Sensual Bachata NYC

The groomer turned her around to display her ass. He shoved the fabric of her white bottoms into her ass crack to reveal as much skin to the tan gun as he could. He worked with the precision of a doctor and the same lack of hesitation that a medical procedure called for. The white swimsuit was stained by the gun, evidently a throw away.

Dom and the big boss held silence to increase the tension on the client. The client couldn't get his eyes of oggling Vera's body. The arousal that he got from watching her, kept him from thinking clearly.

Realizing that he couldn't resist the images of scantily clad girls like Vera eating his cereal in the hottest nightclubs and also, knowing that before signing, his power was the greatest, he point blank asked, "Do I get to see it?"

"Of course," said Dom. "Vera, sit at the edge of the table in front of Alyona."

Vera strutted from the plastic sheet she was standing on to the conference table. She walked on the ball of her feet to make her legs longer, and the calves ball up in refinement. She stepped with straight legs like a refined model on a catwalk. She raised her long leg, held straight, over the head of Alyona so that she was straddling his chair. She placed her sitting bones right on the edge of the table and leaned back on her hands. Alyona stared at her crotch, barely covered with the white fabric, ran his eyes up her belly, and admired her boobs. Everything was so close to him that his reality started vibrating from excitement.

"You may unwrap," invited Dom graciously. The whole room was full of tension. The performance piece in the background was one thing. Her body handed to the client held everyone in suspense about where it was going to go except for Dom, who seemed confident about the exact procession of the whole meeting.

Vera pulled her knees to her chest to reveal her butt, the white swim bottom showing the mound of her sex. Alyona reached with both hands under her butt cheeks to grab the top of the swimsuit and pulled her through between her butt and the table. The center part of the bottom stuck to her vagina a bit as he kept pulling the bottom up her thighs. Dom loved these moments of control when everyone had to precisely attend to his direction and listen to him. Vera didn't know what he'd make her do. The client was keenly aware of how easy it was to cross lines so close to the woman's body. He lifted the bottoms over her feet and placed them on the desk. Then, he admired her folds between her legs. They were neat, the outer and inner labia - just so perfectly straight and sized not too large the outer one was darker. The inner one was pinker. He sniffed to take in the aroma, her definite aroma. He was getting her unique scent. All the while, she looked at him with a pleasant, friendly smile that suggested that she was untouched by and willing in everything she did. Two feet from his eyes was the very center of the world, the thing everyone hungered for, lusted for, and fought for.

"Can I taste?" Alyona asked.

"No. That would be prostitution," stated Dom.

Alyona required immense self-control but knowing the prison term for rape helped. His heart pounded. He wanted Vera's pussy with every fiber in his body, yet knew that she was inaccessible. The hormones raged in him. Every teenage dream of his had come true. And then he submitted. "You've got the deal."

Vera folded up her legs. He blocked her from taking her bottoms. She walked away and out of the room. The groomer cleaned up the plastic covering and utilities. Dom sent the contract sliding across the conference table. Alyona wished he had used his leverage for more, but the moment had passed. He was on their hook now. He signed the papers and hurried to his Escalade, waiting outside to get into privacy.

The big boss spat out the cereal he was munching on, "That tastes worse than excrement."

Dom sent Lionel to drive the van with Vera on an errand. Vera returned from the restroom dressed in comfortable sweatpants and a t-shirt that said, "I used to be cool. Now I'm only my dog's snack dealer." Her tight hair was undone to hang relaxed. She was wearing sneakers. She appeared like a very clean down-to-earth young woman. She had spring in her step, unlike the cool gait before. A friendly smile instead of a terminator grin was on her lips.

They got into the van with her reading him directions to drive. "You probably want to know why I do it," she opened. He didn't need to answer. She was in a bubbly mood. "He fixed my immigration papers. In four more years, the process is done, and I'll be free again. I want to become a veterinarian in a small suburb with a clinic full of dogs, cats, and rabbits." Her face looked happy and carefree. In the office, her skin appeared young, but her demeanor was old. Now her demeanor was that of a young woman that easily chatted and showed emotion.

