I snuggled down next to Steve again as close as I could so my groin pushed into his buttocks and my breasts cushioned his back. Then I carefully reached over him and began to stroke his dick, which lay in a tight concertina curve on his inner thigh. As I continued stroking, it began to stir and I felt if stiffen and thicken under my touch. It reached the critical stage of stiffness and then stood up to rest against his abdomen, which it soon began to wet with a dribble of pre-cum.

He stirred and murmured contentedly. I put my face next to his and said in the sexiest voice I could manage, “I had the most wonderful dreams last night and I woke up with a gorgeous feeling inside, which I think you had a lot to do with, you naughty man”, playfully squeezing his swollen dick for emphasis. “I might have done. Is there any other evidence?”, he grinned. I laughed and squeezed him again for good measure. Then I slid my legs from under the duvet, slipped on my pink ballet slippers and, still only semi-awake, waddled nakedly to the kitchen to make breakfast. “Is continental OK?”, I called to him. “I’ll eat almost anything if I don’t have to get out of bed for it”, he called back, “continental’s lovely, thanks”.

I returned a few minutes later with a tray of croissants, conserves and coffee and we sat up in bed and contemplated the prospects for what looked like a lovely Summer day in early Autumn, as the bright warm sun filtered in through the curtains. I knew exactly where I wanted to go that day, but I waited to hear what Steve might have in mind. When he suggested getting out of town for the day, I revealed my plan. My Uncle Robert owns a stately home a few miles out of town and as it wasn’t open to the public today, I knew we would have the whole place, and one part of it in particular, completely to ourselves. We would be able to spend the whole day completely alone, doing whatever we wanted.

I phoned Uncle Robert as I enjoyed the double pleasure of watching Steve standing naked in the kitchen whilst washing up the breakfast things. “Courtfield Manor” – Uncle Robert’s richly mellow voice always made me smile. He was always much more fun than his younger brother, my Dad, and I especially loved Aunt Amanda, herself a Royal Ballet School pupil, who had encouraged me to love ballet for its own sake and not just for something else to achieve success in. Their daughter, my Cousin Judy, had been to my ballet school several years before me and was now a well-regarded choreographer and teacher.

“Hello, it’s your favourite niece”, I began as I always did. “Undoubtedly”, he replied, “but after all…”
“Yes, I know I’m your only niece. You always tell me that.”
“So what prompts this most welcome of calls?”, he asked gallantly. “Can I bring a friend to the Manor today and have the key to the Glade?”
“You’re most welcome but I’m afraid we’ll miss you as we’ll be In Town today. Do bring him for dinner soon”. I arranged to collect the key from the housekeeper and we shared our other usual joke about him being my Favourite Only Uncle.

I explained to Steve that the Glade was a woodland paradise in the middle of the estate and that, because it was surrounded by a high wall, we would be completely alone and undisturbed and free to do as we pleased. He was very keen and he was delighted when I asked him to help me dress for the occasion. I am a very girlie girl when it comes to fashion and I knew he would love investigating my wardrobe, filled with my little strappy dresses and short skirts and skimpy tops and my high heels, strappy sandals, flip-flops and lots of pairs of my favourite fashionable ballerina pumps.

He proved to have a good feel for what I like, and I was delighted when he chose for me my favourite 50s-style summer dress with a bold design of bright red poppies. I picked up my plimsolls and dangled them in front of him. “Shall I wear it with these?”, I teased.
“Oh all right then”, he sighed, with magnificently mock self-control. I slipped on some pants and then asked him to fasten my bra.

“How did you feel when you first wore a bra?”, he asked. I thought for a moment, then replied, “As you can imagine, I was very late to develop, and I was way past fourteen before I needed one. Mum was brilliant and made it really special for me. We went to Harvey Nick’s lingerie department and a really nice French lady felt me and measured me and told me how important a well-fitting bra is and how to choose one. It felt a bit strange when I first put it on, but it made my breasts look really nice and rounded under my blouse and jumper."

"I felt great when I came out wearing it and with some more bras and matching pants in my shopping bag. Then we had tea at The Ritz and Mum let me order for both of us and I felt so grown up and sophisticated. It’s still one of the nicest times I’ve ever had with Mum. The funny thing is that the French Lady was convinced I ‘wud grow urrp to ‘ave a beeyuteefurl burrst’. But now my bloody tits are hardly any bigger now than they were then.”
“Petite and beautifully formed”, he said, stroking them deliciously through my bra and kissing my neck, and making me feel a lot happier about them.

