Discovering this strange feature of her body should have made her panic, but if she panicked now, she knew her body would just keep betraying her, delivering arousal instead of the ability and desire to flee.
And if they were caught in this not-so-private corner under the stairs? She would be the one who carried the shame and disgust in the eyes of strangers. Not Sergio. He was just a guy. Boys will be boys after all. She was supposed to exercise restraint, say no, have some higher virtue instead of a filthy animal impulse. She should worry and concern herself about pregnancy and diseases—things men, for some reason, rarely trifled with even though their risk profile was exactly the same… a child of their blood or a disease of their partner’s.
Again, these thoughts should have made her angry, but they only excited her more as Sergio drove into her in rhythm to the building music she could hear and even feel through the wall. He held her in place as he fucked her with one hand around her throat while he braced his other against the wall. He wasn’t squeezing, but he wanted her to know that he could.
She should have felt threatened by this raw display of power. But all she felt was wet and aroused. If only she could blame the cream which had long worn off by now. No, this was her and her own traitorous body giving truth to Anton’s claim of ownership because it was only his direct order that had caused her legs to fall open as Sergio had found his way inside her.
She’d come to a point in her mind where she’d decided to pretend this was all a dream with no consequences and just go with it. It was all so uncharacteristic of who she thought she was and what she thought she wanted and what she thought she had no interest in, that it was the only way not to have an entire identity crisis meltdown under the stairs with two practical strangers.
Thunderous applause rose up from some distant place that Annette was vaguely aware existed somewhere beyond the stairs. The ballet was over. People would be filling the lobby at any moment. But Sergio didn’t care. Neither did Anton. Anton at least seemed excited and amused by the prospect of hundreds of people stopping by to watch her get fucked against the wall.
Sergio neither sped nor slowed his pace. He kept that maddening tempo that teased her and took her to the edge of a cliff she knew she wouldn’t fall over this time. Doors burst open and voices could be heard on the stairs and in the hallways. Anton’s chair wasn’t even discreetly hidden behind the stairs. His obvious presence out in the open made him seem like an invitation to come see what was happening back here that had him more riveted than the dancers on stage.
A moment later, Sergio came and then seemed to crumble against her, wrapping her inside an embrace that was at once both comforting and suffocating. At least he fully covered her, shielding her from any prying eyes. When there was a lull in the foot traffic, he pulled away and put himself back together. Annette quickly pulled her own skirt down and straightened her straps. When the next group came by and peered underneath the stairs with suspicion in their eyes at this strange tableau, there was nothing to catch. But somehow Annette thought they knew.
49
Anton guided Annette into the after party. The festivities were being held in a private kink club that had been rented out for the night. Some of the dancers in the company arranged these gatherings, planning weeks in advance of their tour schedule. Each city had its own underworld and sexual depravity, and over the years a network of contacts had been formed so there was always a fully-equipped place to play and let off steam after a performance.
It wasn’t the whole ballet company at the party. Just the kinky ones. Though to be fair, there was a lot of kink in the ballet world. Perhaps it was the punishing and grueling practices and performances. Maybe it was the term “ballet master”. It could have been the absolute expectation of obedience from dancers when they stood at the barre. Whatever it was, it seemed to attract a greater than average number of masochists and subs and inexplicably a few who swung on the other side of that continuum of power and control. Also in attendance were a few outside friends of the dancers, which included Anton and Sergio. One might call them ballet groupies. Though the fact that most of them were doms and sadists made the label seem wrong.
Also in attendance was one of the company’s ballet masters.
This last addition to the party was, of course, entirely inappropriate, but he had an active sub in the company. It was a poorly kept secret, and everyone was consenting adults. Or almost everyone, he thought as his eyes lingered on his complicated new pet. Then again, Annette had responded to him and hadn’t appeared troubled by Sergio fucking her.
At the memory, Anton took in a sharp breath. Watching his friend take her under the stairs had been worth any risk of bringing her out into the world so soon. It was moments like that that made him believe this arrangement could actually somehow work. He’d wanted to see how she would respond to more strangers touching her, before subjecting her to the party.
Once he’d given permission, she’d melted into Sergio’s embrace and opened her legs to invite him inside. She was turning out to be so right that he’d stopped being sorry for kidnapping her sister. How could he be sorry given the outcome?
“Anton!”
He turned at the sound of his name to see Ivan Petrovsky, the company’s head ballet master, coming his way. Ivan was in his early fifties with the energy of a twenty year old. He’d been a dancer in his younger years and had somehow escaped the stage unscathed by injuries.
Ivan’s eyes landed immediately on Annette, drinking her in. “New pet, finally?” he asked as he appraised her as only Ivan could. “I had been starting to worry about you, my friend and most generous patron of the arts.”
“Yes,” Anton said, ignoring the lavish attention Ivan always laid on him for his financial support. “This is Annette.”
“You’ll let me play with her, I hope? Or are you still keeping this one to yourself?”
“No, I’m in a very sharing and giving mood tonight,” Anton said.
“That is, if it is all right with your pet,” Ivan added, almost as an afterthought.
Anton had yet to decide how loose he would be keeping Annette’s leash. Despite how he fought with himself over the sordid reality, it was what he wanted. Someone who belonged truly to him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to start breaking that wall down by giving her the illusion of choice and freedom. Still, at this party, it would look odd to them if she seemed anything less than fully in control and in possession of a safe word.
Annette had gone shy, suddenly—not an unusual reaction to Ivan. She glanced quickly at Anton as if trying to figure out what he wanted from her.
“You can play with him or not play with him,” Anton said, trying to sound as casual about the whole thing as possible. “It’s up to you. Would you like to play with him?”
“Yes, Master,” she said. She didn’t seem to struggle to get the title out. Probably because she was surrounded by other people using the same types of titles. Mistress, Master, Sir, Ma’am. As well as other more personal pet names between more intimate lovers.
The club was full of dancers from the company wearing collars and little else, engaged in various power games around the large open space. When Anton had first told her how he wanted her to address him in front of his friends, she must have imagined she would be the only one. She seemed to have relaxed into the truth that she was not.