A Boner with Barely a Breath to Catch

Anal

“Fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes…”

Panicked and running over in a flurry, I sped up the stairs and ran towards the entrance of my milonga, the tango dance hall. I plonked my bags by the bench and proceeded in a frenzy to buckle the straps of my tango heels. The night wind blew at my bare shins, chilling me as if it was suggesting I should move a little faster. I stood straight up, with two taps on each heel to make sure I’m stable and good to go. I walked through the door, blushing embarrassedly.

“You’re late, honey.”

Aaaaaahhhhh… I was screaming for help inside my head. Perhaps no one would be here to save me, asides from myself. “Um, um!!” I looked around the room, hoping to see another familiar student face to use as a scapegoat or an excuse. Anyone I could throw under the bus would help me out…

But, alas… the room was pretty much empty. The teacher sat with his legs crossed on top of each other, on the sofa with a glass of brandy in his right hand, and his cheek rested on his left fist, while his left arm was supported by the arm of the sofa. He was leaned over comfortably, then he cocked his head straight and looked to me. In a swift motion, he placed his glass on the table and got up. His footsteps towards me were loud in a silent room.

Panic, panic, panic, panic. I turned frantically to check my phone if there was anything I might have gotten wrong. No messages… The time was 10:15, so I was pretty sure… just pretty sure… that I was only fifteen minutes off my schedule.

I felt a palm placed on my shoulder and my entire body flinched in a shock. Eeeeeeeeeeeekkk… I turned back to face the teacher quickly, and mustered what was left of my breath to stutter.

“H-h-hi, Jefe, um… I… I got here as soon as I could. I checked my timetable and all… it was, it should have been…” I reached a familiar sliver of a semblance, as my mind raced through the possibilities of why the class was empty. “Not 10 o’clock, but it should have been 9.10, I think now? I heard them saying 9.10, but my thoughts were drowning and I got the practice time wrong, didn’t I…? I remembered the time as just 10.”

The teacher bent his head slightly downwards and chuckled with a hand wrapped around his mouth. I must have looked like some lost lamb, panicked and flailing in some attempt to restore my sanity and balance to no avail.

“You thought you were only fifteen minutes late?” He asked gently.

“Ah… hahahaha…” I laughed nervously, as it was all I could muster, knowing I was well over an hour past practice, and the other students would have long left for their regular supper haunt.

“B-b-but, illegal bahis why are you still here?”

“I thought you might still be on your way, so I waited for you.”

Kyaaaaaaaaaaaa… The colour beet red flushed through my cheeks. What could I possibly say to such a response?

Before I could process my next thought, I heard a slow piece of music start to play. He was quick to turn on the sound system, as he walked up straight towards me. His hand gestured at me, welcoming me to take it.

“Extra class, my dear?”

My heart skipped a beat. I shyly touched his fingers, and he inched his hand forward to firmly grasp mine.

A private class with the head of the tango school… I could barely stomach how lucky I felt, as nervous butterflies filled my belly. My cheeks must be like tomatoes already. My smile was probably too wide, and I tried to control it actively whenever I felt tension build up in my cheeks. The last thing I’d want for was to look like a fool in front of my teacher.

His left hand held my right, and his right hand firmly supported my back. He guided me back to the right posture, and re-positioned my left arm warmly around his right.

“Just one dance, okay? Relax.”

His footwork was quick and he danced assertively. He stepped towards me, to the side, away from me, and cued my body to make a turn. In this scene, he was the leader, and I was the follower. I had followed his every movement with as little hesitation as possible. Although I had an inkling about what I could dance, my skill still remained far off from a legitimately good dancer.

“You’re getting better. Stop overthinking.”

In one swift motion, with his hand supporting my back with more strength, he leaned in his torso to a sixty-degree angle and I dropped my upper body as low as I could. With my back bent backward, and his face closely breathing against mine, I breathed deeply, thinking that we never did this movement before in class.

“And you learn fast.”

I recovered, both physically and from the shock. He spun my torso around so that I faced the direction of the mirror. His arm, that previously supported my back, stayed in place, so it now grazed the bottom of my breasts in his relaxed embrace.

“Step towards the mirror.” I nodded, somewhat turned on by his gentle but firm touch. As we stepped together, I felt my breasts bounce lightly against the tip of his arm. The touch was inevitable, because his grasp around my torso was placed so close against them. I felt excited but bursted with embarrassment, unsure of his intentions and how much I should respond. We stopped near the mirror, just close enough illegal bahis siteleri for the breath from my mouth to form a small cloud of condensation on its cool, reflective surface.

