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"You know. I really have to hand it to you. You are a fantastic leader, Mark. I never would have thought that I could follow anyone, in any situation, really, but you've been great to work with. It really game through tonight. Cheers to a fantastic leader." And Devon raised her cappuccino cup to meet Mark's. They didn't clink.

"Absolutely not. If it wasn't for your elaborate embellishments there is no way we would have won second place," Mark refused Devon's compliment.

"I really did let go tonight, didn't I?"

"Yes, I suppose you did. I can toast to letting go," conceded Mark.

"To letting go then," Devon had won a small victory. Now she just needed Mark to let go of himself a little bit. Their cups clinked and they stared at each other over them as they sipped their homemade cappuccinos. Devon set her cup down and scooted forward in her chair to sit more closely to Mark. She crossed her legs and folded her hands across her lap. "So. What is it exactly that you do when your wife is away? Mark." Devon knew this question would make Mark nervous. Devon knew that if she wanted to get anywhere with Mark in that house tonight she had to play it safe, make him feel safe, comfortable, at ease.

"I... um... I usually just watch TV and go to bed. Nothing too exiting, I know."

"Trust me. My life is the same. Come home, work out, grade papers in front of the TV, go to bed. That's about it for me too. What do you watch?" asked Devon.

"I like um actually... I like a lot of the shows on the SciFi channel. My wife hates them. She thinks they're stupid and silly. I think science fiction allows you to explore social, political and religious beliefs in a totally unrestricted setting. In a world completely created by the author or filmmaker that doesn't know the boundaries set forth by today's or previous day's societies. I guess that's why a lot of those books and movies take place in the future or on other planets. Our world just isn't equipped to really fully handle those issues." Mark completely opened up to Devon for a second there. "But that's just me." And then Mark closed himself off again.

"Well I happen to know Dr. Who is on in five minutes." Devon smiled mischievously. "Is that enough time for my new SciFi friend to make some popcorn?" Devon was pretending to assume Mark's acceptance of her invitation to watch TV in HIS living room. But Mark was surprised Devon didn't respond to his comments on Science Fiction by calling him a nerd. She wanted to watch Science Fiction with him. He accepted and within minutes they were on the couch, searching for the channel. Devon unbuckled her heels and slipped out of them so she could curl up on the couch. She sat close to Mark, close enough to reach the popcorn, but not so close as to frighten him. Much to her relief there was a Dr. Who marathon on, not to mention an exceeding large bowl of popcorn, and Devin had all night to work her charms on Mark.

After the first episode she scooted closer to him under the guise of better reaching the popcorn. At the end of the second episode she kneeled up and reached behind Mark to get a throw off the couch, her pressed up breasts were inches away from his face, her parted knees were inches away from his thigh. Mark struggled to keep his eyes on the obnoxious commercials. On her way back down Devon exhaled hot breath on Mark's neck. She paused to look at his expression, at the effect this had on him. Mark was surprisingly calm when he looked at her momentarily. He caught himself and directed his attention back to the insufferable announcer on the auto wax commercial. Devon sat on her feet, still in the kneeling position. She took Mark's cheek, turned his head to face her and kissed him. Her kiss to him was gentle and submissive. His kiss to her was tentative and withdrawn.

"Mark," Devon sighed. "I meant what I said about your leadership skills on the dance floor. You've actually helped me learn a lot about myself. And I loved what you said about Science Fiction. I thought that was really insightful. You're this mysterious, perceptive, suave guy and I really like you. Open yourself up to me. Really kiss me."

Devon had explained everything to Mark. She told him why she liked him. She had given him permission to kiss him. For some reason this put him at ease. So he kissed her. This time Devon grabbed both sides of his face and kneeled up over him on the couch. She penetrated his mouth. She licked his tongue. This time her kiss to him was powerful, passionate, and probing. Now it was his kiss that was submissive, but his kiss was also passionate, also deep, also powerful. Devon kneeled over Mark's lap and continued kissing him, running her fingers through his blond hair.

