tagNonConsent/ReluctanceSalamanca Conquest

Salamanca Conquest

bylegerdemer©

I owe many thanks to AlwaysHungry, my beta reader, for his incisive but gentle comments and to AirRichard101 for his thorough ant thoughtful editing of this story. Any remaining mistakes are mine alone. I hope you enjoy the story, and I'd appreciate your votes as well as your comments to my entry for the 2015 National Nude Day contest. The story doesn't push any non-con limits, but if this category is not your cup of tea, please read no farther.

~~~~~

As the bus pulled away from the front of the hotel, Genadi just squeezed past the closing door and, rushing down the aisle, sat next to me. Of all the places he could have sat, he sat next to me! Inwardly, I cringed. Outwardly, I smiled as politely as I could. I didn't feel like small talk, and I certainly didn't feel like it with him.

The conference was ending in two days, and the organizer had pulled strings to arrange a special tour for us of the University of Salamanca and its library. The bus meandered through Salamanca from the outskirts, swaying gently as tourist buses do, making me sleepy. Resting my head on the window, I let my thoughts drift while we rolled towards the city center.

"Hi, Dana. Good to see you again. Your first time in Spain?" Genadi asked, touching my elbow to draw my attention, leaning into me more than strictly necessary.

I jumped a little at his voice and touch, although I couldn't exactly find fault with either.

"No, actually. I was here about ten years ago, traveling around southern Spain. I loved it... one of my favorite places."

"Where did you go?"

"Sevilla. Cordoba and Granada, too."

"Ah, the Moorish south. Did you go with your husband?"

I frowned, annoyed at him for asking and at myself for being annoyed that he asked.

"No, alone. I'm not married. It was part of a three-week trip through Spain and Portugal."

"That's too bad you were alone, a beautiful woman like yourself."

I frowned deeper and turned away from him slightly. What an ass. I hated compliments like that from strangers, or near-strangers. They felt false, manipulative, and, frankly, greasy. Just because we were attending the same conference and worked in the same field didn't make us friends or even acquaintances. I had heard of him for several years, had even read some of his work. Although Russian, he was up-and-coming on the faculty of a university in Berlin. That didn't make us friends, however, and at this rate, we weren't likely to become any friendlier.

"I enjoy traveling alone. It's a little more challenging perhaps, but it's rewarding. I love the freedom of it."

"It seems... I don't know... lonely," he said, his hand casually brushing my jean-clad thigh.

"I rarely get lonely," I said, and with that, moved my leg and turned pointedly away from him, tucking into the window, trying to send him the signal that I didn't want to chat further.

He wasn't bad looking, in fact, quite the opposite. Some women would love his dark, curly hair and handsome face, and the smile that hovered somewhere between boyish and wolfish. Still, something repulsed me about the way he looked at me, so predatory, and the way he spoke, as if every phrase was an invitation to bed him. If he had come on less strong, perhaps I would consider being a bit warmer, at least giving him a chance.

The conference buses unloaded us all in the plaza in front of the university, the oldest in Spain and third oldest in Europe. It was an imposing, reddish stone building, with intricate ornamental carvings everywhere along the façade, saints alongside gargoyles. The two waiting tour guides split us into two groups. Sure enough, Genadi gravitated towards the clump of people I had been standing with, but at the last moment I wandered over to another group, ostensibly to say hello to a friend I hadn't seen in a while and hadn't had a chance to speak to yet. I smiled a little to myself as the guides led the groups in opposite direction.

"Wow, this is impressive!" my friend Ned gushed, looking up at the façade as we were filing out of the plaza, entering the grounds. We meandered through the open corridors of the university, spending some time in the cloister-like Patio de Escuelas. The courtyard was serene, the carved stone arches scalloped in an elegant Moorish design. I leaned on one of the columns, pretending to listen to the guide but daydreaming instead of strolling around the courtyard walkway in a long medieval dress on the arm of some handsome knight...

"OK, folks, let's keep going so we have time to see everything before we need to take you back." The tour guide's voice woke me from my reverie feeling restless and a little horny.

