Jobs

Act 11 – The Dance Instructor

Let my body dance…on top of you.

~ Patience Howard

Three naked women slither into a wide bed, their hourglass figures dipping to a crawl over the king-sized mattress. The smooth globes of their backsides sway in the air as they approach the big man spread out in the middle. The oldest of the three concubines straddles the man’s firm abdomen, with her palms pressed against his muscular chest to warm her hands and get a feel of his heart beating. The other two women fall on either side of the man’s hips, where a semi-hard priapic manhood is waiting, straining to be fiddled, sucked, abused, and milked. These two vixens glide their hands down the tender length of the man’s c**k, appreciating the slow, steady arousal that is making it stand hard.

Carressa lowers her face to trace her husband’s mouth with hers, lining her lips in perfect symmetry with his as they exchange hot breaths and heated moans. Her pucker tingles with anticipation as she slowly draws away from him, “You were always so insatiable…Arthur,” she whispers into her husband’s mouth, her eyes locking with his as the man jams more pillows behind his back, affording him a view of his salacious wife, “…you f**k me on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You do Gia on Mondays and Wednesdays. And you plow Valentina on Fridays and Saturdays. Why…Mr. Montana? Why are you so insatiable?” she murmurs while lowering her mouth for a kiss, with her hair framing his vision so that all he can see is her. All the while the two hungry maidens make a feast of his hard member, two lips grazing the shaft with two tongues lapping its hardened length.

“Because I can,” he replies while squeezing Carressa’s breasts in his big hands, “You’re still my wife. Don’t worry about our children’s finances. When I’m long gone, everything will be in your possession,” he drags a n****e into his mouth while tweaking the other, making Carressa moan her delight and s****l frustration.

Carressa leans to move forward, knees separating wider as she mops her aching clít over Arthur’s rock-hard abs. She rubs her damp pubis against the man’s toned chest, appreciating the mingling of her sensitive skin against the pelt of unruly chest hair. The searing touch of hair against her sensitized pubis heightens her arousal, making her ache in places as restraint and pleasure battle in her pudenda.

Arthur pulls and sucks each areola with a practiced mouth, drawing moans from Carressa’s body which makes her color her language with delicious blasphemy. The man elongates each n****e, forcing the erect skin to jut out into sharp points of mangled nerves. The longer her n*****s are, the more raw her sensitivity becomes, “All I ever wanted is to arouse you…and make love to you…Carressa. But I’m just a man. A man who has fúcked-up needs. I like fúcking. And I like fúcking a different cúnt every time,” he murmurs into biting her n****e, eliciting a scream of pure arousal from her, “f**k…me.”

The man hisses in-between sucking Carressa’s títs, for he is prematurely close to a ripening orgasm, thanks to the two harpies licking his shaft from base to tip. He grinds his teeth in pleasure as he feels his hard-on getting harder, getting pulled and stimulated by two slick hands thick with lube. One hand is moving differently from the other, yet both are gripping, jerking, and lubricating his mounting pleasure ever closer to a mind-blowing ejaculation, “Ffffffuuck…”

Gia and Valentina’s combined grip is a threat to Arthur’s control, and he feels it slipping away as his slit threatens to spill hot come without preamble, “Ladies…take it easy…please,” he hisses through gritted teeth as Gia and Valentina switch every few seconds with their mouths sharing the taste of all-man; musky, hard, and throbbing, “Oh ssshhit. I don’t think I can come more than twice tonight. Don’t make me come. Don’t make me come. Not yet. Unnnggghhh…” he whimpers, then resumes his activity of sensating his wife, with his hard tongue flicking her n*****s like the tail of a frantic rattlesnake—fast, relentless, and undisciplined is how he strokes her elongated juts, lapping each protruding nub to harden as Carressa’s body wilts against the scintillating touch of tongue. Her body is lost as she pulls her husband’s face between her succulent breasts, wanting him to salve her títs with the slick workings of an expert tongue, tasting, teasing, and salivating.

She clasps the thick curve of the headboard as she slides her breasts down her man’s tongue, guided only by the touch of pleasure as she pushes a n****e into her husband’s hungry mouth.

