"Dance for me."
The words carried from somewhere in the shadows and I stopped, standing stationary except for turning my head, gazing around the empty studio.
"Dance for me."
The request came again… then again. I was transfixed, couldn’t move, either to dance or flee…
ooOoo
Dancing was the passion of my life but, unfortunately, my parents couldn’t afford to help me and I knew that hard work would be my only path to success. I sacrificed everything for ballet and that meant no other activities or partying with friends.
I knew what I wanted and I poured all my energies into dancing and it paid off. I was rewarded with a scholarship to one of the best schools in New York.
Once enrolled, I found a part-time job in a coffee shop near the school. It didn’t pay much, but it allowed me the time to practice and study. My life was very busy, combining work, school, and dance — and I loved every minute.
I rented a small furnished flat conveniently situated for both college and work. This made it easier to do everything I needed and my landlord was very helpful, even installing a bar so that I could practice at home. Furnishings were sparse and I had plenty of room to dance. Though the flat was small, it had a large window, and I danced in a lot of light and beautiful sunsets. Everything was good; life was great.
My secret pleasure was dancing naked. It gave me a feeling of freedom and connected me to my art in a way that went beyond words. In the privacy of my flat, I frequently indulged, allowing my body to roam free with the music.
Sometimes, I'd wear a white cheesecloth dress. It was virtually transparent and I loved the way it flowed with my body movements. Also, the feeling of the material rasping against my nipples was quite sensual and they hardened dramatically as I moved. I was often so aroused by the end of my dance, that I finished by rubbing my fingers over my very sensitive clit.
I learned quickly in my dance classes, but I couldn't get enough of dancing. My teacher was so impressed by my progress, he allowed me to stay after class and use the studio to practice. He knew the only way I could continue classes was if I kept my scholarships, and he was eager to help.
One Friday night, when everyone had gone for the weekend, I put on my favorite cheesecloth outfit before warming up on the floor. Being naked under such a fine piece of cloth was totally relaxing. I loved the freedom.
After tying my ballet shoes, I turned on the music, dimmed the lights, but left a spotlight illuminating the center of the room. To me, there was nothing more beautiful than a skilled dancer's performance. While I didn’t claim to be great, I was aware of how graceful my moves appeared, silhouetted in the mirrors. I seemed to float through the air.
That night, I danced until I was virtually exhausted. My legs ached and, needing to get up early for work the following morning, I called it a night. As no one else would be there until the following Monday, I looked forward to having the studio to myself all weekend.
As I turned off the music, I heard a door close. I thought I was alone in the building and nervously called out, “Hello.” No response. Hmm, maybe it was the janitor or a cleaner. Whatever, I hoped they hadn't been watching: my sheer dress wasn't suitable for an audience.
After dressing, I headed home. It took only minutes to get there, but when I arrived, I had a surprise. A single red rose lay outside my door. Of course, I immediately wondered who’d left it. There was no one special in my life to give me such a beautiful flower. I didn't have time for relationships or dating. I’d given up far too much to get involved with anyone now.
I picked up the rose and put it to my nose. The fragrance was light. I looked around but I was alone. I shrugged. Must have the wrong flat? There were, after all, several flats occupied by students.
Inside, I put the flower on the table, washed my dance dress, hung my shoes, and drank a coffee before climbing into bed.
I thought I heard a noise outside my flat. I wasn't sure what it was and, normally, it’s very quiet at night. I listened for a few moments but all was peaceful and I drifted off to sleep.
The early alarm woke me. I had a 7:00am shift at work, then I wanted to practice before catching up on some studying. I had a couple of tests looming in the coming week and I really needed to ace them. I needed my scholarship to be renewed.
I got in the shower. I love the feel of water cascading over my body and my sensitive nipples invariably harden. Truthfully, I often get horny in showers and this morning was one of those occasions. I sighed as the warm water splashed against my breasts and flowed down my tummy, over my shaven mound, and between my legs.