"I grew up in a town next to a river in Ukraine. As kids, we let paper boats swim from bridge to bridge. We'd race to see which boat would make it the first. I still feel the same love when I see the bridges of Manhattan. It takes me back to my childhood to cross them," she freely shared her life story. "Do you like ice cream? We should get Van Leeuwen on the way."

After crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, they indeed stopped to get ice cream. She got very excited about marionberry cheesecake and honey comb flavors. Lionel had never spent money on such fancy ice cream, but she assured him that it was all coming out of the petty cash. Dom wouldn't know how to reconcile budgets or financial statements. As they walked back to the car, they passed a boutique. Vera got a cute top on a whim, stating, "What Dom doesn't know doesn't bother him." Then she looked a little worried at Lionel, "You won't tell on me, will you?" With a smile, she stuffed a few bills into his front pocket, not even checking what they were and added, "Now you are complicit!"

Their delivery job turned out to be to pick up boxes of Alyona's cereal and an equal amount of boxes of Tony, The Tiger cereal, all in small single serving packages. Vera seemed to have a list of instructions. They unloaded everything at a ghost kitchen in Hell's Kitchen. The ghost kitchen was a large kitchen room that could be rented by anyone. There was a large stainless steel table that allowed them to work. Vera started singing while doing the labor and showing Lionel how to copy her.

First, they used a razor to cut open Alyona's Cereal. Then they threw the purple flakes into the trash. Next, they opened the yellow Tony The Tiger cereal boxes into a big bucket. Vera mixed together quantities of blue and red food dye into a bottle. With the help of a spray gun, she sprayed a small sample of yellow cereal to match Alyona's Cereal. When she got the dye proportions dialed in to mirror Alyona's Cereal, Lionel shifted the big batch of Tony The Tiger cereal so that she could spray the whole batch. They let it dry off for an hour. Then they refilled the boxes of Alyona's Cereal with the new stuff. Lionel filled. Vera used a glue gun to seal it.

When it became evening, they dropped off boxes at nightclubs as "free samples." The nightclubs received no payment at all. They usually half-heartedly told them to put it on a table or end of the bar for people to grab.

The day ended up being very long. Vera asked Lionel about his bachata dancing and was a good listener to his stories and ardent admiration of the dance. Being around Vera was very comfortable because she was so comfortable with herself. Words easily came out of her. Her body always made itself comfortable. Emotions quickly overtook her and dissipated again. Also nothing that came out of her was offensive or mean, like she had no darkness to hold in.

Lionel on the other hand was struggling with how he had seen Vera and his passionate emotional response to enjoying her display. Also, a dark stain seemed to make him not acceptable to people and required him to work on making a good impression. That's why he always kept things in and worried about doing the wrong thing. He would have loved nothing more than to reach out and kiss her. The more constraint he became, the more space she felt to be herself and open up. The beauty that came out only made him even more restrained. While she had a wonderful time in his company, he was in misery and attracted at the same time.

Only around midnight did Lionel make it home. Due to the late work, Dom allowed Lionel to come to work late the next day. So when Lionel woke up in the morning with broad daylight, his mood was easy. With a swing in his hip, he walked toward the subway station. Seeing Hiroto sitting on his window sill with the legs outside, his arms palm-facing up on his thighs, and meditating on the embrace of the sunrays, Lionel stopped to greet his new friend. Lionel thanked Hiroto for the mantra on his arm and how much it had helped Lionel.

Silently, Hiroto patted the window sill next to him as an invitation. Lionel sat down, placed his hands face up on his thighs, and let his head drop back to soak in the sunrays like Hiroto. Lionel became aware of the tingles of heat from the sun on his skin. The subtle breeze caressing his skin became loud. Then his focus dropped onto his breath, panicked at first at the sudden revelation of being in the moment, calming down and subduing to the pleasure of feeling every detail on and in his body.

"You've reached a state of being," remarked Hiroto, speaking for the first time.

"Your job is to show the world who you are. If you are a mean person, let the world see your meanness. If you are a fool, let the world see you are a fool. If you are a sad person weighed down, let the world see your sadness," explained Hiroto.

"Why would I do that? The world will spit me out?" protested Lionel.

"Acceptance is the first step of transformation," stated Hiroto. "Your biggest disease that you carry is that you don't embrace yourself."

