in which he fucks Ada's bestfriend when she is 18!
hii, love this idea xx I have been writing this all day, time to celebrate with a jam sandwich:) xx
Finally mine
warning: agegap!, Thomas lusts after her while she is underage, grooming, virginity loss, virginity kink, innocence kink, unprotected sex, Tommy being a softie, possessiveness
pairing: Thomas Shelby x Innocent!Reader
summary: ever since he came back from the war, Tommy found himself wanting his sister’s lovely and sweet best friend, too bad he has to wait until she is 18
(Y/N) was the sweetest girl in the whole of Birmingham, always polite and kind. Thomas was smitten with her from day one. She and Ada met in school, she felt sorry that Ada was always alone, because everyone told their kids to stay away from the filthy Shelby’s. So, one day she gathered the courage and sat beside the sad girl, who was very excited to finally have a friend.
It was the age of war, so everyone was always on the edge of a meltdown. And money wasn’t exactly falling from the sky. While (Y/N)’s family weren’t considered aristocrats by any chance, she never had to worry about not getting fed, or not having a warm bed to sleep in. That was something that the Shelby’s couldn’t exactly relate to, there was little money and quite a few mouths to feed. Aunt Polly tried her best to feed the hungry children at the table, but she was failing more and succeeding less. Her sister-in-law’s three big boys were away at war, but they were always talked about.
One day, the thirteen year old (Y/N) plopped down beside her best friend Ada with a full lunch box in hand. She always had lunch packed with her, but Ada never did. For a long time, she just assumed that the malnourished girl was not hungry in school. While she was munching on her apple, she heard the growl of a hungry belly and Ada turned her head down in shame. While a girl is naive at 13, (Y/N) immediately knew that her friend was hungry, and that she probably didn’t get as much food at home as she did. When Ada looked back at her, she reacted with a wide smile to the outstretched hand towards her, holding a big red apple.
For the rest of the break, they just sat under their tree, silently chewing on their apples, with a smile on both faces.
That is how Ada knew that (Y/N) was going to be her lifelong best friend. She opened up to her when they were sharing a cigarette on the edge of the forest.
“We had more money before the war, if Tommy was here he would make sure that we have food.” Ada explained.
(Y/N) just blinked at her friend. “Who’s Tommy?”
———-
Three years later, the girls were now sixteen and the war was finally over. Because (Y/N) herself didn’t have any brothers, or sisters, she didn’t know how many families waited for this day to come.
It was a pretty summer day, and she made her way to the Shelby household, where she was always welcomed by Aunt Polly. Except, when she walked into the house, there was only one man sitting at the table. Her breath got stuck in her throat and she blushed heavily, he was very handsome. For a moment she believed that she walked into the wrong house, but the photographs on the walls proved otherwise. He was smoking a cigarette and staring at the wall blankly, he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even hear her come in.
Thomas just wanted a moment to himself in his childhood house before going back to the Garrison, he was not the same man anymore. Suddenly, he saw a figure in the corner of his eye. A second later, the two pairs of eyes met. His previously sad eyes lit up at the sight of her, but he tried to conceal it. She was so beautiful… Slender and weakish frame, something that made him eager to protect her. Her long and soft looking hair. And that face, oh god, that pretty face.
“H-Hi… I’m (Y/N).” She walked closer to him and stuck her hand out for him, she recognized him from the pictures, he was one of Ada’s brothers.
He heard about her, Aunt Pol always told him what was happening on Watery Lane in the letters she sent to Tommy. She had mentioned Ada’s lovely friend, multiple times. She told him that the girl was pretty, very kind, and that she went with her to church on Sundays when no one else wanted to, just so Polly didn’t have to go alone.
Tommy smiled at her, and she felt herself get lost in those bright blue gems of eyes. Instead of shaking her hand, he brought it to his lips and planted a little kiss on it. Her hand was soft and warm, it was a while since he felt the touch of a gentle female. He smiled when she blushed more at his kiss. “Thomas Shelby.”
—----
From that day on, Miss (Y/L/N) was under the protection of the Peaky Blinders. Thomas always had one of his men following her and Ada to school, and then back home. It killed him knowing that he couldn’t touch her, make her his, not yet anyway. That would have been immoral and awful, and he knew that aunt Pol would have broken his hand in two and cut off his cock. That didn’t mean he hadn’t spent too many night fucking his fist to the thought of her. Everyone in the Shelby clan could see how soft he was towards her, always making sure that she stays out of the bad things, and whenever she came over and he was working, his eyes basically formed into hearts and followed her everywhere. The family loved her, she enjoyed baking and she always made sure that at least once a week she turned up to the office with home-baked treats. Those kinds of sweet treats calmed everyone down, business was blooming after all.
Ever since Tommy came back from the war, he only let himself be pleasured by whores, the one girl he wanted was the one he had to wait for. He always hired prostitutes that resembled her even the slightest bit. He imagined that he was burying himself inside her wet and warm walls, he overheard her and Ada and he was very well aware that she was untouched, a sweet little virgin. In Small Heath, the girls started sleeping around in their teens, but she, at 17, didn’t care about the boys her age. She wanted a certain gangster, who was nearing his thirties.
He didn’t even claim her yet, but wherever she walked, everyone knew she was Tommy Shelby’s girl. He sent her gifts, and always a handwritten note. Her heart never failed to warm up when she saw the little T.S on the bottom of the cards. Flowers, chocolates, exotic spices that she could put in her sweet treats, jewellery, dresses, everything a 17 year old girl loves. She was spoiled by him. When she wore one of the dresses that he got for her, she always sent him a shy smile and a little nod.
—-----
Tomorrow was going to be the day when she would finally become 18 years old, a young lady. She felt so antsy getting to bed, knowing that she would wake up as an adult. She also deeply hoped that Tommy would do something, after 2 years of gifts, protection and lustful gazes from distance. It was safe to say that her standards were very much heightened.
When she woke up, she noticed a big box on the chair of her vanity, tied up in one of those big ribbons. Her mother must have brought it up for her, as she always did when her daughter’s name was on the box, written by the familiar handwriting.
She was smiling widely when she opened the box up, it had a beautiful silky dress and a gold locket necklace. She marvelled at the divine fabric, but quickly blushed when she looked into the box again. There was a set of white lingerie and a note.
Tonight, I’ll send a car to pick you up at 7pm, be ready.
~T.S
She melted at that, and she felt her lower tummy warm up. This evening, she will finally be claimed.
——-
By the time 7pm rolled around, she did everything she could to make herself look pretty for him. She took a long hot bath, made sure she smelled good everywhere. She washed her hair and tied up half of it with a bow. She put lotion all over herself, sprayed herself with perfume and put the lovely dress on. Sitting in her vanity, she put on some makeup. She felt beautiful.
She got her light coat on, along with kitten heels and she was waiting for his car to come. When it did, she sat in the backseat and greeted the driver.
She got driven to Arrow house, which she only heard about before. It was so huge, and overwhelming, but very nice.
A maid took her coat and escorted her to the dining roomom. Just like the rest of the house, it was quite big, both the room itself and the table. It was decorated elegantly, the candlelight flooded the room. Just as she stepped in, Thomas walked in the room on the other door. He looked so handsome as always, with his muscular frame and his tailored suit.
His heart nearly jumped out of his chest, she looked like an angel, and she was standing in his house, wearing his gift. The maid left, now there were only two of them in the room, he walked up to her. With a gentle hand on her waist, he pulled her closer so he could plant a kiss on her cheek and whisper in her ear. “You look absolutely gorgeous.” He got even closer, her head was spinning with him so close, his masculine scent sent her hormones into overdrive. “I hope the dress isn’t the only gift of mine on you.”
He felt his dick twitch when she looked up at him like that, a gentle glint in her eyes. She shaked her head, too lost in his eyes to answer with words. To shake her out of her trance, he guided her to her seat, with his hand still on her slender waist.
He sat next to her, the maids kept on serving the finest of foods. Thomas also brought out a bottle of red wine. Both of them were surprised how easy it was for them to talk. They talked and ate, and Tommy even found himself laughing. He also found out how innocent she was, she wasn’t stupid, just inexperienced, and he was more than happy to give her experience. She also had a big heart, and a gentle soul, she was everything he needed.
While everyone in Small Heath tried to warn her about Thomas Shelby, she never understood why. He was just trying to protect his family and give them a chance at a better life, he was also an absolute softie for her. She could see that he had a lot of love to give, he enjoyed being the leader and defeating other gang leaders, but he must have been craving someone who could take care of him for once, she knew that she wanted to be that person.
When they finished dessert, he pulled her chair closer to his and cradled one of her blushing cheek into his palm.
“Are you aware of my intentions towards you?” He asked in a serious tone, she knew that he wasn’t fooling around. Now or never. She nodded as much as she could with the gentle hold on her face, but he wasn’t having it. “Answer me with words, I want to see if you really want this.” She felt dizzy by hearing his dominating tone.
“Yes, I know your intentions with me.” She replied shyly.
“What are they?” His fingers started to move her hair out of her face, caressing her in the process.
“Y-You want to make me yours.” She spoke lowly, it was hard to speak when he was looking at her as if he was seconds away from ravaging her.
“Yes, and do you want that, (Y/N)? Do you want me to make you mine?” He was even closer now, he whispered seductively in her ear, his full lips were nearly touching the shell of her ear. “Just say the word, sweetheart, and I will give you everything you crave. Please, let me give you the world.” Thomas Shelby barely used the word ‘please’, but he was nearly begging for her. She almost giggled, as if she really needed much convincing.
“I want it, I want it so bad, Tommy…” She was getting impatient, and he saw it on her.
“Shh, sweetheart… Don’t let your pretty head worry, I’m going to take care of you so nicely.” He stood up and stuck his hand out for her to take. “Come.”
