Trust Ch. 08a

Chapter 8A -- Don't you look back?

My final gasp of sated pleasure mingled with Emma's muffled sigh of deep delight as I slowly withdrew from her and lifted myself to rest on my knees beside her. I turned her over onto her stomach and undid the knot of the brightly patterned headscarf that I had tied tightly around her mouth and head to gag her. As I began to unpick the series of knots securing the elaborate cat's cradle of cords that bound her wrists behind her back and her arms to the sides of her beautiful naked body I said to her, casually,

"Tell me about your first time."

She needed several seconds to flex her jaw and restore movement to her mouth muscles after being gagged for the previous couple of hours.

"Are you sure you won't be jealous?" she replied playfully as she lifted her newly-released arms to rest her head on them.

I loosened the cords tied securely around her white ankle socks and she wiggled her feet contentedly as I stroked them through her white plimsolls.

"Hmm, let me see," I considered. "I've just had a two hour session of kinky bondage sex with the hottest, sexiest and most gorgeous girl I've ever known and almost certainly ever will know, with whom I live together naked nearly all the time, in her luxurious London flat, sharing her fetishes for plimsolls, ballet, and bondage. No, I can't think of any reason to be jealous."

I lay down beside her and kissed her as she snuggled into my arms. "Tell it to me with all the details. Make me feel like it was me there doing it with you," I insisted.

"All right then," she giggled as she settled against me, "you asked for it." There was a faraway look in her eyes for a moment as she summoned up long-buried memories, then she smiled as she began her tale....

Paul had become my dance partner when I was in the fifth form at ballet school. He and some other boys from the local performing arts college had started coming to provide partners for the older girls for school performances, auditions and exams and stuff like that. At first I'd really fancied his friend Gary, who was half French and very good looking, but to my great frustration he partnered up with that snooty, stuck up Lara or Lorna or Laura -- I can never remember her first name -- MacAllison in the other fifth form class. The fact that she looked sickeningly like Audrey Hepburn probably turned his head - so annoying.

Anyway, Paul turned out to be a great partner and fantastic fun. I was highly sexed by this time, if only in my imagination, and I loved teasing and flirting with him, which he was only too happy to reciprocate. As time went on I became more and more desperate to have sex with him and I pestered him about it every chance I got. I knew he was keen but he insisted that we wait until I was sixteen and legal. Even though I wanted sex so badly, I was just as desperate for my first time not to be just a quick grope and poke. In the end I discovered, happily, that I needn't have worried.

My birthday coincided with being at home for the Easter holiday, so I had to endure another fortnight of almost climbing the walls with frustration before I could be with him again. It may sound like I was a typical silly schoolgirl in giddy teenage love with an older boy, he was five years older than me and on the verge of graduating from the college, after all, but it wasn't like that. I only wanted one thing from him and that was his body, and I knew that he knew it too. I also knew that he wanted my body likewise.

Being an older girl I was free to go out of school at weekends to practice with him at the dance studio in the nearby town. We would spend most of our practice times together working on a pas-de-deux for an upcoming school performance or a competition, but use the last few minutes just having fun improvising and trying out steps and sequences and lifts and stuff.

So at long last we were dancing alone together in a practice room at the dance studio. My whole body was fuelled with nervous excitement and anticipation and his every touch was like electricity flowing through me as he held me against him and lifted me high above his head with his powerful arms; because I knew that afterwards he was going to drive me to his flat and take my virginity.

Our dancing had an even more intense physicality and sensuality with the shared knowledge of what we were going to experience together afterwards. With every move I seemed able to bend and stretch my body far more than before. I thrilled to even the slightest touch of his fingertips through the thin nylon coverage of my leotard and my tights, and on my bare skin through the thin straps of my leotard lying in a criss-cross pattern against my back.

When we danced in my school productions or in competitions I had to wear a relatively modest school regulation light blue leotard, but when we practiced on our own I wore my own shiny black cut away, thin-strapped leotard, that I had saved up for and bought specially for him, that came high up on my thighs and was so low at my neck and my back that virtually only my breasts, bottom and crotch were covered. As I arched my back and my feet while he lifted me higher and higher I was convinced that my breasts would suddenly burst out from under the tightly straining, cupping cling of my leotard and my toes would pop out from under the vamps of my shiny pink satin pointe shoes.