"Unzip my dress," she said. And Mark, feeling relieved by this permission, obliged. He gently tugged at the top of her dress and pulled the zipper slowly down her arched back. Devon pulled the dress over her head and tossed it onto the seat cushion. She revealed a natural colored bra with black lace overlay and matching panties. Her feet were already bare. She kissed Mark again and he kissed her back wantonly. She unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it out of his pants, and ran her hands along his chest. "Where is your bedroom?"

"Upstairs. First door on the left."

"Take me there." Mark lifted Devon, something he'd done many times before, but not like this. Not over the threshold. Not in her undergarments. He felt confident because of her confidence in him. He felt calm because her commands to him gave him permission to act out all the private deeds he'd been thinking about and had never admitted, not even to himself. He felt suave simply because he was with Devon, and it was with Devon on the dance floor that he was truly debonair.

Devon saw Mark's responses to her commands. She saw his relaxation, the smoothness of his dance moves translating into sex. She knew he was a nervous wreck, but when she told him what to do, he did it. Happily. And he calmed down. It was evident to Devon from that moment how the night would proceed. Mark carried her to the bedroom and sat her down on the bed. Devon kneeled up with her hands on her thighs and brushed her hair to one shoulder. Mark admired her physique, her long hair, her unique facial features. Mark was still standing.

"I want you to listen to me carefully. Are you listening?" Devon asked

"I'm listening," said Mark eagerly.

"I want you to start licking at the back of my neck, lick all the way down my spine, lick all around the bottom of me to the front of me, up my stomach, up my neck, and kiss me with the taste of my pussy in your mouth. Do you think you could do that for me?" Mark was shocked and excited and shocked. "And I want you to take off your pants." He could feel confident and capable of any dirty little deed his imagination could dream up, if she permitted. So he took off his pants and threw them across the room. He climbed onto the bed and kneeled behind Devon. He kissed the back of her neck and licked it once. Then he began the long lick, down her spine. He could feel all the small white hairs standing up in response to his licking. He would stop licking occasionally to kiss a particularly sensitive spot, if Devon recoiled with pleasure or sighed, or hissed. When he got to her bra he unclasped it and as he continued licking his hands slipped the bra from her shoulders. Devon took his hands from the bra, removed the bra herself, and placed his hands on her breasts. He stroked her nipples playfully until they stood at attention and his hands wandered elsewhere as his tongue slid lower and lower down her body. He caressed the fullness of her breasts, along the outsides, the inwards curvature of her waist, the muscular fullness of the agile legs he'd come to love so much. When his tongue reached her panties he began to pull them down and Devon crawled onto all fours so that she may be more accessible to him. He licked the small of her back, down her butt down her ass. His tongue circled around her anus, feeling the taught skin of its circumference. He licked further down and Devon lied down on her back and Mark licked her pussy, parting her lips, running his tongue into and out of her. He ran his tongue up to her clit, flicking it only momentarily and running his mouth up her stomach to her mouth, kissing her. He asked for permission to enter her, to which she replied,

"Yes, you may." And they fucked on that bed, Mark's marital bed, with the taste of Devon's pussy in their mouths, Mark pounding into her every few seconds, Devon responding each time as though she were being eaten alive. At the next tango session Mark was awkward again and Devon didn't understand. He was suave again, once the music started. She didn't have much time to ponder it either. The dance instructor was interfering with their dancing frequently to talk to Devon.

"Might I say," the instructor said, "You guys looked really great out there on Friday night." He was following them across the dance floor. "Especially you, Devon."

"Thank you," said Devon and Mark spun her in a direction away from the instruction. "And thank you for that. I don't know what his deal is." But the instructor was insistent. He cut in between Devon and Mark and Mark had to let him in.

"As I was saying. You looked stunning. But not just stunning. Stunning and intelligent."

Oh God, Devon thought. Is he drunk? "I think we did all right. We didn't get first place," she said dispassionately.

"Well, I see you want to get back with your partner. Hey, you'll still help me with the stereo after class, right?"

"Yeah. I'll help you," Devon said and got back to dancing with Mark. "You know Mark, I want you to know, I had a really really great time Friday night. It was really great to get to know you better." Devon was talking about the matter nonchalantly, forgetting that Mark takes these types of issues deeply seriously. They make him very uneasy.

