geschrieben von pointeshoes at am 11.07. um 01:37:09 I have to tell about this unbelievably hot thing that happened this last week. It was totally building up for weeks and it finally happened, but things like this never really unfold the way you think they will. It always starts with in the routine of the everyday and then pirouettes away like some dizzy dance. I’m still reeling thinking about it - and frankly can’t wait for it to happen again. It was Thursday night’s summer adult dance class, rarely attended to during the summer months because most of the women are on vacation with their families. Seeing as how I’m the only guy in class I felt like I stuck out even more last week as I walked into the studio to see the teacher, Steve, and another woman Miriam warming up at the barre. I asked if we were all that were coming and Steve kind of glanced knowingly to say that the hot weather had taken it’s toll and expect to see no one else. I figured the better for us as it’s tough to get a lot of feedback in a full class. Most of the regulars vie for his attention anyway, there are a few prima donnas (taken a few years of ballet before) and then there are the ones that really just like Steve’s attention. I suppose he’s a handsome guy, I’d love to have his legs, he fills out the white tights he wears really well. As for me I think I fill out my outfit nicely too – I certainly get my share of the looks. We started with plies and ronde de jambes and after about a half hour moved to floor work. I felt great dancing with a full view of the mirror, all the while getting corrections and just in general feeling like a “dancer”. I had dressed a bit too warm for that night though and was dying to take off my warm ups. I also dress in layers and that too was taking its toll. Underneath my knit tights (which I thought were going to be just fine) I was wearing a cap sleeve black lycra leotard in a matte finish (no flashdance 80s for me) and as a base layer I had on a pink women’s bodytight. I really like the bodytights because they’re soft and the pink is just a hair away from white. Plus they looked just like ballet socks under the tight. Steve could tell that I was just suffering from the heat – and I was also dying of embarrassment to having not planned my outfit better. After a couple of challenging combinations we took a break and after a drink of water he said that it would be fine if we took off some layers. Right then I felt that as a serious dance student it shouldn’t matter what I was wearing as long as I was giving it my all, so I peeled off the acrylic tights and tossed them into the corner. Which was followed by absolutely no response from my overheated classmate and teacher. None. I was partially relieved and disappointed that no one said anything. Steve even later came over to correct my form and grabbed my ankles and put his hand on my thigh to align my turnout better. At the barre I finally got some vindication as Miriam asked about my bodytight and that she liked the supplex tights much better too. She even asked about the price and I mentioned that they really weren’t much more than the regular ones and they stayed up much better. So there I was clothed in what should have been a women’s uniform feeling so great about my dancing that night as I packed my bag. Steve came over to say that I had done a great job in class and too keep it up next time. Then he asked if I was going to continue with the leotard over the tights thing, which totally took me off guard. I said maybe – it was a little embarrassing at first, at which he replied that it was fine with him, it was much cooler than the heavyweight men’s tights he had on. Up to that point I had not really cared for his attitude one way or another, apart from his even handed teaching style. But I gained a lot of respect for his sensitivity for my new “look”. Then shocker number two came and he asked if I wanted to go out and grab a beer and talk a bit about being a male dancer. I said sure, not really knowing where it was heading. After two beers we found out more about each other than in four months of classes – including that he liked my outfit and that he used to dress up in his sister’s dance clothes. Which got him into ballet strangely enough. His Mom said that if he was going to dress like a ballerina he should train to be one. Which was how I felt every class – that I was a gorgeous ballerina (sans tutu and pointe shoes) floating across the floor at my best moments. This was not unusual according to him, lots of guys like to explore a part of themselves that is romantic and sensual and sometimes feminine and sometimes masculine. I said that I was pretty much a ballerina in pointe shoes, after which he laughed. “Have I ever tried any on?” He said. I said no more than I’ve ever been in a tutu. “Would you like to try both on? You are a size 8 and a half right? Any particular ballet?”