Ballerina and the Beast Ch. 01byegirl1212©
Marya Petrova's Ballet Academy was directly across the street from Abe's Auto Shop. The contrast in the frequenters of the two could not have been more different: willowy girls with pastel sweaters walked on the right side of the street while men with scuffed boots and grease embedded in the lines of their hands walked on the left.
Jake Rosetti, king of cigarettes and bar fights and bottles of whiskey, worked at Abe's. He watched the prim, shiny-haired little princess mince in and out of the Academy every day. Their eyes were like mirrors: smooth and shiny and empty. They walked with their noses tilted up and their arms crossed and their toes perfectly pointed. All of them, that is, except one.
Her name was McKinley, McKinley Night, and Jake was obsessed with her. He knew girls who were truly frigid, and he knew girls who were only pretending to be. McKinley fell solidly into the second category. Beneath her perfect chignon and rose petal ballet tights, he knew there was a real live person trying to get out. He wanted to see it happen.
That cool September day, he watched the ballet class warm up, their long legs perfectly arced, their necks curving gracefully, calligraphy incarnate. As always, he only had eyes for his McKinley. She was tiny and glowing and perfect: her skin was a sheet of snow-covered silk that shone like candlelight. She had a high, regal forehead, enormous violet eyes, and a pair of soft rosy lips that turned down at the corners. She was so thin she looked implausible: a creature made of spring breezes and golden thread that might blow away at any moment. She was a little marble statue, a delicate china doll. Or so it seemed.
But Jake saw something in her eyes. Something wild and fierce. When she danced, her lithe little body moved with the sensual fluidity of a goddess. Not one of the other girls could match her passion.
When he passed her on the street, she was just another unobtainable bitch in Chanel boots. But in the studio, she was a girl. Sexual. Alive. Passionate. Beautiful. Jake wanted her. Alone in the shower, beneath the sheets with a pretty girl from a bar or a party or a run-in at the grocery store, Jake thought of her. He pictured her naked body: little pink nipples on her tiny tits, the hard concave line of her miniscule waist, the heart-shaped lines of her perfect little ass. He pictured her writhing on his sheets, her milky skin flushed, her rigid hair mussed and rumpled, her pink-nailed hands clawing at the mattress, at his back. God, he wanted her. He pictured her glossed pink lips closing over his cock, her twilight-colored eyes sparkling up at him. He imagined tossing her around and spanking her until rosy handprints shone up at him from her perfect pearly skin. He wanted to tear down the walls of her icy castle and melt her cold exterior away. He wanted her in his bed, against the wall, around his body. He wanted his rough edges and tattooed muscles and monumental size to scuff against her polished contours and velvet skin.
He smiled at her as she left her class every day. She stared back, apathetic and untouchable. He said hello. She shrugged a creamy shoulder. He asked her name, and she turned away. Her coldness was deeper than he thought.
It was late when he was leaving the shop one day. There was a single light on at the studio, a single figure turning pirouettes in the large empty room. He knew at once it was McKinley: her grace and talent were unmatched. He waited until she turned off the light and walked outside. Her cheeks were pink and a single lock of white-blonde hair hand tumbled down her back. She was wearing a pair of tight black shorts and a loose gray sweater over a flimsy camisole. He could see her nipples pressing against the tissue-thin cotton; he could see he pulse fluttering below her jaw.
"Hey," he said.
"Fuck off," she whined, leaning away from him.
"Like I care." She put a hand on her hip, raising one perfect blonde eyebrow.
"You're gonna care," he told her. She heard the sudden anger in his voice and had the good sense to look worried. He grabbed her around the waist and threw her over his shoulder, hauling her across the street to the garage. He had the door shut before she realized she could scream; he cut her off easily, pressing one hand over her smooth, strawberry-scented mouth. He held her thin wrists together in his other hand.
"I think I need to teach you a lesson," he growled. "Girls shouldn't walk around thinking they're better than everyone else. You're not untouchable, you know."
Wide-eyed and frozen, McKinley stared up at him. Her heart was racing. She didn't know how to explain that she didn't mean to act so prim and aloof: she had grown up in a glass case, admired but unloved. She had been taught to be polite and cold and distant. She could do a perfect arabesque, but she didn't know how to laugh at a joke or talk to the cute mechanic across the street. She was a tiny golden bird in a tiny golden cage—and she hated it.
"Do you know what I'm going to teach you?" Jake's voice was slow and sweet and low: thunder in the distance. McKinley shook her head. "I'm going to teach you to come alive, baby." He leaned in, whispering these words so close to her hear that she felt the warmth of his breath and the roughness of his stubbled cheek. "I know you want it, baby. I've seen how you stare out the window. I've seen how you don't belong with those other girls. You don't, do you?"
