Stillness
The sensual journey of a ballerina caught between passion and control. Her forbidden desires and emotional turmoil unravel when she interrupts her mentor in the dressing room.
Author’s Note: This is the first part of a story that I’m going to just let happen.
Her feet rested against the smooth surface of the mat, the toes slightly flexed, anticipating movement, but in the moment they were still, the feet of a dancer, every tendon and bone a tool of her art.
Kayla Dunn’s body was a sculpture in motion, exhibiting the delicate balance of power and grace of a prima ballerina, practiced at revealing stillness by imminent motion. From the crown of her head to the tips of those toes, she was carved with the precision of the sculptor’s chisel, each line a perfect harmony of nature’s design and disciplined craft.
Her limbs long, slender and strong, slightly misproportioned to her torso, muscles defined but not overly pronounced, with a slight softness that created a false allure of the attainable.
A gentle curve of her hips and the conditioning of her abdomen, the harmony of an athlete’s power and a dancer’s grace.
Her skin, a soft cinnamon, unblemished, caught the sunlight in a way that highlighted the smoothness and warmth of her complexion, a natural glow that hinted at the depth of her heritage. The meticulous placement of her hair into a thick, black bun, carefully assembled and tightly woven, framed her face in a way that accentuated her high cheekbones, straight nose, full lips.
Her almond-shaped eyes, a deep and rich brown, conveyed her intensity and unbroken focus that even when closed declared the fierce determination that lay beneath her serene presentation.
At just 22, Kayla had already spent the last three years as the prima ballerina of her regional ballet company, a position she had earned with undeniable talent and relentless drive, stepping in at just 19 years of age.
Julian had been by her side the entire time, as her partner on stage, the company’s lead male dancer for the past decade, and now as its choreographer. Their partnership and creative interpretations had become a fixture of the company, their performances lauded for their chemistry and precision.
Kayla stretched her legs forward, the muscles elongating with a fluidity that belied the strength they hold. Her feet followed, pointing precisely, the tendons like fine viola strings, delicate, unbreakable, then her toes, each joint subtly flexing, small movements seemingly inconspicuous.
Kayla’s breath released, her feet soften. There was beauty in this stillness, in the way her body yielded to the pose.
Julian’s voice resonated in the quiet. Hold the stretch, he instructs.
Pacing the lines of dancers, Julian’s presence was as commanding as his voice. His light brown skin contrasted subtly with the dark, close-cropped hair. Broad-shouldered, brawny, his physique was the result of a lifetime of physical discipline. His deep brown eyes, set beneath thick, expressive brows, held a quiet intensity that suggested both authority and something deeper, more personal but also aloof.
He moved through the room with grounded confidence.
Kayla’s eyes remain closed, but she felt him standing over her, guiding them all with an unspoken command.
His shadow falling over her as he knelt behind her, his large hands rested lightly on her shoulders. In a moment of stillness, a silent communication between their bodies, he pushed, gently but also firmly, against her back. His touch was sure, inspiring her deeper into the stretch, to her limit.
Kayla exhaled slowly, Shhhhhhhhhhhit, eliciting a laugh from her company as she surrendered to his pressure, her body folding further, the stretch intensifying as Julian’s hands pressed her closer to the mat.
Kayla noticed a slight tremble in Julian as he touched her, an unsteadiness in his hand coupled with an unwillingness to correct her moment of levity.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but after three years of dancing together, three years of trusting him with her body, she noticed immediately. Attuned to the smallest shifts and nuances in balance and support, her body reacted to the tremor with a brief flutter of uncertainty.
In all their time as partners, Julian’s hands had been her foundation. Whether lifting her high above his head or cradling her through the delicate transitions of a pas de deux, his steadiness had always been a given, holding her in ways that were both intimate and protective, guiding her through some of the most challenging and vulnerable moments on stage.
If the audience doesn’t think we’re gonna go home to fuck, you’re not holding me correctly, she instructed him early in their partnership. It was blanket permission, necessary for their art, that he could place his hands anywhere on her body as he needed.
They had learned quickly to trust each other implicitly, to never doubt, to never ask permission, and she knew that no matter the complexity of the choreography, no matter how perilous the move, Julian would always be strong, reliable, unshakable.
But now, as his fingers brush against her skin, that small tremor rippled uneasiness through her. This man, whose strength had become a part of her own, whose touch she had come to depend on with a certainty that was almost instinctual, seemed suddenly unsure, as if the very foundation of her dance had wavered, the bedrock shifting beneath her.
