Pas De Trois

I don't hang out with my girlfriends on Tuesday nights. I don't date or work late. I don't meet my boyfriend, when I have one. Because Tuesday nights are when

she

teaches ballet.

There's a community centre that backs onto the same courtyard as my flat. The window, only a few feet away from my box room, covers almost the entire wall, from ceiling to floor. There's a theatre group that rehearses, and there are art classes, and exercises for the elderly -- ironic, because it's three floors up with no lift.

And on Tuesday nights

she

teaches a ballet class for grown-ups.

I've always been very careful not to let anyone know I use the room. I never have any lights on. The window is coated in black-out foil. There are tiny holes in the material that I can peer through that give me a complete view of the room opposite.

I watch her moving around in her leotard, hair in a tight bun, arms bare, legs covered by her tights. Her back is straight, her arse is round and firm. Her legs are toned. Her breasts are larger than most ballet dancers, I think, even squeezed into the tight material. Sometimes her nipples poke against it.

The hard fluorescent light reveals every detail. The stray hair that escapes from her bun. The droplet of sweat on her forehead at the end of her class. The contours of her muscles in leg, arm, neck.

I watch her, and I become moist.

I want to be one of her students, want her to tell me what to do, want to feel her hands glide along my back or my arms or my legs to correct my stance. I want to feel her close to me, breathe her scent, hear her voice in my ear. I want to feel the caress of her breath on my skin.

Every Tuesday I watch her, and I imagine being there with her, and I tease my slit for the two hours that her class lasts. Then I bring myself to the boil while she prepares to leave, and time my climax to hit as she turns off the light. Her muscled arse is the last I see of her.

Until next Tuesday,

I always tell it silently.

It's not something I'm particularly proud of. I've never told anyone. It's just my little secret. My private moment of pleasure that no-one needs to know about, and that no-one will take away from me.

On this particular Tuesday... On this particular Tuesday, something was different. She arrived at her usual time, dressed in her usual baggy shorts and T-shirt. I was waiting by my window, as usual, naked beneath my dressing gown. I like my hands to have free access.

She had her usual large bag and portable speaker, which she placed against the wall. Then she stripped off, revealing her cream leotard. No tights today.

It was sweltering. One of those summer nights when the air feels thick, like you're trying to breathe through a silk sheet. Its warmth strokes every inch of exposed skin, teasing out the occasional drop of sweat to crawl lazily along your neck or your leg. I already felt a trickle run across my back, and shrugged out of the dressing gown.

She was feeling the heat too. I saw her draw in a deep breath, sending her chest swelling up, then she moved in my direction and opened the windows. A thrill ran through me. I loved hearing her voice, listening to the instructions she gave her class. It made me feel even closer to her, as if I could almost touch her despite the wall of glass and blackness between us.

She leaned forward into the enclosed space between our buildings and took another deep breath. Her breasts surged towards me, and as she breathed out her cleavage became more pronounced above her leotard.

The door opened, and I expected to see the usual collection of twenty- and thirty-somethings who signed up for her class. Boring, bland ballet wannabes, basking in her presence for a few hours.

But today was different. Two young men glided into the room, so identical that they could only have been twins. Dark ringlets framed slim, pale faces. Dark eyebrows stood guard over dark eyes, separated by hooked noses. Thin lips parted simultaneously in wide grins at the sight of her.

They were dressed identically in baggy sweats and tight white T-shirts. The only difference I could see was that one had a leather band around his wrist, and the other an abstract tattoo on his forearm.

She turned to greet them. They had rucksacks with them, which they flung into the corner next to her bag. Handshakes, some talking. They all kicked off their shoes until they were barefoot. A few dance moves, questions, demonstrations.

I recalled reading an item on the local news website about a ballet troupe visiting from Talinn, including a pair of twenty-year-old brothers who were the talk of the scene. These boys must be them.

She took her phone from her bag and fiddled with the speaker. A moment later strains of classical music came drifting across the thick air, and the boys pulled down their sweats to reveal black cycling shorts. They sprang onto their toes and began to move. She watched for a moment, then joined in.

