A young up-and-coming dancer finds a new way to dance with some special help.
A small afterparty was held at Mr. Dannon’s mansion-size house on the edge of their town, with everyone but Teri’s parents who had to get up early for their respective jobs the next morning. Champagne and appetizers were liberally consumed in a lavish living room made for entertaining; they all spoke of the bright future Teri had ahead of her, as well as Carlie who would be able to forge her own success with a bit more training and experience.
Dannon made a toast, to the future of young, talented dancers.
“And to a wonderful dance to come…tonight,” Camille toasted loudly, as the benefactors and Mrs. Cantor realized that their hired instructor had prepared a departing dance presentation for everyone before she was slated to leave. Camille had left the room to get ready while the younger dancers moved the furniture, prepping the room. The lights were dimmed to half brightness by the time Camille returned, wrapped in a familiar white robe.
“I know white to many is the color of resignation, of no longer willing to fight,” she spoke theatrically. “And I know some would believe that I deserve to don this, and only this color. However…” Just as Teri had in her dance, on cue with the bellydancer music used on the first day, Camille spread her arms wide open and fast, showing off not only an American flag behind her, but her own custom-made 4th of July belly-dancing outfit. A blue bra with one strap, white, glittery stars, a red and white-stripped wrap tied at her waist, reaching down to her ankles. Her exposed midriff, painted and decorated with glittery fireworks all across her stomach, and a bald eagle piercing on her bellybutton. Three sparklers were lit in her hand as she posed perfectly like the Statue of Liberty.
“I am America, and America doesn’t surrender,” Camille finally spoke after a short while, garnering applause for the showmanship thus far.
“America is about freedom, the freedom to choose, to be oneself, always interested in having you free yourself.” The phrasing seemed strange to all but two figures who came in behind Camille’s form, dressed in American colors, but looking more like subordinates. Each bellydancer held a sparkler, and they danced in unison together, the dimmed overhead or sparkler not bright enough to put emphasis on their dreamy smiles, produced from their minds left gently yet endlessly spinning.
Carlie remembered walking in one day on Camille instructing Teri to spin. She found it fascinating as Camille explained the use it had for her style of learning. She was eager to try it, and Carlie found herself in nearly the same topspin of an induction that Teri had, the only difference being it opened her up to more of an inquiry.
“As you listen and spin so well, you can follow my voice from every direction it comes to you. You obviously have experience in belly-dancing in order to help your friend Teri progress so far, meaning you’ve spent so much time dancing and spinning yourself, meaning you’ve been in this place before, where the world just sort of goes away and you’re left to let your mind dance and spin its way to a state of receptiveness, where you can be aware of things around you, but only to dance your way around them, guided only by the most prevalent of voices, like mine. I know what it is like to spin like this, I know how you are feeling, I know that the more you do it, the more you listen, the more you’ll want to listen, and answer any questions I might have for you, because it’s so easy to do so, and I can help you, as you help me, first by telling me about yourself, and how long you and Teri have been friends…”
Carlie’s first trance was light, as were the questioned asked by Camille. The somewhat unorthodox teaching methods never seemed to bother Carlie; Teri’s new teacher was so friendly and pretty, so unlike Mrs. Cantor, that opening herself up to the query raised no red flags. After a few more sessions of spinning, Carlie was literally an open book to Camille, who liked what she read in her. The part of her mind that wasn’t concentrating on their synchronized dance thought back to those moments, and how good it felt to be dancing next to Camille then. The three dancers soon began to break off into their own styles, letting the music dictate their bodies path. The sparklers waved across their bodies, used like magic wands to draw the benefactors attention, and even Mrs. Cantor.
“America helps those who want to be free, to free themselves. And for those who resist, we say that you should surrender yourself.”
