Title: A Day at the Ballet
Author: Shadey Grey
Story Codes: Mg(5), ped, pedo, reluc, preteen
Synopsis: A short story detailing a unique day in the life of a
young audio tech working a children's ballet rehearsal. When a
sick little girl from the youngest ballet level gets dropped off
in the sound box, his hands can't help but wander.

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The Story:

	How the hell did I get stuck here? Thirteen hours straight of
watching little kids poorly work out dance moves only a day
before the show. What did they do in those classes anyway?
Whatever it was, it clearly did not get them far.

	I was once a student at the high school this dance studio rented
the auditorium for. Now, the school paid me good money to come in
and handle any and all technical needs whenever outside
organizations paid the fee for the space. It was a nice way to
get extra money into the school and it kept extra money flowing
into my bank accounts, so I'm not complaining about the work. But
this was just hard to watch.

	Don't get me wrong, these kids are gorgeous cute, prancing about
in what often amounts to a frilly swim suit and stockings. It is
just that no one can tell them that, put all together, it is not
a show-stopping performance. Encouragement is one thing, but
these kids are being made a fool of really. Maybe I'm just jaded
after too much of this.

	Even from the distance of my audio box in the back, I could
appreciate the view. They were strikingly beautiful if nothing
else. Though I wouldn't admit it to the organizers, I had a
rather difficult time keeping myself from being aroused in the
beginning. Right at the beginning of the gig, when I was all
bright-eyed, stepping into the cafeteria where all the girls were
getting their costumes on was a thrill. Just being the tech in
the booth was sort of doing it. Every time you hit play on the
tape deck, little girls in tight clothes came prancing out. It
was like having a half-naked-girl button.

	But as the day went on, it became the norm. Too much tease. It
is like walking through a museum filled with one artist's work
all day. In many ways, it is so much of the same thing. After a
while, the wonder disappears. I didn't think it possible with me,
but it happened. I was amazed to discover that I was becoming
bored of little girls in Lycra swim suits. Perhaps the unending
kids-version covers of awful pop songs had something to do with
it.

	It was rolling into 4 o'clock when the head ballet instructor
came knocking on the door to my booth. I kept the lights off and
the room a mess. It was as much to deter people from bothering me
as it was personal comfort and professional manners. You should
never see a theater technician. They should be like ninjas,
hiding in every dark room around you.

	I hesitated, cuing up another track before pulling my headphones
off and heading over to the door.  I popped it open, expecting a
new cut of a track or another request for a lighting addition
that did not fit the show. Instead, I found a flustered
instructor with sad-looking little girl from the pre-ballet
class. These kids had the worst shows and the most enthusiastic
parents.

	“Casey, can you keep her in here for a while? She's sick and
cries in the cafeteria. It is too bright in there.” The
instructor looked ready to rip her own hair out from the stress.
The show was tomorrow, so no surprises there.

	“No mom? I mean, I'm working up here.”

	“This one got dropped off. The instructors have their hands
full. I know it isn't in your job description, but I am at my
wits end. She'll just sit there.”

	I glanced back into my booth. What would I do with a sick five
year old girl? I had one chair and a show to run. There wouldn't
be a show without me. But then again, there wouldn't be a show if
the head instructor couldn't stage manage. Out of the two of us,
I did have more free mental space.

	And then I took a moment to actually look at the little thing
weakly standing next to the instructor. Blonde trusses falling
over her face as she stared at the floor, bright red cheeks, and
pouty lips. Her little baby fat belly pushed forward just a
little into her costume: a glittery one-piece with decals of
ocean waves rushing across her chest. I did feel bad for the
little thing. She was so cute, but looked so miserable. As much
as the young professional in me wanted to agree with the
instructor that it was not my job to babysit her kids, how
exactly does one say no to a girl like that?

	“Fine. When is her mother expected?”

	“Six. That's the last time the pre class practices today.”

	“Done. Come and get her then. Please don't send her parents
after me. You know how I am about dealing with the parents.”

	“Deal. Thank you!”

