I don’t like to dance. I can’t dance, in fact. Forget the cliche two left feet, when I get going I have at least six or seven of them. I do appreciate good music, though, and so the sensual sound of salsa is soothing my shopping experience.
I like this town. There is so often something going on. Today, there is a group of people dancing. Professionals, dancing with each other. The men are in black from head to toe, their shirts open to reveal golden cinnamon skin below. The ladies costumes are bright and swirling, fringes and layering around the short skirts add movement as they sway and shake their hips. Red, yellow, white and blue dresses swirl to the sexy salsa beat.
I sit on the wall outside the hardware shop and listen. I can only catch glimpses of the dancing as the crowd shifts and people move on, but I can feel the beat of the music slipping and sliding all through my body. I slowly swig from a bottle of water and am aware of the stretch of my neck and the way I swallow. I think of sex, of being on my knees; a cock between my lips, spurting thick cream down the back of my elongated, begging throat.
I shake my head as I drain the last drop and stand to place the bottle in a bin. As I move, my body zings. My nipples are hard and brushing against the cotton of my bra, my legs wobble as after orgasm and my heart is thump, thump, thumping like a rabbit in heat. The music is powerful, the beat taking me over. I’m single, happily single. I don’t obsess about sex, but right now I’d fuck right here, any man, any woman just to get some release.
I can’t take it anymore and so I spin away from the music, concentrating on the domestic nature of my trip. I need to go to the butchers and I need a new bulb for the living room light.
I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I look. A man dressed in black grabs the crook of my arm with one hand and gesticulates to the other dancing bodies in the middle of the square. I shake my head, my cheeks exploding with color and I try to pull away, but his grip is tight, the thick brown fingers digging into my flesh.
“Come,” he whispers in my ear. “Come dance with me. It will be beautiful.” There is a tinge to his voice, a hint of an accent which enhances the low bass timbre of his words.
“No, no!” I shake my head, my voice high pitched and squeaky. “I can’t dance.” I feel pearls of sweat dripping down my back. The intensity of the sun heats my flesh to a burning point and my heart strains to be away from this man.
My mistake is in looking into his eyes. They are dark, black like treacle, with soft golden flecks which dance to the salsa beat. I cannot fight against him any longer. I am meek. I walk with him and the crowd parts. Suddenly I am contained within a semi-circle of space, other dancers and poor unsuspecting shoppers surrounding me.
I balk, the color running from my face, the fear of public humiliation forcing me to take action, to pull away. He is strong and as I strain away from him he pulls me in hard against his body as if we are already dancing.
“I CAN’T dance.” I scream it to his face, the fear pulsing through me, making me behave unlike my usual timid self.
“You can.” He wraps his other arm around my waist. “Just listen to the music.”
I wonder for a moment if I should scream and cry out for help, but the words will not fall from my mouth. The feel of him so close is intoxicating, the sound so close to the band is overwhelming. The sweet melodies shake through my system, making my hips shiver in unconscious response.
“Yes, that’s it.” His lips are by my ear. I can almost feel them caressing my skin. “You are so sexy, so sensual. Let the music guide you.”
His hand strokes the base of my back and I feel warmth spread through me. My arms hang loosely at my sides, but as he moves me back and forward I lose balance and reach out. One hand lands on his hip, the other finds itself clasped within the strong confines of my dance partner’s fingers.
Forward and back he steps and I jerk in response until I establish the same rhythm. I smile at him as I let the music guide my feet.
“See?” His lips are there, just by my ear again, close to my neck. “You can dance.” His lips brush gently against my cheek; I bite back a moan, unsure if it’s intentional; I want to feel those thick, confident lips pressed against me firmly, long to taste them, feel them against my own.
As the music surrounds me, my body moves with it; sinuously, sensually, sexily. The feelings from before are heightened by the movement of my body in proximity to his. His body is hard and unyielding. It rubs against my breasts, my legs, my groin. He’s hard and ready for action from the feel of it. The dance is like fast-paced sex. Raw, wild and frenzied, as if I am being fucked fully-clothed.
It’s stopped. I feel my body heaving in shock. I drown in disappointment as his body pulls away from mine. The gathered crowd is clapping and his hand is back in the small of my back, pushing me forward in an awkward bow. He escorts me away from the other dancers as they break into a new, more professional routine.
