Naome was a professional ballerina. At 35, she had been dancing for more than 15 years in the top companies, to sell-out audiences. When interviewers asked her what the secret was behind her grace and nimbleness, she would always answer, hard work. True, you can be born with a certain talent, and a "feel" for music; but they’re nothing without the hours spent testing your body to the limit in the gym. For her, the old adage summed up her attitude: 10% inspiration, 90% slog.

She enjoyed a challenge in her work and took on every role offered: she had been made up to look like an old woman for the clog dance, and she had played Juliet in "Romeo and Juliet". But this latest piece she was working on was perhaps the most demanding yet. It was one of those modern works, exploring the infatuation of a very young man for a mature woman (written by a man who had never been infatuated by any woman of any age).

She had not known her partner, Cornelius, before. But he seemed to be as professional about the work as she was (and she privately had a very sharp word with the trombone player for referring to him as "Corny"). She had been looking forward to this first rehearsal with him, just the two of them working to recorded music, and she greeted him enthusiastically before they took up positions.

The music began and they adopted the conventional dancing pose. Unlike Naome for her partner, Cornelius knew a lot about his. She was well-known, after all, whereas he was just starting out. He had been deliberately chosen for being a young man, a little unsure of himself, and awestruck by his experienced female partner.

He could feel her strength as they glided over the floor. Then she sprang up, seemingly without effort, and he had to appear to go with her as if to guide and support her. He clasped her trim waist, while she posed, one dainty ballet flat on his thigh, the other pointing downwards, while that leg was crossed over the arm that held her.

Down she came onto her left foot, pointing her right upwards, 180 degrees in the other direction, while arching her back with ease. He moved with her, so the audience should get the illusion that he was sustaining her. 

As the choreographer intended, she turned and stroked him under the chin while he stooped. Her action was supposed to appear half-encouraging and half-patronising, and for Cornelius, it was spot on. He gazed up at her glittering tiara, while she gently laughed at him, urging him to try harder.

She dropped down onto both hands and her right foot, while her left leg shot up as if to kick him in the face – bloody close it was too, thought Cornelius. If she had been out by so much as a fraction, her ladylike ballet flat would have caused considerable damage.

He bent his knees and looked up at his now tiptoeing partner, seeming to implore her about something. As his eyes moved upwards, the private Cornelius, the one who wasn’t rehearsing, noticed Naome had rather large breasts – unusual for a ballerina – and that her tight black leotard showed them off too much for him to be able to ignore them entirely. Above that, he saw the face of the private woman – the one who wasn’t rehearsing – who had divorced two husbands and seen off a third man after a tempestuous relationship. How much she would be able to teach him!

It was back to the conventional dancing, before she high kicked – God, that was close! Cornelius dropped to one knee and gazed up at her, before seeming to worship her. She turned and thrust her left leg behind her. If she didn’t look so dainty, as usual on tiptoe, and stretching forwards, that would have looked suspiciously like a super kick. 

Cornelius dropped and she approached him. He seemed to kiss her thigh, in a move designed to raise eyebrows in the audience. She leant towards him and offered her hand for him to kiss. He obliged, but he seemed to prefer to kiss her legs. He slavishly kissed her right leg, just above the ankle, while she acted like a queen with an unworthy subject. 

Naome disdainfully turned and offered him the sole of her left foot to kiss, before jumping over her now kneeling partner, then once again arching her back. Cornelius bent forwards and – the choreographer hoped – would make audience members exchange glances by staring close up at her sex, underneath the flimsy skirt attachment of her leotard.  

The "progressive", "edgy" choreographer anticipated the audience would sigh with relief when the pair resumed conventional dancing, with Naome perched on Cornelius’s shoulder. But then the risque style returned when she glided her legs down either side of his head until his face was up against her sex, while he grabbed her strong, firm buttocks. 

She brought him down onto his back this way, while she stretched above him, facing upwards, his head encased in her thighs. They were moderately tight around his neck, for the purpose of the rehearsal, and he was aware of just how much tighter they would be if she wanted them so.  

The scene was meant to portray the "dangers" for a young man of becoming besotted with an older woman. She would overwhelm and suffocate the life out of him. Cornelius was all too aware that Naome could do just that. She had such strength, but at the same time she was so, so womanly. He sighed as his eyes took in the beautiful outline of her breasts, her nipples quite prominently pointing upwards with the physical activity of dancing …

"This is not acceptable!"

Cornelius’s reverie was abruptly interrupted by Naome, accusingly pointing at his erection, so obvious through his pantyhose. 

"I’m sorry," he faltered. 

"’Sorry’? That’s just not good enough! Come on, get up," she insisted, hauling him up to his feet. 

"So, you want to play pervy games, do you?" she asked, smiling at the prospect and pushing his face. Well, I have a game that I want to play with you right now. Come on, follow me! And take that pantyhose off!"

Cornelius had a fair idea she was heading for the gym. She was known to spend a lot of time in it – it was what kept her versatile as a dancer, she said. But he didn’t expect her to enter the ring and wait for him in a corner. Surely, she wasn’t serious! 35-year-old women didn’t pick fights with 19-year-old men!

