Backstep
1st Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Feb 14, 2006
- Messages
- 1,172
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Cathy had designed the table, Liz had built it, and really, it was a work of genius. She and Liz hadn’t tested it out yet, though, and they needed a third, so they called me. I had thought that when Cathy and I split up a few years ago so that she could ‘bat for the other team,’ she and I wouldn’t be talking much, but it’s a small world we live in and she still remembered appreciating my talents, so to speak. Liz had never been with a guy, but Cathy had always been up for almost anything. More’s the pity, in some ways.
I told them I wasn’t keen on being their victim, or at least not the first time, which they were fine with, but after describing what they had in mind, asked if I could cook. Cathy was okay at cooking, but she would be under as it happens, and apparently, Liz could find a way to burn water. I’m no chef, but I know my way around a kitchen.
I arrived that Saturday, early evening, grocery bag in hand, and was greeted by Liz at the door. I had never met her, but she’s about what I expected based on Cathy’s brief description: Brunette, with her hair cut way too short, an ill-fitting nose, and wearing loose-fitting masculine clothes. But she greeted me warmly, and we got along well. Big NFL fan, which was nice, given how much Cathy disliked sports.
Cathy was just as lovely as ever, though. 5’6”, hazel eyes, auburn hair, few freckles. She was one of those rare women who seem more beautiful as they age. I was a bit jealous of Liz, enough that I had to remind myself there was no point in pining, and besides, I’d have the chance to indulge myself soon enough. I got changed into a pair of silk boxers and a tank top and got to work in the kitchen while Liz got to work with Cathy.
I had decided that something just a little pungent with a bit of bite would be best, so I made mini sea scallops, egg noodles and roasted garlic asparagus. I also chilled a bottle of Pinot Gris while I worked. (Protip: if you need to cool down a bottle of white wine fast, wrap it in a wet paper towel and throw it into the freezer for 15 minutes.) It was a simple meal, but along with some melted butter and a mustard sauce, it would do the trick. I also bought a very small chocolate cake with whip cream from the store for later, because baking is really not my forte.
I brought out the bowls of food, which were warm, though not too hot naturally, and set them on the table along with a pair of half-full glasses of wine. Going back and forth from the kitchen in my socks, I knew what I would see, of course, but it was still a bizarre, if enthralling sight.
The table is basically a picnic table that has only one bench, can split down the middle lengthwise and be opened several inches and closed again, has two holes drilled about 26” apart, and can be raised up via a pair of jacks. Think ankle stocks, but tilted upwards 90 degrees.There is also a metal bar inserted vertically into the floor behind the table, and that’s where Cathy’s wrists were tied over her head while she lay underneath. Her ankles were in those two holes, the table put back together, trapping them; she was wearing paper slippers to start. Liz had also taken two very large plastic plates and used a saw to cut a hole in the center of each, with velcro glued to the bottom; they had fit neatly around Cathy’s ankles and were fastened down to the table. The effect was that I was looking at each slippered foot resting on a plate.
Liz removed the slippers slowly and with great relish. Cathy has size 8’s with gently sloping arches; seeing the toes scrunch when exposed to the cool air brought back memories of times we shared. Despite the first impulse of an erection, I wondered if this was a good idea.
Liz and I sat and served ourselves, each of us placing our food around the edge of the plate. In theory it shouldn’t have mattered where it landed, but the situation seemed to demand a sense of delicateness. Prolonging the moment, I raised my glass. “To the most unique dining experience I’ve ever had,” I said, and we clinked glasses and each took a sip. Cathy muttered something under the table along the lines of ‘get on with it.’ We started in.
I took two asparagus spears, dipped them in the butter (with a pinch of salt and grind of pepper), And ran them gently along her arch up and down a few times. I glanced over and saw liz spear a scallop with a cocktail fork, dip, and then work it in circles around Cathy’s heel.
Cathy was already giggling helplessly underneath, her toes opening and closing helplessly.
I had to slip a hand under her toes for what I next had in mind. I dipped four scallops, one at a time in the butter, then placed each between a toe; then gently sucked each one out, running a finger along her sole as the butter dribbled down in rivulets. Liz had taken a bundle of noodles on a fork and was spinning them over and over again on her flailing arch.
Cathy was cackling, her feet flailing, reflexively begging us to stop. I was already fairly hard, but more so when Liz slipped out of her socks and I followed suit. With Cathy’s arms over her head, we neatly slipped our feet under her shirt and used our own toes to wiggle in her soft warm underarms and down her ribs. With no bra, her nipple rubbed at times along the side of my foot and I went rigid.
I tried to control myself by taking a gulp of wine, but the scene was arousing to the point of distraction. I ran some noodles along her flailing arch before chowing down while Liz was already giving up on the food; she was running her tongue up and down, lapping up the salt and oil.
Cathy had descended into hysterics which increased in pitch and mixed with screams as I sucked on her toes, running my fingers along the slippery sensitive skin. I felt a dribble in my shorts as my member stood on end, almost crying out to be stroked.
I felt Liz shift under the table, placing her foot on Cathy’s groin, eliciting another shriek. “Ooh, I wonder if someone’s going to tinkle in her panties,” she teased.
“Excuse me,” I said. I got up and dashed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and stroking into the toilet, shuddering with release. I heard the hysterics taper off, the table open, and the ladies dash off to consummate their newfound toy in the next room.
Things were a bit of a mess and the food was mostly uneaten. I got changed, cleaned up, and put the leftovers away; I had polished off my glass of wine and starting a second when Liz and Cathy emerged from the bedroom in their robes. They agreed that things had been a smashing success and asked if I would like to do it again.
