// Denude // ~Styles Triplets AU
// A Show of Dominance //
// Derora Elainey Dedman's P.O.V //
Suddenly, he was there, towering over her smaller frame. There had been no sound of his swift movements when he had strode towards her. None at all.
His shoulders slightly drew back, his stance dominant, beautifully straight, and masterfully elegant. His head lowered, not a single hair escaping from his tight and impeccable man bun.
"But Mr. E,” Arielle, whined as she shifted on her knees in front of him, "Hamstring stretches and straddles hurt! I'm not that flexible. I can't do ten push-ups!" The brunette pouted folding her arms over her chest.
At that moment, I flinched at the hardness of his eyes. Cold. His features remained intact and statue still. It was as if forming an expression was currently irrelevant.
Twenty minutes ago, Mr. E. Styles had been in a lighter mood than usual. Though he never smiled, Mr. E. Styles had seemed somewhat relaxed and more eased when he had walked through the door. And now, that was fading away into the wisps of shrillness Arielle’s voice carried.
"In my list of ground rules, I don’t remember ever saying that you were allowed to constantly complain, do you, Miss, Freds?" His tone didn't rise or fall much, but it deeply resonated around the room. "And I believe you have been ceaselessly complaining for four days now. Do you wish to explore the consequences if you annoy me with your horrific and whiny voice one more time?"
Something glinted in Arielle's hazel eyes as she rolled them. “You never mentioned complaining in your little set of rules, Mr. E. All you basically told us was that you hated excuses and that we were expected to do everything you tell us to like we're your little puppets. Oh, and you can forget about me doing push-ups."
Ever so slightly, his head tilted at an angle. The bone of his jaw protruding from under his milky-white skin pronounced and defined. I had never seen in Harrison, Arkansas, a jaw so sharp and strong. So intimidating. Even though this phrase was overused, his jawline would probably cut through glass...easily.
Mr. E. Styles’ jade eyes bored straight into hers. He didn't have his large, framed spectacles on today, and I would say his eyes were less intimidating with them on. Without them, his eyes had a sharper glare, and his irises obtained a more dazzling shade of green.
“Miss. Freds-”
“I’m not doing them! I have better things to do than to be doing push-ups,” She countered before he could finish and gave him a challenging glare-a glare that just couldn’t be scaled to Mr. E. Styles’ own. Not even close.
It was quiet. No one seemed to breathe. No one dared to move.
Then, his body lowered. Lowered until he was in a crouched position. He stared over her head, but his body was directly in front of her. Only two inches separated them.
Mr. E. Styles' attire consisted of black tights and a long, black sleeveless shirt. His weight was supported on his toes, his form solid and still. The muscles in his legs were projected well underneath the black fabric.
Arielle chewed on her bottom lip, and her eyes flickered down his open body. I don't think he noticed or cared that Arielle's eyes traveled to the spot where his 'junk' was. She was pretty much ogling his somewhat exposed area.
"Well, puppet," he said, his tone dark and almost taunting. "If you'd have read between the lines even a fraction of a bit, you would know that complaining and back talk is highly unacceptable with me. Besides, I am most certain I said never to tell me what you can or can’t do or something similar along those lines. I expect to see you during your lunch break this afternoon."
There was no mistaking the flushness of Arielle's arms, legs, and face. The audible breaths escaping from her lungs gave it all away.
"Am I understood, puppet."
"Yes, Mr. E," she muttered, eyes wide and docile.
He abruptly stood and strode to the other end of the studio, hands clasped behind his back. "I want everyone in a correct straddle position with flexed feet and straight spine alignment-except for you," he turned, locking his eyes mercilessly on hers, “-my little puppet. I want you on your hands and knees. Now.”
Arielle obeyed. Her throat visibly knotted, and she swallowed.
“Twenty push-ups.”
Ignoring the rest of the scenery, I shifted and spread my legs as I flexed my feet. My toes pulled back toward me, and I straightened my back.
Mr. E. Styles came back to sit in the middle of the studio and went into a straddle position. He flexed his long feet and then observed us around the room and said, "Point your toes." His feet arched delicately, and the upper part of his thigh turned outward, tight and toned.
Everyone besides, Arielle, mimicked him and waited on his next instructions.
"Now slowly reach forward, hand on top of the other. Do not bend your knees. Hold that position until I tell you otherwise. Remember to breathe. It is important that you do so."
Mr. E. Styles removed himself from the straddle position to walk around the studio, assessing each individual, one by one. He stooped down to put pressure on a red-headed girl's back. I caught the sly smirk on the corner of her mouth as her head turned to meet her friend's knowing gaze.
Five minutes later, he was holding down the knees of the blonde next to me. When he rose to his feet, I placed my forehead on the cold studio floor. My arms pressed to the side of my ears and my hands were face down on the floor to avoid being noticed. Yes, I was hiding. Well, attempting to.
The padding of bare feet made my pulse quicken. Counting every ticking second that passed waiting for something was like waiting for the click of a trigger.
My lungs inhaled sharply. Hot hands molded against my lower back, and I tensed, stiffening against the urges for the hand to press me deeper into the floor. The hands forced a little harder but only achieved the same result.
