While my wife and I were certainly supporters of the performing arts when she was alive, I would not have necessarily put us in the “patron” classification. However, due to her and my daughter’s untimely and unfortunate deaths in an auto accident, the charitable foundation that I was able to establish with the various insurance settlements enabled me to offer financial support, as well as other-source fund raising help that garnered me some level of notoriety.

It also meant that all number of programs were reaching out to me for funding, and I had a never-ending list of demonstrations to observe. One of these was a ballet demonstration for a training academy. What made it different was that it was for older students who were just taking up ballet; not the typical eight and nine-year old beginners. I, along with representatives from several other performing arts funding foundations, had been invited to their spring recital, in the hopes that one or more of the foundations would agree to provide continuing funding.

Now, I am the first to admit that I am no fan of ballet. But, my wife and daughter enjoyed it, so I felt obligated to sit through the performance. The first thing that I noticed was that many of the girls weren’t girls at all; they were high-school and college age, with a few even older. But, while they were older, the recital was still very reminiscent of the ones that I watched my own daughter try to get through without disappointing “Madame." There must be a law that every ballet instructor’s name is “Madame."

In this case, “Madame Tyser” was a rather unfriendly looking person, and her glare froze her students in their tracks like deer in headlights. She walked around with this stick that she used to tap out a rhythm or beat that the “girls” executed their moves to. You could tell by the scowl on her face that she wasn’t pleased with anyone’s performance this afternoon; but one girl in particular earned more than her fair share of icy bullets. According to the program, her name was Lisa.

I say “girl" because based on the program, Lisa was eighteen and in her first year at the local community college. She was taking ballet to improve her dancing ability for other types of dance, and was in her first year at the ballet academy. But I didn’t need to see the program to know that this dancer was post-puberty. She was a cute brunette, about five-foot seven, thin like most ballet students, and had a nice pair of what looked like 36B breasts with nipples which, un-aroused, were still plainly visible through the top of her leotard. Complementing her top was a nicely plumped rear atop two coltish legs that moved most provocatively when she walked. But, her most striking physical feature was a very prominent mons.

I’m not talking camel-toe. She just had a very full, protruding Venus-mound, clearly shaved bare, that like her nipples, even the double material of a leotard and tights could not hide. And while there was certainly nothing erotic about her rather bumbling attempt at dance, I was nonetheless visually attracted to the sight. Apparently I wasn’t the only one; every man in the room appeared to have their eyes glued to either her crotch or her tits. Unfortunately, Madame Tyser noticed.

Once the recital ended, parents and family mingled with the dancers, the school staff, and the variety of foundation representatives. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lisa forlornly standing off to the side, alone. I guess that she had no family there to watch, and I felt kind of bad for her. I had made it half-way across the room, intending to make small talk to cheer her up, when Madame Tyser walked over to her, stick in hand, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her behind a screen that had been set up for the dancers to use to enter and exit the make-shift stage. I could hear what sounded like stern words, and moved in closer to try to overhear. As I stopped, I realized that the screen was in front of, and parallel to, the mirrored wall that all dance studios have. From where I stood, I could actually see Lisa and Madame Tyser reflected in the mirror; in addition to being able to hear what was being said.

Lisa appeared to be on the verge of tears. “Plié!” Madame barked. Lisa kept her feet together as she lowered herself, bending at the knees as she spread her legs out to the sides. “Now hold!” Lisa grabbed the barre to steady herself. Madame started tapping Lisa’s pubic mound with her stick. I could see Lisa wincing. “What have I told you about this? Flaunting your private parts like this. It is vulgar!”

“I can’t help the way I am built, Madame Tyser,” Lisa moaned, as she suffered the unending cadence being tapped out on her junction.

“And these, what have I said about these?” she snarled, relocating her aim to the poor girls nipples; steadily rapping them with the tip of her stick until they had hardened, making them even more obvious than they already were. “Your choice of leotard was poor. At the least, you should have worn the shields that I have provided. Your body parts should not be a distraction. How often must I mention this?”

“I am so sorry, Madame Tyser. I forgot them. I promise it will not happen again.”

“I have heard these promises from you before. But, at least in the privacy of our sessions, there was no audience. Today you embarrassed me, you embarrassed the program, and you embarrassed yourself. You must be punished. What did I tell you would happen the next time we had this discussion?”

