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cherripieee · 14 days ago

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OMGGG THIS IS AMAZINGGGGGGGG

hella good - t.d.

contains: nsfw. 4.7k words, workplace rivalry, ballet teacher!fem!reader x jazzfunk teacher!tashi, intoxication (alcohol), reader is sort of stuck up and tashi puts her in her place, f!receiving oral, fingering, pussy slapping, not rlly degradation but tashi talks down to reader a lot, the smalllllest bit of impact play

notes: i've had this fic in my drafts for AAAAAGES i just got so scared of writing the smut. umm plz give me tips if this isnt good I rlly wanna learn hwo to write it... shoutout ty ( @forgetmenotnympho ) for helping me w transitions GAWD BLESS!!!!!! ya this dynamic was super fun to write so i hope u enjoyyyy :) btw the instrumental song when tash and reader and sessioning is agora hills instrumental Oh ts heat

taglist: @girliism, @imperishablereverie, @faiztheap, @musingsofheaven, @yardofbrunettes, @forgetmenotnympho, @sweetheartfaist, @sweetestfaiszts, @hangels . click here to be added !

listen while you read

The soft lilting melody of a piano version of some random pop song played on the speakers, and you watch in satisfaction as all your students plié in sync, and with ease. You’ve trained them well, you know that, and it fills you with pride to watch their every movement, graceful and put together. The music ceases and you nod, dismissing them for a short water break. You’re leaning against the barre, scrolling through songs to play for across-the-floor when you hear it.

Loud music, blaring, shooting into your ears and electrifying your soul. It’s angry and thrashy, and for some reason, it just makes you mad. Pisses you off to no end. You set your phone down and mutter some vague combination for your students to do as you leave the studio, heading down the hallway to the bigger studio.

It’s empty, save for one person, dancing in the center of the room. Her baggy t-shirt slips off one shoulder, revealing golden brown skin, and her curls were flying wildly in the air, as if attacking someone. She dances with a jagged edge, like wielding a weapon, her body angular as she kicks and drags her feet around. There’s worn holes at the heels of her half-soles, threadbare from usage. She’s moving flowy like water one second and sharp like the edge of a blade the next. It’s mesmerizing. It’s horrible. It’s beautiful.

You’re so engrossed in watching her movements that you nearly forget what you were here to do in the first place. Plastering a scowl across your face as you knock your knuckles against the doorframe, you wait for her to take notice. She pauses in her movements, a slight frown on her face as she crosses the room to pause the music. You’re dressed in your leotard and tights, hair pulled back in a tight bun, soft cardigan covering your shoulders. You don’t seem exactly well-equipped to be one of her students. “Can I help you?” she asks, leaning her hip against the sound system.

You bite your lip and look over her. She’s breathing hard from exertion, her skin glowy with a sheen of sweat. She tugs the shoulder of her shirt back up, adjusting the waistband of her basketball shorts. “Your music is too loud,” you say coolly.

She raises her eyebrows, laughing a bit. “Is it?” she counters, checking her phone. “What, you don’t fuck with No Doubt?”

You purse your lips and shake your head stiffly, looking out into the lobby. “Language. There’s kids here,” you chastise gently, though it’s obvious that you’re frustrated. You’ve never been good with secrets.

She leans closer, a smug grin on her lips. “There aren’t. I’ve checked the schedule. It’s just the senior Ballet class, and then my senior class.” She cocks her head, looking you up and down. You feel exposed under her scrutinizing gaze, face flushing. “You’re the Ballet teacher, huh? I’m Tashi. I’m new. Jazz Funk.”

You resist the urge to scoff. Jazz Funk. Barely even a style, not even recognized in the majority of the competitions that your studio went to. You just saw it as an excuse to shake ass onstage without getting in trouble. You were a firm believer in the foundations of dance– Ballet, Jazz, Tap, the like, not all this new fusion stuff. “Jazz Funk,” you repeat, voice dripping with condescension. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Tashi, and since you’re new, I won’t put this on file. But please don’t have your music cut into my class time.”