Sadly, I had no time to pleasure myself. I was running late and any playtime would have to wait. I knew I’d create time later to appease my sexual urges.
I wrapped my hair in a towel and rubbed lotion into my legs and continued up over my mound, tummy, and around my breasts. My nipples were still hard from the shower and smoothing lotion on them didn't help my frustration. I softly moaned. Damn, I needed release but I simply didn't have any time to spare. Later, oh yes, definitely later.
Letting my hair down, I combed it out and pulled it back into a ponytail. A little makeup and, after packing my dancing bag, I put on a tee-shirt and jeans and went out the door. At least I could have breakfast toast and coffee at the shop. It was the best around.
The Saturday morning customers were mainly the school crowd off for the weekend. Some were fighting hangovers, others had new sleep-over partners, holding hands and smiling into each other’s gooey eyes. All I wanted was to finish my shift and get out of there.
Time dragged but, finally, I headed for the studio. I looked around to make sure no one was there before entering the changing room. After replacing my working clothes with my dancing dress, I sat on the bench and tied my ballet shoes.
I was excited. I loved dancing there alone and becoming part of the music, my dress flowing around my body as I took each step. My legs and arms followed the motion of the softly playing music. My imagination flowed as I danced. I was performing in a packed theater, the audience enthralled by my grace and agility.
I was deeply absorbed in the music and my dancing when a voice broke into my reverie.
"Dance for me,"
I stopped and glanced around. "Who's there?"
"Dance for me."
"Who's there?" Still no answer.
I turned off the music and went to the door. I looked outside but saw no one. Who had spoken? Did I really hear it? Why couldn’t I see anyone? Had I imagined it?
I went to the dressing room and looked around. Doors were locked. No one could get in.
Walking back into the studio, I tried to pick up where I’d left off. It was no use. I’d lost my momentum, my concentration. I had heard a voice. I don’t imagine such things. Not repeatedly, anyway, and he had spoken a few times. Yet I saw no one.
Could someone be watching me and I not know it?
No, that’s too silly. Anyway, the doors are locked. And why would anyone watch me? I shook my head. I must be tired.
I gathered my belongings and began the walk back to my flat, ready for a session of studying.
As I approached my door, I saw there was something on the mat. Another red rose. Whoever is leaving these, definitely has the wrong flat. Laying the flower on the table, I fixed a light dinner and sat in my cozy chair to study.
A couple of hours seemed to pass quickly, although I was tense and my mind kept wandering, going over the strange events of the day. Putting down my books, I decided to do some stretches and then dance. I hoped dancing would help me relax and tire me enough to sleep.
In my dancing outfit, I walked over to the bar. My landlord had put it near the large window and, as I danced, the street lights shone through, creating dancing silhouettes. Could there be anything more beautiful?
After my stretches, I went into my dance routine and was soon lost in my own world. I always felt complete freedom when I danced. Finishing my routine, I looked again at the rose on the table and picked it up. Who is it really intended for?
I needed to bathe and sleep before another early shift. And I was ready for the sexual release which I’d promised myself during the morning’s hasty shower. Turning on the bath water, I took off my dance dress and shoes, sprinkled lilac in the water, and stepped in. I sat then slid down, letting the water wash over my body.
I ran my large bath sponge over my breasts and tummy, rapidly reviving the urges left from the morning. I sponged up one leg toward my pussy and then down the inside of the other leg, right to my toes. My legs automatically opened, reacting to where I’d left off at the beginning of the day. Next, I washed my breasts and my nipples were like bullets.
I felt juices seeping and, even in the warm water, my pussy lips were slick to my touch. I gently rubbed between them and they became puffy as my arousal increased. Smearing nectar over my closed flower — oh, how it wanted to open — I ran my middle finger along the slit but didn't penetrate.
I massaged my swollen clit and became even more excited when I heard my own moans. I gyrated my hips, making waves in the bath, and yet I somehow managed to deny myself the penetration I so craved. I teased myself to the point of screaming, but wouldn’t allow my fingers to delve inside.
