| Random writing |
[Jul. 3rd, 2008|02:33 pm] |
Been awhile since I wrote something, figured I'd give it a shot and see if I'm any good. Let's see what I end up with
-----------------------------
The Iron Cross was just another typical low-class strip joint in east LA. A fitting place for Spike to hang his hat -- metaphorically speaking, of course -- and have himself a drink. Inside Bodies writhe on the strobe-lit dance stages and inside suspended cages, and the grab-ass costumers revel heavy S&M scene. Leather. Latex. Tattoos. Body-piercings, the club clearly catered to sadist nature of its clientèle.
Over the expensive sound system, the all too familiar tune, "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails plays. A lolling tune formed, the sound of a distorted grand piano playing serenading the crowd of drunken crowd into a more frenzied state because of the lyrical content of the song, and providing the dancers proper music to writhe and move to. The ladies show off their charms -- in the most tasteful of ways -- and the men reward them with hoots and hollers and shower them in dollar bills.
You let me violate you
You let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you
You let me complicate you..
The club is dimly lit, the air thick with cigarette smoke, waitresses in scant outfits, move around quickly doling out drinks -- Spike sat in the back, inside the "Champagne room", on a plush comfortable leather chair, with a glass of chilled bourbon in his hand. He treated himself to a lap dance from one of the strippers, and she was giving him his money worth.
The leggy, svelte blonde danced, her sex tantalizingly and tempting, but mostly hidden by a g-string, her morsel-like breasts out and just begging to be pinched and touched -- though that was against the rules -- she writhed, slow and sensuously in front of him, bidding -- no demanding -- his attention. She was a natural; there was no doubt about it. Her gyrations seemed to move in rhythm with the music, her knee placed between her spread legs while she shook her charms in his face.
(Help me...)
I broke apart my insides
(Help me...)
I've got no soul to sell
(Help me...)
The only thing that works for me
Help me get away from myself,
Spike barely paid attention to the stripper, his conscious mind had checked quite awhile ago. He found himself lost within the recesses of his mind, only vaguely aware of the stripper gyrating in front of him. His thoughts were fixated on his own inner musing, whatever they were. He sipped his bourbon, his eyes remaining on the breast in front of him, but not truly paying attention to him.
"Mind elsewhere, Stud?" The stripper inquired, rousing Spike from his thoughts. His head absently tilted as his blue eyes moved from her breast to look up at her startlingly beautiful counterance; blue eyed, sharp cheeks, and sensuous lips, framed by pretty blonde hair. She was something to behold "Something like that, Love." He said almost dryly.
I wanna fuck you like an animal
I wanna feel you from the inside
I wanna fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to God.
"I've been dancing for you for nearly twenty minutes on you, and the only thing stiff on your is your hair." After the remark, she ran a hand through his slicked back hair. Stiff and held in place by the large amount of gel applied to it. "You're really going to make me earn my money, huh? She quiped, to which Spike smirked lightly in response, the action adding an extra emphasis to high cheekbones, complimenting his handsome features.
You can have my isolation
You can have the hate that it brings
You can have my absence of faith
You can have my everything.
"Sorry, Pet." Spike added sounding not at all apologetic. "Didn't come here for a show, more to drown my sorrows." He raised the glass in a mock-salute to her, before taking a sip of it. "Is it working?" She asked, his shoulders lifted upwards into a shrug. "Not really, guess the bastards learned how to swim on me." She chuckled lightly -- "Too bad, my name's Cheola." Spike's eyes rolled at the name, typical "exotic" stripper moniker.. "Nice to meet you Chichi." She scowled, "Cheola." she said pointedly, to which Spike replied "Whatever".
(Help me...)
You tear down my reason
(Help me...)
It's your sex I can smell
(Help me...)
You make me perfect
Help me become somebody else.
It became a matter of pride for Chichi -- as Spike had dubbed her -- to arouse Spike, she grinded against him, rubbed her breast against his chest, dipped her head low and ran her hands along his thighs. Spike watched, head lightly canted blue eyes taking it all in. To her dismay, Spike wasn't having the proper reaction to her attentions. "Jeez, you impotent?" She asked, not trying sound as insulting as she was, it was a genuine inquiry.
I wanna fuck you like an animal
I wanna feel you from the inside
I wanna fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to God.
That scarred brow arched -- "That's one problem I don't have." He said, with his shoulder shrugging. "I suppose it just takes more than thirty dollar lap dance to get me going s'all." Her thin, tweezed brows arched at that. "Oh yeah, stud -- I get off at twelve, maybe I can get you going." Sexual tension suddenly became very thick between the two of them, "That so?" He asked, his long fingers sliding up and down her arms in an unconscious caress
She nodded, the stripper becoming almost shy suddenly, despite being near naked. "All right then, Love. Pub down the street from here, I need to go see a friend after we finish up here. You should meet me there when you get off." He sipped his bourbon, she beamed a smile at him, then stood prepared to leave. Spike lightly grasped her arm, not letting her leave. "I paid for a whole song, Pet."
Through every forest
Above the trees
Within my stomach
Chichi was more than eager to please the handsome Vampire, grinding her posterior hard into Spike's denim clad lap, letting Spike take the luxury of a favored copy and run his hands along her body while she did so.
Scraped off my knees
I drink the honey, inside your hive...
You are the reason I stay alive...
Reznors voices faded in those last lyrics, the song ending with the sound of the distorted grand piano playing once more. Chichi grinned, standing up straight, once more donning her flimsy one piece, concealing lovely breast. "See you later, Stud." She pranced out, onto her next costumer. Spike sat there for a moment, watching her exit. Standing Spike too would make his exit, heading towards the afore-mentioned pub and such. |
|
|