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.