Dance on the Edge of a Volcano

He saw her first, across the dance floor, near the bar. Her hair dark and worn in a style which reminded him of movie stars from the 50's. It looked good on her, but made her seem just a little unreal. Her dress was black and followed closely the curves of her figure finishing in black lace around her knees; beneath she wore black stockings – he knew they would be stockings. She stood completely still as if in some way separate from everything around her and that seemed to throw some hypnotic effect upon him.

It was sometime before he became aware that he was looking, such was the power of entrancement. When he realised, he turned away, momentarily embarrassed though unsure exactly why. Perhaps it was that sensation of not being properly in control.

He had to meet her.

Somehow, his thoughts seemed to bring her to him. In an instant her eyes had found him and she started to move. His heart missed a beat when he realised she was moving towards him, to him.

She moved with a grace he had never seen before. Purposeful, her entire body swayed with a slow seductive power. Despite the black dress or maybe because of it and the way it clung and concealed, flowed and revealed, he was strangely aware of her naked body coming to him – the dress inhabited some other, unreal, dimension which both cloaked her and presented her to him.

He remembered, or thought he remembered, hearing that a snake can hypnotise its prey by the way it moves. He understood how that might be and felt a dryness in his throat.

Although she appeared to be seeking him out, as she approached she seemed to change direction. Spurred into action, not wishing to lose her now she was so close, he intercepted her with a clumsy request for a dance though he knew his vocabulary was not functioning properly. Afterwards, he could not remember if he had actually asked, but the fact that within a few seconds he had his arm around her on the dance floor, led him to assume that he must have done, though he could remember no spoken words.

A slow number. Ideal. He could not believe it had been so easy: the simple transition from strangers to a formal embrace on the dance floor. Like a gift, it seemed she had just given herself to him.

‘Maria’, she said and for a short while said nothing more. He assumed it was her name.

‘Daniel’, he said, leading the two of them. Only his mother had ever called him Daniel, and he was surprised that he had used the name now.

She felt soft and warm in his arms. Her perfume, hardly noticeable at first, slowly began to pervade his senses. She was breathing lightly; he could feel the gentle movement of breasts moving freely behind the thin fabric of her dress and he thought he could detect the harder texture of her nipples against his skin making their presence felt through her dress, through his shirt. His hand was on her waist and the warmth of her body felt good.

She moved closer to him. Deliberately using her body as an erotic challenge to him. He felt both aroused and threatened. The arousal was easily winning the battle though. Her head moved closer to his shoulder, her lips closer to his ear.

'You like me, don't you?' she whispered, her fingers exerting a subtle pressure on his back just below his neck.

The hard bulge in the front of his trousers pressing into the shallow valley between the top of her thigh and her pubic region seemed to make the answer to the question irrelevant. He felt awkward, his body betraying him so blatently to this bewitching stranger, but she moved again, her mound, proud and uncompromising, rolling over the fabric concealed mound of his manlust making his mound seem like a mountain. The discomfort he felt, he had no power to move from. Holding her on the dance floor, he felt himself held even more securely in a vicelike grip of words and animal need.

‘I know you do.’ She said, her breath’s warmth lightly disturbing the air beside his ear.

They moved together across the dance floor, but not as one. Moving with him, she also moved against him, shifting the pressure of her body against his. His hardened cock was massaged by her body pressing through her thin layer of clothing, through his. Moving with the music and within the music, her body expressed itself against his in some dance within a dance. And she continued to whisper in his ear.

‘Some men’, she continued, ‘like to hold me close, like this, press their body up against mine. They use the dance floor as an excuse to rub themselves against me. They get erections and hold them close against me. Isn’t that nasty, using me like that … like a cheap whore? They move against me pretending that they are slipping them selves in and out of my private place.’

‘They want to fuh me.’ she said, not pronouncing the hard ‘ck’ of fuck, building up the tension of the word but not allowing the final release; stopping the full expression with a hard ‘H’. She had an eroticism all of her own.

She held herself against him submissively, as if seeking protection. He felt the need to hold her, to protect her, to take her as his. He felt her domination crawling over him like a spider.

His cock was harder than it had ever been, but still constrained. Her body pressed to him, her words in his ear, her warm breath against his neck were proving to be too much. He did not know how to exercise control in this situation. He felt the hot sticky sensation of precum leaking into his pants.

