The Wrong Ballet Company
by Snookie Biscuit

I was so happy to finally find an opportunity like this right after spending so many months in school. My friend Stacey, who has been my friend since grade school, came to me with awesome news that she had heard of a small ballet troupe that was taking on auditions for new girls. Stacey said she had forgotten to mention the opporunity to me before she had left on vacation, so it gave me little time to get over there and get signed up.

Stacey knew I was desperately seeking a chance like this, and I was genuinely happy to see her back from vacation, that it never dawned on me that anything could be strange about this. However, anybody who knows Stacey, knows how she can be a bit of a prankster. We have enjoyed each others' humiliation far too much over the years. And, each time we can get the other into a compromising position, the stakes seem to go higher.

The address Stacey gave me was a loft in the seedier side of town, so nothing would surprise me about this place. The place had obviously seen better days. It stank of mold and rusty iron. A little man with thick glasses and a balding head told me to come into the office where he sat among old posters fighters, i think. Strange, but maybe I was in the wrong place.

"No, no, have a seat," the man obviously saw that I was uncertain of myaself. He inspected me like a tuna at the fish market, "So, you are the new girl? Your friend told us you'd be good for the troupe," he said as he slid a couple of sheets of paper toward me across the rickety metal desk. Somehow I felt like I was in a used car dealership as he explained a few things in rapid, broken english. His russian accent made it hard to understand, but I thought to myself, oh well, some of the best ballet companies were russian - maybe this was a better opportunity than I thought. I'm gonna owe Stacey big time, if this pans out.

I scanned the page, but my nervous excitement blinded me to the fine print, which could have been russian for all that I was reading of it. Once I signed the contract, I left it on the desk and turned to the door.

Those magnified eyes were riveted to the back of my thighs when I turned to ask if he needed anything else from me. His chuckle was discomforting, "No my dear, just try not to get hurt. Insurance is extra here, and I would hate to see a lovely dove like you in the hospital." Puzzled into silence by that remark, I left, trying to figure out what he meant by that.

The the next day, I found the studio that the russian had indicated I should show up at. It seemed to be a bit different than any dance studio that I have ever seen. There was a dancing room and a locker room area beside it. But, when I peeked inside the room on the other side of the locker area, I was surprised to see a gymnasium. There was workout equipment scattered about the room and a wrestling ring of all things sat right in the middle. Again, I thought to myself, this is strange. The wrestling ring seemed out of place.

I thought I'd dress early and take some additional time warming up with stretches, I wore my leotard under my jeans to the studio. Once there, I slipped out of my jeans wrapped my skirt around my hips. Finally tying the slippers upon my feet, I was ready to stretch. I chose white for this first day, and as I looked at myself in the full length mirror, a rush of excitement practically stole my breath. Using the bar, I began to stretch my legs out in the dance room. I watched myself carefully in the mirrors, and felt proud that I that I'd come this far.

Someone came through the front door, but I only caught a glimpse of her blonde hair as she walked past the slightly open door. Through the wall I heard a locker open and the usual commotion of someone getting dressed. The clanking bump of a locker being shut told me that she'd soon be joining me. But to my surprise, nobody came into the room where I was stretching. Minutes later, I heard a bellowing voice, "Hey! Get in here, already, Missy!"

Following the voice and the sound of cables creaking, I stepped into the door frame of the gym. There, standing inside the ring was the most monsterous woman I have ever seen. All 6 feet of her was dressed in a silvery black leotard and sheer pale grey pantyhose, and black calf length boots. All that muscle must have weighed 185 pounds. And here, I felt I was tall for ballet, at 5 feet 7 inches tall, and 137 pounds!

Instinctively following her command like a good new recruit, I walked up the steps beside the ring, and grabbed hold of the topmost ring rope. "What are we doing in here?" I asked.

Her laugh was long and gravelly. "You've been warming up long enough. My name is Giselle. Take your corner, and let's get this over with," she hissed.