Hiroto stood up and told Lionel to come inside the artist's studio. The familiar momentary blindness coming out of the bright sunlight affected Lionel, but Lionel knew now what to expect. Also, the layout of the room was familiar to him now, so that he oriented himself faster to recognize who was present. An almost naked woman, except for a sheer wrap, was on the extended cushion on the left. A flickering candle lit her and gave her skin a soft tone, with many details of her body disappearing into the shadows of the flame. The easel in the center of the room showed a partially finished oil painting of her. In the microwave corner were two topless women giggling while preparing lettuce together. They seemed very cozy together, brushing each other's bodies as they reached for cucumber and lettuce pieces.

"Give me your forearm," invited Hiroto. He spoke out the quote from Ukio Mishima while he inscribed it on Lionel's forearm with a black ink pen in Japanese, "The soul, you see, is a shy and retiring thing. It lurks in dark places and dislikes sunlight. And so, if you do not keep the skylight open at all times, the soul will rot. It easily decays, like a fresh sea urchin."

"Remember, your life depends on you keeping your skylight open. Let the world see you!" instilled Hiroto before picking up the panel of oil colors and mixing them to prepare for painting. The giggling women gathered to watch Hiroto paint without disturbing him. Lionel felt a sensual feel emanate from the women to give him a tacit taste of how the feminine presence elevated Hiroto into heightened creativity. And they were drawn to the man who so confidently created and revealed. Feeling himself superflous, Lionel left.

That Friday evening during bachata class, something happened. As the leaders rotated through the followers each time Isandro asked them to, Lionel found himself with a particularly short Chinese woman, who was very bubbly. "Oh, gosh," she'd call out, "so pretty" with a giggle. "Look at you, dazzling man," she teased Lionel when he offered her his hand with a smile, which made him feel smitten. So it was only that the horror sunk deeper into his bones at the height of the incident.

Isandro had demonstrated a forward break followed by a back break to swivel the follower around and make her end up in shadow position. Both bodies were supposed to face the same direction. Lionel's hand should be on her belly. However, when he calculated the height for his hand, he went off the measurements of his own body instead of hers, which caused his hand to plainly land on her right boob with a full-on grip. Of course, he swiftly let go and adjusted his hand down to her belly, but she let out a yelp, "Hey, mister!" He mumbled, "Sorry!" Before anything more could transpire, Isandro asked to rotate partners again.

When they had rotated through the whole class, they were paired again. Neither said anything, but both could feel that the other was thinking about the incident. At first, Lionel felt terrible about it and expected her to worry about a repetition, but then he noticed an arousal inside of him and traced it back to the way she was anxious, like an imperceptible tremble came from her. He wondered if she enjoyed the fresh surprise and was hoping for more. Did she like him? He remembered overhearing a woman saying during the waiting before class to her friend, "I hope to get groped all over." He remembered Gaston's words about NYC women being sluts. Had he given her a gift?

He wondered if he could unblock the arousal building inside of himself to let it flow out energetically because he could sense the sexual tension growing from her side as well. Or was he radically wrong? He allowed himself to feel her body in his arms like she was a fully grown sexual being. That energy came out in the way that he breathed and let his gaze fall onto her. He wondered if he was laying it on too thick, but she seemed to be holding the tension as well. They didn't gaze at each other's faces. She gazed at his chest. He gazed at her shoulder, but their senses were keenly tuned to each other.

When Isandro asked the class to start the pattern from the top, she let out a gasp as if she had been out of breath and holding it in. This time, he spun her around correctly and rested his hand on her belly with the tip of his middle finger feeling her navel. He allowed his right pelvis bone to press against the middle of her left butt cheek. His half-mast penis was perilously close to her small, tight butt - not touching but only a breath away. She snuggled her body back into his. When he initiated a body wave, she was so in tune with his body movement like he had never experienced before. Her right hand didn't merely rest on his hand on her belly, but she held onto him dearly. Feeling her tiny body enclosed between his right hip bone and the hand on the belly, he felt like he was holding her whole body in his embrace. He wasn't merely giving her signals to move her body on her own, but he moved every part of her body.