Mrs. Cantor’s eyes widened at the asinine suggestion, not because it was asinine, but because hearing those words took her mind back to a point, weeks ago when she found her dislike for Camille had reached a boiling point. Kicked out of her own studio, shuffled away from teaching her prize student in her latest competition by this unknown outsider, proved to be too much. It didn’t help that Camille was a racial minority, and also suspected of being homosexual. After a lesson one day when Teri had already left, words were exchanged between the teachers, some of which involved derogatory words that did more than irk Camille. It didn’t matter that she was half right about Camille since she was bisexual, it was insulting enough to think that Camille was supposed to be attracted to Mrs. Cantor, let alone how being attracted to the same sex was an insult. At that point, considered walking away from the whole circumstance, or slapping the taste of out of the older dancer’s mouth. However, the triad directed at the Lebanese dancer ended with calling her a “witch.” Camille could’ve belly-laughed at how of after everything she was called, she didn’t have the gumption to call her what she really wanted. Backing up a few paces and spreading her arms out, a beat started playing in Camille’s head that she moved purposefully to.
“Watch me dance, Mrs. Cantor. See exactly why I was chosen over you to teach Teri this style.” Her words were coarse, but she kept her tone measured, letting the older woman watch and fall into the trap slowly springing onto her mind. “It’s a very unique style, so unlike the ones you’re used to, so sensual and provocative. It’s no wonder Teri picked this style; it is meant to be eye-catching, attention-arresting, enthralling to the senses with that music you can imagine I’m dancing to, perhaps the smell of incense that comes with dances like these, the feel of your skin flushing as you watch the dance undulate, your eyes overwhelmed by which limb to follow as it moves whichever way it wants to enflame which part of your brain that wants whichever motion of my hips to make you feel which leg gets heavier or which arm feels leadened. Does determining which matter when the words you hear slip into you while the dance captivates you as if I was a witch casting a spell? That would make so much sense, wouldn’t it?”
Watching her toned hips and exposed midriff undulate like Wilma’s never could or never tried to put her at a loss. The way her loss of composure produced a need to dance, and desire to speak about the dance she was already doing didn’t make sense, nor did it make sense to the more conservative dancer how good she made it look. Wilma Cantor could tell as she followed the pretty jewel in Camille’s belly-button from left to right, in small and larger circles, that Camille absolutely loved to dance this way. It never occurred to Wilma unconsciously that she began to love it too.
“Whichever limb feels heaviest and unlikely to move, this witch is what is rooting it in place. Whichever lung is helping to steady your breath, this witch is the one making it happen. It’s not a question of which witch makes you feel like that, but merely which bewitching word has the witch uttered to take you deeply under her spell? And when was it that being called a witch was a bad thing? Which decade was that, which century? So long ago, yet witches still endure, and their power still endures. And which group or culture was foolish enough to suggest being a witch was a bad thing, because if you can’t tell which leg or arm feels more comfortably numb and heavy, or which bewitching word you like to hear more from me when the only ones that should concern you is Surrender Yourself!”
Mrs. Cantor was totally thrown out of whack, half-realizing she was grasped in Camille’s arms, not minding being there as they moved together in a gentle sway, actively listening to more dizzying words emptying her mind until there was just bewitching words. The usually gentle and merciful hypnotic dancer had her buttons pushed, and shifted her efforts for the next few days straight to crass but thorough brainwashing. Camille did not allow her adversary to muster any kind of resistance, deftly repeating “surrender yourself” past the point of it’s use to turn Cantor into a drooling, enslaved mass for her to shape. Carefully, over time, the shape Mrs. Cantor subconsciously found herself in was wanting something no religious woman should, yet the urge to worship, worship a woman’s pussy, Camille’s pussy to be exact, washed over her daily. She would have “nightmares” about wanting, begging to see it. It didn’t take long for those “nightmares” to become dreams she admitted to no one, not even to Mr. Cantor. Without it, she never would’ve found herself undressing at the afterparty as Camille told her to, revealing under her street clothes was her own exotic dancing outfit she purchased for herself, consisting of only seven colored veils.
