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jadedmusingsTitle: Homesick (Part 4/?)
Fandom; Pairings: Original; AU Selene/Ballari
Prompt: #255 - Jackhammer
Warnings: Allusions to violent sex.
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,152
Summary: Before she can plan her next job, Selene needs to clear her head at a dance club. Sadly, this means dealing with an entitled jerk.
Notes: I admit it. My inner twelve year old giggled when she saw the prompt and wouldn't let it go. And who better to use it as an insult than Selene? Uh, anyway, you'll realize that I've skipped part three, which hasn't been written yet. It's on my list, but first there's another piece I have to finish (this weekend), so sorry about that! I'll let any interested parties know when it's written (and yes, that part will be NC-17).
Journal-Specific Notes: I need to do another post for filters so people can let me know what they want to see. Any erotica I've written/will write is filtered (what little there is), and if you want to be in that filter, just leave me a comment or PM me. LJ or DW, doesn't matter, the filters work on both journals.
After a full day of playing mistress and inventing new ways to torture and pleasure my pet, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to plan an assassination. My mind was too jumbled and my emotions too erratic to focus on such a detail oriented task. Though Ballari seemed to have accepted and even enjoyed discovering my dark side, I wasn’t foolish enough to believe she wouldn’t have a change of heart when it was all over. I thought it best I look for a way to unwind and clear my mind somewhere away from the beach house. That meant spending a few hours losing myself in the music at one of the local dance clubs.
While perusing the long list of clubs near my location on John’s computer, Ballari staggered into the room to check on me. She’d run a brush through her waist-length hair, but she’d neglected to do much else, including dress. As she walked the strands of hair covering her chest would shift to offer glimpses of her breasts along with a few of the bruises and scratches I’d inflicted.
And a part of me wanted to gather up her hair in my fist and drag her back to our bedroom to mark her body some more. Instead, I forced my eyes back to the monitor to read over some reviews written about the more exclusive clubs.
“You should be resting,” I said. “You’re going to be sore in the morning.” I glanced up long enough to see her grin and reach for the pen and pad of paper on the corner of the desk. I heard the pen scratch the surface of the paper as she scribbled out a quick note.
Couldn’t sleep. What are you doing?
“Looking for a nice place to go dancing,” I answered. Her grin faltered and she cast her eyes down at her feet, so I added, “Just to dance, my pet. I’m in no mood for more.” That wasn’t entirely true. My libido was such that I could conceivably do more had I really desired, and while Ballari knew not to expect monogamy from me, I really was only looking to dance. Besides, she was more than capable of sating my sexual appetites. Also, night clubs here meant being approached by men, and I didn’t need to go out to find one to scratch that particular itch.
Reassured, Ballari’s allowed a cautious smile and watched me jot down information between clicking links.
“You’re more than welcome to join me tonight,” I offered. “I know how much you love to put on a good show.”
She shook her head and picked up her pen again. You need to think. I’d be a distraction. I’m too sore.
I smiled. She was right, she would be a distraction, and I might get caught up in mocking the jerks who felt entitled to ogling two women. And then I’d pull her off to a dark corner to pin her against a wall while I put my hand up her skirt…
I shook my head and pulled that train of thought into the station to come back to later. Looking up at her, I gestured to a spot of carpet to my right. “Come keep me company while I pick out a place.” My tone was friendly, but there was no mistaking the command, one she was quick to obey. She came around the desk and knelt next to my seat, her head the perfect height for me to pet while I continued my search.
It didn’t take long for me to pick out two clubs, but I lingered at the computer a little longer than necessary so I could play with Ballari’s hair a few minutes longer. She shivered whenever my nails scratched her scalp and the back of her neck. Sadly, it was getting late and I was eventually forced to order her back to bed with promises to wake her when I got home.
With one last look to double-check the addresses, I headed out into the night.
***
Clan-Destiny wasn’t the most exclusive club in the city, but it was near the top of the list. Situated a scant five blocks from the shore and surrounded by a few upscale hotels, it drew in a sizable crowd once the sun went down. While the pun for a name made me inwardly groan, if the bass resonating outside the entrance was any indication, I’d be right at home there.