It was clear that the boys were used to dancing together. They moved around the floor with grace and coordination, spinning and leaping, stretching, kneeling, rising.

She danced in between, gradually matching their rhythm. It was like watching three leaves in the wind, each following its own motion but all bound together.

Then they stopped, and she went to her phone again. One of the boys said something, I heard laughter, and the music changed. Loud, upbeat, Latin. Sexy.

The dancing became sexy too. The three of them seemed to stalk each other, she and the two boys. Slow and sensual, bodies close but never quite touching.

I'd never seen her move like this. Before, teaching her class, it had always been the stylised, sterile ballet. Rehearsed, formal. This was primal. This was hot.

My nipples were aching, I realised, and I reached up a hand to pinch them, one by one. The pain was exquisite. Goose pimples marched along my skin.

Opposite me the mood was heating up. She was pressed between the two boys, almost grinding against them. They had their hands lightly on her hips, almost as if they were afraid to touch.

Suddenly she spun away, dancing free, leading them on a chase around the room until she stood before the open window. Her back was to the room.

Hair had escaped from the tight bun and was plastered to her forehead. Her chest was heaving, swelling and retreating. I noticed with a thrill that the front of her leotard was marked by her nipples.

The boys caught up, and she turned to face them. Right before me, the three of them danced together. But something had changed.

Now hands pressed on hips and thighs. Fingers traced lines up and down arms, faces, necks. Bodies pressed close together.

When the boy with the tattoo lowered his lips to kiss her neck from behind, it seemed almost natural. She reached up and grasped his head, pulling him against her. The other, the one with the wristband, crowded in before her and kissed her on the lips.

She responded enthusiastically, still running her fingers through Tattoo's hair. Even from where I was watching I could see the outlines of two cocks through the thin material of their shorts.

She must have felt them. First she pressed her round arse up against Tattoo, then she ground forwards into Wristband. They ground back, until all three of them were writhing in time with the music.

Tattoo had one hand on her waist while the other slid up and stroked the side of her breast. Wristband seized her hips and pulled her closer against his body.

Suddenly she slipped free again, dancing and twirling across the room in a series of moves that combined ballet with the sexy motions from before. Again the boys followed, but now it was as if they were performing a studied piece.

They never quite caught her, only touching a trailing hand or running their fingers across her body as she floated by. Somehow they both lost their tops, revealing slim bodies that were all hard, trim muscle. In the harsh white light, sweat gleamed off their hairless skin.

Now she went on the hunt. It was her fingers gliding over bare flesh, her hands lingering on firm arses. Once she danced between the pair of them and rubbed their bulging shorts as she passed.

That seemed to be the signal for things to become more serious. The next time Tattoo passed her and reached out, his fingers caught the strap of her leotard and pulled it down over her shoulder. Again she slipped away, but she left the strap where it was.

My breath was shallow as I saw the plump flesh of her breast above the nylon. My hands went up to cup my own boobs, squeezing them and tugging at the nipples.

A moment later Wristband removed the other strap. Before he could dance away, she caught his hand and held him. He stopped, breaking the rhythm, and she pulled him close and kissed him. The dance seemed to be over.

Her hands seized his arse. For a moment he seemed surprised by her aggressive approach, then he responded by pulling down the leotard to her waist.

Her breasts were as I'd imagined them so often. Large only by dancers' standards, jutting out firmly from her muscled torso and topped by pale nipples. They squashed against Wristband's chest as the pair of them kissed.

Tattoo came up behind her. Without wasting time he knelt down and pulled the leotard over her arse and down her legs. She stepped out of it, her lips never separating from Wristband's. Tattoo stayed on his knees and began kissing the backs of her thighs, running his tongue up one leg and down the other.

Her hands left his brother's arse and slipped round to the front. The bulge in his shorts had turned into the clear outline of a hard cock. She rubbed it, then slipped one hand inside. An unheard whimper seemed to flit across his face.

Tattoo was still kissing her thighs, but with her free hand she reached round and pulled him into her arse. He seemed to get the hint. His hands grabbed her hips and he buried his face in her crack. I saw his head move up and down, jaw working.