At Camille’s insistence she moved toward the center of the room, surrounded by the three dancers. “America declares ‘surrender yourself’ to its enemies.” Mrs. Cantor raised her hands above her head and began to spin like the others had, the veils attached to her body flowing with her. “Enemies whom try to resist, to withstand the might of America, but they soon find their world’s spinning out of control, thanks to American influence. Before they know it, ‘surrender yourself,’ becomes your last act of free will, until you have nothing but America’s will to rely on, no matter how much you spin it.” Each veil miraculously stayed attached to her person as the spinning continued, until Camille snatched one from her body at any given time, each time reminding the older dancer to “surrender yourself.” With each trigger, her sexual need multiplied, held back only by the mental obstruction that also multiplied in tandem.
Camille pulled the last veil in a triumphant sing-song, leaving Mrs. Cantor naked and exposed. She didn’t try to cover herself as she fell to the floor. She crawled to the woman who practically owned her, begging for a taste, or just a peak at what it looked like. Camille strutted to the defeated woman, lowering her body, rolling her hips only close enough to give the illusion of a peak. Before she got too aroused at the sight, Camille snapped in her face “surrender yourself to sleep now!” depriving her of even the scent of her arousal.
Camille had lost count of how many times she’d said “surrender yourself,” an added benefit as the benefactors remained seated, with their eyes vacant, erections protruding in their pants, merely waiting for instructions from Camille like everyone else present. If her words weren’t enough to grip them, the sight of her bald eagle pin piercing at her bellybutton would have been, snatching their mines like the serpents they were, grasped in symbolic eagle claws. Glassy eyes could focus only enough to see that eagle as it soared over her majestic body, moving as much as her hips allowed it to. As much as she’d planned for Teri and Carlie to seduce them originally, like Teri had done in her dreams, Camille couldn’t help but take it upon herself to take them down like she had the first time.
“Never forget though, one of America’s greatest strengths is its diverse collective, the strength of many peoples put together. Those who think they represent America, yet forget that strength, tend to be its weak links. And how weak you are in the face of America, assimilated into the will of something, someone much stronger than yourself, a servant to their beliefs. Your notion of ‘keeping it American,’ if you think about it, might me ‘keeping it obedient to me. And if you think a little more about it, ‘keeping it obedient to me’ would mean you’d already be surrendering yourself to me, now.”
Camille paraphrased the last speech she gave Rogers and Dannon after their first trance, snatching Dannon’s toupee off his head and tossing it on the face of Mrs. Cantor’s sleeping form without reaction from any of them. These older, wealthy, lecherous men were the easiest of the group to take. She only offered them a taste of the dance Teri originally had in mind, but gave them something shown at bachelor parties and such events. The eagle was complimented and gazed at with adoring eyes before either knew what happened to them, isolated from their own thoughts by the feel of silk scarves and libidos the best strippers they’d ever watched couldn’t produce.
Dances made to make men so easily pliable worked like a charm, and like the rest, she queried their expectations for Teri and Carlie. Unfortunately, theirs were the worst, as each had a latent desire to reap sexual favors from the younger girls willing to go as far as engaging in blackmail if she didn’t comply. Before acting on impulses she might regret later on, she asked if the men had done anything like that before. Their answer was all she needed to hear, and she only asked one more thing of them before waking without the memory of their talk.
Camille didn’t even bother giving them one last dance, she just repeated their trigger several times before asking them if they had done as she instructed. Both affirmed they had; the belly-dancer smiled as she gathered her things and the half-aware submissives, preparing to leave the rest of the sleeping adults to their own misgivings. Mrs. Cantor would awaken, naked, embarrassed without her clothes. Her only luck would be if she woke up first, and borrowed some of Mr. Dannon’s wife’s clothes to get home. If one of the men woke before her, there might be some interesting rumors spread about the one of the town’s only dance teachers. It would be bad, but not as bad as the evidence anonymously sent to concerning authorities about past illegalities that they would pay for soon enough.