Heat blew across the back of my neck, and the hairs on it stood erect. It was a sigh. His sigh. I could hear his feet pad around me then cease. Hopefully, he went to aid someone else.
Shuffling in front of me had my senses on high alert, but I didn't dare look up.
"Look at me, love," a deep, rich voice demanded lightly. Shoot. I gradually met a green gaze. "Is there something wrong?"
Swallowing, I shake my head and mustered up a huge smile. The edge of his mouth twitched, but his countenance remained neutral. "Hmm, you seem so tense. Are you sure nothing is wrong?"
I nodded again.
"Then you won't mind if I stretch with you?" He didn't wait for a reply. Long and toned legs extended out in front of me before a pair of bare heels found the insides of my legs. Flexing his feet against my thighs, he slid himself closer across the floor. I squirmed uncomfortably. My legs were being pushed apart by his feet.
"Give me your hands," he instructed offering his own in such a delicate manner. Exhaling, I slipped both of my hands into his. Glares pounded at all sides of my head, and I couldn't resist the temptation to just look around. Dark, hazel eyes seized mine with malicious intent. And they were Arielle's. Her face was contorted into...envy?
Suddenly, large hands wrapped around the base of my elbows and tugged me forward. I suppressed a yelp. Fifteen seconds later, I found myself face down and chest pressed to the studio floor, consciously making an effort to keep my feet pointed. Lord Jesus why? Why am I in this class? Oh, right. The office has too many schedule requests at the moment and will get back to me when they have time.
Now my cheek was planted against the cold surface of the studio and my stomach was crushed against the shiny, dark, maple hardwood. All the while, Mr. E. Styles was moving my thighs further and further apart. Finally, he released my elbows.
"Don't move," he said in a low voice. He retracted his legs and lifted himself from the ground. Closing my eyes, I focused on my breathing and on keeping my feet pointed as I ignored the burning and stretching sensation in my legs. The same hot hands from earlier, pressed gently into my lower back until my whole front side was dug into the hard surface. The sensation intensified, and I tightly squeezed my eyes. He did not remove his hands for a full three minutes. I wish I hadn’t counted every second of it. But by then, the burning had long faded away, and I was now numb.
Slowly, I used my hands to climb up into a sitting position. My legs did not move. Not an inch. Mr. E. Styles wore this almost smug look on his face, but it quickly dissipated into thin air. "You may be relieved of your stretching duties, my dear."
A small noise escaped my throat as I slid my legs together. Breathing in deeply, I deliberately bounced my knees up and down to remove the stiffness from them and then hugged them to my chest.
Suddenly, he was there, towering over her smaller frame. There had been no sound of his swift movements when he had strode towards her. None at all.
His shoulders slightly drew back, his stance dominant, beautifully straight, and masterfully elegant. His head lowered, not a single hair escaping from his tight and impeccable man bun.
"But Mr. E,” Arielle, whined as she shifted on her knees in front of him, "Hamstring stretches and straddles hurt! I'm not that flexible. I can't do ten push-ups!" The brunette pouted folding her arms over her chest.
At that moment, I flinched at the hardness of his eyes. Cold. His features remained intact and statue still. It was as if forming an expression was currently irrelevant.
Twenty minutes ago, Mr. E. Styles had been in a lighter mood than usual. Though he never smiled, Mr. E. Styles had seemed somewhat relaxed and more eased when he had walked through the door. And now, that was fading away into the wisps of shrillness Arielle’s voice carried.
"In my list of ground rules, I don’t remember ever saying that you were allowed to constantly complain, do you, Miss, Freds?" His tone didn't rise or fall much, but it deeply resonated around the room. "And I believe you have been ceaselessly complaining for four days now. Do you wish to explore the consequences if you annoy me with your horrific and whiny voice one more time?"
Something glinted in Arielle's hazel eyes as she rolled them. “You never mentioned complaining in your little set of rules, Mr. E. All you basically told us was that you hated excuses and that we were expected to do everything you tell us to like we're your little puppets. Oh, and you can forget about me doing push-ups."
Ever so slightly, his head tilted at an angle. The bone of his jaw protruding from under his milky-white skin pronounced and defined. I had never seen in Harrison, Arkansas, a jaw so sharp and strong. So intimidating. Even though this phrase was overused, his jawline would probably cut through glass...easily.
Mr. E. Styles’ jade eyes bored straight into hers. He didn't have his large, framed spectacles on today, and I would say his eyes were less intimidating with them on. Without them, his eyes had a sharper glare, and his irises obtained a more dazzling shade of green.
“Miss. Freds-”
“I’m not doing them! I have better things to do than to be doing push-ups,” She countered before he could finish and gave him a challenging glare-a glare that just couldn’t be scaled to Mr. E. Styles’ own. Not even close.
It was quiet. No one seemed to breathe. No one dared to move.
Then, his body lowered. Lowered until he was in a crouched position. He stared over her head, but his body was directly in front of her. Only two inches separated them.
Mr. E. Styles' attire consisted of black tights and a long, black sleeveless shirt. His weight was supported on his toes, his form solid and still. The muscles in his legs were projected well underneath the black fabric.
