A Flame in the Night

THE FLAME (Act 1 of 3)

Later one day, you (female) and I (male) decide to go out for some entertainment. But beyond the normal outing, I have secretly prepared something special to spice up the evening. Large utility bag? Check. Toothbrush and shaver? Check. Extra underwear? Whatever, check. I close the trunk of my car with everything appearing in place. Yes, we're ready to go!

As for us, we've now been dating awhile and are considered a pair--boyfriend and girlfriend. And adding that the weekend has finally arrived, freeing us from the chains of work and putting us in the mood to have fun on this seemingly typical Friday night, we travel far across town to a respectable bar establishment. A local band is performing tonight and we figure to hear some nifty beats. And although it's not an exceptionally popular hangout, the bar does have music on the weekends and a floor large enough for dancing.

When at last we get to the place, we sit down at the bar and then chat and eat some snacks. We're not usually much for heavy drinking, but while we're hanging out here, we of course order some brews to bide our time and to be jolly and social. At first, it's just a few cold beers to wet our thirst, but then we keep drinking and drinking, much more than usual.

And as we're waiting around, it's not a bad thing to be boozing some since it's now karaoke hour. The amateur singers are giving it their best, and I do enjoy listening in on them. Though I'm content having only a spectator's ear, it'd be nice to parade out in front of everyone, with a mic in hand and singing. But instead, rather than embarrassing myself and taking part in it, I'm resigned simply to anchor down and observe the informal activities.

Afterwards, when the karaoke portion completes, the primary event is here. The band comes on, sets up, and starts cranking out some up-tempo and energetic rock tracks. And we sit behind a small pub table, like many others do, and take in the vibes.

Furthermore, as it turns out, you're dressed particularly sexy this evening. And I do like how noticeably cute you are, but maybe, indeed, your demeanor is a little too frilly and so mentally unfettered. By many accounts, your naive and trouble-free spirit is bordering on being dangerous. So can it be a combination of things which is making you stand out? Like the wild, gleaming colors in your apparel. Like the short, foxy dress you have on. And surely the fishnet stockings are certainly eye catchers. But even more deviant, perhaps--is your hair--tied with two large, bright loony ribbons on both sides of your head, which lift and prop your strands outwardly in twin ponytail bunches. And I don't know if it's the resemblance of Chobits, or a cosplay character, or a younger girl in street-hooker fashion, but your visible appearance is very provocative. In other words, whether you seemingly look like a call-girl or not, I can't resist your streetwalker, hooker-like allure. So if tonight you want to be a floozy girl, then I'd like to take you and have you in just the same way. Just give me a sec to get my order ready, and you can serve and pamper me all night long.

But until that time--before I can bed you--the music meanwhile is grooving. And although nobody is dancing yet, it's no fault of the band. Their ability to entertain is not a factor. Rather, as is often the case, people are reluctant to be first onto the platform. So we continue to chat and drink, waiting patiently for things to get lively, hoping others would go out to the staged area and start dancing.

Then eyeing each other and feeling gamesome, we move closer together. The music is seducing our attention to party, but worse, I'm constantly browsing downward just to have another snapshot of those cheeky leg wrappings. Wow, they're working me over! So fascinating! So exciting! I put my hand on your thigh hoping to woo you into a passionate, romantic mood. And when you notice my profound interest in those magnificently ventilated fishnet stockings, you swiftly counter back, hooking your leg around mine while you brush your foot into my ankle. Then, even as we continue chatting, your eyes cunningly lock into mine and hold fast and unwavering for a span, just as if nothing had actually happened. But soon afterwards, your lips crack a grin and your eyes expand wide, as you begin batting your eyelashes with an exaggerating flutter. And as a result of watching your steamy infectious bribe, I'm inclined to do more than passive talking, and do more than mild touching. I'm ready to get extra physical.

Therefore, here is my chance to be brave and bold. No more of that lackadaisical, karaoke-less non-participation. It's time to bust away from my shell and help get this shindig thing rolling. So with vindicating conviction and heroic intentions, firmly I declare that we get out and start dancing.

And as the song changes, we dart out to the empty dance space and begin capering about. We set up squarely in the middle there and do our part virtually inviting more to join in. But at first it's awkward being on exhibit and being the only ones camped out in front of all the onlookers; however, we soon adjust to the setting. And in no time, we're sharing laughs as we shine in the spotlight.

