Ballerina Tryst on Tour: Act 01

Ryan watched her dance the ballet for what must have been the 50th time. He still could barely believe his eyes as she moved through space, impossibly lithe and sensual. No one should be able to move like that. It was profoundly breathtaking. Painfully so. Time and time again he'd watched as she stepped, turned, and swayed to the music, appearing far less human and more like a dream to him. A dream he'd never known he was longing for, but which would now be a part of him forever.

It was most stunning when she was lifted by her partner. She rose off the floor as if she weighed nothing. In fact, weight didn't enter into it. It was more like she simply existed floating in space and her partner chose where her body was meant to be next. All it took was the slightest of efforts to change her physical relationship with the world. She melted down onto him, her entire body like a silk handkerchief. She enveloped him, the contours of her body perfectly matching his. For a moment the two dancers truly became one. There were no elbows or knees, no joints of any kind. It was as if she existed with no bone structure whatsoever and instead traveled through space of her own accord, defying the laws of the universe.

Ryan's breath was high in his chest, his heart pounding as the music changed and the ballet continued. It became more lively and upbeat. The slow romance gave way to a peppy playfulness. But somehow Ryan only saw sex. His mind adjusted from the insistent, aching desire of the last section to the teasing fun of the next. The girl wagged a finger at her dance partner as she stepped from side to side. Somehow it was one of the sexiest moments of her performance. She knew her dance partner wanted her, and the knowing was plain on her face. She was in control, powerful in her sexuality. It was playful and sexy, and once again Ryan wished he could be onstage with her, one half of that pair, his own desire and sexual drive bouncing off of the beautiful dancer.

This was the reason Ryan could never take his eyes off her. During this long ballet he imagined and experienced the entire scope of sexuality embodied in this tiny dancer. There was longing, coyness, desire, heat, passion, knowing, teasing, control, loss of control, balance, and joy. It ranged from smoldering, sensual lovemaking to bouncing, playful sex. Ryan's mind expanded one move, one moment into an entire evening of laughing, raucous sex, chasing the dancer around an apartment in her cotton underwear, both of them giggling as he caught her, threw her to the bed and ravaged her as they both smiled with joy and fulfillment.

The ballet culminated in a hungry, passionate kiss between the dancers. Their mouths bit and sucked, smashed together in completion of the act, the dancing over and the wanting fulfilled. As always, Ryan was reminded of the poster that hung outside the theater. In it the two dancers were face to face, noses touching. The girl's partner had his hand clasped on the small of her tiny back, his other held her own hand to his chest. But the look on his face was nothing compared to the want in hers. Her hooded eyelids were those of a woman about to lose control. Her eyes looked downward at his mouth, knowing what was coming. Her lips were parted just a fraction of an inch. She was about to devour him. Ryan could see it. He could see it all. He could see the overwhelming sexual power that brewed inside her, and he had to taste it. He had to have her.

There was but one small issue that stood in the way. Well, two, if he was being honest. The dancer, Brittany, was in a longstanding relationship. And so was Ryan. He was married, in fact. A commitment that now haunted his every waking moment. For so many years he'd been content, confident that he'd made the right choice, that she was the last and only one for him. How unbelievably wrong he'd been...

Brittany, too, had been confident. Her boyfriend was her best friend, the man that understood her more than she understood herself. He was absolutely everything to her. And then she'd met Ryan...

A great amount of Ryan's passion for Brittany was mutual. She could somehow see in him the best of both worlds: a wonderfully kind, passionate man who would do anything for her, and also someone who was absolutely carnal in the bedroom. A man who could match her move for move, desire for desire. She'd always figured she would end up with one or the other: the good guy, or the good fuck. But had she actually found that impossible mix of both? It seemed that way. At times he made her melt, liquidating her heart and body both. And even more often he made her incredibly hot, walking through her day completely aroused from a look he gave, or a text he sent.

They'd opened the door, at least a little. Desires had been confessed. Evenings over drinks had become long, indulgent sessions of confiding in one another. They grew closer. They delighted in keeping temptation right at their fingertips, never giving in but indulging to the fullest extent they could justify to themselves.