"Keep your voice down. Someone might hear you," he urged.

"No one can hear us. I just wanted to pay you a compliment." That stopped Mark dead in his tracks. A compliment? Had he performed well? Had he pleased her? Mark grabbed Devon by the waist and held her close to him. They danced intensely close for the rest of the evening. After class was over, Mark left and Devon stuck around to help the instructor with the stereo.

"You know, I always felt funny asking a woman in high heels to help me with this thing," the instructor said.

"Oh don't be silly. I can do anything in a pair of heels. How did you get into teaching nighttime classes, anyway?" Devon asked.

"Oh that's just for the extra cash. During the day I work for a non-profit organization that gets resident artists to teach classes to rural school kids. I teach them modern usually, but sometimes ballet and other forms of dance."

"Wow. That's really cool. You know I'm a teacher. I teach Special Education," Devon said, completely taken aback by this seemingly sleazy man's admirable day job.

"That's really great. I don't know how you do it. Here. Put these wires in this bag." Devon did. "Can you grab that speaker and that one? Can you get them both?"

I think so," Devon struggled but managed both. They walked out of the studio together, Devon carrying much more of the stereo than the instructor. She carried it to his truck and they both loaded all of the components in. They pushed the tailgate shut together and shared a glance at each other.

"Do you want to come over to my place for a drink?" the instructor asked. He was moving rather quickly. He was pushing Devon. He was bold.

"I... um... sure. Why not? One drink," Devon warned.

"One drink. I'll drive you back to your car here when we're done," he said.

"Allright," said Devon and she climbed into the passenger side of his truck, unsure of what she was thinking. This was reckless for her, a teacher, sharing cars with men, veering from her routine, making plans to go home with a man she barely knew anything about. When they arrived at the instructor's apartment it looked just as she imagined it might. There were newspaper clippings on the wall, pictures of the instructor winning awards, or of the instructor standing with students winning awards. There were a few trophies. A pair of men's pointe shoes hanging over a bar. The décor was decidedly late 1980's, with dark brown wooden paneling on half the walls, a striped upholstery couch, and linoleum floors in the kitchen. The instructor pulled out his blender.

"I'll make you a margarita?"

"Sure," said Devon. "You know, your accent. I've never been able to place it. Where are you originally from?"

"Uzbekistan," the instructor said, licking margarita mix off his fingers and dumping a large amount of it into the blender. Devon hated blended drinks. He then spent a prolonged amount of time pouring tequila into the blender. Just a little too long, Devon thought. When the drinks were done he poured them into sizeable glasses and gestured Devon to sit on the couch.

"Tell me more about the work you do with the kids," Devon asked. Everything this man did seemed seedy, from the way he walked to the way he'd just made those drinks, but his day job seemed fascinating, honorable, respectable. She knew all she wanted to know about his seedy side, she wanted to know more about his respectable side.

"It's pretty cool. You mean the resident artist job, right? Not the coaching?" Devon nodded. "I work for an organization that pulls together resident artists from all around the state and hires them out to rural schools. Sometimes I work one week in one school, sometimes I work one day in another. It always depends. But it's a fun job. The kids are really fun. They don't normally get that kind of education from their regular teachers, so they're always really into it. Even the reticent ones eventually warm up to you. What about you? You work with a special population."

"I like it a lot. I've been working lots of different jobs in different fields for a long time and this is definitely the most rewarding. All those little victories in the classroom day by day make all the extra work worth it. And the big victories! Those are what I work for. But I could get really nerdy and really into all the details of the job. It'd probably be really boring for you." Devon sipped and crunched on her drink. It was never classy to have to chew your beverage. But it was most certainly taking its effect on her. "So when did you start dancing?" The instructor was seeming less and less sordid and more and more interesting. She was finding herself liking the way his belt emphasized his slender waist, the way his black hair fell in stiffly gelled locks onto his forehead, the way he was lean but muscular and strong enough to lift her. His accent was becoming endearing. It could have all been the margarita, she thought to herself.

