Rio 2

Rio de Janeiro! He had always dreamed of it, and now here he was, having seen nothing but three long days of hotel meetings and dinners for a deal that was going to make his career--except now, after all, the deal seemed to be tottering. In seven hours he'd fly back to the States to face his boss.

He had just the last bits of this final night to get out and feel the air and maybe hear some music, but he was too exhausted. Oh well, last chance for the real Rio, he'd go out anyway. He took the elevator down, got a Mojito at the bar, and followed the sound of live music out to a courtyard wonderland of overhanging plants and small lanterns throwing shadows in the soft darkness. Piano, guitar, upright bass, smooth and tight, somehow relaxing and energizing both at once. Couples dancing. He couldn't dance like that! So elegant, composed and totally focused on one another and in the moment. He found a chair in a shadowy corner.

This music! It flowed into his blood, his soul. And among the crowd of elegant couples, one woman caught his eye, dancing alone. No wild display. Subdued, restrained. She and the music were one essence, leading and following each other. She was discreet, subtle, enchanting. He couldn't take his eyes off her, this lovely woman dancing in her own world in her shimmering clinging silver sheath dress and her shimmering silver high heels, so dainty. It was all about line and posture and presence, but her flowing curves transcended the geometry, her lovely breasts held by the shimmering silver dress, waist nipped in and then swelling out again with her hips and tapering down her thighs, knees, curves of her calves, all of her moving in a gentle flow. Her long black hair hung straight down to the back of her waist. On each pierced ear a silver hoop showed off her long neck. She had colored her full lips with a tropical shade of red, a bright blooming red, so appropriate for this setting and for her tan skin and black hair. She smoldered. He was mesmerized and could not take his eyes off her but there was no way he could get up and dance. He didn't know these dances, didn't know a word of Portuguese. He just sat entranced.

She saw him, and watched him looking at her. Soon the music moved her a few steps closer and she began to to move faster with the quickened samba rhythm, and he knew she saw him looking at her but it was impossible for him to tear his eyes away. She moved a little more freely, just a little, but did not turn her back. She locked her brown eyes on his then danced closer. He was afraid she might pull him out of his comfort zone, bring him out of his shadowy corner. Normally that would be exactly what he wanted. But he felt so beaten down by this rough trip, so isolated, separate. The flowing dancers, this lovely woman, the soft air and flora and lantern shadows, were all just a dream Rio he could never join.

But now here she was right in front of him, smiling, offering her hand. He hesitated for a long moment then stood, trying to smile too. She spoke a few words, none of which he understood, but her voice was like water flowing over smooth stones, seeming to say, "My friend, you are sad. Don't be sad, you cannot be sad in this music, this night, this place. You will feel better if you let the music help you. Let me help you escape from your sadness, now come please with me." She took his hand and led him to the darkest corner of the dance floor, under the shadowy flora. She saw that he did not know these dances, so she dropped all of the rules about line and posture and simply took his hands and placed them on her hips. She in turn put her hands on his forearms and began so slightly ever so

slowly to move her hips from

side to side. All he had to do was feel her hips with his hands and she would do the rest. He didn't even need to take a step. He could stand there as she shared her movement with him so he would feel it through his hands, her movement with the music.

Oh, this music! And he could not help feeling her curves as she moved, as her rhythm became his rhythm. He shifted his hands and placed them behind her waist. She put her hands on his shoulders, still watching him, but he had closed his eyes, spellbound by her soft curves moving under his hands, moving with the magical music, in the fragrant midnight air in their shadowed corner of the dance floor, and oh my God, he thought, is this Rio?

As if in a dream, he pulled her slightly closer. She acquiesced. Their bodies almost touched. He felt the movement of the muscles in her back and slid his hands slightly down, where the rich curves began, the swelling of her elegant hips.