	In a rush, the instructor was gone, leaving the little girl
confused and standing in my doorway. I held the door open for her
to come in, but she wasn't budging. And the last thing I needed
was a crying kid in my booth. So I came down the last step and
knelt in front of her, working up my nicest voice.

	“Looks like you and I are going to be hanging out for a while. I
hear you are sick. Listen here for a second. I know it is dark up
there, but that is where you will probably feel better if the
lights hurt. Besides, I will be right there the whole time and
you can watch the other girls practice. Ok?”

	She is silent, but nods her head. Something was telling me that
communication was going to be tough. I stood up to let her in,
but she still didn't budge. So be it! I knelt back down and
picked her up gently, one arm underneath her sequined butt and
one around her back. She issued no complaints. With a few
adjustments, I took her up the steps and into the booth before
landing her next to my chair. And she continued her standing in
place.

	On stage, they had been waiting for me, so I rapidly switched
decks and cued up the next track. I'm sure the head instructor
had stopped them from screaming across the auditorium at me,
which I was thankful for. I leaned back in my chair to observe
the next awkward performance of girls in strips of cloth. Without
looking down, I start talking to the little girl. “Do you see?
Those are the girls from the tap class, level three. Nice view,
huh?”

	When I get no response (which maybe shouldn't have been so
surprising), I realize that it wasn't exactly the best view for
her. Only her blonde mop made it over the top of the high console
desk in front of the window. Standing on her tip toes, even in
ballet shoes, was not enough to get her anything more than a
close up examination of a carpentry class project. This was
definitely not the plan, but this is definitely where this was
going.

	“Point taken,” I muttered as she tapped her hands against the
side of the desk. “How about we put you on my lap then?” Still no
response from the girl. Is that what happens to girls who get
sick? They just get quiet? “Well, if you won't tell me what you
want, I'll have to guess.”

	Cranking up my rolling chair a bit so my lap sat higher, I
turned to the side and grasped the girl under her arms and hefted
her up to my lap. I made an old man groaning noise, trying to be
funny, but she didn't laugh. For her part, the little ballerina
was mostly limp and it looked more like I was draping her over me
than her sitting eagerly on my lap. Her legs laid across my own,
her rear on my thighs. That was, until she saw through the
window.

	At seeing the girls dancing on stage, she shifted up to sitting
by herself. I had to tightly close my own legs to stop her from
slipping in between. Her little hands came down to the desk and
she leaned forward with rapt attention. For my part, I sighed. At
least I had found something to brighten her up a little. I was
starting to worry for a minute there.

	As she was interested, I became interested in her interest. I
leaned forward with her to watch closely. My reward was having my
face right next to her neck, smelling her sweetness. She was
still flushed, but at least she seemed a little lively again. It
looked more like she was just getting tired from rehearsing all
day than sickness. It would not be the first time a little girl
lied about that to get out of a rehearsal. Regardless, her warm
body could keep me paying attention to anything.

	After about fifteen minutes of this, she began to lose interest
as I had. Of course, I had something new to be interested in. It
was one thing to watch little girls prance around in cute
costumes from the back of an auditorium. It was quite another to
have one on your lap. There was no amount of replaying bad songs
that could kill the pleasure from the occasional wiggle of a
five-year-old girl's bottom. There was a definite cuddle desire
swelling. And as she was getting less amused with the novelty of
being in the booth watching the show, she was relaxing towards
me.

	So I leaned back in my chair. Gently, I wrapped my arms around
her waist and chest, pulling her back to me. She didn't fight it,
nuzzling herself into my warm chest. I couldn't help but be
aroused. My cock was straining against my underwear beneath her.
I was practically on auto-pilot with her. Nothing seemed out of
the question in my girl-fogged brain. I drew her waist tight to
mine, making cloth the only separation between her backside and
my cock.

