“It’s time for your daily curtsey practice, princess.”
She is solicitously ushered to the dance studio, where cheerful hands pull off her dress and stockings. She’s laid on a mat on the floor, her diaper removed and her under-diaper parts efficiently wiped down. Gloved fingers – she can’t see just whose – massage an ointment into her clit and pussy lips. Almost immediately she knows which balm she’s been treated with today: the one that makes her swell and tingle, makes her private parts pink and plump.
“Let’s get you dressed for your lesson, now.”
She used to think of herself as an average-sized woman, but she is lifted so efficiently by her attendants that she feels small and frail. The leotard is pulled over her head. Its hem lies in soft scallops just above the well-waxed, already-swelling skin of her mound. The top is tight enough to force her breasts into strained mounds above a punishing seam, the fabric stretching sheer over nipples that have grown erect against her will.
“Up we go, princess! Onto the practice stand.”
She’s lifted by her arms, and she knows enough to point her toes as the dildo slides home. Long and soft, it’s already been oiled for her; she saw the coating glisten over the pink and blue glitter silicone, and anyway she can feel how it slides home like it was made for her. (For all she knows, it was.) It’s flexible enough that it doesn’t carry the vibrations from the little, humming bulb attached to the bottom of its upright shaft.
“Remember, right foot forward, left knee tucked back, and do try to be graceful enough that the stand won’t bend. Now, down.”
She has to do this every day, and she doesn’t hesitate anymore. Daintily pinching out the short skirt, she sinks into a girlish curtsey, head up, smiling for an invisible audience. Her pin-curls bounce as she rises in time with the instructions. She can see herself in the mirrors that circle every studio wall, smiling like a little film star.
“Up … and down.”
She manages to sink deeper this time, feeling the soft silicone ripen into a firmer impalement as her weight compresses it.
“You must touch the curtsey-button, princess! It’s so easy for you to forget things, isn’t it? Touch the button each time – Or we shall get the pink cane. Up … and down.”
On the third try, her plump clit kisses the vibrator. It’s nearly silent but shockingly powerful, enough to rock her on the stand even as the dildo pushes inexorably at her cervix. The full dip is always enough to make her feel the dildo in her core.
“Much better, princess! But mind your balance. Straight up, straight down.”
She doesn’t need that reminder. Any torque on the dildo turns this daily practice’s feeling from discomfort to pain.
“Better, dear. Up … and down.”
She’ll be at this for exactly half an hour, just like every day. She widens her smile, re-settles her feet, and tries to find a pace that will give her the right stimulation in her aching clit.