Wristband kneeled down to join him. His face vanished between her thighs from the front. Even with the loud music, they were so close to the window that I could hear her breath come in loud, choking moans across the open space that separated us.

They were relentless, holding her tight and assaulting her holes with their tongues. I felt myself grow moist from the sight, and slid my hand between my legs to caress my lips. They parted immediately, slick and wet beneath my fingers. The cream of my arousal felt thick and spread easily.

I'd never had my arse licked. I wondered what it was like, whether it could be sexy. I let a finger explore, sliding past my entrance and between my cheeks until I nearly touched my hole. It tickled slightly, and as I gently teased the surrounding areas nerve endings awoke that I'd never known of before.

A sudden sound drew my attention back to the scene before me. She was moaning out loud now, almost drowning out the music, bucking her hips this way and that. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open. Her breasts shook with every gasp.

Suddenly she folded nearly double. Her face was contorted in a silent cry, and her body shook again and again.

The boys held her steady and guided her to the floor. Her chest was heaving. Loose hairs stuck to her neck. If they thought she needed time to recover, though, they were mistaken. Her eyes opened again, and with an imperious gesture she instructed them to stand.

They rose. Both shafts were outlined sharply, and she reached up to grab one with each hand. The brothers pulled down their shorts and presented her with their cocks. Hard, swollen, purple, one on either side of her.

Still on her knees, she opened her mouth and took first one in, then the other. Her hands were wrapped around the bases of the shafts, and as she sucked one, she tugged at the other.

The boys had their hands on each others shoulders, faces down as they watched. I saw their mouths move, but their words were lost in the music. Wristband grinned, and Tattoo threw his head back and laughed. She carried on, paying no attention to anything but their cocks.

I pictured myself in her position. Naked, those two hard lean bodies above me, those two cocks all mine. Sucking their heads between my lips, teasing them with my tongue. Smelling the sweat on their skin, feeling their fingers in my hair.

I imagined the sense of pride, of empowerment. Taking all they gave me, and wanting more, on my own terms.

And it was clear that she wanted more. She rose to her feet in a graceful motion. There were protests from the boys, but she smiled and kissed them each in turn. A few words of instruction, and Tattoo was on his back on the floor. The shorts were gone, his and his brother's both, revealing hard muscled cheeks that almost glowed in the fluorescent light.

She placed her feet on either side of Tattoo's hips, face turned away from his, and lowered herself. I saw her grasp his cock and guide it between her legs. The swollen head seemed far too big to fit inside that slender body.

I watched as it pressed up against her lips. Their pink contrasted with the swollen purple, and with the paleness of her skin. She was shaved, I saw now, her skin as smooth as the boys'. It probably came with the profession, but it suited her better than them, leaving her mound naked below her muscled stomach.

Her lips parted slowly, almost reluctantly, making way for the hard shaft. She leaned on the hard pale legs beneath her, face contorting in something between agony and ecstasy. For a moment she rose again, then she pressed down. This time the swollen head disappeared between her lips.

Tattoo raised his hips to meet her as she sank further onto his shaft, ever so slowly, ever so deliberately. When he was all the way inside her she paused, eyes closed, face up. Then she opened her eyes and beckoned Wristband.

In an instant he was before her. She opened her mouth wide, and as she began to rise and fall on the cock in her pussy she sucked the second one into her mouth.

I watched, seeing her grab Wristband by the cock and arse, and felt a wave of jealousy well up inside me. Jealousy of what she was doing, jealousy of what she was experiencing. Jealousy that I could only stand, hidden, taking it all in, so close but a world away. Jealousy that I had to share her with the brothers.

But overriding that jealousy was a delicious thrill. To be part of the experience, a secret member of our foursome, knowing what they were doing without them knowing about me -- it was intoxicating.

My fingers were rubbing between my legs. Arousal coated them, all the way up to where my wrist brushed across the short hairs on my mound. I teased myself from my clit to my entrance, running two fingers over my button, probing at my tightness, letting the sensations build.

As the hard shaft slid in and out of her pussy, and her lips moved along the other cock, I slipped a finger all the way inside, matching her movements. My other hand was at my mouth, and I sucked at my finger, flicking at it with my tongue as if I was sucking at Wristband's hard cock.