Tashi’s smile drops a bit. Just barely, at the corners, but you notice, and it fills you with pride. “You’re kidding, right?” she laughs, stepping closer to you. She’s taller than you, and when she towers over you, her curls get in your face. She smells good. “My music being loud doesn’t cut into your class time. Just close the door.”

You press your lips into a thin line, eyes narrowing. “Let’s compromise,” you offer, wanting to get back to your class. “Turn it down. And I’ll close the door. Win-win.” You wait for her response, trying to ignore the heady scent of her floral perfume and the way it invades your senses, invoking an odd feeling in your stomach.

She rolls her eyes, and the feeling in your stomach just turns to annoyance. “Fine,” she relents, storming back over to the speaker and dialing the volume down, making a big show of it. “You happy?”

You can’t help but sneer, your lip pulling back as you watch her make a dramatic production of just turning down the volume. “Ecstatic,” you grit out, shutting the door behind you as you head back to your class.

You re-enter your studio, trying to regain the sense of calm that had dissipated when Tashi’s music had started playing, watching as your students do waltzes across the floor. Perfect and pristine, not a toe out of line. Just like you expected, and what you craved. Outside, Tashi’s music begins playing again. Loud and blaring. You grit your jaw and close the door.

Your class has ended, and you watch as your students all file off to change for Tashi’s class. Some skip changing altogether, just pulling on a pair of baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt over their leotard, while others wait in line for the changing room. You hear the same song playing from the studio and watch from the doorway as she begins teaching.

Your students have taken their hair out from stiff buns, and you watch as they laugh and whip their hair around, showing a completely different side than you usually see in your ballet class. It’s odd to see them, going from uptight to relaxed in a matter of seconds, just in a switch of teachers. They hoot and holler as Tashi shows the combination she’s teaching, whistling when she freestyles, and you watch warily. You can’t help the sting of dejection when you see the absolute glee on your student’s faces as they learn from her, the studio filled with laughter and chatter. Nothing like the calm silence of your class. You just huff and turn away, settling behind the front desk and beginning your work on social media. It was just a different genre. That’s all.

Her class gets out after an hour, and you’re giving your students a small smile as a goodbye as they file out of the studio, leaving just you and Tashi. You’re finishing up your work behind the front desk when she emerges from the changing rooms, changed out of her sweaty t-shirt and shorts and in a more comfortable looking outfit of wide-legged sweatpants and a pale green tank top. She’s not wearing a bra, and you can tell by the way her nipples poke out from the thin fabric of her tank top. You focus your gaze back onto your laptop, face flushed.

“Hey.” She’s parked right in front of you, leaning over the counter. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, swooping just along the nape of her neck. “Listen, I think we started off on the wrong foot,” Tashi says quietly, her warm brown eyes connecting with yours. “And I don’t wanna start a new job like this.”

You nod warily in agreement, watching her every move like a hawk hunting prey. “Are you proposing a solution?”

She snorts, shaking her head, and you frown. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I swear. I’ve just… never met anyone who talks like you.” She brushes a strand of hair out of her face, a confident smile spreading across her lips. “Let’s just reset, huh? Blank slate.”

You’re nodding so much you feel like a bobblehead, a little too entranced by the way her lashes flutter at you and how the smell of her sweat mixes with the scent of her perfume. “Blank slate,” you agree. You close your laptop and stand up, sliding the device into your tote bag as you begin turning off the lights. “Welcome to the studio, Tashi.”

She grins at you, and you can see the gleam of her teeth through the darkness. She looks almost too smug. “It’s good to be here.” With her last words, she leaves, but not before brushing up against your arm gently, leaving the door swinging in her wake.

