolls penetrated deep into the join of my genitals with my groin. The smooth white canvas of her plimsoll uppers rubbing on my balls sent deep shuddering raptures right through me and the rubber edges of her plimsolls drawn up and down my shaft made my eyes water with delight. Then she turned her feet inwards and the feel of the textured rubber of her plimsoll soles on my pumped up manhood began to make me feel giddy with extreme excitement.

The glorious receding perspective of her legs, from her gorgeous feet in her dazzling white plimsolls; along the magnificent flowing lines of her legs resplendent in her black fishnet stockings, the incredibly sexy sight of her thighs' slight swelling above her stocking tops; right down to the heart-pumping vista of her wide open crotch with the dark red ribbon of the gusset of her panties just tantalizingly hiding her womanhood from my view, made me feel like I was gradually melting from my feet upwards as she continued her magic upon me. I just had time to gasp "I'm going to come," before, with a deep shuddering groan of release, my emission shot out in several milky arches to land in a soft splatter all over her bare breasts.

She squealed in her shock of delight and, cupping her breasts in her hands, massaged them with my cum and then took hold of my hands and smoothed them over the slick and shiny surfaces of her areolas and her nipples. Then she pulled me down to kneel on the floor before her and as she draped her lovely legs on my shoulders and smoothed the soles of her plimsolls back and forth across my back I licked her breasts clean.

When I had finished she beamed at me and exclaimed, "Change places, it's my turn now!"

I looked up at her in delight as she took off her tiny mini skirt and pulled down her panties down to her stocking tops, which was as far as she could get them under her suspenders. She took hold of my left foot in her right hand, pointed my toes forward, placed the toe of my black plimsoll between her thighs and began to rub herself on the smooth rubber toe cap. Straight away I then understood why she had been so keen for me to wear them and remembered her talking about how much she loved to pleasure herself in that way.

I watched entranced as her eyes closed and her mouth opened and she threw back her head in her increasing delight. Her breathing became harder and the thrust and rock of her hips became deeper and firmer and more insistent as her moment approached until with a clenching gasp that seemed to rise from the very depths of her being she gave way to her ecstasy and a dribble of her love juice smeared onto my plimsoll, making a track across the already shining surface of the toecap before staining the adjacent black canvas even darker.

She collapsed into the armchair next to me and I wrapped my arms around her and covered her in kisses as she clung to me and buried her face in my neck in her extreme passion until it gradually subsided. After a few minutes of gentle necking and stroking we agreed it was time to get out while the going was good. We spent a few minutes cleaning up at the sink and replacing and adjusting our attire. As we were about to head back to the club Emma said,

"Do you think this room should have been locked?"

"You're right," I replied. I opened the drawer of the work bench and retrieved a key hidden under some papers. "I think this must be it."

"Hold on a minute," she exclaimed, her expression open with astonishment. "How did you know that was there?"

"My mate told me," I grinned.

"Which mate are you talking about?" She began to laugh as she realised that for once I had got one over on her and gave my backside a couple of playful kicks with her right plimsoll in acknowledgement of my success.

"Pete's an old mate I've known since school. I still meet him for a drink or several every now and again. When I saw him last week and told him we were coming here it turned out he knew the place. He runs his own property management business and as it happens this is one of the places he looks after. So he told me about this room and offered to leave it unlocked after he'd finished here today if I locked up afterwards. If you hadn't suggested sneaking out for a snog I would have done instead. I'll owe him a few beers for this I can tell you."

"You're wicked to take advantage of a helpless, innocent girl like that, Charles Bartlett," she giggled as we slipped out into the corridor and I locked the door. We slipped back unnoticed and left the club. We waited until we were well out of range of the bouncers and then exploded into barely suppressed laughter as we skipped along the road to the station with our arms hugging each other's waists and me occasionally lifting her up so her white plimsolls pointed down to the pavement and swinging her round before setting her down again. We got on the train home and didn't stop kissing and stroking each other's legs with our plimsolls until we got off again. Then I chased her all the way home as I pinched and fondled her pert and beautiful bottom underneath her tiny skirt. We hadn't touched a drop of alcohol or taken any other kind of artificial stimulant, we'd just enjoyed the best stimulant of all.

As soon as we were in through our front door she breathed excitedly,

"It's my turn to show you a surprise. It's in the studio."

I couldn't see what she was talking about at first. Then she bent down to remove a circular wooden plug from the centre of the floor where it lay flush with the level of the floorboards. She lifted up a long steel pole that I now realised was lying along one wall, placed the bottom end firmly in a metal socket that was set into the floor and pushed the upper end of the pole so it engaged firmly in a C-shaped fitting fitted on the ceiling directly above the socket.

"I had it installed while you were at work today. What do you think?" She beamed.

"Oh goody, now we can pretend to be firemen whenever we want to," I quipped. But she knew that I knew perfectly well what is was for, and that the knowledge of it was already getting me very excited indeed.

"I'm diversifying into teaching ballet pole-dancing," she explained enthusiastically. "It's a bit of a niche market because only dancers who are confident with dancing en pointe can do it safely. I've been working at it for a few weeks now and it's so much fun and so sexy, so I decided to get this to practice on at home. Bet you want a demo' right now, don't you?"

I only had to grin and nod my head and then watch spellbound as she took off her school tie, her blouse, her bra and her skirt and tossed them one after the other into the far corner of the studio. Then she took a pair of scissors and cut through the narrowest parts of the waistband of her panties above each of her outer thighs and removed them from under her suspenders. Now naked apart from her white plimsolls and black fishnet stockings and suspenders, she switched on some extremely heavy rock from the ghetto blaster in the corner of the room and as ear-shattering screaming guitar chords and thundering drums and bass announced the commencement of the first track, she bounded with cat like grace up to the pole and with incredible agility and strength leapt up to grasp the pole with both hands and swing her legs high up above her head so that the tips of her white plimsolls almost touched the high ceiling..

From this amazing starting position she performed a fantastically athletic and extremely sexually charged routine, full of twists and turns, thrusting and rubbing of crotch and cleavage along the phallic line of the pole, opening and closing of her legs and pointing of her white plimsolled feet, on which at regular intervals she landed and instantly sprang up lightly again from her toes. Every time she gripped the pole with the rubber soles of her white plimsolls a marvellous rubbery squeak could be heard over the cat strangled wail of the lead vocals pulsating from the speakers of the music system. My heart was pounding in my ears along with the music and I was frantic to fuck her.

She had set the CD to stop after the opening track. The final chord echoed into oblivion as she planted her white plimsolls firmly back on the wooden floor with a soft rubbery slap of impact. Her gorgeous naked body glowing and glistening with her sweat, she heaved and panted in the sudden silence and she gripped the pole with her hands, leaning slightly forward towards it and bending forward at the waist with her legs apart as she turned round to look at me over her shoulder.

"I'm ready if you are," she smiled invitingly.

I couldn't strip down to my black plimsolls and socks quickly enough and it felt fantastic to release my erection from the confines of my sweaty shorts and briefs. I exulted in the sight of her vulva just visible between her open legs and beyond the glorious curves of her bottom pushed out in my direction and inviting my approach. I love to fuck a woman from behind because I love the feeling I get when I first push up between her thighs into her sex, because I get fantastic stimulation each time I thrust into her in that position, because I love how I can push my groin tight against her bottom as I thrust her, and because while I'm fucking her I can fondle her breasts and stroke her clit at the same time, which she likes because it makes up for her lack of vaginal stimulation when I enter her at that angle. All of these things I did to Emma and she moaned and sighed with pleasure and lifted herself onto the toes of her white plimsolls to enjoy it even more while I shafted her deeper and deeper and squeezed and kneaded the warm soft fleshy dough of her breasts and stroked the fat grub of her clitoris just above where she was being forced open by my shaft so I could feel the top surface of my shaft with my fingertip as well.

I was able to hold on long enough for her to give a gut-wrenching groan and clench herself on me in her delight before I joined her with my own gasp of release and pressed my crotch into her buttocks I hard as I could to squeeze out every last bit of my pleasure while she continued to moan with the deep delight pulsating within her clench. After a moment I pulled out of her while she groaned again in deep satisfaction. We sat down for a few minutes to recover, with me resting my back against the pole and she resting back against me while I gently stroked her breasts and teased her nipples and we stroked each other's legs with our plimsolls.

"Will you thank Pete for me?" she smiled after a little while.

"You can thank him yourself if you like," I suggested. "We can meet him for a drink after your ballet fitness class at the office gym."

"OK then; what's he like," she asked.

"He's a great bloke if you can cope with a bloke who undresses a woman and gets her down on the floor with her legs apart with his eyes first and asks questions afterwards," I chuckled.

"Just the sort of person I'd expect you to hang out with then," she giggled. "A man who likes dressing as a ballerina or a cheerleader and then goes on the piss with his Diamond Geezer mates -- talk about having a ballet shoe or a plimsoll in both camps."

"I may be a TV but I'm definitely not camp," I laughed, giving her breasts a playful squeeze.

The following night she gave me a full demonstration of her ballet pole dancing routine whilst wearing a shiny black low backed high-thigh leotard over black fishnet ballet tights with black satin ballet shoes, a black satin choker around her neck, long black lace gauntlets that covered her arms from the backs of her hands to above her elbows and a black leather hood with a face mask and a hole at the back for her long blonde pony tail. But that's another story for another time.



Trust Ch. 05



Storm looked at Ayasha, "Abandoned already Yashy?" 





Trust Ch. 06



***Hello and sorry for the late submission. Have been so busy. But some things to clear up, on the last chapter, some were a bit confused about the ending. At the very end of the chapter, I put the translation of the conversation in another language at the end. I did that because in the middle of the story, it looked too confusing and messy. I will try a different format to see if it works better when I am translating from one language to another. By the by, thanks for your amazing comments and emails. Without further delay, here's the next chapter.***





Trust Ch. 06



[Is this the ultimate plimsoll fetish sex fantasy?]

Chapter 6 – I'm going up to the country

Emma's work as a ballet teacher running her own dance school meant that she worked long hours and could rarely take more than a couple of days off at any time, so the times when she could spend a few days with her parents on their farm in Wiltshire were very precious to her. I felt very honoured when she asked me to go with her on her latest trip and I looked forward to meeting Jim and Rosalie, who she always talked about with great affection. I had recently bought a new Land Rover Freelander so I was pleased to have the chance to show that it was more than just a big boy's toy. Emma was keen to drive it as well, so I added her as a named driver to my insurance and she had a couple of short drives to get used to it before driving us down to Wiltshire.

She called in several favours from dance teacher friends to cover for her while she was away but she still couldn't get away earlier in the week than Wednesday afternoon and had to be back again by Sunday evening. I had taken all of Wednesday to Friday as leave, so I could pack for both us while she took her Wednesday morning advanced pointe class at the school. Before leaving she had made a point of telling me that we would both need a pair or two of old plimsolls for exploring the farm in – wellies were only for complete quagmire situations – so I was happy to be careful to comply with that particular instruction.

She was back from the class on the dot of half past twelve and, with the house secured, we were on our way, eating lunch on the move to save precious time. It was a warm and hazy afternoon so I had dressed comfortably in a blue polo shirt, stone coloured chinos and a new pair of white Converse All Stars plimsolls with a thin red line along the edges. As we threaded our way through the southern suburbs towards the motorway that would take us out of London to the West Country the view was seldom inspiring, but; with Emma next to me in the driving seat, her long wavy blonde hair swirling around her shoulders in the breeze from the open windows and sun roof, wearing a 50's-style blue gingham short sleeved blouse, with the tails tied in a bow just below her rib cage to expose her torso, and short blue denim shorts leading my eye down the long, flowing lines of her bare legs to her feet in her bright white Keds plimsolls and white ankle socks operating the pedals in fascinatingly sexy fashion; I had no complaints whatsoever about the view.

Once we were on the motorway Emma glanced at me with a knowing smile and said to me,

"If you want something else to look at, have a look at what's on the digital viewer in my overnight bag." I stretched over to her bag on the back seat and retrieved the viewer. I spent a few very enjoyable minutes reviewing some nude and bondage photos of her in her plimsolls and her ballet shoes before noticing a video with the file name 'nudetrip'. 

"What's this one?" I asked her, imagining her in her plimsolls with her naked body painted with flowers and lying on a sheepskin rug while smoking dope and listening to Jimi Hendrix.

"A couple of years ago I was staying with Kate, my best friend from school who's also now a ballet teacher – in fact she's taking one of my classes tomorrow, at her house which is just a few minutes drive from the Sussex coast. She dared me to drive down to the coast naked and paddle in the sea and then drive back again still naked. I said I'd do it if it was after midnight and she came with me naked as well. So we did and we made a video to prove it."

The video began with a tripod-mounted camera view of Emma and Kate in the sitting room of Kate's house, laughing and giggling together as they explained to the camera what they were going to do. Kate was a smiley and attractive raven-haired girl a little shorter than Emma and the perfect foil for Emma's exuberant sense of naughty fun. They were both wearing tee shirts and shorts, with Emma in her trademark white Keds and ankle socks and Kate wearing pink Converse plimsolls with bare feet. They giggled and squealed and pushed each other and made rude remarks about each other's bodies as they stripped off down to their plimsolls.

When they were naked, Kate took the camera off the tripod and filmed Emma running out of the house to her classic Peugeot 205 white convertible (which she still has) with her breasts and bottom bobbing most appealingly. Kate passed the camera to Emma once she was in the driver's seat with the seat belt arranged carefully across her bare breasts and then Emma got a glorious view of Kate's cleavage and her dark spread of pubic hair as she climbed into the passenger seat head first through the door for maximum visual impact.

Several short sequences showed their rapid progress down deserted moonlit country lanes and Kate's panning up and down Emma's body to show that she was still naked. When they reached their destination, an isolated cove where they could drive right onto the beach, Emma filmed a still naked Kate setting up the camera's tripod.

The next sequence showed them both dash into the water while still naked in their plimsolls.

"Fuck, it's freezing!" Kate could be heard yelling in a slightly tinny shout through the speaker of the digital viewer.

"This was all your fucking idea you stupid bitch!" came Emma's tinny scream followed by a bout of hysterical giggles from them both as they frolicked and splashed each other until they were soaked.

They ran out of the water and wrapped themselves up together in a single large towel and shared in more ribald banter as they dried each other. I much enjoyed watching their breasts momentarily rub against each other's bodies as they twisted and turned to remain within the warmth of the towel as they dried. Then they drove back to Kate's house and the video ended with them, still naked, toasting their success with champagne. The whole video had lasted about half an hour.

"That was some road movie," I laughed.

"Maybe we could make a video like that," she giggled. I thought this was an excellent idea.

As we were travelling out of London mid-week, we made rapid progress and, even with a comfort stop, we arrived at our destination in little more than three hours. Emma's parents, Jim and Rosalie, couldn't have been more welcoming and I quickly warmed to their easy and relaxed manner.

"Look Jim," said Rosalie as she noticed my footwear, "she's found another plimsoll enthusiast. I'll never get her out of the blessed things now," she exclaimed, smiling ruefully at her daughter. Emma put her arm around her mother's shoulders and lifted up one of her feet and pointed and turned her plimsoll forward and back for Rosalie to inspect, saying,

"There you are, Mum. I've practically lived in plimsolls and ballet shoes since I left school and look: no trace of flat feet or fallen arches or collapsing ankles or anything else. When are you going to stop worrying about the state of my feet?"

Rosalie was undaunted. "You're storing up problems for yourself in the future, my girl. You just wait and see."

Emma just laughed and gave her mother's arm an affectionate squeeze. "What do we have to do to get a cup of tea around here?" she smiled.

"Try filling the kettle with water and switching it on," Jim piped up to a chorus of laughter.

The happy atmosphere continued over tea and some superb home baked tea bread, for which Rosalie had won prizes at the local farmers' show. It was easy to see how Emma had got her sunny disposition and sense of fun. Jim and Rosalie both delighted in ribbing her and pulling her leg at every opportunity, provoking from her a regular outburst of "Oh Mum!" or "Shut up, Dad!"

I was expecting to be in a room separate from Emma, but her parents were completely relaxed about us being in her old bedroom together.

"You're the first of her boyfriends that she's ever brought here so we reckon she must think you're pretty special, which is good enough for us," Jim smiled. No other compliment could have made me feel more proud and privileged as I shook his hand and kissed Rosalie while I thanked them for accepting me so much without any hesitation or qualification.

What had been Emma's bedroom was now the main guest room and was obviously very different from when she had been a girl, but it still felt very special to be sleeping with her in the room she had grown up in, thought about life and dreamed of her future in and, presumably, had experienced at least some of her sexual awakening and early blossoming in. We were tired from the journey as we snuggled down together into the comfortable bed that beckoned us to sound sleep.

"You'll need to save your strength for tomorrow," she smiled in her mysterious way I was now very familiar with as she kissed me good night. "We've lots to do and there's a very special place I want to show you."

As I drifted off to sleep with the feel of her kiss on my forehead and her feet in her white slip-on plimsolls pressing against my leg as she lay by my side in all her naked loveliness curled up in my arms, I couldn't have been happier or more content as I looked forward to what tomorrow would bring.

Breakfast on the farm was a traditionally early morning affair but with the considerable compensation that it was served to us in bed with a big smile by a most convivial hostess in the person of Rosalie. The day was going to be sunny and warm so Emma put on a little yellow bikini with white polka dots, her little denim shorts over her bikini bottom, white ankle socks and a pair of old and well worn Keds plimsolls that had been white but were now yellowing with age but which nevertheless still looked very sexy on her feet. Her big round Gucci sunglasses and a wide brimmed straw hat completed her very eye catching summer outfit. I chose a blue polo shirt with khaki shorts and an old pair of white canvas Supergas.

We spent the morning with Emma showing me around the farm. The farmhouse, which I now had time to appreciate more fully, was a large and impressive Queen Anne style structure with lots of windows and much fascinating period detailing. Grouped around the house like a flotilla around the flagship were various barns, sheds, workshops and storage silos. Jim ran a tight ship and all around was tidy and organised, but there was still a lot of mess around so Emma's advice to wear old plimsolls even on a dry day was well founded.

Jim was working hard on some emergency tractor repairs but still had time for a chat. Any thought I might have had of Jim being at all parochial or yokelish in his outlook were instantly dispelled. When he heard I worked in finance he began talking very knowledgeably and expansively about economic, financial and political matters.

"I studied at the London School of Economics for a couple of years in the late '60's," he explained, "with the aim of getting into economic or political journalism. But when my older brother, Tony, was killed in a flying accident I felt I ought to keep the farm in the family after my father died - we've been farming here for eight generations you see. Anyway, my time at the LSE turned out to be useful after all because farming's all about economics nowadays, as I'm sure you know."

We left him to his work and I felt even more impressed with him for the way he had so positively embraced an unfortunate turn in his life and sought to bring as much good from it that he could. I couldn't help thinking of the contrast with my own parents' total rejection of Bryony and I for not conforming to their expectations of us. Fortunately, such unhappy thoughts were soon forgotten as Emma led me from field to paddock to barn while introducing me to cows, pigs, sheep, horses, chickens, geese, ducks, sheep dogs and cats. Everything on the farm was organic and free range, so it was a pleasure to see all the animals given plenty of freedom to roam and live as naturally as possible.

Lunch was very welcome after so much walking and exploring and I would happily have spent a relaxing afternoon in the lovely cottage style garden next to the house, but Emma was ready to show me her special place and I was eager to discover why she was so keen to take me there. Getting there involved a long tramp through several fields until we came to the edge of an area of ancient woodland.

"It's one of the last remnants of the forest that used to cover this whole area before it was cleared for farming," she explained. "It's a site of special scientific interest, for what it's worth, but even though Dad doesn't get a penny for maintaining it he would never think of getting rid of it. I'd never forgive him if he did, because in here is my most special place in the whole world. It's this way," she said, pointing out a path winding through thickets and tangles of ancient trees. "Keep an eye out for pigs because they're allowed to forage in here," she advised. "They're usually OK but they can bite so it's best that we keep our distance."

We penetrated a distance into the dense heart of the wood. The air felt warm and close under the thick overarching canopy and I was glad of the water bottle in the small rucksack that Emma wore on her back. Suddenly the path opened out into a clearing beside the stream which bisected the wood.

"This is it," she breathed excitedly, and I could see straight away that it would be a special place to anyone. The air was suffused with a deep feeling of peace and calm and a sense of ancient myth and mystery seemed to hang all around us. By the edge of the stream lay a great length of tree trunk that looked it had been put there just to sit on and dip your toes in the stream. She seemed to read my thoughts as she said,

"Lucie and I used to sit there together and talk for hours. This place is so safe, being in the middle of the farm, that when it was warm we used to spend our time here in just our bras and knickers and our white plimsolls and when it was really hot we would take our undies off as well and be naked in our plimsolls. Once we sat naked together on that log and we kissed each other to see if it was more exciting than kissing a boy."

"And was it?" I asked, trying not to get too excited by the thought of two young girls on the cusp of puberty, naked in their white plimsolls and ankle socks, kissing each other.

"We both thought it was nice but we worked out from the fact that we didn't get really excited by it that we preferred boys to girls," she laughed. "I get very excited by you, though," she said, looking directly at me and suddenly looking much more serious. "That's why I've brought you here. You're the man I've been waiting for all my life and now I've found you I want to be with you for always. So to prove to you how committed I am to you I want to give myself to you completely, here, in my most special place in the whole world." 

She emphasised the point by tossing her hat to one side and taking off her bikini top and dropping it to the ground by her left plimsoll. Her beautiful breasts seemed to glow in the sunlight filtering through the trees. Her lovely hazel eyes below her shining golden hair looked deeply solemn now as she kept her steady gaze upon me.

"You can do anything you like to me. I'll get into any position you want. You can pull me by my hair around the clearing before you fuck me if you like. You can piss on me and crap on me and make me drink your piss and eat your shit if that's what you want. You can stick your prick into me in any hole however many times you choose. Whatever you do will bond me closer than ever to you. But whatever you do, do it right now because I'm desperate for you."

She pulled off her shorts and her bikini bottom and stood before me, naked in just her white plimsolls and ankle socks, beginning to breathe harder with her rising sexual tension, her hands on her hips, ready for me. I was exhilarated by the realisation of what she was doing but at the same time felt the heavy burden of her expectation upon me. There was no way that I would humiliate her, although she was prepared for me to do that to her, but I knew she wanted an intense physical experience as a vehicle for an equally intense emotional experience and that I was determined to give her.

She remained standing still, breathing harder all the while as she watched me strip to my plimsolls, and exhaled deeply as she saw the size and strength of my erection. I came up to her and as I took her by the shoulders she looked right into my eyes and whispered to me,

"Whatever you do, make sure it hurts. There has to be pain for it to mean the most."

I began by pushing her up against a tall tree with a straight and smooth grey trunk and making her lift her right leg so it extended straight and her white plimsolled foot rested on the tree high above her head. I placed my head in the red raw gape stretched open between her legs and with a brutal thrust of my loins shoved myself inside her as she gasped in her sudden discomfort. She gasped again as with one hand I grasped the taut calf muscles of her extended leg and dug the fingers of my other hand deep into the flesh of her left breast and began to knead slowly as her nipple dug into my palm. I lifted her up onto the toes of her supporting foot and almost lifted her off the ground completely with some deep, slow thrusts. Then I changed tempo and give her a succession of rapid staccato prods before suddenly withdrawing from her.

I made her change over to her other leg and repeated the treatment as she gasped with every thrust and panted with the effort of keeping her balance. Then I turned her back to the tree and pushed her back against it before giving her another rapid shafting. Then I turned her to face the tree and made her bend forward with her legs apart and rest her hands on the tree trunk while I entered her from behind and gave her some slow deep thrusts while I cupped and squeezed her breasts.

With a sudden burst of strength that came from I've no idea where, I lifted her up, turned her upside down and suspended her from her legs hooked back over a large branch of the tree and forced my erection deep into her throat while I stuck two fingers inside her and felt the soft inner lining of her vulva while she moaned in the ecstasy of her pain. The sounds she was making in her extreme passion stoked my fire ever hotter and I felt a burning desire to penetrate her over and over again.

I lifted her off the branch and turned her so she hung from it like a trapeze and rested her legs on my shoulders while I buried my face between her thighs and penetrated her with my tongue. Then she hung down full length from the branch while I shafted her some more, all the time switching between slow and rapid thrusts. By now she was accompanying my efforts with a rhythmic crying out of "Ow! Ow! Ow!" with every thrust I made into her.

I took her down from the branch, set her on the ground on her hands and knees and stood behind her. She turned her head to look at me over her shoulder. Her whole body trembled in her passion, like a magnificent alpha female of the flock or the herd, longing to be mounted and mated. Her gorgeously rounded bottom, her beautiful breasts hanging down like udders straining to hold their store of milk, and the opened out flower of her vulva pushed out between her shaking thighs, all displaying the fact of her being ragingly on heat.

In the grip of the spirit of the great stud bull I came up behind her and clamped my hands to her breasts again as I sank my shaft up between her thighs and deep into her. She was wailing now in her pleasure and her pain as I pumped her hard, fast and furiously while I ground my groin into her buttocks and moulded her breasts like jelly in my hands. I was gripped even more by the desire to feel the thrill of penetrating her again and again and again but I didn't know where I could continue to find the strength.




Trust Ch. 06



She cried out as I roughly pulled myself out of her and turned her over onto her back ready to mount her again. She looked at me imploringly and whispered,

"Finish me off now, please. I can't take any more."

As soon as she said it and I saw the look of entreaty in her eyes and remembered how much she had entrusted herself to my care, my extreme penetrative lust instantly evaporated and replaced by an overwhelming wave of tenderness towards her. I knelt on the grass between her outspread legs, gently drew her up into a sitting position and then with even more gentleness pulled her up to sit astride my lap. Even though this time I entered her slowly and with great care she still winced and tensed with discomfort. Then, without me even needing to move inside her, from her deepest depths she gave a great gut wrenching cry that stretched on and on until she collapsed against me and her whole body shook as she sobbed in the catharsis of her extreme emotional and physical passion. I began to cry with her as my own passion, which was so gentle as to be almost an anticlimax after my near coital frenzy of earlier, drained from me in a long slow release.

We lay together on the grass while we recovered until our breathing was gentle and together and after a moment I asked if she was alright.

"I'm OK," she replied and, smiling, added, "but I'll need extra lubrication for a few days. But that doesn't matter because I feel so close and so connected you." She kissed me and asked "How do you feel?"

"I feel amazing," I replied, "even though my prick feels like it's been sandpapered. It's as if the whole human story of man uniting with woman and woman uniting with man was condensed right down into us, here and now. And when I think of you I feel like I can face anything, take on the whole world if I have to, as long as you're with me." I kissed her, long and lovingly. Our plimsolls, now covered in dust and dirt marks and grass stains, mingled together in the grass as we clung to each other. Just then I heard an approaching rustle from the undergrowth beyond the edge of the clearing.

"Shit, someone's spying on us," I exclaimed as my head jerked round in alarm,

"Ssh! Listen," she whispered as she put her finger to my lips. "That's an animal's walk, not a human's."

At that moment into the clearing ambled a dappled grey horse with a long mane hanging over soft brown eyes. Emma jumped up in delight.

"It's Polka," she exclaimed. "She's my old show jumping pony." She skipped over to her horse and put an arm around Polka's neck while she patted her shoulder with her other hand. I quickly retrieved my pocket camera from my shorts and took the opportunity of shooting photos of a beautiful naked girl in plimsolls at one with her horse. "You're an old lady now but you still know how to misbehave, don't you girl?" Emma laughed as she stroked the soft hair of her horse's ear. Polka nodded and then shook her head as if instinctively agreeing and then thinking better of it. 

"Have you come to take us for a ride?" Said Emma and then immediately sprang up onto Polka's back, her legs curving around her horse's body and her plimsolls pointing outwards as she pressed her heels into Polka's sides for stability on her bare back. I took some more photos of them and then climbed up behind Emma. I loved the feeling of my balls resting on Polka's warm back covered in soft hair and my chest rubbing against Emma's back as I sat close behind her. Polka took us on a meandering course through the trees. Although I was experienced at horse riding it was my first time riding bareback, but it was no problem because Polka was so docile and compliant that Emma could direct her just by a gentle inward squeeze of her plimsolls on her flanks or a firm push against her neck. From time to time we saw against the bright shafts of sunlight filtering through the trees the squat silhouettes of pigs foraging the forest floor.

Polka brought us in a big circle to our starting point and we reluctantly agreed that it was time to head back. It was a wrench to put my clothes back on after enjoying so much freedom to be naked in the sun and be surrounded by so much natural beauty while mating so naturally and uninhibitedly with someone as beautiful as Emma. Leaving Polka to her fun we strolled back hand in hand through the fields bathed in the glorious late afternoon sunshine, as skylarks serenaded us overhead.

It must have been the combination of long brisk walks and very vigorous and intense sex in the fresh air that made us so tired as to confine our sexual activity that night to salving each other's tender parts with soothing lotion before collapsing into bed, holding each other closer and kissing for longer as we sank down together into deep sleep.

The next day we explored the local market town and Emma, wearing a pretty little summer dress and her straw hat with her spotless white plimsolls and ankle socks sparkling in the sun, showed me all the special places of her childhood. First she showed me her nursery and her primary school. The café where she had used to enjoy ice cream and milk shakes was now an upmarket coffee bar and patisserie, where we enjoyed some leisurely elevenses. After indulging in coffee and cake and Emma not at all resisting the temptation to buy a box of very expensive Belgian chocolate truffles, we headed for the Annette Webber Dance Academy where she had learned ballet prior to going to ballet school.

Annette, a tall and very slender woman now in her 50's, still strikingly attractive with her high cheek bones and green eyes full of energy and sparkle, and dressed in a plain blouse, a patterned mid-length skirt over tan coloured tights and black leather ballet slippers, with her auburn hair piled in a neat bun on top of her head, was having a short break between classes when we arrived and greeted Emma with an affectionate hug and kiss like she was a long-lost daughter. She was delighted when she heard that Emma was teaching me ballet and told me that I couldn't have a better teacher than her, which made her blush with rare embarrassment and made me realise just how special a place Annette still had in her esteem. She offered to take some of Emma's business cards in case anyone she met was looking for a ballet teacher in London and we parted with warm embraces and kisses all around.

Our next stop was Hammond's Shoes, from where Emma had been bought her earliest pairs of plimsolls for nursery and primary school and where Emma still habitually bought a few pairs on her visits to her parents. We stopped at the window and she suddenly exclaimed, "Look at those" and pointed to a row of slip-on plimsolls, each one in the range a different colour. What made them special was that instead of an elasticated gusset panel on the top there was an elasticated strap across the open end of the cut-out area which would normally be filled by the gusset. The canvas looked especially close woven and had a lovely smooth finish. They looked like a cross between plimsolls and ballet slippers.

"I must get some of those," she said excitedly, and we walked into the shop. Lesley Hammond, who had helped her mother run the shop when Emma was a girl, greeted Emma with a cheerful "Hello Emma, lovely to see you again" and she smiled a "Lovely to meet you, Charles" as she shook my hand.

"How's Mrs Hammond?" Emma asked Lesley of her mother.

"She's slowly getting used to retirement since she handed the business over to me last year," Lesley replied. "It was still a big wrench for her, though. But she was seventy-five so she'd a good run," she smiled. "Anyway, is there anything you'd like to try on?" Lesley was obviously a born saleswoman. Emma pointed out the plimsolls and Lesley smiled as she said,

"I don't think we've ever sold you anything else but plimsolls since your mum used to buy your shoes for you. In fact until recently you were just about the only person who bought plimsolls at all from us, apart from a couple of gentlemen with, shall we say certain interests." She smiled again and gave me a little look as if to gauge my reaction. I smiled obtusely and asked her if she sold lots of plimsolls nowadays.

"Yes, all the girls love them and they're popular with the young lads as well so they practically walk off the shelves by themselves now," she smiled. "This is a new line we've started getting in from China, where most of our stuff comes from now," she said to Emma as she handed her a pair of the slip-ons in white. Without a care for what Lesley might be thinking, I fixed my gaze in delight on Emma's feet as she unlaced and slipped off her gleaming white Keds and slipped on over the soft white cotton shapes of her feet the new slip-ons. They looked so pretty and so girly cute on her feet as she turned her feet one way and then the other to admire them and patted her feet on the floor and tapped her heels together a couple of times in pleasure.

She ended up buying a pair in each of the colours: white, black, pink, red, blue and yellow and when Lesley, true saleswoman that she was, asked me if I wanted to try anything on, I told her that I wouldn't mind some as well. Lesley appeared totally unperturbed and brought out some of the larger ladies' sizes for me to try and I ended up buying a pair each of white and black.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like pink as well?" Lesley asked me with a knowing glint in her eye.

"All right, seeing as you twisted my arm," I smiled.

Meanwhile Emma had put on her pink pair, which matched beautifully with her summer dress and hat. Lesley asked her if she could photograph her for the shop's website and for the photo display in the shop and she readily agreed. "You can have the pink ones on the house, they look lovely on you," Lesley smiled. As we left the shop, two girls a short distance away saw us and one of them pointed towards Emma's feet and said something to her friend. They walked passed us and we saw them walk into the shop.

"Looks like you've earned your commission already," I laughed and Emma giggled with pleasure.

Rosalie listened with interest as Emma told her about our day but refrained from comment when she saw her daughter's latest footwear purchase. She was however, mollified with a generous administration of Belgian chocolate truffles.

In the afternoon Jim went off to work a field on the far end of the farm and Rosalie went into town, so Emma and I took the opportunity for a photography and video session. She had brought her white classical ballet tutu with her white ballet shoes and some white tights and she had also brought a set of sexy white satin and lace underwear including bra, stockings and suspenders, some cami-knickers and a negligee. As the sun was still quite high in the sky we began in the large barn with a series of shots of Emma wearing her underwear with her ballet shoes and with her plimsolls. Part way through each sequence she went topless and she finished the sequence naked in her ballet shoes or her plimsolls. We aimed for a mood of gentle, almost innocent, eroticism, with lots of shots of Emma with her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open, of her gently stroking or cupping her breasts, of her resting one hand demurely between her legs, of her stroking her feet trough her plimsolls or her ballet shoes or carefully attending to her ballet shoe ribbons or plimsoll laces.

Then she lay on a pile of sacks on the floor and I tied her up in the usual fashion: hands bound behind her back, arms roped firmly to her body and her legs tied together by her ankles, knees and thighs, and then gagged her with white tape. There was wooden fencing around the storage area in which she was lying and I fixed her to it with ropes around her neck and her ankles and another rope tight around her waist that doubled as a crotch rope set firmly in her entrance and her bottom cleft. I shot her from various angles as she lay on her back and on her front. Then I took off her ballet shoes and replaced them with her white ankle socks and plimsolls and took more shots of her.

When I had finished I came up to her to release her but as I put my hand to her face to unpeel her gag she shook her head vigorously and the emphatic way she mmphd at me through her gag and thrust her torso at me made it clear she wanted to be fucked, and when I untied her crotch rope and examined her more closely it was obvious she was very turned on indeed. As quickly as I could I stripped down to my plimsolls and mounted her. 

We were both still sore and tender from yesterday so I was careful how I entered her tight entrance between her tightly bound thighs and I pumped her very gently. But Emma squeezed me as hard and as tightly as she could and mmphd impatiently at me through her gag to tell me in no uncertain terms that she wanted the full treatment.

"Ow!" I exclaimed in shocked surprise at her vehemence and the sudden discomfort she had inflicted on me. "Who's supposed to be the dominant one here? Right, you asked for it, girl!"

Ignoring the almost immediate onset of uncomfortable chafing of the tight grip of her vulva on my sore shaft, both lacking the extra lubrication essential for comfort on this occasion, I shafted her as hard as I could while with each deep stroke she rolled her head from side to side and filled the barn with her mmphing and her high pitched muffled squeals of pain through her tight gag. She held on for what felt like ages and I was just beginning to wonder if I ought to stop her voluntary torture for both our sakes when I had a sudden idea that might bring on her climax and I took hold of one of her ballet shoes and held it over her nose and mouth. Being forced to inhale the aroma of her own feet certainly seemed to inflame her passion even more, and after she had taken a couple of deep breaths she finally tensed up, pushed her breasts up even more firmly into my chest bearing down on them and came with a long high pitched muffled wail. She then made deep muffled gasps as I finished myself off deep inside her and then she sighed in delight through her gag as her ecstasy subsided.

"Please promise that you'll never hold back on me like that again," she said after I had removed her gag. But as I had been peeling it back from her lips her eyes had momentarily been saying to me 'Don't you dare hold back from me again you bastard' and I knew I had escaped her passionate wrath by a very small margin and should consider myself extremely fortunate to have done so.

"I'm sorry," I said as I untied her. "I still find it hard to overcome my natural instinct not to hurt you."

"It's alright, Chas," she replied, now smiling as she sat up and put her arms around me to kiss me. "I know you must find my sexual preferences a bit strange sometimes."

"No really, it's fine," I smiled back as I affectionately stroked a wisp of her hair that rested on her face close to her left eye. "And you're fine just as you are. I wouldn't want you any other way. But we'll never heal up if we carry on like this," I added as I gingerly cupped my hand over my genitals and winced as the soreness flared on the surface of my shaft as I softly stroked it.

"I never want to heal up," she breathed passionately. "I want to feel like I'm on fire every time you fuck me."

"You said you'd make me work the hardest of all," I smiled as I brought her close to me.

I got dressed and Emma put on her ballet costume again, with a panty liner under her G-string under her ballet tights to absorb any of my load that might leak back out of her, and we went hand in hand into the walled garden next to the house to take more photos in the late afternoon sunshine that was beginning to turn to a glorious soft golden quality. We made full use of all the garden features: an ornamental pond, a sundial, a rose arch, a statue of a shepherdess, a sofa on a swing, an old-fashioned wood and rope swing suspended from a tree branch and low brick walls around the raised beds, to take various sequences of her wearing her ballet costume and her underwear. We progressed to her topless in her ballet tights and ballet shoes or in her stockings and suspenders with her ballet shoes and with her plimsolls and then finished with her naked in her ballet shoes and in her plimsolls and ankle socks. We repeated the tastefully soft focus erotic mood of the barn photos.

My favourite photos of her were a sequence of her naked while standing on the swing up on the pointes of her white ballet shoes as she grasped the ropes. She even challenged me to push her on the swing as she continued to stand en pointe and I watched her in amazed admiration as I videoed her tour de force.

We also couldn't resist taking some bondage sequences of her bound and gagged and tied to the tree from which the swing was suspended; first with her in her ballet costume, then in her underwear: both times progressing to topless and to nude. 

Finally, with her naked in her white plimsolls and ankle socks while she was tied to the tree and gagged, I gave her another strong shafting as I ground her back and her buttocks into the tree trunk to which she was tightly bound and she moaned with muffled pleasure and pain once more. Our timing couldn't have been better because when Rosalie bustled into the kitchen through the garden door, Emma, fresh in her bikini, denim shorts and white plimsolls and ankle socks, was filling the kettle with water for some tea as if nothing had happened.

We both wore our new white pairs of slip-ons with white ankle socks as we engaged in gentle sex that night. We were both sore from our intensive sexual exploits and we had to take things carefully even with extra lubrication, not because we wanted to spare ourselves but because we needed to keep things quiet out of consideration for our hosts, although when I placed one of her old white Keds over her nose and mouth just before she had her orgasm it had the effect of amplifying rather than muffling her long moan of pleasure. Fortunately, Jim and Rosalie were both early-to-bed types and sound sleepers, so were undisturbed.

The next day was Saturday. Jim gave himself the day off and we all spent the day sightseeing and enjoying the pleasures of Bath. I loved sauntering along the busy streets with Emma's hand in mine while she graced the handsome Georgian streets looking exquisitely pretty with her blonde hair gathered up on her head under her sun hat to show off her lovely neck, her little summer dress with a shawl to show just a tantalising glimpse of the perfect form of her shoulders and her pristine white Keds and ankle socks showing off to perfection her lovely long legs. 

Emma took full advantage of the opportunity for some serious clothes shopping and she bought two beautiful little cocktail dresses: a black velvet one and a white one with a pattern of bright red chrysanthemum flowers, a very classy cream linen jacket with perfectly tailored matching trousers, some pretty little bright coloured striped tee shirts and vest tops and lots of tights and leggings in various colours and patterns. I treated Jim and Rosalie to lunch at the Pump Room as a thank you for their wonderful hospitality and I felt more than a tinge of sadness when I laid my head down to sleep knowing that I would be taking Emma away from all of this back to London the next day.

After another early breakfast we rushed over to Emma's special place in the wood to take some photos of her in her ballet costume and her underwear in the clear and bright morning light with the low sun slanting through the trees and backlighting her beautifully as she lay, sat and stood on the log by the stream. My favourite photo was of her naked in her ballet shoes as she performed a graceful arabesque while standing en pointe on the log. When we had finished and we were walking back, Emma now dressed in her gingham blouse, shorts and plimsolls and socks, I asked her if I really was the first man she had brought here.




Trust Ch. 06



"Yes," she smiled as she squeezed my hand, "and I hope we'll come here many more times together."

"I know we will," I smiled back as I kissed her.

It was customary for Jim to take refuge in the local hostelry and enjoy a pint and cigar while Rosalie fussed and fretted over preparing the Sunday lunch. Emma offered an extra pair of hands to her mother while I volunteered without very much persuasion to accompany Jim to the Fox and Hounds. As we enjoyed a pint of the excellent local ale I asked Jim if he had any advice for me with regard to his daughter.

"Whatever you do, always be completely straight with her. If you ever try and pull the wool over her eyes she'll spot you a mile away and she'll be off and you'll get no second chance. More than one young lad has found that out the hard way over the years, I can tell you." He took a long drag on his cigar before fixing his eye on mine and continuing, "But if you treat her right she'll go all the way to hell with you and back."

"I'll remember that," I smiled.

After a truly hearty and heart-threatening lunch we settled down with our coffee to look at the special photo album of most embarrassing family photos. There was Emma aged 4 with her blonde hair in little bunches, sitting on the tractor seat with her hands on the steering wheel while naked apart from her black slip-on plimsolls. There was a photo of Emma aged 11 with her brothers and sister, a very pretty red haired and green eyed girl, all four of them in ballet costume: the girls looking very pretty and very appealing in their black leotards over white tights with white satin ballet slippers tied with ankle ribbons with their hands resting on their laps, their legs demurely crossed and their feet delicately pointed; while the boys stood behind looking self-consciously proud in their white leotards and black tights with long white socks and black leather ballet slippers. 

"So all four of you did ballet?" I asked in delighted surprise.

"For a while, although only Emma carried on and made a career of it," Jim explained. "Sophie naturally wanted to be like her big sister and because she and Tom were twins and they always wanted to do what the other one did, Tom wanted to do ballet as well and Mike didn't want to be left out and if any of the other boys started picking on Tom for doing ballet he wanted to be able to say to them 'I do ballet as well' before thumping them. And when Mike thumped someone, they stayed thumped so Tom never had any trouble."

There was a photo of Emma and Lucie aged 13 balancing on a see saw, both of them dressed in their bras and knickers with their white Victoria plimsolls and ankle socks. There was a photo of Emma at 15 wearing a black leotard, pink ballet tights and pink ballet shoes and a wide brimmed straw while standing en pointe on a low brick wall in the garden in imitation of the famous photo of the young Lady Diana. But the biggest surprise of all was Jim and Rosalie at the 1969 Isle of White Festival, both of them with their long hair garlanded with flowers and both of them with flowers painted all over their naked, dirt dusted bodies. Jim was barefoot but Rosalie's beautiful long legs were tipped with a pair of very muddy white Marbot plimsolls.

"And this is the woman who's always telling me off for wearing plimsolls...," declared Emma triumphantly.

"...All the time," Rosalie protested in defence. "I'm only asking you to wear something else on your feet sometimes apart from ballet shoes."

Just before we left Rosalie presented us with a cardboard box full of goodies to take home. She ended her listing of the contents by pointing to a large paper bag as she said,

"And here's a bag of courgettes. We've had such a good crop this year I don't know what to do with them all."

Emma's face suddenly contorted with the effort of stopping herself from bursting with laughter but she couldn't.

"What's so funny about courgettes?" asked Rosalie, totally mystified. Emma coughed and blushed with embarrassment and her eyes shot me a desperate plea to get her out of her mess.

"Er, it's just that we heard a silly joke about courgettes the other day." I stonewalled for a moment as I tried to think of a way out. "It's the sort of joke that makes you laugh just because it's so silly. 'Why are courgettes so interested in animals; because they're zucchinis.'"

Jim immediately burst out laughing but Rosalie just looked blank. "I don't get it," she said weakly.

Jim explained patiently, "Courgettes...zucchinis...zoo keenies...keen on zoos...animals live in zoos."

"Oh for goodness sake," Rosalie laughed as she put two fingers like the barrel of a gun to her head and pulled the trigger. "You'd better take me out the barn and shoot me. There's no hope left for me."

We took our leave of Emma's parents with lots of hugs and kisses. We weren't in a hurry to get back to London so instead of getting straight onto the motorway we decided to meander for the first part of the journey along A roads and country lanes and pick it up later. With Emma resting her white plimsolled feet very sexily on the dashboard we drove through several villages and out into open country again. After a while she said,

"Take the next turning left. There's a wonderful view I want to show you."

I did as she asked and after driving for a mile or so along a winding single track road between large hedge-lined fields we pulled in at a stopping place next to a wooden gate and got out of the car to admire the view. The fields sloped down from the road into a broad and shallow valley before climbing up again to spill out of sight over the horizon. What made it so special was that you could gaze along the whole scene, dotted here and there with copses and small groups of cows and sheep, with rooks and swifts drifting and darting overhead, and not see a single sign of human activity or habitation.

