SMASHWORDS (Premium - soon to be widely distributed)
Music and dancers filled the basement club with a sensual heat that was as palpable as the smoke from the diners’ cigarettes. The dance floor was small, though mirrors on its three confining walls flattered it with a reflected throng. It was filled with far too many couples for its size. Among them, I only had eyes for one. In the low light, too often obscured by other partners, their sensual movements continued half imagined. But I saw enough to feed my jealous mind; it filled in any gaps.
They danced a slow dance, their bodies moving in reflected synchronicity with the evocative tones of a tenor saxophone. The beat was slow, the rhythm throbbing like a pulse. Their hands began to roam beyond the dance, exploring curves, slopes, mounds, dips, and valleys, as if each were a sculptor creating a living body beneath the manipulation of artistic finger tips.
I watched as did others, but unlike theirs, my lust was imperfect, corrupted by an unexpected surge of jealousy. I felt the urge to halt the dance, but let myself surrender to desire. Gazing at the couple with anxious yet excited eyes, I watched them dance, a culpable voyeur.
Breathlessly, I followed the large hands on their smooth path under the roundness of her flexing, swaying hips. Her partner’s fingers spread and pressed into the black cotton of her dress. The man kneaded her like clay, her movements joined with his as if conspiring to ease her dress up higher. The delicately intricate leaf pattern of her stocking tops slid into view. I glimpsed the strap of her garter belt. A thrust of her thighs and her dress was at her waist, tight black satin swept high over the white curve of an exposed buttock. Ebony fingers spread like living lace in sharp contrast with her pale skin. Their blunt tips pressed her flesh, sliding beneath her panties. Perhaps it was a part of the dance for her to spread her feet a little wider, or perhaps a conscious move to ease her partner’s access. I had often imagined how this would feel; to watch my wife in such an intimate embrace with another man. So far, it did not disappoint. I found myself squeezing my legs together surreptitiously to hold down my swelling cock.
To my annoyance, their movements along with the other couples’ had them disappear within the crowd. With frantic eyes, I sought for my wife and her dance partner in the mirrored ceiling above the dance floor. I felt an unexpected surge of anxiety when its smoked-copper reflection failed to reveal them anywhere on the floor below.