He walked with her to his bedroom, she was walking behind him so she couldn’t see the wicked grin on his lips. When they stepped in the door, he just kept on walking, which caused her to walk backwards, until her knees hit the bed and she had fallen down on it.
He didn’t waste a second and crawled on top of her, his lips slowly finding hers. Their kiss started out slow, he guided her lips with his own. After a few minutes, noticing that she was starting to become more and more confident, he slipped his tongue into her open mouth. His hand wandered to her back, where the zipper was, his head pulled away so he could ask for silent permission. Once he got it, he helped her sit up and he removed the dress. Sitting back on his heels, he admired the sight in front of him, her young body was just begging to be ruined. She was wearing the lace, she looked exactly like an angel. His lips glued themselves to her neck and they sucked and bit, her noises were proof that she was enjoying his touch. He made sure to really mark her up, she wasn’t going to leave his mansion for a while, he needed his time with his new prize. She bit down on her lips to hide her moans, something he growled at.
“Don’t you dare. I want to hear you, don’t hold back, sweetheart.”
He went down to her breasts, he also reached under her arched back and unclasped her bra. She tried to cover herself, but he was having none of it. He slowly unpeeled her arms from her chest and kissed all around her breasts. “How beautiful! Such a nice pair of tits you have, the best I’ve seen.” He sucked a nipple into his mouth and she mewled loudly, she didn’t expect to feel so aroused while getting her nipples sucked at. He made sure that he gave both of her tits the same treatment before going lower.
Before he could do more, he stood up to remove his shirt and pants, her presence was making him hotter by the minute. He hooked his fingers into her panties and his cock nearly tore his underwear when he saw how the crotch was stuck to her entrance. She was already so ready for him. He yanked harder and they finally parted, he brought her panties up to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Mhm, so sweet… But, I think I need to feel this from the source.” Tommy dropped to his knees in front of her spread legs, her mind was making her doubt herself. What if she looked ugly down there? What if it smelled or tasted b—
“OH— Tommy!” She moaned loudly when his tongue licked a long stripe up her slit. He just chuckled into her pussy darkly, then he moved on to her pleasure. His mouth was sucking her throbbing clit, his fingers slowly circled her entrance, teasing her.
“Fuck… Your cunt tastes divine, and it’s only for my mouth to taste.” It wasn’t even a question. She was unable to form a coherent sentence, she could only moan and thrash on his tongue. He took one finger and he slowly eased it into her, she was so wet that it slipped right into her, he didn’t hesitate to add another one. “You’re going so good, I cannot wait to feel this tight virgin pussy on my cock.” He curled his fingers and rubbed them right into her spongy spot, her fingers grabbed his hair and tried to push his face more into her heat. He felt her clenching more and more, so he sped up his movements and grinned proudly when she came undone with a whiny moan and a desperate call of his name.
He kissed his way back up to her heaving chest and looked up at her flushed face. He talked her through it, until her breathing evened out again. He slowly slipped his underwear off, his back straightened out for her to see his big cock. It was veiny and thick and it made her nervous. He kept her legs spread, while he kneeled between them, one of his hand smoothing her face and the other one gripped himself at his base. “Want to give a little touch? Don’t be scared, I’m going to make this very pleasurable for you, my sweet girl.” He hissed when her fingertips made contact with his dripping tip, he was so pent up and her soft touch nearly made him blow his load all over her juicy tits, but he had to stay patient. “Are you ready? Ready to become mine?”
“Yes, Tommy, please, I want to feel you. I-I waited for you.” This caused him to grin and give her a deep kiss.
“I know you did, little one.” He positioned himself at her entrance and he slowly began pushing in, he felt a bit of resistance, but with a sharp thrust, he managed to break through it. He wrapped her up in his arms and whispered sweet nothings into her ear soothingly. “I know, I know. It will feel better in a minute, your pussy just has to adjust to my cock. Relax.” It didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would, but it still did, the girls in her class made it sound worse, or maybe their boyfriends didn’t take the time to prep them properly. That made her so proud, her Tommy made sure she was ready. She tried her best to relax her muscles and she felt the pain lessen. She planted a shy kiss on Tommy’s neck at which he chuckled at. “Good girl. You’re mine now, only mine.” He slowly began moving in and out of her.
Her walls gripped on him like a vice, he didn’t need any whores anymore, he had her now. His hands lifted her hips up a bit, so his cock was hitting her spot at every thrust. He went more and more faster, his fingers also began rubbing on her swollen clitoris.
“AH— Tommy, I’m going to—do that thing again.” His innocent little girl, so good for him.
“Good… I can feel you squeeze me, come on, sweet girl, come for me. Come on my cock. Let me fill you up. Let me make you mine.” With a shout of his name and a cry, she came around him. When he felt her walls pulsing around him, he let go too. His warm cum painted her walls, and it was such a delicious sensation. He stayed inside her for a few minutes, both of them trying to catch their breaths.
When he pulled out, he sat back so he could watch his cum leak out of her spent hole. He looked down proudly at his softening cock, which had some of her blood on it. Shit, he really filled her up with his load, there was so much of it. And the whiteness of him and the dark crimson of her virginity made such a lovely contrast together.
He took a rag from his bedside table and cleaned her up, making sure that he was gentle with her, the girl just got fucked and she was sensitive both physically and mentally, he had to be gentle.
After he made sure they were both clean, he once again brought her into his embrace. He smiled at her lovingly, which caused her to do the same. Her hair was all puffy from his touch, but he loved it.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” He cradled her cheek, and caressed her under eye area with his fingertip.
“I’m good, I feel a bit sore, but it’s okay.” She nuzzled into his neck and left little kisses. “I’m so happy to be here with you.”
He smiled in a way he didn’t for a long time, and he felt his heartbeat quicken. He wanted to give the world to the girl in his arms, and he felt the primal urge to protect her and keep her away from all the bad. “Me too. I’m happy to know that you’re finally mine.”
Hi everyone! Me and @lau219 decided to team up after seeing this photo, since we agreed it reminded us of our dear Robert Fischer. We wrote a smutty oneshot where a female reader and Robert are just married, but our reader feels a little neglected. She takes things into her own hands in letting him know, causing him to wait for her at home as seen above. We'd love to hear what you think! I tagged my Peaky Blinders taglist, let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.
Five weeks.
Five Goddamn weeks.
It’d been five weeks since they’d last had any quality time together. Five weeks since they’d had an actual conversation, shared a meal together, or gone to bed with each other. And that meant feeling like she was an acquaintance being kept at arm’s length rather than like a wife. Missing out on the closeness and connection of their periodic nights of cuddling and pillow talk, or of relaxing and unwinding together after busy work days or on a rare lazy weekend.
It also meant it’d been five weeks since they’d even properly kissed, let alone had sex. And seeing as they’d only gotten married three months ago, this was not how Y/N planned on their marriage starting out.
This wasn’t the first time this had happened — quite the contrary. Even back when they were dating and then eventually engaged, Robert often got into periods of time like this that were a product of both his own doing and commitments and business trips inflicted by his job. He had enough of a say in his schedule, though, that the “workaholic” title would come up and was the gasoline for the fire whenever the two of them got into an argument about it.
Y/N felt he would prioritize work over their relationship at times. She would accuse Robert of not caring enough about the right things, and he would say she was being unreasonable and needed to be more understanding of the demands placed on him. But once it would bring her to the verge of tears and she’d state that she simply missed him, didn’t want him spreading himself too thin, and didn’t want them drifting apart, the argument would fizzle and Robert would finally concede that he worked too much. He’d then keep himself in check with work for a while, until the whole cycle would inevitably start again, because no matter how much he loved Y/N, that workaholic gene was impossible to obliterate.
He’d never been so absent — physically, mentally, emotionally — for this long before, though, and the fact that she couldn't even remember the last time he'd said “I love you” without it being an autopilot response when he was quickly ending a phone call between them was a new low. And this time, Y/N wasn’t sad, wasn’t on the verge of tears.
No.
She was pissed.
Not only at the fact that it had occurred, but that Robert seemed to be completely oblivious to it, and that apparently, getting married seemed to make him think that he could pay even less attention to their relationship now.
As a reminder displayed on her phone’s calendar that she and Robert were supposed to have dinner with an important investor from Fischer-Morrow that evening, Y/N narrowed her eyes in resentment at the notification. But then she got an unexpected message from Robert a few minutes later, and when she saw what he’d texted, she was furiously dumbfounded.
I’ll meet you at the restaurant at 7. Don’t be late.
Y/N gave a loud scoff of offended disbelief and was ready to throw her phone across the room. The first time he’d contacted her all day, and it was to condescendingly tell her to be on time for his work dinner? Did he even realize that this was the first time they’d communicated today? That this was no less distant sounding than the brief two minutes she’d gotten him on the phone yesterday when he was between meetings? That he hadn’t noticed or apologized for his absence lately and that his expectation of her to now still show up and appear as if everything was normal had her feeling not like his partner and the woman he loved, but like a trophy wife? Her heart hurt, and she suddenly had a hard time believing it had only been three months ago that she’d so happily walked down the aisle to this man, and now he was treating her like she was transactional arm candy.
Quickly, Y/N marched to the front door and then grabbed her bag from the glass table in the large entryway.
Well, she thought bitterly as she looked down at Robert’s message again, if he wants a trophy wife, then that’s what he’s going to get.
*******
It was odd for Y/N to not reply. He’d sent her the message about dinner right as his meeting had begun an hour and twenty minutes ago, and now as Robert looked at his phone again as he exited the building, he saw she still hadn’t answered.
