The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Plié et Cassé

by J. Darksong

“Alright, alright, everyone gather, please,” the Director, Maxwell Tempest, yelled, clapping his hands loudly to get our attention. We all stopped practicing and moved in, anxiously awaiting the news. We all had our guesses about what this season’s performance would be, including me, and though we were all professionals, there was an electricity in the air, a sense of anticipation that always accompanied the start of a new performance. Director Tempest stood at the center of us, staring imperiously for a moment before nodding. “All right. You’ve probably heard the rumors already, and yes, we will be performing Swan Lake this season.” A murmured cheer rose from the group, only to be silenced immediately as Tempest raised a hand for silence. “Yes, yes, I know. Some of you have been asking about it for a while now. Well, it seems that our esteemed patron, Madame Petrosky, has finally decided to allow it.”

“Yes!” I hissed softly, barely resisting the urge to pump my fists in the air. This was the performance I’d been dreaming of! I’ve been wanting to perform Swan Lake since I was a little girl, since the first time I watched The Swan Princess on the Disney Channel, and my Aunt Matilda had told me that the story was based on a ballet performance. She’d taken me to see it performed that same weekend at the Colbert Theater downtown and I’d known then and there that THAT was what I wanted to do. What I wanted to be. And now, after the years of studying and training, I would finally get the chance to perform the ballet that I had fallen in love with so many years ago!

“Open auditions will be held next Monday,” Director Tempest called out, even as the dancers and myself quickly filed out of the room, heading off to gather up our things and head back home. “We’ll be doing the traditional version, based on Tchaikovsky’s original score,” he added, even as we scurried away, “not any of the neo-post modern versions out right now! Make sure you’re prepared!“

I nodded briskly, filing that little tidbit away in my head even as I rushed out the door. I had so much to do! Naturally, me and the rest of the troupe had been keeping in shape and practicing even during the off season. I was as fit and limber at the ripe old age of twenty-five as I was at six, when I first started ballet. And after years of study and training I was good. Really good. But for this, I needed to be better than good. I needed to be great. Excellent. Perfect. If I was going to dance as Odette the Swan Princess instead of one of the several anonymous Swan Maidens floating around in the background, I needed to pull out all the stops.

This was my chance to ascend, to leave behind the corps de ballet and become the coryphée, perhaps even a primary. I needed to take my dancing to the next level. I needed some advice from a pro.

“Aunt Matilda,” I said, dialing her up as I made my way to my car, “guess what? We’re finally doing Swan Lake!” I chuckled. “Yeah, I know, me too!” I listened, nodding, while my Aunt went off on a tangent about our mutual love, and the ‘good old days’ for several minutes. “Yes, yes, sweetie I know. Listen. It’s an open audition on Monday, which means the role of Odette is up for grabs! I think I’ve got a pretty good shot, but I was thinking... a little extra help couldn’t hurt my chances. Any chance you could give me some pointers?”

“Odette?” Matilda said, frowning slightly. She sighed, glancing at the picture on her mantle. “Sweetie, I’m really flattered that you’d think of me. But my dancing days are far behind me. I couldn’t help you with this... but maybe an old friend of mine might. Do you remember ‘Miss Katy’ the old dance partner I used to tell you about back in the day? She still keeps up the practice and routines, even at her age. And unlike me, she went on to achieve a rank.” She ran a finger lightly along the frame, staring at the pair of young girls on the photo. It has been so many years since she’d talked to her old friend. Still, if anyone could help her niece, it was Katy. “Claudia dear... how would you like dance tips from a real life Prima Donna?”

A real... “Really?” I squealed into the phone, jumping up and down with excitement. “Do you think she’d actually help me? Do you still have her phone number? Oohhh... better yet, do you have her address? If she lives in the city, I can be there in just a few minutes if I drive really fast!”

* * *

I admit it. I was actually a bit nervous walking up to Madame Miranova’s house. Not that the house itself was all that foreboding, though it DID share an uncanny resemblance to the mansion from the opening credits of The Addams Family. But no... the real issue was the Madame herself. Illyana Katarina Miranova, my aunt’s old friend, was a former principal dancer back in the old days. As Russian as her name, she’d graduated from the infamous Vaganova Academy in Saint Petersburg before her family moved to the United States. A naturally gifted prodigy, she quickly rose to the rank of prima at the young age of eighteen, a title she held for more than fifty years before finally retiring. She had a reputation as a perfectionist, demanding it of herself and those around her, though the rumors were that she was basically just a bitchy tight-ass. And, from what my Aunt had told me growing up, both were equally true.

Not that I cared. If I thought it might help my chances for getting the part I’d French kiss a moose! I was prepared to take anything the Madame cared to throw at me as long as she was willing to give me a few pointers. All this in mind, I reached up and rang the doorbell.

The door opened almost immediately. A tall thin woman, with yellow flaxen hair tied in a simple ponytail and piercing grey eyes stared at me. She was dressed in a grey jumpsuit with pink leg warmers and black no heeled flats. “Ah. You must be little Claudia, all grown up,” she said simply, her expression not changing. “Da. I spoke to your Aunt Matilda. She says you are needing help with an audition.” She stepped back, gesturing for me to enter. “Come, come,” she replied impatiently as I stepped inside, “we will begin right away.”

