Sensual Bachata NYC

And then he realized that she had positioned themselves in such a way that her back was facing the window so that her roommate would see her. Doris was putting on a show for her roommate to make her roommate jealous with her dancing. Doris threw their hands up into the air. He realized that he should glide his hands down her bare arms, slowly and seductively. His eyes followed the movement of his own eyes entranced to take in every nuance of her arms. When his hands and gaze reached her armpits, she let her head drop back and arched her chest forward. His gaze was caught on the boobs presented to him. And he knew that she should admire them like a Latin soap opera hero. He loved the unabashed view on her mounds the amble size of the boobs, the small hints of her nipples coming through the bra and t-shirt.

Then she flipped herself around to press her butt into his grown. She pulled his left arm straight out and placed his right hand on her belly. His pinky finger slipped in between the waistband of her jeans and her belly. The pressure of her butt on his erection felt dozy. She moved her hips in side-to-side movements with her whole body as they moved in shadow position doing the basic step. Her face looked devilishly at her roommate inside the kitchen to parade her good fortune of dancing better to antagonize her roommate.

The song ended. She turned around, hugged him warmly to thank him, and kissed his cheek. Then she climbed back in, grabbed the phone charger, said bye to her roommate with a smile, and openly called her a bitch outside the closed door. They jumped back down the stairs. She left Gaston downstairs in the street and hurried back to her store.

Gaston slowly wandered the streets. The blood was still warmly circulating in his loins. He relished in the memory of feeling her body, particularly the smells of Doris stuck in his mind. Her cheeks smelled like sweet cherries from something in her makeup. Right when he had gotten a boner, he smelled a flowery aroma coming from her that was really strong. It smelled a bit like piss but had a lot more musk to it. By the end of the dance when his nose was close to her neck, he smelled animalistic sweat. Oh, he would so love to ram his cock in her.

In the afternoon, he walked from boutique to boutique on his way to the Financial District. With refinement, his hand would glide down a pair of pants to feel the fabric while hiding the sticker under his palm to leave it in the pocket. Like a magician, he'd switch the next sticker into his hand. With one smooth stroke down the pants after the next, he inspected every pair of pants in the rack and left a sticker behind. In a couple minutes, he could drop thirty stickers. With a haughty face of appraisal, he'd high tail his ass outside before anyone could wonder what he was doing. By the evening, he had dropped about 600 stickers, which would generate $30 in commission at best or if Doris was right, nothing at all.

He wouldn't allow himself to have Little Paradise denied. So he headed there in the evening. He yearningly walked past Chateau Angelina, dreaming about what it was like to buy underwear from Angelina. The security guard told him to go to the fifth floor. He found the right room right away because of the sound of bachata music oozing out. There were plenty of women in the class today. In fact, there were so many that two women decided to dance together. The mood of levity was palpable. A group of NYU girls had apparently decided to come out dancing together.

Aurora gave a lecture after the practice of solo shine moves. "There are no parts touching. Guys, don't touch her butt, face, boobs, or pussy. That's a no-go zone. Ladies if you don't want to be touched, you picked the wrong class. Bachata is touchy. He'll touch your hips, belly, back, and arms, but always respectfully! When you dance in close position, the bodies are offset to the side so that there is no touching of what shouldn't touch. You connect the hip bone to the belly."

Then she demonstrated with Isandro how to smoothly transition from open position (hands holding) to close position (thighs in between each other). She raised Isandro's hand on the three-beat so that he would signal her to do an outside turn. The outside turn wasn't on the spot but was a walking turn that Isandro accompanied with a side basic step. With the last step, she turned the last 90 degrees to fully face him. That's when Isandro had to step forward so that his right leg would land between her thighs.

Lionel was paired with a tall lanky blond. She was half a head taller than he was. She moved a bit like Bambi - unsure and delicate. When she turned she was unsteady. Like a soccer defender shadowing the offensive player shuffling sideways, he shuffled with her sideways, intently staying as close as possible to her so that on the eight-beat, he could step forward and lend between her thighs. She eagerly bent her knees to squeeze his knee between her thighs.

