Sensual Bachata NYC

Fully exposed, the Inquisitor got a good look. The bamboo started dancing over Lionel's body. "In! Out! Tension! Tilt! Lift! A little less," snapped the Inquisitor. With each command, the bamboo snapped Lionel's relevant body part. Fine-tuning Lionel's posture like a Swiss watchmaker, the Inquisitor did his work. The bamboo was gentle compared to the woman's treatment, but Lionel could feel each snap mark linger until his body was covered with lingering marks that kept reminding him where to tug a little more. On the next turn repetition, half the stumbling had disappeared from Lionel's steps because the body was equally balanced now.

The Inquisitor clapped his hands, "Find a partner for partner work." Some couples seemed dedicated to each other. Some were explicitly paired by the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor wanted Lionel to dance with the tall blond because they were both beginners. She was a couple inches taller than Lionel. He gave her a worried look, referring back to her crying. She assured him, "Oh, it was a good cry." When he looked into her glacier-blue eyes, holding her in open embrace, waiting for the directions of the Inquisitor, he recognized their clarity and bleached nature that only had appeared after the cry. Apparently, her soul had received a clearing and uplifting transformation from the cry. Surprised, Lionel let go of the last holdover of grim resentment against the Inquisitor for the exceptional torment.

While they awaited direction, they stood in perfect posture in a semi-closed embrace - his right arm on her back and the left hand holding hers. His right arm could feel her quivering because her heels were still half an inch of the ground, and her calve muscles had turned into hard balls from holding so long. Everyone was sweaty from the workout and summer heat, but her legs had an extra sheen of sweat. The tears on her top had blended in with the sweat. She was beautiful in her own unique ways, how her limbs and torso bent. Her now corrected posture spoke of so much refinement. He couldn't know her background, but he would have believed that she was European royalty from Sweden. They exchanged names. Hers was Linnea.

"The follower does an inside turn on four. The leader does a basic side step," directed the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor double tapped his stick on the ground. Lionel fumbled along. Copying the others and getting little hints whispered into his ear from Linnea, he figured it out more and more.

When Lionel felt himself the first object of the Inquisitor's laser-focused attention, Lionel thought it was unfair because he hadn't been given enough time to figure out what he had to do. The bamboo tip buried into the side of his cheeks. "Only look into her eyes."

"Otra vez," ordered the Inquisitor. Lionel instinctively wanted to peak sideways at the other couples to know what to do, but the bamboo buried deeper into his cheeks, pressing the cheek skin against his hard teeth. He felt getting off-axis and glanced down to find and avoid her feet. The bamboo snapped at the bottom of his chin. With every repetition, Lionel became keenly aware of how much he was looking around. The Inquisitor reminded him, "solo sus ojos!"

Then Lionel committed to locking his eyes to her blue eyes. He fastened onto her small black pupils, and memorized the brown striations and black speckles in her blue iris, and the slight red vein lines in her whites. That became his whole world. He felt like he was staring directly into her soul. As she turned, she was spotting, holding onto his eyes as well until the last moment when she had to snap her head around. Right before snapping her head, she'd get a worrying expression on her face like she dreaded the moment of having to leave him.

The Inquisitor corrected her as well. Her legs didn't step far enough apart and didn't collect in between the steps to touch each other. The Inquisitor followed her behind, snapped his bamboo to the inside of her thighs to make her step wider and to the outside to make her gather her feet. Their eyes were so locked into each other that even barrel perceptible flinches of her eyes, let him know exactly the sting of the bamboo, especially on the tender insides of her thighs. He felt like reaching through his eyes into hers to hug her and hold her. She latched onto his emotional embrace in the eyes as the stings shot over her flesh. In a tantric way, they deeply bonded their souls over an hour of only staring into their eyes, not knowing when, where, or why the bamboo would land again on their bodies for a correction.

By the second hour, Lionel had an out-of-body experience of disconnecting. The physical and mental exhaustion of ultra attention had consumed everything he had to give. Time moved past him without him being present. "You may rest," were the final words of the Inquisitor. All students let themselves drop to the floor like mannequins to mark a murder scene. Lionel felt the coolness of the floor and grime of a million steps. He started tearing the tape off the balls of his feet. It had been very sticky. The other student busied themselves changing and putting on street shoes.