"It's fantastic," I exclaimed in wonder. "How many places are left in England where you can see a view like this?"

"It's beautiful isn't it," she smiled as she squeezed my arm. "And do you know what?" she added, "You can take your clothes off and piss for as long as you want and nobody ever sees you."

"How do you know?" I laughed.

"Because I've done it lots of times," she grinned, "And not squatting down out of sight behind a bush all prim and proper and ladylike either; but standing up right here next to the road and seeing how far down the field I can pee."

"OK, I'll challenge you," I grinned back at her. "We'll see who can go furthest and longest."

"You're on," she giggled excitedly as we rushed to strip off down to our plimsolls.

We climbed over the fence and stood naked next to each other with our backs to the fence and facing into the field. We held ourselves in for as long as possible to build up as much initial pressure as we could before letting go. I expected an easy victory but she was full of surprise as usual. Through long practice she had learned to manipulate herself in such a way that she could project her stream a considerable distance which I had to push myself hard to exceed. Having secured the distance honours I then had to fight off her determined challenge for the endurance prize. She gave me a hard contest but she finally faltered and her flow fell away to a dribble only a couple of seconds before mine.

"Fix, she giggled as she slapped my buttock. "It's all that coffee you drank after lunch."

"Beat you fair and square," I laughed as I patted her bare bottom in riposte.

She was undiminished in her double defeat. "If you've ever wanted a girl on the bonnet of your car, now's your chance," she giggled.

Without further ado I helped her onto the bonnet while she lay back and hoisted her legs up to rest them on my shoulders and gripped the sides of the car as I entered her and gave her a good servicing. It felt fantastic to be fucking the loveliest woman I had ever known, out in the open in such a beautiful place and in such gorgeously warm and sunny surroundings, in complete abandon and without a care in the world. It was one of the most joyous fucks I had ever experienced as I pushed against her legs, thighs and pelvis and her body slid up and down on the bonnet and her white plimsolled feet waved lazily up and down in time with my thrusts into her. I knew that she felt the same way because as her orgasm overcame her she screamed at the top of her voice "This is so fucking WONDERFUL!" and clenched me as hard as she could. She ground every last bit of pleasure from me as I continued to shaft her and when my climax came I thought I'd never stop pumping into her in my convulsive delight as my body rippled in my passion and her body undulated and her breasts heaved in her ecstasy below me.

After a minute or so to recover I hugged her off the bonnet and set her on her feet on the ground so we could clean up and get dressed. I was back into my briefs and shorts and was pulling on my shirt when I noticed that she was still naked and smiling at me.

"You're not thinking of going back to London like that are you?" I laughed.

"Have you got the nerve to drive into London with me naked and tied up and gagged on the back seat of your car?" she smiled challengingly at me.

"Well I'd love to do that," I replied, trying not to let show my taken aback state. "But there is the small consideration of not wanting to be arrested on suspicion of kidnap and rape."

"Oh come on, you can trust me," she cajoled. "I promise that if the cops find me I'll say straight away it was my idea. I promise I won't drop you in it, honest truth."

"And you'll be covered up?" I still wasn't entirely sure about it.

"Dur! Like it's meant to be a kidnap, right?" she put her hands on her hips and her head on one side as she gave me a withering look.

"Oh come then you mad bitch, get your hands behind your back," I grimaced.

She leaned against the car while I used the strong tape I kept in my travelling car maintenance kit to bind her hands behind her back. I used the tow rope to truss up her upper body before laying her on her back on the back seat and using more tape to bind her ankles, knees and thighs. Before I used a length of tape to gag her she said to me, giggling,

"Can I have a courgette to play with?"

"You mean...one of those...up there?" I said to her as I glanced first at the bag of courgettes and then at her feminine glory.

"Yes please and make it a big one."

"My aim is always to please," I laughed as I gagged her before choosing a splendid specimen from the bag. She made a muffled groan of delight as she beheld my choice and moaned long and loudly as I carefully inserted it into her. She was still making rhythmic high pitched mmphs of pleasure as I blindfolded her with a final length of tape and covered her over with the car blanket. I had just got into the driver's seat and fastened the safety belt when around the corner of the road appeared a tractor pulling a trailer.

"I thought you said nobody ever came down here," I shouted back to her when it had disappeared around the next corner. Her muffled reply may have been 'There's always a first time for everything' but I really couldn't be sure.

I drove back to the main road and did a few more miles of country driving before getting onto the motorway. If I had at all been expecting that it would be a quiet journey with Emma naked in her white plimsolls and ankle socks and tied up and gagged and blindfolded on the back seat while pleasuring her self on a large courgette I would have quickly had to revise any such expectation. For long periods all I could hear was her muffled moans, squeals and gasps of pleasure which gave me such a hard on that it was difficult to operate the car's pedals. Then now and again she would dispel the sexually charged atmosphere by bursting into muffled hummed renditions of traditional travellers' songs like 'One man went to mow', 'Ten green bottles', 'She'll be coming 'round the mountain' and 'It's a small world after all'.

We carried on like that until we reached the edge of London and the traffic gradually slowed to a stop-start progress. Then the problems started. She stopped humming inane tunes and began a repeated pattern of mmphing sounds that I finally managed to interpret as "I need the toilet." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. We were closely surrounded by several lanes of slow moving traffic full of people able to observe every move I made.

"How can you need the toilet again after what you got rid of earlier on? And how am I going to get you into one in the state you're in?" I hissed at her, hoping that nobody in the vehicles around us would realise I was talking to an unseen person and think I was on day release from the funny farm. "That bloody courgette has buggered up your continence. Make sure it stays up there and if you piss on my back seat I'll dump you on the hard shoulder and leave you, so help me."

She responded by mmphing even more insistently. Then the worst happened, the traffic came to a complete standstill and a minute later I saw a traffic policeman approaching as he had a quick word with each driver in turn.

"For fuck's sake don't make a sound and don't move a muscle, there's a cop coming this way," I warned her. She went silent. I opened the window as the policeman approached.

"Is there a hold up ahead?" I asked him, desperately hoping on the one hand that there was to divert attention from me and on the other hand wondering how long Emma would have to hold on with her overfilling bladder.

"We're just moving a jackknifed lorry off the road at this moment, Sir," replied the policemen with a smile. "You should be on the move again in about five minutes."

"OK, thanks," I said in relief. He was on the point of moving on to the next car when he turned to me again and said, "By the way Sir, is your friend alright?"

"Sorry?" I stonewalled, trying desperately not to give away my rising panic.

"Your friend, Sir, on the back seat?" he persisted.

I had the presence of mind not to look back. "Oh him," I said smiling as nonchalantly as could. "Junior doctor, just come off a couple of weeks of nights, sleep pattern's all over the place still."

"Tell me about it," he chuckled and parted with a cheery "Mind how you go, sir."

With a deep breath of relief I closed the window and glanced at the back seat to find out how the policemen had known there was someone rather than something under the blanket, to discover that Emma had pushed her feet out from under the blanket so her white plimsolls could just be seen up to the beginnings of her ankles. If she had pushed them out a little more her tightly taped together ankles would have been in plain view. I was furious with her.

"Get your fucking feet back under that bloody blanket before I smother you under it," I hissed at her through gritted teeth. She didn't make a sound but I was sure the blanket was shaking

My heart was still pumping as we began to move again but the pressure literally built up even more as Emma's mmphing became desperate. "Hold on for five more minutes and you'll be OK," I assured her. Soon I saw our salvation. Next to the road appeared a huge derelict industrial estate that was soon to be redeveloped. Telling her again and again to hold on just a little longer I turned into the main access road, drove over a couple of intersecting roads and turned left into the third road that ran between deserted and decrepit industrial units until we were invisible from the main road. In a matter of seconds I was out of the car, cutting through the tape bindings on her legs with scissors I kept in the glove compartment, pulling her by her shoulders out from the back seat and manhandling her a short distance from the car. I made her squat down and as soon as I pulled the courgette from her twat she turned a huge spread of dusty grey tarmac deep grey with her outflow. All the while her tightly trussed and naked body shook with her muffled laughter through her gag.

When she had emptied her fill I guided her back to the car and bent her face down over the bonnet while I took off her blindfold and gag and untied her. She continued to laugh and giggle helplessly and in spite of myself I found myself laughing with her.

"We're back in London now so I've done my bit. Now for fuck's sake get dressed and let me get you home before you cause any more trouble," I smiled.

"Get yourself another girlfriend if you want a quiet life," she giggled as she stepped her white plimsolled feet daintily through her g-string and pulled it up.

"You've ruined me for any other girl," I smiled as I kissed the back of her neck and fixed her into her bra.

"Let's have a stir fry when we get home. We can have courgettes with it." she grinned as she eased her bottom snugly into her denim shorts.

"Certainly not that one," I grimaced at her late vegetarian sex toy lying in the centre of the darkened patch of tarmac as I handed her blouse to her.

We rejoined the slow moving stream of traffic on the main road and sang a few dozen choruses of 'On Ilkley Moor', just for fun.

The courgettes were delicious. 



Trust Ch. 07



Hello everyone, 

Sorry for the delay but I am busy working on an upcoming chapter that is change from the original story. I believe the change works better to unraveling the characters. There is more work to do but I think the foundation down. 

My thanks to everyone for reading and commenting both here on the site and by email. I appreciate them all and hope you enjoy this chapter. 

Have a wonderful week. 





Trust Ch. 07



[Is this the ultimate plimsoll fetish sex fantasy?]

Chapter 7 -- Saturday night spice

It was Friday evening. As I'd had to work late, Emma had come up to town after taking her adult beginners' ballet class to meet me at my office. She looked gorgeous as always. After several weeks of warmer weather it was becoming cooler so she was wearing a black leather jacket over a tight-fitting blue and white striped sweater, a black high-waist pleated short skirt, black tights and white Keds plimsolls. Her hair was still in a bun on the back of her head from her class but she had allowed a couple of wisps to curl against the nape of her neck in a most attractive fashion and which invited me to kiss her there at regular intervals. I was still dressed in my suit and smart black shoes but my frustration at not wearing plimsolls was more than cancelled out by the sublime pleasure of walking hand in hand with someone as beautiful as Emma looking so cute and excitingly fresh and girlish in her white plimsolls with her short skirt and black tights.

We strolled happily along the busy street, chatting about our days and stopping to look in shop windows, on our way to our favourite Chinese restaurant in Soho, when I suddenly pointed across the street and said to her, "Look at those girls over there."

The girls in question were a group of teenagers presumably on their way to a party or a club judging by their loud and raucous high spirits as they jaunted their exuberant way along the pavement. What made them of special interest to us was that they were all wearing black leotards, a black silk or black velvet bow tie, black tights or full length leggings and black lace-up plimsolls. Each girl wore a head band, a scrunchy tying her hair in a pony tail, a little tutu skirt in floaty frothy tulle, towelling sweat bands on her wrists, ankle socks, leg warmers bunched around her ankles and brightly coloured laces on her black plimsolls. All the accessories were in a matching bright day-glo colour different for each girl: green, yellow, pink, orange, light blue and lilac. I watched in fascination as they advanced in a phalanx of long gawky antelope adolescent legs while singing 'Here come the girls' in their uninhibited high pitched celebration of young and burgeoning femininity.

With genuine admiration for them I said to Emma,

"Aren't they fantastic? I'd love to have the freedom to walk down the street in a tutu and tights and plimsolls like that. I've always envied you girls for the fun you can have with pretty and sexy clothes and shoes and hair and makeup. I get so fed up with having to wear a shirt and trousers and a jacket nearly all the time."

"We've got to have some compensation for being the ones who have to cope with periods and mad hormones, ovulation pains, sore and itchy boobs in badly fitting bras and having babies," she laughed, "but if you want to dress up girly and walk down a crowded street why don't you?"

"The dressing up bit isn't a problem," I replied. "You've given me so much help with looking more like a girl I almost fancy myself now whenever I see myself dressed up as a plimsoll girl or a ballerina. What holds me back is the not knowing enough about behaving as a woman so I don't just look like a guy dressed up in women's clothes."

"OK then," she said. "Tomorrow after my pointe class I'll be your coach and initiate you into all kinds if feminine mysteries and in the evening we'll get dressed up to knock the boys dead and go out and paint the town red. Oh that was a good rhyme wasn't it?" she giggled.

"I'd like to dress up like those girls," I enthused.

"You'll need lots of confidence to carry it off," she pointed out.

"If you can teach me to act as a woman as well as you're teaching me ballet I won't have any worries in that department," I smiled just as we were walking into the restaurant. A waiter led us to a table for two in a discreet corner where we sat down. I squeezed her hand and her smile matched mine as I kissed her and her crossed over foot in her white plimsoll began to stroke my leg.

The next morning while she was at her dance school taking her class I called in at the local dance wear shop to buy some of the accessories we needed for our girl's night out. I had been there a number of times with Emma so the girls who worked there all knew me well. They were all very pretty and very friendly and I loved seeing them in their shop uniform of white tee shirt printed with the shop's logo, red short skirt, black tights or leggings and black ballet slippers, plimsolls or leather jazz shoes. Chloe, an elfin blonde with a fringe and a long pony tail who was my favourite amongst them, was behind the counter as I walked in and gave me her usual dazzling bright doe eyed smile and cheery greeting.

"Do you sell those little gauzy wrap around tutu skirts in very bright colours?" I asked her without a trace of self-consciousness.

"Yes," she smiled. "What colour does Emma want?"

"Can I see what colours you've got?" I decided not to let on that one of them was for me. She emerged from behind the counter and I was delighted to see that with her black leggings and bare feet she was wearing a brand new pair of black canvas Keds that looked lovely on her small, narrow feet. Before then she had always worn black canvas ballet slippers which looked nice on her but didn't have the same appeal as her very sexy looking new Keds. "I like your new runners," I smiled to her.

"Sorry, runners?" she smiled a little uncertainly with her head slightly inclined.

"Sorry Chloe, I meant your plimsolls. Runners are what they're called where I came from," I explained.

"Oh, thank you," she beamed and treated me to a lovely little display of feminine grace and beauty as she placed her slender hands on her trim hips, extended a pipe slender leg with her long flowing line beautifully moulded in her leggings and flowing down to her exquisitely pointed foot, which she turned from side to side so I could admire her plimsoll even more. "I love how they look so pretty and so stylish at the same time. Emma always looks lovely in her white ones."

"She certainly does," I agreed and felt a little tremor of excitement at the fleeting thought of her naked in them.

Chloe showed me the tutu skirts, which were the sort that have the circle of tulle fixed to a see through gusset that stretches over the leotard. I chose a shocking pink one for Emma and a fluorescent bright green one for myself. I also bought matching coloured headbands, sweatbands, scrunchies, lovely soft cotton rich ankle socks that would look gorgeous on Emma's feet with her plimsolls and feel gorgeous against my feet inside my plimsolls, leg warmers and even shoe laces. Chloe, still assuming that all my purchases were for Emma, gave me an even more radiant smile as I left and my only other port of call before heading for home was an old fashioned gentleman's outfitters for a pair of black silk bow ties.

I got home with enough time before Emma returned from her ballet class to strip off down to my white Supergas and ankle socks and make us a sandwich lunch. She came in with her usual energetic chatty bustle as I was setting things on the kitchen table and after giving me a kiss she disappeared for a few minutes before returning naked in a fresh pair of clean white Keds and ankle socks. We carried on chatting over lunch and then she inspected my purchases approvingly. She giggled when I told her that Chloe thought they were all for her.

"Wait until I show her the photos of us," she laughed.

"I'll never be able to show my face in there again," I laughed with her.

After lunch it was time to begin my course of feminisation.

"When a woman goes for a night out the key to her success is preparation," she began, "and when it comes to preparation the key word is 'pampering'. The first thing we're going to do is get you smelling like a girl and the best way to start on that is a good long soak in the bath."

The bath was original to the house and was so large that filling it with hot water to a comfortable depth amounted to an ecological crime of major proportions as well as a huge hit on the gas bill. But even though we nearly always used the shower she loved her antique bath and wouldn't dream of replacing it. It came up trumps now as we luxuriated together in a small lake of deliciously warm water softened with sweet smelling bath oil that sat on top of the water in a mountain of foam that rustled gently around our shoulders whenever we moved. We lay back at opposite ends, feet to feet as our bodies absorbed the warmth and the sweet fruity aroma.

"Ah, this is so nice," she breathed in deep pleasure, then she giggled as she added, "Lets see how much you're enjoying it" and I felt the wiggling advance of her toes up the length of my deeply submerged erection that had so far escaped detection, until her foot covered my whole length. Pressing against me with a firm push she laughed, "Our flexible friend will have to take a holiday today; you're one of the girls now."

"Well you'd better let it pack its bags then," I smiled as I lifted her foot by her ankle and tickled the soft curl of her sole to make her yelp with pleasure.

"Tickling feet is off limits too," she laughed. "Now the first thing we need to do is work on your voice. You'll need to use your falsetto but the trick for sounding feminine rather than effeminate is to find a comfortable pitch that resonates inside you so that it says 'I'm a sexy woman' and not 'I'm a sissy in a dress.' Try it now. Your vocal chords will be nice and relaxed now we've been in the bath for a while."

I experimented with various pitches of falsetto while I told her about my morning's shopping until I felt a deep warm timbre in my chest.

"That's lovely," she enthused. "You sound just like Susan Hampshire in those reruns of 'The Forsyth Saga'. Now keep it light and just a little bit breathy. Lovely! Now keep in that voice all the time from now on. OK, now you got a beautiful woman's voice you have to make sure you use it. What's the biggest difference between men and women?"

"Besides the -- sorry -- besides the obvious ones?" I smiled apologetically as I forgot myself for a second and slipped out and then back into my feminine voice."

"Yes dear," she smiled sweetly in a 'Stop messing about and get on with it' kind of way.

"That's easy," I laughed. "Women talk and men wished they didn't."

"You are a clever little sausage today," she smiled and dabbed a handful of soap bubbles on my nose. "Women are made for talking and our brains are hard wired for it. We talk for pleasure; men have a much more purpose-driven approach to talking, meaning they only talk when they need to. Women like to sit and goss while men prefer to take themselves off and do the Times crossword or build scale model steam engines in their garden sheds or play with their willies."

"That's a bit of a generalisation but I get what you're saying", I laughed.

"So the key to talking like a woman is, well, to keep talking," she giggled. "And you really can talk about anything and everything, especially about feelings. Feelings are very good things when you're a woman. The other important thing, and you may need to practice this a bit, is to talk and listen and look all at the same time. All the time a woman is talking she's looking and listening out for verbal and non-verbal clues for how the other person is reacting and for cues for more conversation. Now we're coming on to body language, remember the rule about most communication being non-verbal. Here's a little test for you: how am I feeling right now?

"You sound really happy and relaxed," I said. Then I looked at her a little more closely. "But you're sitting up very straight and your hands are gripping the sides of the bath, like you're nervous but trying to hide it."

"You're really good," she beamed and relaxed herself again. "Living with me must be having a good effect on you."

"I'll happily give you the credit for that," I laughed as I followed her out of the bath.

I continued practicing girl talk with her while we dried ourselves and got down together to the task of depilation. While I carefully shaved my face and my whole body and then carefully attended to my eyebrows which I keep at a fairly androgynous level, I enjoyed the spectacle of her attending to her gorgeous long legs and her very sexy underarms with her Ladyshave before smoothing lotion over her legs so that they shone with a smooth sheen.

We chattered away over the merits and demerits of shaving methods and then moved on to the rich conversational mine that is perfume as we continued to pamper our bodies with sweet smelling deodorant, body spray, hair spray (In my case on the wig I was going to wear) and some very expensive perfume. We took care to use different brands of each to distinguish our personal aromas.

When we had finished she decided that it was time for me to practice moving like a woman. "But before you can move like a woman, you'll need breasts and you'll need to lose your man bulge," she declared.

"Breasts are no problem but what about my bits?" I puzzled.

"I've already thought about that," she smiled mysteriously as she disappeared to the bedroom for a moment and returned with something in her hands. She held out the object towards me by the tips of her fingers, with her hands delicately bent at the wrists, and smiled cheekily as she bobbed a little curtsey and presented them to me. She was holding the most formidably hideous pair of flesh coloured elasticated underpants I had ever seen.

"What the fuck are those?" I exclaimed, completely lapsing back into masculinese. "They look like the Underpants of Doom!"

"They're shaping pants," she explained. "I bought them for you ages ago as a surprise to give you at the right moment. The more dedicated female impersonators wear them to give them a more feminine shape so they can wear shorts skirts or no skirt. If we're going out tonight dressed in leotards and tights and tiny frilly tutu skirts you'll have to wear these pants so you don't give yourself away straight away."

The Underpants of Doom were literally a pain to get on and it took me a couple of grimacing, eye watering moments while they flattened, squeezed and pushed my bulgy bits against my groin until I had finished. But the pain was worth the gain because when I put on a little black satin g-string and my black leggings over them I found that instead of my bulge I now had a very nice feminine curve between my legs. I was only sorry that I couldn't enjoy the smooth satiny feel of my g-string directly against my skin.

Next I put on my prosthetic breasts, which had the weight and feel and hang of real breasts inside my black satin bra and which also clung against my chest with a slightly tacky adhesiveness to keep them in place. I had opted for a modest A cup because of my lack of hips to balance anything larger. They were joined together to look and feel more realistic and even gave me a fair approximation of a cleavage. With my breasts and my sexy underwear on I was starting to feel much more feminine, even more so when Emma suggested I put on a pair of Bryony's sleek and stylish black velvet high heels to practice walking the womanly walk.

"Men stride; women glide," she explained. "Posture is very important too. What you're learning in ballet applies here too: straight back, shoulders back, tummy in and chest nicely projected. Women tend to walk inclining slightly forward whereas men are a little backward - not meaning to be unkind," she giggled. "Take shorter steps than you would normally, try placing one foot slightly in front of the other as you walk so your legs move in a sort of swinging curve and give your hips just a hint of a wiggle. Just think of catwalk girls but slightly less exaggerated."

I tried my catwalk glide a few times and she gave me an encouraging "Well done" before continuing. "All your movements must be smaller, more precise and more controlled within a smaller compass; but without being mincing or camp. When you stand, put your weight slightly onto one hip so you can bend the other leg slightly which looks nice and sexy. Never stand with your hands down by your sides; rest them on your hips or cross your arms under your breasts. When you're sitting keep your legs together with your feet together or slightly apart at the most. Knees together with your feet wider apart is OK and cross legged is very good because you can look confident and sophisticated and you can do sexy movements with your crossed over foot. When you sit down don't just park your bum on the seat but lower yourself slowly and carefully."

My crash course in femininity continued as we finished preparing ourselves. I put on my wig of long straight black hair, with a straight fringe across my forehead which emphasised my eyes, and tied my hair in a pony tail with several loops of my fluorescent green towelling scrunchy. I had chosen my wig to match with my leotard, which had long sleeves to disguise the masculinity of my arms and a high roll neck to conceal my false breasts and which Emma said would emphasise my eyes even more. These I made up carefully with liner, mascara and shadow to look very striking and be an instant point of attraction. "A woman takes care to emphasise her best features," she instructed. With careful application of foundation, blusher and dark red lipstick the finished result was so much like Bryony I fancied myself almost to be her twin sister rather than her twin brother.

I continued practicing my feminine conversational and social skills while Emma gave my nails a thorough manicure: filing them and tidying up the cuticles, fixing on a set of long and attractively pointed false nails and finally applying to them a coat of very shiny dark red varnish. I finished off my hands and wrists with some pretty rings and bracelets from Bryony's jewellery collection and adorned my ears with a pair of clip on drop earrings I had bought for myself when I had first begun to dress as a plimsoll girl and which had great sentimental value to me.

I had a tight, excited feeling in my chest as we finished putting on our costumes. Emma had already been wearing her very sexy black satin and lace plunging bra and matching panties while she had been making up and brushing her gorgeous mane of long flowing blonde hair until it shone. Now I marvelled as she slid over her lovely legs her sheer and shiny black leggings and then eased herself into an incredibly sexy and figure moulding shiny black high thigh leotard with tiny shoulder straps, a front that beautifully displayed her very womanly décolletage and a back just low enough to give a slight glimpse of the girth of her bra. 

Together we put on our head bands, ankle socks, leg warmers and our black plimsolls; hers were brand new classic canvas Keds and mine were Ben Simons. Then we added the detailing: our black silk bow ties, towelling sweatbands on our wrists, head bands and Emma's earrings, rings and bracelets (she preferred to put on her jewellry at the end of her preparations). Finally we negotiated our legs into our little gauzy tutu skirts and pulled them up to nestle securely around our waists. We stood in front of a full length mirror and two beautiful women dressed as long legged sexy ballerinas looked back at us. I had never felt as sexy as I did just then. We took some photos of each other and some with us together, hugging and giggling together in our shared conspiracy for an evening of feminine fun.

It was just before seven in the evening when we finished our preparations that we had begun just before one in the afternoon. The last thing that Emma did before we left for the wine bar we had decided to descend upon was to present me with that essential bit of female kit, my very own handbag. 




Trust Ch. 07



"I officially declare that you are now a true woman," she smiled. "Don't worry now about what's in there. If you need it, I promise you it'll be in there somewhere."

"Thanks for everything, Sis'," I smiled as I gave her a sisterly hug and kiss on her cheek.

"Come on then," she beamed as she linked arms with me. "Let's go out and find a couple of guys to ruin for any other girl."

I felt a huge thrill rippling all through me as we walked out through our front door and out into the street and for a few moments I thought my chest would be unable to contain the deep pulse of my heart and the swell of my lungs in my excitement as for the first time I presented myself as a woman to the outside world. Arm in arm, we stepped together like a pair of graceful black flamingos with our legs in our black tights looking long and elegant under our tutu skirts, accompanied by the soft slapping rhythm of our black plimsolls making their rubbery footfall on the pavement. Although the evening was mild there was a slightly nippy breeze in the air which made me wish we were wearing jackets over our thin black lycra leotards.

"Don't be so wussy," she cajoled. "It's more fun and companionable if we have to huddle together for warmth," and I had to agree with her as I felt through my leotard her vibrant warmth pushing up closer to me. I had about fifteen minutes to practice my girl talk and my girl walk as we headed to the wine bar, turning lots of heads and attracting quite a few wolf whistles and shouts of "Covent Garden's the other way, girls!" or "The lap dancing club's the other way, girls" from the more aesthetically challenged elements of the male population." It felt wonderful to stride along with Emma, smiling and chatting and singing and giggling away together in shared feminine bravado and pleasure at the attention upon us. We were merry enough not to need a drink when we arrived at our destination, although we weren't going to let that stop us.

"Covent Garden's down the road, ladies," quipped the young and very good looking Australian barman whose eye we instantly caught as we came in.

"They won't have us anymore because we're so good, Darcey was getting jealous," Emma grinned."

"So we thought you'd have more appreciation for our talents," I added, getting into flirty female mode straight away."

"You're very welcome to be tonight's floorshow. It'll be nice to give the punters something with a bit of culture for a change," he laughed. "What'll you have ladies?"

"A large glass of Australian shiraz in your honour," smiled Emma.

"And the same for me please," I chimed in, remembering just in time to choose wine rather than beer.

"Can we get those for you, ladies?" a rich mellow American voice exclaimed next to us. We turned to see a couple of tall, well built, handsome and very self-assured looking American men standing next to us and smiling appreciatively at us. They were both casually but neatly dressed in open necked shirts and jeans. The taller of the two wore a plain white shirt and expensive brown loafers, the shorter wore a black and grey striped shirt with Nike trainers.

"Thanks, that's really nice of you," I smiled to them, deciding it would be good if I sometimes took the lead rather than rely on Emma to make all the running. I hoped my smile was convincing and I was encouraged to see them respond with clear enthusiasm. 

"Cheers, God bless America," she added with a beaming smile as she raised her glass.

"Would you ladies like to sit with us a while?" asked the taller man, indicating a table that had just been vacated.

"We'd love to," she smiled. "We love doing our bit for the Special Relationship don't we Charlotte?" She nudged my arm as she grinned at me for corroboration.

"And we've got our own supply of nylons too," I nudged her back as I beamed a coquettish smile at our new friends.

"I guess that means we can finally wrap up the Marshall Plan," he smiled back and we all laughed as we took our places around the table. There was no difficulty in deciding on pairing up as we instinctively aligned ourselves according to height. Wes, who was the shorter and stockier of the two, was a natural complement to Emma's womanly curves while Bill, taller and leaner but still very attractively proportioned was only a little taller than I. As we sat down next to each other, with Bill on my right and Emma on my left, I was immediately struck by his open, attentive manner and his kind, expressive eyes.

"You must be celebrating something special to be dolled up like that," he opened with.

"Yes, it's our last evening before we go on a round the world trip. We're going for six months," I said, working to the scenario that Emma and I had worked out during the afternoon. We're starting in Europe, going down to South Africa, then across to India and Thailand, then to Australia and New Zealand, then we'll do America and then it's back home again." Having done the woman's part of getting the conversation going I now encouraged him to join in, "I expect you've already done lots of travelling."

"Yeah, I like to travel, especially in the Far East: Japan, China, Indonesia; places like that. I travel a lot with my job, too. Wes and I are both here pitching for a contract for airport navigation systems."

"Pinching British jobs then," I teased. "Sorry, I wasn't meaning to be rude. That sounds really interesting." I wanted to have a bit of fun with him but at the same time not make him defensive.

"No offence taken," he smiled. "We subcontract a lot over here so the argument kind of goes both ways. What do you do, Charlotte?"

I found myself warming to his easy manner and his confident air of assurance and of having no need to prove himself. "I work in financial services," I replied, already enjoying his obvious and genuine interest and affirmation, "specialising in tax and investment solutions for companies and high net worth individuals. We've got a lot of American clients," I added, enjoying finding new ways to build bridges to this attractive man.

"I guess that makes us even then," he smiled. "Would you like another drink?" he added.

"Let us get these," I offered. He graciously accepted and I handed him a twenty pound note for the four of us from a purse I discovered in my handbag. I winked discreetly at Emma and she nudged my leg with her plimsoll under the table in response while she shared another joke with Wes, who was joviality personified and enjoyed telling long stories about his talent for getting himself into embarrassing situations. I flitted on the edge of their conversation and was pleased when Bill returned with a tray of beers and fresh glasses of wine, so we could resume our conversation.

"I've always wanted to go on a date with a ballerina," he smiled, eyeing me up and down appreciatively.

I was enjoying his gaze and I found myself resting one hand lightly on my neck while I rubbed the stem of my glass with the other. Emma had told me that they were classic gestures that a woman makes when she's aware that a man is attracted to her. I gave him a long spreading smile and looked long into his eyes.

"I did ballet when I was a girl and had the usual little girl dreams of being a ballerina. But that was a long time ago. We just wanted to dress up and be a bit whacky on our last night before we go away. It's a really special trip for me because a few months ago I had to have a double mastectomy and it's only now that I'm really starting to get over it." I dropped my eyes slightly and my smile diminished a little.

"Hey, I would never have guessed if you hadn't said." His hand moved a little closer to mine. "You look like you've got a pretty fine figure under there."

"You wouldn't think so if you could see what's inside here," I said, looking down at my artificial assets. For a moment I thought about longing to have real breasts whenever I dressed as a plimsoll girl or as a ballerina and experience the pleasure of cupping them warm and soft in my hands and see them snuggled together in a bra or a bikini or a low topped leotard. Then I thought about how it must feel for a woman not only to have to lose them along with that pleasure and that deep symbol of her womanhood, but to actually have to choose to lose them or die. Bill, seeing my faraway look, spoke more softly and gently now.

"How did it happen?"

"I was always very careful about checking my breasts because I knew there was breast cancer in my family. I was always afraid I'd find something one day and when I finally felt a lump I was sure I was going to die. Fortunately it turned out to be benign but my consultant advised me that, because there was so much breast cancer in my family, I was very high risk and I ought to consider having mine off. I couldn't bring myself to do it at first but then my cousin died when she was only thirty-eight and then I knew I had no choice."

He looked at me with kindness and with complete sincerity he said, "I know it may sound like a cliché to you and I realise you may still not be at the stage where saying it would be helpful to you, but I truly believe that what makes a woman really beautiful is what's inside her, not what you can see on the outside."

I looked up at him again. "Yes, it does help actually, a lot. Thank you." I smiled warmly to him. If I had really been a woman I would certainly be falling for him by now, I realised. I was starting to feel bad about leading on such a decent and considerate man. OK, as far as he knew he could only enjoy my company for this one evening, but I was still regretting the deception I was committing on him. I started to feel tense and I curled my toes involuntarily inside my black plimsolls in my growing anxiety. 

"Are you feeling OK?" he asked, beginning to look concerned.

"Don't worry, I'm alright," I smiled reassuringly. "Do you mind if I spend a few minutes powdering my nose?"

I headed for the toilet but in my slightly confused and preoccupied state I forgot to aim for the Ladies.

"Ladies other side, Miss," smiled one of the bar staff clearing up empty glasses to me as I meandered by him on the way to the Gents.

"Thank you," I recovered and flashed a ditzy smile to Emma who was signalling anxiously to me while trying to make it all look like a big joke. As I entered the Ladies' Room I was unnerved for a second by the absence of the reassuring sight of a row of urinals along the wall and I quickly secreted myself in one of the cubicles. I pulled down the toilet seat cover and sat on it and took a deep breath as I tried to get my thoughts in order. Just then I heard someone rush into the room and dash into the cubicle next to mine. The door was slammed and locked shut and then I heard a confused fumble of a skirt being lifted and panties being pulled down, a bottom plonked down on the toilet seat and frantic rummaging in a hand bag followed by a sudden vehement whispered expletive of "Oh Shit!"

"Are you OK?" I asked my neighbour in a spirit of sisterly concern.

"You haven't got a spare towel have you?" came a young woman's voice with a slight estuary twang.

I looked around the cubicle to ascertain that there wasn't any towel in it at all let alone a spare one. "Sorry?" I asked her in the hope of clarification.

"My sodding period's started a day early and would you believe it just had to happen on the one day when I forgot to check my bag for spare towels. Have you got a spare one or can you get one for me from the dispenser?"

"I think I've got a spare in my bag," I said, relieved to now know what she was talking about. I searched my bag and took the opportunity for some genuine female bonding. "I've been caught like that a couple of times. It's so embarrassing isn't it?"

"Oh you're too right there," she said. "It's really nice of you to do this."

"Us girls have got to stick together haven't we? Otherwise life would be even harder for us than it is."

"Too right," she agreed and we both laughed. 

Emma's preparations came up trumps again as I found two sanitary towels in their wrappers. "Is a normal ultra with wings OK for you?" I asked her.

"You're a lifesaver, thanks ever so much," she said thankfully. "I'm not leaving you short am I?"

"No it's fine, really," I assured her. "Mine's not due for a couple of weeks. I've just got ovulation pains to cope with at the moment. Is yours heavy or light?"

"Mine's really heavy on the first day but it's all over by the third so I guess I can be thankful for that," she replied.

"You're the opposite of me. Mine's light but it lasts a week. I often wish I could get it over with quickly like yours."

I bent down to pass the towel to her under the partitioning and I caught sight of a pair of very attractive dark skinned ankles and a pair of equally attractive long and slim feet in a pair of clean white Keds plimsolls. I couldn't believe my luck. I always longed to talk to pretty girls about their plimsolls whenever I saw them and now I had a chance to do so without any risk of appearing perverted.

"Your feet look lovely in your plimsolls, they look so pretty on you," I complimented her.

"Oh thank you," she replied with pleasure in her voice and rewarded me by turning her feet over and back and then stretching her feet forward while pointing her toes. "I feel really sexy and girly when I wear them. My boyfriend's crazy for me when I've got them on. I certainly have some fun then, I can tell you."

The Underpants of Doom rendered an erection impossible but I still had an excited feeling all the same as I imagined her naked with her plimsolls gleaming white against the dark skin of her legs wrapped around her boyfriend's torso while they engaged in very passionate and very athletic sex. I wondered if it was anything like what Emma felt when she was getting turned on. "Make a video and email me the link," I half-joked.

"I might just do that," she called to me happily as she left her cubicle. "See you; and thanks again," she added as I heard her leave.

I thought about Bill while I struggled painfully out of and back into the Underpants of Doom in order to pee (sitting down, of course). He might well be attracted to me but, I reasoned, many encounters never get beyond the stage of initial attraction and, since tonight was the only night we would ever spend in each other's company -- at least with me in my present guise -- the important thing was to enjoy to the full what could be had and not waste time regretting what could not be had and was not meant to be.

When I emerged from the Ladies' I recognised my recent neighbour by her plimsolls as she stood with some friends at the other side of the bar and I waved to her. She was medium height with Italian or Greek appearance and very pretty, like a Mediterranean Julia Roberts, with long dark hair in a loose wavy perm tumbling to her shoulders and back. She was simply but attractively dressed in a pink low cut close fitting long sleeved top with a mid length floral patterned skirt nicely emphasising her knees and her white plimsolls. When she saw my ballerina costume she put her hands to her face in surprise and mouthed 'Oh my God' with a huge grin on her face as I returned to my seat and resumed my conversation with Bill, feeling much happier and with my confidence restored.

We shared several more rounds and continued talking until I, assuming the role of the sensible one out of Emma and myself, declared it was time we were getting home as we were due to catch an early flight to Paris. As we left the bar we blew kisses to our Australian barman friend and we emerged into the cool night air with Emma clinging unsteadily to Wes -- the pair of them still laughing and joking together -- while I, better able to hold my drink, held hands with Bill as I walked in a floating kind of way by his side. Wes broke off from his yarn spinning to make 'why don't you lovely ladies come back to our apartment for a night cap' type noises but Emma and I remained resolute.

"But we'll escort you back to your place," Emma giggled, "London's a dangerous place at this time of night. They still haven't caught Jack the Ripper yet."

"That's very decent of you ladies," Bill smiled. "We're still strangers in town and liable to get ourselves lost.

We managed to navigate ourselves on a meandering course to the smart block of flats containing the company let where Bill and Wes were staying. Just before we got there we came to a small side alley which acted as an access road for service vehicles. Still giggling at Wes's non-stop flow of now somewhat confused witty repartee, Emma steered him into the alley and pushed him against the wall at a spot where we couldn't be seen from the main road. Taking my cue from her whilst wondering what she was up to, I did the same to Bill.

"Hey, are you girls about to pull a Thelma and Louise stunt on us?" Wes laughed.

"We will if you don't behave yourselves," giggled Emma. Turning to me with a wicked glint in her eye she said, "OK Charlotte, let's get down on our knees and get their pants down. We're going to give our American friends a souvenir of Little Old England they won't forget in a hurry, at least if they still remember it when they're sober."

When after being slightly slow on the uptake I realised she was talking us about performing oral sex on them my stomach lurched for a second before my alcohol bolstered spirit of adventure kicked in. 'What the hell, why not?' I thought. 'If I can't suck my own I might as well suck someone else's to see what it's like and I am supposed to be a girl, after all.'

I knelt down in front of Bill, fumbled with his trouser belt and fly for a few seconds and then pulled down his jeans and boxers. The concrete on which I was kneeling felt hard and cold through my thin black leggings and the tips of my black plimsolls as I shivered with a tight knot of anticipation about what I was about to do to him. The edge of my little black tutu skirt brushed against the ground and then against his legs as my position kept shifting. My false breasts nestled inside the tight lycra stretch of my black leotard brushed against his thighs and I so wished they were real and throbbing with excitement to match the longing ache screaming for release from within the tight and unrelenting constriction of the Underpants of Doom.

He was semi-erect in his alcohol hazed excitement but with his inebriated state his length seemed to be struggling to emerge from the dark thicket of his pubic hair. For a moment I had scruples about it feeling unpleasant to the touch, but to my relief, his clean cut image and personal habits extended to his private areas and as I began to stroke him he felt clean and smooth and dry. I thrilled at the sight of my long slim feminised fingers with my sexy painted nails lightly tracing the sinuous courses of the swollen blood vessels snaking over the stretched skin of his swollen shaft and thought of how much the sight of Emma's fingertips doing the same to my erection turned me on. I grasped him firmly and held him to my mouth, then the absurdity of the situation hit me and I had to struggle not to laugh; here was I, a straight guy dressed as a girly ballerina, about to perform oral sex on another straight guy who thought I was a girl. Then for a moment I scrupled as to whether a quick blow job in a back alley was really his style but when I asked him in a whisper if he felt OK about it his somewhat abstracted reply put my mind at rest.

"Hey, don't you mind about it," he drawled. "I'm married to the job so I'm happy to take whatever I'm offered."

I closed my eyes, carefully guided him into my open mouth and gingerly closed my lips just behind the fleshy flange around the base of his helmet. I was pleasantly surprised to find that it felt just like sucking on Emma's breast: soft and warm and slightly yielding to the press of my lips around it. I looked up at Bill. He was looking upward with his eyes closed, muttering under his breath while he steadied himself against the wall with his open palms pressed flat against the brickwork. 'Please whatever you do, keep you eyes closed,' I entreated him in my mind. Having a quick exploratory suck on another man's manhood was one thing but there was no way I was ever going to let another man come in my mouth, or any other part of me for that matter.




Trust Ch. 07



I tested out my quickly worked out (on the fly, as it were) plan by giving the still exposed part of his length some vigorous stroking as I took him back out of my mouth and then cupped my other hand closely around his head that was just starting to dribble. I was relieved to see his attitude unchanged. I repeated the stroking and cupping treatment a couple more times and then on the third stroke, with a long groaning gasp, he came into my hand. I had to surreptitiously twist my hand around him to contain his load as his sticky warm milk began to flow out between my fingers. I gathered up what I could with my other hand and rubbed it into his length.

Thankfully, he kept his eyes closed for a few more seconds as he enjoyed his aftermath. "Oh you are so good", he smiled.

"How do I compare with all the other girls?" I asked him cheekily as I began to clean my hands with a wet wipe from a packet that Emma's wonderfully foresighted handbag packing had provided for me, knowing full well what his answer would be. I was right.

"Baby, you're the best," he sighed.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," I teased as I finished wiping his helmet.

He opened his eyes at last just in time to see me finish wiping around my mouth with a clean wet wipe. "You taste very nice," I twinkled at him as I pulled up his trousers and fixed him back in. I stood up to him again and curled my arms around his neck.

"It's too bad you're going away tomorrow. We could have had some great times together," he smiled, with genuine regret in his eyes.

"Ships passing in the night," I smiled back sympathetically. "But we had a great time tonight. Thank you for that. And thank you for what you said to me about beauty being on the inside. I'll always remember you for that."

I was amazed at how much I was able to absorb myself into my female persona as I lifted up the heels of my black plimsolls in order to be able to plant my lips squarely on to his and began to kiss him passionately, although as I felt through my black leggings his suddenly renewed erection pressing against my groin I was glad of the impregnable and unyielding barrier of the Underpants of Doom between us; otherwise my own mounting excitement, as his hands stroked my pony tail, descended my spine and smoothed down over my silly frilly little tutu skirt before rising up again beneath my skirt to rest on my bottom, would have given me away.

After several minutes of passionate interaction Emma and I both reluctantly disengaged from our partners and we all walked a little sadly together to the entrance of their block. We kissed and made our goodbyes and they waved to us from the foyer until the lift took them away and we never saw them again.

Emma and I had a long walk home arm in arm and plenty of time to talk. She began to recover her sensibility in the cool evening air as we huddled close together in our thin coverings of black leotards and leggings for warmth. As we walked we flexed our toes inside our black plimsolls against the cold being drawn up from the pavement through their soft rubber soles and our thin soft cotton rich day-glo ankle socks into our feet. We preferred to continue sharing our close feminine companionship in this way rather than opt for the comfort of a taxi.

"I'm so sorry I got you into that," she giggled. "I really don't know what came over me. The wine must have flowed a little too freely."

"It's OK," I smiled. "I quite enjoyed it actually. They were nice guys and they deserved a bit of fun for treating us like ladies; though they probably don't think of us as ladies so much now." We both laughed. "You seemed to get on with Wes OK, although from what I could see you seemed to be on the same level most of the time," I observed.

"You're right there," she agreed with feeling. "He was fun to be with but that was all, really. He never really let his guard drop and he didn't share much about himself at all. He was really frustrating. He had a nice dick though," she giggled again.

"I'm glad you copied my trick with the hand," I said to her. "I would have felt really cut up if you'd actually let him come in your mouth." I squeezed her hand to emphasize the point.

"I know you would," she smiled affectionately to me, "and I'm flattered that you would. In fact that means a lot to me. And because of that there's no way I would have let him come in my mouth. The only taste of man I want from now on is yours, especially when it's wrapped up like this." She stroked my false breasts through the tight stretch of my leotard. I so wished they were real at that moment

We stopped walking and I, forgetting for a moment who I was meant to be, drew her into my arms and began to kiss her. We kissed for a long moment in the deserted residential road until a passing motorcyclist, seeing two girls dressed as ballerinas in black leotards, tights and plimsolls kissing passionately in a tight embrace, beeped his horn as he sped by. Suddenly recollecting ourselves, we continued walking as we laughed in our embarrassment. Then I had a sudden thought.

"What would we do if we did happen to meet them again when we told them we would be going around the world for six months? I'd be alright but they'd recognise you straight away."

"That's easy," she grinned, "I'll tell them I met you on the way to the airport and that you went away without me!"

As we came into the welcoming warmth of her flat she hugged me and asked, "So how do you like being one of the girls?"