McKinley shook her head slowly, gears churning frantically in her head. He was going to fuck her. She couldn't possibly let him fuck her. He had dirty fingernails and arms full of tattoos and a sweatshirt with holes and stains and god-knew-what on it.
"Don't scream," he cautioned. "No one will hear you." He pulled his hand away.
"Don't touch me!" she spat out.
He ran a hand down her cheek, letting his thumb stroke her perfect lower lip. His skin looked impossibly tanned and strong beside her delicate paleness.
"I'm going to touch you. I'm going to touch you all over," he purred back, so calm, so cool. He was making her be the wild one, the angry one. She didn't know how to feel about that. She glared up at him, beautiful even in her anger, in her uncertainty.
"You certainly are not," she snapped back. "I have a boyfriend, you know."
Jake did know. He had seen McKinley's boyfriend, Winthrop Kenzington III, a dozen or more times. He was tall and bony and looked quite a bit like a beached trout.
"Does he satisfy you, baby?"
"Does he make you cum?" He grinned inwardly as McKinley's eyebrows twitched. "Does he know how to make you feel good, baby? Does he know what you like?"
McKinley was silent. Below her icy veneer, he could practically see her blood beginning to stir in her veins.
"What do you like?" He ran his free hand down the side of her throat. "Where do you like to be kissed, love? Where do you like to be touched?"
McKinley swallowed hard. "Stop it."
He ran his fingers across her collarbone. "No." He tugged her sweater off, revealing her angel-wing shoulder blades and her dagger-sharp collarbones. The pale blush of her skin nearly blended with the soft fabric of her camisole. He could easily make out the firm, tiny swells of her breasts, the rosy pink circles of her areolae.
"Stop!" McKinley kicked out at him, not as hard as she could have, but had enough to make him swear.
He grabbed her foot. "Dammit, McKinley. You want this. I want this. Are you going to give it up, or am I going to take it from you?"
"I'm got giving you anything," McKinley snapped. Although she had been taught to stay away from Jake, from men like Jake, she couldn't deny that she was attracted to him. He was tall, well over six feet, with deeply tanned skin, vibrantly green eyes, the kind of body that was hard and strong and violently alive. His voice made her pussy contract; the feel of his fingertips on her skin made her underwear dampen and her heartbeat race. She couldn't give in to him. She wouldn't. But, oh, she craved his touch. She wanted what he offered: to feel alive. To be just a girl, warm and breathing and alive, not a trophy and not a glass figure. Just a girl.
"I'm not giving you anything," McKinley repeated as he stared down at her. Her voice was a whisper, a sliver of glass.
"Are you sure?" He leaned in, his lips touching her smooth cheek. He ran his hand down her breast, his thumb circling her nipple.
She pushed him away, hard, struggling to pull away from his grip. "Let me go!"
He pulled a cable down from a nearby shelf and neatly tied her thrashing wrists together. He secured her bound wrists to one end of a wide workbench and tied each of her ankles to the other end, spreading her feet about two feet apart. "Now you don't have to fight, baby," he grinned, a hint of humor in his voice. "Now anybody could see you're not doing anything wrong. So let go. Let me make you feel good. I'm going to make you feel so damn good, love. Just wait. Just let go."
He climbed on top of her and kissed her parted lips, tasting the sweetness of her lip gloss and the salty undertone of her sweat. He pressed his tongue into her mouth, forcing it against hers, tasting her fear and her desire, her reluctance and her yearning. He nipped at her lower lip, not asking permission, just taking. He kissed her throat, his tongue tracing letters on her skin. He bit her just under her jaw, feeling her heartbeat racing against his mouth. He kissed her smooth shoulders and her jutting collarbones as she squirmed and screamed at him.
"Stop it! Don't touch me!"
"Shh, baby, shh." He pulled her shirt up, revealing her concave little stomach and the perfect little mounds of her breasts. Her breasts were tiny, barely A-cups, and her nipples were pale, pale pink. Her areolae were tiny and her nipples were hard and begging to be sucked. He pinched them hard, making her squeal, and then lowered his mouth to lick, suck, nip, enjoy them. Her protests faded into something closer resembling a moan. He pulled her shorts down to her ankles and rubbed her slit through her white silk panties. He could feel the heat and wetness of her cunt and he grinned as her eyelids fluttered above him as he rubbed a finger over her covered clit.
"It's not so bad, is it," he laughed at her.
"You should stop," she breathed back unconvincingly.