Engaging in a bit of nepotism, I dropped John’s name at the door and, after a quick I.D. scan, I was granted entrance without having to pay the steep cover charge. It’s difficult to say if I had John to thank for saving my wallet or my cleavage-revealing, leg-baring painted on midnight blue dress. Seeing as John wasn’t much for a club scene that didn’t involve lounge singers, his name was probably only good for getting me in the door. I was betting my pleasing visual appearance garnered me a hefty discount.
Beyond the door was a darkened corridor with a narrow set of cement steps leading down to the main part of the club. Neon-blue track-lighting provided enough light so I wouldn’t misplace my foot and take a tumble. I’d been smart enough to wear thick-heeled knee-high boots suitable for dancing, but I took a moment to pity the women forced to navigate the stairs while wearing stilettos. As I neared the bottom, white smoke from what I assumed was a fog machine wafted through an open doorway. It took on hues of blue, red, and yellow as the lights from the club changed in time to the music pumping from somewhere in the back.
I stopped at the door to study the layout of the place. To my immediate right was a bar several feet long. Behind it stood three bartenders, two women and one man with a shaved head who were already pretty busy filling drink orders. Some were placed on trays for a couple of waitresses to take away while others were set in front of customers either sitting on stools or standing in front of the bar. On the left-hand side of the club was a row of booths on a raised platform overlooking the dance-floor. The lighting was such that it was hard to make out any real detail beyond knowing which tables were empty and which were occupied.
Probably a great make-out spot, I said to myself and made my way over to the bar, catching the attention of the male bartender who offered me a nod in greeting.
I passed him a large bill folded in my palm and said, “Not drinking much tonight except water. Toss me a bottle whenever I leave the dance floor?”
He smiled and pocketed the money. “Mind giving me a name in case you do decide to run up a tab?”
“Selene.”
“John’s friend?” He spread his hands in response to my sudden look of suspicion. “They called from upstairs to let me know you were coming down. Anyway, don’t worry about it, just have a good time.”
“I intend to,” I replied with a wink, ignoring that he’d kept my tip and focusing my attention toward the dance scene.
Typical of the relatively early hour, not many people were dancing. Around the edges were a few men and women taking stock of the night’s offerings thus far. On the dance-floor were a handful of couples engaged in conversation while doing little more than bobbing their head to the beat. The center of the floor was mostly clear, which meant I had enough space to maneuver through the sparse gathering and stake out a little territory for myself. The music changed and I quickly found my rhythm.
The beat carried me away as one song bled into the next. With my mind focused on moving my body in time to the music, it provided a temporary reprieve from the problems facing me. I was dimly aware of the occasional body next to mine, but fortunately their owners were respectful enough to share a little moment and then move on to the next, or they simply admired my moves from afar.
By the time my thirst indicated I should take a break, the club grown considerably crowded. My decision to befriend the bartender paid off and he tossed me a bottle of water from a couple of feet away so I wouldn’t have to muscle my way into the throng of people ordering drinks. Liquid refreshment in hand, I found a suitable dark corner and relaxed against a wall while I caught my breath and watched the mass of bodies trying their best to keep up with the music.
I smelled the jerk long before I could hear him speak. He wore the aroma of cologne like a second shirt and I wondered if it was possible to achieve that level of rankness from only one bottle. It was an expensive brand, one I’d known John to wear on the odd occasion. Of course, John understood the concept of “less is more” applied even when the product in question cost more money than some people made in a month. This fellow seemed to feel that if one had money he should also smell like it.
Before I could let him know I wasn’t interested, he waltzed right into my personal space, leaned forward, and rested his forearm on the wall above my head. My eyes watered from the smell and I fought the urge to gag; not because it was rude, but for the simple fact that I didn’t want to get vomit all over my clothes.
“I saw you dancing,” he shouted over the din. “You looked good.” Either he didn’t care about my level or comfort, or he misread my look of disgust as one of pleasure. Or maybe it was a bit of both.
“Uh, thanks, I guess.” I ducked under his arm and stepped closer to the dance-floor, grateful for a breath of cleaner air. Naturally, he followed and took a spot next to me.