He adjusted her position with the lightest pressure, stretching her foot further. Their eyes met, just briefly, as he knelt down to her. She noticed him taking in the length of her body, her legs and arms bare, the skin goosebumped despite the heat in the air.
The ballet company was a small, insular community, one where everyone knew each other’s habits, strengths, and vulnerabilities. For years, Kayla and Julian had navigated this space together, their bodies intertwined not just in performance but in the daily routines that made up the life of a dancer.
Despite now having her own private dressing room, Kayla knew that the backstage environment offered little in the way of true privacy. She had undressed in full view of others more times than she could count, her body simply another instrument of the art they all created together.
Julian, as both her partner and choreographer, had undoubtedly seen her in various states of undress, her breasts as she changed quickly between acts, probably also her ass, and perhaps more.
The way he now took in her body was different, though. These glimpses were never something they lingered on. They were practicalities, part of the job, stripped of any personal meaning.
And it was not one-sided. She, too, had seen Julian’s bare ass, his leotard otherwise leaving little to the imagination, outlining every muscle, every sinew, every thing. It was a fact of their profession, the physical proximity that was as much a part of their lives as the music they danced to. She wasn’t supposed to dwell on his body either.
But yesterday, something shifted.
After a grueling week of rehearsals, Julian had prepared an ice bath for her in the group dressing room, a thoughtful gesture he took as a routine responsibility in care of his dance partner.
Kayla, assuming that everyone had left, that she was alone, walked from her dressing room to the bathtub naked, a towel over her shoulder, the cool air prickling her skin as she moved through the space, the room colored by a harsh, fluorescent light that cast everything in a clinical glow that contributed to the aura of practical nudity.
The coolness of the room was a stark contrast to the heat of the studio, where the intensity of the rehearsal still lingered in Kayla’s muscles, aching and sore. She stepped into the space, her mind heavy with apprehensions about the upcoming performance, her body craving the relief the ice bath promised.
The coldness of the water was palpable even before she dipped in her toe. She knew the shock that was coming, the jolt to her system that would tighten every muscle, force her to catch her breath. But it was a welcome shock, one that distracted from the emotions swirling in her mind.
The icy water wrapped around her legs, her thighs, her hips. The cold tightened her skin, making her gasp as it reached her core, her nipples reacting instantly to the chill, hardening into delicate points of dusky pink in the center of her breasts, high-set and firm.
She lowered herself fully into the bath, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts as her body adjusted. The initial shock would soon give way to a dull numbness, a slow spreading of cold that seeped into her bones, easing the ache in her muscles.
Her thoughts drift, unbidden toward this weekend’s performance, the first opportunity in a long time for Kayla to advance her career. Last month, she received word that the director of San Francisco’s company wanted to meet with her. Julian, ever faithful to his star, quickly organized a full showcase as a fundraiser in partnership with the local county arts council, with a reception to follow so that Kayla could be presented as a star worthy of one of the best companies in the country.
The preparation time was short, however, and the choreography was new and daring. Kayla had spent countless hours rehearsing, each movement scrutinized, recorded, and perfected under Julian’s watchful eye, but the weight of what was at stake had woven its tension into every muscle, unreleased with each breath. She could not afford to falter.
The cold water numbed her body, but her mind remained anxious. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the edge of the tub, trying to let the cold into her thoughts, but when her alarm notified her to exit the tub, the tension hadn’t left.
Wrapping a towel around herself, allowing herself a moment to enjoy the softness and heat of the fabric against her cold, tight skin, her movements were slow and deliberate as she walked toward her dressing room, the droplets of water trailing down her legs, dripping to the floor.
She paused, noticing the sound of a shower around the corner.
She was surprised and suspicious, believing she had been alone. Did somebody leave the water running? she worried, Is a toilet overflowing? A frown creased her brow, the thought worrying her, an unusual oversight in a space where precision, discipline, and cost management, were everything. Her bare feet moved soundlessly across the tiled floor toward the source of the sound.
When she rounded the corner, she stopped quickly, her breath catching in her throat as she saw Julian under a showerhead against the far wall. The water splashed over his broad shoulders, his head tilted back under the spray, eyes closed, lost in thought.
Like hers, Julian’s body had been chiseled by years of devotion to the demanding art of ballet, standing as a testament to both strength and urbanity, exuding a timeless power, each muscle and contour an intentional development in the masterpiece of his physique. From head to toe, Julian was a statue come to life, a blend of classical beauty and raw, masculine energy.
His back was anatomical precision, the muscles there expressing themselves like a relief carved into stone. The line of his spine was straight and strong, a central column that anchored his entire form, tapering down to the small of his back where the muscles curved gracefully into his waist.
