Careful What You Ask For

She insisted I do the same to her, reassuring me several times over that she would be able to bear my weight on her back. So I stood very carefully on her bound, supine body, now looking ever so small and slender and fragile as I looked down on her, taking special bare not to tread on her arms or her hands tied behind her. Then when I finally rested one plimsolled foot on the small of her back and my other foot across her buttocks, she tightened up and made the most gorgeous purring sound through her gag before relaxing again.

My favourite photos of myself were of me lying bound and gagged and naked in my ballet shoes with a huge erection, while Lorna, also naked, stood on and pointed at various bits of me with her ballet shoed feet. Lizzie-Jane was usurped from her chair while I photographed Lorna sitting naked in it, the soft curves of her body complemented by the smooth textured curves of the chair as she artistically posed and pointed her ballet shoed feet. But my favourite picture of her was of her sitting naked on the floor and leaning back against the chair, her spread out legs and the touching tips of her ballet shoes making a sensuous triangle in front her, completely absorbed as she explored her wide open cunt. After I had taken this picture she looked directly at me with a pleading look in her eyes.

"Fuck me Steve. Please. Make love with me now."

**********

I picked her up and she relaxed in my arms as she put her own around my neck. I carried her to her bedroom and laid her on her bed. She stretched out to her full length and started to mew like a kitten as I fondled her breasts and played with her swollen nipples and then stroked her mound and kissed her warm wetness between her spread legs. Then as I kneeled up on the bed in front of her she played with my huge erect prick and my swollen balls with the tip of her ballet shoed foot, making my erection sway like a strange and wonderful coral-dwelling sea creature caught in a tropical ocean current.

Then she spread her legs right out to the sides in splits fashion, displaying her lusciously pink and juicy cunt in all its glory as I approached her and slowly sunk myself into it. We grunted and purred as I eased into the rhythm that we had enjoyed so much before. But this time it was so much better as we could enjoy each other to the full. I felt her face on either side through her gorgeous hair and kissed her lovely rosebud mouth as hard as I could as I buried my tongue in her hot, lusciously sweet mouth and my groin ached with pleasure at the similar feeling my pulsating prick was getting within her pussy's hot, slickly wet and velvety smooth embrace.

Then I changed up a gear to the rhythm which I knew would bring her to orgasm and our bodies heaved up and down together as they strained for ever more air in their exertions. Meanwhile she bent her legs back to rub the soles of her ballet shoed feet on the backs of my legs, which inflamed my passion even more. She stroked my hair and fondled my buttocks and tongued my mouth in her turn. Then she pulled her mouth away to cry out to me.

"Oh my darling!...You gorgeous lion!...I'm tingling all over!... "Fuck me senseless you beast!"

At this, she put her ballet-shoed feet on my buttocks and pushed down on them while she moved her legs back and forth. The sensation of feeling the soles of her ballet shoes massaging my arse shot me over the top and I came with a great gasp and a deep surging feeling in my swollen, throbbing prick. At almost the same second she tensed and then screamed as her orgasm welled up from deep inside her, so that as my prick pumped her pussy full of my cum it was also being squeezed and soaked in her juices in our mingling ecstasies.

After some more heavy panting we kissed and stroked and held each other in gentle afterplay, my prick resting content in her pussy's contended embrace while our bodies came down from the heights. Then I withdrew from her and as she lay stretched on the bed watching her nipples soften and her cunt close contentedly, I fetched a warm soapy flannel and a soft warm towel to wash her. She still had strength to giggle as I gently dried her crotch. We ended the evening stretched out on her sitting room floor resting against her sofa, our legs tangled together, with our feet, still in our white ballet shoes, teasing each other, while, with a glass of fine cognac each and with lots of flirtatious comments, nudges, tickles and kisses, we looked at all our photos on her plasma TV.

Settling down to sleep in Lorna's bed was a wonderfully sensual experience in itself. I sank down into the soft mattress and drew the soft warm folds of her duvet, which smelled sweetly of soft ripe fruit, over me. For the first time, I enjoyed the sensation of my bare feet on her naked feet and legs and the exquisite feeling of hers on mine. I absorbed and breathed in her delicious warmth as we snuggled up and wrapped our arms around each other and with a final kiss we closed our eyes, watched over by Lizzie-Jane's sweet and innocent gaze.

