When she split up from David, Sophie decided to find herself.
She’d wanted to learn to tango but David had told her she had no rhythm and she was as bad at dancing as she was inept at sex. For that reason Sophie, who fucked herself privately, also became a secret dancer, and danced privately in front of her cheval mirror.
Sophie wasn’t quite certain what she wanted from sex any more, but she knew she needed it to be soft and sensual and packaged up in the haunting rhythms of the South American beat.
She didn’t want harsh men’s fingers buried in her sex – she wanted a sensual moving finger. She’d decided it might be nice to be fucked by a woman’s fingers to the beat of the tango.
The old jazz club which was situated up a quiet backstreet was small, but because of this the syrupy seductive atmosphere was so thick and condensed, the vibe clung to her like treacle, and made her think of thick rich sex. There was nothing like salsa and tango and the odours of warm bodies, oozing perfumes and sex juices to turn Sophie on. She curled up in a corner and, as the music beat its sexual tattoo and she was squeezed within a warm glove of pleasure, the fingers of the erotic metaphorical tango glove, stroked her with an orgasmic serenade, eventually culminating in a series of satisfying, hip-rocking pulses.
After this she felt satiated and began to observe the dancers. Sophie easily lost herself in them, slipping inside their skins as she tried them on like items of clothing. There was always one dancer in particular who captivated her. It could be the fluidity of the movements, the tilt of the pelvis or the aggressive stance.
At midnight the dancefloor was full, since like moths to a flame, the shadows that had earlier clung around the fringes had by now gravitated towards its stage. Here they moved tirelessly like curious clockwork toys, as they engaged in dance sex – a secret language of thrusts and rotations, fierce interlocking limbs and caresses.
A couple swirled past Sophie, the woman’s face a mask of erotic appreciation. She was not beautiful but she possessed a simmering sex which was rippling beneath the surface and trapped within her dancer’s skin.
Sophie watched the man grind his groin into the fabulously orgasmic-looking woman and she wondered how the cock felt, as he spun her away from him in the vicious tango and snapped her back, hips grinding, legs apart, the expression one of a circumspect “Eat me”, and all said with eyes and body.
The exotic men were stunning. Here was a smörgåsbord of sexual delicacies. She adored the heavy-lidded, long-lashed eyes which watched you with predatory intent. Engage them with your glance and there they were for the taking, sexual men saturated by tango and earthy beats who had become sex because of it. Sophie had travelled widely; she was a beautiful and intelligent girl, everyone said so, and she could have had such a man if she’d wanted him. But, she knew even he would not awaken her unless he was feminine. This point had angered her last boyfriend, David. He couldn’t stand her love for feminine men. This craving inside her for the feminine and her reticence for his penile sex, unnerved him and he’d told her she was frigid and had a plug of ice between her legs. This enraged Sophie, who knew – yes, knew – she was passionate.
A striking man was watching her from a barstool. He had high angular cheekbones, thick black hair cut in an asymmetric style, falling forward in a fringe over dark-kohled gypsy eyes, and his legs in his tailored pants were slim and elegant and offset by an extremely narrow waist. It was the whorish slash of carmine lipstick on the androgynous face though, which sealed her lust and made it percolate within her; hot and steamy and bubbling up.
For an instant Sophie began to climb the ladder of arousal, shivering with desire. She could imagine exciting sexual things about this man and they were intensely violent.
Her gaze showed her greed as she peered at his white gaping shirt and caught a glimpse of a nipple and warmly tanned skin. The hunger began to creep slowly and insidiously.
He gave the barest flicker of a smile, the sensitive woman’s mouth with its delicately pronounced cupid’s bow, lifting. And then he got to his feet and guided a woman, an exceedingly attractive blonde woman onto the floor. Sophie was drawn into the dance; it was mentally and physically challenging, each movement expertly executed. She leant forward, her mouth opening in a crescent of pleasure as the electrical thrills shot through her.
