Daddy’s Forbidden Fantasy (An Erotic Romance Series)

Chapter 7

Fred

“Do you have any tips, Mr. Hamburg? I know at some point, you have to be a beginner too. You got your start somewhere, so do you have any advice for a newbie?”

I stared hard at her. s**t, this girl wasn’t just emotionally savvy, she was smart too. She knew to take advantage of the five minutes she had with me. After all, I’m a billionaire CEO, sitting on top of a fortune. Not only that, but I know dance, I know the art.

But I didn’t say anything real. Not really. Because getting to where I am takes a s**t ton of blood, sweat, and tears, and no sweet thing deserves that. Innocent girls shouldn’t have to walk the gauntlet; they shouldn’t have to get down on their hands and knees, scrubbing the floor while begging for scraps.

So I kept it easy breezy, the conversation light.

“I’ve got a ton of secrets, but they’re locked up here for now,” I rumbled, pointing to my head.

“You’ve got to show me that you deserve it. You’ve gotta show me that you’re worthy before I’ll tell you anything.”

Sasha bit her lip.

“I danced my best this morning, sir,” she said in a low voice.

“I’ll do it again if you like.”

I leaned back and chuckled.

“So you think you can do better this time?” I asked, voice smooth.

“If so, then be my guest,” I said, flicking a button. And the girl gasped as a motor rumbled, one of the walls discreetly rolling back to reveal a studio, complete with polished wood floors, mirrors, and a long barre on one side.

Because there are certain benefits to being the CEO of a dance troupe, and one of them is my office. When you come in, it looks like standard corporate fare with a huge desk, chairs, a sofa, and a computer. The Academy didn’t hold back and there are deep-pile carpets and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the bustling streets of Manhattan.

But I’ve also got a hidden studio. That’s right, as a former dancer I asked to have some practice space installed, and the board complied. So now, all I have to do is flick a switch, and the fake wall rolls away, revealing my private studio.

Sasha’s eyes opened wide.

“Really?” she gasped.

“Oh my god, you’re so lucky, Mr. Hamburg!”

I laughed deep in my chest then because only a true devotee of the dance would think that I was “lucky.”

Right now, the brunette was already practicing eight hours a day, putting her body through the works. If “lucky” meant doing even more, turning those eight hours into ten to twelve, then I suppose I was lucky.

But Sasha was up in a flash, wandering into the brightly lit space, twirling joyfully, brunette curls flying in a spin.

“I’m happy to dance,” she laughed, brown eyes sparkling.

“What would you like me to do?”

I leaned back, appreciating that curvy female form.

“Anything,” I rumbled.

“But first you’ve got to take off those warm- ups, I’ve gotta see every gesture, every move up close.”

She flushed.

“I can’t, Mr. Hamburg,” she murmured, looking down.

“I didn’t realize I’d be dancing again, so I’m just wearing my leotard underneath. Nothing else.”

I frowned.

“So? A leotard’s fine, that’s standard practice wear.”

The girl blushed even hotter.

“No, not that,” she stammered.

“I’m wearing a leotard, but nothing else under. Nothing, sir,” she stuttered wildly, unable to look into my eyes.

Ah ha, so that was the problem. My little girl was practically nude underneath those warm-ups, with nothing but the thinnest piece of cotton shielding those curvy assets. Well, no worries. This was right up my alley, it was almost too perfect if you asked me.

“You can do what you like,” I said mildly.

“But I can’t see a thing with those baggy sweats on.” She nodded, biting her lip.

“I know, I just didn’t expect …” her voice trailed off.

“You didn’t expect to find a hidden studio in my office?” I asked, voice smooth.

“You didn’t expect to dance for a man?”

She nodded shyly, picking at the edge of her sweater.

“If I had known, I would have worn something different.”

But I interrupted then.

“Baby trust me, I’ve seen everything,” I said in my best father-figure voice.

“I’m forty-five, been on stage since I was fifteen. I’ve seen everything, and I mean everything,” I added with emphasis.

Sasha nodded again, biting her lip before lifting her head and shooting me a glance. I thought she was gonna back off, making some excuse.

But instead, those small fingers gripped the hem of her sweater, trembling a bit.

“Please don’t tell,” the girl whispered. “Please don’t tell.”

And in a flash, that sweater was off. My d**k jerked in my pants, thank god my lower half was hidden behind my desk. Because oh s**t, the female was luscious. The girl wore a pink leotard underneath, so sheer that it was like a body stocking, and those huge t**s swung, heavy and full. My c**k literally spurted then, unable to hold back. I had to get into her. I had to taste that luscious white flesh, suck those huge n*****s into my mouth.

But Sasha wasn’t done yet. Slowly, she tilted her hips and slid the track pants over those thighs, revealing meaty, luscious legs, sweet and curvy. The pants and sweater were tossed to the side, and as she bent over to put on ballet slippers, I realized why she’d been so embarrassed.

Because the girl wasn’t wearing panties. It’s fine, most professional ballerinas don’t wear panties, relying on their tights to shield them. But in this case, Sasha wasn’t wearing tights either. The only thing she had on was that sheer pink leotard, and now a pair of matching ballet slippers.

And as she slid into a routine, my breath caught. Because whenever the girl bent over, whenever her legs spread in either a plié, jump, or raise, I could

see her cunt. I could see that pale white mound, the puffy flesh under that thin piece of fabric. s**t, if I looked hard I could even see her nub, that hard, tantalizing c**t poking out insistently.

Because oh yeah, Sasha was excited too. As she danced for me, her moves took on an intensity that shook us both. We gazed into each other’s eyes as she twirled, showing off those huge, jiggly breasts, the elegant, yet sensuous sway of her hips. And f**k, I wanted it. f**k, f**k, f**k, she wasso f*****g tantalizing and tempting, I needed to sink my d**k into that cunt fast.

And it was like Sasha could read my mind. Smiling coyly, she lifted one leg high into the air, the toe almost pointed straight up at the ceiling. All ballerinas are flexible, it was like the girl was doing the splits with one foot on the floor.

But here, alone in this studio, it was different. Because dressed in that sheer pink leotard, the material at her cunt was stretched so tight that it went

from being sheer to transparent. This time, I didn’t just see the outline of her puffy lips and the hard nub of that c**t. I saw her hole, the tiny crevice that I was gonna f**k, where I was gonna taste and savor.

And like an answer to my dreams, it happened then. Ballet leotards are made for abuse, the manufacturers know that girls prance, stretch, and wear these things down. But no material can handle Sasha’s curves because frankly, most dancers don’t have wide hips and big Double Ds. So as her legs split wide, one toe pointing straight at the ceiling, the fabric gave out. That’s right, the sheer pink cotton tore right at the cunt, baring everything. The rip happened so fast that the material sprang up, flying over her boobs in the front and whipping over her ass in the back.

“Oh my god!” the brunette gasped, leg dropping down immediately, small hands trying to shield her private parts.

“Oh my god!”

But it was too late because I was out from behind my desk in a flash, kneeling in front of her. And before that leg even hit the floor, I’d taken a deep lick of her wet, juicy snatch.

“Oh my … unnnnh!” came Sasha’s wail.

“Oh god!”

I chuckled in my chest, big hands coming up to grab her thighs.

“That’s right, kitten,” I rasped into her folds.

“That’s right, you were dancing dirty to make Daddy’s d**k jump, weren’t you? You were doing that on purpose.”