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“This is a small community, so people probably already know,” he rumbled. “Besides, who cares? I want people to know I’m with you. You’re gorgeous baby, and I’m proud to have you on my arm.”
The air disappeared from my lungs. His words were so loving, but they couldn’t be true. I’m just a no one, whereas he’s a powerful CEO.
“I don’t think anyone knows,” I said firmly again, trying to contain my spinning brain. “And it’s best to keep it that way.”
Luke shot me a wry half-smile.
“Let’s just see then,” he rumbled, eyes flashing. “Now get up here, honey, and show me that sweet spot.”
I colored, remembering, because oh god, I knew exactly what the alpha male wanted. He wanted to touch, to taste, and to caress both my holes. I always let him. I always let him pull my panties to the side, showing him everything while dancing for his eyes only. So yes, thoughts of who knew and who didn’t flew from my mind, dissolving into a long sigh of bliss.
And now, at practice, there was a sweet reminder of our session. Because stretching at the barre, I felt it happen. Luke’s virility came seeping out, wetting my leotard, even drenching my tights at the crotch. Oh no! I had to change, I needed to get to a restroom ASAP to strip off this wet cotton and get into something fresh and clean. Thank god not many people had shown up yet, so no one would notice if I grabbed my warm-up bag and disappeared for five minutes.
But suddenly, a narrow shadow materialized at my side.
“Um hi, Miss Lane,” I muttered, looking down. “I just have to change really quick.”
Our taskmistress is about forty, with graying hair pulled back into a painfully tight bun, her frame sinewy and ripcord thin. It’s scary actually because you can see a lot of arteries at the surface of her skin, like her entire body consists of varicose veins. Not to mention her pursed and wrinkly mouth, liked she’d sucked a lemon.
“And why do you need to change?” the woman asked, her voice frigid and cold as ice. “Didn’t you just get here?”
I bit my lip. She was right. Practice hadn’t started yet, why would I need to change when I was already in a perfectly good warm-up outfit? God, why hadn’t I said I needed to go to the bathroom? Cursing internally, my mind fumbled for more excuses.
But then Miss Lane’s nose wrinkled. She’s got one of those small, thin noses like the woman’s always smelling something sour. But in this case it was true because her eyes squinted as she sniffed again, turning her head this way and that like a bloodhound.
“Is that …?” she glared at me. “Is that what I think it is?”
I held perfectly still, Luke’s seed still dripping down my thigh. Oh god, my pussy was drenched with it, his aroma surrounding me, seeping into my skin. But I pretended not to know.
“Is that what?” I asked in an innocent voice. “Is what what?”
Miss Lane sniffed again, eyes squinty and suspicious. But then her head snapped up and the woman barked. “Plié!” she commanded. “Plié and then arabesque!”
Oh god, why oh why? I fidgeted, trying to stall.
“But Miss Lane,” I stammered. “I need to change, and besides practice hasn’t started yet,” I gestured to the few folks milling around, strapping on their shoes.
Those pale blue eyes stared at me, cold and piercing.
“Plié!” she barked again. “And then arabesque!”
My cheeks flushed, body going stiff. But looking quickly around the room, the choice was clear. It was better just to get it over with rather than prolong this torture. Maybe the cranky lady wouldn’t notice the stain at my crotch, the telltale proof that I’d been with a man. Maybe I could get it over so fast that she’d go away and leave me alone.
So breathing deep, I assumed the position, toes apart, heels together. And then as quickly as possible, I bent my knees so that my legs formed a diamond, the wet fabric visible only for a second, before leaping up into the air, one leg behind, both arms outstretched.
It was frankly the best arabesque I’ve ever done. Because this particular move requires full extension as you raise one thigh, legs parting, stretched almost at a ninety degree angle all the way from the tip of one finger to the back of one toe.
But the problem was that it was too good. Because as my form lifted, poised gracefully into the air, the spot at my crotch became obvious. The wet pink material and corresponding streaks on my thigh were out in the open for anyone to see, the answer to her sniffing nose.
And when I came back to earth, gracefully resuming first position, there was a smirk on Miss Lane’s face.