As I climbed through the ropes, I was still puzzled by all this, "So, are you the instructor or something?"

Her laughter cut through the dank silence of the musty gym, "Ha HA Ha...yeah, you could call me an instructor since you're about to get the lesson of your life, sweetheart." This seemed to be a rather unorthodox way to train for ballet, but who was I to question the great russian masters? Maybe it began with stretches? If this is what I have to do to get my start, so be it. I circled out from my corner, my ballet slippers sliding along the rough canvas covering the spongey mat.

I'd like to say I remember the whole session, and that it was the greatest moment of my life. But, nothing could be further from the truth. Ibarely remember most of it. But, I remember looking Giselle over thoroughly as we paraded sidestep around the ring. Her legs were like chiselled tree trunks, and the muscles gracefully swam under the pale grey nylon. The poised tiger tattooed around the side of her lower left leg looked like it wanted to pounce on me -- that's how much her muscles moved and worked. Her thighs ended in soft curvey awnings over knees.

The girl was no stranger to the gym equipment. Her arms and shoulders were rounded with so many muscles that you would have spent 15 minutes counting all of them. What on earth was I doing here inside of a wrestling ring with her?!

As we came closer, I could see her eyes shooting up and down my legs. And, I thought that perhaps I saw her tongue flick out of the corner of her mouth for just a second, licking her lips. Her smile was unmistakeable.

When Giselle grabbed my arm, I could feel the grip she had, and all doubt about those muscles left my mind. "He-e-e-e-e-y! Watch it. I bruise easily," but her smile grew as I protested. She quickly twisted my arm back behind me, and jamming it up between my shoulder blades. "OW-...OW-OW-OW!...OOOWWWWW!" I screamed.

Her hot breath could have curled my earlobe when she hissed her forewarning, "You're exactly the jobber I have been looking for." And my fingers soon touched my dark hair, as my arm was thrust higher behind me in that armlock. "OH...NO-o-o-o!!....OW-OW-OWWWW!! PLEASE!!"

As my screams filled the small gym, more girls walked in to see what was happening. Slowly they'd wind their way through the workout equipment to get closer to the ring. Standing there, some with arms folded, they watched this beast take me apart, one limb at a time, laughing to one another with each of my protests.

I lost track of the number of times I was flipped. Sometimes it was over her knee, sometimes her hip. There were even times, I think she grabbed my hair, and flipped me over by it! My pale white tights just flew head of heels repeatedly through the air, as if Giselle were winding a big clock, and my legs were the hands of that clock.

Some of the girls standing nearby began to pump up Giselle's ego, "That's it, darling, break the new girl in!" Or, "Giselle, sweetie, when you are done with her, may I have a turn to workout?" Each of their comments was followed by larger laughter. I think I blanked out at one point, because I remember looking up at Giselle. The bright spot light above the ring became eclipsed by her head as she looked down on me. Then, I felt a tug on my hair, and I was forced up onto my weak and wobbling legs.

Whatever those ropes were made of, and I think they were literally big, fat, rough hewn ropes, like down at the dock -- they burned a red rash across my cheek when Giselle held my head to the top rope and walked me to the far end of the ring. My mind was so caught up on what she just did to my face, that I didn't even notice when she yanked my head back, and SLAMMED it into the top turnbuckle. My knees wobbled, and my ankles fought to stay locked underneath me. But, I just wanted to drop to the canvas and sleep after that first blow.

But, Giselle was not about to let this small audience go now. Cheering her on, they shouted to her, 'rough the rookie up,' or 'bend that body into a pretzel.' My consciousness wavered back and forth for, I-don't-know-how-long. I only remember glimpses of that dark burgundy turnbuckle, before my face was smashed into it. Then flashes of light, and finally the uneasy feeling of sinking, but being hauled back up by my throbbing scalp.