"Okay, Corny, go down on one knee and kiss my hand, like the character you were supposed to portray in the rehearsal. That’s right. Now, get up, young man. I’m going to show you moves you won’t believe! Come on, attack me."

He moved uncertainly towards her, and she leapt over his head. Landing on her right foot, she kicked back with her left. She laughed, finding her target – his balls – with ease. Her heel crunched his balls and he dropped, howling, to the mat, clutching his injured manhood.

"Oh dear!" Naome mocked from behind. "I was going to suggest another rehearsal, but you don’t look as if you’re in the mood for dancing right now. Here, let me give you some stretching exercises."

So saying, she put her foot on the back of his head and seized his wrists. Pulling with her hands while pushing with her foot, she jeered, "Do you like surfing, Corny? Not when you’re the board, eh?"

She pulled him up to his knees, but kept the hold going. This was surreal. Just minutes earlier, they had been rehearsing high art. Since then, he’d experienced low fighting, as the pain in his balls cold testify. And now? He wondered if he’d survive her onslaught. His arms, shoulders and neck felt like molten lead.

At last, she relinquished the hold, but it was only to adopt another. "Is this familiar, Corny?" she asked, closing her thighs around his neck from behind. "It’s called a head scissor, and you had a slight taste of it in the rehearsal, didn’t you? It excited you, didn’t it? Okay, do you find this exciting?" She tightened her thighs’ grip on his neck, making him struggle to breathe. For good measure, she had her feet crossed over his manhood, too. His futile attempts to free himself were laughable.

Literally, because Naome was laughing as she modified the hold. Lying across him now, she maintained the scissor, but incorporated his left arm in it, so it was useless. Locking his other arm and stretching it away from him, the hold looked rather like a crucifix. But it was those ballerina thighs that did for Corny. She knocked him out through lack of oxygen.

"Well, that was easy!" she laughed to herself, standing up beside the stricken young man, "More fun than dancing, too!"

She removed the skirt attachment, because it got in the way of serious wrestling, then marched back to Corny. He was lying on his front, and she mercilessly stepped on his penis from behind. He came too violently, yelping with the pain.

"What’s the matter?" mocked Naome. "It was a dainty ballet flat, that’s all!"

"You’re not normal," he whined, once more clutching his manhood.

"Oh, and getting an erection during a rehearsal is normal, is it?" she countered. "Come on, get up, and give me a proper fight. You’re a big girl’s blouse!"

"Okay," he faced her, "you want a proper fight, do you?"

"Yeah, come on wimp boy, hit me!"

He fired a left; she met it with a textbook block. His right fist then stormed at nothing, since she leant easily out of its path. Graceful even when fighting, she slipped back out of the way of Corny’s third attempt to hit her, then karate chopped him hard on the back of the neck as he followed through. So hard, in fact, that it doubled the momentum of his follow through, and put him on one knee.

Naome whipped her left arm round his neck and linked it with her right hand, kneeling with him. Her arms choking him felt as powerful as her thighs had done earlier. The hold forced him down on all fours, his face up hard against her left breast – uncannily reviving the memory he had of them both being nice and large for a ballerina. 

She forced him onto his back. Keeping the choke going, she also lay over his near, left arm, neutralising it (while causing pain, naturally). 

But this didn’t seem to satisfy her, so she knelt over his head, sitting on his face, while trapping his right arm under her left foot. Grabbing his other arm by the wrist, she locked it so that his hand hovered over her right breast. How he would have loved to knead both of them! She knew it, of course, chuckling while savouring the pleasure of her face-sit. 

Standing up, Naome pulled his head by the hair to keep the "face scissor" going. Then she stretched back, facing upwards, and supporting herself on both hands, while her thighs went to work around his neck once more. Although Corny’s hands were on them, he didn’t seem even to be trying to free himself this time, probably because he knew he couldn’t. 

It was back to the rehearsal, but in a more extreme form.  Now, as then, his eyes travelled up her body, over her powerful thighs, to the sharp V of her leotard guarding her modesty; then beyond over her flat stomach, before finally resting on the exquisite outline of her breasts. Then, he had been aware of the potential strength of her thighs – now, he was experiencing it.

Using those thighs, Naome turned, steered, and dragged him onto his front. She moved to the side, so she could better see his face as her crossed legs kept up with their task. It seemed to be well worth the move, because his tortured expression caused her great amusement. It encouraged her to use her legs even more to haul him about, making him groan, gasp and plead.

She ended up kneeling beside his face once more, so she was sitting on it. First holding his hands, then pulling his face to her, she made him pleasure her. 

"That’s the idea, Corny," she murmured, shivering with sensual tension, "you’ve understood at last."  

Naome stretched back and wallowed in sexual gratification. Now she was the one making all the noise! After a delighted shudder, she sighed contentedly. Then she stood and posed over her exhausted, humiliated former partner, one ballet flat on his manhood, while she flexed above him.