Milonga

— Dima, don't rush…

She looked at his flushed face with a smile. The guy was desperately trying, but he was catastrophically failing. Stiff, jerky movements, stops, repetitions…

— It's okay, everyone starts like this. No, now with the left foot… Yes, well done!

He gave a strained smile.

The fourth tango ended abruptly, giving them both a chance to breathe a sigh of relief.

— Sorry, I forgot that after…

Lena frowned, still smiling — "don't apologize, silly, you're still learning!"

He walked her back to the spot from which, after a prolonged bout of 'shooting' glances,

he had led her away a few minutes earlier. He gave a barely perceptible nod to her husband and, continuing to slouch awkwardly, crossed to the other end of the hall.

— That was awful… — her husband said condescendingly, drawing out the words.

— Stop it. If he puts as many years into dancing as we have, he'll be better than you!

He flashed a white-toothed smile, throwing his head back and shaking it in denial.

— The guy is trying. Not everyone is… so talented, — she had to look at her husband, acknowledging his undeniable merits in mastering Argentine tango.

— Bring me some water, please.

He kissed her on the cheek and headed for the bar.

Lena found her recent partner with her eyes. Standing there. Suffering, the fool. He should invite someone else. Although, if he managed to mess everything up with an experienced dancer like her, then with another… Lena sighed but stopped feeling sorry for the guy. She took the brought glass of water and drained it in one gulp.

— Let's go! I want to smoke… — she pulled her husband towards the exit.

— You should quit, — he muttered with disgust but obediently followed.

A crowded corridor, small queues for the toilets, the cloakroom… Everyone ignored an inconspicuous door. Lena pushed it open, bursting out into the fresh air. A small inner courtyard — barely more than two by three meters — thoughtfully furnished with a bench and an ashtray, surrounded on all sides by tall, blank walls. Overhead — a rectangle of the autumn evening sky with three pale stars.

Her husband was lazily pacing at the opposite end of the courtyard, reminiscent of a prisoner taking a walk in a prison yard. Only with a fashionable haircut and in an expensive suit. He didn't want to inhale smoke either. Taking care of himself!

The door suddenly swung open, making them both turn around in unison. It was him. Dima, not looking at anyone, nervously pulled a crumpled pack from his pocket, shook it angrily, trying to knock out the desired poisonous cylinder. A cigarette flew out and fell onto the dirty concrete. Apparently, the last one. The guy closed his eyes in disappointment. When he opened them, he saw a slender, delicate hand in front of him, offering him a new one.

He looked at Lena in surprise, then at her husband. Hesitantly took the offered cigarette, lit it with his own matches.

— Sorry, I… maybe… interrupted?

— No, no! We're leaving now! — her husband headed for the door, grabbing the slender hand on the way.

The hand twisted free.

— Go. I'll finish smoking…

He stopped for a moment, shifted a probing gaze from his wife to the clumsy dancer, suspected, assessed, disbelieved, relaxed…

— Of course, darling. I'll wait for you! — and went out.

Lena threw her cigarette into the ashtray, remained standing in place. Critically examined the figure opposite.

— At least straighten up when you dance. Don't slouch!

Dmitry didn't answer, but reflexively straightened his back. She was sure his face, hidden by the darkness, was flushed.

— And don't try to constantly use complex moves, you simply haven't learned them! If you don't know how to move, do the simplest thing, even a hundred times in a row.

He nodded.

From the depths of the club, the first chords of the next tanda were heard.

Lena decisively approached, pulled the smoldering cigarette from Dmitry's hand, tossed it aside.

— Take me!

His eyes widened.

— Fuck, I mean… — she grabbed his hand, put the other behind her back, — Listen to the music.

Slowly moved to the side, back, drawing him along.

— But keep in mind, you have to lead! Right now, I'm just showing…

He nodded energetically once more.

— Come on, a 'sandwich'… You remember, right? We practiced it in class!

He did what she asked.