“Um, thank you, Miss Miranova,” I began, only to be cut off.

“Nyet! It is Madame,” she insisted imperiously, as she lead me back through her tastefully decorated home, down a long narrow hallway. “Thanks are not necessary. Indeed, by the time I am done with you, sweetling, you may very well wish you’d never heard of my name.” Her voice was deep and resonate, and definitely Russian. Reaching the end of the hallway, she pushed open a set of double doors, revealing a dance studio, complete with hardwood floors, a balance bar and full length mirrors along the far wall. I nodded, very impressed; from the state of the room, and the way she moved, she obviously kept in shape with daily practice. And it was that kind of discipline and experience that I needed right now to push me to the next level.

“Yes, Madame,” I replied, stepping inside, hanging up my coat on the hook, revealing my cream colored leotard underneath. “I am ready to work. And I very much appreciate your taking the time to help me polish my form.”

“Yes, yes,” Madame Miranova murmured dismissively, walking over to a large red leather divan, lounging on it, with her legs crossed. “First, I must examine you to see just what I have to work with. Show me your feet.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me? What did you say?”

“Your feet!” she exclaimed, her face scrunching up in annoyance. “Show me your feet. Remove your shoes.” Okay. Kind of weird but... Shrugging, I slipped off my sneakers, and removed my socks, standing there in my bare feet. “Extend,” she directed briskly, and sighing inwardly, I took a step back, shifting my weight, and pointed and extended my foot, which she gathered into her hands. “Hmmm... not too bad,” she said after a moment, running her fingers all along my sole, causing me to wince, and bite my lip to keep from giggling at the sensations. “strong foot, wide base, no visible defects... but they are rather rough and unpolished.” She smirked slightly as she released my foot, “You should take better care of them,” she admonished, causing me to blush hotly. “Your feet are your livelihood, girl. Dancing wears your feet down, and they need to proper amount of pampering to keep them in shape as well.“

“Uh... er, okay, Madame,” I said awkwardly, “I, um, shall remember that.”

“Good!” she said briskly, clapping her hands together. “Now then. Let us see what you can do. You are to perform Swan Lake, are you not? Do you know the steps?” I nodded. “Good. Show me. Let me see you dance.”

Resisting the urge to smirk, I began the routine for act one, focusing on every move, every step, every leap, with the knowledge of a few hundred hours of practice. I was feeling very good about it overall, when a harsh voice shouted “STOP!” loud enough to nearly make me stumble. “Stop, stop, stop,” Madame Miranova protested, shaking her head. “I cannot watch another moment of this! My dear, I can say with certainty that you have everything you need to get the part—” I blinked, gaping in surprise at her praise “—of Swan Maiden number four,” she finished with conviction, dashing my hopes in an instant.

“M...maiden?” I protested, even as she stood up and walked to the small bar on the other side of the room, pouring herself a glass of vodka. “But, Madame! I want to play the lead role... the role of Odette, the Swan Princess! Surely my performance was not that bad—“

“Nyet,” she replied, taking a brisk drink. “Your performance was not bad at all, it was quite good. Very good in fact. Just what one would expect from a member of your troupe. But to truly stand out from the crowd, from the rest of the corps de ballet, you must be better than merely good! You must be flawless. More importantly, however, you must emote... you must not merely portray the role of the Swan Princess, you must become her!“

With a flourish, she stood up, kicking aside her flats, revealing her own small pampered feet. Before I could ask what she intended, she launched into what I can only describe as the most breath taking, most exquisite, most emotional rendition of Swan Lake’s first act and first scene that I had ever witnessed. Without music, without a costume or scenery, it was still the most amazing thing I’d ever seen. Coming to rest at the end, she stood for just a moment, staring at me intently, and I understood then what she’d meant.

I sighed deeply. I knew all this, in theory, but it was something I’d never fully mastered. In ballet, you had to be precise, to move with fluidity and purpose, to hit your marks at the right time. You were part of a machine, and all the cogs had to moved together in unison. And yet, the real ballerinas, the true principals, the good ones, were not mere automatons, moving robotically across the stage. No, they moved with feeling, with passion, in every turn, move and gesture. Something to which I, as yet, had failed to achieve.

My sense of failure must have shown on my face, because the Madame placed her hand gently on my shoulder. “Do not fear, little one,” she said, squeezing gently, “for I intend to help you achieve this. I am confident that under my tutelage you can learn to dance with both perfection and emotion. You need only do exactly as I say.” Her smile turned wicked. “We will use old tried and true Russian method. Guaranteed results.” Walking back over to the table, she returned with a large heavy wood mounted metronome.

“We start slowly at first,” she said, switching it on, as a loud deep ticking began to sound, “we begin adagio and work our way up. Now... slowly, step by step, dance for me.“

* * *

I began my dance, a simple movement across the room, a series of slow pas de bourree as the Madame counted out the steps. One. Two. One. Two. Perfectly in synch with the metronome. As I focused more and more on my steps, everything else simply faded into the background. I knew the movement well, and at such a slow and sedate pace, it was easier to move seamlessly from one position to the next. I didn’t need to think about what I was doing—heck, I barely needed to think at all. But I did actually have to focus a bit to slow my body down, to match the metronome’s beat, which, strangely enough, made the dance somehow more strenuous, as holding each position longer worked my muscles in a way I hadn’t expected. By the time I reached the end of the first scene, I was actually panting.

