SCD Fic: Balance
***
So whilst watching Strictly Come Dancing, dreamersdare sends me a text. It goes like this:
dreamersdare: Darcey just called Craig ‘the boy’. My usual aversion to scd fic does not include domme Darcey. Just wanted to throw that out there.
kat_lair: lol lol darcey/gleb femdom with heels, trampling and cbt?
dreamersdare: Yes please, thank you very much
kat_lair:
Title: Balance
Author: Mistress Kat / kat_lair
Fandom: Strictly Come Dancing RPF
Pairing: Darcey Bussell/Gleb Savchenko
Warnings/Enticements: Femdom, trampling, cbt, shoe/foot fetish, face sitting.
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1,729
Disclaimer: Not true, just playing. Suspend all sense of reality.
Summary: “Gleb,” she says. “How…” She trails off, letting her smile widen, and her eyes travel the long line of him from head to toe and back again. ‘Unexpected’ is the wrong word to use because this isn’t that, not really. She settles on: “…pleasing,” instead.
Author notes: dreamersdare: enjoy. Everyone else: not even a little sorry.
He calls her ‘Madam’, sometimes ‘My Lady’, smiling in a way that suggests there’s more to it than just the overly formal speech patterns of someone who’s trying to negotiate social niceties in a language not their own. Darcey notices it but doesn’t think too much of it. He’s not the first, and he won’t be the last, and she’s doesn’t feel like putting in the effort to pursue anything further.
Pretty as he is to watch.
Turns out, she doesn’t have to though.
***
The knock on her dressing room door comes almost a full hour after the show. Frankly, Darcey is surprised anyone even knows she’s still here and half expects it to be a member of the cleaning staff politely asking her to vacate the premises. She closes her laptop lid with a sharp click - work emails being the reason for delayed departure - and gets up to open the door.
The half-formed apology dies on her lips when she sees who’s behind it though.
“Madam,” he says - a greeting and acknowledgement in one - and then nothing else. His face is angled down but his gaze keeps flitting up, almost but not quite reaching her face at every pass.
It takes an embarrassingly long time for Darcey to realise he’s waiting for a permission to speak, but when she does, the heat of it curls inside her; tight and tempting. There have been boys in the past who’ve made the mistake of thinking that waiting naked for her in her dressing room would be appealing. It’s not that she doesn’t like initiative - she appreciates it very much in certain circumstances - but something like that is just presumptuous. As if all they had to do was show up.
Foolish that.
This one though…
“Gleb,” she says. “How…” She trails off, letting her smile widen, and her eyes travel the long line of him from head to toe and back again. ‘Unexpected’ is the wrong word to use because this isn’t that, not really. She settles on: “…pleasing,” instead. “Come in,” she continues but doesn’t move aside so that he needs to brush right against her as he enters the room.
‘Pleasing’ is starting to look like an excellent choice of words.
Gleb has come to a standstill in the middle of floor, and Darcey walks around him until they are face to face. Even with her heels on, the height difference is still there but she’s never been bothered about looking up at people.
“Madam,” Gleb starts again, bringing his hands behind his back like he’s drawing strength from clasping his own wrist. He’s still wearing the barely there shirt from the show and the way it stretches over his chest is most appealing indeed. “May I ask for…” He falters, breathes for a moment.
Darcey lets him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the minute twitching of his arms.
“May I ask?” he finally finishes.
Darcey smiles. “Ask then,” she tells him.
He folds to his knees so quickly, so smoothly, it’s like water flowing from a vessel and the energy of it fills her up, makes her stand taller, breathe deeper, expanding like the universe; immense with power. He keeps on falling until his forehead touches the ground in front of her feet, his hands tight against the small of his back still.
The request comes out in halting words and broken sentences, not because he isn’t sure of what he wants but because he has so clearly never had to ask for it in English. He needs this, please, been so long since he’s seen his own Madam, she has told him to ask, to be good, he so wants to be good, has no right to ask but maybe, please, if she would just, hurt him, yes, he…
She lets him talk himself out until he starts shaking and then she puts one of her feet against his neck, heel digging into the vulnerable flesh at the side of it, so close to the jugular that were she to lose her balance, there would be blood.
Of course, Darcey Bussell has done no such thing as losing her balance for decades now.
“Agreed,” she says after a full minute of silence and Gleb shudders out a sob, going boneless with the relief. “A foot rub first though, I think.”
