Tango at the Vingt-Deux


The Vingt-Deux is an intimate club just behind the Rue Fénélon.    It’s really a night club, but for those in the know, the bar is open during the afternoons except for Mondays.    Whatever else we might be at the Vingt-Deux we are discreet. Although I work with the band, on this particular Tuesday afternoon I was behind the bar instead of Henri, our usual barman.   Henri is a good friend, and I was happy to help him out when he needed the afternoon off.   Tuesdays are always very quiet.   I know because I sometimes slip in for a blanc sec.   This particular Tuesday was no exception with myself behind the bar, and just two other women sitting at the bar, nobody else.   I assumed they worked the local hotels – you know the kind of thing, chambre avec oreiller.   This is the euphemism for a room with a girl (not a pillow as the words say!). Paris at the very end of July is a hot and stuffy city without a breath of breeze.   Those who can do so take their holidays at this time.   They flee the city for more comfortable places.   This particular Tuesday it was particularly hot and stuffy with a definite feeling of approaching thunderstorms in the air. They sat at the bar, silent but glamorous in an understated sort of a way.   I had been slicing some lemons and, after washing my hands, I put almanbahis a Carlos Gardel CD on the player.   It reflected the weather, I thought, and the effect was as if I had turned a switch to ON.   The women at the bar looked at each other, and as one they silently stood and moved over to the tiny dance floor.   As one they held each other in a very stylised Argentine Tango embrace, their breasts and hips pressed together, and through the opening bars of the music they hardly moved from the spot.   Instead, their feet wove in and out between each other.   It reminded me of the way a cat will weave in and out of your ankles. How striking it was, the way they looked into each other’s eyes.   Their gaze was locked together, seeing beyond and deep into the other’s face.   Their expressions told little of what was going on behind those eyes, but from where I was standing behind the bar I could feel the distinct and deep connection between them. As they danced their breasts and their hips were locked against each other.   The one with the shorter skirt had the other’s knee thrust between her legs making this contact both closer and more insistent.   It also had the effect of making her skirt ride up her thighs.   Behind the bar I found myself gripped by this picture on our intimate dance floor.   It was, almanbahis yeni giriş of course, only natural for me to move over and dim the lights in the main room, switching on the dance floor blue spots at the same time. Within me I felt myself being drawn into this picture playing in front of me.   It was strange how I felt a part of it.   The glow within me left me in no doubt that I was more than a little involved. The first track came to an end.   They stood there, un-moving.   They were locked in that dramatic embrace.   Then, I perceived just the faintest of elbow movements.   As the second track started to play their danced resumed.   A skirt fell slowly to the ground.   It slipped down around the legs of the woman facing towards me.   Without breaking the step or the rhythm of their dance she stepped out of the skirt now crumpled upon the floor. I slipped off my shoes to pad across from the bar towards the door.   I locked the front door, and turned the sign around to show Fermé.   Silently I returned to the bar.   Oblivious of me their dance continued.   Those legs were gorgeous, and I realised she couldn’t be one of the working girls.   With legs like that she was obviously a dancer.   What was unfolding on the dance floor gave further testimony to this. Now they made an almanbahis giriş unexpected twist with a deep sway.   I saw the back of the other’s dress was unzipped.   Her bra strap had been unclasped.   She was held tightly against the other with a hand placed firmly in the middle of her back.   Once more they twisted and their bodies parted just a fraction as their feet wove in and out.   The top of her dress fell down, and as their hands parted in the briefest of separations her dress fell from her.   With the grace of a hunting feline she stepped away from the dress lying on the floor. Another gorgeous pair of legs.   Her back was towards me.   I was so engaged with what was happening that I could easily imagine another woman’s breasts pressed closely against mine.   As I watched, the tenderness of that moment flowed right over me.   Oh how I would have loved to have been part of that dance! Track 2 came to a finish.   A hand slide up beneath the remaining top.   As Track 3 began that top, and a still-fastened bra, came up and over her head.   Had they had been holding each other closely?   Their bodies now were seamlessly conjoined from their shoulders right down to their knees.   Their breasts were flattened against each other as they danced.   Their proximity caused them to rub and grind one against the other.   My own juices were flowing and my nipples were erect.   My skin had taken on that peachy texture that it does when I am aroused and (hitherto) only a man slipping into me has been sufficient to satisfy my needs.

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