by T. J. Mines
She sips her drink and listens to Abdul talking about baskets. Not very entertaining but she can pretend. The bartender is cute. He keeps winking at her and indicating she should get rid of the youngster standing with her. He even goes so far to give her a free drink but charge Abdul double for his. Abdul, sweet as he is, hasn't got a clue what's going on.
Movement at the back of the lower floor catches her attention. A security detail of four enters with a man dressed in a white linen suit in their midst. Jo-Ann slams her drink on the bar and pushes Abdul out of her way to get up.
"Let's dance!" she yells over the music at him.
Abdul, struggling to keep up with Jo-Ann and not spilling his too expensive drink, gets dragged across the balcony to the staircase. On it she keeps tugging at him to move faster towards the busy dance floor. Almost slipping twice he gets there in once piece, only half of his drink on the floor or his clothes. She stops on the last step of the stairs, standing just high enough to look over the dancing mass. Then she stars walking again and pulls him in.
Inside the circle of the dance floor the music seems louder than before. With Jo-Ann guiding him he has no choice but to bump into the people she just pushed aside to get through. The dancing men don't seem to notice, they are too busy looking at Jo-Ann. The women first look at Jo-Ann with either anger or jealousy in their eyes, then look at Abdul with pity.
Jo-Ann stops near a group of women dancing around a man in a white suit. They seem to know him, or want to know him, they are all competing for a chance to get his attention. The man, average looking to Abdul, enjoys the women around him. He moves, out of sync with most of them, and missing the rhythm, like a snake out of a basket. He paws one of the ladies as if to sample the wares after brushing his sweat soaked hair out of his face. He leaves a sweat and grease mark on the girl's butt. Jo-Ann turns to Abdul and puts her hands on his hips. He pulls her closer and starts dancing.
Jo-Ann is surprised at Abdul's dancing skills. He moves like he's a natural. For one moment she enjoys herself for real. A strong young man, not bad looking despite his shabby clothing, with decent moves on the dance floor could be a fun catch any other day. Maybe even for more than one night. But tonight she's working.
She looks sideways to her mark. He looks as terrible as the other nights she saw him here. His fine suit already stained with sweat, his hands dirty with the junk food he had earlier and the unnatural black of his thinning hair staining his scalp. Had he been a normal guy from town the doorman would've refused him entrance. But this is one of the most popular councilmen. He has risen to become second on the city council in the three years he has been here. But he has a secret for which Jo-Ann is going to kill him. What it is she doesn't know, or need to know. Her task is simple: take him out, don't get caught.
She lets go of Abdul and turns around while closing the gap between her and her dance partner. Overacting her moves she grabs his hands and runs them over her breasts. The councilman now has her attention. He moves between two of his groupies to stand in front of her. She keeps on dancing, now moving Abdul's hands down over her flat belly. Her mark steps closer. Jo-Ann grabs the back of Abdul's neck and leans back, almost popping out of her dress. She can tell both men like her moves, a lot. Abdul works great as a helper on the dance floor. One step closer and her mark is dead.
Abdul has danced before. He likes to dance. His mother taught him several types of classical dances like the tango and waltz. He hasn't danced on music like this before but he can improvise. Jo-Ann is a good dancer too. She knows how to move her body and the view down her dress is mesmerizing. Why she wanted to stand exactly here is beyond Abdul, they could've danced anywhere and make some space for themselves. It's not like they need the whole floor.
Jo-Ann turns around and puts her butt against his groin. He moves with her to keep the grinding to a minimum. He doesn't want to embarrass himself on the first night out. Then she takes his hands and puts them on her tits. Abdul's breath stops for a moment. This is not what the rest of the dancers are doing.
The man in the linen suit steps over. He is now looking directly at Jo-Ann, ignoring Abdul. She moves his hands down. Abdul almost can't take it anymore. The someone pinches his ass, hard.
