Private Dancer 8

This is about the sixth time I've been sitting in this exact seat, in this exact club, waiting. I took me this long to figure out the schematics before I made a fatal error. I never make fatal errors, and I wasn't about to ruin my record here. I arrived here a few weeks ago, on my birthday; at least it's to believe I was "born" on that day. I had been indulging in one of my other vices, a deadly mixture of fine cigars and cheap booze. I was too drunk to drive home, and no matter what you explain to stupid law officers, they just don't understand. I spent about a half hour attempting not to make a fool of myself by falling out of the tacky upholstered barstool before she walked out.

Tonight was the night. I had allowed her to get comfortable with me, as much as a paying customer could get with a girl like her, but even so, there was a minute amount of trust, and I could see it in her eyes. The way she looked at me, with adoration, because I didn't treat her like a piece of meat. She spent most of her time either dancing, or tucked away in the corner of the dressing room wiping the tears from her eyes. She hated herself for it, because she had to redo her makeup before putting on the fake smile for whatever middle aged, middle management dufus wearing a tucked in polo shirt wanted her company for a short period of time. I suppose sometimes a big wallet and a small cock is much easier than the other way around. I watched her move, admired the straight black hair and the pale skin slice through the dead, smoky air of the club. She wasn't riddled with tattoos or gratuitous holes in her body, she didn't smoke, and when she drank, it was daintily through a straw. Her size alone would be a formidable challenge for me, as she was tall, and even with my boots, she would come up, at least to my eyes. If she is even a bit strong...I may run into a problem.

Normally, I would be saying to myself how sorry I feel for the dumb bitch. How amazing she is going to look pitifully crying, begging...helpless. Only, she wasn't a dumb bitch. She wasn't some gutter skank who would stare at me blankly until the only thing she could muster from her limited intellect was enough vernacular to inquire about me wanting to spend some alone time with her, and pay for it. They never realize that even with all the money they may be able to make from the other men with their jaws draped open because their bland wives don't want to be anywhere near their crotch, that they end up paying me. They want green...I want crimson.

I was sipping a dirty martini, chewing on the end of the straw that used to hold the olives, when she approached, as she had a few times before. They were pitiful, tiny olives. Why did I even bother with her, with this place, with their awful drinks? As soon as she got close enough, I remembered why, and I could fucking smell it. There was no toxicity like most of the other girls that were passed around like pieces of meat. It was pure and sweet and it always makes me thankful that I don't have a cocaine habit. I could only imagine what kind of trouble that would get me into...pure and sweet. I knew she liked seeing me, as I kept my hands to myself, was very polite, and offered her compensation for her company and time. She rarely accepted and I think she just liked sitting next to me because I was in some weird way protecting her from everyone else...and even herself.

"Hey, you! I'm Samantha! Welcome back." she said, in her stupid school girl voice. That doesn't work for me, and she knew it. Smartass. I should fucking kill you for that. In due time, perhaps.

"No, you're not." I replied, quietly.

"I know. I don't have to play games with you. What's with the coat, Neo?"

She tugged on the sleeve of my leather trench coat. I yanked it away. I looked her dead in the eyes and explained rule number one. She began rambling about her evening while twisting her ring on her finger. It was on her right ring finger, and I began to think about what I did to that other toxic piece of shit a few months back. She made front page of the papers. Another attack, another pale brunette. At least they didn't give me some stupid nickname. I wasn't listening to her. Nothing of importance was coming out and she quickly realized I was looking around, staring at the walls, trying to find an exit. She simply grabbed my arm and held it tight. She examined my hands, my fingers...and I let her. I shouldn't have, but she was so curious. She wanted to know about me. She wanted to know where I've been, what I've done, who I am. Stupid girl, don't play with matches.

I finally turned to her and explained my motives here. I took ten crisp one hundred dollar bills and laid them on the gaudy cocktail table. I separated them into two piles and explained that she would get half now and half when we are through. She was different, sure, but lay that kind of money in front of a stripper, and you could do almost anything you wanted. I planned to. She told me it would get me something in a room back in the back, obstructed and quiet. She went on about a few other things, but she had already said the words I was looking for. I wanted solitude, and I was pleasantly surprised that the music was loud enough to drown out any activities...or screams.

She got up and I took my hand, leading me to the rear of the building with some short Guido looking guy with a gold chain around his neck. She explained what I wanted and he winked at me, took the money from her, and made some mention about her taking me to paradise. I thought, oh goody, she's going to blow me. Yay! Who knows where her mouth has been. She probably gave that guy a hummer before her shift started. I hope he knows how to use a mop pretty well...

