Fiona had always been a tease. It was a fact of life, much like the sky was blue and the grass was green; if you went out with Fiona Jackson, you'd better be prepared to come home with the raging hard on of a lifetime. She stood at about five seven, and had the body of a dancer, thanks to pursuing ballet throughout her college career. She had deep, auburn hair, the kind that can only be found in a bottle of Clairol and piercing green eyes, courtesy of her mother. She was twenty three, a recent graduate from Ithaca, and she'd moved into the city to chase her ideal marketing job. She'd lived in town for a few months, and roomed with some of her friends from school, in a flat on the Upper East Side. They were all the same breed, those girls. You know the type, the kind who came from rich families, the type who expected the world to be handed to them on a platter, the ones who looked down with scorn on anyone who didn't fit their vision of perfection. They'd taken to frequenting some of the trendier clubs, deep in the heart of New York City. They all thought themselves above those sorts of places, and overall, the group was more content at a country club then warding off over amorous suitors in the form of blue collar workers, or mid level management executives. However, Fiona had ignited the girls. She was the wild one, the one who had the privilege of her background, and used it to tease, to taunt, to torment.
They'd play a game when they went out, the four of them. The rule was that they never brought anyone home. It made the aspect of the game all that more appealing. They would pick a club, and once inside, fan out. They were all beautiful, the type of girls you would stop and stare at on the streets if you were a man, the type of girls you would curse with your eyes if you were a female. They'd go into the clubs in a pack, making sure to get plenty of attention as a group before they split up. And then, then, the game was on. The goal was to dance with as many men as they could. You know the kind of dancing, the dirty, nasty grinding that can only happen when you're extremely intoxicated on a weekend after a hard week of work. Except these girls made it a habit never to drink on their excursions, and they wouldn't know the meaning of work if it bit them. Each girl would pick a man, and dance with him,, her body pressed against his, perhaps whispering enticing words to him, until his arousal was made evident. Then they'd make some excuse to go to the bathroom, to get a drink, anything, and that was it for the poor sucker. They were on to the next willing guy, the challenge to see who would leave the most men in the club with a case of blue balls he'd be complaining about for weeks. It was really a sight to see, and perhaps that's why they chose these clubs, deep in the city where no one they knew would ever dare frequent. The well bred country club elite, acting as if they belonged in an episode of Girls Gone Wild.
It was a typical weekend for Fiona, and settling herself back against the bar with a glass of water in her hand, she lifted her damp hair off of her warm, sweaty neck. She was dressed the part, to perfection. She was wearing a teal backless shirt that accentuated her fair skin, cut low enough to show off her finer assets, and a denim skirt that fell six inches above her knees, along with a pair of straw, platform sandals. She quickly picked out the other girls, all of whom seemed to be doing a fantastic job, and she couldn't keep from smiling a bit as she sipped calmly at the icy drink. They'd come so far with her. It was really tragic that they were all from the same kind of family as hers, and yet none of them had really experienced the pleasure that came from teasing a man. From finding out he wanted you, making him need you, and then simply…walking away. It was gratifying; in a way that you couldn't relate to unless you were one of the four of them. You could dance with a man, rub yourself against him like a wanton, your hips grinding against his as you felt his arousal growing evident, and the look in his eyes, the look that said 'I want you'. It was all such a turn on. The best part was that they usually went home and ended up going to houses of their respective boyfriends, and fucking them senseless. Maybe it was a bit immoral, but, Fiona didn't really care.
Setting her drink down on the bar, she slipped back into the teeming mass of people, as a Nine Inch Nails song began blaring across the speakers, and quickly, her body found a rhythm. Maybe that was why she attracted so many men out here, the way that she lost her body in the music, the tempo sensual and moving as she danced alone, her face tilted up, an expression of near euphoria gracing her features. Soon, she felt a pair of hands coming to rest upon her slender hips, and she allowed herself to be pulled back against the solid chest of her romancer. Words didn't need to be spoken, not in a place like this. The music was too loud and the air too charged to even try to hear over, and so, she simply went with the flow of things. His fingertips skimmed across the inch or so of bare skin that was exposed between the low rise of her jeans and the hem of her shirt, and Fiona's arms rose up, looping around a neck that wasn't too far above hers, as she pressed herself back against him. The music was pulsing, and their bodies were imitating it, dipping and grinding with the beat, and it wasn't too long before the forward man behind her was moving her hair out of the way, and pressing light, feathery kisses across the sensitive skin there. While Fiona was a tease, she also wasn't dead by any means, and when she felt the stirring in her lower stomach, she pulled away abruptly.
Without bothering to look behind her, she mumbled quickly, "I need to find the ladies room. Thanks for the dance."
It was strictly against the rules of the game to allow yourself to become aroused by the other person, and if, for some unknown, god awful reason, you found yourself reciprocating desire, it was time to move on, to move away, regardless of whether or not they'd fallen into the girls trap or not. If you didn't walk away while you still could, it was possible to end up going home with anyone, an entry level consultant on Wall Street, a convenience store manager, or god forbid, a fast food worker. And that just wouldn't do for these girls. Walking quickly towards the bathroom, Fiona caught the eyes of the other girls, and gave a small wave, indicating that she was fine, and they should continue their escapades on the floor. Pushing open the door to the private room, Fiona turned on the cold water and wet a paper towel, wringing it out before pressing the cool, damp cloth to her cheeks. It was definitely time to get out of here, and maybe she'd have time to go over to her boyfriend Patrick's house tonight. He was in for it if she did, she was a wildcat in bed anyway, but after one of their little dance club games, he was lucky she didn't kill him with her enthusiasm. As she rested her hands on the sink and bent over it, taking several calming breaths, she felt, more than saw, someone come in behind her. Must have forgotten to lock the door.
