© Sauce*Box, Fall 1996.
All rights revert to author.
The Dance
by Artemesia
The room is enormous, but with the hundreds of people inside, there is a feeling of being underwater, the heat from the gyrating bodies hanging over me like a heavy wool curtain. I can barely see through the haze, the smoke so thick that I am wearing a veil of it through which each person remains strictly anonymous.
I decide to venture out onto the dance floor, the throbbing beat of the music filling my being, my heart racing with the rapid fire pace of the song. As I begin to dance, I slowly move inward through the throng of people, to the center, the pulsing nucleus. Suddenly, a face appears before me, from out of the crowd. He is here.
I never believed that I would see him again; his dark brooding eyes, his pale skin, that body that turns me to smoldering ashes with his touch. After that long ago night, I thought that he had disappeared, a mere figment of my imagination. His eyes caught my gaze, his stare boring in my soul, baring all of myself to him. From this man I can keep no secrets. He reaches out and touches my hand, electricity sparked from his fingertips, he begins to dance, pulling me close. No words are spoken, only an understanding that I am his. We dance together, our bodies melding into one, a foreboding of what is to come. We are approaching a frenzied volume of desire, and when I can stand it no longer, suddenly I am pulled from the dance floor.
I follow on his arm, people pushing against me, each body I touch setting off more desires from within. I know where I am being led, and the mere thought drives me wild with anticipation. There is a coat closet in the far end of the club, and he knows that no one will bother us there. Quickly, I look around, apprehensive, but the self-centered horde has no care for my activities. Suddenly, his hand pulls me forcefully into the dark, womblike room. He pulls me in, practically onto his body, and shuts the door. Complete darkness engulfs us, only the pounding rhythms in the air reminding me that we really exist.
Without words, I know what is going to happen. I feel him against my body, his scent, all his own, a mixture of alcohol, clove cigarettes and musky cologne that overwhelms my senses. He kisses me, our tongues entwining, the heat filling my being, the contact making my skin a full body receptor, feeling the brush of his coat, the feel of the hard bulge of his cock against my waist. His hands travel my body, rough and uncaring, fondling my breasts, my nipples erect and waiting. I move my hand down to the front of his jeans, feeling the hardness that awaits behind the buttons. His hand slips up my thighs, over my fishnet stockings, underneath my skirt, finding the hot, wet treasure that he seeks. I moan as he slips a finger into my throbbing pussy, his thumb rubbing expertly on my clit. I am hurriedly trying to undo the snaps of his jeans, eager to free the one thing that my body craves.
He pins me against the wall, hiking my skirt up around my hips. With one quick, deft thrust, he enters me, sending explosions of delicious heat throughout my body. Thrusting against my body, he kisses my neck, grasping onto me as if I were a possession for him to hold on to with desperation. With each thrust he ventures deeper inside me, I cry out, a mixture of pleasure and pain. Faster, with more urgency, harder and harder, the orgasm building within me, the danger of being caught heightening each sensation. He moans loudly in my ear, his thrusts building up speed. I am now practically shouting, the loud music drowning out my cries. I am gripping his leather jacket, the surface slick with the sweat beneath my hands. With a great gush of heat and explosions of ecstasy, I come, my body tensing as I cry out. Spasms wrack my body, I grab his face, kissing him deeply. The feeling of my body shuddering against him makes him explode against me, and he comes violently inside me. With the brute force of his orgasm, he pins me against the wall, impaling me as his come fills me inside. The pain mixes with the pleasure, a feeling that only a moment such as this could bring. As I finally acquire my equilibrium, I go to speak, to tell him that I want to see him, not to run away again--but before I can mutter the words--he is gone. I am alone in that claustrophobic room, my body aching from his rough hands, alone, with the music, the loud throbbing music, filling the void that he left behind.
* * * * *
Your critique of this work is appreciated.
Please e-mail the author.