by Ashley Logan
I laugh so hard that I snort several times, causing Kat to laugh too. “She’s a traitorous, gold-digging weasel, who’s never worked a day in her life actually,” I say, blotting a laughter tear from my eye with a tissue. “I credit myself on not following her teachings. I just studied YouTube tutorials for sexy eye makeup and as you said - practiced.” Still chuckling a little, I try to steady my hand to finish Kat’s eyeshadow.
“You never really talk about your family,” Kat says quietly, trying to keep still.
I blow excess powder from the brush and sweep it across her eyelid. “Now you know why,” I say, my smile fading.
“Do you talk about it in group?”
Meeting her eyes for a minute, I force a smile. Her face is a portrait of friendly concern; she is just checking up on me. Fortunately for Kat, she’s not a survivor of abuse, so she doesn’t attend the same support group some of us do.
“Sometimes.”
Giving a solid nod, she presses her lips together. “As long as you can talk to someone. What are you wearing tonight, Vixen?” she asks, changing the subject for my benefit.
Shrugging, I smile more genuinely and plump up her lashes with more mascara. “What would you recommend, Angel?”
Her eyes travel my face, pausing on my hair for a while, as if she’s imagining how it will look when she’s done. “I think embrace the natural heat that’s radiating off you. Red and slinky. Not the bright red, the deep one. With bare feet. And I think you should forget sleek hair and just let your waves flow. They’ll be tousled by the end like you’ve been fucked well. They’ll love it. Shit, I’m getting hot just thinking about it,” she adds, shaking her head at me. “I think I’m responding to your pheromones, Vi. I gotta go sit on the other side of the room for a while,” she says, grinning at me in the mirror as she checks her makeup. “Thanks for the beautiful eyes.”
“They were beautiful before,” I correct her as I nudge her away with my foot. “I just highlighted what was there.”
Teeny squeals as Smith’s deep voice comes over the speakers introducing Diamond to the stage. Clad in shimmering white sequins that contrast beautifully with her chocolate skin, the acrobatic beauty checks herself once more in the full length mirror before trotting out the door.
My phone chirps. Digging it out of my deep robe pocket, I smile as I see the screen.
“That lover boy?” Scar calls from across the room.
“Scar! Please don’t call him that!” I growl, turning my back to the room to shield the phone.
Serge: Hey Vi. About this weekend - I’m running a self-defense class at the Rec on Saturday afternoon. You’re welcome to come. Maybe we could go for a coffee after?
Me: What time is the class? Me and the guys have rehearsal at midday, but that’s at the Rec anyway.
Serge: 2pm
Me: Mind if I bring some friends?
Serge: More the merrier. You dancing tonight?
Sucking my bottom lip into my mouth, I steal a glance at the others in the mirror to make sure nobody’s watching my cheeks get redder.
Vi: I’ll be on around midnight. Why? Thinking of coming to watch?
I hit send before I second guess myself. It’s bold, but with the mood I’m in, I don’t care. Maybe Bruno’s right and Serge is interested. Maybe he just needs to know he has options before he’ll forget about pursuing Gina.
When my phone remains silent, I start to have my doubts. I’m busy pondering what I should write to downplay the suggestion and revoke the flirtation when my phone lights up again.
Serge: Do you want me to?
My pulse kicks up a notch and fresh heat spreads through my body. The ball’s in my court. Does that mean he will if I say yes? Where will that lead? He’ll either be scared off completely, or too noble to end the friendship - but never be able to look me in the eye again, or he’ll come upstairs after the show and put an end to my sexual suffering. My insides clench at that thought. Fuck.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath before tapping out the truth.
Me: If you want to. But once you’ve seen, you’ll never be able to unsee.
Setting my phone on the counter, I walk to the clothes rack and flick through the outfits, looking for the deep red silken number that Kat has suggested. Hanging it on the hook next to my station, I run a comb through my hair. Kat’s right; I should leave it out.
Serge: Sounds ominous. What are we talking? Scales for skin? A tail? Tattoos of all the Looney Tunes? Covered in fur? Secret penis?
