Roland had been trained as a classical dancer since about the third grade. He seemed to have a graceful, almost bird-like air about him that his parents, both well educated and fair minded, wanted to cultivate. They sent him to dance class after school, and he loved it. Two years into training with his teacher in his hometown of Camargue, France, that teacher called in his parents for a meeting. "Monsieur, Madame, this is a very hard thing for me to say, but.. c'est la vie. Your son has learned all he can from me. If he continues in my classes he will, well, rot. He needs a better teacher, and unfortunately, the right teacher for him is in Nice. " She paused. "I have already spoken to my colleague at the Nice Academy, and he would like to audition Roland. " The parents looked at each other. On the one hand, every parent wants their child to succeed. On the other hand, Roland was 11 years old. The school was a good 2.5-3 hours away from home. Madame Sallet understood.
"Why don't you have a chat with Roland? See what he wants? Of course, ultimately you must make the decision." There was a shaking of hands, and the traditional French air kisses, and they returned to home. When they got home, they sat down with Roland. "Am I in trouble mama? " He asked, looking concerned. She laughed. "Why? Are you looking for a spanking Roland?" She saw him blush. She had not told his father, but the last time she had need to spank her son, she saw that he was, well, "growing," and he "grew some more" during the spanking. "This is actually a very important conversation, my son," his father began. Then he told Roland about Sallet's discussion with them. Roland nearly glowed from his smile. "THE ACADEMY IN NICE? MAMA , PAPA, I WOULD BE THE FIRST ONE FROM HERE TO GO." The parents looked at each other. "So you want to audition?" "OUI OUI OUI OUI OUI!!!!" He exclaimed. So arrangements were made. Two weeks later, papa was driving them to the Academy. They were staying at a small hotel for the night, because they wanted Roland to be relaxed for the "big test," as he called it.
Roland's parents were not allowed to enter the audition room, where Roland met Monsieur Ferrara. He was an Italian - he preferred to be called a Venetian - and had started a studio in Nice for young dancers. Every dancer knew of Ferrara's technique: he was meticulous, demanding, and very kind. Even those students who did not get positions in major ballet companies, were able to find work. Monsieur Ferrara's "tentacles" were everywhere.
After an hour, he gave a very sweaty Roland a towel to dry off, and told him that he was going out to speak to his parents. He invited Roland to come out whenever he was ready because "if we're going to talk about your future, you should be there." When the four of them sat down, Ferrara was blunt, but kind. "Roland hasn't finished growing yet, and I can see that he is going to be very tall, very thin, and have very, VERY willowy arms. Those arms, and his legs would be a true gift if Roland were a girl." Then he made his face. "Unfortunately, all the heroes of classical dance: Romeo, Albrecht, Siegfried, etc, are built with much more muscle than Roland will ever have." He turned to Roland. "Roland, you have talent, but you will never be a danseur noble, I am afraid. Your future will be in character roles: Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet, Hilarion in Giselle, that kind of role. If you are happy with that, then I would be honored to accept you as a student; however, nothing I, or any teacher can do, will change basic biology. "
That night, Roland and his parents talked. Roland didn't quite understand everything that Monsieur Ferrara had said, but what he DID understand was that this was a chance to get away from his town. He loved his parents dearly, but he hated the town: he hated the school he was in, he hated the students. He didn't like the subjects he was learning, and most of all, well.. he didn't like the names the other kids called him. "Fairy," "Sissy" "Girly Boy:" he had heard them all. Taking dance class had made it worse. And then, there were the "strange moods" he would have. One of his teachers was a handsome, dark haired priest: Frere Martin. Sometimes, if it were particularly warm, Frere Martin would remove his outer layer of clothing as he taught math class, and Roland wanted to squirm under the desk because, well, the sight of Frere Martin's arms made him want to...sin. His mother had made jokes about the way he reacted to spankings. Roland had a feeling that moving away from home would help.
"Mama... Papa.... I do not think I can give up this chance. I make you a promise: if I am not happy, I will let you know and I'll come back. But I want to start here. Monsieur Ferrara is such a good man. He was honest to me. Did you not tell me that honesty was the best quality a man could have?" His mother looked at his father. They took each other's hands. They could not have been more proud of their son. The term for the school began in two months, and they spent the next two months getting him ready. At 12, Roland entered Monsieur Ferrara's Academy of Young Dancers.