I think it was about this time that my eyes were getting puffy and swollen. It seemed harder to see anything, almost like someone was closing the window shades from top and bottom at the same time. When Giselle finally spun around and threw me back against the corner turnbuckles, my arms just flung over that top rope. Gawd, I wish that rope wasn't there. It was like the only keeping me up, and my arms just hung over the outside of it, my underarms perched over the chaffing rope, while my feet turned outwards and my weight sunk deeper into the corner.

My heels just slid out from under me, causing Giselle to sidestep them, as she came closer. My voice was weak and frail, "Oh, please...no...more...what's happening?" And, that alone brought a swell of laughter from the other girls, now standing around the corner I was hanging from.

"Break her in two, Giselle!" someone shouted. Another begged, "I want her cute shoes, Giselle!" Ha HA HA -- the laughter was filling the gym with echoes. "Those are her B-A-LLL-ET SLIPPERS, Roxy, someone said mockingly. "You wouldn't want to take those, now would you? She'd have nothing on her delicate dancer's feet if you did that." HA HA HA HA HA -- more laughter, and humiliation, as my head hung to one side, and when I could open my right eye wide enough, I could see Giselle making some sort of assuring gestures to her fans.

I could feel hands reaching in, and pawing at my ankles. Although I didn't know it at the time, they were untying the ribbon straps that crisscrossed my ankles. Giselle just watched them, and then snorted, as she took my arm at the wrist and elbow, and yanked me out of the corner.

My feet could barely keep up with the momentum she put behind my limp and aching body as she flung me to the opposite side of the ropes.....somehow my slippers stayed on, and my body spun just in time to be caught by those cruel ropes which tore streaks across my back before hurling me back at Giselle. Just then, I stepped on one of the ribbons which were hanging around my feet like an untied shoelace.

My momentous fall seemed to take forever. My eyes widened as much as the swollen eyelids would allow them. But, it was enough for me to see the arms of some girls rise overhead in a loud cheer, or perhaps a belly laugh, as my feet got tangled in my own choice of footwear, and my body leaned out across the expanse of canvas, unable to be saved from the huge splash.

I am sure that if my eyes weren't blackened already, they were when my nose hit the unforgiving mat. Giselle lifted my head to show her fans that I was out cold. I must have slid on my face for a short distance, because somehow my lower body had piled up a little bit onto my knees, raising my bottom slightly in the air.

I think someone must have handed Giselle a water bottle, because I was partially awakened by cool water streaming down my cheeks and into my mouth. Sputtering, I tried to focus, but my eyes were closed shut too far, and my jaw seemed to just drag on the canvas. "Now, who said they wanted these da-a-a-n-n-ngerous slippers?" Giselle mockingly announced.

The pain I felt seemed to come from every part of my body. I grimaced and tried to push myself up using my arms, but they were trembling from exhaustion. As I managed to roll onto an elbow, I wrapped one arm around my stomach, cradling it as I tried to pull one knee under me. Giselle just confidently strode around me, circling her prey, without a care in the world. The small crowd just laughed harder and egged us on to finish this while they watched me teeter and wobble about on hands and knees. Giselle was loving it. This just played well into her desires. A well-placed boot behind my upturned bottom, playfully wiggled my hips around as I moaned. She was toying with me, while I reached across the seemingly spinning mat for the ropes in the distance. With a shove, my face hit the canvas again, and scraped more color into it, again on the abrasive gritty canvas.

My knees bent and feet flew upward, as I lunged forward. The arm tucked around my tummy was now sandwiched between me and the mat. My other hand reached out straight along the mat, in the direction of the ropes and the cheering, laughing hyenas who loved seeing Giselle work over a rookie. One slipper merely hung around my ankle by the ribbons which had managed to remain wound around it. The heavier toe part of the shoe slipped from my toes, offering Giselle the first of two audience gifts.