“That was better,” the Madame said, startling me slightly; I’d gotten so caught up in my dance that I’d momentarily forgotten she was there! “Not yet perfect, but much improved. Your form and posture looked most crisp that time. Okay.... we start again, yes? From the top.” The metronome began to sway again, clicking loudly, and with an inward groan, I moved back to my starting position, and began once more. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. Step. Turn. Lift. Twirl. Move. Step. Turn. Turn. Click. Click. Click. Click...

A soft buzzing sounded inside my head as I moved, and my vision tunneled, my focus merely on moving from one position to the next. Step. Step. Move. Twirl. The Madam’s ever present voice faded into the background as well, guiding, ordering, commanding... my body performing each action as directed without even thinking about it. And all the while, the sharp click-click-click barely noticeable in the background, shaping each movement, like tiny little boxes neatly containing each movement. The buzzing grew stronger, as everything faded away, fading off into the background, until there was nothing else... nothing but the dance and the clicking—

“Stop.”

I gasped, and froze, panting heavily, resting nimbly on my toes, on one leg, my arms spread behind me, the other leg extended and bent behind me in a perfect arabesque position. I blinked in surprise, amazed at the purity of my form, and the fact that I was able to hold it so long without even a wobble. Madame Miranova nodded slightly in appreciation as she walked around me, the soft slap of her own bare feet against the wooden floor, and the labored sounds of my own breathing, the only sounds in the room. The former prima nodded again, coming to stand directly in front of me. Only then did I break form, returning to first position, with a sigh.

“Excellent. You have made good progress here today, malyutka,” she said with a genuine smile. “Now it is time for you to rest and recover. You have worked long and hard today. Now, you must tend to your body’s needs.“

“My body’s needs?” I asked, frowning. “What are you talking about? You make it sound... aahhh... as if I’ve been uughhn... here for... for... uuuhhnnn...” I groaned, sagging, nearly collapsing into a heap on the floor. I shook my head as a wave of dizziness swept over me. Once it passed, I glanced up at the window on the other side of the room, and the clock above it, gaping in shock. N-nine o’clock?!? At night?!? That... that can’t be right... can it? It’s nine twenty-one now. And I’d arrived shortly after three, just after leaving the theater... could I really have been dancing for six hours straight? I shook my head again. No wonder I felt like a wrung out dish rag!

“Piotr! Piotr!” the Madame called out loudly, summoning a young, dark haired man from the hallway. “Piotr, our guest has collapsed from fatigue. Perhaps you would be so kind as to help her to the guest room, and see to her care and nourishment. I’m sure she is famished.”

I shook my head weakly in protest. “No, no, really... I’m fine.” I struggled to get back to my feet. “I’m just... a bit tired is all,” I insisted, even as I wavered a bit unsteadily. I took a step forward... and nearly faceplanted, saved as the rather handsome Piotr swooped in just in time to catch me. “Um... well, okay,” I said, blushing fiercely, “maybe I could use a little help...“

* * *

Mmmmm... this... was.... heaven.

Sighing in contentment, I lay back on the bed, barely able to resist moaning in pleasure. I was really glad the Madame had talked me into staying the night in her guest room instead of trying to make my way back to my own home. Piotr Miranova, the Madame’s nephew, was a licensed professional masseuse, and reflexologist. As part of helping me recover from the rather long and extended practice, he’d insisted on giving me a thorough and intense massage. Normally, I would have protested having a strange man I’d only just met running his hands up and down my body, but the man WAS a professional... and truth be told, I was pretty trashed from the work out.

“You are in very good shape,” the young man said softly, running his strong powerful fingers along my thighs, squeezing and massaging my quadriceps, working the tension and pain out of each fiber. “You must be a very good dancer, yes?”

“Mmmm... I dunno about that,” I murmured, eyes crossing as he worked out a particularly large knot. “I’m... okay... I suppose...”

“Nyet, you are something special,” Piotr insisted, working his hands down along my calves, raising and lowering it gently as he massaged, sending wave after wave of endorphin laced pleasure through me. A wet greasy feeling ran from the pit of my stomach down between my thighs. “Believe me, Claudia,” he said simply, as his hands slid along my ankles now, “you are special. Friend of my aunt or no, she would not waste time training you otherwise. She must see something special in you.”

I smiled at that. Then giggled helplessly as his fingers began stroking my sensitive feet, tickling me incessantly. “Hehehehee... nohohoho... thahahat... tiiieeeeheheheeeckles!”

“Da,” he nodded, smirking wickedly, “I am exciting de nerve ending on the bottoms of your feet. This will enable you to recover your energy and vitality even more, as well as promoting healing of the small lesions I found along your back and upper body.” He laughed then along with me. “Plus, as they say, laughter really is the best medicine.”

