Allison's Addiction Ch. 01

Terpsichore shook her head as if this gesture was insufficient to repent for the insult that the dance classroom had suffered by my breach of good conduct, and imperiously declared, "Since you feel are too good to follow dance studio etiquette, I'm assuming that you feel your dance skills and technique are superior to the other students in this room."

I attempted to respond to this musing of hers, however, my vocal cords still wouldn't work, and then Terpsichore snapped at me, "Allison, full leg extension!"

For those of you who don't know, a full leg extension is a very physically challenging endeavor. It takes years of training and conditioning.

Fortunately, I'd been training and conditioning my body for ballet even since I was seven years old. I'd spent years strengthening my core, years of stretching exercises, stretching my hamstrings, lengthening my adductors, and increasing my flexibility to levels that ninety-nine percent of humanity can only dream of having.

With as much grace as I could muster, I stood on my right leg and lifted my left until my ankle was just an inch away from my face, and my toes were pointed directly up at the ceiling. This is an extreme stretch, and I could feel the strain in my hamstrings and inner-thigh muscles almost immediately. If a normal human tried this, they'd pull a groin muscle or suffer some other horrible injury. With my years of training, I wasn't about to injure myself, however I could still feel the strain in my muscles and tendons.

"Very good," Terpsichore said, saying her first kind word since she'd entered the room, "Your form is perfect."

I smiled at the compliment, and then she added, "Show us how long you can hold yourself in that position."

My face froze, and I had to stifle a groan. Achieving this position at all is a super-human feat. Holding it for more than four or five seconds would be agony. Already my muscles were beginning to protest being forced into this unnatural position, and demanding that I stop.

However, I wanted Terpsichore's approval, so I ignored the protests from my straining muscles, and resolved to hold my extension for longer than I had ever held one before.

Several students came forward and crowded around me. Young males and females in spandex, sidled forward, to witness my feat of flexibility and stamina as I held my pose. Quite a few of them looked impressed. Terpsichore's face looked impassive and aloof. She seemed intent on humiliating me in front of the entire class, and had no intention of praising my performance.

The strain in my muscles intensified and sweat began to break out upon my naked body, yet I continued to hold my leg at full extension. I had already dissatisfied Terpsichore with my failure to follow the dress code. I had no intention of allowing her to find reason to disapprove of my skill, endurance, or dedication as a dancer.

Terpsichore was taller than me, and physically impressive. She was lean and lithesome, but had well-sculpted muscles visible just beneath her flawless skin. She wore a black leotard that was cut very high on the leg, and I could see a very impressive and erotic groove where the tops of her thighs were joined to her pelvis.

Despite the very arrogant look on her face, I found myself feeling a deep sexual attraction to her. What was that all about? I had never been attracted to women before. Why was I feeling this soft, wet pulse in my sex as Terpsichore closed the distance between us?

And just as I was wondering about the answer to that question, it occurred to me that I was in an exceedingly vulnerable position. With my legs so far apart, my pubic lips were very exposed and on display. Of course, Terpsichore knew I would be exposing myself like this when she ordered me to show her my leg extension. Did she have some sort of sexual agenda when she ordered me to hold this pose?

I whimpered and panted as the strain in my muscles became increasingly painful, however I didn't break the pose I was holding. I gazed at Terpsichore and all my fellow students in defiance. I wasn't going to be perceived as weak or neglectful. I'd dedicated years of my life to this art and put my body through grueling training and long hours of rehearsals. I knew myself to be worthy as a dancer.

And then, my whole perception of the scene seemed to transform. I was still holding my leg at full extension, Terpsichore was still watching, the students were all watching, but something had changed.

Suddenly, I was less interested in gaining Terpsichore's respect, and more interested in feeling exposed and vulnerable in front of Terpsichore and a dozen of my peers. I'd never felt this way before, however, I was now feeling a deep sexual thrill at being naked, exposed and forced to hold this difficult and revealing pose for a crowd of onlookers.