It’s been two months since she started working there, alongside you, and somehow, she’s only gotten on your nerves even more. Her music is always blasting obnoxiously loud, making your ballet dancers distracted with the prospect of what she’s teaching next. It’s always some sort of sensual pop, Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera. Despite the animosity, you always found yourself staying back after your class had finished, finding excuses for staying late just to watch her dance. The way her back arches tantalizingly as she slides across the wooden floor, or how her shorts ride low on her hips as she kicks her leg up high, performing a seamless developpé. Hmph. Your developpé is better.

Finally, her music pauses, and you sigh, preparing to flick off the light switch when a new song starts playing. Something a bit slower, still with sharp snares and a synth beat, but it’s different than her usual stuff. You peek in through the door to check on her, watching her improv with amazing musicality. It’s Turn Off The Light by Nelly Furtado– still in the same realm as her other pieces, but there’s something darker and more sincere in the way she moves, not just shaking ass.

You’re hypnotized watching her, jaw dropping as her ballet technique begins to show. A perfect pique turn into a back attitude, that leads her into a forward roll. She’s not just dancing to the music, she’s creating it. And you’re not sure what turns you on more, her shirt riding up to reveal her black lace bra, or the eighteen perfect fouettés she executes. You count them all.

Tashi catches your eyes as she keeps dancing, but instead of freezing up and stopping, she only seems to push herself harder, small pants escaping her lips as she exerts herself to her full potential, leaping higher than you could ever imagine. Jesus, her calves… the way she moves across the floor with such confidence and grace, and utter sexual magnetism. You need to close your jaw.

The music fades, she’s laying on her back, chest heaving as she gulps down deep breaths. You’re watching the rise and fall of her body, the way her dark eyes land on you, watching, unblinking. You feel like a perv for snooping in on such a clearly intimate moment, and you turn away, ready to close–

“Stay.” Her voice is sharp and demanding, and you turn back around. Tashi’s beckoning for you to enter the studio, an eyebrow raised. “C’mon. Let’s session.”

A laugh escapes you, incredulous and doubtful. “You’re joking,” you snort, shaking your head. “You want me to session with you?” It’s impossible to even picture– you doing tendus and graceful jetés while she twerks around you. Nothing good could possibly come out of that.

Tashi rolls her eyes and leans back against her elbows, her toned stomach showing as her shirt rides up her torso. “I wanna session with you,” she repeats, her voice completely calm. “I think it’d be fun. And that we could make something good.”

You shake your head adamantly, a frown firmly glued to your face. “There’s no sessions in ballet. Everything’s planned,” you defend, just about ready to turn around.

“Come on.” She pushes up onto her feet, wiping sweat from her brow and grabbing her phone to play a song. An instrumental version of a Doja Cat song comes on, and your frown deepens. “We can make it ballet. Just… come dance with me.” Tashi begins swaying her hips gently, gracefully jetéing side to side as her arms float from first to fifth. You hate how perfect she is– at just about everything, it seems.

You drop your bag to the ground and slide off your shoes, your bare skin tacky on the wood floor. The music seems to carry you, and despite how much you try to resist, your leg seems to lift on its own, leaning you back as your arms raise above your head. Not in fifth. Not even in modern fifth. They’re just floating, moving with their own mind, and it feels good to let go. You turn and lower down into your middle splits, ignoring the hoot it draws from Tashi. It feels good to just close your eyes and go where your body takes you. It’s… new, interesting, but it didn’t feel bad.

It’s almost therapeutic in a sense. Ballet is your love, your entire passion, but it’s also a constant spotlight. To be able to move so freely, uncaring of Tashi watching or what your body is doing just puts your mind at ease. You watch as Tashi takes the baton and picks up where you leave off, the song picking up in pace and having more snares that you aren’t used to in ballet. It’s entrancing to watch her move so seamlessly, like the music is controlling her body. There’s a sudden pause in the song, where she freezes still, and then the beat starts again and she rolls onto the floor so abruptly, you swore her head was going to crack open. A gasp escapes your lips as she smoothly transitions the roll into an arch up, one leg poised delicately in the air that she catches behind her head. It’s fucking amazing, and you swear your panties are wet at the sight.

