Disturbed and discusted, he stubbed out his cigarette in a black plastic ashtray and pushed away from the bar. It was time for a change of scenery. Using the matches he'd swiped from the bar, he took the pack of Indonesian clove cigarettes from the breast pocket of his suit and lit one with a sneer. Smoking took some of the edge off, but he was still rather tense and ill at ease.
The room wasn't large enough to contain all the writhing, vinyl-clad bodies inside it. The bassline of the music was the pulse of the crowd, fast and thumping loudly, hollow within his chest. He took another drag from the thin black cylindar held between his fingers and took a few cautionary steps to his left. The air was slightly less tight there, nearer the stairway leading to the more open upstairs. He breathed in deeply, taking a gulp of the cleanest air in the place before he plunged back into to pungent heat and sweat of the crowd.
He wormed through the the middle of the dance floor and to the far wall, having mixed feelings about the nameless, faceless bodies that bumped and rubbed against him as he went. He slipped like a sleek shadow along the black-painted concrete walls, sliding past the press of plastic bodies, his hawk-eyes skimming the wriggling mass all around him. He kept his back to the wall, lest he feel suffocated by the human heat that already threatened to overwhelm him. The atmosphere of the club was rather hellish, with its low ceiling, smoky air and red lights. As if the bodies of the dancers weren't creating enough heat, the furnace blew out warm air to add to the feeling of claustrophobic hell.
He could feel the music thumping in the pit of his empty stomach. He wondered what it would be like to join the rest of those who had surrendered to its rhythm, sharp and constant and insistant. But he wasn't there for recreation, nor was he a participator, as a rule. No matter where he went, if the job didn't specifically require that he be directly involved in the goings-on of his surroundings, he was an observer; nothing but a pair of silent, intense eyes and wisps of cigarette smoke.
He circled around the crowd a second time, careful not to singe hair or burn holes in the shiny PVC all around him with his cigarette. He smoked purely reflexively, as though he were simply breathing, his icy eyes never leaving the swarm. If he got glances from people, he ignored them. His mind was on his mission, not anything these people thought they had to offer the tall, thin man in the black suit. Inhale, exhale. Suck, blow. This was tricky business. Even if the subject of his assignment was present here, which he had been fairly confident of before he'd arrived, there was no telling if he'd be able to pick him out of the crowd. Only a handful of these people looked like they would if you saw them on the street during the day, at their jobs, shopping in a store. Most of them were squeezed into some painfully tight costume, their faces caked with make-up, their movement possessed by alcohol and the intoxicating music booming through the speakers. He wondered if perhaps his employer hadn't sent him here as some kind of sadistic joke. He wouldn't put it past her, but he went on searching, regardless. She would be very displeased if the lead had turned out to be legitimate, and he failed his assignment.
More than once, his front brushed past the gyrating backside of an attractive female. The amount of exposed skin to be viewed was more than one would normally find at a beach. A woman glanced up at him from under her long, black (fake) lashes as he passed her and her dance partner, who ground against her from behind, his head buried in her thick bleach-blonde hair. He took a long pull from his cigarette and clenched his jaw. His libido was jumping up, biting at his ankles, demanding to be acknowledged, satsified, but he forced it down, refusing to break his professional concentration. He wanted to touch, but he clenched his unoccupied fist at his side, took a quick pull from his cigarette, and moved on.
The stations set up along one wall were starting to spring to life, where as before they had just been a series of empty leather cuffs, whips and riding crops hung on hooks bolted to the wall, and various medical-looking tables and beds lined up in a row, eerie and abandoned. There were a few menacing devices that he couldn't quite identify, but his imagination easily filled in the blanks. He wondered why anyone would partake in such things in a public setting, and in the case of some of the more extreme fetishes, even at all.
He briefly scrutinized the lines of people forming behind the stations, but didn't find who he was looking for, so didn't linger. Before he could take more than two steps away, he was accosted by a brunette in spike-heeled vinly boots that went all the way up her fishnet-clad thighs. She slapped a riding crop threateningly accross his chest and said, "You look like you need to be punished."
He swallowed thickly and narrowed his eyes. He'd been able to successfully slip away from any situation which may have prevented him from completing his assignment until then. He squared his jaw, took a drag from his cigarette and moved to sneak past her, but her hands caught him firmly by the lapels and held him close to her. He could feel the press of her soft bosom against his chest as she plucked the cigarette from his hands and took a puff. "Aw, come on. You know you want it," she purred, blowing smoke at him.
He inhaled sharply through his nose and stared her down, daring her to not let him go. But she wasn't threatened. She was a trained dominatrix, and not about to let herself be intimidated by anyone, no matter how imposing. He could tell that she was not going to relent, and he didn't intend to employ force to get her out of the way. Besides, his libido was getting more and more difficult to repress. he idid/i want something other than to be pointlessly scanning the crowd for someone he didn't even know would be there. His job usually gave him much more of a thrill than this, and he found himself longing for something more...tangible. Satisfying. Hair.
