"The laws for sexual harassment in my country sure must be strange for a foreigner boy like you, huh? I suppose you thought you could write whatever you wanted about our troupe online, just like back home? That you could come to our ballet performances and yell things? Hold up denigrating signs? That the worst thing that could happen was a fine or a restraining order, and then you'd just find a new victim? Well... our tour abroad ended, and you just had to follow us back home, didn't you? Big mistake."

"Stop pulling on your restraints, it's no use. The satin ribbon wrapped around your wrists and ankles might look flimsy, but the edges are lined with metal wire. You are not breaking them anytime soon. Oh, and under those neat decorative bows are proper knots. To be honest, we'll probably need wire cutters to get you out. Not that we plan to anytime soon. Instead, you just get to lay here on this comfy, pink, frilly, bed, pulled taught like a big X."

"And even if you did break free, there are eight of us. Sure, we're just dainty ballerinas, but you aren't exactly the biggest guy yourself, shorty. Very pretty though. And slender. No gym gains to speak of. More like a girl than a boy to be honest. Maybe that's why you have such a big chip on your shoulder towards us pretty girls? Been told your whole life you aren't a real man?"

"Oh, look, he's blushing! Well, I would too, if I were dressed up in a pink satin leotard and a poofy tutu, the fuzz on my legs all waxed and covered with smooth, white, thigh-high socks. Luckily, your hair wasn't too short. We managed to form it into a much cuter style. And here. You should see your face in this pocket mirror."

"Wow. I thought you were blushing before, but now you're so red, it's more like purple. Didn't expect that, did you? Make-up is magical. We just enhanced your already prominent girly features and toned down the boring boy one's. If we put you online like this, you'd quite possibly get some of that harassment you like to deal out back. Just aimed at yourself this time."

"Haha, I can see the panic in your eyes. We are legally allowed to do that, after all. But we won't. However, our rights, as per our country's judicial system, stretch very far. As long as the punishment fits the crime, of course. So, let's see some things that you wrote.

THOSE DISGUSTING TINY B*TCHES THINKING THEY ARE SO HOT.

YOU NEED A REAL MAN! GET OFF THE STAGE AND INTO THE KITCHIN!!

I COULDN'T C*M TO THOSE PRISSY C*NTS IF IT WAS THE LAST THING ON EARTH!

"Geez. Caps Lock much? And that spelling and grammar, not to speak of the subject matter. Oh, you're trying to argue something? Or is it just more insults? Hard to tell when your mouth is stuffed like that. Not sure with what. It must have been Mirabelle who got to you before I arrived? But judging by her smirk and the stuff you wrote about her in particular, I can only assume it's something very fitting, and a lot of it. You've probably discovered by now that the surgical tape over your cute, pouty, lips is quite impossible to remove without fingertips. And your own little fingers, tips and all, seem like they have been sealed away by that very same tape. Each little fist, trapped in a white, thick, sticky cocoon."

"Anyway, here's what's going to happen. You obviously think all of us are sooo unattractive. You've said as much in over 5 000 comments over those three months. You even claimed it in court. Multiple times. So, obviously, you would never get aroused by girls like us, right?"

"Well, as per the court’s orders you are ours for one week. During that week, if we can prove that you actually do find any one of us attractive enough to... climax, we are awarded damages. I believe it was ten times your yearly salary? No way for you to pay that I assume, with how much you seem to spend on OnlyFans, which means you'd be paying the remainder by working for us. Doing whatever we want, whenever we want it."

"The thing is, we could probably get you to squirt in just about ten minutes. I've massaged your cute little crotch since I started reading your comments, and I can already see I'm having an effect. You see, I think you are actually immensely attracted to us. To our bodies, our outfits, our way of life. Your search history did reveal you have been looking at ballerina costumes that seems like they would fit you. Odds are, getting all dolled up like this and in the clutches of a pack of vicious ballerina's is something you fantasized about more times than you've had breakfast."

"So, we could get this thing over in ten minutes. It's not like we lack the skill. But we're going to give you a fighting chance to prove that you actually think we are so impossibly unattractive as you claim. For this entire week, day and night, the eight of us will take turns. We will keep you as close to ejaculation as we possibly can without letting you actually cum. You will fight alongside us, of course. After all, if you do succumb to that nice, wonderful, urge of pleasure, you are ours."

"Then, for the final hour on the final day, your true test will begin. That’s when we’ll really try to make you explode, as many times as we can. We will use any trick in our arsenal to drain you completely dry. If, by the end of that hour, you by some miracle still have withstood us, your case has been proven, and you will be free. Free to go back to your own life, in your old tiny apartment, with your old minimum wage job."

"We've drawn lots, and it looks like you are Mirabelle's for the first three hours. Seems like I won't be seeing you until 15 hours in. Take care, little ballerina boy. And try to stay sane!"

[SIX DAYS AND 23 HOURS OF INTENSE TEASING AND DENIAL LATER]

"Look at you! Making it through all the way to the final hour! Good boy! That thing between your legs sure is a trooper. Look at it twitching against the edge of your tutu, even though none of us are even touching it. Like you, it’s not that big, but it sure looks ready to burst. Swollen and oh so sensitive. And yet it can’t, not without assistance. Just like you. So completely helpless. Just aching for release.”

“Hey? Do you even hear me? Or are you so deep within that insanely desperate wish to climax that you can't even register my voice? Maybe you are just swimming around inside your own head, completely lost in a maze of pure denied pleasure? I guess you will never be quite yourself again after this. So many hours of being just a fraction of an inch away. Oh, I could tell you were actively pursuing release already when I had my first go. Those muffled screams of absolute frustration whenever I stopped my gentle strokes. The futile  frantic attempts to get your hands free from those pesky flimsy-looking restraints. All those wordless pleads for mercy. We all enjoyed the entire show you gave us deeply."

"And now, we've come to that final fateful hour. For the first time, all eight of us will descend on you. Just a pile of silky outfits, soft bodies, and nimble fingers. If I were in a betting mood, I'd put your chances at about 0.000000001%. That is, if you even want to fight us. But I don't think you do. I think you've discovered that there are better things in life than working ten-hour days, coming home to an empty place, and spending your evening writing hateful messages to people you see on screens. When you think about it, your new life with us will be so... much... better... And if you behave like a good little ballerina boy, we’ll certainly even consider letting you cum every once in a while. Maybe as often as once a year."

"Oh. The hour is starting. Girls, don’t stop until you’ve drained every final drop of this little ballerina boy’s masculinity!”