"I like it a lot, you definitely haven't seen the last of Charlotte," I enthused, returning to my normal voice. "I love dressing up to feel girly and sexy and I love going out in girly sexy clothes. But more than that I like how people open up to me more and give me much more attention as a woman, even if some of the attention is the sort I wouldn't necessarily choose. I really liked having the freedom to observe a person and relate to them more closely on more levels. I learned a lot more about Bill relating to him as a woman than I ever would have done trying to relate to him as a man. Even so," I grimaced, "it will be a relief in one way at least to get back to being a man. These bloody underpants are starting to kill me."

"Will you stay as a girl for just a little longer," she smiled as I noticed her advancing on me.

"What are you doing?" I smiled broadly as she proceeded to push me back down onto the sofa and get on top of me.

"I want to check again to see if kissing a girl is more exciting than kissing a boy," she smiled wickedly with a hungry look in her eyes. 

My temperature begin to rise and my tightly restricted manhood begin to protest again even more vociferously as her lips fused on to mine and I felt her breasts pressing into mine through the thin lycra membrane of my leotard and I heard the mingling rustle of our tutu skirts as her groin rubbed against mine through the equally thin stretches of our leggings, and her black plimsolls began to rub against my legs through the sheer black nylon that moulded them.

She wore black slip-on plimsolls in bed that night. I was not wearing underpants.



Trust Ch. 07



"Yeah...this way," Tricks said as he led Mike to his office. "So Mike what's up? Man it's great to see you. What are you doing now?"

"I'm a detective now and I'm doing good." Taking a deep breath, Mike continued, "Tricks, I knew you were Sally's foster brother."

"What? Why did you..."

"I had to. You need to sit down." 

"What's going on?"

"I think Sally is getting involved into something that she possibly doesn't know anything about." 

"What? What's going on Mike? Just tell me plain." 

"We think Rhonda..." 

"That fucking bitch," Tricks yelled as he stood up abruptly. He paced the little office a few times trying to get his temper down. "I knew that bitch wouldn't stop until she dragged Sally into one of her shit." 

"Tricks, calm down. That's what I came to talk with you about. Why did you automatically assume Rhonda was pulling Sally into something?" 

"Mike that girl is always in trouble. She was my Ma's foster kid too but we all tried. No matter how much we tried telling Sally to stay away from her, she keeps telling us she's gonna change and we have to give her another chance. Fuck her an' anymore chances. I'm done with that ho...all she wants is easy money and a sugar daddy. Sally's always been smart enough not to get caught up in her crap until now. What the fuck has she done this time? I tell you Mike, I'll kill her ma damn self if she fucks up Sal's future. Sal's a good girl and she's only done right by that skank."

"Okay, now that I know how you really feel, help me keep tabs on both of them. I think Sally's innocent..." 

"You think? Mike, I know Sal's innocent..."

"I'm pretty sure she is but I need solid proof, I must have solid proof. I'm pretty sure she doesn't know what's going on but I don't know what she does know. I really need to know everything going on with Sal, I mean everything. I need her schedule but I can't let her know." 

"I'll give you everything under one condition, keep her out of it. She's a good girl Mike. Please you have to help her." 

"Tricks, I'll do my best. I promise." 

"You'll hear anything that I hear."

"Good now what type of car is she trying to get?" 

"I'm gonna look for an Infiniti...she'll look good in that." 

"Yeah, I agree. What is her favourite colour?"





Trust Ch. 08



Thank you so much for your patience. The chapter that I'm working on is coming along okay but I think it can be better. Unfortunately it is going slower because I've been ill and I have to now catch up on my work. Submissions will be slow. Thanks for your comments and I hope you enjoy this latest installment. Have a great week everyone. :)





Trust Ch. 08



[Is this the ultimate plimsoll fetish sex fantasy?]

Chapter 8 -- And all because the lady loves ...

Emma's job as a ballet teacher and mine in the City take a lot out of us, so there are some evenings when, however much our spirits are willing, our bodies just aren't up for sex. On one such evening we were relaxing with a refreshing glass of chilled Pinot Grigio after dinner; the beguiling sound of Mozart's 'Elvira Madigan' piano concerto adding to the air of relaxed and comfortable sexiness. We were naked except for our white ankle socks and white plimsolls, as we always were when we were at home in private. We sat facing each other on the sitting room floor, leaning back against large floor cushions. Our legs were stretched out in front of us and spread comfortably apart in an interlocking V pattern so that we could gently massage each other's genitals with the rubber soles of our right feet plimsolls, with my leg slightly bent to compensate for being the taller. 

For a few minutes I had been blissfully enjoying the gentle yet stimulating rub of Emma's plimsoll on the very base of my swollen shaft where it joined my sack, along with the wonderful pressing feeling in my balls as the pressure of her foot pushed and rubbed them against my groin; when I stirred from my reverie and remarked to her,

"If you think about it, we must spend more of our lives naked than we do wearing clothes."

"I'm sure you must be right," she agreed. "After all, we always sleep together naked, we spend nearly all our time here naked, and whenever we go out into the country together we often find an opportunity to be naked for a while. Oh! Just hold your foot right there, that feels gorgeous," she sighed. I watched in delight the slight wobble of her breasts and the wriggle of her bottom as she adjusted her position to press her sex in exactly the right spot against my plimsoll. She closed her eyes and smiled in her delight. Her eyes were still closed a minute later when she spoke again as if in a dream.

"You know that Mel Gibson film, 'What women want' -- the one where he can hear what women are thinking about -- do you suppose they thought about making a sequel so it's the opposite way round; so that Helen Hunt gets a bump on the head and then she can hear what men are thinking?"

"I doubt they'd do that for the simple reason that what women think about is far more interesting than what men think about," I opined. "Especially when it comes to sexual fantasies," I added with a grin and a gentle flex of my foot against her groin.

Emma opened her eyes with a start of pleasure and a beaming smile lit up her lovely face. "I really enjoy listening to your sexual fantasies," she asserted. "I loved that one you told me the other day: then one where I make you dress up like Bonnie Langford with long blonde ringlets and a really frilly-girly party dress with lots of bows on it, and pink ballet shoes worn with white knee socks."

"I still think yours are better," I smiled. "Have you got any more you haven't told me about yet?"

She thought dreamily for a moment and then beamed her smile at me again. "I'd love to be arrested and taken in handcuffs to a police station and be made to strip and forced to have an intimate body search and then be given corporal punishment for being a 'bad girl'." She giggled in her enthusiasm and her breasts trembled as she hugged herself at the thought of it.

"I can do the punishment bit for you any time you like," I suggested hopefully.

"You are so sweet to me," she teased, "but it wouldn't be quite the same."

I decided instantly that something would have to be done.

I waited until the following Saturday, when she was at her ballet school giving her regular morning classes, so that I could search the Web for inspiration without her knowing. After about half an hour I came across the website that I was looking for.

"Come to Fantasy Island and live your deepest desires!" it invited. "The beginning of the journey of your dreams is just a call away. Contact Rick or Julia TODAY and tell us YOUR fantasy."

I used my mobile phone to call the number on the website. Rick answered with a voice that was well-spoken with a distinctive quality of calm authority. I arranged to meet him after work early in the week at a pub which was near to my office but which I rarely visited.

He was tall and athletically well-proportioned, in his late thirties or early forties, with a strong and lined face that women who liked their men rough-hewn would find attractive, clear blue eyes and shoulder length blonde hair swept back in a tight pony tail, which exposed a wide expanse of forehead. He was dressed to blend in with the City crowd, a smart two-piece suit over a blue striped shirt with expensive gold cufflinks a plain red tie and well-polished brogues.

We chose a table and exchanged the usual pleasantries. To establish his bona fides he showed me a list of satisfied clients who were willing to respond to discreet enquiries about the service he provided. I scanned the list of male clients: ... Michael Egan, Jeremy Frost, Steve Haslam, Stuart Hunter ...; and then the female clients: ... Julia Lewis, Lorna MacAllister, Donatella Mazzini-Felgate ...; but saw no-one that I recognised. Refusing to be put off by this omission, I offered him a drink.

"How can we help you?" he asked after graciously accepting the proffered pint I had carried from the bar to our table.

I told him about Emma's police arrest fantasy. He then asked me a long series of questions about her sexual preferences, taking great interest in her involvement in ballet and in her plimsoll fetish, until finally he said,

"Well there's plenty there for Julia and me to work on. We should be able to come up with a pretty good programme for her. Are you happy to leave the planning to us? It saves on unnecessary communication that could be seen by people you don't want to."

"That's fine by me," I replied. "I think she'd be up for just about anything. She likes a bit of rough treatment and she has a big thing for painful sex."

"That's very interesting," Rick responded, but did not elaborate any further.

"How much will you charge?" I asked.

"Seven hundred and fifty pounds, non-returnable; if the lady doesn't want to play, I'm afraid you lose the lot," he informed me.

"I'll take that risk," I answered as I got out my cheque book.

We arranged a date for Emma's 'arrest and detention' and as a cover story I arranged with her to meet on that evening for dinner at a restaurant I had been suggesting for a while to try out. I already had a genuine client meeting arranged beforehand, which made the deception plan even more effective.

The day came and it was a miracle that I was able to do any work at all because I was so taut with anticipation for the evening's events. After my client meeting I walked at a brisk stroll, in a buzzing state of heightened anticipation and excitement, the mile or so to the restaurant for my rendezvous with Rick and Julia. As I walked into the restaurant car park the headlights of a large black BMW saloon with darkened windows flashed at me. I approached the car and the rear door opened. I slid myself onto the back seat and closed the door. After exchanging a brief greeting with Rick, we settled back to wait in silence.

Emma was due to arrive within the next twenty minutes. I had suggested that she drive to the restaurant so that she would have to come into the car park, where it would be easier for Rick and Julia to make their 'arrest' more discretely. As per her usual practice regarding time keeping, she was late. So, besides my customary anxiety about her lateness, which was the one thing about her I would have changed without hesitation, I was also anxious that she might well refuse to take part. 'She just has to say yes,' I repeated to myself over and over again.

After a further ten minutes I exhaled deeply in relief as her classic white Peugeot 205 cabriolet, with the roof down, pulled in to the car park and into a space just a few feet from where we were parked. I watched in delight as she emerged from her car. Her long blonde hair tumbled loosely around the shoulders of her white short sleeved blouse that she wore tied in a bow below her ribs to expose her bare stomach. She wore a short black pleated miniskirt over black fishnets and a pristine pair of white Keds lace-up plimsolls. I feasted on the sight of the curves of her beautiful body filling out the close embrace of her blouse and her little tight skirt and the way that the long flowing lines of her lovely legs led my eager ayes down to her irresistibly pretty ankles and her gorgeous feet making her dainty little skipping steps in her white plimsolls. She radiated beauty and sexiness into the warm evening air and it took me a great effort of will to stop myself getting out of Rick's car and bounding up to her to embrace and kiss her.

Instead, it was Rick who got out of the car and strolled across to her, arriving next to her just as she finished closing up the hood of her car and locking it. Thanks to the tiny camera and microphone concealed on his person, I was able to see and hear all that was happening via the little monitor screen on the back of the front passenger seat.

"Pardon me, Madam," he began, speaking in a suitably official sounding tone. "Are you Emily Jane Curtin of 37 Park Farm Avenue?"

Emma kept her wits about her In spite of her initial surprise at being thus accosted. "Why do you need to know who I am?" she replied with a pleasantly guarded smile. The car park was well lit and open to public view, with plenty of people around, so she showed no sign of feeling threatened. She stood relaxed as she put her car keys in her handbag, with one foot in front of the other and her toes turned outwards like a ballerina. Her white plimsolls looked like ballet shoes.

Rick was unfazed by her initial coolness as he continued, "Are you acquainted with a Mr Charles Bartlett?"

Emma's smile broadened into a grin. "Oh, so he's put you up to this, has he? What's he up to this time?"

Rick declined to be familiar. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and showed Emma what I presumed was some sort of ID, the sight of which caused her to put her hand to her mouth and give a little giggle. When she had recovered her composure he continued,

"We have received from Mr Bartlett evidence relating to you that strongly suggests that you are engaging in behaviour that comes within the criminal offence of 'Being a Disgusting Trollop' as per section 339B of the Depraved and Disgusting Activities Act 1852. According to the aforementioned Act I, as an officer in the Perverted Activities Squad, am obliged and empowered to take you into custody to investigate the allegations made against you and administer summary corrective punishment as applicable. At this point I must warn you that anything you say will be taken down, especially short skirts, items of hosiery and sexy underwear." 

He waited for a moment while Emma dissolved into a further fit of giggles before continuing. "I also must explain that, as the Human Rights Act even extends to suspected disgusting trollops like yourself, you have the right to exercise the option of being arrested now and taken to the station for examination and punishment or, alternatively, discuss the allegations in person with Mr Bartlett and take whatever measures you see fit."

"How much has he paid for this?" she laughed.

"I'm not permitted to divulge that information but if you were to guess at seven hundred and fifty pounds you would be absolutely correct," Rick replied, totally deadpan.

"Did he really spend that much on me?" she smiled. "Bless his little white frilly cotton ankle socks." She put her hands on her hips, lifted the heel of her leading foot and with a twist of her foot lightly ground the sole beneath the pointed toe of her plimsoll into the asphalt surface of the car park, inclined her head slightly to one side and looked straight at Rick. "OK, what happens to me if I say yes?"

Rick returned her gaze with a level expression of his own. "You sign a form agreeing to whatever treatment we give you during the period of your detention; then you get into the van just over there where my lady police woman colleague is waiting for us," he indicated a blue transit van parked a few yards away. "Then we put you into protective restraint, which in theory is for your own safety but is actually because we both get a kick from tying up beautiful women and putting gags and blindfolds on them. We then take you to the station where you will strip, be printed and photographed, give a range of bodily tissue samples and be given a thorough body examination including visual and manual external and internal inspection of all orifices. When we have the evidence we need we will then carry out appropriate punishment followed by a thorough cleansing procedure. Due to the intimate nature of the process I will not touch you at any point during the proceedings; all physical contact will be carried out by my colleague, who is a fully trained nurse so you will be in capable hands. Mr Bartlett will be in the vicinity and will be observing proceedings at all times and you will be transferred back into his custody upon completion of your sentence."

"Oh he will, will he?" Emma laughed. "Then he'll already know that I'll get my own back on him for certain. Where do I sign?"

Emma signed and returned the form which Rick handed to her and followed him to the back of the van. He knocked on the door before opening it and inside was Julia dressed in a police sergeant's uniform. She helped Emma into the van and Rick followed behind and closed the door. The picture on my TV screen changed to the interior of the van.

"Take charge of the prisoner, Sergeant," Rick said to Julia.

Julia was tall, blonde and handsome and very fit looking in her police uniform. Her hair was scraped back into a tight bun. Her body tapered attractively from strong shoulders to a trim waist and then her hips and her bottom swelled out again in a most eye-catching fashion within her trousers. Ample breasts under the firm tutelage of a plain white cotton bra filled her neat and crisp white blouse. Her long, well-proportioned legs ended in police woman's shoes that were so polished it was possible to see the van's interior reflected in them.

"Yes, Inspector," she replied. She instructed Emma to sit on a gurney-type stretcher that was fixed to a raised platform bolted to the floor of the van. With a deftness and assurance of technique that indicated long practice she drew Emma's arms behind her back and fitted her wrists into handcuffs. Then she fitted Emma with a black leather muzzle gag, adjusting the straps around Emma's head and across her face until the mouth patch was drawn tight against her lips and her jaws were clamped firmly together, She then made Emma lie down on her back on the stretcher and bound her legs together with leg restraints made of strong canvas webbing fixed with webbing straps. 

Julia then strapped Emma's prone body firmly to the stretcher with straps holding her down at various points along the length of her body and legs. As she did so, Emma's skirt rode up above her hips and I saw with great pleasure that her fishnets were not tights, as I had first assumed, but were stockings with lacy tops fixed to a black lace suspender belt worn with a black satin thong that only just left her womanhood to the imagination. The sight of the whole laid-out length of her long and shapely legs, from the lacy stocking tops encircling her thighs to the daintily pointed toes of her white plimsolls, caused an instant clench of excitement in my groin. Julia completed Emma's restraining by fitting her with a blindfold consisting of a joined pair of black leather eye patches that fitted closely over her eye sockets and was fixed in place with an adjustable strap. 

As Emma would be unattended in the back of the van during her transportation to the place of her interrogation, Julia placed in her hand a squeezable handle attached by a cable to an alarm bell that would be activated if she squeezed the handle three times in quick succession in the event of becoming distressed. With Emma thus firmly and comfortably restrained, Rick got out of the van, quickly closing the door behind him, and rejoined me. After getting into the driver's seat and closing the door he handed me a blindfold as well and instructed me to put it on.

"We like to keep the location of our activities secret so no looking until we arrive," he informed me. "If I see you trying to see where we are I will stop and you will have to leave the car."

We drove off with Julia following us in the van. Not daring to risk missing out on seeing what they would do to Emma, I did as I was told and saw nothing from that point until Rick stopped the car and led me into a building before instructing me to remove my blindfold. I was inside a large, windowless room lit by arc lights. The walls were painted white and were featureless apart from a large mirror set into the surface of one of the long walls. In the middle of the room was a large table covered with equipment including a laptop computer attached to various peripherals, cameras and apparatus for taking and analysing bodily samples. In the corner of the room was a tiled area with a shower and a couple of sinks.

Rick pointed out to me the mirror and a door near to it which opened into a corridor.

"That's a two-way mirror through which you can observe the proceedings from the room next door," he informed me. This room, in contrast to the first, was comfortably furnished and was even equipped with tea and coffee making facilities. I helped myself to a double espresso and a most enticing looking pastry and settled down in a comfortable arm chair to watch the fun just as Julia wheeled Emma, still handcuffed, gagged and blindfolded and strapped down on the stretcher, into the room.

"I trust you had a comfortable journey under the circumstances, Emma?" Rick enquired.

"Mmm! Mmmph!" she replied, turning her sightless eyes in his direction and giving an affirming nod of her head.

"All right Sergeant, get the prisoner on her feet," he instructed Julia. Julia unstrapped Emma from the stretcher and lifted her upright. Emma stood with her knees slightly bent and her shoulders hunched while she made little high pitched muffled gasps through her gag with the effort of keeping her balance while bound and blindfolded. Julia pushed the stretcher out of the way and then she and Rick proceeded to photograph Emma from all directions, he with a still camera and she with a video camera.

This was the start of a process over several stages during which Julia would first remove a part of Emma's restraint before she and Rick took more footage of her. First Emma was freed from her leg restraints and told to stand up straight with her legs apart; then her blindfold was removed followed by her gag and finally her handcuffs.

"Stand up straight, legs apart, hands on your head, keep still and no talking!" Julia barked at Emma. Emma did what she was told for another round of photography and then began a similar process to the previous one, in which she had to take off an item of clothing in turn as instructed by Rick before putting her hands back on her head and being photographed again. First she was made to take off her blouse, then her skirt, then her bra. After a pause while fresh memory cards were loaded into the cameras she then had to remove her thong followed by her suspenders, then her white plimsolls and finally her stockings.

Now she stood glorious in her nakedness, not ashamed or self-conscious but confident and assured within her beautiful body. The action of putting her hands on her head pushed her breasts forward and gave them an even more pert and pouting quality than usual, that was balanced by the curvaceous rearward swell of her bottom supported on the magnificent moulding of her hips, thighs and calves. Her womanhood was ripe and luscious between her splayed open legs.




Trust Ch. 08



If Rick was impressed by what was standing before his gaze he betrayed nothing of it.

"Start the examination, Sergeant," he instructed Julia.

Julia put on a pair of latex gloves and began by listening to Emma's heartbeat through a stethoscope and fitting an inflatable sleeve around her upper arm to measure her blood pressure. Then she carried out a thorough manual inspection of Emma's breasts, feeling them all over with varied pressure of her fingertips and then using a ruler and spirit level to measure the spacing and alignment of Emma's nipples; while Rick recorded the process close up with the camcorder. The expression on Emma's face while this procedure was being carried out clearly indicated that she was gaining considerable pleasure from it. Then Julia took Emma's temperature by inserting thermometers into her mouth, under her arm, inside her vagina and up her rectum; Rick recording everything as she did so. After a minute she removed all the thermometers and called out the readings to Rick, and then barked at Emma,

"Jump on the spot, legs apart and legs together, thirty seconds, now!"

Emma, her hands clamped firmly to her head, did as she was told: up, down: legs apart, legs together, her breasts bobbing and swaying with the rhythm of her jumps, for the required time. Her high level of fitness from a lifelong career in ballet meant that the exercise was no problem at all for her. At the end of the thirty seconds her breathing was hardly changed from before she started. So Julia made her continue until her breathing became louder and more laboured she began breaking out in sweat. As she stood again with her hands on her head and her legs apart, this time her breasts rising and falling like an ocean swell as she trembled and panted deeply for breath, Julia rechecked her heart rate and blood pressure and the temperatures within her orifices. 

Rick gave Emma no time to recover. "Step forward to be fingerprinted," he commanded her. She did so and submitted quietly as Julia took each of her hands in turn and pressed each thumb and finger first to a ink pad and then to a record form. As soon as the process was finished Julia drew Emma's arms behind her back and replaced the handcuffs on her wrists. Emma then had to place each of her feet in turn on a footstool while Julia used a thinly pointed scraping tool to remove skin samples from under each big toenail and a large cotton bud to take samples from the spaces between each big toe and the adjacent toe. When this was done Julia placed on the floor in front of Emma a pair of brand new white slip-on plimsolls with a little elasticated gusset panel on the tops and told her to slip them on her feet, which Emma was delighted to obey.

The sight of Emma naked in white slip-on plimsolls with her hands cuffed behind her back gave me an erection so big it was painful inside my trousers and I thought no more about food or drink but sat with my eyes transfixed to the window in front of me.

"Most police forces only take fingerprints," Rick observed to Emma, "but we like to be more thorough than that. Now keep still while the Sergeant prepares you for the next stage," he instructed her. Julia then picked up a large ink pad and a small sponge roller and proceeded to coat Emma's breasts and buttocks with ink while Emma giggled uncontrollably at the tickling effects of the roller and the absurdity of what was happening to her. When she was prepared she first had to push her breasts up against a large sheet of paper fixed to an easel and then sit on a stool covered with another sheet large of paper. Rick then photographed the results, the camera automatically transferring the images to the PC as it had all the other images that he had taken.

"The identification part of the procedure is complete, now we will carry out the detailed bodily examination," Rick informed Emma. "Over to you, Sergeant," he said to Julia. He already had the samples from Emma's feet to analyse so, while he examined them and all the subsequent samples under a microscope and in a machine that counted the bacteria and other bugs in pathogens, Julia began the long, involved and very intimate process of examining Emma, at each stage changing into a fresh pair of creamy white latex surgical gloves.

First she took a small sample of blood from Emma's upper arm.

"You'll just feel a small prick," she informed her, "but if you want to feel a big prick as well, we can arrange that too."

"That's alright, thanks," Emma replied brightly, wincing slightly as the sample was taken, "I'll catch up with him when this is all over."

I chortled inwardly. 'You deserve all you're getting for that, my girl,' I smiled.

After handing the blood sample to Rick Julia used a fine tooth comb and a sheet of paper to take samples from Emma's hair and scalp. Then using more swabs and a tiny endoscope camera she took samples and pictures from inside Emma's ears and nostrils. She then made Emma open her mouth wide and examined inside Emma's mouth with her fingers before taking samples from the surface of Emma's tongue, inside her cheeks and inside her throat. She than placed the endoscope down Emma's throat while Emma did her best not to gag. 

Julia was commendably thorough. Before commencing on the really interesting below-the-waist stuff she took skin samples from Emma's underarms, fingernails and even her navel, which made Emma giggle and squeal out loud,

Then the real fun began. Julia carefully and systematically examined all of Emma's visible genitalia with light and deft touches of her latex covered fingers, pulling apart her labia and peeling back her clitoral hood. Then she placed inside Emma's vagina first one finger, then another finger and then finally her whole hand and felt one side of her vaginal wall. She repeated the process for the opposite side, then photographed inside Emma's vagina with the endoscope and finally used some long handled swabs to take samples from deep inside her vagina and from her urethra. 

All through the process Emma, trembled and moaned and rolled her head from side to side in a combination of physical discomfort and sexual excitement. After it was over she only had a few seconds to recover while Julia changed to a fresh pair of gloves before proceeding to examine her rectum. First Julia felt all over and around Emma's opening before inserting two fingers into her anus and feeling all around inside her. Emma, bending forward at the waist and with her legs wide apart, gasped and sighed with pleasure. Julia finished by inserting the endoscope up Emma's bottom and then took a sample with another long handled swab. Rick again recorded everything from close in with the camcorder.

Emma's legs were quivering as she stood up straight again, but Julia hadn't finished with her yet.

"You will now provide urine and stool samples," she instructed Emma as she placed a wide lipped bottle over Emma's private. There was a short pause followed by a watery tinkling note rising in pitch as Emma filled the bottle. Julia passed the bottle to Rick and then she placed a large rectangular plastic tray on the floor in front of Emma and pushed it with her foot to a position between Emma's outstretched legs. It was at this point where it seemed that things might get awkward.

"Do you really expect me to dump into a bloody cat litter tray?" she bridled at Julia, her eyes wide and her nostrils flaring in defiance. Julia said nothing for a moment, during which I began to tense. Emma, even though naked, with her arms handcuffed behind her back and wearing nothing on her feet more lethal than a pair of white canvas slip-on plimsolls, would still be able to give a good account of herself and, if it came to it, I wouldn't hesitate to intervene on her behalf. But Julia was equal to the situation.

"You agreed to surrender yourself into our custody and to submit to whatever processes we specify. We want that sample and nothing else happens until you do," she said with quiet and level authority while looking straight at Emma who, after a few seconds, shrugged her shoulders.

"OK, you win," she conceded and squatted down on her haunches over the tray. She relaxed herself and a few seconds later there was a brief high-pitched trumpet toot followed by a gentle hiss of escaping air and a moment after that there appeared from between her buttocks a long brown sausage that landed with a curling flop into the tray, followed in quick succession by two more. Without a trace of scruple, Julia handed the tray and its contents to Rick, instructed Emma to stand up with her legs apart again and bend forward and then wiped Emma's bottom clean with some medicated wet wipes. 

While Julia had been attending to Emma's bottom, Rick had placed behind where Emma was standing a short legged tubular steel framed platform fitted with a number of webbing straps. Julia made Emma lie back onto the platform with her legs apart and her feet resting flat on the floor and then strapped her body down firmly onto the platform and strapped her legs and ankles to the legs of the platform. 

Emma, naked in her white plimsolls, her gorgeous body and legs tightly strapped, her breasts squeezed and protruding and her legs fixed wide apart, looked fabulously fuckable and my whole body ached to place itself between the welcoming spread of her thighs and push into her. My lustful thoughts were interrupted by Rick, who had brought up close to Emma a trolley on which was a square box with various dials, valves and switches. Attached to the box by thin tubes and wires was a large dildo.

Rick picked up the dildo and held it so that Emma could see it from her prone position.

"When Mr Bartlett was giving me his evidence about your unsavoury activities," he addressed her, "he mentioned that you have a liking for painful sex. This device will enable us to discover just how much you do like it." He smiled and pointed to the dildo. "This little fellow can expand lengthways and widthways independently. It measures both dimensions and calculates your internal capacity. So we'll just pop it inside you and blow it up until you tell us to stop."

Emma looked at it and laughed. "I can take anything that thing can give with room to spare."

"Well here's your chance to prove it," Rick answered. "Let's start off with an average size, say six inches long by one and a quarter inches wide. Not too big for you is it?" he smiled at Emma.

"I won't even bother answering that," she giggled.

Julia smeared lubricating jelly on the dildo and inside Emma's entrance and then carefully inserted the dildo into Emma until its whole length had disappeared inside her. Her body tensed and her breathing deepened a little as she received it into herself but otherwise she appeared relaxed and composed. The tubing and wiring from the control box connected to the anatomically shaped base plate of the dildo, made out of a clear plastic compound that clearly showed the extent to which Emma was opened up. Julia pushed the base hard up against Emma's private and fixed it in place with straps that went around Emma's thighs.

Rick sat at the control box and began by expanding the dildo lengthways deeper and deeper into Emma. The reading crept up to and then beyond the seven inch mark and she began to moan louder and sigh more deeply. At eight inches, with Emma emitting deep long groans, Rick stopped the lengthways expansion and began to expand the dildo widthways to open her up further. By the time it got to two inches wide Emma had her eyes closed and she was clamping her jaws together, clenching her fingers beneath her back and curling up her toes inside her white plimsolls to cope with her increasing discomfort. Then Rick began to increase the length again as well. As it approached the nine inch long and the two and a half inch diameter marks Emma was crying out "Owowowowoow!" almost continuously and sweating profusely with pain. Finally, with the length beyond nine inches and she unable to cope any more with the pain from her cervix that could no longer escape from the inexorable advance of the huge head pressing harder and harder against it, she cried out "Stop, please stop!"

Rick slowly deflated the dildo to a size that Julia could easily extract and she slowly pulled it out of Emma, who lay gasping for breath with tears streaming down her face.

"Fuck it! I really wanted to get to ten inches!" she sobbed.

Rick was silent for a moment as he gave Emma time to recover herself. Then he raised an eyebrow and looked at Julia. "Pretty conclusive evidence I think, Sergeant," he observed as he noted down the reading for Emma's internal capacity.

"No doubt about it, Sir," Julia answered. "It's bigger than any porn star's or prostitute's I've ever seen. She's certainly been getting lots of use from it".

"Administer the summary punishment as prescribed, Sergeant," Rick ordered.

Julia unstrapped Emma from the table and then commanded her, "On your feet, prisoner; legs apart, bend over." As Emma got to her feet and did as she was told Julia advanced towards her holding a pair of white lace up plimsolls. They were not the pristine white Keds that Emma had been wearing when she was 'arrested', but a battered and misshapen pair yellowing with age and covered with all kinds of stains. Julia placed one of them on the table close to where Emma stood bent over and then, before Emma could realise what was happening, placed the other plimsoll over Emma's nose and mouth so that the toe of the plimsoll pointed upwards between her eyes, and began to tie the extra-long laces around Emma's head. As soon as Emma drew breath she began to cry out loudly and tried to free her head from Julia's hold on her.

"Uurgh! Get this thing off me, it's absolutely foul!" Her protests were muffled within the interior of the plimsoll. "It smells like something crawled in here and died several weeks ago. For fuck's sake take it off!" she pleaded.

On either side of the cracked and worn surface of the dimpled tan rubber sole of the plimsoll clamped 'Alien' like to her face, Emma's eyes, wide with anguish, looked up imploringly at Julia. Julia's response to was to press the plimsoll even more tightly to Emma's face while she clamped her free hand to the back of Emma's head to hold her victim still.

"Keep still and listen!" Julia asserted. Emma, surprised, complied. Julia continued, "You agreed to submit to the punishment. This is your punishment. Now co-operate and we'll get it over with sooner rather than later."

I was getting up from my seat to go in there and call a halt when, from within the plimsoll, Emma gasped out.

"All right, you're right; I did agree and I'm not a quitter. I'll do what you say."

"That's better," Julia replied, and as she finished tying the plimsoll laces around Emma's head I sat down with relief to enjoy the next part of the proceedings, which was not long in coming.

The state that Emma was in: naked in her white slip-on plimsolls; her hands manacled behind her back; her face obscured under her plimsoll mask; her breasts and her bottom covered with black ink; her body bent forward and her bottom stuck out behind her over her spread legs, gave me a huge erection as I gazed upon her, still gorgeous in her extreme humiliation.

"Let's hear the prisoner's confession before punishment begins, Sergeant," Rick instructed Julia.

"Very good, Sir," she replied. She pushed Emma's body down further until it was at right angles to her legs that quivered with the effort of keeping upright, gripped a large handful of Emma's hair and tugged it roughly as she shouted at her,

"Who's a dirty girl?"

"I am," Emma replied with a muffled half-whisper.

"What are you?" Julia continued, tugging Emma's hair again.

"A dirty girl," Emma said in a little voice.

"Who's a dirty girl?" Julia repeated, even louder this time and with another violent jerk of hair.

"I'm a dirty girl," Emma continued speaking with her little voice.

"I can't hear you!" Julia barked, this time pushing Emma's head forward before yanking it backwards again.

"I'm a dirty girl!" Now Emma's voice emerged clearly from inside her plimsoll mask.

"I still can't hear you!" Julia continued relentlessly, her grip on Emma's hair almost pulling Emma to the floor on her bottom.

"I'M A DIRTY GIRL!" Emma shouted at the top of her voice as she staggered to recover her balance.

"Prisoner has confessed, Sir," Julia informed Rick.

"Carry on, Sergeant," he replied.

Without another word and keeping her tight grip on a thick tress of Emma's long blonde hair, Julia picked up the other plimsoll from the table and proceeded, with an uninhibited swing of her right arm, to give Emma six of the very best, the blows punctuating the verdict she pronounced over her victim, bent over in painful submission,

"THIS is WHAT we DO to a DIRTY GIRL like YOU!"

"OW!" "OW!" "OW!" "OW!" "OW!" Emma cried out as the first five blows thwacked against her bare behind. With each impact her handcuffed wrists tensed and her fingers stretched and splayed apart as if trying to disperse the shockwaves of pain shooting through her body, while the toes of her white plimsolls curled upwards as if her feet were trying to transmit her pain into the floor.

"OH!" she gasped as the final smarting smack made contact and the burning soreness began to sink from the florid pink patches spreading over the tender surfaces of her bottom, deep into soft flesh of her buttocks.

And then "OOOOOH!" she groaned as her libido, assaulted from all sides by a myriad host of extreme sexual stimuli, finally capitulated and she sank to her knees in her orgasm. She moaned deeply again and a sudden squirt of her love juices dripped onto the floor between her knees. Her eyes on each side of her close fitting plimsoll mask were tightly closed in her ecstasy 

Without giving Emma any time to recover, Julia took hold of her from behind, lifted her to her feet and propelled her into the shower enclosure and placed her back against the tiled wall. 

"Time for you to have a good long wash, Dirty Girl, inside and out," she informed Emma as she gripped Emma's jaw and shook it from side to side. "But all the washing in the world won't make any difference to you. You'll always be a Dirty Girl!" 

She removed the noxious plimsoll from over Emma's face and Emma, her eyes closed in an ecstasy of relief, gasped in relief at being able to breathe untainted air again. Julia, meanwhile, fitted a thin leather belt around Emma's waist. On one side of the shower area was a pair of sinks each with a long thin tube attached to the cold tap. Julia took the free end of the first tube and inserted it into Emma's vagina, using clips to fix the end of the tube to the belt around Emma's waist to stop it falling out of her. She repeated the process with the second tube which she inserted up Emma's anus. While Rick took station at the sinks, Julia put on more latex gloves, picked up the shower hose that hung down from the wall above Emma's head and turned on the cold tap to a brisk jet. With her other hand she picked up a large block of mustard yellow coal tar soap and began to work up a lather in her hands.

Emma's shivering cry of anguish rang out through the building as Julia began to drench her with cold high pressure spray, but she still submitted meekly as Julia commenced to clean her all over by washing her hair with the soap. And Emma needed washing after all, what with the inky patches on her breasts and bottom and her girl juices still dribbling out of her sex.

As Julia concentrated on Emma's external cleanliness Rick dealt with internal matters, skilfully manipulating the taps so that first her vulva filled up with water and then the water pressure in her colon built up while that inside her vagina drained away; and so on: front and back, back and forth.




Trust Ch. 08



Meanwhile Julia was working her way down Emma's body, paying special attention to Emma's breasts. Emma, who loved having her breasts fondled, moaned in delight as Julia expertly drew the palms of her hands down over Emma's nipples, then smoothed down the side of her breasts to stroke the overhanging flesh of the undersides before completing with an upstroke over the nipples again to repeat the cycle several times.

Julia then smoothed her soapy hands down Emma's hips and Emma flinched as she felt the press of hands on the tenderised surfaces of her bottom. Julia than came back over and across the tops of Emma's legs to massage her inner thighs. Then her fingertips caressed Emma's mound before sliding down to stroke her clitoris and labia. As Emma began to throb and her breasts began to heave with her rising excitement Julia began to play the shower hose up and down her swollen genitalia. Emma cried out in delight and pushed out her groin into the water jet so it hit her on just the right spot and then she gasped as another orgasm swept through her like a wave, followed by another, and another.

Emma's legs were quivering as Julia covered them with soap from her thighs to her ankles and removed each plimsoll from her foot in turn to wash her foot before replacing the saturated sogginess of her plimsoll back on her foot. After this, Julia rinsed Emma thoroughly from head to foot and then, with all the taps switched off and the tubes and the belt removed from Emma's person, wrapped her in a large towel before drying her with vigorous up and down motions of her hands.

"'Finished with the prisoner, Sir!" Julia informed Rick as Emma leaned against her, semi-slumped in her supporting arms.

"Take her to the holding cell pending release, Sergeant," Rick instructed her. With her whole persona suddenly transformed by a kind smile and a gentle "Come on Emma, you're all finished with now," Julia led a still dazed Emma stumblingly out through a door in the corner of the room and Rick joined me to take me to the room where she was being put. 

"She's a bloody good sport, that girl of yours," he smiled to me as we stopped outside the room and he handed me a spiral bound document folder containing Emma's 'test results', a couple of disks containing all the photos and video footage, and the key to Emma's handcuffs. "You won't want to let her slip through your fingers if you can help it."

"I don't intend to," I smiled. "But keep your fingers crossed for me for the next few days will you?"

"Will do," Rick grinned, "and take as long as you like with her. Julia and I have got plenty to tidy up so we won't want to lock up for a good while yet. Then you can have a lift back to the restaurant in the back of the van. You won't be able to see out so you won't need blindfolds."

I opened the door and saw Emma lying on her side, with her arms still handcuffed behind her back and with her knees drawn up close to her breasts, on a mattress laid on a low platform built against the opposite wall. The lighting in the room, in contrast to the other rooms, was warm and sympathetically low key and, for the first time, she looked soft and vulnerable in her naked, manacled bondage and with her feet pointed daintily in her white plimsolls. My heart swelled for her with a longing that was far deeper than merely physical. She smiled up at me as I came into the room.

"So now you really do know what a dirty girl I am," she laughed.

"I've got the evidence right here," I smiled, holding up the folder and the disks and glancing at them momentarily.

"I can give you some better evidence than that right now," she giggled.

"What have you got?" I smiled again.

She rolled onto her front and drew up her knees beneath her, pushing her bottom upwards to the height of my waist as her head rested on the mattress. She parted her knees and pushed her legs apart. Her womanhood was wide open.

"This," she replied with a wicked come hither look in her eyes.

"Just what I need to clinch the case," I replied as I began to get undressed. "I've spent the last two hours watching you, with an almost permanent erection, and I'm mad for a fuck." Then I saw the florid pink patches on her bottom. "Isn't it going to be a bit uncomfortable, given the state of your derriere?" I pointed out to her.

"That's a silly question isn't it?" she retorted. "You know how much I love painful sex."

I lost no time in getting naked before taking up position standing behind Emma's bottom where it rested above the end the mattress. On a chair next to me I saw the blindfold and gag that had been used on her earlier, left with her clothes presumably as souvenirs of the occasion.

"Lift up your head a moment," I told her. She did so and I placed the blindfold over her eyes and adjusted the strap to a close fit around her head. 

She gasped with excitement as I pushed her head down onto the mattress again. I was aching to plunge into her but first I checked her with my hand to see if she was ready for me. Her douche had left her dry but with some gentle stroking her love juices soon began to flow again and in a couple of minutes she was nicely and moistly prepared. With Emma well lubricated, I placed the tip my swollen head into her entrance and with a grunt of pleasure pushed myself into her with a long slow thrust between her outstretched thighs. The rough-hewn, antiseptic aroma of coal tar soap that hung over her, rather than the more refined and heady fragrances that she normally wore, somehow seemed more suitable for the rougher, more animal kind of sex I was about to perform on her.

I get two very special pleasures when I fuck Emma from behind. The first is a feeling of potent dominance, heightened on this occasion by the sight of her handcuffed wrists resting on her back and of her blindfolded eyes turned up submissively towards me; the second is the fabulous massage she gives me down the whole length of my erection each time I thrust into her. This time I was so sexually charged that I almost blacked out several times with the intense pressure waves of pleasure that radiated from my throbbing member as each deep thrust brought my orgasm closer until it finally gripped my groin in a vice like grip that made me gasp deep in my guts for what felt like an age. Although she got little stimulation of her own from being penetrated at that angle, she still answered my thrusts with deep moans and sighs to encourage me.

I held my position inside her while my orgasm gripped me again and again and I sighed with deep contentment as she, always the most generous of lovers, prolonged my pleasure by continually clenching her pelvic muscles on me. Finally obliged to withdraw my waning erection from her, I sank down beside her and, with a profound feeling of contentment, wrapped my arms around her and drew her close. Although her eyes were still sightless beneath her blindfold, her mouth homed in on mine and she gave me a long fond kiss before adding, "You do know that I will definitely get my own back on you for this."

"I can't wait," I smiled as I kissed the tip of her nose and imagined her making me dress like Bonnie Langford and me looking more like Grayson Perry.

"You sounded very convincing in that 'I'm a dirty girl' business," I smiled. 

"I am a dirty girl," she asserted. My smile changed instantly to astonishment with the unexpected seriousness of her reply as she continued. "And you're a dirty boy. We're all just shit piles wrapped up in skin. If everyone was honest with themselves about it instead of massaging their egos and being up themselves all the time because they think they're God's gift to the universe, there'd be much more compassion and the world would be a much nicer place." She grinned and added "And we'd all have a lot more fun," as she rubbed her knee against my genitals to emphasise the point in the way she meant it. Then her expression changed to an ironic smile. "Anyway, who am I to talk? If I really practiced what I preached I wouldn't have kicked up so much fuss about crapping into a cat litter tray."

I pushed up the blindfold from over her eyes to let it rest on her forehead and held her head in my hands as I kissed her between her eyes.

"You certainly practice what you preach in my case," I said gently to her.

We shared a long and loving kiss as I encircled her body with my arms and held her handcuffed hands in mine. Then, while still within my embrace, she turned over onto her other side so that her back was facing me. "Come on," she cajoled, "get these handcuffs off me so we can get out of here and get something to eat. I'm so famished I think I can manage a horse."

"After what I saw just now I don't doubt it for a moment," I laughed, and kissed the back of her neck as she giggled uncontrollably.

EPILOGUE

Several days later Emma got her own back on me sooner than I had anticipated and in a way I could never have imagined.

We were having lunch after a morning's hard work in the garden. We sat together at the kitchen table, both of us naked except for the old and dirt-covered white plimsolls that were all we ever wore when we were gardening, even in cold wet weather. I had just eaten the last spoonful of a bowl of fruit salad when she said to me,

"How did you like the fruit salad?"

I thought for a moment and then replied.

"It was really good but, now you mention it, it did have an interesting aftertaste that I kept thinking I ought to recognise but I couldn't quite pin down."

"Would it help if I told you the recipe?" Her grin was half Meg Ryan and half Cheshire Cat.

"Fruit salad doesn't need a recipe," I retorted. "You just cut up a load of fruit and soak it in booze."

"My fruit salad is different, it has a secret ingredient." The grin was all Cheshire cat now.

"All right, what is it then?" I pressed her, beginning to get a slightly sinking feeling that things were about to turn out to be not quite what they seemed, which happened quite often wherever Emma was involved.

"Watch this and find out," she instructed me as she placed her camcorder, the viewing screen folded out and inclined so I could see it, onto the table and pressed the playback button.

The scene began with Emma standing in the kitchen chopping several different kinds of fruit. Her naked body glowed warmly and her white plimsolls and ankle socks gleamed brightly in the sunlight streaming in through the window. She hummed gently in harmony with the melodious soundtrack of one of Bach's Brandenburg Concertos floating in on the air from its source in the sitting room. She finished chopping the fruit and placing it in a bowl and then picked up the bowl and another, empty, bowl and carried them out of the kitchen. During the short pause between scenes I noticed that the date on the screen was a couple of days previous, when I had been at work and she had been at home during the afternoon before giving her advanced pointe class at her ballet school that evening.

The scene changed to her entering our bedroom, placing the two bowls on a small table placed next to the bed, and then lying down on the bed. She spread her legs apart and bent her knees so that her lower legs pointed in parallel lines down the length of the bed with her feet pointed in her white plimsolls. She then spent a couple of minutes stroking her womanhood with one hand and caressing her breasts with her other hand as she lay with her eyes closed and lips gently parted and a very contented expression on her face, her breasts rising and falling in time with her deep sighs of womanly delight. I'm not at all offended by the fact that Emma, highly sexed as she is, is accustomed to dipping her hand in the honey pot in my absence, so I watched in equal delight and without a trace of self-consciousness as my manhood sprang to attention and began to pulsate sympathetically with her most sensual display of the girl's way to self-pleasure.

Then my eyes widened further as Emma opened her eyes, reached into the bowl of fruit, selected a portion of apple, prized her labia apart with her other hand and, while keeping her entrance pulled open, carefully inserted the piece of apple into her vagina. She did the same with several other pieces of fruit and then, while keeping one hand placed flat over her private, she stroked her clitoris until she gasped out in her orgasm.

She brought herself to orgasm a couple more times, each time filling the room with the soprano coloratura of her ecstatic moans and sighs. Then she carefully picked out from inside her vagina each mucus-coated piece of fruit and placed it in the empty bowl. She continued in this way with the rest of the fruit until it was all transferred to the second bowl. Then, humming happily to herself, she sprang up from the bed, picked up the bowl of genitally enhanced fruit and skipped happily out of the room, her breasts bouncing enthusiastically in time with the dainty steps of her white plimsolls as she disappeared into the corridor beyond.

