1 comments/ 28630 views/ 10 favorites Dance of the Gypsy By: sticky_cherry_syrup Felicity Prescott sat at the end of the very long banquet table at her own engagement celebration, not at all welcoming the salutations that had been sent her way throughout the evening. Her green eyes stared ahead of her at a large cut glass vase full of birds-of-paradise and other exotic greenery. She was beside herself with anger, hating her father, Lord Prescott, in a way that would have had her hanged for homicide had anyone known. That gentleman was at the other end of the room, entertaining the mostly Spanish guests with ridiculous stories of his own twisted imagination. Since Lord Prescott spoke no Spanish, only a fraction of his listeners could understand him. Felicity spoke no Spanish either, which made her conversations with her husband-to-be rather limited since he spoke only a smattering of English. She found it extremely thoughtless of him to have taken an English bride without first learning the English language. She on the other hand had absolutely no intention of learning Spanish since she considered it a language far beneath her dignity. She understood it, but she would never speak it. She did, however, speak faultless French, and would have engaged anyone in her company thus, if all of them were not such ignoble brutes. How have I gotten to this place? she had to wonder. She was twenty-two years old and a beauty at that. Her reputation was faultless. Everyone she befriended—and granted, there weren't a lot—thought her of superior intelligence. Yes, her wit needed some polishing, but that would come with maturity. She rode well, possessed a suitable knowledge of music, and could paint the most exquisite miniature roses. What more could a person ask for? And yet no suitable husband had been forthcoming. She'd watched as plainer and less wealthy acquaintances were snatched up and dragged to the altar as though they were prized pigs. How was it that a girl like Penelope Castleton, with her nasal voice and ridiculous giggle, could get a husband and Felicity could not? At times she thought the world had surely gone mad. There could be no other explanation. "And now a toast," Don Felipe Juventino said in his native tongue from his end of the banquet table. "To my English rose, flower of my love. Her very name means happiness, and in agreeing to be my wife, has brought to me the greatest joy I have ever known. To Felicity." The gathering toasted her. She tilted her head in acknowledgement, having understood every word. Since no one told her she must reciprocate, she merely reassumed her indifferent air, sat back in the very stiff chair, and continued consuming the fine red wine Don Felipe produced on his impressive Castilian estate. The wedding would be in only two weeks. That in itself was shocking to Felicity; in England, there would have been an engagement of at least a year. But Lord Prescott was needed back in England and was eager to be on his way. Indeed if he'd had his way, Felicity would have been married off to Don Felipe the moment they had stepped off the boat at Santander. He knew her well and spent much of his time fearing that she would make such a scene with her violent temper that Don Felipe would send her packing. So far, however, she was behaving herself—for Felicity, at least. She seemed to finally understand that while indeed her father possessed a sizable estate, he had also accumulated a large debt and required a substantial loan to maintain the standard of living that was his noble right. However much she hated her father and the situation she was in, she would rather die than see the Prescott name discredited. Felicity herself was part of the arrangement between Don Felipe and Lord Prescott. Her father owned, among other things, a fleet of cargo vessels that he would sign over to Don Felipe once the marriage vows were spoken. The business aspect of the marriage did not trouble her nearly as much as the man she was going to marry. Don Felipe had stood from his chair and was gesturing for his guests to withdraw to the various sitting rooms beyond. He was not much Felicity's senior, not even thirty, and yet already his longish black hair was touched with streaks of gray at the temples. He possessed the blackest eyes she had ever seen; when he looked at her, she wanted to run away and hide. She could well believe he was descended from Moorish blood. Felicity knew, of course, of her wifely duties. Had she been in England engaged to, say, a pale-skinned vicar with a soft manner, she would have welcomed her wedding night the way she welcomed baths: as something she must endure for the sake of society and, in its own way, faintly enjoyable. But with Don Felipe, the thought of actually copulating with him was appalling. He had the look of a predatory animal just waiting for a chance to seize its prey between its blood-thirsty jaws and rip it to shreds. Even now, as he stepped to her side and took her elbow in his hand, she felt his eyes roaming over her body as though imagining her naked. His lips curled in a way that made her sex feel uncomfortable. She hated being sexually aroused. It was so undignified. She despised her sex, in fact, and gladly would have had it cut out of her the way the Africans did, if civilized physicians practiced such things. "A few more hours," he said for her ears only, speaking in heavily accented English, "and then our guests will be gone. May I come see you tonight?" Felicity lifted her chin. "We've discussed this before, Don Felipe," she answered stiffly. "I am a woman of principle. Please do not continue to suggest I compromise my dignity." "I hardly think visiting you in your boudoir would compromise your dignity," he murmured, reverting to his native tongue. "Others may have the wrong idea," she said, retaining her English though understanding him perfectly. "So what? We are to be married. Should I not be passionate for you?" he demanded, continuing in Spanish. "Passion is