	My little ballerina only squirmed in to my body more, making a
furnace between us. Without any rational thought in my head, my
hands began to wander over her. My right stroked down her side
from shoulder-blade down to the side of her thigh, trying to
catch every nuance. And my left chose her chest, stroking just
shy of where her nipples must have been, down her beautifully
sloped tummy, and just to where her leg met it. She was melting
into me as she closed her eyes and nuzzled her face into my
chest.

	I was addicted to her. My hands played more across her, reaching
up to stroke her neck and following the bare skin to the edge of
her costume. I feathered my way across her stocking-covered legs,
teasing my way towards her inner thighs. I buried my nose into
her hair, smelling the saccharine scent of little girl shampoo.
All the while, my cock twitched against her bottom, firmly
planted between her cheeks.

	Her chest rose and fell stronger than ever. I needed it. As I
leaned down to kiss her neck, my hands lightly slid up the sides
of her body until they found the two bands of material that held
her costume up. I stroked up and down them, following their
natural angles towards her unformed chest before drawing back and
hooking my fingers in them and drawing over her smooth shoulders
and pulling it down enough to clear her chest and half of her
baby belly. Two beautiful little nipples and a belly button were
free.

	Her body tensed, just for a second, as the material began to
peel away from her chest, but my hands quickly returned to her,
lulling her back into the warmth of my massage. Her milky white
skin, unblemished by age, felt like satin under my finger tips.
Stroking gently down her sides, I explored my way up. The tiny
little thing cooed as my hands roamed up her belly to her
nipples, lightly flicking my finger over their minute tips. While
one of my hands remained to play, the other began to travel
south.

	Reaching the edge of her peeled material, I slid my fingers
along the crevasse, just barely driving it deeper and deeper
down. I finally found the beginning of her see-through stockings,
tight to her skin. Fuck it, I thought. I was already committed
and she was enjoying it. Pulling back to her sides, I slid my
hands down over her bottom, pulling the rest of the costume with
them. My eyes eagerly ate up the sight of the reveal. The top of
her stockings, which pinched in on her belly just a little, then
the masked image of her little white panties underneath,
stretched tight over her most precious of treasures.

	The crotch of her costume clung to her underside, but popped
away. It took every amount of focus I had not to behave like a
man possessed. I was has hard as could be with one less point of
separation between us. Drawing her legs up a bit, I pulled her
costume the rest of the way off. I wouldn't want to mess it up
the night before the show, of course!

	Draped across my lap, my little ballerina lay in nothing but her
stockings, panties, and ballet shoes. Her snow-white skin was
perfect, rising over her tummy like a little hill, down into a
lovely little  valley path. Twisting her a little so that my arm
cradled her back and her legs hung a bit off of my lap, I began
to eagerly taste her. My lips pursued her neck and her
prepubescent chest, swiping my tongue gently across her tender
flesh. Getting near her nipples again, I came back up to find her
blushing face. Tickling my way up to her ear and back down, I
finally started to get a real response from her. Squirming in my
arms, she couldn't really get free unless she fought for it. So
she giggled and squirmed and gasped her way through as my lips
finally found hers and stole a peck.

	Meanwhile, my free hand had other things in mind. As her body
twisted to the ticklishness of her neck and ears, I tried to keep
access to her legs. When the squeezing of her thighs stopped, my
hands crept inwards, pulling apart her silk-covered legs. Rubbing
her legs into relaxing, I carefully brought my and inside her
thighs, each time just a little bit closer to the bit of stocking
sticking out. My little ballerina stayed open, so my hand finally
touched the connection between her leg and crotch. She let out a
little gasp, but I kissed it silent. Her back arched, but she
didn't resist.

	I let my hand rest, thumb reaching across the top of where her
panties began, fingers following the curve of her thigh. I began
to whisper little nothings in between kisses and nibbles as my
hand slid over to finally cup her tiny, covered pussy. Rocking my
hand over her panties and stockings, I began to crank her up a
little bit. Her coos had turned to little whimpers and her hands
clutched at my shirt. It intoxicated me, even though I wasn't
sure whether it meant she liked it or didn't. The way she
squirmed, it seemed that she did.