"I started dancing at a young age. In my country most of my peers made fun of me for dancing. They said I was a gay. I have nothing against gays, mind you. But I did get made fun of a lot. But there were some who respected my choice. I trained hard. Why did you start dancing?"

"Oh, I guess I needed to get out a little more. Meet some people. Tango sounded really structured and rigid and I liked that about it. That's why I stuck with it. And I really enjoyed following for a change, you know?" The instructor raised an eyebrow. Devon continued, "I have to exert all this control over my environment at school, over my kids, over my body when I work out, I pluck all these little hairs, I'm so controlling. It's nice to give up control a few hours a week. To be the follower and not the leader. It relieves a little of the pressure, you know?"

"I think I know exactly what you mean," said the instructor, truly knowing more about what she meant than Devon might have. He stared at her eyes. This made Devon nervous, self-doubting again. For a few days there, she'd forgotten what that had felt like. Was her makeup smeared? Was her dress askew? Was there something in her teeth? She excused herself and asked to use his bathroom. All was right with her. No bread in her teeth, no twisted dress, no smudges or blotches on her skin of any kind. The instructor's intentions became clear. It was time for her to finish her drink as quickly as possible and leave, convince him to drive her back to her car. She wondered why she found herself caring about such minute details of her appearance around a guy she wasn't even interested in. She wondered, if she wasn't interested, why did she get into the truck with him in the first place. Devon always had to be the best. She returned to the living room and sat back down on the couch, picked up her half empty drink and took a big sip from it, holding it with both hands at her knees, trying to sit as properly as she could. This excessive politeness Devon was displaying, sitting straight up, knees together, dress over her knees, now more formal in her speech, made the instructor all the more eager to attract her, to persuade her he was more than worthy. Devon took two more big sips from her cup. The instructor scooted in to Devon.

"You know. A lot of women express the same emotions. They enjoy the ability to give up control. There are many ways you can give up control, Devon." And with that he pounced on Devon, straddling her on the couch, grabbing her arms up over her head and running his hands up to her wrists, pressing them to the wall behind the couch. He put her drink down. He licked the profile of her face. Devon resisted, fought back, struggled, but the instructor only strengthened his grip on her both with his hands and with his thighs. He was slender, but he was still heavier and stronger than she. She was immobilized. "How does it feel?" he said, exhaling cold breath onto her wet face with each word. "How does it feel to be immobile? To know you have no control?" Keeping her hands pressed above her he brushed aside her hair with his face and licked her ear, her neck, her collarbone. He was sampling her. Devon was quite sensitive on her collarbone and she let out an exhale. "You like it," he said. Devon wasn't so sure, but she had no choice. He pressed his face into her neck, kissing it, he kissed her face. Devon refused to kiss back. The instructor always loved her attitude. He grabbed her wrists together with one hand and lowered them behind her back, using the other hand to grab her face. He squeezed her cheeks together, forcing her mouth open, and he shoved his tongue down her throat, half kissing her with it, half probing her. Devon felt herself slowly relax once he'd only gripped her wrists with one hand. The way he made her put her arms behind her on the couch caused her to arch her back. The way he sat on her lap caused her to arch it further. He held her head in his hand in an upward position. Devon imagined that this dance instructor was making her look quite beautiful, quite sexy, at that moment. She felt sexy. She felt her body become aroused, her skin more sensitive, her lips swollen. Slowly and cautiously Devon began kissing the instructor back. She let her wrists yield to his hand, she stopped kicking her legs intermittently. He let go of her wrists and pressed her shoulders into the couch with his hands and they kissed each other deeply, Devon acquiescing to his weight, his pressure, the instructor pressing her less and less, responding to her yields.

"Do you want to see how good giving up control can really feel? Do you want me to take you places you've never been?" The instructor was getting pretty full of himself but Devon was rather enjoying herself, when she could get past the instructor's faults. She was going to need more to drink. She wondered what she was doing. Tonight and last weekend were going to make up more sexual encounters than she'd had in the last year. She was drinking on a school night. She had homework to grade yet. This man was a nut job. Her pussy was wet.