I woke in the darkness of the small hours into a semi-conscious state. My hand drifted downwards and I realised I was erect. I looked at Lorna. Her eyelids fluttered gently as her breath drifted almost silently through her slightly parted lips pouting in her dreaming. Her pale, beautiful face was framed by her dark hair strewn around her pillow and framed again by her arm lying as if arranged around her head. Her other arm lay across the soft, smooth expanse of her flat stomach and they rose and fell together with her breasts with each easy breath. As I moved to kiss her, my hand brushed against her breast. She murmured and her mouth opened a little more and she languidly parted her legs. I eased myself on top of her and with a few slow movements brought a deep contented sigh from her. A few more movements and I was sighing too with a long, slow release before I slid back down next to her again. She had remained asleep the whole time and now smiled dreamily in her nocturnal fantasy world.

As I drifted back to sleep again with her hand in mine, I thought briefly of Rick and Julia and silently thanked them for helping Lorna and I to find all that we now enjoyed in each other. I hoped they were as happy as I was now. Maybe they were more than just business associates. I blew a kiss to Lizzie-Jane, her gaze still sweet but now not quite so innocent, and, with the morning to look forward to, closed my eyes.

Part 2 – Lorna's story

My hand shook slightly as, eager to hear his voice for the first time, I answered the phone.

"Lorna?" His first word to me was my name! I glowed with pleasure at that. Then the weight of my expectations for this moment left me tongue-tied.

"Yes," was all I could say.

"Hi, it's Steve. It's lovely to hear your voice at last."

Hearing the word 'Voice' broke the spell on my tongue.

"I could hardly wait to hear yours, Steve," I gushed, "That was the bad part about us being gagged, not being able to talk to you and hear you talk back. You know what us girls are like."

"I've had some experience," he replied and we laughed. Laughing with him was lovely. "How are you feeling now?" he asked.

My conviction of his care for me grew a little more with his question.

"A bit shell shocked and sore, but getting better all the time," I replied.

"Me too!" he said, "By the way, you have a lovely voice."

"Thank you. I always worry I sound too posh and stuck up. One of my very ex-boyfriends told me I sound like Joanna Lumley on laughing gas. Your voice is lovely too. You sound just like Terrence Stamp."

He sounded really pleased at that.

"I take that as a big compliment. He's a sort of hero of mine. East end boy made good, like me." Then he asked me, "Lorna, do you like ballet?" I nearly fell of my chair and almost squeaked my reply in my excitement at his question.

"Steve, I absolutely love ballet! I went to ballet school until I was 18. Then I was in the University Ballet Company. I still go to classes twice a week and I dance with the local amateur company when I have the time. I'm dancing in our next production in a couple of months. I'd love you to come and see me dance. I'm thrilled you love ballet as well." I was almost trembling at the idea of him watching me dance in my leotard and tights costume and the pleasure he would get from seeing me on the points of my feet in my ballet shoes. His next comment confirmed his interest, to my great delight.

"Actually I have to admit I'm more into the fetish side of it really, but I'd love to see you dance anytime and watch a ballet with you too." I loved that he was so easily candid with me about his pleasures.

"That's a good starting point. I can get us complementary tickets through the law firm I work for," I suggested. I felt the foundation was now laid for me to have the confidence to ask what I really wanted to ask him, "Do you want to come to my flat on Saturday and bring your ballet gear. We can have a ballet theme evening and I'd love to see you in your kit. And I'd love you to stay the night." My heart was pounding and my mouth went dry as I said this.

"I'd love to come and I'd certainly bring my stuff if I had any, but I don't", he replied, with a note of regret.

I knew straight away what to do.

"That's no problem", I said brightly, and I told him about my friend Irina, who owns a ballet and dancewear shop, and suggested he pay her a visit. I also said she would take special care of him if he mentioned I was his friend. So we arranged that, while I was at my Saturday morning pointe class, he would drive over to Irina's shop after he had played football. Then he would come over to my place for an early evening meal, which would give us lots of time for fun and games afterwards. He signed off with an affectionate, "See you Saturday, Ballet Girl," which I really liked, and I settled back into my bath and looked forward to a night of romance, kinky fun and sex – ballet style. I couldn't help laughing as I thought of him in muddy football kit one moment and then in a leotard, tights and ballet slippers the next.