Aurora asked leaders to rotate to the next woman. The next girl was really short, not even five feet tall. She welcomed Lionel with a sneer that suggested that it would be a struggle to fit the different bodies together. Having a low center of gravity, she moved very surefooted but her steps were very small. Lionel had to make tiny steps. Getting in and under her hips would require a lot of precision and low bent in his knees. He sweeped his knee under her groin. He was worried about touching her pussy because her hips were so close to his knees. She latched on hard the moment she clasped his thigh. It was like she was afraid of falling back.

Through none of this did Lionel have a boner. Very studiously, he tried to execute the movements with professional precision. Yet he enjoyed the closeness, the variety of women, the sweet smiles, the exchanged glances, the uplifting feeling of success at nailing the next step of the choreography.

Doris was there as well. Even though friendly, she acted distant. Her mood of heat seemed to have passed. Her dancing was proper, precise, and emotionless. The coldness startled Lionel. He felt helpless in how to effect responses from women. He had thought that there was more, as he had thought about the class in general. While he was full of good feelings from the physical touch, sensual dance, and female energy, everyone walked out of the class without saying bye or even looking at him. NYC had a coldness that caused him to struggle. He missed the warm hugs that were frequent back in Buenos Aires.

He sat on the subway, looking overhead at the condom ad with a happy couple right next to the ad for a university with a happy female student in a gown right next to the ad for an apartment listing service that promised no bedbugs. He had loved running his eyes down the opposing rows of seats in the subway car to take in the wide variety of ethnicities, body types, lifestyles, fashion, and all, but now he realized the quiet. Everybody was consumed by their phone. Seeing people had been exciting to him because people promised hellos and talking to him. Nobody talked with anybody. Disturbing their shell of privacy was an untouchable taboo. He felt so alone and sad. A tear ran down his eye. Nobody reacted. This would have never happened in Buenos Aires. Here he could cry in public and it seemed like he didn't even exist.

The rolling tears gave him relief from the pressing emotions and calmed him down. The experience of being utterly ignored also gave him the idea that he could be anybody in this city because nobody cared or judged him for it. A trade of social closeness for social freedom. He'd be able to wear the shiniest getup and nobody would judge him for it. He wondered what creature truly existed inside of himself that wanted to come out. He could have blue hair or a shaved head, and it would be all the same.

When Lionel walked into their home, he found Gaston on the kitchen floor leaning against the trash can. Sara was squatting over him and dabbing a reddened wide gauze on Gaston's eye socket. Sara looked concerned and energized. Gaston looked defeated with his limbs hanging exhausted on the ground. First-aid supplies were broken open on the floor. Dried blood was around Gaston's mouth.

"What happened," asked Lionel.

"Oh, thank god you are in one piece! Apparently snazzy pants have lots of dissatisfied customers," said Gaston sullen.

"It looks like a punch to the eye, another to the lip, and a possible cracked rib from a knee thrust. I counted seven bruises on his body," iterated Sara.

There was something very cozy in the way that Sara cared for Gaston. She wetted the dried blood with dabbing and then wiped it off. She carefully caressed a layer of Neosporin over his cuts. She searched his body earnestly like a nurse. All the while, the admiration and adoration for Gaston grew on her face. He received the treatment with ease after weeks of chasing her, she was finally pursuing him. The struggle to hold onto her had been wearing on him, and he could finally lay it to rest.

"Can I make you feel better?" Sara asked Gaston. It was clear that she wasn't trying to make Gaston feel better but that she was terribly turned on by healing the wounds of a bad boy, and she was simply worried about hurting him. He gave her the barest indication with a weak wink of his eyes. She immediately pulled the t-shirt over his head. The bottom side of his right rib had a baseball-sized purple spot that ran veins ten inches out like spider legs. Sara seemed to terribly want to touch them to savor the bad boy fighting injuries but held herself back knowing how sensitive they were to pain. She bit her lip struggling with raw arousal, and then pulled him up by his waistband and dragged him behind her into the bedroom, shutting the door.

Her moans sounded especially visceral tonight like a wolverine howling to the moon, she called out in long calls that Lionel could feel resonating inside of his chest. Gaston sounded rough groans like an animal being kicked, but he was clearly deeply in lust. The fast slapping of sweat-covered skin against skin sounded through the door. Lionel lay on the floor among the mess. The other two guys in the room were sleeping. The bachata couples had been gone the second night.