He held me aloft in triumph for one last time as I, facing up towards the high ceiling of the studio, bent my legs back downwards to tickle the back of his neck with the points of my ballet shoes. Then with great strength and skill he manoeuvred my body in his hands before setting me down expertly and gently on my points. I put my arms around his waist and kissed him hungrily as I felt his hands caress my bottom through my tights and then his fingers slip beneath the tapering crotch of my leotard between my legs.

For one heart stopping moment I thought he was going to take me there and then. But he always loved to tease me and play with my emotions. "Shower at my place, afterwards," he grinned at me as he stroked a little wisp of my hair that had escaped from my ballerina bun to rest against the excited blush of my cheek.

"That'll be lovely," I breathed, hardly knowing whether to feel let down or even more excited, as I kissed him again.

I eased out of his embrace, skipped across the room on my turned out feet to where I had placed my dance bag and outdoor clothes and sat down on the floor to take off my ballet shoes. Even the feel of the hard wooden boards on my bottom through my leotard and on the soles of my feet through my tights gave me a sensual thrill I'd never felt before. My fingers were trembling as I undid my ballet shoe ribbons from around my ankles, slipped off my shoes, placed them in a muslin bag so the sweaty interiors could dry out and placed them in my dance bag. He sat beside me and we rubbed shoulders and laughed and joked together while I put on my soft white cotton ankle socks over my pale pink tights and then pulled on my white plimsolls as he put on his black Puma trainers over his grey tights.

"You look really sexy like that," he said, stroking my thigh.

"So do you," I smiled as I kissed him again and nudged his ankle with the side of my plimsoll. It was the first time he had ever made a direct reference to my plimsolls and it really excited me.

I pulled on a pink hooded sweatshirt and tiny pale blue denim shorts over my leotard while he put on grey tracksuit bottoms and a dark green fisherman's jumper, which made him look even more ruggedly handsome. We picked up our bags and strolled out of the studio, hand in hand, to his car, a somewhat dilapidated but still excitingly sexy classic red Triumph Spitfire. I eased in next to him and within I few seconds we were on our way to his flat, with anticipation and nervous excitement increasing within me at every moment so that I could feel every movement of the car deep in the pit of my stomach. My whole body was already yearning for his. Desperate to relieve my tension, I looked at him and smiled, putting my hand on his that rested on the shiny knob of the gear change.

"You know you didn't have to wait until I was sixteen. You could have had me months ago if you'd wanted to."

"Don't imagine that I didn't think about it," he smiled back. "I did, often". He began gently to stroke my knee as he continued. But no girl is worth going to jail over, not even a top piece of jailbait totty like you, Sexy Legs." He smiled again and gave my knee a gentle squeeze for emphasis. His touch felt gorgeous through my ballet tights and I sighed and patted the soles of my plimsolls on the foot well carpet with pleasure.

We parked outside his flat, an upper floor Victorian terrace conversion near the centre of the town, scampered up the stairs to avoid being seen and almost fell over each other in a mad dash to burst through the front door into the sitting room.

He closed the door behind him, strode across to the other side of the room where there was a large black leather sofa and, without any preliminary, began to strip off. I watched in amazement as he kicked off his trainers and then peeled off his sweater, red tee shirt, tracksuit bottoms, grey sports vest and his grey tights. Then I froze as he stepped out of his dance belt and dropped it casually on the floor before, equally casually, turning to face me naked. My gaze took in the athletic hairiness of his powerful, well proportioned body before it locked on to his massive erection standing proud out of a thick dark bush of pubic hair. I stared at it open mouthed at the thought of it having been so many times until now pressed up against my body through the thin covering of my leotard and ballet tights.

"Come on then, Pretty Tits, get your kit off. This is what you want isn't it?" he cajoled me. "And there'll be plenty for you to keep your mouth open for as well if that's what you like."

