Feral Emotions: Animal Magnetism

Maya is a successful woman in a job she hates, living a life that bores her. Her boyfriend suits her life, but not her passion. When she meets Erhart she learns the power of raw, feral emotions. He teaches her to accept her passions and project her animal magnetism. He opens her up to the joys of indulging her desires for hot and rough sex with more than one person.



~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~



Maya slid behind the wheel of her BMW, enjoying the way the soft brown leather seats caressed the backs of her legs. She turned to see Dave get in beside her, squirming as he settled himself in and putting on his seat belt. The car made Dave uncomfortable. It was too much for him; it was the kind of car that another kind of person owneda self-indulgent luxury. It didn't suit his role in the game of life... sedate. 



And it was all those things, and Maya adored it in a sensual way. She enjoyed driving and it drove like a dream. Dave disliked driving in the city; he drove at an infuriatingly slow and steady pace and got frustrated with traffic. He drove to get somewhere, with no sense of joy in the journey. Maya savored the heady rush of being in control of a powerful machine, a beast of a car. It put her at the reins, controlling some wild animal.



Dave worked hard to keep any encounter with animal nature at arm's length. His attempts at being romantic were elegant and smooth and unimaginative. So their sex life remained a quiet, controlled romp that could be pleasant and even satisfying, in a tranquil way.



She sighed. Whatever troubled Dave, wore him down, left her with a dreary, watered-down version of the man she wanted. What was the point of putting your head down at work, playing the games, if winning gave you nothing more than a plush, comfortable and boring life?



The promoters had billed this performance as primitive and appealing to the primal instincts. That sounded hot, and she hoped it was true. The veneer of civilization grew thicker and more oppressive every year. The opposing sides in the struggle for political correctness and women asserting themselves seemed to have taken the starch out of men's peckers. Maybe it would light a fire in Dave. The tickets and time were a cheap enough gamble. At the least it could be interesting.



They had good seats in comfortable chairs, yet she sensed him squirming uncomfortably from the moment the lights went down and the back-lit stage began to fill with dancers and drummers in scanty costumes all moving with the rhythms pounded out on djembe.



The ensemble had a few wind instruments, but the music was largely rhythmic, which made sense, given the primal idea, given that it was a dance. For her part, the drumming made her want to get up and dance, to join the long-legged black women who took center stage, whirling and jumping as men, playing warriors, sat on the floor. When melodies rose from the singers or musicians, the sounds were alien to her ears. Not unpleasant, but, to use her favorite word, different. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dave take furtive glances at the program. She knew he wanted to make some sense of the cacophony of sound.



He wasn't alone. Around them the audience had divided into those who were fidgeting and those that seemed to be slipping into something of a trance that had them moving with the beat as much as they could without leaving their seats.



Maya moved with the music, unable to sit still, enjoying the way it connected with her body.



When the break came, she was dripping in sweat. As they stood, she looked at the man. He was with a tall brunette and she saw a sheen on his brow, a flush on her cheeks.