THE ARRANGEMENT
By John Castle - Written For DTM / Amy's Conquest
Watch as a sexy young Romanian dancer uses her hard, powerful body and sexily aggressive manner to claim an adorable man, first for her pleasure, then as her husband

The air smelled of fresh food and stale sweat. A spirited night breeze kicked
up across the grassy field and put a flutter to a dozen tents and four dozen
ankle-length skirts. Those caught the eye of the young man as he stepped over
the border between the parking lot and the soft grass.

"Oh, damn ... " he muttered as one of them dashed across the field from a
copse of palm trees toward the vendors. She was amazing #^#" shoulder length
curly black hair #^#" not quite as tall as he was, she standing at about 5
foot 8 or so #^#" and with curves that would make a high, winding mountain
road nervous.

He lost sight of her in the crowds as he waded into them, though. He shrugged,
more interested in taking in the entire experience. It was Jimmy's fault that
he was here, anyway; he had insisted on a night at the Society for Creative
Anachronism was the best cure for midweek boredom.

"C'mon, Brian, I'm tellin' ya, you'll love it." Jimmy's voice seemed to filter
back to him from that afternoon. "You go, you see some fights #^#" steel on
steel, man!"

"Okay, well that doesn't sound like some kind of euphemism at all." He'd
answered his coworker with a smirk.

"Yeah, right." Jimmy had laughed. "Dude, there's more hot tail there than on
the runways at Sky Harbor."

"Okay, but are there girls?" That had been about the time that their
supervisor had showed her curly head and they'd busted up into laughter before
the conversation had landed them in any trouble.

Now he found himself working his way further into the park. Encanto Park was a
square mile of open field bordered by palm trees and sided on its north face
by a man-made lake. Near the edge of the lake stood row upon row of vendors'
stalls #^#" this drew him. He moved at a casual, easy pace across the field,
dodging a pair of teenagers spiritedly whacking at each other with what looked
like bamboo fencing swords. "Sorry about that!" one of them shouted between
panting breaths.

Brian waved them off. "Don't worry about it." His gray eyes immediately
flicked back toward the stalls across the field. To his right, on the tennis
courts, the sounds of clanging metal drew his attention. The nets had been
taken down to open up the space. Inside the fenced off courts, two pairs of
... he had to guess they were men ... swung and parried what looked and
sounded like real swords at each other. All four of the fighters were dressed
from head to toe in full metal armor, including visored helmets. Brian paused
for a moment, taken slightly aback at the spectacle #^#" not just for the
likelihood of serious injury but because, good God, how expensive was that?!

He pulled his attention away from the dismaying spectacle and resumed his
journey toward the vendors. As he neared them, a muffled rhythm reached out to
his ears #^#" a primal, furious rhythm accompanied by flute and guitar. A grin
broke across his face. "Damn, who knew the middle ages could rock?" he
muttered to himself. Then he spotted the source of the music as he drew
nearer, and there was the girl again.

Her body swayed and writhed in time with the rhythm; her arms and legs seemed
to twist, stretch and intertwine in ways he could barely fathom but had no
trouble at all appreciating. Her eyes locked with his for a moment, a sultry
smile on her lips. Her eyes were brown, but a shade of brown so light it was
nearly amber. Her hair was wild and loose on her shoulders, a mass of black
curls that shifted, swayed and flew as she spun, lifting one leg to stretch it
high, almost vertical, a move met by cheers and applause from the crowd
watching her.

Sadly for him, the majority of the length of that leg was hidden, from the
angle he was watching her, by her long skirt. What he did see what a very
muscular calf; of course, in the entirety of the sight, and with the sound of
the music that was so infectious he couldn't help but tap his toe in time to
it ... he overlooked that minor detail. He'd become well acquainted with its
meaning soon enough, though.

When the music finally slowed and died, he applauded with the rest of the
crowd and watched with some disappointment as she faded out of sight into a
nearby tent, presumably to change out of the heavy, colorful dance costume. He
made his way along the stalls until he found one selling food #^#" he hadn't
realized how hungry he was until he smelled sizzling kielbasa, roast pork and
chicken.