Tashi’s looking at you expectantly, and you realize it’s your turn– but how can you follow up something like that? It’s like comparing a cheese stick to a charcuterie board. She steps closer, the music still playing in the background. “Come on. Your turn,” she says, her voice quiet and gentle. Too sweet for your ears, you’re frozen in place, still in awe at the moves she had pulled out. If this was her improv, how beautiful was her choreography?

“Dude. Hey, c’mon.” Tashi’s right in front of you now, and you’re so awestruck you can’t move. Can’t speak. Can’t think. It’s just her and her dancing, the smell of her perfume wafting over you, surrounding you. She’s everything. The two of you lock eyes, and before you can even process it, she’s stepping closer and closer, and her perfectly lined lips are pressed firm against yours. Tashi’s arms encircle your waist as she swoops you to the ground, kissing you hungrily. And you kiss back.

It’s clashing teeth and tongue, quiet pants and grunts being exchanged as the scent of her sweat and perfume seems to cover you in a haze. She’s on top of you, cupping your face in both hands and pressing her chest to yours, a soft moan escaping her lips as you hesitantly squeeze her breasts. You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

You moan when she starts to kiss down your neck, conflicting feelings racing through your chest. “Mmh- Tashi- wait, wait wait wait-” You relax when she pulls off of you, trying to ignore the hurt on her face. “Sorry- I’m just- wow, um-” You push away from her, standing up on shaky legs. “I have to go.”

Tashi’s brows are furrowed in confusion and anger– and maybe a little hurt. “Do you?” she asks quietly, the music still playing lowly in the background. “Or are you scared?”

You shake your head, walking past her still sitting on the floor and you grab your bag, pausing at the doorway. “Goodnight, Tashi,” you say quietly, hurrying out of the studio. You hear her yell “pussy!” behind you, but you’re out the door once her frustration turns to tears.

You call in a substitute for the next few days, too scared to see Tashi and feel the brunt of her anger– or maybe you’re more scared of how much you hurt her. On your days off, you play some music and stand in front of a mirror, watching how your body moves of its own accord. Hips to the left, arms shooting up. There’s no form, but you’re still graceful and delicate. You can imagine Tashi’s hands around your waist, guiding your next movements with slick precision. You drop your arms back down to your side and sigh heavily, walking away.

Ballet was always the one thing you never strayed from. You’ve always loved the strict formality and uniform of the style, how everything goes where it’s supposed to be and there’s little tolerance of those who step out of line. Even now, smushed between people in a crowded club, your movements still find a way to be light and airy as the bumping bass of club music assaults your ears. You hate how good it feels to just let go and enjoy the sensations of your body moving on its own.

“Hey. Hey!” you yell at your friend, who’s currently grinding on some random guy. “I’m gonna get a drink,” you yell over the music, walking away before seeing if she even heard you. You approach the bar and order two vodka shots, nodding gratefully when they’re set in front of you in record time.

You’re about to toss one back when you see her. Her hair swishing around her waist and a skintight red dress, clinging to every curve and sharp edge of her body. A thin leather belt hangs loosely on her hips, the gold buckle glinting under the strobing lights. Glitter flashes along her cheekbones and her eyes are rimmed a smoky black, lips lined with crimson red. Her movements are reminiscent of the night that you two shared together, eyes closed in ecstasy as she dances freely. You wonder what it must feel like to live like that.

She catches your gaze when she opens her eyes, and if she’s shocked, it doesn’t show. You beckon to her with your shot glasses, a silent plea in your actions. Get over here. She breaks away from the crowd and heads your way, eyes narrowed when she takes the shot you offer her.

“Hey,” you begin, practically inaudible from the loud music of the club, “you look good.”

Tashi raises an eyebrow, a smug smile on her lips. “I know,” she murmurs into your ear, clinking your shot glasses together. The two of you throw them back at the same time, and your stomach turns when you see the lipstick mark left on her glass.

“I’m sorry,” you force out, watching as her expression grows tight. “About, um. You know.” You sigh heavily, unsure of how to word your thoughts. “I think I’m intimidated by you.”