Arielle chewed on her bottom lip, and her eyes flickered down his open body. I don't think he noticed or cared that Arielle's eyes traveled to the spot where his 'junk' was. She was pretty much ogling his somewhat exposed area.
"Well, puppet," he said, his tone dark and almost taunting. "If you'd have read between the lines even a fraction of a bit, you would know that complaining and back talk is highly unacceptable with me. Besides, I am most certain I said never to tell me what you can or can’t do or something similar along those lines. I expect to see you during your lunch break this afternoon."
There was no mistaking the flushness of Arielle's arms, legs, and face. The audible breaths escaping from her lungs gave it all away.
"Am I understood, puppet."
"Yes, Mr. E," she muttered, eyes wide and docile.
He abruptly stood and strode to the other end of the studio, hands clasped behind his back. "I want everyone in a correct straddle position with flexed feet and straight spine alignment-except for you," he turned, locking his eyes mercilessly on hers, “-my little puppet. I want you on your hands and knees. Now.”
Arielle obeyed. Her throat visibly knotted, and she swallowed.
“Twenty push-ups.”
Ignoring the rest of the scenery, I shifted and spread my legs as I flexed my feet. My toes pulled back toward me, and I straightened my back.
Mr. E. Styles came back to sit in the middle of the studio and went into a straddle position. He flexed his long feet and then observed us around the room and said, "Point your toes." His feet arched delicately, and the upper part of his thigh turned outward, tight and toned.
Everyone besides, Arielle, mimicked him and waited on his next instructions.
"Now slowly reach forward, hand on top of the other. Do not bend your knees. Hold that position until I tell you otherwise. Remember to breathe. It is important that you do so."
Mr. E. Styles removed himself from the straddle position to walk around the studio, assessing each individual, one by one. He stooped down to put pressure on a red-headed girl's back. I caught the sly smirk on the corner of her mouth as her head turned to meet her friend's knowing gaze.
Five minutes later, he was holding down the knees of the blonde next to me. When he rose to his feet, I placed my forehead on the cold studio floor. My arms pressed to the side of my ears and my hands were face down on the floor to avoid being noticed. Yes, I was hiding. Well, attempting to.
The padding of bare feet made my pulse quicken. Counting every ticking second that passed waiting for something was like waiting for the click of a trigger.
My lungs inhaled sharply. Hot hands molded against my lower back, and I tensed, stiffening against the urges for the hand to press me deeper into the floor. The hands forced a little harder but only achieved the same result.
Heat blew across the back of my neck, and the hairs on it stood erect. It was a sigh. His sigh. I could hear his feet pad around me then cease. Hopefully, he went to aid someone else.
Shuffling in front of me had my senses on high alert, but I didn't dare look up.
"Look at me, love," a deep, rich voice demanded lightly. Shoot. I gradually met a green gaze. "Is there something wrong?"
Swallowing, I shake my head and mustered up a huge smile. The edge of his mouth twitched, but his countenance remained neutral. "Hmm, you seem so tense. Are you sure nothing is wrong?"
I nodded again.
"Then you won't mind if I stretch with you?" He didn't wait for a reply. Long and toned legs extended out in front of me before a pair of bare heels found the insides of my legs. Flexing his feet against my thighs, he slid himself closer across the floor. I squirmed uncomfortably. My legs were being pushed apart by his feet.
"Give me your hands," he instructed offering his own in such a delicate manner. Exhaling, I slipped both of my hands into his. Glares pounded at all sides of my head, and I couldn't resist the temptation to just look around. Dark, hazel eyes seized mine with malicious intent. And they were Arielle's. Her face was contorted into...envy?
Suddenly, large hands wrapped around the base of my elbows and tugged me forward. I suppressed a yelp. Fifteen seconds later, I found myself face down and chest pressed to the studio floor, consciously making an effort to keep my feet pointed. Lord Jesus why? Why am I in this class? Oh, right. The office has too many schedule requests at the moment and will get back to me when they have time.
Now my cheek was planted against the cold surface of the studio and my stomach was crushed against the shiny, dark, maple hardwood. All the while, Mr. E. Styles was moving my thighs further and further apart. Finally, he released my elbows.
"Don't move," he said in a low voice. He retracted his legs and lifted himself from the ground. Closing my eyes, I focused on my breathing and on keeping my feet pointed as I ignored the burning and stretching sensation in my legs. The same hot hands from earlier, pressed gently into my lower back until my whole front side was dug into the hard surface. The sensation intensified, and I tightly squeezed my eyes. He did not remove his hands for a full three minutes. I wish I hadn’t counted every second of it. But by then, the burning had long faded away, and I was now numb.
Slowly, I used my hands to climb up into a sitting position. My legs did not move. Not an inch. Mr. E. Styles wore this almost smug look on his face, but it quickly dissipated into thin air. "You may be relieved of your stretching duties, my dear."
A small noise escaped my throat as I slid my legs together. Breathing in deeply, I deliberately bounced my knees up and down to remove the stiffness from them and then hugged them to my chest.
@AmatheiaStorm
Thank You So Much!
Can't wait to see what happens next in yours, too!
9/13/18