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[Is this the ultimate plimsoll fetish sex fantasy?]

Chapter 6 – I’m going up to the country

Emma’s work as a ballet teacher running her own dance school meant that she worked long hours and could rarely take more than a couple of days off at any time, so the times when she could spend a few days with her parents on their farm in Wiltshire were very precious to her. I felt very honoured when she asked me to go with her on her latest trip and I looked forward to meeting Jim and Rosalie, who she always talked about with great affection. I had recently bought a new Land Rover Freelander so I was pleased to have the chance to show that it was more than just a big boy’s toy. Emma was keen to drive it as well, so I added her as a named driver to my insurance and she had a couple of short drives to get used to it before driving us down to Wiltshire.

She called in several favours from dance teacher friends to cover for her while she was away but she still couldn’t get away earlier in the week than Wednesday afternoon and had to be back again by Sunday evening. I had taken all of Wednesday to Friday as leave, so I could pack for both us while she took her Wednesday morning advanced pointe class at the school. Before leaving she had made a point of telling me that we would both need a pair or two of old plimsolls for exploring the farm in – wellies were only for complete quagmire situations – so I was happy to be careful to comply with that particular instruction.

She was back from the class on the dot of half past twelve and, with the house secured, we were on our way, eating lunch on the move to save precious time. It was a warm and hazy afternoon so I had dressed comfortably in a blue polo shirt, stone coloured chinos and a new pair of white Converse All Stars plimsolls with a thin red line along the edges. As we threaded our way through the southern suburbs towards the motorway that would take us out of London to the West Country the view was seldom inspiring, but; with Emma next to me in the driving seat, her long wavy blonde hair swirling around her shoulders in the breeze from the open windows and sun roof, wearing a 50’s-style blue gingham short sleeved blouse, with the tails tied in a bow just below her rib cage to expose her torso, and short blue denim shorts leading my eye down the long, flowing lines of her bare legs to her feet in her bright white Keds plimsolls and white ankle socks operating the pedals in fascinatingly sexy fashion; I had no complaints whatsoever about the view.

Once we were on the motorway Emma glanced at me with a knowing smile and said to me,

“If you want something else to look at, have a look at what’s on the digital viewer in my overnight bag.” I stretched over to her bag on the back seat and retrieved the viewer. I spent a few very enjoyable minutes reviewing some nude and bondage photos of her in her plimsolls and her ballet shoes before noticing a video with the file name ‘nudetrip’.

“What’s this one?” I asked her, imagining her in her plimsolls with her naked body painted with flowers and lying on a sheepskin rug while smoking dope and listening to Jimi Hendrix.

“A couple of years ago I was staying with Kate, my best friend from school who’s also now a ballet teacher – in fact she’s taking one of my classes tomorrow, at her house which is just a few minutes drive from the Sussex coast. She dared me to drive down to the coast naked and paddle in the sea and then drive back again still naked. I said I’d do it if it was after midnight and she came with me naked as well. So we did and we made a video to prove it.”

The video began with a tripod-mounted camera view of Emma and Kate in the sitting room of Kate’s house, laughing and giggling together as they explained to the camera what they were going to do. Kate was a smiley and attractive raven-haired girl a little shorter than Emma and the perfect foil for Emma’s exuberant sense of naughty fun. They were both wearing tee shirts and shorts, with Emma in her trademark white Keds and ankle socks and Kate wearing pink Converse plimsolls with bare feet. They giggled and squealed and pushed each other and made rude remarks about each other’s bodies as they stripped off down to their plimsolls.

When they were naked, Kate took the camera off the tripod and filmed Emma running out of the house to her classic Peugeot 205 white convertible (which she still has) with her breasts and bottom bobbing most appealingly. Kate passed the camera to Emma once she was in the driver’s seat with the seat belt arranged carefully across her bare breasts and then Emma got a glorious view of Kate’s cleavage and her dark spread of pubic hair as she climbed into the passenger seat head first through the door for maximum visual impact.