He walked two steps closer towards me and held me tighter in both his arms. Then, one of his hands let go and cradled the bottom of my head softly. Moving his nose through my hair, he eased in towards the gap at my neck, and rested his chin on my shoulder. I welcomed him in, by hooking my leg around his upper thigh, and arcing my heel which was now placed on his butt teasingly.

The song was about to change. He pulled his body away and led me back through the original steps we were practicing. He danced me further down the hall. With a subtle cue in the steps, he let me brush my heel upwards against his leg, my knee approaching his upper thigh.

“Stop, I know you’re flexible enough to move higher. Go higher.”

We redid the motion. Step, side-step, weight change, and I added the accent of my heel brushing against his shin, and moving upwards, with my thigh going high enough to rub up against his crotch.

He smiled. I didn’t know if I had just made a mistake or not.

“Lean further forward against my body.” I obeyed his instruction, and under his guidance, I was close up against his chest while we moved in synchrony and stepped to the music.

Another cue to move. I swept my foot away from his in a half-circle on the floor, then I swept it back towards him. I added the same accent as I did earlier, except that *this* time, I cheekily dragged my thigh for a longer time against his crotch, slowly milking the moment out as the tempo of the song slowed down towards its ending. Then, as the next song started, he continued dancing me quickly in forward motions, pushing my body to follow his. I moved my body quick to the uptempo beat. And then, he cut through by interrupting my step, and reversed the direction of the dance. He seemed pleased at my previous accent, leaning me in close to his body.

He suddenly paused at one step, and I reacted quickly to counteract my body’s motion. He let me sit some of my body weight on his upper thigh, as I spun inwards and outwards around his thigh, grazing a bit of his crotch in every motion. He spun me back with his hands to face him, placing one of his hands upon my upper back, and gesturing me to arc my chest forward.

“Now, the importance of our dance lies in our posture. Notice, that when you, as the follower, take a step backward…” I followed his words as he moved in dangerously close to me. I leaned my entire body weight on my back leg. His eyes looked into mine.

“… now you canlı bahis siteleri have a lot of possibilities to extend your leg, while maintaining your posture.” I tried to adjust my leg, as he supported my weight. Next, he let me try the motion again, this time my leg extended further back, and he guided my chest close to his, with the front of my breasts sliding up against his torso.

“Do you feel stable in this position?” Before I managed an answer, I felt my bra unhooked by his one hand, which was still supporting my weight. “Y-y-yeah…”

He lifted me back up to face him in close proximity. I felt his warm embrace. He moved his knee to a forward lunge, and I hooked my leg under his, in a flirty manner. In this motion, his knee went in between my legs, just a slight distance away from my panties. He slowly inched closer in, so I could rest a bit of the weight of my crotch down on his. I hadn’t gotten too noticeably wet from all our flirting on the dance floor. At least I thought I hadn’t. However, he twitched his knee up towards my sensitive spot, and smirked at me. His face was so close that I could feel his breath against mine.

“Um… um…” I was shaking in position, and about to lose my balance at any time.

“Just leave it to me.” In a decisive motion, he displaced my weight by moving my leg out of the way gently with his leg. I had stopped shaking from the imbalanced weight, but I still trembled with excitement from the intensity of the session. He supported my back and moved me back to my original straight posture. With a light gesture, we exited by taking a side-step together.

“T-thank you for the dance, Jefe.” I managed to articulate my feelings without feeling too silly. He stroked his hand on top of my head. I enjoyed the kitty cat strokes, and nuzzled back at his hand slightly.

He held my hand against his chest, and this time, his gaze was coy. I felt his excitement probably matched mine. Then he moved my hand downwards, and rested it on top of his massive boner. The structure jutted out, pressed up against his trousers. My fingers felt around its tip, to the shaft which I couldn’t make a shape out of since all the fabric was in the way. All this while, he continued stroking my head gently, as if subtly encouraging me to serve his need for pleasure.

He leaned in to whisper into my ear, “We can have our own after-party somewhere more private, if you’d like to, that is.” I nodded in response, and he took my hand off his crotch and interlocked his fingers with mine. My hand felt comfortable right where it belonged in his. As we walked towards the backroom, my heart pounded, wondering and hoping that no one had seen us through the glass entrance of the milonga. He pushed open the solid backdoor, and my other hand crept in to hold him, together with the same hand he held. We entered the backroom, and he locked the door without turning on the lights.

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