Ballerina Tryst on Tour: Act 02

The days that followed were blissfully (and surprisingly) comfortable. One would have thought that a mutual masturbation session between two separately attached individuals would create awkward tension and unease. Ryan and Brittany both secretly expected it. But upon seeing each other at the theater the following day the only sign of any change in their relationship was a tiny, shared, secret smile. Nothing more, aside from the knowledge that something wild and wonderful had taken place.

Neither could explain it. There was no guilt, no remorse. Neither harbored the desire to spill their guts to their respective partner, or to the world. The knowledge and the experience was just for them. It was theirs alone. The memory of what transpired was a bubble existing outside of time and space. They each visited it regularly throughout the day, albeit alone, in their minds. They'd never been closer. But no one around them knew any different. It was... perfect.

Or nearly perfect.

The caveat was the increased desire and longing that filled them both. They knew each other now, in a much more intimate sense. When they were out at a bar with a crowd they were drawn together. From across the room Brittany could sense where Ryan was at all times. She could hear him in his conversation. She knew his laughs now, knew their nuances. She'd hear him laugh and know exactly what kind it was. It made her smile warmly to herself. But deeper down that ache lingered. The same one she was left with when he'd exited her room.

Ryan lived in a constant state of arousal. He'd seen her now. All that sex and desire he sensed in her dancing, he'd seen it on full display in her hotel room. The look in her eyes, the tremble of her body as she pleased herself, her sighs and moans of fulfillment... they would not leave his mind. He built rooms in his mind where more encounters took place. He staged scene after scene of wild lovemaking. Sometimes the script surprised him, and sometimes he took deliberate pleasure in making her do and say exactly what he wanted. He was a different person now. She'd changed him. And he loved it. He wanted more, needed more.

The texting continued, but it wasn't always lascivious and suggestive. They just wanted more contact with one another. Brittany could literally describe a trip to the post office and Ryan would eat it as a seven-course meal, savoring each and every dish.

There was a night when their messages got heated and Brittany suggested something more take place. She admitted to being in her cups, the red wine she was drinking making her smirk at him through her phone. As painfully tempted as he was, Ryan talked her down, telling her that something like that simply could not happen while either of them was compromised by alcohol.

"Brittany," he typed, "We can't. I know you want me right now, but in the morning your head would be clear, and you would hate me for taking advantage of you. I care about you too much. My feelings for you are deeper than my desire to fuck you. And believe me, I really want to fuck you."

His text was met with silence. He went to sleep that night not knowing if he'd offended her, angered her, depressed her, or sobered her. It was a fitful sleep. In the morning he checked his phone and his stomach dropped when her name did not appear on the screen beside the green texting icon. The silence was maddening. But he would not push her. He knew her, and if she wasn't responding to him, it meant she didn't want to hear from him. It was a Herculean effort to keep his fingers off his phone, but he simply did not want to damage the girl any more than it seemed he already had. He moped his way through his morning and afternoon, ignoring food, keeping himself busy with mundane tasks to give his mind the slightest distraction. Finally, about an hour before the show that night, his phone lit up and his heart nearly burst out of his chest.

"Hi."

That was it. A timid hello was all she gave him. He couldn't tell if this was punishment or apology.

"Hello, Cherie." He dared to use the affectionate greeting they sometimes toyed with. It was dangerous, not knowing her mood, but at this point he couldn't help himself. He waited an anxious minute, saw the three-dot ellipsis on the screen, and was finally rewarded with the appearance of a rosy-cheeked smiling emoticon. He closed his eyes and sighed. Everything was all right, it seemed. But she was still so quiet...

"How are you today?" He had to know, had to express his concern for her.

The ellipsis appeared, and then, "Ok. Embarrassed."

He typed furiously. "Don't be embarrassed! Wine makes us do silly things. But you see, I was here to protect you. You got a little carried away, and I refused to let you, or us, do anything that would hurt anybody. I told you I could take care of you. Don't be embarrassed."

An ellipsis appeared, then disappeared. She'd deleted something. He began to type at her, but her ellipsis appeared once more. Then disappeared. It seemed her mind was truly being stretched... He put the phone down and watched the screen without touching it. He'd let her find herself, find her own words. She didn't need prompting or comfort, just time. After the ellipsis appeared for the third time it was finally replaced by words.