"One of those, please." He pointed out one of the sausages on the grill #^#"
it occurred to him to wonder whether or not the portly, bearded man in the
period costume behind the counter had a permit for cooking in the park, but he
didn't spend much time or thought on it. Parting with a ten-spot and wandering
toward the lake's edge, he was content to just enjoy the resurgent music, a
little softer for the loss of the dancing girl, and the delicious food and
drink as he arranged himself on the grassy slope and looked out across the
moonlit water.

"Hi."

He almost choked on a bite of the sausage at the utterly unexpected voice
behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see her standing there #^#" the
dancing girl. Uninvited but not unwelcome, she took a few steps to sit beside
him on the grass. She had indeed changed her dress inside the tent; now she
wore a short, plain brown skirt and a cream bodice under a brown leather
corset. She smiled as his eyes involuntarily took inventory of what was before
them.

She was now dressed in a white top that wasn't quite a bikini top #^#" the two
"cups" were joined along their bottom edges by a thick band of fabric. Her
breasts were large and firm, pressed the cups proudly out and pushed up above
them to form mouth-watering cleavage. A matching sarong draped across her
wide, rounded hips, showing just the quickest flash of what looked to be thong
panties as she walked. Her calves were crisscrossed by the slim leather straps
of a pair of sandals.

She was, bar none, the most gorgeous girl he'd ever seen. Her skin was dusky
and flawless, utterly unblemished. Her lips were #^#" he had never in his life
considered using the adjective, "kissable" #^#" but her lips were. He spent a
moment actively, forcefully fighting the temptation to just lean over and do
exactly that. He could see her eyes narrow slightly even as her lips curled up
at the corners #^#" the blood drained from his face and he was somehow certain
beyond the shadow of a doubt that she knew what he was fighting against.

"I'm Beth." She smiled openly, and then her eyes began to wander over him in
kind. His were drawn to the small decoration between her eyebrows, a circular
gem.

"You're Indian?" he asked, unable to restrain his curiosity about it.

She laughed quietly. "Ordinarily, I'd correct you and say, #^#^#you mean
Hindu'." She looked down with unexpected shyness, but after a moment looked up
again, her smile a little brighter. "But yes. And before you ask, the reason I
don't have an accent is that I was raised with English as my first language.
My parents are first-generation immigrants, but they felt that assimilation
was extremely important. I speak Tamil at home, though." She leaned closer and
looked up at him. "And what do you do other than eat smelly food and drink
beer beside lakes, Mr. You-Haven't-Told-Me-Your-Name-Yet?"

Her wide-eyed innocent look, coupled with the way she asked the question,
forced him to laugh. "I'm Brian. And I'm a skip tracer. Eating smelly food and
drinking beer beside lakes is just a new hobby of mine." She tilted her chin
up and pursed her lips in a look that seemed to say, "Ohhh." He added, "I
think I like this new hobby, though."

"And do you make a good living as a ... a skip tracer, you said? What is
that?" He looked down in pondering the answer to her question, and in doing so
finally noticed something that the colorful costume and loud music had
distracted him from while she'd been dancing: her bare stomach. She had firm,
well defined wedges of abdominal muscle, plainly visible under the brief white
top she wore. Even her ribs showed faint ridges of muscle.

"I ... uh ... " he stumbled, having for the briefest instant forgotten what
she'd only just asked him. "Yes." He nodded as his mind regained its footing
somewhat. "Yeah, I guess I'm doing all right. I make a few grand a week at it,
actually. I have a ninety percent find rate."

She smirked. "Would you like me to pretend I know what the technical talk
means?" she asked cheekily. He opened his mouth to answer, but she raised her
hand and laid her index finger gently over his lips. "Finish your dinner. You
can tell me in the water."

Brian blinked, but her finger remained where it was. She turned her head and
smiled at someone behind them. He looked over his shoulder as well to see
another girl standing there, looking the two of them over with an upraised
eyebrow. "Itu t#^###^##"?" the girl asked.

