Date: Sat, 23 Dec 2017 11:01:47 -0800 From: Misty Meadow Subject: The Ballet School The Ballet School By Misty Meadow My parents named me Angel. Had they known how gay I was going to turn out to be, they might've picked another name. "Angelic" hardly describes me. I was educated at a girl's grammar school in North London, and no, it wasn't a hotbed of lesbian sex as you might imagine. We were all too busy studying for our O and A levels, ambitious girls determined to go to university. I was one of those very slender athletic kids who don't get their first period until their teens. I was thirteen and though I'd learned to pleasure myself, I hadn't had any kind of sexual contact with another person. Boys didn't interest me one bit. I was fourteen when my epiphany occurred. I was sitting at a table outside a cafe drinking a glass of orange juice when I looked across the street to see a young girl sitting on a bus bench, reading a book. Without warning, she suddenly lifted one leg and put her heel on the edge of the bench, revealing her snow white knickers. My stomach clenched and my heart skipped a beat. Quite unselfconsciously, she held the pose for a few seconds and then the bus came, blocking my view. When it left, two other preteen girls were sitting on the bench and I stared at them, hoping for a repeat show, but no luck. The surprising thing was my reaction to what, on the surface, would seem to be a minor incident, an accidental revelation of underwear, but one that set my head in a whirl. The girl was only a child, prepubescent, young, innocent but she'd bowled me over, leaving me breathless. Let's face it, Angel, I thought, you like young girls who can be seduced into fulfilling your dreams without all the bother of song and dance that adults seem to require. Girls whose breasts have developed are less interesting. Admit it, you're gay. So be it. How bad can it be? Ah, well, that was my fate. I wasn't too unhappy about it, after all, straight people take pride in being straight, gays love being gay, and I love kids and can't imagine myself not loving them. It seems we're dealt the cards that determine our sexual orientation and we like the hand we get. The only down side was that my love affairs would only ever last a year or two at most and then I'd have to find a new lover. This might turn out to be a lot of work. When I was at university, I fell in love. I'd rented a room on the outskirts of Cambridge, from a widow who had a preteen daughter. As you might guess, it wasn't the widow I fell for - it was the kid. I'd been pretty much on my own until I started at university. I was delighted to learn that my landlady had an eleven year old kid and the minute I laid eyes on her I set about grooming her with a view to . . . well, you can probably guess. It didn't take much, just some compliments, a few gifts and a couple of trips to the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden to watch Swan Lake and Romeo and Juliet, and she was eating out of my hand. That wasn't all she was eating out of, because on the very day when I took her in my arms and kissed her for the first time, she melted and let me undress her. I kissed her all over, including her sweet little treasure and I'm pretty sure I made her cum, because she insisted on returning the favour, eagerly pressing her face between my thighs and sending me to heaven. She was a quick learner. After that we were off to the races. Whenever her mother was out of the house, she'd come up to my room and we'd get it on, competing to see which of us could make the other cum the most. She usually won. It was a very happy time in my life. I adored her and she was never reluctant to engage in outrageous sex that one would normally expect from a much older girl. She was an amazing little cunt hound. Alas, when she got her first period, things rapidly changed. Her nipples grew and her boobs started to swell. Pubic hair blossomed between her legs and her figure became curvy. Her passion rapidly cooled and, to be honest, so did mine. One day when I asked her mum where she was, I was told that she'd gone to a movie with some friends, boys and girls. "I think she has a crush on one of the boys," her mum confided. When the girl herself eventually told me that our romance was finished, I replied that I understood and wished her well. I had to face it, it was over and I should've been devastated, but I felt strangely calm about the whole thing. I knew I'd get over it. Somewhere, I'd find another little girl to love. ___________________________________ After I graduated, I moved to London and looked for a job and the best I could find at short