Several short sequences showed their rapid progress down deserted moonlit country lanes and Kate’s panning up and down Emma’s body to show that she was still naked. When they reached their destination, an isolated cove where they Betturkey could drive right onto the beach, Emma filmed a still naked Kate setting up the camera’s tripod.

The next sequence showed them both dash into the water while still naked in their plimsolls.

“Fuck, it’s freezing!” Kate could be heard yelling in a slightly tinny shout through the speaker of the digital viewer.

“This was all your fucking idea you stupid bitch!” came Emma’s tinny scream followed by a bout of hysterical giggles from them both as they frolicked and splashed each other until they were soaked.

They ran out of the water and wrapped themselves up together in a single large towel and shared in more ribald banter as they dried each other. I much enjoyed watching their breasts momentarily rub against each other’s bodies as they twisted and turned to remain within the warmth of the towel as they dried. Then they drove back to Kate’s house and the video ended with them, still naked, toasting their success with champagne. The whole video had lasted about half an hour.

“That was some road movie,” I laughed.

“Maybe we could make a video like that,” she giggled. I thought this was an excellent idea.

As we were travelling out of London mid-week, we made rapid progress and, even with a comfort stop, we arrived at our destination in little more than three hours. Emma’s parents, Jim and Rosalie, couldn’t have been more welcoming and I quickly warmed to their easy and relaxed manner.

“Look Jim,” said Rosalie as she noticed my footwear, “she’s found another plimsoll enthusiast. I’ll never get her out of the blessed things now,” she exclaimed, smiling ruefully at her daughter. Emma put her arm around her mother’s shoulders and lifted up one of her feet and pointed and turned her plimsoll forward and back for Rosalie to inspect, saying,

“There you are, Mum. I’ve practically lived in plimsolls and ballet shoes since I left school and look: no trace of flat feet or fallen arches or collapsing ankles or anything else. When are you going to stop worrying about the state of my feet?”

Rosalie was undaunted. “You’re storing up problems for yourself in the future, my girl. You just wait and see.”

Emma just laughed and gave her mother’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “What do we have to do to get a cup of tea around here?” she smiled.

“Try filling the kettle with water and switching it on,” Jim piped up to a chorus of laughter.

The happy atmosphere continued over tea and some superb home baked tea bread, for which Rosalie had won prizes at the local farmers’ show. It was easy to see how Emma had got her sunny disposition and sense of fun. Jim and Rosalie both delighted in ribbing her and pulling her leg at every opportunity, provoking from her a regular outburst of “Oh Mum!” or “Shut up, Dad!”

I was expecting to be in a room separate from Emma, but her parents were completely relaxed about us being in her old bedroom together.

“You’re the first of her boyfriends that she’s ever brought here so we reckon she must think you’re pretty special, which is good enough for us,” Jim smiled. No other compliment could have made me feel more proud and privileged as I shook his hand and kissed Rosalie while I thanked them for accepting me so much without any hesitation or qualification.

What had been Emma’s bedroom was now the main guest room and was obviously very different from when she had been a girl, but it still felt very special to be sleeping with her in the room she had grown up in, thought about life and dreamed of her future in and, presumably, had experienced at least some of her sexual awakening and early blossoming in. We were tired from the journey as we snuggled down together into the comfortable bed that beckoned us to sound sleep.

“You’ll need to save your strength for tomorrow,” she smiled in her mysterious way I was now very familiar with as she kissed me good night. “We’ve lots to do and there’s a very special place I want to show you.”

As I drifted off to sleep with the feel of her kiss on my forehead and her feet in her white slip-on plimsolls pressing against my leg as she lay by my side in all her naked loveliness curled up in my arms, I couldn’t have been happier or more content as I looked forward to what tomorrow would bring.

Breakfast on the farm was a traditionally early morning affair but with the considerable compensation that it was served to us in bed with a big smile by a most convivial hostess in the person of Rosalie. The day was going to be sunny and warm so Emma put on a little yellow bikini with white polka dots, her little denim shorts over her bikini bottom, white ankle socks and a pair of old and well worn Keds plimsolls that had been white but were now yellowing with age but which nevertheless still looked very sexy on her feet. Her big round Gucci sunglasses and a wide brimmed straw hat completed her very eye catching summer outfit. I chose Betturkey Giriş a blue polo shirt with khaki shorts and an old pair of white canvas Supergas.