When he spun her back to face him in a closed embraced, offset body-on-body, she looked up at him submissively with puppy eyes - displaying eager desire to please him. He had to sandwich her right knee behind his thighs to block her lower body from moving. Then, his arms on her back had to move her torso in a circle. Unlike normally in class when followers move the body on their own, she let her body go in his arms so that he carried her body and moved it in a circle. It was like her muscles switched off and let him toy with her. After the torso circle, she snuggled her chest tightly onto his belly so that he could feel both of her breasts, pillows resting between them.

Susan was her name. She rushed out at the end of class before Isandro even finished announcing the upcoming schedule. Lionel couldn't tell if she was so upset at the boob grab, uncomfortable about everything else, or simply overwhelmingly aroused.

Aurora came to see Lionel at the end of class, "You've gotten a lot better. You are a lot more comfortable dancing now. You should really come out to socials. Saturday night, we have one at Island Fever. It's this beach in Brooklyn. It's blocked off by an abandoned factory. But Isandro works at the Park And Recreation Department. He has the key to the boathouse downtown. We'll take kayaks to sneak past the police at night. Meet us at the boathouse around sunset on Saturday!"

Gaston was overjoyed to hear about the invitation because he had heard rumors about Island Fever but never got invited. When Saturday came, Gaston infected Lionel with excitement. Gaston kept slapping Lionel on the back, thighs, and belly, giddy like a child. Apparently, Gaston had heard many stories which Lionel hadn't. After a subway ride to Tribeca, they wandered the beautifully manicured waterfront of one of Manhattan's most expensive neighborhoods. Preppy wives jogged along the riverfront. Men drank beer and ate burgers at a fashionable outdoor venue. Lionel, Gaston, and the other dancers hid in the shadow of the Irish Hunger Monument, a boxy bunker from massive stone pieces with real Irish grass imported to give it a smell of honest to god Ireland.

They tried to keep out of view of the police and private security guards. Isandro explained that they were to run-up to the boat house in pairs to not draw the attention of a crowd. A tandem kayak with paddles would be at the entrance. They were to grab it - one at the front and one at the back - and hurry down the ramp to the water. From there, Aurora should be visible at the end of the pier. They were to paddle out to her and get pointed to a hidden cove to gather with everyone.

When the first four pairs had left, it was the turn for Gaston and Lionel. Gaston stepped to the end of the wall behind the Irish Hunger Monument. Lionel eager to see pushed his head forward. The bushes, park benches, and waterfront walk looked entirely different in the darkness. The fallen night seemed to have cleared most of the runners away as well. A yellow chem light dangled out of the door of the boathouse. That was their signal. Walk not run was the hint to avoid drawing attention. They swiftly walked around the benches, down the stairs, and around the corner of the boathouse. The smell of fish was in the air so close to the water. A red tandem kayak with a sit-on-top construction waited for them. As it was a beginner kayak, it was very bulky and oversized. The heavy thing kept banging against Lionel's shins as he held the holding strip at the back and tried to follow as fast as he could Gaston down the boat ramp.

"Hold it!" hiss-whispered Gaston. Kneeling down, Lionel grabbed the kayak body with his arms. Gaston made it sway like crazy while Gaston put his butt inside. When Lionel tried to follow, he struggled because each time he pushed weight onto his arm on the boat, the boat dipped down, and Gaston hissed, "Don't sink us! Get on being more flat!" Desperate to not hold up everyone, Lionel slipped onto his belly and crawled on like a crocodile. Gaston started paddling before Lionel could even move from lying to sitting. Water was splashing from Gaston's paddle into Lionel's face, who yelped "Ew!" at the Hudson River water.

At the end of the pier, Aurora was waiting in a sleek, thin single kayak with a spray skirt. She was under the pier beams, completely hidden. If she hadn't called out to them, they wouldn't have noticed her. She pointed past a small marina of sailboats to a rocky outcropping. A yellow chem light waved in the darkness before disappearing again. They paddled on, having terrible trouble going straight. The pair after them passed them and encouraged them to be more coordinated. In the middle of the small marina crossing, the nighttime skyline of skyscrapers over on the Jersey side became apparent as well as the ones on the nearby Manhattan side. The view was world-class gorgeous. They remembered the reason they had moved to NYC and the aspirations that drove them.