Penny, Camille’s friend and contact to teaching Teri, made some inquiries on her friend’s behalf, and Teri and Carlie would both have new benefactors, vouched for on behalf of Camille, pre-vetted by Camille as people they could trust with younger dancers. Camille drove a still out-of-it Carlie home to rest, and merely remember a fun night before leaving early. After that, Camille drove Teri to near her house. Instead of making her forget, something told her that Teri at least deserved to know what was going on around, and the steps taken to protect her. Camille let the awakened Teri take in each piece of information with as much time as she needed, shocked by some things, not so shocked by others. The news of new benefactors that Camille could vouch for nearly made her cry, as she hugged Camille in another tight embrace. She was afraid to let go, because after everything that happened, she didn’t want Camille to leave. In a short amount of time, Camille had become one of the most important people in her life. Promises of keeping in contact were reassuring, but weren’t enough for the moment.
“Can I ask you one last favor, before you go?”
“Can you…be my first…..?”
“Teri…” Camille began. “I know I’ve made quite the impression on you. I promise you none of that was meant to feel that way sexually towards me. I’m flattered I became a crush for you, but-”
“Why are you flattered? I could’ve been straight and still turned on by you, I think.”
The two women giggled at Teri’s words. After a while Camille looked at the young woman, thinking what to say, finally settling on one thing.
“Promise me one thing – you’ll never let anyone make you feel bad because of who or what you are on the inside, ever. Take it from someone who’s seen you inside and out, whoever you’re with needs to be great to be deserving of you.”
“That’s one reason why I asked for you,” Teri laughed. “But for the other…promise me one thing.”
“You’ll dance the rest of the night away for me.”
Camille grinned at what Teri really meant as she leaned over to lead Teri’s chin forward to kiss, and moreso when Teri moved over the driver’s side to give Camille a bigger kiss. The drive to the motel was a long wait for both of them, longer for Teri whom wondered if this day would ever really come. Knowing it was real drove the younger bellydancer in a crazed lust, enough to push Camille against the door once they entered together. Teri attempted to empty out all her passion onto her first lover, thoughts of boys she dated and sometimes kissed to keep up appearances in Andersen replaced with requited physical love. Camille could feel errant tears of joy streaming down Teri’s face, which made her push Teri away enough to slow their momentum. Resisting the impulse to laugh at that innocent whine, Camille simply kissed each tear away, before giving her a slow, proper kiss they both relished and moaned into. Camille let that linger before pulling them both away from the door, toward the bed where the dream of them together had started.
“Show me where you want to feel it.”
Teri gasped and smiled, unclasping the bra and unwrapping silken wrap around her waist slowly, trembling as her fingers gripped the elastic of her panties, lowering them until Teri was bare, skin burning in anticipation. She didn’t have to wait long as Camille came forward to hold her hips and trail kisses along her cheeks and face, threading fingers into her caramel hair that smelled as sweet when she got close enough, before she was tempted with puckered lips that started another deep kiss. Teri broke it to bring her lips back to selflessly pleasing, down to the neck and collar bone, down to the valley between her breasts, her nipples being teased with light flicks off Camille’s fingernails before they were kissed and sucked at like she always dreamed of. The surprises continued as she deviated from her breasts to push her torso back onto the bed. Teri looked up to Camille’s face staring at her as if she was waiting for something. When it came, Camille covered Teri’s mouth with her own, silence the reactive gasp as fingers entered her clit, exploring her most intimate area as if she knew what would drive her wild. Fingers trail-blazed further in as tongues and muffled moans collided, the older lover ensuring they didn’t get too loud as she was unsure of how thin the walls there really were.
Weeks of training with instinctive hip movement had Teri moving against Camille’s skilled fingers, finding a shared rhythm that intensified. Rocking against Camille got stronger and stronger and stronger, until Camille stopped abruptly again, on the cusp of the release she needed. Teri gasped wordlessly, loudly, demanding to know with her eyes why the rhythm stopped. Camille answered
“Free yourself and cum.”