I continued to laugh. It wasn’t as if I had much of a choice. Plus... whether I wanted to admit it or not, something about having this really hunky guy rubbing and stroking me this way... had my motor revving up full throttle. I felt myself relaxing into the tickling, sinking into it like a warm blanket on a cold day. I lost myself in the giggles, in the sensation... and in the increasingly powerful arousal flowing through me. My vision wavered, and I closed my eyes, simply letting go, sinking into one of my favorite fantasies... that I was an Arabian princess, being pampered and prepared by my lovely assistants for my handsome prince, who would come and ravish me, teasing me incessantly before finally, mercifully, letting me cum...

“Aaaaahhhhhhhh!!! Gaaaawwwddddd!” I hissed, as my fantasy became reality. I came, hard, harder than I’d imagined possible, my body shuddering violently in sweet release. Strong hands gripped my shoulders, and I reacted instinctively, pulling my prince close, kissing him fervently, wrapping my body against his, simply basking in his presence. It was only after my shudders subsided that I realized exactly where I was... and what I was doing. “Oh! I... um...Peter... I...” I stammered, going tomato red, as a finger against my lips stilled me.

“Shush. It is okay,” he said gently, smiling. “It is okay... how you say, ‘the heat of the moment’? It is not an uncommon thing in reflexology... stimulation of certain nerve clusters do often cause a rather pleasurable release. It does not always happen, but it is not unusual.” Now he blushed ever so slightly. “And, for what it is worth, Miss Claudia, you were not the only one to enjoy themselves.” My eyes widened then, now noticing the rather sizable bulge in his pants. “At any rate, I believe you are sufficiently relaxed now... so, ah, I shall bid you adieu. Rest well, Miss Claudia,” he said, making his retreat.

I sighed deeply then, sagging back into the bed. I felt torn. What had just happened... I’d never simply lost control that way before. I mean, our troupe had an in house masseuse on staff, and I’d gone to him before for the occasional cramp or rubdown after practice. And I’d been tickled before a few times, though it had never seemed the slightest bit sexual. So... what was it about Pete that made me pop my cork that way? I WAS currently between boyfriends... the life of a dancer tends to be a lonely one, after all. We’re kind of like female executives—really driven, and very career oriented. A lot of relationships don’t survive when you make it clear from the start that they are a distant second to your career. So... was that all this was? A momentary lapse due to not ‘getting it’ often enough?

Laying back down, I rolled over, pulling the sheet over my body. I was too tired to ponder this tonight, and my brain was pretty much fried from practice. I’d deal with this, and the aftermath, if any, in the morning, when my head was clear. I sighed softly, drifting off to sleep, the sound of the old style clock ticking away on the wall reminding very much of the metronome...

* * *

“Wake up, lazybones!”

I shrieked, jumping up, getting tangled in the bedsheets, and nearly falling out of bed onto the floor. Glancing around in alarm, I gaped at the sight of Madame Miranova standing over my bed, clad in a light blue jump suit nearly identical to the one she’d worn yesterday. A glance at the clock on the mantel brought forth a deep groan from my lips—five thirty in the freaking morning?!? But the Madame was relentless, whipping away the sheet, barking at me in brisk Russian tones until I finally get out of bed. So much for starting the day fresh and well rested with a clear head!

“Come, come, little malyutka,” she insisted, tossing me a freshly cleaned dance costume, “we are burning daylight! Since you are new to regiment, I let you sleep in a half hour later than normal,” she stated imperiously, “but we have much to do and very little time to do it! Now, dress quickly, and meet me in the practice room!” She turned on her heel, heading for the door.

“Bu... but don’t I even get breakfast first?” I protested weakly, shrugging out of my pale white shift.

“OH! Breakfast! I nearly forgot. Of course, how inconsiderate of me,” the Madame replied, smacking her forehead. She moved to the dresser and retrieved a glass, presenting it to me. I stared dubiously at the two small yellow blobs floating in clear liquid.

“Raw eggs?” I exclaimed. “Really? That’s breakfast?”

“Da,” she replied simply, already heading out of the room. “Protein to replace what is lost from the work out, and build up your muscles. Now... enough procrastinating! Move!”

I was still mumbling to myself, and trying to get the taste out of my mouth, when I arrived a few minutes later. The Madame herself was dancing, moving through the familiar movements of the second act, the metronome clicking briskly in the background. I paused to watch her, captivated by her movements. She may have been in her early fifties, but she moved just as gracefully as a woman half her age. Coming down from a high brisé devant into a fouetté, she turned, drawing to a stop as she noticed me.

“Ah. Finally. I was just going over the steps a bit to limber up,” she said in way of an explanation. “You have come very far, very quickly, malyutka, but there is still much to learn. You know well the steps to the dance. And now, after the previous day’s practice, your body knows it as well. We shall begin with a review of yesterday, testing your muscle memory, before we move on. Once I am satisfied, we shall continue.“

“Great,” I said unenthusiastically, taking a moment or two to stretch. “Can we at least have some music this time? Dancing to the beat of a metronome is kind of boring.” An understatement if ever there was one. I’d zoned out halfway through practice the day before, operating purely on auto-pilot. I figured some music might at least keep my head in the game.

