Balletgirl

By scarlet{AB}

Disclaimer: This story is complete fiction and reflects my own fantasies. None of is to be taken as either factual or possible in any way, shape, or form.

Issue #01

Genesis

Part One:

The Making of a Ballerina

From his reserved seats in the upper balcony Hector Grimm had an unobstructed view of both the stage and the audience. He was a short, balding, immaculate looking man who’s foppish attention to fashion made him impeccably dressed and caused whispered innuendoes among his business associates. Ironically they were mostly theater directors and dancers and he thought they were probably gay.

The truth about Hector Grimm, however, was that he was far more sinister than being a foppish patron of the ballet. He enjoyed his young boys, enjoyed making them into his troupe of ballerinas and balleroes. He got far more pleasure from twisting a lithe teenager’s mind into his plaything than mere sex ever could give him. He was a rapist—a mental rapist, but a rapist none the less or less horrific.

Grimm played with his goatee, twirling it around his index finger, while he watched the performance. He was usually able to attract some teenage boys to his performances, not enough to arouse suspicion, just enough that might be dance students, romantics hoping to score with their girlfriends, curious, or eager to see beautiful young women in revealing costumes and tights. He had once inserted subliminal messages into commercials, but it had not made much of a difference. Most boys tended to have deep inhibitions about “that sissy-dance stuff.”

He scanned the audience again. Most of them were up on their theater manners and had come dressed appropriately—at most suits and dresses, at the least shirts with ties and skirts with blouses. His eyes lingered on a boy in an aisle seat with jet-black hair in a brush cut with a beckoning curl hanging over the middle of his forehead. From Grimm’s vantage point he seemed to have smooth, unblemished skin. Grimm almost licked his lips. He grabbed his opera glasses and took a closer look. The boy had bright blue eyes and was wearing a navy blue polo shirt underneath a grey jacket, grey trousers, and low-top Converse sneakers. He appeared to be 17 or 18 and was viewing the ballet with great interest. Grimm’s emerald green eyes burned with lust. He had to have this boy, to twist his mind and body into that of a beautiful ballerina’s.

For the first time ever, Hector Grimm did not stay for a full performance. As he left, he told his assistant, an ex-ballero called Andrei Kholodov, “Find out everything you can about the boy in seat 28, Row 14, then report back to me. I must prepare for him.”

Kholodov was very good at his job as majordomo for his Master. He was the only person in twenty years who had ever sought Grimm out and begged to be made into a dancer. As a reward for self-enslavement he was trusted with the most responsibilities once his dancing days had finished. Kholodov had choreographed, found replacement dancers via the international sex trade, covered up everything, and discovered information. He had also been trained in the hypnotic arts by his Master and used them for his greater glory.

The tall Russian ex-patriate had a convenient cover as a certified hypnotherapist and had used the pharmaceutical knowledge provided by one dancer to make sure there was a lot of stress among those people from whom he could get the needed information. A few phone calls, fewer posthypnotic triggers, and carefully worded requests and he was able to report back to his Master within the hour.

Grimm had changed into a much less fashionable choice of clothes: velvet black robes and a black tunic. Around his neck was a silver chain and hanging from that chain was an All-Seeing Eye—an eye inside a pyramid. A sash of red silk that reminded Kholodov of a cummerbund was wrapped around his waist and a gold dagger with sapphire encrusted hilt hung from it.

They were within Grimm’s private sanctuary in richly apportioned penthouse suite in the Babylon Tower. It was a space consecrated to the Powers, to magic. An altar of grey granite occupied the most conspicuous spot, nothing more than a stone desk, really, with nowhere for legs or a chair. Carved into it were runes of defense and sigils to summon the Powers Grimm needed to do his work. A copper pentangle was set into the altar’s smooth surface. A thin wire of silver was set into the floor in a circle. Spells of protection had been set in it in jet. The Circle’s floor was grass green. The rest of the room, save the altar, and a stone basin, was blacker than outer space. It was not just the color, but the darkness that seemed infused into the atmosphere, that made it that black.

“The boy you seek is named Seamus. Seamus Griffin. He is eighteen, lives in the suburbs, he is interested in ballet because a girl he likes does it and he wants to get closer to her before working up the courage to ask her out.”

“Perfect,” Grimm said absent-mindedly, his mind already racing along paths of enslavement and transformation for the soon-to-be-girl. “Does he dance yet?”

“No, Master,” Kholodov answered. “As I said, he’s interested. He suffers from the same inhibitions most American boys do—he thinks deep down that boys who do ballet are sissies.”

“I’ll have to go to work on his subconscious first and weaken that foolish prejudice in him first. With your Ballet Beginners for Teenagers class ready he will come to you and you will bring him before me.”

“Yes, Master.”

Seamus. The voice was whispering and seductive. He felt himself getting aroused just by hearing it. It belonged to one of the ballerinas on stage. He did not recognize the voice, but the body was of one of the ballerinas he had seen at Mars and Venus, hers was the sexiest body he had ever seen save Kate’s and the ballerina had Kate’s face. Why don’t you join me, Seamus?

“I . . . I want to . . . but . . .” Seamus murmured back.

Ballet is for girls. Is that it Seamus?

“Yes.”

