How the hell did I get stuck here? Thirteen hours straight of watching little kids poorly work out dance moves only a day before the show. What did they do in those classes anyway? Whatever it was, it clearly did not get them far.

I was once a student at the high school this dance studio rented the auditorium for. Now, the school paid me good money to come in and handle any and all technical needs whenever outside organizations paid the fee for the space. It was a nice way to get extra money into the school and it kept extra money flowing into my bank accounts, so I'm not complaining about the work. But this was just hard to watch.

Don't get me wrong, these kids are gorgeous cute, prancing about in what often amounts to a frilly swim suit and stockings. It is just that no one can tell them that, put all together, it is not a show-stopping performance. Encouragement is one thing, but these kids are being made a fool of really. Maybe I'm just jaded after too much of this.

Even from the distance of my audio box in the back, I could appreciate the view. They were strikingly beautiful if nothing else. Though I wouldn't admit it to the organizers, I had a rather difficult time keeping myself from being aroused in the beginning. Right at the beginning of the gig, when I was all bright-eyed, stepping into the cafeteria where all the girls were getting their costumes on was a thrill. Just being the tech in the booth was sort of doing it. Every time you hit play on the tape deck, little girls in tight clothes came prancing out. It was like having a half-naked-girl button.

But as the day went on, it became the norm. Too much tease. It is like walking through a museum filled with one artist's work all day. In many ways, it is so much of the same thing. After a while, the wonder disappears. I didn't think it possible with me, but it happened. I was amazed to discover that I was becoming bored of little girls in Lycra swim suits. Perhaps the unending kids-version covers of awful pop songs had something to do with it.

It was rolling into 4 o'clock when the head ballet instructor came knocking on the door to my booth. I kept the lights off and the room a mess. It was as much to deter people from bothering me as it was personal comfort and professional manners. You should never see a theater technician. They should be like ninjas, hiding in every dark room around you.

I hesitated, cuing up another track before pulling my headphones off and heading over to the door. I popped it open, expecting a new cut of a track or another request for a lighting addition that did not fit the show. Instead, I found a flustered instructor with sad-looking little girl from the pre-ballet class. These kids had the worst shows and the most enthusiastic parents.

"Casey, can you keep her in here for a while? She's sick and cries in the cafeteria. It is too bright in there." The instructor looked ready to rip her own hair out from the stress. The show was tomorrow, so no surprises there.

"No mom? I mean, I'm working up here."

"This one got dropped off. The instructors have their hands full. I know it isn't in your job description, but I am at my wits end. She'll just sit there."

I glanced back into my booth. What would I do with a sick five year old girl? I had one chair and a show to run. There wouldn't be a show without me. But then again, there wouldn't be a show if the head instructor couldn't stage manage. Out of the two of us, I did have more free mental space.

And then I took a moment to actually look at the little thing weakly standing next to the instructor. Blonde trusses falling over her face as she stared at the floor, bright red cheeks, and pouty lips. Her little baby fat belly pushed forward just a little into her costume: a glittery one-piece with decals of ocean waves rushing across her chest. I did feel bad for the little thing. She was so cute, but looked so miserable. As much as the young professional in me wanted to agree with the instructor that it was not my job to babysit her kids, how exactly does one say no to a girl like that?

"Fine. When is her mother expected?"

"Six. That's the last time the pre class practices today."

"Done. Come and get her then. Please don't send her parents after me. You know how I am about dealing with the parents."

"Deal. Thank you!"

In a rush, the instructor was gone, leaving the little girl confused and standing in my doorway. I held the door open for her to come in, but she wasn't budging. And the last thing I needed was a crying kid in my booth. So I came down the last step and knelt in front of her, working up my nicest voice.

"Looks like you and I are going to be hanging out for a while. I hear you are sick. Listen here for a second. I know it is dark up there, but that is where you will probably feel better if the lights hurt. Besides, I will be right there the whole time and you can watch the other girls practice. Ok?"

She is silent, but nods her head. Something was telling me that communication was going to be tough. I stood up to let her in, but she still didn't budge. So be it! I knelt back down and picked her up gently, one arm underneath her sequined butt and one around her back. She issued no complaints. With a few adjustments, I took her up the steps and into the booth before landing her next to my chair. And she continued her standing in place.

On stage, they had been waiting for me, so I rapidly switched decks and cued up the next track. I'm sure the head instructor had stopped them from screaming across the auditorium at me, which I was thankful for. I leaned back in my chair to observe the next awkward performance of girls in strips of cloth. Without looking down, I start talking to the little girl. "Do you see? Those are the girls from the tap class, level three. Nice view, huh?"

