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As Jesse and I walked through the woods, buzzing with the energy of the forest, I found my mind wandering. My high was still wearing off, and though it usually gave way to a hazy feeling, this time it left me with a bridge laid down into my essences. It was as though all the things that had been happening to me lately — all bringing so many strange elements under the ancient light of summer and the deep, glittering air — had brought a clarifying flame to the dry, bristling brush of my tangled thoughts. For now at least, I felt I could see things more clearly. It wasn’t a matter of thinking, but of living among these trees, whose boughs writhed in the thick amber heat of afternoon. Jesse hiked ahead of me, her strong, soft calves jerking up the hills, her hair tucked under an old faded NASA cap. I felt like there were no secrets between us anymore, like we could do anything together with no shame or anxiety.

Later, after showering, I began getting dressed for the dance concert. I headed to the concert hall, meeting Jesse along the way. Once sitting in the hall, we both watched the drawn curtains in the dark, waiting for everything to begin. Jesse was telling me about her senior thesis in her usual quiet, intense concentration, when I saw Olive out of the corner of my eye walking down the aisle to the left. Even in the darkness, I could see her thin, heavy black cotton gown sway with each step. The cut of the dress hugged her waist in the middle, but shivered loose and springy toward the bottom. Her hair was tied up in the back, with two black chopsticks pinning her bun — just another one of those magic tricks that I could never figure out. As she glided down the aisle artlessly, her head remained steady, chin up and eyes ahead. I wanted her, and I wanted her to have me. The feeling came screaming through my head and settled between my legs.

“–And the whole…Goldmund?” Jesse asked, noticing my distraction. I slumped into my seat, looking up at the ceiling. “Jesus, Jesse. I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” I groaned. Jesse followed my gaze, and caught Olive just as she sat down in a seat in the reserved section near the front.

“Mhmm,” Jesse said, letting her eyes linger on Olive’s silhouette against the dimly lit stage curtain. The silence stretched between us. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

I turned to her, head still resting back. “It usually doesn’t make me feel better, but why the hell not?”

After a pause, she said, “I really think you could do better.” She tried to throw it out there casually, but I could tell she was serious.

“I’m sorry, I need to go cool down for a sec. I’ll be right back,” I said, walking back up the aisle. I went to the bathroom, splashed some cold water on my face, and started to make my way back to my seat. In the lobby I grabbed one of the handles to get into the theater, but suddenly I was compelled to look down the aisle outside of the theater. Standing in the hallway entrance to the lobby was Olive, standing with her high heel shoes planted shoulder length apart, hand on the doorframe. Without saying a word, I started to walk towards her.

“I’m sorry to say we still have some work to do,” Olive said, looking up at me. Her heels made her taller, but I was still at least two inches taller.

“I’m starting to get used to it, I guess.” I said, a little nervously. She turned from me, and walked down the hallway towards the backstage doors.

I followed Olive through the double doors, down a hallway, and around a corner. Eventually we got to a small black door tucked away in a corner. I had been down here one time when I got lost going to another class, but I barely remembered it. It was the kind of place that only showed up in dreams and cheap horror movies. The doors had been painted matte black, decades ago probably. Tiny scratches riddled the surface from years of carting equipment in and out, kicking the door open, slamming it shut. Olive pulled the old doors open. When she walked in her whole body got swallowed up by the darkness inside — only her hand on the door showed in the dim hallway lights. I looked into the thick darkness, feeling my eyes searching for some clue to what Olive might have in store for me behind the door. I couldn’t make anything out, but I felt my legs move me into the bursa escort pitch dark anyways.

I couldn’t see a thing. I felt Olive grab my wrist and guide me deeper into the room. I heard the murmur of the audience, but it sounded like it was miles away. Suddenly I hit my shin on something hard and cold. Metal, or glass maybe? I heard the creaking sound of a hinge, and felt Olive’s warm breath against my ear.

“Get in,” she whispered. Olive guided me into some kind of box. The outside was made of a smooth glass, and the inside was cushioned, and felt… a little warm?

“Olive… what is this?” I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Don’t worry, I’m getting in with you,” Olive said. “No tricks this time. At least nothing painful.” I heard her let out a small laugh of contempt.

Sliding myself into the box, I felt Olive pull off my shoes, socks, pants, shirt, and underwear. Lying naked in the box, I listened to the click of her heels as she slipped her feet out of the straps, and the soft rustle of her dress falling limp to the floor. She stepped in over me and slid down into the box, swinging the lid shut after her. Her body felt slick, like she had rubbed oil over herself. Suddenly I realized that it wasn’t her, but the cushions that seemed to be secreting the oil. Our bodies were slick against each other, and I felt her slender shape wriggle into place next to me.

“Move the fuck over, if you know what’s good for you.” she whispered. I moved.