It took two years after he entered the Academy before he had his first sexual experience with a man. It was not another student: rather, it was a laborer who was repairing a damaged wall on the side of the building. Roland had seen Francois before: his dark hair and his hairy arms reminded him of Frere Martin, except Francois wore t shirts, worn jeans, and smoked. He also had bright eyes that seemed to have a golden star in them. Francois looked up from the work he was doing and saw Roland staring at him. "You look as if you are a lion, waiting to eat a lamb, young man." Roland blushed as Francois stood up and started walking toward him. He could smell the metallic body odor of sweat from Francois' body, and he was beginning to react the way he did around his old teacher. Francois smiled. "I cannot give you a whole lamb, but perhaps you would like... oh, I don't know, a saucisson? "A saucisson? The kitchen is not opened right now," Roland was confused. "The kitchen may not be opened, but this is.." Francois smiled and pulled down his zipper. "Inside. No one is to see this." Roland nearly gagged when Francois put his cock in his mouth, but as with dancing, he was a natural. "MON DIEU boy, you are wonderful. Lips like a princess. A tongue like the best whore in Marseille. Perhaps you are wasting your talent on dancing." Francois closed his eyes, and shot a load down the young man's throat. Roland had no idea cum tasted so good. His meetings with Francois became regular.
Roland went into his growth spurt when he was at academy. As Ferrara had predicted, his legs grew long, his arms thin and lanky. Roland always had plenty to eat, and he did all of the muscle building exercises that the physical instructors prescribed, but it was clear: he would always be what Americans called a "long drink of water." His mother was amazed at his growth. "MON DIEU. You always expect your son to grow taller than you, but ROLAND! I think if I stood on your father's head, you would be taller than the two of us combined!" Roland had never stopped loving his mother. "Maman, you embarrass me. I am NOT that tall. " "And THIS.." she pinched his bony ass. "A spanking now would hurt, wouldn't it?" "I do not know maman. I haven't been spanked in years." His father was loving in a different kind of way. He didn't understand how Roland had grown the way he did, because his father Marcel was stocky. So was Mother Clothilde. They would have to look at family drawings to see: where did this come from?
As he grew taller, it became difficult for Roland to find appropriate clothes: most long pants were not long enough for him. He responded by wearing shorts as often as he could, and if it were cold, dancing tights or sweat pants. When he wore the shorts, his muscular but lanky legs showed. And those legs WERE muscular. Roland could extend a leg at a 90 degree angle and hold it in perfect position for a minute with no trouble. Or he could slide into a 180 split. This ability was something Ferrara used when he staged comic ballets at which Roland excelled. As far as clothes for his upper body went, everything bloused on him as if it were too big, because most shirts were: to get sleeves long enough, he had to buy larger sizes, and to avoid looking ridiculous, his look turned to one where he had an opened dress shirt - usually white - over a tight t shirt.
It was getting on to time for graduation from the academy, and the talent scouts for different ballet companies would show up, periodically, and audition the students. Roland did not get many auditions. His body was "not the right type" for the companies. He was getting very, very frustrated. It was during this period that some of the other students invited him to go out with them to a comic review: they were celebrating the acceptance of a classmate into Royal Ballet school. It was at that review, that Roland found his calling.