He ran a hand through his hair drawing attention both to its lustrous sheen and the watch on this wrist that cost no less than six figures. “You dance professionally?”
“You could say that.”
“What companies?” Of course this jerk would think “ballet dancer” before “stripper.” Like his cologne, his hair, and his accessories, he seemed to think that if it looked expensive it was which also meant he had zero idea of how cheap he appeared to anyone who wasn’t him.
“None you’ve ever heard of.” Given that I wasn’t from his world that was definitely true.
“Well, it just so happens that I have a few connections in the dance world.” He inched closer and placed a hand on my lower back. “How about you come back to my place for a private audition?”
To my credit I neither laughed in his face nor went for the knife hidden in my boot. Instead, I placed a hand on his chest and calmly pushed him back. “Cut the bullshit because it’s so not going to happen.”
“What’s not going to happen?” Were I a clueless and desperate young woman, I might have believed the confused innocence in his expression. Unfortunately for him, I was neither.
“You getting me in your bed so you can ignore the bored look on my face while you jackhammer away until you get your rocks off.” I gave him my nastiest smile. “It might only take two minutes, but I’m a busy gal and it’s just two minutes I can’t spare tonight.”
He waved his finger at me warningly. “You don’t know who I am—"
“Right and you didn’t bother to get my name either so it can’t be that important, can it?”
His lower jaw worked up and down as he tried to formulate words, reminding me of the fish in John’s aquarium at feeding time. “You…you…bitch!”
I cocked my head slightly to the side and pushed my lower lip out ever so slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were used to rejection, otherwise I might have been nicer.” I reached out to pat his forearm. “Don’t worry, one day you’ll get that trophy wife who’ll be too enamored with your money to care that you can’t satisfy her in the sack. Besides, she’ll have access to the best vibrators money can buy.”
As I walked away, I think he hurled a few more epithets at me, none of them terribly creative. I knew there was a chance he was the sort of man who might retaliate and try to teach me a lesson, but all that would do is give me an excuse to bury a knife in his gut.
Oh, please let him be that stupid. I’m itching for a good fight.
Fandom; Pairings: Original; AU Selene/Ballari
Prompt: #255 - Jackhammer
Warnings: Allusions to violent sex.
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,152
Summary: Before she can plan her next job, Selene needs to clear her head at a dance club. Sadly, this means dealing with an entitled jerk.
Notes: I admit it. My inner twelve year old giggled when she saw the prompt and wouldn't let it go. And who better to use it as an insult than Selene? Uh, anyway, you'll realize that I've skipped part three, which hasn't been written yet. It's on my list, but first there's another piece I have to finish (this weekend), so sorry about that! I'll let any interested parties know when it's written (and yes, that part will be NC-17).
Journal-Specific Notes: I need to do another post for filters so people can let me know what they want to see. Any erotica I've written/will write is filtered (what little there is), and if you want to be in that filter, just leave me a comment or PM me. LJ or DW, doesn't matter, the filters work on both journals.
After a full day of playing mistress and inventing new ways to torture and pleasure my pet, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to plan an assassination. My mind was too jumbled and my emotions too erratic to focus on such a detail oriented task. Though Ballari seemed to have accepted and even enjoyed discovering my dark side, I wasn’t foolish enough to believe she wouldn’t have a change of heart when it was all over. I thought it best I look for a way to unwind and clear my mind somewhere away from the beach house. That meant spending a few hours losing myself in the music at one of the local dance clubs.
While perusing the long list of clubs near my location on John’s computer, Ballari staggered into the room to check on me. She’d run a brush through her waist-length hair, but she’d neglected to do much else, including dress. As she walked the strands of hair covering her chest would shift to offer glimpses of her breasts along with a few of the bruises and scratches I’d inflicted.
And a part of me wanted to gather up her hair in my fist and drag her back to our bedroom to mark her body some more. Instead, I forced my eyes back to the monitor to read over some reviews written about the more exclusive clubs.
“You should be resting,” I said. “You’re going to be sore in the morning.” I glanced up long enough to see her grin and reach for the pen and pad of paper on the corner of the desk. I heard the pen scratch the surface of the paper as she scribbled out a quick note.