But this is a dream, a fantasy. You could be a girl in your dreams, Seamus, you . . . could . . . be . . . a girl . . . in . . . your dreams. Then would you dance with me? No one would have to know . . .

“I . . . could . . . be a girl . . .”

Yes . . .

“I . . . could . . . be a . . . ballerina . . . if . . . I were a girl . . .”

Yes . . .

“I . . . want to do ballet,” Seamus just mouthed the words. “I . . . want . . . to be . . . a girl.”

Good. It is your true self, your masculinity is, and always has been, a delusion. It enslaves you. As a man you must act a certain way, as a woman you will be Free. You will be a full and complete person.

Seamus suddenly felt his body just dissolving away. Just disintegrating particle by particle, just dust being blown away by a warm, comfortable breeze. Melting . . . dissolving. Soon he was just awareness, just consciousness without sensory perception. Somehow he felt like he was drifting, just floating along a current greater than he could ever have resisted. Like he was a cork in the ocean; bobbing up . . . and down. Up . . . and down. And he was so relaxed without muscles and tissues to complain to his brain about blood and tension and stiffness.

Then he felt a tingling sensation in the left side of his body. It started out slowly at first, but picked up its pace in spreading throughout his corporeal form, building quicker and quicker into waves of feminine, orgasmic pleasure. One final warm, tingling surge and sensory information flooded his brain. His feet seemed bent and pointed straight down and . . . smaller somehow. His legs felt long, shapely, powerful . . . and smooth, full of a catlike grace ready to be unleashed at any time. They felt like they were in tight, silky light pants. His crotch also felt smooth, he was aroused, but for some reason he did not feel erect, no penis straining against underwear or whatever these silky pants were. He felt underwear, very tight underwear, with a nice, soft, string snugly between his butt cheeks. There was also a one-piece garment that went under his crotch and up to his shoulders. He felt lighter and thinner than he ever had, and with powerful muscles trained to perfection. Then there were two unfamiliar weights on his chest, a strange waxy coating on his lips, and his hair felt heavier and in a weird style.

He opened his eyes and knew that he was no longer a he. She was a ballerina, sexier than the one with Kate’s face, who was standing just a few feet away. She was wearing a pink tutu, light pink tights, yellowy-pink Pointe shoes, bright red lipstick on perfect lips; a good cream based foundation that made her face smooth and unblemished; muted rouge on her cheekbones that accented them and made her face even sexier if such a thing was possible; light brown eye shadow, mascara that made her eye lashes perfect and numerous, and her dark brown, no, black hair was perfectly conditioned, silky, and styled into a bun.

Do you want this, Seamus?

“Yes, oh yes.”

Then you must begin the Ballet as soon as possible, a teenage beginners class. If you truly DESIRE this than you will attend. I will know, and I will know your progress. The more you apply yourself to the dance, the longer you will be your true self in your dreams . . . until you become her completely within and we can begin on the outside.

“I will. I promise.”

But the night is young. Now, we dance . . .

It was like someone had unpaused a DVD. The two ballerinas begin to re-enact Mars and Venus totally and Seamus experienced it like the star had—every arabesque, every jete, every lift by strong, masculine arms, every fleeting, knowing, flirting glance the two beautifully erotic ballerinas shared. Then they were in a changing room. They hugged each other closely, keeping in contact for as long as possible to feel each other’s sexy bodies pressed up against the other.

Seamus kissed Kate’s cheek. Just the kind of thing that two girls might share in greeting or congratulations, only she lingered for a few seconds. It seemed like an eternity. When she pulled away finally there was a perfect lipstick print on Kate’s cheek. Now it was Kate’s turn to kiss Seamus’s cheek. She lingered too and Seamus moaned slightly. Seamus reached to pull the bobbi pins out of Kate’s hair and let the smooth, blonde curls cascade down through her hand. Then she pulled the bobbi pins out of her own hair. Kate now kissed her on the lips, trading feminine essence and each other’s breath. Seamus returned the kiss and added some tongue.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmm,” Kate moaned. They were both reaching the heights of ecstasy.

Seamus laid her on a bed that appeared from nowhere, still in contact with her lips, and began to pull off Kate’s costume. But then time froze again.

That’s enough . . . for now. Your time will get longer and longer until you are a girl completely and totally. Do you want this, Seamus?

“Yes.”

Then follow my instructions. I am the only one who can transform you into your true self, I am the only one who can guide you along the path to your freedom. But you have to want it, you have to DESIRE it. Do you, Seamus? Do you DESIRE to be free, to be your True Self?

“YES!” Seamus said loudly enough to wake himself up.

His heart was racing, he was soaked in sweat, and he was horny. He looked down at his erection. Damn, he thought, still just a male. He was unable to get back to sleep right away so he went to get a glass of water. While he sipped the cool liquid down he opened the previous day’s newspaper. Laughing always helped him to relax and feel better. The first thing that caught his eye was an ad for a teenage beginners ballet class. The ad proudly announced that the class was taught by Andrei V. Kholodov, a former ballero with the Grimm Ballet Troupe and choreographer of Mars and Venus

“I have to do that,” Seamus said to himself.

In Our Next Issue: Seamus begins ballet lessons, Kholodov uses hypnosis, and Grimm deals with a runaway slave . . .

See it in Balletgirl, Issue #02!

Coming soon . . .