I felt almost like a naked slave on the auction block, being examined and evaluated by prospective buyers, my physical attributes being judged. Being ogled and judged and objectified like that should have left me feeling angry and offended, however I strangely found my humiliating circumstance to be very erotic and delicious. As beads of sweat formed on my torso and breasts, it seemed that it magically drew the attention of my fellow students. Some of them focused on my now-erect and swollen nipples, and others gazed spellbound at the glistening folds of my swollen labia. The most intimate portions of my body were available for them to examine.

Being naked and judged and evaluated while I displayed my swollen labia and held myself in this painfully difficult position for my fellow dance students caused a confusing and agonizing wave of desire to pass through me. It was shameful, and humiliating and I was in excruciating pain from the difficult task I was performing, however the same and the humiliation I felt was delicious. In fact; strangely; I found myself wanting the humiliation to continue.

"Summer, her leg is trembling," I heard Terpsichore observe, "Assist her in holding that position."

Summer was one of the female dancers in my class. I knew her very well. I considered her to be a friend, however right then she was more a vehicle of Terpsichore's will than anything else.

Summer took hold of my ankle, gently but firmly, and held my leg in place. I could practically hear my muscles and tendons screaming their protests at me as I continued to abuse them, and I tried to explain to Terpsichore how much pain I was currently enduring. I was almost drenched in sweat at this point, and could feel droplets of sweat as they rolled down the small of my back, and towards my bare buttocks.

"I know," Terpsichore explained to me, "However there is one more thing you must do for me, before you are allowed to reduce the strain on your overextended muscles."

I was about to inquire exactly what else she wanted of me, when she inclined her head towards mine, and she silenced my words by claiming my mouth as her own.

I was surprised by the sudden kiss, and confused.

And then my shock and confusion were washed away in a wave of desire, as I melted into the kiss. I murmured into Terpsichore's mouth and experienced a sudden feeling of heat in my loins. I had never kissed another female before, however I found myself delighting in it. The feverish feelings of lust that washed over me almost made me forgot about the agonizing strain in my muscles and I kissed Terpsichore back, reveling in the softness and perfection of her mouth, and then my lips parted enough for Terpsichore's tongue to gain entrance to my mouth and our tongues collided in an erotic joining that hardened my nipples and made my sex throb with hungry spasms.

It was the most delicious and erotic kiss of my life, and I wanted more. I wanted Terpsichore to own me, to possess me, to make my naked body into her playground. I wanted her tongue, her lips and her fingertips to explore every part of me. I had never felt erotic desire for another female before, however, I was unashamed in the erotic desire I felt for this immortal beauty.

And then I gasped as Terpsichore's face changed. She had broken from our kiss, and we were both panting and out of breath, and my naked body shuddered just as Terpsichore's face became smoother, younger and less intense. Her eyebrows became thinner. Her eyes became darker, a sort of a mix of beautiful coppery brown exploding from the center of the iris, and an alluring, organic green at the edges.

And then, I remember where I had seen eyes like that before. Chloe had eyes like that.

Suddenly, it wasn't Terpsichore's that I was longing to explore and play with every inch of my naked body. It was Chloe that was heating my loins and rousing my passions. And with a dozen of my fellow dancers looking on, I took Chloe's face in my hands and leaned forward to merge her delightful lips with my own once again.

* * * * *

Then I opened my eyes wide and found myself wrapped up in my blankets and lying in my own bed.

My heart was beating rapidly, and I was soaking wet between my legs. My whole body was bathed in the familiar feelings of post-orgasmic bliss, and I realized that I had just awoken from a very intense wet dream.

I almost never had wet dreams, and up until now I had never had a wet dream that involved me being sexually attracted to another female. I had always defined myself as heterosexual, but that dream had me engaged in a very passionate, erotic kiss with Chloe.

And then I remembered being hypnotized by the sway of that woman's ass on the beach in her tiny bikini bottoms. My fascination with her ass wasn't very heterosexual either.

Modirall, I reminded myself. Modirall was doing things to my sexual identity. It was making me more sexual. It was cranking up my libido to levels I never even known existed before. Apparently, gender was no longer important. My body wanted sexual release multiple times a day, and it didn't care where that release came from. Female lovers were just as acceptable as male lovers.

