Hot Flash! The New Dancer!

Janelle and Rosa were at the bar, Janelle with her usual martini and Rosa with some fruity concoction that looked fairly naked without an umbrella to decorate it.  With her hair tied back in a ponytail at the base of her neck and her business skirt and jacket in place, she looked like the person who would be doing the club’s books, not one of its patrons.  When she’d agreed to meet Rosa after work for a drink, she had no idea it would be at a place like this, filled with impossibly pretty people bouncing to a mishmash of thumping beats and remixed versions of classic songs from the eighties.

“It’s cool, right?” Rosa asked, shouting over the din of the club.

Janelle looked out from the bar, elevated by several steps and separated by winding iron railing.  The wide dance floor was bathed in neon lights, casting the patrons in pink and purple hues.  Wide columns in the room where draped in graffiti, most of which was salacious.  A pair of cages hung on either side of the main stage, and Janelle blushed at the sight of the barely-clad dancers gripping the bars and tossing their hair, while a trio performed on the main stage.  The girls there were clad in some kind of rubber outfits, almost identical to one another save for differences in the shapes of their bodies and the color of their hair.  It was like a fetishistic uniform they were given before stepping onstage.

“It’s nice,” she replied, raising her voice, too.

In reality, this was just the kind of place she preferred never to set foot inside.  It was filled with the smells of alcohol and sweat and something beneath it all, something musky and rich and inexplicable.  All things being equal, Janelle would have preferred to be at home, binge watching some police procedural on Netflix.

But Rosa had insisted, and so she had come.  It had always been that way, ever since high school.  Rosa led and Janelle followed.  Her personality was so warm and friendly and she was possessed of the kind of charisma it was difficult to ignore.  It made her feel weak, sometimes, that she couldn’t seem to tell Rosa ‘no,’ no matter the request.

“You want to dance?”

Janelle looked back to the stage, where a pair of the rubber-draped dancers were holding onto one another, and she could see the pink f their tongues as they lost themselves in an open-mouthed kiss.  It made her supremely uncomfortable.

“Can’t we go somewhere where we can just hang out and talk?”

“Not yet,” Rosa grinned and tilted the martini in Janelle’s hand up to her lips, and she took a scalding swallow of the gin-infused drink.

She supposed it was the fashion these days for girls to advertise sexual ambiguity, to have no issue with displays of Sapphic affection, but Janelle barely comfortable with a man, much less a woman.  She was pretty enough, quite stunning if she was being honest with herself, but her demure demeanor kept her in the shadows.  When men hit on her, which happened quite a lot, she retreated and stammered her way out of conversation.

“I’m dancing,” Rosa declared.  “You come find me when you’re ready to have fun.”

Janelle sighed as she watched her friend navigate down the steps, the dress she wore hugging her ample backside and showing off her long legs.  It didn’t hurt that she also had more than a little jiggle on the other side, either.

Janelle wallowed down the rest of her martini.  If she could another drink, maybe two, in her and work up the courage to go do some dirty-ish dancing with her friend, then perhaps she could put the night behind her.  She was halfway through the second drink of the evening when the man in the blue suit and black undershirt approached, aw ire dangling from his ear indicating that he was with the staff.  Maybe security.

“Could you come with me please?”

“Is there a problem?”

Janelle felt the man’s hand on her elbow, firm like a vice.

“You don’t look like you’re having a good time,” the man said, his grin icy.

Janelle felt the prick of a needle pierce her left buttock, sinking into the round flesh and injecting something into her.  Before she could protest further, a warm calm settled over her, making her eyelids flutter and her body sag.  She found her feet moving as she was pulled along by the stranger she had mistaken for a bouncer, and she distantly felt surety she was about to be taken from the club and placed in some van where she would be whisked away for all manner of tortures.

She distantly registered surprise when she realized she was moving past the bar to a narrow hallway that ran behind the main floor of the club, the conical lights overhead throwing pools of light on the cement floor.  She was shuffling, barely able to stand, yet she remained on her feet, the grip on her arm a constant that she could rely on to keep her from collapsing to the floor.

She found herself falling after what seemed like forever, and bounced on the cushions of a sofa in a red-draped back room of the club.  There were vanities beside her, lined by glaring bulbs of a violet hue, empty chairs placed before them.  There was an odor here, too, something synthetic and wet.

“Hello, dear.”

Janelle’s eyes pried themselves open, seeing the woman sitting before her for the first time.  The man who had brought her here stood behind the woman, his hands clasped together in front of him as he looked at her dispassionately.

The woman was in black, some material that reflected the light of the room, her eyes made up darkly to give her a feline appearance.  Her lips were similarly painted dark, but her skin was pale, almost ivory.

“Aren’t you the pretty one?”  Her tongue slid around the words, and Janelle felt her body shiver, though she felt less and less a part of it.  The world was coming through in a haze, but she could feel warmth around her, as if she were wrapped in cotton.

“Who’re you?” she managed, the words coming out thick and slow.

