From time to time she emerged from her private world to note admiring glances from the men dancing nearby. Their admiration gave her a feeling of power, of confidence. She didn't need them. She was operating on a plane far away from them. But still she enjoyed the titillation of their heated glances on her full swaying tits that moved freely under the thin covering of her Indian cheesecloth blouse, on her rounded ass grinding sensuously inside her clinging, modishly long jeans. She had left her shoes under their table, and even her bare feet on the cool dance floor felt incredibly sensuous as her toes gripped the tiles in methodical response to the beat.

The band had struck up another number, only this time it was a slow mournful ballad, the first of the evening. Angie was disappointed and turned to return to their table, deciding that this was as good a time as any to enjoy a drink and a rest. But before she reached the edge of the dance floor, Dave had grabbed her hand and pulled her back towards him, enclosing her in a tight embrace and a slow waltz rhythm. Resignedly she acquiesced, burying her blonde head in her partner's shoulder and gradually letting herself drift with this more subtle call of the music.

Dave Wagner had been waiting all evening for his chance to lay hands on the ripe, sexy-looking body that had been grinding so tantalizingly, so teasingly before his rapt gaze for the last several hours.

Jeez, she's a hot one, he'd said to himself, barely able to keep his hands by his sides as he surveyed the rounded lushness of her full boobs under her blouse. Obviously she was wearing no bra, but her tits still stood up firm and luscious, almost begging to be squeezed and caressed. When she'd turned her back to him and wiggled that tight swelling ass right at him, he felt a responsive jerk in the crotch of his pants. This woman turned him on, and no mistake, but she seemed cool, distant. He figured it would take a little of the old psychology to get into her pants tonight.