	All of the cloth stroking was driving me nuts. My cock was in
pain from the frustration and there was no reason my sex-wild
mind could come up with not to take this as far as possible. I
withdrew my hands from her splayed legs and reached underneath
her. Hooking her stockings and panties together, I slid them off
quicker than I had planned. I dragged them until just about her
knees, impatient for her naked.

	After all of the teasing I had suffered all day, all of the
girls in frilly costumes with tight crotches, I got one of my
own. Just past her belly and down the slope lay a perfect little
puffy mound of baby girl, her lips pushed out and curving out
past her legs. Pristine, untouched, and mine.

	I didn't even bother to work my way down to it. My hand made a
bee-line for her pussy. Electricity shot through my fingers as I
felt those pouting lips. I traced her beautiful crack from the
beginning all the way down her legs, even lifting them a little
to find her pert ass, and then back again. Each time, my middle
finger pushed a little bit farther in. Finally, my finger swept
up and caught a tiny little button where her crack began. Her
whimper became a sudden cry, almost loud enough that someone
might hear. I quickly pulled back and put my fingertips into her
mouth.

	She calmed a bit, surprised about the fingers, so I pulled them
out. Nice and wet, I returned to her vagina. Pushing into her
lips a bit, I began to stroke her entrances, eliciting more
whimpers from her. I nibbled down into her neck again, though my
eyes never left the action below. Pulling it open, I found her
pussy hole and pushed inwards about a half of a knuckle before
finding her cherry. Not wanting to cause her pain, I left it,
rubbing around and in just until it, while my thumb played with
her little nubbin.

	My five-year-old charge was bucking at my hand, which also drove
my cock wild behind her. It had not even really clicked that my
pants were the only thing from it and her skin now. As soon as it
did, I could not even hesitate to free it. Sliding her back all
the way onto my lap and sitting her up, I let go of her and
grabbed hold of my pants. I nearly ripped my pants open clawing
at the button and zipper. Shoving my pants and underwear down, I
deftly grabbed her by her armpits again and pulled her back,
positioning her with my cock shooting up between her legs. With
two hands full of five-year old thigh, I clamped my cock in
between her pussy and her thighs.

	The warm, smooth, confines of her baby-soft body almost had me
cumming in seconds. I was somehow aware that I was losing control
of myself, but too much of me found that acceptable. I began
pumping my cock between her thighs and pussy. With the assistance
of one my legs propped up and one hand, I kept her clamped tight
as I did. My other free hand, however, went straight back to her
vagina, toying with her entrance and her clit. Her body as
shaking, possibly out of fear, possibly out of pleasure, more
probably both.

	The heat and the softness of her body drove me wild. My finger
became more forceful as I fucked her legs, rubbing her clit
faster and pushing harder into her. My new partner seemed to be
back into it, abandoning whimpers for little girl moans,
uncertain of the new found pleasure, but undeniably being taken
in by it. Wetness began to envelope her crotch. I couldn't tell
if it was mine or hers, but I didn't think much about it.

	Her pussy was growing wet and slippery. I eagerly spread the
juices around inside her so I could go faster, rolling and
tweaking her clit and fingering her entrance at the same time.
Before I knew it, I had added two fingers to her pussy and was
sliding easily, touching her hymen every time. And then something
gave. Instantaneously realizing what had happened, I covered her
mouth with mine in a full kiss as she cried in surprise. Trying
my best to keep her going with her clit, I slowed my fingers to a
massage. Hopefully no one came looking for that later.

	The more I thrusted, the more I was instinctively aiming myself
inward until my cock was riding into her slit with every push.
Her hymen was broken and she seemed to have gotten over the pain,
either from overwhelming it with her clit or pure fatigue. I had
to do it. I withdrew my fingers from her entrance and, while
still stimulating her clitoris as much as I could, pulled her up
enough to get my tip at her vagina entrance. My ballerina, in her
sex-fatigue daze, probably didn't even notice.

