Club Girls by William Porter Tracy
The music pounded hard bass and loud lyrics. I sat in the corner, alone, smoking carelessly. A brown bottle perspired on the table, waiting for my lips. My eyes danced over the grinding and thrusting bodies. The lights were in constant motion, flickering and rotating, giving me only flashes of desires. Here, every Friday, my private fantasies played out before me. You can see all manner of things in a downtown dance club.
"dancing girls" (photo by Flickr user naevus)
Tonight, a pair caught my eye and kept it focused. Two girls clad in black leather and vinyl. The blonde, her hair secured with clips in an explosion of ends, wore knee high boots and a short vinyl skirt which exposed her black thong every time she leaned forward. Her top was a strip of tight cloth hiding her nipples and little more. The brunette had black sandals that wrapped up her legs like hungry serpents navigating toward the skin-tight leather skirt that gripped and cradled her ass. The shirt was sheer, and pulled taut, defining each firm breast.
The pair danced in a fever. Their eyes locked on each other, an unbreakable connection of alcohol and intensity. They had a connection forged in movement, not words.
As last call neared, their motions grew bolder, more lustful. They ground each other, harder and closer. I watched as they clutched each other’s hips, fingertips creeping slowly around back. Against habit, I rose to my feet and moved past over-populated tables, settling in just four feet from the girls. Closer now, I felt the current of music in their bodies, and saw a dazed excitement swimming in their faces.
The blonde wrapped her bare thigh tightly around the brunette, as their faces neared. Both sets of hands roamed the other’s chest, groping for something vital. The blonde squeezed her friend’s tits, paying sharp attention to her protruding nipples. The brunette grinned wide, and her own hand disappeared under her partner’s black vinyl skirt. Instantly, the blonde’s neck craned back, and a blissful gasp escaped her lips. She brought her head back up, sliding her tongue across the brunette’s full lips.
"Girls Kissing" (photo by Flickr user vinceviloria)
The trigger had been pulled, the shot had gone off. For them, it was as if the music was silent, the crowd gone, and they occupied their own world. Each went at the other. Spectators gathered for the show, and it was no longer a performance for my solitary enjoyment. Tongues and lips pulled at each other, two strays fighting for scraps in an alley. The blonde continued to moan between kisses, her vinyl skirt rising higher, exposing more of her round ass to the crowd. Eager to be the aggressor herself, her hand dove south of her friend’s waist. The two thrust to the thumping bass, fingering each other as if on the verge of end times.
The intensity seemed about to transcend time and space, when a bald, kill-joy bouncer broke into the scene.
“Enough, ladies!” he yelled over the music, his face showing no appreciation for the living art created before him.
The girls continued, too far gone to notice the intrusion.
“Enough or you’re out!”
The collection of rubber-neckers leered and booed as the bouncer grabbed the girls, yanking them apart. Hisses of rage and disappointment exploded from the pair as they reached and tugged for one last dip in the other’s pleasure. I followed the bouncer and girls down the stairs, watching the blonde’s still exposed ass wink at me with each step. The crowd parted as the girls were pushed outside the club. I watched the bouncer return to his station, and my sense of justice begged me to smash his face into the bar again and again for destroying something so perfect. But with opportunity still to be seized, I slipped out the door to search for my girls.
Night had conquered the city, leaving empty streets and black buildings. My eyes scanned all directions, barely catching the two stumble around the corner. I followed, refusing to run. Rounding the corner of a large parking structure, I stopped. The girls vanished. About to walk another block, movement snagged my eyes as the structure’s corner elevator ascended in silence. I stepped off the curb to get a better vantage.
Inside the clear glass encasement, the two girls began again. The elevator stopped on the third floor as the brunette’s half-clad back pressed against the glass. Her arms streaked across the invisible walls as her friend kneeled down in front. Pushing the brunette’s skirt all the way up, the blonde pulled her friend’s leg over her shoulder and buried her face between her companion’s thighs. The brunette’s tight ass pressed against the glass as she moved both hands to her breasts and massaged them roughly. I stared, overcome by the boldness of the two, the pure sexual intensity.
The brunette pulled up her top and exposed her tits. She pinched and twisted her nipples as she gaped in ecstasy. The blonde flower of hair remained embedded in the brunette’s crotch, moving to a silent rhythm. At the same time, the blonde’s hand crept below her waist, fingering her own wet slit. I stood below them, cupping the bulge in my slacks and feeling brutal beating in my chest. Above, the girls rocked faster, panting with curled lips. The blonde sunk her two fingers deeper as the brunette wrapped both hands around the blonde’s head and screamed loud enough for me to hear it on the street. The blonde continued her feast as her own orgasm finished. With a satisfied smirk, she stood up and kissed her friend deeply. The brunette grabbed her lover’s hand, her pink tongue licking each finger, sucking every bit of juice from them. Once done, the two continued to hold hands as the elevator ascended once more.
Somewhere near the top, the two exited.
I took a deep breath, my heart running, and walked to the elevator, pushing the button once. Within minutes, the steel doors opened and I stepped into the empty car. The sweet scent of perfume and sex permeated the air. On the glass, a wet, sticky smear of the girls’ passion still lingered. I ran my finger across the wetness and brought it to my lips, kissing desire, tasting lust.
All at once the moment was mine again.
XXX
William Porter Tracy is thirty-three and lives in Oregon wine country. His work can be found in several small publications under various pseudonyms. In between beers and sex, he managed to finished his first novel, and is currently looking for a publisher.