Furthermore, you're moving around wildly and playfully, and apparently having a dandy good time while you're doing it. Likewise, I'm altogether enjoying this, especially when I'm watching you bouncing and swinging. It's downright inspiring, so gradually thereafter, many more couples decide to crash in and start dancing. And afterwards we're all having a blast sharing the floor together. But, unfortunately, it doesn't keep. Later on, that cordial gathering withers away and eventually our fun couples' crowd is disbanded. Thus we're back to being a solo pair, as we continue grooving to the rocking good sounds that the band is playing. Except, most importantly, with us being the only ones dancing, you now become the headliner; you're the star and principal attraction for the rest of the bystanders left hanging around here.

Yet, I don't mind dancing alone with you. You look so sexy and flirty, shaking and moving while you candidly float about without any visible reservations. Plus, I'm getting such a sundry of treats as I observe you flaunting your stuff. And maybe, in fact, it all boils down to the striking way you look, as you seem to be oh-so perky; literally, you appear tickling and charming--just as though you were some cartooned, buxom-friendly, big-eyed and silly, adorably cute, anime girl.

However, on the other hand--perhaps you're too cute and adorable, and conceivably, you're a bit too difficult to resist. Plainly for me--but also, probably for everyone else as well! That's because, as it plays out, quite a few guys have taken notice to what you're doing and have been thoroughly checking you out from far across the nightclub.

Later, one of the men moves in nearer to get a better, up-front view of your performance. He stands there brashly, judging your score and watching your effervescent torso. He studies your foundation and absorbs the splendor of seeing you swaying and jiggling your sweet lovely booty. And as the man sloughs off gathering your data, his head yo-yos down and up. Then he keeps his eyes glued to your portrait and probes you with a crude, severely wanting stare. And as he shrewdly delays his gawk and pings you with a long, licentious gaze, his burning desire pierces and penetrates--much deeper than you would've expected.

So what happened? Did you lose a grip on caution? Were you too tipsy and flush? I know you've been out of tilt and out of sorts lately, so maybe you're an innocent victim. Then again, and possibly more likely, it was all a wickedly clever act. Because apparently, after welcoming his advances, tactfully you try to hide the truth of what you'd done: Unfairly or not, you were mistaken for being festively drunk, approachably intoxicated, and just itching to tear off your bra. So as he does move forward on you, you attempt to gain approval for accepting the man's propositioning. Timidly, therefore, you turn toward me, to see if I'll respond with the go-ahead to continue.

Strangely, I'm feeling tolerably indifferent about the situation. Partly I could rationalize that I'll be needing to take a break soon, and having a brief replacement for me shouldn't matter too much. Plus, as I look at the man and then look at you, especially for tonight, I'm not even concerned. Frankly, after I evaluate everything, I'm generally not bothered in the least. After all-- Well, after all-- Maybe I'm going to enjoy this, by night's end--even more than you will. I mean, this does present opportunities which can meld nicely into the agenda. Hence, uncharacteristically, I sort of nod okay, giving you some freedom to indulge.

Immediately then, with my affirmation, you shift your focus to give that stranger your undivided dancing consideration; however, it doesn't take long for other guys to notice your promiscuously breeding attitude. So soon after, two more come along to surround you in dancing. And they all share the same idea and goal, which is to wedge in tight and try to gain your favor. Next thing I know, I feel a little pushed to the outside and slightly misplaced by all this. At the same time, I'm getting tired and feeling somewhat achy. And besides, as you're having such a ball with your new audience, I decide now is a good chance to walk to the bar and give my sore feet a rest.

Not surprisingly, under the circumstance, the recently found fame of being at the center of three greedy wolves has gotten you abundantly excited. It's petting your ego to the point you don't want it to stop. With all the males lusting for you and practically drooling with their tongues sagging out, you do your best to keep them all happy. You take turns giving your hips to each man, and it lights a fire under their wishful asses. You see them working hard to entice you, and they begin clowning as if they're cavemen in a winner-takes-all courting ritual. They strut around, ostensibly touting their physiques. And like wannabe alpha males, each presents himself as a facade, using makeshift poses to try being inescapably attractive. One tucks in his gut and says he's got a six-pack. One apes around while he flexes his chest. And the other stands tall, making obscene gestures; he points at where his penis should be and claims he's hung as a bull.

