Or maybe a dance fully dressed and made up for ballet.
Stretched and rehearsed to dance any male pride away.
This is the fifth chapter of my wife’s execution of the punishment poem I submitted to her suggesting ways to atone for my inability to control my orgasm. Please read the earlier chapters for the full poem and the humiliations I have been forced to endure because of my failure. As with the previous chapters, my wife told me to let the readers know she welcomes your feedback and any suggestions you may have of further cruelties and humiliations I should suffer under her control. We have received several very creative suggestions via email feedback. Please keep them coming. She thanks you for your input, and I am both fearful of and excited by your creativity.
First, I should share a little background. When I first saw my future wife, she was in college. She was walking out of one of the dance rehearsal rooms at the performing arts building at the school dressed in a black leotard and white tights. She had not had time to put on her cover up. As a dancer, she was used to walking around dressed in a leotard and tights so it was not unusual for her. However, it was love at first sight for me. As a result of my adolescent fascination with my sister and her friends, I thought a ballerina was the ultimate expression of femininity. As I watched her move in the leotard and tights, I was immediately infatuated with her long, lean body and natural grace. She was an unusual combination of polished, Southern-sorority, girl beauty and powerful, graceful dancer. I later learned she was minoring in dance. When we were dating, I relished seeing her dressed for dance class. Even when we were newly in love, long before I confessed to her my love of wearing women’s clothing and my particular love of dancewear, she would make out with me after dance class still dressed in her leotard and tights and let me slowly peel them off down her body before we made love. I had truly found the perfect woman. Little did she know at the time, she had found an imperfect man.
She quit dancing after college, but loves the workout she gets from ballet, so she had a ballet bar and mirror installed along one wall in our home workout room. After I confessed my need to serve her as her sissy slave, she made me dress up in her leotard and tights on occasion, which led me to include this humiliation in my punishment poem.
I arrived home Monday night tired from the typical Monday grind and curious as to what the evening would bring. I walked upstairs to find my wife standing in our exercise room dressed in a black leotard, pink tights, and ballet shoes. She scolded me for being late for ballet class. She told me to go dress for class immediately so we could practice for my senior recital. On the bed in our room, she had laid out a pink thong dance panty, a brand new pair of pink Capezio Ultra Soft dance tights, a pink high neck leotard, white leg warmers, and a pair of pink leather Capezio ballet shoes, all of which she had ordered in my size for the occasion.
At this point, this did not seem like a punishment. I was thrilled with the opportunity to dress like a ballerina princess, although I knew humiliation at her hands surely lay ahead. I slipped on the dance thong, rolled each leg of the tights up and pulled them over my toes and up my legs. The tights were as soft as advertised and covered my smoothly shaved legs with opaque pinkness. I stepped into the leotard, pulled it up over the tights and slipped my arms through the shoulder straps. The leotard was firmly pressing on my tights covered crotch, crushing my cock and balls flat. I slipped the ballet slippers on my feet and pulled on the leg warmers. I felt the coolness of the leather ballet slippers through my tights. I felt nervous and light-headed as I stood in front of the mirror admiring the femininity of my ensemble.
My wife told me to hurry up from the other room. I entered the room as she laughed, “You really are a prissy ballerina aren’t you.” Sadly, I could only hope to achieve that standard of femininity. She ordered me to begin stretching on the ballet bar on the wall in front of the full mirror. She led me through a series of stretches on the bar as I admired my tights covered legs with my toes pointed in the dainty ballet slippers.
Satisfied with my stretching, my ballet mistress said that she was going to teach me a five minute dance for my recital. She led me through a simple dance that she had choreographed, correcting me harshly and laughing at my clumsiness. Finally, she grudgingly announced herself satisfied with my progress.
She said I now had to prepare for the recital. She led me back to the bedroom. Reaching into the closet, she pulled out a ballet costume. She held up the soft pink satin ballet costume with a light pink mesh platter tutu attached. She said that she had ordered it in my size over the internet. She slid my leotard down my legs, and helped me pull the costume over my tights and up body so I could put my arms through the straps of the top. The tutu was sewn tight to the satin panty portion of the costume which was very snug and firm over my cock and balls, which swelled in the soft tights pushing against the satiny restraints. It felt amazing causing my head to swim in my desperate state. She stood me in front of the mirror as I silently admired my feminized form in the costume, warmed in my loins by the sight of my long pink hued legs rising coltishly to the dramatic crown of the high stiff tutu. Surely, this was the most feminine I had ever felt. She would not stop there, however. She led me into the bathroom and slicked my hair back from my forehead like a dancer with her hair pulled back in a bun. Sitting me in front of mirror, she applied a liquid foundation, put a heavy coat of red lipstick on my lips, and applied pink blush to my cheeks. She then heavily made up my eyes to prepare me for the stage. She turned me toward the mirror. I was amazed. She had turned me into a ballerina, completely divorced from my maleness. “You are going to look great dressed like that for Halloween”, she teased. Her words shocked me into consciousness knowing with a combination of fear and titillation she was absolutely serious.