Jo-Ann's mark steps forward again. As she leans back against Abdul she raises her leg high, heel first. Abdul jerks forward, overbalancing Jo-Ann and sending her into the councilman with her legs spread. He grabs her ankle, which landed on his shoulder, and tries to put his free hand between her legs. She slaps him across the face, leaving a red hand print. He pushes her back. Abdul is not there anymore and she falls down.
Wondering what happened she watches her mark turn around and leave the dance floor, his groupies joining him. Looking back at Jo-Ann they laugh in her face. She looks at where Abdul should be. There he is, a girl with her hands all over him, kissing like there's no tomorrow. It's Greta.
There's a loud snoring coming from the other side of the dormitory. Opening one eye Abdul notices it's light outside. The shutters have been retracted and a bright sun is lighting part of the room, basking several other sleepers in a warm glow. His awareness of his surroundings broadens and he can feel a warm body pressed into his back. It feels nice. Like someone is fully at ease with him. Then last nights events come back.
He was dancing with Jo-Ann, who was making these incredible moves. But she was also flirting with some ugly business suit surrounded by slutty ladies. In Al Bari he would call them whores and they wouldn't have been so open about it unless they wanted to be stoned and hanged. But here, he's not so sure. Jo-Ann isn't doing anything for money. Is she?
The woman next to him isn't Jo-Ann though. It's Greta. While Jo-Ann was trying to get the suit's attention Greta grabbed Abdul by the shoulders and turned him around. Her kiss was both frightening and exciting. It lasted a long time, and way too short. Then Jo-Ann was lying on the floor, looking furious at him. It's not like he was responsible for the actions of Greta. He was as surprised as Jo-Ann must be. But for some reason, he had to bear the brunt of her scorn. She got up, looked at the suit's departure with a laughing gaggle of women trailing behind him, and slapped Abdul in the face. After that she stomped off and left.
Not that Abdul was paying attention to Jo-Ann after the slap. Greta came to soothe his cheek with kisses and took him to a bar at the back of the establishment. There she got him some juice, and vodka, to recover from the assault. Her kisses were not really helping the hurt in his cheek, but it did distract him. Not long after the incident Greta took him to the bathroom where she fucked him. There really isn't another word for it, Abdul thinks. He's made love to a woman in Al Bari. That was gentle and caring, like they both were fragile flowers in need to be handled delicately. What Greta did… She was rough and hasty, ripping off garments like they didn't matter. Her strength surprised him too. She handled him with ease, placing him however she needed him. And all that in the small bathroom stall in the ladies room. She did carry protection, so he shouldn't worry about medical repercussions.
After she made him finish twice she took him back to the bar to drink some more. After that things get blurry for Abdul. He remembers leaving the club and walking down the street. Somewhere he encountered a body modification stall where Greta tried to convince him to get a tattoo of her face, she'd pay. He refused and dragged her out of the place. He clearly remembers the pout she gave him. Still, he ended up at the hostel in her bed. There, she fucked him again, much to the delight of the people sharing their dorm room. He'd never had sex in front of a live audience. Greta had, since she enjoyed the cheering and tips the people around them shouted. Again, she gave him a condom which he put on to keep things safe. Abdul looks over the edge of the bed. The used thing is still where he dropped it after Greta let him go. There had been no cuddling afterward, Greta turned around, grunted a good night, and fell asleep.
Abdul gets up and walks to the shared bathroom. On his way he gets a high five from a stranger.
"Great show ma
n!" the stranger says.
"Uh, thanks?" Abdul replies.
"Are you two pro's?" the stranger asks.
"What?" Abdul says confused, "pro's? I'm no professional. I don't know about Greta though."
"How much did you pay her?"
"Nothing!" Abdul doesn't like what the stranger is implying.
"Wow! What's your secret? I'd like to have her too. Or is she your girlfriend? She doesn't look like the girlfriend type to me."
"I need to pee," Abdul excuses himself and walks on.
"Rude man, whatever," the stranger says and walks out of the bathroom.
With a shake of his head Abdul chooses a urinal and empties his blather.