What had caught Lione's attention was that the Inquisitor had lifted Linnea off the floor and carried her limp body into the adjoining office. The office was lined with floor to ceiling windows. He sat down in an old, worn customer service chair, holding her body curled up in a fetal position in his arms. Gently, he undid her hair and caressed her head. She cuddled into his embrace to seek comfort in his caresses. Then he got a jar out of a nearby desk drawer. He loaded a cream onto his finger and massaged it into her feet. Linnea gave out little sighs of ease. Apparently, the soles were still tender to touch, but the cream seemed to give her a warm tingle that soothed the pain. She let her cheeks and mouth rest on the nape of his neck and shoulders as if she were a little baby. Her eyes were closed, and her face in angelic bliss. Lionel felt compelled to keep watching because of the deeply loving way that the Inquisitor, who had been so cold and hard, was with Linnea.

The Inquisitor lifted Linnea up and placed her back down, lying on the desk. He lifted her right leg straight up to the ceiling and kept going to push the leg towards her face in a hamstring stretch. When the knee touched her face, her body tensed up, and she stammered with a whimper: "It hurts. It hurts. It hurts." "You have to take it," he insisted softly. She tried to lift her other leg to ease the stretch, but he got his knee on the desk and over her other leg to pin her down. "Breathe!" he told her. He held her. A minute passed. Her body tension, struggling against him, gradually exhausted. The body sunk down, and the knee inched a big past her face.

Luna distracted Lionel from watching one administration of body contortion after the next as the Inquisitor forced Linnea's body past every limit, "What did you think? Will you be back?" Lionel felt enchanted by Linnea and all that he had watched her go through and how much of her spirit emerged. Lionel wanted to see Linnea again. Lionel felt a hunger to be back in that space where everyone moved past the comfortable distance that ordinary people held around them. Lionel knew he needed to feel again - like nothing in the tame real world made him feel. He knew there was a lot of pain, but the aliveness in feeling that intensely made the pain an acceptable cost. His eyes went back to Linnea in the office. "Definitely," replied Lionel.

Linnea was chest down, ass up, and knees spread open on the metal desk. The Inquisitor placed his entire body weight on her butt to force the knees farther apart in a painful stretch. Linnea tried to crawl out from him, but he grabbed her wrist and ordered her, "You have to take it to get more flexible!" Luna noticed Lionel's rapped attention and suggested, "Someone has to give her a piggyback ride to the subway. It's a half-hour walk."

When Linnea walked out of the office, she still only walked on the balls of her feet. Also, the rest of her body was so loose that she had trouble moving. When Luna addressed Linnea, Luna opened her eyes wide and looked with a deeply submissive glance of big eyes and raptly waiting face for instructions. The treatment had forced her into an obedient state. "Lionel is going to carry you to the subway," said Luna with a friendly, helpful tone, but Linnea took it as a direction to be followed, "Yes."

After putting her white sneakers on, Linnea put her white, purse-sized backpack on and climbed onto Lionel's back. She was light. He could feel her limbs and body against his. Without an ounce of reservation, she snuggled her body against his back and wrapped her arms around him like he were her teddy bear. Her cheeks rested against his. He could smell her sweat and breath. Lionel got an instant boner and was glad to be back in his shorts to camouflage it. She fell asleep on his back, her feeling the ease of a feather, while he was struggling to show his manly strength, clasping his wrists in every which way to take weight off his muscles, but he wouldn't say anything.

When they got on the subway, she put her arms around him, laid her head on his shoulder, and went into a deep slumber. He held her and watched over her like a guardian in the rough neighborhood. He peered at everyone coming into the subway to seize up their danger level to her. Luna had discretely steered the others to take a different train car so that Linnea and Lionel had privacy together. Luna had squeezed a golden condom wrapper into Lionel's hand and said, "Always play it safe, player!" There was a suggestion that having sex with Linnea would be easy in the state she was in. He freely looked at her body as she was sleeping. He checked out her bootie and that slender belly with the two lines around her abs. He tried to picture what it would be like to caress both when she was sitting on top of him with his cock inside of her, but he couldn't quite picture it.