The following evening, after a long day at the office, I met Julia at the wine bar and told her all that had happened. She had brought her photos of her naked skydiving session with Rick and we had a real ladies' night together as we talked about our respective men and the amazing events that had brought us together.

"Every time you touched his dick you made me so jealous," I confessed to her, "And what made it ten thousand times worse was that I was tied up and gagged and I couldn't do a frigging thing about it."

She looked embarrassed as she touched my hand.

"It was just business, honestly. He's really all yours." Then she grinned as she added, "He felt bloody nice though."

"Not as nice as the feeling I got when you fucking well stuffed him into me!" I retorted, and we screamed with hysterical laughter, which caused dozens of pairs of eyes to glance in our direction.

After recovering our composure we continued our conversation.

"Did tying me up and gagging me turn you on?" I asked.

"I have to admit it does appeal to the dominatrix in me," she laughed, "But its part of the job sometimes and I have to be responsible because I have a duty of care to our clients." She was more serious now and asked concernedly, "Did I hurt you in any way at all, Lorna?"

"I was fine, really," I reassured her, "The first time, I got really turned on. I was desperate for you not to notice how wet I was. The second time, in a weird way, it felt familiar and comfortable and comforting. Wow, the weird stuff that lurks inside our brains!"

We shook our heads in shared homage to The Depravity Of The Female Mind and then we forgot about men and talked about work gossip, holidays, clothes, Big Brother, how much better the world would be if women were in charge – and just about everything else.

As we staggered out of the wine bar, tottering and clattering on our high heels, Julia took hold of my shoulders.

"You're beautiful Lorn'. You're like a Spanish Gypsy dancer. I'd love to have your lovely dark hair and eyes and I'd kill for your tiny waist. You're drop-dead gorgeous Lorn'. Rock his effin' socks off, girl!"

I went home feeling very drunk but wonderfully affirmed in my womanhood, and I looked forward to Steve with greater confidence and expectation.

**********

I love Saturday mornings because I can "lie in" until 8 and still have plenty of time to enjoy breakfast before my pointe class. I tied back my dark hair in a neat ballet bun, slipped on jogging bottoms and a sweatshirt over my pale blue leotard and white tights, put on some white ankle socks and my white plimsolls and, with my white ballet pointe shoes and pink ballet practice slippers and the rest of my stuff in a shoulder bag, headed for the dance studios.

One of the reasons I love doing ballet so much is because it's just about the only thing I associate with a good physical image of myself. Everybody whose opinion I value says I have the perfect body, figure, legs, feet and arches for ballet and, whatever else I might think about my appearance, I've always thought I look pretty good in a leotard or a tutu. So I always get a real buzz when I arrive on the studio floor and get ready for the lesson with the other girls. We chatted and laughed and joked as we pulled off sweatshirts and sweaters and tee shirts and tracksuits to emerge like lithe butterflies in our leotards and tights and legwarmers – white, black, pink, bright colours, pastel colours, stripy, shiny, in various levels of revealing-ness. Then we bent over or sat on the floor to pull on soft-soled ballet slippers, which either harmonised or clashed with the rest of our attire, for the preliminary warm-up part of the class.

At an unspoken signal we instinctively lined up at the barres around the walls and in rows across the floor and, with a fanfare from the piano, we began. When I'm doing ballet, the rest of the universe is left outside the door and ceases to exist. I become concentrated and centred on myself and on my task and my dream to follow and express every position and movement perfectly. After a few minutes of warming up I was in an ideal state of relaxed and ready body tone and mental clarity and focus.

Then we sat in a gaggle on the floor and chatted some more and swigged from bottles of mineral water, as we changed from our soft-soled slippers into the firm hold of our pointe shoes, with their firm shanks pressing against the soles of our feet, our toes pushed and nestled into their reinforced toe boxes lined with lambs wool, their sides pulled tight around our feet by their ribbons wrapped and tied around and gripping our ankles, all containing and controlling our feet for as long as we kept them on. Many dancers have a love-hate relationship with their pointe shoes, considering them an exquisitely designed form of torture. I love wearing them. They make my feet look divine and my ankles gorgeous with the ribbons criss-crossing around them, and when I'm on pointe I feel as if I'm about to fly.