“Oh s**t,” Arthur’s body jerks as the feeling of lubricated warmth envelops the hard length of his manhood, “Gia…what the f**k?!” the horny redhead rides him backwards, her hands vice-gripped around his knees to stretch them apart. She rolls her hips before slamming down her thighs, perpetually pulling inches of his gírth deeper to sheathe upwards. She throws her head back and closes her eyes, feeling full and occupied as she uses his díck as a tool to probe her v****a. She crashes against his hard-on to impale herself to the hilt. The poor man is swamped by another wave of pleasure when Carressa recoils to tease his n*****s with slow, sensual licks. She and Gia are back to back, rubbing against each other. The more Gia pumps Mr. Montana’s c**k with her pússy, the more Carressa purrs, for she knows that it won’t be long before her husband comes and explodes.

“Agh, Jesus, fffuck…” Mr. Montana is trembling as Gia dips her body forward, the poor man’s díck bending out of shape as the redhead lowers her tongue to a spread-eagled Valentina, whose cúnt is wet and wanting like an exposed oyster left unattended on a seafood buffet. Valentina, the snake that she is, hisses through teeth as Gia sinks her tongue down her damp orifice, drawing her clít with her tongue for a puckered kiss between her lips. The master photographer flutters her eyes like a snapping camera click, click, click! as her vision rolls backwards with relief flooding her system, her blood singing with delight the more Gia works her clít into an elongated nerve of pure sensitized arousal.

Guided by the feeling of heavy fullness, Gia squeezes her muscles around the hard knob, wrapping Mr. Montana’s wood with clenched warmth. Every brush of his díck inside her brings her pulse a little higher, slowly until the blood hammering in her ears is all she can hear, “Jesus Christ, Gia…slow down…please!”

The redhead doesn’t listen to him as she increases her battering tempo, pulling away just as quickly as she crashes back down onto his massive hard-on. Her pumping is relentless and without rest, making Mr. Montana buck wildly in pleasure and pain, taking him closer to a sinfully delicious orgasm, “Gia—!”

Regions of his body become hot and moist with sweat and juices as he jerks apart, tightening his grip around Carressa’s thighs to somehow control his impending orgasm. He is a writhing mess, squirming beneath two women who are pinning him down against the mattress. One is giving his lower body intense and mind-numbing pleasure, while the other hovers above him with swollen jugs that are screaming to be fondled.

Carressa traps her husband between her strong legs as she pushes his shoulders down, making his head sink between the white pillows, “Carressa, what are you doing?” his voice is barely recognizable as he whines against the force of Gia’s battering thrusts, smashing down onto his hard-on with so much force that it’s taking all his restraint not to come right then and there, “Gia, f**k, slow, please.”

Carressa shuts him up by lowering her nether lips to cover his whimpering mouth. The man breathes heavily through her v****a as his tongue sheathes upwards, making Carressa revel in the feeling of something sharp as it parts the folds of her pudenda. She sweeps her hips in a forward motion to connect her man’s prodding tongue to her aching nub. She can feel her clít being pulled by gravity as it rests heavily on her husband’s tongue. She mewls and purrs as Mr. Montana swabs her v****a with a pointed lick, tasting her salty tang as her restraint breaks into a body-blowing release. For a woman as old as Carressa, restraint is as thin as a one-ply tissue. The older she gets, the lesser her control has become when it comes to s*x, whether it’s extreme penetration or oral.

She wails her fúcked-up satisfaction as electricity shoots through her spine, coursing upwards to erupt in her brain as she wipes her cúnt lips clean against her husband’s mouth. Arthur’s nose is swabbing the folds of Carressa’s v****a, his tongue lapping at her succulent juices. She creams herself dry, masking her husband’s face with a thick coating that withers her body into a mass of nerves, sensitivity, and spasms.

Mr. Montana’s voice sounds raw and hoarse from lack of use as he scrunches his face to the blinding pleasure of being ridden like a bronco. His inner veneer of strength crumbles as orgasm leeches down his groin, making him push Carressa out of the way to wrap around Gia’s body like a boa constrictor, “Come on, Gia…make Valentina come,” he whispers huskily as he f***s her from behind, alternating between her sodden cúnt and her tight virgin áss. The redhead screams into Valentina’s pússy, cursing her frustration as the man takes her hard from behind, seizing her butt, fúcking her sphincter with force, alternating between the dampness of her pússy and the tightness of her ásshole.