But, Chloe? Chloe was my best friend! Wasn't there some sort of rule that said you never had sex with your best friend? I was pretty sure that was a rule somebody had written down somewhere at some point.

* * * * *

When Friday morning rolled around, I got up early, got ready for my photoshoot and arrived about half an hour early.

Rita wasn't kidding when she said I'd be nearly naked for this photoshoot. Alexi's assistant handed me my first outfit to change into, and I swear it must have weighed less than an ounce.

There was a maroon V-String panty made of imported nylon and lace. This sort of panty is known as "butt-floss" and for a very good reason. It does absolutely nothing to cover a woman's butt. There's just a thing strip of fabric that gets pulled up tight between your ass-cheeks, and leaves your buttocks completely exposed.

And a woman can't wear V-String panties unless she shaves off all of her pubic hair first. The tiny strip of fabric that comes down from the waistband to conceal a woman's pubic lips is so narrow, that pubic hair will be sticking out from underneath the edges of your garment, unless you shave it all off.

Well, some women prefer waxing or laser-hair removal, but I've always preferred shaving. Somehow the idea of stripping naked from the waist down and spreading my legs wide for some total stranger so she can rip my pubic hair out by the roots, or burn my pubic hairs off with a laser, just seems too much like rape. I've never had the courage to allow a strange woman to have unlimited access to my vulva, so she can painfully remove the hairs growing out of the soft, intimate flesh around my labia and anus.

"There's no bra," I complained to Alexi's assistant.

"You can use your hands to cover up your breasts," she said, "This shoot is just for the panties. These first photos will just focus on your body from the waist down."

I think I grumbled something sarcastic at the assistant and went into the dressing room to change my clothes.

For the next shoot, I was given an even smaller pair of V-String panties. They were black, low-rise and made of nylon/spandex. There was even less fabric to cover my vulva on these panties than there were on the first pair the assistant handed me.

The good news was, I got a matching bra to go along with the panties this time, so I wouldn't have to spend the next shoot constantly using my arms to cover myself.

It was a demi-bra that left my breasts mostly exposed, and it was also a push-up bra, which meant that it gave my boobs some extra lift for serious cleavage. The extra lift and push-up padding added about one and a half cups sizes to the way my breasts normally looked.

Everything I modeled that day followed a very predictable theme. There were thongs and V-strings that left my buttocks totally exposed, and just barely accomplished the task of concealing my pubic lips. There were also demi-bras and push-up bras that seemed to do more to call attention to my breasts, than to conceal my breasts.

It would be easy for a model to feel like a whore, posing in these tiny, almost invisible scraps of fabric, however Alexi was an excellent photographer, and always built a rapport with his models. The way he talked to his models, he made them feel like they were the most desirable women alive, and that their bodies were works of art. When you left his studio, you didn't leave feeling like you were a whore, you left feeling like Galatea, a semi-divine beauty, carved from ivory by a master-sculptor and given life by the Goddess Aphrodite.

Alexi and I had an excellent working relationship and we both respected and recognized the skills that the other possessed, however the photoshoot we had that day seemed different from any of the shoots we had every done before.

"Wow," Alexi exclaimed when we were almost done for the day.

"Wow?" I asked.

"This is a side I've never seen of you before," Alexi said, "It's like you're a completely different woman."

Alexi's assistant nodded in agreement, but I didn't understand. What did he mean by different? I noticed some admirable definition on my abs from three days of intensive abdominal exercises, but that shouldn't make Alexi say I seemed like a completely different woman.

"Here, Allison, let me show you something," he said and he took a memory card from his digital camera and plugged it into a computer on his desk.

Within seconds, images of me in skimpy lingerie appeared on the computer screen. I'd seen images of me in skimpy lingerie before, and I said so.

"Look closer," Alexi said, "Notice anything different?"

Alexi scrolled through the photos, and I soon realized what he was talking about. The woman in the photos didn't just have a firm, toned body. She was rawer, wilder and more sexual than I had ever been. Raw, sexual need just seemed to radiate from this woman. She seemed wild and uninhibited. She looked like she was going to come right through the computer screen, pounce on me and rip my clothes off.