	Pushing up, I wedged my desperate cock into her tiny entrance,
newly opened and finger fucked wider. It is hard enough to get my
tip in, but I make progress as I furiously jack her clit. She
moaned, though I wasn't sure if she was also crying a little. I
can't stand it. I need more leverage. Pulling her naked body up
off of me, I stand. Her head lolls and drapes on my shoulder,
breathing heavily. I've forgotten about the show. Maybe they were
on break. I didn't care.

	Spinning my chair with my foot, I laid her on her back, head
supported by the backrest and legs hanging limp off of the sides.
I snatched up her ankles, holding them up to the sky as I line up
my cock to her swollen, tomato-red pussy. She isn't watching,
beet-red face hung to the side, breathing as best she can. I do
the only thing I can do: I push.

	It deformed, stretching, not opening right away. I readjusted,
with one hand holding open her lips and pushed. I could feel her
passage expanding, trying to fit a larger object than it should.
Abandoning her legs, I take hold of her hips and pull in as I
push again. There is a sudden slip as my cock head passes her
tight entrance, entering the hottest thing I had ever felt. Her
muscles convulsed at the intruder, encouraging me only to push
deeper.

	I nearly lifted her off of the chair, her floating as my cock
drove in and out of her tiny pussy. Only half of my cock could
fit before I hit an impasse, but half was enough. The only sounds
in my booth were our mutual heavy breathing and the wet sucking
noise of her well-fucked vagina. The very vision of this
five-year-old cutie slumped in my chair as my cock packed inside
her was overwhelming.

	I don't know how long I lasted, but I suspect it was shorter
than I thought at the time. The power of that girl's air-tight
pussy milked me unlike any other ever has. I was barely able to
stay standing as I grew close. I jammed it in as far as I could
just as the first spray of pent up cum poured out all over her
insides. All of my muscles were giving, too busy shuddering in
pleasure to do their job. Stumbling down over my sick little sex
thing, I came to rest –still lodged in her-- leaning over the
chair.

	When my senses had returned, I had to look over the scene.
Finally looking back to my girl's face, she was out like a light.
For a second, I was afraid I had snapped and killed her, but she
was breathing just fine. Whether she went out from shock,
pleasure, or fatigue, I never found out. No real, visible damage
of any kind seemed to have been done. Other than her very sweaty
body, she seemed fine. No marks from my nibbles or scratches,
thank God.

	When my cock had managed to distend itself from my lover, I
definitely noted a little bit of blood. Grabbing a cloth from a
drawer, I did my best to clean her up, including one too many
runs back into her vagina with my fingers to make sure it was
clear. Rummaging around, I found her panties and stockings, thus
replacing them as they were on her. I found the costume too, but
left it off. Instead, I made a little bed on the floor out of a
couple of jackets and a canvas for a sheet. I disentangled her
costume and hung it on a tool rung.

	It didn't take long before the instructor turned up, knocking on
my door.

	“You here for the kid?” I ask, whispering.

	“Yeah, why-”

	“Shh!” I wave her in for effect.

	The two of them took up the steps to the booth. I started
explaining before she could ask. “She started getting worse after
you dropped her off. Started sweating up a storm. I took off her
costume before she started to ruin it. She looked ready to fall
asleep, so I made her a little bed. She has been zonked out for a
little while now.”

	The instructor nodded gravely. “Didn't know you were so good at
taking care of sick kids...”

	I shrugged. “Just did whatever I thought my mother would do.”

	“Good woman.” Kneeling, the instructor pulled back the canvas
while feeling the girl's head. “She is really warm. Maybe she
needs a doctor.”

	“Maybe. I bet rest will do it.”

	Scooping up my pretty little ballerina, the instructor smiled at
me. “Thanks again for taking care of her. The show should be
fine, though I might be out one little wave girl.”

	“Not a problem.” I turned off the consoles as she began to walk
out. “Oh, by the way. If you need help with any of your girls,
let me know. She was great.”

Fin

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this piece. PLEASE let me
know what you thought of it, positive, negative, any input at
all. Email me at shadeygrey@gmail.com