One of the numbers on the program was an all male version of the French can can. As the audience whooped, and applauded, Roland was thinking "I could do this better." A few days later, after searching around, he got the information for contacting the company who had performed, and set up his own audition. When he walked in, the Director smiled. "I do not even think you need to dance Roland. If you were to just stand there, you would be PERFECT" for the company." He licked his lips: he was imagining Roland naked. "So you do not want to see me dance?" "Au contraire. I want you to show me your BEST dance. You can do the can can after that." Roland stripped down to his dance belt, and gave his audition tape to the director's assistant. He became so lost in the dance, he didn't see the director playing with himself at his seat. "Tres bien, Roland. Now, the can can." Roland smiled, and began THAT dance. When he went into a split, the director nearly shot a load. He had something else in mind though. He smiled, and applauded. "Roland, that was wonderful. I would like to offer you a position in my company, but... are you old enough?" "I turned 18 three weeks ago Monsieur." The director smiled. "Well, that is even better. Now, Roland, there is ONE last part of your audition." Roland suspected this might have happened. He had told his best friend about the audition and she had warned him. "You are Director Longtemps type. Be careful. Do not get in deeper than you want." He remembered that as he looked at the Director. Roland felt his own cock swelling. "Shall I kneel first Sir?" "You will. I will need to be very wet because... I suspect you have had little experience with fucking." Roland blushed. "None Sir." A big smile crossed the Director's face. "No time to learn like the present." After Roland had lubricated him, the Director shoved a dance belt in Roland's mouth so he wouldn't scream, and took him on the floor of the stage. There was a little bit of blood, and there was a little bit of crying, but Longtemps looked at Roland. "You are no longer a boy Roland. You are a man. " "Oui Sir. Merci." It was no secret that they became lovers. It lasted for two years during which Roland became the star dancer in the company. One night, when he came back from a performance, he walked into the bedroom he shared with Longtemps, and found him in bed with the newest member of the company. Stunned at what he thought was betrayal, he grabbed as many of his belongings as he could, and walked out. He stayed at a friend's house that night, and never went back to the Director. He also tendered his resignation the next day. Roland had matured greatly during his time at the comedy troupe. The other dancers had taught him where to shop for clothes that would fit : "look at boy's departments, and just don't button the sleeves" they told him. Yes, the shirts were tight, but Roland liked the way they showed off his body line. He favored white as a shirt color, but bright t shirts. His dancer tights were usually a soft white or a soft blue. And he had a "secret" outfit. It seemed that the Director had a fantasy: he imagined himself conquering "that American hero, spiderman," and he would make Roland dress in a spiderman suit, after which he would tie him up and play with him until they both couldn't wait anymore. Roland was as surprised as anyone to find how much he enjoyed those scenes as well.
As he began going out with other men, he kept the Spiderman fantasy a secret, but he had no trouble in finding men who were willing to tie him up before they used him, sexually. He had learned, from his time with Director Longtemps, that try as he might, he was not suited for the "active" role in bed. He liked to be controlled: to take orders, to almost be hurt during sex. And he found that, when he walked on the street, he didn't look at the Frere Martin types anymore, and he was more selective about the Francois types: he was looking for grey in the dark hair, and if he happened to find a laborer who 's hair was completely grey, well.... When having drinks with other gay friends one night, one of them told him "Roland, you're into daddies. It's what they say." "Daddies? No, old men." His friend laughed. "If you call these guys old men, you will lose them. Most of them LIKE being called Daddy. They get into it. Try it." The next time he was being fucked - by an American tourist - he yelled "SCREW ME DADDY" and the man got even harder. Yes, it worked.
Well, without his old company, Roland needed work. One day, he realized: he had become the star of his old company, what would happen if he started HIS OWN company? It took some work, and he picked the brain of every businessman he slept with (and it was a lot), before he was ready. When "Comedy Roland" opened, the line around the block for the theater stunned him. Now, he had to deliver. Deliver he did. The run was sold out. So was the next one, and the one after that. He was a tremendous success, making more money than he ever dreamed of, to the point that he was sending gifts to his mother and father, which almost always provoked a response. "Roland... please do not spend money on us. A dancer's life...it is short. Save the money for when you need it. PLEASE."
Roland's life as a dancer was going to end much shorter than he would have thought. DON'T BE ALARMED. NOTHING BAD IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO ROLAND. Read on.