He laid a ringing slap on each of her tiny little breasts, making McKinley cry out. "Every time you tell me to stop, I'll punish you," he warned.
"Stop," McKinley wailed, testing him. He slapped her hot cunt, hard. She jumped as much as she could, tied up like she was.
"Stop," she said again, challenging him. He slapped her face, making her eyes water. Her cheek turned a pretty shade of rose. Her lips were parted and she was breathing heavily; she didn't look frightened or sad, however. She looked... awoken.
He unbuckled his pants and let them drop to the ground. Her eyes widened at the sight of the bulge in his boxers. She swallowed twice. He stepped out of his boxers, letting her see the full size of his erection: nearly nine inches long and enormously thick. It honestly looked like it would split little McKinley in two. He straddled her face, tracing his cock over her forehead-cheeks-nose-lips. "Taste me," he commanded.
"No," McKinley spat at him. Her eyes were fixed on the size of his member, the bulging head, the veins standing erect already on the shaft. He silenced her by forcing his cock into her mouth. Her glossy lips spread wide as he plunged his cock into her mouth; when the head hit the back of her throat, she choked and he pulled out.
"Don't you know how to deepthroat, angel?"
"Winthrop isn't... that big," she gasped. The hunger in her eyes was bright and sparking. The McKinley of his dreams was coming to life.
"I'll teach you," he said with a wicked grin, sliding his cock back between her lips. He forced his cock into her throat as she fought it, drooling and gagging on his huge cock. Every time she choked, he pulled his cock out and slapped it across her face. Her cheeks were shining with spit and pre-cum; her lips were open, waiting, starving. He finally managed to force his entire cock in McKinley's tight little throat; he could see the bulge of it below her chin and down her neck. He began to fuck her mouth, his balls slapping her chin as he slammed in and out of her. Her tiny tits bounced as he fucked her throat; she writhed as her cunt ached and dripped, soaking her pretty white panties.
He grabbed her hair, twisting his hands in the long silken strands and anchoring himself to her body as his cock jerked and twitched inside her mouth. His balls tightened as his cock lurched and spilled a load of sticky white cum down McKinley's throat. She gasped and he put a hand over her lips, forcing her to swallow as his cock spurt another strand of cum across her neck and hair.
She was still gasping for breath as he rubbed a hand across her sopping panties and then easily tore them from her body. Her pussy was tiny and perfect: waxed so smoothly her skin felt like water against his hand. Her lips were fat and pink and swollen, wet with her excitement. Her clit was hard and throbbing. He had never seen a more perfect cunt; even the smell of her was sweet and clean and utterly irresistible. He buried his nose in her tiny pussy, flicking his tongue against her clit and along her slit. She tasted sweet and musky and fresh and her cunt was already so slick that his tongue glided across it easily. He tasted every inch of her flesh, sucking her lips and nibbling at her skin, circling her clit in slow, fluid circles until her entire body was shaking. Then he pushed a single finger inside of her, marveling at the hot tightness of her cunt around him. He moved his finger in sweet, easy circles until she was screaming in an entirely new way, convulsing with every little push of his hand. He finally let her cum, lapping up every drop of her sweet juices as she came around his finger. Her body was flushed and dewy and beautiful, more alive than he had ever seen it.
He kissed her thighs and her calves and her feet, sucking each of her little toes and running his tongue along the instep of each foot. He kissed her belly button and her nipples and bit each of her earlobes. She was nothing but a limp, molten figure when he was through: her limbs were like clay, ready to be shaped to his will.
He let his hands be slow and gentle, massaging her tight muscles, feeling her soft skin. She moaned and sighed, responding to every tiny touch. His cock was already hard again; he slowly rubbed the head over her clit, teasing her.
Finally, he pushed his cock inside her, feeling the tight walls of her tiny teenage pussy clenching around him as her body struggled to adjust to the size of him. He moved in and out of her, grinding against her, pinching her nipples, biting her neck, watching her pussy lips stretch around him. He had never seen anything so sexy.
He grabbed her ass, digging his fingers into her smooth, perfect flesh. He fucked her hard, harder than she had ever been fucked, just as hard as he wanted—just as hard as she'd dreamed. Her tits jiggled frantically as he slammed into her over and over, until she was a sweaty mess of orgasms and exhaustion. He pulled out and came on her stomach and her little tits, enjoying the sight of his cock against her tiny body.
He brought a washcloth then and cleaned her up, paying special attention to her tits and her pussy. The rough cloth and his strong fingers turned her into a melting pool of need again; she was practically begging for his touch by the end.
"Now," he said slowly, pulling away from her, "let me show you how I would have fucked you if you'd said yes."
.... TO BE CONTINUED...