The scene changed back to the kitchen, with Emma placing the bowl of fruit, now covered with cling film, into the fridge. At that moment I suddenly realised, with a queasy sinking feeling growing in my stomach, that the bowl she was putting into the fridge was the same one I had just been eating from.

She closed the fridge door and then the camera zoomed in on a handwritten notice fixed to the door with fridge magnets. I read the notice and my worst fears were confirmed.

"Revenge is a dish that is best served cold; bon appétit!"

The screen went blank. I looked up in dismay to see the wicked smile of exultant triumph in her eyes as she raised her wine glass and with vampishly puckered lips, blew me a kiss.



Trust Ch. 08



"Did you use to strip?" 

"No, not every girl who works in a strip club is a stripper."

"Sally, I wasn't implying anything but most girls who work in a strip club are strippers." 

"Yeah, I know, but I wasn't. I only cleaned tables. I didn't get tipped like the rest of the girls. I got paid to clean the tables. That's what I wanted. I was inconspicuous until he decided that he was going to grab me."

"Come again?" 

"I had to fill in for one of the waitress and I was clearing off tables and delivering drinks when he grabbed me and spilled the drinks all over me and himself and I got pissed and shoved him off me. I didn't want him or anyone touching me and when he grabbed me again, I told him to fuck off. And then Roger fired me because I wouldn't waitress or strip. I only went back to help out a friend who's having problem with bio. She's got one day to study for the test and it won't happen again. I swear I'll never go by there again. I swear." 

"Sally you have to report it to internal affairs."

"No, I can't...there's no need for that." 

"Why not? Why are you so adamant about not reporting this guy? Did something else happen? Tell me Sally. I can't help you if you don't tell me everything."

"Nothing, this is the last time he's going to have contact with me. If it happens again, I'll report it, I will. Now I'm hungry and I'm gonna go home." 

"No, you're gonna get something to eat and then you're coming home with me."

"No I don't need..."

"I said you're coming home with me." Mike looked around for the waitress and signaled her to come over. Suddenly his phone rang. He had forgotten about Storm. 

"Hey man, I'm sorry." 

"Don't worry I heard everything. We have to talk."

"Yeah, I agree. She's fine."

"Good keep her close." 

"I will." Mike handed the phone to Sally. 





Trust Ch. 08a



Chapter 8A -- Don't you look back?

My final gasp of sated pleasure mingled with Emma's muffled sigh of deep delight as I slowly withdrew from her and lifted myself to rest on my knees beside her. I turned her over onto her stomach and undid the knot of the brightly patterned headscarf that I had tied tightly around her mouth and head to gag her. As I began to unpick the series of knots securing the elaborate cat's cradle of cords that bound her wrists behind her back and her arms to the sides of her beautiful naked body I said to her, casually,

"Tell me about your first time."

She needed several seconds to flex her jaw and restore movement to her mouth muscles after being gagged for the previous couple of hours.

"Are you sure you won't be jealous?" she replied playfully as she lifted her newly-released arms to rest her head on them.

I loosened the cords tied securely around her white ankle socks and she wiggled her feet contentedly as I stroked them through her white plimsolls.

"Hmm, let me see," I considered. "I've just had a two hour session of kinky bondage sex with the hottest, sexiest and most gorgeous girl I've ever known and almost certainly ever will know, with whom I live together naked nearly all the time, in her luxurious London flat, sharing her fetishes for plimsolls, ballet, and bondage. No, I can't think of any reason to be jealous."

I lay down beside her and kissed her as she snuggled into my arms. "Tell it to me with all the details. Make me feel like it was me there doing it with you," I insisted.

"All right then," she giggled as she settled against me, "you asked for it." There was a faraway look in her eyes for a moment as she summoned up long-buried memories, then she smiled as she began her tale....

Paul had become my dance partner when I was in the fifth form at ballet school. He and some other boys from the local performing arts college had started coming to provide partners for the older girls for school performances, auditions and exams and stuff like that. At first I'd really fancied his friend Gary, who was half French and very good looking, but to my great frustration he partnered up with that snooty, stuck up Lara or Lorna or Laura -- I can never remember her first name -- MacAllison in the other fifth form class. The fact that she looked sickeningly like Audrey Hepburn probably turned his head - so annoying.

Anyway, Paul turned out to be a great partner and fantastic fun. I was highly sexed by this time, if only in my imagination, and I loved teasing and flirting with him, which he was only too happy to reciprocate. As time went on I became more and more desperate to have sex with him and I pestered him about it every chance I got. I knew he was keen but he insisted that we wait until I was sixteen and legal. Even though I wanted sex so badly, I was just as desperate for my first time not to be just a quick grope and poke. In the end I discovered, happily, that I needn't have worried.

My birthday coincided with being at home for the Easter holiday, so I had to endure another fortnight of almost climbing the walls with frustration before I could be with him again. It may sound like I was a typical silly schoolgirl in giddy teenage love with an older boy, he was five years older than me and on the verge of graduating from the college, after all, but it wasn't like that. I only wanted one thing from him and that was his body, and I knew that he knew it too. I also knew that he wanted my body likewise.

Being an older girl I was free to go out of school at weekends to practice with him at the dance studio in the nearby town. We would spend most of our practice times together working on a pas-de-deux for an upcoming school performance or a competition, but use the last few minutes just having fun improvising and trying out steps and sequences and lifts and stuff. 

So at long last we were dancing alone together in a practice room at the dance studio. My whole body was fuelled with nervous excitement and anticipation and his every touch was like electricity flowing through me as he held me against him and lifted me high above his head with his powerful arms; because I knew that afterwards he was going to drive me to his flat and take my virginity.

Our dancing had an even more intense physicality and sensuality with the shared knowledge of what we were going to experience together afterwards. With every move I seemed able to bend and stretch my body far more than before. I thrilled to even the slightest touch of his fingertips through the thin nylon coverage of my leotard and my tights, and on my bare skin through the thin straps of my leotard lying in a criss-cross pattern against my back. 

When we danced in my school productions or in competitions I had to wear a relatively modest school regulation light blue leotard, but when we practiced on our own I wore my own shiny black cut away, thin-strapped leotard, that I had saved up for and bought specially for him, that came high up on my thighs and was so low at my neck and my back that virtually only my breasts, bottom and crotch were covered. As I arched my back and my feet while he lifted me higher and higher I was convinced that my breasts would suddenly burst out from under the tightly straining, cupping cling of my leotard and my toes would pop out from under the vamps of my shiny pink satin pointe shoes.

He held me aloft in triumph for one last time as I, facing up towards the high ceiling of the studio, bent my legs back downwards to tickle the back of his neck with the points of my ballet shoes. Then with great strength and skill he manoeuvred my body in his hands before setting me down expertly and gently on my points. I put my arms around his waist and kissed him hungrily as I felt his hands caress my bottom through my tights and then his fingers slip beneath the tapering crotch of my leotard between my legs.

For one heart stopping moment I thought he was going to take me there and then. But he always loved to tease me and play with my emotions. "Shower at my place, afterwards," he grinned at me as he stroked a little wisp of my hair that had escaped from my ballerina bun to rest against the excited blush of my cheek.

"That'll be lovely," I breathed, hardly knowing whether to feel let down or even more excited, as I kissed him again.

I eased out of his embrace, skipped across the room on my turned out feet to where I had placed my dance bag and outdoor clothes and sat down on the floor to take off my ballet shoes. Even the feel of the hard wooden boards on my bottom through my leotard and on the soles of my feet through my tights gave me a sensual thrill I'd never felt before. My fingers were trembling as I undid my ballet shoe ribbons from around my ankles, slipped off my shoes, placed them in a muslin bag so the sweaty interiors could dry out and placed them in my dance bag. He sat beside me and we rubbed shoulders and laughed and joked together while I put on my soft white cotton ankle socks over my pale pink tights and then pulled on my white plimsolls as he put on his black Puma trainers over his grey tights.

"You look really sexy like that," he said, stroking my thigh.

"So do you," I smiled as I kissed him again and nudged his ankle with the side of my plimsoll. It was the first time he had ever made a direct reference to my plimsolls and it really excited me.

I pulled on a pink hooded sweatshirt and tiny pale blue denim shorts over my leotard while he put on grey tracksuit bottoms and a dark green fisherman's jumper, which made him look even more ruggedly handsome. We picked up our bags and strolled out of the studio, hand in hand, to his car, a somewhat dilapidated but still excitingly sexy classic red Triumph Spitfire. I eased in next to him and within I few seconds we were on our way to his flat, with anticipation and nervous excitement increasing within me at every moment so that I could feel every movement of the car deep in the pit of my stomach. My whole body was already yearning for his. Desperate to relieve my tension, I looked at him and smiled, putting my hand on his that rested on the shiny knob of the gear change.

"You know you didn't have to wait until I was sixteen. You could have had me months ago if you'd wanted to."

"Don't imagine that I didn't think about it," he smiled back. "I did, often". He began gently to stroke my knee as he continued. But no girl is worth going to jail over, not even a top piece of jailbait totty like you, Sexy Legs." He smiled again and gave my knee a gentle squeeze for emphasis. His touch felt gorgeous through my ballet tights and I sighed and patted the soles of my plimsolls on the foot well carpet with pleasure.

We parked outside his flat, an upper floor Victorian terrace conversion near the centre of the town, scampered up the stairs to avoid being seen and almost fell over each other in a mad dash to burst through the front door into the sitting room.

He closed the door behind him, strode across to the other side of the room where there was a large black leather sofa and, without any preliminary, began to strip off. I watched in amazement as he kicked off his trainers and then peeled off his sweater, red tee shirt, tracksuit bottoms, grey sports vest and his grey tights. Then I froze as he stepped out of his dance belt and dropped it casually on the floor before, equally casually, turning to face me naked. My gaze took in the athletic hairiness of his powerful, well proportioned body before it locked on to his massive erection standing proud out of a thick dark bush of pubic hair. I stared at it open mouthed at the thought of it having been so many times until now pressed up against my body through the thin covering of my leotard and ballet tights.

"Come on then, Pretty Tits, get your kit off. This is what you want isn't it?" he cajoled me. "And there'll be plenty for you to keep your mouth open for as well if that's what you like."

He lay on his side along the sofa, his head propped on his hand, to watch me undress, all the while slowly stroking his huge manhood as he watched intently my every move. I suddenly felt very awkward and self-conscious and I felt like I was trembling all over as I took my clothes off. I removed my sweatshirt and shorts and stood awkwardly in my leotard, tights and plimsolls before his gaze. He smiled and nodded encouragingly.

Feeling a little better, I slipped the straps of my leotard from off my shoulders, peeled it down to my waist and, balancing extra carefully on each foot in turn, stepped out of it. I let him look at me for a moment topless in my tights and plimsolls and I felt my nipples swell and stiffen with my excitement as I displayed my bare breasts to a boy for the first time.

Just then I noticed behind him the open door of a bedroom. He shared the flat with Gary and I realised that it was Gary's room. On the bedside table was a photograph that immediately caught my attention. It was a photograph of Gary and Laura (or Lorna or Lara) receiving a dance competition prize from Princess Diana. He looked incredibly handsome in a black unitard and black leather ballet slippers while she -- curse her -- looked like an elfin fairy princess in her white classical short skirted tutu with white tights and ballet shoes and a little diamante tiara garlanding her dark hair, as she did a perfect curtsey.

For a split second I had a picture of them writhing and thrusting together naked on his bed and jealousy made a sudden snatch at my throat, then I instantly dismissed it. She was too much of a goody-toe-shoes. I smiled at Paul again and got back to what I was there for.

I knelt to unlace and slip off my plimsolls, slide off my ankle socks and ease out of my ballet tights. Finally, taking a deep breath, I took off the little white cotton g-string I wore under my leotard and I stood naked before him. Not knowing what else to do with my hands I lifted one to nervously brush against my cheek and folded my other arm across my body beneath my breasts, wishing that my pubic hair was thick and fluffy like his rather than a thin and whispy covering over my mound. Suddenly a very nice idea popped into my mind. 

"Can I put my plimsolls back on?" I asked.

"Sure, whatever turns you on," he smiled. 

That was the thing about him that really frustrated me: he just didn't get my thing for plimsolls. He was always a straight down the line high heels man.

I sat on the floor and relished the very special pleasure of putting on white ankle socks and plimsolls while being naked. My fingers trembled with excitement at the thought of having my first-time sex with my plimsolls on and I needed a couple of goes to tie the laces properly. When I had finished I stretched out my legs with my feet together and arched my feet as much as I could as if trying to force all the mounting sexual excitement in my body down to my toes. I had never been naked in my plimsolls with a boy before and I felt incredibly sexy and turned on. Paul got up and walked over to me, looked down at me and grinned.

"So what do you want to do, Hot Bottom?" he asked.

I didn't know what to think. "I don't know," I replied sheepishly, looking down at my plimsolls.

"Has that fancy posh tarts' finishing school taught you about blow jobs yet?" He asked cheekily.

I loved it when he teased me about my school being full of teenage nymphomaniacs and wannabee call girls. Actually in my case at least he wasn't completely wrong. I did once go with a man for money, and it was only the one time, I promise. But that's another story.

"I've read about them in 'Cosmopolitan'" I giggled.

"All right then, get up on your knees and show me how it's done," he challenged me.

I moved up to him with a crouching shuffle of my knees on the large rug that covered much of the bare wood floor, until my face was positioned just opposite and level with his erection. For a moment I stared at his great tumescent protrusion of man flesh and wondered how I could possibly get my mouth around it. I felt daunted and inadequate by the knowledge that at long last I was about to get what I'd asked for so many times and for so long.

Tentatively at first I placed my finger tip on the dilated opening in the middle of the shiny swollen dome of his head and felt the warm viscosity of his pre-cum. I drew my finger across the velvety soft surface of his head and traced the circumference of it where it joined the thickness of his shaft. I followed the sinuous lines of the swollen blood vessels that stood proud of the surface of his shaft. I cupped the firm cluster of his balls in my hand and marvelled at their mass as I continued stroking his length, a little more firmly than before, all the time summoning up the courage to take him into my mouth.

I took a deep breath and, becoming almost cross eyed to keep what I was doing in my vision, opened my mouth, pursed my lips against the curve of his head and slowly pushed my head forward until his entire dome was enclosed within my mouth. My heart began to pound with the pleasure of his warm and salty flavour and the firm feel of his flesh against my lips as I sealed them as tightly as I could around his circumference. My jaw was already aching with the effort of containing him. 

Continuing to fondle and squeeze his balls with one hand while rubbing against his tautly stretched skin the thumb of my other hand firmly encircling the base of his shaft, I experimented with running my lips up and down his erection to see how much of his length I could swallow. I began to gag as his head started to rub against the back of my throat and I remembered about needing to take deep breaths to force down the gagging reflex. I soon got to like the sensation of his head rubbing against the entrance to my throat and for a couple of minutes, with wide eyes and nostrils flaring, I sucked, stroked and squeezed his manhood in a co-ordinated process of oral and manual pleasuring.

I felt his hands, resting on my head, and his legs, tremble more and more as his excitement mounted until he cried out,

"Fuck me, Girl, I thought you'd never done this before. Stop it now or I'll come in your mouth."

For a split second my heart leapt at the idea of his huge prick spurting in my mouth or all over my face, but he acted to save himself just in time. He moved his hands from the top of my head to the sides and pushed me back to expose his whole length glistening with a slick and stringy mixture of his pre-cum and my saliva. He squatted down in front of me and took a couple of deep breaths.

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "You are a total natural. Are you ready for the Real Thing?"

"OK!" I breathed excitedly, my breasts rising and falling with my excitement. He smiled at me and I beamed an eager smile back at him but his next comment left me with a sudden sick feeling in my stomach.

"Have you thought about whether or not I'll be wearing a condom?"

I couldn't believe my stupidity. I wasn't on the pill and I had no prophylactic of any description on, or indeed inside, my person. He laughed at my anxious expression. "Don't worry, because I have," he reassured me. He stood up again and stretched his arm to the drawer of a small table close by. He reached into the drawer and took something out of it. "If you're in the habit of reading 'Cosmopolitan' then you'll no doubt know how to put one of these on," he quipped. In his hand was the shiny silver square of a wrapped condom.

"I haven't got anything to put one on," I giggled, suddenly emboldened again by the knowledge of how much he was prepared to take care of me.

"Ha, ha, very funny," he smiled. "Now get on with it and stop wasting time. I've got to get you back to school before people start wondering what you're up to."

Taking care to remember the step-by-step instructions in an article I had read, I carefully tore the wrapper down one side after squeezing the contents to the other side, removed the condom and carefully examined it to make sure that the teat was sticking out the right way through the circle of rolled up latex. He handed me a wet wipe and I ran it over the length of his erection a couple of times to make sure he was clean, which gave him a thrill of pleasure. I placed the teat of the condom against his head and, keeping a tight grip on his circumference, rolled the condom onto him until the rolled up open end rested snugly against his groin. Then, nestling his shaft in my cleavage, I smoothed the surface of the condom from tip to base over his huge swollen member with firm pressure of my thumb and fingertips. I gasped at the thought that soon he would be putting it inside me; but not just yet.

"I like the way you do that, Pretty Tits," he smiled and I felt giddy with excitement as he reached down to stroke the sides of my breasts and then push them together to squeeze them against his shaft. The warmth and firmness of it within my cleavage felt gorgeous. "Anyway," he continued, "Now I'm ready, we need to get you ready. Sit on the floor and lean back with your legs apart."

I did what he said, instinctively arching my ballerina feet in my white plimsolls and anxious to find out what he was going to do to me next. He got up and went to the drawer again, returning this time with something that looked like a toothpaste tube. He took my hand, stretched out my index finger and onto my fingertip he squeezed out a large blob of clear gel. Squatting down between my spread-apart legs, his erection gently swaying from side to side as it pointed straight out from his groin towards me, he placed his finger on my private. I gave a little squeal of pleasurable surprise.

"A girl can get a bit uncomfortable in there for her first few times. This stuff will help. It'll help things slide against each other more easily until your fanny learns to lubricate itself properly on its own."




Trust Ch. 08a



He placed my fingertip on my slot and showed me how to apply the gel around and inside my private. I felt a brief twinge of shame at the realisation that so much of what I thought I knew about my body and about sex was just head knowledge (so to speak) from magazines and that I was relying on him so much for the practical application. But now I was excited about being on the brink of womanhood for real and I was aching to get him inside me.

"If it does start to hurt and you want to stop, that's fine," he smiled gently, stroking my hair against my cheek reassuringly.

I startled him with the sudden urgency with which I gripped his wrist and looked him right in the eyes.

"Whatever happens, promise me you won't stop, even if I cry," I insisted. "If it's going to hurt I want the pain as well as the pleasure. I want the whole experience. The pleasure's worth nothing without the pain."

"OK, I understand," he replied gently. "But we're going to do it in a way that let's you control how much you can take."

He thought for a moment before getting up and starting to roll up the rug to expose the wood floor. Although he never would have admitted it, I think he secretly relished being in the role of the older man guiding and choreographing a young ballerina in her sexual initiation.

"Put your pointes back on," he said.

I could hear the blood rushing through my body in my excitement at the thought of what he was planning for me as I removed my white plimsolls and ankle socks; feeling only slightly disappointed that I wouldn't be wearing them for my first time after all, bent over my dance bag to retrieve my pale pink satin ballet shoes, sat on the floor to place my feet inside them and nervously tied the ribbons around my ankles. It seemed an age before I got the knots right and the 'pig's ears' properly tucked away behind the ribbons tightly encircling my ankles. When I had finished I stretched out my legs with my feet together, arched my feet and I slowly stroked the whole length of my legs and feet to enjoy the sensation. I had never been naked in my ballet shoes before and I felt incredibly sexy and turned on. I stood up and balanced on each foot in turn as I pointed and flexed the other foot, with the hardened tip of my ballet shoe resting on the floor.

He finished rolling away the carpet, stood up and grinned at me.

"Now it's time for your debut," he smiled. Then in best ballet master fashion he clapped his hands and barked out "cinquième position, en pointe."

My years of ballet training immediately kicked in and I instinctively leapt up onto the points of my ballet shoes, with one foot tightly tucked in behind the other, and lifted my arms in a graceful arch above my head, with my outstretched fingers just touching at the very tips. 

"Et maintenant, bourée," he instructed me, indicating with his hands that I was to come and stand right before him. With a rapid series of tiny tippy-tappy-toe steps across the wooden floor on the points of my ballet shoes I approached him. I was incredibly aware of my naked body. My legs and feet and arms and hands felt amazingly extended and elongated. My bottom felt as if it was projecting way out behind me and my breasts seemed to be ballooning outwards in front of me, pushing my swollen nipples far out towards where he stood waiting for me, and as I advanced towards him I felt like a virgin on her way to her sacrifice to a pagan god of erotic desire, which in a sense was exactly what I was.

I came right up to him where he stood with his legs together and his arms folded in front of him and lowered myself down onto the soles of my ballet shoes, my turned out feet remaining tightly tucked together in tandem in the opposite parallel of fifth position. I kept my arms up above my head. My breasts rose and fell with my deep breaths of physical effort and sexual excitement as I looked directly into his eyes.

"Deuxième position, en pointe," he commanded me. Instinctively again I balanced on my back foot, raised my front foot slightly and, with my pointed toes just brushing the floor, slid my foot out to the side until I stood with my legs apart, my feet turned out at 180 degrees. Then I arched my feet and pushed up onto the points of my ballet shoes again. As I did so he raised his hands, took hold of my arms and drew them around his neck. My arms were even slenderer then, before I finished filling out in my later teens. My arms and hands and fingers looked so graceful and femininely fragile and delicate against the strong and burly masculine build of his neck and shoulders as I clung to him. 

He reached behind my head and pulled out the pins from my ballerina bun so my hair fell in a golden curtain on my shoulders and down my back, and I shivered with delight as I felt my hair brush against my bare skin. Then he placed his hands on my hips and brought his body, in all his magnificent rampant-ness, up to the trembling, delicate, virgin femininity that was mine. I could feel the very tip of his erection just touching my entrance. My heart was pounding and my whole body was electric to his touch. I knew exactly what would happen next.

"Et maintenant, plié," he instructed me. This was it. I took a deep breath and began to bend my legs while I supported my weight on his shoulders and he steadied me with his hold on my hips. In this way I slowly began to lower myself onto his huge shaft. I gasped as I felt his head begin to push my lips apart and nestle within them. I stopped for a second and then tried coming down a little further until his whole head was inside me. Straight away I realised that he was going to be a very tight fit. Even with the lubricating gel, the friction from the rub of his firmness against my membranes was uncomfortable and unfamiliar. But the thrill of feeling his first entrance into me buoyed me up and spurred me on.

I pliéd up a little to give myself some relief and then came down onto him again, a little more this time. Now I was beginning to feel the whole circumference of his shaft opening me up and rubbing against my entrance. My young and immature pudenda could barely stretch enough to take his width and my inexperienced teenage glands were totally unequal to the task of lubricating me adequately for such a huge first-time demand. I regretted having not thought of trying to insert anything bigger than my finger inside myself during my early attempts at self-pleasure, to prepare my body at least a little for what it now had to face. I had to admit that I had been the female equivalent of all mouth and no trousers, able to think and talk a good game but having hardly any notion of actually playing one, until now. But now I had no time or thought to spare for regrets.

In spite of the growing pain between my legs each time I rose and fell on him I was determined to get his whole length inside me. I drove myself down onto him, further and further down each time, again and again. My whole body trembled with mounting sexual tension, increasing pain and ever greater effort to keep my quivering legs and feet en pointe in my ballet shoes. Wearing ballet shoes with bare feet when I'm naked looks and feels gorgeously sexy when I'm lying on a bed or stretched out on the floor, but actually dancing in them on point without tights on is bloody uncomfortable I can tell you. Tears streamed down my face and a rivulet of blood began to run down my leg. I felt the trickle of it on the inside of my thigh and I felt fantastic because I knew then for certain that I wasn't a virgin any more.

At long last I forced myself all the way down onto him and I felt my entrance nestle tight against his groin and my lips tightly encircle the base of his shaft. Making a deep belly grunt of passion with every gasping breath as I felt my orgasm approach I clung tightly to his neck, buried my tear stained face in his shoulder and gritting my teeth against the pain, made a succession of rapid up and down pelvic grinding thrusts along the whole length of his shaft.

Then, like a dam suddenly collapsing under the pressure of pent up waters pushing against it, my orgasm burst out from my womanhood and flooded my entire being. I flung back my head and opened my mouth to release the long low moan of pleasure that was about to burst my lungs if I didn't release it. But he immediately clamped his hand tightly over my mouth and whispered anxiously at me,

"Ssh! Quiet! There are people in the flats around."

For a moment I made little muffled moans of ecstasy through the tight grip of his hand against my lips. In the midst of my orgasm I felt incredibly turned on by the experience of being restrained and dominated and it instantly imprinted itself vividly on my youthful and burgeoning sexual imagination.

Up until now he had kept still as I had ground myself on him. Now, keeping his hand on my mouth, he began to thrust me, pushing hard to overcome the resistance of my tight clench on him buried deep inside me. The effect of the gel had completely disappeared and with every thrust I made a muffled groan of pain through his hand as saw-like waves cut through my very core. After several thrusts he came and, unable to hold my legs in position any more, I clung to him tightly and lifted my legs to wrap them around him. Weak at the knees in his orgasm, he had just enough strength to shuffle over to the sofa and collapse onto it with me on top of him.

We kissed passionately open mouthed and I covered his face in my tears of pain and delight while I squeezed his waning erection as hard as I could for as long as I could before his spontaneous withdrawal from the close confinement of my sore and throbbing womanhood made me squeal with a short shock of stabbing discomfort..

"I thought you were going to raise the roof just then," he smiled, gently brushing the tears from my eyes. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah, fantastic," I managed to beam at him through my tears.

"I'm sorry I did that to your mouth. I had to shut you up -- too much noise not good," he explained apologetically.

"It's OK, I liked it actually," I smiled. He seemed not to take the hint, which disappointed me a little.

"Good, that's all right then. Anyway, we need to sort you out and get away from here as quick as possible and set up an alibi for you in case you need one," he said matter of factly, in a very masculine fashion that left me feeling a little deflated.

Although he was anxious to get on, he could see that I needed a few minutes to recover from my experience. He brought me a warm flannel to refresh my face and wipe the blood from my leg and a cool compress soaked with a few drops of witch hazel to soothe my sore and swollen private. He also brought me a small glass of clear amber liquid which tasted like fire but at least took my mind off the fire pulsating between my legs. So it was I had my first taste of scotch along with my first taste of sex. He poured himself a drink and I drew my legs up so he could sit beside me on the sofa. Now that I felt calmer after all my excitement, I was able to appreciate his body more. I rested my feet on his legs and he gently stroked them through my ballet shoes and massaged the tension out of my aching calves, which felt wonderful.

"Isn't it amazing how you and I are so different and so alike at the same time," I remarked enthusiastically. "I've got one of these and you've got one of those and a pair of those," I continued, pointing to our respective private parts; "and I've got these and you've only got those," I giggled as I cupped my breasts in my hands and then placed my index finger tips on his nipples. "But we've both got arms and legs and hands and feet and fingers and toes and eyes and ears and a nose and mouth and...and...lots of other things the same." The whisky had slightly gone to my head.

"Ah, but yours are put together much nicer than mine, Pretty Tits," he smiled, kissing my knee.

"Maybe," I giggled, "but I'm glad that yours are put together the way they are." I stroked the soft hair of his chest affectionately.

"Vive la difference," he grinned and we toasted the difference with another sip of scotch.

We got dressed and I very gingerly eased on my g-string over my private. I winced with pain and he suggested keeping the compress on under my g-string, which helped a bit. I put on my bra and my pink Pineapple Dance Studio tee shirt that I had changed out of for our ballet practice and I finished my dressing with my sweatshirt, shorts and my bare legs in my white plimsolls and ankle socks.

We walked to a nearby café which was owned by a friend of his who was more than happy to vouch that we'd gone there after leaving the dance studio. He even gave us a receipt left by an earlier customer, which showed that we'd been enjoying coffee and cake at the time when we'd been enjoying each other. After that, as it was a Saturday and I didn't have to be back in school until the evening, we drove out to a country pub for a meal and had a walk afterwards before he drove me back to school in plenty of time....

"So what happened after that?" I asked Emma.

"We had sex every Saturday morning after our ballet practice for the rest of the term. Gary never found out that Paul was doing me in their flat and I managed to keep my secret, which was amazing when you think how difficult it is to keep any secret in an all-girls school. One or two of the smarter girls might have suspected that something was up (me) so to speak," she giggled cheekily at this point, "but I was never challenged about it. Maybe they were all at it as well, except for snooty stuck-up Lorna MacAllister. She suddenly looked surprised. "Isn't that funny? I've just remembered her name after all these years."

"Anyway." she continued. "He graduated that summer and told me he was off to London to seek his fame and fortune. I remember after the last time we had sex together he held me close, looked into my eyes and said, 'You're a Top Girl, Emma, the best of the best. One day, I might just regret letting you go,' but I never found out if he ever did. That was the first and only time in all the times we were alone together that he called me by my name and not some sexy nickname about my body. Looking back, I wish he'd done that more often." There was a faraway, wistful in her eye for a moment. "He was perfect for my first sexual partner. He wasn't in love with me any more than I was with him. It would have been bad for me at that stage of my life if he had been. But we were fond of each other and he always took good care of me.

"He could have been a fantastic ballet dancer but he was more into modern dance styles so he got into the music business. He's toured and done music videos with Michael and Justin and Madonna and Kylie and lots of other big stars. Now he does choreography. He still emails me and sends me tickets for concerts he's in every now and then."

"So what about this 'other story' you mentioned," I smiled. "I'm honestly not jealous, just curious, that's all."

"Oh that story," she giggled. "I got into really bad debt while I was at Dance College and I needed to pay it back quickly. Anyway, one night I got chatting to this guy at a party. He told me he was a finance director of some big company or other and he certainly looked like it. Everything about him said serious money. We got really drunk and while I was telling him about being a ballet dancer and training to be a ballet teacher he suddenly said he'd pay any amount of money to do a ballerina. So I, being completely off my head, said I'd do it with him for £500 and he said OK. 

"When I'd sobered up and realised what I'd done I thought about calling it off and then thought 'what the hell, why not?' I needed the money and the opportunity had fallen in my lap, just like that. It wasn't like I'd deliberately gone out and pimped myself to him for it. 

"He drove me in his flashy Mercedes two-seater to this really posh country house hotel in Berkshire and we did the whole booking in at a hotel thing. He put us down as Mr and Mrs Fonteyn, which I thought was a nice touch. He'd booked one of the bridal suites and it was just fantastic, full of elegant antique furniture and old master paintings and stuff like that, and this fantastic four-poster bed that Queen Victoria had slept in. I changed into my classical pink tutu with a tiny frilly skirt and did my hair and makeup in the ensuite while he got himself ready in the bedroom. I wore my pink ballet shoes with white cotton knee socks because he had a thing about girls in knee socks and he didn't want to mess about with pulling down my tights to get into me.

"I made my grand entrance and danced around the bed en pointe for him, which was dangerous to do on carpet but I managed not to hurt myself. Then he stripped off my tutu -- I wasn't wearing anything underneath -- got me down on the bed, did the business and then tied me up and gagged me and started filming me struggling to escape and mumphing in my gag. I suppose I was taking a big risk by letting a man I'd only met twice do that to me, but I reckoned I was reasonably safe because lots of people had seen us checking in and going up to our room; he'd already done me once so had probably had enough of that for one evening, and he knew I'd told my flatmate I'd be back by the morning. So the worst he could have done was leave me like that to explain to the chambermaid or whoever found me the next morning why I was alone in the room, lying on the bed tied up and gagged and naked except for pink ballet shoes and white knee socks. 

"Anyway, he let me go after a few minutes and gave me my five hundred pounds, all in brand new twenty pound notes in a very posh looking envelope embossed with a gold crest of some kind -- everything about him was really classy. He also gave me a fifty pound tip for being the best girl he'd ever had and said I could have a great career if I wanted it, which was flattering in a way and something to think about, but then he probably said that to all the other girls too. So I thought 'once bitten, twice shy' and my brilliant career as a call girl started and finished there and then. We drove back to London and he dropped me off at my flat, gave me a magnum of champagne which he'd kept in the boot of the car for me, kissed me one last time before driving off and that was the last I ever saw of him.

"A few months later I found out he'd gone to prison for stealing three million pounds from the company he worked for and spending it on -- according to the news report -- 'fast cars, expensive hotels, exotic holidays and high class prostitutes'. So I guess I'd been in pretty good company.

"So that's my story." She lifted herself and leaned over to kiss me. "Now it's your turn," she smiled.

"I'll do my best to make mine as exciting as yours," I responded with a kiss on the tip of her nose....

I didn't lose my virginity until I had gone up to Cambridge. I didn't remain sexless all through school for any good or moral reason; I would have jumped at the chance anytime for a quick grope and poke. No, the reason was simply because I was terrified of what my parents would do to me if they'd found out I'd being doing something I shouldn't have been; keeping them from finding out that I masturbated while wearing Bryony's underwear was hard enough. The other reason was that I was determined that when I first had sex with a girl we would both be wearing white plimsolls. So I kept my head down (so to speak) and behaved myself until Bryony and I broke with our parents and we both left home for good.

I was doing economics and business studies at Cambridge. It was the early days of the World Wide Web and the internet was just starting to become a useful tool for business research, so a couple of weeks after starting my course I booked a session at the University Library with the Subject Specialist for Business Studies to see what was available and how to use it, and that's how I met Claire.




Trust Ch. 08a



She was about thirty-five and way too attractive to be a stereotypical spinster librarian even though she seemed to be aspiring to it. The first few times I saw her she always looked the same: plain coloured long-sleeved roll-neck top, plain grey or black skirt just above the knee, black tights and flat lace-up shoes, straight black hair tied back in a pony tail or piled up on her head with a clip, no make up and no jewellery except for ear studs and a plain and simple watch. I couldn't help get the feeling that for some reason she was deliberately not making the best of herself.

She helped me a few more times with researching various projects I was doing and we became quite friendly. So it was that during one session the monitor of the PC at the service desk suddenly packed up. She took me into the staff office behind the desk so we could carry on by using her own PC. I saw to my great interest that all around her workspace were ballet posters and photos of ballerinas.

"I see you're a ballet fan. Do you dance?" I asked her.

"I just go to an adult beginners' class. Nothing special; just basic steps and movements, but it's a good way to exercise and I do enjoy imagining that I'm a real ballerina for a little while each week." She smiled wistfully for a moment, stroking the edge of her keyboard.

"Did you want to be a ballerina when you were a girl?" I asked, smiling back. Her smile took on a hint of sadness, which made me feel self-consciously regretful for asking her.

"My parents belonged to a strict religious sect that took a very dim view of girls showing off and displaying their bodies in any way, so I wasn't allowed," she replied, her smile now visibly taking an effort to maintain.

"It's horrible when your parents stop you doing the things you really want to do. Mine are like that too," I sympathised. Our shared smile was now one of fellow feeling.

The next time I saw her she looked different. The basic elements were the same as before, but were now presented in a way that was altogether brighter, softer and far more feminine. She wore a pretty white silk blouse with lace trim. Her attractive floral pattern skirt came up higher above her knees to show off more of her legs; and she had very nice legs, which were now shown off in pale cream tights with an embossed diamond pattern, which complemented her skirt beautifully. She wore just enough make up to show off her enigmatically attractive eyes and mouth to fine advantage and she now wore her hair loose on her shoulders, highlighting their delicate feminine form. Best of all, on her feet she now wore shiny black ballerina pumps with pretty bows on the tops. I looked at her admiringly for a moment and then realised with a start of amazed recognition that she was doing all this for me.

"I have to do something about this, now," I decided. I stepped up to her, placed my mouth close to her ear, which was now wearing a beautiful diamond and pearl drop earring, and whispered confidentially to her, "I can get tickets for the Northern Ballet Theatre performance on Saturday. Would you like to come?"

She looked surprised at first, then thoughtful for a moment, and then she beamed at me.

"I'd love to," she whispered back.

The recollection of her look of apparent delight at being asked out by a man -- more a youth really -- almost half her age comforted me as I walked out of the library, wondering if I'd done the right thing.

We saw the ballet and, being comfortably well off for a student thanks to my grandfather's timely legacy, I took her for dinner at one of the smarter Cambridge restaurants. Our conversation was a bit stop-start punctuated at times with periods of mutually embarrassed silence as we were still a little unsure of each other and we didn't gel naturally together, but I thought it went OK in spite of that and she said she enjoyed my company and wanted to see me again.

So we went out several more times, to art exhibitions and classical music concerts and other arty stuff. We would usually meet somewhere in the town for a drink beforehand, that was until the time when we were arranging a date and she suggested I came to her flat instead.

If I'd been as knowledgeable about things then as I am now, I would known straight away that something new was in the air, but I was eighteen and I knew fuck all so I turned up on her doorstep like a complete numbskull and didn't get what was going on even when I knocked on her door and I heard her call out,

"The door's open, come on in!"

I stepped inside, feeling a bit nervous, closed the front door and went from the entrance hall into the lounge.

"I'll be ready in just a moment, get yourself a drink," she called to me from beyond a closed door at the opposite end of the lounge, which I guessed led to her bedroom. I knew enough about women even then to know that 'just a moment' in this particular context could mean any length of time, so I thought I'd sit it out in an armchair with a choice of one of many books lining the walls -- she was a librarian after all -- and at least be comfortable. But first I turned my attention to a collection of bottles and glasses arranged artfully on a small table.

"What can I get you?" I called back to her as I concentrated on uncorking a bottle of expertly chilled and expensive looking white wine.

"I'm alright for now thanks." I was startled by the unexpected closeness of her voice behind me. I turned around and what I saw made me almost drop both the bottle and the wine glass in my amazement.

She stood magnificently framed within the entrance to her bedroom, one leg slightly bent with her foot in suggestive demi-pointe, one arm raised in subtle challenge to rest her hand on the door frame, her head alluringly tilted slightly to one shoulder, her breasts rising and falling steadily as she smiled straight at me, her gaze candid and yet with a hint of appeal. Whatever she was ready for, it certainly was not going out to a restaurant for dinner; unless, that is, it had a very relaxed dress and behaviour code. 

She was dressed from head to toe in black satin, silk and lace. She wore a black satin push up and plunge bra, with lace trim on the cups and shoulder straps; that seemed to double the size of her assets. She wore black satin and lace panties with the narrowest of waistbands joining the front and the back over her trim thighs. Suspender belt and suspenders trimmed with lace held up stockings of sheer black silk and lycra that celebrated her long, sleek legs that tapered down to her long, slender feet that looked very sexy in black satin ballet slippers -- real ballet slippers this time -- with a thin strap of elastic across the top of each to keep them securely on her feet.

She had brushed her hair so that it floated in a soft dark cloud around her head and on her bare shoulders. Her eyes were rendered mesmeric by perfectly applied mascara and eye lining. Her face was exquisitely softened and hued by expert use of foundation and blusher and her mouth was a ruby mine of desire. A thin black silk ribbon choker tied in a bow behind her neck drew attention to her graceful neck, while earrings and bracelets of beautifully classic design in silver and pearl did the same for her pretty ears and her delicately feminine arms, hands and wrists. Perfectly manicured nails painted to match her lips completed the wonderful symphony of her body. She was totally stunning and I looked at her in slack-jawed amazement mixed with more than a little primordial male terror, as the crotch of my trousers began to fill with my erection summoned by the siren call of her gorgeousness.

She looked directly at me, smiling expectantly, waiting for me to make the next move. I was totally clueless as to what to do or say. My first attempt to find my bearings in the maelstrom inside me was a feeble attempt at humour as a diffusive strategy.

"I don't think they'll let you into the restaurant looking like that, Claire," I smiled weakly.

"Would you rather go to the restaurant?" 

Her reply was a perfectly executed rapier thrust to my vitals, savagely cutting down my pathetic initial advance and rendering all further resistance futile. She changed nothing in her pose or her expression. Her voice sounded like she was expecting me to give her the answer we both knew I was bound to give her. I did so in best bumbling Hugh Grant fashion.

"Well, er, as it happens, I wasn't exactly thinking that we had to absolutely, so to speak, go to the restaurant at this precise moment in time but that we could, quite reasonably and happily, if we both thought it to be expedient, er, to, go later." The last two words were pitched as if I was suggesting to her that we spend the evening at a naked mud wrestling competition; a suggestion which, in the circumstances, might well have been considered entirely appropriate.

"Oh shut up, Charles," she laughed, glided up to me and, with a practiced dexterity that was almost magical, undid my trouser belt and my flies, pushed my trousers down -- followed in quick succession by my underpants -- to my knees, curled her long fingers exquisitely around my balls and began to kiss me, presumably having decided to cut off the possibility of me wasting any more time with totally inane attempts at conversation.

Keeping my mouth under the enchantment of her lips she completed my undressing, her hands gliding across and over my submissive frame as she pushed off my jacket, undid my shirt and peeled it off me, and then got down on her knees to remove my white Converse plimsolls and socks and finish relieving me of my trousers and briefs. Then, with a firmness and deftness of touch that made me shiver and moan with delight, she stroked my erection until I was rock hard before putting me into her mouth and giving me my first blow job.

During all the years I'd been masturbating until then, I'd longed to experience having oral sex performed on me. I even did extra gym at school to try and give my body sufficient extra flexibility so I could suck myself, but to no avail. Now it was finally happening to me and I couldn't help crying out with the exquisite feeling in my prick as she feasted on it and in my balls as she squeezed and caressed them.

She was getting more excited too, making deep grunts of pleasure as my head rubbed against the entrance to her throat, until she felt me on the edge of coming and suddenly broke off in order to stand up and lead me hurriedly into her bedroom. She quickly whipped of her panties and I goggled at my first living sight of fully aroused female organs luscious in their rosy glory between her thighs. Instead of lying on her back on the bed, like I thought she would do, she knelt on the bed on her hands and knees, her bottom raised up and pointed towards me, her woman's parts open and inviting between her splayed out legs.

"I want you to do me from behind, I like it best that way," she panted, looking back at me in anticipation.

"I don't know what to do," I exclaimed weakly. All the knowledge I had gleaned from pornographic magazines had deserted me in the sudden onset of my panic-ridden state.

"Just get up on the bed close behind me and I'll do the rest, but for fuck's sake hurry up," she urged me.

My surprise at her vehement use of the f-word galvanised me to action. I still remember thinking as I mounted the bed and came up to her from behind how cute and sexy the soles of her feet looked in her ballet slippers as they faced towards me; the way the curvy hourglass shapes of the grey leather soles were outlined in black by the leather uppers curling inwards around the edges of her feet to tuck in underneath the soles. I knelt behind her and pressed myself against her bottom. Without wasting a second she reached a long slender arm back between her legs to take hold of my manhood and, as I shuffled awkwardly into the best position, guided me into her entrance. I slipped inside her as easily as could be as she took me into her and I pushed my groin up against her bottom as close as I could before my instinct to thrust her kicked in.

"Oh you're a big bastard alright!" she gasped as I found my rhythm and began to give it to her hard. "Get my bra off and feel my tits, they're throbbing like fury!"

Inflamed by the earthiness of her encouragements I managed to fumble her bra off her and I rested from banging her for a moment to reach down and cup her breasts hanging down like ripe fruit ready for harvesting. 

"Oh that's lovely," she wept as I let her nipples, swollen to hardness in her excitement, grind against the palms of my hands before I slowly smoothed the soft undersides of her breasts. "Please finish me off now, I can't wait any more," she choked after a moment.

I resumed my thrusting and then I felt her whole body tense and clench before she let out a deep, long cry from deep in her guts. As she closed in tighter on me and I felt my own climax approaching me a deep urge of another kind took hold of me. She cried out again as I pulled out of her. I looked down at the pucker of her anus nestling between her buttocks. She gasped in surprise as she felt my head pressing in the entrance to her back passage and she relaxed herself as much as she could to let me in. She made another deep belly groan as she felt me penetrate deeper and deeper into her fundament until the fantastic sensation I was getting tipped me over the edge and I came deep inside her arse.

After feeling the convulsive quiver of several ejaculations radiate from my member through my whole body, we both groaned together as I came out of her again and simultaneously we sank exhausted to lie alongside each other on our backs.

We lay gasping and panting for a few minutes and then we both lay very quiet and very still, both of us fixing our gaze on the ceiling. A change came over both us and a sudden chill in the atmosphere seemed suddenly to descend around us. Neither of us dared to look at the other. She made no attempt to reach out me and I had no thought to touch her. Not even the knowledge that she was lying next to me only a couple of inches away, naked in her stockings, suspenders and ballet slippers, could induce me to take even a quick sideways glance at her. It took a while for the storm of disjointed impressions whirling around in my head to coalesce into rational thought, but when they did the result was bleakly, unavoidably stark: 

'This is all there is.' 

The silence continued seemingly interminably until I felt I had to say something. I could summon no feeling for my words.

"I think I'd better be going now." I continued to stare at the ceiling. 

"I think that would be best." Her reply was bled dry of emotion.

I got up and, still without looking at her or speaking to her and only partly conscious of what I was doing, stumbled back into the lounge to gather up my haphazardly strewn clothes and get dressed. My initial numbness was beginning to give way to a dumb feeling of anger at being used, even as I struggled with the inescapable fact that I had been willingly complicit in the act. As I began to pull on my trousers she finally broke the silence.

"I'm sorry."

