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Fixing her hair in a high polytail, Helena checked herself out one last time and reluctantly headed out.

The impatient horn of Maria’s car sounded in her driveway – she was anxious to get to the dance party. Feeling too casual in flats, jeans and a singlet-top, Helena was unsure what to expect. A night out dancing, but not in heels and a pretty outfit. It seemed all so odd – so different to what she was used to. Maria was very persistent, Helena convinced herself that she’ll go to one of these alternative parties just once, just to shut her up!

Climbing into the car, Maria turned down the jungle-style beats coming from the stereo. She was similarly dressed, ready for the party

“So you are sure this dance party isn’t going to be full of people on pills?” Helena cautiously enquired

“Geeze Helena, you worry to much! Pingers and drugs aren’t welcome at the party – its part of this anti-drugs / all natural movement. Seriously chick, you get so involved with the beat that you don’t need chemicals!”

After a half an hour drive, they arrived at an abandoned staking rink. Parking behind the old warehouse-looking building, Helena had her first taste of the music that would be flowing for the evening. It was only 9pm but the place seemed packed! The thump of the beat pounded out of the building, each ‘boom’ seeming to expand the walls just that bit further. The hot, humid evening ensured that skins would be shining before too long.

Despite the long queue outside, Maria grabbed Helena by the hand and marched right to the front.

Giving two burly bouncers a wink and a kiss, they opened the doors and let them go straight in!

“Old school mates” Maria whispered as they confidently slipped through the door. Once inside, nothing could prepare Helena for what she saw next! The room was pumping! People dancing everywhere, glow sticks being whizzed around, crazy hair, bright clothes, amazing beats. It was so different from the summer dance festivals, full of pinged-out sterioded up shirtless thugs and slutty bimbos. So different it was not funny! Everyone was active, but chilled. No anger, no angst, no attitude. It took minutes for the thumping beat to rapture her body!

The bar only served water, free by the bottleful. Grabbing two each, the girls made their way to the front of the makeshift dancehall, the smooth concrete floor underneath providing the perfect surface for dancing on. The music – how could you describe it? Two turntables, guys on bongos, girls on synths, a full compliment of instruments being played in some type of crazy, beautiful harmony.

Waves of sound pounded through Helena’s fit body as her body surrendered to the beat. Huge industrial fans curled in vain, trying to cool the overheated crowd, mist from the overhead sprinkler system rained down on the welcoming bodies of the dancers below.

Wrapped up in the moment, Helena was surprised that she didn’t notice him before. On stage, merely feet infront of her sat the shirtless, sweaty, amazingly muscular, black body of the drummer. His short dreadlocked hair whipped his dark face, pearly white teeth shining like the strobe lights and fluros dancing around the stage. His eyes closed, but head looking a million miles away as his huge hands pounded the drum skins in perfect time. Every part of the drum was used, amazing sounds, amazing beats were thumping out, the microphones only accentuating the thump of his hands. Warm sensations flowed over her body as she watched him, the rest of the crowded dancehall seemed to disappear as if her soul focus was on him. His rippling torso moved with the beat, every single muscle tensing, relaxing, flexing, moving – not in a pretentious way, but in a natural, free, sensual way. His rounded bicepts, only adorned with what looked like tribal tattoos banged down on the drums, banging, banging, banging. Each hit moving right through her inner being – she was hooked!

Without reason, Helena’s whole body became sensitive, electrified, open. It was like every single nerve in her body opened up, aching to receive the drummers music. Her eyes, locked on his handsome black face did not sway. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, she didn’t give a fuck – she just stared at his face – his eyelits finally opened. Their eyes locked. Her body moved just for him, his hands played just for her. It was like he had a window into her soul, each beat moving further into her, into her body, into her loins, into her being. It was fucking amazing, the sensation – better then anything she had before – better then e’s, better then wiz, it was spiritual.

His music took her a million miles away – away from the overcrowded concrete den, away from the flashing lights, the smoke machines the turntables, the bullshit. His music just seemed so pure, so – who the fuck knows. All Helena was quickly realising was that her body wanted him to play her, and not just his fucking amazing music. Sweat poured down her back, down her chest, through her cleavage, down her pretty face. Her eyes, fixated on him who was fixated on her, there was only one thing she wanted.

The music continued as the drummer removed himself from his drums. Sinking gallons of water, he jumped off stage and moved his way over to the awestruck Helena. She marvelled up close at his amazing body, his chest, his stomach, his arms, his face. Biology seemed to take over, the beat bringing them together as he danced close to her. Heat radiated off his impossibly cool body, Helena found herself getting wet in more then one area as he lent over and loudly whispered in her ear“Follow me” was all his African accent commanded her. Like a metaphorical lamb to the slaughter, she held onto his large had as he led her to some stairs hidden behind a curtain at the back of the stage. She watched his muscular back as he led her upstairs, into what could be described as a surprising studio apartment. The beat, still loud yet muffled by the wall still thumped through their bodies.

Helena allowed herself to be embraced by him, holding his hand and bringing it up to her mouth.

Sucking on his large fingers, one by one, she let her teeth drag down them, one by one. Starting into his deep black eyes, she felt nothing but animal magnetism towards him. She wanted him bad, she wanted him nasty, she wanted him like he played the drums – nasty, hard, natural.

Before she could finish sucking each of his fingers, his hands had travelled down her back, to her backside. As precise as he beat the drums, he spanked her firm ass, again in perfect time to the beat below, sensual, hard, dirty. His large hands, more then enough for each cheek slapped, sending sensual stings through her body – she felt like a deer caught by a lion, hopelessly submitting to his power, wanting him to devower her. He played her like his drums, over and over, Helena simply could not get enough – she wanted more. She had never been with a black guy before – he was dangerous, exotic, sensual, wild. After a good backside beating, he grabbed her and effortlessly lifted her up, she found her legs wrapped around his sweaty, black torso. His huge arms wrapped around her, he pushed her hard against the wall, the vibrations from the beat and the pounding of his body pulsated across her, accentuating every single touch. His mouth kissed down her sweaty neck and across her shoulders, left to right, right to left. Nibbles, kisses, bites – every move from his large mouth more amazing then the last. She dared not touch him too much – she just wanted his hands on her, around her, in her.

Helena found herself on the zebra-skin rug on the ground, her wet singlet and jeans long since removed. The man’s large hands pinning her powerless wrists to the soft hair of the rug as he continued to kiss down her chest, over her breasts and nipples. His large tongue, lashing her nipples – wild, exotic, it was like he was licking wild forest berries off a vine, it was so delicious! Moving his way down, her cotton panties, wet from sweat and juice, ripped down with his teeth. His dark tongue, flicking, licking, teasing. Helena wriggled in sheer ecstasy, yet unable to move too much under the strong clamp of the drummer – not that she wanted to go anywhere! He lashed her, licking hard – up, in, around. His tongue was doing things she had never felt before!

Moving his way back up, Helena wanted to feel him – she wanted him to feel her so bad. She wanted to be held back, restrained, bonded – she wanted him to do to her whatever he so goddamn desired.

As his face was close to hers, she whispered in his ear “Own me”

She loved his danger, his allure – she wanted to feel things she had never felt before His large hands cupped her breasts hard, moving up to her neck, over her hair. Grabbing a good tuft, he pulled her hair back – firmly, not aggressively, but enough for her to feel the agony of the erotic moment. She somehow felt totally safe – agony not of the sensation, but agony that she was denied access in touching him.

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