Beth grinned and answered, "Itu p#^#rkka irukki##^#atu. N##, e##^###^#ai
jey#^# ira##^### u tu##^### uka### ko## upp#^#rka####^#?"

"Am'm#^#vum app#^#vum inta pi## ikk#^#tu." The girl scowled.

"Atu u##^# avarka###atu kavalai, illai u######atu! U##...ka### pa###aiya
cak#^#tari colvatu p#^#l ceyyavum." Beth nodded sharply and the other girl
sulked off toward the tents.

"What was that all about?" Brian asked.

She turned and gave him a look he couldn't really decipher. "I told her to
bring me a towel." she said.

He tilted his head and gave her a skeptical look. "That sounded pretty
ferocious to me toward the end there. You must really like towels."

She giggled, reached up again and caressed his cheek. "Finish your dinner."
But what she did next made that almost impossible. She stood with a lazy
slowness, her slim hands sliding up her long legs to sweep the sarong away
from the olive skin, exposing calves that tapered in broad diamonds of steely
muscle and above them thick, powerfully muscled thighs #^#" not the kind of
thighs he'd seen on female bodybuilders, but surely more muscular than those
of all but the most hardcore fitness competitors.

The girl smiled to herself, knowing full well where the boy's eyes would be.
Would he bolt? She'd never been the one to seek a boy out before; usually, it
was they who hunted her -- and none of them found out just how physically
powerful she was. Well, that was to say that although they all found out, none
of them before this one had found out before it was too late. She loved the
terror on their faces, their open mouths gasping for air and getting none as
her steel cable inner thighs tightened, notch after notch, until the only
sounds to be heard were those of her breathless, lustful panting, the
creaking, splintering, tearing and wet snapping of their bones and tissues
surrendering to her angry, erotic power.

Her sister Jaya knew all this, of course; had watched her destroy half a dozen
boys in crushing thighs and suffocating breasts; Beth even suspected that, on
more than one occasion, her younger sister had pleasured herself while
watching the demolition of a few of these boys -- boys so arrogant that they
mistook Beth's heated dancing for a kind of heat they could share with her
without being invited. Some of them had gotten closer than others; none of
them had ever entered her -- they had, each and every one, taken rather
lengthy detours through hospital emergency rooms and presumably thought better
of it during that painful journey.

This one, though -- this one she was drawn to. Something about his short, dark
blond hair reminded her of straw. His bright blue eyes traced her physique
and, rather than being put off by it, he seemed fascinated, as he had for that
quick instant when she had kicked high during the dance and displayed her
thickly muscled calf, the way they'd rested on his deeply etched abdominal
muscles from then on. He was a couple inches taller than her, broad in the
shoulders and thick in the arms. She imagined that he was, in the upper body
at least, almost as strong as she was, and the idea thrilled her. That was why
he, unlike the other hapless boys who had tried to have their way with her,
would succeed. Or, more accurately, she would have him -- even if he objected.
Even if he resisted. Especially if he resisted.

She turned lazily, her eyes still fixed on his over her shoulder as she swayed
her hips, her fingers moving to roll the waistband of #^#" oh, his guess had
been correct, white thong panties #^#" down her wide hips and rounded ass, her
glutes flexing with the swaying of her hips. She winked and then bent forward,
that amazing ass pointed right at him as the fabric rolled down and away. She
kicked the panties lightly and he watched them arc through the air to land on
the sarong.

She shook her head sharply, swinging her long mane of black curls onto her
shoulder and pinning him with those vibrant amber eyes again, that smirk
returning to her lips as he stared back at her like a bewildered animal. Brian
Jackson was no 26 year old virgin, of course #^#" but he'd never been exposed
to anything like this. It was entirely outside the realm of his experience. He
wondered, briefly, if this had been what Jimmy had been alluding to.

