Velvet Flames

I sighed inwardly as I stared past the club's colorful lights and took another shot of tequila. Casamigos had become my favorite the past couple of months. I enjoyed the burn it left in my esophagus; it was something of a comfort, knowing I was well on my way to inhibiting my emotions.

"Another, baby?" The bartender, Winter, always took care of me on nights where we both worked. I was always grateful; sometimes the club was stingy and expected us to have clients pay for our shots. Winter was my age, except she had twin girls and a fiancé. She was always talking about her kids. Sometimes it annoyed me, but other times it was admirable to see how devoted she was to her family. She often talked about how she didn't plan on working here much longer, how she was going to quit before the end of the year, how she couldn't wait to see the look on her Richard's face the day she went home and told him that she would never step foot into this club ever again. The plan was to save up enough by Christmas, enroll her girls into a private elementary school, and then work on her getting esthetician degree. She's talked about "the plan" for the past two and half years that I've known her. The last time we had that conversation was early in February, right before Valentine's Day, when she was stressing over what lingerie to surprise Richard with.

It was now mid October.

"Please." I told her, scouting the crowd for viable prey. She looked around to see if the management was anywhere near us and poured two shots, handing me one. In ritual, she raised her shot glass and exclaimed, "Arriba!" I mimicked her words and arm movements in broken Spanish, "Abajo! Al Centro, Pa´ Dentro!" I finished the shot in one swig, declining her offer for a lime. The blazing sensation in my throat ignited my vivacity.

I wasn't always a drinker. In fact, drinking used to make me sick more often than not. My enjoyment started off slow; a small shot prior to a date, a drink during my lunch break, two shots before I went on stage. Drinking granted me a lead onto the things that I didn't want to handle and things just sort of happened to go my way. It made them less crucial. Right now, I was four shots into the night and the feeling of suspension was just starting to overcome me.

"Thank you, my love," I cooed to Winter. She winked at me as she poured beer for the newly formed crowed around countertop.

"My God, you're beautiful." I heard from behind me. I prepared my smile before I turned around.

"Thank you, baby," was my automatic response as I elegantly twirled to verify my accomplice. He was an older gentleman, around 50 or so, well dressed, and clean cut. He had no name brand clothing on, no jewelry to note, and a little bit of a gut. Not bad to start off the night, I thought.

"Where are you from? Wait, let me guess." He used the opener as an excuse to scrutinize my features, starting at my lips and pausing at my breasts, extending all the way down to my legs and toes. "Some type of Middle Eastern."

"I get that a lot," I giggled. "Care to venture another guess?"

"Latina?"

"I get that too," I smiled, "I'm actually Greek and Italian. Well, my mother is, anyway. I never met my father." I noted a gleam in his eye. Too easy, way too easy. I found it fascinating how such a simple line aroused them.

"Well, wherever you're from, you're stunning." I fake blushed. "Would you do me the honor of blessing me with a dance?"

Hooked and reeled.

He led me to his table. I got to work, allowing the feeling of alcohol to flow through me. The strobe lights seemed unbar the wall of hesitancy that arose any time I gave my first dance of the night. They sliced through the club, reaching me last, and forced me to observe the environment around me. I watched as they bounced off me, off the patrons, off my client and invoked an all-consuming echo that entrapped everyone in the same room. We were all here for the same reason. Here, we were the same, no one above nor below one another. My reflection was apparent in every face that I locked eyes with. I never felt more empowered than during the high of my first dance.

I shook my ass in his face, slapping it lightly, arching my pussy towards his lips. Of course, he wouldn't touch it and of course, it was covered under my diamond studded thong, but I wanted him to know what he wasn't getting and what he would never get. I wanted him to crave me, salivate over the sheerness of me, the closeness of me. I wanted to enlighten him the way I was enlightened at this moment. I wanted him to yearn for the touch of my skin, the brush of my lips, the tickle of my hair. I guided his hands to my breasts and let him massage little circles over my nipples. I nearly screeched at the high; the entire club jumping, everyone watching, his friends howling at his table... I loved every second of it.