As I had been talking, he had fastened me into my dress and brushed my hair as I leaned against him while I had put on my favourite poppy red lipstick to match my dress, and put on some pearl earrings and a matching necklace. Now I treated him to the sight of me slipping my feet into my white plimsolls and ankle socks. I have petite and narrow feet, with little round toes and tiny nails, which I always like to have painted to emphasise them. I take special care of, and pride in, my smooth, round heels.

With my outfit completed with a shawl, parasol and even white gloves, in keeping with my ‘50’s retro look, Steve took some lovely photos of me sitting on my bedroom balcony and standing at the rail. “I look just like I did when I was 18 and went to a garden party at Buckingham Palace”, I told him, “Only then I wore white leather low heeled ballerina pumps with a thin strap over the top. Like these.” I took a pair out of my wardrobe to show him. “I wish I’d been your date then”, he said, holding my pumps with delight.

While Steve packed our picnic hamper, I put other useful items such as a blanket and cushions into a large canvas shoulder bag. While he was distracted, I added some lengths of rope and some strips of sticking plaster, in case our fun and games had use for them, I thought. Then we set off in Steve’s car.

As we drove, I asked him again what he had been looking for on that amazing night. The previous evening, he had joked about wanting to find someone with an imagination as perverted as his own. But now he told me lots about the loneliness he had grown up with following his father’s early death and his mother’s breakdown, which had obliged him to be sent to boarding school. He also told me how a long succession of sexually satisfying but emotionally unfulfilling relationships had left him desperate to break the mould.

“I guess the kinky, erotic thing was foremost in my mind”, he said, “But deep down I think I realise now that the urge to be tied to a girl came out of my deep longing for a closer, emotional bond with someone. When I saw your courage and spirit and experienced your kindness and generosity, I knew it couldn’t just be a few minutes of kinky sex any more. I really wanted to make love to you. And if I’d never seen you again, at least I would have had the satisfaction of knowing that, for just those few minutes, I had really connected with you.” I blinked and bit my lip as, my smile beaming at him, I rested my white cotton gloved hand on his shoulder and kissed him.

After a few minutes spent quietly companionable, we arrived at the Manor. Steve parked his car while I collected the key, and then we walked with our stuff to the entrance to the Glade. Once we were through the little door in the huge, encircling wall, Steve looked around and in a hushed voice said in amazement, “It’s like being in Middle Earth or Narnia.” As we emerged at the other end of the path, which ran through stands of ancient oaks, chestnuts and silver birches, he looked open mouthed and with wide open eyes at the wide, open expanse in the centre of the Glade, with its lake, fake natural waterfall and Greek temple folly on a grassy mound. “This place is fantastic”, he exclaimed, loudly this time.

We lay our blankets and cushions on the gentle slope of the temple mound and I gave him a nice surprise by stripping off down to my plimsolls and ankle socks there and then. He did the same and, hand in hand or with our arms around each other’s waists or shoulders, I showed him our little paradise.

“I often spend the whole day here naked", I told him. I run and swim and climb trees. I read or I play my flute or write poetry or paint or take photographs. I dance barefoot or in my ballet shoes. I wank and fuck myself whenever I feel like it and scream as loud as I like. There have been times in my life when I’m sure that being able to come here has kept me sane. You’re the first person I’ve ever brought here.” He looked at me with deep love and gratitude in his eyes as we kissed. “I can’t tell you how privileged you’ve made me feel by sharing such an important part of yourself”, he told me.

We came to another small clearing well-hidden within thickly surrounding rhododendron bushes, with a large empty plinth in the middle. “There were three statues of naked Greek youths here, I explained to him, “One standing, one on his knees and the other lying on his back. They all had anatomically perfect erect penises for use as dildos in pagan orgiastic rituals. I’ve got some great photos of myself wearing my ballet shoes and a tiny tutu skirt, in all kinds of positions fucking my pussy and my arse on them and giving them hand and mouth jobs. Unfortunately a big tree fell on them during a bad storm last Winter and knocked all their willies off. When they’re repaired I’ll do a repeat performance for you.”
“I’ll clear my diary”, he laughed.

