Perfection - Kitty Thomas Page 0,38

sucking the liquid out of me as though he's drinking me for sustenance. Finally, I'm able to quiet my cries. But he isn't done yet. He pushes his tongue inside me like a starving man licking his plate clean.

Finally he stops. Finally he's had enough. “Relax,” he says.

I lower myself out of relevé, and bring my arm down to the side, my limbs trembling both from the effort and the force of my release.

I feel him stand up, and then he's petting my hair. “Good girl. Stretch. Loosen up. Then we'll do the pas de deux.”

I don't know what possesses him to think I can dance after that. Even with as much as his tongue took, I’m still dripping wet. This sensation is made more dramatic by the bare flesh of my pussy, still fresh from where he waxed me.

“I...I need clothes,” I say.

“No. You don't.”

I knew before I asked that he would make me dance naked again. I stretch, and move around. I do some pliés and a few rond de jambe.

“Here. Drink.” He presses a bottle of water into my hands, and I gratefully drink.

He leads me to the center of the stage, the music starts, and we dance. It's a miracle I'm able to dance, that I don't miss the steps and trip all over myself—not only because of the world-shattering orgasm I just had, but because of the worry that he wasn't kidding about an audience.

He's behind me, holding me in an embrace as the music ends. He leans close to my ear. “You become the music. It flows into you, and you flow into it. Dancers like you come along once in a lifetime.”

I flush with pleasure at this compliment. It's enough to make me forget the mind-fuck of wondering if we are truly alone in this space.

He guides me back to the barre, placing one of my hands on the wood so I can steady myself.

“Kneel for me like I taught you,” he says softly.

I do, and he strokes my face as he guides his cock into my mouth. I suck him sweetly and obediently. I swallow when he comes. It has become another point of etiquette between us. Just as I would never falter in calling him Sir, or obeying his commands at the barre, I would never dare refuse to swallow.

There is something deeply and seriously wrong with me. The control he takes of me in these three hours each week is absolute. But outside of this time and space, my life is more my own than it ever was with Conall. I feel freer than I've felt in years.

And I'm so grateful for everything. For Conall being gone. For the police turning their attentions away from me. For the promotion in the company. For the pleasure I just received from my captor's mouth.

He pulls out of me and pets my hair. “Such a good girl.”

My face is turned up toward his waiting for more instruction.

“Are you on birth control?”

“Yes, Sir.” Birth control is an absolute necessity. An unwanted pregnancy can ruin a professional dancer's life. There's the morning after pill, and abortion, but we don't fuck around when it comes to birth control.

“Good. Stay on it.”

“Please...” I stop myself from begging again for him to fuck me, remembering the humiliation of the last time I asked and his rejection.

“I will fuck you when I'm ready to fuck you,” he says, knowing the words I forced back down my throat even though I didn't speak them aloud this time.

I nod.

I don't know how long we've been here tonight, but he guides me to the mattress. I don't know when it got on stage, and I wonder if it was there all along and I just didn't notice it before. Or maybe... someone else... dragged it out. I push that thought away.

I feel the brightness of the spotlight on me like sunlight as he lays me down on the mattress, spreading my legs wide. He spends the next forever languidly stroking every inch of me. He plays with my pussy, making me come so many times I lose count. Just when I think I can't take anymore pleasure, he pulls another orgasm from me along with my desperate whimpers and grateful moans.

He removes my pointe shoes and then carefully massages all the tightness and tension out of each foot. I can't decide which is better, this gentle, yet firm way he's touching my feet, or the orgasms. I sigh in contentment.

He rolls me