‘But you’re not like that.’ She said, moving again, exerting the pressure of her body against the full length of his cock, so cruelly constrained by the dark tan cloth of his trousers. ‘You’re a gentleman.’

'My vagina feels moist.' She paused. ‘Hot and moist. Some men affect me like that. Isn’t it strange how our bodies can behave like that; betraying our most private thoughts? Even here, on the dance floor, I cannot help but think of our bodies naked pressed together, flesh against flesh. I know we are both clothed but I can feel the anticipation in my body; in yours.’

The pressure of her body, the pressure of her words held him. The thoughts in his head confused. Those other thoughts expressing themselves within his body crying their own urgency.

‘Sometimes, when I think of a man I feel my juice building inside, feel my body preparing. It’s like my mouth watering for a juicy steak, like a hunger growing with the expectation. It’s so good to be taken sometimes.’

‘I like the hardness of a man. That strength to take me, to press himself into my womans body, so soft and yielding.’

‘… like a boa constrictor.’ He thought as his mind briefly came up for air before being dragged down again into the coils. He knew he should run screaming as far away from this woman as possible and knew, just as surely, that he could not.

'I love the sensation of a man's hardness between my thighs, the teasing pressure of his steamy eagerness against my pouting lips. I like to feel the hunger building within myself and the pressing promise of its' satisfaction. I like the warm salty secretion that makes his thing so slippery, so easy to slide up inside me. I like the welcoming of my body, the parting of my pussy lips in acceptance as his thickness opens and stretches my slick passage with that exquisite pain of invasion. I like to be satisfied. I like to be filled.’

‘Would you like to fill me, Daniel?’

The dryness in his throat, the paralysis affecting the higher brain functions made an answer impossible. The other couples on the dance floor seemed oblivious to what was happening in their midst and Daniel, not for the first time, felt that somehow he had been sucked into some other world, parallel but detached from normality.

‘I think you would like to fill me, Daniel. I think you would like to pump inside me; to feel the warm close woman’s moistheat clenched yielding around your rigid manhood. Holding you inside while you held me outside, trapping us both in a double embrace. Proving your lust for my body with hot throbbing honest urgency.’

‘I like feeling a man exert himself. Holding me, using his strength to penetrate me deeply. It’s those last moments, when his hot semen is churning inside of him and all he cares about is squirting his seed in my dark warm woman body. It’s brutal and nasty. Whatever he has said before, I know, means nothing then. I’m a whore, a slut or just a victim for his filthy urges. I have no will at that point, no say. Those last few moments seem to me like rape – he’ll prove himself by pumping his hot juice inside me and that is all he needs. I love it.’

‘I know you want to cum inside me. You want me to be your little girl. You want to corrupt me into being your slut. You want to shock me, you want to use me, you want to abuse me, you want me to love it.’

The rhythm of her words matched, then snatched that of his own heartbeat taking him with her, his pulse racing, his lust supercharged with emotional drive.

Suddenly she seemed more agitated. Where before her grip was loose, but close, now it tightened. Her voice closer to his ear became louder and more forceful and her body became a frenzy against his. The universe suddenly shrunk to just the two of them and the words.

‘I’m a filthy whore, Daniel! Your slut! Fuh my hot cunt and don’t care about me. I’m yours to cum in and discard. I want your hot filthy semen. Pound my cunt to satisfy your lust, squirt all you want inside me. Shake me and batter me like a rag doll. Fuh me ragged, hurt me, leave me bleeding and ruined. I deserve no better. Spunk in me, spunk on me, spunk over me. Leave me drenched and wretched like a rag you have used to spend your lust on and wiped up with afterwards. Rape me, leave me battered and bleeding soaked in your cum. Rape me! Fuh me! Use me! Oh Fuh!’

Eruption.

Momentary blackness. Afterwards, Daniel reasoned that he must have passed out but he cannot have fallen, for when his senses did return he found himself standing alone on the dance floor. The music was not playing now and most other people were looking at him alone in the centre. He felt drained, shattered and most uncomfortable, mainly because of the thick warm gooey feeling inside his trousers and the dark wet patch visibly growing outwards from his crotch. There was no sign of Maria.

Acute Embarrassment.