Something about this place always energises and stimulates me sexually, and Steve also seemed to be under its spell. With that, and our sexy talk, I was already at a high level of excitement. The warm sun and gentlest of breezes kissed my naked body all over and felt gorgeous on my tingling breasts and in my open pussy and they almost tickled between my legs. My nipples throbbed in harmony with my clit and my lungs and heart feasted on the clean and invigorating air. As we walked along, I loved the sight of Steve’s erection swaying to and fro like a pendulum pulsing out the rhythm of his sure and steady tread, while his balls hung hugely beneath. I felt like the Queen of the Amazons with her most trusted (male) bodyguard by her side.

We came to another clearing and I saw a sudden movement in the bushes on the opposite side. I quickly crouched down and gestured to Steve to keep still. Then a beautiful female roe deer came into the clearing, munching grass as it walked along, followed seconds later by a handsome buck. I’ve had a soft spot for deer ever since one of my nicer boyfriends compared my legs to a young gazelle’s. Then suddenly, with no preamble, the buck leapt up on top of the doe and gave her what David Attenborough might possibly refer to in private as a Damn Good Shafting.

It only took a few seconds, but the display of primeval animal sexual power seemed to beam itself right into my glands and send my hormones haywire. I felt hot and flushed all over, my lungs craved even more air, my breasts and nipples felt as if the very air was fondling them, while my pussy dripped like a peach at the point of perfect ripeness and radiated a heavy, throbbing ache in my groin and lower spine.

I looked sideways at Steve. His dick looked massive and its great, swollen head glistened in the sunlight. I couldn’t hold on any more. With great whooping cries I jumped up and ran into the middle of the now empty clearing, where I stopped and bent forward so I was on my palms and on the balls of my feet. I flexed my knees so my bottom bobbed up and down and I whooped like a juvenile female baboon driven crazy by her first feeling of being on heat. Then I heard the pat-patting approach of Steve’s plimsolled feet and I whooped even louder in response to his deeper grunting. He squatted down behind me and clamped his hands on my hips and then I felt his great, hot, swollen dick push through between my thighs and into my pussy.

This being animal-style sex, he rammed me hard and with each thrust I grunted deep from my stomach as I felt his groin slam into my buttocks. I don’t normally get off on clitoral stimulation alone, but the angle and the intensity with which he was fucking me sent me over the top within seconds and I was soon screaming at the top of my lungs as my orgasm almost writhed inside me, while he cried out in his turn and reached forward to squeeze my breasts as if trying to crush the milk out of ripe coconuts.

Then we fell to the ground together in an orgy of kissing and licking and sucking. I yelped as he licked my pussy and my breasts and my buttocks, and he gasped as I sucked his dripping dick clean and licked his balls all over. Then with a final display of testosterone-fuelled strength he picked me up like a sapling branch and carried me back to our picnic place where he deposited me, squealing in my total pleasure, onto the rug. We were now sexually sated and ravenously hungry.

As we ate, I asked him if had ever had a special secret place for whenever he needed to work out or work through his deepest feelings. “Nothing like this place of course”, he replied. “But during the school holidays, I always stayed with my big sister Linda in Hong Kong. She and her husband Dave both have really well paid jobs in financial services and they have a fantastic house in the New Territories, with a really big garden by Hong Kong standards. It has a summer house in a secluded corner. Linda was great and would pretty much leave me to please myself most of the time I was there because she reckoned I didn’t have much freedom at boarding school.

So on really hot, sultry days I would go to the summer house with my most precious possession – my scrapbook of pictures of naked or near-naked women in plimsolls or ballet shoes. Then I’d get naked and put on my white ankle socks and white plimsolls. And I’d look at all the girls and choose one to have in my imagination. Then while I wanked, I would close my eyes and imagine her, straddling me with her back to me, riding my prick while I fondled her breasts. I’d be able to see and feel the soles of her feet in her plimsolls or her ballet shoes pushing right into my armpits and I’d smell the rubber and canvas of her plimsolls or smell the leather soles and sweat-impregnated satin of her ballet shoes as I fucked her.”

“When I was older and knew where and where not to go in Hong Kong”, he continued, “I met a lovely Chinese girl who worked in one of the brothels. Her name in English means Ripe Plum Tree Orchard, so I called her Plum. Sometimes we would have sex, but a lot of the time we just talked and she helped me improve my Chinese and best of all she let me photograph her naked wearing just ballet shoes or plimsolls and socks.

