Anna Petrov had spent twelve years of her life pointed toward the stage. From the first time her mother forced her into a leotard at age six, through the bloody toes and endless pliés, she had lived for the clean lines of classical ballet. At twenty-two she was a soloist in a mid-tier company, still waiting for that one role that would make the principal dancers notice her. What she did not expect was the email that arrived on a rainy Tuesday.
Casting Call – “The Swan’s Submission”
Experimental short film. Classical dance background preferred. Female performers only. Paid. Full nudity and explicit content required. Bring pointe shoes.
She almost deleted it. Then she read the fee. It was more than she made in three months of company work. Rent was late. Her knees ached. And somewhere under the discipline a restless curiosity had been growing for years—nights spent watching women touch each other on her laptop with the sound off, fingers between her own thighs, never quite admitting what she wanted.
She answered the email.
The studio was in an industrial building on the edge of the city. No sign, just a buzzer and a heavy metal door. A tall woman in black opened it. Sharp cheekbones, dark hair pulled into a severe knot, eyes the color of wet slate. She looked Anna up and down like she was already measuring her for rope.
“Anna. I’m Vesper. Director and top. This is my partner, Lila.”
Lila stepped into view—shorter, softer curves, blonde hair falling past her shoulders, wearing nothing but a black lace bodysuit that left her heavy breasts and the dark patch of her cunt visible through the sheer fabric. She smiled like a cat that had already decided the mouse was hers.
“You’re the ballerina,” Lila said. “Good. We like them flexible.”
They led her into a large open room. Mirrors on one wall. A ballet barre. A camera on a tripod. Thick coils of soft black rope on a table. A padded bench. A high-backed chair. The air smelled of leather and something sweeter, like warm skin.
Vesper circled her. “We’ll film everything. The audition is the scene. You stay in character. You do what we say. Safe word is ‘curtain.’ You say it, we stop. Anything else and we keep going. Understood?”
Anna’s mouth was dry. She nodded.
“Clothes off. Keep the pointe shoes.”
Her hands shook as she peeled the leotard down her body. Small high breasts, narrow waist, the long lean muscles of a dancer’s thighs and calves. Pale pink nipples already tight from the cool air. A thin landing strip of dark hair above her cunt. She stepped out of the leotard and stood in only the pale pink pointe shoes, ribbons tied neatly around her ankles.
Lila walked behind her and ran a hand down the length of her spine. “Beautiful. Look at those legs. They’re going to look perfect wrapped around a face.”
Vesper turned on the camera. A red light glowed. “Action.”
They started with the barre. Vesper ordered her into first position, then second, then a deep plié while Lila stood behind her and cupped her bare breasts, rolling the nipples between thumb and finger until Anna’s breath hitched. Every time she rose onto pointe Lila’s fingers slipped lower, brushing the soft lips of her cunt, spreading them open so the camera could see how wet she was already getting.
“You’re dripping,” Lila murmured against her ear. “First time with women?”
Anna managed a shaky “Yes.”
“Good. We’re going to ruin you for men.”
They moved her to the center of the room. Vesper took a length of black rope and began to bind her. The rope was soft but strong. It wrapped her wrists behind her back in a tight series of knots, then crossed her chest, framing her breasts, cinching under them so they were lifted and presented. More rope around her waist, between her thighs, pressing against her clit every time she shifted. Ankles bound together, then forced apart again with a spreader bar so her legs were locked open in a wide second position, pointe shoes still on, toes forced into the floor.
Anna stood there, bound and displayed, cunt exposed, already trembling.
Vesper stepped close and slapped her lightly across the face. “Eyes on me. You’re not a dancer anymore. You’re our toy.”
Lila dropped to her knees in front of Anna and buried her face between her legs without warning. A long, slow lick from the bottom of her slit to her clit. Anna cried out. Lila’s tongue was hot and deliberate, spreading her open, sucking the swollen bud into her mouth while two fingers pushed inside her. The rope between her thighs rubbed every time Lila’s tongue moved. Anna’s hips jerked forward helplessly.
