The Forbidden Dance (Friday Flash #45)

Stories come to me many different ways. When I saw the exquisite picture Mischa Eliot provided for Friday Flash, the title "The Forbidden Dance" immediately came to mind. I know it's a little a different for me, but this is the story that emerged.

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Hope you enjoy,

Ria ;)

Website: http://www.riarestrepo.com

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The Forbidden Dance

By Ria Restrepo

Copyright ©2019. All rights reserved.

Wearing her scarlet dress, she held her head high as she sashayed into the town square, daring anyone to meet her defiant gaze. None did, choosing to look away, muttering amongst themselves contemptuously.

She refused to let their judgement ruin her fun. The Desperados were in town, her favorite band. It was her rite of spring to banish the winter doldrums. She never missed it.

The crowd gave her a wide berth as she made her way to the edge of the stage—lest a single touch sully their righteous souls. The lead singer gave her a knowing smile and a nod in greeting.

Closing her eyes, she let the music wash over her and through her. Her body started moving to the seductive beat, swaying to the lyrical guitars. She twirled around with abandon, unconcerned about hitting anyone, because she knew no one would be near her.

The prim ladies looked on with revulsion while their respectable husbands only chanced furtive lustful glances for fear they'd be denied the comfort of their own bed.

When she opened her eyes, only one met her gaze with warm appreciation—the new preacher. The one all the women fawned over. The one they said looked like Jesus.

Unable to look away, she went to him and offered her hand. He accepted eagerly, leading her in an even more scandalous dance.

As their bodies moved together, she whispered words of sin in his ear and he pulled her closer—gently, but ardently. He didn't grab her arrogantly or otherwise degrade her—like so many others had.

She fell under his spell as much as he did hers. His lips caressed her jaw as his strong thigh slid between her legs and pressed against her needy sex. Moaning, she ground herself against him, craving more, desiring him unlike anyone she ever had before.

Later, she bared herself to him on the altar, spreading her legs so he could see her glistening cunt. She showed him her dark secrets—how she pleasured herself.

His azure eyes fervent, he shed his clothes and took her there in the forbidden dance. They consecrated their passion beneath the cross, in the house of God, moonlight through the stained-glass windows painting their skin in vibrant hues.

The townsfolk would surely rail against their debauchery, disgusted that yet another had succumbed to the temptress in red and her bawdy dance.

Why hadn't they run her out long ago?

She was a test, you see, for their men of God. None had passed. The search for a truly virtuous man to deliver their sermons would start anew in the morning.

Mesmerized by his guileless eyes, she came on his cock, pushing him over the edge until he filled her with his seed.

Maybe she'd open her heart to this one, and they could run away to someplace they could be wild and free. And maybe, just maybe, they could save each other—in neither darkness, nor light, but in the twilight.