He lay on his side along the sofa, his head propped on his hand, to watch me undress, all the while slowly stroking his huge manhood as he watched intently my every move. I suddenly felt very awkward and self-conscious and I felt like I was trembling all over as I took my clothes off. I removed my sweatshirt and shorts and stood awkwardly in my leotard, tights and plimsolls before his gaze. He smiled and nodded encouragingly.

Feeling a little better, I slipped the straps of my leotard from off my shoulders, peeled it down to my waist and, balancing extra carefully on each foot in turn, stepped out of it. I let him look at me for a moment topless in my tights and plimsolls and I felt my nipples swell and stiffen with my excitement as I displayed my bare breasts to a boy for the first time.

Just then I noticed behind him the open door of a bedroom. He shared the flat with Gary and I realised that it was Gary's room. On the bedside table was a photograph that immediately caught my attention. It was a photograph of Gary and Laura (or Lorna or Lara) receiving a dance competition prize from Princess Diana. He looked incredibly handsome in a black unitard and black leather ballet slippers while she -- curse her -- looked like an elfin fairy princess in her white classical short skirted tutu with white tights and ballet shoes and a little diamante tiara garlanding her dark hair, as she did a perfect curtsey.

For a split second I had a picture of them writhing and thrusting together naked on his bed and jealousy made a sudden snatch at my throat, then I instantly dismissed it. She was too much of a goody-toe-shoes. I smiled at Paul again and got back to what I was there for.

I knelt to unlace and slip off my plimsolls, slide off my ankle socks and ease out of my ballet tights. Finally, taking a deep breath, I took off the little white cotton g-string I wore under my leotard and I stood naked before him. Not knowing what else to do with my hands I lifted one to nervously brush against my cheek and folded my other arm across my body beneath my breasts, wishing that my pubic hair was thick and fluffy like his rather than a thin and whispy covering over my mound. Suddenly a very nice idea popped into my mind.

"Can I put my plimsolls back on?" I asked.

"Sure, whatever turns you on," he smiled.

That was the thing about him that really frustrated me: he just didn't get my thing for plimsolls. He was always a straight down the line high heels man.

I sat on the floor and relished the very special pleasure of putting on white ankle socks and plimsolls while being naked. My fingers trembled with excitement at the thought of having my first-time sex with my plimsolls on and I needed a couple of goes to tie the laces properly. When I had finished I stretched out my legs with my feet together and arched my feet as much as I could as if trying to force all the mounting sexual excitement in my body down to my toes. I had never been naked in my plimsolls with a boy before and I felt incredibly sexy and turned on. Paul got up and walked over to me, looked down at me and grinned.

"So what do you want to do, Hot Bottom?" he asked.

I didn't know what to think. "I don't know," I replied sheepishly, looking down at my plimsolls.

"Has that fancy posh tarts' finishing school taught you about blow jobs yet?" He asked cheekily.

I loved it when he teased me about my school being full of teenage nymphomaniacs and wannabee call girls. Actually in my case at least he wasn't completely wrong. I did once go with a man for money, and it was only the one time, I promise. But that's another story.

"I've read about them in 'Cosmopolitan'" I giggled.

"All right then, get up on your knees and show me how it's done," he challenged me.

I moved up to him with a crouching shuffle of my knees on the large rug that covered much of the bare wood floor, until my face was positioned just opposite and level with his erection. For a moment I stared at his great tumescent protrusion of man flesh and wondered how I could possibly get my mouth around it. I felt daunted and inadequate by the knowledge that at long last I was about to get what I'd asked for so many times and for so long.

Tentatively at first I placed my finger tip on the dilated opening in the middle of the shiny swollen dome of his head and felt the warm viscosity of his pre-cum. I drew my finger across the velvety soft surface of his head and traced the circumference of it where it joined the thickness of his shaft. I followed the sinuous lines of the swollen blood vessels that stood proud of the surface of his shaft. I cupped the firm cluster of his balls in my hand and marvelled at their mass as I continued stroking his length, a little more firmly than before, all the time summoning up the courage to take him into my mouth.