"I'm not embarrassed because I got drunkenly carried away and you had to stop me. I'm embarrassed because I wanted you, and you said no. I don't have remorse for what I said last night. I still wanted you in the morning. Completely sober."

Ryan's heart stopped. It was the last thing he'd expected to read. He didn't know how to react. It was like his heart was ready to burst with joy, but someone was holding it tightly in a fist, incapacitating it. He just stared at his phone. No ellipsis appeared, and he knew he had to respond.

"Brittany..."

It was all he could think to type.

"What?" Her respons appeared immediately. It felt aggressive. He sensed anger through the phone and decided he fucking hated texting and the inability to read nuance through words.

"I didn't--" he deleted his words. "I thought you were--" he deleted again. Then finally, "I was protecting you, Brittany. You've made it clear to me in the past what you want and need. You weren't thinking clearly last night, but I was. I did what was best for you."

He waited while she typed and then read, "I was thinking clearly last night. You don't know what I want or what I need. I want you. I need you to want me."

"Brittany, you know I want you. You know I want you more than anything else. But you also know I love you, and I will always protect you. This cannot happen."

There was an extra long pause before she wrote back. But finally he read, "I can't do this right now. I have to get ready for the show."

He waited, hoping his silence would prompt her to write something more. But his screen remained blank. He sighed audibly and finally responded, "All right. I'll see you at the theater then." He spent another five minutes staring hopefully at his phone, but it was for naught.

The show that night was difficult. Ryan could tell Brittany was hurt, and probably embarrassed again. But he didn't know what to do or say. The show ended and Brittany ran. He saw her slip out the stage door and get away too fast for him to do anything about it. He would have preferred to take her somewhere, or just go for a drive. A private talk was what they needed. Texting could get so confusing. Unsure of what to do, Ryan just returned to the hotel. If nothing else he could have a clear head if and when they began texting. But a full hour passed and Ryan's phone was silent and still. Was she really this angry with him? He decided he couldn't wait any longer. He hated always being the one in pursuit, the one always being aggressive, but he couldn't help it. He was in too deep.

"Brittany?" He sent the text and then waited. Faster than expected, she responded.

"What?"

It was only one word, but it was something. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Again she responded quickly. But this response was practically code. Over the past few months they would both often respond with something terse like "fine," or "Yep, I'm okay," when the other had asked how they were doing. He knew she was not fine. This fucking texting game was getting them nowhere. He decided it was time to be bold and to put an end to this discomfort. Their time on tour together was short, and he didn't want to waste any of it in a funk.

"I'm coming up," he texted, "Don't leave me in the hallway."

He paused long enough to see if she would respond. But when she didn't he took a deep breath and headed out his door. Down the hall, up the escalator, then down the hall again. He was fully aware he might knock and never hear an answer. What would he do? He wasn't sure, but he was too concerned for the girl's well being to care at the moment. He had to make the effort, had to put her at ease.

He knocked.

He was taken aback when the door opened immediately. Brittany stepped back, allowing him to slip into her room once more. When he'd crossed the threshold she released the door and it banged closed. She stood near the bathroom door with her arms crossed, a look of defiance on her face. She was dressed for bed again, freshly showered. Tonight she wore a simple black t-shirt and a pair of blue and white striped pajama pants. He smelled shampoo and soap and noticed the dampness of her hair. God she was beautiful.

"Brittany," he tried.

"What?"

She seemed so angry. Months ago he would have backed off. He would have just let her breathe, given her time to come down from whatever was going on. But time was simply too precious now. He couldn't wait.

He took a small step forward and reached out to her. His right hand swept her hair behind her left ear and he leaned into embrace her. She uncrossed her arms and melted into him, allowing his cheek to press warmly into hers. He felt her release a little, relaxing at his touch. She breathed haltingly and he shushed her. "Shhh, it's going to be okay, Brittany." She said nothing but clutched him tightly in her arms. He didn't know what to do, so he kissed her. He kissed the side of her face. Her cheek, her temple, her ear, her chin. He planted soft, delicate kisses all along the right side of her face, and she allowed him. He kissed, and kissed, and kissed, and kissed. Eventually each individual kiss grew longer and slower. He took more and more time. He found the corner of her mouth, the tip of her nose, the base of her chin... and finally he found her lips.

