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.