“I’m the one who set you free.  I saw you, watching your friend enjoy herself.  I wondered, what would make such a beautiful creature feel so apart from the joy around her?”

The woman stood, and Janelle saw she stood on very tall spikes heels, her legs wrapped in the same black material as the corset-style top that lifted her ample breasts.  She bent to Janelle, filling her vision entirely.  She had a scent of flowers she brought with her, and her pale skin seemed even more stark in contrast to her dark makeup as she leaned close.

“I want you to feel pleasure, my sweet.  I want you to be pleasure.”

She pressed her lips to Janelle’s forcing them open as a gloved hand held her chin, and the woman’s tongue snaked into Janelle’s mouth.  A hand reached between her legs and pressed hard against her mound, rubbing her as she returned the kiss as much out of an inability to refuse it as anything else.

When the kiss broke, Janelle panted, the hand at her crotch still working, still stirring her sex to warm and begin to lubricate.

“I can make it so that all you ever feel again is pleasure.  Would you like that?”

Janelle’s eyes rolled up in her head as she grew wetter, and now there were hands on her breasts, the man she had mistaken for the bouncer, she thought, standing behind her, massaging her over her top.  It felt good, but everything suddenly felt richly sensual.  Her body hungered to be touched, and she found herself spreading her legs for the black-clad hand that pressed against her.

“My pet likes to be stroked,” the woman was saying, and Janelle felt her top opened, the buttons skittering away as she was violently exposed.  “My pet loves to be touched.”

She did.  She wanted to be touched and rubbed.  Her tongue flicked out to lick her lips.  It was wrong, she knew on some base level, but she could not deny her body’s impulses.

“Your breasts are lovely, pet,” the woman was saying.  “They should be seen and touched.  Don’t you agree?”

Janelle moaned.

“Say ‘yes,’ pet.”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Tell me you want to feel this way.”

The hands twisted her nipples, making her gasp and buck her hips against the hand that continued its relentless stroking of her pussy.

“I want to feel this way,” she sighed, and she heard the tearing of cloth as her top was cut away, revealing her bra.  This, too, was quickly dispatched, leaving her bare and exposed above the waist.

“Tell me you’re my pet.”

Janelle couldn’t think past the words.  It was easier to agree if it meant she could feel more.

“I’m your pet.”

The woman’s hand retreated from her sex, drawing a sigh of disappointment from Janelle, but at least the hands on her tits remained, kneading and pinching, making her pussy flood and pulse.

“Give her the other shot,” she told the other man.  She couldn’t focus on his face, but she saw him bed to her, saw his arm extend and she felt the cold needle pierce her skin.  With it came the familiar pressure of fluid injected into her, and then an accompanying bliss unlike anything she’d felt before.  It was like an orgasm, only it only grew and never receded, reaching new plateaus until she could think only of the need for it to go on.

She was lifted by her arms, and the skirt and panties she wore were removed.  She was grateful.  She hoped her body would be enough to entice someone close to touch her, or, better yet, bend her over the chair and fuck her properly.

Instead, she felt her body being powdered with something that smelled vaguely sweet while cooling her skin.  She felt it on her nude body like a thousand pinpricks of pleasure.

“Get her in the suit.”

The woman said it, so it must be good, Janelle knew, and allowed the hands to manipulate her body as she felt something tight and clinging cover her feet, then her waist and arms.  All the while she felt her pussy and tits left exposed, making it the perfect outfit as far as she was concerned.  She loved feeling herself exposed, on display, tantalizing.

Hands worked at her face, applying makeup, making her features dark and sultry, and finally she was eased into tall heels that made her legs look lean and long and seductive.

The woman was before her again, using her pinky to wipe away a smudge of makeup.  She smiled.

“My pet likes to perform.”

Before she could respond, Janelle was moving through the hallway again, but a different direction, she thought.  It didn’t matter, really.  All that mattered was that hands continued to touch her.  The bounce of her breasts as she moved made her feel delicious.

And then there was music and light and she was looking down on the dance floor.  Lights were swirling around her and hands were reaching out to her, bringing her close, and bodies were moving against hers, all of them dressed the same, extensions of one another.  She moved in rhythm with them, in time with the music, and felt the slick, rubbery body of another like her pressed against her, reaching out for her.  Janelle found her mouth and kissed her, hands raising to feel the stiff tips of her breasts.  There was nothing more or less than pure pleasure as she danced with the woman holding her by the ass, their tongues swirling together.

From the dance floor, Rosa looked up at the stage where another of the latex-clad dancers had joined the performance.  She looked more wanton than the others, her face obscured by the mouth of another as they shamelessly kissed.  She looked back to the bar where she had left Janelle, now missing.  Rosa shrugged.  She’d probably gone home after Rosa made her way to the floor.

Onstage, the newest member of the club’s stable of dancers came under the brief touch of a latex-wrapped sister against her glistening pussy.  She hoped the music would never stop.

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