“NYET!” Madame Miranova responded, slapping a palm down hard against her desk, making me jump. “You are not yet READY for music. This is a process, malyutka, and only once you have mastered the basics are you ready to move on.” She adjusted the metronome again, turning it back to my slow, click-click-click pace. “Now... assume your position,” she commanded. Groaning inwardly, I turned, finding my body was already taking the starting pose before I’d even made the decision to move. Once more, I began the slow, sedate pace set by my Madame, and once more, I found my bored and distracted mind tuning out, wandering aimlessly as my body followed the rhythm...

“Stop!!” the Madame called out as I folded into the final position once again. I blinked, suddenly aware of my surroundings, panting, huffing and puffing slightly. I was sweating, and even though it seemed like only a few minutes had passed, I felt drained, as if I’d been moving nonstop for hours. Noting the level of light shining through the windows, I realized then that indeed, hours HAD passed since I’d begun. When the Madame handed me a bottle of ice cold water, I took it gratefully, nearly draining it in a single gulp. She merely chuckled, walking back to the desk, turning off the metronome, which, I noted, was now moving at a much faster pace than when we’d begun.

“Excellent work, little one,” my teacher praised, sending a thrill of pleasure through me. “Your form is now flawless. As I’d hoped, the movements have become second nature to you now. Your body moves without your conscious mind directing it.” I frowned slightly at that, which the Madame noted immediately. “Do not concern yourself, malyutka,” she said gently, caressing my cheek, “it is a good thing! I am teaching you how to perform as a true prima ballerina, a dancer with flawless technique and unbearable passion! You have become flawless,” she said, her eyes glinting wickedly as a small smile creased her lips. “Now we need only unleash your passion.“

Before I could ask what she meant by that, the sound of someone clearing their throat caught my attention. Piotr stood just inside the doorway, dressed in a silver spandex costume, a pair of smooth flats on his feet. “Ah! Just in time. Claudia, this next phase of the training will involve unleashing your passionate side. My nephew is no professional danseur, but he is familiar enough with Swan Lake to dance the part of Siegfried with you for the second act. I want you to watch him, to keep your eyes, and your mind, trained on him at all times. You will dance your part just as before, without worrying or thinking of the steps. Just let your body do what it knows how to do, and you focus on your partner.”

She smirked, eyebrows wiggling suggestively. “Remember. You are Odette, the Swan Princess, and this man is your Prince, the handsome man you have dreamed of, the one who may be able to break the evil sorcerer’s spell and free you from your eternal torment.” She tapped the metronome, and the clicking started once more. “Do not simply play the role, malyutka,” she advised, as I moved automatically into position, “become the role. Let yourself go. Let Claudia drift away... and let Odette spring forth. Now... dance!“

* * *

It was nearly midnight once again when I collapsed heavily onto the bed in Madame Miranova’s guest room. My head was fuzzy, and indistinct, almost as if I’d been drugged or something. My body ached, but only slightly, the cool down rubbing and massage Siegfried—I mean, Piotr—had given me helped work out all of the serious kinks. The whole day had passed in a daze, with simple flashes of awareness... just bits and pieces of the day here and there, scattered about in my head. Somewhere during the day long session we’d managed to eat twice—I had a very distinct memory of setting next to Pete, devouring a tuna melt while he rubbed and massaged my feet—but as to the actual events of the day, and what we actually managed to accomplish, I had no fucking idea!

It was disconcerting to say the least. I mean... I trusted the Madame well enough. She obviously knew what she was doing. She’d been one of the leading primas during her run with the company twenty years ago. Moreover, my Aunt Matilda knew her, and thought the world of her. She knew how important getting the role of Odette was for me—she wouldn’t have steered me wrong. Still... the Madame’s training regiment left a lot to be desired. It felt like she was turning me into some kind of mindless dancing automaton, programming me to dance just like her by switching off my mind.

I knew enough about hypnosis to know the basic idea of what she was doing. I wasn’t overly concerned, though. You can’t make person do anything under hypnosis that they wouldn’t normally do anyway. And I’d said it myself—I’d do pretty much anything, even kiss a moose, if it got me the part. It was just... irritating, to be pretty much left out of my own training sessions, you know? Sighing heavily, I pulled the covers over me, and drifted off to sleep.

And... I had the strangest dream.

Maybe it was leftover from the Madame’s ‘passion’ training, or just that I was still working through my feelings over what had happened the previous night with Pete. Either way, I found him foremost in my thoughts as I slipped into deep slumber. I dreamt we were dancing again, ballroom dancing, cheek to cheek, in a huge grand ballroom with high vault ceilings and a huge crystal chandelier handing down. We were a solitary couple amongst dozens, all members of the Prince’s royal court.

I was a Princess, dressed in a flowing white gown, with clear crystalline shoes, like Cinderella’s glass slippers. They showed off my beautiful pampered and pedicured feet and polished toes perfectly. After all, a princess simply MUST take care of her feet! Suddenly, the lights went out, and I was all alone, no longer in the castle, but in the woods. The moon, high in the sky, was eclipsed by a dark shadow... and glancing up, I saw him... or rather her, Madame Miranova, dressed as the evil ‘sorceress’ Von Rothbart. She laughed evilly, as she descended upon me, her spell transforming me, changing me into a swan...

