Angie’s Dog Orgy

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It was almost one a. m. The dance floor was crowded, swollen with anerotic jostling of squirming loins and legs and asses. Angie had beendancing almost nonstop for the last two or three hours.

She loveddancing--it made her feel so alive, so sexy. It was dancing that let herexpress all the latent urges and frustrations that smoldered beneath thesurface of her seemingly calm and self-confident appearance. She letherself go on the dance floor as she did nowhere else, sensuouslywrithing her hips and buttcheeks in their flesh-hugging trousers withthe rhythmic abandon of a well-trained belly dancer.

In fact she hadtaken belly-dancing lessons for a few months. But, like so many of herfleeting fancies, that one had soon fallen by the wayside. At last the hot, urgent number that had been throbbing on for the lastfifteen or twenty minutes, hypnotizing the dancers in their own privatefervor of rock ecstasy, came to an end.

Though Angie knew that herforehead was beaded with a light film of sweat, that her throat wasparched, that her exhausted limbs longed for a moment's break, sheremained standing, waiting for the next number to start, airilyoblivious to the entreating looks of her tired partner. Angie and her date, Dave Wagner, had exchanged scarcely more than ahandful of words since they'd entered the nightclub.

And that was justfine with Angie. She had had little enthusiasm for Dave's advances sofar, but the handsome real-estate agent had been persistent so, equallybored with the prospect of an evening at home in front of the TV, Angiehad agreed to come dancing. When she was dancing, it didn't reallymatter who she was with.

She could enjoy herself just grooving on thehard, insistent presence of the music, her head empty of anything butthe beat, her body leading an existence all its own, flying with theband, turning on to their wavelength--and moving. From time to time she emerged from her private world to note admiringglances from the men dancing nearby.

She didn't need them. She was operating on aplane far away from them. But still she enjoyed the titillation of theirheated glances on her full swaying tits that moved freely under the thincovering of her Indian cheesecloth blouse, on her rounded ass grindingsensuously inside her clinging, modishly long jeans.

She had left hershoes under their table, and even her bare feet on the cool dance floorfelt incredibly sensuous as her toes gripped the tiles in methodicalresponse to the beat. The band had struck up another number, only this time it was a slowmournful ballad, the first of the evening. Angie was disappointed andturned to return to their table, deciding that this was as good a timeas any to enjoy a drink and a rest.

But before she reached the edge ofthe dance floor, Dave had grabbed her hand and pulled her back towardshim, enclosing her in a tight embrace and a slow waltz rhythm. Resignedly she acquiesced, burying her blonde head in her partner'sshoulder and gradually letting herself drift with this more subtle callof the music.

Dave Wagner had been waiting all evening for his chance to lay hands onthe ripe, sexy-looking body that had been grinding so tantalizingly, soteasingly before his rapt gaze for the last several hours. Jeez, she's a hot one, he'd said to himself, barely able to keep hishands by his sides as he surveyed the rounded lushness of her full boobsunder her blouse.

Obviously she was wearing no bra, but her tits stillstood up firm and luscious, almost begging to be squeezed and caressed. When she'd turned her back to him and wiggled that tight swelling assright at him, he felt a responsive jerk in the crotch of his pants. Thiswoman turned him on, and no mistake, but she seemed cool, distant.

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