notice was in a massage parlour, nothing sleazy, no "extras" like hand jobs or anything. So much for my degree in business administration. I struggled from payday to payday for a while, until one day a friend invited me out for a drive in the country. "Three of us are going to visit the National Ballet School. It's in one of those stately homes, you know, like they're always showing on TV. Think Downton Abbey. I know you're a ballet fan and there's room in the car for one more." I eagerly accepted but then to my dismay, she added, "During the school holidays they lay on tours for visitors." Holidays? Shit, that meant there wouldn't be any kids there. Nevertheless, it was a day out. We drove north from London for about an hour until we arrived at Fonteyn House. It had belonged to the earl of somewhere until he'd fallen on hard times and leased it to the Nation Ballet Company. Set in acres of lawns and woodlands, it was the perfect place for a boarding school, far from the bustle of the city. We left the car park and joined the other tourists in the main hall. Portraits of the aristocracy of past years gazed down on us snootily. We were greeted by the domestic manager who led us through various rooms, the bigger ones having been converted to studios, complete with barres and mirrors, the smaller ones dormitories. I pictured them populated with dozens of beautiful young ballet dancers, laughing and chattering gaily, but there wasn't a student to be seen. In the basement was the kitchen and dining room. "How many students are there?" I asked our guide, as we sipped the coffee thoughtfully provided. The group wandered off into another room. "About eighty girls and forty boys," he said, "mostly boarders, but a few of them are day pupils, the ones who live locally. Their ages range from eleven to sixteen and then they go on to the senior school in London, and from there, if they're successful, into the N.B.C." "Does the staff live on the premises?" "I do, and most of the domestic staff, but all the teachers, both ballet and academic, commute in daily. We send a minibus to the local station to collect them." "Seems like you have a cushy job," I tell him "During the hols, yes, but when term starts, it can get pretty hectic." "I envy you." I tell him about my interest in ballet, how I went to classes twice a week as an eight year old until I was thirteen, when my parents could no longer afford it. "I'm fascinated by the whole ballet scene. I wish I could afford to go to Covent Garden more often. I imagine you get to see a real ballet, now and again." "Every Saturday. We get complimentary matinee tickets and I drive the minibus into London to the Royal Opera House, and we sit up in the gods. It's one of the perks of the job." I sigh and he picks up on my longing and without any preamble he asked, "How would you like my job?" I was too stunned to answer. "I'm leaving in a couple of months and it seems like you'd fit right in here. Give me your email address and I'll let you know when I'm going to leave and you can apply before anyone else gets wind of the vacancy." He wrote my address down and gave me instructions about whom to apply to and how. "Write a handwritten letter. The headmistress will like that and she has a lot of influence with the board. I think you'll be a shoo-in." ________________________________ Long story short, I got the job. I moved in just after the start of summer term when the kids' uniform was a simple pale blue gingham dress with a white collar and white ankle socks. In the autumn, they wore a pleated skirt, white blouse and a blazer. I was in charge of the domestic staff, the cleaners who were bused in daily, and the two cooks, the driver, the maintenance man and the gardener who all lived on the premises. I handled the payroll and oversaw all the catering. With the cooks, I worked out the menu each week. The teaching staff, both ballet and academic, had a separate dining room with a stewardess to serve them, while the kids queued at the cafeteria. On my first day, I was shown my apartment, one bedroom with a kitchen and bath, above what had once been the stables. They'd been converted to classrooms where the standard secondary education was now taught. Later I was shown the rest of the school by the headmistress, a stern woman who didn't seem to be able to stop talking, and we were standing by the cafeteria serving hatch when a stream of first formers came cascading down the stairs, dressed in their snug black leotards and white tights. "Stop running!" the headmistress called and they all turned to look at her, and me. Oh, my God! A dozen or so beautiful little eleven year