by B. C. Sirrom
Dance of the Valkyrie
By L. M. Smith
PROLOGUE
Anchorage, Alaska
“And now … the moment you’ve all been waiting for!”
The man’s alligator skin cowboy boots thumped softly on the short, industrial style carpet as he made his way for the door. The room went dark and somewhere behind him a bright red spotlight clicked on, casting a sinful glow over everything that it touched. The unexpected volume of the cheering was what caught his attention and made him turn. How could a seedy little strip-joint in this part of Anchorage bring in so many patrons on a Thursday? When he saw her standing on the stage something unexpected happened; she certainly wasn’t the first stripper he’d ever seen, but she was, without a doubt, the most interesting.
She’d struck a pose at the front of the stage wearing a floor-length red, patent-leather skirt with slits up both sides that were as long as her amazon legs and thigh-high black go-go boots underneath. A matching long red vest completed the ensemble, held together by crisscrossed lacing that barely covered her chest and exposed her muscular abdomen. Her rail-straight black hair was short enough in the back to expose her shaved neck but then gradually sloped downward in the front with long tendrils on either side of her face that cascaded, resting gently between her breasts. But these were not the details that made her unusual; every inch of her well-oiled skin was covered from head-to-toe in gray-wash tattoos, making her look ethereal as it reflected the haunting glow of the spotlight. She had multiple facial and ear piercings but they were almost difficult to notice compared to the two large, amber-colored horns protruding from her forehead and arcing toward the ceiling in razor-sharp points.
Only a few seconds had passed between the announcer’s voice and the unexpected music that piped in from the overhead speakers. It wasn’t the thumping of drums and squeal of electric guitars that one usually finds in those establishments, but the deep gongs from a large bell followed by a chorus of male voices chanting a slow, dark dirge. A female voice joined in, soft and haunting as it floated over the room with slow, mysterious lyrics about death and soul collection; and the woman on the stage began to move.
“Would you like to sit down?” A bouncer asked from somewhere nearby.
The man realized that his mouth was hanging open slightly and he snapped it shut; unwilling to tear his eyes away from her even as he felt someone take his elbow and lead him to a grungy black armchair.
Instead of hip thrusting and gyrating she began to roll her body slowly and seductively, like a giant serpent as her hands wove intricate patterns in the air around her body. A stripper pole rose from the stage and disappeared into the ceiling but it was ignored by the dancer and forgotten by the crowd as her feet move in slight increments causing her body to shift and sway poetically before them.
As she moved the man felt his interest building up inside of him. He found his eyes carefully tracing each tiny stroke of her fingertips as she danced them tauntingly around the bow upon her breasts.
‘One soft tug.’ he mused. ‘That’s all it would take to release them.’
As if reading his thoughts she obliged, deftly tugging at one of the dangling strings, and he felt his eyes widen as the vest slipped open a bit more beneath the weight of her immaculate curves. One-by-one she slowly picked at the laces, releasing them from the eyelets of the vest and allowing it to open a bit more each time. Never missing a trill from the music her body continued to roll and writhe before him but he couldn’t stop watching her fingers. As if under some kind of a spell, he truly began to believe that he’d never wanted anything more in his life than to see her revealed. She dipped low, spreading her legs in a crouch that provided the taunting illusion of revealing her most precious secrets. His gaze raked up her exposed thigh slowly like a hungry animal stalking its prey, lapping gleefully at the way that her silhouette sloped upward with the curvature of her buttock before disappearing behind the frustrating appeal of her skirt.
His brief disappointment was repaired, however, as in the moment of distraction she’d managed to release the last string from her top and shrugged it from her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the stage behind her with a soft thump. He believed that her breasts were near perfection and imagined that they would be just large enough to fill each of his hands yet still small enough to maintain a natural shapeliness. She rolled her body forward as she stood, sliding her own hands slowly up her body just as every man in the room wished that he could be doing instead. As she cupped one of her breasts in her hand her lips parted and a surprisingly long and narrow tongue slipped out to lightly lap at the firm nipple. An explosion of heat roiled through his stomach and he felt the discomfort of his excitement pressing against the back of his zipper.
She began to roll her hips in slow, seductive circles, turning her back to the audience a bit more with each one before spreading her feet wide and bending at the hips, just enough to suggest the very thing that every man in the room was thinking about, yet not enough to fully give them what they wanted. In that moment the man realized that her skirt was actually two separate flaps of leather, held together on her hips by ties just as her vest had been … and her fingers were dancing over them with titillating precision. He shifted unintentionally forward on the chair, perching on the very edge and leaning toward her as the anticipation built. The music rose slightly in pitch and tempo, signifying that the end was near and his palms began to sweat with the suspense.
Suddenly the red spotlight shifted to one of cobalt blue and at that exact moment she gave in. With a single tug her skirt dropped to the floor and the haunting glow of the light shimmering over her skin painted her like a wild animal, waiting to be discovered. For the first time she gripped the pole tightly with both hands, lifting one leg up over her shoulder and just as the first shouts of joy began to erupt from the crowd the music ended and the spotlight went dark, plunging the entire room into utter blackness with little more than a glimpse at the very thing that they’d all been waiting for.
The man’s throat erupted with howls of appreciation along with the others in the room and he jumped from his seat, longing to charge back across the club and into the woman’s dressing room where he knew that she would be waiting.
“Missy’s gonna be up in about twenty minutes.”
The deep voice of the massive bouncer over his left shoulder stopped him before he could take a single step.
“She’s not as good as Bonnie, but she’s worth the wait. Can I get you something to drink?” He continued, waving at one of the scantily clad waitresses that were now weaving about the room with their trays.
The man ignored him, glancing back toward the dressing room just as Bonnie opened it a crack and allowed someone else inside.
“What can I get ya, cutie?” A tiny wisp of a woman was suddenly standing next to him wearing a bright orange and white baby-doll.
“I’m leaving.” The man said gruffly before heading for the door.