“Oh, please, no!” the girl pleaded, tears running down her cheeks.

“If I do not punish you, you will not learn. Bend over and grab the barre. Now!”

Lisa turned to face the mirror, grabbing the barre so hard that her knuckles turned white. She bent at slightly at the waist. “Bend further,” Madame Tyser ordered, tapping her stick against Lisa’s derrière. “Farther…farther…that’s good. Now keep your feet together. Do not move until I tell you. Stepping to the side, Madame swung back the stick and then brought it down sharply across the middle of the soft, rounded target. “THWACK!” I heard Lisa hiss between gritted teeth.

Another fifteen hard blows were delivered in rapid succession, each acknowledged by the same hissing sound, but nothing else. Because of the angle of the mirror, I was able to see the blows as they struck. Madame then stopped. “You may stand up and leave. The next time it will be fifty. And cover those nipples!” I then noticed that despite the “caning”, as it were, Lisa’s nipples were still hard and sticking out. It was at that moment that Lisa looked in the mirror and saw that I had been watching. Embarrassed, she covered her breasts with her hands and ran from behind the screen to the stairwell.

While several people noticed her dash for the door, luckily, no one appeared to know what was going on, or that I was a more than an uninterested spectator. Those that did notice her dash went back about what they were doing, while Madame Tyser, now all smiles, came out from behind the screen to schmooze with the parents and foundation reps. I waited a cautious amount of time, then ducked into the stairwell myself.

I heard soft sobbing, but could not immediately determine if it was coming from above or below the floor I was on. I softly called out Lisa’s name. The sobbing stopped. There was a pause, and then, “Who’s there?”

“I’m Mr. Apiary. Britt Apiary. I was the one you saw in the mirror. I came to see how you are doing.”

The sobbing resumed.

“How do you think I’m doing?”

“Can I come up so we can talk about it?”

The sobbing reduced to sniffles. “Okay," was her meek reply.

As it turns out, she was two flights up, at the entrance to the roof access. She was on the landing above the top step, lying on her side (likely due to the residual soreness to her bottom). I stood a few steps down, but was still looking down at her. Her hair was up in the standard “ballerina bun”, revealing a gracefully sloping neck. Interestingly, her nipples were still quite erect. She noticed that I was looking at them, and quickly put her hands over them, her face turning red.

“What is wrong with me?” she whispered hoarsely as she sat up. “I just had a wizened-up old lady sexually abuse me with a stick, whip my ass with that same stick; yet I’m sitting in a stairwell and I’m apparently so aroused that I have a major case of pokies.”

“Sometimes we can’t control our body’s reaction to stimulus, even if it is the opposite of what we would consider normal,” I said, thinking of Quinn, the young lady that I had whipped with my belt before fucking the daylights out of. “And, in case you didn’t know, there is a large part of the population that finds receiving or inflicting pain to be sexually stimulating.”

She took her hand away from her breasts. “So I’m not weird, or sick, or perverted?”

“No,” I replied, “whatever floats your boat.”

“Even if my ‘boat’ sticks out so much?” she asked, now standing on the step below the landing and facing me so that I was eye level with her prominent pubic mound.

“Actually, I find the fact that your ‘boat’ sticks out rather sexy.”

“And my nipples?”

“From what I can see, definitely.”

She contemplated that for a moment. “Would you like to see more?” she asked.

“I’m not really sure that I should.”

Meanwhile, my cock, clearly with a mind of its own, had hardened at the offer; a condition which did not escape Lisa’s notice. “I think maybe you do,” she smirked, eyeing my boner.

She slowly peeled down the top of her leotard, exposing a pair of exquisite breasts. The puffy areolas were the size of silver dollars, and were a deep mauve color. They were capped by very large, very erect nipples. Looking at them, I couldn’t imagine how she ever expected to keep them hidden under a leotard once aroused. Cupping each from the bottom, she offered her gifts to me, and I gladly accepted.

While they were soft, they weren’t the least bit saggy. I gently squeezed each, eliciting a low moan. Holding them firm, I ran my thumbs over those enticing nubbins, and her moaning became louder. Remembering that she said that the abuse by “Madame’s” stick had aroused her, I flicked the tips with my fingernails. She shivered. “Suck them,” she moaned. “Suck them hard.”