Laughing quietly to myself, I sigh.
Me: No ink, scales, fur or extra appendages; just Violet. Uncensored. If that sounds too ominous, I’ll just see you Saturday for ass-kicking class. :)
Serge: OK.
OK what? OK he’s coming, or OK he’ll see me Saturday?
Frowning at my phone, I know I’m not brave enough to clarify it with him. I’m not even brave enough to scan the audience for his face. I don’t want to know if he comes to watch and then bolts. I don’t want to know if he doesn’t come at all. Hopefully our friendship continues as usual, but if he does come and drags me upstairs to bed after, I will be happily surprised.
Pulling my legs up into my chair, I smile at Teeny as she bounces back in, a huge grin on her face. Shoving any worries about Serge aside, I leave it to the powers that be and think about nothing but dancing out all my pent up sexual energy. It’s going to be a long wait until my set.
“AND THE LAST LADY OF the night, but well worth the wait... please welcome to the stage... Vixen!”
Smith’s radio-worthy voice rings out and a shiver runs through my body, the way it always does before a show. My music starts, the beat slow and hypnotic to start.
Stepping one bare foot on stage, I travel to a different place. The spotlight follows me, lighting a path as the world behind me drops away.
Here, I am Vixen; a goddess of sexual power that every man wants to fuck, but only the chosen will be blessed with the honor.
Ignoring the audience, with their whistles and calls, I hear only the music.
My body moves on its own. Driven by internal emotion, it follows the beat as it picks up. My pulse rises too, along with my desire to be touched. After a slow-burn series of graceful movements I like to think of as inviting the chosen one, I center myself on stage for the real show.
Snapping my body to the beat, I kick it up a notch. My hands become not just my own, but those of a lover. Tender, rough, whatever I decide as I move with the music. I arch my back, stretch my limbs, my hands grasping the air with the urgent need I feel at my core. Wrapping myself in imaginary sheets, I fall gracefully into an invisible bed, rolling with a fictitious lover and presenting myself to be his. Gripping those same imaginary sheets, I fling my head back, tossing my hair away from my face so he can see my raw desire.
Kneeling, my hands grab at my body as the music builds and my imaginary lover makes his own desires known. Achingly slowly, I smoothly slide one of my shoe-string straps down, before yanking down the other and letting the fabric of my dress settle in soft folds on my hips. Dancing topless, I accentuate the curve of my breasts with a sweep of my purposely posed hand. Not even touching myself, I still manage to cause my erect nipples to harden even more. Gripping myself firmly, I make several sharp movements with my hips that could only be construed as someone taking me roughly from behind.
Slowing my hips into a leisurely rotation, I let one hand drop from my shoulder and drag down my breast and stomach, leaving faint pink marks in its wake. Traveling down my bare skin, my fingers run over the silky material of my dress, pressing to my body beneath. Rocking my pelvis into my hand a moment, I let my other hand trail down from my other shoulder in the same way.
Straightening, I look outward, to where I know the audience is, even though I’m blinded by the lights and my own imagination. Licking my lips in a deliberate tease, I close my eyes slowly; seductively.
Both of my hands travel slowly up the silky fabric to my bare belly, the
n slip behind the dress and lower again. I move in time with the easing music, my hands hidden only by the strip of slinky red material and giving the illusion that I’m touching myself. Sinking slowly to the floor, I continue the charade as I lie on my back. My hips rock to the music as it begins to fade. With the last few beats, I rock my head back, arching of my neck as my chest thrusts skyward. Rolling to my side, my back to the audience, I slide my legs along each other as my toes curl.
The curtain falls, muffling the deafening applause. My spotlight disappears, leaving me to pull myself out of the lusty stupor I’ve driven myself into. Standing carefully on shaky legs, I pull the straps of my dress back up and walk back to the dressing room.
