Dance, Sugarplum

7. Mikhail

CHAPTER 7

MIKHAIL

ACT 1

I can’t stop touching her, and I know I should have five minutes ago. Maybe I shouldn’t have touched her at all. But when my overeager fingers find my little ballerina sopping wet? There’s no hope of turning back.

My cock thickens, a slow simmering desperation that’s been growing more frustrating by the day. I always knew I found her attractive, but I didn’t realize I wanted her this badly.

You don’t think of goddesses as touchable and fuckable. I always considered her this high and mighty figure, greater than a goddess even, something I could pose on my stage if I managed to convince her.

I never imagined her looking up at me like I’m her absolution while her little cunt weeps for me .

I should deny her like she denied my stage, but I don’t have it in me to ignore what’s already in my hands when I want it this bad.

I’m a careful man, neat, tidy, so I don’t understand myself as I slide the leotard aside and dig my fingers roughly over the fabric of her tights, feeling the hot, wet part of her cunt. Fuck, I can feel her heartbeat.

A quick gasp slips out of her before she’s silent again. Her expression in the mirror gives nothing away. Does she want this? Is she afraid of what will happen to her if she puts a stop to this?

Maybe I should care, but I don’t. Controlling myself isn’t an option as I slide my fingers back and forth, finding her clit through the fabric.

The faintest whine echoes from the back of her throat as I roll my fingers over her. I don’t need any more encouragement than that sound to shred the fine fabric of her tights separating me from what I’m owed. The subtle tearing sound fades to the wet dip of my fingers entering her.

“Ah,” she breathes as I find her G-spot and apply light pressure. She’s so tight, so hot, I need to bend her over and fill her with cum before I lose my mind, but I just manage not to.

“Sloppy,” I tell her, insulting both of us. Finally, she notices what’s wrong with her reflection and changes the angle of her foot. As she twists her hips, she gives me better access to her. Funny how fingering her little cunt has her paying better attention to her form.

She’s so thin I can practically feel my fingers inside her as I start to move, first stroking in a nearing motion, then sweeping her in wide circles to stretch her cunt wide enough for another finger or two. She’s so tight I wonder when she was last fucked properly, and I’m desperate to give her what I know her body needs—cock and some damn food.

She holds her expression, finally giving a solid performance, and my cock hardens so painfully I feel lightheaded. Her perfect little tits form the most tempting peaks under her leotard, and my free hand moves to them. I take one between my fingers, rolling and watching her face as her flush creeps up her neck.

If she’s trying to prove a point, it’s finally working. She can impress me.

I want to taste her cunt, her tits, but then she’d know how badly I want this, and our little learning experience would fly right out the window. I like her working her hardest to impress me. She might grow soft if she knows how affected I am.

I pick up my pace at the thought, spreading her lips with my index finger and pinky as I slip the middle two inside her and rub her clit with my thumb. Her heart pounds, the rhythm of her jugular obvious with how goddamn thin she’s gotten.

I take her silence as a challenge and work with her more intensely than I’ve ever tried to finger a woman. If not for her flush, pounding heart, and white knuckles on the barre, I’d think I was failing entirely.

But then the most beautiful cry echoes from the back of her throat. Her cunt pulses around my fingers, and she comes down my wrist with a wet splash. Her face relaxes into the perfect expression, the one she used to wear so effortlessly as she danced—euphoria.

I watch, waiting to see if she breaks, if she lets her exhausted body fall like it’s so desperate to. She holds it for a count of ten, and then I pull my fingers out and take mercy on my very favorite new toy, but my palm is full of blood. For a minute, I wonder if she could actually be a virgin. I shake it off, wiping my hand against my pants. She’s probably just starting her period.