Her brows shoot up, and she laughs, loud and brash. The thump of basses turns to slick hi-hats and cymbals as a familiar song plays– Hella Good by No Doubt, the song Tashi was playing when you two first met. “Shut the fuck up,” she crows, shaking her head. “Shut up.”

“No, no, I’m- I mean, I’m serious,” you hurry to continue, not minding the word vomit now. “You’re just- your dancing is amazing, and you’re so beautiful, my students all like your classes better and I’d kill to dance as freely as you,” you ramble, not noticing how she seems to inch closer and closer to you. “Your technique and your talent– I’m jealous, Tashi, I’m so fucking jealous, and-”

Her lips are on yours before you can even process it, and this time you don’t hesitate to kiss back. She tastes like peach lip gloss and bitter vodka, her lipstick smearing across your own lips. Tashi’s hands tangle into your hair to tug you closer, and you shamelessly palm at her ass through the thin fabric of her dress. It’s dirty and frantic, and again, you’re reminded of her dancing.

Tashi pulls away and is immediately pulling you away to the bathrooms, not caring as you trip over your heels. The bathroom is empty when you walk in, and she unbuckles her belt, tying one end to the door handle and the other around the sink faucet. She turns around to face you, lipstick smudged and eyes dark with lust. She advances toward you and practically sweeps you off your feet with a kiss, pinning you against the graffiti covered wall. It’s filthy– the setting you’re in and what you’re doing, but the feeling of Tashi firmly against you seems to have you in a trance, pliant and willing. Your hand moves up to slide the straps of her dress down her shoulders, trying to touch every exposed inch of soft skin. She does the same to you, pausing when there’s no bra strap appearing underneath the silky fabric of your dress.

“Really? No bra to go clubbing?” She kisses up and down your neck, sucking and biting harshly as she grips your hips, arousal already slicking up your thighs. “Jesus fuck, it’s like you’re begging for me to ruin you.” As much as you despise it, a shiver goes up your spine at her sultry words.

“You’re one to talk,” you grit out as your hands travel down her torso, feeling out every smooth dip. “You never wear a fuckin’ bra to work. It’s insane– God, like you were taunting me,” you growl as you squeeze her hips, rough and mean.

Tashi nips at your earlobe, grinning wickedly at the keening whimper it draws from you. “I was,” she whispers lowly, slipping the dress down your hips and letting it pool at your ankles. Your panties are already soaked through, the scent of arousal and floral perfume filling the space. She taps a manicured finger against the damp patch of cotton, cooing at the way your hips stutter and jump. “I saw you watching me.”

You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips as she pushes your panties aside, smacking your soaked heat gently with her palm. “Fucking wet, baby,” she mumbles, fruitlessly tugging the strap of her dress back on her shoulder as she kneels on the grimy floor, inhaling your slick scent. “You want me?” she asks, pulling your panties down your hips and letting them land on top of your crumpled dress.

You’re nodding before you even realize it, the loud guitar and bass booming from outside your private sanctuary. “I want it,” you gasp, already feeling weak in the knees at her hands on your thighs, spreading your legs apart further. “I want you, Tashi.”

That’s enough for her to begin kissing up your inner thigh, leaving lipstick marks along your smooth skin before she dives into your wet heat, her tongue circling your clit like she’s done this to you a thousand times. Her hands come up to press against your hips to force you from grinding into her mouth, and she laps at your pussy like a dog desperate for water.

“You taste,” she’s panting, wiping at her mouth before looking up at you with lustful eyes, “so fuckin’ good, baby. Like sugar.” She’s nosing in without a second thought, her own thighs clenching together with every moan she draws out from your chest. It’s something sacred, the way she revels in your body and absolutely worships it, taking in all your miniscule reactions. The strap of her dress slips back down and seems to crumple around her, yet not distracting her from her task, making you a whimpering, soaking mess.