Kayla always enjoyed looking at Julian’s ass, though usually in fleeting moments, each cheek firm and rounded, sculpted with the same precision as the rest of his body. The glutes were prominent, lifting and shaping his ass into a perfect curve that flowed seamlessly into the powerful lines of his thighs, a cornerstone of his physical power, the base from which his movements originated, each step, each leap, driven by the strength of his lower body.
Leaning against the wall, her hand gripping the tiled corner, a part of her was drawn to him as a man. It’s a thought she dismissed countless times, buried under layers of professionalism, practicality, and routine.
But now, seeing him vulnerable, those buried notions surged to the surface, undeniable and overwhelming.
Julian moved. Lowering his head from the spray and turning slightly, his eyes opened as if sensing her presence. Kayla’s body tensed, apprehending his reaction. But he did not look directly at her, just paused, his eyes unfocused as if listening for something. She held her breath, afraid that any sound might give her away, yet unwilling to take her eyes off him as his body now faced her.
At first she kept her eyes high, upon his chest, broad and firm, the pectoral muscles well defined and symmetrically perfect, like the chest of a warrior. Many times, her hands had pressed here before dropping along the course to his abdomen, where the muscles were clean, precise lines. She had supported herself on his waist, narrow, the muscles there tight and defined, tapering down to hips that were solid and stable.
As he shifts fully toward her, the water running down his chest, Kayla lets herself see his cock for the first time, hanging thick and substantial between his thighs.
Even in its relaxed state, it commanded her attention, the weight of it, the way it rested against the muscles of his thighs. His cock was a stark reminder of the raw, unfiltered strength that lay within him, that could support her or break her apart. His cock, a vision of both quiet potency and undeniable magnetism, a piece of him that, like the rest of his body, must have been carved into ancient marble with the precision of a master’s hand.
Kayla felt a flush of heat spreading through her, a mixture of shock, arousal, and a deep-seated curiosity. There was something primal about watching him like this, something that stirred an unfamiliar tingling in her body that she seldom allowed herself beyond a quick necessary and fleeting fuck when it had been too long that she was distracted.
It hadn’t been too long. She allowed herself just two nights ago to take a college boy home and have him, knowing she would need all of her focus in the days to come.
But now she could not seem to look away.
The steam attached itself to his body in tiny patches of dewy condensation, highlighting the hard lines and soft planes, dripping from the tip of his cock, sliding down his legs.
She imagined what it would feel like to touch him there, to feel the warmth and weight of him in her hand. Just as that thought crossed her mind, she noticed a slight twitch, a subtle jump of his cock as it hung between his thighs.
The movement was small, almost imperceptible.
But it nonetheless caught her attention, sending a jolt through her as if her own thoughts had somehow reached him, bridging the distance between them, gathering an excitement.
She bit her lip, her heart pounding even harder, and wondered what could have triggered that jump of his cock. Had something crossed his mind, something that mirrored the thoughts now swirling in her own, something about her?
Her towel slipped from where it was wrapped around her body and she let it loosely hang around her while the steamy air of the room feeling chilled in comparison to the warmth flooding her skin, a different kind of shock from her bath.
She allowed the fantasy to take hold, her breath holding, her mind imagining what it would be like if she were the one to provoke this reaction in him. The thought of Julian losing himself for even a moment because of her, a shiver of excitement and fear penetrating through her. She imagined it grow firm with her touch, the way his breath would halt like hers halted now, his body responding to her as hers responded now to him.
For a brief, electrifying moment, Kayla thought of stepping into the showers, letting her towel fall to the floor, walking toward him naked and inviting, If we want the audience to think we’re gonna go home to fuck, we should be fucking. The microfiber would pool at her feet, leaving her completely exposed, her breasts bare, her nipples hard, and her sex wet. She imagined the way his eyes would trace down her body, lingering on the gentle curve of her waist before sliding lower, taking in the way her hips tapered down into her legs to create a gentle, flowing line, the soft curve of her lower abdomen to the delicate mound where the natural contours of her body were highlighted and amplified by the spray of the shower waters, the suggestion of her most intimate lips discreetly nestled between her thighs.
She imagined the look in his eyes as he sees her, the way his body would tense with anticipation, the way he might reach out to pull her into him, his cock swelling with arousal, leaping for her attention.
In her imagination, what had been a thick, substantial presence now rose with a deliberate, almost predatory intent, the veins beneath the surface becoming more pronounced, pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat now rapid for her. The shaft thickened and lengthened, curving slightly upward, a column of flesh that seemed both sculpted and alive, pulsing with a life of its own. The slight curve of it seemed perfectly designed to reach deep within her, to fill her so fucking completely.