olds, all in a bunch, every one of them looking absolutely adorable; no fat girls, no ugly ones, each with that skinny kind of body that was going to grow into slender elegance. And there'd be more where these came from. I was beginning to think I'd hit the jackpot. I learned that the selection process for admission to the N.B.S. was rigourous. Ten and eleven year olds applied, submitting a photograph of themselves in a bathing suit, and from thousands of applicants, a couple of hundred were selected to be interviewed. The annual auditioning was done in London by the ballet teachers from Fonteyn Hall and from the senior school, and they were skilled judges of physique and ruthless in their pruning of the less than perfect applicants, and thus the resulting sixteen girls and eight boys were guaranteed to be the finest examples of preteen beauty and fitness imaginable. _________________________________ And so I settled in, an accepted part of a little isolated community, centred round the education of aspiring dancers. I wanted to get to know them, especially the younger girls, so I'd hang out where I knew they'd gather, the lunch queue for example, or in the dining room where I'd ask them how was the food and was there any way we could improve it? I'd watch them through the glass doors of the studios, their lovely bodies in their leotards as they went through their routines, lifting their legs in ways that, had they been naked, would have been extremely lewd. They began to warm to me. "Call me Angel," I'd tell them, "I don't stand on formality. Save Miss for the teachers." I began to learn some of their names and once in a while, when I'd catch one in some minor transgression of the rules, I'd promise not to tell anyone, so we'd be co-conspirators and they soon began to trust me. Little did they know that I was like a leopard, stalking the herd, looking for a vulnerable individual so I could pounce and satisfy my appetite. Perhaps that's not a perfect analogy. I wasn't out to hurt any one of them, God forbid, but given the chance I'd exploit their vulnerability, and done skillfully, they'd never know. They'd think they were acting of their own volition, but I'd be the puppet mistress, pulling the strings. Problem was, how could I single one out from the herd and get her on her own? Things were arranged so that pupils were hardly ever alone with a staff member, for obvious reasons. But there were exceptions. Once in a while, if the driver was busy, I'd need to drive a kid to the doctor's or to the orthodontist, so I'd be alone with her for half an hour or so in the minibus. At other times, walking the grounds in the early evening, I'd encounter a group on the lawn playing some kind of game and I'd get to talk to one or two of them, without it being too obvious that I was grooming them. Weeks went by and I hadn't come within a mile of being even slightly intimate with any of them. All the time I had to exercise extreme caution to hide my "special interest". I didn't know it, but I already had the solution. Over lunch one day, the headmistress remarked that in my application, I'd listed masseuse as an occupation. Did I still do massages? "I just love a massage," she said. I told her that should she ever want one, I'd be happy to oblige. I even had a folding table that I'd used on call-outs in my old job, but where would I set it up? A discussion ensued and one of the house mistresses pointed out that the girls' changing room was only in use for very short periods each day and there was a shower room adjacent to it. The school nurse said she had a couple of bed screens that she never used and I could borrow those and set up in one corner of the changing room. The headmistress agreed that this would be a good idea and so I offered free massages to any of the staff who were interested. The problem was that the only staff members who wanted massages didn't live on the premises. They arrived at eight o'clock each morning and left at four, with no time for recreation, but I did set up the table and that Saturday afternoon I massaged the headmistress and one of the housemistresses. None of the male staff showed any interest. The kids, of course, wondered what was behind the screen in the changing room and several of them immediately said they wanted to use my services. "You'll need permission from the headmistress," I told them. Requests from pupils trickled up the chain of command, and after much debate in the staff dining room, it was decided that I could offer massages to the kids on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. This meant that I would have to forego my Covent Garden matinees, but