"It's OK, it doesn't matter," I replied flatly, not looking up from my task. If she had registered my reply she gave no sign of it as she continued, the matter-of-factness of her speech somehow seeming to support a superstructure of grief.

"My husband left me for his secretary. She wasn't much older than you are now. Today's the fifth anniversary of my divorce. It's been nearly six years since I last..."

Embarrassment and unspeakable sadness choked off the last words of her sentence. I didn't need to hear them to know. My anger melted instantly into compassion. I got up and stood in the bedroom doorway and looked at her now with gentler eyes. Self-consciousness had returned to her in a renewed tyranny of shyness that had induced her to pull the bed cover over her until her breasts were concealed and only a hint of her shoulders could be seen.

"I understand," I smiled gently, "and I'm glad and I'm proud that you chose me to," I chose my next words with care, "help you experience those feelings again."

She didn't speak but her eyes brightened. They were full of emotion but she didn't give way to tears. Somehow I understood that she wanted my sympathy rather than for me to feel sorry for her, and I admired her for her emotional courage in such a hugely hurtful moment.

"I'll tell you something else," I spoke with true feeling. "Anyone who could leave you for someone else should have had his head examined."

Now her smile matched her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered. "That makes me feel much better"

"I'm glad," I smiled and looked at her again, in a new way this time. My heart almost shifted sideways as I contemplated just how beautiful she looked at that moment. Then I knew it was time for me to leave, and that I really did have to leave.

"See you," I whispered.

"Sure," she whispered back.

As I reached the front door I noticed for the first time her shoe rack on the floor close by. There was a sudden catch in my throat. Tucked away on the lower shelf of the rack was a yellowing and well worn pair of, what had started life as, white Marbot plimsolls. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. What would have happened if I had seen her wearing them and had found the courage to seize the moment and be candid with her about my fetish for white plimsolls? How would things then have been different between us?

My head was reeling as I meandered home, not knowing what else to do with myself, suddenly and unexpectedly alone on a Saturday night. As well having rooms in College I also kept a flat in the town so that Bryony would have somewhere to stay when she visited me, and it was there that I sought refuge in my confusion. Feeling dazed, I stripped off and had a shower. Then I went into Bryony's room and rooted in her underwear drawers for a black bra, panties, stockings and suspenders that were most like the ones that Claire had worn.

As I sat on Bryony's bed and put on her underwear I tried to imagine what Claire had been feeling while she had been preparing herself for me. Had she felt guilty about what she was planning to do; had she struggled with the urge to think again and call it all off; did her excitement at the imminent prospect of sex after so many years of celibacy so unjustly forced upon her overwhelm all other considerations?

I got no nearer to any answers as I put on a dark haired wig and brushed the hair until it was soft and cloudy about my head as hers had been. I made up and painted my nails in similar colours to hers as I sat before Bryony's dressing table mirror. I picked out some suitable items from Bryony's jewellery collection and used one of her spare black ballet shoe ribbons as a choker. Finally, my erection tightened to the maximum inside her panties as I slipped onto my black nylon and lycra stockinged feet a pair of her black leather ballet slippers. I had a pair of my own but at times like these it felt much more sensuous and illicit to put on hers.

I forgot all about the questions in my mind as I fondled myself through and inside the gorgeously soft and comforting cling of Bryony's panties before sliding them down my stockinged legs and off over my ballet slippers. I gave myself up to share in Claire's pleasure as I rolled on a condom, got up on my hands and knees, inserted a butt plug up my backside and stroked myself to ecstasy. As the first wave of my orgasm swept through me I collapsed down on the bed and my emotions burst out from me in deep sobs of release.

Of course, I never saw Claire again. I made greater use of my College's Library for my research and only ventured into the University Library when I knew she was off shift. If any of her colleagues had known about anything that had gone on between us then none of them ever said or did anything to me to betray the fact. Even so, I felt awkward about entering the University Library for a long time afterwards.




Trust Ch. 09



My apology for the late submission.





Trust Ch. 09



Chapter 9 - Every day has its dog

One of the many and varied pleasures of living with Emma is making her breakfast in bed on a Sunday morning and settling back into bed with her to enjoy it together and survey the Sunday papers. On one such morning I came across an article on the burgeoning sex slave scene amongst young professionals in London. Having read it, I showed it to Emma and then enjoyed watching the gentle rise and fall of her beautiful bare breasts and the look of concentration on her lovely face as she carefully read the article.

"It makes being a sex slave sound just like any other life-style choice," she said, a little dismissively.

"I don't know," I smiled, "You can't just knock something without having tried it first. I've often thought about what it would be like to be at the mercy of some gorgeous woman's every whim."

For a split second Emma gave me a curious look which made me wonder what she was thinking and then she grinned back at me. "I'm a gorgeous woman. You can take a day off work and be my sex slave for a day and see what you get."

"OK, you're on," I replied, seeing the playful glint in her eye and being emboldened by it; her strange fleeting glance of a moment ago was instantly forgotten.

I duly arranged a day's leave for a couple of weeks later and on the preceding evening arrived home already feeling a tight little knot of anxious and excited anticipation at the thought of what she might have in store for me the following day. As usual, when I came into the kitchen to greet her with a hug and kiss she was gloriously, wonderfully nude in just her white plimsolls and ankle socks as she busied herself on the final preparations for our dinner together as the kitchen was filled with a mixture of wonderful cooking aromas and music which I recognised from Tchaikovsky's 'Sleeping Beauty' ballet. My senses were immediately heightened and my heart instantly went up a couple of gears as she pushed her beautiful naked body against mine and gave me a long and loving kiss.

"I'm trying out a new recipe tonight. You've just got time to shower before its ready," she smiled.

"I know what you're up to," I smiled back, "wining and dining me to soften me up before you hit me with the rough stuff tomorrow."

"You hope." she laughed and kissed me again as I headed for the bathroom. A few minutes later; clean, shaved and also naked in my own white plimsolls and ankle socks, I joined her in the kitchen to help with the final bits and pieces.

"I've just realised we're completely out of wine, she said. 

I was surprised because I thought we'd stocked up on our last supermarket trip, but thought nothing of it.

"No problem, I can fetch some from the off licence," I offered. 

She hugged me and I thrilled to the feel of her soft warm skin pressed against my own.

"It would be a shame for you to get dressed again now that you're all lovely and clean and warm and smell so nice," she sighed, "There's some very nice grape juice we can have instead."

"Sounds fine with me," I smiled as I enfolded her in my arms.

We ate and we talked and we made love on the sitting room floor with the French doors wide open in the balmy summer night air and when we went to bed I settled down to sleep in total contentment, almost forgetting why I was there. The last thing I recall was her voice whispering, "Do you really want to do this?" as her white slip-on plimsolls stroked softly against my legs. To this day I've never known how, or if, I replied.

As I began to awaken the following morning my first impression was that I had slept unusually well even by my own log-like standards. Then I became aware of feeling that I was lying somewhere other than in our bed. The next impression was that my limbs were not responding to my brain's prompting to lift myself up to see where I was. Suddenly roused to full consciousness by this alarming development I discovered the reason with a mixture of amazement, anxiety and immediate erotic excitement.

I was lying on the floor of the second bedroom, the one she used as her ballet practice studio. I was wearing with my white plimsolls a pair of her black fishnet stockings with suspenders and a black lace suspender belt. I had also been fitted with a tightly fitting white silicone rubber bathing cap with the chin strap tightly adjusted. I wondered for a moment how she had had the strength to drag my dead weight here but then saw that I was lying on a bed sheet and realised that she must have used it to transport me. The bigger question still awaiting the answer was how she had managed to do all of this to me without any awareness at all on my part.

The reason for my immobility was that I was firmly and expertly tied up with lots of white non-slip nylon rope. My hands were tied behind my back and fixed against my spine with rope that circled my waist. More rope encircled my upper body and pinned my upper arms closely to my sides. More ropes went over my shoulders and around my crotch on each side of my genitals, which were themselves bound with white elastic that encircled and excitingly squeezed the neck of my ball sack and the base of my suddenly erect shaft. I thrilled at the sensations of the elastic constricting the tingling throb of my erection and my ballooning balls pressing against my inner thighs. My legs were equally firmly tied together at the ankles and just above my knees. My bonds were comfortable and did not dig into me or restrict my circulation, but they were secure and clearly not intended to be escaped from unaided.

I tried to call out to Emma but could only make the feeblest and muffled of noises with lips and tongue that had been rendered completely immobile. Meticulous attention had been given to gagging me. First my mouth cavity had been packed with a wad of soft material that was large enough to fill my mouth without endangering my airway. Then my mouth had been sealed with a tape gag consisting of a layer of thick flesh-coloured sticking plaster. Finally I had been fitted with a black leather muzzle gag with the mouthpiece fitted firmly over the tape gag. The muzzle gag had an integral collar fitting closely around my neck, which gave me yet another intensely sexual sensation. I felt a tremendous swelling thrill in my tightly bound genitals as I realised I had been treated to a virtuoso example of Emma's extensive expertise in rope and gag bondage.

As well as being tied up, my wrists had been fitted with handcuffs while my ankles were fettered by another pair. To each pair was attached a long chain which at its other end was fixed with a padlock to one or other of the radiator pipes. The chains were long enough to allow me to shuffle and squirm to the centre of the room but not reach either the door or the window. As I contemplated my condition and situation I suddenly realised the significance of why she had been listening to 'Sleeping Beauty' when I arrived last night. I'm always hopeless at spotting clues in detective stories and here was a classic example of my lack of awareness about such things.

Hearing my muffled exertions and the resulting rattling of my chains, she came into the room. If she had spent a large proportion of the previous night getting me into my current state she certainly didn't look it. In the bright sunlight softly filtered by the closed net curtains she looked delightfully fresh and achingly lovely with her golden hair caressing her bare shoulders as she stood before me in her bright and skimpy summer dress and her white plimsolls and ankle socks. I desperately wanted her to lift off her dress and take off her yellow cotton bra and the little matching lacy panties I could just make out under her dress and squat down onto me with her lovely long ballet-trained and honed legs astride me and sink down onto my bone hard erection. But no such luck.

"I wish I could have a piece of that right now," she giggled as she surveyed my state of extreme excitement, "but I have to dash, I'm afraid. It's nearly ten now and I'll be back soon after four. I'll leave the radio on for you so you won't be too bored. I'm glad that what I slipped in your grape juice gave you sweet dreams while I was preparing my little surprise for you. I thought having it with grape juice would be safer than with wine and also as you hadn't drunk it before you would be less likely to notice if the taste wasn't quite right. I really hope you don't mind me doing this to you. It's just that I've always liked the idea of having a gorgeous naked guy bound and gagged and chained up waiting for me when I got home. So when you said you'd be my sex slave for a day I had to take the opportunity while I had it. So have fun and in the meantime if you need the toilet you can use either of those." 

She pointed to the wall opposite the window and adjacent to the one I was chained to, where there was placed an antique wooden commode with a hole in the seat beneath which was an old fashioned chamber pot and, next to the commode, a large plastic bowl. Both the chamber pot and the bowl contained a generous depth of cat litter.

"See you later. You can have some more fun being my slave when I get home. I can hardly wait either." her voice sang gaily.

With that she blew me a kiss and then she was gone.

Six hours? At first I could hardly believe what she had said. When it had finally sunk in I felt anxious about the prospect at first. What if I became nauseous and choked to death? What if the house caught fire? What if the place was burgled and the intruders found me? Then I calmed down and began with pleasure to contemplate the more sensual and erotic aspects of my situation. 

I enjoyed tying myself up and being tied up but the prospect of being bound and gagged and restrained for such a long period with no chance of release or rescue felt so much more exciting. I rolled around on the floor a few times making muffled moans of pleasure in the tightly trussed up feeling I got. I loved looking down the long perspective of my bound legs in fishnet tights and lacy suspenders to the gorgeously contrasting look and feel of my feet in my white plimsolls and black fishnets. I could see myself in a large mirror that she had laid lengthways on the floor, presumably to give me some further entertainment for the long hours until she returned. I felt even more turned on by the eerie sight of myself with my head and most of my face obscured by my bathing cap, gags and collar.

I wasn't too bothered about not eating or drinking for much of the day; I'd often done sponsored fasts for charities with no problem; but I didn't fancy at all having to squat over a commode or a bowl to go the toilet and then have to share my prison with the results for several hours, as well as not being able to wash afterwards. I resolved to put off the evil moment for as long as I could but I knew it would happen eventually because I also knew I had to keep as active as possible and exercise my muscles as much as I was able to.

Every half hour or so I exercised for a few minutes at a time: rolling backwards and forwards on the floor; lying on my back and lifting my head and my knees in 'crunches'; or struggling to my feet and hopping on the spot or around the floor to the limits imposed by my chains. The exhilaration I got from exercising whilst naked, bound and gagged fed my erection and I got even more pleasurable feeling from the rubbing and pressing of my crotch ropes and the binding around my genitals. I loved watching my erection bob and sway in time to my hopping on the spot. In between bouts of exercise I would lie on the floor and enjoy the sensation of letting my erection subside for a while and then making it swell and stiffen again as I refocused my mind on one erotic stimulus or another, such as the look and feel of my feet in my fishnets and plimsolls, or the tight binding around my genitals, or the very turning-on sound of my muffled moans of pleasure through my tight gag.

It wasn't hard to concentrate my mind on the positive aspects of my imprisonment because there were certainly a lot of them. My 'prison' was warm, bright and spacious. The carpet which covered the corner of the room where I was confined to – the rest of the floor being bare wood for Emma to dance on – was comfortable to lie on. Also, as well as being her studio, it was also the room where she kept her ballet clothing and her huge collection of plimsolls, and both were in reach. I spent a long and very happy time investigating her ballet stuff arranged neatly in a wardrobe which she had thoughtfully left open for me. I thrilled to the feel of her tutus, leotards, tights and legwarmers as I pressed and rubbed my nakedness against them and breathed in their intoxicating feminine aromas. 

Her ballet shoes: satin pointe shoes with their ribbons neatly tucked inside them and soft-soled ballet slippers in satin, leather or canvas, were lined up on shelves next to the wardrobe. She also had a couple of pairs of beautifully polished tap shoes; one black and one white, and a pair of ballet shoes with fitted with taps for dancing tap en pointe. 

Her plimsolls were neatly arranged on the same shelves by brand and by newness. Most of them were plain white, with a few black pairs and a smattering of bright, pretty feminine colours or patterns. I had a fantastically erotic time shuffling along the shelves while I sniffed every single pair, two hundred and thirty-eight pairs of plimsolls and ballet shoes altogether. I loved that as the pairs of plimsolls increased in age as I went along the shelves they smelled more and more of the gorgeous toasted brown sugar smell of her feet. They were all arranged with their toes facing the wall and their heels all slightly overlapped the forward edge of the shelves, so I was also able to rub my erection on the heels of many of them, which felt just magical.

I put off answering the call of nature for as long as I could, but eventually I couldn't ignore it any longer. I shuffled reluctantly up to the commode and was about to sit on it when I suddenly remembered the fact that because my legs were so tightly bound together there was no space between them for my penis to point downwards into the chamber pot. Then I realised that was the reason why she had provided the large bowl as well as the commode. By standing right up to the bowl and leaning forward to rest my head on the wall behind it I was able to pee with reasonable accuracy down into the aforesaid receptacle. She had thoughtfully placed several layers of newspaper on the floor all around the bowl to deal with any dodgy aiming, of which thankfully there was not much. What I deposited in the commode afterwards was even more thankfully very tidy and mess-free thanks to my reasonably healthy dietary habits, although I didn't like the feeling of not being washed down below and I hoped it wouldn't become too noxious in the warm summer air before she returned. 

As well as providing for my body with physical and erotic stimuli I also fed my mind, which, freed by my incarceration from the usual physical and mental distractions of activities, agendas and routines and also sharpened by increasing hunger, took full advantage of the opportunity to embark on a tremendous burst of creativity. I came up with all kinds of ideas and solutions for a number of work projects and client services, carefully memorising each with mind maps and mnemonics until such time as I could commit them to paper.

I also listened intently to the more interesting programmes on the radio, which was tuned to a channel broadcasting news, talk and programmes on various current and topical subjects. The programme which had a particular resonance for me was about current and future technologies enabling speech-impaired people to communicate. I couldn't help contrasting my situation with these people. I knew that my state of enforced speechlessness, immobility and isolation was only going to last a few hours at most. What must it be like to face a lifetime of paralysis and reliance on artificial means to communicate thoughts, feelings and creativity? Thinking about life imprisonment in your own body made me feel humbled and grateful for what I had and could express so freely: health, vigour, Emma and my total love for her.

At long last, soon after four o'clock, I heard her key in the front door and she appeared in the doorway of my 'dungeon'. She looked just as fresh and lovely as she had when she left, as if she was somehow immune from the pollution and corruption of the world outside.

"Did you miss me?" she smiled at me as she touched her lips and then my forehead. After so many hours of not hearing another flesh-and-blood human voice hers was almost literally music to my ears. Then she darted a quick glance in the direction of my toilet facilities. 

"Definitely the first job of the evening!" she exclaimed. With a couple of round trips to the bathroom she 'slopped me out' and on the second return journey brought a soap-filled cloth and a small fluffy towel. 

"Bottoms up!" she directed me with a beaming grin. Dutifully and gratefully and more than a little sheepishly I shuffled up onto my knees and bent forward to rest my head on the floor. I was rewarded with the delicious before-and-after feeling as Emma carefully washed and thoroughly dried my posterior and my manhood, which had been resting but had immediately sprung to attention again upon Emma attending to it.

"There, all done!" she exclaimed as she gave my buttocks a couple of playful slaps. Adoringly, I watched the white flash of her plimsolls as she skipped out of the room. Then for a few minutes I heard her singing sweetly to the accompaniment of the power shower and her hair dryer. When she returned she was gloriously and glowingly gorgeous in her nakedness. The plimsolls she had been wearing hung downwards from their heels hooked in her left hand. Her bare feet with perfect pedicure and scarlet-painted nails - a rare sight since she virtually lived in plimsolls or ballet shoes - were a precious work of art to my feasting eyes.

"Do you want to play with these?" she smiled as she waved her plimsolls close to my face before letting me smell their insides. I nodded vigorously and made a long muffled moan through my gag.

"All right then, seeing as you've been so good today," she grinned. She squatted down beside me and I thrilled to her lovely warm, clean smell. She carefully placed the inside of her right plimsoll over my nose and my gagged mouth – I could still breath easily through the light natural weave of the white canvas – and then she took hold of my erection, which was now of flag pole proportions, and carefully placed it inside her left plimsoll. The intoxicating aromas of the sweet toasted sugar smell of her feet mixed with warm canvas and rubber and the feel on my foreskin of the canvas impregnated with her warm sweat made me almost growl in my troat with pleasure through my gag. I felt myself slowly and deliciously begin to leak into the toe of her plimsoll in which the throbbing, tingling orb of my bulging head was buried.

I purred even louder and leaked some more as I watched her choose a fresh pair of white plimsolls and take a clean pair of white ankle socks from a drawer, sit down on a low stool and, with one leg in turn crossed over the other and her foot pointed in the sexiest way imaginable, slowly slid on her socks and turned town the tops, slid her feet inside her plimsolls as she held them in her hands and placed each lovely foot on the floor to tie the laces with perfect symmetry. At that very moment she was Total Sex in the Flesh. I had never wanted her as badly as I did now. I nodded my head furiously and with my muffled whimpering implored her to fuck me. She understood immediately, of course, but to my intense frustration I saw her smile and shake her head sympathetically.




Trust Ch. 09



"I'm sorry, I'd really love to but there isn't time, I'm afraid. I've got to tidy up and eat before April and Susannah come round to talk dance studio business and I can't have you scaring them so you'll have to be shut up safely before they arrive." She stooped down over me again to remove her plimsolls and held them in front of my nose. "But you can play with these in the kitchen while I'm getting things ready."

I digested this information while she removed the handcuffs from my wrists and ankles. The fact that I was to be hidden away again suggested that she wasn't going to untie me for a good while longer. But where would she keep me out of sight of her guests? It must be somewhere other than this room, perhaps somewhere in the unoccupied flat downstairs of which Emma was custodian. I had met April and Susannah, Emma's partners and co-owners of the dance studio where she taught classical ballet, modern dance and tap, at her midsummer garden party several weeks ago. April, a tall and elegant brunette, taught modern dance styles like jazz and hip-hop while Susannah, a bubbly and vivacious redhead, taught Latin styles such as salsa. They were both gorgeous and great fun and it was too bad I wouldn't get a chance to know them better on this occasion.

My thoughts were interrupted as she fixed a dog leash to my collar. At her command I struggled to my feet and I hopped awkwardly behind her on my tightly bound legs and feet as she led the way to the kitchen. Beneath the kitchen table had appeared a large dog basket, which she ordered me to get into and which I managed with some awkward squirming of my bound body. It was large enough to curl up in comfortably on my side, with a blanket and a pillow to lie on. After tying the end of my leash to a table leg, Emma placed the right plimsoll of the pair she had recently removed from her feet on the pillow within easy sniffing distance and placed the other plimsoll back on me over my erection and tied the laces around my waist to keep it in place. 

I growled contentedly again as I watched her prepare her meal of ribbon pasta and green salad. Gazing up at her from the floor, as she stood with her back to me at the sink and hummed along in her sunny soprano to a disc of opera highlights, I thought she had never looked so lovely. Her gorgeous ballerina legs seemed to rise up forever from her lovely feet in her gleaming white plimsolls, and the most sexily slender ankles I'd ever seen on any girl, to the almost perfectly moulded curves and proportions of her beautiful naked body and her light-honey tanned skin glowing in the late afternoon sun.

She sat down at the table to eat and placed her feet inside the basket, which made me forget my own hunger in my excitement. As she ate she rubbed and pressed her feet on my body while I nuzzled and rubbed her feet and ankles with my face and I feasted on the cornucopia of smells and textures of warm clean feet, silky smooth skin, soft rich cotton, clean and crisp canvas and smooth and textured rubber. All the time, the interior of the condom of her plimsoll continued to absorb and further stimulate my long, slow emission of delight. My growling changed to a long, muffled whining sigh of contentment.

After she had finished tidying up from her meal, she led me into the lounge and made me kneel on the floor in front of the sofa with my upper body resting on the padded seat of her piano stool before fixing my leash to a leg of the sofa. While she read through some papers she needed to talk through with April and Susannah she rested her feet on my back, sometimes smoothing the canvas upper of her left plimsoll over my bottom while she teased my genitals with the toe of her right plimsoll. Her plimsoll tied snugly around my genitals was starting to feel really warm and soggy by now.

Suddenly she put down her papers, looked at her watch, untied my leash and exclaimed,

"Time you went to the bathroom before you go into your kennel. You may be there for some time." 

She led me to the bathroom and when I indicated that I only needed to pee she stood behind me and helped me direct my flow safely into the toilet. It was so erotic to see and feel her beautiful slim fingers with their perfectly manicured and scarlet-painted nails caressing my manhood as my water flowed through it, to feel the soft, warm curve of her groin with her fluffy pubic hair pressed against my bottom and her breasts cushioning against my back. She nuzzled my neck and I thrilled to the sight and feel of her lovely feet in her white plimsolls placed either side of mine so that they touched, with my feet bracketed inside hers. It was such a loving and erotic thing for her to do and I gave her an appreciative muffled sigh of pleasure through my gag.

After she had washed me and washed her hands she led me out to where I was to be hidden. For a second I thought she was going to chain me up in the summer house at the far end of the garden, but instead she led me out of the front door of the flat and down the stairs to the unlived-in ground floor. Because of my tightly bound legs and feet I had to sit down at the top of the stairs and bump down each step in turn on my bottom. 

She had already told me she had rented her flat from Malcolm, who owned the house and had lived on the ground floor until he suddenly disappeared two years ago, leaving her a letter saying she could continue to live in her flat rent-free in return for caretaking the house and garden. The ground floor looked and felt an eerie place to me at that moment although I couldn't work out why it was affecting me that way when I was used to seeing it on the way to and from our flat upstairs. Here and there, furniture covered with dust sheets made strange, silent shapes silhouetted in the half-light from locked and close-curtained windows. For the first time, I really felt like a prisoner and I couldn't help a little shiver of fear.

She opened the door of the cupboard under the stairs, switched on a light that illuminated the inside of the cupboard and drew aside the carpet to reveal and open a trapdoor. I could just make out another flight of steps disappearing into the darkness below. She started down and I sat down again to arse-bump my way down behind her. When we reached the bottom we were in almost total darkness. Emma switched on another light and my eyes goggled in stunned amazement at what was revealed.

Inside the huge basement which extended to the full dimensions of the house above was the most fully-equipped sex dungeon imaginable. There was an iron-framed four-poster bed, a heavy wooden chair like an electric chair, an operating theatre table and a heavy wooden table, all fitted with restraining straps. There was a Jacuzzi and a glass-panelled water tank. There was a cage, a sensory deprivation pod and a coffin, all fitted with straps inside. There was a pillory and stocks and a whipping post. There was a fucking machine, equipment for giving electric shocks and all kinds of medical equipment. In one corner was a fully-equipped photography studio well stocked with backgrounds, props and costumes. All the usual suspects were there: nurse, schoolgirl, French maid, shepherdess, policewoman, ballerina and many others. All around the walls and ceiling were ropes, straps, chains and harnesses and all manner of items for pursuing almost any kind of sexual deviancy.

But the area of wall that held my stunned attention like a vice was the place where there was a display of large black and white photos of Emma undergoing all kinds of bondage humiliation. In most of them she was naked expect for a pair of white ballet shoes and in many of them she was bound and gagged and strapped in the chair that I was now standing in front of. In one such photo she had the word 'BITCH' painted across her breasts and a gun pointed at her head by a disembodied arm which I guessed was Malcolm's.

In another photo she was strapped down on her back to the table with her legs apart and the muzzle of the gun pushed into her vagina; whilst in another she was leaning forward on her knees with her head sideways on the ground and the muzzle of the gun inserted in her back passage.

"Yes, it was real and loaded, with real bullets," she exclaimed. I looked more closely at the images and started in horror when I saw the expression of total terror in her eyes that they showed.

Another photo showed her hung by her wrists in chains with others fixing her ankles to the floor. On her stomach were painted 'WHORE' and an arrow pointing down to her vagina, into which a huge dildo was inserted. Another image showed her bent over the table and her body strapped down while her legs were spread apart and tethered to the table legs. Electrodes with thin wires snaking from them were attached with wicked-looking spring-loaded clips to her labia and her nipples and a wire trailed from another electrode inserted in her back passage. The photo showed her face in close up, her eyes above her gag filled with pain and hopelessness, and behind her was a mirror which showed her buttocks, each painted with an inward-facing arrow pointing to her back passage and the words 'FUCK' and 'SLAG' painted so they read properly in the reflected image. 

Another series of photos showed her almost cocooned in ropes and wearing different kinds of masks and hoods: gas mask, surgeon's cap and mask, welder's mask, diver's snorkel and goggles, her head totally wrapped in bandages; most horrible of all, her face painted with clown's mask make-up with the wicked leering smile painted on over her tight tape gag.

"I was gagged under all the others too. I almost suffocated when he bandaged up my head over my gag," she recalled grimly.

She gave me a moment to take it all in before she made me sit down in the 'electric chair' and strapped me securely into it. The thought that the chair in which she had endured so much ghastly treatment was now going to be my prison for the time being made me feel sick inside and genuinely afraid. Emma stood before me a short distance away and there was a strange look in her eyes which made me even more frightened. There was pin-drop silence before she spoke.

"I guess all this must be a bit of a shock for you. I knew you would have to know sometime so when you agreed to be my slave for a day I decided that this would be the best time and way to tell you about this part of my life. I have to confess that when I told you that I rented my flat from Malcolm I was being a bit 'economical with the truth'. I was his tenant but for nearly two years I paid him zero rent in return for being his sex slave."

She paused for a moment to let those words sink in. I felt totally aghast at the memory of what I had said to her: "You can't knock it until you've tried it." She went on.

"It had its good side, to start off with. He had a thing about girls in ballet shoes so when I was with him I always had to be naked except for a pair of ballet shoes, which I really liked when I'd got used to it. He was also always very precise and correct about everything. I even had a sort of contract with set hours when I was to be available for him and he never interfered with my off-duty time. But I certainly paid my dues to him the rest of the time, and more and more as time went on."

She gazed around the room with a faraway look in her eyes as she continued the story. I was appalled at what I heard.

"The times I spent in here: tied up, chained up, strapped up, gagged, straightjacketed, mummified, stuffed in a bag or suspended; sometimes left alone and in the dark for hours at a time while he was upstairs entertaining or away somewhere or other. I've been spanked, slapped, whipped, stretched, squeezed, crushed, beaten, electrocuted and starved. Every one of my orifices has been penetrated, examined and cleaned out. I've been fucked senseless by that machine over there more times than I can remember. Many times I've almost died through drowning, choking or asphyxiation. 

"He was slowly killing me anyway. I probably would have been dead by now if he hadn't disappeared when he did. Even if by a miracle I hadn't died I would have been in the funny farm. I must have been sort of mad already because even though he always told me I could leave any time I liked I always chose to stay. I'm still trying to work than one out. Maybe I was greedy for the flat or maybe he had some kind of weird charismatic hold over me, I don't know. I couldn't have broken free from him whatever he did to me. 

"He had this very manipulative way of tapping into and exploiting my deepest sexual fantasies and taking them way beyond what I wanted or was happy with. For example, I like being bound and gagged when I'm naked; but he would make me spend all day naked in just my ballet shoes, with my arms bound behind my back, my legs strapped together, a big ball gag or a penis gag or a pump gag filling up my mouth, thick elastic bands around my breasts and a tight collar around my neck, which were both really painful; and all day I would be on my feet hopping behind him following him around the house and garden or standing still or bent over while he beat my backside with a table tennis bat maybe twenty times a day. He would only let me be off my feet to go to the toilet a couple of times and then kneel on the bathroom floor while he washed my arse, which always hurt like hell after so many beatings. I would feel exhausted, aching and sore all over for days afterwards.

"He did that to me lots of times, and much worse than that, but I couldn't make myself leave. I'm the most well-adjusted, self-assured, together person you'll ever know and even I was starting to doubt my sanity at the end. Maybe you're starting to doubt it now."

My eyes were glistening as I shook my head in an emphatic negative. The stress of being unable to apologise to her and comfort her took a tight grip on my throat and almost paralysed my lungs. Her expression softened again as she stepped up to me to stroke my cheek and I was able to relax a little.

"So now you know. You'll have plenty of time to think over it because I have to tidy up before the girls arrive. The electricity down here is still in Malcolm's name so I'm afraid you'll have to sit in the dark until I come back. They say that too much sensory deprivation drives you loopy, so I'll leave this to keep you company."

She picked up a clock with a luminous face and hands, wound it up and adjusted the time to her watch, which, along with her white plimsolls and ankle socks and a pair of gold ear studs, were the only things she wore at home. She placed the clock on a low shelf where I could see it and then with a "See you later" and another touch on my cheek she ascended the stairs, switched off the light and was gone. The trapdoor shut with an ominous thunk. In the pitch black silence of my prison all I could see was the luminous green trail of time slipping ever-so-slowly by to the accompaniment of the ever-so-relentless ticking of the clock.

Enveloped in the total darkness and silence of my new prison I experienced the worst of times. I was strapped so firmly in the chair that I couldn't move my body at all. Even my head was held fast in a sort of cap made up of leather straps. The luminous minutes dragged by, one by one, on and on, as a crazy kaleidoscope of thoughts tumbled in and out and through and around my mind.

To begin with I seethed with rage against Malcolm. How dare that bastard do that to my lovely, beautiful Emma? I gave vent to my feelings in the only ways my state of extreme physical restraint would allow me. I made muffled cries of rage through my gag and curled my toes inside my plimsolls while, behind my back, my fingers dug deep into the palms of my bound hands clenched like cannon balls. I wanted to make him pay a hundred times over for every physical hurt and humiliation he had heaped upon her. But much more than that, though that was bad enough, for the way he had driven all the light and laughter from her eyes. I wanted him dead.

Then my thoughts became increasingly paranoid. What if he was already dead? Maybe she had murdered him in self-defence or in a crazed act of revenge and made up the story about him suddenly going away, which come to think of it did seem a strange and unlikely thing for him to do. I might be sitting just feet away from his mummified remains buried under the floor or behind a wall.

My head began to swim and swirl and my body started spinning as fear flooded into my frantic imaginings. Malcolm's cruelty to her had turned her into a psychotic man hater and all along she had been plotting to make me her next victim. Any moment now she would come back with her friends as accomplices to torture me to death and dispose of my body just like she had done with Malcolm, and who knew how many others?

With a supreme effort of will I forced myself back to reality. She loved me. Whatever reasons she had for doing what she was doing to me were good reasons which she would tell me all about at the right time if I was prepared to trust her. Could I trust her? Do I trust her? Yes, I trust her completely, I decided. I held on to that thought like a drowning man grasping hold of a lifebelt as the long moments continued on their glowing course around the clock face that for the time being was my only visible link with the world beyond my mind.

It was well after ten o'clock and I'd been sitting in the dark in steadily increasing discomfort for well over two hours when at long last I was aroused from a fitful dose by the sound of the trapdoor opening and an oblong of light appearing above me. Emma switched on the lights and my eyes were still adjusting to the sudden explosion of brightness when she was suddenly beside me unfastening the straps that restrained me in the chair.

"OK, Sunshine," she said breezily as she finished undoing the final strap and fixed the leash to my collar again, "you've had an easy day of it so far. Now it's time you did some work."

Still half-blinded in the now unaccustomed brilliance and feeling very apprehensive about what she might be talking about I hopped and bumped up the two flights of stairs back up to her bedroom. I began to get excited again when she ordered me to lie down on her bed and I got even more excited as she proceeded to tie my bound body down onto the bed with a criss-cross pattern of robes from my shoulders to my ankles, so I was once again unable to move my body.

My erection was so stiff it was almost painful as she got on the bed and straddled my legs with hers. She grasped my shaft in her left hand and squeezed it harder than what was comfortable. She fixed my eyes with a level gaze as she finally spoke.

"Before we begin there's just one little lesson you need to learn, Sunny Jim, and it's this: whatever else you do, please don't ever again make the mistake of making assumptions about what I may or may not know about, because if you do it may well be more painful for both of us than it's about to be for you."

She smiled as she saw the look of fear and remorse in my eyes and her expression became warm and playful again as she said "Please don't think that what's about to happen to you is in any way a punishment or a getting even with you, unless thinking of it in that way makes it more pleasurable for you of course."

I only had a second to digest what she had said before she tightened her grip on me even more and slapped my throbbing head with the front and back of her hand in a fast flicking movement of her right hand. I gave a muffled grunt of pain through my gag as my eyes smarted with the shock of it. She slapped me several more times. She made a loop in a belt and tightened it at various points along my shaft and also around the neck of my scrotum whilst continuing to slap the throbbing and aching head, sending buttock clenching shockwaves of pain down my shaft and deep into my groin. She then punctuated the slapping with pinching my foreskin at various points and pulling it sideways as far as she could stretch it. I realised why she had taken such care in strapping me down because otherwise I would have been bouncing around the room with the pain.




Trust Ch. 09



She stood up and as she steadied herself by pressing her hands to the ceiling she placed her right foot squarely onto my genitals and ground the rubber sole of her plimsoll several times into my groin to the accompaniment of my muffled groans of extreme pain and pleasure. She repeated the dose several times with each foot in turn. She continued to steady herself against the ceiling as, with each step carefully and deliberately pressed down onto me, she slowly walked up my stomach and my chest. She teased my nipples with the very tips of her plimsolls and then squashed my nipples under her toes, pressing and turning her foot over each in turn. She gave my nose and mouth the same treatment and the smell of clean, new rubber literally forced up my nostrils sent me into transports of delight.

Finally she relented, squatted down and straddled me again and with a firm grasp began to pump me deeply along my whole length. I moaned with delight as my excitement built up inside my bound genitals and began to climb higher and higher. I screwed up my eyes and my muffled moaning changed to a higher pitch as I fought to keep myself on the edge of ecstasy for as long as possible, my whole body shuddered as Emma placed my head in her entrance and began to sink down onto me as she absorbed my tenderised, sensitised shaft. Her timing was perfect: there was just time for me to feel the warm embrace of her entrance settling and pressing tightly around the very base of my shaft as I exploded inside her. The room was filled with my muffled whining and whimpering of total pleasure as with each convulsive pumping action of my body I filled her churn with my milk.

I groaned deeply in my throat with deepest delight as she ground herself on my pulsating member several times to prolong my pleasure. She held my waning erection inside her for as long as she could while with her fingertips she lightly stroked and teased my nipples, which in my post-coital state sent electric shocks right through me. Then she leaned forward and for several wonderful moments rubbed her breasts over my face. I moaned with pleasure at the touch of her warm, soft, sweet-smelling flesh on my face and with frustration at being unable to kiss and suck them because I was so firmly gagged. Her nipples were so erect and so hard that I worried that she would poke my eyes out with them. Several times she buried my nose in her cleavage for as long as I could hold my breath, intoxicated in the very depths of her warm, feminine aroma.

She detached from my muzzle gag the leather panel covering my mouth to expose the thick layer of sticking plaster beneath. Then she positioned herself over my face. I just had a second to gaze in wonder at the fabulous symmetry of her gorgeous thighs on either side of me tapering to their apex at the awesome sight of the florid beauty of her wide open womanhood, before she began to rub herself over my mouth and nose. As she did so, she coated my face with a warm, sticky mixture of my emission leaking back out of her and of her own love juices. The salty tang filled my nostrils and caught in my mouth and I could even begin to feel it on my lips as it soaked into my plaster gag.

By now she was in an extreme state of excitement and arousal. Her clitoris was like a large crimson caterpillar feeding on the succulent pink flower of her vagina and her nipples were swollen into succulent cherries. Just as I began to wonder what she would do to me next to satisfy herself she attached to my muzzle another leather panel covering my gag. The panel had built into it a dildo consisting of eight inches of anatomically detailed and proportioned black latex rubber. I marvelled that she could think that she could get all of it inside her, but she did.

Slowly and gently at first, then with increasing speed and intensity, she rode her prophylactic pleasure. I tried not to blink as wide-eyed in wonder I watched the rise and fall of her glorious womanhood just inches from my eyes. As her pelvis pressed into my face again and again I worried that I would swallow the tight ball of wadding stuffing my mouth, whilst at the same time enjoying this fabulous new perspective of her as she fulfilled her pleasure. She was female sex made flesh: from the gorgeous moulding of her thighs and the swell of her hips and then the smooth, flat plain of her stomach up to the heavenly orbs of her breasts bobbing and swaying in her rhythm of delight; right up to her lovely face, her eyes closed and her mouth open in her rising ecstasy, alternatively concealed and revealed by the swaying, waving curtains of her glorious golden hair.

The note of her squeals and sighs of pleasure increased in pitch and intensity as she approached her climax until the moment when her orgasm overwhelmed her and she cried out again and again as if a great pent-up reservoir of emotion and tension had suddenly, finally, burst through the dam that had held it back. She shuddered and sobbed and sighed as her whole body heaved and shook with the effort of expelling all that been built up inside her. It was if she had been wrestling with an inner demon that could only be destroyed by achieving orgasm. After a while, she had come down sufficiently to give me a beaming smile, which I returned with my eyes. Then she noticed the clock on the bedside cabinet. It was just after midnight. She smiled at me again and said to me gently,

"You're a free man again now, time to let you go."

She started by cleaning my face with a steaming hot face cloth heated in the microwave, which removed the dried and caked-on film of our combined bodily fluids and began to melt the glue of my sticking plaster gag. Then she began the long task of releasing me by removing all the paraphernalia of constraint from my head, face and mouth. She giggled at my expression when I saw she had stuffed my mouth with a pair of her white cotton panties.

"Don't worry, they were clean ones," she smiled reassuringly.

"I wouldn't have minded at all if they weren't," I smiled back. 

It felt strange being able to talk again after a whole day of enforced muteness. Now I was desperate to say to her what I had longed to during those long, silent hours after what I'd discovered in the basement.

"Listen, I'm so sor..."

She stopped me in mid-sentence with a finger pressed to my lips.

"No, I'm the one who should be saying sorry. I should have talked to you properly about everything instead of doing all this to you."

"I'm glad you did it this way. It will be impossible for me to forget my lesson after this, it gave me lots of time to think about you and how much you mean to me and thanks to you I've had the longest and most amazing sexual and erotic experience of my life. But what is all this stuff that's been in your mind?"

She smiled self-consciously and her voice wavered slightly, "I really don't deserve for you to care for me so much. Let me finish untying you and I'll tell you everything. It will be such a relief and I hate myself for not trusting you enough to tell you the other day when we were at your place."

As she untied me she stopped every couple of moments to give me a few sips of water for my parched mouth and rub salve on my dried out lips. Finally, I was free to stretch out and flex my long-constricted muscles while she lovingly massaged my stiff and sore frame. After a few minutes she lay beside me and snuggled her warm, soft and gorgeous nakedness into my arms with a long, loving kiss. Then she began to tell her story.

"It's such a relief to tell you all about Malcolm. I knew I'd have to tell you sooner or later and I

was getting more and more worried about it. Last week I got some news about him which really upset me and which I should have told you about there and then. So when you made that comment about not knocking what you haven't tried, it set off all kinds of things in my head and instead of being honest with you about how I was feeling I decided on this whole crazy scheme instead. I'm really sorry. Please will you forgive me?"

My heart melted at the sight of her anguished face and her tear-stained eyes filled with remorse. I gently kissed her forehead and stroked her hair.

"It's OK," I assured her. "I'm glad for lots of reasons that you did, most of all because it gave me lots of time to think about us and about you, and what I learned in the basement just makes me want even more than ever to give you love and happiness like you deserve. But what did you find out about Malcolm that upset you so much?"

She reached over me to take from the drawer of the bedside table an envelope, which she gave to me. There was distress in her eyes and her voice,

"I got this."

Inside the envelope was a solicitor's letter informing her of the death, in a hospital in Panama City following unsuccessful emergency heart surgery, of Malcolm Horatio St John Innes-Jones, lately known under the name of Kenneth Graham Farnes. It also informed her that in his will he had left her his house in London. The house we were in right now. Also in the envelope was a letter.

'Dear Emily-Jane

["He always insisted on calling me by my real name. He was always so correct about everything," Emma face brightened a little as she remembered.]

'I was, and remain to this day, very sorry for leaving you without warning and for leaving you unaware of my whereabouts until now. For reasons that it will be better for you to remain always in ignorance of, it was best that you had no knowledge of my departure or destination. It is enough for you to know that there were certain persons who were most desirous for an interview with me and to whom I was equally desirous to deny the pleasure.

'I always hoped that circumstances would allow me to return and renew my association with you, but unfortunately the necessary conditions never arose and now I have been informed that the condition of my heart, which was never as it should have been, has taken a turn for the worse with the result that I now have very little time remaining to me; hence the reason for my writing of this letter to you and for making for you the provisions detailed in the attached letter from my solicitor.

'You were a dear and devoted companion to me throughout our association and my remembrance of you has always been a great pleasure to me. So it is most appropriate that one of the final acts of my life is to leave to you an inevitably inadequate yet sincere token of my regard for you.

With all best wishes to you

Malcolm'

"I wonder who those 'certain persons' were?" I wondered. As I replaced the letter I saw that she looked even more distressed.

"A few days after he left a couple of guys came to the house. They said they were police on a missing person enquiry. I knew they were lying because when I asked them who had reported him missing they said it was his mother and I knew she'd died a few months after I'd met him. They could tell I was being truthful when I said I knew nothing about where he'd gone or when he would be coming back so I never saw them again." 

Her voice began to choke up as she continued. "He messed around with my head for the whole two years I was with him and now he's dead and he's still messing up my head. How could he have treated me the way he did and done all those things he did to me and then left me without any warning if he really cared for me like he says he did? My head's been all over the place ever since I got this. What do I think? What do I do?"

I cradled her as her tears began and kissed her tenderly as I felt her sobs through my own body, hoping to find the right words of comfort for her.

"He was a really messed up guy and it's a blessing that it worked out so you got free of him. And you can look to the future now. You're set up for life; this house must be worth millions."

She smiled as I wiped away her tears with my fingertips, but she still looked very burdened.

"But what will I say to everyone? Nobody else knew the truth about my relationship with Malcolm. They only knew he was my landlord. When was the last time you heard of a landlord giving a million-pound house to his tenant?"

I thought for a moment before replying.

"Tell them that you took care of him because he wasn't well and you didn't talk about it because he didn't want his privacy disturbed."

"I knew you'd know what to do," she sniffed, "I wish I'd trusted you and told you sooner instead of getting myself in such a state."

I hugged and kissed her again. "Don't worry about it any more. It's time for you to celebrate."

She smiled as she hugged me back and playfully ruffled my hair. She was back to form again.

"You mean it's time for us to celebrate. You told me you loved me more than ever before you knew anything about this. I can't tell you how much that means to me and how happy you've made me." 

I was overwhelmed with love and a new respect for this beautiful and courageous woman who could still give herself so completely to a man even after having been abused so cruelly in the past. "I feel so amazed and humble that you choose to love me and trust me with yourself after what you've suffered," I said as I took her hands in mine and looked lovingly into her lovely eyes that were still bright with emotion.

She gave me a passionate kiss and then replied, "It's like I said before: I'd rather trust and risk being hurt than go through life never trusting at all. You can't be a whole person if you don't have trust." She held me close to her for a moment and then she patted my stomach and exclaimed, "You haven't eaten for more than a day. You must be ravenous."

