Envy’s Dance | Pirouette

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The Green Eyed Girl in all of us...

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This was made to fill a request on tumblr I thought was rather fun. 

He went to the studio hoping to catch her ...doing something other than practicing.  Perhaps he had hoped she was doing something scandalous and compromising.  Something that would prove once and for all that he should be the star of the company.  He did not expect to find her clothing lying on the floor. Each garment was laid out neatly as if they had been prepared for a ritual.  He knew that she was meticulous in everything she did but he did not expect this.  

He examined her pink slippers, almost expecting to find some secret to her success stitched into the fabric.  There was a perverse sense of glee telling him to pick up each garment and put them back down out of order, but before he could, some other compulsion washed over his soul.  

Wear Me

He shivered as the whispered voice touched his thoughts.  His fingers reached down and caressed the tights laying beside the shoes.  The silky fabric felt so enticing.  Again, the compelling thoughts of wearing them floated around his mind, this time followed by a sense of entitlement.  Of course he should wear them. . . he was as much a star as she was.  He could do her parts as well as he did his own.  He was so consumed by envy that he didn’t notice the wispy fabric being pulled up his legs.  It was only when he felt them caress his nether regions that he paid attention.  So cool.  So soft.  He had tried on a million pairs of tights as a dancer but these felt so exquisite.  Was EVERYTHING better for her?  He groaned as a soothing warmth spread up from his toes to his calves and finally to his thighs.  Stars blinded him as his crotch felt victim to the erotic touch of the fabric.  The warmth continued up his torso, into his arms and finally to his mind.  The compulsion within grew, demanding he wear the slippers next.  His feet slipped into the dainty shoes with no resistance, and the satin ribbons caressed his legs before he tied the bows in place.  A dulcet sigh escaped his lips as his hands slid to his rump, consumed by the lovely sensations the tights were causing.

Each garment added more strength to the voice of femininity inside his mind.  They corrupted his thoughts as well as his body, willing his flesh to comply with the shape of the clothing.  Limbs became willowy, his waist slender and tight.  Inky locks of hair fell around his face as he changed, his heart pounding with excitement.  He could be as pretty as her.  He could demand the audience’s adoration and desire.  He could move them with his dance . . . just as she did.

“Winter, I’m glad you are ready,” the company producer said to the new girl in the studio.  “The photographer is waiting for you.  We need to get these new posters ready for your next show.”  She smiled as she posed for the camera, confidence radiating from her.  Of course everyone would come see her.  She was the prima ballerina.