He hoped she wouldn’t be late. He'd forgotten to remind her about it when they’d talked on the phone briefly yesterday, and with his schedule completely overfilled, they had yet to physically cross paths at home, since Robert hadn’t been there to do anything but sleep over the last few weeks. Along with his typical workaholic tendencies, things at the company had been particularly busy and tense, and the last thing he needed was for Y/N to arrive late for dinner. A good impression needed to be made for this investor, and Robert had promised that his new wife was as eager to meet this couple as they were to meet her.
At the thought of Y/N, Robert looked down at his left hand and fiddled with the wedding band that had resided on his finger for the last three months. A smile slowly spread across his face as he recalled the elation he’d felt when she’d so happily accepted his proposal, and then when he’d seen her walking down the aisle towards him at their wedding.
His cell phone ringing distracted Robert from his current thoughts, and his driver pulled up along the curb as he answered it. Getting into the vehicle, Robert continued his conversation all the way to his office building, and when he got to his floor, he saw that his secretary, Pauline, was waiting for him at the reception desk.
She clearly had something to tell him, and when Robert finished his call, he looked up at the older woman expectantly, taking the documents she was holding out to him as she spoke.
“Your next meeting's been moved from the bank to the Neiman building. Something about a maintenance issue in the bank’s conference room,” Pauline said as she walked with Robert towards his office. He had forty-five minutes to kill before leaving for the meeting.
“What else?” Robert asked as he looked down at the papers she’d given him.
“Your wife called,” she said, and the oddity of that fact made Robert lift his head.
“What? When?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
“About ten minutes ago,” Pauline replied.
Robert’s frown deepened. Why had Y/N called his office instead of just replying to his text or calling him directly?
“What did she say?” he asked, still confused.
“She told me to tell you that she won’t be able to meet you for dinner tonight.”
“What?” Robert asked again, having heard Pauline, but not believing it.
“She told me to tell you that she won’t be able to meet you and the Hannock’s for dinner tonight,” Pauline repeated. “She didn’t say why.”
“Are you sure?” Robert asked, his brow still furrowed and immediately wondering what was going on.
Pauline nodded.
“Did she say she’d been trying to reach me?” Robert asked then, wondering if perhaps Y/N had tried but somehow failed to get a hold of him.
“No,” Pauline now shook her head. “She didn’t say anything other than to please tell you that she won’t be at dinner tonight. When I asked her if she wanted me to have you call her, she said that wasn’t necessary.”
Still completely confused, Robert simply turned and headed into his office. Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket again, he opened his contacts and quickly called Y/N’s number. When she didn’t answer after several rings, he hung up, then tried calling again right away, and when she still didn’t answer, he left a voicemail.
“Pauline just told me you’d called and said you’re not coming to dinner. What’s going on? Call me back.”
But after waiting ten minutes and getting no response, Robert wasn’t sure whether to be worried or frustrated, and he then opened the messages between himself and Y/N and sent her another text.
Robert: Where are you? What’s going on? Why aren’t you coming to dinner?
After about five minutes, Robert felt relieved as his phone chimed with a response message, but that relief was quickly vanishing when he saw Y/N’s message, which didn’t make anything clearer.
Y/N: I’m not coming.
Robert then tried calling her again, but once more, she didn’t answer, so he texted another message.
Robert: Why aren’t you answering your phone? What’s going on? Are you alright? Y/N: You of all people should know what being unavailable looks like.
Robert shook his head to himself as he typed.
Robert: What are you talking about? What’s going on? I need you to be at dinner. Y/N: That’s unfortunate. For you. Robert: Would you just call me? I don’t have time for this.
But after sending that message, Robert didn’t get another reply, and as the time came and went before he had to leave for his next meeting, he was getting more and more agitated. Now that he knew Y/N was clearly safe and well, he wanted to know what the hell she was up to. Today was not the day for her to pull whatever it was she was trying to pull.
As he rode in the back of the car to his next meeting, Robert was debating what to say to Y/N next when he suddenly saw a message from her appear where he was poised to type. Actually, it wasn’t a worded message, but rather a picture.
Squinting as he looked down at the photo, Robert soon realized it was an image of a receipt. Tapping on the picture to enlarge it, he saw that the merchant at the top of the receipt was Gucci, and when he looked down to the line that showed the total spent, his eyes briefly widened.
$5,768.67
What the hell?
Glancing up the lines again, he saw that that amount had been the sum of only three items: a tote bag, a pair of shoes, and a single dress.
But before Robert could even finish fully processing what he was seeing or write her a reply, Y/N was sending another receipt photo, this time for Chanel, and with a total of $11,948.17
What the hell was going on? She’d never done something like this before. In the entirety of their relationship so far, Y/N had never gone on any kind of crazy shopping spree or spent this kind of money, and whenever she did intend to make a hefty purchase, they’d always discussed it first. Of course, Robert had basically no financial limitations, but Y/N had never been so fast and loose with his money, and despite the fact that they were now married, she still had been very considerate about money and had always discussed it with him before making any big purchases.
Still in shock, Robert quickly sent a message.
Robert: What are you doing?
But rather than words, Y/N simply sent another receipt.
Dior. $8,936.97
Robert tried calling her again, but it just rang.
Robert: Would you answer your damn phone!
Another receipt. Hermes. $6,762.77
Robert: What the fuck is going on, Y/N?
Finally, she typed back an actual answer.
Y/N: If I’m just going to be your trophy wife, then I ought to have the proper items to play the part. Robert: What the hell are you talking about?
But the car had arrived at the destination as Robert had sent that message, and he was forced to temporarily refocus as he exited the car and headed inside the building. Once again, Y/N had gone silent, and he was feeling incredibly agitated as he entered the room.
All throughout the meeting, Robert kept glancing at his phone while simultaneously trying to understand what the hell Y/N was doing. What the hell was she calling herself a trophy wife for? When had he ever made her feel that way? Sure, he sometimes worked more than she wanted him to, but he had never made her feel like she was just his accessory. Had he?
When he got another message from her with the buzz of his phone, Robert’s eyes practically popped out of his head when he saw what she’d apparently spent at the jewelry store.
Cartier. $42,347.29
Muttering an apology, Robert excused himself from the meeting and stepped out into the hallway to message Y/N again.
Robert: I don’t know what the hell is going on, but you better not spend another cent until you actually talk to me. Y/N: How ironic that YOU’RE demanding we actually talk. Robert: What are you upset about? I just asked you to come to dinner for Christ’s sake. Y/N: Clearly, I haven’t spent enough for you to get the point. Robert: Just go home. I’ll meet you there and you can explain it to me. Y/N: I shouldn’t have to explain anything. Robert: Go home. Y/N: I’ll go home when I’m good and ready. Robert: Go home NOW. Y/N: I feel another purchase coming on. Robert: I’m gonna be at the house in a half hour. I expect you to be there when I get home.
Robert then re-entered the meeting room, but it was only to apologize once again and then excuse himself from the meeting. After heading back to his awaiting car and getting in, he also called the Hannock’s and apologized for the short notice, but explained that he and Y/N would have to reschedule their planned dinner, as something very unexpected had come up. After ending his call, Robert looked and saw that Y/N hadn’t replied to his last message to her, and he was cursing as the car made its way towards their house.
His agitation only grew tenfold upon arriving home and quickly noticing Y/N wasn’t there. Walking into the large living area, Robert pulled back the heavy drapes of the huge picture window to look out onto the back patio and driveway that curved around the house.
Removing his suit jacket and tossing it over the piano bench, Robert then reached one hand up to loosen his tie around his neck as he retrieved his phone from his pocket with his other hand and checked it again.
Still no response from her.
Robert: Where are you?
No reply.
Robert: I’m already home and I better see you pull up in the next 10 minutes.
But rather than a verbal answer, he was yet again receiving a screenshot of a receipt.
Yves Saint Laurent. $24,273.09
Quickly doing the math, Robert noted that at this point, Y/N had spent just over $100,000.00
He made one final attempt to call her, already knowing she wouldn’t answer, and after ending the ignored call, he typed her a final message of his own.
Robert: HOME. NOW.
But fifteen minutes later, Robert was still waiting and watching for her at the window, and he was just about ready to get in his own car and go find Y/N when he finally heard the sound of her car gradually slowing up the drive. When he looked through the window again, he watched as her white convertible came into view, and Robert felt a rush of anger as he could clearly see by Y/N’s pointedly aloof facial expression that she was deliberately taking her time and knew that he was watching her from somewhere in the house as she got out of her car.
But that anger was accompanied by a wave of arousal that coursed through him as he watched her and knew she was purposely exuding her bratty attitude with her confident, taunting body language as she sauntered towards the house.
Robert saw as their butler went out to greet Y/N and helped her gather the array of shopping bags from the backseat of her car. As they made their way towards the back door, Robert was already turning and moving across the room to intercept Y/N once they got inside.
While Y/N maintained an air of careless confidence as she walked up to the house, she was admittedly nervous to face Robert. She knew by his messages that he was pissed to all hell, and she also knew that she’d taken this whole thing a little bit too far. But with him being so arrogantly clueless about what exactly she was mad about, she had given into the impulse to keep pushing him. After all, it served him right to be sassed, ignored, and given this harsh spending surprise when he’d essentially abandoned her for the last five weeks, especially when that was only a third of the amount of time that they’d even been married.
Walking through the back foyer, Y/N paused to remove her sunglasses and set her handbag down. Their butler then relieved her of the bags she was carrying and assured her that he’d take everything up to her and Robert’s bedroom. It was when they made it to the threshold of the living room that Y/N saw Robert standing near the sofa in her peripheral, his eyes narrowed and glued to her, and she tried to disguise the nervous skip of her heart as she addressed their butler.
“Thank you. You’re welcome to head home for the evening once you come back down.”