We raided the freezer and feasted on pizza, garlic bread and ice cream. Then, although it was well into the small hours, we frolicked in the garden. I was amazed again at how we could be out of doors and naked in the middle of London and be completely unobservable from any neighbouring buildings. I was still a little awkward and unsteady on my feet from my long confinement at first, but that soon wore off. I chased her around the garden as she shrieked and giggled until I caught her and threw her in the swimming pool before jumping in after her and dunking her under the water a few times. She made a comic pouting face at me and in a whiny schoolgirl voice begged for mercy,

"Stop being so mean to me. I gave you what you wanted, didn't I?"

"It's not to do with getting back at you," I laughed. "It's just that after being a slave for a day I feel the need to assert myself."

She beamed at me. "Well if you really want to satisfy your Inner Caveman get me out of this pool and fuck me senseless, you beast."

She climbed out of the pool with the assistance of my hands pushing up on her warm wet buttocks and ran into the middle of the lawn before throwing herself to the ground and rolling over on her back with her legs wide open and her arms bent with her hands resting either side of her head in an attitude of total surrender to me. As I approached her, her eyes shone with anticipation and her breasts rose and fell together with the smooth curve of her diaphragm as she panted in her excitement.

I covered her warm, wet body with my own and sank myself deep into her as we moaned and sighed together in our passion. She wrapped her legs around me and pushed me even deeper into herself. The feel of the damp skin of her thighs sticking to my flesh as they pressed tight against me and of the wet rubber of the soles of her plimsolls pushing down on the backs of my legs inflamed my passion even more. After a minute or so of synchronised deep thrusting and grinding we climaxed together and I buried my face in her lovely hair as she entwined her fingers in mine and we matched each other breath for breath and sigh for sigh.

We hugged each other up the stairs from the garden to her flat. She lay stretched out on the sitting room rug like a supremely contented cat while I carefully pulled off and rolled off from her feet her sopping wet plimsolls and ankle socks. I took off my plimsolls along with Emma's fishnet stockings and suspenders and left them outside on the veranda to dry in the warm night air. I dried her feet with a soft fluffy towel and massaged tea tree oil into her feet and her toes. Then I dried the rest of her beautiful body and brushed her hair as I played a hair dryer on it. Finally I scooped her up in my arms and carried her to bed as she clung lovingly to my neck and rested her lovely head on my shoulder.

"I'll just slip into something more comfortable before bed," she giggled, before taking off her watch. "There, that's better," she smiled as I laid her head on her pillow.

"Did you like being my slave?" she asked as I settled down next to her. It was well after three in the morning and we were grateful that tomorrow was Saturday and we weren't due at her ballet class until eleven.

"It certainly had its moments," I considered, "but if you don't mind I think I'll stick with being just your typical boring, conventional plimsoll and ballet shoe fetishist."

I thrilled to her warmth as she snuggled up to me.

"I've learned so much about trusting each other," she whispered.

"We both have," I whispered back and gently kissed the delicately moulded knuckles of her slender hand enfolded in mine.

The following week Emma spent a couple of nights away coaching the daughter of an old friend for an important audition for a ballet company. When I got home on the Monday evening and went into our bedroom to undress I found that she had left me a present. Neatly packed and folded in a gift box were her black fishnet stockings and suspenders that I had worn; her panties which she had used to gag me, her white rubber swimming cap and, most marvellous of all, her old white plimsolls, stained and slightly yellowing and so sexy, that I had 'worn'. 

I clutched her plimsolls and crammed my nose into each in turn and drank in their gorgeous sugary aroma. To my delight I also smelt in her left plimsoll the tell-tale odour of my emission soaked into the textile inner lining. To my further delight I discovered on smelling her panties that she had worn them after letting my saliva dry out on them. Then I found an envelope containing a photo of her lying on her back on the bed naked in her white plimsolls with her legs wide apart while she rubbed herself with the rubber sole of the plimsoll I was now holding which I had also fucked. There was also a handwritten note from her which read,

'To my Wonderful Plimsoll Lover Boy, I'll be missing you SO MUCH until Wednesday and I know you'll be missing me too. I still feel bad about not telling you the whole truth about my relationship with Malcolm. Thank you for being so loving and so understanding. I know I wouldn't have been able to bear it if you'd been as dishonest with me as I was with you, so because of that your forgiveness is even more precious to me. So to say 'Thank you' and so you can still enjoy a little something of me while I'm away I've left you this little surprise. I hope you enjoy using it creatively and I'll look forward to seeing the results. See you Wednesday, Lover. Your White Plimsolls and Ankle Socks Girl XXXX.'

Not wasting a second I set up on their tripods around the bed my still cameras with interval timers and my camcorders. I started up the cameras, got naked and put on her stockings and suspenders with my plimsolls. I stuffed my mouth with her panties, exulting in our combined flavours impregnating them, and sealed my lips with silver duct tape before squeezing my head into her bathing cap. I slipped on her right plimsoll over my erection and tied it in place with the laces around my waist and placed her left plimsoll on my pillow. I lay on the bed and tied my feet and my legs together. I fixed self-release handcuffs onto one of my wrists and blindfolded myself with cotton wool pads fixed over my eyes with more tape going all around my head before squeezing my upper body into the tight encirclement of a wide elasticated bandage and forcing against its grip my arms behind my back to place my other wrist in the handcuffs. I lay face down on the bed and I buried my nose in her left plimsoll while I fucked her right plimsoll and gave it the same treatment that I had given to her left one before, all the while filling the room with my ecstatic muffled moaning.




Trust Ch. 10



Thanks for waiting...I hope you enjoy this chapter. 





Trust Ch. 10



[Is this the ultimate plimsoll fetish sex fantasy?]

Chapter 10 -- Let's burn rubber together

"Come and look at this," I said to Emma. In most cases, a woman's entry into a room where her partner is sitting naked except for white plimsolls and ankles socks at a computer looking at internet porn would strike a grievous if not terminal blow to the relationship. But Emma is no ordinary woman and our relationship is a pretty extraordinary one.

"I think I've found a promotional video made by the Latex Rubber Marketing Board," I joked as she placed a tray of drinks and nibbles next to the monitor and pulled up a chair to sit next to me. She leaned against me and I thrilled to the touch of her gorgeous naked body on my skin and I thrilled even more at the sight of her lovely feet in her white plimsolls and ankle socks resting on the floor next to mine.

I clicked to replay the video, which opened with a head and shoulders view of a sveltely beautiful redhead with long straight tresses of hair framing a lovely face with gorgeous green eyes and lusciously smiling lips shining in a setting of delicate pale cream skin.

"Hello, I'm Bernadette," she said in a warm, mellow Irish lilt that was almost like music, "and you can watch me transform myself from this..." The camera zoomed out to show her in full body as she moved her hands in a waving movement down her sides from her shoulders to her waist to emphasise herself. She was dressed most attractively in a sleeveless short dress of deep black velvet, black tights and four inch high heels that matched her dress. A tasteful scattering of expensive gold jewellery completed her very stylish attire. 

"....to this," she continued. The view changed to a tall, slender long limbed female figure who may have been Bernadette but it was impossible to tell because, whoever it was, she was encased from head to toe in a shiny black latex rubber cat suit, complete with hood and face mask, over which she wore a black leather bondage harness with straps around her breasts and nestled in her crotch. She was sitting on a tall three-legged bar stool as she leaned back and bent one of her legs up to take hold of her knee with latex coated hands while her other leg remained extended to the floor. On her feet were calf length shiny black ballet fetish boots with six inch heels that looked like knives.

The rest of the video showed that the mystery figure was indeed Bernadette, because we were able to watch her strip off her stylish clothes until she was 'in the nip' and then proceed to demonstrate the intricacies of getting her lovely naked body into the cat suit. The process gave lots of opportunities for close ups of her breasts, bottom and intimate bits and it was all very tastefully done to the accompaniment of the well known bit from Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons'.

Emma watched spellbound. "She's gorgeous isn't she? Who needs implants with a body like hers?"

"I'm the one who should be making that sort of comment," I laughed as I pinched her playfully under her ribs. "I'd love to see you in a cat suit like that with plimsolls or ballet shoes," I suggested.

"I've never worn one before," she said, "I always found the idea of being all hot and sweaty inside it a bit off putting. But I wouldn't mind giving it a go now after seeing how fabulous she looks in one."

"It would be a great experience to have sex while we're both wearing one," I imagined.

"Even better if I was tied up," she exclaimed excitedly.

"Better still if we were both tied up," I added.

"How could we do that?" she asked enthusiastically.

"I'll tie you up first and then tie myself up as much as I can with rope and then use self-release handcuffs to fix my arms behind my back."

"It will be uncomfortable for me with you lying on top of me and not able to support your weight," she pondered.

"You like uncomfortable sex," I reminded her.

"We could have sensorily deprived sex too. What if we were both gagged and blindfolded?" she suggested.

"And wearing gas masks!" I suddenly realised.

In a state of shared excitement we began searching the Web for the equipment we wanted. From one supplier we chose gas masks with large round eye holes and with air filters on each side of the face plate, rather than with a single large filter on the front of the mask which would have been too much in the way when I was on top of her. From another supplier we ordered shiny black PVC/latex cat suits with separate feet, gloves and hoods. The hoods covered the mouth and left only the eyes and nose exposed. The suits also had a removable panel for exposing the genitals. We ordered the smallest sizes that would fit us for a really close and figure revealing fit. From a third supplier I ordered a pair of self locking and self release handcuffs. The self-locking mechanism worked automatically when the arms of the cuffs were placed over the wrists, and pulled the arms into the rectangular central shank between the cuffs in a comfortably close grip around the wrists. A timer on the shank could be set to release the cuffs after a period from a few minutes to several hours. A key inserted into the shank and given a quarter turn overrode the timer and released the cuffs. 

First to arrive were the gas masks. We unpackaged them in great excitement and I felt a fantastic thrill of arousal as I put mine on for the first time and we saw each other naked wearing them with our white plimsolls and ankle socks on. We both loved the closely confined feeling around our faces, the grip of the elasticated pull tapes of the head harness and the distant muffled hooting sound our voices made when we talked through the masks. Most of all we loved the metallic rasping sound we made as with deep breaths we pulled in and pushed out air through the filters.

As well as the filters built into the masks, there was also an air hose attachment on the front face plate. The masks came with a long air hose along with a specimen jar and a dildo made of absorbent material that could be attached to the hose to carry sexual aromas into the gas mask. We lost no time in having some very kinky bondage fun, which we photographed and videoed in great detail. With our heavy breath of shared erotic excitement rasping through our gas masks I tied Emma's hands behind her back and bound her body with a cat's cradle of ropes around her breasts and over her shoulders and in her crotch so tightly and securely I could have stuck stamps on her and sent her through the post. Then I laid her on her back on the bed and tied her ankles, knees and thighs together while her breasts heaved in her extreme pleasure.

She hooted with delight as she watched me masturbate my huge load into the specimen jar. I closed the jar with the lid that was attached to one end of the air hose and then I attached the other end to the fitting on the front face plate of her gas mask. Her breasts continued to rise and fall as she took deep breaths to pull the aroma from the jar into the confined space inside her mask and she was soon moaning with pleasure as she breathed in the smell of my semen and I played a vibrator over her wide open womanhood until she came in a bout of furious head thrashing and loud hooting moans of delight.

I stroked and kneaded her breasts as she came down from her orgasm and when she was calm and relaxed I untied her. We took off our masks to get our breath back for a few minutes and then it was my turn to be tied up. She put on her mask first and tied my hands behind my back and tightly trussed up my body while I heard the harsh rasp of her breath through her mask. She got me down on the bed and I found it an incredible turn on to be looked down on by a gorgeous naked blonde wearing only a gas mask and white plimsolls and ankle socks. My heart raced while I looked into her face and saw only her eyes glaring at me through the round lenses of the erotically grotesque gas mask visage as she leaned over me to gag me with strong tape. She lashed my legs together and then tied me down securely on the bed with another criss-crossing pattern of ropes over the length of my body and legs. Then I felt another huge thrill as she put my gas mask over my face and tightened the harness around my head so my face was completely sealed inside the mask. By now my erection was as stiff and heavy as if it had been cast in concrete and my feet inside my white plimsolls and ankle socks were throbbing and aching in their arousal as much as my shaft. 

She attached the air hose to my mask and I made long muffled hoots of excitement and the agony of longing as I watched her attach the dildo to the other end of the hose. I tensed even more in my hunger for her as she lay down on the bed next to me with her legs wide apart, carefully inserted the dildo into herself and began to masturbate. As she jilled herself her love juices began to flow and be absorbed into the dildo. After a few minutes the inside of my gas mask was filled with the gorgeous aromas flowing from deep within her sex. My muffled moaning hoots of pleasure echoing within my gas mask combined with her deep gasps and moans and sighs of her self-pleasure. Then she began to masturbate me as well as herself and, using all her skill, brought us both to very deep and very noisy orgasm at the same time. It made a fantastic video for our website.

Next to arrive were the cat suits. We took the package to our bedroom in great excitement. When they were unwrapped and laid out on the bed for our first look at them, we were surprised at how small they looked compared to our bodies

"Do you think we'll actually be able to get ourselves into them?" I wondered a little dubiously.

"They are supposed to stretch to give a close fit," she reminded.

We decided to have a trial run at wearing the suits before having the main event when the handcuffs had been delivered. We both took off our white plimsolls and ankle socks so we were completely naked. Emma tied her long blonde hair in a tight bun on the back of her head so it would fit within her hood. The first parts of our suits we put on were the feet. They felt clingy as we stretched them on over our feet and surprisingly cool to the touch at first, although our feet soon began to warm up in their stretchy grip.

Following the supplier's instructions on a printed sheet, we spread a light dusting of talcum powder on our feet before placing them into the legs of our cat suits and pulling and stretching them over our own legs. With some sustained pushing we slowly slid our feet all the way down the constricting rubber tubes of the suit legs until they emerged at the bottom. After we had adjusted the suits to an even, wrinkle free coverage of our legs we peeled on the suits up to our waists and smoothed them over our crotches and our bottoms.

We stretched on the gloves over our hands and lightly dusted them with talc before pulling on the arms. Then we twisted and squirmed to get the suits on over our shoulders. It felt amazing as more and more of our skin fell under the cool, close clinging rubbery confinement of our suits. Next it was time to put on the hoods and tuck the necks neatly within the high necks of our suits before finally zipping them up.

The suits looked and felt fantastic. Mine was so clinging and close fitting it felt like it was merging into my own skin. Emma's suit showed every curve of her beautiful womanly body and the long flowing lines of her lovely long legs and arms to black smooth shiny perfection. She looked as if she had been sprayed all over with a fine coat of shiny black rubberised paint. The suit clung to her so closely that even her nipples could be seen in fine detail through the thin latex layer moulding her breasts. 

"Let me see how huggable you are," I said to her as I embraced her. Our bodies made a rubbery squeak as they rubbed together and although I could feel the pressure of her body pressing against mine, I couldn't get any sense impression of touch or warmth from her.

"It's an almost disembodied feeling," Emma marvelled. "I like it but it's really weird. I'm already starting to feel a bit warm and sweaty but it somehow feels quite nice."

In order so see how much physical exertion she could make while she was wearing her suit and how long she could stand wearing it for, in anticipation of our upcoming bout of what we knew would be very physically demanding rubber and bondage sex, she had decided to dance a very special version of the 'Dying Swan' ballet solo while I photographed and videoed her as she prepared and performed her dance. As she knelt on the floor to put on her black satin ballet shoes and tie her ankle ribbons, a vision of supremely erotic shiny black gorgeousness, I became only too aware of the tight cling of my suit around my crotch as my ever-growing erection fought for more space against the press of tight latex.

She finished attending to her ballet shoes and gracefully and daintily stepped her long elegant legs and beautifully pointed feet, their lovely lines lengthened and narrowed by her pointe shoes, into a short classical length tutu skirt. Then I watched spellbound as she put on her gas mask. She was the fulfilment of more erotic dreams than I could begin to calculate in my excitement. She tried a few tentative steps en pointe before coming off pointe again and standing in her characteristic ballerina turned out pose as she removed her mask.

"Even though my ballet shoes are a really good fit it feels like the soles of my feet are slipping very slightly sideways against the rubber soles of my suit inside my shoes when I'm en pointe, which makes me feel slightly off balance on my pointes, which is very disconcerting," she reported to me. "Also, the weight of my gas mask in front of my face is pulling me slightly off my normal centre of balance."

She spent a few minutes replacing the rubber feet of her suit with nylon pop socks that she tucked in under the ankles of her suit. These gave her feet the proper grip inside her ballet shoes. Then she did a few exercises at the barre and some gentle floor work while wearing her gas mask in order to re-centre herself for her dance.

Finally she was ready to dance and she performed a version of the Dying Swan that was eerily and erotically beautiful as with her graceful flowing body and long elegant limbs encased in shiny black rubber she danced the dainty steps and delicate yet profoundly expressive body movements while the sound of her physical exertions came hissing and rasping through her gas mask. The dance ended in a magically and erotically beautiful moment as, sitting on one leg bent beneath her, she slowly reached forward to grasp the perfectly pointed and extended arch of her foot on the end of her other leg stretched out before her and rested her head on her knees with the folds of her tutu skirt spread in a circle around her waist. She looked at the camera and through the lenses of her gas mask her eyes could be seen closing serenely in death and as she died the rasping sound from her mask went silent. We called the finished video 'The dying black swan (Lament for a dying planet)' and it was a hugely popular download on our website.

"It felt great but I don't think I can stand more than half an hour of hard physical exertion inside this suit. I'm absolutely sweltering in here," she gasped as she stood up and took off her mask.

"Well I'd like to think that I could keep up the physical exertion for more than half an hour but I'm sure I'll be finished well before then," I laughed. I exulted in her beauty as she stepped elegantly out of her tutu skirt and gracefully knelt down to take off her ballet shoes.

"I wasn't thinking of you, Big Head, she giggled," as she began to unpeel the suit to reveal her gloriously glowing nakedness. "It takes me well over half an hour to have an orgasm a lot of the time. You'll have to make sure you bring me to the boil before I boil inside this suit with you on top of me humping away at me. I can hardly wait," she grinned.

Fortunately the handcuffs arrived the next day and all was set for the main event that evening.

We had deliberately chosen what was forecast and turned out to be a cool evening and we had opened all the windows and internal doors in our flat to make the interior as cool as possible, but we still started to feel warm very quickly once we were in our suits again. My temperature rose even more rapidly at the fantastically erotic sight of Emma putting on a brand new pair of Keds plimsolls that gleamed whitely against the shiny black of her suit.

"My plimsolls feel amazing through these rubber feet," she reported with a dazzle of pleasure in her eyes which was almost all I could see of her face. "It feels like I'm standing on a thin rubbery oily layer."

I quickly put on my white Keds and curled and pointed my feet in delight as I felt just the feeling she had described. I started to feel hot and strangely pleasantly sticky inside my suit as I began to tie her up. I tied her hands securely behind her back and then placed her upper body in a complex harness of restraining ropes that bound her arms to her sides, squeezed all around the bases of her breasts and pressed tightly and arousingly into her crotch on each side of her entrance. I laid her on the bed on her back and roped her legs tightly together around her ankles, knees and thighs.

Her eyes shone with excitement and extreme erotic delight as she pursed her lips together and I gagged her with strong tape and adjusted the mouth covering of her hood to cover her gag. I placed a black satin eye mask over her eyes to blindfold her and adjusted the strap to a tight fit around her head. Only the tip of her nose and a tiny rectangle of exposed flesh around her nostrils remained to be covered as I placed her gas mask, with the lenses blanked out with circles of blackout material stuck on the inside, over her face and adjusted the head harness to a secure grip. Her breasts pumped up and down in her excitement as if she were a bouncy castle at a fetish convention.

I took off the little removable triangular patch that covered her womanhood and I marvelled at her pouting swollen red flower set within a frame of pale flesh and shiny black PVC. I couldn't resist giving her a little stroke as I lubricated her carefully inside and around the soft and yielding warmth of her entrance and she shivered and strained in her tight bonds and moaned with muffled hooting pleasure inside the close confinement of her gas mask under my touch.

Eager to join her in fast rope and rubber bound restraint I removed the patch from over my genitals and I watched in delight as my manhood stood out eager and proud in its sudden release from rubbery confinement. I tied my legs together, gagged myself with tape and adjusted my hood so that the mouth covering fitted neatly over my gag.I placed one of my wrists in the new handcuffs and the self closing mechanism worked perfectly as it gripped my wrist securely but not over-tightly. Now came the crucial part as I placed a blindfold over my eyes and put on my gas mask, with the lenses also blanked out. With a deep breath I placed my free wrist behind my back into the empty cuff and my stomach tightened as I heard the faint whirr and click as my other wrist was gripped into metallic restraint. I had half an hour to carry out the deed on Emma before the cuffs unlocked. 

Just then two potentially alarming thoughts struck me. I hadn't tested the timing mechanism apart from a very short minute-long test when we were getting ready and I had forgotten to put the override key somewhere I could easily find it if needed. I then realised I hadn't actually seen any override key at any time. I comforted myself with the fact that the mechanism had worked when I had first tried it and I turned my thoughts to the challenge of coupling with Emma with us both tightly bound and gagged and blindfolded.




Trust Ch. 10



Even though I was right next to Emma on the bed I was amazed at how difficult it was in my blinded state to orient my body to hers before starting to inch myself up her prone length. She helped me by hooting to me in a prearranged signal of two short hoots for 'warmer' and one longer hoot for 'colder' as she felt me slowly advancing on top of her. My progress was hard as, like some strange subterranean species of shiny black blind worm hissing with effort and the intense longing to impregnate its genes into its mate, I pushed and squirmed up the length of her legs.

There were painful moments too as I instinctively aimed to position my genitals within the groove between her tightly bound legs to guide my erection to her entrance. First the toes of her plimsolls and then her knees dug uncomfortably into my sensitive swollenness. My eyes watered under my blindfold and I made muffled grunts of pain in my gag. Emma, aware of what was happening, hooted sympathetically and encouragingly and tried to shuffle her body a little under mine to make things easier for me.

Shrugging off the pain and concentrating on my goal I continued to inch further up her legs until my sensitive helmet felt the stretchy cling of rubber covering her thighs give way to the open triangle of soft warm skin around her waiting womanhood. She hooted excitedly as I strained to feel the first contact on my helmet of her moist and swollen labia. It took several tentative exploratory pushes until, like a fighter plane taking several bobbing attempts to dock for an in flight refuelling with a tanker, I finally and exultantly felt my swollen head achieve a firm contact within the spread of her lips.

Even though we were both well lubricated it was hard to achieve entrance into her through the fast gate of her tightly bound thighs as she accompanied my efforts with high pitched hoots of delighted discomfort and I matched her with deep muffled grunts as I shoved at her again and again. We 'oofed' and 'mmmphd' in unison as my weight, unsupported by my bound arms, ground into her breasts and my knees rubbed uncomfortably over hers and I strained to keep balanced on top of her while she did her best to brace and set her body to provide a stable platform for me.

We carried on in that fashion until, already half exhausted and feeling very hot and sweaty, I was fully inside her and felt the gorgeously tight grip of her entrance around the base of my shaft as my groin rubbed and pushed into hers. It was an amazing experience to be mating with her whilst unable to see her or feel the contact of her skin on mine or have the full range of communication with her. With so much else of the stimuli of sex removed, it was as if the whole experience was concentrated in the deep, close, warm and moist cradling of her womanhood around my manhood.

Knowing that Emma would, as well as having to cope with her own body heat sweltering inside her suit, also be absorbing the heat from my body pressing down on top of her, I got to work on her and straight away began shafting her deeply. My deep muffled grunts were answered by her high pitched muffled 'mmphs' that were a mixture of pleasure and pain. Our bodies rippled and undulated like a pair of shiny black sealions humping with all the sexual instinct of their species. Our gas masks knocked against each other as I pressed into her again and again and willed her to come. But with all the physical distractions and lack of many of her normal sexual stimuli to bring her on she was a long time coming. This was sex of the hard slog through a muddy field while under heavy artillery bombardment variety. I curled my toes tightly in my white plimsolls and ground my jaws together under my gag in a desperate attempt to stop myself from coming but I couldn't hold on any longer and with a deep muffled gnash of anguish rattling in my ears within the dark and close confinement of my gas mask I pumped her full of my load.

Mercifully my climax seemed to give her the encouragement she needed and as I felt my erection begin to fade within her she clenched me tightly, pushed and squirmed her breasts into me and gave out a long, high pitched muffled wavering hoot of ecstasy that sounded far away as it echoed inside her gas mask, even though my head was right next to hers. I felt her orgasm resound through her through the still close coupling of my rod deep inside her. I kept still on top of her for a moment until she stopped clenching me and then we both gasped in a final outburst of physical pleasure as my well greased piston slid back out of her moist and fleshy pressure vessel.

I rolled uncomfortably and awkwardly off her and lay on my back next to her. Now the only clue we shared for our close proximity was the sound of our rasping hissing breath through our gas masks as our bodies heaved in exhaustion and in our spent passion. I waited for several minutes for the handcuffs to unlock. When they failed to open at what I thought would be the right time I waited for a few more minutes feeling a little more anxious.

When the cuffs still refused to open I began to get worried, especially as I was aware that Emma was starting to get restless, rolling her tightly bound body from side to side and making anxious little muffled gasping noises in her gas mask through her firmly taped up mouth. In the stuffy darkness inside my own gas mask I screwed my eyes up tight beneath my blindfold and tried to think where I had last seen the safety key that would override the timed release mechanism of the cuffs, but I was gripped by a rapidly increasing panic as I came to the horrifying, inescapable conclusion that I had never seen the key and therefore had no idea where it could possibly be.

By this time Emma was clearly in the grip of her own panic, no doubt being fuelled by her awareness of her state of total physical helplessness and her almost total sensory deprivation and what must have been by now her extreme discomfort encased inside her rubber suit. The bed was shaking and creaking as she thrashed her body more and more violently in her increasingly frantic efforts to somehow squirm out of her tight bindings and she hooted ever more loudly to me for help. She caught me a couple of times with painful blows from her tightly trussed legs as she bent at her waist and knees and kicked out with her white plimsolls.

I did my best to ignore her plight for a moment while I tried desperately to think of how to save us both from slowly cooking to death inside our latex suits before suffocation did for us first. For a moment I thought of crawling to the kitchen and returning with a sharp knife to cut through her bonds before remembering that, blindfolded as I was, I had virtually no chance of finding my way to the kitchen, finding a knife, and crawling back to her before she most likely expired through extreme shock and stress. I decided that the only chance I had of saving us was to get her out of her gas mask and release her from her blindfold and her gag. Then at least she could be aware of our plight and we could work out some sort of strategy together.

As my arms were not roped to my body I still had some freedom of movement for my hands. I shuffled and squirmed until I was sitting up next to Emma with my back to her and I began to feel for her head while I made what I hoped would be comforting noises to her through my gag and gas mask. I felt her head continue to twist violently from side to side in her frenzied fear for a moment until I was able to feel the back of her head encased within her rubber hood. Quickly I pressed my hands firmly to her head on each side and made a single loud hoot at her which I hope sounded sufficiently authoritative to grab her attention. It worked and, somehow and from somewhere deep within her subconscious, she found the will to trust me and she lay quiet and still, her breath rasping heavily and metallically robotic sounding through the round air filters of her mask.

I felt carefully for the webbing straps that kept her gas mask fixed firmly in a tight seal over her face and slowly pushed them up to the top of her head until they went over the top and I felt her mask fall away from her face. I heard her give a grateful 'mmph!' of relief through her gag and felt her move her head so her face was free at last from its now hateful grip.

I took care that my hands followed the movement of her head and then I felt for the strap of her blindfold encircling her head. I pushed that up and over her head and she gave me another encouraging 'mmph!' to tell me it was off her.

I felt her turn her head towards me and, very carefully so not to poke my fingers into her eyes, nostrils or ears, I felt lightly across the contours of her face, which through my latex gloves I could feel were slick with her sweat, until I could feel under the layer of rubber that covered her mouth and pull it away and fold it under her chin to expose her gag. I found one end of the thick sticky tape that sealed her lips tightly shut and slowly and carefully pulled it off her. When I had finished I heard her give a great gasp of relief and take several deep breaths before she was at last able to speak to me again. Now she could not have been more calm in such a crisis.

"Nod if you can get out of your cuffs. Shake your head if you can't," she instructed, being careful to phrase her question in a way that I could give a clear and unambiguous answer to. I shook my head in a negative.

"Nod if the self-release mechanism on the cuffs is working. Shake your head if it isn't," she continued. I shook my head again.

"Nod if you know where the key is. Shake your head if you don't." I felt sick in my stomach as I shook my head for the third time.

"Don't worry about that now," she said gently. "Just keep still while I get your mask, blindfold and gag off you then we can work out what to do."

Because her arms were bound tightly to her body along their whole length so that she had almost no room for manoeuvre for her hands, it took her a lot longer to free my face from its close confinement within my gas mask. Rivers of sweat ran down it when it finally felt open air around it again.

"What the hell's going on here?" she interrogated me accusingly for a moment. "The cuffs aren't working so you can't get out of them and you've no idea where the safety key is."

"The release mechanism worked fine when I gave it a test before I put them on so fuck knows why it won't work now," I defended myself. "As for the key, I don't remember ever seeing one. I meant to ask you if you'd seen it but I forgot to."

"Well I never saw a key and didn't even know it had one before you told me about it. I just assumed you had it."

"Do you suppose we've been sent a set off cuffs without a key?" I suggested.

"I can believe just about anything right now," she shook her head with a long suffering expression on her face. "Holy gasmasks, how are we going to get ourselves out of this, Batman?"

I was heartened to see her usual cheerful humour beginning to bubble up to the surface again. "I had thought earlier of trying to find a sharp knife to cut through your ropes. We'd have to sit or lie back to back while I hold the knife and you saw through the ropes around your hands."

"While the clock keeps ticking before the bomb goes off," she giggled. "I'll probably end up slitting my wrists, you know. You'll never get away with trying to make them think it was suicide either."

She suggested trying to hop to the kitchen on our firmly bound legs but I said that crawling there would be safer in case we lost our balance and ended up knocking ourselves or injuring ourselves enough to make escape even more difficult. So with her leading and me following her whilst enjoying the sight of her feet in her white Keds pushing her forward we crawled like a pair of big shiny black slugs to the kitchen.

The wooden block that contained the kitchen knives was on one of the marble work surfaces near the oven. Emma got herself into a sitting position on the kitchen floor close to the position of the block, pushed herself up until she was standing with her legs leaning against the cupboards, raised herself up onto the balls of her feet so that the pure white canvas of her Keds rucked and creased across her toes, and shuffled her bottom up onto the work surface. The skin tight rubber covering of her suit over her buttocks squeaked and dragged resistantly against the hard smooth surface as she pushed herself further back onto the work top. Finally she was able to lift up her long shiny black legs wrapped in tight ropes, bring her feet up behind the knife block and, with a neat push of her white plimsolls, send the block and its contents flashing and clattering to the floor.

I picked up the knife with the longest blade and held it point upward as firmly as I could in both my hands, which was difficult because the central shank of the cuffs kept my hands slightly apart, but I was determined not to let that obstacle obstruct our bid for freedom. Emma got down carefully from the work top and shuffled on her bottom, now giving a rubbery squeak on the wooden floor, into position behind me with her back to me. Ever so carefully, she began to saw at the ropes around her wrists using the small amount of movement she could wrest from her fast-bound arms, supplemented by little bouncing push up movements from her buttocks and thighs. She was careful not to try and push the ropes too hard against the blade and risk dragging the knife out of my grasp. It took a long time and towards the end my wrists ached like fury but I clung on determinedly.

"For fuck's sake why the hell did you tie me up so tightly?" she said in frustration as she took a short, panting break from her sawing labours. "Did you not think that if you did the knots up so tight you might not be able to unpick them with rubber gloves on if you needed to?"

"At least we're learning valuable lessons for the next time," I tried looking on the bright side.

"Ye gods, he thinks there's going to be a next time. Is there no hope for this deluded fool," she chuckled ironically. "Come on Baldrick, back to the sawing."

It took ages before I detected the satisfying feeling of the final resistant strand of tautly stretched rope finally parting and she gave a little cheer of triumph. Then she said, 

"OK Sunshine, the good news is that my hands are untied. The bad news is that because you tied my arms so tightly against my body I can't move them or my hands. So you're going to have to keep hold of that knife for a bit longer while I cut through the rope around my arms."

My wrists were throbbing like hot coals by the time she finally cut through the rope that trussed her arms to her sides and back and was able to unravel herself free of it. She took the knife from my trembling grasp and sliced through the ropes around her legs and ankles. She took great gasps of relief as she flexed and stretched herself in her restored freedom and lost no time in taking off her white plimsolls and peeling herself out of her rubber suit until she stood naked with rivers of sweat snaking all over her perspiration soaked skin. Then she cut through the ropes binding my legs and ankles, took off my white Keds and pulled off my rubber hood, gloves and feet so I could perspire a little more and feel a little more relief from the furnace conditions inside my suit.

She gave me a drink of water, which was the best drink I had ever tasted in my life, and then she sat me down on the floor of the shower and gave us both a cold shower. It was lovely to watch her unpin her hair from her tight bun and shake it free in a cloud of water drops and see her naked body covered in a million sparkling jewels of clear fresh cool water and feel the cooling relief of the water as it bounced in myriad droplets off my suit and ran in streams down the shiny black PVC curves of my body. Until she could get the cuffs off me, this was the best she could do to keep me cool unless she cut the suit from me, which at this stage I was reluctant to do because of the cost of it.

She dried us both with a towel and, still naked, went in search of the override key for the cuffs while I remained sitting in the cool atmosphere of the shower cubicle. She came back after a few minutes and shook her head.

"It's no good, I can't find any key," she informed me. "Are you certain you never saw one at any time?"

"Certain," I replied emphatically. "We must have been sent a set of cuffs without one."

"I found a piece of paper in the box with the help line number of the supplier. I could try phoning them," she suggested.

"Surely there wouldn't be anyone to speak to at this time of night," I said dubiously.

"It doesn't say it's a 24 hour helpline," she agreed, "but on the other hand it doesn't say it isn't either. It's worth trying. At the very least we should be able to leave a message."

She picked up the phone, switched on the speaker mode so I could hear any conversation or message and dialled the number. After a couple of rings we were amazed to hear a man with the flat vowel twang of a Birmingham accent answer the call.

"Forbidden Fruit, can I help?"

"Oh, excuse me," Emma exclaimed, "I didn't expect anyone to still be there. You're very dedicated to still be at work at this time of night."

"Actually you've come through to my office at home," he explained. "The missus is on nights this week so I'm on duty with the kids. I was just catching up on a bit of paperwork."

"I'm sure your children are very good," said Emma, getting into chatty mode in response to his open and friendly manner.

"They're little horrors, actually, but I love 'em to bits. I've got Dylan who's seven and Liza with a zee who's just turned four," he added with obvious pride.

"I guess that Dylan is named after Bob Dylan and Liza must be named after Liza Minelli." Emma was already thoroughly enjoying this conversation.

"Dylan Thomas, actually," he pointed out. "He's a bit of a hero of mine, and Bob Dylan's a big fan of his too, of course. And the missus worships Liza Minelli. For our tenth anniversary last year I took her to see her at the Palladium. She was dancing on air for days afterwards."

"She's lucky to have you for a husband," said Emma approvingly. "It's nice that you can baby sit so she can be out when she needs to be. What does she do?" 

By this time I was starting to get just a little bit impatient.

"She's the duty Desk Sergeant down at the local cop shop." he informed her. "She doesn't take any nonsense from anyone either. Lord help anyone who gets pulled in when she's on duty."

"Isn't a bit awkward for you both, with her being a policewoman and you running a sex shop?" Emma asked in surprise.

"There's no law against running a sex shop," he pointed out. "I pay my fair share of taxes and rates and VAT and it's all with proper paperwork and accounts and everything. And she certainly doesn't complain about the free samples either."

"She may be the Dragon of the Desk but I bet she's a cute cuddly pussycat when she comes home to you," Emma giggled.

"Yeah, a great big one with stripes," he laughed.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Unable to constrain myself any more I said to her with as much sotto voce as I could muster,

"When you've quite finished would you mind explaining our little problem and ask him what he intends to do about it."

Apologetically she explained the situation of the non-opening handcuffs and the missing key. He thought for a moment before replying,

"I suspect the reason why the cuffs didn't open is that the timing mechanism is powered by a little rechargeable battery which needs charging up before use otherwise the timer runs out of power and the cuffs will only open with the key. It's the main potential drawback with this particular model but if you follow the instructions it isn't normally a problem."




Trust Ch. 10



My crest was distinctly fallen as I heard this. Emma gave me a pitying smile as he continued. 

"Now if we've supplied you with a set without the key it's down to us to get a replacement to you. I can't do anything tonight as I'm stuck here with the kids so the best I can do is to get our Raymond to bike one over to you first thing in the morning. Of course if you've got some strong bolt cutters or a metal saw you could try getting them off that way."

"We don't have either of those I'm afraid, so I guess my partner will just have to sit tight until the morning. I don't think he'll be wanting to call the fire brigade," she laughed. She gave him our address and thanked him. "I must say that although the quality control may have been a little off target on this occasion, the after-sales service is second to none," she smiled.

We eventually settled down for the night with me lying on top of the bed on my front, which, with me still wearing my rubber suit and with my hands still handcuffed behind my back, was the most comfortable situation I could manage. Even though it was a cool night I still felt very warm in my suit and even though it was a cool night and Emma was naked except for her white slip-on bedtime plimsolls she insisted on lying alongside me on top of the duvet while she cuddled up to me for warmth. I so wished I could feel her beautiful naked body pressing and rubbing directly against my own body instead of having to be content with an impression of her close contact through my tight rubber second skin. I was glad that at least my erection had full freedom of expression.

As she stroked my face and kissed me goodnight I said to her,

"I'm sorry I nearly got us both dead today."

She smiled and shook her head in an 'It's OK and please don't worry about it' way. I continued talking directly into her lovely hazel eyes.

"Thinking about the fact I could have lost you forever today made me realise that there's something I haven't said to you properly before, although I've felt it since the moment I first saw you, and which I really want to say to you now: I love you, Emma; heart and mind and body and soul -- the whole lot. You've made me whole and I can't bear to even begin imagining ever being without you again."

Her eyes glistened as she whispered to me, "Tell me what you love about me?"

"What don't I love about you?" I replied rhetorically. "I love the way your eyelashes flutter when something pleases you or excites you; I love how you laughed when your first go at making that soufflé was a complete disaster and then you just began all over again and did it perfectly; I love how cute and sexy your knees and your ankles look in black tights; I love the way your hair rests on your shoulders and makes me want to rest my hands on them and nuzzle your neck; I love you for your honesty and your straightforwardness and your kindness and your sense of fun and adventure and your courage. You were so brave tonight."

"I didn't feel brave when I was in the dark inside that gas mask and I thought you were dead or dying and I was frantic because I couldn't escape and get to you or even say anything to comfort you or tell you that I love you." She began to cry and I ached with frustration at not being able to hold her close and comfort her. All I could do was to gently rub my face against hers and kiss her mouth, cheeks, eyes and forehead with all the tenderness I could expresss.

"I had no idea you were thinking that way," I said to her. "Weren't you aware of me moving around next to you and trying to make noises to you?"

"All I could feel was this horrible feeling of being bound up and wrapped up and unable to escape and totally helpless and alone and all I could hear was the sound of my screaming bouncing back at me from the inside of the gas mask and ringing in my ears," she snuffled. "I'm not saying I'll never be gagged and blindfolded in a gas mask again but it'll be a while because that was really frightening." She looked tearfully into my eyes as she continued, "I knew that as long as you were conscious you would do whatever you were able to do to try and help me. It was only when I thought you were out of it that I lost hope and panicked. I can't tell you how wonderful it was when I felt your hands on my head and I heard your voice telling me to keep still. You couldn't say the words but I knew instinctively that it was what you wanted me to do. That's pretty wonderful too, isn't it?"

We both had a little weep together as the emotions we had suppressed to meet the needs of the moment finally came to the surface. I turned over onto my back and she eased herself on top of me. As she kissed me, long and lovingly, I felt her adjust her position until I found myself sliding easily into the midst of her warm, moist passion and my legs were suddenly within the grip of her plimsolls as the rubber soles of her white slip-ons pressed against the latex layer over my legs. Even as I enjoyed the sensation of being made passionate love to while I had my hands manacled behind my back I longed to be able to enfold her in all her naked loveliness tightly and tenderly in my arms. I made several firm pushes against her tight enveloping clench and we came together in a duet of deep gasping sighs of deepest content as we breathed over and over again to each other, "I love you."

We cuddled up again to sleep and her heart beat strong against me as I drifted into dreams of freedom and of love.

She got up early to make us breakfast while I struggled off the bed and managed to sit down on the toilet to pee. She came into the bathroom and washed all my visible parts and then sat me down at the kitchen table. I had the great pleasure of seeing and feeling her place her bare bottom daintily on my lap as she settled down on me to spoon feed me with cereal and administer coffee through a straw.

"This feels lovely," she beamed as she shuffled and pressed the soft flesh of her bottom cheeks against the smooth rubbery coating over my legs, and I readily agreed as I soaked up the experience of being fed by a beautiful woman naked in white plimsolls sitting on my lap while I had my hands secured behind my back and wished they were fondling her gorgeous breasts which were in close proximity to my face

Soon after nine I was able to give out a big sigh of relief as I looked out through the window to survey the road and saw Raymond approaching bearing the precious key to my deliverance. For some strange reason I had imagined him to be a lanky, lank haired spotty youth in a sleeveless pullover, corduroy trousers with bicycle clips and an old pair of sandals riding a big black old fashioned sit-up-and-beg bicycle with a large basket on the front. He turned out to be a six foot something crag of shiny black motorcycle leathers topped with a great shining globe of a helmet and sat powerfully upon a 500cc Suzuki. Emma slipped on her blue silk Japanese kimono style dressing gown over her nakedness to sign for the delivery and a minute later, to use the classic comic book phrase, 'in one mighty bound he was free.'

In what seemed like about two minutes I got out of the cat suit and showered and into my normal suit for work. When I phoned my boss to explain why I would be late in I told him that Emma had got herself locked in the bathroom and it taken me until now to get her out. It was well worth her furious cry of "You treacherous bastard!" and the near miss from her well aimed hair brush directed at me from across the lounge, I decided, chuckling to myself, as I exited the flat.



Trust Ch. 10



"Yes," she whispered. 

"In your heart Sally, would you date me exclusively?" 

After a brief moment of thinking she answered, "Yes," she whispered. 

Storm heard her but decided to play with her a bit, "I'm sorry but I didn't hear that. Please repeat a bit louder," 

"Yes," she said louder than before but still softly. 

"I'm sorry but I'm still not hearing you. Maybe it's because of the noise from the restaurant. Please repeat again." 

Sally looked around. The restaurant was not close and there wasn't much noise where they were. He was making fun of her and it was confirmed when she saw the small smile playing on his lips. It made her happy that he was happy with her answer. She spoke in a normal tone, "Yes, I would like to be your girlfriend, if you want." 

"Yes! Yes! I want," he said as he lifted her up and swung her around laughing. 

He slowly slid her down the length of his body and Sally held on to his shoulders. She was laughing at how happy he was hearing her answer. She was happy giving it. He held her to him as his lips moved towards hers when she was eye level with him. Their lips met in a soft touch but then turned passionate. Sally moved her head to the side to better taste him, kissing him the way he had unknowingly taught her. She heard him moan when she licked at this tongue and she relished the feeling of being able to excite him. She pulled back, looking at him and returned his smile. He placed her on her feet and caressed her cheek. He quickly bent to kiss her again softly before taking her hand and beginning walking down the strip again. 

They came upon a snow cone vendor and Storm stopped to get a snow cone. 

"Two please," he told the vendor. 

"No, none for me," Sally interrupted when she heard his request. 

"You don't want one?" When she shook her head in the negative he asked, "Why not? These are actually pretty good. Not overly sweet." 

"I don't eat them. I just don't like them." 

"Okay," Storm said to her before turning to the vendor and placing his order for one. "Blue and green please." 

They were walking along with Storm sipping on his cone when he asked, "Okay, tell me the story about the snow cones." 

"What? There is no story. I just think they are too sweet so I don't eat them." 

"Okay so what do you like? Cakes? Or a special type of chocolate? Godiva's?"

"No...yuk."

"Yuk? Okay now I really want the story."

"There is no story. I just don't like sweets. And I don't understand that type of craving either."

"So you don't crave sweets or chocolates during that time of the month?"

"No I don't. I only crave sleep." 

"Okay you're the first." They walked for a bit more before he broke the silence. "Okay, I'll tell you a secret about myself but you have to promise not to tell anyone."

Sally stopped to look at him, understanding the level of trust he must feel towards her to impart such information. "Okay I promise."

"I love snow cones."

Sally looked on waiting for the information. 

"That's it. I love snow cones. My Dad loved them also and my grandmother used to say that's where I got it from. Dad had a snow cone machine at the house where he and I and Ayasha used to make them and sit in front of the TV and watch either the game or movie or anything that caught our fancy. They are one of my weaknesses."

Sally looked on, waiting for him to say it was a joke but that never happened. Instead after a few minutes, she burst out laughing. Doubling over, she laughed so hard that when she finally stood up, she had to wipe the tears from her eyes. Storm looked on unfazed, eating his cone and Sally began laughing again. 

"Are you finished?" he asked after a few more minutes of her laughing.

"Yes...yes almost." Sally replied gasping for breath. She took a deep breath. "Okay, so let me get this straight. Your big secret, your untellable secret that can be used to blackmail you is that you love snow cones?"