One of the greatest temptations came in the sheer nature of their shared profession. She was a dancer, and he worked on the production backstage. The ballet they both worked for was touring the country, and they stayed in the same hotels while traveling from city to city. Brittany was tight-lipped with her room number in every location. She knew she could only tempt fate so far. But on the rare occasion she let it slip out Ryan would know exactly where to find her...

In one city in the middle of the country she'd been doing well. She hadn't tempted or teased him. Late one night after a performance they retired to their separate rooms, winding down and thinking obsessively of one another, as they so often did late at night. The text messages started, innocent at first. Then less so. And finally so brazen they could not be kept apart. Both were aching to be face to face. First making Ryan promise he wouldn't touch her or allow them to get carried away, Brittany texted, "1204."

Staring at his phone, Ryan's heart stopped. He couldn't believe the step she'd just taken. He'd fantasized about this moment for months, but had finally given up hope of it ever happening. In a flash he brushed his teeth, ruffled his hair, and looked shakily into the mirror, hoping for the best when Brittany opened the door to him. The journey down the hall and to the elevator seemed arduous. His heart had restarted and thundered away in his chest. Every footfall seemed to echo absurdly down the hallway. His mouth was dry as the elevator arrived and brought him six floors skyward to his ultimate desire. Another long journey down a hallway, and he was standing there staring at a little placard that read "1204." Would she do it? Would she actually open the door to him? Or would she leave him stranded in the hallway, his mind and body reeling with rejection? He knocked.

Even the slight, silent rustle he could hear through the door as she approached made his heart skip. Behind that door she was coming closer, closer. And then the door was open. Ryan slid inside, holding his breath, and as the door clicked shut he stood before her. In the tiny vestibule Brittany stepped away from him, her back up against the door he'd just come through. She stood there, a vision, in a light pink t-shirt with Princess Leia emblazoned on her chest, and similarly light pink striped shorts billowing around her tiny legs. Her chest was gently heaving up and down, a tick he'd noticed over their months together that seemed to happen when she was feeling particularly confused, vulnerable, or aroused. He loved to see that chest heave. It was his way of knowing he was inside her. He was affecting her in such a way that her physiognomy was changed. And here, in her hotel room, she was affected greatly.

Ryan took in every detail of her image: her thick, clean hair, her showered face, no makeup, slight imperfections on display. "Beautiful," he thought. "Unbelievably so." Her small neck, the subject of so many fantasies where he kissed her there, bit her there, licked her there... it disappeared into the collar of her adorable t-shirt, which hung on her frame as if it were a painted scene of perfection. As she had been ready for bed, she wore no bra. Ryan could not wrench his mind from this fact. It may have been a purposeful choice on her part, or she may not have given it a moment's thought, but when Ryan saw two tiny, little nipples piercing the fabric of her t-shirt he immediately started to grow hard in his shorts. Her breasts were not big. She had a perfect ballet body after all. But those two small mounds had become an obsession of his. In every outfit she wore, every leotard, every dress, every shirt, every blouse, he imagined what was beneath. What was hidden away under that thin fabric she wore? And when she wore a bra, it absolutely melted his affection for her. Catching a glimpse of a small, powder-blue bra keeping those petite breasts covered... it was like a gift from heaven.

Just once during a subdued rehearsal Ryan had been seated next to Brittany at a table as they read through the script. Her blouse buttoned up the front, and as Brittany moved and shifted Ryan could catch the briefest glimpses of the soft, blue fabric under her shirt. The straps over her shoulders, the cups gently cradling her flesh... It was about then that he started consciously using the word "Obsession" in conjunction with his thoughts about Brittany. He could not take his eyes or his mind off of them. He wanted to see them, to nuzzle them, caress them, pinch and flick and bite them hard. He wanted free rein over those breasts to do with as he pleased, and to use that freedom to please her.