And then the dream changed again. This time it was a strange, dream-within-a-dream moment, when it almost felt like I was awake. I was back in my room, in my bed, when I heard it clearly... laughter. Female laughter, sounding very much like the laughter from my previous dream. Curious, clad in only a large nightshirt and panties, I made my way out of the room, and down the hallway, to the source of the laughter. Opening the door, peering inside, I saw... something I would never have expected. Madame Illyana Katarina Miranova lay naked on her bed, with her hands tied and bound tightly to the headboard, with a blindfold over her eyes. Her long blonde and silver hair was wet and damp, splayed all around the pillows, and her taunt tanned body was covered in sweat.

Most telling, however, was the sight of her NEPHEW, Piotr, likewise naked, ramming his manhood between her spread legs again and again, as he sucked vigorously on the toes of one of her dainty feet, while raking his nails up and down the other. Peals of hysterical laughter were mixed with deep gutteral moans of pleasure as the former Prima Ballerina danced a completely different type of dance against him. “Ahhhahahahahaaaa yeesss! Yessss! Morreeeehehehee, maaassteeheheherrr, pleeaaehehehessee!” she cried rocking and bucking her hips wildly. “Mooreee moohohohorrree! Ahhhhhahahaahaahaaaaaiiieeee!!” she squealed, hitting her climax yet again, shuddering violently for a moment before relaxing again.

I must have gasped aloud, or made some other sound, because Piotr turned suddenly, smiling at me. “Ah, Claudia,” he said warmly, sliding out of his clearly exhausted aunt. “I was just thinking of you. Enjoying the show so far?” My mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words would come. He chuckled at that. “No need to answer, dear Claudia, I can see the answer clearly,” he said gesturing to the deep flush in my cheeks and the small tent my nipples had made of the nightshirt. I’d been rather excited during my previous dream, and seeing him fuck his aunt into a stupor had only intensified my lust. Still, I felt shame and embarrassment at being caught watching.

“Do not worry, little malyutka,” he continued, walking around to the dresser beside the bed. “There is no need to be embarrassed. Think of this as merely the continuation of your lesson in passion,” he said with a smirk. He slid forth the very familiar metronome, which I hadn’t even noticed was there, steadily clicking in a rapid allegro beat. “Ah, but this is my Aunt’s special rhythm,” he chided, adjusting it, slowing it down to one more familiar to me. “Yours is a bit slower, as I recall. " I gasped, suddenly, as a loud click seemed to sound both outside and within my head, and my thoughts slowed to match the beat. Piotr, seeing my expression, nodded.

“Now then...as I was saying. To properly allow you to emote in your dancing, we need to fully unlock your passion. And you are quite passionate, yes, as I found out the night before! But for this part, we need to delve deeper,” he said, his hands softly caressing my face, as well as my backside. “Think of the ballet. Odette meets and falls for a handsome prince, one that she believes will break the spell and free her. Ah, but is that merely all it is? A simple matter of convenience? Nyet! The ballet only gives a brief summary of the true story... a story of love between two star crossed souls, so deep and passionate, that when Rothbart’s scheme triumphs, and it seems that they are destined to be apart, they both choose death rather than live apart from one another! And you do not willingly surrender your life for someone that way unless there is TRUE passion and love between you.”

I nodded woodenly, only now realizing that fact. The story, the ballet... it hinted at that fact, but never stated it outright. A lot would have had to pass between Siegfried and Odette to bond them together so closely. The Prince was so distraught at having unknowingly betrayed Odette that he willingly gave up his life to be with her. He was a Prince, royalty, with a palace and servants and women all throwing themselves at his feet. Odette must have meant so very much to him to choose to end his life just to be with her in the afterlife. It was a bit daunting, actually... to try and express that level of passion and love without words, with simple movements and expressions. I began to doubt myself... to doubt that I had the capacity for such love...

And then Piotr leant forward and whispered something into my ear, a word in Russian... and the world around me... shifted.

Suddenly, I was on the bed now, tied and bound, my simple white shift ripped apart, lying at my side. My eyes were clear, however, being spared the blindfold, so I was perfectly able to see when Piotr and his Aunt moved catlike to the bottom of the bed at my feet. “Sweet little Odette,” the Madame purred seductively, even as her form shimmered and rippled, becoming a mirror image of me, but with black hair instead of auburn. “You do not deserve the Prince’s affections,” she continued, speaking in my voice now, crawling seductively in between my legs, spreading them gently as she licked her lips. “You are not yet ready. But, perhaps, you have enough passion within you to sate MY hunger.”

I gasped aloud as my clone delved deep into my pussy. I’d never felt something so... sooo... mmmmmmm... wonderful before! Odile, or me.... or the Madame... whomever it was licking me so deftly, knew just how I loved to be touched, stroking and caressing me perfectly, licking and nibbling just enough to keep me on edge, and then, when I thought it couldn’t get any better, sucking deeply on my clitty, teasing it just enough to push me over the edge.