“Fuck—oh god—”
Vesper grabbed a fistful of her hair and forced her head back. “Quiet. You don’t come until we say. And you call us Mistress when you speak.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Anna gasped.
Lila kept eating her, slow and filthy, while Vesper walked around and began undressing. She stripped out of the black shirt and pants to reveal a lean, hard body, small tight breasts, and a thick black strap-on harness already buckled around her hips. The cock was long, realistic, heavy. She stroked it once, coating it with lube from a bottle on the table.
“Turn her,” Vesper ordered.
Lila stood, lips shiny with Anna’s wetness, and helped maneuver the bound ballerina onto the padded bench on her back. The spreader bar kept her legs wide. Her arms were trapped under her. Vesper climbed between her thighs and pressed the head of the strap-on against her entrance.
“First cock you’ve ever had is going to be a woman’s,” Vesper said. “Remember that.”
She pushed in slow. Anna’s cunt stretched around the thick shaft. The burn was sharp, then melting into pressure. Vesper bottomed out and stayed there, grinding in deep circles while Lila straddled Anna’s face.
“Open,” Lila commanded.
Anna opened her mouth. Lila lowered her cunt onto it. Soft, slick folds pressed against her lips and nose. The scent of her was strong, musky, addictive. Anna’s tongue moved on instinct, licking up into the wet heat, tasting her for the first time. Lila moaned and ground down harder, smothering her, using her face like a seat.
Vesper started fucking her in long, deep strokes. The bench creaked. Rope bit into Anna’s skin. Every thrust drove her face harder into Lila’s cunt. She couldn’t breathe properly. She didn’t care. Her tongue worked frantically, licking and sucking at Lila’s clit while Vesper pounded her open.
“That’s it,” Lila groaned. “Tongue-fuck me, ballerina. Make me come on your pretty face.”
Anna’s muffled cries vibrated against Lila’s cunt. She was soaked, the strap-on sliding easily now, the wet sounds filthy and loud. Vesper reached down and rubbed her clit in tight circles timed with the thrusts.
“You’re going to come with a woman’s cock in you and another woman’s cunt on your face,” Vesper said. “Say it.”
Anna tried to speak. Lila lifted just enough for her to gasp, “I’m going to come with a woman’s cock in me and another woman’s cunt on my face, Mistress—”
Lila dropped back down. Vesper fucked her harder. The orgasm hit like a snapped tendon—violent, full-body, her cunt clamping down on the strap-on while she screamed into Lila’s folds. Lila came a second later, grinding hard, flooding Anna’s mouth with slick heat. Anna swallowed what she could, the rest running down her chin and cheeks.
They didn’t stop.
Vesper pulled out and flipped her onto her stomach with Lila’s help. The spreader bar forced her ass up, knees wide. More rope was added—ankles drawn up toward her wrists in a tight hogtie so she was completely immobilized, cunt and ass presented. Vesper knelt behind her and pushed the strap-on back into her dripping hole. Lila crawled underneath so her face was between Anna’s thighs again, tongue working her clit while Vesper fucked her from behind.
Facesitting became the rhythm of the afternoon. They took turns. Lila would sit on her face while Vesper used the strap-on. Then Vesper would sit, heavier, more demanding, grinding her cunt down until Anna’s jaw ached and her tongue was sore. They made her beg for it. They made her ask to be smothered. They made her thank them every time she was allowed to breathe.
At one point they untied her legs just enough to force them over Vesper’s shoulders while Lila held her head in place and rode her face in reverse, looking down into her eyes the entire time. Vesper leaned over and kissed Lila while she fucked Anna, the two of them sharing spit and soft laughter above her while the ballerina’s cunt clenched around the cock and her tongue worked desperately.
They brought out a second strap-on. Lila put it on. They double-teamed her—one in her cunt, one in her mouth—until spit and cum mixed on her chin. Then they switched and Lila fucked her while Vesper sat on her face again, longer this time, refusing to lift until Anna’s vision sparked at the edges and her body shook through another forced orgasm.
