The music was rising and falling in a gentle, almost seductive melody. Felicity gazed wide-eyed at the scene that, with each step, became clearer. There was a large campfire and several wagons and horses. They were gypsies. People wandered around, but for the most part the company was settled in chairs and stools around a half-circle. Between them and the fire, a woman danced. Her hair was long and black and wavy. She wore a low cut white peasant blouse that all but revealed her huge breasts. The fabric of the blouse was thin and gauzy, and her large, hard, dark nipples strained against the material as she danced. Her skirt was made of several layers of red and black cotton and hung only to her knees. As she danced she raised her skirt even more, to the level of her mid-thigh, showing off her long, slender legs covered in a fine sprinkling of dark hairs. She was barefoot.
Crouching a little in a tangle of undergrowth in the forest, Felicity watched in mute fascination. She had never seen anything like it. The way the woman’s body moved with the music…it made something stir in Felicity that was both delicious and sickening. The woman’s hips lifted and fell against an imaginary lover. Her arms reached out to him, drawing him closer. Her full, luscious lips parted as she took in his hungry tongue. She pressed her hands against the sides of her breasts and they almost popped out of the top of her blouse.
The men watched her with ravenous expressions of lust. The six or seven men of all ages licked their lips and made encouraging remarks to her in a language Felicity had never heard. There were women there, too; grandmothers and young girls, watching as the dancer simulated sex in front of their eyes. The women looked as aroused as the men, smiling in that way that foretold how the night would end.
Sitting among the company was Don Felipe Juventino.
Felicity’s breath caught. So, this was why he had stolen into the night. This is what had brought him to the edge of the river.
He watched the dancer with unabashed lust curling his lips and making his eyelids heavy. He lowered his hand to his crotch and touched something. Again Felicity gasped. The front of his pants bulged with an erection, straining at the seams. Only then did Felicity realize the dancer was performing for him.
Suddenly the music swelled into a feverish beat. The dancer seemed to become possessed as she stood in front of Don Felipe and swayed and gyrated her hips. Felicity watched, her breathing becoming more rapid with each second. What was happening? Why was the woman dancing like that? Why was her face contorted as though she were in pain and going to die?
The dancer began to cry out, running her hands over and over her breasts as she swirled. Her cries became louder, more urgent. She pressed her hand against her sex and gyrated only inches away from Don Felipe. Then the music rose to a crescendo, the dancer fell to the ground, and the company rose to their feet clapping.
They did not tarry long. The men and women quickly went into their wagons and closed the doors. Only Don Felipe and the dancer remained. The woman lifted her head from the ground and rose up on one elbow to speak to him. Felicity had no idea what the woman was saying.
She watched as the dancer got up on her hands and knees and crawled like a cat to where Don Felipe sat in a chair. Her hands went up his thighs to his crotch. With expert fingers, she unbuttoned his trousers, reached inside, and withdrew his thick, hard shaft. Felicity bit her hand. She had never seen one up close before, only on the village toddlers when they ran about in yards in summer. The size of it stunned her. It was longer than the woman’s hand.
The dancer smiled up at Don Felipe, then lowered her mouth and took the shaft into it. Felicity swooned a little. What was the woman doing? Her lips squeezed around the shaft and her head rose and fell over it. Don Felipe watched her, a dreamy look in his eyes. His hands lifted to hold the back of the woman’s head. It was not a tender hold. He was keeping her there, making her do it. His hips began to lift off the chair a little and his nostrils flared. He said something to the woman that Felicity couldn’t understand and the woman abruptly stopped.
The dancer stood up and lifted her skirt and stepped forward, pressing her sex into his face. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath her skirt, and his hands reached around to grasp her white buttocks and held her still while he did something to her with his mouth. Felicity strained her eyes to see but the fabric of the woman’s skirt was in the way. What ever it was, the woman liked it. She cooed and stroked his head and swayed her hips against his face. She lifted her own face to the stars and murmured something and panted loudly. Felicity stared, unable to breath. She thought she was the only one watching, but when she looked, several of the company had moved to their windows and doors and stared unashamedly.