Valentina on the other hand is fisting the sheets as Gia leeches her tongue to fish out her throbbing clít, the swollen nub rolling down the redhead’s tongue with her teeth grating against the sodden folds of her vaginal lips. Oh what pleasure, what sick pleasure one can amass from a foursome. And it goes on, and on, and on, and on. Carressa slinks and lays by Valentina’s side, taking a n****e into her mouth which makes Valentina arch her body in backbreaking pleasure as her body gets attacked, “I’m coming!”

Valentina can feel her delicious arousal slipping away, threatening to burst at the seams and escape her body through her orifice. The same can be said with Gia as Mr. Montana f***s her like a brawling adolescent, not knowing where to concentrate his thrusts as both v****a and sphíncter offer different kinds of pleasure.

“I’m…aah!” Valentina’s torso rises to the heavens, her juices flowing outside of her, running down her thighs like warm water, leaving pure sensitivity in its wake as her bones wither into a downward spiral of adulterated, fúcked-up bliss.

Gia’s breathing matches her heartbeat as Mr. Montana pummels her senseless. The hard díck inside of her poking and prodding in different directions and hitting her in many different ways, leaving her breathless as the feral creature behind her f***s regions inside her body she didn’t know existed. Drool is a steady stream down her mouth as the mangy beast f***s her to the hilt. She can feel her orgasm leaking from her body as he punctures the thin barrier that is protecting her from spilling. Over and over and again and again the man rams her while sharpening her n*****s between his fingers, pulling and tweaking at the swollen juts to turn them into fine points that the slightest of touch feels like a thousand tongues.

He takes her with rough thrusts, his thick shaft heaving upwards and tearing her apart which makes her draw air desperately as she pushes back to meet him pound for pound, skin to skin, thrust for thrust. He f***s her like an animal, pumping her to bring him closer to his own release. He bucks uncontrollably, pulling her body closer for one final thrust. His explosion prompts Gia to detonate, the pleasure hanging by a thread from her abused clít until it was ripe enough for gravity to pull beneath her. And so she explodes, wails, screams at the top of her lungs as she spirals and crashes from her high. Her legs shake as she wets herself between her thighs, a long line of fluid coursing down her skin as Mr. Montana continues to f**k her come, making his thrusts all the more slimy and pleasurable as he stretches his orgasm inside her, filling her, making her understand what it feels like to be full, full of come.

Carressa interjects, “Next time I want to be Gia.”

“Not if I ride your husband first,” murmurs Valentina.

“Holy s-s**t…I c-can’t feel my v****a,” cries Gia, out-of-breath.

“Let your arms follow the direction of your legs. Twirl. Swirl. Move around. Think Alice in Wonderland. Sway those bodies. Feel like you’re floating through air. Loosen up those kinks. There’s no need to be shy. This is to warm our glutes and condition our thighs. That’s it. Great job Valentina! Now…you two…throw your hands away from your bodies while sliding one foot in front of the other, pointing your toes with each step…good…great! Now, I know this looks retarded, but doing these exercises help condition our brains into thinking that each limb is active and about ready to fall into a rhythm…a dance…alright?” is how I start my dance class as more people spill into the room, spreading out, occupying their places and corners as they let loose in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of my dance studio, “Chop chop, we don’t have all day,” I clap my hands, “Be a meter away from each other. Then we’ll start today’s lesson with a simple exercise. Find a partner…that’s it,” I start throwing scarves to each individual, “Wear your blindfolds…and stay in position.”

I walk towards three of my clients as they huddle together not wanting to separate, “You can’t do a dance with six legs. It’s too messy,” I pull Valentina away and partner her with a latex-wearing gay man who’s a dead ringer for Matt Bomer, “You and Gia are partners, alright?” I tell Carressa and she pouts, “Oh come on. Gia’s not that bad. Fine, she’s a train-wreck. I’ll make sure that by the end of the week she will no longer have two left feet, sound good?” I wink and it makes Gia pout with righteous indignation.

After a couple minutes of boisterous chitchat and struggling to find a partner, everyone has managed to pair up and cover their eyes with the blindfolds, “This exercise will take five minutes. And each minute is a different kind of music. I’ll be playing ballet, rock, jazz, striptease, and your usual Katy Perry or Miley Le Twerk Cyrus. The more you hit your partner the better, because that means you’re letting loose and not giving a care in the world if you look like a cross between Lindsay Lohan and David Hasselhoff,” I slide the iPod into its docking system and the music spills through the amplifiers, serenading the room and filling it with a concerto piece of old ballet.