When I get no response (which maybe shouldn't have been so surprising), I realize that it wasn't exactly the best view for her. Only her blonde mop made it over the top of the high console desk in front of the window. Standing on her tip toes, even in ballet shoes, was not enough to get her anything more than a close up examination of a carpentry class project. This was definitely not the plan, but this is definitely where this was going.

"Point taken," I muttered as she tapped her hands against the side of the desk. "How about we put you on my lap then?" Still no response from the girl. Is that what happens to girls who get sick? They just get quiet? "Well, if you won't tell me what you want, I'll have to guess."

Cranking up my rolling chair a bit so my lap sat higher, I turned to the side and grasped the girl under her arms and hefted her up to my lap. I made an old man groaning noise, trying to be funny, but she didn't laugh. For her part, the little ballerina was mostly limp and it looked more like I was draping her over me than her sitting eagerly on my lap. Her legs laid across my own, her rear on my thighs. That was, until she saw through the window.

At seeing the girls dancing on stage, she shifted up to sitting by herself. I had to tightly close my own legs to stop her from slipping in between. Her little hands came down to the desk and she leaned forward with rapt attention. For my part, I sighed. At least I had found something to brighten her up a little. I was starting to worry for a minute there.

As she was interested, I became interested in her interest. I leaned forward with her to watch closely. My reward was having my face right next to her neck, smelling her sweetness. She was still flushed, but at least she seemed a little lively again. It looked more like she was just getting tired from rehearsing all day than sickness. It would not be the first time a little girl lied about that to get out of a rehearsal. Regardless, her warm body could keep me paying attention to anything.

After about fifteen minutes of this, she began to lose interest as I had. Of course, I had something new to be interested in. It was one thing to watch little girls prance around in cute costumes from the back of an auditorium. It was quite another to have one on your lap. There was no amount of replaying bad songs that could kill the pleasure from the occasional wiggle of a five-year-old girl's bottom. There was a definite cuddle desire swelling. And as she was getting less amused with the novelty of being in the booth watching the show, she was relaxing towards me.

So I leaned back in my chair. Gently, I wrapped my arms around her waist and chest, pulling her back to me. She didn't fight it, nuzzling herself into my warm chest. I couldn't help but be aroused. My cock was straining against my underwear beneath her. I was practically on auto-pilot with her. Nothing seemed out of the question in my girl-fogged brain. I drew her waist tight to mine, making cloth the only separation between her backside and my cock.

My little ballerina only squirmed in to my body more, making a furnace between us. Without any rational thought in my head, my hands began to wander over her. My right stroked down her side from shoulder-blade down to the side of her thigh, trying to catch every nuance. And my left chose her chest, stroking just shy of where her nipples must have been, down her beautifully sloped tummy, and just to where her leg met it. She was melting into me as she closed her eyes and nuzzled her face into my chest.

I was addicted to her. My hands played more across her, reaching up to stroke her neck and following the bare skin to the edge of her costume. I feathered my way across her stocking-covered legs, teasing my way towards her inner thighs. I buried my nose into her hair, smelling the saccharine scent of little girl shampoo. All the while, my cock twitched against her bottom, firmly planted between her cheeks.

Her chest rose and fell stronger than ever. I needed it. As I leaned down to kiss her neck, my hands lightly slid up the sides of her body until they found the two bands of material that held her costume up. I stroked up and down them, following their natural angles towards her unformed chest before drawing back and hooking my fingers in them and drawing over her smooth shoulders and pulling it down enough to clear her chest and half of her baby belly. Two beautiful little nipples and a belly button were free.

Her body tensed, just for a second, as the material began to peel away from her chest, but my hands quickly returned to her, lulling her back into the warmth of my massage. Her milky white skin, unblemished by age, felt like satin under my finger tips. Stroking gently down her sides, I explored my way up. The tiny little thing cooed as my hands roamed up her belly to her nipples, lightly flicking my finger over their minute tips. While one of my hands remained to play, the other began to travel south.

Reaching the edge of her peeled material, I slid my fingers along the crevasse, just barely driving it deeper and deeper down. I finally found the beginning of her see-through stockings, tight to her skin. Fuck it, I thought. I was already committed and she was enjoying it. Pulling back to her sides, I slid my hands down over her bottom, pulling the rest of the costume with them. My eyes eagerly ate up the sight of the reveal. The top of her stockings, which pinched in on her belly just a little, then the masked image of her little white panties underneath, stretched tight over her most precious of treasures.

The crotch of her costume clung to her underside, but popped away. It took every amount of focus I had not to behave like a man possessed. I was has hard as could be with one less point of separation between us. Drawing her legs up a bit, I pulled her costume the rest of the way off. I wouldn't want to mess it up the night before the show, of course!

