tagMatureTuesday's Child

Tuesday's Child


***Monday's Child is fair of face, Tuesday's Child is full of grace, Wednesday's Child is full of woe, Thursday's Child has far to go, Friday's Child is loving and giving, Saturday's Child works hard for a living but the Child born on the Sabbath Day is fair and wise and good and gay.***

* * *

Lorraine Guildry stared at her figure in the mirror, stretching her leg over the barre. For being forty-two, she was still in good shape, but not in good enough shape for the American Theater of Ballet. After her last pointe class, Harvey Childress, the director, had come in along with Whitney, his secretary, and had informed her that they were no longer interested in having her perform with the troupe. She was more than welcome to remain as an instructor and maybe some theatrical assistant position, but her days as a dancer were through. She had taken the information with her usual poker face and had only broken down when Aleksandr Filutov, the new male principal dancer came in to give her a hug.

"I have learned so much from watching you, Miss Lorraine. They are making a huge mistake."

Tears spilled from her eyes at his praise but she was a realist. Being a ballerina was a physical job and Mother Nature was sure to pull the plug some time. This was her time. She accepted his words, smiled up into his youthful blue eyes and watched his muscled ass as he left the room. Probably gay, she had sighed to herself. She didn't need man troubles, too. She set her leg down and did a deep plié in the fourth position, raised the other leg and stretched the inside muscles. Still beautiful, still flexible, but no longer wanted.

The door opened on the other side of the studio and she turned to see who had entered. It was nearly ten o'clock and no one else was in the building except her and the janitors so she was very surprised to see Aleksandr in full Romeo pas de deux costume, carrying a record. He didn't look at her, but continued to the sound center, putting the record on, then moved to the side of the room, assuming the opening position of the dance. His eyes alighted on her and she moved quickly to assume the female dancer's opening position, her heart soaring.

Prokofiev's piece began and they began to move through the choreography, slowly and at a leisurely pace and something caught Lorraine's eye. Aleksandr was not wearing a cup and she could discern the outlines of his heavy balls and thick cock through the thin material of his white tights. That knowledge took her breath away and try as she might not to, her eyes kept straying to his package. He gave no notice of her actions, just continued through the movements, his technique perfection. Then he touched her breast. His touch was so soft, so gentle that she almost missed it, except that his eyes connected with hers.

A creeping warmth moved through her and she nearly stumbled into an arabesque, feeling his body pressing against hers and his hands on her waist. He broke from the routine and turned her in the circle of his arms, capturing her mouth in a dark kiss, his teeth nibbling her bottom lip. She gasped at first, then gave herself to the kiss, tangling her tongue in his while their bodies remained apart, toes pointed and chests puffed out. When he pulled back, he caught her hand and gave her a whirl, then performed a breathtaking cabriole, seeming to hang effortlessly in the air.

She swung her leg through and arose to relevé, patiently waiting for him to catch her in pirouette. He dashed to her side, pulling her in closer and pressing her hips into his. The thickness of his unencumbered cock rubbed against her leotard and tight-clad pussy, drawing wetness that soaked her crotch. She let out a tiny moan and lifted her leg, giving him wider access to her throbbing snatch. He took full advantage, moving in and rubbing harder, replacing his prick with his hand. His long fingers pressed the fabric into the fat lips of her weeping pussy and he let his middle finger trace her trough, the other two squeezing the lips between them.

Lorraine trembled in orgasm, dropping out of pointe and reaching out for him. His handsome features darkened in lust as he pulled her midriff t-shirt off, then slid the sleeves of her leotard down, kissing, licking and biting her bared shoulders. "Oh, yes." Her whisper slipped out from her lips as easily as the outfit slipped over her curves. Her small breasts and her swan-like neck came under his oral assault, his tongue licking a path from her ear down to her collarbones and then dipped to her buds, hardening them on contact. "Aleksandr."

Her fingers intertwined through his hair as he lifted her easily, backing her against the barre and pulling the rest of the leotard down. Before he removed the tights, he kissed his way down her stomach and licked at the growing wet spot at the juncture of her svelte thighs. She shivered as he lipped them, then gasped at his tender bites. Warm juices flooded her pussy again and he unceremoniously yanked the tights down, grasped her buttocks and buried his face into her cunt.

She moaned out a succession of orgasms, coasting on waves of pleasure provided by his tongue, lips and teeth. He didn't let up until her pussy honey was coating the insides of her legs and most of his face. She pulled his face down to hers and licked every inch of his cheeks and chin, finishing up with a shared cum kiss. Her heart was pounding and her breath coming in shallow pants. Aleksandr took her hands in his and placed them at the neck of the costume. Now, it was her turn.

Lorraine couldn't help the drool that dripped in her mouth as the extravagant costume came open, baring a well-muscled but willowy frame, cinnamon nipples hard and shoulders squared with sleek power. She tossed it carelessly to the floor, hooking her fingers into his tights and making quick work of them also. His hard cock uncoiled like a sleeping snake from a trimmed bed of blonde hair and she couldn't resist sipping the large drop of pre-cum from its rounded head.

A low groan came from Aleksandr as she slipped him down her honeyed throat, swallowing and using the muscles to stroke his slender tool. He groaned again and she took his hands, placing them on either side of her head so that he could guide his strokes. She couldn't help but moan herself as his eyes darkened, gazing raptly down at her as he shoved his cock past her accommodating lips. Such power in that gaze. Her stomach churned in delighted anticipation of a good fucking. She only prayed that she would be so lucky.

He surprised her by moving slowly and whimpering at each light scrape of her teeth and every whorl of her tongue. Clearly, he was not a man ruled by his passions, but a man who could control himself. He proved her incorrect moments later when he quickly pulled away, eyes closed and cock throbbing as he fought the urge to cum. When he had conquered the demon, he turned his hunger-filled gaze on her, lifting her easily by her waist and letting her slide down his body until the tip of his cock was poised to split her pussy lips.

"Yes." She whispered, taking his mouth as he led her slowly slide onto his hard prick. He backed against the barre and she put her toes on the bottom rail, grabbing the top rail as he pumped up into her clasping pussy. Prokofiev thrummed in the background as she slammed back against him, both looking for that sweet release. She couldn't get enough of his hot mouth as she rode him toward the most powerful orgasm she'd ever experienced. "Oh, yes. Oh! OH!"

She felt the moment he exploded inside her and she was not far behind. He became a stiff wall of muscle, holding her close as he pumped into her, gasping deeply, Russian words of endearment on his tongue. The music faded into nothing and they were left with silence punctuated by their breathing.

"You will always be my principal, Miss Lorraine." He said softly. When he kissed her hand and took his leave, the fact that she wouldn't be dancing any more was the furthest thing from her mind.

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