That thought, Julian’s hard cock curved for her body, sent a rush of wet heat to Kayla’s core, her pussy instinctively preparing for him to enter her.
The Kayla of her fantasy reached out, her hand steady as she wrapped her fingers around it, the skin smooth and firm, the heat of it beating against her palm, a living thing that commanded every movement.
Her fingers would barely meet around the thickness of his shaft, as if her hand, so small and dainty, had been made to explore this, to hold and feel the power that coursed through him. She tightened her grip, feeling the veins that ridged his length, like a pathway of his arousal, press against the pads of her fingers.
As her hand moved slowly up and down, she could feel the way his cock seemed to harden even further in response to her gentleness, almost begging for her. The head flared wider than her fingers could comfortably encompass, the skin there projecting a sensitivity she could feel beneath her fingertips, raptured by the scratch of her nails chewed deep into their beds.
Kayla’s other hand would join the first to fully explore the ridge that separated the head from the rest of his cock, feeling the smoothness give way to the slight roughness where the veins branched out, confounding at the tiny flap of extra skin that made him jump with immediate pleasure. She marveled at how her touch would both excite and soothe him, the way his cock twitched in her hands, growing always heavier, the weight of it a reminder of the pleasure he was capable of delivering.
Her fingers would slide down to the base of his cock, feeling the tautness of the skin there, then back up to the tip, where she teased the sensitive head with the pad of her thumb, spreading the moisture there in a slow, deliberate motion.
The juxtaposition of her small, soft hands against his thick, commanding cock was an intoxicating fantasy that remained with her.
When Julian shut off the water, shaking his head slightly to dislodge the droplets clinging to his hair, Kayla forced herself to step back, her heart pounding in her chest, tightening her entire body with the small anxiety of being discovered and losing control of the encounter. She retreated quickly, the sound of her footsteps and her own breathing loud in her ears, hoping he did not see her or hear the rapid rat-a-tat-tat fuck-fuck-fuck-shit-cunt-fuck of that anxiety bubbling through her.
Once in the privacy of her own room, she pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm the racing of her heart, the image of him so vivid and raw. She could still feel the power he held in his cock, a power that seemed like it would overwhelm her body.
There was a soft knock at her open dressing room door, jolting Kayla upright.
Kayla? Julian’s voice was deep and contrived, betraying his own curiosity.
She turned quickly to face him, realizing that her towel was barely holding to her body, her breasts nearly visible, the soft fabric hanging precariously over her hips. The curve of her ass was now starkly exposed to him, the muscles subtly tensed as she instinctively straightened, feeling his eyes sweep over her.
Her body turned, her hands moving to cover herself as she looked away from him. She felt acutely aware of every part of herself, somehow fixated on her collarbone, the way it created a touch of angularity to the softness of her figure.
Were you in the shower? Julian asked, his towel wrapped securely around his waist, one hand cinching it shut, but she couldn’t resist noticing the way it clung to his still-damp skin, the muscles of his abdomen hard above the fabric, a ridge where his cock struggled to hide. She imagined it lifting from the security of his body, to say hello, to take requests.
Julian stepped into the room, closing the distance between them with a deliberate slowness. Kayla realized she could so easily drop her towel, or take his.
His eyes searched hers as if trying to decipher the thoughts she had been so desperately trying to hide. I thought I heard something, he let the sentence trail off, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft, steady rhythm of their breathing, coupled with the distant drip of water from the showers.
Kayla tightened her grip on her towel, her knuckles white as she struggled to maintain her composure. I just got out of the ice bath and had to pee, she said, her voice barely above a whisper, I didn’t know you were still here.
She felt her words were weak, inadequate against the truth of what she had just witnessed, and what she had imagined, and also what she wanted.
Julian nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. Right, he would not press the issue, taking a step back, as if to give her space. I’ll leave you to it then, he said, his voice softer now, more introspective.
When he turned to leave, she noticed him hesitate for just a moment longer.
Drop your towel, she thinks, careful not to let the thought escape her mouth.
When the door closed behind Julian, Kayla sank down onto her bench, her legs feeling too weak to support her, the room too small, too inadequate.
She pressed her hands to her face, feeling the smoothness of her skin beneath her fingers, the contrast between her soft, delicate features and the power she knew her body held.
Desire, shame, confusion, lust, anxiety, they all swirled within her, but there was something else, something deeper, rooted in the knowledge of what her body could evoke in others, in Julian, and the power that came with that awareness.
The author T.J. Snow is working on his debut novel, Longing for the Shore.