Draped across my lap, my little ballerina lay in nothing but her stockings, panties, and ballet shoes. Her snow-white skin was perfect, rising over her tummy like a little hill, down into a lovely little valley path. Twisting her a little so that my arm cradled her back and her legs hung a bit off of my lap, I began to eagerly taste her. My lips pursued her neck and her prepubescent chest, swiping my tongue gently across her tender flesh. Getting near her nipples again, I came back up to find her blushing face. Tickling my way up to her ear and back down, I finally started to get a real response from her. Squirming in my arms, she couldn't really get free unless she fought for it. So she giggled and squirmed and gasped her way through as my lips finally found hers and stole a peck.

Meanwhile, my free hand had other things in mind. As her body twisted to the ticklishness of her neck and ears, I tried to keep access to her legs. When the squeezing of her thighs stopped, my hands crept inwards, pulling apart her silk-covered legs. Rubbing her legs into relaxing, I carefully brought my and inside her thighs, each time just a little bit closer to the bit of stocking sticking out. My little ballerina stayed open, so my hand finally touched the connection between her leg and crotch. She let out a little gasp, but I kissed it silent. Her back arched, but she didn't resist.

I let my hand rest, thumb reaching across the top of where her panties began, fingers following the curve of her thigh. I began to whisper little nothings in between kisses and nibbles as my hand slid over to finally cup her tiny, covered pussy. Rocking my hand over her panties and stockings, I began to crank her up a little bit. Her coos had turned to little whimpers and her hands clutched at my shirt. It intoxicated me, even though I wasn't sure whether it meant she liked it or didn't. The way she squirmed, it seemed that she did.

All of the cloth stroking was driving me nuts. My cock was in pain from the frustration and there was no reason my sex-wild mind could come up with not to take this as far as possible. I withdrew my hands from her splayed legs and reached underneath her. Hooking her stockings and panties together, I slid them off quicker than I had planned. I dragged them until just about her knees, impatient for her naked.

After all of the teasing I had suffered all day, all of the girls in frilly costumes with tight crotches, I got one of my own. Just past her belly and down the slope lay a perfect little puffy mound of baby girl, her lips pushed out and curving out past her legs. Pristine, untouched, and mine.

I didn't even bother to work my way down to it. My hand made a bee-line for her pussy. Electricity shot through my fingers as I felt those pouting lips. I traced her beautiful crack from the beginning all the way down her legs, even lifting them a little to find her pert ass, and then back again. Each time, my middle finger pushed a little bit farther in. Finally, my finger swept up and caught a tiny little button where her crack began. Her whimper became a sudden cry, almost loud enough that someone might hear. I quickly pulled back and put my fingertips into her mouth.

She calmed a bit, surprised about the fingers, so I pulled them out. Nice and wet, I returned to her vagina. Pushing into her lips a bit, I began to stroke her entrances, eliciting more whimpers from her. I nibbled down into her neck again, though my eyes never left the action below. Pulling it open, I found her pussy hole and pushed inwards about a half of a knuckle before finding her cherry. Not wanting to cause her pain, I left it, rubbing around and in just until it, while my thumb played with her little nubbin.

My five-year-old charge was bucking at my hand, which also drove my cock wild behind her. It had not even really clicked that my pants were the only thing from it and her skin now. As soon as it did, I could not even hesitate to free it. Sliding her back all the way onto my lap and sitting her up, I let go of her and grabbed hold of my pants. I nearly ripped my pants open clawing at the button and zipper. Shoving my pants and underwear down, I deftly grabbed her by her armpits again and pulled her back, positioning her with my cock shooting up between her legs. With two hands full of five-year old thigh, I clamped my cock in between her pussy and her thighs.

The warm, smooth, confines of her baby-soft body almost had me cumming in seconds. I was somehow aware that I was losing control of myself, but too much of me found that acceptable. I began pumping my cock between her thighs and pussy. With the assistance of one my legs propped up and one hand, I kept her clamped tight as I did. My other free hand, however, went straight back to her vagina, toying with her entrance and her clit. Her body as shaking, possibly out of fear, possibly out of pleasure, more probably both.

The heat and the softness of her body drove me wild. My finger became more forceful as I fucked her legs, rubbing her clit faster and pushing harder into her. My new partner seemed to be back into it, abandoning whimpers for little girl moans, uncertain of the new found pleasure, but undeniably being taken in by it. Wetness began to envelope her crotch. I couldn't tell if it was mine or hers, but I didn't think much about it.

