This story is for adults only. It contains descriptions of graphic sex. I found the photo online; if anyone objects to me using it, let me know and I’ll take it down. No copyright infringement is intended.
Balancing Act, Copyright by Theo Fenraven, July 2012
He moved gracefully behind me, and I watched him in the mirror as his eyes sought mine. His hands moved to my hips again, his touch light but present. “You have to learn to open your pelvic area. I’ll give you some exercises that will help. You have the build, the legs for this, you just need more experience.”
I was getting hard again, as his fingers moved on me, along the taut skin over the hip bones, sliding inward across the thin material of the tights until they came to rest on either side of my dance-belted cock. In the mirror, it visibly filled and lengthened, the bulge becoming prominent between his resting fingers. My lips parted and my breath came heavier, faster.
“How old are you, Sam?” he asked, fingers still on me and no other part of him touching me yet.
I swallowed. “Nineteen. In a couple of months.”
“First year at Juilliard?”
Nodding, my eyes widened when he stepped closer to me. His body heat enveloped me from behind, the thinnest layer of hot air between us.
“I’m 26,” he said in a low voice, eyes still watching mine in the mirror. “Does it bother you when I touch you?”
“N….no. I mean yes. I mean…” I shut up. Fuck yeah, it bothered me, so much so that I was unconsciously leaning back into him because suddenly, my shoulders made contact with his chest. Braced, he supported my weight and I saw his eyes darken incrementally as the pupils dilated.
His hands moved, sliding up and over my erection as his fingers laced together on top of it. I gasped, inhaling air harshly, moving into his touch. His left hand moved down into my groin, grazing my cock and my captured testicles, before sliding off onto my thigh and pressing.
“Open,” he said, pushing harder.
Obediently, I spread my leg left sideways until it hurt. “Ouch.”
Kevin laughed. “I know. Your body isn’t used to moving that way. Like I said, exercise will help. That, and much practice. Why are you taking this class?”
“Drama teacher suggested it.”
Nodding, Kevin mimicked the movement of his left hand with his right until both my legs were spread as wide apart as possible and I’d sunk into a half-squat. It hurt like a son of a bitch, my inner thigh muscles quivering with pain, insulted by what I was asking them to do.
“Lower, Sam. Your center is still too high.”
My center was the last thing I was thinking about. What I wanted was for him to touch me. I ached for it. Since acknowledging my gayness, I’d had little opportunity to embrace it; Kevin was offering me something I yearned for.
I started to tremble, thigh muscles shaking with strain and desire. He stepped forward then, up against my back, strong thigh muscles moving to brace mine. I felt his hard-on against my ass and made a sound in my throat as I leaned back into him. His hands shifted again, off my thighs and onto my erection. His fingers clasped me through the tights and dance belt, kneading the iron bar that my cock had become.
He breathed hot air against my neck and then his lips pressed against the skin, sending a shiver through me.
“Yoga,” he said softly in my ear.
“What?” His fingers were now wrapped around my cock, working me through the material. Jesus, I didn’t want him to stop, I never wanted him to stop, it felt so fucking good. My hips started to flex in unison with his movements, driving my cock into his palm. My breathing was ragged and shallow, almost panting. Colors started pinwheeling behind my eyes.
“Yoga will teach you flexibility, control…patience.” As he said the last word, he released me and stepped back.
Caught unawares, I staggered before regaining my balance. Confused, so hard it hurt, my eyes sought his in the mirror. He’d retreated to a spot several feet behind me and was watching me with bright eyes, a faint smile on his lips.
Not knowing what had happened, uncertainty flicking through me, I made for the exit leading to the changing rooms. Fuck this, I thought, anger starting to simmer in my taut stomach muscles.
“Giving up that easily?” he said.
At the door, I paused and looked back. He was standing perfectly balanced on both legs, his erection clearly evident from where I was. Frowning, I gazed at him. “What the fuck?”
As I watched, he ran a hand across his groin, huffing out a little as his eyes half shut. “Learn to ask for what you want, Sam. It isn’t often things land in your lap without effort. Want to become more flexible? Practice, practice, practice.” He palmed himself, lips parting. “Want me? Want this? Ask.”
I stared at him, still pissed. But watching what he was doing to himself made me ache so fucking bad, I suddenly no longer cared that he was playing me. I marched back over to him with a growl, grabbed his shoulders, and fast-walked him up against the nearest wall.
“How’s this for asking?” I said, leaning into him, and then kissed him harshly, lips hard on his, my teeth knocking against his.
His mouth opened under mine and I shoved my tongue in, tasting him, making him moan and shove his hips against mine. Okay, then. Enough fucking around. Time to get down to it.
He smelled of fresh sweat and some kind of powder, with light cologne over that. Pressing my nose against his neck, I inhaled and started gasping again, my cock straining against the dance belt. Sliding a hand down his arm to his wrist, I wrapped my fingers around it and pulled it between us, pushing into his palm.
I didn’t ask. I told him. “Finish it.”
To be continued.