I took her entire left areola between my lips, lapping my tongue over the nipple as I suckled. She put her hands behind my head and pulled me closer. I trapped the nipple between my teeth and gave it a good hard nibble. She was groaning now, mashing her tit into my face.

I ran my hand down to her pussy. As my fingers crossed her mound, she obligingly spread her legs to give me access. Even through the dual layers of tights and leotard, I could feel the liquid proof of her excitement; she had soaked the crotch of both garments. Her outfit was wet enough that I was easily able to spread her lips through the material and find her clit. Just like her mons, it was large and prominent. I strummed it with my index finger; and she gyrated her hips in reply.

I could tell that she was close to her finish, but needed just that extra little touch to get her over. I bit down hard on the nipple in my mouth. “Oh, yes! Bite my nipples!” I gave her ass a couple of hard smacks while continuing my dental assault, and that was all it took. She screamed in a combination of pain and ecstasy as she pulled me even harder into her chest, bucking her hips as she thrashed through a very intense orgasm.

As she calmed, she let herself lower to the level I was on. With her hand still on the back of my head, she brought her lips to mine, and then kissed me passionately as she forced her tongue inside my welcoming mouth. Finally breaking the kiss, she looked into my face, her eyes blazing. “That was fantastic! I haven’t cum that hard in forever!” She kissed me again, this time snaking her hand between us to search out my straining erection. “God, you’re huge,” she moaned, as she unsuccessfully tried to handle my manhood one-handed.

Dropping to her knees, she first tried to bring it out through just the slot in my jockeys and the zippered fly front of my pants. But, she soon realized that wasn’t going to work, so she undid my slacks and dropped them and my underwear to the floor. My cock bobbed under its own weight, and she was now face-to-face with eight inches of thick man-meat. I couldn’t tell if her wide eyes were a sign of amazement or admiration, but I was willing to accept either. Grasping the shaft just under the head, she held it still as she lapped up the pre-cum that had been dribbling out. Looking up, she said, “I was going to give you a blow job, but I don’t think that I can get this in my mouth. How about if I jack you off onto my tits?”

I was a little disappointed at first. It had been ages since anyone had my pecker between their lips. Still, I had a hot looking, half-naked teenager on her knees in front of me, holding on to my dick and promising to let me cum on her. And it wasn’t as if I wasn’t getting any mouth action; she did kiss and lick the head and shaft, depositing a load of saliva to help her hand glide over everything. Pretty soon my dick was slick and shiny as her fingers slipped up and down; first in a blur, then lazily teasing just the coronal edge with one hand as she gently kneaded my balls with the other. She was very good at what she was doing; it wasn’t long until my hips began their own bucking.

I was getting close, as evidenced by the extreme engorgement and flaring of my cock-head; which by now had attained a deep, angry, purple hue. I could feel the contractions starting in my groin, and tried to get out a warning. But the first two ropes of sperm caught Lisa by surprise, especially the quantity and velocity as they splashed against her face. But, she recovered quickly, and then aimed so that the last four blasts painted her chest and breasts.

She stopped her pumping to wipe the cum from her face, which she licked off her fingers. It was then that she noticed that I was still hard and ready. “Wow,” she said in a hushed voice, “you’re still hard. Didn’t you finish cumming? I’m covered in jiz.”

“As far as I know. I just seem to be able to stay hard afterward.”

She had a puzzled look on her face. “I’d offer to jack you off again, but my hand is kind of tired.” Just then we heard the stairway door a few flights down open up. It was “Madame," looking for Lisa. I took that as a cue to pull my pants back up, and Lisa pulled her leotard top back over her cum-drenched tits and stood up. She leaned in and gave me one last long kiss. “I’ve got to get my boyfriend to spank me, although he’s kind of shy. Maybe I could call you if I can’t convince him.” Her voice was low and a little throaty.

“By all means,” I said, squeezing her ass and then giving it one last whack.

She gave my cock a final squeeze, marveling that it was still rampant. With a wistful look, she turned and started back down the stairs. I watched as her butt cheeks worked up and down in the polyester garment. “Yeah,” I thought to myself, “I’d spank that.”