The woman cried out like a savage, trembling against him. When she stood back, the lower part of his face was covered in a glistening liquid. He still held her hips, and now he brought her down over his hard shaft. Felicity grasped two small tree branches and squeezed them. She knew what he was doing now.
The woman slowly rode him. His head rested against her large breasts, his eyes closed, a look of utter contentment on his face. Felicity sensed this was not their first coupling. Their rhythm was well-established. The dancer was in no hurry either. She enjoyed this, that much was evident. Everything Felicity had heard or been told about the nightmare of copulation appeared untrue.
It went on and on. A minute passed, then two. The woman stayed where she was, rising and falling like the tide. Don Felipe sat back to take her breasts between his hands. He lowered the top of her blouse and her breasts spilled out, two huge melons with brown points. His mouth covered one nipple, sucking and licking it, much to the dancer’s delight. He did the same with the other. He licked and sucked the nipples over and over again, and with each passing minute the dancer seemed to become more aroused. Her hips rose faster and faster. She held his head between her hands and kissed his hair. She cried out again like before. She began to gyrate her hips and pant and say things. Her body rocked wildly on top of him, her hair swaying from side to side as her breasts bounced up and down in his face. Then she screamed—at least, it sounded like a scream—and fell against him. He shuddered quietly beneath her and stopped moving. For a long moment they remained that way.
Felicity turned and ran up the path. She was sobbing. Her heart was sick and angry by what she had just seen. But not out of jealousy. She told herself she didn’t care enough about Don Felipe to be concerned with whom he coupled.
No, she envied the dancer. She wanted to know that ecstasy, to experience that fire and burning and satisfaction. To feel that kind of pleasure…the thought of it was intoxicating. Felicity wanted what that woman had just had.
She returned to her bedroom and sat down on the edge of her bed. The room was dark; it was too warm for a fire. She took off her slippers and robe and lay down, staring at the canopy above her. The stirring between her legs had returned. She spread her legs apart a little, hoping the sensation would go away. It did not. She rolled onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut. All she could see before her was the woman’s mouth on Don Felipe’s hard shaft. She opened her eyes and pressed a pillow between her legs. She shouldn’t do this, she knew. It was a sin. But the burning was so intense she couldn’t stop it. She had to make it go away.
She ground her sex into the pillow, demanding satisfaction. Her lips parted, imagining Felipe’s shaft before her, waiting to be taken in. Yes, she wanted it. She put out her tongue and stroked the air, feeling his flesh against it. He held her head between his hands so she couldn’t move. It seemed so real, so real she could almost believe it was true. The crescendo between her legs rose like the strains of a fiddle and she cried out his name and climaxed. Her body spasmed against the pillow. She clutched it to her, her fingernails almost ripping the fabric. And then she relaxed. Her breathing quieted. She closed her eyes and slept heavily.
Don Felipe spent the next morning on horseback, riding with his men to the northern pastures where his prized cattle grazed. Felicity waited for him by the stables when he returned. He noticed right away that his future bride possessed a different air about her. Something about her face was softer; she even moved differently.
Her eyes swept over his leather chaps and stilled on his groin. Don Felipe’s eyes widened in surprise. This was unexpected. She moved to his side, her entire manner coquettish as she put her arm through his. He liked the change, of course, but it took him off guard. He was accustomed to her being a thorn instead of a rose. In fact, he had quite looked forward to “breaking” her of her indifference and making her into the eager wife he wanted her to be. Still, why make work if it is done for you?
She brought him wine and fruit on the terrace and knelt to remove his soiled boots. These she set aside, then reached up and unhooked his socks and drew them off his feet. She sat on a little stool and massaged his rather odorous feet with her soft hands, remarking in flawless Spanish how strong and capable his feet were, and how very fortunate she felt at the prospect of becoming his wife.
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