After a while he unbuttoned his tuxedo and, shrugging it off, threw it over a chair and it was then Sophie noticed the spear sharp, stiletto heels and the slim wrists with the elegant woman’s Chanel watch, and she felt her cheeks flare. Why, it’s a woman, she realised. I’ve been staring at a woman who dresses like a man. I’ve been staring at a dyke. But how thrilling to see a woman dancing with a woman.
The dance finished and the woman having retrieved her tuxedo, began to walk past Sophie’s table, but stopped and, cheekily drawing out a chair, sat down.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she said, almost as an afterthought.
Sophie was feverish and sexually unsettled and her glance was guarded.
The woman studied her for a moment, her fingers creeping towards Sophie’s and brushing hers. She had long bright red nails to match her vivid lipstick. Her stare was that of a Cleopatra, dark and mysterious and over-emphasised by the kohl.
‘You were staring at me and I was enjoying it. Couldn’t you see that tango was for you? Will you dance with me? All the time I danced with her, I wished it was you.’ She leant across the table and Sophie smelt her odour. An exotic blend of musky male cologne and the subliminal essence of sex, rising like a vapour from her humid body.
Lifting Sophie’s hand she drew circles on her palm, before pressing it to her lips and drawing spirals with her tongue.
Sophie ignited in rapid little pulses of orgasm, her recalcitrant nipples firming into tight nubs and surging forward in visible rigidity, much to the woman’s evident pleasure, which was bestowed with a direct appreciation and moistening of her lips. Sophie regretted her choice of dress; she’d known it was unsuitable for a hot summer night in a club and it was now clinging to her curvy body as she perspired.
‘I’m Ludmilla,’ the woman said and the scrape of a nail on her palm opened a door to Sophie’s sex and she felt a gripping and breathless surge of passion as she studied Ludmilla’s fierce tango beauty.
‘I’m Sophie.’
‘Then come along Sophie, let’s dance.’
‘I can’t dance very well. I’m too large in the hips to look elegant.’
‘Nonsense! Larger women can dance very well.’ Nudging her chair closer, Ludmilla slipped her arm around Sophie’s waist, easing her to her feet. ‘It feels like a good body to me. A luscious, sex body.’ She emphasised the word sex with a curious sibilant hiss.
‘I can’t dance,’ Sophie objected. ‘I have no sense of rhythm.’
Ludmilla laughed. ‘If you can make sex, you can dance. Sex is dance.’
But I don’t do that well either, Sophie reflected. Self-analysis terrified her. It made her knock on the closed doors of her sexual consciousness. She sensed herself stiffen.
‘Loosen up.’ Ludmilla was holding her perilously close, her pelvis grinding into Sophie’s. ‘You have to be looser, darling.’
She drew Sophie into her arms and pressed her mouth close to her ear. Sophie thought she felt the tip of a wet tongue caress in yet another spiral. When Ludmilla drew back she was embracing Sophie’s face with lingering invisible kisses. One at the corner of her mouth, one at her lips. In response Sophie’s mouth opened in erotic invitation.
‘I teach dance and I know inner passion when I see it. It’s all about freedom of expression. Dance is the best form of sexual therapy and I’m never wrong.’ Her fingers skimmed Sophie’s cheek. ‘I can tell when a woman needs some therapy. Now, I’ll give you the first lesson in sex dance.’
With Ludmilla’s hand pressed into the small of her back, Sophie was squeezed against the warm mound of Ludmilla’s sex and as Ludmilla’s legs forced apart her own, so then Sophie’s sex warmth was further compressed to Ludmilla’s.
They began to move and the gentle rubbing friction struck a match of excitement in Sophie and the plug of ice began to warm. Sophie rested her hands on the warm tango body and pressed her mouth to Ludmilla’s soft cheek. Ludmilla’s lips, in turn, found her ear, the tip of her tongue circling the erogenous auricle like a bee around a honey pot.
‘You want a woman to love you. Your voice says one thing and your body another.’