She was a natural for the camera and she would do any pose or any thing I asked her. She even let me tie her up and gag her. I gave her some copies of my pictures of her and they helped her get into modelling and films and out of prostitution altogether. Now she’s a big success and happily married and I still visit her and her family whenever I’m in Hong Kong. Of course, I’ll understand if you’re jealous and want me to stop, and I will if you ask me. But I hope you won’t because she’s a real free spirit, like you, and I know you’d be friends.”

I smiled. “I’m grateful that you’ve been honest about her and I wouldn’t lie to you by saying I’m not jealous, because I am. But not enough to deny both of us a good friend. There aren’t enough of them as it is.” I sagged in his arms as we kissed, feeling as if I’d come through a supreme trial by ordeal of my ability to trust.

“What did she mean to you then and what does she mean to you now”, I asked as we lay down together, and he held me close in his awareness of my need to be comforted and reassured.
“Even though we shared a lot”, he replied, “there was always a transactional quality to our relationship, and I’m not talking about money now. We gave each other something we needed in that particular time and phase of our lives, but neither of us ever looked beyond that. She’s a few years older than me and was already a woman when I met her, and I was still just a kid really. But it’s totally the opposite where you and I are concerned, My Love.” He kissed me, long and tenderly. Then he asked, “Are you still friends with your first sexual partner?”

“No”, I replied. “I was 16 when I lost my virginity to my dancing partner, Gary. We’d been rehearsing late for a gala performance and we were hot and tired and got a bit out of control. I teased him about whether he was gay or not, which was horrid of me because he was always having to put up with those kind of comments from people. He was always patient and good-natured, but this time I could tell he was angry and felt betrayed by me and I was a bit scared.

Then he looked right at me and said, ‘Do you really want me to prove to you what side of the fence I’m on?’ I was all fired up and shouted ‘Go ahead, surprise me then!’ And he picked me up, stood me against the wall, and pulled down his shorts and dance belt. I screamed because it was the first time I’d seen an erect penis and his was huge. He rubbed his erection against my crotch until I made my leotard really wet in my excitement. He was really good to me even then and asked me then if I wanted to stop, but I was really pumped up by then and I suddenly wanted it so much. So he pulled off my leotard and pants – I wasn’t wearing tights because it was a really warm night - and fucked me standing up in just my white ballet shoes and ankle socks with my legs wide apart, right there and then.”

“Fortunately I was already on the pill to sort out my irregular periods, and he swore he’d always used a condom before, otherwise goodness knows what would have happened. We put all that passion into our dancing the next night and we won first prize. We had six months of wonderful dancing and sex together."

"And then he got a job with a ballet company and started touring abroad. He phoned me to finish with me, and I was heartbroken. He was right, of course, because he was a few years older than me and I was still at ballet school just beginning my A-levels. I was determined that I wouldn’t be hurt like that again. But of course I always was, because from then on I kept trying to totally control every relationship, and no man puts up with that for very long. But now I’ve learned a different way and you’re the living proof that it works.” He smiled and kissed me as I snuggled into him again.

As we lay in the warm sun, sleepy after our picnic and the intensity of our conversation, I felt a deep need to feel even closer to him physically than curled up in his arms. I eased myself downwards, stroked his dick into an erection, and began sucking it. He sighed and turned so we would both be more comfortable and I curled up against him, closed my eyes and held his shaft with both hands as I sucked his firm, bulbous head.

I felt I was floating on cloud of deep physical comfort and security. I had been bottle fed as a baby and had not had much physical love like hugs and kisses from either of my parents. My body always craves for physical closeness and contact. Maybe that’s why I love to wear figure-hugging leotards, tutus and tights so much when I dance. Which is why I cried when Steve remarked how much I’d enjoyed sucking him and I told him the truth about why. And he cried with me when he understood how much his open love and affection really meant to me.

Then we swam and played in the warm water of the lake and shivered under the freezing torrent of the waterfall, and warmed ourselves again in the lake. As we lay on the grass, drying in the sun, Steve told me of the origins of his fondness for girls in ballet shoes and white plimsolls, which involved being in the right place at the right time in and around the girls’ grammar school down the road from his boarding school.