that would be a small price to pay for the privilege of massaging the bodies of beautiful young girls. A sign-up sheet was posted on the main notice board. It quickly filled but by Saturday, many had decided they didn't want to miss the trip to London (now covered by the driver) and most of them crossed their names out. I was left with three, a sixth former (sixteen years old), a third former (thirteen) and a second former (twelve). I allocated time slots for them. And so I began. With the table positioned in a corner on the opposite side of the room from the door, I'd be able to hear when anyone came in, as the door produced a loud squeak whenever it was opened, so whatever I was doing behind the screens, I'd have five or six seconds to stop before they could I could be seen. I'd have time to throw a towel over the loins of a girl and slip my robe back on. I felt that discovery was unlikely and my only problems where finding the right girl and convincing her never to tell anyone. Each massage lasted thirty minutes. What had seemed like drudgery when it had been my job, was now an exciting adventure. As each girl arrived in the changing room, I'd pull the screens round the table and invite her to undress. "All the way?" they'd ask. "It's up to you. If you want to get naked, you can cover your bum with a towel." They all elected to keep their knickers on. No problem, it was early days yet. I treated all three of them with the utmost care and respect, carefully avoiding any inappropriate touching. Even their parents would've approved of my propriety. By lunch time, the following day, the list was full again, word having got round that my free massages were well worth the time spent. Between one and four o'clock, I had eight "customers", mostly fourth and fifth formers, but the last two were in the first form, a pair of darling little flat chested eleven year olds, one named Abby and an Asian girl called Yuzuki. As I ran my oiled hands over their submissive bodies of these last two, I felt that excitement that overwhelmed me when I sat outside the cafe and saw the girl waiting for the bus. It would have been so thrilling to touch them between their legs, but I was playing a long game, establishing my credibility and reputation as a safe adult and I exercised the most rigid restraint. I wanted to be trusted, not only by the girls, but by the staff. As time went by, the novelty of my massages wore off and I was down to three or four on any weekend, but Abby and Yuzuki stayed faithful to me. Their housemistress heard a rumour that they both had crushes on me. This didn't raise any eyebrows because in a boarding school like this, it was inevitable that kids would have crushes on adults, which they would grow out of. Almost every teacher was worshiped by one or more girls; it was all part of their growing up, and no one took it seriously. But I harboured the belief that kids grow out of crushes because their love is never returned. If their adoration were to be reciprocated and they were allowed to express their infatuation, it could be nurtured and grown into full blown permanent love. At least that was my theory. I set out to prove that I was right. __________________________________ Abby and Yuzuki were my first obvious choices. Both girls were utterly adorable with the aforementioned figures that dancers and gymnasts have, and angelic faces with their hair pulled back into the tight bun that the school required whenever the girls were dressed for dance. The next Saturday, I massaged the junior girls' housemistress for a full hour, flattering her outrageously, pushing our acquaintance towards a close friendship. I needed her to be on my side in case anything went wrong. When I finished she went into the shower, and I waited until she left before calling little Abby, who was waiting in the corridor outside. In she came, in her uniform, an excited smile on her face. I watched as she took the dress off. "Shall I take my knickers off?" she asked. Words to die for! "Why not? We're all girls here. You should never be ashamed of your body. I'm proud of mine." I pulled on the belt of my short terry cloth robe and let it fall open to reveal my own knickers, exactly the same as hers, white cotton. She slid hers down and stood, letting me admire her in just her white ankle socks, then sat on the edge of the table, lifted her legs and took her socks off. This gave me the most delicious view of her sweet little treasure. My pulse was racing. She lay down on her back and then rolled over on to her front. I oiled up my hands and began, starting with her shoulders and arms, then her back, down to her