Ludmilla’s hands slithered down to Sophie’s buttocks and she rotated her hand across the fleshy pillows before stroking Sophie’s nipples with the back of her hand in the merest suggestion of seduction. Sophie shuddered. She could feel the warm pulsing sex seed gestating in her belly. Ludmilla’s sex heat was now melting the freezing ice between her legs.
They sat back down at the table and Ludmilla pulled her chair closer so they were now sitting with their thighs pressed tightly together. Her stare dropped to Sophie’s cleavage and there was hunger in her dark eyes.
‘You didn’t tread on my foot once. You have the eyes of a kitten and you walk carefully like a kitten. Did anyone ever tell you that? Mmm,’ Ludmilla said. ‘I thought so. Poor kitten.’ Her gaze hovered over Sophie’s lips which were swollen as if a lover had nibbled them.
Sophie didn’t think she had pretty lips, but Ludmilla passed her finger over them.
‘Come to my studio tomorrow at two o’clock. It’s number 11, Rue Montaigne. I have the old apartment above the clinic. If you get lost just ask for Ludmilla. Everyone knows me there. I was once the most famous dancer in Buenos Aires.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Sophie smiled. ‘For one thing, I couldn’t afford your fees.’
‘Lame excuses, always lame excuses.’ Her eyes flashed in her arresting face. ‘But it’s free, darling, because we’re already friends, aren’t we?’ Then after a beat. ‘Well, aren’t we?’
‘Yes,’ Sophie said cautiously. ‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Good, since I want us to be friends, very special friends. I want to do this and I don’t expect sexual favours in return. I’m simply being a philanthropist in the manner of sex and I intend to help you find your rhythm.’
Sophie had become a burning candle. The match had touched her wick and she was beginning to burn so brightly the drops of meltwater were dripping down her thighs.
An open side door, out of which seeped the tantalising strains of salsa, led up a staircase into a corridor with the studio overlooking the boulevard at the end.
When Sophie arrived Ludmilla poked her head around the door and grinned at her. Her hair was fastened back in butterfly clips and her lips were painted in the same violent red, sex lipstick. She wore a revealing leotard scooped away at the thighs and which rode so high up her crotch, Sophie could see a fringe of dark pubic curls. She was staring so hard her cheeks were burning.
‘I found you something to wear. You don’t have a leotard? I didn’t think so.’ She led Sophie into the dance studio, which had a wooden floor and mirrors and bars along the wall.
‘Change into this, darling.’ She held up a black lycra leotard, the kind Sophie would never have chosen because she knew it would be tight and over-exaggerate the signposts to her sex, she’d rather conceal. Nonetheless, she took it.
Sophie went into the small cubicle at the end of the room. It was little more than a box with a half door and an old curtain hanging on broken hooks. Ludmilla watched her in the reflection of a mirror. It was the look of a sexual voyeur, but for once it didn’t seem to matter. Sophie was full of a new and simmering sense of dangerous sexuality as if Ludmilla’s embraces last night had made her bolder. She wanted her buttons pressed; she needed to push the boundaries of her sexuality, just to prove something to herself.
It wasn’t as if she tried to be deliberately provocative, but the sounds of the tango, issuing forth from an old tape recorder on a table in the corner, made her so. Sophie undressed slowly like a stripper. She bent over, exhibiting her generous breasts with her rose pink nipples, allowing the breasts to fall forward, before she placed first one foot and then the other into the leotard which, as she’d thought, was far too tight, and required her to shimmy her hips and jiggle her breasts.
When she stepped outside, Ludmilla’s glance seduced her. Placing her hands on Sophie’s hips she turned her around, her hands and fingers dancing.
Ludmilla was as tall and slender as a pole and her exceedingly high stilettos further accentuated her splendid legs, which were strong and flexible and astonishingly sexy. Sophie quivered, aware of a wet ripple throughout her sex. Thank goodness it was a black leotard since her sex juice would not show. For this reason she felt able to indulge the clutching spasms of her sex muscles, the wildly exciting contraction and relaxation, and therefore force the melting of the ice plug a little more.