It was during that same rehearsal that Ryan became attuned to the fact that Brittany awoke in him countless unexpected desires. The sheer depth of his lust for her heightened every physical desire he had. While sitting next to him at the table Brittany wore small, black flats on her feet. Simple little slip-ons that were no doubt comfortable and functional. But as Ryan became lost in his passionate desires for her he found himself drawn to those flats, and the tiny feet inside them. He'd never had a thing for feet. Never. Not that they particularly disgusted him either. But in that moment he fell in love with those feet. Brittany's feet. He could see the underside of her arch, the instep of her right foot that was tucked under her body. In his longing Ryan found himself wanting to discover and explore that foot. He wanted to draw his nose along it, kiss it ever so gently, massage it in his hands, kiss and suck her toes if she wanted him to. It had less to do with the fact that it was a foot and more to do with the fact that it was her foot. It was Brittany. Every inch of her body had become a mysterious oasis of desire for him. Days later he would admire those same feet in a pair of ridiculously high heels as they attended a press event together. Watching her step and stride, knowing what those feet were capable of in pointe shoes, Ryan just allowed himself to wallow in his want for her. For everything about her.

Odd, he knew, to have these thoughts and feelings. But that's what she did to him. She created in him a lust and desire for things that had never been a part of him before. Did he have a foot fetish? Absolutely not. But, given the opportunity, would he do everything and anything to Brittany's beautiful feet? Absolutely. So total was his crushing desire for her.

But these thoughts were buried under so many more as Brittany stood before him in her hotel room. Ryan finished his visual taking of her, his eyes roaming down past her flat stomach to the waistband of her cotton shorts, and those tiny, muscular legs. Those shorts... he thought (certainly not for the last time) about how easy it would be to kneel before her and whisk those shorts straight down her legs, leaving her either bottomless, or standing in front of him in whatever panties she was wearing. He seriously contemplated it for the flash of a moment, wondering what she would do if he attacked her that way. Would she yell and bat him away, casting him back into the hallway? Or would she simply sigh and allow him to bury his face in her panty-covered crotch, biting and licking his way to her center? He didn't want to find out. Didn't want to risk it. The sheer velocity of her presence was enough. He would take that and feed on it instead.

"Hi," she said nervously.

"Hi," he replied wantonly. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," she said as she headed for her bed. It was an obvious lie, but he let her have it. Ryan could tell she was off balance and uncertain of having him in her room. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything. Everything." Ryan replied. He was beyond games and subtext. He wanted her to see him, to know the truth of his desires and for her to return them.

"Ok," she said with an uneasy roll of her eyes, "Then let's talk about everything."

He joined her on the bed, sitting next to her, coming close, but affording her enough room to escape should she need to. He reached out and caressed her face. She wordlessly nuzzled into the center of his hand, the physical sensation breaking something inside her. For a long moment this small, beautiful act persisted, their only contact from hand to cheek. She nuzzled deeper into his palm and he thumbed at her mouth, brushing the pad of his finger against her lips. Her soft, lower lip was so full and flush. He pulled at it gently, opening her up just the slightest bit. A tiny moan escaped her and she bit at his thumb gently, her tongue finding the tip of his finger. He smiled as he watched her lips envelope his thumb up to the first knuckle. She sucked gently while his other fingers still trailed at the side of her face. Ryan's heart pounded and his breathing was deep. His eyes were half closed in pleasure when Brittany looked up at him, her mouth still on him. For a quick moment her cute, innocent sucking became insistent and desperate. She took his entire thumb into her mouth, biting down hard on the joint where the finger met his hand.

Then she released him. "I'm sorry," she said with a sigh. "I almost got carried away there.

"It's all right," said Ryan, catching his breath, "I wasn't going to let you."

Brittany rolled her eyes, "Right." She shifted slightly away from him, getting under the covers and sitting up against the headboard of the bed. Ryan marveled at how she could so seamlessly transition from insatiable hunger to brazen control with such speed. But he smiled and sat cross-legged on the bed, facing her. "So you want to talk about anything?" she asked with a coy smile. All right, she may be in control, but she's still playful, Ryan realized.

"Well, if it were up to me I would talk for hours about the things I want to do to you, the ways I want to touch you, the number of times I would make you scream in ecstasy."

