Category: Writers Block
Well, I said I wasn't going to add anymore to this, but I did. Enjoy.
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“I know I’ve seen you out and about, when I used to go out.”-Roger [light my candle]
The club is everything its name implies, from the darkly paneled walls to the soft lighting and sharp talent that is currently writhing on stage. He’s hidden in a back corner, observing and hoping not to be seen. The soft white of the silk restraints contrasts with the dark skin they’re restraining and he smiles approvingly. The muscles in her legs bunch and release as she sways against the pole and the slight motion sends a ripple up her thighs, to her rolling liquid hips, threw her thrusting pelvis and finally into her bound arms above her head. The smile that crosses her face as she gazes out over the assembled crowd is slow and seductive and for a moment, her eyes lock on him. His breath catches and he freezes. There is something in that intense gaze, something foreign and familiar, alluring and dangerous, all at once. When she is untied, she seems to move with even more intensity, her whole body becoming an object, a tool, really, of pure sex. It seems to ooze out of her pores, along with the light sheen of sweat that now slicks her skin. Her hip thrusts are slower and more sensual, her eyes brighter molten pools and when, at last, she raps herself around the pole, grinding slowly, barely a movement at all, he straightens up. To the casual viewer, it seems as though the show is over, but he can feel that she’s messing with their heads. He doesn’t know what it is, but he knows, with out a doubt, she is planning one final move and he can’t wait to see it. Just when he’s certain she’s forgotten him, from the corner of his eye, he catches sight of movement. Inclining his head, he realizes she’s coming towards him, her steps sure, her gaze smouldering intensity. He tries to move off the wall, to head towards the door, but before he’s taken two steps, the dancer is closing the distance. Pausing a few feet away, she beckons him forward. He doesn’t understand what happened, it’s like his brain shut down, because the next thing he knows, he’s the one on stage, dark restraints binding him to the chair, contrasting vividly with his too pale skin. The dancer’s in front of him, twisting and cavorting, playing to her audience who are eating it up. For a moment, she pauses and half turns to face him. When She does, he has to remind himself how to breathe. Her face is the most intense it’s been all night, her eyes burning bright and her dark hair seeming to give off a glow. Her gaze scorches him to the core, his blood rushing fast and furious to pool between his legs. When she tosses a wink and a teasing smile to her audience before dropping to her knees, the throbbing intensifies. Fleetingly, he hopes he can hold it together. Staring into his eyes, she licks her lips. She waits until he begins to squirm before lightly running her fingers up his legs. Raking her nails gently down them again, she smiles appreciatively at his sharp intake of breath. Then she repeats the process on his arms and chest, down his stomach, stopping just short of his crotch. Then, she leans in close and strokes his face gently. With that same teasing smile, she traces his lips with the tip of a finger, pulling away as he opens his mouth. She shakes the finger at him, reprovingly. She drapes herself over him, her pelvis not touching his, to lick his left ear lobe, one quick swipe with her tongue. After blowing gently on it and watching him fidget, she slides back to her knees, before kissing the inside of each thigh. Sometime between her untying him and him waiting for lucidity to return, he finds himself back against the wall.
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