Camille’s lips concealed her orgasmic scream as much as she could, not surprised if others could hear, but as aroused as she was, she didn’t really care much. She held Teri as she rode out the heights of her orgasm, and came down softly in comforting arms, her breathing slowing to nearly to a sleeper’s rhythm before Camille brought them up to sitting, and then standing once they both got their strength back.
“Spin for me.”
Teri smiled and closed her eyes while she danced in a circle on her toes, anchored only by the hand that held hers above, listening to irresistible whispers. They informed her about kisses she felt all over her body, licks in places she ached for wet contact, silk material and skin that heated hers, all rewards stemming from the control, the reliance on Camille that Teri gave into without question. She felt the build of another orgasm gradually pick up speed, while her sense of conscious self got lost in the whirlwind. Somewhere along the line, she wasn’t anchored by the hand, and the spinning slowed as she adapted to her next given order.
“Free yourself and make me cum.”
Teri’s queen had returned, and unlike her usual submissive self, felt the need to appear in-control, to entertain like no other could to her authority. She rocked her naked self over Camille, backing away whenever she felt her queen trying to touch. She waved her naked ass before the seated target, knowing instinctively when hand had almost reached her to pinch or slap her. She boldly draped a leg over the bed to expose her arousal to Camille, letting her queen almost get intoxicated at the scent, lusty liquids flowing onto Camille’s lap. It seemed unbelievable that the more inexperienced woman was a better tease than her, but she let her go on a little longer before reminding her
“Free yourself and make. Me. Cum.”
The significant phrasing knocked the momentum out of Teri as her head found its way to the scent of arousal that wasn’t hers. It was heady, like a perfume too-strong in potency, but too-strong to not want more. She buried her face into Camille, loving how a desperate hand grasped the back of hers while hips rocked and Teri endured the ride the whole way, licking for as long as she had air, before a flood of liquid covered her, and the hand released her so she could breathe.
The two lovers looked at each other, sharing a mutual grin, pulling together to kiss each other, waiting to see if they had the strength to go again or fall asleep in each other’s arms, savoring the closeness either way.
That 4th of July held a higher baseline for memorable dances and fireworks than could be compared to whatever the rest of her life had in-store for her, though the passion in Teri would never let her stop trying to surpass it.
She felt she was on a good track just a year later, the following Memorial Day where her hands raised high in the air after her sensual dance, yet another memorial to the passion and connection she felt to dancing and her muse. Her hands didn’t stay up for long, raised only for her to be lowering them to the floor of hers and Carlie’s apartment, kneeling and bowing down before the caramel-haired queen she danced for yet again. It was a moment the blonde bellydancing disciple had been looking forward to for months, but never knowing exactly when it would happen. Teri had changed a great deal, down to the pixish hair cut that suit her, but was happy to see nothing had changed in Camille’s form or approval.
Teri and Carlie soon moved away from Andersen once the new benefactors started to invest in them, and before the controversies around their previous benefactors started to arise. They were both rising stars in the world of dance, particularly belly-dancing, occasionally getting tips from pros whose guidance they loved getting. Teri, prostrated before her first great love, had so much to thank Camille for, and inform her about her success and the feelings she was staring to develop for her roommate, and how Teri thought Carlie was starting to feel the same.
Camille would be happy to hear everything Teri would tell her, and may even help finding how Carlie really felt about Teri, confirming what she felt when she saw the two young women together. But that night, she was only interested in rewarding the devotion her harem girl showed her, bending to touch Teri’s head, urging her up, touching her face and chin, preparing to dance for her, and leave her mind spinning yet again.
“Happy Memorial Day Teri, you still please Camille so. And just like last and maybe this in-dependence day,” Camille seductively stressed her words, kissing her former student, “you’ll eagerly free yourself to me.”