She pulls up a chair and sits down, watching as Gleb scrambles back to his knees, tentatively reaching for her feet. He asks for permission to remove her shoes and then takes care to place them neatly aside, heels aligned. Someone has trained him well and Darcey is intrigued to find just how far that training goes.
Gleb is good with his hands, digging his thumbs in hard to the arch of her feet, but any dancer worth his salt will learn how to give a foot massage sooner or later. “Can I?” he asks and when Darcey nods he rubs his face against the sole of her feet with a deep moan, lips catching wetly against her skin, the bulge between his spread knees growing noticeably.
Darcey presses the toes of her other foot against his erection, just a quick teasing nudge, and he shudders; a full body quake and a string of broken Russian that makes her regret their location which means she can’t make him scream as loud as she’d like.
“Shoes back on,” she instructs after her feet are thoroughly massaged and Gleb’s face has slackened, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused.
She’s not fully wet, not yet, but when she gets back to her feet she feels herself clenching at the sight of him and hums in anticipation.
He looks up at her, head tilted back, and she slaps him once, hard, the red mark blossoming on his face and making it even more beautiful. “On your back now,” she says, planting her foot in the middle of his chest and pushing until he sprawls down, helpless and so very turned on.
“What do we have here?” She hums again, contemplative, tracing the outline of his cock through his trousers with the tip of her shoe. He bucks up to it, moaning, and she presses in harder, just for a moment, just to hear him gasp.
“Gleb,” she says, voice gone rough with lust. “Gleb, get your trousers open and let me hurt you now.”
He scrambles to obey, hands shaking, and that pleases her almost as much as the sight of his cock, well-proportioned and hard, curving slightly to the left. Gleb pushes his trousers down mid-thigh, his legs still trapped but able to spread enough that Darcey has full access to his balls, drawn tight already.
“There we go,” she says with deep satisfaction and pushes his cock down against his belly with her shoe, heel pressed snuck against his perineum, barely enough room for his testicles on either side. She’s careful, but merciless, and he arches off the ground, silent and gorgeous in his agony.
She makes him dance with pain and pleasure; digging a heel to his thigh hard enough to bruise, dragging the smooth leather of her shoe against the underside of his cock until he’s humping against it, a trail of precome glistening in the overhead lights.
She is definitely wet now, can smell herself as well as him, her pussy throbbing in time to his groans. She wasn’t at all sure if she’d let him come when they started this, but she wants to see it now. With a grin that is more teeth than anything else Darcey kicks off her shoes.
“Say thank you,” she tells him as she puts her foot on him again, his cock blood hot against the bare skin of her soles.
“Thank you, thank you, spasiba, oh, please, thank you…” He’s babbling, his lovely dark hair matted with sweat, his cock slippery with precome as he fucks himself into the hard arch of her foot.
“Come on then, good boy, there you go…” She coaxes him through his orgasm, soaking through her own underwear now as he watches him writhe and cry and come all over her feet and his own stomach, long white streaks obscene against their skin.
He’s still trembling when she tells him to clean up, rubbing her soiled foot against his open mouth, sighing with pleasure as Gleb’s tongue obediently starts licking; long slow strokes from heel to toe, soft kisses on top of her foot. Very well trained, indeed, she thinks.
“Now then,” she says after he’s done and just lying there; a dazed look of satisfaction on his face. She shimmies out of her underwear, hitching her dress up as she places a foot on each side of his head. “Say thank you again.”
She’s pretty sure he does, but it comes out muffled. Darcey straddles him without hesitation, thighs keeping his head still as she rubs herself against his face. Gleb’s hands come up to steady her waist and she allows it because his mouth closes of her clit, tongue flat and strong sweeping over it again and again, and then into her, deep and agile. She rides his face, fucks herself on it, fingers clenched in his hair, barely rising off enough to let him breathe. She comes long and hard and satisfying, choking him with her release, both of them wet and shuddering.
His mouth looks bruised, after as Darcey eases herself backwards, sitting on his chest. He’s panting and pliant as she strokes his cheek. It was good, for both of them, and Gleb looks about hundred times less tense than when he arrived. After a while Darcey stands up and helps him to sit, getting some water into him and carding her fingers through his hair until he seems steady enough to leave.
He says thank you again, polite and well trained but also genuine. Rare enough quality that, and one she appreciates. It’s what makes her stop him just as he’s about to step out of the door.
“Gleb,” she says, rising on tiptoe to brush a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “If you wish… You may ask again.”
He blinks at her, surprised, but the grin spreading over his face lets her know that she can expect him behind her door soon enough.
Darcey rather finds herself looking forward to it.
