Brandi Montoya has overcome a rough youth and made something of her life. It may not be what her mama dreamed for her but being a top flight exotic dancer is fun and pays very well. Whatever she does, Brandi seeks to be the best. A wise mentor has set her on a positive path to success and she’s making good.
Darren Hathcock and Darryl Winstead have come to the outside world from a sheltered commune in the mountains, enjoined to seek converts for their extended family’s narrow sectarian religion. Although they were told how wicked things were outside, they had no idea how much fun they could have being thoroughly bad.
Brandi is just the person to help them acquire the kind of education they seek, but will she convert for them? Maybe it comes down to who will convert whom.
Brandi selected another CD and loaded it, waiting while the first strains of the music began. The two young men took chairs to one side and perched on the edges, stiff as a couple of mummies. The first notes of a flamenco piece drifted gently into the warm morning air. Brandi began to move, slow subtle steps, pausing to arch her back, standing on her tip toes. With her eyes almost shut she could imagine herself in the Spain of her distant ancestors, moving around a gypsy campfire in one of the caves of Malaga. Instead of the black leotard, she would be wearing a flounced gown of scarlet, fitted to the hips where it erupted in a mass of tiered ruffles.
She raised her arms over her head, jingling an imaginary tambourine. Gradually, the tempo built and her pace with it, faster now and bolder. From the shadows in the cave, hot masculine eyes watched her. Every move she made told them she could be had but it would take a man among men, the strongest, bravest and most daring of them all.
She risked a swift glance at Darren and Darryl. They both watched her as avidly as her imagined audience, mouths open as they breathed in quick pants, eyes dilated as they followed her increasingly suggestive movements and gestures.
The one she thought was Darren, who’d done most of the talking, swayed in his chair, moving with the music. She was sure he had no idea what he was doing. His gaze was fixed on her, hardly blinking in his intent stare. She drifted across to him and held out one hand.
“Dance with me,” she said. She spoke in a quiet voice, scarcely above a whisper, the sound little more than an extension of the music. Obedient to desires stronger than a short life’s worth of admonitions, he stood, following her to the center of the room. She swayed, sinuous as a snake, and moved around him, just short of touching. In a shimmy, her butt almost grazed the growing erection that strained at the fabric of his worn overalls. He shifted on his heels, rocking and twisting to follow her around, keeping his front to her. So close and yet not close enough. She could read the thought in his face. Oh, how he wanted her ...
I would almost bet these boys are virgins. Her smile widened. But they won’t be when they leave.