Rope marks bloomed red across her skin. Her pointe shoes were scuffed. Her voice was hoarse from screaming and from the constant pressure of cunts against her mouth.
Near the end they untied her completely and laid her on the floor on her back. Vesper and Lila knelt over her, facing each other, and ground their cunts together in a messy scissor while Anna watched, then they pulled her up between them so both of their wet folds pressed against her face at once. She licked and sucked whatever she could reach—clits, lips, the place where they rubbed together—until both women came hard, coating her face, her hair, her tongue.
Vesper finally turned off the camera.
Anna lay on the floor, wrecked, thighs sticky, face shiny, rope burns still vivid. Her first time with women had lasted almost three hours.
Lila crouched beside her and gently wiped her mouth with a soft cloth. “You did so well, little swan.”
Vesper looked down at her, expression unreadable for a moment, then almost soft. “We’re keeping the footage. And we’re booking you again next week. Longer shoot. More rope. Maybe a third girl.”
Anna’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yes, Mistress.”
Vesper smiled for the first time. “Good girl.”
They helped her stand. Her legs shook. Lila guided her to a small bathroom and cleaned her carefully, almost tenderly, washing between her legs, kissing the marks on her wrists. Vesper brought her water and a robe.
When Anna finally dressed and stepped back out into the rain, the city smelled different. Her cunt still pulsed. Her mouth still tasted like them. She could still feel the weight of Lila’s body on her face, the stretch of Vesper’s cock, the way the rope had held her open and helpless.
She walked to the subway with the check in her bag and the knowledge that she would come back. That she wanted to come back. That the stage had never made her feel this empty and this full at the same time.
That night she lay in bed and touched herself slowly, remembering every order, every thrust, every time a cunt had settled over her mouth and refused to move until she had licked herself raw. She came with their names on her tongue.
The next email arrived two days later.
Call time 10 a.m. Bring the pointe shoes. Wear nothing underneath. We’re adding suspension this time.
Anna stared at the message for a long time. Then she typed two words and hit send.
Yes, Mistress.
She spent the following days in a haze of rehearsal and private obsession. At the barre she felt the phantom pressure of rope. In the shower she practiced holding her breath. At night she watched the rough cut Vesper had sent her—herself bound and shaking, face buried, body used—and came so hard she cried.
Friday arrived wet and gray. She wore a simple dress, no underwear, pointe shoes in her bag. The same metal door. The same sharp-eyed woman opening it.
Vesper looked her over and nodded once. “Ready?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Lila was already naked inside, stretching on a yoga mat, cunt glistening. A third woman sat on the bench—tall, muscular, dark-skinned, with short cropped hair and a predatory smile. She wore only a leather harness and a thick purple strap-on.
“This is Rhea,” Vesper said. “She’s joining us. You will call her Mistress as well.”
Anna’s pulse kicked. “Yes, Mistress.”
They stripped her again. The camera light blinked red. Rope came out in longer lengths this time. Vesper and Rhea worked together, creating a full body harness that lifted her breasts, framed her cunt, and left thick loops for suspension. Lila tied her wrists behind her back while whispering filthy encouragement.
They raised her off the ground with a ceiling winch. Her body hung horizontally, face down, legs forced wide by the spreader, arms bound tight. The rope creaked softly as she swung.
Rhea stepped underneath first. She guided Anna’s head down and fed the purple cock into her mouth. “Suck it. Show us how a ballerina deepthroats.”
Anna opened wide. The cock pushed past her tongue, into her throat. She gagged, eyes watering, but kept sucking. Rhea held her head and fucked her face in short, controlled strokes while Vesper and Lila watched.
Then Lila climbed onto a low platform so her cunt was level with Anna’s face. Rhea pulled out and Lila sat down hard, smothering her again. The hanging position forced Anna’s mouth and nose deep into the soft wet folds. She licked frantically, tongue sliding through the slick heat, while Rhea moved behind her and pushed the strap-on into her cunt in one long thrust.