I told him about my three childhood friends: Hugh, Nick and Simon, now a leading medical researcher, a Cambridge politics lecturer and an RAF fast jet pilot respectively. I told him how I constantly worried for Nick, closest in age and affection to me, now serving with his Tornado squadron in the Middle East. Then I told him how, when we were children, their fondness for tying me up and gagging me before sending me off into the woods for them to hunt me down, plus my craving for anything that gave me any form of the feeling of physical closeness, gave me a lifelong urge to be bound and gagged again, which the dominating side of my nature had suppressed until the night we had met. I asked Steve where his bondage fantasies came from.

“When I was sixteen, a couple of mates and I got a few cans and a porn video. It was so ridiculous looking back now. This gang of criminals kidnapped a cheerleader team and tied them up and gagged them. They were all really shiny, sporty American girls with lots of teeth and hair and big tits and fabulous legs and thighs, dressed in tight sweaters and tiny skirts with white Keds and ankle socks. Then it turned out that all the girls were nymphomaniacs and into bondage and couldn’t wait to squeal into their gags while they were being fucked. Then the gang stripped off and let the girls tie them up and walk all over them naked in their Keds and ankle socks and that’s when the police arrived, and they stripped off and fucked the girls as well and then the girls and the cops all pissed on the gang. We wanked ourselves so much we were sore for days afterwards.”

“Did Plum ever tie you up?”, I asked him. “A few times”, he answered, “I thought it would be unfair not to give her a chance, even though I was paying for it. Do you really want me to tell you about it? I don’t want to look like I’m boasting or anything.” “You know you can tell me anything Steve” I smiled, “Besides, I may get some good ideas for later.” He also smiled and continued.

“One day, I paid her twice as much as usual and asked her to really give me the works. I got naked and she tied my hands behind my back and gagged me. I lay on the bed and she put my white ankle socks and plimsolls on my feet, which I loved her doing. Then she bound up my body from my shoulders to my ankles using a special technique she knew, with a single, long band of silk. She put clamps around the base of my prick and the top of my balls so it would be harder and take longer for me to come.”

“Then she really showed me what a pro she was. She wanked me until I was on the point of coming and then she stopped. Then she deep throated me until I nearly came a second time. Then she straddled me and rode my prick and stopped me short a third time. By now I’m lying there desperate to come, mooing like a pregnant cow into my gag and not able to do a fucking thing about it. Then she sat on my face, facing my feet, pulled my legs up and over and stuck a dildo up my arse.

So there I was, naked in my white plimsolls and ankle socks, gagged and trussed up like an oven-ready chicken, being dildo fucked by a tiny Chinese girl while I’m half-drowning in her pussy. And top of all that, she’s got my head clamped between the soles of her feet and she’s wearing ballet shoes.” “Wow, I think that’s given me plenty of material to work on. I’ll have to work hard to top that though”, I laughed. “I have every confidence in you”, he laughed as well, as he hugged me from behind and gave my breasts a playful squeeze.

Then we talked about masturbation and we found out that neither of us had ever actually watched someone of the opposite sex pleasure themselves. He agreed to go first if we both wore our ankle socks and plimsolls again, which we had taken off to go swimming, because that was such a turn-on for him. So he went first, and lubricated his dick with smears of my pussy juices. I loved watching the rhythm of his hand as he pumped his swollen shaft and squeezed and stroked his balls with his other hand. And I loved how he gasped with open-mouthed and closed-eyed rapture as he came and I shivered as his cum streamed out in great squirts and I thought of how he must come like that inside me.

Then I took my turn, and he watched intently as I spread my legs wide and opened myself up and stroked and rubbed and delved inside myself. As I approached orgasm, I let him fondle my breasts and when I came, I pushed my breasts into his palms as hard as I could and screamed with sheer delight. Then we licked each other clean and kissed long and hard to taste each other again.

The Glade continued to work its sensual magic on us and after another lovely long kiss and cuddle, my desire for Steve was as strong as ever. I stretched my arms and legs wide open, arched my back to push my breasts up to the sky and clenched my buttocks in the sheer pleasure of being in the open air naked with the man I adored. “I feel so wonderfully frisky today!”, I exclaimed, “How about a game of ‘Fugitive’?”.
“Sounds great, but what will I tie you up with?”, he smiled. “Why don’t you look in the bag?” I replied, hardly able not to laugh at the thought of him finding my little surprise. He laughed when he found the rope and tape. And butterflies fluttered excitedly inside me as his hands, with their controlled masculine strength, took hold of my wrists and bound them behind my back, encircled my body with more cords above and below my breasts and finally smoothed a strip of plaster over my eager mouth and tight-shut lips.