After deep sleep from all the events of the day, he woke up suddenly - black out one moment and wide awake the next. Sara gave Gaston a serious talking. Gaston seemed like he was trying to press down the crying.

"Listen Gaston, I'm going to downgrade you to a secondary," she said with strong earnest intention for him to get what she was saying.

"Anything, as long as I can stay in your life," whimpered Gaston.

"It's just not the life that I want to live. The thug life is exciting but not a life," admonished Sara. Sara was sitting on the kitchen counter only wearing a t-shirt with a wide-cut neck opening so that the neck opening let her left shoulder fall through and barely hung on her tits. She wore nothing else. Her skin was so smooth in the morning light. Lionel admired her figure. The right knee was pulled up to her chest. She had a giant green and a giant red ring on her finger with an artsy glass ball.

"When we have sex with your primary, will I get the pussy or the ass," asked Gaston.

"Obviously, you get the ass. You always liked to stick it in my ass. And the primary obviously gets the front so that he can kiss me and fondle my breasts. Those are the rights of the primary," Sara educated Gaston.

"He's awake," said Gaston matter of fact.

Sara hushed up about the topic, "Have you slept well, Lionel? I hope we weren't too loud."

Hurried by Gaston, Lionel shaved and brushed his teeth. When Lionel looked at himself in the mirror, he paused to wonder where he would like to place a piercing. Then he continued wiping his face dry. He grabbed two MREs on the way out. When the opened the MREs on the subway, it turned out that he had gotten Mac'n'cheese again with a flat pressed cornbread as dessert.

"Time to fess up again," said Lionel when they got off the six train.

They walked down the picturesque, residential streets. The clean design of the marketing agency had Lionel in awe again. When they opened the door this time, they found the clear glass reception desk floating in the air empty. Instead, there was a human-sized glass terrarium on the side of the room. Inside were only two: a kind of reclined lounge chair that was cut out of a single piece of cherry wood and forced lier to lie in a position somewhat between lying and sitting. On top of that was the receptionist. She was wearing white high heels with black soles, had endlessly long, slender legs with blemish-free skin that seemed surreal, delicate, dark blue lace panties, and a see-through blue camisole that made her appear more dressed but kept everything in full view anyway. Her flowing hair was draped to one side. She was flipping through a magazine, completely ignoring the two guys. The setup made her appear like a zoo animal, placed there to be observed in her natural habitat, which was obviously flipping through magazines in a semi-clad dress.

"Hi," said Dom coming through the door to welcome. "Vera is otherwise busy today, but let me walk you in." He walked them straight to the backyard where they all sat down together on the stairs.

"Let me hear it," said Dom with a cheery face.

"We fucked up again," admitted Gaston.

"Well, you've sold one pair of snazzy pants. 199 more to go!" said Dom with false enthusiasm.

"Snazzy pants has a terrible rep. If I let myself be seen in Soho again, I won't get away this intact," Gaston added while pointing at his face. "On top of it, we need one thousand dollars to pay rent."

"Aw!" said Dom with a mocking tone. "Yesterday, you owed me. Today I own you!"

Dom pulled a stack of money out of his pants. He counted a thousand dollars out, placed it on the floor, and added a rock over it. "A thousand dollars are no problem. But I'm dead serious about owning both of you."

"Yep, we'll do whatever it takes," said Gaston.

"Let's make sure that you understand," said Dom and got up to go back inside.

He walked them to the terrarium with Vera inside and encourage them to have a closer look. There was a plaque in front with the sign that a zoo animal would have. There was a picture of her employee photo ID. Underneath it was a description like that of a zoo animal. Dom encouraged them to take the time to fully read it: "Vera's natural are the dens of Noho. She works as a receptionist in Manhattan's premier marketing consultancy. To keep her body toned, she plays tennis. Listening to house music calms her. Her preferred diet is sushi."

"You gotta try this," suggested Dom and handed Gaston a five-dollar bill. There was a little machine at the side of the terrarium that had a money slot. Gaston fed the bill into it. A little motor pulled the money in. There was whirring and a platform raised out and up from the box. A single piece of sushi was on it. Vera stood up elegantly. With a sway in her hips, she placed one foot in front of the other like walking on a tightrope. Those legs of her were so slender. She bent forward at her waist so that they could see the lace panties riding into the crack of her butt revealing the full bulge of her butt. She picked up a pair of chopsticks from the holder next to the box. She lifted up the piece of sushi, stood up, and entered it into her mouth. Chewing, she walked with just as much boudoir performance back to her spot to resume flipping through the magazine. Dom was outside of himself with excitement.