Eventually, I succumbed to my gasping desires and reached for the glass dildo resting on the bath’s edge. I ran it along my slit, wanting to make it slick with my juices. Using fingers, I finally spread my pussy lips and inserted the toy into my waiting entrance. I needed it so much and sighed loudly as my pussy walls yielded to the toy’s intrusion. I thrust it up and down my velvet tunnel for a minute or so— but I was greedy, needing something more. I wanted another hole filled.
Raising my legs over the bath edge, I withdrew the dildo from my pussy and eased it into my back hole. Slowly, I worked it in and out, up and down, until I was comfortable, ready for deeper penetration and a spectacular, ultimate orgasm. That’s when I reached for my double-headed dildo.
I pushed one head into my gaping pussy, removed the glass toy from my ass, and replaced it with the other end of the dildo.
I raised my hips and, holding the center of the double intruder, I thrust it deeply into both holes. I fucked myself hard, withdrawing it almost completely and then driving it rapidly back in. With my free hand, I twisted and pulled on my hard, sensitive nipples. There was pain but it felt wonderful.
My clit throbbed and I transferred my hand from my nipples to the swollen nub. It was so sensitive, I barely dare touch it but I was already so close to the orgasm that I badly wanted and needed. I rubbed circles around my clit while I dildo-fucked my pussy and ass faster and harder. Then I went for it, pinching and pulling my clit. That was it: one huge last thrust and I screamed, “Cuminggg…”
My muscles automatically clenched around the dildo, holding it tight inside both satisfied holes, and I slumped back in the water. I was truly sated.
I rested for a long time before gradually removing the double penetrator. It left me feeling empty, yet fulfilled. I stepped unsteadily out of the tub and made it to my bed on wobbly, weak legs. I quickly passed into a deep slumber.
The early alarm roused me in good time for work. Last day of the weekend and, as I got out of bed, I felt sore from the previous night. I grimaced and then grinned. I’d really got carried away with the toys but it had been well worth it. The orgasm had been out-of-this-world wonderful.
Grabbing jeans and tee-shirt, I got ready for work, putting my hair up in a bun. After applying light makeup, out the door I went.
For a pleasant change, my shift went quickly. I had a lot to do that day, including laundry and studying for the next day’s important test. I decided my dance session would have to be brief. Gathering my things together, I looked for my purse. Ah, there, on the other side of the room. I walked over and saw there was something on top of my purse. A red rose. With trembling fingers, I picked it up and found a card attached.
'Dance for me.'
I froze. There was someone, after all. He’d been here in the coffee shop. Perhaps still here. Who was it? Another student? Maybe someone in my dance class? It had to be. Who else could it be?
Walking to the studio, I continued thinking about the rose and I glanced around, trying to see if anyone was following. Nobody. I changed clothes at the studio, started the music and began to dance. Dancing always relaxed me.
As I moved, the music filtered into my head, occupying my thoughts. My movements became sensual; I was dancing in midair.
"Dance for me."
I turned quickly, and I thought I saw someone leaving. I ran to the door and looked outside. Nobody there. But I (know) I saw someone. Where did he go? It had to be someone that attended college or worked here.
Walking home, I decided this business had to come to an end. I must find out who is following me, watching me, stalking me.
In class the next day, taking the test, I found it hard to concentrate. The identity of my mystery watcher from the shadows occupied my thoughts. Would he come again this evening? I’d be waiting…
~~~
I began my stretching exercises, listening for any noise at the door. I wanted to see this person, discover what he wanted.
I went though my routine but no one showed up. I finished, dressed, and walked home. Strangely, I felt disappointed that he hadn’t been watching. I reasoned he must be some sort of an admirer to leave flowers. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.
At my flat, I actually hoped there would be a rose. initially, it had bothered me but now I missed it. I chuckled and shook my head. Stupid girl.
Dropping my dance bag on the couch, I filled a glass with wine and stripped off my clothes in the bedroom before soaking in a hot bath. After that, I ate and turned in for an early tonight.