Suspended, helpless, spit-roasted between two women while a third watched and filmed, Anna came the first time within minutes. They did not stop. They rotated. Vesper took the rear and fucked her with deep, punishing strokes while Lila and Rhea took turns sitting on her face, grinding, smothering, forcing her to edge them with her tongue until they came across her cheeks and lips.
They lowered her only long enough to change the rope configuration—now upright, arms pulled high above her head, legs still spread, toes barely touching the floor in her pointe shoes. Vesper strapped on a second cock and they double-penetrated her: one in her cunt, one in her ass, while Rhea stood in front and made her suck the purple one clean of her own juices. Lila walked around her with a flogger, landing soft, stinging strikes across her thighs and the undersides of her breasts every time she slowed.
“Look at the camera,” Vesper ordered. “Tell them what you are.”
Anna’s voice cracked around the cock in her mouth. When it pulled free she gasped, “I’m a ballerina slut. I’m a facesitting toy. I’m yours—”
They kept her there for another hour. Orgasms were forced out of her one after another until she was sobbing and shaking and still begging for more. When they finally lowered her to the mat she could barely move. They did not untie her right away. Instead the three women knelt around her head and took turns sitting on her face one last time, slower now, almost gentle, using her tongue to finish themselves while she lay limp and open and grateful.
Afterward they cleaned her again. Rhea massaged her shoulders. Lila kissed the rope marks. Vesper handed her a bottle of water and watched her drink.
“You’re a natural,” Vesper said quietly. “Most girls break the first day. You opened.”
Anna looked at the three of them—sweaty, beautiful, still smelling of sex—and felt something settle into place inside her chest.
“I want more,” she said.
Vesper’s smile was slow and dark. “Then you’ll have more. Next month we shoot the full feature. You’ll be the lead. Bound. Used. Shared. Every scene ends with someone sitting on your face until you can’t breathe. That’s the contract. Still want it?”
Anna’s answer was immediate and clear.
“Yes, Mistress. Fuck me.”
They booked her that afternoon.
In the weeks that followed, Anna’s life split into two clean halves. Days were still ballet—rehearsals, classes, the familiar burn of discipline. Nights and weekends belonged to Vesper’s studio. She learned how to take longer suspension. How to hold a tongue against a clit for twenty minutes without stopping. How to come on command and how to hold an orgasm until her whole body shook with the effort. She learned the taste of every woman Vesper brought in. She learned the exact weight of Lila’s thighs around her head when she was close. She learned that the moment the rope tightened and the first cunt settled over her mouth, every other ambition went quiet.
The finished short film premiered at a private industry screening. Anna sat in the back row between Vesper and Lila and watched herself on the large screen: the ballerina in pointe shoes, bound and open, face glistening, body used by women who knew exactly how to break her open and put her back together differently. When the final scene played—her hanging, two cocks inside her, Lila’s cunt grinding down until her scream was muffled into silence—the room was quiet except for the wet sounds of the film.
Afterward a woman approached them. Older. Powerful. The kind of producer who funded the big lesbian fetish features.
“I want her,” she said simply. “Exclusive. Six-picture deal. Full creative control stays with Vesper. Name your price.”
Vesper looked at Anna. Anna looked back, still feeling the ghost of rope on her skin, and nodded once.
The contract was signed the next week.
Six months later the first full feature dropped. The poster showed Anna in white pointe shoes and nothing else, hanging in rope, a woman’s thighs framing her face, the title in elegant script across her bare stomach:
Fuck Me
A First Time Lesbian Story
It opened with her walking into the studio in her leotard. It ended with her completely undone, three women using her at once, her tongue buried, her cunt stretched, her eyes glassy with the kind of surrender that only comes once.
Critics in the underground circuit called it raw. Viewers called it addictive. Anna simply called it the truth.
She still danced. She still woke early for class. But every time she stepped onto the stage now she carried the secret knowledge of what her body could do when the curtain closed and the rope came out and a woman settled onto her face and stayed there until the world narrowed to heat and wetness and the simple, perfect order to keep licking.
And every time the lights went down she smiled in the dark, already counting the hours until she could say the only words that still mattered.
“Yes, Mistress. Fuck me.”
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