We soon trooped into the old university library. The walls were lined with books shelved in cupboards fronted by open wire meshwork instead of glass. Armchairs were placed around the room for the comfort of the readers, since books couldn't be taken out of the library. The centerpiece was a large globe dating from the days of Isabella of Castille and Christopher Columbus. A narrow balcony around the entire room gave access to the upper bookshelves. The ceiling soared above the bookcases, white-washed and relieved only by gold-leafed garlands. The tour guide had pulled a folio to show us an example, and let us roam around to admire the collection.

"Are you enjoying the tour?" I nearly jumped at Genadi's voice behind me, his English strongly accented with Russian overlayed with thick German overtones. I had not noticed when his group had entered the library. I could feel his breath on the nape of my neck and his hand casually touching my arm. I tensed, upset at how my body was involuntarily responding to him. "It's the third oldest university in Europe," he said, offering me the most obvious fact about the place we were visiting.

I turned to glare at him,bristling at how close he stood to me, invading my personal space in a way I associated more with European than with American men. I moved forward and sidestepped him to avoid stepping back. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of cornering me.

"So our guide told us. It's beautiful indeed. I've not been to any library quite like it," I said, mentally contrasting this one with the Library of Congress and the New York Public Library.

"Evocative of the church scholarship that was centered here in those days."

"If only women had been given a chance to participate in that scholarship. I appreciate how different the times were, but I wouldn't have liked to live back then, compared to now."

I managed to avoid Genadi for the rest of the tour and napped a little on the half-hour trip back to the hotel.

* * * *

For the gala dinner, I had put on a short, black, edgy little dress with cap sleeves and a stand-up collar. The top of the dress was black mesh, showing just a hint of cleavage, and a zipper ran down the front length of the dress. I chose black thigh-high stockings, seamed in the back, relishing the feel of the sheer nylon as I carefully pulled them on. My chunky-heeled black shoes would be great for dancing--

I was looking forward to the traditional end-of-conference treat of letting our nerdy hair down. As I gave myself the once-over in the mirror, I admired the elongated line of my stockinged legs. The evening was still warm enough that I needed nothing else.

At dinner, I spent some time catching up with Mark Tunbridge, an older colleague seated to my left. I did not realize that Genadi had taken the seat to my right at the head of our table. In a break from my conversation with Mark, I had turned to greet my new neighbor when my eyes locked with Genadi's heated gaze.

"You look ravishing, my dear."

I felt myself blush and looked away.

"Thank you," I managed. I was pissed at myself both for blushing and for not coming up with a better retort. Jeez, girl, why are you letting him do this to you?

"You look good enough to eat. And you smell divine," he added.

I looked down at my plate, feeling the blush deepen, and then turned back to Mark, trying to pick up the thread of our earlier conversation while ignoring the Romeo sitting to my right. Somehow, he made me feel that I had asked for it.

Mark sensed my discomfort with Genadi and continued his chatting, his easy conversation giving me time to recover.

"Tell me where you are taking yourself after dinner, looking that delicious," Genadi said, a little under his breath, reaching out across the table to touch my fingertips.

"Oh! Nowhere special. I'm just going wherever some of the Spanish grad students are taking me. They said we're headed to some dance clubs, so I dressed appropriately."

"And everyone here appreciates it," Genadi responded, brushing my wrist with his fingers. "Will you dress appropriately tomorrow as well?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I understand tomorrow is National Nude Day in the U.S. It must be a delightful holiday!"

My face and neck heated up even more, and I nearly sputtered. Again, I had no ready comeback, especially with the distraction of his touch.

"Genadi, this is not an occasion to embarrass our young colleague," Mark said from my left.

"Embarrass? Oh, no, I didn't mean to embarrass her! I truly am in awe of her beauty and sensuality!" Genadi answered.

Below the table, I felt his fingers lightly slide up and down my thigh. I was stunned at his gall and tried to pull my leg away, but his fingers slid up, becoming trapped between my legs and dangerously close to touching my panties. Instantly, I opened my thighs to extract his hand, then closed them to block further assault. I stared at him pointedly, but his face remained expressionless except for a placid smile.

"She is an exceptionally warm person, I really appreciate her openness," Genadi added to Mark, and I went scarlet at his words. I could feel the warmth radiate between my thighs where he had brushed his thumb on my naked skin above the tops of my stockings.