I watch as my clients absorb the melody, the energy flowing through their bodies, making them move in ways that their bodies wouldn’t do otherwise in the presence of others, “That’s it. Let the music consume you. Feel the vibe. Be the music. Hit your partner,” I duck an arm that flails in front of me, the arm of one Gia Thatcher, my most uncoordinated client yet the most beautiful, “That’s it…move…dance.”

Ballet melted into rock and rock exploded into jazz and jazz crooned to a striptease before crashing to a mash-up of Katy Perry’s Firework and Miley Cyrus’ Wrecking Ball, which didn’t sound good at all. Nah-uh.

“Wasn’t that great?” I ask with a smile as they pull their blindfolds off and examine how frumpy and loose they have all become after just five minutes of a carefree and almost demonic kind of possession, “Dance is all about creating tension,” I gesture for my partner to approach and take me in his arms. I wrap a leg around his waist and tilt my body as he bends back, “And we create tension by breathing hard, touching the face of your partner, pushing your body against the person dancing next to you, holding him close, grabbing him tight…thank you Carlo,” he lets go of me and I walk towards the iPod, “Now, we’ll keep today’s lesson simple. We’ll be focusing on our hips. We’ll take twerking to a whole new level. Hit it!” the music drips from the speakers and I’m lost…lost as I dance with Carlo, doing my own version of the twerk which I combine with sultry Latin music.

I’m dancing with Carlo. He’s Latino. But he isn’t really my partner. My man, my husband, he’s waiting for me at home, busying himself with things other than dancing because dancing he no longer wants to do.

I stop in-between two sets of moves, repeating in slow motion so my clients can replicate the dance move. I do this and think to myself how much I miss dancing with my own man. But not right now. Not yet.

The hours flow by and I’m enthralled by everybody’s progress. Even Gia is starting to understand that her body is gifted with movement just like all the others. I bask in the prevailing glow of their mirth as they praise each other for pulling off step one to step two. I smile to myself thinking if my husband will ever come back to me, dancing like all these wonderful people do, “Patience.”

“Yes?” I turn to Valentina, “Is something the matter??”

“I miss seeing you with Adam. When will he be back?”

I smile, “Hopefully soon. He’s taking care of it. He’ll be back in no time,” I tell her and she smiles incandescently.

Hmm…Adam…everybody misses you already. I miss you too, “Okay everyone,” I clap my hands, “That’s it for today. I’ll be seeing you again tomorrow,” I wave my clients goodbye as they sling their bags over their shoulders, a few strangers hooking with fellow strangers, hoping for a date, a shag, or both, “Thanks Carlo,” I tell my substitute partner as he packs to leave just like the others. Hmm…time to go home…to my Adam.

I step away from the shower and wrap a towel around my torso, securing a tight knot between the curves of my bosom as I near my walk-in closet. I dry myself from head to toe and pull an old nightgown which I shrug down my body. I feel clean. Too clean. Much too clean to do anything dirty tonight.

Adam is by the window in his chair. He’s watching the crescent sunshine as it spills through the glass of the windowpane.

I lean against the door, appreciating the handsome man as his thoughts take him to places unknown. I look to a display case of trophies in our room, awards which he and I have won over the last ten years in dancing competitions. I think to myself the many accolades he and I shared over the last decade, bringing back colorful memories from when we were younger, “Come here, Patience. I want to see you.”

I stride to sit on his lap, and immediately hands were strewn around my waist as he nuzzles the cleft between my breasts, “You smell just like the day we first met,” he murmurs into my throat and I perch my chin over his head, “How was today?”

“Same like yesterday. It’s very lonely without you.”

“I’ll come back when I’m ready. I’ll come back.”

“I know, Adam. I know.”

“Thank you, Patience.”

“Oh Adam, I should be the one thanking you.”

“Thank me?” he smirks, “For what, darling?”

“For saving me from having to kiss a million frogs,” I giggle and he smiles his handsome smile. I touch his hair which is graying around the edges, “Carry me to bed. I want to dream with you.”

I hold on to my man as both his hands clasp the wheels of his chair. It’s been a year since Adam met an accident that cost him his legs. I look at him and I see his fight. He’s going through therapy and I’m hopeful that he’ll be able to dance again. It doesn’t bother me that he’s handicapped, for this too shall pass. And besides. He still has his third leg. And it’s just as hard.