Waking before the alarm, I got up, aiming to stop by the coffee shop for breakfast. I'm usually rushing around like a cat that’s lost its way but this day I had ample time.
Sitting at the counter, I ate a light breakfast. After chatting with a few friends, I realized the time had slipped by and I set off for school. During the next few classes, my mind was so far away from school work, I felt I was wasting time being there. All I could think about was my stalker. Where did he go? Was he really a stalker? And, most important of all, who was he?
~~~
After changing clothes, I strode onto the dance floor. There was something about the studio that took me to a very special place. Playing my warm up music, I did my stretches. It felt good, easing the stiffness after sitting in class all day. Loosened, I was ready to practice my dance recital.
I took a few minutes to relax, compose myself, and let the music stir my spirit. I wanted it deep in my soul; I needed to feel what I was dancing. I began to sway with the music and soon I was gliding across the floor, my arms and hands moving in the most delicate way, the cheesecloth gown flapping around my body.
The music flowed powerfully over me and I crossed the floor in leaps and bounds. Harmonious and rapturous chords guided my movement as I became an instrument in its chorus. This was what I loved, being a part of the whole, gliding and floating, enjoying the freedom of expression.
Then I felt a presence with me on the floor.
It was during an extended arabesque that I first felt his touch. He came from behind, took my hands in his and led me into an unfamiliar routine. Was I dreaming or was someone really here? I started to turn but he shushed me, murmuring in my ear, "Don't turn around… just dance. Dance for me."
It was him, my watcher from the shadows. Maybe I should have been afraid, but I wasn’t. His body came against mine, supporting me with his strength and comforting me with his confidence. My heart raced, my hot blood flowed, and I succumbed to his lead.
His skill was vastly superior, and my appreciation, my love of his art, overrode any fear. I was enchanted by his elegance, the beauty of his rhythm and moves. This was no mere stalker. His grace, his assured flow, suggested he lived for dance.
I longed to see this man and I would have stopped dancing and turned to look upon him but he uttered those words once again.
"Dance for me."
My heart beat proudly as he conducted me across the floor. Something about the way he held me, made me want to trust him. With his hands on my hips, he lifted me, only to gently put me back on my feet. The way he moved was special, delicate and beautiful. I felt like I belonged, like I was somehow supposed to be with him.
My stomach clenched and I gulped, knowing I could not refuse his commands. I was lost, caught in the moment, and I trembled at the growing intimacy of our dance. His hands steered me, touching me intimately, directing our course.
It was more than a touch. He was making love to me with music and grace. Each turn brought a caress, and each dip a kiss. It was too dark for me to view his face. Yet the mirrored room allowed me to see his silhouette. He held me in a lover's embrace and, astonishingly, my sex became inflamed with raw desire.
Many dances are arousing, but none I'd danced had ever been like this. His body was hard and powerful, yet gentle and yielding. Each time he touched me, I felt something far deeper than ever before. With his hardness pressing firmly against me, my mind merged with the art, interpreting his touch as an intimate penetration.
He started spinning me and time seemed to stand still while he directed my body in a totally intimate manner. His hands grazed my breasts, but my nipples had already responded to his touch. My pussy was wet, leaking juice and squeezing as if it were filled with his cock. I ground into him, shamelessly wanting him to take me.
I never felt such intimacy, such love expressed in this way. My body was his. Each time he urged me to bend or spin, it felt like he was plunging into me. I was grateful for the light and loose fit of my gown. The brush of the cloth over my hard nipples became my lover’s fingers. I believed he knew what he was doing, but nothing in his seductive dance would have been considered inappropriate by a viewer. Only I knew the blissful extent of his every touch.
His hands played me, driving me to wild heights while they slid over my body. Down my thighs, up my flanks, he caressed me, finding my breasts and brushing my nipples until I was swooning in his arms. I snatched shallow breaths and lightning sizzled my skin as the stranger took me along the path to ultimate release.