“Well, er, thanks,” I mumble, glancing briefly into his intense stare. His smile is intoxicating, so I drop my head and try my best to walk away, but he’s still holding on to me. As I move away he pulls me back, like an intricate dance move and I end up wrapped in his arms. I find him kissing me.
How can I resist? A little voice somewhere in the very back corner of my mind mutters something about being in public, about this being a stranger. But his lips on mine are sending me an even stronger message and it’s heading straight between my legs.
I don’t protest when he pushes me back, I don’t protest when his hands run down to my hips, then up and under my t-shirt. I try to protest as his fingers sneak into my bra, but his kiss smothers me, his tongue slips into my mouth as his fingers brush my nipples and I cannot find my voice.
The cups are pushed under my breasts, propping them up and leaving them exposed. His fingers tease and taunt the tiny nubs before one trails down my stomach and slips under the waistband of my skirt. The little voice is there again, reminding me that the cool breeze I can feel on my exposed tummy is not coming in through an open window. I know I’m in public and I know I should stop, but my body is beyond caring.
I’ve always been the sensible sort. I was married to a man who liked my sensible side but shunned my sexual side. It hurt me when he left, went off with a big-boobed bimbo who obviously wasn’t speaking to his sensible side at all. Now I feel like I’m re-discovering the sensuality held in check for so damn long. It’s like this guy, this guy whose name I don’t even know, has the key, and he’s unlocking my lust.
My skirt is hitching higher and higher, yet his lips have not once left mine. This guy is a seasoned seducer. I flush with embarrassment when I realize he’s going to discover I’m knickerless under the long, sunshine skirt. He doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers graze my naked mound and a groan vibrates from his mouth to mine and straight to my exposed pussy. He runs a thick finger down the slit and picks up a glaze of my moisture which he brings to his lips, pulling them apart from mine for a moment. He savours the taste of me, staring deep into my eyes.
I am a goner. That stare has pierced me with nails and fastened me to the wall. My body seems to have frozen and as I hear his zipper, I wait for the inevitable, my heart thumping and my ears listening to the dull bang of shoes passing by the end of the passageway.
He wastes no time, his cock is freed and lodged between my pussy lips. He pushes hard, lifting my feet off the floor as his cock fills me. His hands grab beneath my buttocks and I cross my legs behind him. I don’t know how he’s holding me up. I’m no waif, but his pounding cock is all I can feel, all that is keeping me in the air.
The wall biting into my back hurts, but that only seems to make the sensations in my cunt all the more pleasurable. I can’t help but let out grunts and groans of ecstasy, and I open my eyes briefly when I remember just how close to the crowds we really are. Luckily, no one is paying any attention to what is happening down a dank, dark alleyway as the Salsa music has started up again. I feel his hips falling in with the sensual beat of it.
His cock is stretching me, filling me and driving me wild. I close my eyes and surrender to the beat, arms and my legs wrapped around him, holding him tight as an orgasm builds. I’ve never felt an orgasm at the hands of another and this feels so damn good. I’m not in control. I’m just letting it happen to me. It feels so fucking good. I let out a yelp and his lips thud down on mine.
“Shhh,” He hisses then kisses me as my clit throbs, sending ecstatic pulses through my cunt and upwards ’til the sensation explodes all the way through me, from my toes to my skull.
I scream into his mouth, his lips muffling the sound as he grunts back, driving his shaft deep into me and leaving it lodged there, throbbing and pumping its pleasure into me.
My legs drop as his hands move from my buttocks. His cock slips out of me and he tucks it away as my skirt drops back down, tickling my legs. I press my breasts back in to the confines of my bra then I run my fingers through my hair, smoothing it down.
“Thank you.” I smile, leaning in to kiss him this time. He blushes, smiles, then returns the kiss.
“My pleasure,” he rasps. “I knew you could dance from the moment I saw you. Oh yes, you can dance.”
He runs to the end of the alley and as he bursts out into the sunshine an arm captures him and pulls him off towards the other salsa dancers. I continue with my shopping trip, a smile on my lips. It is true what they say; giving way to the beat is truly freeing. I wonder if there is anywhere locally giving Salsa lessons?