He was thrusting his hips into her face. For a moment I thought he was about to cum. She must have thought so too, because she pulled away. The look on his face was almost comical. His cock continued to press forward, as if searching for the warm embrace that had engulfed it seconds before.

But she rose and it was his turn to lie on the floor. Tattoo was on his feet, and by the time she'd sunk herself onto the second cock he had his own ready for her mouth.

It glistened in the harsh white light. I sucked harder on my finger, imagining that it was covered with her cream and his precum, that I could taste them both.

The scene repeated itself, only now she had one hand on Wristband's sculpted chest. My fingers resumed their rhythm to match hers. A knot of fire was building inside me, but I pushed it back down. Something told me there was more to come.

I wasn't disappointed. Tattoo pulled out of her mouth and said something. His hand was on her shoulder, pressing her forward onto his brother's chest.

She replied, something firm. He shrugged, then jogged to where his rucksack lay. A moment of digging around and he returned.

In his hand he held a small square of foil -- a condom wrapper -- and a tube. My breath caught as I realised what he wanted.

It was clear that she was willing. She continued to rise and fall on top of Wristband as Tattoo withdrew the rubber and unrolled it over his hard cock. Her eyes followed every movement. They were bright, shining, eager.

Tattoo took the tube and squeezed it liberally over his wrapped shaft. She held out her hand and he added a dollop on her fingers. Slowing her rhythm, she reached behind herself and probed her arse. I couldn't see, but from the expression on her face she was enjoying the sensation.

I remembered my own earlier exploration. I had plenty of lubrication of my own, so I made sure my fingers were slippery and reached behind me just like she was doing.

As before, the nerve endings around my hole came alive at my touch. This was virgin territory for me, but the scene playing out before me made me eager to experiment.

Slowly, carefully, I probed at my hole with a fingertip. A moment of resistance, as if my arse was shutting me out, so I let up the pressure. Again I probed, a little more forcefully this time, and my fingertip slipped inside. I felt myself clench around the intruding digit.

It wasn't painful. It wasn't unpleasant. It was... interesting.

With my other hand I rubbed at my clit. The sensations made me clench my entire abdomen. It felt sexy. I pushed my finger in further, then pulled it out and pushed it back in again.

Movement caught my eye, and I returned my attention to where the threesome -- the other part of our foursome -- was playing out. Tattoo had taken up position behind her. I watched her face, entranced, seeing her expression go from anticipation to concentration. It was clear that she was adjusting to the cock trying to enter her.

Curious, eager to share something of the moment with her, I pressed a second finger against my arse. There was some pain, a sense of stretching. Worry stabbed through me, concern that I might be doing irreparable damage.

Logically that was unlikely of course. Drawing in deep lungfuls of thick air, gritting my teeth against the conflicting sensations, I persevered until my second finger was inside my arse.

Before me, Tattoo seemed to be inside her. His hands were on her shoulders and he pulled her against his body.

The look on her face changed again, to one of intense pleasure. No, not just pleasure: control as well. Mastery. The boys might be enjoying themselves, but it was all about her. She was fucking them. Using them for her enjoyment. Taking pleasure in what they could give her.

I fucked myself, front and rear, with the same rhythm as she fucked herself with those hard cocks. Back and forth the boys' hips went, and in and out went my fingers. The mouse of my right hand rubbed along my slit, stimulating my clit. I surrendered to my body's pleasure, letting it experience these sensations that were only a pale reflection of what she must be experiencing from the cocks.

Almost I could imagine that I had two cocks inside me. That I could be so bold, so uninhibited, as to have sex with two strangers and have them both inside me at the same time.

Again a pang of jealously rose up inside, but I didn't let it distract me from my pleasure. I continued to thrust in and out, feeling full and stretched like I'd never felt before, while my eyes filled with the sight of her being filled with cock and pleasure.

Her grunts were loud enough for me to hear over the music. Guttural, breathy, demanding. The boys had their faces screwed up in concentration. It was clear that she wasn't going to let them finish before she was ready.