“This might sound weird right now, but could you hold my hand? I’m starting to freak out a little here,” I said, feeling trapped in the small space. Olive scoffed quietly, and laced her fingers through mine. I felt her breath on my cheek as she reached over my shoulder to touch something on the wall of the box with her other hand. I heard soft beeps, like a microwave… if it was underwater, and far away. Suddenly a soft glow seemed to be coming from the box, and I could see the shine of our bodies pressed together. I tried to move to see Olive’s face, to see her expression, trying to understand what the hell was about to happen. But it was too tight in there to get a good look at her. Olive pressed her hand over my mouth.

“Open.” she demanded. I did, and she let her fingers slip into my mouth, coating it with the slick oil we were covered in. I coughed, and pulled her fingers out. The oil was warm, but tasteless. But… something was strange about it. It slid down the sides of my throat as if it had a life of its own. It felt like a slug slithering all the way down into my stomach. I gagged, and gagged.

“Wha– ugh. Hhuh! What the fuck was that?” I asked, starting to really freak out.

“Oh don’t be such a bitch, Goldmund. I chose you because I knew you could handle little games like this, right?” I felt Olive press closer to me, squeezing my hand in hers. “Are you telling me I made a mistake?” Olive asked threateningly, turning to press her cold little nose against my cheek.

“N-No, I’m good.” This was so far beyond peer pressure. They tell you what to do when someone offers you something fun at a party, but absolutely nobody prepared me for this shit. “So… are we gonna miss the concert?”

“Goldmund, in a way, you are the concert. Don’t worry though, no one will see us here. Of course all the dancers know. How else could we pull this off?”

“Wait, know what? What the hell are we doing down here?” I asked, my voice cracking mid-sentence.

“With the questions! Shut your mouth before I literally make you put a sock in it,” Olive whispered back to me.

Somehow I managed to smile and relax a bit, trying to see our bodies pressed together in the darkness, imagining them gleaming. “Is that a promise?”

“Christ, there’s the Goldmund I know,” Olive laughed, pressing a couple more buttons on the wall of the box to the side of my head. Suddenly I saw a big square light a few feet above us. And behind the square, the feet and bodies of dancers slowly lit up. I recognized Janelle in the center, right above our head.

“Olive, what is this? Where did the floor go?”

“It’s up there, totally safe, just transparent. Don’t underestimate my inventions.” Olive said, with no further explanation.

To my left, I watched the curtain open, but bursa escort bayan I couldn’t see anyone in the audience. Just the feet of the dancers, pressed against the floor of the stage, just two or three feet above our heads. Each of the dancers had tan slippers covering their feet, but it didn’t restrict them. Through the fabric, anyone could see the strength and discipline of a pointed toe, or the foot flexed for a landing. The flexible fabric covered the toe up to the ball of the foot, but was cut away around the arch, so only a thin connecting band connected the toe of the slipper to the covered heel. I squirmed next to Olive, trying to press up on the top of the box. Olive held my arm back with uncanny strength, and I finally settled in for whatever show she had in mind for us. While the dancers were still frozen in the warm light, Janelle began to swivel her hips, hands held out stiffly in front of her. Suddenly I felt two feet, covered in her thin fabric slippers, press and knead my chest. They were Janelle’s — I remembered the shape, the high arch and the pressure of her strong legs from yesterday [Ch.2]. She wore a dark, skintight leotard that hugged her supple figure.

I felt myself getting hard. “What is this?” I asked Olive in a wavering voice. “I can feel her!” I heard myself say, savoring the press of the ball and toes of her foot, the shifting pressures of her balance and the sway of her body pulsing through her feet on my chest.

“You’re the floor, Goldmund. I won’t give away the secret of this oil, and this sensory box. It would take decades of classes to catch you up. Let’s just keep it simple: You’re the floor, and don’t you fucking forget it.” Olive breathed into my ear, taking my penis into her hand and sliding her perfect little feet against my calves and shins.

“Ohh,” I moaned, as Janelle started to step forward on the stage. I felt her press into my abdomen, step down to my pelvis, and felt the small pressure of her slippered foot on my penis when she reached the front of the stage. She bent her knee and pointed her toe, digging it into my penis, sending a thrill up my body. She jerked her head down, pretending to cover her face for the audience, but looking straight back and down through the floor to me and Olive. It didn’t look like she could see us, but she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

“Mmh.” I moaned, Janelle’s foot mashed against me. Suddenly a second dancer moved from the back corner of the stage toward the center. She tapped her toe and leaped in three graceful swoops to the spot Janelle started in. I felt the ball and toe of her foot press and push off of my cheek, my collar bone, and my chest, landing to swivel and flex her feet. I even felt her squeeze her toes over my nipples, kneading and pinching. I let out a moan, feeling Janelle’s feet press and release over my cock, over and over. Suddenly, she started to pirouette, curling her toes up and fluttering them on the jumps. It felt like my penis was between her slippered feet, sliding up and down in perfect time with Olive’s hand.