The door of the bathroom opens again. Abdul looks over his shoulder and sees it's Greta. She's wearing only the panties she had on last night. Not sure what to say or do, Abdul opts for finishing his current task first. Greta walks over to one of the stalls and looks inside.
"Ieuw!" she exclaims, "Can't people clean up after themselves?"
Abdul keeps his mouth shut. Greta, looking in all the stalls to see if she can find one that's clean enough for her to use, keeps making disgusted noises. The last stall even elicits a retching sound.
Unable to find someplace to do her business Greta joins Abdul at the urinals. Picking the one next to him she drops her panties and puts her ass inside the urinal. A steady stream of pee precedes a relieved sigh from the woman. Abdul can do nothing more than stare at the public display of indecency.
Greta looks up at Abdul, a grin forming on her face. One of her hands rests on her leg. The other, while looking Abdul in the eye, moves to her nipple. Her tongue darts out of her mouth as she massages her breast.
Now that Abdul sees her like this, all excitement of last night leaves his mind. Next to him is a woman, relieving herself in the most disgusting way he has ever seen, and seems to be fine with that. Thinking back at yesterday's events it is clear Abdul made a mistake letting himself in with this girl. She is the exact opposite of what his moral standards tell him a woman should be. Okay, morals could change, and some of the things his mother taught him could be a bit too strict, but this was way out of his comfort zone. Greta, like the stranger before said, could never be a girlfriend, least of all to him.
Finishing up, Abdul gives Greta a small smile and a nod. He walks over to the wash stand, feeling Greta's eyes following him. He doesn't look back. Behind him Greta flushes her urinal. She walks over to the sink next to him. Her panties are on again. Both of them are washing their hands and faces now, next to each other again. This time Greta acts normal, or as normal as you can do standing in a public bathroom topless. He peaks a look at her. She is being thorough. At least she's clean. She looks at him.
"You don't like me when you're sober?" she asks.
Abdul flushes red.
"I see, I'm only good for the sex," Greta answers her own question, "No problem. You're too soft for me anyway. I did enjoy myself last night, but it was more of a jab at Jo-Ann than that I really wanted you. That high class wannabe fancy chick from England always gets the men I want. Now I took the one she wanted. So there you have it. I'll be seeing you around, but don't count on tagging along anymore."
With that she turns on her heel and struts out of the bathroom. Abdul is left standing with his mouth open, confused and embarrassed.
CHAPTER FIVE
One of the ladies standing next to him asks a question. Quint doesn't listen. He thinks of the woman who just dropped at his feet on the dance floor. Was she flirting with him? Or did she try to hurt him? That move could have injured him with ease, her heels where sharp and long like knives. She didn't though. There's no use wasting more time on the incident. He saw her leave the club after slapping the boy she was dancing with.
Anyway, who would want to hurt him, Quint Seif, the mayor to be? His campaign was running as planned, most citizens already vouched for him and his opposition was nowhere near as charismatic as he could be. His controversial ideas voiced the fears of the residents of Du Bois. He couldn't loose. He made sure the voting committee was on his payroll. The ballot count would go to him, even if he didn't get enough votes.
The girl next to him touches his arm and thrusts her lips in his ear.
"Do you want me to suck you?" she asks.
He looks at her. She has blond hair hanging loose over her shoulders. The fake strands, looking more like rope than hair, cover her sizable tits, also fake. Looking further down he notices she had her belly button removed. The result is a unnatural flat stomach. Her hips, also modified to be as slim as possible, flow into long legs. He wonders if she's born with anything he sees.
Then he notices her hands. Long nails painted a bright fluorescent green take the focus off of the wrinkles she can't remove by body modifications. She must be a lot older than her body makes her look. Quint looks her in the eye. There too he can see a world of experience. She is older than she wants people to think. And too old for Quint's taste.
"No, fuck off," Quint tells the woman.
"I have special gifts," the lady says. She opens her mouth to reveal a ribbed tongue and knobs on the inside of her cheeks.
"I said no." Quint pushes her away, his focus already on some other girl.