The kiss was as gentle as she'd ever experienced him. It was soft, gentle, loving... and so delicious. She fought her simultaneous desires to bite his lip and make out with him, but also to push him away. Instead she just returned his softness. Their lips met and parted, met and parted. Eventually she reached out with her tongue, gently. It wasn't hungry and aggressive, but matched the tenderness they'd both been practicing. His tongue met hers and they swirled together slowly. The tight vacuum of their mouths created a space in which they existed as one, completely together.

Finally he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. Eyes closed, they both breathed together. Again he said, "Brittany."

"What?" This time it was a quiet question. Her hostility was gone.

"This can't happen. I know you don't want it to."

"Please," she begged, one decibel above silence. "Please, Ryan, I need you. I'm sure of it."

He pushed back from her, holding her at arm's length. He looked seriously into her eyes. "You want this?" He asked.

She nodded.

"You're sure you want this?"

She nodded.

"So you want this?" He asked, and put his right hand on her chest, caressing her tiny breast.

A moment's hesitation, and then she nodded.

"You want me to do this?" He asked in a whisper now as he circled his thumb around her nipple. It hardened quickly.

She nodded.

"And you want me to do this." He pinched her nipple hard and suddenly. She cried out in pain and pleasure.

And then she nodded desperately.

"And you want me to do this?" Keeping his right hand on her breast, Ryan placed his left hand behind Brittany, on her ass cheek. He squeezed and massaged it, cupping beneath it and almost spreading her open. The move had brought him in closer to her, their noses touching. But they were still eye to eye.

She nodded.

"I need you to be sure," he said. "I need you to be sure that you want me to do this." Keeping his left hand on her ass, Ryan moved his right hand from Brittany's breast, down her stomach, past her pelvis, and finally to her crotch. In one smooth motion he now had three fingers nestled between her legs, pressing into her pussy from the outside of her clothing. He imperceptibly started a tiny circular motion with his hand, barely rubbing her at all. The cleft between her legs was like a furnace. She was so warm, and he knew soon she'd be so wet.

Brittany's chest started pumping up and down rapidly and shallowly. She was still able to breathe, but she could barely handle the sensations he was causing. She felt the hand on her ass continue to squeeze her cheek. She hummed in pleasure as his flat palm centered directly between her cheeks and then slid down beneath her. His right hand now caressed her clit area while his left hand had a middle finger prodding directly at her opening from behind. He pushed up and into her, forcing the material of her pants and her panties between her pussy lips. She felt herself bending her knees, trying to sit down on his finger, desperate already to be penetrated. "Hunh," she moaned, as he increased the pressure of his fingers on her clit. Her mouth hung open and she looked into Ryan's eyes.

God, those big, beautiful, brown eyes. She got lost in them every time. She wanted to fall into them. But in a fast moment the feeling of romance was abandoned, and a filthy, dirty desire filled its place. Instead of falling into his eyes Brittany fell deep into her lust. She held his eyes in her gaze and ground her pelvis down into both of his hands. She grinded forward and back, first forcing his fingers between her folds against her clit, and then allowing the back finger to slam a little deeper inside of her, clothing and all. She looked at him, hot and hungry, and grunted.

Ryan leaned in to kiss her, and this time she was ravenous. She immediately bit his lower lip, pulling it away and letting it slide through her teeth. She nearly drew blood. It was painful, but it immediately sent Ryan into a fit of desire like he'd never experienced. His already hard dick throbbed intensely and he bit her back, only slightly softer than she'd bit him. "Mahhh!" She moaned directly into his mouth.

Ryan moved both of his hands to her arms, holding her tight and slamming her flat against the wall behind her. They were both breathing hard. Brittany looked down and saw his erection tenting his shorts. She smiled and lifted her knee, bringing it in contact with his cock and drawing a moan from him. He pushed her tighter against the wall and said, "You're sure you want this?" His voice was quiet and husky.

"Yes, I fucking want you." She replied.

