This story was prompted by seeing a dancer in her thirties at a rehearsal. She was accompanied by a boy in his late teens who she introduced as her stepson - she obviously adored him, and kept touching him and stroking his face, and rubbing her body against him. She was wearing the most revealing leotard I'd ever seen, and the effect on the boy was obvious from the bulge in his jeans throughout the rehearsal, and when it ended he followed her into the showers ...
I've tried to write it from a woman's point of view, and I'd be delighted to hear from female readers on whether I've got it right, plus any suggestions, hopefully constructive!
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Jennifer finished her barre, and reached for a towel to mop her face and throat. It was a hot day late July, and even at this time in the morning the temperature was in the high 80s, and the humidity was even higher. She patted the towel on her chest, feeling perspiration trickling down between her breasts, and then smiled a welcome when her step-son appeared.
'It's another scorcher today, darling!' she said. 'But it's great for loosening up everything. I could dance all day!'
As she looked at the boy, she noticed yet again how mature - if that's the right word - he was becoming. Very attractive too, she admitted to herself. She loved his long eyelashes, and his smooth downy cheeks: almost like a girl's, she thought, and she often stroked his face affectionately. Then there were the fine hairs on his wrists - for some reason she found them strangely erotic, and she found herself touching them more and more.
'Right - I'm off for a shower!' she said brightly, moving towards him, but he stopped her.
'No, Jen - what about doing that study thing I like first?'
She was working on a solo dance she'd promised to perform at a dance festival that was coming up in a couple of months - the organiser was an old friend - and lover - and the boy had sometimes stopped by to watch her.
'Well - OK, Chris - why not?'
He stood by the table on which she kept her tape machine and all her cassettes, watching her search for the tape, and she glanced at him again and smiled.
Christopher's mother had died when he was nine, and his father had re-married two years later. He was much older than Jennifer, and in fact she was only fourteen years older than the boy. His father had died two years ago, leaving her the large house and outbuildings, and more than comfortably well off, and since then Jennifer had looked after the boy alone. She treated him more as a brother than a step-son, and they'd always got on well together.
As she rummaged through her cassettes she saw him staring at her body: he'd been looking at her quite a lot lately, she'd noticed. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to dance for him, she thought: her green leotard left little to the imagination - supported by a couple of narrow straps, it was cut low on her breasts and high on her hips - it tapered to a narrow vee over her pubic mound, while from the rear it left her back bare to her waist, and strained ineffectually to contain the cheeks of her bottom.
She'd converted the loft of an old barn into a studio - the wooden floor was ideal for dancing, and the sunlight streamed in through a skylight in the sloping roof. Her body was coated in a sheen of perspiration, and her skin gleamed as though oiled when she passed through the beams of sunlight. She glanced down at herself and noticed that her nipples were clearly delineated through the tight material: she saw him staring at them, and she was suddenly embarrassed when his scrutiny caused them to stiffen involuntarily. He's not looking at me much like a brother at the moment, she thought, but then the music started. and she immediately forgot everything else.
The boy watched her intently: the piece was by a French composer - he couldn't remember his name - and her movements matched the music perfectly. Her body spoke of exhilaration, freedom - sudden curiosity, and then the mood changed and she began to move sensuously, running her hands over her body and glancing over her shoulder enticingly. Christopher felt himself becoming aroused, and studied her body as, barefooted, she circled an imaginary lover, reaching for him and then pulling away abruptly, to suddenly crouch in front of the boy like a sprinter at the starting blocks, staring into the distance. Was she about to flee? Or was she preparing to pounce like a wild animal? She was panting with exertion, her skin glistening with perspiration and her breasts heaving as if trying to free themselves from the confines of her leotard.
Suddenly the boy bent down and gently gripped her upper arms to raise her to feet. Jennifer was momentarily startled, her concentration broken, and then she was standing in front of him, looking at him curiously. He gazed down at her body once more, seeing the deep valley between her breasts - as his eyes dropped she was once again conscious of his long thick eyelashes that almost brushing his cheeks, and then he was staring at her face as if for the first time. He saw her high cheekbones, her full, generous mouth, and eyes that reflected the colour of her leotard. Her auburn hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, and he lightly brushed it aside, before resting his hands gently on her shoulders, feeling her damp skin warm beneath his fingers.
Jennifer stood, her arms by her side, staring into his eyes, her expression impossible to read. He briefly tightened his grip, and she swayed towards him, not knowing whether he was pulling her or if she moved of her own volition. He slowly lowered his face closer to hers, then paused: she was still staring at him, impassive and unmoving, and then his mouth covered hers.
She made a small noise in her throat, and then her lips parted as she returned his kiss, hesitantly at first, and then with growing intensity. Their tongues began an elaborate pas de deux, and their mouths feasted on each other for what seemed like an eternity.
Suddenly she felt him slipping the straps of her leotard off her shoulders, and slowly dragging it down to her waist, to reveal her naked breasts. Then his hand was cupping her left breast, caressing it gently, feeling her nipple pebble-hard in his palm. Their kiss grew wilder as he fondled her, and then she pulled back to stare at him uncertainly. Then she touched his face, and he bent his head to kiss her neck, fondling her breast and running his hand over her bare back - she stroked his hair, then her body yielded against him once again.
For the first time she became aware of his rigid penis thrusting against her belly, and she caught her breath, then dropped her hand to grip it through his jeans. He held her tightly, kissing her as he felt her fingers probing and squeezing him gently. Then she pulled her head back slightly and stared at him almost unseeingly.
'I want to see it, and feel it,' she said huskily, and without waiting for a response she tugged the zipper down and inserted her hand into his jeans. She fumbled to free the boy's penis from his underpants, and then she tugged it out and held it lightly. She felt him shudder, and then he tried to kiss her once more, but she turned her face away.
'Not yet, darling - I told you, I want to look at you.'
Jennifer sank to her knees in front of him and stared at the boy's penis, running her fingers over it and then resting it in her hand. In her time she'd seen - and been fucked by - her fair share of penises of all shapes and colours - white, black, brown and even yellow, when she'd spent a sex-drunk weekend in Paris with a Chinese dancer, but somehow seeing Chris's cock was different. Like love at first sight, she thought. It was very white, and longer than she'd expected, although not overly thick, and slightly curved. She stroked the heavy blue vein standing out in sharp contrast to the whiteness of his skin, then rubbed her thumb over the domed head, kneading it lightly. Whereas the swollen purple head of the boy's penis was pliant, its shaft felt like solid gristle, and she tightened her fingers around it to rub it slowly, feeling it throbbing in her hand.
She sighed, and lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.
'Christ, it's beautiful, Chris,' she whispered, rising to her feet and fondling him as she kissed him dreamily.
The boy gripped her naked breast, then released it and tried to push his hand down into her leotard, but she caught his wrist, holding him with his fingers splayed over her bare belly.