We spent the morning with Emma showing me around the farm. The farmhouse, which I now had time to appreciate more fully, was a large and impressive Queen Anne style structure with lots of windows and much fascinating period detailing. Grouped around the house like a flotilla around the flagship were various barns, sheds, workshops and storage silos. Jim ran a tight ship and all around was tidy and organised, but there was still a lot of mess around so Emma’s advice to wear old plimsolls even on a dry day was well founded.

Jim was working hard on some emergency tractor repairs but still had time for a chat. Any thought I might have had of Jim being at all parochial or yokelish in his outlook were instantly dispelled. When he heard I worked in finance he began talking very knowledgeably and expansively about economic, financial and political matters.

“I studied at the London School of Economics for a couple of years in the late ’60’s,” he explained, “with the aim of getting into economic or political journalism. But when my older brother, Tony, was killed in a flying accident I felt I ought to keep the farm in the family after my father died – we’ve been farming here for eight generations you see. Anyway, my time at the LSE turned out to be useful after all because farming’s all about economics nowadays, as I’m sure you know.”

We left him to his work and I felt even more impressed with him for the way he had so positively embraced an unfortunate turn in his life and sought to bring as much good from it that he could. I couldn’t help thinking of the contrast with my own parents’ total rejection of Bryony and I for not conforming to their expectations of us. Fortunately, such unhappy thoughts were soon forgotten as Emma led me from field to paddock to barn while introducing me to cows, pigs, sheep, horses, chickens, geese, ducks, sheep dogs and cats. Everything on the farm was organic and free range, so it was a pleasure to see all the animals given plenty of freedom to roam and live as naturally as possible.

Lunch was very welcome after so much walking and exploring and I would happily have spent a relaxing afternoon in the lovely cottage style garden next to the house, but Emma was ready to show me her special place and I was eager to discover why she was so keen to take me there. Getting there involved a long tramp through several fields until we came to the edge of an area of ancient woodland.

“It’s one of the last remnants of the forest that used to cover this whole area before it was cleared for farming,” she explained. “It’s a site of special scientific interest, for what it’s worth, but even though Dad doesn’t get a penny for maintaining it he would never think of getting rid of it. I’d never forgive him if he did, because in here is my most special place in the whole world. It’s this way,” she said, pointing out a path winding through thickets and tangles of ancient trees. “Keep an eye out for pigs because they’re allowed to forage in here,” she advised. “They’re usually OK but they can bite so it’s best that we keep our distance.”

We penetrated a distance into the dense heart of the wood. The air felt warm and close under the thick overarching canopy and I was glad of the water bottle in the small rucksack that Emma wore on her back. Suddenly the path opened out into a clearing beside the stream which bisected the wood.

“This is it,” she breathed excitedly, and I could see straight away that it would be a special place to anyone. The air was suffused with a deep feeling of peace and calm and a sense of ancient myth and mystery seemed to hang all around us. By the edge of the stream lay a great length of tree trunk that looked it had been put there just to sit on and dip your toes in the stream. She seemed to read my thoughts as she said,

“Lucie and I used to sit there together and talk for hours. This place is so safe, being in the middle of the farm, that when it was warm we used to spend our time here in just our bras and knickers and our white plimsolls and when it was really hot we would take our undies off as well and be naked in our plimsolls. Once we sat naked together on that log and we kissed each other to see if it was more exciting than kissing a boy.”

“And was it?” I asked, trying not to get too excited by the thought of two young girls on the cusp of puberty, naked in their white plimsolls and ankle socks, kissing each other.

“We both thought it was nice but we worked out from the fact that we didn’t get really excited by it that we preferred boys to girls,” she laughed. “I get very excited by you, though,” she said, looking directly at me and suddenly looking much more serious. “That’s why I’ve brought you here. You’re the man I’ve been waiting for all my life and now I’ve found you I want to Betturkey Güncel Giriş be with you for always. So to prove to you how committed I am to you I want to give myself to you completely, here, in my most special place in the whole world.”