He closed his eyes and I patter-pattered in my plimsolls towards the trees furthest away and then, when I was sure I was out of range of his hearing, I quietly as possible veered off at a tangent. As I reached the edge of the trees I found what I was looking for, a little space within a thicket of rhododendrons that I could push my bound body into and observe him unseen. Delighted, I watched him begin to follow my trail but miss my change in direction and head into another area of trees. After a few minutes of hearing him but not seeing him, I made a loud MMMPH! MMMPH! noise through my gag. As he approached me, I burst into a fit of muffled giggling and squealing and stuck out my plimsolled feet for him to see. He was carrying his camera and photographed me cowering before him and trying not very successfully to look terrified.

He walked a distance from me and then made me run towards him as he took more photos. When I reached him, he pulled my feet together and told me to moan through my gag as he stroked and fondled my feet and ankles through my plimsolls and ankle socks. The gorgeous feelings through my feet, the exhilaratingly kinky feeling of being tied up and gagged while naked in the open air and wearing plimsolls and ankle socks, and the thrill I was getting from the way he called me Bitch every time he ordered me to do something, made me incredibly wet and turned on. He tied my ankles and legs together as I stood, and then he carried me like a trophy over his shoulder and dumped me on the rug.

Then, with no preamble, he pushed himself into my pussy, squeezed tight between my firmly bound legs. I usually open my legs wide for intercourse, so this was a completely new feeling for me and I loved it. He felt incredibly tight inside me and my orgasm was quicker in coming and even more intense than usual. I thrashed my head from side to side and I nearly burst my lungs as my muffled screams struggled desperately to escape the sticky, clinging grasp of my gag, which still sealed my lips immovably.

Instead of coming inside me, Steve immediately pulled his massive dick out of me, which gave me another fantastic new sensation between my legs to make me scream again in my delight. Then I wailed with even more delight as he squirted and splashed his hot stickiness all over the hypersensitively tender surfaces my breasts. I continued moaning in my pleasure as he hurriedly licked my pussy and my breasts clean.

Then he squatted in front of me, sat me upright, so his still-stiff dick was pointing straight at my face, peeled off my gag, put his hands on the back of my head, and pulled my open mouth right onto his very hot, still very swollen and very sticky manhood. I closed my eyes and sucked avidly and moaned loudly as if still gagged, and my pussy leaked unstoppably as my libido was overwhelmed by the myriad of fabulous sensations that engulfed it.

I collapsed back on the rug, unable to take any more, and Steve’s transformation from sexual tyrant to devoted lover couldn’t have been more sudden or more total as he tenderly released me from my bonds and cradled me like a child in his arms. By now the sun was only just able to peer at us above the trees. So we got up and washed in the lake and got dressed. Our plimsolls were stained green and soiled brown by grass and earth and tree bark. I offered to wash his plimsolls together with mine back at my flat, using a special pre-wash that I had discovered which would make them as clean as new, and he very happily agreed.

After all our excitement of the day, it was lovely to rest quietly and companionably as Steve drove us back to my flat. From time to time, I held his free hand in mine and sometimes he would stroke my upper leg and my knee and make smiling sideways glances at my plimsolled feet nestled in the foot well. The breeze flapping into the open topped car tousled my hair and teased my dress, and my state of blissful happiness was only tempered by the knowledge that in several more hours he would be on his way home, and normal life, at least temporarily, would have to be resumed.

By the time we got back to my flat I felt reinvigorated, and my desire to share every sensual experience I could think of with Steve was still just as strong. He was just as eager when I suggested we take a shower together before having a final meal before he left. It felt gorgeous to cover his body with foaming shower gel and feel the smoothness of his wet and shining skin under my hands, and to feel his hands sliding over my breasts and buttocks and between my legs as he washed me. He made me jump and squeal with delight as he played the power shower head on my pussy and up my bottom.