I took a deep breath and, becoming almost cross eyed to keep what I was doing in my vision, opened my mouth, pursed my lips against the curve of his head and slowly pushed my head forward until his entire dome was enclosed within my mouth. My heart began to pound with the pleasure of his warm and salty flavour and the firm feel of his flesh against my lips as I sealed them as tightly as I could around his circumference. My jaw was already aching with the effort of containing him.

Continuing to fondle and squeeze his balls with one hand while rubbing against his tautly stretched skin the thumb of my other hand firmly encircling the base of his shaft, I experimented with running my lips up and down his erection to see how much of his length I could swallow. I began to gag as his head started to rub against the back of my throat and I remembered about needing to take deep breaths to force down the gagging reflex. I soon got to like the sensation of his head rubbing against the entrance to my throat and for a couple of minutes, with wide eyes and nostrils flaring, I sucked, stroked and squeezed his manhood in a co-ordinated process of oral and manual pleasuring.

I felt his hands, resting on my head, and his legs, tremble more and more as his excitement mounted until he cried out,

"Fuck me, Girl, I thought you'd never done this before. Stop it now or I'll come in your mouth."

For a split second my heart leapt at the idea of his huge prick spurting in my mouth or all over my face, but he acted to save himself just in time. He moved his hands from the top of my head to the sides and pushed me back to expose his whole length glistening with a slick and stringy mixture of his pre-cum and my saliva. He squatted down in front of me and took a couple of deep breaths.

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "You are a total natural. Are you ready for the Real Thing?"

"OK!" I breathed excitedly, my breasts rising and falling with my excitement. He smiled at me and I beamed an eager smile back at him but his next comment left me with a sudden sick feeling in my stomach.

"Have you thought about whether or not I'll be wearing a condom?"

I couldn't believe my stupidity. I wasn't on the pill and I had no prophylactic of any description on, or indeed inside, my person. He laughed at my anxious expression. "Don't worry, because I have," he reassured me. He stood up again and stretched his arm to the drawer of a small table close by. He reached into the drawer and took something out of it. "If you're in the habit of reading 'Cosmopolitan' then you'll no doubt know how to put one of these on," he quipped. In his hand was the shiny silver square of a wrapped condom.

"I haven't got anything to put one on," I giggled, suddenly emboldened again by the knowledge of how much he was prepared to take care of me.

"Ha, ha, very funny," he smiled. "Now get on with it and stop wasting time. I've got to get you back to school before people start wondering what you're up to."

Taking care to remember the step-by-step instructions in an article I had read, I carefully tore the wrapper down one side after squeezing the contents to the other side, removed the condom and carefully examined it to make sure that the teat was sticking out the right way through the circle of rolled up latex. He handed me a wet wipe and I ran it over the length of his erection a couple of times to make sure he was clean, which gave him a thrill of pleasure. I placed the teat of the condom against his head and, keeping a tight grip on his circumference, rolled the condom onto him until the rolled up open end rested snugly against his groin. Then, nestling his shaft in my cleavage, I smoothed the surface of the condom from tip to base over his huge swollen member with firm pressure of my thumb and fingertips. I gasped at the thought that soon he would be putting it inside me; but not just yet.

"I like the way you do that, Pretty Tits," he smiled and I felt giddy with excitement as he reached down to stroke the sides of my breasts and then push them together to squeeze them against his shaft. The warmth and firmness of it within my cleavage felt gorgeous. "Anyway," he continued, "Now I'm ready, we need to get you ready. Sit on the floor and lean back with your legs apart."

I did what he said, instinctively arching my ballerina feet in my white plimsolls and anxious to find out what he was going to do to me next. He got up and went to the drawer again, returning this time with something that looked like a toothpaste tube. He took my hand, stretched out my index finger and onto my fingertip he squeezed out a large blob of clear gel. Squatting down between my spread-apart legs, his erection gently swaying from side to side as it pointed straight out from his groin towards me, he placed his finger on my private. I gave a little squeal of pleasurable surprise.

"A girl can get a bit uncomfortable in there for her first few times. This stuff will help. It'll help things slide against each other more easily until your fanny learns to lubricate itself properly on its own."