"Hmmmhmmm," Storm replied. 

"I am so telling everyone," Sally said as she turned to walk away. 

Storm grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around her and pulled her back towards him, "You promised," he said kissing her neck. 

"Yeah, but that was before I knew what the secret was." After few minutes, "You really love them that much?" 

"Yep, Dad and I love them." 

"And Ayasha?" 

"Not as much as Dad and I. I think it s a guy thing." 

After a while, Sally stopped and turned to Storm. "Storm, it may be out of place for me to ask this..."

"Just ask. I'll answer if I can." 

"It's personal." 

"Go ahead." 

"Tell me about your Dad. What type of man was he?"

Storm looked at her wide eyed before smiling, "What you do want to know?"

"Anything you want to tell me."

Storm's smile grew as he thought about his father and when he opened his mouth to speak, the words just seem to flow effortlessly. No one had ever asked him about his father and that made him happy. 





Trust Ch. 11



Enjoy!





Trust Ch. 11



 [Is this the ultimate plimsoll fetish sex fantasy?]

Chapter 11 -- What a difference a year makes.

When we first met and told each other of how we had acquired our shared fetish for plimsolls we discovered that a common item in our stories was a white tennis dress: Bryony's in my case and Lucinda's in Emma's. So we agreed that on our first anniversary we would play a tennis match and both wear tennis dresses. Our first year together flew by far too quickly and our anniversary arrived almost before we knew it. It happened to fall on a Sunday, which meant that we could relax and take our time to enjoy it to the full. I was enjoying my morning coffee with breakfast when Emma placed a large gift wrapped box in front of me on the kitchen table.

"Happy first anniversary," she smiled and kissed me as I contemplated the box.

"What's this?" I asked as I kissed her.

"It's wrapped up so you open it to find out what it is, Einstein," she laughed and raised her eyes in a 'why do I put up with this incompetence?' kind of expression.

Inside the box neatly folded and packed was a very stylish and very sexy looking white tennis dress with a halter neck, a pair of brand new gleaming white ladies' Keds plimsolls with a pair of ladies' very soft cotton rich white ankle socks, a white cotton sports bra and a pair of stretchy cotton sports panties, all in my size. I realized straight away why she was giving them to me.

We quickly got dressed in our tennis whites. To further feminise myself I put on my long brunette wig and tied it in a pony tail and I filled out my sports bra with my falsies. I wondered about wearing the dreaded underpants of doom but, as they would have crippled my mobility on the court and as my boy's bits were contained snugly out of sight in my girly pants beneath the skirt of my dress, I was happy to leave them off. I completed my outfit with sweatbands around my head and on my wrists and put on some basic makeup before looking at myself in the mirror. With my body shaved and with my wig and makeup on I looked pretty much like an athletically built young woman. But my feminine pretensions were forgotten in my all too male response to the sight of Emma as she emerged from our bedroom where she had gone to change in secret.

Instead of wearing a very revealing dress as I had expected, she had chosen a classic design in plain crisp white with Fred Perry style collar and short sleeves and a short pleated skirt. It made her body look long and slim and showed off her gorgeous golden tanned legs to perfection. She explained it was like the dress Lucinda had worn the day they had become friends and she had become converted to white plimsolls. With her dress she wore brand new gleaming white Victoria plimsolls like the ones that Lucinda had given her, with the cutest pair of frilly white cotton ankle socks I had ever seen. They encircled her exquisite ankles with a scalloped pattern of delicate broderie lace and on each heel was a pretty little pink satin bow.

"Those socks will give you an unfair advantage," I smiled.

"All's fair in love and tennis," she giggled.

"Can we forget the tennis so I can fuck you in those socks right now?" I asked hopefully.

"You're just saying that because you know I'll beat you," she laughed and patted my rump with the face of her racquet.

We descended the steps to the garden and walked hand in hand to the tennis court. I offered to let her serve first but she insisted on tossing up for it and I guessed correctly so I served the opening game. We had played many times against each other and as an effective doubles pair so I knew she was a good player and that this would not be a walkover for me and so it proved.

Right from the first few points it was obvious I would be playing under a number of disadvantages. Most importantly: although it felt nice to be playing tennis in plimsolls I was actually used to playing in proper tennis shoes and playing in plimsolls robbed me of that initial extra burst of speed that I got from my tennis shoes, leaving me feeling slightly flat footed and floundering to reach the ball. Emma, on the other hand, had always played tennis in plimsolls and, being naturally more nimble and lighter-footed on her feet, she could now reach the ball at least as soon if not sooner than I could.

With Emma having perhaps a slight edge on mobility I could perhaps have relied on the greater power of my play but there was a problem in that department too, in the shape of my breasts. Although my falsies gave me only a modest bust it was still prominent enough to interfere with the normal swing of my forehand and backhand, and the need to adjust my strokes affected my ability to time my shots.

Along with my technical handicaps was the persistent psychological burden of stopping my concentration from wandering down the length of Emma's beautiful body and lovely legs down to her gorgeously sexy feet in her brilliant white plimsolls and frilly white ankle socks, truly a master stroke on her part.

With all of these handicaps to contend with I had a real battle to defend my service in the opening game. For the first few points my efforts to hit big winners ended in frustration almost every time as I kept hitting the net or out of court or I left the ball hanging in the air in mid court for Emma to dart in and put away.

At 15-40 I decided to change tactics. I stopped trying for the big shots and concentrated on positional play while waiting for Emma to make a loose shot that I could be confident about finishing off. My strategy worked and, after saving three break points and playing out a couple of long rallying deuces, I finally put together a text book serve and volley to win my serve.

Emma, by contrast, had no trouble winning on her first service game. Her service was consistently strong and deep, she kept me constantly running this way and that with subtle changes of direction and several times completely outsmarted me with her trademark disguised lob.

In this way the set progressed until she was serving to level at 5 games all. It was then that my game finally came together. My winners began to leave her at futile full stretch and unable to bring her subtle stroke play into effect. Although she fought hard to stay in the game and saved two break points I finally broke her serve with successive serve and volley combinations.

Serving for the set -- effectively for the match as we were only playing a single set -- I powered my way to 40-love and finished with an ace that left Emma full length on the ground. My plimsolls made a pleasurable slapping sound on the firm texture of the court as I skipped around the net to take her outstretched hand and help her to her feet.

"Well played, Ace," I smiled as I enfolded her waist, pulled her close and thrilled to the feel of her warm damp curvaciousness through her dress. .

"The best woman won," she giggled. "I bet if we played another set nude I'd win easily."

"Why would being nude make any difference? I'd still beat you just the same," I asserted.

"Let's just say I've got a strong theory that I want to test," she smiled knowingly.

We pulled off our dresses, unclasped our bras and gracefully slid our legs out of our panties. The sight of Emma naked in her white plimsolls and white frilly ankle socks immediately sent my erection into a throbbing frenzy of anguished longing for her sex. My heart pounded as I took my position to receive her first serve and my loins felt like they were on fire as I beheld her stretching up in her glorious nakedness to strike the ball, and I began to feel that maybe her theory was not so far fetched after all.

She was absolutely right in her forecast of the result of the match. In fact I really didn't stand a chance. I couldn't keep my eyes off her firm and finely formed breasts as they bobbed and swayed and jiggled with every movement she made. The way her bottom swayed and wiggled whenever she walked or ran away from me to the back of the court inflamed my passion for her, while the gleaming white flash of her plimsolls on the end of her gazelle like legs and the dark flash of her neatly trimmed pubic hair nestling between her thighs as she darted and skipped and sashayed around the court constantly distracted me from my own game. On top of all that, the press and the swinging slap of my swollen genitalia against my thighs constantly put me off my stroke. 

It wasn't surprising, therefore, that Emma won a convincing 6-3 victory and I was more than happy to offer her a draw, which she laughingly and graciously accepted.

"What do I get for winning the most games over the two sets?" she smiled.

"You can trample on me," I suggested hopefully.

"Are you sure you didn't lose on purpose?" she laughed as we walked out of the tennis court and onto the lawn.

I lay on my front on the grass in willing obedience to her command and enjoyed the sensation of cool grass brushing against my naked body as I awaited the far greater pleasure of the first press of her plimsolls on my back. But she was an expert in the art of tease and for several minutes she strutted slowly around me like a proud peacock, every now and then pushing and prodding me with the pointed toe of her plimsoll. Then she changed to pressing down the rubber sole of her plimsoll on various points of my body: the small of my back, my buttocks, the back of my head; as if reconnoitring the best place to establish her first foothold on me.

Finally she planted one of her plimsolls on my right buttock and the other on my left and I groaned with pleasure as her weight pressed my groin hard into the soil and crushed my genitals under my own body. She compounded my pleasure by leaning forward onto the balls of her feet, lifting her heels and twisting her feet from side to side. Then she progressed slowly up the length of my back until she stood like a female colossus on my shoulders. Balancing on each foot in turn, she extended her other foot to smooth the canvas upper of her plimsoll against my face. I buried my nose and mouth in the crook of her foot where her ankle merged into the top of her foot and I moaned in muffled delight as I kissed the smooth soft cotton of her ankle sock and drank in the delicious fresh smell of new canvas and rubber and the sweet toasted sugar aroma of her feet already permeating her plimsolls.

I turned over and then had the fantastic pleasure of licking the sole of each of her plimsolls in turn and inhaling great draughts of that wonderful smell of clean new rubber while she stood on my chest and ground her feet down onto my nipples. She rubbed her ankles and the sides of her plimsolls against my cheeks while I stroked and kissed the smooth white canvas of her plimsolls and the almost downy soft white cotton of her ankle socks. After several minutes she stepped back onto my stomach.

"How strong do you reckon your solar plexus is?" she enquired with a mischievous smile on her face.

"Pretty good, I reckon, with all the ballet and swimming and other exercise I do," I replied, wondering excitedly about what she was about to do.

"Let's see how you stand up to this workout then," she smiled.

She pulled herself up to her full height, rested her fingertips on her hips as her arms splayed out from her shoulders in a graceful arc, and placed her feet in fifth ballet position: one foot parallel behind the other with toes turned out fully to both sides; which, with her white plimsolls and frilly ankle socks, looked incredibly sexy. She then proceeded to do a series of echappes: jumping lightly into the air whilst thrusting her feet outwards to land on the grass either side of me, then jumping up again to bring her feet back to land on my stomach in reverse of their original positions. If she had been wearing ballet shoes she would have had stood with her feet apart en pointe, but as she was wearing plimsolls she kept her feet flat. I had to carefully co-ordinate the tensing and relaxing of my stomach muscles with her steps to take each impact of her feet.

She completed a dozen echappes and then without giving either of us a chance to draw breath she dropped down onto me and her lips enclosed around me as her mouth fused against mine and she sank down onto my manhood. We moaned in unison as I penetrated deep into her mouth and into her womanhood. I squeezed my arms around her shoulder blades as her arms encircled my head and I thrilled to the warm clammy press of her breasts on my chest. The hot and sticky sweatiness of our bodies gave an animal and elemental urgency to the exertions of our loins. 

She raised her upper body on her arms for me to take her breasts and her body rippled with pleasure as I synchronised my teasing of her nipples with my thrusts. She bent her head forward and backward to brush my face with the shining golden curtain of her hair as she panted and gasped ever more deeply as her orgasm approached. She fought to hold it back for as long as she could before collapsing down onto me again with a long loud cry of delight. I rolled her onto her back and she thrashed her head and grunted in pleasure and pain as she squeezed me as hard as she could while I pounded her again and again, giving her everything I had. I joined my cries to hers as the tidal wave of my release inundated the cove of her delight.

We remained coupled in tender post-coital togetherness as we kissed and stroked each other down from the heights of our ecstasy. Her eyes glowed with deep satisfaction as she spoke after a few minutes of cuddles and kisses,

"I've danced on all kinds of stages but I definitely like yours the best," she smiled as she stroked my cheek with her fingertip.

"You can do a repeat performance in ballet shoes any time you like," I grinned as I gently pushed and curled a golden strand of her hair behind the exquisite curve of her ear.

"And you'll be able to return the compliment very soon," she grinned back.

"What do you mean?" I asked, half knowing what she meant and bursting to know that I was right.

"You've worked so hard at your ballet and your pointe preparation that you're ready for your first pointe lesson." She cupped my face in her hands and gave me a long and loving kiss. "So before your lesson next week we're going to get you fitted up with your first pair of pointe shoes."

I spent the rest of the day wondering if life could possibly get any better. We picnicked on the lawn in memory of our picnic in Kensington Gardens on our first date. As she had done then, she again extended each of her feet to me in turn to take off her plimsoll, scratch the sole of her foot through her ankle sock and replace her plimsoll; but this time with the wonderful difference of being able to gaze lovingly on her naked loveliness as I cradled her bare leg and soft white cotton moulded foot against my own nakedness.

We went out for dinner in the evening and Emma wore the same pretty summer dress with her white Keds and ankle socks that she had worn for our first date, with her lovely blonde hair cascading down to caress the perfect feminine curves of her bare shoulders. Again I swelled with pride at the sight of so many heads turning to admire her fresh and radiant loveliness as we entered the restaurant. I had booked a table in a tucked away alcove and, while we stroked each other's legs with our plimsolled feet, we shared all over again the stories of our plimsolls and ankle socks passions, along with all that we had shared together in our first year, and looked forward to enjoying even more our shared love of plimsolls and ballet shoes.

The following Saturday I felt as I was already floating on my toes in my excitement as we walked to the dancewear shop for my first pointe shoe fitting. Emma had dressed to fit the occasion in a close fitting stretchy black vest top, a short wraparound skirt in white cotton with a pattern of little pink hearts, black calf length leggings and her white elastic strap slip-on plimsolls that looked like ballet slippers on her bare feet. We walked into the shop and I was pleased to see Chloe smile and come across to serve us. She looked as youthfully fresh and lovely as ever in her shop uniform of tee shirt, little pleated skirt and leggings and her bare feet in her black Keds Champs.

"Hi Emma, Hi Chas," she beamed as she kissed us in turn and complimented Emma for how lovely she looked, as she always did. "How can I help you today?" she said to Emma.

"I require your pointe shoe fitting expertise again," Emma smiled.

"Would you like your usual Gaynor Mindens?" Chloe asked her.

"They're not for me this time, they're for Pavlova here," she laughed, pointing at me.

"That's wonderful," Chloe smiled at me. "Are you really a pointe newbie? Has Emma been teaching you?"

"Yes to both," I grinned. "I don't mind telling you I'm excited and nervous at the same time."

"That's just how I felt and how every young girl feels when she gets her first pointe shoes," Chloe beamed at me with her head slightly inclined in fellow feeling. I could have swept her off her feet and kissed her in my gratitude to her for saying that. "And you don't have to worry because you're in my capable hands now." 

I loved that someone who looked so young and inexperienced could express herself with such confidence and self-assurance. And she backed up her words too. In spite of her tender years she was already an expert pointe shoe fitter and she quickly assessed my needs.

"This is a very good first shoe for pointe beginners," she said, choosing a pair of what at first looked like scale model submarines in shiny pale pink satin and placing them in my eager hands. At that moment I thought they were the most beautiful objects I had ever handled apart from Emma's breasts. I had worn Bryony's pointe shoes many times for fetish and sexual pleasure but these were different and special; they were my pointe shoes -- my first pointe shoes -- and I was going to really dance in them.

They have a wider platform for your toes to rest on so they're easier for you to balance on," Chloe continued, "and they have a firmer shank to give more support to your feet while you build up your strength and confidence en pointe and later you can change to softer and more responsive shoes with a narrower platform."

She gave me a pair of flesh toned nylon pop socks for me to wear while I tried on the shoes and with slightly trembling hands I enjoyed the ecstatic experience of taking off my white plimsolls and ankle socks and slipping my feet into my first pair of ballet shoes. Emma sat next to me on the large cushion seat while Chloe knelt on the floor at my other side and my pleasure was heightened still further by being able to enjoy the contrast of two lovely pairs of legs and feet in leggings and plimsolls: Emma's curvaceous and womanly; Chloe's willow-slender and girlishly coltish. 

Chloe did all sorts of checks on my feet to ensure they fitted like a glove and then came the fantastic moment when I stood up to the barre that was fixed to the wall of the fitting area and, while leaning on the barre, gingerly lifted myself up onto my toes in second position, my legs turned out and braced apart in a somewhat wobbly inverted vee shape. She looked me over again even more carefully before leaning back and declaring her satisfaction,

"They look fine on you, Chas. Emma's trained you up really well: you've got superb strength and definition in your feet, ankles and calves. I'm sure you'll do really well. Your shoes will need to be broken in before your first pointe lesson. The best way if you have time is to wear them as much as you can and do lots of foot exercises in them like releves onto demi-pointe."

Emma and I smiled as we glanced at each other. She knew I would be wearing them lots before my first lesson. Chloe smiled too as I took them off and gave them to her to price. "I can sew on the ribbons and elastics for you if you don't mind waiting for a few minutes," she suggested.




Trust Ch. 11



"Thanks for offering," I smiled, "but that's a pleasure I've been waiting for especially."

That evening I wished that Chloe could have been a fly on the wall to see why I had looked forward to it so much. While we watched a dvd of Swan Lake, Emma and I sat together on the sitting room floor, wearing only white plimsolls and little white tutu skirts, while she sewed the ribbons and elastic on one of my ballet shoes and I copied her with the other shoe. 

From that evening from until the following Saturday I wore my ballet shoes continuously, with a range of very feminine and very girly outfits. I wore my pink ballet shoes with a Shirley Temple curls blonde wig, a little white baby doll nightdress and white satin panties with a little pink satin bow on the waistband. I wore my ballet shoes with a blonde bob wig and a white burlesque style corset with white silk stockings and suspenders. I wore my ballet shoes with a black fringe and pony tail wig, a tight little pink boob tube with tight little pale blue denim hot pants, white tights and little pink ankle socks. I wore my ballet shoes with a little white and pink polka dot bikini. And I wore my ballet shoes with a Rita Hayworth redhead wig, a white satin and lace thong, a white satin and lace bra and white stay-up fishnet stockings.

Emma photographed me in a variety of lying and semi-reclining poses, emphasising the long lines of my legs and my carefully pointed feet in my ballet shoes, and she also took lots of soft bondage shots of me while using ballet shoe ribbons to tie my wrists behind my back and my ankles and my knees together, with a rectangle of white tape over my mouth.

She also spent as much time as she could on breaking in my ballet shoes while I was at work, so that when next Saturday came and it was time for my first pointe class my shoes were ready. We had always done my one-to-one ballet classes in her little studio at home while we were both naked in just our ballet slippers; but when she came home from giving her class at the dance studio she found me in the spare bedroom looking thoughtfully at Bryony's ballet kit spread out on the bed. She was wearing a pink tee shirt and yellow cotton shorts over her black leotard and white tights along with her white Keds plimsolls and ankle socks. She came up behind me and I thrilled at the feel of her vibrant warmth pressed against my nakedness as she hugged me and rested her chin on my shoulder to observe what I was doing,

"Come on, Darcey, why don't you just go ahead and wear your black leotard over your white tights like the girls do?" she giggled. "You know you want to."

"It's just that for my first pointe lesson I want it to feel as much like it does for a girl as I can experience," I explained. 

"Yes, I'll always remember what a wonderful moment my first pointe lesson was when I was twelve, she smiled. "Let's get ready and make it really special for you too." She squeezed my waist and kissed me affectionately.

I could hardly contain my excitement as I got ready. I put on a white g-string before sliding my legs into my white ballet tights. I stepped into my black leotard, pulled it up to my waist, put on my falsies under a black cotton strapless bra and pulled up my leotard over my upper body. I put on my black long haired wig with a fringe and tied my hair in a neat ballerina bun the way Emma had showed me, before putting on a pink towelling sweatband around my head. I put on some light make-up and finally slipped on my white satin soft soled ballet slippers and tied the ribbons around my ankles. I had worn them all through my year of pointe preparation classes and I would wear them during the warm up part at the start of my pointe class. 

I sat on the floor to tie my ankle ribbons while Emma sat next to me and placed her lovely feet into her pale salmon pink leather ballet slippers. Apart from her slippers her outfit was identical to mine: black leotard over white tights, with a pink towelling headband. I assumed my Charlotte persona and we chattered and giggled over all kinds of girly stuff as we leaned back on our arms and shook our legs and stretched and wiggled our feet to warm them up. When we were ready I admired myself in front of one of the full length wall mirrors in Emma's practice studio as I stood with my hands on my hips and turned my body to one side and then the other while I stood with each leg bent and each foot pointed in turn. Then it was time to begin at last.

I started with a few minutes of barre exercises followed by some floor work, carrying out my positions and steps on demi-pointe in my white satin ballet slippers. Emma was as strict and as critical of me as she always was during my lessons and I concentrated as hard as I could but I could hardly wait to change into my pointe shoes and take my first tentative steps en pointe. When I was thoroughly warmed up after about half an hour Emma finally said it was time and with excitement surging through my body I sat down next to her. 

As we changed from our ballet slippers into our pointe shoes and I contemplated the beautiful forms and lines of our legs and feet in our white tights I thought of all the images I had seen of ballerinas in beautiful tutus and girls in leotards and tights putting on their pointe shoes and I could hardly believe that I was about to share with them in the excitement and wonder of dancing ballet on my toes. I chattered away in girlish excitement in my Charlotte persona to Emma as we placed our toes in protective padding, pushed our feet into our pointe shoes and tied the ribbons securely around our ankles.

We stood up and as I dipped the pointes of my ballet shoes in a small tray of rosin on the floor I felt a tremendous clenching throbbing thrill of excitement in my groin under the close fitting stretch of the crotch of my leotard and tights, while my chest seemed to swell and push my tingling nipples deeper into the pliable mass of my false breasts pressed against my chest under my leotard. I took a couple of deep breaths to force down my excitement as I put my hands on my hips and pointed and twisted one foot and then the other while I gazed on the beauty of my feet in my pointe shoes. 

Emma ended my heady reverie by instructing to begin by simply walking up and down with turned out feet as gracefully as I could in my ballet shoes. Then I did the same on demi-pointe before coming to the barre. I stood in first position and, holding on to the barre, rolled up onto pointe. I repeated the exercise a few times and then did the same exercise standing away from the barre. It felt amazing to be standing unsupported on the very tips of my toes. Emma and Chloe had both warned me that it would probably feel very strange and uncomfortable at first and so it proved, but I was far too excited to be put off by the growing discomfort that seemed to seep upwards from my toes into my whole frame as I began to adjust to an entirely new way of using my body. 

My first exercises en pointe went on for about half an hour but it felt like only 5 minutes because I was so exhilarated. I did simple exercises like plies and tendues and forced arches en pointe for strength and flexibility and then some grapevines and bourees, which I could do easily en demi-pointe but could now carry out only in very wobbly and uncertain fashion en pointe. All the time Emma reminded me about pulling up, keeping my knees and thighs tight and getting right over my boxes. 

When it was all over I was gasping for breath, covered in sweat and supremely happy. Emma beamed at me and gave me her heartfelt "Well done," as we hugged and kissed each other in best sisterly fashion. We put on dancer's wrap-around cardigans over our leotards, pulled on pink woollen legwarmers over our tights and changed our ballet shoes for white Keds plimsolls and white ankle socks and then, still absorbed in our girly chatter, we went to the kitchen to fix lunch.

We sat down together at the kitchen table with plates piled high with pasta and salad to deal with our ravenous appetites. I was taking a sip of Chianti when Emma suddenly put her hand on mine, looked earnestly into my eyes and said,

"Chas, there's something I need to ask you."

"You can have anything up to half my kingdom, My Princess," I smiled, switching back from my Charlotte persona and squeezing her hand with manly reassurance. She took a deep breath and continued,

"Well, in the first place, I really want to have children someday but I've always promised Mum that I'd never be a single mother. In the second place, I've worked almost non-stop since I started my ballet school and I fucking need a holiday. So please will you marry me?"

I looked at her carefully to make sure she wasn't kidding. She looked at me with an expression of anxious expectation and I had never seen her look as totally exposed and vulnerable as she did at that moment. There was no doubt at all that she was totally serious. I waited several more seconds before breaking out into a big grin and replying,

"Of course I'll marry you, you daft cow. Why did you take so long to ask?"

I wrapped my arms around her as she burst into tears. 

''That's women for you," I laughed as I stroked her head tenderly. "You tell them what they want to hear and they're still not happy."

"Shut up and make love to me," she sniffed.

I pulled her onto my lap and cuddled her for a few minutes before carrying her to our bedroom. I was sure I was the happiest man alive.

Life became very hectic and complicated from that moment. Not only with the whole business of announcing our engagement and planning our wedding, but with my decision to aim to be sufficiently advanced en pointe to dance a solo for Bryony when she and Laurelle came over from New York for the wedding a few months hence. So in between work and organising our nuptials I worked as long and as hard as I could to become more confident and proficient on my pointes. Ballet changed from a pleasure to a passion. I knew I could never be as light and as graceful as a girl en pointe but I made considerable progress during the months leading up to Bryony's arrival. Emma suggested we dance "The Mirror" pas-de-deux that Darcey Bussell and Dawn French had sent up so memorably in "The Vicar of Dibley", but do it for real. So we spent a lot of evenings rehearsing and perfecting it, especially as I would be the one in front of the 'mirror' and therefore be seen the most.

In the midst of all that activity I agonized over whether or not to attempt to re-establish contact with my parents, who by then I had not communicated with for nearly ten years. Emma knew how much the situation hurt me and did all she could to comfort and support me, but without trying to influence me one way or the other and respecting that it was my decision. I had almost steeled myself to phone them when I opened the newspaper one morning and discovered within it my father's obituary. He had been very successful in business and therefore merited an obituary in a national newspaper. He had died unexpectedly and almost instantly of a massive stroke on the fairway during a round of golf at his club. The obituary surveyed the key events and achievements of his life and detailed his legacies to various charities, to his nephews and nieces and to his godson. But in an article covering almost an entire broadsheet page there was not a single reference to me or to Bryony.

For a moment I was crushed by the realisation that neither my mother nor anyone else in my extended family had attempted in any way to contact me or Bryony, who would have let me know straight away of any communication from our relatives. Emma saw me slumped over the newspaper and, on looking over my shoulder and seeing what I had just read, immediately understood without need of further explanation. She knew how to express the deepest care in the most undemonstrative of ways, which I had often been grateful to her for already in our relationship. I felt the lightest touch of her hand on my shoulder and the gentlest nudge of her white plimsoll against mine.

"Are you OK?" she asked in quiet concern.

"I'm all right, really," I replied as I lifted her hand from my shoulder and pressed her fingers curled around mine to my cheek as my deep gratitude for her love brought healing balm to the very midst of my turmoil. "For a long time I've thought that our parents only wanted Bryony and I to be clones of them and never wanted or even imagined us to be people in our own right with lives of our own. Now I know it for certain and I know for certain that I'm better off without them and everyone else in my family. And I'm OK with that; because I have you."

We melted together in our nakedness and our lovemaking was especially sweet and tender as I gave myself to her more completely than I had ever done before and she took me into herself to the limit of capacity of her being.

I called Bryony later that evening to tell her the news, she took it calmly and we comforted each other with the knowledge that whatever else happened to us, we would always have each other.

On the day of Bryony and Laurelle's visit Emma and I had only just finished preparing the lunch when the front door buzzer sounded.

"Hi, Chas, we're here," Bryony called up in response to my welcome through the intercom. Her sweet and gentle voice had the quality of bird song even through the crackle of the loudspeaker. I opened the door to see her resting her arm on Laurelle's powerful forearm as she struggled up the last of the stairs to our front door, the stiffness and awkardness of her right leg the all too visible legacy of the collision with a car that had ended her career as a ballerina with such savage suddenness. I raced down to help them and in a moment we were all together in the sitting room. Even in the midst of her pain Bryony's smile was radiant as she greeted Emma and I.

"It's so lovely to see you again, Emma," she beamed as they hugged each other. "I couldn't believe it when Chas told me he'd met you and that you two had become an item. And now we're going to be sisters. Isn't that wonderful?"

Emma was deeply touched and there were tears in her eyes as she kissed her old friend.

"It'll be fantastic to have you for a sister, Bry'," she said. Then she added, "I'm really sorry about your Dad."

"Yes, it's sad that he died without making things right with Chas and I but he was never willing so there you are. But never mind that; tell me all about your ballet school."

While the two of them got stuck into ballet talk I got re-acquainted with Laurelle, who I had only met once when I had last visited Bryony in New York a couple of years before. She looked very different from how she had looked then. Then she'd had a flat topped Grace Jones style haircut and wore expensive men's suits, shirts and loafers. In the meantime she had changed to a much more feminine look. Her luscious thick jet black hair now fell long and loose to her bare shoulders and her figure hugging sleeveless black mini dress showed off every curve of her magnificently statuesque body. With her smile dazzling white she had the all the female athleticism and powerful physical presence of both of the Williams sisters combined.

"Hey, you've grown your hair, and I always knew you'd look sensational if you ever decided to wear a dress," I exclaimed as I hugged her.

"Why thank you," she replied with genuine pleasure, "I'm having fun getting in touch with my feminine side."

Just then Emma came over to meet her and straight away commented on her choice of footwear, a pair of classic black canvas Nike Deuce with a white stripe around the sole and the Nike logo in white lettering on the tongue.

"I love seeing black women wearing black plimsolls, and yours look so nice with your dress."

"Thanks, Emma," she replied. "I lived in black canvas sneakers when I was growing up: Keds, Chucks; you name 'em, I've worn 'em."

"And I've got my sneakers on too," added Bryony from her armchair in which she was resting, waving her feet in her very pretty pink Converse plimsolls as they rested on a cushioned stool. I noticed for the first time how they complemented her very pretty and very feminine bright floral print summer dress and the matching headband around her long dark hair. "Laurelle got me into them and I love wearing them now. They come in such pretty colours and they're so comfortable too."

Emma poured us all drinks and announced that we would be having lunch in the garden. Then she added,

"As we are all intimately connected and as it's such a nice day and as we are blessed with such excellent privacy here, might I suggest we partake of lunch au naturel?"

I blanched for a moment, worrying that she had gone a step too far; but I was immediately reassured.

"Hey, I'm up for that," Laurelle grinned. "It'll be a blast."

"Laurelle and I love being naked together at home," Bryony added, giving her partner's hand an affectionate squeeze to emphasise the point. 

"I'm worried I'll stand out a bit being the only male amongst three such lovely ladies," I half quipped to cover my lingering uncertainty.

"Laurelle grew up with four brothers and nothing you can put on show will give me any surprises, Chas." Bryony's laugh was as clear and as musical as a mountain stream. I laughed with her whilst wondering if there was more to what she had said than just a joke to ease my embarrassment. 

We all undressed in front of each other. The ladies kindly refrained from remarking on my erection that sprang up in reflex before quickly subsiding. I was fascinated by the contrast between Bryony's pale, willowy and delicately fashioned body, still very much a ballerina's body, and the dark shapely Amazonian magnificence that was Laurelle. I loved the freedom of being able to appreciate their naked beauty without having to suppress prurient sexual thoughts.

We descended the stairs to the garden, with Laurelle again supporting Bryony as she carefully negotiated each step. Once at the bottom we installed her on a comfortable chaise longue under the shade of the wisteria festooned pergola. I couldn't help noticing the long livid pink tramline of the scar running the length of her leg that marked the operation that had pinned and screwed together the shattered fragments of her leg. More happily I remarked that we all wore plimsolls of different brand and colour: Emma in her white Keds champs with white ankle socks; Laurelle in her black Nikes: Bryony in her pink All Stars and me in my new navy Vans.

Over lunch Emma and Bryony caught up with all that had happened since they had last seen each other and shared lots of ballet talk while I chatted with Laurelle about work, sport and favourite music and films and such stuff. She also loved cars and as we compared our experiences of driving various performance cars and off-road vehicles I was struck by what a masculine conversation I was having with her.

After lunch Emma and Laurelle went for a tour of the garden and I was able to have some brother and sister time with Bryony. Looking into her face is like seeing a feminine version of my own in reflection. We have the same long, fine featured face with high cheekbones; high forehead; deep, dark eyes and small mouth.

"So how's life, Sis'?" I asked her.

"Life is good, Bro'," she smiled, gathering back her long, dark hair and settling herself comfortably on her chaise. "I have Laurelle for my soul mate and lover, my business is going well and my leg doesn't hurt too much most of the time."

"What would you do if you were given the chance to have your old life as a ballerina again and be without pain?" I asked.

"I had plenty of pain when I was a ballerina," she laughed. "But even though I live with a lot of pain now, and the pain of my leg is nothing compared to the pain of not being able to dance again, I would never go back because in the midst of my pain I've found true love, and to love truly and be truly loved in return is the most precious gift of all." She smiled and held my hand in hers. "And it wasn't just Laurelle who showed me true love; I'll never forget how you dropped everything and did everything you could to get the earliest flight possible so you could be with me. And I'm so happy that now you've found your true love too. It's wonderful to see how much you and Emma love each other. Especially when I remember how much you were hurt by that horrible girl who dumped you and went off to Australia."




Trust Ch. 11



I smiled inwardly at Bryony's choice of description of Joanna. I had never once heard Bryony utter an expletive or use abusive language about anyone or anything. It made the word 'horrible' all the more vehemently expressive of her feelings towards my former partner.

"I guess we've both learned that often you have to lose something first before finding something better," I smiled and squeezed her hand. "But what did you mean by that stuff about not being surprised by whatever you saw of my body?"

She blushed and placed her hand on my knee in embarrassed apology. "I'm sorry, Chas, but I have to confess that one day, when we were fifteen, I saw you heading for the woods on your own so I followed you to see what you were up to. All I'll say is that, although what I saw didn't change my mind about anything, I was very impressed with your display." 

We both laughed for a moment and then I looked at her seriously, knowing that I'd never have a better opportunity than this to confess the thoughts I'd used to have about her.

"Well, as this is a time for confessions, I've got something I really need to confess to you. Do you remember the day we got kitted out for Whitings? Well, when you were wearing that tennis dress and you bent forward to tie your plimsoll laces I saw more of you than was good for a hormonal youth and for years afterwards, until I met Emma in fact, I fantasised about having sex with you. And after you came out I fantasised about you having sex with other girls. I never would have done anything to you and, apart from you, Emma's the only other person I've ever told about it and she's the one who's cured me. But you're the most wonderful sister a guy could ask for and you didn't deserve to have me thinking like that about you. I'm really sorry."

She immediately leaned over and took me in her arms. I felt wonderfully comforted by her soft, warm and sweet scented nakedness enfolding my own and I felt privileged to have this beautiful, kind, sensitive and courageous woman as my sister; my twin.

"You didn't give in to it and you've come through it, that's all that matters," she smiled gently as she hugged me again. Those words, coming from her who had come through so much pain and despair, meant the world to me. "Anyway, let's look forward to the future instead of getting stuck on the past," she continued. "Laurelle and I are planning our own wedding for next year. I do hope that you and Emma can come over for it."

"We'll be there, guaranteed," I replied, hugging her in return. "It's great that you can get married too nowadays."

"Yes, life is getting easier for same-sex couples," she agreed, "although we find that being a mixed-race same-sex couple is still a step beyond for a lot of people, especially now that we're seeking to adopt a child."

"That's wonderful," I exclaimed in delight, "but how come you decided on adoption?"

"We thought about trying for a baby of our own but Laurelle's career just doesn't give her the space to be a mother and pregnancy would be far too painful for me to bear. Besides which, I really couldn't get comfortable with the idea of having a man's semen inside me, even using a syringe to put it there; nothing personal, you understand."

"None taken," I smiled, "but what's been making it difficult for you?"

"Peoples' assumptions more than anything," she replied. "Worst of all is that, because I'm supposedly the feminine and pretty one out of the two of us, I would automatically be the one who would become pregnant. Just because Laurelle is big and extrovert and assertive, lots of people assume that she's the 'masculine' one. But they don't stop to consider that maybe she's the way she is because all her life she's had to cope with prejudice on account of being black, gay and poor and that's how she's learned to protect herself against the outside world. When we're alone together she's so gentle and sensitive."

I was so deeply touched by the depth of her love for her partner that I hardly noticed the return of Laurelle and Emma until they were standing next to us. Laurelle bent down behind Bryony and enfolded her with her powerful yet gracefully sculptured arms. 

"Hey, Honey, watch yo rappin wi yo bro?" she asked in a self-parody of her urban black origin.

"Saying lots of lovely things about you, My Dearest," Bryony replied as she stretched up to kiss her cheek. I loved the contrast between Laurelle's broad New York tones and Bryony's very English expression. Although she had lived in New York for several years not a trace of Mid-Atlantic influence had yet crept into her voice.

Emma announced it was time to go up for dinner. "But before we eat, my husband-to-be and I have prepared a little entertainment for your pleasure and delight."

Laurelle again assisted Bryony as we ascended the steps to the flat. They opted to remain naked and we left them to get comfortable on the sofa and enjoy a glass of wine. Bryony snuggled up into Laurelle's loving embrace and rested the backs of her ankles in the crook of Laurelle's ankles where they joined her feet. Emma and I left them to go to our bedroom to put on our ballet costumes for the Mirror Dance and it was a pleasure to look back and see Bryony's pink plimsolls resting on Laurelle's black ones as she rested her head on her partner's shoulder while Laurelle lovingly stroked her hair. 

As Emma laid out her costume on our bed I struggled into the Underpants of Doom.

"Won't you be uncomfortable trying to dance in those?" she pointed out.

"Yes, but I feel that being in pain while I dance will somehow help me identify more with Bryony and make me feel closer to her."

"You love her a lot don't you?" Emma smiled as she touched my shoulder sympathetically. I only had to smile back and kiss her hand resting on my shoulder for her to understand.

We put on matching lilac tutus with short pink tulle skirts, pink tights and pink ballet shoes. I fixed on my falsies under the bodice of my tutu and put on my long dark haired wig and we helped each other arrange our hair in neat ballet buns garlanded with a circlet of roses in pink and lilac lace. We put on our makeup and we were ready. In the dance studio room we had set up a wooden partition with an arch cut into it to represent the mirror. We took up position behind the scenery and called to Bryony and Laurelle to come and take their seats. When they were comfortably settled down, with Bryony's leg resting on a low stool and cushions, I stepped out from behind the scenery in best turned out ballerina fashion and made a graceful curtsey. Bryony sat bolt upright and clapped her hands in delighted surprise,

"Oh my goodness, Chas, you look exactly like I did when I made my debut as a soloist," she exclaimed, hugging Laurelle in her excitement.

"Way to go, Girl," Laurelle cheered to me with a huge dazzling grin. "Bryony told me her brother was pretty liberated kind a guy, and how!"

Emma started the music and Bryony, who had performed the dance herself, beamed with pleasure and whispered to Laurelle about what was going to happen. I danced my opening solo steps as daintily and gracefully as I could and then as I moved across the stage in front of the 'mirror' Emma appeared as my reflection and duplicated my movements. As the dance progressed I reached 'through the mirror' to take Emma by the hand and draw my 'reflection' into the room to continue the dance together, sometimes in unison and sometimes with Emma echoing my movements.

As I stepped and span en pointe and bent and stretched and jumped as gracefully and delicately as I could in my masculine frame concealed beneath the feminine loveliness and delicacy of my tutu, tights and ballet shoes I exulted in the knowledge that I was as close as I would ever be to feeling like a beautiful woman. I wobbled on my pointes a couple of times and fluffed a couple of steps but that didn't stop me from being totally taken up into the love of dance and of being a ballerina, even if only for a few magical moments.

At the end of our performance Emma and I made our curtseys and took our curtain calls as Bryony and Laurelle clapped and cheered and whistled their approbation.

"I wish we had some flowers to throw to you," Bryony laughed.

"Use these," Emma giggled as she emerged from behind the scenery with a huge bunch of roses in assorted colours and tossed it to Bryony. Bryony and Laurelle enthusiastically lobbed handfuls of roses to us as we continued to curtsey gracefully and gather them in our arms. Then Bryony got up and embraced us.

"Thank you for such a wonderful surprise," she smiled while her eyes moistened with happiness. "Seeing how lovely you look in a tutu, Chas, makes me want to put on one of mine again." 

We went to the spare bedroom where her clothes were kept ready for her to wear. "You're still keeping good care of them," she said approvingly. "I'm sure they're being put to good use too," she smiled.

"We've both always had good taste," I grinned back to her. Then I watched in delight as she transformed herself into a beautiful ballerina. With a delicacy and gracefulness that was magical to watch she took off her pink plimsolls, slid on a tiny white g-string over her nakedness, eased into a pair of white ballet tights and then stepped into and fixed herself into a lovely silver and white Swan Lake tutu. There was a lump in my throat as I saw her put it on for the very first time because she had ordered it shortly before her accident, intending to pick it up on her next visit to London from New York. It has arrived at my flat while I was with her in the New York hospital where she was fighting for her life. To see her wearing it at last was to exult in the triumph of beauty, hope and love, just like the message of Swan Lake itself.

She chose a pair of white pointe shoes and sat down on the floor to put them on. She had no trouble bending her left leg up to put on her ballet shoe but she had to turn sideways to sit on her left hip in order to draw up her right leg to put on her right ballet shoe and tie the ribbons around her ankle. She managed it and stood up triumphantly. She tentatively flexed and stretched her legs and feet for a moment before placing her lovely feet in fifth ballet position and gently rolling up onto pointe.

"I shouldn't really be en pointe," she grimaced as her pointes made little tapping sounds on the wooden floor while she maintained her balance, "but I just have to now and again. I love to dance for Laurelle when we're making love," she added without a trace of self-consciousness. 

We watched in delight as she sou-sou'd and bourre'd and even managed a few quickfire echappes. She may not have had complete freedom in her legs but she could still move her upper body and especially her arms with a fey, melting, floating grace that was magical to behold; especially with the long dark shining curtain of her hair shimmering and swaying and caressing her lovely shoulders and neck. It was a wonderful moment but also a very sad moment as we were reminded of the very special beauty that had been lost to ballet and to the world.

After a few minutes Bryony couldn't go on any more. "My leg always gets sore and aching and tired towards the end of the day, but I've really knocked it up this time. Please can someone help me off with my ballet shoes?"

I looked instinctively at Laurelle but she smiled back at me.

"You go ahead," she said.

I knelt down before Bryony, feeling thrilled and privileged to be a real ballerina wearing a tutu, tights and ballet shoes like she was. I lovingly and reverently picked up each of her feet in turn, rested them on my knees, undid the ribbons from her ankles, slipped off her white satin ballet shoes, lifted her feet again and bent my head to kiss them. Then we all helped her to take off her ballerina costume and get dressed again. Laurelle also got dressed and it was time for them to go.

Emma called for a taxi and we said our goodbyes as we waited for it to arrive. It was a time of partings, at least for a little while. Bryony and Laurelle would spend the week before the wedding sightseeing and visiting friends, while Emma would be leaving in the morning for the West Country to stay with her parents and help with the final preparations.

The taxi arrived and we all went down to see Bryony and Laurelle off on there way. Bryony had been forced to use the collapsible telescopic walking stick she kept in her handbag and it was heartbreaking to watch her limping and hobbling down the stairs and along the front garden path to the road, while Laurelle supported her. Whatever the taxi driver thought of the sight of a beautiful and ethereal young woman walking with a stick accompanied by a tall black Amazon of a companion and two ballerinas acting as acolytes, he kept to himself and received his instructions to head for the Dorchester with a poker face.

Even though she was in a lot of pain and very tired, Bryony's smile was radiant as she kissed Emma and I and thanked us for a wonderful day. "I can't wait for next week to see you two married," she beamed.

When they had disappeared around the corner, Emma and I went back upstairs, took off our ballet shoes and put on white plimsolls over our pink ballet tights, poured ourselves a nightcap and cuddled up in each other's arms on the sofa and played footsie for a while as we talked. Our tutu skirts rustled together and Emma's body felt warm and soft through her tutu as she pressed against me and I loved the feel of her legs as they rubbed against mine through the fine nylon layers of our ballet tights. I kissed Emma and said to her,

"For years I dreamed of having sex with Bryony. Now I've spent the best part of today with her naked seeing her naked for the first time since before she started growing her breasts and I never even thought for a second about jumping on her. I've got you to thank for that. That's why you suggested we all got naked, wasn't it, so I could prove to myself I was cured?"

She just smiled mysteriously as she leaned back into the sofa and raised her arms so her hands rested against her head, which made her breasts nestled in her tutu look even more pert. 

"Jump on me instead," she giggled.

It was my last chance before our wedding night. I made the most of it.



Trust Ch. 12



My apology for the late submission. I have been extremely busy. I also had to re-write two chapters...





Trust Ch. 12



Chapter 11 -- Happy families

It was fortunate that I was kept very busy with work and wedding preparations during the final week before our marriage. I hated being in our flat on my own and I longed to be with Emma again. I was grateful that the week went by quickly and it felt good on the Friday afternoon after finishing work early to load up my car and set out for Emma's home village in the West Country where we were to be married the next day.

My first task on the way was to pick up Pete, who during one of our drinking sessions a few weeks previously, I had impulsively and rashly invited to be my best man. I realised the next day that it had almost certainly been an unwise choice. But a promise is a promise and a mate is a mate so I stuck with it. Emma had rolled her eyes and groaned in despair when I told her.

"I don't mind if you end up on your stag night with your face buried in a lap dancer's cleavage, or her crotch for that matter," she had told me. "But whatever you do, don't end up handcuffed inside the parcels van on the overnight express to Glasgow."

In the event, she had found me the following morning deposited in our garage; naked in my white Chucks, trussed up with an inflatable sex doll with its arms and legs wrapped around me, and with hardly any recollection of where I had been or what I had done. I reckoned that Pete had let me off pretty lightly. Emma's perspective had been somewhat different.