It was now time for my performance. In my now ultra feminine state, I worked my way through the dance steps; careful to keep my toes pointed as my stern ballet mistress watched. As I struggled through the plies and arabesques, she chastised me for my awkwardness, but I looked the part in the mirror and certainly felt the ultimate in ballerina femininity in the core of my sex, crushed by the tutu and tights. With every movement, the tights stretched over my legs, their every caress heightening my orgasm starved desperation. I was now devoid of any feelings of maleness.
When my performance was over, she told me once again that my punishment was incomplete. She pulled out an exercise mat and made me get on my knees. I waited anxiously as she left the room. She returned wearing a black leather strap on harness over her leotard and tights. A large flesh colored realistic dildo was attached to the harness with the large balls hanging down below. The contrast between the sweet femininity of her leotard and tights and the rude sexuality of the strap on harness and dildo was mesmerizing. She approached me and said, “Slutty ballerinas get fucked by their boyfriends who come to their dance recitals.” She then cruelly added, “I dated a real man before you. He was an asshole, but he had a huge cock, and he used to love to fuck me in my dance clothes. You have become such a pitiful sissy, I may have to go out and look for a new real man with a big cock.” I trembled with both humiliation and the heightened sexual excitement that plagues the denied.
She told me I was going to have to suck the cock first to make sure it was hard. Eying the bulbous head of the dildo, I slowly leaned forward and placed my lips over the tip. I took the head into my mouth. My wife commanded, “Suck my cock, you little ballerina whore.” The cock had a chemical taste, but I tried to take it further in my mouth. She watched me in the mirror urging me to relax my throat and take it all. I gagged as the dildo hit the back of my throat and pulled back to try again. She told me we would to keep going until I had taken the whole rubber cock in my mouth. As I struggled to swallow her cock, I focused on the erotic image of my cock sucking made in the mirror. With a deep breath, I extended my lips forward and opened my throat to accept the cock in my mouth all of the way to the base. She pulled my hair, forcing my head back and sliding the dildo out of my mouth leaving the tip to rest naughtily on my lips.
She told me I was now going to be rudely fucked and made me get on my hands and knees. She reached under my tutu and forced her hand under the panty to grab the waistband of the tights. She pulled the tights down my ass to the crotch of the costume. She then pulled the crotch of the panty to the side, exposing my ass, but keeping my aching cock confined in the panty and tights. The cool air was soon replaced by the cold sensation of lube coated fingers as she rubbed the lube on my ass, probing my asshole. First , one finger easily slid into me, but I was immediately shocked as she stuffed a second and a third finger into me, telling me she wanted me to feel roughly fingered like she had been as a young ballerina.
Her fingers were quickly replaced with the head of the dildo at the entrance to my asshole. My sphincter stretched around the head as she slowly slid the huge cock into me. While I struggled to take her cock, I watched the scene in the mirror- a ballerina roughly fucked in her tutu and tights. She fucked me hard, slamming into my ass and leaving me with only the slight movement of the panty and tights over my swollen cock, just enough to raise the sexual tension to even greater heights.
She pulled the cock almost all of the way out of me and then slammed the entire length of the cock into my ass. I gasped as it filled my bowels. As she fucked me, she said, “Someday you will have to take a real cock. A dildo can’t compare to a horny stud thrusting rapidly in and out of you with his cock, desperately trying to get himself off inside of you.” She pulled out again, this time all the way and told me to turn over on my back. She put my pink hued legs over her shoulders and leaned into me, pushing the fake cock back into my ass. “Keep your toes pointed like a proper ballerina,” she told me as she sank all of the way into my ass. The erotic image of my tights and pointed toes in the mirror was amazing, but only served to sharpen the sexual edge that was dominating my thoughts. After five more minutes of hard fucking, she told me I was going to have to fake an orgasm before she would stop the anal assault. Watching the contrast between the soft ballet costume and the rudeness of the fucking I was getting in the mirror, my breath quickened. Slowly moaning, I raised the pitch of my voice to simulate a young girl coming around a thick cock. As I pretended to “come,” she urged me to milk her cock with my ass as she forced her weight into me, finally collapsing against my body. She pulled out, leaving my ass gapping. She told me to put my leotard back over my tights because I was going to sleep in my leotard and tights and the ballet shoes. You can’t conceive of the sexual torment that racked my body as I slid under the sheets and tried to go to sleep fully encased in the feminine ballerina cocoon.