I looked at my bottom, covered in water droplets and dripping like a ripe peach, reflected in the mirrored walls of the shower, and decided to let Steve do to me what I’d never let a man do before. I stood up on the raised ledge around the edge of the floor of the shower, spread my legs, looked at him over my shoulder, and said he could give me anal sex if I could do the same to him with a vibrator afterwards. He found my lubricating jelly and I watched in delight as his dick stiffened and stood up while he carefully greased the length of his shaft. Then I giggled as he lubricated me around and inside my hole.

Then he put his hands on my waist and I flinched as I felt the first contact of his swollen, bulbous head as he started to push on my hole. I relaxed as much as I could as his head began to open up my ring. Then I carefully pushed downward, little by little, and I felt his head gradually push further and further up into my fundament. Waves of exquisite physical sensation began to radiate from my bottom through my whole body. Now my ring was gripping tight around the base of his shaft, and I gasped as he very gently and slowly began to move up and down inside me.

He began to fondle my breasts and rub my nipples between his fingers, while I opened myself up and stroked my clit. I waited for as long as possible before I put my fingers inside myself, so I could first get maximum pleasure from massaging my clit. When I finally had to slide them inside me, I got a fantastic surprise. “Oh wow, Steve, I can feel your dick behind my pussy!” I shouted at the top of my voice in my amazement and excitement.
“And I can feel your fingers against my prick. Isn’t it wonderful?”, he answered, and affectionately nuzzled the back of my neck through my hair in his excitement.

With my body being overloaded with so many exciting stimulations at once, my orgasm was soon in coming and shattering in its effect. My whole body throbbed and tingled and shook and as I felt my legs start to buckle I cried out, “Steve, I’m starting to feel giddy.” He carefully extracted himself from me, and again cradled me tenderly in his arms as we sat on the shower floor under the reviving and refreshingly warm torrent. Then we wrapped ourselves together in a single large towel to snuggle up warm while we dried eachother. Afterwards, we had a light meal of home-made soup and French toast, sitting at the kitchen table in matching white bathrobes, while I rubbed his legs with my feet in my pink ballet slippers.

When we had finished, it was time for Steve to fulfil his side of the bargain. He took off his robe and lay naked on my sofa while I prepared myself for him. His account of his super-session with Plum had given me plenty of ideas to start with, and I had been thinking of a few variations of my own. I went to my Most Secret drawer and took out a black leather bondage harness that I had bought on a drunken whim at one of Caroline’s sex parties.

I had spent much time and many attempts before, learning to put it on, and was glad that I could now do it in a few seconds. It had straps over my shoulders and around and between my breasts and around my ribs and waist and either side of my pussy and up my bottom cleft and my spine and its overall effect was to squeeze and extrude my breasts and my pussy. I made up like a Goth sex goddess, with white foundation and lots of black mascara, eye make-up and lipstick, and I brushed my hair into a wild, dark mane. I put on everything black that I could think of: velvet choker, silk gloves coming above my elbows, suspender belt, stockings and suspenders, and ballet shoes.

When I was ready, I hid behind my bedroom door and told him to come in and lie down on my bed without trying to look at me. Then I looked at him and marvelled at his self-assurance and confidence in me that enabled him to submit himself to me without any reservation. I squatted on his back and blindfolded him with a black silk scarf. Then I gagged him with a rubber ball and sticking plaster. Then I tied his hands behind his back and his arms to his sides. Now he was my slave and I ordered him to turn over on his back.

When I took off his blindfold, his eyes opened wide with amazement and pleasure at the sight of me. He moaned through his gag as he tried to rub his face on my breasts pointed enticingly at him through my harness. But I teasingly kept them beyond his reach. He moaned with more pleasure as I slid white ankle socks and his white leather ballet slippers onto his feet. He moaned even louder when I fitted him with a condom and tied tape around it and his swollen genitalia.

I ordered him to turn onto his front again and I tied his ankles to the foot posts. He gasped through his gag as I lubricated his anus and then he groaned with delighted expectation as I let him watch me grease the length of the vibrator with which I was about to penetrate him. He breathed heavily, and relaxed his muscles as I slowly pushed the vibrator into him until only the handle was visible. It has a neat digital timer which can be programmed to gradually increase the frequency over a given amount of time.