She emphasised the point by tossing her hat to one side and taking off her bikini top and dropping it to the ground by her left plimsoll. Her beautiful breasts seemed to glow in the sunlight filtering through the trees. Her lovely hazel eyes below her shining golden hair looked deeply solemn now as she kept her steady gaze upon me.

“You can do anything you like to me. I’ll get into any position you want. You can pull me by my hair around the clearing before you fuck me if you like. You can piss on me and crap on me and make me drink your piss and eat your shit if that’s what you want. You can stick your prick into me in any hole however many times you choose. Whatever you do will bond me closer than ever to you. But whatever you do, do it right now because I’m desperate for you.”

She pulled off her shorts and her bikini bottom and stood before me, naked in just her white plimsolls and ankle socks, beginning to breathe harder with her rising sexual tension, her hands on her hips, ready for me. I was exhilarated by the realisation of what she was doing but at the same time felt the heavy burden of her expectation upon me. There was no way that I would humiliate her, although she was prepared for me to do that to her, but I knew she wanted an intense physical experience as a vehicle for an equally intense emotional experience and that I was determined to give her.

She remained standing still, breathing harder all the while as she watched me strip to my plimsolls, and exhaled deeply as she saw the size and strength of my erection. I came up to her and as I took her by the shoulders she looked right into my eyes and whispered to me,

“Whatever you do, make sure it hurts. There has to be pain for it to mean the most.”

I began by pushing her up against a tall tree with a straight and smooth grey trunk and making her lift her right leg so it extended straight and her white plimsolled foot rested on the tree high above her head. I placed my head in the red raw gape stretched open between her legs and with a brutal thrust of my loins shoved myself inside her as she gasped in her sudden discomfort. She gasped again as with one hand I grasped the taut calf muscles of her extended leg and dug the fingers of my other hand deep into the flesh of her left breast and began to knead slowly as her nipple dug into my palm. I lifted her up onto the toes of her supporting foot and almost lifted her off the ground completely with some deep, slow thrusts. Then I changed tempo and give her a succession of rapid staccato prods before suddenly withdrawing from her.

I made her change over to her other leg and repeated the treatment as she gasped with every thrust and panted with the effort of keeping her balance. Then I turned her back to the tree and pushed her back against it before giving her another rapid shafting. Then I turned her to face the tree and made her bend forward with her legs apart and rest her hands on the tree trunk while I entered her from behind and gave her some slow deep thrusts while I cupped and squeezed her breasts.

With a sudden burst of strength that came from I’ve no idea where, I lifted her up, turned her upside down and suspended her from her legs hooked back over a large branch of the tree and forced my erection deep into her throat while I stuck two fingers inside her and felt the soft inner lining of her vulva while she moaned in the ecstasy of her pain. The sounds she was making in her extreme passion stoked my fire ever hotter and I felt a burning desire to penetrate her over and over again.

I lifted her off the branch and turned her so she hung from it like a trapeze and rested her legs on my shoulders while I buried my face between her thighs and penetrated her with my tongue. Then she hung down full length from the branch while I shafted her some more, all the time switching between slow and rapid thrusts. By now she was accompanying my efforts with a rhythmic crying out of “Ow! Ow! Ow!” with every thrust I made into her.

I took her down from the branch, set her on the ground on her hands and knees and stood behind her. She turned her head to look at me over her shoulder. Her whole body trembled in her passion, like a magnificent alpha female of the flock or the herd, longing to be mounted and mated. Her gorgeously rounded bottom, her beautiful breasts hanging down like udders straining to hold their store of milk, and the opened out flower of her vulva pushed out between her shaking thighs, all displaying the fact of her being ragingly on heat.

In the grip of the spirit of the great stud bull I came up behind her and clamped my hands to her breasts again as I sank my shaft up between her thighs and deep into her. She was wailing now in her pleasure and her pain as I pumped her hard, fast and furiously while I ground my groin into her buttocks and moulded her breasts like jelly in my hands. I was gripped even more by the desire to feel the thrill of penetrating her again and again and again but I didn’t know where I could continue to find the strength.

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