He was uncharacteristically subdued as we began our journey. Then after a little while he brightened up a little.

"So you've finally found what you've been looking for all along and you're settling down at last. I'm really happy for you mate," he said.

"What about you?" I asked. "Do you think you'll ever settle down?"

"I had enough of being settled when I was growing up, mate," he retorted; "what with my mum and dad blaming me for everything, two older brothers picking on me all the time and my snitch of a sister always dropping me in it. No 'happy families' for me thanks very much.

"Don't you ever think you'd like more from a girl than a one night stand?" I persisted.

"It suits me and it suits all the women I come across. Women are a lot more like blokes nowadays; they want sex without commitment too. And I always treat them right. If they come to my place they get breakfast in bed the next morning and if I'm at their place I always offer to wash up."

"And you're happy with that?" I asked.

"It'll do, mate," he replied, staring out of the side window; "it'll do."

Our conversation perked up as our journey progressed and it took in all the usual male orientated subject matter. We made good progress and were well in time for our rendezvous with Emma in the market town near to her parent's farm. Also due to be arriving was Kate, Emma's bridesmaid and best friend at ballet school, and with whom she had shared her late night naked drive to the coast.

Emma met us at our favourite pub in the town as arranged. She looked gorgeously sexy in her pale yellow sleeveless mini dress, black tights and white Ben Simons lace up plimsolls and her hair tied back in a long pony tail. We were overjoyed to see each other after a week apart but I noticed her tense slightly as I hugged her close while we kissed.

"Are you feeling nervous already?" I smiled at her.

"I'm OK," she reassured me. "I bumped into the corner of the dining table at lunch time and it still feels a bit sore. Hopefully I've had my bit of wedding bad luck now."

Emma was fond of Pete in spite of his habit of getting me into tricky situations and she greeted him with genuine warmth. We had just settled down with some drinks when Kate arrived, so we all got up again to greet her.

"Hi Pete," she said to him with great enthusiasm as I introduced them, and I sensed an immediate rapport establishing between her bubbly, nice-but-naughty vivaciousness and his rough hewn, jack-the-lad, diamond bloke persona as they eyed each other up appreciatively. She settled down next to him and opposite Emma and was about to take her first sip of white wine when she suddenly exclaimed to her,

"Mm! Guess who I met in Oxford Street yesterday -- Lorna!"

"No, not Little Miss Tiny Tits, she must have seen you first," Emma retorted.

"It wasn't like that, Em', she was lovely," Kate riposted. "She was really excited when I told her you're getting married. She married now, she's Mrs Steve Haslam. He's a really nice guy too, very relaxed and easy going. And she's about to drop twins any day, I've never seen anyone look as preggers as her. Do you remember how we used to joke that her tits were like little green apples? Well now she's got jugs are the size of melons and she's ecstatic. Anyway, when I told her about your wedding she insisted on getting you a wedding card there and then and she recorded a message on my mobile for you as well."

She handed her phone and the envelope containing Lorna's card to Emma, whose initial expression of scepticism while opening the card melted into a smile of pleasant surprise.

"She's remembered how much I love Japanese art," she said as she showed us the card with it's scene from a classic Japanese picture of two herons flying above Mount Fuji. Inside the card, in a flowing feminine hand, was written,

'To Emma and Chas, with all my love and fondest wishes that your wedding day will be wonderful, Lorna XX.'

Beneath Lorna's message Steve had added, in a strong, precise masculine style,

'Hope you have a great wedding and lots of happy days (and nights) for many years to come, Steve.'

"And that's not all that she remembered about you," Kate said to Emma. "Watch her video."

We bunched up together to see the screen as the video started. It showed Lorna and Steve sitting at a pavement table outside a coffee shop. She looked like Audrey Hepburn's very pregnant twin sister and, although I would never have admitted it, it was obvious why she would be able to provoke jealousy in a girl even as beautiful as Emma. Steve at first sight looked blonde and bland beside her, but a closer examination revealed the calm, quiet intelligence in his eyes and the ready wit in his expression as he listened to what Lorna was recording. He made a couple of witty additions to what Lorna was saying and his voice, unlike what I expected, was richly and darkly well spoken with a hint of East London. It reminded me of the actor Terrence Stamp.

"Hi Emma, hi Chas," she began in a lively manner with a voice that sounded like a lighter toned version of Joanna Lumley's, with perfect pronunciation and diction. "I'm so happy that you're getting married and I hope you have a really lovely day. I hope you'll come and see us when we're all settled down and it will be great to get all the girls together for a school reunion. I hope I chose the right card for you, Emma, and there's something from your wedding list on its way to you too. I also remember that you loved wearing those white lace-up plimsolls that we wore for gym and PE lessons so we've sent you a pair of those as well. Steve's got me into them again and we both love wearing them; show Emma, Kate."

The camera then pointed down to her and Steve's feet. They were both wearing white Keds with white ankle socks: Lorna's over black support tights on her slender legs and Steve's with turned up jeans. They both patted their feet playfully to make a soft rubbery patting sound on the pavement as they shouted in unison "Bye Emma, bye Chas, hope to see you soon!"

"Well, it looks like it's time to revise my opinion of her," Emma admitted. "I wish now I'd sent them an invitation."

We finished our meal and Emma took Kate back to her parents while Pete and I headed for our hotel. It was a huge wrench to be without Emma again even for only one more night and I had to resolve not to have too many nightcaps with Pete to compensate. But his mind seemed to be on other things.

"That Kate's a right little cracker," he kept on saying.

Our wedding took place at the Georgian manor house on the edge of Emma's home village, which had been turned into a country club. The owner was an old friend of her father, Bill, and gave him a very good deal for hosting the civil ceremony and the reception. Rosalie, Emma's mother, was disappointed that the wedding wasn't to be in the village church, but neither of us have a religious faith so therefore preferred to be married by the registrar.

My breath was taken away by my first sight of her as Bill led her on his arm into the main reception room where the ceremony was taking place, to the accompaniment of the opening theme of Dvorak's serenade for wind instruments played by a group led by Emma's sister Sophie and her husband Ben, who had met and played together in a leading orchestra. She wore a beautiful ballerina length wedding dress in white satin with pearls decorating the bodice and lots of lacy petticoat filling out the skirt that showed just the right length of her lovely legs in her snow white tights. Her hair was piled up and garlanded with flowers and she carried a bouquet of white lilies and roses. For the first time in my life I saw her wearing heeled shoes: beautiful shiny white satin wedding pumps, which she had agreed to wear as a very special concession to her mum. 

Kate's bridesmaid's dress was similar in style but less ornately decorated in a peachy pink colour. Also accompanying Emma were two adorable flower girls wearing little pink tutus and pink satin ballet slippers with white ankle socks. They were her five year old cousins Poppy and Tilly, who were the granddaughters of Bill's late brother Tony by his older son Paul. Keeping a close and solemn watch on them in her role of Chief Acolyte was Emma's 11 year old cousin Heloise, a strikingly beautiful but very serious looking girl in her white tutu with a little sticking out lace skirt, her pencil slim legs in white tights and her feet in white satin ballet slippers with ankle ribbons. She was the daughter of Tony's daughter Laura and she lived for ballet.

I felt a deep thrill as the procession took its places next to where Pete and I stood and Emma was by my side at last. Out of the corners of my eyes I noticed Pete and Kate smile to each other several times during the marriage ceremony. Emma was all smiles and she giggled when she fluffed her first line of the ceremony and had to start again. After all the months of preparation and build up it seemed like only an instant for us to become husband and wife and emerge again as a married couple. 

It was lovely to see with how much affection and esteem that Emma was regarded in the village. It seemed that the entire population had turned up to wave and cheer her arrival and they had waited patiently during the ceremony, sustained by drinks and canapés thoughtfully provided by her parents, to see her at my side.

We spent a few minutes on the official photographs and as soon as they were over she stepped daintily out of her wedding shoes as she steadied herself on my shoulder and changed to a pair of brand new white Keds plimsolls. I smiled as I saw Rosalie shaking her head and mouthing an exasperated comment to Bill. Emma saw what was happening and blew a kiss to her mother as stepped forward to where everyone could get a good photograph of her and, to cheers and chants of "Go Emma, Go Emma!" and "Emma, Emma, Emma, Oi, Oi, Oi!", she playfully lifted up her skirts to show her lacy garter encircling her shapely thigh.

This was the signal for a barrage of photographers all wanting to photograph her and be photographed with her. She whooped with delight when her dear Spanish friend Lucinda emerged from the crowd to share in some photos while wearing a very smart tailored jacket and skirt suit with white Victoria plimsolls. Her English husband Martin temporarily took care of her stilettos and shepherded their young children, Felipe and Alicia, while taking a few pictures of his lovely wife laughing and frolicking with mine.

I had shared with Emma in the first few photos but then stepped back, happy to let her have the limelight. I was sitting on a wrought iron garden bench enjoying watching her when Heloise, still dressed in her ballerina costume, came and sat down next to me.

"I think it's sad that everyone wants to photograph Emma and not you," she said solemnly.

"I don't mind at all, I love to see her getting so much attention," I reassured her.

"I still think you should be in some photos as well," she replied determinedly. "Uncle Andrew, please will you take some photos of me with my new cousin, Charles?" she called to the young man who was Tony's younger son, looking red faced and unaccustomed to wearing a suit. Heloise may have been a serious young lady but she certainly wasn't shy. To my pleasant surprise she sat on my lap, with her dainty feet pointing demurely in her ballet shoes on the ends of her slender legs, put her arms round my neck, looked confidently at the camera and transformed her face with a radiant smile. I could see straight away she was a born performer. She remained sitting on my lap after Andrew had finished photographing us and moved on.

"All the little children in our family call Emma 'Lovely Emma'," she informed me. "When my brothers and I were little, whenever we were going to visit Uncle Bill and Aunt Rosalie, we would always ask, 'Will Lovely Emma be there?'"

"That's really nice," I smiled. She carried on as if she hadn't heard me.

"Once when we were all at Grandma's house for her birthday party and I was playing hide and seek with the other children I went to hide in one of the bedrooms and I found Emma lying on the bed and crying. She told me she had come upstairs for a little sleep because she was tired and a horrible dream had frightened her."

When Heloise told me when this had taken place I understood immediately what had really been happening. Emma, in pain, exhausted and in anguish after another of Malcolm's abuse sessions, had hid herself away from the love of her family; unable to bear the contrast between it and the treatment she knew she would be going back to. I tensed at the thought of her in the grip of such emotional torture.

"You'll look after her and keep her safe, won't you?" Heloise's solemn eyes looked deeply into mine as she squeezed my hand and laid her solemn charge upon me with a child's unquestioning trust. I realised straight away that she understood much more than her tender years ought to.

"Yes," I smiled to her, needing to say nothing more, and she smiled back. After a moment I said to her, "You like ballet, like Emma, don't you?"

Her whole being brightened and her face became radiant, "I want to be a ballerina more than anything in the world. My teacher says I can go en pointe next year. I can't wait. And I'm waiting to see if I'll get a place at the Royal Ballet School, I can't stop thinking about it."

I knew straight away she had got what it would take. I squeezed her hand affectionately, lifted her off my lap to stand her on the ground and stood up beside her.

"Come and meet my twin sister, Bryony," I smiled to her. "She can tell you all about being a ballerina."

After the long photo session naturally petered out we moved back into the club for the reception. I had no family there apart from Bryony and Laurelle, although lots of my friends from work, my cricket club and swimming club and from college were there. Bryony and Laurelle were seated with Emma's younger brother Tom and his lively and very pretty American girlfriend Gretchen and they quickly started up a lively conversation. Also on the top table were Emma's older brother Mike with his beautiful Indian wife Puja and their young children Sam and Rachel. Many more of Emma's large extended family sat at other tables. There were Bill's older sister Gwen with her husband Dennis and their children and grandchildren, as well as Tony's widow Sonia with her second husband Keith and their children and grandchildren.

After having endured Pete's humiliation of me on my stag night I spent the time during the wedding breakfast inwardly dreading the further humiliations I was sure he would heap upon me in his speech. The time for speeches arrived. Emma surprised and delighted everyone by getting up to give her own little speech of welcome and thanks and to pay a fulsome tribute to her parents and brought Rosalie to tears for the second time that day. Then Bill spoke wittily and affectionately of his daughter and welcomed me warmly into the Curtin clan. I beamed with gratitude when he gave an equally warm welcome to Bryony and Laurelle, knowing how much it meant to them. I then rose to make a sincere if slightly awkward response and say some nice things about my bride which provoked lots of "Aaahs" from the assembly. Then the dreaded moment arrived and Pete rose in response to my toast for Kate as Emma's bridesmaid and for Heloise, Poppy and Tilly.

To my surprise and relief he remembered the company he was in and reined himself in, only approaching ribaldry on a couple of occasions. He couldn't resist telling a few funny stories about me, but there was nothing disgusting and he finally brought a lump to my throat as he paid tribute to my enduring and steadfast friendship. He led the company in a toast to Emma and me and sat down to a chorus of cheers, claps, stamping feet and spoons clinking on champagne glasses. I saw Kate give him an appreciative smile.

After mingling and chatting for a while Emma and I went upstairs to change into our going away clothes. We came back down to more cheers and wolf whistles as Emma showed herself off in a very stylish long sleeved and short skirted white knitted dress worn with black and gold hooped tights and her new white Keds. As we said our goodbyes while making our way to our car I noticed Kate cuddled up next to Pete with a proprietorial smile on her face and he looking extremely satisfied with the situation. To a chorus of cheering and waving and with more tears from Rosalie we drove off to our hotel a few miles away back towards London, from where the next day we would drive to Heathrow and fly to our honeymoon destination which I was keeping a secret until the last moment.

The hotel was a five star country house hotel in another fine Georgian mansion. I felt so proud to walk into the reception with Emma's hand in mine and see so many people turn to look at her admiringly. We were quickly taken up to the bridal suite and the porter seemed very reluctant to leave after I had tipped him. Our suite consisted of a sitting room, bedroom and bathroom and was comfortably and stylishly furnished with a tasteful blend of modern and period furnishing and decoration. I poured us each a glass of champagne, compliments of the management, and we collapsed for a while on the sumptuous sofa. After reviewing the day's events I said to her as I stroked her plimsolled feet through my socks, having taken off my shoes,

"Pete and Kate seem to be hitting it off."

"He's not going to pass up the invitation to get into her panties," she laughed.

"I really think there could be something more in it than that," I persisted.

"Well I'd love to see Kate conquer the Lone Ranger," she giggled, "but I don't think it will happen somehow."

"Do you think we'll always be plimsoll fetishists?" I said after a moment.

"Absolutely," she replied. "In fact I've put in my will that when I die I want to be buried naked wearing my favourite white plimsolls, the first ones that Lucinda gave to me, and holding my favourite red ballet shoes between what's left of my breasts."

"I'd better start making the most of them now while you've still got them," I laughed.

"So you're not too shagged out for a shag, then," she giggled.

"I always make sure I pace myself to keep something in reserve," I smiled and then stroked her thighs as I kissed her and felt her respond instantly to my loving touch.




Trust Ch. 12



"Hold on to it for just a little longer while I get ready," she smiled provocatively as she glided into the bedroom and closed the door seductively.

I got undressed and put on the wedding night outfit I had devised: a white satin thong, a white cotton and lycra vest top that covered just my upper body, white nylon knee socks and white Keds lace-ups. Soon afterwards she told me she was ready too and I went into the bedroom.

She was standing by the bed wearing a short length and short sleeved Japanese style dressing gown in white satin tied with a sash. I could just make out that underneath she was wearing a sexy underwear set in white satin, silk and lace.

"I've got a few little surprises for you," she smiled. "Here's the first one," she added as she undid the sash of her gown and sensuously slipped it from her shoulders. 

She was indeed wearing a sexy underwear set: a white satin and lace plunge bra, a white satin and lace g-string thong, white silk stockings with lacy tops held up with a white lace suspender belt, and her brand new white Keds. It took a few seconds while I was reeling from the sight of her gorgeously sexy beauty before I noticed her surprise, a diamond piercing in her navel.

"It's beautiful," I smiled to her.

"Here's my next surprise," she said. She turned her back to me, placed her plimsolled feet in fifth ballet position and with a graceful flourish of her arms bent forward at the waist to display her bare bottom and thighs in all their womanly glory. On the back of each of her thighs, just above the line of her stocking tops, was a tattoo of a pink bow with a little pink heart suspended beneath it.

"I remembered when you said how sexy I looked when I wore those temporary tattoos at the school disco so I thought I'd get some real ones," she said. She stood up and faced me again. "Now for my next surprise," she said.

She smiled and looked me straight in the eyes as she slowly undid and removed her bra. My eyes immediately lit up with delight as I beheld her beautiful, firm, round breasts with her pert and pouting nipples pierced with gold rings each set with a diamond.

"That's the real reason why I flinched when you hugged me last night," she smiled. "They're still a little bit sore but the pain is definitely worth it."

"I'll say it is," I grinned as I cupped and stroked her breasts and she breathed harder in her pleasure. "You really have been busy while you've been away from me.

"I want to spend my whole life giving you pleasure," she whispered. Then she kissed me long and lovingly as we caressed each other's bottoms and pushed our bodies as close together as we could. After a moment she pulled away from my embrace, stepped out of her thong and stood tall and proud.

"Here's my last surprise," she breathed.

Her womanhood was shaved to silky smoothness. My own shaved crotch ached to be pressed against hers. She got onto the bed on all fours with her bottom towards me and looked back at me with a bewitchingly inviting smile. Breathing hard in my mounting excitement I peeled off my vest top and released my manhood from the restriction of my thong. I got up on the bed behind her and pushed my erection up between her opened out thighs to find her entrance. I was just starting to penetrate her when she suddenly said,

"I don't want you to fuck me there this time."

My heart pounding with delight as I immediately realised what she meant, I pulled back a little.

"So you want me to fuck you in here?" I said, and made her yelp with delight as I placed my finger on the perfect pink pucker nestling between her buttocks.

"That's right," she said. "And make sure you're rough with me because I want it to really hurt."

"You'll make a lot of noise," I said, thinking of the people in the adjoining rooms.

"You can always gag me," she giggled.

"You'll make even more noise," I quipped.

"If anyone doesn't like it they can go fuck themselves," she retorted fiercely. "What do they expect if they book rooms next to the bridal suite?"

I gagged her by stuffing her mouth with her panties and sealing her mouth with her tights stretched over her mouth a couple of times and tied off behind her head. Then I pushed her head down to the mattress so the top of her head supported her upper body and I tied her hands behind her back using the sash from her dressing gown. She made little muffled squeaks as I applied lubrication inside her anus and then she made a long muffled moan of longing as she watched me grease my rod. With everything ready I got up behind her again, made her shiver with anticipation as I placed my head against her anal ring and brought the first deep groan from her as I began to push my way into her back passage.

If getting into her box when her thighs were tightly tied together was a squeeze, then penetrating her fundament was like trying to push up into a length of rubber hose with absolutely no room to spare; even with plenty of lubrication I felt tremendous resistance to my advance from the almost vice-like press of the lining of her colon. She groaned continuously as I sank my whole length deeper and deeper into her and then with every thrust I could feel every loud "Mmmph!" that she made in her gag begin in the pit of her stomach while she clenched her fingers into her palms and ground her bound wrists together. I stroked her clitoris as I continued to ramrod her and her Mmmphs became higher pitched and even louder until she came with an orgasm of gut wrenching intensity and coated my fingers with her passion juice. I managed to withstand the incredibly deep stimulation from her anal massage of my manhood for a couple more thrusts before I my orgasm exploded and fired my load deep into her canal.

She moaned in her ecstasy as I slowly withdrew from her and she collapsed to full length on the bed. I took a couple of deep breaths and then, still feeling like I was floating, I lashed her ankles together with another pair of her tights and turned her over onto her back as she panted in the depths of her pleasure. I picked up her vibrator that she had earlier placed on the bedside cabinet, placed it on her clitoris and switched it on. Her whole body jolted and she whimpered in her excitement. Still holding the vibrator against her sex I leaned forward, placed my teeth around one of her nipple rings, and carefully tugged at it. Each time I tugged at one of her nipples and then the other she made a little muffled scream and thrashed her head from side to side as the shockwaves of pain ricocheted through her body. After a couple of moments her body began to tense in extreme excitement again. I teased open her labia with the tip of the vibrator and then inserted it into her just before her second orgasm hit her with the force of a tidal wave

She moaned and she mewed like a little kitten through her gag for several minutes as she gradually came down from her summit, while I kissed and stroked and caressed her and she squirmed and writhed in her bonds under my loving touch. When she was calm again I stroked her hair and said to her,

"I've got a surprise for you too, but in order to have it you'll have to let me know now that you trust me. If you do, nod your head. If you want me to untie you now, shake your head."

She immediately nodded her head eagerly and hooted at me through her gag, her eyes shining with excitement. She became even more excited when I told her what I had planned for her.

"You're going to spend your wedding night bound and gagged," I told her, "and I have a number of surprises for you while I get you ready. Now, as you'll be going to sleep with a gag on there musn't be anything in your mouth that might choke you so I'm going to change your stuff gag for a tape gag."

I undid her tights gag and pulled out her panties from her mouth before resealing her lips, which she pursed tightly shut, with a rectangle of thick white surgical sticking plaster cut from a roll. Next I pulled out several rolls of bandages. She quivered with anticipation as I explained the next stage.

"I'm going to tie you up in bandages because they'll be more comfortable for you while you're sleeping."

I drew her up into a sitting position and then I secured her upper arms to her sides with several circuits of bandage tied round her upper body above her breasts and did the same to her lower arms with another cordon below her breasts. When her arms were secure I untied her dressing gown sash from her wrists, placed a pad of folded bandage between them for comfort and then retied them firmly with a strip of bandage.

"OK now you need to go to the toilet and have your privates washed. You'll find out why afterwards," I smiled.

She mmphd excitedly through her gag in response to my instruction as I untied her ankles, led her to the bathroom and sat her down on the toilet. Seeing her sitting on the toilet while naked, bound and gagged, her legs apart and her feet in her white plimsolls resting on the floor in front of her gave me another massive erection and I longed to fuck her. But I had a lot more to do to her and would have to see to my own pleasure in another way. When she had finished I wiped her bottom and carefully washed her intimate bits front and back before leading her back to the bed.

"So you can enjoy yourself all night long I'm going to fit you with this," I told her as I produced a crotch harness fitted with a dildo and a butt plug, both pointing inwards from O-ring fittings. She squealed in delight when she saw it and as I lubricated her entrances front and back. Then she moaned with pleasure as I inserted into first the dildo and then the butt plug all the way into her before adjusting the harness to a close fit around her waist, crotch and thighs. She continued to whimper through her gag with every movement of her body as I lay her on the bed and bound her legs with circles of bandages around her ankles, below and above her knees, and her thighs, placing folded pads of bandage between her ankles and her knees so they wouldn't chafe under the grip of her bonds. I took some photos and a video sequence of her as she mmphd through her gag and squirmed in her bondage, before revealing my next surprise.

"You won't be able to do your usual habit of getting up in the middle of the night to visit the bathroom, so to make sure you don't have an accident I'm going to fit you with this."

Her eyes opened as wide as saucers and goggled as I produced a catheter and a collecting bag. I placed the bag in a large decorative earthenware jug, connected the catheter tube to it and, as she moaned in delight, I carefully inserted the tube into the tip of her clitoris and slowly pushed it up into her bladder. I checked to see that all was well and when I saw her water was starting to flow down the tube I fixed it to her crotch harness at a couple of points so it wouldn't pull out of her as she moved during the night.

I took some more photos and video of her before I told her my final surprise.

"To make sure you have a really peaceful night I'm going to blindfold you, block up your ears and wrap your head up in bandages. Are you OK with that?"

She nodded and mmphd eagerly. I softened up a pair of wax earplugs and placed them in her ears. I placed a pad of cotton wool over her eyes, stuck a layer of sticking plaster over it and then I bandaged up her head. First I wound a bandage horizontally from her forehead down to her chin, followed by another bandage wound vertically from under her chin to over the top of her head until her whole head was closely covered apart from her nostrils and the lower part of her nose.

The last thing I did to her was to take off her lace-up Keds from her stockinged feet and replace them with her favourite white slip-on plimsolls. I took a final sequence of photos and video of her before I turned off the light.

"I'm turning out the light now," I said to her very carefully, speaking right up close to her ear so she could hear me. "If you get distressed kick me as hard as you can. I've got scissors and a knife next to the bed and I'll have you free in no time," I promised her. She mmphd and nodded her head to show she understood.

I turned off the lights and settled down next to her as she lay on her back breathing heavily and making the most sensual muffled noises through her gag and mummy head wrapping over her mouth. It was obvious from her muffled moans and sighs and the rhythmic undulating movements of her groin and her hips that she was already pleasuring herself. I was lying next to a living breathing sex machine and my whole body was gripped in a vice of sexual tension. I grasped my huge, hot, throbbing rod and stroked myself in unison with her pelvic grinding and kept myself deliciously on the edge until I heard her long gentle moan as her orgasm took hold of her again, and with a long deep moan I let my own release cascade over my stomach. I didn't bother getting up to wash off the sticky milky mess from my abdomen, but I enjoyed the sensation of it drying to a crust on my skin while I drifted off to sleep to the sound of her gentle breathing and contented muffled sighs through her gag.

I had arranged an early morning call but I had set my watch alarm for half an hour earlier so there would be time to get Emma untied and everything sorted beforehand. When I woke up she was fast asleep lying on her side with her back facing me and her knees slightly drawn up. I spent a pleasurable moment listening to her gentle breathing and studying the form and shape and curving lines of her beautiful body and her lovely legs tipped by her white plimsolls, banded at various points by her white bandage bindings; and her lovely long blonde hair flowing out from under the bandages that covered her head. Through the transparent latex flange of her butt plug I could see the pink ring of her sphincter tightly gripping all around the circumference of the plug. She was a study in femininity rendered totally erotically vulnerable and helpless and her hands, firmly bound behind her back, looked especially delicate and beautiful.

I let her sleep for a little longer while I quickly washed, shaved and dressed in casual shirt, jeans and white converse plimsolls. Then, taking care not to disturb her catheter, I squatted down by the bed close to the featureless white oval of her bandaged-over face and spoke clearly to her so she could hear me through her stopped-up ears.

"Time to get you up, Beautiful," I called to her cheerfully. She began to stir and the rise and fall of her gorgeous breasts became stronger as her breath quickened and deepened at her awakening. My own pulse quickened at the sight of the motion of her breasts and of the slight movement of her sex as it tightened again on her dildo. I pressed my lips to her mouth and felt the faint impression of her lips through the layers of bandages and sticking plaster underneath covering them. Soft little muffled mewing sighs of affection and contentment emerged from within her head coverings and I began the job of removing them. It took me a couple of minutes to unwrap the bandages covering her head and face, and then remove her ear plugs, blindfold and finally her gag. When I took off her blindfold her eyes were shining with pleasure and her smile revealed from beneath her gag was radiant with her delight in what she had been experiencing.

"So how did you enjoy your wedding night?" I asked her as I carefully cleaned away from around her mouth the residual adhesive from her gag and gave her some water to sip.

"It was fucking fantastic," she enthused. "The pain in my arse when you fucked me and in my tits when you pulled my nipples was totally exquisite. And it was fabulous to be tied up, gagged, blindfolded and double fucked all night and not even have to worry about getting up for a pee either. And I loved being on a catheter, I know you'll love having one pushed up your prick. I must have been having orgasms in my sleep all night and the dream I had was ten times more hardcore and X-rated than anything we've ever done for the website."

"You'd better tell me about it while you can still remember it while I untie you. We've got about fifteen minutes before our wakeup call," I smiled as I began to untie the bandages encircling her upper body.

"It started with us in our bedroom at home having sex," she began. "We were both naked and both wearing our white Keds and ankle socks as usual and I was tape gagged and tied up in the usual way with my hands behind my back, my arms tied to my body and my legs, knees and ankles tied together. You were on top of me giving me a really painful fuck and I was umphing through my gag at full volume every time you gave me one. After we had both had our orgasm you tried to pull yourself out of me but you couldn't. You tried and tried again for several minutes with me umphing loudly in pain every time but you were stuck fast deep inside me.

"Just then the door burst open and lots of men wearing white lab coats and surgical masks, caps and gloves rushed in. I squealed in terror through my gag to warn you but they were too quick and they held you down on top of me and you couldn't have done much anyway with your prick stuck fast inside me. The head of them said, 'The special glue we've been secretly adding at random to tubes of lubricant has given us the next pair of subjects for our experiments. Now quickly get them ready for transportation so we can get them back to the lab before the proteins in the female's vaginal mucus break down the adhesiveness of the glue. The female is already in restraint so that makes our task easier, but check the security of her restraints all the same.'

"They held you down on top of me and stuffed a big ball gag in your mouth and a big butt plug up your arse and taped over your mouth with thick sticking plaster while they tied your hands behind your back with strong leather cuffs and strapped your legs and ankles together with leather restraints. Then they lifted us onto a stretcher with you still on top of me and strapped us down onto it. They took us down the stairs and through the connecting door into the garage, where they had secretly parked their ambulance. They carried us into the ambulance and transferred us onto a trolley and strapped us down onto it with you still on top of me.

"All the time they had been kidnapping us we had been struggling and umphing loudly through our gags and we kept on all the time we were in the ambulance. They could have drugged us to keep us quiet but instead they played loud music to drown out our noises and they all sat and wanked themselves while they enjoyed watching us struggling. They told us that we were the latest couple to be kidnapped for a series of experiments to measure the effect of long periods of extreme S&M bondage sex on couples with every possible combination of sexual orientation: straight, gay, transsexual, hermaphrodite. Then they said that we were to be the couple consisting of a straight woman and a man forcibly transformed into a woman. We struggled even harder to escape and umphed through our gags more loudly for help but it was hopeless.

"They took us to a top secret medical research laboratory and wheeled us, still struggling and umphing, through the reception area and down a series of long, windowless corridors lit with harsh artificial lighting. The really terrifying thing was that lots of people saw us but nobody helped us and everyone behaved as if it was perfectly normal to see a naked couple tied up and gagged and struggling to get free and umphing for help through their gags, being wheeled past on a hospital trolley.

"They brought us to an operating theatre and the first things they did were to take blood and tissue samples from you, put a clear plastic face mask over your nose and mouth and make you breath anaesthetic that dulled pain and slowed you down but kept you fully conscious. When they could see it taking effect they cut off your prick right at the base. Even with the anaesthetic it was still very painful for you and you made muffled cries through your gag that sounded really echo-ey through your face mask. I kept on umphing and struggling to try and help you but there was nothing I could do.




Trust Ch. 12



"After slicing off your prick they lifted you off me, strapped you down on another trolley next to mine and then cut off your balls. By this time they had you hooked up to a blood transfusion machine and all kinds of monitoring devices that were making weird beeping noises. After doing some preparatory work on where your genitals had been they transplanted you with a complete working vagina and womb. They had added stuff to your anaesthetic which paralysed you but you were still conscious and umphing with pain all through the operation. When they had finished the operation and had bandaged up your groin they turned you onto your front and put implants into your hips and your buttocks to give you a feminine body shape."

"While they were doing all that to you they used forceps to extract your cut off prick from inside my cunt, the glue having worn off by then. They washed your blood off me and stuck a tube up me and douched me with antibiotic cleansing solution so I didn't get any vaginal infection from having your dead prick inside me. Then they gave me all kinds of painful vaginal examinations with hands and instruments and probes, which made me cry out through my gag while you were moaning through yours, while at the same time they thoroughly felt my tits for lumps and did all sorts of measurements of them.

"They gave us enemas and then fitted us with catheters into our bladders and also right up our arses to pump out our shit while it was still liquid. They started to give me anaesthetic through a mask as well and they took stainless steel rings on the ends of long screws and screwed one into each of our shoulder and hip bones.

When they had done all that to us they wheeled us, still bound and strapped to our trolleys while breathing anaesthetic through our face masks over our gags and still with our catheters attached to collecting bags, to a secure windowless room which contained a couple of tall welded steel frames with steel cables hanging down from them, surrounded by all kinds of life support and monitoring machines. They hung us, still bound and gagged, from the cables, which were attached to the rings screwed into our bodies. They fitted us with bridles and muzzles that clamped our jaws shut on our ball gags so we couldn't talk at all. The head person explained to his colleagues that we were being stored this way so we didn't get infections from bed sores by being strapped down onto beds permanently. They attached us by lots of wires and tubes to all the machines and we stayed that way while your new vagina and arse healed up. 

"All during that time they were pumping you full of female hormones to complete your feminisation. They waited until you had grown tits as big as mine and you were having regular periods. Then they turned us to face each other and brought us together close enough to couple us with a double headed dildo. They pushed us together so the dildos were all the way inside our cunts and our tits were pressed up closely together, then they fixed us in that position by strapping our legs together and fitting us into a double body harness.

"And that's how they kept us, all the time. The head of the establishment told his colleagues that they had kept the previous pair of subjects like that for five years and, now that there had been big improvements in the technology, they aimed to prove that they could keep us in this condition permanently. We were fed intravenously and our muscles were kept toned and exercised by electric currents passed through electrodes attached to them. Every day, they took each of us in turn off the dildo and douched us and cleaned and shaved us around our cunts and fitted us with clean bladder catheters before putting us back on the dildo and they took the tubes out of our arses and washed our arses before sticking clean tubes up us; they rubbed antiseptic lubricating jelly on our tits and around our cunts so they didn't chafe and get sore and infected; they washed our feet and put clean white ankle socks and brand new white plimsolls on our feet; they took off our gags and cleaned our teeth and rinsed out our mouths before gagging us again; and they replaced each of our bindings in turn with fresh ones to avoid dead skin and dirt accumulating underneath them. They would remove our body hair but they let our head hair grow to our waists and they cleaned it by combing special gel through it, which kept it beautifully healthy and shining.

"On our stomachs were stuck touch sensitive pads attached to the device that controlled the dildos. Every time our stomachs came together and the pads touched, the dildos inflated inside us until our cunts couldn't stretch any more to contain them and then they vibrated and thrust up and down in us until we both had an orgasm. They ejaculated us with synthetic seminal fluid containing antibiotics to stop us from getting infections from having a dildo permanently up our cunts and hormones to keep us permanently horny. We were also breathing in the hormones all the time through our oxygen masks and we just spent all our time moaning with muffled moans of lust through our gags to each other, which made us even hornier for each other, and continually squirming our strapped up bodies in our restraints and harnesses with endless sexual excitement and longing. 

"All the time I was desperate to rub my plimsolls on your body and fondle and suck your tits and stroke your arse and stick my finger and my tongue in your cunt and feel you doing the same to me but of course we never could because of our gags and the way we were tied together. We could never hold or stroke or fondle each other because we always had our hands tied behind our backs. I think mixing up our heads with permanent pleasure and constant frustration was part of their experimenting on us. We had an orgasm every few minutes every day for year after year. 

"Sometimes they experimented with giving us hormones that gave us pregnancy-type symptoms to see how it affected our libidos. Then they would examine and measure our tits to see how swollen and tender they became; I loved rubbing my tits on yours during those times; and stick suction cups attached to tubes over our nipples and pump milk out of them when we began lactating, which felt so gorgeous I never wanted it to end. Even when we had our periods they kept us on our dildos, which then acted like big tampons. Being fucked while we were menstruating gave us the most amazing hormone-fuelled orgasms."

"They would experiment on us to see how much sexual stimulation we could take at one time. They would fix electrodes to our nipples, clits and arses and stimulate them with electrical pulses while we were being fucked. At other times they fitted us with inflatable vibrating penis gags and butt plugs which were synchronised with our dildos so that we were fucked and ejaculated by all three simultaneously. 

"As time went on we gradually changed from being thinking, feeling human beings into living sex machines. Our identities and memories were obliterated until all that was in our minds was obsessive lust for each other's bodies and the insatiable desire to be fucked and to experience orgasm again and again and again. The walls, floor and ceiling of the room we were kept in were all completely covered in mirrors so all we ever saw was ourselves being fucked and in the end that was the only way we could think of ourselves. Our desires became totally bondage sex obsessed. Whenever they took off our gags to clean out our mouths we longed to be gagged even more tightly with bigger ball gags and tighter tape coverings and tighter muzzle harness. And when they took out our dildos to douche us and examine our cunts all we wanted was to be put back on our dildos again.

"They kept us like that for ten years until they decided that they had proved they could keep us alive permanently in a high state of sexual excitement and they decided to kill us and preserve us as a scientific exhibit. They told us what they were going to do to us beforehand and said we could have one last fuck and orgasm before they terminated us. Their last experiment on us was to see how long we could be kept on the edge before we had our orgasm. The dildos fucked us for more than two hours before we finally came, and at the moment we were at the highest point of ecstasy in the most fantastic fuck of all time they pumped us full of cyanide gas through our masks to kill us quickly as we moaned through our gags in our ecstasy for the last time, drained all the blood and other fluids from our bodies as we still hung on the frames bound and gagged and dildoed together and pumped us full of liquid plastic to preserve us by plastination in our state of maximum sexual excitement. 

"They were just putting us into a cold storage container when you woke me up. While I was dreaming I could feel myself all the time massaging myself on my dildo and my butt plug and having the most gorgeous feelings going all through my body again and again. It really was the best night I've ever had. Thank you so much for giving me the perfect plimsolls and ankle socks and bondage girl's wedding night." She gave me a dazzling smile of pleasure and gratitude as she leaned forward to give me a long and loving kiss.

"We'll have to get your porn video-making art student friend to make a film of it," I smiled as I finished untying her hands and moved on to the bindings around her legs. "Why do you suppose did you dream about me being turned into a woman and having lesbian S&M bondage sex with me?"

"Even though I'm straight I think there must be a deeply buried little part of me that is still attracted to the idea of finding sex with a woman exciting and desirable. I think it's one of the reasons why I love that you dress as woman and do it so well, because you touch that so secret part of me and let me enjoy it," she grinned as she rubbed her head affectionately on my arm.

Once her legs were free and she could get up I helped her, still enjoying the pleasures of her dildo and butt plug, to the bathroom. She sat on the toilet while I carefully extracted her catheter and equally carefully released her from her crotch harness and pulled out her dildo and butt plug. While she relieved herself and had a quick wash before getting dressed I carefully cleaned all the paraphernalia with boiling water from the kettle in our sitting room and lots of soap. I had just finished packing everything away and she was just finishing tying the laces of her new white Keds after slipping them on very sexily over a fresh pair of new white ankle socks when the door knocked for our wakeup call.

I had told her that we might be doing some sailing during our honeymoon, so for her travelling outfit she chose a blue yachting blazer over a blue and white striped top and crisp pair of beautifully tailored white cotton shorts with perfect creases and turn ups, along with her gleaming white Keds plimsolls and ankle socks. If anyone had been aware of our previous night's activities they didn't show it. Everyone was all smiles as came down to breakfast and the waiters were most attentive to us, which is always a great advantage from being in Emma's company.

It wasn't until we got to Heathrow that I told her we were flying to Athens to pick up my boss's 100 foot yacht moored at Piraeus, which he was lending to me for our honeymoon as a wedding present from the firm. We then spent the most wonderful three weeks of our life together up to then sailing around the Greek Islands and the Aegean coast. We spent our days at sea and each evening we moored in the harbour of one picturesque village or town after another. When on land we wore the minimum with our white plimsolls that was decent and when at sea we wore only our white plimsolls, so our bodies except for our feet browned to Early every morning I enjoyed the sight of Emma in her tiny bikini and ballet shoes, her gorgeous golden hair and beautifully bronzed body shining in the sunlight, as we practiced ballet together and our pointe shoes tapped in unison on the wooden deck of our yacht. The Mediterranean light and air seemed to feed and energise our sexual appetites and every day we would drop anchor off a secluded cove and swim naked in our white plimsolls before coming up on the beach to roll around in the white sand and mate like a pair of lusty sea lions. I took countless photos and videos of her in her glorious, gorgeous, golden nakedness with her plimsolls gleaming in the sunlight.

When we came home we could hardly move for wedding presents, not only the usual kinds but also boxes and boxes of white plimsolls for Emma; nearly a hundred pairs, including all the well known brands and quite a few we'd never heard of. Among them were Lorna's gift of Keds and Lucinda had of course sent another pair of Victorias. I discovered that Emma had included very discretely in our wedding list a request for 'Ladies' size 6 plain white lace-up canvas plimsolls'.

We lost no time in making some big changes to the house, financed by the sale of my flat. We turned the house back into a single dwelling. We converted the huge loft into a fully equipped dance studio so Emma could give individual or small group tuition and hire it out for rehearsal space. We sold the contents of the sex dungeon to some very interesting characters who removed it as discretely as they could in a large van, and then converted the basement into a film and photographic studio which we also hired out. 

Meanwhile some personal changes took place as well. We met up with Lorna and Steve and became firm friends. Pete would never actually admit that he and Kate had become an item but we saw a great deal of them together nevertheless. Emma sold her ballet school and her share of the dance studio to Chloe, who invested a legacy from her great-grandmother in her ambition to teach ballet, tap and jazz. Not long after that Emma told me she was pregnant.

Now as I write this, she is resting on our bed with sunshine from the window warm on her beautiful heavily pregnant nakedness and making her Keds gleam white on her feet. Her breasts, now so swollen with milk for our soon to be born son and daughter that it's begun to leak from her nipples, are resting on the upper slope of her huge fertile belly. Although she's in a lot of discomfort now, she loves being pregnant and her eyes, hair and skin are all glowing with life and health and I can't photograph her enough in such a beautiful state. Just a few minutes ago she even managed to stand en pointe naked in her ballet shoes for some photographs, although the effort has left her feeling exhausted. Now she will have a session on her breast pump and then I will rub her breasts with soothing balm to ease their soreness and tenderness. Her hospital bag is packed and ready and includes the brand new pair of white slip-on plimsolls that she wants to wear while she's in labour.

They say that death and taxes are the only certainties in life. I think in our case it's safe to add plimsolls to the list.



Trust Ch. 12



"Only that." 

Storm smirked and rolled his eyes. He took a deep breath and released it. Speaking slowly and distinctively he asked, "Do you want me to call Ayasha in here and ask her to tell me every single thing she heard?" Sally visibly swallowed trying to get the lump in her throat down. "Or do you want to tell me yourself, now." 

"She told me I was a gold digger and that I was after your money and that you still..." she looked away but Storm turned her back to look at him. 

"Continue," he urged. 

"That you still wanted her," Sally said softly. 

"Do you believe her?" 

"It doesn't..."

"If you say it doesn't matter, I'm going to take it that you're not serious about being with me and that you're just using me. Now answer me, do you believe her?" 

"I don't know." 

"What is your mind telling you?" 

'Run, he's putting you in danger. This is a way out.' But Sally answered with her heart instead, "That I shouldn't believe her. That she's angry she's not with you." 

"You're afraid of listening to your heart aren't you?" 

Sally looked up at him shocked, "How did you..." 

"You're too logical not to think with you mind. That answer came from your heart because you want this as much as I do. Do you believe her?" 

Then after a while, "No, I don't." 

"Why not?" he asked. He wanted to hear what she was thinking.

"Because she got into a similar argument with Ayasha that time when I house sat for you." 

He held her face and brought her in for a sensual kiss. She smiled but looked away when he ended the kiss. 

"What is it?" Storm asked

"I...can you do something for me please?" 

"What?" 

"I'm not comfortable with you buying me clothes..."

"Sally sometimes I attend parties like the one we attended yesterday and I would never want to put that type of expense on you considering that you are a working student. I think it's only appropriate that I stand the bill for expenses that you would incur because of such events." 

"I would rather pay for my expenses myself and if I can't afford it, I'll just not attend. I'm not comfortable Storm. Please try and understand."

"Okay, for you but only if you promise that if you need anything that is over your budget then you'll let me so I can get it for you."

"Storm I..."

"No that's the only way. You tell me and we agree to the purchase together." 

"Okay." 

"Good." 





Trust Ch. 14



Sorry for the mixup with the other chapter and with the delay in this posting. Having some computer problems. Hope you like this chapter and all will be revealed in due time. Hope you continue to read and enjoy. 





Trust Ch. 15



My apology for the late reply. I have a new job and I finally finished the chapter where Storm finds out about Sally. Thanks for waiting. Have a wonderful and safe holiday! 





Trust Ch. 15



"Yeah, I understand how that can be. They put those techs through hell these days. I sometimes thing it's best they get a doctorate with the stress they go through but I also understand why. They process some vital information and they have to be right. I'm happy she's happy doing it. Tell her if she needs any help, let me know. I'll do my best to assist her." 

"Thanks Collin, will do." Storm turned to Ayasha, "By the way do you women like drawers that closer to your side of the bed or to the bathroom?"

"Our side of the bed, why?"

"Just thinking about which drawers I'm giving to Sally." 

"She's moving in?"

"I haven't asked but I want her to." 





Trust Ch. 16







Trust Ch. 16



Sally looked away and moved to get the ice. 

"You think you're her knight in shining armor? She's never going to leave me. She loves the beating and the fucking. Why don't I break in your bitch for you? She's black, the marks won't show." 

Sally was walking toward Storm when she stopped suddenly. Storm glanced behind him to notice that Richard had stood up and was now moving toward him where he knelt beside Jessica. He stood and when Richard was in range, balled his fist and punched Richard so hard, he sent him flying over the couch again. 

"Sally, bring me the ice please," and she obeyed. 

Sally watched as he placed the ice on Jessica's cheek and eyes and the girl winced when the wounds were touched. The police and ambulance arrived shortly afterwards.