Page 84 of His Turn

“I can’t,” she says, reaching her breaking point. “I can’t do it. I’m too tired.”

“Take them off the wall, Nadia. And place them on your thighs.”

She shakes her head no, her head drooping in defeat. “I can’t.”

“You can,” I say, removing one of her hands from the wall and placing it on her thigh. She grips her leg hard. And she’s still shaking her head no when I lift her other hand off the wall and place it on her other thigh.

Now she is spread eagle, en pointe, and she is crying hard. Her sobs are loud and her breathing hitched and uneven as she struggles to stay in position. Her whole body shakes and just as she’s about to give up, I wrap my arms around her and hold her steady. She melts into me. Her back pressing into my chest, using me to support herself.

But she stays en pointe.

“You’re a good girl, Nadia,” I say, practically cooing the words into her ear. “A very, very good girl.”

“Thank you, Master,” she says through her sobs.

“And do you know what good girls get?” I ask.

“Tell me, Master.”

“My hard, thick cock in her mouth. Would you like that?”

“Yes, Master,” she says.

I don’t know if she really means it. Probably not. I’m pretty sure she’ll say anything to rest her feet right now. Her knees are bent, her perfect posture so far in the past, I’m the only thing holding her up at the moment.

But I don’t care. Giving up is giving in.

“Drop to your knees,” I say, letting go of her body.

She does. Like immediately.

I back away. Several steps away. And say, “Stay on your knees and turn around.”

She scoots her body around so she’s facing me. Her face is bright red with exertion. She’s sweating profusely, her whole body glistening in the soft light.

“Crawl to me, Nadia.”

She leans forward on her hands and then crawls. Looking down at the planks of hardwood beneath her, hair dragging.

“Look at me,” I say.

She looks up as I back away and then another sob escapes when she realizes I’m still playing with her. It’s not over yet. I continue to back up and she continues to crawl. I lead her like that, all the way down the hallway, across the living room, and into her bedroom.

I sit on her rumpled bed and let her finally reach her goal. She stays on all fours in front of me, head drooping again.

She’s done.

I pet her, drag my hand over her sweat-soaked hair, and say, “Scoot up as close as you can get, sit back on your butt, and take out my cock.”

She scoots. Sits back. And looks me in the eyes as she begins to unbuckle my belt.

I smile at her, still petting her hair. “Ballet, Nadia.”

“What?” she asks, her voice weak and small. Her fingers desperate to unbutton my pants. But she fumbles, every muscle in her body spent.

“That’s your weakness. Ballet. You submit to it like a good little slave. And now that I know that, I will use it against you every chance I get.”

Another sob escapes, but she doesn’t deny it or fight back.