He took a deep breath, released it, and said, "Then let me see you." He took a step back from her, his back now against the closet door in the little vestibule. She stood across from him, breathing deep, and staring into his eyes. Brittany paused, unsure of what he was asking her. Then she saw his eyes flick down to her chest, and then return to her eyes. She grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt with both hands, hesitated, and then slowly and smoothly lifted it up and over her head. She tossed her shirt onto the bed and then stood there, her head down and staring into Ryan's chest, unable to meet his eyes.

Ryan just stared. He could not believe this was happening. The ballerina stood there before him in only her white and blue pajama pants. He stared at her body, memorizing this sight he thought he'd never see. Her upper body was so small and slight. He looked at her tiny ribcage, her flat, hard stomach, and finally, those tiny tits. They were gorgeous. The smallest hint of a breast, perfectly round, and each tipped with a tiny, hard, dark nipple. They stood out straight from her chest, and Ryan knew he was going to enjoy devouring them. He admired the line straight down the middle of her stomach, appreciating each and every abdominal muscle that rippled beneath her skin. Ryan smiled at her and said, "Fuck, you're so beautiful." Brittany finally looked him in the face and smiled.

"Well, you're probably going to like this too then," she said. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her pajama pants and smoothly dropped them to the floor. She tossed her pants onto the bed with her t-shirt and stood up straight for Ryan's approval. "I've been told I have a very good V." She stood with her hands on her hips, her legs shoulder width apart.

Black. Tonight her panties were black. And Ryan couldn't have been happier. He'd fantasized about this little dancer's body on so many occasions, for countless hours. He could not believe she was now one article of cotton and nylon away from being naked in front of him. His eyes were glued to her crotch. Just as before he could see her obvious wetness through the panties. Her crotch was dark and damp and Ryan lusted after the pussy beneath them. Brittany allowed him to stare. She smiled and enjoyed his obvious obsession with her body. She did indeed have a very good V. The muscles of her stomach creating perfect lines that ran down beneath the waist of her panties. "Just wait until he sees where that V ends," she thought to herself.

"Are you ready?" She asked him, hooking her thumbs into her panties.

And he replied, "Fuck yes."

She smiled again at his aggression and bent to remove her underwear. She felt a momentary hitch in her stomach as she bent, hesitating internally as she was about to expose herself completely to this married man. He was about to see everything. And she knew there would be no stopping him once she was naked. She pulled her panties off her feet, tossed them on the bed with the rest of her clothes, and stood before him, nude.

She. Was. Perfect.

Ryan caressed her body with his eyes. He scanned her. That beautiful face, those lovely, tiny breasts, the perfect rib cage, the flat stomach, and my god... her perfect pussy. Brittany's lips bulged between her legs. She was hairless, totally smooth. The lips of her vagina were full from her arousal, slightly open already. And Ryan could see a shiny sheen of wetness in her slit. Brittany resisted the urge to bring her hand to her cunt and fill herself with two fingers. She let him fuck her with his eyes, smiling at how dumbfounded he seemed. She couldn't believe how comfortable she felt standing naked before him while he was still fully clothed. Although she was the one exposed she felt like she was in complete control. She knew he'd do anything she told him to do.

Brittany brought her hands to her chest, caressing them gently, moving them down her sides, over her hips, and finally swiped a finger up the length of her slit, spreading the glistening liquid up over her clit. She trembled in pleasure and asked, "Do you like what you see?"

"Fuck, Brittany." Was all that he could manage.

She smiled again. Then a thought occurred to her. "Oh," she said, "you still haven't seen one of my best assets." She turned a 180 and allowed him to stare at her tight little ass. She faced the wall and smiled, knowing she was driving him wild. Ryan stared at her round little cheeks. He was spellbound. They were perfect. Tight and high and just... fuck. Just perfect, was all he could think. He immediately fantasized about dropping to his knees, lifting those cheeks apart, and devouring her little hole from behind, licking and fingering and fucking it. He knew from their previous conversations that this was not an interest of hers in the least... but he didn't care. Fuck, just exposing her little asshole to him, to be face to face with it, looking at her in a way no one before had done, that would be enough to send him way over the edge.