Mark came to my defense again. "Well, this is not the time or the place for such compliments. It is the meeting banquet, after all. You're laying it on a little thick, don't you think? You're clearly making her uncomfortable."

"Not at all, just being honest in admiring my beautiful female colleague," Genadi insisted, looking a little shocked at Mark's rebuke.

I was still on edge about Genadi, but trying not to show it. He had turned to converse with Anya, his neighbor to the right. She had introduced herself as a Croatian graduate student currently working on her dissertation at the University of Madrid. I couldn't help noticing his smiles to her and his leaning towards her as they spoke. What an ass, I thought, again. She was welcome to him.

Outwardly, he continued his conversation with Anya as I continued my conversation with Mark, sharing small talk about favorite places we'd visited in Spain. Underneath the table, Genadi's hand was back on its way up my thigh, his thumb finding the garter and sliding underneath, softly sweeping up and down. His knuckles then pried between my thighs, pushing further up between my legs, as if drawn to the building warmth under my panties. I tried to move my legs to block his hand, but it didn't work. His fingers dug into my sensitive flesh and his knuckles rubbed my pubic mound through the satiny fabric. He could feel, I was sure, the moisture beginning to leak out of my betraying pussy.

Annoyed and trying to hide my embarrassment at how aroused he'd gotten me, I pushed back from the table and excused myself for a run to the restroom. As I turned, I saw Genadi nonchalantly bring his hand to his nose, delicately sniffing the fingers, a smile spreading on his face. I clomped out, boiling inside, trying not to knock into chairs or trip on the rug as I strode away.

In the stall, I cringed as I realized how wet he had made me. Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, I adjusted my dress, making sure the zipper was more than decently high and pulling the dress down so the tops of my stockings didn't show. Yes, the dress molded snugly to my shape, but everything was covered. If I couldn't dress nicely to go out without attracting the slimy attention of jerks like Genadi, then he could go fuck himself.

I touched up my mascara and lip gloss and, barely recovered from my rage, returned to the table. I joined Mark as he chatted with his neighbor to his left about some of the presentations we had heard and our plans after the end of the conference.

After coffee and dessert, everyone scattered, some lingering to chat, others preparing themselves to go out. I looked around for Genadi, wanting to avoid him, but I couldn't see him and sighed with relief. I gathered with a few other friends, old and new, near the front of the hotel. We chattered about the meal and the meeting while waiting to head out for our night of club hopping. We loaded up into a few cars and drove to the center of Salamanca, exchanging jokes and stories. The moon and a few stars shone in the dark sky, the old, mellow rose-stone buildings of the university glowing eerily ahead of us, lit by floodlights.

By midnight we were on our third dance club, one finally approved for its hipness by our Spanish hosts. The dive, down a few steps from street level, was appropriately dark except for the disco lights and a DJ spinning a mix of dance tracks. I was drinking whiskey sours and dancing with the rest of our group. We were all drinking, being silly and dancing without caring about partners, not having much in the way of conversation. A few of our senior colleagues had joined us and I was taking turns with the other girls, making everyone feel welcome and young again. The DJ was egging us on, putting on old dance numbers like the "Macarena", Cyndi Lauper's "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun", the Beatles' "Twist and Shout", and a variety of Latin, Europop, and Afropop dance numbers—even pulling the Americans' legs with the "YMCA" song.

Dancing had always lured me into trancelike states, when only music and motion counted. It didn't matter whether I danced with a man or a woman, I was alone and into my body, feeling the rhythm course through my muscles and bones, letting my hair swing wildly, feeling the sweat run down between my breasts and between my thighs. I could close my eyes, feel the beat, and forget where I was, and when I opened them again, the beat was drumming straight into my primal, sexual self, pulling me in, seducing me to let go all control.

The heat had made me pull the zipper down a few more inches, to the top of my bra—still decent but revealing a few more details of the rounded sides of my breasts meeting in my cleavage. The rhythm sucked me in, taking over my senses and making me lose my common sense. I was startled a few times when, looking up, I saw a steamy stare from a male, focusing on my tits or my legs. I decided, Fuck it—heat was heat, and this was a fucking dance club—it was not the time or place to be shy.

