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.