"Wow," I exclaimed, finally in agreement with Alexi and his assistant.

"What's happened to you since the last time we worked together?" Alexi asked.

"Um," I said hesitantly, "My doctor has me on a drug that combats chronic fatigue syndrome."

"Seriously? That's the only thing that's changed?" Alexi asked.

"They ought to market that drug as an aphrodisiac," Alexi's assistant said, "You look like you're in heat. I've never seen you like this before."

* * * * *

The next evening, Chloe and I had dinner with Hannah. Hannah is a very anomalous friend of Chloe's. Most of Chloe's friends are professional ballet dancers, aspiring dancers, choreographers or some sort of person associated with the world of ballet. However, Hannah was a neurobiologist with Johnson and Johnson.

She's also fourteen years older than Chloe, so in addition to not being a dancer, there's also a big age difference between Hannah and Chloe. I have no idea how these two women became friends. They seem to have very little in common.

We were eating at I nostri amici, which is one of my favorite restaurants, however it's prohibitively expensive, so we can't afford to eat their very often. We were guests of Hannah this evening, therefore we wouldn't have to pay anything. That took the pressure off of us financially.

After the waitress had taken our drink orders, Hannah turned to me and said, "So, Chloe tells me you're suffering from chronic fatigue syndrome?"

"I was," I said timidly, not realizing that my medical condition was going to be a topic of conversation, "I'm feeling much better now."

"She's taking an experimental drug, developed by one of your competitors," Chloe added helpfully.

"Should you be telling her that?" I asked my roommate, "I mean, won't Brie Incorporated sue us, if we tell their competition what they're up to?"

Hannah laughed at my suggestion and made a gesture with her hand like she was swatting my question away.

"Allison, dear," she said with an amused smirk on her face," It's no big secret that Brie is in the process of developing a new chronic fatigue drug. Pfizer is doing exactly the same thing, so is Johnson and Johnson. The only way that Brie would be able to sue you, is if you gave us the chemical formula that they're using to manufacture their new creation."

"Oh," I said, feeling somewhat foolish. I didn't know much about corporate law, or the games that pharmaceutical companies played.

"I would be curious to know what caused your chronic fatigue," Hannah said, "Did they check your thyroid?"

"Yes," I replied, "And the doctor said that my thyroid was normal."

"Hmmm. What about malnutrition?" she asked.

"I learned a lot about nutrition during my years of ballet training," I told Hannah, "I'm certain I was never malnourished."

Hannah was very silent as she considered her next words. She looked at me like I was a puzzle that she was eager to solve. I took a sip of my water and wondered why my chronic fatigues was so fascinating. I wasn't fascinated by it, and it was something that happened to my body.

Then she totally took me by surprise by asking me, "When was the last time you got laid?"

I spit my drink out all over the table and gave Hannah an offended look, then I blurted out the words, "What the hell, Hannah? What kind of question is that?"

Hannah seemed to be impervious to my outrage and calmly replied, "It's a fairly simple and straightforward question. And it's medically relevant."

"Seriously?" I asked, "You think chronic fatigue can be caused by lack of sex?"

Once again, Hannah did the long, silent stare before she said anything, then she calmly responded, "There are studies that show that lack of sex can lead to depression and other medical problems. Sex helps to boost and strengthen your immune system, while lack of sex can cause psychological problems that lead to physical manifestations."

I raised one eyebrow, and gave Hannah a good, long look before I finally replied, "I guess the last time I had sex was about three or four years ago."

"Three or four years?" Hannah asked, with genuine outrage.

There was a stunned silence on Hannah's part, followed by an analysis of, "Look, sex produces hormones that beneficial to your emotional health. After three or four years of neglecting your emotional health, you were probably suffering from depression. Depression is a psychological ailment, but it can lead to physical symptoms. Did your doctor look at your chronic fatigue from that angle?"

"I was not depressed," I said adamantly objecting to her diagnosis.

"Three or four years?" Chloe said, giving me a look of pure horror, "A good-looking woman like you? I realize you never brought any guys around to our apartment, but I always assumed you were hooking up with somebody somewhere, like maybe one of the photographers that you work with."