As obvious as it seemed to everyone that they were going to have sex, he was uncomfortable to wake her to tell her so. He also didn't know how to approach the subject. So when it was his stop to transfer, he carefully lifted up her head to balance her on her own body. He slipped his thigh out from under her. He whispered "bye," trying not to wake her. When she felt his body utterly gone from hers, she opened up her eyes wide to look at him. His motion was already set to walk out the door. He heard her cry out dazed and confused, "Why?" That "why" lingered in his head, echoing back and forth.

Because he had been so tenderly to shift out from under her, he barely made it out before the door closed. He turned around to see Linnea's face pressed against the window, staring at him with sadness and hurt rejection. The "why" replayed in his head to make him wince. Now he was damn sure that he would have gotten laid.

Luna sprinted towards Lionel, away from the other three. She looked at him with disbelief, "What's wrong with you?" Luna was completely shocked. Lionel didn't know how to explain that he wasn't sure that Linnea really liked him that way. Luna caught composure and started hitting Lionel's face over and over with, "You fucking asshole!" Luna's dance partner pulled Luna away from Lionel. Luna's partner shot Lionel a sad glance and pitying headshake, saying, "Bro, you really fucked up."

Monday morning, Lionel and Gaston were riding the subway to Manhattan. Lionel munched on an MRE of lasagne, which had become his favorite because apparently, it's tough to mess up what is essentially white bread, cheese, and tomato sauce with a roll of lucky charms. The morning commute always suggested that people look their best going to the office. The women were dressed up and had make-up applied that made them stand out. The men wore a jacket or at least an ironed shirt.

Gaston turned to Lionel, "I heard what happened. The rules are different here in NYC. There are two to three times more women than men. Whenever that ratio happens, it gives the women permission to act like sluts. When the ratio is more even or in their favor, they enforce strict propriety on each other. You spurned that woman hard! You did it in such a public way that everyone knows that you don't find her worthy enough to have sex with. She's lost a lot of social standing because of you. Not to speak of the blue balls that you gave her. You have to become more responsible."

"Let's talk about something else," Gaston slapped Lionel on the thigh to lighten the mood. "I found out that Dom bills me out to clients for $400 an hour even though he pays me only twenty. I fuck up so much. And each time, he tells the client a story to make it appear like I had actually done something brilliant. He's a master of leading people on. I don't think he has any other qualities."

When they walked into the office, the reception desk was empty, but Dom awaited the guys. Today, Dom was dressed in a gray tuxedo with a tail that hung down the heels of his shoes and white dress pants with a red cordon running up on the side.

"Guys, I've dressed up today to celebrate your introduction into the business. The owner wants you to join us for a client meeting. The secret sauce will be revealed. Only speak when spoken to. Only agree with what we say, don't add a thing. If you are unsure of what to say, look at our faces. We are going to signal you exactly what to say. Gentlemen!" Dom finished with a celebratory swirl and led the charge into the conference rooms, lined with the art surfboards.

The big boss was already sitting at the head of the table. The client was sitting on the other end. The client was a man in his fifties, stately in dimensions but the silhouette well camouflaged by a pinstripe suit. His hair was full and wavy. An air of superior upper crust hung around him. On the left hand, he wore a golden ring with a fat red seal on it that suggested some kind of elevated society or royal insignia.

"Despite our family being a wealthy Russian shipping family now, I grew up poor. Every morning, I would eat cereal flakes that a local factory rejected. At first, it was a little hard to eat because it tasted like burned coals. The industrial drying tank was fired by coals, and the top layer would get doused by the coal smoke. The factory workers would scrape off the top layer, and give it for free to us kids. But that flavor, I still remember it today, and it brings so many memories back. I kept craving it until I bought one of those factories. Now I have that cereal again every day. I want to share that flavor with the world. Nobody else has that flavor," the client finished with enthusiasm.

Spooning a load of cereal with milk dripping off into his mouth, the big boss agreed how delicious the coal-burned flavor was, absolutely praised it.

Lionel noticed Vera was in the far corner near the client in the background. She was wearing a white swimsuit top and bottom combination. Her right arm reached up like a baroque figure reaching for the apple in the Garden of Eden. Her left leg reached out the other way like she was floating. She was twisted at her hips to complete the look of a baroque statue, all of which she held motionlessly.