— Excellent! Let's go on… A couple more simple embellishments… and today, use only these, alternate them!

The cramped courtyard unexpectedly met her back with a wall.

— Oops…

She wanted to step away, but her partner just froze, pressing her against the cold stone.

— Hello! Lesson's over. I'm going…

Coming to his senses, he let Lena go, allowing her to straighten her dress and turn towards the exit.

— Wait! And you… umm…

— What? — pleased with the unexpected effect of the tight embrace, she smiled, — No, Dim. Calm down.

— Sorry… Forgive me…

But when the slender hand turned the handle and pulled it open, Dima suddenly jumped up, slammed the door shut, pushed Lena into the corner.

— Hey! Lost your mind?!

— Shhh…

Pressed her, grabbed her by the waist. She was in high heels, taller than him — hot breath hit her neck. A kiss — passionate, frantic, another one, on the cheek, behind the ear, then on the lips.

She wanted to break free, but strong hands wouldn't allow it. Shouting — shameful. Wouldn't he come to his senses?! Fighting each other, they moved out of the corner, performing absurd steps to the tango music drifting in.

He tried to lift the hem of her dress. She cried out, managed to slap him. But his hand had already slipped under the thin fabric, reached her lacy panties, pulled them down.

— Dima, stop! No!

He suddenly stopped, seeing the hurt and despair on her face. She moved back to the wall, breathing heavily. The panties remained pulled down to her knees.

The first track of the tanda smoothly transitioned into the second.

He moved towards her again.

— Don't come near…

He lunged, embraced her, pressed his palm against her crotch. Lena gasped, bending her legs, ending up lower than him. He gripped her cheeks with his hand, lifted her head, plunged a wet kiss onto her lipsticked lips.

Weakness! Unexpected, sweet… Like during the tight embrace before the dance, only sweeter!

She shuddered, horrified at herself. Moaned — unclear, mournfully, whether from dissatisfaction or…

A hot struggle, tight, stifling, with angry whispers, protesting exclamations. She didn't yield. But he was persistent.

The third melody began. The dancer grabbed the slender hand by the wrist, hurt her, twisting it, forcing her to make an elegant turn, press her cheek to the wall, and finally, fall silent.

The autumn chill on her bare buttocks, and heat on her cheeks from the blood rushing to her face. The dress hem was thrown over her shoulders. She stopped resisting. Behind her, the zipper on his trousers screeched. He was preparing to take her… A grimace on her face still testified to the rape, but her body already wanted love, as hot and stifling as the struggle for it a minute ago.

His cock pressed against her, greedily searching for the entrance. Her nape was tickled by his breath, then a kiss. Lips touched silky skin, then buried themselves in her disheveled dark hair. He inhaled her scent with pleasure. He wasn't rushing, savoring it, making her realize her defeat. She pushed her hips back and… cried out, realizing he had entered wrong, not where he should! But Dmitry covered her mouth, didn't stop, continued, along with the last, fourth melody, overcoming resistance, getting aroused, ignoring her painful moans and sobs, moving faster, faster, even faster… And the sight of the experienced dancer's delightful part, trembling under his thrusts, drove the partner mad. He cried out, froze, feeling his cock inside her body deliver the final chords, thrust in and out of her sharply two more times, pulled away, breathing heavily. She turned, caught his eyes with her hazy gaze, like there, on the dance floor — the cabeceo… Fell to her knees, wrapped her lips around his cock and sucked out the last drops.

She stood up, coming to her senses. Licked her lips.

— You'll come dance again over my dead body!

Dima stared at her uncomprehendingly. She suddenly impulsively, angrily grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. Pressed her lips together, came close to his face. Hissed:

— You don't understand who I am, and who… I don't want to see you here anymore. Understood?

She turned away, pulled up her panties, and took a step towards the door. Stopped. Added, without looking back:

— I'll find you myself…

The music faded. Applause burst through the opened doors.