By J. L. Mayne
She dances with the room. The music from the speakers vibrates up from the floor, radiating through her bones. She takes in the bodies around her, the crowd moving as one, the addictive notes caressing their brains, they submit to the melody. The sweet smell of sweat and alcohol permeating her nostrils. She allows one to pull her in, their two bodies moving synchronously.
She moves with him for a time before passing to another. A girl, with long blond hair and tight jeans. She tastes her neck, presses her breasts against the girl’s back, grinds against her, then shoves her away in a fluid motion, all part of the dance. All a part of her game to find the perfect morsel. She drags in another, flirting with her eyes, with her seductive sway, with playing that she is almost innocent; innocent, but willing to do just a bit more than dance.
He grazes her inner thigh with his fingers,wanting to feel her, she pushes his hand away smoothly as they dance. His hand returns, another attempt, she allows just a little more, waiting like a spider with its prey. Allowing it to get just a little closer. An easy kill is always best.
Their sway changes with each song. She beguiles him, hints at things to come. His hands feel her curves through her skin-tight blue dress.
Others watch them, envy plain in their eyes. They flock to her as though under a spell. Her sweet nectar just out of reach. She waits to consume them as though she were a pitcher plant; them the flies. Falling into her, only to be consumed.
She slides her hand up his leg, his back, nails dig at his neck, she pulls him in to taste his breath and whispers in his ear; succulent nothings that torment his loins.
She guides him to her apartment. Their groping continues up the flight of stairs. A pinch, a flirtatious smile with a blush on her cheeks.
The door slams shut behind them and the lock clicks. They fall onto the couch to continue their movement as one. She attacks him with her whole, tearing off his clothes. The facade of innocence removed now that she has him captive. She bites his neck, digs nails into his back.
He begs her for more.
She doesn’t care what his name is. Doesn’t expect that she will see him for long. She never does. She only cares that for now he belongs to her. Any whim she desires he will deliver, as long as their dance continues.
She crawls off of him, adjusts her dress and hair and takes a picture of him with her phone, a dumb smile plastered on his face. He doesn’t know who she is. Never will. He only sees the body, only cares what next piece of meat he can put his dick in.
She smiles back, playing into the act. Letting him believe she is his. That this meant something.
He’s just another piece of meat.