But every high has a comedown, and as the music changed, the voices lulled and the strobe lights illuminated my client's face, reminding me of what he looked like. My dance slowed and I peeled myself off his lap.

I said nothing as I evenly pulled my bra back on, covering my breasts. His friend came up to me and handed me a crisp $100. "Thanks so much darlin´," he smiled kindly and spoke in a southern drawl, "It's his birthday today and he hasn't been out in a long time." I looked to my client for verification and saw that he was in something of a daze, laying back in his seat, shyly peaking at the rest of the dancers. I thanked him and searched for my next seizure of the night.

One by one, piece by piece, I set my snares and entangled them in my clasp. I confined them to my emanation, they slipped onto me, willingly, spilling over my leaking vibrations. It was too easy... Too easy. Every so often I would make my way over to the bar and wordlessly share a moment with Winter. She invoked a fire inside of me, and I was ready, casting my gaze over the deconstructed pieces of the night.

It all happened rather suddenly. To this day, I couldn't tell you what he looked like, what his features consisted of, or what he was wearing. However, I can recall the tremble in my soul. The sudden deafness of the club was enough to assemble my attention. The pause in the DJ's mix wasn't by accident, nor was the momentary illumination of the club's lights, nor was our instantaneous eye contact. I didn't think -- rather, reacted-- in moving towards him with effortless flow. I reached him with a blank mind and a wordless scan. He didn't speak, either. The lights dimmed once again and I felt fearful, as if he would disappear if I let him out of my sight. As I adjusted to the dark, I searched my mind for the words, looked for an indication of his resistance, and waited.

"Hello, beautiful." He said. The compliment was empty and automatic. He looked passed me as he said it, though he was peering into my eyes.

I recall inspecting his body and I recall the blue hue illuminating off his skin. I also recall that the club lights did not flash blue that night.

I couldn't tell you if I spoke next, or if he did, or how it was decided that we would head into the champagne room. I do remember my hand grasping his firmly. I remember being scared to let it go.

I remember as he secured the curtains of the champagne room. I remember the pouring of liquor, the clinking of glass, the burn of my throat as we made our way onto the couch. I arched myself above him, knees on either side of his thighs, digging into the velvet. Slowly, ever so slowly, so as to take my time with him, I ground my hips into him. He didn't rush; his eyes lacked hunger. His hands didn't move, superficially placed on the couch. He wasn't impressed.

The fire grew in my stomach, kindling as it made my way to my throat. Almost as if sensing it, his right hand moved, and he lightly placed his fingers around my neck, quelling the burn. He didn't push, though I tried to bring the fire back so that he may. His other hand placed itself behind my head.

The music from the club suddenly seemed louder and more influential. It teased through my body and guided my movements. Every sweep of skin stimulated a shock which instructed my advancement. My bones dissolved and I became serpentine in my movements, trying to get closer to him. His hands remained on my neck and head. I looked him in the eyes.

Admittedly, I cannot recollect how it happened, but I do remember how it felt. His cock had joined the running, and, using his hand to guide me, I bent forward and took him in. This time, I was the one who was patient. I was slow in my movements, tasting him, learning his curves. His head had borders that protruded more than the average, and I could only think about how badly I wanted him inside me. How it would feel to have his thick cock pop me open, smoothly lining my stomach, inching me closer to pleasure that extended beyond all means of human comprehension. I wanted to slip my panties aside and climb on top of him, force him to feel me, but I told myself to be patient, for he had been. I savored his taste and drank it in, moistening his skin so that I may become part of him.

"You're doing so good," He said, his voice nectar-sweet, though his movements were becoming rugged, "So good for such a pretty little girl." My brain shot a jolt of pleasure down my spine. "Do you want a treat for being such a good girl?" He asked, and I nodded, cock still in my mouth. He arched into the air, thrusting himself out of my me and reached into his pockets, which were now at his ankles. He pulled out a white baggie and his keys, then laid himself back down onto the couch comfortably. I began to get up to move, but he commanded, "Stay the fuck where where you are." I was paralyzed.