Serge doesn’t make an appearance, so I head to my room early and take care of myself. While I’m disappointed I’m alone, I’m grateful I still have a friend.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SERGE
Looking through the glass in the gymnasium door, Serge felt his pulse quicken and his stomach flutter. He’d arrived early to set up, but the gym was in use - by Vi and her colleagues. He watched as they ran through some sort of dance routine that looked nothing like the erotic dancing he’d expect to see from the group.
Watching them finish, Serge found himself envious of the way they laughed and pushed each other around. As they started their warm down process, Serge forced his eyes to leave Vi.
They hadn’t been in touch since the night he’d asked if she was dancing and she’d asked if he was going to watch. Thinking about it made the hair on his head bristle and his cock twitch. Thinking of unpleasant images to replace those in his head, he stomped on all of the urges he’d been having since. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.
“Well if it isn’t Sergio Moretti!” Nina Pryzbylewski said fondly as she came forward, embracing him warmly. “I heard you’ve been floating around. How have you been?”
Serge returned her smile. “I’m doing okay, Nina. Thanks.” Looking around the group, he held up a hand. “Hey, everyone.” Stopping when his eyes met Violet’s he lowered his hand. “Hey, Vi.”
“Serge,” she said, tilting her head a little as her striking eyes penetrated the invisible shields he’d put up to keep her from affecting him. Her position as she stretched did nothing to help the situation either. Swallowing roughly, he nodded to himself and adjusted the bag on his shoulder as he forced his eyes elsewhere.
“Which of you guys has the gym key?” he asked, his husky voice betraying him. Clearing his throat, he ran a hand through his hair. “I need to get the floor mats out for my class.”
Following the sound of the jingle, his eyes flew back to Vi. Trying not to smile, she threw the keys to him.
“Thanks,” he said, avoiding her eyes and her sweet ass as she bent to retrieve her water bottle.
“You need some help setting up?” she asked, following him to the double doors at the end of the gymnasium.
“Uh, sure,” he said, commanding himself to be cool. “That’d be great.” Fumbling with the keys, he dropped them before he could get them to the lock. Bending to pick them up, he kept his eyes on the task and breathed deeply. “I’m expecting my associate Mitch to turn up shortly, but he’s often running late, so if you guys want to help out, I’d really appreciate it.”
“We’d love to help, Serge. You seem nervous,” she said more quietly. “Are we okay?” she asked, her tone uncertain.
Clearing his throat as he opened the door to the storage cupboard, he turned to her. “Yeah. We’re good, Vi. Just nerves about class, I guess. I’ll be fine once we’ve started,” he added, hoping it was the truth.
“Good,” she said, sliding past him to get to the mats.
Serge tensed as she grazed by and quickly opened the other door, before she could brush past him again. The others started to move in too, grabbing mats and hauling them out. Making quick work of it, they were all set up when Mitch came waltzing through the door.
Coming to a sudden stop, he looked around the gymnasium and checked his watch.
“I’m not even late!” he said in a vaguely British accent, shaking Serge’s hand as he scanned the dancers’ faces. “Bloody hell, where’d you advertise? A modeling agency?”
Trying to keep his smile in check, Serge introduced Mitch to those dancers he knew, and the others volunteered their names.
“These guys were just rehearsing,” he explained to Mitch, before pausing. “What is it that you guys are rehearsing for?” he asked Vi. “It looked different to what I expected.”
Laughing at him a little, Vi looked around the group. “We’re hosting and performing in an evening fundraiser at the Shea’s Buffalo in about a month. It’s to support a domestic violence minimization program in schools.”
Wide eyed, Serge turned to Nina. “You’re hosting GlamSlam? Kelsy from the Center was talking about it the other day. How did I not know it was you?”
Nina shrugged, and viewed her dancers. “We’re not looking for recognition, Serge. We just want to make a difference. It’s not like I was keeping it from you. I told Gina about it a week or so ago when I dropped off some tickets for you guys to pedal at the station.”
“G’s been off sick since last weekend, so that’s probably why she never mentioned it,” Serge said, quietly. “I’ll see that they get sold. Sorry, Nina. You know we’ll support.”