Arms and bodies clashed in the audience as Giselle tossed the slipped out to them. It was when Giselle turned my other ankle, to grab the remain shoe, that I realized what was happening. "Oh, gawd, no. Please! Those are my only......" And, with a flick of the wrist, Giselle had twisted that slipper from my foot and was swinging it around and around, playfully teasing her audience with it.

"I want it!" "I want it!" "Over here, Giselle!" "Me, Me, ME! Throw it to me!" They were all like a pack of howling wolves wanting their share of the prizes. It didn't take long for Giselle to cross my ankles behind me, and begin to playfully tease me with what was next.

If Giselle was anything, she was a showwoman. Slowly she pushed my feet back behind me in a double toehold. I could feel my legs bending slowly, while she gestured to the audience, making them howl and shout suggestions to her. "Break 'em Giselle!" Put her in the hospital!"

Not content with that, I could feel her thumb playfully scratching along the sole of my foot. 'Oh My GAWD!' I thought to myself. I am sure she quickly recognized a particular weakness of mine, the way my foot wriggled and thrashed from the teasing. I was mashed deeper into the cushioned mat when she knelt down beside my legs, folding my legs together, and pressing my heels into my ass with her other leg.

Looking up at those laughing bitches through slits for eyes, I could tell this was the wrong ballet company for me. This couldn't be happening. I'm gonna kill Stacey when I see her again!

Giselle worked my ankle for probably five minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. I felt the air rush from my lungs when she finally spun and flung her upperbody across my back, while still holding the painful toehold on my legs. My groans were only interrupted by screams each time she would twist my ankle in one direction, and then back in the opposite direction.

Nothing was sacred with this girl. She bent each of my toes forward and back, feeding her audience with my screams and pleas. My hand clenched into a tight fist, and I began pounding out my agony against the mat, screaming for her to, "Let GO! PLEASE!! No MORE!!" OWWWWWW!! OW-ow-ow-ow-ow!!! "No-o-o-o, Giselle, No-o-o-o!!" I needed to get out of there, but there was no way this crowd was going to let that happen. They were enjoying this too much for that to happen.

Giselle ran her nails over my sole and dug her thumb into the arch of my foot, just to make me stop shouting. But, my hysterical laughter made the other girls want more. "AYHAHAHAHAHAHA!....STAAAHAHAHAHAHAP!...HAHAHAHAHA...PLEEEEEZZZZ!" It was obvious to everybody just how ticklish I am.

When someone mentioned that the owner was coming, Giselle let up on the humiliating foot torture. She bent my foot under itself, holding my toes down, almost making them touch the bottom of my foot. the pain was excruciating!! My fist beat the canvas rapidly, as she leaned back, and whispered to me, "Just say you give, and it will be all over."

It took my racing mind several seconds to comprehend, and that gave the owner just enough time to stepinto the doorway, as I began shouting, "I Give...I GIVE...I GIVE....LEMME GO!....I GIVE UP!!" Walking closer to the ring, the woman owner of the studio was dressed as if she were going to the swankiest nightclub on the strip. Her arms folded as she shifted back on one bright red stiletto. I could sense Giselle was smiling through the ropes at her, while she had me screaming to be let go.

"Okay, Giselle, you can let the rookie go, now. There will be more time to play with her later. We have a show to put on tomorrow night, girls, so I want everybody working on their routines."

Giselle was only too reluctant to release my sore foot. She eased up on the hold, but was still sprawled there with her arm and weight over my lower back, as she pretended to soothe my foot mockingly as if she held an injured bird in her hand, "There'll be more between us, sweetheart," Giselle whispered.

Once I was able to roll to the edge of the apron, most of the girls had gone their separate ways. But, there were a few who stayed, and offered their congratulations for going so long in the ring with Giselle. Another told me that Giselle was the local champ, and I would be lucky to still walk tonight. Someone else tried to offer a soothing touch to my throbbing ankle. It seems I may have grown a new popularity among these girls, so who knows, maybe this wasn't the wrong ballet company, afterall?