Couldn’t sleep. What are you doing?
“Looking for a nice place to go dancing,” I answered. Her grin faltered and she cast her eyes down at her feet, so I added, “Just to dance, my pet. I’m in no mood for more.” That wasn’t entirely true. My libido was such that I could conceivably do more had I really desired, and while Ballari knew not to expect monogamy from me, I really was only looking to dance. Besides, she was more than capable of sating my sexual appetites. Also, night clubs here meant being approached by men, and I didn’t need to go out to find one to scratch that particular itch.
Reassured, Ballari’s allowed a cautious smile and watched me jot down information between clicking links.
“You’re more than welcome to join me tonight,” I offered. “I know how much you love to put on a good show.”
She shook her head and picked up her pen again. You need to think. I’d be a distraction. I’m too sore.
I smiled. She was right, she would be a distraction, and I might get caught up in mocking the jerks who felt entitled to ogling two women. And then I’d pull her off to a dark corner to pin her against a wall while I put my hand up her skirt…
I shook my head and pulled that train of thought into the station to come back to later. Looking up at her, I gestured to a spot of carpet to my right. “Come keep me company while I pick out a place.” My tone was friendly, but there was no mistaking the command, one she was quick to obey. She came around the desk and knelt next to my seat, her head the perfect height for me to pet while I continued my search.
It didn’t take long for me to pick out two clubs, but I lingered at the computer a little longer than necessary so I could play with Ballari’s hair a few minutes longer. She shivered whenever my nails scratched her scalp and the back of her neck. Sadly, it was getting late and I was eventually forced to order her back to bed with promises to wake her when I got home.
With one last look to double-check the addresses, I headed out into the night.
***
Clan-Destiny wasn’t the most exclusive club in the city, but it was near the top of the list. Situated a scant five blocks from the shore and surrounded by a few upscale hotels, it drew in a sizable crowd once the sun went down. While the pun for a name made me inwardly groan, if the bass resonating outside the entrance was any indication, I’d be right at home there.
Engaging in a bit of nepotism, I dropped John’s name at the door and, after a quick I.D. scan, I was granted entrance without having to pay the steep cover charge. It’s difficult to say if I had John to thank for saving my wallet or my cleavage-revealing, leg-baring painted on midnight blue dress. Seeing as John wasn’t much for a club scene that didn’t involve lounge singers, his name was probably only good for getting me in the door. I was betting my pleasing visual appearance garnered me a hefty discount.
Beyond the door was a darkened corridor with a narrow set of cement steps leading down to the main part of the club. Neon-blue track-lighting provided enough light so I wouldn’t misplace my foot and take a tumble. I’d been smart enough to wear thick-heeled knee-high boots suitable for dancing, but I took a moment to pity the women forced to navigate the stairs while wearing stilettos. As I neared the bottom, white smoke from what I assumed was a fog machine wafted through an open doorway. It took on hues of blue, red, and yellow as the lights from the club changed in time to the music pumping from somewhere in the back.
I stopped at the door to study the layout of the place. To my immediate right was a bar several feet long. Behind it stood three bartenders, two women and one man with a shaved head who were already pretty busy filling drink orders. Some were placed on trays for a couple of waitresses to take away while others were set in front of customers either sitting on stools or standing in front of the bar. On the left-hand side of the club was a row of booths on a raised platform overlooking the dance-floor. The lighting was such that it was hard to make out any real detail beyond knowing which tables were empty and which were occupied.
Probably a great make-out spot, I said to myself and made my way over to the bar, catching the attention of the male bartender who offered me a nod in greeting.
I passed him a large bill folded in my palm and said, “Not drinking much tonight except water. Toss me a bottle whenever I leave the dance floor?”
He smiled and pocketed the money. “Mind giving me a name in case you do decide to run up a tab?”
“Selene.”
“John’s friend?” He spread his hands in response to my sudden look of suspicion. “They called from upstairs to let me know you were coming down. Anyway, don’t worry about it, just have a good time.”
“I intend to,” I replied with a wink, ignoring that he’d kept my tip and focusing my attention toward the dance scene.