Nina patted him on the shoulder. “I know, stupid, that’s why I went to see you guys. I’m sorry I missed you, but Gina said you were off saving the world. Is she okay?”
Serge didn’t want to go into details. “She says she’s doing much better - back to work next week she thinks.” He didn’t think about where she might be working. As far as he knew, no transfer had been granted. Yet.
“Good,” Nina replied, eying up Mitch, who had just stepped into her space. Her eyes dropped to the floor quickly and she backed away as people began filing in for the self-defense class.
Mitch closed the doors when the gym was full enough and Serge began his introductions, explaining who they were and what they hoped to achieve by running the class. After pointing out soft tissue targets on his ‘delightful assistant’ Mitch, Serge went on to demonstrate simple breakaways and some basic, but effective methods of rendering an attacker unable to pursue, thereby providing a better opportunity to run to safety.
“Now that you know a few things, it’s time to try them out. I’ll be needing you to pair up, taking turns as both attacker and victim, so that everyone gets to practice breaking away. And remember that when you are acting as attacker, you are in fact acting. Talk with your partner to be sure they are as comfortable with the way you are touching them as they can be in the circumstances. If someone calls “stop”, then stop immediately and step back. This is a safe environment.”
People milled about, standing together once they found their practice partners.
Vi stepped toward him. “Odd numbers. Mind if I work with the pro?”
Gulping down the knot in his throat, Serge surveyed the room and found she was right. Turning to Mitch, he shrugged. “Guess you’re on technique help by yourself, bud.” Giving him a disbelieving smile, Mitch rolled his eyes and strolled around the group as if out on patrol.
Turning back to Vi, Serge gestured toward a free space and followed her. “I don’t need to practice my break-aways, so you get the whole time to show me you’re the wrong girl to cross,” he said as she stopped.
Looking over her shoulder, she assessed his position. “How are you going to attack me?”
Heart pounding, Serge bit his tongue to keep from blurting out his immediate thoughts.
“Are you okay with me attacking you from behind?” Creep. That was just as bad.
Blushing a little, she nodded and faced the other way. Still in her dancing tights, her long legs moved back and forth restlessly and her arms dangled at her sides, fingers rippling as if unable to keep still.
“Approaching,” he said in warning as he stepped closer. “Hand grab,�
�� he said, as he took her slim wrist in his much bigger hand and spun her around. Moving with the motion, Vi twisted her wrist and rolled it over his thumb, making him lose his grip.
“Very good. Then what?” he asked.
“Run.”
“And if I lunge and grab both hands?” he asked, doing just that.
Again, she completed the breakaway, but this time followed up with an aggressive maneuver. The heel of her hand stopped a mere inch from his nose.
“Okay, slugger,” he said, unable to hide his grin. “What if I grab that pretty ponytail and yank it as you run away?”
Spinning under his hand, she thrust his wrist upward at an awkward angle, forcing him to release. “Nice. Choke hold from behind,” he warned, dropping his forearm over her head and pulling her back until her body was pressed against his.
That was a mistake. Every urge he’d tried to suppress came back with urgency. Resisting as much as he could, he tried to act natural, so as not to draw attention from others. The last thing he needed was to be delivering a self-defense workshop with a hard on. Fucking creep.
“Shit. Why does your hair smell so fucking good,” he rasped in her ear as he began to panic. “Hurry up, Vi. Kick me in the balls or something. Anything.”
Her rear pressed into him harder. Not good! Loosening his grip to get away from her, he met trouble as Vi held his arm in place, not giving him the option of space. “Vi,” he pleaded in a whisper. “Shit.”
Suddenly he felt her push back hard with her hips as her grip on his arm tightened. Bending forward, she pulled him over her shoulder. He landed on the mat with a thud, but Vi wasn’t finished. While he was still stunned, she twisted his arm, forcing him to roll onto his stomach, then she thrust the same arm up his back.
“Will this do?” she whispered in his ear.
Twisting his head to meet her eyes, he saw them laughing. With his erection already deflating from the shock, Serge sighed in relief. “This is perfect. You’re pretty good at that.”