waist, then switched to her calves and worked my way up to her thighs, pressing and kneading and sometimes just gently stroking, until I reached her bum. It was so small and tight. All bums are beautiful, except obese ones and there wasn't a gram of fat on her. I squeezed her cheeks, waiting for a reaction and heard a contented sigh. I ran my hands back down to her thighs and back up again, this time allowing my fingers to slip into the valley between her buttocks. I pressed gently then withdrew and repeated the manoeuvre twice more. My fingers were definitely where they shouldn't be. Without warning, she rolled over on to her back. "Do my front," she demanded. There she lay, so vulnerable and seemingly innocent and now my heart was pounding. I started again up at her shoulders, then her chest, circling her tiny nipples with my fingers, then down to her tummy. As before, I switched to her legs, kneading her thighs and moving slowly higher and higher until my hands were on her hip bones. My thumbs gently brushed her darling, little treasure. This was the moment. How would she react? Would she yell, "Stop that!" and flee, telling all and sundry that I'd molested her, or would she pretend that nothing had happened, too embarrassed to complain? Worst case scenario, I could always maintain that touching her there had been an accident. But she did neither. She simply lay there, a smile on her face. I moved to stand at her head, leaning forward over her body, and reached out with my arms to her tummy. With my fingertips I gently stroked it in circles, moving ever lower and lower, judging her reaction. Nothing happened except that her legs parted ever so slightly. I took that as permission to proceed, and I ran my palm over her hairless mound and my fingers down between her legs. She let out a sigh of contentment. I withdrew my hand and did the same with my other. Her legs moved outwards again telling me that she wanted my touch. I quickly moved to the bottom of the table and ran my hands up her thighs again until I reached the gates of heaven. "You have a lovely vagina," I murmured. "And you have a lovely body," she responded. I decided to take the plunge. "Can I kiss it?" She giggled. "That's naughty." "I'm a naughty girl. I love being naughty, don't you?" "Sometimes. Like now. I'm feeling very naughty right now." I leaned forward, my hands on her hips and my thumbs gently pressing her open and touched my lips to her treasure. She gasped, drawing her knees up and allowing them to fall open. I ran my tongue from the bottom of her slit up to the top, probing for her clit, as yet barely perceptible. Soon it would grow into the centre of all pleasure and I hoped I'd be around to help her experience it. I pressed the tip of my tongue into her, just an inch or so, to let her know that I wanted to explore her sweet little pink cave. I felt her hand on my head, her fingers digging into my scalp and heard her groan with pleasure. I lifted my head and looked up at her face. Her own head was raised to look down at me, and I saw nothing but adoration in her eyes. That's when I heard the hinges of the door squeal and I jerked upright, threw a towel across Abbey's midriff and pulled my robe on, quickly knotting the belt. I heard a young voice call, "Angel?" "It's Yuzuki," Abby whispered. I peered round the side of the screen. There she stood in the doorway, a questioning look on her face. "Are you busy?" she asked. "Yes, I'm just finishing up with Abby. Can you wait outside for a few minutes." "I'll sit on a bench here," she said, stepping in to the room and parking her bum on one of the benches that filled the changing room. I went back behind the screen and Abbey was sitting up, the spell broken, the thrilling moment over. She discarded the towel, stood and pulled her knickers on, then donned her dress. "Do you want to do this tomorrow?" I asked. "I have a vacancy." She smiled. "Yes please, what time?" "Any time after lunch. I'll be waiting." I held a finger to my lips, telling her to keep our secret. "Okay. Thanks, Angel, that was lovely. I enjoyed every minute of it." She was telling me that as far as she was concerned, I hadn't crossed any line. She stepped into her shoes, pulled the curtain aside and stepped out. "Hi, Yuzuki," she said. "How was it?" "Awesome, like always. You're gonna love it." Yuzuki's face lit up. Abby said, "Bye, Angel, see you tomorrow." And she was gone, my first conquest since my landlady's daughter when I was at university. "You look flushed," said Yuzuki. "Massaging can be hard work." I wipe beads of sweat from my forehead with the towel that had covered Abby's loins. "Come on in and