As the butler made quick work of depositing her bags upstairs, Y/N said nothing and kept her eyes forward towards the staircase, intentionally ignoring Robert and then shifting to remove her sandals from her feet as she waited for the butler to return. Of course, Robert knew Y/N was intentionally ignoring him, but he still kept his position by the couch and his gaze squarely on her as they waited for their privacy.
“Have a good night, Mrs. Fischer. Mr. Fischer,” the butler politely nodded to each of them as he made to leave, and after voicing a final thank you to him, Y/N still kept her gaze in his direction until they heard the sound of the back door closing and locking, and then both she and Robert knew they were finally alone.
Still trying to maintain her aloof confidence, Y/N swallowed and drew in a breath before she remained at the threshold of the room but slowly turned to face Robert. Something in his eyes sent an odd combination of arousal and anger through her, but she maintained her also present annoyance with him and defiantly crossed her arms in front of her chest as she finally looked at him.
Robert turned toward her. In his right hand, he nursed a glass tumbler, half-filled with what Y/N assumed was inevitably his favorite, very expensive whiskey. Their eyes locked for a tense moment before he spoke to her.
“So,” he mused, still maintaining their stare. “Gucci. Yves Saint Laurent. Cartier. Am I supposed to be amused?”
The words were cold. Harsh, almost. Uttered in the same tone he used when speaking to businessmen during work hours, when he intimidated and negotiated to get his way. It annoyed her. She wasn't one of his company colleagues. Or business competition, for that matter. She was his wife.
“Like I said,” Y/N replied, upholding her attitude, “if you treat me like a trophy wife, then I’d better look the part.” She then shrugged carelessly and turned to go upstairs, but Robert stopped her almost immediately with another statement.
“We’re not done,” he said matter-of-factly, and when Y/N hesitated but didn’t turn around, he finished. “Look at me when I'm talking to you, missy.”
At his words, Y/N slowly turned back to him, partly offended and partly aroused as Robert was growing clearly even more frustrated with her. When she met his eyes once more, her heart skipped, but she quirked her brow.
“Don't you give me that look,” Robert said then. “Do you have any idea what your dramatics cost me today? Besides that pathetic little shopping spree you shoved in my face? How unfocused I was, thanks to you? I’m supposed to be in a meeting right now.”
“Oh really? I didn’t think anything could break your focus from your precious work,” Y/N said with bitter sarcasm. “But maybe next time, you'll think twice before going weeks without noticing me.”
Robert glared. “What did you say to me?”
“Maybe next time you'll think twice before going weeks without noticing me,” she repeated, slower, more enunciated.
Robert narrowed his eyes, then lifted his glass slowly. After he took a sip, he let the liquid roll around in his mouth as he processed her words and continued to glare. His behavior, the whole thing, made Y/N nervous. He was evaluating her as if she was just another one of his clients awaiting his willingness to even address her.
“I'd say inviting you to dinner is the opposite of not noticing you,” Robert finally remarked dryly.
“You didn’t invite me, you ordered me,” Y/N countered, crossing her arms over her chest. “And a business dinner with your investor? Oh, such romance. Help me, my knees are weak,” she finished sarcastically. “I’m your wife, Robert, not your business associate.”
At that, Robert tilted his head.
“This is what comes with being a Fischer,” he said with a scoff. “If you were hoping for Prince Charming, you should have married someone with less responsibility on his shoulders.”
“So, you’re saying that expecting more than a passing glance from my husband in over five weeks is asking too much? Well, maybe we should never have gotten married!” Y/N spat back. “I'm not a chore, Robert!”
Robert took a deep breath, his glare deepening.
“You don't mean that,” he said in a raspy voice, his expression one of anger accented with pain. Y/N felt bad seeing him like that, her words obviously hitting close to home, but she was too ticked off to stop now.
“Oh, don't I? Maybe you didn't mean it, when you said 'I do'," she finished.
At that, Robert slammed his glass down on the piano top, which made Y/N jump.
“Say that again,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding as he slowly stepped toward her. His movements were predatory, ready to strike when pushed too far.
Watching him, Y/N stammered a little. She felt sure of herself at first, but seeing Robert radiate with anger, the intensity obvious, her confidence faltered. As she stammered again, her heart skipped as Robert shot forward and roughly grabbed her, pulling her by the crook of her elbow.
“Ow! Robert! Hey! Stop it!” Y/N yelped and tried to pull away, but Robert wasn’t having it. He continued moving, dragging her up the stairs behind him, to their large and opulent bedroom.
As he pushed open the door, Robert could see that the butler had put Y/N’s shopping bags on the bureau next to the bed. Still holding her arm, he dragged Y/N towards them, then yanked her in front of himself and shoved her forward, pointing at them.
“Is this the gratitude I get, after you bought all that?” he demanded, nearly shouting. “Is this treating you like a chore? Is it? Letting you blow money left and right on whatever the fuck you want and mocking me about it?”
Y/N scoffed.
“This means nothing to you; don't pretend like you’re suddenly on the verge of bankruptcy.”
“No, but that dinner you caused us to miss might be the start of it!” he said agitatedly as he backed away from her and then paced back and forth a couple times. “Do you even comprehend the weight on my shoulders?! No! You just complain and go shopping!”
Y/N felt hurt at Robert’s words. Was that all he cared about? After all the theatrics and stress and anguish, still all he thought about was work and not the point she was trying to make.
“What do you expect me to do?! I have to call my husband’s secretary just to get his attention!” Y/N said, clearly on the verge of tears. “And even then, I can only get you to respond when it involves money or when you want me present for a business deal. So, if I’m going to be just your trophy wife, then you can just be my ATM card.”
At that, pain and regret flashed in Robert's eyes, but then his look changed to one of cold anger.
“An ATM card? Is that so?” he said in a cool, stern voice.
Upon hearing him and seeing his darker expression, Y/N felt her arousal increase as he used that tone on her, which wasn't very often. As he continued, her pulse quickened.
“Well then, that means this thing between us is…transactional. That means you, dear wife...” he practically spat out the words, “...that means you do what’s expected in exchange for my money.”
Y/N rolled her eyes and huffed.
“You wouldn’t have even noticed if I hadn’t sent you the receipts,” she said, and she began to walk past him, toward the bedroom door. “Good night, Robert.”
But before she had cleared his path, Robert shot his hand out and grabbed her wrist tightly, then yanked her back to him. As he did, Y/N shrieked.
“But you did send me the receipts” Robert said lowly, their faces close. “You intentionally made me mad. And since I served as your ATM card, it’s now your turn to uphold your end of the transaction, and you know that the first part of that includes addressing me a certain way.”
Y/N’s heart was pounding and her lower half throbbing now, unable to deny the way it affected her when Robert got like this. Respectively, Robert could feel his heart pumping and his cock already twitching as he looked at Y/N and could feel both the defiance and the passion coming from her, but also the hint of nervousness.
“Robert…” she began, her voice slightly unsteady.
“Wrong answer,” Robert said, and then he was causing her to shriek again as he quickly, unexpectedly turned them and whipped Y/N forward, flinging her onto the bed and watching as she landed on her back with a bounce, then tried to compose herself as she hoisted herself up on her elbows to look at him as he stood before her near the mattress.
“Better try again, and if you’re smart, you’ll include an apology with it,” he said.
Y/N looked back at him, her eyes narrowed.
“Why should I?” she taunted, knowing it would push his final button.
At that, Robert only responded with a clench of his jaw, and in the next second, he stepped to the bed and reached out, violently grabbing Y/N’s hips. As she squealed at the pain of his tight grip, Robert flipped her over onto her stomach and then grabbed a fistful of her hair with one hand. He heard Y/N gasp, and then he used his free hand to sharply spank her three times.
Y/N’s heart skipped yet again, and after each strike, she let out a sound that was part pain and part arousal, which she foolishly hoped Robert didn't hear. But even if he hadn’t heard, the telltale action of Y/N subtly yet obviously arching her back and lifting her ass in search of more gave her away, and Robert smirked to himself as he released Y/N’s hair to roughly push her deeper into the mattress and then spank her ass again. He smirked once more as Y/N released another gasp and needy moan.
“Now, what do you have to say to me?” Robert said, his hand threateningly pressing her into the mattress again.
“I’m sorry!“ Y/N cried out, but Robert roughly fisted her hair again and then smacked her ass a final time, then pulled her head back to speak in her ear.
“You’re forgetting something,” he whispered darkly.
“That’s better. You're learning. And here you had me thinking all you were capable of was swiping a credit card,” said Robert tauntingly. “Speaking of which...” He then briefly released her for a moment, reaching over to grab her shopping bags and tossing them on the bed near her head, causing Y/N to flinch. “Let’s see what all that swiping got you, shall we?” He then reached back down to Y/N’s thighs and grasped the hem of her dress, lifting it up over her backside and smirking when he saw the white, lace-trimmed panties she wore underneath that he’d bought for her. They were innocent. Virginal. Just what he liked on her. “I sure hope you got yourself some fresh panties,” he murmured as he glided his hand over the soft fabric on her ass and noticed the sheen of her wetness on them, “because you’ve completely ruined these.”
“Siiirrr,” Y/N whined at Robert’s words and the feel of his hand caressing her ass, at which Robert smirked to himself again as his cock stiffened even more.
“Take them off,” he ordered Y/N as he pulled his hand away from her ass, and when she hesitated for a moment, uncertain if he would touch her again first, Robert spanked her again, causing Y/N to let out another needy sound.
“Now,” he demanded.
With a whimper, Y/N shifted on the bed on her stomach to reach beneath herself and pull the panties off. As soon as they cleared her hips, Robert reached out and grabbed them, yanking them the rest of the way down her legs and off her. He then lifted them to his face, inhaling her scent and feeling her wetness against his mouth, rumbling out a sound of intensely aroused satisfaction. He then stuffed them in his pants pocket as his eyes returned to Y/N’s bare lower half.