"Lionel, you have to go as well to get a taste of what it means when I own someone," Dom dangled Lionel a five-dollar bill. Reluctantly, Lionel took the bill. He knew that if he used the bill, he'd owe Dom those five dollars, and Lionel would have sealed his fate. Not seeing an alternative, he took the bill and fed it into the machine. The same wiring of the bill being pulled in and the platform moving out and up happened. This time Vera came on her hands and knees playing to be a female tiger stalking. Still, on her knees, she picked up the sushi with the job sticks, swallowed it, and crawled back to her resting place with her butt cheeks moving left and right with her feline crawling moves. She returned to reading the magazine entirely blasse with perfect self-composure.

Dom walked the guys back into the worker pit. Dom pointed at a computer desk for Gaston to sit down. Dom pointed at a big, red-haired guy with a checkered shirt, "he's your lead programmer. Do whatever he says. Over there are bean bags. You can sleep there. You can't leave the office each day until you finish your assignment."

"You Lionel, you will deliver marketing material for now. There is a guy in the street with a green van. He'll drive and tell you where to drop off flyers and posters. You start every day at 8am here. You get the weekends off. You are indentured until I tell you that you've paid off your debt."

The driving in the van wasn't bad. Carrying boxes and stacks from the van into stores and businesses was relatively easy. The driver Rodrigo was pretty easygoing and knew that nobody was timing them. He took frequent breaks of doing nothing at all. When Dom called, he hurried like crazy to get done whatever needed getting done. But as soon as it was done, he'd put his feet on the dashboard and take a nap. He'd visit his daughter for lunch break in school. Rodrigo had absolutely no supervision and knew it.

So Lionel found himself one afternoon in Doris' boutique. He simply asked, "Want some company?"

She said, "yes." Apparently, her days were pretty boring in the vintage store. He told her that Gaston was doing pretty well and that Gaston was actually learning to program for real. The deal hadn't turned out too badly. Apparently, they were severely underpaid and had to hasten to satisfy the random whims of Dom, but they no longer had to worry about making money.

"Listen," interrupted Doris. Lionel had felt that something had been different about her. "I'm bipolar. I got through really exuberant and really depressed phases. My roommate whom you met convinced me to go back on my SSRIs. It absolutely kills my libido. I have no arousal at all. When I get off them, my hormones spike. You caught me on a spike day last time. I simply want to let you know that nothing is going to happen today."

Lionel felt bad about having been willing to take advantage of her the other day. Feeling awkward, he changed the topic, "I want to get a piercing, but I have to save up money first."

"Where would you get the piercing?" she asked.

"I figured that I'd start with an eyebrow piercing," he said.

"I can give you one right here," she said.

She lifted up a needle, got a lighter out of the store desk drawer, and pointed at the bowl with piercing rings next to the cash register. There were little rings with balls as closures. Some had little adornments. Others were plain of various diameters and thicknesses.

"Sit down," she said pointing at the chair behind the cash register. She got the first-aid kit out of another desk drawer and found the iodine solution kit in it.

"Shall we do it?" she asked Lionel, seated in the high chair, while she ran the lighter flame along the length of the needle until the needle glowed yellow. She waved the hot needle in the air to cool it down awaiting his response.

He couldn't find a good reason to say no without negating his stated intent to get a piercing. So he looked through the bowl of piercing rings. He picked one that had texture on it. It looks like an ancient knight wore it, he explained. She smiled and squeezed out a packet of Neosporin over it to drown the ring in the dollop.

"Tilt your head back," she ordered.

She studied his eyebrow while snapping on purple latex gloves. Then she pinched his left eyebrow, she rubbed his skin fold between her fingers until it was positioned right. "Exhale," she ordered. He did and at the same moment, she stabbed the needle through. He felt a startling pain and intense urge to hold very still to not tear his skin. She carefully pulled the needle back as she looped in the ring. She turned the closure of the ring to lock.