We started again and for the next hour I bent and stretched and glided and turned and span and jumped and skipped. I rolled up onto my toes and hopped onto my toes and walked on my toes and balanced on my toes and span on my toes and sprang up from my toes and landed on my toes until class was finally over and my toes felt like fire. I released my feet from my pointe shoes and rubbed them in blessed relief for a few minutes while we chattered some more. Preferring to shower at home, I put on my ankle socks and plimsolls and wandered around in my leotard, tights, ankle socks and plimsolls for a few minutes while I talked with several other girls involved in our company's forthcoming production. Then I put on my sweatshirt and jogging bottoms and went home for lunch and to prepare for Steve.

I had just put the kettle on when he phoned.

"What a lovely surprise, how are you?" I asked.

"Pretty good thanks. We won four-nil".

"Is that very good?" I asked in mock ignorance.

"I scored three so something must have been going right."

"Do you think you'll score again tonight?" I teased.

"You said it Girl, but only if I can get out of my tights first. I'm off to visit your friend Irina now."

"Have a lovely time Steve," I laughed, "I've told her to look after you properly."

Irina phoned later as I was preparing a chicken salad for the evening.

"He's a very nice man. Make the most of him for as long as you can," she said, with her combination of perfect English grammar and diction and the dramatic rise and fall of her Czech accent, "He bought lots of lovely things too, including a beautiful white tutu."

"Oh my goodness!" I exclaimed. "He's really done it then?"

"He certainly has," she asserted, "and you must promise me that you will transform him into a real Czech ballerina for me. I want to see the pictures too."

"Guides honour," I laughed.

I had great fun deciding what to wear as a surprise for Steve. I'd never before set out to prepare myself with the main aim of pleasing a man in ways I knew would please him. It made me feel sexier and it heightened my anticipation of a wonderful time together with him. As I stood naked in my walk-in wardrobe, looking through my ballet clothes, I first thought to wear a shiny high-thigh leotard, but then I thought it would concentrate his attention too much on my fanny instead of on my breasts and my legs, which were where, to begin with at least, I wanted him to concentrate.

So I decided on a black basque-style leotard which gave a nice line to my décolletage and also around my lower thighs. I picked up some black fishnet tights, and something I remembered about the way he had looked at my legs suggested to me that he would really like me in them. They were footless, and this gave me the idea of wearing them with my plimsolls and ankle socks so that, at the right moment, I could peel them off over my plimsolls and be naked before him in my white plimsolls and ankle socks again. The thought of it suddenly made me wet with excitement.

After a quick calm down and freshen up, I slipped on a pair of tiny black satin briefs, pulled on my black fishnets and eased into my leotard, snuggling my bare breasts into the revealingly figure-moulding Lycra. Then I put on my white ankle socks and my white plimsolls. Feeling incredibly sexy, I just had time to put on some earrings, poppy red lipstick and some sweetly fruity perfume and brush my hair when the doorbell announced his arrival.

**********

From the landing at the top of the stairs I saw him come in carrying several bags. I revelled in his admiring gaze as he climbed the stairs and saw what I wore, and shivered at the smile he gave me when he saw what I was wearing on my feet.

"Hi gorgeous, you're still wearing them, I see," he beamed.

"They sort of grew on me. I wear them lots now," I smiled, turning a plimsolled foot to the side and back for emphasis. I helped him inside with his things, making sure he got a good look at my breasts inside my leotard as I bent to pick up some of his bags, closed the front door, and flung myself at him.

The feel through my leotard of his arms around me and of his body as I pressed myself against him and buried my fingers in his hair was wonderful and I gasped, "Oh Darling!" as I pulled his head forward to kiss him. My first real kiss of his firm yet responsive lips was unforgettably fantastic, and I delighted in his clean, fresh, masculine aroma. My heart was pounding as we released each other and to calm myself, I showed him around my flat as we took his things to my bedroom so we could look at them together. I introduced him to Lizzie Jane, my beloved ballerina rag doll I'd had since I was five and who now lived on the large cane chair in the corner.