***
So whilst watching Strictly Come Dancing, dreamersdare sends me a text. It goes like this:
dreamersdare: Darcey just called Craig ‘the boy’. My usual aversion to scd fic does not include domme Darcey. Just wanted to throw that out there.
kat_lair: lol lol darcey/gleb femdom with heels, trampling and cbt?
dreamersdare: Yes please, thank you very much
kat_lair:
Title: Balance
Author: Mistress Kat / kat_lair
Fandom: Strictly Come Dancing RPF
Pairing: Darcey Bussell/Gleb Savchenko
Warnings/Enticements: Femdom, trampling, cbt, shoe/foot fetish, face sitting.
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1,729
Disclaimer: Not true, just playing. Suspend all sense of reality.
Summary: “Gleb,” she says. “How…” She trails off, letting her smile widen, and her eyes travel the long line of him from head to toe and back again. ‘Unexpected’ is the wrong word to use because this isn’t that, not really. She settles on: “…pleasing,” instead.
Author notes: dreamersdare: enjoy. Everyone else: not even a little sorry.
He calls her ‘Madam’, sometimes ‘My Lady’, smiling in a way that suggests there’s more to it than just the overly formal speech patterns of someone who’s trying to negotiate social niceties in a language not their own. Darcey notices it but doesn’t think too much of it. He’s not the first, and he won’t be the last, and she’s doesn’t feel like putting in the effort to pursue anything further.
Pretty as he is to watch.
Turns out, she doesn’t have to though.
***
The knock on her dressing room door comes almost a full hour after the show. Frankly, Darcey is surprised anyone even knows she’s still here and half expects it to be a member of the cleaning staff politely asking her to vacate the premises. She closes her laptop lid with a sharp click - work emails being the reason for delayed departure - and gets up to open the door.
The half-formed apology dies on her lips when she sees who’s behind it though.
“Madam,” he says - a greeting and acknowledgement in one - and then nothing else. His face is angled down but his gaze keeps flitting up, almost but not quite reaching her face at every pass.
It takes an embarrassingly long time for Darcey to realise he’s waiting for a permission to speak, but when she does, the heat of it curls inside her; tight and tempting. There have been boys in the past who’ve made the mistake of thinking that waiting naked for her in her dressing room would be appealing. It’s not that she doesn’t like initiative - she appreciates it very much in certain circumstances - but something like that is just presumptuous. As if all they had to do was show up.
Foolish that.
This one though…
“Gleb,” she says. “How…” She trails off, letting her smile widen, and her eyes travel the long line of him from head to toe and back again. ‘Unexpected’ is the wrong word to use because this isn’t that, not really. She settles on: “…pleasing,” instead. “Come in,” she continues but doesn’t move aside so that he needs to brush right against her as he enters the room.
‘Pleasing’ is starting to look like an excellent choice of words.
Gleb has come to a standstill in the middle of floor, and Darcey walks around him until they are face to face. Even with her heels on, the height difference is still there but she’s never been bothered about looking up at people.
“Madam,” Gleb starts again, bringing his hands behind his back like he’s drawing strength from clasping his own wrist. He’s still wearing the barely there shirt from the show and the way it stretches over his chest is most appealing indeed. “May I ask for…” He falters, breathes for a moment.
Darcey lets him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the minute twitching of his arms.
“May I ask?” he finally finishes.
Darcey smiles. “Ask then,” she tells him.
He folds to his knees so quickly, so smoothly, it’s like water flowing from a vessel and the energy of it fills her up, makes her stand taller, breathe deeper, expanding like the universe; immense with power. He keeps on falling until his forehead touches the ground in front of her feet, his hands tight against the small of his back still.
The request comes out in halting words and broken sentences, not because he isn’t sure of what he wants but because he has so clearly never had to ask for it in English. He needs this, please, been so long since he’s seen his own Madam, she has told him to ask, to be good, he so wants to be good, has no right to ask but maybe, please, if she would just, hurt him, yes, he…
She lets him talk himself out until he starts shaking and then she puts one of her feet against his neck, heel digging into the vulnerable flesh at the side of it, so close to the jugular that were she to lose her balance, there would be blood.
Of course, Darcey Bussell has done no such thing as losing her balance for decades now.
“Agreed,” she says after a full minute of silence and Gleb shudders out a sob, going boneless with the relief. “A foot rub first though, I think.”