But maybe even worse, cheerfully and joyfully you encourage the merry madness, as though you want more to pile in on this orgy affair. However, be that as it may, in spite of your impressions, I gather you applaud their indecent desires so flagrantly because you know I'm nearby and keeping an eye on you. So you go on getting daring. You masquerade your virtues and paint yourself in a less than flattering image. Which is to say, it's a little beneath you, how you're now dancing and availing yourself; you're looking like a nympho does, when she's a day or two short on her rent.

Yet meanwhile, as you're romping here and there free as a filly, you hope I too am amused with this game. Glancing occasionally to find me, you draw out and heave me flirting kisses from across the way. But right on cue, quickly you rejoin those hounds in bumpin' n' grindin' and shaking that ass.

Well, I'm not getting tripped up about it. I know for you, this is stimulating and good for your confidence--but regardless, enough is enough! This has gone on longer than it should. I'm plenty aroused and preferring to have you alone. Thus I clear you a path through that horny mob of guys, and tell you to kiss me. No more fake kisses this time, I need the real thing. Then promptly, and without indecision, you obey my summons. And in that brief yet meaningful kiss, I know you give yourself away to me.

Following that, we stride off the stage heading toward the exit. There, where it's quiet, I veer in to get close to your ear while dropping off my secret. "I've a surprise for you--for being so good on the dance floor."

Puzzled by that, you ask, "What is it?"

But I refuse to tell you and reply, "We must go!"

* * *

Later, while we're driving home, you're feeling a little uneasy. You recall the things you'd done with the other men at the bar and are considering if possibly you might've exceeded yourself and gone too far with the flirtatious gesturing. And wanting to show that none of that matters and in an endeavor to cover it up with a silent apology, you display your feminine side; you lean toward me and begin snuggling my arm.

I second guess your attempt to vamp me. And after pausing, I decide to quiz you about the experience. "So how was the dancing?"

Hesitant to say much, you don't say anything at all. Instead, you continue to snuggle at my side as we drive farther.

"I think we need to stop somewhere," I announce somewhat abruptly.

I pull into a nearly deserted motel and we get a room. The lodging is small but clean and there's ample privacy for our stay. Then, once inside the room, you're feeling a little apprehensive yet also excited by the mystery of why we're here.

"Is this my surprise?" you ask politely.

But I scold you, "You'll get what you deserve!"

"What do you mean?" you say rather sheepishly.

"So tell me!" I demand. "How was it like, dancing without me?"

Shrinking in stature, you feel partly ashamed. But more alarmingly, you're becoming increasingly certain that you're having feelings of guiltiness. Still, undeterred by the souring conscience tugging on your heart, you muster the courage to be honest and answer, "I kind of liked it."

"Well then," I say in disgust, "if you want to be a slut, today you're going to do it my way!"

Right away, you realize the iniquity is real and that you might've selfishly enjoyed the gents at the dance, perhaps a little too much. Evidently you overdid it. By becoming too involved with that crowd you permitted yourself to get unduly intimate with your cohort of sex-seeking men. Perversely you lavished in trying to accommodate them all, allowing yourself to get off on being a caretaker for that horny bunch of dudes. And sadly, as your lust ran away with you, you became overjoyed knowing that, at the end of the night, the only thing those exuberant males were looking for was a mindless vessel and an easy chance to extend out their dicks.

Therefore, as you concede your indiscretions of the evening, alas, you're ready to beg for redemption. You've been bad and behaved like nothing more or less than a common bitch, gone a-huntin for a fuckin. However, that said, you're truly sorry for your disgraceful actions and now hope to mend the lapse in judgment that materialized earlier when you were acting so immodestly and displaying yourself aimlessly like a drunken harlot.

Henceforth, wishing to regain your good standing, you'll now deny your liberty and be owned and collared. Willfully and consensually you'll submit to being a bondservant to my sexual neediness. Thereafter, you can expect to be punished for straying away and failing to heed me as your main priority. For tonight, it's been made clear to your moral sensibilities that you're not entitled to anything better or deserving of anything else but to be at my complete and utter mercy. After all, that's what happens to bad girls when they're naughty--they ought to be rebuffed, scolded, and retrained on how to be good and loyal maidens. So then, preparing to cling to my instructions for how you're to be chastised, carefully you listen to hear my following demands.

And here is my initial request. I bark it out excitedly, "Take off your clothes!"

