"The brochure the school handed me said you were taught how to dance."
"Yes, Mr. Veradux. My- Gray One's lessons included ballroom dancing." Not that you were good at the ballroom dancing lessons, but you paid attention at least. Wait, the charm school had child slave brochures?
"How about ballet?" There is another awkward silence. Motes of dust drift around in the beam of light coming from the second story window. The open door creaks as it swings slowly.
"No, Mr. Veradux."
"No worries, Gray One. My facilities will provide all the direction you need. Let's get you into uniform, shall we?" The top drawer of a lovely walnut nightstand glides open in smooth, well-oiled silence. Mr. Veradux takes out a pair of white tights and unfolds it in front of you. The garment dangles limply, tiny and not yet stretched out by anyone's legs. It can't be any worse than the girly stockings you've dealt with before, except-
"Mr. Veradux, is there underwear for this garment?"
His lips widen into a smile, in the exact way someone who considers laughing to be undignified would. "This IS the underwear, my dear boy! Yes, you are correct in that big boys must wear a padded dance belt to hide their..." His eyes glance down to your crotch. Somehow, you can feel the air on it more vigorously than you could a moment before. "You know what I refer to. This firm padding stops anything untoward from slipping out during a performance. But that only happens to big boys with big problems, and you have a small, thin, humble little... body." He lifts one of your legs and prepares to fit the tights on it. "A little boy should have no trouble at all."
The slide of fabric on skin is familiar to you, yet somehow this feels... nicer than the stockings you wore at charm school. Your toes settle into the ends of the tights without finding any stitching to rub on you. Mr. Veradux pulls the tights up with slight, careful tugging meant to avoid causing runs. Just watching this happen is making your breath catch and your heart beat faster. The slight breeze passes through the nylons, caressing your skin in a way you haven't felt before. Large hands let go of the tights above your hips; the fabric turns snug around you and-
"A-aaaahn..."
It's like your penis has spent three weeks in Hell, only to suddenly punch through the roof and end up in Heaven. The cold steel you're so used to is a rapidly fading memory, replaced by a soft and silky surface. Your soft little dick is cradled inside a stretchy surface which wraps over you harmlessly; twisting your hips slightly causes your penis to-
"AAAHN..."
A soft brushing sensation hits you as your cock slides into the gap of your left thigh. It's like a sparkling sea of stars is filling your crotch and spreading out through your whole body. You feel a throb, and another, and another... fear stops your heart for a moment as you watch your erection grow, only to remember that the cage is long gone by now. The staccato expansion of your penis rubs into the stretchy fabric, stimulating you even more as your boner greedily grows to full mast under the tights. You continue to sway your hips just to keep that feeling going, not noticing or caring that you've gone pigeon-toed, or even that Mr. Veradux is reaching behind you-
"MMM-MMN!" Twitch, twitch. You clench your loins. Not yet. Not like this.
"You are quite sensitive down there, aren't you?" Your owner gently shifts your penis out of the thigh gap it was stuck in, resting it flat on your belly like a prized jewel. You find yourself obligated to watch him without resistance as he pokes at the bulge under your tights; in return, he doesn't stop you from twitching and shivering at his touch. "It is good to know my drone is fully functional in every way which matters," he says. "However! This is barely half of a uniform."
Mr. Veradux looms over you with an uncanny warmth as he helps you into a plain black, sleeveless leotard with an open scooped back, the exact kind of dance wear someone would wear during a practice session. The crotch of the leotard pulls up snug over your nutsack, cupping and supporting you softly. Your belly and nipples are covered up by smooth, shiny Lycra, leaving the slightest of bumps under its surface. As you let him guide your arms through the shoulder straps, your lust-clouded mind dimly notices that none of this clothing has had tags or brand name logos so far. Is it really all custom just for you?
"NNGH!" Twitch.
The thought is blasted out of your mind when Mr. Veradux cups your swaddled balls with one hand and gives them a firm grope! Your penis barely had time to start flagging before his brazen move fully hardened you once more! Teeth gritted, you lift off of your heels and balance on the balls of your feet just to stop yourself from cumming too early. Mr. Veradux is having none of this, and he places the palm of his other hand on the top of your head to roughly push you down to a flat-footed stance again. Holding you in an impractical yet socially indomitable grip, he leans in close with that same wealthy smirk and whispers a single word of command:
"Kneel."
You don't have to even make the effort, because your owner's palm guides you to the ground in a single smooth motion. Your kneecaps ache on the hard floorboards. Warmth covers your forehead as it presses into Mr. Veradux's belly.
...Wait, why is he reaching behind you?
Your stocking feet are firmly surrounded from toe to heel. It's... tight, really tight. You can feel Mr. Veradux twisting whatever it is around your ankles, wrapping around your calves and tying each of them with a small bow.
"Stand up and take a look, Gray One."
You do so. A pair of shining black ballet slippers have been slipped onto you. The ribbons are firm around your calves... is that satin? Leather soles rest comfortably on the floor. This is unfamiliar territory for you...
"Yes, Gray One, those are pointe shoes. Boys are normally too heavy to perform pointe ballet without eventually injuring their feet from the strain. You, however... you're small and light, and if the brochure told the truth you'll stay small and light, won't you?"
"This one does not know. Gray One has never seen the brochure."
This gets a laughing outburst out of Mr. Veradux! "I thought not. Let us complete the look, shall we?" Your owner opens a sandalwood box. You see a glint of silver and the dull shine of onyx inside. Humming to himself as if this was the most normal thing in the world, Mr. Veradux slides a simple, beautiful tiara onto your head. You feel an electric sensation run down your body, and the uniform is complete.