Her breasts are exposed to the harsh glare of the lighting as the dress slides down her chest fluidly, not deterring her from taking you apart, bit by bit. “F-Fuck!” you grip her hair tightly as you buck your hips into her face. She’s tonguefucking you expertly, poking and prodding at every soft inch of you and moaning at the honeyed taste. One hand releases your hip to pinch gently at your clit, laughing at the way you mewl and try to break free. “Tashi, Tashi, please–”

“You can take it,” is all she says, cruel and dominating as she flicks it gently, causing your knees to almost buckle, legs trembling as you hold yourself up. She pulls away for a moment, licking her lips to make sure she gets every last drop of your sweet arousal. She lets go of you fully to stand back up, towering over you in her heels. “Good girl,” she murmurs, kissing you hard. You taste yourself on her lips, sweet and somewhat bitter, and it makes you moan and squeeze your sticky thighs together from just how depraved you’re being.

“I’ve been to so many studios,” Tashi whispers in your ear, one hand trailing down your bare chest and pausing under your navel, making you groan in frustration. “Met so many teachers,” she continues, her touch feather-light as she reaches your pussy, cupping it gently and letting slick soak into her palm. She lifts the hand up and licks her palm, looking down at you the whole time. Her hard nipples press right into your shoulder, and the way she’s looking at you is addictive.

“Hip-hop, contemporary, jazz… Even fucked around with a tap teacher once,” she murmurs, pinching at your nipples gently and laughing when you squeal, before returning her attention to your sensitive clit. “But I’ve never corrupted a pretty little ballerina like you before,” she keeps whispering, licking at your neck as she easily slides two fingers in, already pumping in and out. You’re shaking, spasming, and you can’t believe how good it feels.

“They all thought they were too good for me,” Tashi murmurs, watching with rapt fascination as she curls her fingers inside you, hitting that spongy spot inside you that makes you cave. “Wonder what that makes you, huh?” she laughs at your dumbfounded expression, thrusting faster and rubbing your clit with her thumb.

You’re already on edge from when she was eating you out earlier, and you’re begging to just let go and break free from your confines. “I’m gonna cum,” you pant out, nails digging into Tashi’s neck. You’re reprimanded with a sharp slap to your thigh, before Tashi’s fingers return to scissoring inside you.

“Ask nicely,” she croons, and you just want to strangle her for being so fucking mean. Her hands are skillfully breaking you down and turning you into a slobbering mess, slick running down Tashi’s wrist as you throw your head back.

“Please, fah-fuuuuhck, I need t’cum, Tashi, Tash, lemme cum-!” you whimper as your hips buck frantically into her fingers, moaning as your it drags deliciously over her palm.

“Mmm, go ‘head,” she murmurs, leaning to suck at your tits and swirl her tongue around your nipple. Your orgasm is loud and sharp, crashing over you like a rocking cymbal as you clench around her fingers. Your arousal drips onto the floor and your chest heaves as you catch your breath, makeup all smudged and thighs trembling.

Tashi’s watching you with a syrupy satisfaction on her face, pulling her fingers out of you with one final pat to your overstimulated pussy, laughing gleefully at the way you twitch. She lifts her fingers to her lips and licks up the mess you made, raising an eyebrow at you. “Get dressed,” she orders, already adjusting the straps of her dress to fit snugly around her shoulders.

Slowly, you bend down and pull your panties back up, shivering when the cold, wet fabric meets heated skin. “Don’t you want me to… you know-?” you ask hesitantly, pulling your dress up and ignoring how sensitive your nipples feel under the silky fabric.

She laughs and unties her belt from the door handle, grinning at you and fixing your hair. “Obviously. But we’re doing that at my place. I think I deserve better than this, don’t you think?” The condescension is obvious as she fixes her lipstick in the mirror, and a new surge of heat rises in your stomach at the way she talks down to you. It feels good to give someone else the reins for a bit, to let Tashi control you.

“...Yeah,” you agree, watching as she brushes her hair over her shoulder. “You’re right.”

And you really mean it.