Brittany's face grew slightly hard in a way that Ryan couldn't place as serious desire, or controlled anger. She gave him a deep look, her cat's eyes boring into him. An increasingly familiar sense of unease washed over Ryan. Had he upset the balance that quickly? But no, Brittany was still on the same page. She was just gritting her teeth harder than him, making sure she didn't lose control and jump on top of him right then and there.

"It's so hard, isn't it?" She asked quietly.

"It is, Brittany," he replied. "It's just incredibly painful knowing exactly what it would be if we chose to do it. It would be so easy, and so incredibly fulfilling. My life has been full of sex, and yet I feel you offer me countless experiences that no one else could."

"It would be so easy," she quietly echoed. A silence separated them as they imperceptibly nodded their heads in agreement, both expending actual physical effort to keep themselves apart. "Well, let's talk about it," she said seriously. "Tell me what you like."

"Oh Jesus," Ryan responded, shaking his head. "You want to get into this?"

"It seems inevitable at this point, doesn't it?"

"I guess so," he conceded, excited but scared at the direction things were going. "Well, I've always been an ass man," he confessed. "I love holding an ass, squeezing it, spanking it, controlling it, nuzzling it. I love to fuck a girl from behind because of the way it feels, a girl's ass cheeks squeezing me deeper inside her pussy. And probably my favorite position to finish in would be reverse cowgirl. I enjoy just lying back while a girl is on me, watching her ass bounce as she fucks down onto me."

Brittany nodded in silence. Another monumental step had just been taken... they'd never been this boldly explicit in person before. So many of those words simply had not been spoken aloud. But she was in the thick of it now. She didn't want to stop. Without thinking she replied, "I'm really loud. Probably too loud." She smiled to see him nodding seriously and chose to continue. "I like it hard and rough. I mean, within limits."

"Of course," Ryan replied. "I think I know exactly what you mean. That's nice to know. Easy to imagine what you mean."

"Oh yeah?" asked Brittany, smirking.

"Yeah," said Ryan, a serious look on his face. "I can imagine it right now, ripping these sheets down off your legs, then tearing your shorts off, pulling your panties to the side and either thrusting two fingers deep inside you, or just going for broke and entering you completely, pounding you up against that headboard and making you scream. I'm sure you're wet enough right now that whatever I decided to put inside you would just slide in unhindered." Brittany's chest began its heavy up and down cycle. She looked wordless and scared, but Ryan pressed on. "I can imagine grabbing onto that headboard for leverage, your legs thrown up and over your head, your ass up in the air as I drilled my dick down over and over again into your pussy."

"Ok, stop, Ryan, stop!" The words exploded out of Brittany's mouth. Ryan looked down and realized he'd leaned into the girl. His hands were on her thighs, though they were still covered by the blanket. "Ryan, it's too much. I want it too much. I think you have to go."

"Brittany—"

"No, really, Ryan. I'm really about to break. I don't think I can keep my hands off you any longer. The things you say and imagine... I want all of that. I want... fuck it, I want you to do that to me. I want you to fuck me hard and fast and make me scream. But you know we can't. You know that."

"I know," said Ryan, the intensity in his eyes undiminished. "I know we can't. I know that." It was as if saying it over and over again would make it true. "But look at us Brittany. I've never wanted something like this. Look at yourself! What are you even going through right now?"

Brittany looked down. Here hands were balled up in the comforter, white knuckling the material. Her legs were taut and slightly spread, the muscles in her thighs buckled against Ryan's hands. But they pulsed upward gently and insistently. Her body was so hungry for him. She wanted contact of any kind: friction, pressure, something. She brought her legs together tightly, squeezing them inward. A whimper escaped her mouth as the V between her legs contracted and a hint of pleasure flooded through her body. She collapsed forward slightly, her body wracked with waves of differing emotions. Ryan sensed her dilemma and pressed onward. His hands worked their way higher up Brittany's thighs. She gasped, her legs still clamped tightly closed. But it was futile. In her efforts to block Ryan's hands from reaching their destination she was only arousing herself further. Her entire crotch was alight with the heat of her passion, her lips swollen, her clit throbbing for attention. When she clamped down, another wave of pleasure flowed through her body. She looked up at him, like a deer in headlights. He was even closer now.