I started it off and positioned myself in front of him so he could bury his face in the warm, sopping slickness of my groin. His moans became louder and more frequent in time with the increasing intensity of the oscillations inside him, and as he rubbed his face harder and harder between my legs, making me come even more, I turned my feet and legs outward and stroked and massaged his ribcage and his buttocks with the soles of my ballet shoes.

He came with a great bull-bellow through his gag and his buttocks bucked as he filled his condom until he had no more strength to squirt. He was gasping for breath as I peeled away his gag, still stuck fast in spite of being soaked in my juices. I slid the vibrator out of him and untied him. As we lay on the bed together, still heaving and panting in our excitement, I teasingly asked him if it had been nice. Then I squealed with delight as he suddenly grabbed me and pulled me on top of him and proceeded to fondle me and tickle me all over and kiss me, loudly and passionately.

We washed each other again, with lots of hugs and kisses and tickles and gropings and giggles, as we enjoyed our nakedness together for the last time that weekend. I wanted to give him a last special treat before he went home, so while he dressed, I put on an especially favourite red tutu, with ballet shoes in matching red, emphasised by pure, white tights. I explained to him that I had worn it when I won the ballet competition the day after I lost my virginity and that, as I had worn it when I had left girlhood behind and entered into womanhood, I had loved to wear it ever since at special times of transition in my life. “I wanted to wear it for you now to say thank you for changing me and changing my life so wonderfully”, I told him as I kissed him. He had tears in his eyes as he said, “Thank you for saying such a beautiful thing to me in such a beautiful way,” and he kissed me in his turn.

I stood up on the points of my ballet shoes to kiss him a final time as he left. A tiny part of me wanted to cling to him and make him stay. But the greater and better part of me knew that the bond between us was far greater and stronger now than the merely physical and material bonds with which we had begun. He joked about wearing his tutu when he came to his first ballet class with me on Tuesday evening. We arranged to wear leotard, tights and leather slippers, mine all white and his all black. I could hardly wait to see him. He left with a final kiss and, “Bye-bye Beautiful Ballet Girl - until Tuesday.” It was going to be hard at the early morning client meeting to concentrate on the finer legal points of international structured financing.

I slid into bed and my duvet felt lovely as it slid over my naked body. I yawned and, in a state of supreme contentment, stretched myself out wide and rubbed my breasts and groin against the smooth, warm cotton cover enfolding me in its gentle, soothing embrace. I was fast asleep within minutes.

I was lying on my bed. Naked and heavily pregnant with our twins. The curves of my body were softened by the curtain-filtered, warm sunlight bathing them, and by the folds of the see-through lace bed gown draped open around me. Steve was positioned at my feet, about to photograph me, and I could somehow see my image in the viewfinder in my mind. From my feet, nestled in the pure white satin of my ballet shoes, my legs made a slender, receding progress up to my pussy, which was now palely and demurely closed within the encircling garden of my dark pubic hair, and overshadowed by the great dome of my ripe, swollen belly. Behind it were the lesser mounts of my ballooning, tender breasts, with swollen and sore nipples standing proud like sentinels on watch. My face was serene in spite of all the pain and aching and discomfort I felt in every part of me. I was sewing little pink ribbons onto a little pink ballet shoe for the girl we knew was soon to make her first appearance from within the dressing room of my womb, above which the other shoe rested, with its ribbons trailing down in pink streams over the pale, sun kissed slopes of my stomach.

I lay naked on my bed. My hair now long and grey streaked with white. But he still calls it my Crowning Glory every time he brushes it and ties it into a long plait, the way I had showed him all those years ago. My face now pinched and lined. But my eyes still burn with dark passion for him whenever he looks at me and speaks to me in that certain way. My breasts now empty and sagging. But still alive to his touch. My still-slender stomach now veined and creased. But still a warm, soft and fragrant cradle for his head when he lies between my legs and dreams of our youth. My vagina no longer a ripe and juicy fruit. But I still delight in his loving, reverent touch as he anoints me in preparation for his entrance. No longer able to dance on my rheumatic legs and arthritic knees, and my feet and ankles no longer able to support me on the points of my toes. But my feet and ankles still look gorgeous in my white ballet shoes as he prepares to photograph me, and add this latest incarnation of me to our treasure of memories.

He is the first man I dream about spending my life with. It will be hard to wait until we can share our dreams, because I know with my whole being that when we do, it will be wonderful.