“Already so wet, aren’t you, darling?” he murmured, spreading Y/N’s legs apart and then kneeling on the floor between them. “Seems like you enjoy the idea of being a trophy wife a lot more than you want to admit.”
Robert leaned forward more then, his shoulders pushing against the back sides of Y/N’s knees as he lifted his hand and reached out to stroke his fingers through her pink, glistening folds. He chuckled darkly as he heard her whimper and squirm, and he stroked her again and teased her entrance by prodding his fore and middle finger just barely inside her, her arousal generously coating his digits. When he pulled out and then slid his finger down to find and tease her clit, Y/N writhed and mewled in need.
“Please, Sir! Please! I need more!” she panted.
“That's your problem, isn't it?” Robert replied, his voice controlled despite the throbbing of his cock inside his pants. “You always want more. More of my time. More of my attention.” He rubbed her clit with his thumb again in tight circles, and Y/N moaned and whimpered, arching her back. She already felt at the very edge of her peak, but then Robert pulled back and watched with satisfaction when she thrashed around for more friction.
“Siiirrr, please!” she whined out pathetically.
“This is how frustrated you made me today, making me wait, making me wonder,” Robert taunted, rising to lean over her on the bed and speak in her ear. He then reached down and stroked over her folds again, intentionally avoiding her clit that time. In response, Y/N reached beneath herself and tried to touch herself, and at the sight of it, Robert undid his tie, tugging it from his collar and swiftly grabbing Y/N’s wrists to bind them. When she was snug and secure, he let her tied hands fall to the small of her back again.
As she twisted her wrists and felt the fabric of Robert’s tie against her skin, Y/N’s heart pounded and she whimpered again. He’d never done this to her before, but there was no denying the additional layer of arousal that it brought her as she felt him yank the knot to ensure she was helpless.
“All those texts, no answer. All those calls, no answer. Leaving me wondering, not being able to focus on work...” Robert admonished her. He reached down and grazed over her clit with his fingertips again, using his free hand to hold her hip and keep her in place.
At the touch, Y/N let out a moan that was downright pornographic, and then she exhaled a sob of frustration as she felt Robert shift himself lower again.
“Please, Sir! Please!”
“You need me, don't you? Say you need me, like a good girl,” Robert murmured, and he blew cool air over her folds as he knelt between her legs once again. At the feel of it, Y/N gasped and bucked her hips, trying to chase the sensation.
“I need you! I need you, Sir!” she whimpered, and then she almost sobbed in relief when she suddenly felt Robert lap at her folds with his tongue and then found her clit. Again, he brought her nearly to her edge, only to cruelly pull away again at the very last second. As Robert heard her whine of frustration, he smirked against her pussy.
“You didn't give me any reprieve, did you? What makes you think you deserve it now?”
Y/N shook her head against the bed, ashamed and aroused to the core, her tears of desperation wiping on the duvet. She both loved and hated that Robert made this mixture of extremes so exquisite.
Standing up once more, Robert unzipped his pants and took his cock out, stroking himself lazily as he looked down on Y/N, his precum dripping onto his hand.
“The tables have turned, haven’t they? Hmm? Not quite so sure of yourself anymore, are you? Maybe I shouldn't let you run around all by yourself anymore. Maybe I should always keep an eye on you,” he murmured as he used his fingers to tease her folds again, then play with her clit.
Her hands still bound, Y/N squirmed around, whimpering and moaning.
“Please! I need to cum!” she panted, her cheeks flushed with both her arousal and also at the shame of how much this treatment turned her on. Turned them both on. But she couldn’t help it.
“I know, sweetheart. But you were so high and mighty all day and look at you now, reduced to begging and crying on my sheets,” Robert said, stepping closer between her legs. “But I’m afraid you forgot the most important part.”
“SIR!” Y/N practically screamed then as Robert taunted her and hesitated. “SIR, PLEASE! I need to come!!!”
At her outcry, Robert smirked again, then positioned himself behind her. He reached out and grabbed the first shopping bag and held it near Y/N’s face.
“You need to thank me,” he corrected her. “Tell me what's in here.”
As Y/N tried to answer, Robert slid the head of his cock just inside her entrance, making her moan instead, but a sharp slap to her ass again made her focus.
“The Gucci!” she cried out. “It’s the Gucci!”
“The Gucci,” Robert nodded with confirmation. “I’m waiting.” He then roughly rutted forward, bottoming out inside of her, then thrusting in and out once, but then not moving again.
Y/N moaned pathetically, as if this treatment was making her even more wet. She needed him to keep moving.
“Thank you, Sir!” she panted, squeezing her eyes shut as she clenched around his cock.
Upon hearing her, Robert let out a sound of approval and then a groan as he felt Y/N clench around him, but he resisted the insane urge to move inside her again and he reached out for the next shopping bag.
“Yves Saint Laurent,” he said. “So classy for such a pathetic little thing.” He rutted against her ass and smacked her again. “Do you think the shop workers had any idea of the truth? That the oh so confident Mrs. Fischer is actually a whiny brat who thanks her husband with her pussy?”
Robert roughly thrusted in and out of her again, once, twice, three times, and then he stilled for a moment, his fingers hovering over Y/N’s clit.
“Say it,” he demanded lowly, panting as a lock of his hair fell over his forehead. He looked down to see Y/N’s arousal shining on his cock, and he gave a near growl as he felt her squeeze around him again, sensing how close his fingers were poised near her clit.
“Thank you, Sir!” she said weakly, her voice muffled by the covers as she pressed her face into the mattress in desperation.
“I can’t hear you,” Robert tormented her.
“Thank you, Sir!!!” Y/N forced herself to turn her head so her voice was clearer. As she laid her cheek against the duvet, Robert felt that familiar rush of affection and arousal course through him as he saw the shimmer of the tear at the corner of Y/N’s eye, but also noted how she wantonly bit her lip and arched her back yet again.
“How about where you decided to really push it?” Robert said then, and the bag he grabbed with his free hand was the one with the Cartier logo scripted across it. He then used the hand still poised by Y/N's cunt to give her clit a harsh pinch.
“Ahhhh!” she shrieked out, and Robert nearly fell forward atop her back at how tightly she squeezed and tugged around his cock at the pinch he gave her. In response, he gave a single violent thrust in and out of her in retaliation.
“Oh God! Sir, please! I need—”
“You know what you need to do,” Robert cut her off. “After everything you pulled today.
He gripped her hips and pulled out nearly all the way before slamming back inside her. “I want another thank you, and then an apology.” He leaned forward to hover his mouth near her ear once more. “And it better be a damn good one.”
With that, Robert fully pulled out of Y/N, then grabbed her hips again and roughly flipped her over, seeing her eyes widen as she landed on her back beneath him, he hands behind her. As their eyes met, Y/N’s heart pounded, and when Robert grabbed her hips and pulled her to him and positioned himself at her entrance once more, she couldn’t stop the plea that left her mouth.
“Please, Sir,” she whined out, bucking her hips.
“That doesn’t sound like a thank you or an apology,” Robert gave her a taunting smirk, prodding her folds with the head of his cock but not penetrating her.
“Thank you, Sir!” Y/N cried out, looking at Robert with a pounding heart, wishing he’d lower his handsome face and violently kiss her and slip his cock back inside her. “Thank you for everything, Sir!”
Finally, Robert slowly sank himself back inside Y/N, relishing the slick, tight warmth of her, but not giving her what she fully wanted just yet. He harshly squeezed her hip, causing her to squeal in pain.
“Where’s the apology?” he said.
“I’m sorry, Sir!” Y/N quickly obliged, bucking her hips again and squeezing around him as Robert released her hip. “I’m so sorry! I was a bad girl, and I’m so sorry!”
At that, Robert hoisted Y/N’s lower half higher, lifting her thighs and positioning her at the perfect angle. His mind was clouded by his insane arousal, and he reached out to tweak and rub circles on her clit again before he then was pistoning in and out of her at a rate that had them both panting and gasping for air. With fumbling fingers, they each took turns working Y/N’s clit until she was squeezing her eyes shut and crying out in pleasure as she came, clenching around Robert with a near debilitatingly pleasureable tug on his cock that had him releasing a guttural roar as he thrusted several more times and then spilled himself inside of her.
After several moments of nothing but panting breaths from each of them, Robert could feel Y/N’s pussy still fluttering around him, and as he looked down at her, he could see the bounce of her heart in her chest.
“There's my good girl,” he panted and nearly smiled as he pulled back from her.
Still shaking, Y/N let out a quiet sob, her body on complete overload. Robert then moved so that his cock was right near her mouth, and he encouraged Y/N to sit up, then he untied her wrists.
“A final show of gratitude would be for you to clean me up,” Robert said then, and without hesitation, Y/N scooted to the edge of the mattress and parted her lips, licking and suckling on Robert’s cock, tasting their mixed juices as he guided himself inside her mouth while she looked up at him. With a soft chuckle, Robert lifted a hand and stroked her cheek, and at the affectionate gesture, Y/N began to cry real tears.
At the sight of her tears, any remainder of Robert's harsh demeanor melted away, and he quickly reached out to encourage Y/N to lay back down on the bed, going with her. Laying down next to her, he then gathered her in his arms, and Y/N immediately curled into him, burying her face in his chest and continuing to softly sob, her tears a mix of emotions.
“Don't cry, baby. I don't want to fight,” he whispered softly.
“I’m sorry,” Y/N rasped between sobs. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was upset. I just want you to pay attention.”
“I know, I know,” Robert replied, stroking the back of her head. “I’m sorry, too. We'll talk. Really talk. Things’ll be better. I promise.”