For Liz the following Saturday it was tacos. Next week it’s my turn, but I think I’ll just make pudding in advance. Dessert’s the best part of dinner anyway.
I told them I wasn’t keen on being their victim, or at least not the first time, which they were fine with, but after describing what they had in mind, asked if I could cook. Cathy was okay at cooking, but she would be under as it happens, and apparently, Liz could find a way to burn water. I’m no chef, but I know my way around a kitchen.
I arrived that Saturday, early evening, grocery bag in hand, and was greeted by Liz at the door. I had never met her, but she’s about what I expected based on Cathy’s brief description: Brunette, with her hair cut way too short, an ill-fitting nose, and wearing loose-fitting masculine clothes. But she greeted me warmly, and we got along well. Big NFL fan, which was nice, given how much Cathy disliked sports.
Cathy was just as lovely as ever, though. 5’6”, hazel eyes, auburn hair, few freckles. She was one of those rare women who seem more beautiful as they age. I was a bit jealous of Liz, enough that I had to remind myself there was no point in pining, and besides, I’d have the chance to indulge myself soon enough. I got changed into a pair of silk boxers and a tank top and got to work in the kitchen while Liz got to work with Cathy.
I had decided that something just a little pungent with a bit of bite would be best, so I made mini sea scallops, egg noodles and roasted garlic asparagus. I also chilled a bottle of Pinot Gris while I worked. (Protip: if you need to cool down a bottle of white wine fast, wrap it in a wet paper towel and throw it into the freezer for 15 minutes.) It was a simple meal, but along with some melted butter and a mustard sauce, it would do the trick. I also bought a very small chocolate cake with whip cream from the store for later, because baking is really not my forte.
I brought out the bowls of food, which were warm, though not too hot naturally, and set them on the table along with a pair of half-full glasses of wine. Going back and forth from the kitchen in my socks, I knew what I would see, of course, but it was still a bizarre, if enthralling sight.
The table is basically a picnic table that has only one bench, can split down the middle lengthwise and be opened several inches and closed again, has two holes drilled about 26” apart, and can be raised up via a pair of jacks. Think ankle stocks, but tilted upwards 90 degrees.There is also a metal bar inserted vertically into the floor behind the table, and that’s where Cathy’s wrists were tied over her head while she lay underneath. Her ankles were in those two holes, the table put back together, trapping them; she was wearing paper slippers to start. Liz had also taken two very large plastic plates and used a saw to cut a hole in the center of each, with velcro glued to the bottom; they had fit neatly around Cathy’s ankles and were fastened down to the table. The effect was that I was looking at each slippered foot resting on a plate.
Liz removed the slippers slowly and with great relish. Cathy has size 8’s with gently sloping arches; seeing the toes scrunch when exposed to the cool air brought back memories of times we shared. Despite the first impulse of an erection, I wondered if this was a good idea.
Liz and I sat and served ourselves, each of us placing our food around the edge of the plate. In theory it shouldn’t have mattered where it landed, but the situation seemed to demand a sense of delicateness. Prolonging the moment, I raised my glass. “To the most unique dining experience I’ve ever had,” I said, and we clinked glasses and each took a sip. Cathy muttered something under the table along the lines of ‘get on with it.’ We started in.
I took two asparagus spears, dipped them in the butter (with a pinch of salt and grind of pepper), And ran them gently along her arch up and down a few times. I glanced over and saw liz spear a scallop with a cocktail fork, dip, and then work it in circles around Cathy’s heel.
Cathy was already giggling helplessly underneath, her toes opening and closing helplessly.
I had to slip a hand under her toes for what I next had in mind. I dipped four scallops, one at a time in the butter, then placed each between a toe; then gently sucked each one out, running a finger along her sole as the butter dribbled down in rivulets. Liz had taken a bundle of noodles on a fork and was spinning them over and over again on her flailing arch.
Cathy was cackling, her feet flailing, reflexively begging us to stop. I was already fairly hard, but more so when Liz slipped out of her socks and I followed suit. With Cathy’s arms over her head, we neatly slipped our feet under her shirt and used our own toes to wiggle in her soft warm underarms and down her ribs. With no bra, her nipple rubbed at times along the side of my foot and I went rigid.
I tried to control myself by taking a gulp of wine, but the scene was arousing to the point of distraction. I ran some noodles along her flailing arch before chowing down while Liz was already giving up on the food; she was running her tongue up and down, lapping up the salt and oil.
Cathy had descended into hysterics which increased in pitch and mixed with screams as I sucked on her toes, running my fingers along the slippery sensitive skin. I felt a dribble in my shorts as my member stood on end, almost crying out to be stroked.
I felt Liz shift under the table, placing her foot on Cathy’s groin, eliciting another shriek. “Ooh, I wonder if someone’s going to tinkle in her panties,” she teased.
“Excuse me,” I said. I got up and dashed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and stroking into the toilet, shuddering with release. I heard the hysterics taper off, the table open, and the ladies dash off to consummate their newfound toy in the next room.
Things were a bit of a mess and the food was mostly uneaten. I got changed, cleaned up, and put the leftovers away; I had polished off my glass of wine and starting a second when Liz and Cathy emerged from the bedroom in their robes. They agreed that things had been a smashing success and asked if I would like to do it again.
For Liz the following Saturday it was tacos. Next week it’s my turn, but I think I’ll just make pudding in advance. Dessert’s the best part of dinner anyway.