A neatly dressed guy with exquisitely groomed hair and beard like a barber, wearing an apron. Applied white foam in a slim layer over her whole body from a small bowl with a pestle. The two were apparently a background performance piece of Vera slowly getting lathered up. Everyone stole glances at them but never drew attention to what they were doing. The groomer got a long single-blade knife out and started running it up her calves, swiping the foam onto a towel over his arm after each stroke.

"Here is the campaign plan," started Dom. "We are going to seed single-serving versions of the cereal at the top fifty most exclusive nightclubs around town. Lionel over here is the most in-demand promoter of NYC nightlife. If he says something, the club owners jump to do it. This guy is absolutely brilliant. He can make or destroy a club in a single day. Don't get on his wrong side! He looks dressed so plainly because he truly doesn't give a fuck. He doesn't have to. He has nobody left to impress."

"Then we are going to get our social media influencer hotties to say that Alyona's Cereal is their preferred after-sex snack. That'll drive all the eligible bachelors crazy to stock up on them. They are all hoping to bed one of those hotties after spending $10K on table service. But we are going to make it hard. They are going to have to work for it. My distribution network will put glass safes into all the bodegas. The only way to get one out is to know the combination, but we'll sell the combination for $200 on eBay. Can you picture these guys going crazy to bid on eBay and when they finally can buy a cereal box for $50" asked Dom the client.

The client smiled happy with himself, "Fifty dollar? It costs me 50 cents to make a package!"

The groomer had moved over Vera's belly, arms, and carefully gotten the details of the armpit. After toweling off the remaining lines of foam, he started massaging body lotion into Vera's skin with gloved hands until her skin got a pretty, matte surface without any reflection. The way how he massaged her muscles showed how much he handled her like an object. The precise circles and lines with fingers from both hands pressed together showed that he was a craftsman. The display constantly held the client a bit off-balance and drew attention away from what he was told. Vera's face was perfectly composed, neutral, regal, and playing the part of an art piece.

"They don't pay you for corn powder and molasses. They will pay you for having the perfect thing for the hottest women emerging from vigorous cock pummeling after the club. If you had a model naked on your bed, what expense would you spare to make her happy?" asked Dom. The client was clearly taken by seeing Vera's body to make the point visible. The client must have pictured Vera naked on the bed of his yacht and the client feeling eager to lavish anything on her.

"What is it going to cost me?" asked the client.

"Fifty nightclubs. $10,000 for each nightclub to ensure that only the hot girls eat Alyona's Cereal. You don't want a fattie to drag down your brand. 400 hours of social media programming from our resident master programmer Gaston. Have I told you that he is a PhD in social media programming from the equivalent of Harvard in Argentina? He's absolutely brilliant. I had to kidnap his mother and hold her ransom to make him work here. His rate is $500 per hour. The bodega distribution, including safe, is $500 per bodega. There are 300. Plus $100k creative direction for myself. That gives us a total of $950k," finished Dom with a winning smile.

"Holy fuck!" exclaimed the client. "The other agencies wanted a tenth of that."

"But the other agencies turned you down after tasting the cereal. They didn't see the genius in your culinary creation because they weren't geniuses themselves. We are like twin brothers that found each other and only do the very best," explained Dom.

The client paused to reflect while watching Vera's treatment. The groomer had put on a mask and set up a spray gun attached to a tube with a little motor. He held down the trigger and gently, at the perfect distance, guided the nozzle along her body to spray bronzer. The whole room watched the sinewy figure of her calves, her belly, her arms, and those exquisitely held up and shaped boobs. There was something forbidden about watching a woman unashamed with leering lust like she is an object. All the men had a subdued, semi-aroused state by her presence and incited by her skin.

Dom enjoyed testing her obedience and ability to compose her displayed feelings, bottling away her true feelings in a deeply hidden drawer. He got immense enjoyment from seeing how deep into her psyche he could reach with his games. It wasn't the mere way of forcing her, but it was seeing her micro reactions and how she had to put herself into check to submit. That's when he assumed that he touched how she talked to herself and would find rules in her head as to why she had to act that way towards him. Making her put those rules of her own invention into her head as to why she deserved to be treated that way, that's what Dom truly relished. Variations of "I deserve nothing but being used" and "I must obey with every fiber of my body" were the things that he wanted to send coursing through her head, but he knew that he couldn't utter them because then she would fight against those words. Those words would only take seed if she came up with them and told them to herself.