It was the last night of the company's spring run. Sold out again, and long, long, standing ovations. Smiling, Roland told his friends he'd meet them at the bar for the celebration: he needed to clean up a few things. He did that, including his make up, and then he put one of his classic, tight fitting white shirts on, over a pair of red shorts (it was a warm night), and left through the stage door. "YOU. OVER HERE. NOW." Roland heard the voice and looked up. The voice spoke French, but with an American accent. Salt and pepper hair. A short beard. Even in the dark, the streetlights let Roland see that the eyes were those of a man used to getting his way. He was dressed casually but well. Roland saw he had a collar and a leash in his hand. "Excuse me?" Roland asked. "OVER HER NOW. DON'T MAKE ME SAY IT AGAIN." There was something in the man's voice that sounded, well, compelling. Roland didn't realize it, but he walked over. His first words were "yes sir?" He saw the smile. "BEND YOUR HEAD SO I CAN PUT THIS ON YOU ROLAND." "yes sir" Roland almost whispered. He could feel his cock growing. When he heard the "clink" as the leash hooked into the collar, it grew even more. "WHERE DO YOUR HANDS GO?" The man spoke excellent idiomatic French, but his accent was clear. "Behind me Sir." "THEN PUT THEM THERE." As the businessman pulled him along, people looked, but didn't make anything of it. Roland's long, lanky body was well known, as were his comedic antics. And it was Nice, where everything is just a little over the top. "Where are we going, Sir?" roland asked. "To my hotel. You're gonna find out what it REALLY means to get fucked, pretty boi." Roland pulled back and his captor smiled. "Do that if you want. I'll tie your hands." "I'll scream." roland answered. The man smiled. "No you won't. I'd be hard pressed to say who has the bigger hard on, but it's a good bet it's you. I'd bet you'd also like it if I tied your hands." Roland felt like all of the air in his body had left. "You're right Sir. I apologize. " "I like that you immediately called me Sir, roland. You can call me Sir or Sir Marc when we are out. " He smiled. "In private, you will call me daddy." roland saw the smile play across Marc's face. "I do business with some of your, ahem, 'clients'. I know more about you than you would imagine. And there IS rope in my hotel room."
Sir Marc was staying at a small hotel. He had the penthouse suite. Roland had been in rooms like this before, but never with the kind of erection he was having. He felt the clasp of the leash release. "ON THE BED FACE DOWN. HANDS BEHIND YOU. "yes sir," Roland answered meekly. He felt his wrists being tied, and then his ankles. Then he felt the lightest touch from Sir Marc's fingers acoss the back of his knees. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA. NOT THAT SIR. PLEASE. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAHAHA" Sir Marc stopped. "Would you rather have me do those feet of yours, dancer boy?" "No Sir. Please. Not my feet." He felt the hand across his ass. "YOU DON'T GET TO CHOOSE BOI. I DO WHAT I LIKE. CLEAR?" "Yes sir. Very clear." And what Sir Marc liked that night was Roland's ass. The first fuck was brutal. REALLY brutal. Roland had taken different kinds of cocks in his life, but he couldn't remember one this thick or a fucking this rough. "I have been waiting for the chance to have a boy like you for a long, LONG time. Now I do. How's it feel, fuckboi" "I love it Daddy . I love it when you spank me. I love your cock. MORE. MORE PLEASE DADDY. MORE." His friends had been right. Every time he called Sir Marc "daddy," he seemed to get hornier, and hornier. Sir Marc reached under Roland's body and grabbed his hard cock. "Seems someone needs relief besides me, huh boi?" "Daddy, what matters is what you want. " "I. WANT. YOUR. ASS." Roland felt one more push, and then he felt the familiar gush of jizz in him. That's when he got some tenderness, as Sir Marc ran his tongue over his ear. "OOOOOOOOOOH. OH daddy. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH. " and that's when roland exploded. Sir Marc untied roland's ankles and wrists. As roland sat up, he said "Daddy, can I get cleaned up before I leave?" Marc looked at him and smiled. "You can get cleaned up but you misunderstood me if you thought you were leaving. " Roland gulped. "How long do you want me to stay Daddy?" Marc leered. "Did you hear me say you're not leaving?" Now Roland was stunned. "But... But..." "I'm in France for another week. After that, I'm returning to the United States. And you're coming with me. " "But..." "Do you think you have anything to say about this roland?" "I'm sorry Sir. I forgot." "Your memory is gonna have to get better, boi. Now go get cleaned up. . Then call your friends. Tell them you met someone. And then get back here and on your knees, because the thought of having you all to myself is making me fucking horny." "yes sir. " roland came back from the bathroom, all cleaned up. Then he called his friends to tell them to just party without him. When he was done, he saw Marc, standing there, his cock rigid again. "yes sir. I understand," and roland called on all the techniques he had learned since he had sucked the workman many years ago.
A week later, his passport in hand, with a visitor's visa secured inside it, roland got on the plane with his new Master. His new life was about to begin.