‘You’re so stiff.’ Ludmilla’s fingers sensuously dug into Sophie’s shoulder muscles then down the length of her spine. ‘Stand up like this. Stretch and flex like a cat.’ Ludmilla bent over, and flexed her arms, drawing in her belly as she bowed her spine and stuck out her pert little breasts. ‘Now, lean on the bar, that’s it, buttocks out. I’ll show you some exercises so you can loosen up.’
‘I can do that,’ Sophie said triumphantly, wanting to impress. And, to prove her point, she leant forward and, extending her leg in one fluid movement, raised it high, so her buttocks tightened.
‘Excellent, so you dance after all. I knew you had a secret.’
Ludmilla stroked Sophie’s hips and her hands moved all over her body, and as they did so the hands made love to Sophie. A stroke here, a squeeze there. Each place she fondled seemed to have a secret key which Ludmilla turned, causing the warm liquid river to flow even faster within Sophie. It was impossible not to stink of sex, she thought crudely. You would have to stink of sex, in this heat with this kind of stimulation and such tight clothing.
‘I think we’re ready. Salsa or tango?’ Ludmilla asked as she drew a circle in the air with her toe.
‘Tango,’ Sophie said without hesitation.
‘A good choice. The tango is so much passion.’
Ludmilla, supple and androgynously irresistible, glided across the floor, her body dissolving into arabesques as her hands and legs described the dance of passion and seduction, and in Ludmilla’s case, the added sensuality of the dance of courtship. It was a fascinating and disturbing demonstration of the power of controlled sex.
Sophie returned each day to the studio and each day Ludmilla coaxed the sex to the surface of her skin, while she melted away the plug of ice. Ludmilla used her legs and hips and hands to teach Sophie female sex without the use of words and from the perspective of dance. It was silent seduction by tango and it had begun to warm Sophie through every cell of her being.
Then, one day, Ludmilla pressed her leg to Sophie’s, and the bewitching foot with the naughty stiletto heel, trapped her calf and Sophie held her breath as the foot with incredible self-control seduced first her ankle and then her calf, before reaching all the way up her leg, where coming to rest on the sex, Ludmilla leant into Sophie and pressed her knee into Sophie’s crotch, studying her lips and flicking out her tongue to taste Sophie’s mouth as she did so.
On that day Sophie lost her tenseness completely and the ice inside her became molten liquid coming to the boil. She felt she could stretch her body and sex in new ways. She was no longer tight, but loose and flowing all the way through her body.
Ludmilla smiled secretly as her finger traced Sophie’s rigid nipples through the leotard. She seemed very serious.
‘Take it off now,’ she said. ‘Take your leotard off slowly. Do a sexy dance for me, I promise I won’t eat you. Look.’ Much to Sophie’s amazement she bent over again and peered up at Sophie from between her parted legs; before standing back up, she sensuously began to wriggle out of her own leotard.
It was compelling and erotic to watch the lean man-like body with its pert breasts emerging like a python shedding its skin. First one breast appeared, tawny hued, enhanced by the nub of her dark nipple which was as hard as a raisin, and then the other. Next, a neat sashay of the hips and Ludmilla peeled the leotard down over her firm belly and dancer’s hips. All the time dancing, as she exhibited her muscular buttocks and long dancer’s legs. Finally, she was completely naked except for the stilettos, and turning around she placed her hands on her hips.
Sophie gasped. Ludmilla was so beautiful. Her pubis was flat, unlike Sophie’s, and sprinkled with short black curly hair – the wet slit juicily tempting.
She came to Sophie and wriggled Sophie’s leotard down over her breasts before, legs akimbo, she held herself rigid, her muscular legs quivering and with remarkable self-control, she leant forward and cradled Sophie’s plenteous breasts in her hand, tenderly kissing each nipple before ferociously ripping Sophie’s leotard right down and kicking it away with her toe.
Ludmilla’s eyes smouldered and her carmine lips parted in invitation as she gazed at Sophie’s sex with its brush of thick dark hair so completely opposite in appearance to her own.
