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“Tape?” I stare at the round object in his fingers.

“Yep.” He lifts his chin. “Pull down your top.”

It’s not a request. I tug down the cap sleeves and push the scoop neck down, revealing both the bandaged cut and the silver piercings. He spreads his fingers, using them to measure the bars, then tears off a strip of tape.

“Getting that off is going to be a problem, right?” I ask, eyeing it warily.

“We’ll deal with that later.”

Later?“But–”

He slaps the stark white tape over my nipple, covering the bar and everything else.

“There,” he says, covering the other nipple. “That should work.”

Unsure, I ease the top back up and turn to face the mirror. Sure enough, my tits are almost smooth. Certainly better than before.

“Thank you,” I say, still worried about the removal process, “I guess.”

“If there’s a problem, I just want to find a solution.” He strides over to drop the tape back in the bag. “You ready?”

It’s not the way I envisioned my first day back to class, not with tape over my nipples and crusty cum glued to my ass, but it’s better than dancing in a dark crypt by myself.

“Yeah,” I say, grabbing the bag holding my pointe shoes, “I’m ready.”

14

Hunter

I shouldn't be here.

Well, nothere-here. We’d been told specifically by the King to keep an eye on her and not to let her out of sight, so I’d been with the Baroness since my presentation was over, sticking by her side while she changed for class, then escorting her to the auditorium.

What I mean is, I shouldn’t behere. Likethis–up above the auditorium in a place no one's supposed to go, crouched on the catwalk like some creeping shadow.

But that’s what I am lately. A shadow more comfortable lurking around the edges than anywhere else.

When I’d dropped Arianette off with the other dancers in the class, they were already up on stage, stretching their limbs and practicing their moves. I’d offered to hold her bag, then eased to the back, watching her carry her shoes in her fingertips. When she got to the stage, she looked awkward, both in and out of place at the same time. It made sense, knowing this is her first day back to class.

I also felt awkward, but for different reasons. I felt too exposed watching her out in the open, so I faded back until I found something familiar, the access point backstage. I’d been here once before with my father while he fixed an electrical problem. The lure of a dark, quiet place to hide and the master key in my pocket made it easy to take the metal stairs up to the rafters.

From here, with her bag at my feet, I can see everything without being seen. It’s not just the view that’s different from this position. The air is thick with the scent of rosin and sweat, while the muffled music chords echo across the wide, dark auditorium. Peering down, I notice how her shiny, brown satin pointe shoes almost shimmer against the stage floor.

I shift my weight, careful not to creak the metal beneath me. Earlier, I watched her change. She thought I wasn’t looking, that I was focused on my phone, but I’m good at that, watching quietly–discreetly.

She peeled off that stupidly sexy schoolgirl sweater and skirt, pretending like DK’s cum wasn’t still wet between her legs. I’d wanted to ask for her to show it to me, tell me what it felt like to have him take her like that in the back of the classroom. If it made her horny to know that anyone could discover them, or what it was like to know I was watching.

I wanted to kill him for putting me in that position. I had to focus on my presentation, pretending like I didn’t know what was going on at the back of the room. The hormone-fueled urge to watch them was only slightly overruled by the logical part of my brain and the awareness of where I was and what I was doing. Still, I was thankful for the podium being in place to block the outrageous boner painfully throbbing against the front of my pants.

I was still hard when she slipped off her panties, which were still damp with DK’s cum. She’d wiggled into the leotard andtights–clothing that, for once, wasn’t a costume or armor made for the men around her. The spandex fit her like a second skin, hugging her curves. She looked hotter like this, comfortable.

Carefully, quietly, I unzip her bag and feel around, stopping when I feel the silky, lace fabric. It’s too hard to see up here in the dark, but I know they’re white and stained.

Now, down on the stage, she’s at the front of the group, facing the rows of open seats in the empty auditorium.

She stretches first, long limbs folding into themselves and then extending like they’ve done this a thousand times. There’s none of the usual tension in her body, none of the brittleness she carries everywhere else. Her spine curves like a bowstring, arms lifting in a smooth arc overhead before she drops into a deep bend, palms grazing the floor. She rises with an easy, almost arrogant grace, her head high, hair pulled tight, legs long and sure.

It’s strange. No,unsettling, how different she looks here.