He then moved his mouth to kiss her temple, and after he did, Y/N shifted to meet his eyes.
“I love you,” they both said at the same time.
Taglist:
It's already midnight in Northern Ireland, which means it's Cillian's birthday in his home country. Happy birthday, Cillian Murphy!
I am extremely grateful to this actor; he is very important in my personal life, to the point that all my family members know about him and how much I love him. One post isn't enough to express my gratitude for the great affection I have for him.
I wish him all the best in the world on his 50th birthday. Happy birthday, Cillian! 🥳🎂
Arabesque et Attitude (Ballet Master!Cillian Murphy x Ballerina!reader)
A/N: The amazing @urlivingdeadgirl sent me some really good prompts for another part to ‘Plie, Jete, Releve,’ so you know I HAD TO write it. Thank you so much for sending these in, and I hope I ticked all the boxes! Sorry for taking forever…
Also! Sorry for the weirdly specific details about ‘Still Life At The Penguin Cafe’, but that’s like the only proper ballet/dance showcase-thing I know and I love it so it’s like my only reference :’)
Part 1: Plie, Jete, Releve
Summary: You continue to attend practice like nothing has happened except… you cannot pretend that nothing has happened.
Word count: 6,425
Trigger Warnings/Tags: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, technically a teacher/student relationship, mean/toxic!Cillian, kinda pouty (maybe slightly bratty) reader, SMUT (PinV, Dom!Cillian), unprotected sex, pull-out (but be so fr rn…), power imbalance (so technically dub-con?), slight humiliation/embarrassment (kind of a kink, kind of not), probs a toxic teaching environment, jealousy, (please let me know if I missed any)
Disclaimer: This is written purely for fictional purposes and for the sake of writing. No disrespect is intended to the real people portrayed/concerned in this scenario. I do not own any photos used nor do I claim to do so.
Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)
It had been an entire week since you and Mr Murphy… had your private session. An entire week, during which you saw him every day, and nothing else had happened.
That evening he had pulled away from you and wished you a good night, and you had been so dazed, so out of it from the dancing and the orgasm that you had simply nodded and walked out. Your entire journey home had been on autopilot. But when you had showered and gotten into bed that night, you had stayed awake, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling as it dawned on you that it had actually happened. Mr Murphy had actually kissed you and… done all of that. You couldn’t believe it. You just… couldn’t.
The next morning you woke up early, dressed and ready well in time for rehearsal. You had arrived twenty minutes prior, though you stayed outside with the other ballerinas getting your shoes ready and doing some last minute touch-ups. Your leotard was pristine, black and clean without even the littlest bit of fluff to mar it. Your shoes were fresh but broken in, the perfect balance and stiffness and just the right amount of stretch. Even your tights were new.
You had walked in with the others, readying yourself in a line as Mr Murphy fiddled with the music system and mumbled a quick and distracted hello to you all. You stood with your back straight, posture perfect, ready to dance your best for this rehearsal, and perhaps… for him. He glanced over you as he came to stand in front of everyone and begin giving orders for exercises, and that was all. The entire lesson you were just another ballerina once more, dancing at his level, but worthy only of corrections, no praise.
You left it feeling a bit spun around (for lack of a better term). But you also reasoned with yourself that perhaps he was also reeling from it. You were a ballerina, his ballerina, and at the end of the day there was a line that the two of you had crossed and couldn’t come back from now. Perhaps he needed some more time to process what you two had done. Perhaps he needed the space and the day after he would call you back after class and speak to you.
No such thing happened. The next day was as uneventful as the first. You arrived on time, danced as you were meant to, and other than one or two minor calls to point your feet a little more or raise higher on your pirouette, he said nothing to you. There was no call of your name, no order to return after class for extra training, nothing. He didn’t even spare you more of a glance than he needed, didn’t even bestow a look on you that was longer than a second.
And the days continued to pass in this way. Each day arrived and ended without any sort of acknowledgement from him, and it was beginning to drive you mad. How could he have done that and now be pretending that nothing had happened? If anything, you should be the one pretending like nothing has happened! He should be desperate for you to speak to him or repeat those events, and you should be the one pretending like you were uninterested. So why the fuck was the world upside down?
You had arrived on time every day that week. You had been the perfect ballerina during every single one of those grueling days full of dancing and rehearsing the same pieces over and over again. If he couldn’t speak to you about what had happened, the least he could do is offer you some miniscule bit of praise other than a head nod. But nothing. He was as stoic as a plain white wall. And you truly were beginning to lose your mind over it.
Of course your streak of being organised couldn’t last. Apparently you just weren’t built that way. And here you were, running into the room late once more. Though it was only two minutes this time, every minute of life itself seemed precious to that bastard of a man, and he raised his eyebrow at you as you slid into place at the back of the line of ballerinas by the barre. He stood there, black socks, black joggers, black jumper, hands on his waist and piercing blue eyes trained solely on you. You gulped, hands shaking as you met his gaze before dropping your eyes to the floor just in front of you.
“Ms L/n,” he began, “it seems that try as I might, you will never learn the importance of being punctual. You’ll stay back for 2 hours this evening, one hour for every minute you were late. Let that be a lesson to all of you.” Then he turned away and began directing everyone.
Though it was meant to be a punishment, you couldn’t help but feel a tingle of excitement through all the shame. You would be alone together again. You would be in the exact environment that had led to something in the first place. Perhaps this was his way of making it happen again, naturally and with discretion. You only needed a mistake for him to be able to get you there again. You simply nodded in response.
Your dancing had returned to its former glory and you focused hard on every move, every sequence, during that day’s rehearsals. You were one of the few dancers who was consistently in the background for many of the pieces in the entire ballet, in addition to your own starring role in one of them, and this required you to work extra hard. You lost yourself in the music and the burning of your muscles during those hours, and soon enough it was time for everyone to leave.
“I want you back here in no more than ten minutes,” he told you, looking you directly in the eyes as he said it. You nodded, your heart suddenly in your throat again, and quickly followed the other ballerinas out of the room.
You sat by your bag, sipping a steady stream of water from your bottle as you used every single one of those ten minutes to rest. Your limbs were already jelly and you knew you would be wincing with every step when you finally left the studio two hours later.
At the last minute you went back in. You stood by the door for a moment, watched him listen to the music and hum along, his foot tapping along a little. He was focused, brows just furrowed and jaw just on the edge of being clenched. His face was at the perfect angle under the lights, and you could see all the freckles that decorated his skin, perfectly placed little details that made him look so… ethereal. He turned and saw you standing by the door and raised an eyebrow as you jumped into action to enter the room, the burn of embarrassment heating your skin.
Mr Murphy starts you on drills for the first hour. You cycle between stretches at the barre, ten million pirouettes, the deepest pliés you’ve ever performed, and a hundred other exercises that make your mind spin and your muscles begin to turn numb. He stands close by, watches you carefully, never giving you a moment’s rest from his gaze.
And occasionally, he’ll tut, move in close and correct whatever little bit of you is out of place. It doesn’t feel that simple. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel necessary. He’ll click his tongue, drag his hand all the way up your arm just to press down on your shoulder the tiniest amount. Or he’ll go ‘ah’ and then grab your waist with both his hands just to turn you barely a degree more. Once he simply shakes his head, runs his hand up your shin and onto your thigh, grasping the inside just to lift your leg half an inch higher. You almost fell then, almost turned into a piece of flimsy satin that would have dripped through his fingers. You could still feel the indent of his fingertips against your inner thigh, the pressure that was simply too good, fuel for sex dreams.
He finally gives you a break at the end of the first hour, and you simply collapse on the floor where you had been standing. You splayed your arms and legs out, huffing and puffing as you closed your eyes against the bright lights. You lay there panting for a few moments before you dare to lift your head and look at him.
Mr Murphy is standing by his desk in the corner, one hand on the trackpad of his laptop. But he’s watching you. Those cold, cold, eyes, as if his insides were made of ice and those eyes were the only evidence of it, a peek into him. He didn’t avert his gaze when you looked at him, didn’t shyly glance away or clear his throat or even blush, he simply continued to watch you, the way your chest rose and fell, the tremble in your hands and the drop of sweat gliding down the side of your neck. You felt your insides clench and a renewed sense of heat building below your stomach.
You pushed to sit up, pulling your heels in so your thighs stretched but your knees stayed bent and pressed your hands on top of your feet. You glanced up at him again, then back at the floor, then up at him again. You pressed your lips together, moving them back and forth a little before sighing out a long, deep, breath.
“Why are you pretending like nothing happened?” You finally asked the question that had been weighing on you like nothing else. It had sat in your chest every moment since your first encounter alone, had pulsed at the tip of your tongue, begging to be let loose, yet you couldn’t ask it. But now that you, now that it was released into the air, something inside you seemed to click into place. Perhaps a sense of freedom, perhaps something sadder that now pricked at your eyes as you averted them to the floor.
He didn’t say anything for a little while, just let the heavy silence blanket you and the room, let it almost choke you before he asked,
“Does it bother you?”
It was a simple question, so simple, yet it made you feel like you’d just been lurched. Like you were sitting in the front seat and someone had just slammed on the brakes.
“Yes,” you breathed out, a touch exasperated, and you looked back up at him like a child on the verge of becoming upset. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, the corners of your mouth tilted down and your lip was just in a pout.
“Come here,” he responded, again so simple, and beckoned you with his hand. You rushed to comply, taking quick steps until you stood right in front of him, your toes almost touching his. You looked up at him and felt all that tension again, all the heaviness you had been dragging with you for the past week, and it pricked even harder at your eyes. Tears collect at your lash line and your lower lip is pushed out into a full pout. You almost want to reach out and clench your hands into his jumper. You can almost feel it in your hands, how soft it is, how nice it would feel to just grab onto it and bury yourself against his body.