undress." Yuzuki was of Japanese extraction. One usually thinks of Asians as having slit eyes, but hers were huge, her black irises completely surrounded by the white sclera, all framed by long, dark lashes. Her nose was tiny and her mouth perfectly kissable. Her body, needless to say, was exquisite and soon, with her clothes discarded, she stood before me in all her perfection, her long black hair reaching halfway down her back. She sat on the end of the table, her arms down by her sides, her palms flat on the padding, her little legs dangling, smiling at me as I tugged the belt of my robe and let it fall open. She stared at me as I oiled my hands. "If you'd be more comfortable with me naked, too," I suggested, "I can take my knickers off." Her eyes lit up and she nodded. I shrugged the bathrobe off and slid my knickers down my legs as she stared at me. I told her to lie on her front. She turned, kneeling on the table, facing away from me and for a moment, just before she lowered her body down, her bum was up in the air, giving me a magnificent view of her rosebud and her treasure. I went to work, using the same routine that had worked so well on Abby, brief intimate contacts, that could be explained as accidental, which evolved to actual intimate caresses, as I carefully judged her reaction. She didn't hesitate for a second when I asked her to roll over. I paused, running my gaze up and down her slender body, my pulse racing as my excitement built. Whether it was that Yuzuki was more beautiful than Abby (unlikely, as their physiques were identical) or more likely, that having already been aroused by one little girl I was ahead of the curve, so to speak, it was hard to say, but I was grateful that the room was large enough that the aroma of my sex dissipated before it became too obvious. I was getting dangerously aroused. I stood at the foot of the table, staring at her pussy and saw her legs part slightly. I simply couldn't help myself and I leaned forward, placing a kiss on the gates of heaven. She let out a huge sigh, but made no move to repel me. I gently stimulated her pussy just as I had with Abby and she seemed to love every minute of it. After half a minute or so, I lifted my head and looked at her flushed face. It wore the most dazzling smile. "You seem to like this," I said. "Don't stop, Angel, please!" I moved to the head of the bed and leaned out over her and to my delight, she pressed her little hands on my breasts, cupping her palms, causing my nipples to stand out like two fingertips. She gently squeezed my boobs, sending electric thrills through me and I reached out my arms, running my hands down her body, pushing my fingers between her legs. She groaned with pleasure. At this point, had she been more mature, I'd have climbed up on to the table with my knees either side of her shoulders and simply sat on her face, but this was an eleven year old child who, as far as I knew, was having her first gay adventure, and I didn't want to frighten her off or gross her out in any way. I managed to get control of myself, restricting my attack so some gentle probing into her vagina and some soft touches with my fingertips on her clit. But her half hour was up. I stood up and gently told her that was enough for today. Her face felI. I put the fingers that had been inside her into my mouth and sucked them. "But I don't want you to stop," she moaned. "I don't want to have to wait a whole week to do this again." "You won't have to," I told her. "I have a plan for us." Her face brightened. "Tomorrow's Sunday, right? After lunch, I want you to go to your classroom. If anyone asks, tell them you need to collect a book that you left there. Make sure that you're not seen and run up the stairs to my apartment. The door will be unlocked and just come right in. I'll be waiting. Well have the whole afternoon alone together." "Not completely alone," I heard Abby's voice say. Her face appeared round the edge of the screen. Shit! I realised that I hadn't heard the door squeak for her departure and she'd been sitting on a bench in the changing room all the time. She was grinning at us. I was aghast! "Did you hear us . . .?" I asked. "I heard everything. I heard Yuzuki telling you not to stop. I heard enough to know that you were doing to her what you were doing to me. But don't worry. We don't have any secrets from each other, do we Yuzuki? She'd have told me anyway. How many other girls do you do naughty things to, Angel?" "None, I swear, just you two little darlings. You're the two most beautiful girls in the whole school, believe me and I'd intended to invite you to my apartment as well, Abby. I