Voluntarily, you do exactly as you're told. You unclothe yourself as commanded. You strip off your wildly colored apparel, including your short, foxy dress and marvelous fishnet stockings.

I point to the bed in our room. "Now lie down! And don't move until I tell you!" I snarl while lifting my fist, leaving no doubt that I intend to be taken seriously.

Again, you do as you're told. You lie down in fear and doubt as you see me leaving. I walk out of the motel room without even glancing back. And just before I shut the door, leaving you all alone to ponder--I switch off the lights!

* * *

There in the dark you lie nude on the bed, nervously awaiting my return. Not long after, you overhear a sound from our car, which is parked outside and directly in front of our room. And the sound you heard was the trunk of the car as I'd just slammed it shut.

Later, I open the motel door and turn on the lights. You see me for a fleeting glimpse as I enter with some things in my hand. But immediately, when I see you watching me, I shout, "Close your eyes! You're not worthy to see this!"

Automatically you execute the mandate. You close your eyes tight and listen for my steps to approach you. Subsequently, however, the sounds you hear next are noises as if I'm dawdling around and searching to find something buried inside a large cloth bag. Then, once you detect that I've stopped digging, shortly after you perceive me hovering above your face as I pull a blindfold over your head, which effectively covers your eyes.

Another barren and trying stretch passes where all you can do is listen to my movements and distress on what I intend to do. For as it is, you're now unseeing and in perfect darkness; even with your eyes open there's nothing to see but an unending sky of blackness. Moreover, without sight your environment shifts, and instantaneously your abilities have to acclimate. You understand touch, smell, and hearing differently now. They are enhancing, adapting, and becoming dramatically keener. So given what you have to work with, you use that recently enlightened awareness and frantically attempt to process the dash of commotion I'm making--in more gathering.

Thereafter, when I seem to have finished what I'm doing, the room quiets to a disturbing stillness. In fact, when it becomes so quiet that you can't hear anything else, mostly what you hear is your heart--galloping rapidly, thumping loudly--and beating sharply within your anxious and aching chest. The frozen deadness of stark secrecy and absence of sound has chilled you to the bone. And increasingly, even more and more, your intuition reminds you that it's just too immensely quiet! Something has to give. Something must happen!

Then suddenly, ... it's terribly unnerving ... the sound it initially makes ... when you have no idea that it's coming. The torrid sound you hear is from a match--striking and igniting--closely near to your ear. The bursting, newly-lit fire violently attains life as it consumes the apex of the wooden stick, and there's something primitively frightening with the way it erupts and swiftly whisks into your soul. Instinctively, your skin crawls in terror, at first, from the thought of a flare being so close to your face, and you feel your heart surging out of pace, as if there's imminent danger to your safety. And within that fracture of reality, the blaze on the match acutely evolves and swells in energy boasting to have muscles that will grow into a bloodthirsty roar. Yet in seconds, as it battles over the rights to its very own existence--inevitably it deflates, and quickly tames. Burning with a much cooler temperament, it now speaks in an almost silent murmur. Afterwards, for a moment, you hear nothing again, and your nerves are relieved that you only needed to endure the panic of the pitching flame for a short period of time. But in the dark, empty quietness, you notice something very, very interesting. In a complete reversal of fortune, your fortitude has been distracted; your head becomes lost in an entirely different spirit of things. There's a new diversion, and something else is in the works. With that same fierceness and startling intensity of experiencing a match lighting suddenly in the dark, you're now cured to worries, having become totally absorbed in pursuing this brand new discovery. Something adoring is in the air! And like sipping on a magic potion--you become emphatically filled with awe. "Oh! What is that?" you exclaim. And what you've encountered is a fragrance, which is both dearly pleasing and tranquil. Prominently, it's all around and it engulfs your every thought. The savoring trace you smell is of a mellow flame, burning maturely as it extols exotic scents of spicy sandalwood and minty patchouli. And like it's a soft bed of roses, you cuddle into the delicate fumes of the candle and let the floral incense swirl into your imagination. The sweet, balmy haze of the incredible vapors is acting like a catalyst. Like a sexual agent, chemically it cranks on your motor. And like a potent aphrodisiac, its mission as defined is to seduce you to party. Thereby, all your emotional horrors and uneasiness of the dark simply fade away. And the burning candle, which permeates the room with its wonderful soothing aroma, becomes your mate. Impulsively, you latch on: you become wed with the bouquet of garden scents and make love to the goodness of nature's bloom.