When he lifted the hem of my cheesecloth gown, I didn’t resist. Didn’t want to. Raising it above my head, he left me naked and vulnerable. But I was delighted to be under his gaze, even though he remained dressed.
"Come for me."
My legs trembled as he spoke and he pulled me against his thick manhood, holding me there until I panted with desire. Then, as I whined in frustration, a hand came between my thighs and fingers caressed my clit, quickly driving me beyond the brink.
My screams of passion joined the orchestral crescendo, rising to the rafters as my intensity peaked. Gasping for breath, I let him ease me onto the floor where I curled up, limp and content in his arms.
"You are magnificent, my dear. I’ve admired you from afar for so long,” he whispered, a hand gently exploring my exposed, sweaty flesh. "Tonight, I couldn't resist any longer. You were so lost in your music, in your dance, I had to join you."
I turned to finally look at his face. Oh my God. My stalker was Joseph Pierre, the famous star of the New York Ballet. Why is he here with me? What could he want with me?
I was so overwhelmed, tears trickled and then flowed down my face.
"Please, please don't cry. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen.” He wiped tears from my cheek. “‘I’ve been watching you dance for so long, day after day. You are so beautiful when you dance. You glide through the air, your arms and hands moving with such elegance. And your hair…” he brushed a damp lock off my brow, “follows your moves as if carried by a gentle breeze.
"There is a joy in your dance, a natural, unspoiled grace. You still have much to learn, but I have never seen such an intuitive connection with the art. That is what I wanted to see. I feared that, if I announced myself, you might lose that connection, knowing that I was watching. I had to remain concealed in the darkness."
I snuffled, wiped away tears. He made sense, but, despite his secrecy, he’d let me know I was being watched. "Then, why speak to me from the darkness? Why say ‘Dance for me’? Why the roses? I was puzzled but I might have been terrified."
Joseph drooped his head, as if shamed. Then he straightened and his gaze met mine. "The truth is, I couldn't resist. I was enraptured by you. Your beauty, your freedom, and your grace. I could not resist reaching out, even though I knew I should not.”
He paused, resting a palm on my damp cheek. “Then, when I saw you dancing tonight, I couldn't help myself, I had to join you, have your body next to mine. We both lost ourselves in the beauty of the dance. That, my protege, is the love for dancing."
My tears stopped during his explanation. Did his reasoning make everything right? Maybe not. But, then again, I knew there was nothing more beguiling than being lost in the dance.
"I know this is a lot to absorb. May I come and see you tomorrow so we can talk at longer length?"
He placed a business card in my palm before kissing the back of my hand, standing, and calmly walking away. I was stunned.
Turning at the door, he spoke again. "Tara, please, I realize what happened tonight was unexpected for us both. But I still want you to dance for me. I would love to have you as my partner. Please, say you’ll dance with me. We'll talk tomorrow.”
And he left.
Trying to get off the floor, I couldn't believe what was happening to me, and for me. My hard work seemed to be paying off. But why me? How had he heard about me? He knew my name.
Gathering my things, I paused, digesting what had happened. Or had it? Did I imagine it? Did this stranger really touch me? Had I really allowed it? And, had I really come?
So many questions rushed through my head. I needed to calmly evaluate all that had gone on. Or at least try. I took a deep breath.
So, the great dancer, Joseph Pierre had been watching me and had now asked me to dance with him. Incredible. I shook my head. More questions. Could I possibly dance with him? Was I anywhere near ready? And how could he leave so soon after what we’d done? Did he care about me? Or was it all down to the emotion of dance? Had we lost ourselves and all inhibitions to the extent of simply gratifying our sexual arousal? Would I ever have the answers to these questions?
Walking into my flat, I dropped my bag on the floor and flung myself across my bed. I was exhausted, absolutely drained. In my sleep, I dreamed about our dance together. It was so beautiful, graceful moves, dancing as one across the floor.
When I awoke the next morning, everything was all very clear to me. I had the chance of a lifetime, doing what I loved with a man of my dreams. A man who’d already called me his protege. How could I not accept?
Yes, I’ll dance for him.