just a pretty name for lust," she retorted. She'd heard some preacher say that once. "And even in your religion, Don Felipe, lust is a mortal sin. Do you not fear for your soul?" "The Creator made me the way I am," he replied with a touch of vanity. "With fire in my blood and desire in my heart. If He would damn me for the way He created me, then perhaps He is not worthy of my praise." "Dangerous words," Felicity answered. "Heretical, in fact. I'm surprised you haven't been excommunicated…or what ever it is you Catholics do." They had walked together to the drawing room, where the ladies had gathered while the men went to a different part of the house for cigars and port. Here Don Felipe dropped her hand to leave her. He was not happy with her. In fact, he looked at her disapprovingly, as though she had crossed an invisible line. Felicity didn't care. If she had to be married to this barbarian, she would at least indulge in the luxury of speaking her mind. Hours passed before the company left. She retired to her own rooms with a headache and a sick stomach. A little maid fluttered around her, anticipating her every need. Felicity only wanted to go to bed. She wore a long starched nightgown with her light brown hair braided down her back. Grateful that another terrible day was over, she crawled into the huge bed and closed her eyes. It was a warm night. She tossed back and forth, bothered by the sensation between her legs. Would it never go away? Angrily she got up to open a window. She looked out at the clear night scintillating with a million stars. The house was built on the top of a hill and a forest of trees stretched out just below her. Her eyes ran over the tops of the trees to where a flickering light shown near the river. What is that? she wondered. It seemed to be a campsite of some sort. Probably squatters. There was music coming from that direction as well, strains of a fiddle and perhaps a guitar. She wasn't sure. She'd never heard music like that. It stirred her in a peculiar way. She stood listening to it, wishing she could be closer. But of course she could not. It wasn't like she could just throw on her robe and slippers and go running down that path into the forest. Something moved just below her window. A door opened and light spilled out onto the lawn that stretched away from the house and down to the trees. A man emerged and she recognized Don Felipe. He had taken off his coat and tie and wore only a loose shirt and trousers. He walked in a hurry into the forest. She was stunned that he should go alone to confront the squatters. And then it occurred to her: perhaps he was going to listen to the music. Felicity had a peculiar bent in her personality. She resented anyone enjoying themselves when she was miserable. How inconsiderate of him to saunter down to the river to listen to music when her head was splitting and her stomach hurt. She had half a mind to join him, if only to make him angry. She turned from the window and sat on the edge of her bed. What was wrong with her? She felt restless and uneasy. Her skin seemed to crawl. The room was suddenly stifling and claustrophobic. She needed air. She needed to go for a walk. Putting on her robe and slippers, she really had no intension of walking all the way to the river. She only planned to go to the tree line and back. But when she arrived at where the lawn ended and the trees began, she saw that the path Don Felipe had taken was quite straight and well-defined. In fact, she could see all the way down the path to where the camp fire was blazing against the darkness of the river. The music was even louder here and she could hear people laughing and making odd noises. Her curiosity was piqued. She walked cautiously down the path. In her mind she could imagine Don Felipe coming upon her and demanding why she had followed him. She needed a suitable lie. She would act surprised to see him. After all, he needn't know she had seen him leave the house. She would only say that, having opened her window and heard the music, she wanted to see what the commotion was about. She smiled at her own devious thinking, congratulated herself on her cleverness, and continued down the path. 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. Dance of the Gypsy This entire change in her had him stumped. He could think of no explanation save their cross exchange the night before. He tried to remember now. Oh yes. He had wanted to visit her boudoir but she had repelled him. Perhaps she had rethought her position and realized it was futile to fight him. After all, he would eventually win. It was his right. He bathed that evening before dinner, feeling as though something positive would come before the end of the night. The moment he saw her waiting for him at the top of the stairs, he knew this change in her was no anomaly. She was dressed with all the feminine seduction at her disposal. He could hardly believe it was the same woman. She wore the rather bland attire she had brought from England, but her hair hung about her shoulders in a loose style that accentuated her heart-shaped face. Her green eyes were lined in a faint amount of kohl and her skin had a dusting of something shimmery. She had put red lip paint on her lips and a bit on her cheeks as well, and the difference was stunning. He could well imagine that with a little sun and a better diet, as well as a few good fucks, she would be a thing of irresistible beauty. They dined alone in the smaller dining room overlooking the fountained terrace. Her father, evidently, had taken ill; Felicity did not tell him she had specifically told her father not to join them for dinner. The old gentleman, however foolish he could be, had realized his daughter was finally coming to her senses. Her entire manner was one of a woman who wished for the meal to be dispensed with quickly so as to move on to other things. However much Felipe was enjoying this change in her, he wanted to accommodate her in any way he could. He gladly passed up dessert in favor of finding out what was to happen next. She took him into the drawing room and closed the doors and asked him to sit on the settee while she played the piano. He listened as she played a piece that began softly and sweetly, but quickly turned dark and passionate. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she poured herself into the melody. Could he feel it? Could he feel the desire dripping from her fingertips as she pounded the keys, longing for them to be him? She finished the piece and looked at him, her eyes revealing everything in her heart. He rose from the settee and caught her in his arms and kissed her. She swooned against him as his tongue thrust past her innocent lips and plundered her virgin mouth. She melted in his arms. He carried her body from the room, up the stairs, to his bed, kicking the door closed with a loud bang. Felicity lay panting on the silk bedspread as he ripped off his clothes. His body was hard and taut from a lifetime of riding and working. His skin was soft and pale under his clothes. As he pulled off his trousers, her hand involuntarily reached for him. Naked in the glowing light of a single candle, he moved to the bed, his eyes locked with her. His ardor was evident in his hard shaft; he wanted her. He went about undressing her with impatience; why did she have to wear so many layers? He thought to himself that from now on, he would just keep her naked. She was helpless on his bed, made immobile by the desire she could not control and did not understand. He looked down at her, knowing she had never been with a man. His hand reached up between her legs. She did not try to stop him. His fingers encountered something warm and wet and he glanced down. The juice from within her was flowing freely. Nothing could have shocked him more. He raised his hand to his mouth and tasted of her. She groaned deeply, even frantically, and rose up from the bed and kissed him with a passion that drove him over the top. He pressed her down into the bedspread, not caring that it was priceless. He wanted it ruined by her virgin blood. He wanted to see that crimson stain on the Chinese silk so that this night would always be remembered. "It will hurt," he said to her, speaking in her own language. "I don't mean it to hurt. There is just no other way." "I know," Felicity returned. She pressed her groin into his, wanting him to take her. He hesitated. He wanted to pleasure her, to hear her cries of ecstasy before this first time, so she would know it was about more than pain and sacrifice. But he couldn't hold back even a moment longer. Longing to be tender, Felipe placed his cock at the opening of her vagina and pressed in slowly. The tightness of her overwhelmed him. He had never been with a virgin. He pressed again, hating the look of pain in her eyes. How he wished it could be different. He pressed again, and felt the barrier of her hymen, and secretly asked in prayer that it go swiftly. Then he thrust forward with everything he had and held her as she cried out. "It's over," he breathed raggedly into her hair. And then he rode her, closing his eyes as he gave into the most intoxicating feeling he'd ever experienced. He couldn't believe how she felt. An emotion rose up in his chest and he looked down at her face, now so calm and relaxed. He loved her. He watched her face, watched as her brows made a crease just above her nose. Was she enjoying this? Everything in him wanted her to. He wanted her to feel what he felt, know the ecstasy that coupling brought. "Put your finger between your legs," he said in a hurried tone. "There, just below where your flesh parts. Do you feel it?" Felicity rubbed the small hard place that had brought her so much distress in the past. "Yes." "Keep touching it. Don't stop. Give in to whatever pleasure it brings you. God gave that to you to make you want this with me. Do you want it?" "Yes," she cried. "Yes, I want it, Felipe. It's wonderful." "Yes. Yes, it is wonderful," he agreed huskily. "And we will do it as often as you wish. And other things. Other wonderful things that only lovers know of." She wanted to answer him but she couldn't. Her body was engulfed in raging passion. She drove her hips upwards over and over again, taking in the fullness of him, while her finger frantically stroked the hard pearl between her legs. Somewhere in her fevered brain she heard the strains of the gypsy music. She was that dancer now, swirling around him, gyrating her hips against his, all of her sex culminating in one moment in time when she exploded around him, his name screaming from her lips. "Felipe! Felipe! Oh God!" He felt the spasms of her orgasm and let go the flood of semen that had tortured him for what seemed an eternity. His seed spilled into her, mixing with the torrent of fluid already in her vagina. He shuddered against her and collapsed on her breasts. She continued moving under him, milking the last of his seed from his sated shaft. Then he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. God, he was tired. He felt her finger touching the errant curl that was always falling onto his forehead and bothering him. He opened his eyes and looked at her. How young she looked. He could hardly believe she was twenty-two. Perhaps her father had lied. He wanted to know what had brought this change in her but he was afraid to ask. Perhaps if he inquired too deeply, the magic would be broken and she would go back to being the way she had been before. No, he would let her keep her secret. The room had grown stiflingly warm and Felipe moved to open the window. The full moon was just appearing, a yellow circle on the horizon. He glanced down to see a light burning at the edge of the forest where it met the river. Then he turned away from the window to join the young English rose who was modestly wiggling her way under the covers. He blew out the candle and crawled in next to her. A soft breeze stirred the still air, bringing with it the faintest hint of a melody. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said, listening. "What?" "The music." "You can hear that?" "Yes." "Do you know what it is?" "Yes." He looked at her doubtingly. "What is it?" "It's the dance of the gypsy," she said simply. Felipe stared at her. No, he thought to himself. It couldn't be. Surely she hadn't followed him into the dark last night, watched as he'd…. Her hip gyrated against his thigh in keeping with the beat. She smiled up at him, her green eyes containing some witchery he didn't understand. She sat up, letting the blanket fall from her body. Her arms lifted into the air and she swayed them back and forth. He watched, mesmerized, as she stood up and began to dance. She moved towards the window, her body silhouetted against the light of the full moon. The strains of the fiddle carried her limbs and the strokes of the guitar moved her hips. She swirled around and around, her long light brown hair flying out from her slender body. Felipe stared at her. She was magnificent. She fell to the floor, panting. Then she rose up on all fours and crawled towards him like a cat. When she reached the bed, she sat back, waiting for him. The events of the night before came back to him like a sketchy memory and he swung his legs over the side of the bed and set his feet on the floor. She crawled forward, meowing, and swept her hands up his thighs. Then she bent her down over his flaccid penis and began to suck and lick him. Felipe held her head, not believing this was happening. He loved that it was happening, he just couldn't believe it. She worked his shaft until it was hard again, standing erect and ready between her lips. Then she stood back and looked at him. He knew what she wanted. He fell on his knees in front of her and pressed back the flesh between her legs. Her young, pink pussy lips opened to reveal the flower of her sex. He leaned in and licked the sweet nectar that was pouring out of her. Mixed with his own fluid, it was unlike anything he'd ever tasted. He wanted more. He pressed his lips against her flesh and sucked hungrily at the small hard pearl. His hands held her buttocks, squeezing the soft white flesh greedily. He wanted her again. He wanted her now. But this time, he held himself back. She began moving against him, cooing softly. Her fingers spread over his head, burying down into his long hair. He listened to her breathing, and knew she was close. He loved doing this to her. Everything about her was warm and fresh and smelled like some kind of exotic fruit. Her legs spread a little, giving him access to the core of her desire. He lapped deeply at the entrance, groaning at the profusion of nectar that flowed from her. He hoped she would come soon. His own cock was throbbing between his legs, longing to be touched. Despite his resolve, he lowered a hand to his shaft and began to stroke it, and worked his tongue deeper into her vagina. The undulations of her hips were becoming faster, wilder, and she was whispering his name over and over again. He held onto her with the other hand, burying his mouth into her yielding flesh. She yelled with a ferocity that surprised even him. The whole house had to be awake now. She cried like a woman in pain, high pitched, frantic, even fearful that somehow it would devour her. Her body shook and jerked against him. And then her cries softened into gentle, long moans of satisfaction and delight. She opened her eyes and looked down at him. He stood up, the lower half of his face glistening with her juice. Felipe turned her around and pushed her against the bed. He bent his knees and guided his penis between her legs, up into that tight, supple cave. It closed around him and he put his head back and gave into the pleasure a second time. Her back arched and he ran his hand down her spine all the way to where her butt cheeks parted. He kept going, and laid his thumb against her anus and stroked it. She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes full of disbelief as the ecstasy rose up in her again. Felipe too couldn't believe it. He'd known several women, and none of them had ever moved him this way. His head fell to one side as his shaft drove deeper and deeper inside of her. His entire body was awash in the most intoxicating sensations. Over and over he groaned and panted as his hips rocked into her. She pressed back against him, driving him deeper. Her lips curled back like an animal as she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes barely open. And then she put down her head on the bed and bucked wildly against him, screaming into the sheets. She rose up on her toes and bent her knees and pounded against him. He held her hips and stared down at her vagina as it contracted around his shaft. Juice poured out around her. He thrust again and again and again and then yelled at the ceiling as his semen erupted violently out of him. His body continued pumping, pumping, pumping. He jerked out of her, grasping his shrinking cock that somehow felt as though it was still coming. He stood where he was, unable to move. The woman before him turned slowly, her face softly radiant and thoroughly sated. She went to the decanter for a drink of water. Tentatively, not sure of his legs, Felipe joined her, sharing her glass. They moved together to stand before the window, letting the soft breeze cool their heated bodies. From the edge of the forest, a fiddle played a haunted tune. Felicity listened to it for a moment, then turned and smiled mischievously at Felipe. He stared gapingly at her, understanding. "Shut that damned window!" he exclaimed in perfect English even while he did it himself. Felicity giggled delightedly as he chased her back to the bed. She fell with him onto the cool sheets and held him to her. As she felt the warmth of his hands on her skin, she sent a secret thought out into the night. Thank you, gypsy. Thank you for the dance. She had no way of knowing that Felipe was thinking the very same thing.