adore you both equally." She came in, round the end of the screen and sat beside Yuzuki on the end of the table, putting an arm round her shoulder. I stared at the two little angels, one dressed, one naked and my heart melted. "Are you mad at me, Abby?" "Heck, no. It was exciting, hearing you and her behind the screen. My knickers got wet." "You realise that this can't go any further than just us three," I said. "Of course," said Yuzui, "we know how to keep a secret, don't we, Abb?" "Better get dressed, Yuzuki," I said. "If anyone else comes in, I'll have a hard time explaining what I'm doing alone with two first formers." I handed her socks to her and enjoyed once more the sight of her exposed treasure, and watched the reverse strip tease act as she dressed. She stood and I put my arms round her and kissed her gently on the mouth. "My turn," said Abby and I kissed her too. "I love you both exactly the same," I murmured in her hear. She smiled up at me. "And we both love you exactly the same, don't we, Yuzuki?" "With all our hearts." ____________________________ On Sundays, the kids were not required to wear the school uniform, and I watched from my bedroom as Abby and Yuzuki, dressed in skimpy sun dresses and sandals, walked across the cobblestones of what was once the stable yard and into the school block. I opened my apartment door and they came skipping up the stairs, their faces alight with excitement. "Oh, my God!" they chorused as they saw me standing in the doorway, dressed in a temptingly brief translucent slip through which my nipples were visible and beneath which I was wearing . . . what? Nothing, of course. "Did anyone see you?" I asked anxiously. "No. There's never anyone around on a Sunday afternoons. They'll think we've gone to the village or something. No one will miss us." I closed the door behind them and invited them to sit on my couch. From the kitchen I produced two cold cans of Pepsi. "Now," I said. "I suppose you've come for a massage." "Oh, no," said Yuzuki. "We only signed up for massages so we could get to know you better." "The reason we're here is because of the other stuff," said Abby, "you know, like when you touched our pee-pees." "And kissed them," said Yuzuki. "That was awesome." My heart began to race. It seemed that my seduction had been successful. "So, didn't you like your massages?" "Oh, yes, definitely," said Abby, "but only because we knew that it was gonna lead to something better." "Sexier," said Yuzuki, "and it did." "But the massage was all part of the build up," I explained. "How would you have felt if I'd just jumped on you and started licking your treasures? No, it doesn't work like that." I gave them a long explanation of what foreplay was and how it was an essential part of all sexual adventures and that the longer they delayed getting to the crux of the matter, the better it would be. "Tell you what," I suggested, "why don't you massage each other. Just do what I did and take your sweet time while I watch. See, I have the table set up already. Come on, my darlings, take your dresses off." "And our knickers," said Abby. It wasn't a question. Once again I was treated to the sight of two little Lolitas undressing, something that I'll never tire of. They stood side by side by the table and I took a picture of them, arms around each other's shoulders. "Me first," said Abby, jumping up on to the table and lying on her back. I handed yuzuki a bottle of oil. "Use plenty," I told her. "You can wash it off later in the shower." She started on her friend's shoulders and arms, then her chest, lingering for a little nipple play, then skipped down to her thighs. "Do my pee-pee," Abby pleaded, "like Angel did yesterday." "Okay," Yuzuki responded. Her fingers caressed Abbey's mound and lips and I saw her middle finger probing. "Your finger feels nicer than my own," Abby said, then looking up at me, added, "We do it every night after lights out, fingering ourselves." "Not each other?" "No, too many prying eyes in the dorm. This is our first chance though we've been talking about it the whole term. Oh, Yuzuki, this is so good!" "I'm gonna kiss it," Yuzuki said. "Yes! Yes! Oh, my God, this is awesome!" I had the forethought to take another picture as Yuzuki leaned forward from the bottom of the table and planted a lingering kiss on her friend's treasure. I stepped to the head of the table. I was so aroused by what I'd just seen that I couldn't resist leaning down and kissing Abbey on the lips. Her arms went round my neck and she pulled me closer. "I love you, Angel," she whispered. I thought I was going to faint, such was my excitement. "We both love you," said Yuzuki. "I wanna massage you, too." I straightened up and stepped back, my head swimming. ""Yeah," said Abby, sitting up. "Let's both massage her, Yuzuki, both at the same time. Take your slip off, Angel and get on the table." "Face up," said Yuzuki. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Here were two eleven year olds taking charge, demanding that I submit to their ministrations, that I allow them to caress me all over, letting them do unspeakable, highly illegal things to my body. THEY were going to molest ME! How far would they take it? Would they kiss MY treasure? I stood there, frozen by the enormity of what was about to happen. "Come on, Angel," said Abby, "take your slip off. Never mind, let me do it." She lifted it over my head and both girls stared at my body. I tingled all over. "Get on the table. We've been waiting for this all week, haven't we, Yuzuki?" "Oh yes! This is gonna be such fun." I sat on the table, then swung my legs up and lay back, as they oiled their hands. They stood either side of me, looking down at my nakedness with eager anticipation. Abby began with my tits and Yuzuki started with my thighs, soon moving up to my pubic area, at first, just teasing my pussy lips with her fingertips, then pulling them apart to gaze at my pink cave. "Wow! Look at this! It's all pink and wet, dripping wet! Her pussy is so much bigger than ours. Come and take a look, Abby." She moved down beside her co-conspirator and gazed at my cunt. Then their fingers were all over me. I lay back and closed my eyes. I couldn't tell which girl was touching which part of me, but I felt fingers go inside me and my clit was being teased mercilessly. Then I felt lips pressing against my labia and a tongue probing as the finger continued circling my clit. Then there was a pause and I opened my eyes to see them changing places. Now Abby was attacking my cunt with her mouth and tongue as Yuzuki ran the palm of her hand up my body to my tits, pinching my nipples, then leaning in and nibbling them. Abby lifted her head and pressed three fingers inside me, then four. I heard Yuzuki's voice. "Can you get your whole hand in? I've read about this, it's called `fisting'." I was so wet that Abby had no trouble pressing her small hand into me, up to the wrist. "Holy cow!" Yuzuki breathed. "Look at that! How deep can you go, Abb?" Deeper, she discovered, and lifting my head and looking down, I could see that half her arm was inside me. "Oh, Jesus!" I croaked. "Make a fist. Yeah, like that. Oh, shit this is . . ." I was lost for words, until I heard myself crying, "Fuck me! Fuck my cunt, you little darling! You're driving me crazy!" Her arm moved in and out. "Oh, I'm gonna cum!" How could a girl like me not cum under such an assault? My orgasm came on like a tornado, swirling through my whole abdomen, exploding inside me, blowing me into smithereens, a cloud of little pieces of lust which slowly coalesced into a small mass of pure love in my heart. "Oh, my God, we made her cum!" I heard Abby say, her voice filled with awe. "Yeah, we did!" Yuzuki said triumphantly. I lay there with my eyes closed, my chest heaving. When I opened them, the girls were gone. I got back up on my feet and looked into my bedroom. There they were. I gazed at them, transfixed. My two darling nymphets were lying head to tail on my bed, their heads between each other's thighs, tongues working furiously. I was engulfed by a waves of emotions that are hard to describe; love, satisfaction, triumph, tenderness, intense excitement and a sense of achievement that I had lead them to this, giving them the encouragement and the opportunity to explore their sexual natures and fulfill their dreams. I stepped into the room. _______________________________ The years have gone by. I'm still at the National Ballet School, a bit older, wiser, and much more careful, as several times I've been almost caught teaching my "pupils" the joys of gay sex. Every year, as a new class of aspiring dancers enters the school, one to two of them will develop a crush on me and, I confess, I exploit their vulnerability. My conscience is clear; I've never unduly coerced any of them or caused any embarrassment or regret, but in every case, as puberty inevitably arrived, they grew out of their crushes on me and went on, I'm sure, to affairs with girls their own age. My theory about how crushes end turned out to be nonsense. So, as you might imagine, I have the perfect job. From my point of view, my little girls never grow older. They'll always be eleven, prepubescent, slender, beautiful and unbelievably sexy. And I'm always surprised at how eager they are. The end.