The pounding bass shook the stage just a millisecond after the point she was already started to sway to it. The volume was deafening if it wasn't for the low-profile earplugs in her ears. Despite the muffled sound, her ears still rang out from every beat that shook her body.
Harumi left a grin plastered on her face and high-stepped into the middle of the stage, right at the spot she practiced a thousand times. As soon as her bright yellow boot struck the stage, she twisted and brought her hip up in three short pops.
The beat of the song matched her movements perfectly, with each thrust matching the crash of J-pop music flooding over the audience. Her skirt, a matching yellow, fluttered up giving the camera C a chaste but forbidden look at her panties. The position was perfect to prevent the tightly-stretched fabric of view of her vulva, but not by much. She had practiced the maneuver a thousand times in the last few weeks and she pulled it off perfectly.
No doubt, there would be pictures of her traded in the back of schoolrooms before the week was out, but that was the entire point. The collective lust of her body and music drove sales skyward and made her a star, an idol.
She spun around and launched into her third number of the concert. The words were forgettable and saccharine, just like every other song currently flooding the market in the last three months. But, the producers picked the song for her after weeks of market research and then promptly drilled the words into her head until she would be singing them the day she died.
Still grinning, she gave the audience a wink before prancing in a circle. With every step, she waved her arms and sang into the microphone. Her voice, high-pitched but somehow booming, rolled over her. The ear plugs muffled the volume, but it was her voice being blasted across twenty thousand screaming fans.
Her backup dancers came on the stage in a shower of yellow silk blossoms. They all wore dark sailor uniforms to contrast with her yellow ensemble. She couldn't feel their heels tapping against the stage, but each of their steps was accompanied by bass thuds. It was a rush to feel the vibrations warring inside her body. She thrust into the bass beat and cried out with a little more enthusiasm that she needed.
The response was electric, a wave of screaming and applause that washed over her. She couldn't see them past the lights blinding her, but she could feel their attention, their adoration, and their love. It was her drug and she almost swooned from the sweetness that burned in her veins. It also brought a rush of excitement pulsing between her legs, a heated throb that brought flashes of pleasure that dwarfed even the orgasms she invoked with the tips of her fingers.
Her third number smoothly segued into her fourth and then the fifth. The backup dancers left the stage and came back, but she wasn't allow even a moment's relief. By the time it was done, she was dripping with sweat and trembling with exhaustion. She gave a cheerful bow, spun around to press one fingertip to her cheek, and then screamed “Kawaii!”
The audience hall exploded into screams and cheers as she pranced off the screen. She had to press her thighs together to avoid giving anyone a forbidden view of her soaked pussy.
Harumi's smile dropped the second she was out of sight of the audience and the cameras. With a groan, she staggered forward underneath a countdown clock that measured the number of seconds before she was back on stage.
There wasn't much time.
Her dressing room was only a few meters from the back of the stage. Within seconds, she was inside where a small army of makeup artists and costumers rushed forward. Hands plucked at her clothes and face. She felt someone toweling off her face and arms before clothes were yanked off her body. The towels returned to blot up the worst of her sweat. Fingers worked their way inside her skirt and she leaning into them as they unzipped her skirt and pulled it down.
A few seconds later, she was in her yellow bra and panties. Her body no longer glistened with sweat, but she could feel the heat pulsating deep inside her. It curled inside her body and reminded her that the high-powered air conditioner had no hope of cooling her down before she was back on stage.
When she saw her next outfit being brought to her, she held up her hands. “Towel, please?”
The nearest assistant reached out to blot an imaginary spot, but Harumi grabbed the towel. Looking down, she pulled the front of her pristine panties away from her body. The heat of her pussy, slick with sweat and her excitement, rolled along her skin. She jammed the towel into her underwear and sopped up the worst of the sweat.
Satomi, her manager, let out a hiss of annoyance from her stool near the center of the room. “That's disgusting,” she muttered in her raspy voice. “You're suppose to be sixteen and sixteen-year—”
“I'm eighteen back here,” Harumi said sheepishly as she drew the towel up the length of her slit before pulling it out.
“You are sixteen and will always be sixteen forever,” snapped Satomi. “Never break the kayfabe!” The older woman stood up.
Harumi bowed her head. “Sorry, sensei.” She released her underwear and it snapped against her taut belly.
Before she could adjust herself, the costumers were upon her. While hands guided her arms into the proper holes, someone adjusted her panties smooth against her shaved mound and buttocks. There was nothing sexual about any of the movements, even when someone adjusted her nipples inside her bra, but simply a matter of getting her dressed in a flowing dress in two minutes eighteen seconds.
“Don't forget it!” said Satomi before slumping back down. “It only takes one moment to ruin everything.”
Harumi grinned and waved her hand. “Yes, sensei. A dancer is pristine and virginal, but that's on stage and I don't want to be soaking wet.”
Some of the anger faded from Satomi's eyes. “Just… don't make a mistake.”
Not good luck, or the Western's break a leg. Be careful to not ever break the kayfabe of being cute, adorable, and living the unreal dream. It was the simple reminder to Harumi not to fuck up the best chance she had.
She spun around and pressed one finger against her cheek. “Kawaii!”
And then she was heading back to the stage.