Trust Ch. 05

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Is this the ultimate plimsoll fetish sex fantasy?
5.9k words
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Part 5 of the 13 part series

Updated 10/31/2022
Created 06/07/2009
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[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.

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