Eyes of a Gypsy, Soul of a Wife.
"Jezus, would ya look at that!" Clare would have happily thumped her husband at that point but doubted he would even know. He was lost in a fog of undulating hips, contorting limbs, heaving bosums; eyes glazed as soon as the tempo of the temptress began, the first glimpse of her sultry come-hither eyes dragging him from the bland reality of the conference into a world of unbridled lust and heathen urges. His chairman stare had not since moved from the dance floor and the woman writhing before him. As the dancer's undulations increased racing towards a climax of drums and frenzy, Clare's husband's hands had twisted and knotted the linen napkin on his lap to attempt to hide his growing excitement. Watching her husband's red, sweat soaked face become further agitated, seeing the flicking of his engorged tongue flicking in and out desperately licking parted parched lips as his breath grew more and more agitated... Clare felt she may vomit.
She risked a furious glance at the figure of her husband's lust. Oh, it was easy for her. No doubt single, fancy free, young and pretty enough to ensnare any man she wanted. Not a brain in her head. She probably had chosen this career to do just that, trap some successful, middle-aged sugar Daddy to cater to her every whim. Stupid maybe, but cunning certainly. Steal him from the first wife, the one who had worked herself to the bone to support him through University, the one who had given him two beautiful children. The one who worked like a drudge to keep the house clean, cooked his bosses gourmet meals to help woo his way up the ladder, the one who had put herself and her needs aside and now finally, was by his side as he reached the pinnacle.
Why, Clare thought in indignation watching the belly muscles of her adversary ripple taughtly, I bet she sees him as her youthful right. Her perfect body unmarred by childbirth, her days filled with lazily making herself more beautiful, more enticing. Irresistible. She looked down at her own designer outfit, the best money could buy, straightened her large diamond rings, then fanned her rising unease with the menu causing overpowering wafts of Poisen to engulf those sitting near. The music peaked as the dancer wove her body in an undulating wave down to the floor.
Clare froze as her husband moaned "Oh my God" seemingly oblivious to his peers' leers and the startled, embarrassed looks from others. He slumped in his seat as the dance ceased, oblivious to Clare's angry jabs at his side and her hisses of "Henry, I am going to kill you for this." She threw an anger-filled look at the dancer, now rising from the floor her sultry gaze fixed on the man. Clare's man. The temptress started to stride towards the object of her attention. Clare rose, ready for a fight.
"Did I remember the eggs this morning? Oh hell, I think I bought the eggs, surely I remembered the eggs? They will only eat scrambled eggs when I am not home for dinner." Jassy twisted down in a double belly turn, her mind running over a million things. "I hope Martin remembers the twins need a story before bed, they won't sleep if they don't hear Hop on Pop before bed..."
Glide slide, arms slowly up, head back, arching pelvis forward, belly roll. "Did I turn the dryer on? I need those uniforms for work tomorrow, better check when I get home."
What had the instructor said? Always use the eyes, they are as much a part of the dance as the body. Jassy turned her unseeing gaze around the tables, eyes lowered lashes fluttering. "Two more dips, just two more and I'm done."
She heard him moan as she writhed lower and lower for her finale. A gutteral groan all too familiar. Slowly raising her tingling body from the floor she risked a look over to where the noise had emanated to meet the steely gaze of the woman sitting beside the sagging man.
One look had her moving quickly over to the table. The woman made a sibulant hiss and leant forward but Jassy ignored and moved to the side. She reached up to touch his neck and the woman leapt, grabbing her hand in a clawlike grasp. Jassy turned and removed the grip:
"Please, I'm a doctor. He needs help. Can someone call an ambulance and then get my bag from my car for me?" She turned back to the unconscious patient, checking for a pulse, relieved to feel an irregular beat underneath her practiced fingertips.
To think this was meant to be her relax and de-stress me pastime.
She risked a furious glance at the figure of her husband's lust. Oh, it was easy for her. No doubt single, fancy free, young and pretty enough to ensnare any man she wanted. Not a brain in her head. She probably had chosen this career to do just that, trap some successful, middle-aged sugar Daddy to cater to her every whim. Stupid maybe, but cunning certainly. Steal him from the first wife, the one who had worked herself to the bone to support him through University, the one who had given him two beautiful children. The one who worked like a drudge to keep the house clean, cooked his bosses gourmet meals to help woo his way up the ladder, the one who had put herself and her needs aside and now finally, was by his side as he reached the pinnacle.
Why, Clare thought in indignation watching the belly muscles of her adversary ripple taughtly, I bet she sees him as her youthful right. Her perfect body unmarred by childbirth, her days filled with lazily making herself more beautiful, more enticing. Irresistible. She looked down at her own designer outfit, the best money could buy, straightened her large diamond rings, then fanned her rising unease with the menu causing overpowering wafts of Poisen to engulf those sitting near. The music peaked as the dancer wove her body in an undulating wave down to the floor.
Clare froze as her husband moaned "Oh my God" seemingly oblivious to his peers' leers and the startled, embarrassed looks from others. He slumped in his seat as the dance ceased, oblivious to Clare's angry jabs at his side and her hisses of "Henry, I am going to kill you for this." She threw an anger-filled look at the dancer, now rising from the floor her sultry gaze fixed on the man. Clare's man. The temptress started to stride towards the object of her attention. Clare rose, ready for a fight.
...
"Did I remember the eggs this morning? Oh hell, I think I bought the eggs, surely I remembered the eggs? They will only eat scrambled eggs when I am not home for dinner." Jassy twisted down in a double belly turn, her mind running over a million things. "I hope Martin remembers the twins need a story before bed, they won't sleep if they don't hear Hop on Pop before bed..."
Glide slide, arms slowly up, head back, arching pelvis forward, belly roll. "Did I turn the dryer on? I need those uniforms for work tomorrow, better check when I get home."
What had the instructor said? Always use the eyes, they are as much a part of the dance as the body. Jassy turned her unseeing gaze around the tables, eyes lowered lashes fluttering. "Two more dips, just two more and I'm done."
She heard him moan as she writhed lower and lower for her finale. A gutteral groan all too familiar. Slowly raising her tingling body from the floor she risked a look over to where the noise had emanated to meet the steely gaze of the woman sitting beside the sagging man.
One look had her moving quickly over to the table. The woman made a sibulant hiss and leant forward but Jassy ignored and moved to the side. She reached up to touch his neck and the woman leapt, grabbing her hand in a clawlike grasp. Jassy turned and removed the grip:
"Please, I'm a doctor. He needs help. Can someone call an ambulance and then get my bag from my car for me?" She turned back to the unconscious patient, checking for a pulse, relieved to feel an irregular beat underneath her practiced fingertips.
To think this was meant to be her relax and de-stress me pastime.