And his face is so close, the pink of his lips right there, all the gentle flecks of freckles like an artist was deliberate with their paint brush. His hair, black and thick but greying at the temples, and his eyes, that vibrant blue that was surely the first thing anyone ever commented on.
Mr Murphy reached up and gently pressed on the underside of your chin with the side of his index finger. It was soft, you couldn’t really tell what his skin felt like, only the pressure of it. He lifted your face until you were looking directly into his eyes, and he leaned down a little closer. You could feel his breaths against your mouth, could see the black blur of his lashes around the blue of his eyes, could feel the traitorous locks of his hair that fell forward as he dipped down and brushed your forehead. You had reached the point of almost crying by then, your eyes filling and becoming blurry, but you refused to blink and let the tears fall.
He bent his head and gently pressed his lips to yours. It was soft, barely there, like a slightly firm press, lasting barely two seconds. The kind of kiss one presses to a cheek or the side of their child’s head, then he pulls away. He looks at you for one more moment before tapping you under the chin and saying, “get back to work.”
You stood there, face slackened and eyes dazed as you stared after him. But he had already turned back to his computer and was reloading the music sequence for one of your background parts in the showcase. You returned to the centre of the room and allowed him to direct you for the next hour. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything except follow his instructions and get lost in the music. The hour was up so quickly you felt as though you had only just blinked for the first time since he kissed you.
“You’re free to go,” he nodded, and turned away from you. You stood there in the middle of the room for a few moments before nodding, delayed and directed at his back, before making your way to the door. Just as you pulled it open, he called your name. You turned back, face open and surprised as you met his eyes. “Good work,” and then he returned his focus to his computer. You paused there in the doorway, staring at him, before you turned around and let the door close behind you.
You thought that had meant something. You thought the kiss had meant something. Except it was followed by another week of nothing. No special glances, no punishments, no invitations to stay another hour or two after class. Nothing. It was exactly like the first week all over again. He barely even corrected you let alone complimented you.
And the anger in you was beginning to simmer again. It was a fire in your chest that made you almost tremble as the days went on. Each time you looked at him as another day of rehearsals passed, it felt like your head was being put through a hydraulic press and soon you would explode. But despite all the anger that was boiling and building inside you, you refused to say anything. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, not again.
And the anger was quickly put to the backburner anyway, because that week the partnerwork began. This particular ballet required everyone to have partners to dance with at different points of the piece, so the male ballet troupe was brought in to perform it with you. Everyone was rather excited, the male ballet troupe was full of friends and even boyfriends of the girls in your troupe and it wasn’t often that your groups got to mingle anyway.
You hadn’t met your partner before, but that was also what rehearsal was for, to get familiar with each other and learn your rhythms. Tommy seemed sweet thus far, offering you a soft smile when he introduced himself and shook your hand. He was pretty (you supposed that worked well for a performer) and if you squinted he sort of looked like Mr Murphy with his black hair, blue eyes, and freckles. He was taller than you and had the well-defined muscles of a dancer, and he seemed happy enough to chat with you.
“How’s your rehearsals been going then?” He asked as he propped his leg up on the bar and began stretching it.
“Oh,” you paused for a moment, flashes of Mr Murphy’s anger aimed at you, the nights alone, his face so close to yours, flickering through your mind, “alright, I guess.” You shrugged before lifting your own foot onto the bar, stretching facing Tommy. “Well, I mean, they’ve been good,” you added quickly, fumbling about with your words, feeling the burn of embarrassment inside you, but Tommy just laughed and shook his head.
“Don’t worry, I know what you mean. Good but could be better, and it doesn’t help that Mr Murphy might genuinely be the most terrifying man you could ever meet,” he responded, and you let out a little laugh, a huffing thing that pressed your diaphragm and made you curl a little into your stretch.
“Oy,” and suddenly there he was, pointing at the two of you, eyes like stone, “less chatting, more stretching.”
“Sorry, sir,” you quickly responded, ducking your head down, but there was something akin to triumph brewing in you, a little tinge of something that made you feel like you’d won a prize. That’s the most attention he’d given you the entire week, negative or not, and like a spoiled child, you wanted more. You kept your head down as you stretched, but you turned to face Tommy a little and met his eyes. The two of you had to press your faces to your legs to hide the mischievous giggles that left you.
“Right,” and Mr Murphy clapped his hands loudly, “audience is that way, get into positions please,” he called out to everyone, and went to stand at the front of the room where the audience would “be”. You and Tommy were off stage for the first bit before entering, and you needed to make sure the two of you ended up by the back of the stage so you could run off for your speedy costume change in the real piece.
The first bit went well. Mostly everyone did the right things at the right times, but eventually Mr Murphy wanted to focus on the three ballerinas right at the beginning so the rest of you gladly took a break on the sidelines of the studio. You plonked yourself down, leaning against the wall as you tapped your feet to the music. You watched the other ballerinas for a bit, but eventually your gaze moved to watch Mr Murphy, as it always did.
He had this habit of rubbing at his bottom lip when he was in thought, one hand at his waist and the other gently running back and forth over the plushness of his mouth. You had felt those lips on your own, knew what he tasted like, what they felt like skimming the skin of your neck and ear. You could feel your pulse between your legs all of a sudden and you turned to Tommy who had just grabbed his water from outside and came to sit down next to you.
“Alright,” he greeted, nodding at you, and you smiled and nodded in return.
“All good, yeah,” you fiddled with your shoes, smoothing out some of the edges before scratching at the scuff marks.
“So what’s the ram head like then?” He asked, and the suddenness of the question made you huff out a laugh again.
“Quite heavy, actually,” you responded, smiling brightly at him. “The girls backstage are gonna have to help me put it on and I can only just about see out of the absolute tiniest eyeholes they’ve carved in for me. Feels like a torture device, I won’t lie.” He laughed at that, eyes crinkling as he leaned a little closer.
“Well, you won’t have to worry about falling, the boys and I will be there to catch you,” he responded with a wink, but the two of you just dissolved into laughter again.
“Yeah, right, because that’ll go down so well with the sergeant over there,” you nodded your head in Mr Murphy’s direction but Tommy just shook his head.
“Oof, you’re right about that one. ‘If it’s not flawless, it’s not worth it’, and that would not be flawless.” He made a little ‘yeesh’ sound and stretched his lips out in a grimace. You just laughed and shook your head, pressing your forehead to your knee before a shadow descended over you two. You slowly raised your head to find Mr Murphy standing there, eyebrow raised and jaw clenched.
It was always the little things that displayed his mounting fury. He was like a stone, firm and sharp surely, but his anger never showed in big outbursts of yelling or flailed hands. It was always quiet, with a clenched jaw and eyes that belonged to an executioner. You looked up at him almost fearfully. Though he had been angry with you before, it had never been this obvious. You were not often the object of his ire, at least not until recently…
“D’you think it’s respectful to constantly disturb others when they’re trying to work?” He asked, one eyebrow raised and jaw clenched. You felt the embarrassment burn through you, hot and searing through your cheeks, down your neck and into the pit of your stomach. “I understand that you may not understand the concept of hard work, but d’you think it’s right to disturb others who do?” Your face dropped, lips pressed together and drooping a little at the corners. He waited, as if giving you the space to say something, but you knew better and simply swallowed a gulp, the lump in your throat growing bigger and more painful by the second. He waited until the silence was torturously awkward before continuing. “You’ll stay behind after rehearsal,” he added simply before turning around and walking away.
You were rigid with mortification. Each limb was tense with the biblical levels of embarrassment and fear you were feeling, and you couldn’t move for a moment. Tommy shifted uncomfortably beside you, waiting until Mr Murphy was out of earshot before turning to face you.
“Are you ok? That was…”
But the pity in his voice made you clench up. You bit into your jaw and looked off into the distance, simultaneously fighting tears and the need to scream. Your eyes glanced over him and pinned on the door. When Tommy tried to settle a hand on your shoulder, you shrugged him off.
“I’m fine,” you spoke low, voice just shy of wavering, then got up and skirted around the room until you got to the door and slipped out, waiting until you were in the bathroom for the tears to fall.
You sat on one of the toilet seats and seethed. You wanted to lash out, to throw things and scream until your voice was hoarse. Why the fuck did he treat you this way, you wanted to ask. Why did he never look at you positively? Never a smile or a compliment at hand. It was always dismissal, always anger, or a chaste kiss like a pet that had been particularly cute that day. And it was always you.
You spent ten minutes there battling your tears of anger and frustration until your breath finally evened out and you were left with nothing but that aching exhaustion that always seemed to follow a bout of anger and crying. Eventually another ballerina came in to tell you that you were needed for the next section of rehearsal, so you wiped at your eyes and face and left the bathroom, hoping everyone would ignore your shiny nose and puffy, red-limned eyelids.
When you reentered the studio, you focused all your energy on dancing. You kept your head held high, eyes hard and focused, and followed each step with a clenched jaw. You barely looked in Mr Murphy’s direction, simply following whatever orders or critiques he gave you, and brushed off the looks of concern that Tommy offered you the entire time.
When the session had finally ended and everyone else had said their goodbyes, you had simply stayed put in the studio, wanting to get your punishment over with. You stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped in front of you, and watched him. He was at his desk in the corner, stood just behind it with his glasses on as he looked at something on his laptop. The white light shined up onto his chest and face and for a brief moment you realised he was wearing the black jumper he had worn that first time…
“Hold an arabesque,” he ordered. He hadn’t even bothered to look up from the laptop. You paused, staring at him, but when he glanced up, eyebrow raised, you quickly followed his instruction, bending slightly at the waist, spreading your hands out and stretching your leg behind you. Your head raised high, your back arched, you were in the perfect arabesque. No further order came, and so you held the position.