She pulls up a chair and sits down, watching as Gleb scrambles back to his knees, tentatively reaching for her feet. He asks for permission to remove her shoes and then takes care to place them neatly aside, heels aligned. Someone has trained him well and Darcey is intrigued to find just how far that training goes.
Gleb is good with his hands, digging his thumbs in hard to the arch of her feet, but any dancer worth his salt will learn how to give a foot massage sooner or later. “Can I?” he asks and when Darcey nods he rubs his face against the sole of her feet with a deep moan, lips catching wetly against her skin, the bulge between his spread knees growing noticeably.
Darcey presses the toes of her other foot against his erection, just a quick teasing nudge, and he shudders; a full body quake and a string of broken Russian that makes her regret their location which means she can’t make him scream as loud as she’d like.
“Shoes back on,” she instructs after her feet are thoroughly massaged and Gleb’s face has slackened, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused.
She’s not fully wet, not yet, but when she gets back to her feet she feels herself clenching at the sight of him and hums in anticipation.
He looks up at her, head tilted back, and she slaps him once, hard, the red mark blossoming on his face and making it even more beautiful. “On your back now,” she says, planting her foot in the middle of his chest and pushing until he sprawls down, helpless and so very turned on.
“What do we have here?” She hums again, contemplative, tracing the outline of his cock through his trousers with the tip of her shoe. He bucks up to it, moaning, and she presses in harder, just for a moment, just to hear him gasp.
“Gleb,” she says, voice gone rough with lust. “Gleb, get your trousers open and let me hurt you now.”
He scrambles to obey, hands shaking, and that pleases her almost as much as the sight of his cock, well-proportioned and hard, curving slightly to the left. Gleb pushes his trousers down mid-thigh, his legs still trapped but able to spread enough that Darcey has full access to his balls, drawn tight already.
“There we go,” she says with deep satisfaction and pushes his cock down against his belly with her shoe, heel pressed snuck against his perineum, barely enough room for his testicles on either side. She’s careful, but merciless, and he arches off the ground, silent and gorgeous in his agony.
She makes him dance with pain and pleasure; digging a heel to his thigh hard enough to bruise, dragging the smooth leather of her shoe against the underside of his cock until he’s humping against it, a trail of precome glistening in the overhead lights.
She is definitely wet now, can smell herself as well as him, her pussy throbbing in time to his groans. She wasn’t at all sure if she’d let him come when they started this, but she wants to see it now. With a grin that is more teeth than anything else Darcey kicks off her shoes.
“Say thank you,” she tells him as she puts her foot on him again, his cock blood hot against the bare skin of her soles.
“Thank you, thank you, spasiba, oh, please, thank you…” He’s babbling, his lovely dark hair matted with sweat, his cock slippery with precome as he fucks himself into the hard arch of her foot.
“Come on then, good boy, there you go…” She coaxes him through his orgasm, soaking through her own underwear now as he watches him writhe and cry and come all over her feet and his own stomach, long white streaks obscene against their skin.
He’s still trembling when she tells him to clean up, rubbing her soiled foot against his open mouth, sighing with pleasure as Gleb’s tongue obediently starts licking; long slow strokes from heel to toe, soft kisses on top of her foot. Very well trained, indeed, she thinks.
“Now then,” she says after he’s done and just lying there; a dazed look of satisfaction on his face. She shimmies out of her underwear, hitching her dress up as she places a foot on each side of his head. “Say thank you again.”
She’s pretty sure he does, but it comes out muffled. Darcey straddles him without hesitation, thighs keeping his head still as she rubs herself against his face. Gleb’s hands come up to steady her waist and she allows it because his mouth closes of her clit, tongue flat and strong sweeping over it again and again, and then into her, deep and agile. She rides his face, fucks herself on it, fingers clenched in his hair, barely rising off enough to let him breathe. She comes long and hard and satisfying, choking him with her release, both of them wet and shuddering.
His mouth looks bruised, after as Darcey eases herself backwards, sitting on his chest. He’s panting and pliant as she strokes his cheek. It was good, for both of them, and Gleb looks about hundred times less tense than when he arrived. After a while Darcey stands up and helps him to sit, getting some water into him and carding her fingers through his hair until he seems steady enough to leave.
He says thank you again, polite and well trained but also genuine. Rare enough quality that, and one she appreciates. It’s what makes her stop him just as he’s about to step out of the door.
“Gleb,” she says, rising on tiptoe to brush a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “If you wish… You may ask again.”
He blinks at her, surprised, but the grin spreading over his face lets her know that she can expect him behind her door soon enough.
Darcey rather finds herself looking forward to it.
***