Male laughter managed to break through the fog of my climax, however, and as my vision cleared, I glanced down to see Piotr... no... not Pete... Von Rothbart, standing beside his daughter, stroking her gently. “Do not think this is over just yet, my little Princess,” he said ominously. “You will NEVER belong to your darling Prince... but you will definitely belong to me!” As Odile began licking and nuzzling me once more, the sorcerer began his own evil machinations, snaring one of my feet, licking and nibbling and TICKLING me to the point of near hysteria. I laughed, then moaned, then shrieked, both sensations fighting for dominance within me, even as my mind and body warred with one another. I hated this... being teased and tantalized by my mortal enemies... trying to take me away from my beloved prince, trying to claim my heart and soul! And yet, my body was loving it, enjoying every second, wanting, NEEDING more, more, more! I tried to fight it, tried to remember what and who it was I was fighting for... even as the pleasure finally began to win out, and my body was forced to cum again and again and again....

* * *

“Wake up, malyutka,” a familiar harsh female voice called out to me, rousing me from my dream. I rubbed my eyes, glancing up to find the Madame, clad this time in a dark green track suit, standing above me. “Come come! We have only one more day to prepare you for your audition! We must begin immediately.” She handed me another glass of—bleeeaggh—raw eggs, and turned on her heel heading out of the room. Sighing heavily, I drained the glass, and stood up, stretching my body a bit as I shook off the cobwebs.

I frowned slightly, staring at my wrists. They were a bit red, and a bit abraded... as if they’d been tied—no. That was silly. It was just a dream! I’d just woken up in my own bed back in the guest room, after all. I was still clad in my shift, which had been ripped to shreds in the dream. So... it hadn’t happened. At least, I kept telling myself that, idly rubbing my wrists, as I quickly dressed in my practice clothes once more. If nothing else, the Madame is right. This is my last day to finish preparing for the audition. If I can pull this off, then all of this craziness will have been worth it! I just have to endure one more day. One more... and then I can bid this place goodbye and never return...

Strangely, the thought filled me with a strong intense melancholy, rather than the relief I’d expected to feel.

As before, the Madame was waiting for me when I arrived. I was a bit surprised, and slightly disappointed, that Piotr was not there today. The Madame glanced up as I approached and nodded simply, walking over to the desk. I sighed inwardly, expecting the metronome to start its boring familiar clicking, but to my surprise, she slid it aside, and, opening a drawer, removed a medium sized stereo player. “Congratulations, malyutka,” she said with a faint smile, “you have come a very long way in a very short time! You have learned all of your lessons well, and so, you are ready for the next and final step. Your body has mastered the perfection of the dance, and your heart and soul have been taught to feel and evoke true passion.” I blushed hotly, remembering something similar from last night’s dream. “Now it is time to put them together... to combine both techniques and dance with emotion, with passion... to truly perform Swan Lake.” She switched on the stereo, and a sound of static rang through the room as speakers hidden within the walls came to life. “For this final step, we will use the music to bring that raw emotion to life. Listen to the song, and let every note wring every single drop of pure emotion from you!“

The song began, and I obeyed, dancing freely. I could still hear the metronome, this time inside my head, guiding my movements, my actions, even as I let my mind drift along the sweet dulcet tones of the music accompanying my dance. I lost myself almost instantly, becoming Odette, fluttering through the forest, lamenting my fate, wondering truly if I would ever be free of the spell that kept me captive. I spun, fluttering my wings lightly as I alighted onto the lake, just as the moon began to shine down upon me. A soft shimmer ran through me as I felt myself change. The moon light shattered the illusion, for a time, allowing me to return to my true form, my true self. For a time, freed from my constraints, I danced, spreading my featherless arms, stepping, twirling, happy and relieved to be free, even as my flock, my partners, twirled and danced alongside me. I was their Princess, and they also lamented my fate...but I was grateful for them...for each and every one.

Time skipped forward... and I was dancing again, enjoying a moment of freedom, when I sensed a new presence. Alarmed, I turned, nearly bolting, spying a strange man with a crossbow... a hunter, I realized. I felt fear, even as I somehow sensed a bit of kindness in the stranger. It was weird... I’d never met him before in my life... and yet... I felt it there. A connection. A kinship. A kind of bonding of the souls. Rather than flee, I stared him down, fearful. but curious. And... it seemed he felt it as well, as he lowered his weapon, coming to stare at me in awe. I smiled and he smiled back at me. No words were spoken. None were needed. I lifted a hand to him, and we danced, moving and spinning, stepping and twirling, our bodies saying more than our mouths could ever express...

“Stop!”

I paused, a whine in my throat at the intrusion, gasping slightly, panting, a little fatigued, but not nearly as exhausted as I was after a normal day under the Madame’s tutelage. Glancing at her, I was shocked, utterly shocked to see her face wet with tears. “M-madame!” I exclaimed, moving to her side, wondering what was wrong. “What is it? Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?”

She shook her head, panting softly sniffling. “No... no my dear malyutka,” she said after a moment. “Everything is wonderful. YOU are wonderful. " She leaned forward, kissing me deftly on the lips, leaving me again stunned. “Your performance just now... it was...” she shook her head, overcome. “You danced wonderfully, my dear.... such emotion, such heart, I could not contain myself.” She sighed softly, nodding. “You, my little malyutka, are ready. There is nothing more I can teach you.“

“Really?” I asked, excited, disbelieving. “Was it... was I really that good?”