“For how long?” you asked quietly when, after five minutes, he still hadn’t said anything else.
“Until I say so,” he simply responded, still typing and tapping away at his laptop.
You gritted your teeth and held the position until your thigh began to shake and your arm muscles were trembling more than paper in a storm. And still you stayed up, fighting the weakening of your body until finally you crumpled and brought your other leg down so you wouldn’t topple over. You quickly curled your arms around yourself, hoping to quell their shaking by pressing them tight to your body for a moment before letting them hang at your sides. Mr Murphy looked up as you came down onto your feet. He allowed you almost a minute to just stand there before saying, “again.” You stared at him across the room, eyes wide, body trembling, but you chose to clench your jaw and keep your mouth shut. You returned to the arabesque, switching the leg you stood on.
You could feel it bubbling inside you, the anger from earlier in the day, or rather, the anger that had begun a few weeks ago after he had led you to a sparkling orgasm then refused to acknowledge it. It was like molten lava, boiling and popping deep inside you. You could almost see the orange of the heat and fire in your eyes.
You held the arabesque for as long as you could, though it was a lot shorter this time. Your arms couldn’t take their own weight for as long anymore, and both legs were weakened from their previous stints. You were a wobbly mess and had almost fallen over at least three times. And each time he said was “again”. The plainest of orders, but it was like fuel to the fire inside you, like a sharpener to the blade of your anger.
When he said “again” for the fifth time, you hit your limit. Your hands clenched at your sides and you stood straight up. You were glaring at him, eyes narrowed and jaw so tight you could have crushed walnuts between your teeth.
“Ugh!” You let out, loud and full of frustration. It was almost childish in its sincere aggression. “No! No, no, no!” You yelled, your own voice echoing back at you in the empty studio.
Mr Murphy looked up at you, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. You were huffing and puffing where you stood.
“This is fucking sadistic! You’re punishing me and putting me through hell for no fucking reason,” you spat, shaking with rage. He didn’t say anything in response, simply watching you burst. “You’re a fucking jealous prick!” You were panting now, your entire body almost moving up and down with each breath. His eyebrows had lowered again and he was watching you with a stony expression. His lips were in a straight line and his eyes had hardened. Slowly, Mr Murphy walked over to you, stopping a few feet in front of you.
“I’m what?” He asked, voice low, like gravel pieces moving against each other. He was close now, not oppressively but within arm’s reach and it made you pause. You gulped, tongue gently wetting your lips as your eyes frantically moved all over his face. Your hands were shaking when you unclenched them for a moment, but you fisted them again.
“You’re-you’re jealous,” your voice was quieter now, your chin jutting out in defiance despite the cold edge of fear touching the base of your spine. “You were jealous that I was actually having a good time with Tommy. You couldn’t handle that I could actually feel satisfaction without you.”
Mr Murphy’s jaw clenched. You could see the muscle there shift under the pale skin. The fear was sharper now, spiking through your arms and legs, whispering to your shoulders to curl in on themselves and your hands to press closer into yourself. He reached out and gripped your face, the point of your chin resting on the skin stretched between his thumb and forefinger. Your head was forced up, face tilted to his, and if he hadn’t been gripping it, you were sure your jaw would tremble. He was close now, the fabric of his jumper brushing your leotard, and you realised he was breathing just as hard as you, nostrils flaring.
He stared down at you in return, blue eyes blazing, alive with a fire you had never seen before. You trembled in his grip. His grip tightened. Then his mouth was on yours like a crash. Your eyes were still open when he pressed his lips to yours, but you were quickly pulled into the frenzy. His other arm wrapped around you, hoisting you closer until you couldn’t be pressed any closer. Your arms reached up and wrapped around his torso as he plunged his tongue between your lips, the hand on your chin moving until his fingers wrapped around the back of your head and his thumb webbing cradled your ear. You were panting into each other’s mouths as he began moving you backward, your feet stumbling over the hardwood as he walked forward without detaching from you. His mouth moved over your cheek and began sucking on a spot just below your ear. The bar at the side of the room hit your tailbone and you let out a little ‘mph!’, gripping him tighter at the flash of pain before throwing your head back and moaning as he licked up from the base of your throat to the bottom of your ear. He bit at your neck, neither hard nor gentle, before pulling away. He gripped you by the hips and lifted you onto the bar, your hands shooting out behind you to grip the windowsill to the left as your back leaned against the strip of wall between the two windows. He leaned into the space between your legs, slotting his hips there and pressing his entire torso to yours. He kissed you again, but it was barely a kiss, more so his tongue delving into your mouth. You moaned around it, your arms draping over his shoulders and your hands digging through his hair.
Mr Murphy curved away a little, his head dropping between you two as he gripped your thighs and spread your legs a little wide. He moved your leotard to the crease of your thigh and you shifted a little at the awkward feeling. His movements were hurried as he simply gripped your tights and pulled them apart. They tore with a loud rip and you gasped, a flutter of air brushing your pussy. You looked down between you, the flimsy pink fabric receding down your leg. You looked back up as Mr Murphy pressed his fingers to your lips, waiting for you to part them and engulf them into the heat of your mouth. He watched with hooded eyes and shallow breath as you sucked on them, swirling your tongue around the digits until the drool began pushing at the corners of your mouth. He pulled them until they popped out then gently pressed them through the lips of your pussy.
You could feel them against your clit, wet but drying quickly in the air. They were a little cold and you shivered as he pressed them a little harder, allowing the little nub to slip and slide under his fingertips. Your breaths trembled and you moaned quietly at first, the sounds pushing out between puffs of air. He slipped his fingers down until they were pressing inside you, and the slide in was easy with all the slick that had begun to paint you. You let out a little high pitched “heh!” as he pressed his fingers as deep as they would go. You clenched tightly around them, pressing the back of your head to the wall and tightening your grip around his hair.
He was quick to pull his hand away after that, rushing to shove his joggers and boxers down past his waist and pressing his cock into the space between your thighs. You felt it nudge at you, felt it move against the skin of your inner thighs before pressing into you. You moaned, loud and long as he buried himself to the hilt, his hips snug between your thighs. He groaned a little, huffing into the space between your shoulder and neck.
You could feel him inside you, the heavy weight, the rubbing of his veins against your walls and that wet glide each time he moved even a little. His hips were pressed so tight to you that his pelvis squished your clit so everything felt like it was touched by sparks and electricity.
And then he was moving, bowed over you, face pressed to your neck, hips shoving in and out. You dug your hands into his shoulders, clenching the fabric. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was hard, fast. It was huffs of breath and the shove of him inside you. It was his fingertips digging into the muscles of your back as he wrapped his arms around you and held you tight to his chest. It was the bar under your ass, precarious and rubbing your skin raw. Your legs trembled but you kept them wrapped around his hips. Your core, your stomach, was alight with the pleasure, warm then hot then blazing, building and building with each thrust.
You were teetering over the edge, moaning a little louder, a little higher, and you were sure he could feel each fluttering clench. He lifted up a little, pressing his mouth to yours as he moaned, a low groan rather than a moan.
You clenched your eyes shut and your core tightened around him. Your insides fluttered, your legs pressed as close as possible around his waist, and you keened loudly right into his mouth, his tongue licking at your lips. Your entire body was suddenly too light, tingling and trembling uncontrollably, but his arms still held you there, the only thing keeping you from falling off the bar. But then he was pulling his hips away, grunting as his cock left you, and you could feel little droplets hit your stomach. It took a moment for the wetness to seep into your leotard, but you could feel how hot they were.
You let your head loll back and you stared at the ceiling, not quite returned to your body. Your limbs were jelly, your lips a little sore from how hard he had kissed you. You were numb between your legs and slick with sweat. You could feel the flyaways sticking up at the edges of your forehead and you wanted nothing more than for him to let you go so you could slide onto the nice cold floor.
The two of you didn’t stand there for long. He was soon pulling his boxers and joggers back over his hips before helping you set your feet onto the floor. He ran a hand through his hair, erasing the evidence of your hands, and watched you for a moment. You had pulled your leotard back into place but you were still sitting against the bar, the hole in your tights gaping around your inner thighs. You were shiny with sweat and your bun was a lot more messy than it had been before. Your neck was splotched with red and your chest was still heaving, but you were watching him in return.
“D’you have a spare pair of joggers?” He asked, voice as authoritative as ever. You nodded, eyes still a little dazed and he nodded in return. “Get dressed,” and he pointed his thumb behind him before walking back to his desk.
You followed his order and went outside, pulling your spare clothes from your duffel and heading to the bathroom. You changed into a simple t-shirt and a pair of bright pink joggers and when you came back out Mr Murphy was locking the door to the studio. He watched you shuffle over to your bag in your socks, ruined clothes in your arms and pointe shoes dangling from your fingers. He stared at your chest, at the nipples poking through your shirt, and a little shiver went down your spine. He stayed standing, waiting for you to zip up your bag and hoist it onto your shoulder before following you out of the studio and into the elevator. You pulled your water bottle from your bag and sipped on it quietly on the ride down. You both got out at the same level of the car park and he walked you to your car.
He stayed until you had deposited your bag into the backseat and were standing just by the driver’s side door. You looked up at him, standing so close your nipples brushed his chest. His eyes flitted about your face and then he leaned down and kissed you again. It was long, firm, a gentle movement as he gripped the side of your neck with his right hand. And then he pulled away, turned, and walked off.
The next morning you were right on time for rehearsal. Your neck was shiny and blurred from concealer and your tights were fresh and new. You followed each exercise precisely, prepared for your solo with care, and Mr Murphy simply nodded and glanced his eyes over you.