Typical of the relatively early hour, not many people were dancing. Around the edges were a few men and women taking stock of the night’s offerings thus far. On the dance-floor were a handful of couples engaged in conversation while doing little more than bobbing their head to the beat. The center of the floor was mostly clear, which meant I had enough space to maneuver through the sparse gathering and stake out a little territory for myself. The music changed and I quickly found my rhythm.
The beat carried me away as one song bled into the next. With my mind focused on moving my body in time to the music, it provided a temporary reprieve from the problems facing me. I was dimly aware of the occasional body next to mine, but fortunately their owners were respectful enough to share a little moment and then move on to the next, or they simply admired my moves from afar.
By the time my thirst indicated I should take a break, the club grown considerably crowded. My decision to befriend the bartender paid off and he tossed me a bottle of water from a couple of feet away so I wouldn’t have to muscle my way into the throng of people ordering drinks. Liquid refreshment in hand, I found a suitable dark corner and relaxed against a wall while I caught my breath and watched the mass of bodies trying their best to keep up with the music.
I smelled the jerk long before I could hear him speak. He wore the aroma of cologne like a second shirt and I wondered if it was possible to achieve that level of rankness from only one bottle. It was an expensive brand, one I’d known John to wear on the odd occasion. Of course, John understood the concept of “less is more” applied even when the product in question cost more money than some people made in a month. This fellow seemed to feel that if one had money he should also smell like it.
Before I could let him know I wasn’t interested, he waltzed right into my personal space, leaned forward, and rested his forearm on the wall above my head. My eyes watered from the smell and I fought the urge to gag; not because it was rude, but for the simple fact that I didn’t want to get vomit all over my clothes.
“I saw you dancing,” he shouted over the din. “You looked good.” Either he didn’t care about my level or comfort, or he misread my look of disgust as one of pleasure. Or maybe it was a bit of both.
“Uh, thanks, I guess.” I ducked under his arm and stepped closer to the dance-floor, grateful for a breath of cleaner air. Naturally, he followed and took a spot next to me.
He ran a hand through his hair drawing attention both to its lustrous sheen and the watch on this wrist that cost no less than six figures. “You dance professionally?”
“You could say that.”
“What companies?” Of course this jerk would think “ballet dancer” before “stripper.” Like his cologne, his hair, and his accessories, he seemed to think that if it looked expensive it was which also meant he had zero idea of how cheap he appeared to anyone who wasn’t him.
“None you’ve ever heard of.” Given that I wasn’t from his world that was definitely true.
“Well, it just so happens that I have a few connections in the dance world.” He inched closer and placed a hand on my lower back. “How about you come back to my place for a private audition?”
To my credit I neither laughed in his face nor went for the knife hidden in my boot. Instead, I placed a hand on his chest and calmly pushed him back. “Cut the bullshit because it’s so not going to happen.”
“What’s not going to happen?” Were I a clueless and desperate young woman, I might have believed the confused innocence in his expression. Unfortunately for him, I was neither.
“You getting me in your bed so you can ignore the bored look on my face while you jackhammer away until you get your rocks off.” I gave him my nastiest smile. “It might only take two minutes, but I’m a busy gal and it’s just two minutes I can’t spare tonight.”
He waved his finger at me warningly. “You don’t know who I am—"
“Right and you didn’t bother to get my name either so it can’t be that important, can it?”
His lower jaw worked up and down as he tried to formulate words, reminding me of the fish in John’s aquarium at feeding time. “You…you…bitch!”
I cocked my head slightly to the side and pushed my lower lip out ever so slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were used to rejection, otherwise I might have been nicer.” I reached out to pat his forearm. “Don’t worry, one day you’ll get that trophy wife who’ll be too enamored with your money to care that you can’t satisfy her in the sack. Besides, she’ll have access to the best vibrators money can buy.”
As I walked away, I think he hurled a few more epithets at me, none of them terribly creative. I knew there was a chance he was the sort of man who might retaliate and try to teach me a lesson, but all that would do is give me an excuse to bury a knife in his gut.
Oh, please let him be that stupid. I’m itching for a good fight.