Her pussy was growing wet and slippery. I eagerly spread the juices around inside her so I could go faster, rolling and tweaking her clit and fingering her entrance at the same time. Before I knew it, I had added two fingers to her pussy and was sliding easily, touching her hymen every time. And then something gave. Instantaneously realizing what had happened, I covered her mouth with mine in a full kiss as she cried in surprise. Trying my best to keep her going with her clit, I slowed my fingers to a massage. Hopefully no one came looking for that later.

The more I thrusted, the more I was instinctively aiming myself inward until my cock was riding into her slit with every push. Her hymen was broken and she seemed to have gotten over the pain, either from overwhelming it with her clit or pure fatigue. I had to do it. I withdrew my fingers from her entrance and, while still stimulating her clitoris as much as I could, pulled her up enough to get my tip at her vagina entrance. My ballerina, in her sex-fatigue daze, probably didn't even notice.

Pushing up, I wedged my desperate cock into her tiny entrance, newly opened and finger fucked wider. It is hard enough to get my tip in, but I make progress as I furiously jack her clit. She moaned, though I wasn't sure if she was also crying a little. I can't stand it. I need more leverage. Pulling her naked body up off of me, I stand. Her head lolls and drapes on my shoulder, breathing heavily. I've forgotten about the show. Maybe they were on break. I didn't care.

Spinning my chair with my foot, I laid her on her back, head supported by the backrest and legs hanging limp off of the sides. I snatched up her ankles, holding them up to the sky as I line up my cock to her swollen, tomato-red pussy. She isn't watching, beet-red face hung to the side, breathing as best she can. I do the only thing I can do: I push.

It deformed, stretching, not opening right away. I readjusted, with one hand holding open her lips and pushed. I could feel her passage expanding, trying to fit a larger object than it should. Abandoning her legs, I take hold of her hips and pull in as I push again. There is a sudden slip as my cock head passes her tight entrance, entering the hottest thing I had ever felt. Her muscles convulsed at the intruder, encouraging me only to push deeper.

I nearly lifted her off of the chair, her floating as my cock drove in and out of her tiny pussy. Only half of my cock could fit before I hit an impasse, but half was enough. The only sounds in my booth were our mutual heavy breathing and the wet sucking noise of her well-fucked vagina. The very vision of this five-year-old cutie slumped in my chair as my cock packed inside her was overwhelming.

I don't know how long I lasted, but I suspect it was shorter than I thought at the time. The power of that girl's air-tight pussy milked me unlike any other ever has. I was barely able to stay standing as I grew close. I jammed it in as far as I could just as the first spray of pent up cum poured out all over her insides. All of my muscles were giving, too busy shuddering in pleasure to do their job. Stumbling down over my sick little sex thing, I came to rest -still lodged in her-- leaning over the chair.

When my senses had returned, I had to look over the scene. Finally looking back to my girl's face, she was out like a light. For a second, I was afraid I had snapped and killed her, but she was breathing just fine. Whether she went out from shock, pleasure, or fatigue, I never found out. No real, visible damage of any kind seemed to have been done. Other than her very sweaty body, she seemed fine. No marks from my nibbles or scratches, thank God.

When my cock had managed to distend itself from my lover, I definitely noted a little bit of blood. Grabbing a cloth from a drawer, I did my best to clean her up, including one too many runs back into her vagina with my fingers to make sure it was clear. Rummaging around, I found her panties and stockings, thus replacing them as they were on her. I found the costume too, but left it off. Instead, I made a little bed on the floor out of a couple of jackets and a canvas for a sheet. I disentangled her costume and hung it on a tool rung.

It didn't take long before the instructor turned up, knocking on my door.

"You here for the kid?" I ask, whispering.

"Yeah, why-"

"Shh!" I wave her in for effect.

The two of them took up the steps to the booth. I started explaining before she could ask. "She started getting worse after you dropped her off. Started sweating up a storm. I took off her costume before she started to ruin it. She looked ready to fall asleep, so I made her a little bed. She has been zonked out for a little while now."

The instructor nodded gravely. "Didn't know you were so good at taking care of sick kids..."

I shrugged. "Just did whatever I thought my mother would do."

"Good woman." Kneeling, the instructor pulled back the canvas while feeling the girl's head. "She is really warm. Maybe she needs a doctor."

"Maybe. I bet rest will do it."

Scooping up my pretty little ballerina, the instructor smiled at me. "Thanks again for taking care of her. The show should be fine, though I might be out one little wave girl."

"Not a problem." I turned off the consoles as she began to walk out. "Oh, by the way. If you need help with any of your girls, let me know. She was great."

Fin