Young, tight, hard, and hairless bodies with creamy thighs, resilient flesh on muscles of steel; and flexibility; flexibility is a must. The boys must be fourteen, starting to show the definition of a man but still willowy and of tender flesh, with the look of innocence. Young enough to be anything I want. I insist on that; and obedience and total subservience. And I possess them all. I fuck them all, all of the fourteen-year-old boys who come to me to learn the pirouette and how to stretch to the barre. I mount, possess, and stretch them all. I fuck them all regularly, without showing favor. That’s the only way to keep order. And they stand in line, auditioning for the privilege of being possessed by me, regularly fucked by me.

They all want to fucked by the dance master, to be his best boy, his protégé, his boy dance lead, his bed partner.

Six boys flying across the stage, dancing in the audition set to show me what they can do. Three I already possess; they are members of my premier boy dancer troupe. Three others are auditioning for one opening.

One obviously has done his research well and knows what it will take to win the position. He has long, silver-blond hair, pulled back in a ponytail, but thus far he seems to fulfill the other requirements. He is small, lithe, virginal, having the look of an unsullied angel. It will be tough, though. There are two more days of auditions. When I am satisfied with him, he will be sullied—sullied indeed. He will dance like an angel but fuck like a bunny.

Virginal though he might be, I am sure he knows the score. He would not have made it thus far into the auditions without having been warned and having accepted what he has to do to be my student. Students of mine are stars of the dance stage. Boys coming to me are prepared to give me all. If they stay with me, they will do it all—with me.

He flies through the air, legs higher and stretched out farther than the other two who are auditioning. And he knows he is auditioning for me by the way he is playing to me. And I become even more sure that he knows all that is entailed in being in my premier troupe.

The first set is so invigorating that most take off their leotard tops for the second pass. The silver blond takes off his leotard bottoms as well. He’s dancing in tiny briefs. He is lithe and has a long line and a natural effortless flow. He also has a well-developed chest and biceps for a fourteen-year-old—and a nicely projecting basket, the long line of the cock easily seen. This undoubtedly would be reflected favorably at the box office among the women patrons, and among some of the major male benefactors as well. This thought makes me smile. The silver blond catches my eye and shares in my smile.

They go through their set paces. All are flexible but none more so than the silver blond. He leaps right in front of me, turning his legs as he does so, so that I see the creamy thighs.

The audition ends and I send all away—all that is except the silver blond. We stand there facing each other on the lit stage as all the others sort through their gear and depart through the stage door. I don’t have to tell him where the audition goes from here. He obviously knows from the way he stands and the way he looks at me. He will let me cover him. He wants me to fuck him.

I reach over and run my hand through the hair of the boy’s ponytail and murmur, “Let it down for me.” I meant this to be symbolic of commanding all pretenses to fall away, and he understands this gesture the same way. In the silence, the silver blond slips off his briefs pulls his hair out of the ponytail, letting it flow around his face and down to his shoulders, and stands there, legs slightly spread, arms out from his body at a forty-five-degree angle, palms turned toward me, a shy smile on his face, and a long slender cock dangling between his legs; standing there, in supplication, awaiting my bidding.

He is hairless other than that silver-blond hair cascading around his head—and hard as steel—a beautiful fourteen-year-old body in transition from boy to man. A man’s body doesn’t please me half as much as a boy’s body in transition such as his does.

I slowly strip off my leotard and he comes to me, both of us naked now, in light, mincing steps, and raises his right leg, almost parallel to his body and leans it gently against my shoulder, exhibiting premier flexibility. His left hand takes both of our cocks together; his long slender one and mine, heavy, long, and thick, and holds them together as they both rise. I feel my chest swelling and rising and falling in quickened pace, while there is no trace of excitement or concern in his—total control.