Using his key, he scooped a bit of the coke from the bag and piled three bumps onto his stomach, right above his cock. He told me to sit at the edge of the couch, in between his legs. I did, awaiting his next order.

"Every time you can take my cock down that pretty little throat," He told me, grabbing the back of my hair, "You can have a bump. Understood?" I nodded wordlessly.

I'd done cocaine enough times in my life to know what it felt like, but it felt like I finally knew what cocaine felt like. I worked for all three bumps, not truly caring if I would take them or not, but wanting nothing more than to press my nose up against his stomach and make him proud. With each bump, I celebrated by taking his cock deeper inside me. He was diamond-hard now, and that made my pussy throb and drip. I was so wet that I knew you'd be able to see the glint of my juices through my gem-covered panties, not knowing where the jewels began or ended.

"Please," I croaked, looking up at him. An outsider might've thought I was in trouble, or begging for help. My mouth was red and chapped, my pupils dilated, my hair knotted. However, I was begging him for more. I was begging for him.

"Say it," he said intensely, grabbing my head to look him in the eyes. I couldn't.

"Pl-"

"Say. It." He enunciated each word.

I licked my lips.

"I want you."

"You want me?" He asked, tightening his grip on my hair and bringing me close to his lips, "Or you want this cock?"

The fire rose once again. Hesitant, I touched his cheek with my fingers, grazing his beard. I didn't dare kiss him, but I tilted my head as I examined his eyes.

"I want all of you." I responded honestly. The cocaine had made its way into my brain.

"Well then, enjoy." He said, fluidly and effectively, moving my panties aside with his stiffened cock and sloping inside of me. The fire had relocated, and I nearly screamed at the pleasure. It was just as I imagined, as he unfurled my insides, causing my walls to expand. I bit down on his chest to keep myself from shrieking. He released his vexation into me. I took it, proudly, bouncing in synchronicity with him, grinding into him, grabbing his shirt with all my fingers, wanting to be closer to him, somehow.

I could feel him tightening, if possible, even further, as his cock prepared to burst into me. I knew it was coming, and I wanted nothing more than for that moment to happen. I inched my lips closer to his face, still refusing to touch his, and guided my pussy's walls to flow in the same tempo as his thrusts. Finally, when he could no longer handle it, he grabbed my shoulders and pressed me down on him securely -- for a moment, I deluded myself into believing that he, too, wanted to reach my level of intimacy -- and grunted outwardly while filling me up with his cum.

"FH-uckkk." He drew the word out as his soul returned to his body, and both of us, panting, returned to our state of life. I peaked at him from behind the curtain of my hair, but his eyes were closed as he laid back into the couch cushion. He looked younger, almost childish in his face, and though he didn't say anything, I knew it was time for me to leave. I slipped my panties back in place and stepped out of the champagne room, leaving him to his space.

The club seemed quieter, though it was still packed. I made my way over to the bar, hoping to regain a sense of normalcy. How many hours had passed? Two, three, eight? I hadn't the slightest idea, but I needed to grind myself back into reality. I looked for Winter at the bar, and found her at the end, by the cash register. I took a seat at the bar stool, pretending to not notice the man on the other side eyeing me for a dance. I, at least, needed a shot first.

Winter turned around and looked at me. "Oh, hey there, baby!" She exclaimed, with a higher pep than usual in her voice. I said nothing as she poured the tequila for us both, waiting for her to guide me with her shot-ritual like she did every time.

"Guess what?" She said, raising her glass, "I just fucking quit. Cheers to that!" Our glasses clinked and we swallowed the alcohol. I'd hoped that the fire would quell the emotions rising up inside of me now. I began to lightly shake in the dark, my mind rushing to find an explanation to the feelings that I was experiencing. But I didn't feel a fire in my throat at all. It was ice. Piercing, biting ice.