He could resist the blondes easily enough, but this girl's hair was a rich brown and it shined in the dim red light in such a way that he couldn't simply overlook. Before another velvet word could slide past those fat cherry lips, he reached up and curled his fingers delicately around a chestnut strand. An inquisitive expression came over her doll-like features as he carressed her locks almost lovingly, rubbing the strands between his fingers. He was visibly affected by the sensation, and a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"You like hair, huh?" she asked, her voice low and sultry. He wouldn't have been able to hear her if they hadn't been so close. He responded by reaching around, grabbing a fist-full of her hair and thrusting his head over her shoulder so that his face was buried in the dark waves. He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes in ecstacy as the delicious smell of sweat and shampoo washed over him. He pulled her closer and he felt her arms wrapping around his slim waist as he continued to nuzzle and sniff. He ground his teeth as he tightened his grip on her hair, trying to suppress the urge to tear it out. It was so soft and full, and it smelled so wonderful. The effort it took to resist caused the thin veins at his temples to throb and his heart to beat faster. She was rubbing up against him, moaning, muttering something about giving in, letting go. So he did.
She shrieked in pain as he pulled away from her with a rip. Her hand flew to her stinging scalp as he pressed his prize to his face, rubbing it over his cheeks, his mouth, breathing in its scent. When he opened his eyes, they were glazed and full of lust. It was a familiar sight to her, yet it hadn't ever affected her quite this intensely. His eyes glowed demonically in the red light, pupils small black dots in the middle of colourless orbs. The sight sent shivers down her spine.
"Now you definitely need to be punished," she purred when she could speak again. She brandished her riding crop at him, forcing him backwards toward the wall where the stations were now teeming with cracking whips and the rattling of chains. He didn't appreciate being pulled from his reverie, the handfull of her hair still soft and fragrant against his parted lips. But he supposed it was only fair.
She strutted over to him, grabbed him firmly by the wrists and brought his arms down to his sides. He felt too weakened by desire to resist, so he didn't try. She slid her hands under his suitjacket, pausing to rub his broad shoulders a little before removing his outer layer of clothing. She hung it on an vacant hook on the wall and immediately and deftly began unbuttoning his shirt. His spine stiffened as he felt her breath on his exposed, sweaty flesh. She tugged on the knot in his tie, loosening it and slipping it out from under the collar of his shirt, but not removing it. She took off his shirt in the same way that she'd removed his jacket and his skin prickled with gooseflesh as his shirttails were untucked from his trousers. His fist tightened around the soft tangle of hair as he allowed himself to be led away from the wall by the necktie like a dog on a leash.
"Right this way, you bad boy," she said as she positioned him below a pair of red and black leather cuffs hanging from a beam in the ceiling. He looked up at them, blinked, and before he could register what was happening, one of his arms was suspended above his head, his wrist secured in one of the cuffs. He quickly tucked the hair into his pants pocket before she could buckle him into the other cuff.
"Ready?" she asked him, her eyes heavily lidded, her voice like satin. He gave a curt nod, a strand of his gelled hair falling into his face and sticking to his sweaty forehead. As much as he would normally have been opposed to being thusly exposed, it was nice to be rid of the upper half of his rather stifling ensemble.
"You look like you like it rough," the brunette commented as she disappeared behind him, no doubt selecting a toy from the wall. Not two seconds later, a redhead in pigtails and a ruffly lace outfit walked up to him. She would have been pretty if it weren't for the superflous amount of make-up that she wore on her face. Mascara, red lips, white powder, blush. She even had freckles painted on the apples of her cheeks to make her look younger. It didn't work. She was the opposite of the hardened dominatrix that had put him in this compromising position. A lolita, despite the fact that she was probably his age.
"Looks like you did something naughty." Her voice was sing-song and childlike to match her costume. He didn't find it at all arousing.
He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes, trying so hard to look innocent, so he stared at her platform Mary Janes, instead. That was when he felt the first slap of the whip land on his back. It wasn't even enough to make him flinch. He supposed she was starting out slowly. He hoped she would work up to something a bit more substantial, and not take her sweet time doing it. If he was going to have this done to him, he wanted it done properly and without delay.
Suddenly, the lolita girl had gotten closer and was planting light, teasing kisses over his bare chest. Another weak lash fell across his back as her mouth found his nipple, closed over it and began circling it with her tongue. He closed his eyes and deflated with a breathy sigh, sagging slightly in his restraints. The girl giggled against his chest, her curly pigtails tickling his sensitive skin. The most torturous thing about the experience thus far was being unable to touch her hair. She looked up at him breifly before moving over to tend to his other nipple. He knew that most of the pleasure in this sort of thing was supposed to come from teasing, but it was only making him frustrated. In a bad way.
