Isabella, or Isa, joined her fellow dancers in the misty locker room of their studio, massaging some sore muscles as her classmates change into their streetwear. It was the last day of practice before the winter break and the room was a horny teen's wet dream. Dozens of girls were in tight fitting leotards and legwarmers with beautifully toned bodies from years of exercise. Though the dancers came in an array of typings: tall, short, pale, busty, flat, it was rare to see a truly curvy dancer among their ranks. Isa was a bit unique in her shape. She had an hourglass rather than the narrow hips of her classmates, which proved to be quite a problem in class.
Many of her teachers would take her big ass as proof Isa wasn't tucking her tailbone, or her jiggling boobs across the floor meant she wasn't holding her core. It was quite humiliating for the girl, even though she knew these critiques were simply products of her weight disrtribution and racial heritage. It seemed like the girl wasn't meant for ballet. Her teachers never thought Isa's long, curly locks were ever neat enough for a bun, her skin always too deep for the pointe shoes. The prejudice was felt through every corner of Isa's education, even effecting her relationships with her classmates. They assumed she wasn't talented enough to be dancing with them, and often left her out of company bonding. They took it upon themselves to remind Isa's place by bullying and humiliating her.
"I'm so relieved they hired me, you can feel it when dance jobs start running dry." Cynthia smirked as the redhead peeled her sweaty leotard from her lean body. She shifted her eyes towards Isa, who quickly lowered her gaze to her own blistered feet. "Of course, the Avery Dance Company is no contract to sneeze at, any job is better than no one even considering you." The snarky comment hit Isa especially hard: because none of her teachers saw her worth, it was difficult getting recommendations which ultimately led her to having no internship over the winter break. Her dark brown face burned in shame, but she refused to say anything. Her classmates chuckled around her, all understanding Cynthia's dig. She quickly showered, letting her black hair curl and form ringlets by her shoulders. Holding back tears, Isa slipped an oversized pink sweatshirt over her head, jumped into her light gray gym shorts and slid on her dance booties, rushing out of the locker room. Without a paid internship, it'd be another long winter of working holiday in food service, barely making enough for a check and begging customers for good tips. More months of stressing to pay for rent. More months of her dream of being a professional dancer being out of reach.
Isa gasped, feeling a large hand firmly grab her forearm. "Isabella, right?" The Black girl turned back to see Teacher Daniel smiling at her. She relaxed a little and let herself be held back. "Please, call me Isa. Hi Mr. Daniel, what's up?" Isa blushed, quickly wiping a few tears from her eyes. He was an attractive man, the youngest and most handsome dance teacher in the studio. The girls were used to crabby old women and fat mean Russian men as their instructors, much more domineering and cold. Daniel was different, being on the younger side and quite nice to the girls. He would joke with them, let them play secular music during warm-up, and was gentle with his critiques. It didn't hurt that he was attractive: toned, blonde, long hair, and kind eyes. Anyone would let their guard down around him.
" I heard the other girls talking about your lack of employment over the break. That's not good, you're a junior now. You should be booking jobs," he frowned, folding his arms. Isa ducked her head, trying to hide her tears. She tried to respond to Daniel, but she couldn't do it without crying. The blonde finally sighed.
"Let's talk about this privately," he said. He led a miserable Isa down the corridor to the right, into Studio F. It was the most secluded out of the studios and the least used. It was functionally a black box with dark walls, black marley floors, and a line of mirrors on one wall. It was mainly used for musical theatre classes. Isa faced Daniel, twiddling her thumbs nervously.
"Let's face it sweetie," Daniel starts, "You're not getting work because of your technique. You're gorgeous and have great spirit, but its those technical skills that are important." Isa started to whimper in frustration, but also felt her center grow warm. Did Daniel just call her gorgeous? "And Sweetie, in the end, technique, no, BALLET, is what separates the girls on the stage, from the girls on the pole." Isa stopped breathing, the provocative comment lingering on her mind. Daniel leans in firmly grabbing her hips as he whispers in her ear, "Right now, my sweet girl, you are a girl fit for the pole." Isa gasps as Daniel slaps her fat ass, it jigging to Isa's humiliation. "Mr Daniel--" she starts before she squeaks from the teacher grabbing her ass and massaging it. The girl didn't want to admit it, but after a long day of flexing her muscles, the massage on her ass felt especially good. She bit a puffy lip to keep herself from moaning.
"You're built like a whore darling. That's the only dance work would be willing to pay for. You're built for sex and play and being flexible for all the positions I want to put you in, not for a damn tutu," he growls, gripping her ass even tighter. Isa pushes away from him, leaving his groping hands. She looked upon him with fear and arousal, confused as to why she was responding to his degrading aggression. "Whore status is nothing to be ashamed of Isa! Your fat ass and big titties and flexy pussy make you a great fuck, the thing you're good at!" He smirks. "And I want to pay you for it."