“My dear, I am not one to give praise lightly,” she said, some of her usual sternness returning. “And I am definitely not one to mince words. The performance you gave just now...you were better than I back in my hayday.” She smiled slightly again. “You are ready. Now go home, and rest up for your auditions, little one.”

I laughed in delight, pulling the Madame into a hug, and this time I kissed her. “Thank you, thank you, Madame,” I gushed, nearly overcome with emotion. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you for helping me with this!”

“Do not worry about it, malyutka,” she said softly, as I left her home. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.“

* * *

I was jazzed. I was elated. I was floating on cloud nine. Hell, my feet barely touched the ground as I made my way back to Madame Miranova’s home late Monday evening. I was nearly bursting at the seams, bouncing up and down impatiently as I waited for her to answer the door. As soon as she did, I burst into the house, grabbed her into a tight hug and squealed like a little girl. “I got the part, I got the part!” I sang over and over, dancing around the foyer with her in my arms. She laughed as well, amused by my antics, though not in the least bit surprised. “I’m dancing the part as Odette AND Odile,” I finished, finally letting her go. “The director and the ballet masters were so impressed with my performance that they decided to have me dance both roles instead of going with another girl to play Odette’s ‘evil twin’. I couldn’t believe it!” I grinned at her like an idiot. “And it’s all thanks to you!”

“Well, not completely,” Piotr replied, coming in from the hallway. “I had a bit to do with it too, you know,” he said with a grin.

“Ah! Pete! Good, I was hoping to see you again to share in the good news!” I replied, walking over to hug him as well. I shuddered slightly, feeling an unexpected warmness from his presence, the lingering bits of the dream from two nights ago returning to me. “Um, uh, anyway, uh, thank you,” I said awkwardly, blushing hotly, taking a step back. “For everything. Both you and your Aunt helped me more than I can possibly repay.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, dear Claudia,” he replied with a shrug. “I think having you move in here permanently as my lover and devoted sex slave would be a good start.”

I blinked. “What? Sex slave? Are you kidding? Tell me you’re joking, Pete,” I said crossing my arms, “because that’s not very funny.”

“You’re right,” he said, walking over to his Aunt, placing a hand possessively around her waist, leaning up to kiss her cheek. “It’s not a very funny joke. Probably because it is NOT a joke.” He grinned. “Am I joking, Aunt Illy?”

“No, Master,” the stern Russian dancer replied in a soft dreamy voice, “you are not joking.”

Master? I thought dimly, the memory of that dream coming back to me in full bloom. Oh shit. Oh fuck me... it happened. It REALLY happened! Fuck... the damned metronome! He said it had a setting for his Aunt as well... he mindfucked his own Aunt, and me as well! I’ve got to get the hell out of here! Before I could turn and run, however, he spoke again.

“Not thinking of running away, are you, my Odette?” he asked, causing me to freeze in place, my limbs locking up despite my urgent need to run. “In case you’ve forgotten, my little Swan, I have you firmly under my power. There is no escape from me.” He chuckled darkly, walking up alongside me, leaning forward to nibble lightly on my earlobe.

“Wh... why are you doing this?” I asked, panting, his mouth so close to me sending unwanted shudders of pleasure right through me.

“Why? Do I even need to answer such an obvious question?” he replied. “You’re beautiful. True, your breasts are a bit small, like most dancers, but on your body, it suits. Besides, dancers make the best lovers,” he replied, gesturing to his aunt, who stood still, almost statuelike, watching us both intently. “My dear Aunt Illy was truly wonderful. She seduced me years ago, when I was just a teenager, using me as her own personal sex toy. Ah... but then I discovered the secret behind her incredible power and prestige as a prima ballerina, the training method her instructors back in Russia had used on her and the other students. It was simple enough to take the reins then, and as she had an incredible body and nearly inexhaustible sex drive, I decided to continue our dalliances, only with me in charge.” He sighed softly.

“But as lovely as she is, my dear Aunt is starting to show her age. She can’t keep up with me the way she used to... and my little fetish tends to tire her out even more. So... when she mentioned her dear old friend wanting her help teaching her niece to perfect her dancing for the lead role in Swan Lake, I decided perhaps it was time for a little new blood... to add a fresh face into the mix,” he concluded, licking my earlobe again.

I shuddered once more. “You... you won’t get away with this,” I growled, fighting with my body’s perverse reaction to him. No matter how tightly his grip at the moment, he couldn’t keep me here forever. Eventually, he’d let me go, or I’d break free of his control, and then I’d go to the police—

“Oh, I already have, my dear Claudia,” he chuckled softly, “you just don’t realize it yet. You’ll go about your life like normal, as if everything was fine. During the day, you’ll dance and dance, spend your time in the spotlight, just as promised, but at night, you’ll return here to me.” He chuckled again. “But then again... it doesn’t really matter if YOU realize it or not. My sweet Odette, on the other hand, knows it all too well. Isn’t that right... seks-rabyney?“

That word again. The same whispered to me that night. I groaned as my eyes crossed, and the entire world tilted on its axis...

... and groaned again, eyes fluttering again, a sigh of pleasure escaping my lips at the sight of my Lord and Master, my handsome Prince, standing before me.“Master,” I breathed gently, dropping respectfully to my knees. “How may your beloved Princess serve you today?”

((fin))