The Redheaded Dancer
He watched her from a distance, dancing with complete abandon. Her red hair was dishevelled and wild and she appeared to be oblivious to anyone watching her, completely lost in the rhythmic beat of the music. He noticed her toned muscles and slim but shapely, frame – the body of someone who had been dancing for a long time. She wore only a thin leotard, barely covering her trunk and moulded so closely that she appeared almost naked. Some of the stagehands had also stopped working, he noticed, to watch the redheaded woman perform.
His cock responded to the erotic scene before him, as the woman bent and twisted her lithe body into sensual curves and seemingly impossible shapes, and he imagined how a body like that might perform in his bed, rather than on the stage. He turned slightly so that his body was hidden more by the shadows of the stage scenery. He didn’t want to advertise the bulge in his groin, at least not to the stagehands.
The music ended and she ceased dancing, and slowly walked off stage.
“Monsieur Bertrand, I didn’t see you there.” She was perspiring from the dancing, her pale skin glowing slightly under the stage lights, and her breathing was still a little faster than normal.
“I like to watch the dancers rehearse unannounced, so they are completely without tension, knowing they are being observed. I see you have grasped the role very well.”
“Yes, Monsieur. It is a beautiful piece of music and your choreography does it justice. I love dancing the part of Cecile.”
He looked at the flushed face, the messy hair and the lithe body of the woman before him. He wanted to explore her with his hands and his tongue. Perhaps he could tell her to bend over while still en pointe, so his hand could feel the tension in her thigh muscles and the firmness of her buttocks. He would demand that she push her pert, firm bottom out as far as she could, and then he would listen to the crisp crack as the palm of his hand met those glorious orbs. His cock responded to the image in his brain, but this time he did not care about it being noticed.
“Good. I had you in mind when I choreographed it. You put so much passion in to it.”
“That is not difficult, Monsieur. Cecile is a passionate woman. I can tell that from the steps you gave me to perform, and to such exquisite music.”
He reached out and ran his hand down her arm. Dancers are such tactile people, he reasoned, she would not be offended by the touch. “You are a very beautiful woman, Veronique. I am honoured that it is you who will perform my work.”
Her lips curved upwards into a mysterious smile, and her hand stole down to where his erect cock was pressing against his trousers and slid along its length.
“I see that my performance excites you very much, Monsieur Bertrand. Unless, of course, this is your permanent state.”
Her touch excited him even more.
“Only when I see such beautiful women like you performing. I find it very arousing to see the graceful extensions and rhythmic interpretation, and the sheer passion that you put into the work. Would you like to come to my office for a glass of champagne, and we can discuss any alterations you think I should make to the choreography?” She sucked in air, as though she had been holding her breath in anticipation, and answered with a soft whisper. “Yes, Monsieur, I think I would like that.”
He indicated for her to lead the way. Mainly so that he could watch that magnificent derriere as it gently swayed. Dancers have such control of their bodies, and he knew that this woman was completely aware of the affect her body was having on him. The leotard was so thin and moulded to her body that she may as well have been naked, for all the cover it provided.
She stopped as they reached his office and he withdrew the key from his pocket and opened the door. Once inside, he locked it again, she noticed, but left the key in the lock. He took a bottle of champagne from the small fridge and poured two glasses. She took a sip and placed it on his desk. Then looked up at him a little coyly.
“You wanted to hear if I had any suggestions about the choreography.”
“Yes, of course. Tell me.”
She stood in front of him. “I will show you. When I am performing this dance, Hero, the man who is attracted to me and wants to ravish me, is hiding in the shadows and watching me dance.”
“Yes, that is so.”
“Then Cecile should be a little mischievous and torment him a little, don’t you think?”
Monsieur Bertrand smiled at her. “What did you have in mind?”
“Perhaps when she bends to pick the flowers, she should do so in a more provocative manner, tease him a little, like this…”
She bent away from him, her bottom raised and her legs parted, swaying from side to side as she pretended to pick the flowers. The little minx is teasing me, he thought. I can play this game too.
“Hmm, I can see what you mean, but let me show you what I think.” He reached out and gently moved one of her legs to the side, running his hand down the inner thigh to her knee. He felt her tremble.
“Now, don’t sway your bottom quite so much. Be a little subtler. Like this.” He placed the palm of his hand on each hip and moved them as he thought she should.
Veronique moved her hips less obviously, but the effect on his cock was instant. He moved closer and pressed himself against her body so that she could be in no doubt about her effect on him. But remembering their positions in the company, and the trouble they would be in if their leading dancer were to withdraw at this stage, he pulled back. She sighed audibly in disappointment.
“Spank me.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper as she made her request. “Please spank me.” She was trembling with need. He could see that. Perhaps a little temptation would not hurt?
“Are you certain that is what you want?”
“Not just want, Monsieur, it is what I am craving from you. Please spank me. I beg you.”
“Very well, if that is what you need, then it would be my pleasure, Veronique. Come. Let me sit down.”
Monsieur Bertrand sat on the old leather chair behind his desk, which creaked as he sat. “Come, lay over my lap.” His heart was beating quite wildly, but he maintained an outward appearance of calm.
Veronique lay over his lap. She was so slight that her weight was insignificant to him. She had not removed her leotard, but it was so barely there that it did not matter. He brought his hand down sharply, striking one cheek at a time. She did not make a sound, but her breathing was becoming louder, and her pale skin was turning red to match her hair. He increased the strength of each stroke and she began to groan.
“You love this, you naughty girl, don’t you? You like being disciplined.”
“Yes…yes…make it hard, Monsieur. I’m such a bad girl. I need to be punished.”
His breathing was becoming laboured as her groans intensified. This seductive, beautiful woman was pushing him to the point of no return. He had to have her. Now. All doubts about the wisdom of such a move vanished as his brain connected to his cock in a surge of lust. He stood up and lifted her with him, before pushing her on to the surface of the desk, admiring the red marks of his hand on her pale, delicious bottom. His fingers slid under the surface of the leotard and he felt the warm, sticky liquid oozing from her sex.
“I’m going to fuck you now.”
It was neither a request, nor a wish. It was simply a statement of intent. He reached over and took a condom from a box in the top drawer of his desk. There was a lot of promiscuity in the travelling dance company, and he always took sensible precautions. He unfastened the zip of his trousers and they fell to his ankles.
“Take me hard.” Her voice was hoarse with desire. And he did.
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