She held out her arms and they danced, except this time, Ludmilla’s hands searched between her legs and Sophie, unable to sustain the rhythm of the dance, kept faltering.
Ludmilla gripped her wrist and together they ran, giggling, through the studio and up a staircase and into Ludmilla’s tiny bedroom high up at the top of the apartment where the curtains were drawn and only a tiny slither of light showed.
Ludmilla tumbled onto the bed as, down below, the strains of tango that would provide the perfect accompaniment to their tangoing bodies, echoed throughout the building.
Ludmilla’s strong legs tangled with Sophie’s, pinning her to the bed and then she sat up, smoothing her hands down her fabulous body.
Sophie peered at her legs with the tiny sex nestled at the top. It was an extraordinary sex, she speculated. Boyish, flat and barely there and yet strikingly erotic in its seeping ripeness, and with enough of a hint of the masculine to start a raging fire in Sophie.
Ludmilla held herself very still in a totally self-controlled state of passion. But Sophie could feel the energy thrumming beneath the skin.
‘Tango makes me so passionate.’ Ludmilla sighed, as her finger squeezed Sophie’s sex and slithered up and down the wet slit. ‘The tango opens me up and now it opens you.’ Throwing back her head she laughed. ‘Now, you know why Argentineans are so passionate. It’s because the music of the tango is always flowing through our veins, and it makes us into sex.’
She cupped Sophie’s chin, fondling her mouth with her lips; the tip of her tongue caressing while her hands moved over Sophie’s body, starting small fires here and there.
‘Oh.’ Sophie gasped as Ludmilla seized her clit between her finger and thumb and tugged on it gently.
‘You dance with passion now.’
‘Yes.’ Sophie smiled. ‘But only with you.’
‘Good, good.’ Ludmilla purred as she placed her knees on either side of Sophie’s hips and began lowering herself slowly up and down to the accompaniment of the sultry sounds of the tango. Each time she came down, she ground her boyish, barely-there sex into Sophie’s, and soon Sophie began to rise to meet her and her hands came onto Ludmilla’s hips.
Ludmilla took Sophie’s hand and she pressed three fingers together before making her push the fingers into her cunt.
Sophie teased and fingered the tight little purse lips, while Ludmilla cried and stretched her lean limbs up and out of her passion, her arms forming shapes in the air and her dancer’s muscles clenching and releasing Sophie’s inquisitive fingers.
Ludmilla threw back her head and, cupping her breasts, she stretched like a panther and gave a guttural shriek of delight.
Sophie massaged the tender inner sex muscles with her fingers and the muscles released her and gripped, and released again, as Ludmilla kissed her and engaged her in a teasing game of jousting tongues.
‘I have a surprise for you,’ she said, clambering off the bed. Strolling over to an old French wardrobe on her high heels, she opened the doors and took something out. ‘It’s my surprise for Sophie.’
Ludmilla fastened some complicated straps around her slim hips and then she turned around.
Sophie gasped.
The strap-on had a large and exquisitely upturned penis which thrust invitingly at Sophie, as Ludmilla balancing expertly on the heels, strutted towards her with her hips thrust out and gyrating.
Sophie stood up and Ludmilla moved into her arms. They held each other gently at first and Sophie clutched the muscular buttocks so the greedy penis nuzzled her sex.
I’m dancing the tango, Sophie thought as the cock slipped between her moist fleshy lips. I always dreamt of sex with the tango.
‘I think I know your fantasy, and now I’ll unlock you.’ Ludmilla smiled. ‘Now we dance tango and we have sex tango.’
The penis teased. It entered and retreated and, with each savage thrust of the tango, it penetrated deeper, finding no ice but only molten lava.
Ludmilla span her like a top and, lifting Sophie up with her strong dancer’s arms, lowered her onto the cock, while Sophie, her thighs now powerful from dance, gripped them around Ludmilla’s waist.
The music continued to play and the passionate thrust of the tango became the passionate embrace of love.