"Come with me, Gray One."
Your owner steps through the door and motions for you to follow. You feel a tingling in your calf and thigh muscles. This puzzles you for a moment, but then the tingling increases to a burning, and then a massive cramp which is impossible to ignore!
"Yes, my preferred method of control is different from your school's woo-woo spiritual claptrap. It will not hurt as long as you do not resist it for more than a moment. Nothing to worry about, Gray One, this will fill in all the gaps your school left in your education!"
The burning fades the moment you begin walking. Electric impulses guide your body as you walk along with your owner, playing a game of hot and cold with your limbs. Within minutes, your clumsy, childlike gait is replaced with a smooth and dignified stroll, swaying your arms slowly and walking with one foot right in front of the other, following an invisible line. Your neck and back are straight, and your hips... Mr. Veradux has to know what he's doing with your hips, he just has to. Every step is causing your silky-smooth uniform to rub against your unrestrained cock, a constant subtle reminder that your servitude is nowhere near as strict as it could be. You've been hard for a while- tenting the front of your tights as much as your toylike length can manage- yet you're not getting sore or even uncomfortable. Why is your body capable of this?
"Here we are," says Mr. Veradux as he leads you into his estate's kitchen. The pristine tile floors and the whirring of powerful vent hood fans imply just how many people this man intends to host at the same time. For now, though, the place is empty other than him and yourself. Only a few coats and hats on a rack near the entryway imply that the place has culinary staff.
"Might as well treat ourselves. Make us two Shirley Temples, hmm? Nothing hard, you need no assistance with that." You needed no electric prompting to start mixing the drinks, but the tiara's guidance does point you to the correct fruit juices- you aren't exactly a mixologist, after all. You find your owner leaning on the kitchen island when you hand him his drink. "Thank you, Gray One. I would like to offer you some reassurance, in what MUST be a very disorienting time."
"Please, Mr. Veradux."
You watch him sip his drink slowly. He waits your you to taste your own before he continues. "In this estate, we have standards. Believe it or not, I have no intention of taking advantage of you... like that." Your throat catches on the cold drink, and you take a moment to stop yourself from spitting. "Yes, what a shocker, a millionaire and an owner of indentured servants who does NOT casually defile their lessers. My interests lie elsewhere, Gray One. Put down that drink for a moment and show me Position One."
Position One WHAT? Your ignorance does not matter, because as soon as your set your glass aside the electrical impulses guide you into it; legs together, feet spread out, hands on your hips, face forward.
"The arts are dying, Gray One. Painting, sculpting, and yes, dance. It is all in... stasis. Perhaps idle rich such as myself are to blame? Position Two!"
He watches you stand in a wide stance with your arms spread out and your knees bent. This does little to make you less aware of your cock bulge. "I intend to reverse this trend, boy. Dance, even ballet, can be more than recycling centuries old scripts. With a squad of perfectly obedient dancers such as yourself, I have the perfect test bed for my ideas. Position Three!" You cross your feet in front of each other and hold both arms to one side. "Perform well, and you'll have a whole troupe of dancers alongside you, making history. Position Four!"
You take one step forward and raise one arm. Mr. Veradux finishes his glass and sets it aside, ice cubes slowly spinning. "Leave me unimpressed, and I'll find some other way to extract my money's worth from you. Position Five!" You step back to a cross-legged position and raise both hands, looking exactly how you imagine a ballet dancer would. What does he mean by that? Could you stop him? How would you even stop him when he controls your entire muscular system? You need to think, but the throbbing and twitching of your uncaged penis is like war drums pounding in your head. So sensitive...
"And... Grand Battement!" With one more step, you lean forward on one leg, raise the other behind your back and reach for the stars. Despite the violation of your bodily autonomy, you really do feel graceful right now. Mr. Veradux claps once, that upper-class smirk growing on his face again. "Perfect, your hand-eye co-ordination is acceptable so far. The school has not failed me yet, and neither have you. Say... Gray One, how would you enjoy a reward?"
"Yes, please, Mr. Vera-."
"Kneel."
You do so.
"Finish yourself."
You look from side to side, not quite understanding the command. The silver tiara is heavier on your head than the thin metal looks like it would be.
He sighs. "Masturbate, Gray One. For your own sake."
"...Right here?" Your arms tingle. The spotless white tiles make your knees ache. Your arms begin to burn. A blush floods your face with heat.
"This order coincides with your own self-interest, relish it. Unless you would rather I gave more prosaic commands?"
"...Yes, Mr. Veradux."
Any doubt at your orders disappears the moment you touch yourself. A galaxy of stars tingles in the center of your being, not just from the soft fabric but from your own hands, intimate in the first time since... you can't remember the last time. Leaning back and thrusting your hips forwards increases the pressure on your cock just enough to make it really fun. Softened and sensitized by weeks of deprivation, it only takes moments before
"A-aaAAAN~"
The stars become supernovas
Large and bright and only there for a fleeting, glorious moment
And you cum.
...At least you thought you did? You're twitching and throbbing and bucking like mad, yet your uniform remains dry. Of course it would... of course your ensorcelled body doesn't jizz, even in the throes of orgasm. Why would it? You have plenty of time to keep on jerking yourself off before Mr. Veradux stops you with a firm hand on your shoulder.
"That is enough, boy. Though your life will lack freedom, it has gained glory, not to mention more creature comforts. Let us get you rested properly, shall we? The star of the show needs to be in top condition if he is going to impress me."