“Sugar plum Fairy!” was my immediate reply. As a kid I would gaze longingly at the Fairy each Christmas time performance, wishing that I was her (along with every girl in the audience probably). Twenty minutes later we were back at his apartment rifling through a storage bin for the costume. We pulled it out and fluffed up the crinoline fabric and Steve held it against my torso. “Perfect fit! Let’s find you some toe shoes to go with that.” Another five minutes later and I felt like I was ready for the performance dressing room with my costume, a pair of seamed performance tights and a pair of satin pink pointe shoes. “You can try them on in the bathroom down the hall” Steve said, somewhat bemused. It took a second to slip into the tights and pull the leotard bodice up, then carefully pulling the shoulder straps on taking care not to fold over the beautiful lace and beadwork on them. Three tries to get my ribbons right on the pointes, and ta-da! I emerged a gorgeous flower from the bathroom to find Steve in the matching Nutcracker prince costume. He was so handsome I curtseyed before him and as he took my hand and helped me up. After ten minutes fumbling with an unrehearsed pas de deux we couldn’t take it anymore. It was off to his bed room where he lay on top of me crushing the crinoline and my lips beneath him. I spread my legs and wrapped them around his back and clung to his hips, rocking in motion to his slowly mounting thrusts. It was the hottest thing I have ever felt, this strong man’s cock beneath his tights straining into the tutu and tights I was sheathed in. We french kissed and he grabbed my hips and pulled them up onto him, a fruitless but incredibly sexy guesture. After a few minutes his slid down and pulled the crinoline up to get access to me, working his tongue up and down my cock, wetting the leotard crotch. I stopped him and eased him off me, then knelt down in front of his waist, planting myself right in front of his dick. I did to him exactly what he had done to me, licking the fabric of his tights then rolling the waistband of his tights down exposing his dance beltNot quite as satisfying as what was to come next I pulled it off quick and revealed a red swollen cock, wide and long. I worked it with my mouth until I could fit it all down my throat, balls against my chin, pubic hair tickling my nose.“Stop, stop ….stop!” he said as I tasted a trickle of salty semen. I did. I pulled off him and looked down at myself clad in the most beautiful dress, noticing the way my tights seams intersected the satin ribbons around my ankles and thought that I was the luckiest girl in the world. With a cock in front of me it completed the whole picture. He was panting in his doublet, tights around his knees, penis sticking up at a jaunty angle. I had to take advantage of my good fortune. “Do you have any lube?” I asked smokily. “Yeah – right in the dresser top drawer” he said breathlessly. I arched over and got it, opened it and with one hand pulled down my tights to the crotch, still covering my cock but exposing my ass. I pulled the tutu’s bottom to the side and spread a liberal amount of lube between my cheeks, slowly fingering my asshole, widening and stretching it. I moved onto his lap (maybe not as gracefully as the ballerina I felt), grabbed his cock and slowly positioned it between my ass cheeks, seating it firmly against my hole. It was a slow but excruiciatingly pleasurable few minutes as his prick would make some headway into me and I’d back off and use the head to open me up some more. Then within a second he was in me, seated all the way. I could feel his cock pulse and his balls against my ass. I pumped slowly at first, faster and faster as I grew used to him. He held my hips, swiveled me around and I found myself on my back, legs in the air, pointe shoes pointed at the ceiling as he really began to give it to me. One of my hands was holding the leotard bottom to the side keeping it out of his cock’s way, the other rested on the mound that was my nylon encased cock, stroking it in time to his deep thrusts. I didn’t last long as one long thrust sent me over the edge and I exploded in the tutu. As the stain spread on my belly he pumped harder (if it was possible), and within a minute I was hard again wondering why the squishing sound of his cock pumping my ass would make me need to come again. I came five times that night, one right after he came deep inside me – I didn’t want him to, but after a few minutes of sucking he was hard as a rock again. I guess professional ballet dancers are used to performing, he gave it his all that night. So I’m taking classes with Steve as often as possible, now in dance clothes I would have never worn to class before. I’m still subtle about it, the thong leotard is covered by warm ups, as is the sheer bodysuits under my leotard. The other students deserve the dignity of not being distracted by my peculiarities, but I can tell Steve is. Antworten zu diesem Beitrag:
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