Bottom Ballerina Bitch

Being on the bottom of that pile would be sweet... right?

My friends thought it was a funny joke.  Sure, I was short, and I didn’t have big muscles or anything… but a dancer?  A male ballerina dancer?  I couldn’t exactly turn down their offer though.  I mean, tuition and board at one of the most prestigious dance studios in Los Angeles had to cost thousands of dollars.  And what if they were right?  What if I could be a dancer and have a career hoisting pretty petit girls around on stage all night and get paid for it?  That was the final selling point;  being around all those cute girls with their hair done up in buns and fawning over any man comfortable enough in his sexuality to dance around in tights and a leotard. 

The odds of hooking up with one of these pretty dancers seemed pretty good at first.  There were only five guys in the orientation class compared to the 50 or so girls.  But it became pretty clear that this wasn’t any ordinary studio really fast.  There weren’t any male dorms, or even individual rooms.  I wasn’t even roomed with one of the guys and found my roommate Claudia was a third year student.  She was designated as my mentor and I was to follow everything she did.  Everything. 

At first I tried to play along.  Sure, wearing what was obviously female dance wear was embarrassing, but at least they gave me a dance belt to support my cock and balls.  But even with the belt holding my bits and pieces close, it was hard not to tent out the leotard and as soon as Claudia slipped into the shower after our first day of warmups and practice, I had to get rid of that pent up sexual frustration.  I mean, come on… being surrounded by all these ultimately feminine dancers as they stretch and moan and groan and pose?  Unfortunately Claudia finished her shower just in time to catch me cumming all over my towel. 

The chastity cage itself wasn’t so bad.  The ballet master, Miss Ania, said she’d unlock me each weekend.  Not being able to vent my sexual frustrations though made me completely horny all the time.  I was almost constantly painfully constrained in the cage.  And the girls knew it and teased me.  After a couple weeks of that I tried to lash out at them but found out pretty quick that there was a strict hierarchy and I was nowhere near the top.  The top this year was my roommate as she was the principal dancer.  The girls she had me practicing with most of the time were the soloists, the next rung down.  I thought of them as her lieutenants.  The Demi-soloists were the next lower rank and they still strutted around like they ran the place.  Beneath them were the corps de ballet and this was the majority of 2^nd and 3^rd year students.  Lower yet were the apprentices and this was almost all of the new first years. 

But according to Claudia, I didn’t even qualify as that as I had zero dance experience before enrolling.  She made up a whole new level for me and one other girl named Margot … bottom ballerina bitch.  I answered to everybody and I was to do anything they said.  That’s when I lost it and demanded to leave.  Evidently this dance studio had a reputation to keep though, and that reputation was making every student into a dance professional… so they wouldn’t let me leave.  And with my cock now safely locked away in addition to my identification and wallet and cash, I had no choice but to wait for a chance out.  IF I was very good, I could earn a weekend pass into the city, so that would be my chance. 

It was just so HARD to be good though.  These ballerina girls were just so mean and once they saw that I wasn’t happy, that attracted their attentions like blood in the water for sharks.  Who was made to clean my room?  Me.  Who was made to clean up the rooms of all the soloists and demi-soloists?  Me and Margot.  Who did the entire troupes laundry?  Me and Margot.  While it would seem Margot was the same level as me, it was clear that I was even lower as they didn’t even accept my name of Nate.  Once they saw I didn’t like them jokingly calling me Natalia, that became my name.  Even the teachers started calling me that. 

Speaking of the teachers, they must have been in on this.  It’s one thing to dress up like the girls and be made to walk, talk, and act like one of the girls.  But it’s another for my body hair to start falling out, the hair on my head to start growing out faster, and my skin to grow smoother.  They had to be doing something with my soap and shampoo.  Even that couldn’t explain everything though.  My voice at first started to crack and eventually just stayed at that pretty sounding alto.  It was like puberty in reverse.  My hips, my ass, my waist… they all started to form my body into a more feminine shape.  And maybe, just maybe, you could put that up to the exercises as I was working to lose weight and working only the muscles the female dancers were, but no amount of exercise or hair losing soap or hair growing shampoo could explain the breasts away.  When they had to fit me for my sports bra after I complained about my breasts shifting and moving during my air spins…. my tour en l’airs… it was the most humiliating experience I could imagine.  Up to that point anyway. 

Any complaint or frown or whimper or any sign of disapproval of my lot in the school was met with a demerit, and any demerits meant no city pass.  So while I was screaming and crying and begging on the inside for this feminizing hell to stop, I had to smile and nod, and act like any other happy girly dancing student.  When they brought in friends and families for our first semi-formal performance, I thought for sure it would be bad.  I was the only girl there with a noticeable bulge as you just couldn’t hide the chastity cage.  I readied myself for people to make fun of the ‘sissy’ dancing with all the girls.  But the reality was worse.  Once they got my tutu in place, you couldn’t see the bulge.  And as I was introduced to the girls’ family and friends, they all just accepted me as another girl.  My masculinity was so hidden that no one suspected I was a guy.  I just wish that was the worst blow to my sexuality. 

Wearing women’s clothes is one thing.  Having your skin and hair look like a girl’s is one thing.  Acting like a happy dancing girl is one thing.  Having your body molded into that of a girl, breasts included, is one thing.  But being invited into the girls’ sexual games AS a girl without the ability to even suggest I didn’t want it?  That’s probably the point where I just broke.  I thought they were joking when they pulled out their realistic shaped veiny pink dildos and made us suck and lick them like they were real cocks, but there I was in a circle with Margot and all the rest of the apprentices, slurping away.  Claudia and the soloists went around and kneeled down to whisper in our ears, so I got to hear a sexy voice from behind describe how I was sucking on one of the ballirnios… the male ballerina dancers.  How I had to prep him and how I loved being his cock sucking dancer. 

When they had grasp the barre in the studio, push our legs out and put our asses out on display I figured I’d be the only ‘girl’ getting a strap-on to the ass, but from all the screams and groans and cries, every girl got fucked up the ass.  It turns out it was a hazing ritual that was supposed to help us.  If you could get ass fucked without crying out, then the discomfort of going up on pointe would be easy to bear.  Margot and I were the only ones after the 4 hours of fucking that couldn’t keep our voices down, so now here I am getting personalized training again.  

Claudia sliding her double sided pink dildo into both Margott’s and my ass, encouraging us to push back and bounce our smooth asses off each other’s. 





source:  fuskator