And he felt her thong through the dress, felt where it started to dip in between those round cheeks. His fingers wandered and followed both strings as they joined to a V, and lower. She didn't mind, she liked him feeling her thong through her dress; she pressed her body against him. The thong's thin elastic strips made her feel sexy, made her aware of her hidden places because they gently massaged her sensitive areas as she danced, her most tender private places, and even though her movements were restrained, the feeling of those thin binding strips was stimulating. He felt her press her pelvis closer as he followed her rhythm, and the feeling of her against him was creating an energy. His feet moved with hers; the energy rose up between his body and hers. Slowly he was coming alive. His hands reached farther down onto her cheeks so he could feel them at the height of their curve and he very carefully began to gently squeeze and caress. He didn't want anyone to see but her soft rich swell seemed to command his hands to caress; he could not stop himself.

No one watching would notice, but in tempo with the music she started to slowly grind against him. Through her thin dress she felt his energy building, felt him growing, and she began to glow. She moved her hands from his shoulders and placed them at his belt and pulled him closer and pressed her breasts against his chest. His heart stopped for a moment, with her breasts so soft against him. He took a wider stance with her legs between his, and his hands moved under her cheeks and he lifted them and slightly spread them, wanting to lift her dress from behind and search downward, down where the thong strip joined the little fabric triangle, and his breathing was faster now, and she sensed his urgency.

Still dancing, she turned with her back to the dark corner where he had been sitting. She very carefully so no one could see took one hand off his waist and slowly pulled down his zipper, bodies still close. She slipped her hand inside his pants and found what strained for release. No one would see, they would see

only his back, while her hand slipped in to caress slowly at first his desire, gently caress. And this inspired him to do what she knew he wanted to do, to lift her dress from behind and slide his fingers between her cheeks and follow the elastic strand down into her warm folds.

No one could see that she began pumping with her hand, pumping slowly all the way up and down, rubbing her breasts on him, all so subtly, so slowly but so effectively, and no one knew that his fingers now held the bottom of the triangle, that little fabric triangle, and pulling it aside he slid a finger into the place the thong had traced, into the place it had been stretched tight, stimulating her as she moved, and oh my God he felt her lovely wetness. He circled his finger around the enticing entrance where her magic lived. She pushed her breasts harder against him and moved side to side very slowly. He could feel her erect nipples through the dress as her long slim fingers, with their long painted nails, her hand so smooth, slid his skin up and down, up and down, caressing the head too, until she brought him to full hardness.

Now those smooth silky fingers worked faster, slipped, caressed, stroked up and down, faster, and then briefly paused, teasing, to circle his tip, and traced where the flared rim came to a seam underneath and she lightly touched it with her fingertip. She loved this beautiful part of a man. In a different setting she would kiss it and lavish attention with her lips, her tongue. But here in the soft semi-darkness his attentions were increasing her pleasure and her own urgency, and again her hand sheathed him in its smooth grip, sliding, caressing up and down, up and down as his finger penetrated where she was wet and slick, and then two fingers, moving, moving. She was pushing against him, she was pulling at him, he was probing her, the music was faster and faster as if it knew, telling them what to do, and it didn't take long now.

He stretched the elastic strip taut and with quick plucks he made it vibrate against her sensitive point, still probing with his other hand. He plucked the elastic again and again, quickly, so quickly, and she felt it like a tongue playing over her pink point, and he would not stop. She squeezed her thighs closer as he brought her to the brink, and her fingers brought him almost there. She stroked him toward release as he vibrated and penetrated her. She squeezed and pressed and she was there, she peaked; she squeezed his fingers up and in as she came, with the exquisite pulsing pleasure, and she stroked him faster, quick light quick light again and again and again, and now she felt him shudder against her body as his warm release streamed between her fingers, so warm and wet, this beautiful warm wet man in her hand.

Their dancing slowed and stopped. They held each other exactly as they had done at their moment of joyful release, under the flora, in the lantern shadows.

Oh, Rio!