She downs her first drink quickly. Dressed like that, she's working up the courage to do something foolish. She needs a drink or two to steady her nerves.
I crook my finger and Nate comes over. "Another?"
"I'm buying for the lady at the bar," I say.
Nate glances at her and smiles. "I thought so," he replies.
Nate returns with my drink, then delivers one to her. She looks over and smiles at me, and I raise my glass in a long-distance toast.
I walk over and take the seat next to her. We make small talk, and I try to look fascinated as she tells me about her life. She practically blossoms, she is so grateful to have someone paying attention to her.
She's getting teary-eyed about her granny's apple pie or some such nonsense when I cut her off. "Let's dance."
I lead her onto the crowded dance floor without waiting for a reply. We make the most of being pressed together in the center of the floor as our bodies slide and grind against each other.
She spins around and starts grinding her ass against me. I put my hand on her bare thigh below the steadily rising hem of her dress. I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close and brushing my fingers against her breasts through the thin, silky fabric of her dress. She stiffens for a split second, then resumes grinding.
She leans her head back and I kiss her neck. I let the hand on her thigh drift higher, then slide it between her legs until I am stroking her sex through her panties.
She glances around. No one's paying any attention. I push her panties aside and tease the lips of her pussy. She keeps grinding, so I slip inside and begin fingering her.
This is why she came here. She's playing the bad girl tonight, dressed for danger.
The music ends and I reluctantly turn her loose. "Want to get out of here?" I ask.
She looks at me as she considers the question. I lick my fingers absently and look her over. A nice girl playing dress-up, doing her best slut imitation here in the Disney fantasy of a clean, well-lighted club. She's a little unsteady on the high heels and her eyes don't quite focus after two cocktails.
I know her type. I adore her type, truth be told. She's too sheltered to be a full meal, sexually. She'd run back to her boyfriend or her daddy if she caught a glimpse of real-world hungers. But her sweet body and fair skin are undeniably attractive. She's a delectable little amuse-bouche.
I take her hand and walk briskly toward the club's rear entrance. I don't look back. I know she is tripping, practically running to keep up with me in her silly shoes.
I wonder what brought her out tonight. Did she catch her man texting another girl? Is she celebrating a new job? Is she dancing with strangers to create an illusion of connection after a dip into Sartre has offered her a view of the existential loneliness at the core of every thinking person?
I don't know. And honestly, I don't care. At all. She has soft curves and a wet pussy whose savor I have discreetly smeared on my pulse points like perfume. Eau de jeune fille. Luscious.
Did I ask her name? Fuck. I don't remember. I'll just call her "baby." I'm sure she's used to that.
We push through a beaded curtain and into a long hallway. I turn to face her. "Did you get rid of it?" I ask.
"Hm?" Her eyebrows scrunch down and her brow is decorated by two perfect, utterly darling furrows.
"People come here to unload accumulated excesses," I explain patiently. "Boredom, loneliness, or sobriety. Which were you trying to get rid of?"
She purses her pretty lips. "A little of all three, I guess," she says. Which is the same as no answer. I shrug mentally. What did I expect? I remember the taste of her on my wet finger and remind myself that we are unlikely to have time for small talk anyway.
"Poor darling," I murmur. I reach out to her cheek, caressing it gently as I slide my fingers back to her ear, and then the back of her neck. I grab a hank of hair and pull down sharply.
Her gasp tells me I'm right about her. A blush creeps up her pretty neck. "I think we're going to be good friends."
I push her back against the wall, then step close, the full length of my body pressing against her. I pull head to one side as I drop my face to the base of her neck. I graze my lips against the delicate flesh, lick goosebumps.
I don't have to look at her face to know that her eyes are closed. She is giving herself to the moment, letting herself be guided by the warmth radiating from her pussy and the thrill of placing herself in a stranger's hands. It turns her on to submit to me, to belong to me, to be used by me.
I slide my leg between her thighs and feel her clamp down. If I let this go on she'll start humping my leg and dissolve, in two or three minutes, into a puddle of girlcum there in the hallway.
I break away and look into her eyes. It takes only a moment for her to drop her gaze to the floor. She imagines I can read the desire in her eyes.
I don't need to. I can smell it on her.
I take her hand again and hurry her down the hallway. We push through the service door and out into the alley behind the club.
I kiss her again. Her chuckle dissolves into a gasp as I reach back and take her ass in two hands, pulling her against me, thrusting with my hips. She rolls her hips back against me and I am caught up in her for a moment as we begin thrusting against each other. My second-best strap-on is in the backpack I left at the coat-check. I could go get it...
But no, that's not what I want tonight.
I take a step back, appreciating her little mew of frustration. I appraise her in the moonlight. "Take off your dress," I say.
"Wha—"
"Your dress," I repeat. "Take it off. Now."
She stands looking at me, mute and slightly drunk, her pale cheeks and delicate neck flushed with passion. She favors me with a half smile and an ironic curtsy, then reaches back to fumble with the clasp at the back of her neck.
"I said now," I say. I take a step forward, grab the neck of the red dress, and yank hard. The sound of ripping seams echoes in the alley as a yard of department-store polyester floats gently down to puddle at her feet.
"Over here," I say. I pull her over to a car parked in the alley, awkwardly spin her around, and push down until she is bent over the hood. I hold her down with a hand at the back of her neck as I yank her wet panties down roughly, then kick her feet apart to spread her wide to me.
I happen to see her face then in the moonlight. I see the exhilaration, the arousal. Yes, there's a hint of fear. But mostly she is turned on as she stands there exposed, nude in a moonlit alley, ass raised and spread wide for a stranger who has already fingered her on a crowded dance floor.
I tug my scarf off and pull her arms so I can bind her wrists together behind her back. The knots won't hold her long if she decides to get her hands free, and I don't need her bound anyway. But being tied will intensify what she feels next. And it will give her conscience something to cling to in the morning. It's the least I can do after ruining her dress.
I pick up her soaked panties and lift them to my face, letting the perfume of her arousal fill my nostrils. I wad up the panties and push them into her mouth.
I step back then and we regard each other. I fully dressed, standing, in complete control of the situation. She stripped naked, bound, legs spread wide in lewd invitation as she sprawls over the hood of a stranger's car.
Her eyes widen as I unclasp the broad leather belt at my waist.
I think of myself as an artist sometimes. Don't laugh; I'm serious. I don't sculpt. I don't paint portraits with oil or watercolors. I have devoted myself to an unconventional medium, I suppose.
I am making art tonight. The leather hisses through the air and lands with a satisfying crack against the soft skin of her lovely ass. Each blow leaves a welt, a raised line in red, throbbing with blood. Tomorrow there will be bruises, livid purple blotches serving as canvas for my dark design. The pattern of blows is lovely against her pale white skin.
She writhes and she squirms and she cries out against the improvised gag, but she makes no serious attempt to get away.
And even by moonlight, I can see the juices trickling from her pussy down her thighs. When I push my fingers into her later, I know, I will find her slick and hot, slippery, wet, the lips of her sweet pussy swollen with desire.
I can hardly wait.
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