He finished the last bite of the kielbasa and lifted the glass of beer to his
lips when she turned, her hands behind her back and her elbows bent. His eyes
were drawn again to her abs, then back to her hips and thighs, then to the
juncture between them, where a small, perfectly formed inverted triangle of
short, silky black hair crowned her trim cleft. Her hands came down from
behind her back, the skimpy white top in her left hand for only a moment
before it, too, landed atop the rest of her clothing. He finished the last of
the beer as she shook her head again, smiling brightly.

Her breasts were exactly as amazing as the top had hinted them to be. Large,
firm and round, capped by small brown areolae and stone-hard nipples. It
wasn't cold out; to his experienced eye, that meant either that her breasts
were implants or that she was as excited to be nude as he was to see her that
way. She stepped toward him and a sense of surreality crept over him. He could
not possibly be sitting here in a public park filled with hundreds of people
while a stunning and almost entirely nude woman stalked toward him like a
hunting jungle cat.

She crouched, her thighs spreading wide enough so that she could lean into him
as her hand gently took the empty cup from his and set it aside. She leaned
further still, until her breasts pushed up against his collar bone and her
thighs bracketed his torso. He could feel the gentle brush of her long hair
against his cheek, then on his shoulder and back as her lips found their way
to his ear. As her hand found its way to the monstrous bulge in his jeans.

"Come into the water with me." she whispered.

He could barely breathe. Could barely think, truth to say; after a moment of
near paralysis, he croaked, "I can't get naked in the park, I'll get arres-"

"Shhh." She closed her thighs around him; the grip was snug #^#" then
painfully tight. "In every relationship, one person is the Master and the
other one is the slave. Well ... " he couldn't see her face #^#" even if she
hadn't been whispering into his ear, his eyes had begun to water from the
power of her thighs' grip around him. "In this one, I'm the Master. Or
Mistress, I guess." She giggled and bit his earlobe, the pressure in her bite
painfully tight as well #^#" but not enough to break the skin. She merely held
him there, trapped snug in her arms and legs. She squealed with delight as she
felt his erection continue to grow until the rough denim of his jeans teased
her her lips.

"You like this, don't you!" she leaned back just enough to look into his eyes,
yet still so close their noses touched and her lips brushed over his as she
spoke. He nodded his head, dumbstruck at the revelation himself. She giggled
and shifted her weight on him in a gentle forward and back motion, teasing him
mercilessly. "Come to the water with me ... " she whispered again. All he
could do was nod his head.

He stood, carefully and slowly, surprised at her weight. She read his surprise
in his widened eyes and furrowed brow and grinned, clinging to him as he rose.
"I weigh a hundred sixty-five." She said. His eyes widened further. "I bet
that's more than you weigh, huh?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but you're a really buff girl."

"You like buff girls, I'll bet." She gave him a playful squeeze with arms and
legs and almost put him back on his knees.

"I never thought about it before." he admitted. His steps carried them the few
scant feet to the water's edge and she unfolded herself from around him. "I
still can't ... " he looked nervously back up to the line of tents #^#"
although they obscured the view from the park proper to the water, he was
still reluctant to strip down to his nothing even for the short time it would
take for him to wade in deep enough to mollify his modesty. Someone else could
think to come down to the lake like he had.

He turned to look back at her and saw the puppy-dog eyes, the pout of her
plump lips. He smiled. "Compromise?" He took his wallet and phone from his
pockets and tossed them lightly back upland, where they landed softly on the
thin layer of her clothing, then waded in with her hand in his, shoes and all.

In mid August, the temperatures hadn't yet dropped enough for the water to be
cold even at night. The water was soothingly warm, and it made his jeans cling
to his legs as he waded deeper, then plastered his t-shirt to his torso. He
turned to grin at her, but found her scowling slightly. "You're such a prude."
She announced. "I hope you're not as shy when I ... " she wrapped herself
around him again, one hand grabbing his ass through his jeans and squeezing,
the other moving to his fly and sliding it down.

He blinked #^#" as a matter of fact, he did find her forwardness shocking. Not
the mere fact of it, really, but the unusually extreme degree of it. She was
practically raping him in public, and although he'd known women who had been
bold, he'd never been ... well, the right word really was mauled #^#" like
this before.

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