He cast a steeley glance over his shoulder at the brunette, hoping she would get the message.
"You want more?" she asked, lightly tracing his spine with her fingernails. He nodded once, glaring. The other girl began kissing, licking and biting his neck, but he didn't look away from the brunette.
"You got it, baby." She raised her whip and let it slap against his back with a loud 'crack!'. His eyes closed, his lips parted in a silent moan and his head tipped back as the pleasure-pain tingled him all over. The place where the whip had touched stung deliciously. He both dreaded and longed for another lash. When it came, he sucked a breath in through his teeth and let it out with a low, barely audible moan. The lolita girl felt the slight vibration in his chest and giggled, but he paid no attention. The emotion he felt from the punishment he endured was so intense, it frightened him. He knew he deserved it far more than the girl giving it to him could possibly comprehend. Penance for his sins. It was at once terrible and wonderful.
Within minutes, he was a panting and sweating mess, his bangs hanging limply over his eyes like a black curtain. His chest was heaving, the skin and muscle stretched taught over his prominant ribcage. He strained the front of his trousers, aching and throbbing and completely unable to do anything about it. He loved and hated the experience, and he supposed that was kind of the whole point. It was humiliating and frustrating, uncomfortable and downright painful, but oh-so pleasurable at the same time. And it seemed to never end. One crack after another sounded in his ear as the lolita continued her ministrations on his neck and torso, kissing a line down the center of his abdomen, dipping her tongue into his belly button, ghosting over the light trail of hair that disappeared below the waist of his pants. She looked up at him coquettishly as he stared down at her, begging her with his eyes to do something. But he knew she wouldn't. This place was only one step up from a strip club. The entertainment here was at least hands-on, but still left you wanting. He wondered how many many men had finished themselves off pathetically behind the closed doors of the restrooms. He wondered if he would be able to stop himself from doing the same.
When the redhead stood back up and pressed against him, once again latching her little painted mouth to the side of his neck and lapping softly, he thrust his hips forward, desperately seeking relief from the ache between his legs. She responded to this action with a sharp nip, which only encouraged his hips to move on their own. She broke away, her eyes never leaving his, and hooked her thumbs in his beltloops. He wanted to kiss her, suddenly. Needed to. His countenance was trembling as he stared back into her eyes, absently running his tongue along his top teeth. She smiled sweetly and leaned forward, their mouths a breath away. He lunged forward, almost snarling, demanding satisfaction. She bit her lip and pulled away, but his eyes continued to beg. After a few more moments of teasing, she pressed herself up close to him and kissed him full on the lips. Her tongue found its way into his mouth and he moaned, unable to help himself.
After a few more moments of intense kissing and stinging lashes to the red and sensitive flesh of his back, he spent himself shamefully inside his trousers and sagged, boneless against the redheaded lolita.
"Had enough?" he heard the brunette croon from behind him, and he nodded weakly. Smirking, she came up and unfastened first one cuff, then the other. He found it difficult to stand, his knees were so weak. But he managed, and noticed for the first time that their little show had attracted quite an audience. He felt his cheeks flush and was grateful for the dim red lighting. He wiped the sweat from his face and slicked his hair back out of his face, trying to retain some shred of dignity. The brunette smugly handed him his clothing, which he clutched to his chest, his breath still coming in raspy pants. She stood there, smiling at him for a moment before waving over the next victim.
He walked away in a daze, back stinging, heart pounding. He found a safe place in a corner and put his shirt back on, wincing. He decided to forgo putting the jacket back on, and simply reached into his breastpocket to retrieve a much-needed smoke. He stood there in the dark corner and smoked it, calming down and trying to focus once again on what he was supposed to be doing, but it was pointless. Even if his subject was there, there was no way in hell he was going to find him. As infamous as he was for being able to "find a needle in a haystack", this haystack was quickly wearing on him.
Then he spied a familiar face grinning at him wickedly from the shadows. His eyes widened in horrified recognition, then quickly narrowed in anger. She laughed and offered him a small wave. He bared his teeth and spun on his heel toward the exit, shamed and defeated and mad as hell about it. He felt insulted that his time and talents should be wasted on stupid, sadistic games.
He pushed the door open violently and the cool night air was pleasant on his flushed skin, but did nothing to calm him. He figured that soon he would hear the click of heels, her voice calling after him down the alley, but he didn't stop or look over his shoulder when his predictions came true. That crazy bitch could go fuck herself, and leave him the hell alone.
Author's Note: If you hadn't guessed, the "bitchy boss" who is alluded to is none other than the ex-Angel Madison Lee. I'm thinking of writing a follow-up chapter, but I won't be able to include it here, due to smuttage.