“Why do you sit in the corner?”
“I have no rhythm.”
His leading hand pulled her onto the dance floor.
She stood motionless at first; unsure, awkward steps followed until he intervened. Placing a hand on the small of her back, he guided her hips with his, gently swaying, subtly grinding until she felt it – the beat.
With patience, he taught her the crescendos and decrescendos of edging. She slid up and down his cock, experimenting, practicing. Each interpreted sounds and silences until hardness and softness joined in harmony.
They moved as one.
Climaxed as one.
Her rhythm found.