The rest of the dancers started up as the classical music swelled and moved into a more energetic phase. Each foot, waggling in a fragile balance, planted in a strong stance, bouncing on a single big toe, was mapped across my body somehow. Olive’s strange magic, or technology, I didn’t know or care anymore. The phantom press of the feet of twenty lithe, strong dancers thrummed against my whole body, sliding, tugging and pressing against me as they were activated by the pulse of the performance. I felt the women with high arches, the ones who walked heavy on their heels, who lilted over their toes the same way they probably did when they were running late to class.

Some strode across the stage with pressure on the outside of the ball of their foot, some on the inside. Some led with their big toe, and some fanned the pressure of their sweet, graceful step through all their toes together. My cheeks were pressed by slippered toes over and over, my nose squashed, my lips pushed against my teeth, while Janelle and Olive synchronized their jerking over my penis. For the next hour, I felt myself get to the edge of orgasm again and again, only to feel myself plateau at a new level of pleasure I had never escort bursa reached before, and start to climb even higher. Olive had wrapped her legs around my right thigh, slipping her crotch against me like an eel, breathing hot air into my ear as I was overtaken by the feet of her dancers.

I felt the brushing and scuffing of two of the shorter dancers’ feet, full-bodied and tight, in my hands. I could close my fingers around their padded soles, feeling their toes through the fabric of their slippers. The bottoms of my own feet were pressing against a freshman’s wider, low-arched feet. I could feel that each of her toes had a little gap between them, because when she stood up on her toes I felt them splayed apart, laced between mine and wiggling. She had taken off her slippers somewhere in the middle of this long, excruciating dance, and I saw her look down towards me from out of the fountain of long black hair she danced in. While I stared into her eyes, suddenly something clicked. She looked… familiar. Suddenly I realized who she reminded me of.

“Ohh… O-Olive… who is that?” I asked, looking at the girl with black hair, feeling myself rising into another fit of speechless ecstasy.

“Listen, mmh, I’m working on my fifth orgasm tonight, not that you’re counting. But if you must know, it’s my sister Nimina,” She said quickly. “Let’s call her an understudy.”

“Hhuhhh,” I sighed, suddenly unable to form words. Nimina… I felt her feet thrill against mine. It felt like she was taking root in me, seeping from the bottoms of our soles up into me. Just like Olive, she captivated me with those dark, glittering eyes. But there was something else there… something less controlled, more wild than Olive’s eyes. If I hadn’t been so caught up in the dance, I would have been a little scared of Nimina.

Slowly I felt the rhythm of the endless dance change, and the shape of the crowd of dancers began to morph. They concentrated closer to the back of the stage, near my face. I felt feet crowd, superimposed over each other, on my face. Anya, Stell, Candace, Mina, everyone — all pressing their padded feet on my forehead, nose, and lips, they pushed every thought out of my head. I felt like a dripping vessel for their rhythm, filled with the energy, the swaying, turning, tip-toe and tap of their expert movements, themselves sucked into a total, ecstatic chaos. Only the music echoing through the auditorium could keep everyone from spinning out of control.

I felt Nimina move from my feet, over to the center of the circle on my face. Janelle stayed at my penis, leaping and pumping me with the endless stamina of her long, powerful legs. Olive, writhing beside me, pressed both her hands into her crotch, bucking against my thigh and moaning next to me. I felt our bodies fused by the hot frictionless echoes of pleasure between us. My eyes rolled, my fingers shook in the endless dance, and I felt myself finally rising to climax. Suddenly I felt Nimina, who had been dipping her feet down to lightly kiss against my lips, press down with all her weight on my lips, forcing them open and letting her foot slip down into my mouth.

The wash of her sweat and clinging scent was overwhelming. I couldn’t describe it, like the muted coating of a sweet banana, the sour blueberry too long on the vine, swelled bigger than its skin in the hot sun, the secret evil, the musk of fertile earth, all shoved with Nimina’s foot down into the back of my throat, flooding my whole brain like an inky death that I would never come back from. It was the taste of my obliteration, and in that final moment of climax I felt myself drop away from my own and Olive’s body in the depths of empty space, my life shrunk to a moment, my name erased from the list of the living.

Her taste, it smoothed me out like I was a mere accident, a silly wrinkle in the smooth, perfect fabric of a glassy sea. She drilled her foot, one then the other, down my throat, passing her filthy foot over my tongue over and over, forcing my lips open and sliding them shut each time she pumped herself up into the air to prepare a new attack. I felt her eyes illuminate the empty chambers of my skull, never breaking eye contact, invading the shell of my body, filling me from top to bottom with a power she hadn’t learned to control yet. And finally, I came.

Strings of cum spilled up out of me, and the dancer’s feet slowed to a steady press over my body for the applause and bows. I coated Olive’s thighs with my fountain of cum, and felt myself slowly fade into unconsciousness.

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