The DJ put on something Latin and slower, and I felt hands on my hips and a body behind me rotating with mine. Over my shoulder, I saw Fernando, one of our Spanish hosts for the night, and smiled at him. He smiled back, flashing an open grin as he pushed me away from him, spun me around, and pulled me back in.

His legs were brushing the backs of my thighs, his hands were on my waist, and our feet moved in short, rumba-like dance steps. I nestled lightly against his pelvis and our hips moved together with only heated air between us. As my arms entwined above my head, his hands ran slowly upward from my waist, his fingers curling around my torso. They glided smoothly under my breasts, where he lingered and brushed his fingers upwards along their sides for a few seconds, then pulled his hands to my back and returned them to my hips.

His casual caresses were all part of the dance movements, but the whispering touch of his fingertips sent pinpricks of heat to my pelvis, and I started to melt against his chest. It was as if he had issued a tentative challenge to see how far he could go. When he twirled me to face him, his eyes spoke of a game he would push farther with the slightest encouragement from me.

The song changed to something faster before I could respond. Running his palm along my waist as if hating to let me go, Fernando stepped away slightly, and we rejoined the group dance. One of my older colleagues took my hand and we did a modified Western swing step, twirling and swaying to the beat and to the appreciation of those around us. We then slowed down to a waltz in time to the next song. A few more people left and the dance crowd had thinned, but a few others had walked in as well and sidled to the bar to get their drinks. High on the beat, I kept dancing, not caring with whom.

Fernando had stepped closer again and we exchanged increasingly intimate looks as we danced to the now mostly Cuban and Brazilian tracks the DJ was spinning. Fernando had a lean, lithe body, the smooth olive skin of many Spaniards with dark brown eyes rimmed by thick black lashes. His hair waved around his face, a touch unruly, just brushing his shirt collar. He must have been about my age, maybe a year or two younger. Our hands lingered together and we swayed closer into each other, our bodies making contact longer.

He led me firmly, expertly, inducing me to relax even when I didn't know the steps of a particular dance. As he pulled me into his chest, I felt the heat between us, his arms crossed over mine, the skin of his forearms below his rolled-up sleeves rubbing against my nearly naked arms. Perspiration beaded on my brow, neck, and chest and I saw the same on him when we faced each other. The music swept both of us up and we had eyes only for each other, concentrating on the swirls and swoops and the beat of the drums. We moved together as if our bodies had known and danced with each other for years, sinking into the rhythm, smiling and laughing with sheer joy at the physicality of the moment.

When our dancing, by chance, brought us closer to the tables ringing the dance floor, I found myself looking straight into Genadi's strained and grim face. His humorless eyes followed me and I couldn't help shivering. When the song ended, I pulled Fernando toward the bar on the opposite side of the room with the excuse that I was hot and tired, needing a rest and a mineral water. We stayed there, exchanging small talk, while I tried to avoid looking in Genadi's direction, yet feeling his eyes still on me.

I told Fernando that it was time for me to head back to the hotel, but he didn't need to go with me. He looked around for his companions and found a few were still there.

"I have to give rides to my friends," he said, nodding his chin towards a couple of girls and another guy, still on the dance floor. "Are you sure you can't wait a while longer?" His tone sounded hopeful, but my mood had plummeted.

"I'm sorry, Fernando, I need to be up early to pack before the last session. I can't miss the talks tomorrow."

"Let me go with you to find a cab. It's much too far to walk back to the hotel. Especially in those," he said, nodding at my shoes.

I was thankful when he led me up the stairs to the street and waved down a cab that was passing in front of the club. He gave the driver directions in Spanish before turning to me.

"Here you go! Lucky really, there aren't many cabs in Salamanca this time of the morning. It's not that big of a city."

"Thanks a bunch. I had fun dancing with you!"

"Will I see you tomorrow? Are you spending any more time in Salamanca, or are you heading back to Madrid?"

"I'm scheduled to take the bus back to Madrid and staying there a few days."

"Why don't you take my number and my e-mail? I'd love to show you around Madrid after we get back. I'm driving these guys back there after the meeting, but we need to make sure all the meeting gear we brought from Madrid is cleaned up and packed away. Please, really, give me a call."

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