"Fuck you, I won't vote for you," the lady spits at Quint.
Quint snaps his fingers and one of his guards picks up the woman, carrying her out of the club.
After some more time at the club Quint chooses the girl he wants to take tonight. A redheaded girl with a ponytail. He hopes the rug matches the curtains. She certainly didn't shave anything what he can see. She's likely part of a group called naturalists, people who don't want to alter anything about themselves and let nature take it's course. This girl isn't old enough for her tits to sag or show the lines of age on her body. She is a bit on the plump side, which is fine with Quint, every once in a while.
She flaunts her catch at the other ladies in the club, pleased she is the one to win the battle. Little does she know that this was her last night out. Surrounded by security Quint leaves the club the way he came in, through the back door. There, an electric vehicle is waiting to take him to his residence uptown, away from the common people. The girl, he forgot her name the moment she told him, puts her hand on his pants. He relaxes as she starts massaging his dick.
"I love this town," Quint says out loud.
"What?" the girl responds. She stops her arousing actions.
"Did I tell you to stop?" Quint asks her.
"No," she apologizes and continues the movements.
"Stupid girl," Quint mutters under his breath.
At least she is willing. He doesn't like to be rejected. Neither does he want women to wait for him to initiate the action. Women who want to be with him should know what he wants, and act accordingly. This one is doing a decent job, for now.
They arrive at the underground entrance of his house. He has a building all to himself. The basement garage contains several electric vehicles like the one he is sitting in now. There is also a very rare gasoline car and a few motorbikes. His house, located at the north of the town, has a private exit through the wall. It must be closed at all times, but in an emergency he can leave directly onto the plains. The gasoline car and motorbikes are here for such cases, you can't recharge an electric car when you don't have an outlet. You can bring you own fuel though. Also, Quint likes the smell. It smells like power and wealth. The vats of gasoline alone could pay for most towns between here and Al Bari.
His girl is amazed at what he has sitting in his garage. He puts an arm around her waist and guides her to the elevator, another luxury most people don't know exists in Du Bois. He pushes the button and the lights above the door indicate the ride is on it's way down. The girl looks confused. Before she can ask why they are standing in front of a closed door, the doors open, revealing a wooden box, decorated with mirrors and a gilded hand rail. He steps inside. The girl hesitates but a bit of pressure does the trick.
Quint's done this before. He knows exactly what's next. She will wonder at the knobs with numbers, then get distracted by her own reflection in the flawless mirrors. A few seconds later the state she is in registers and she'll turn away, embarrassed of how she looks after a night in the club dancing and flirting.
The elevator doors open, showing a hallway with doors set left and right. Each of the doors open into a different style bedroom. Quint has a diverse needs, and each one has specific parameters to cater to that need. Tonight he wants to feel in control. The encounter at the club left him unsure of his personal security. He can't have that. His control of his life must be absolute in order to succeed his goals. So he chooses the third door on the right. He steers his playmate towards it.
Inside the room the girl stops, taking in all the things he has there. Black leather is the dominant material. All kinds of apparitions fit for a torture session line the walls. In the center of the room is a leather swing.
"Let's get you undressed," Quint says.
The girl looks at him confused. She is not sure yet who will be on the receiving end of the sex games available in this room, and she's certain she's not into this kind of play.
"Can't we go somewhere else?" she asks.
Quint, not in the mood for second guesses, grabs the girl by her hair and drags her to a black lacquered X at the far wall. He pushes her against it and grabs a wrist. He puts the hand through a leather belt and fastens it tight. The girl screams. She starts to swing her free limbs at him, kicking and waving. He wants to have nothing to do with that. With skill born from practice he locks her other wrist away. Next are the legs. These pose the most danger, a knee against his nose could result in embarrassing injuries. As one leg comes up he grabs her ankle. She pulls back but he is prepared and uses the momentum to slam her heel against the black wood. The leather strap binds her leg before she can resist. The last leg is easy now. Spread eagled like she is bound by three limbs her movement is restricted. He guides her leg to the last strap and closes it.