She opened the beaded curtain to the larger of the private rooms, and motioned for me to sit down. I waited for her to disrobe. "I'd rather stand."

"Suit your..."

I grabbed her around the waist and with the other hand covered her mouth. Her eyes opened, wide with fear. The smell got more potent. Adrenaline is like a cherry on a sundae, it's not necessary, but doesn't it work really well with the rest of the dessert. She felt amazing in my hands. Soft...scared. I felt something dripping down the leg of my leather pants. I figured the bitch was taking a piss. Fucking whore, soiling my attire, I'll fucking kill her, not that I hadn't planned to already. It wasn't, however. There wasn't a urine smell; it was dripping down her thigh and onto my leg, as it rested between hers. She was getting off on this. She wanted it.

I smiled. What a good girl. I knew I was going to enjoy every fucking second of this. Just then her eyes went from scared to puzzled. She had noticed my fangs, which were protruded and dripping with saliva. She couldn't move, I had her trapped, and I could feel her knees weakening around mine. I put my hand around her throat and explained that if she screamed, she's dead. If she tries to run, she's dead. Not that she could do either, but it was payback for the dribble she would ramble off to me. I reached down and put my hand on her wet slit. She was dripping, and it was everywhere. I should just fuck her and get this over with. She's going to ruin my boots and now I have to buy leather cleaner for my pants. Why couldn't she just cry and bleed like the rest of them.

When I felt her inhale, I sunk my teeth into her neck. It was sweet, warm, wet, just like below. I hadn't fed in so long...and this was like having the juiciest cut of meat to a steak lover. The last girl...the dead one...it all went to waste. I had a bit, but it was filled with shit. It's a good thing she's no longer walking the earth. Her blood was filled with shit, like her lies and deceit and her manipulations. Not her, though. Total bliss...and now I'm addicted.

I let go of her neck. I propped her up from between her legs, and held her there. The mixture of saliva and blood was making its way down her collar and over her chest. Her blood was surrounding the corners of my mouth. My eyes had changed and red was everywhere. I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to fuck her until she bled, until she collapsed, until she was broken. I wanted her to cum, to shake, to grab onto me...and pump the sweet endorphins through her. Give me what I want, you sick fuck...and I'll do the same for you.

Then again, she was getting what she wanted anyway. I had paid my money...well, most of it. She wasn't getting the other half. I needed that money for the next stupid whore who is unlucky enough to give me a little credit and a little trust. I can't fathom how much money I've spent on these wretched excuses for human beings. I never take back what I've given to them, but I never pay them in full. It's a little game for me, I suppose. I take what I want and they get a little of what they want...being deserving for either party is irrelevant.

The bloodshed that was occurring was significantly more than I expected. Her blood was exceptionally thin and pouring from the wounds. Cocaine perhaps, or pills, mixed with the endorphins...I don't know but I could taste the fear, and it was exactly what I needed. Naive, every one of them floating around, thinking that I'm another patron, or another lover, or a friend, or a well-wisher. Lives mean nothing to me, and if they only knew how much pain I've had to endure with no escape, because I can't.

I pulled my leg out from between hers. She had lost too much blood already and it wasn't stopping, and for a split second, I got frightened. I didn't mean to kill this girl; I just wanted my fix. She collapsed, immediately. Head slumped forward, arms out at her sides, trying...fighting to stay alive. I grabbed her neck, lifted her up, and kept her erect. Her body was crimson; her eyes were the darkest blue I had ever seen, and her skin was turning more transparent by the moment. She was emptying herself.

"This is what happens to fuck toys like you. Now, who will want you?"

She stuttered, "Please, don't kill me. Take what you want...take your money back. Please!"

I spit her blood back into her face. She didn't even blink or flinch, and it was projected in a fashion that covered most of her face. It looked amazing splattered against her skin. Someone had spit on me a while back, and it was the most demeaning thing anyone had ever done to me. She paid the price, however, the ultimate price.

I pulled her neck forward and slammed her back. Her head struck the mirrored glass behind her and it shattered. She fell to the floor, curled up in the fetal position...a natural way to protect oneself against predators. She was crying, at this point, and that's exactly what I wanted. The fear had gone, now it was just pain and understanding that everything she had done up to this point meant nothing, because she was a bloody fucking whore weeping on the ground in front of the most powerful entity she had ever had the pleasure of crossing paths with.

I rolled her onto her back using my boot, and placed it directly on her chest. She tried grabbing the toe...clawing at the leather that depressed her ribcage. Her blood was gurgling out of her mouth now, and spilling down the sides of her face, and over her neck, soaking the stained floor. I looked down at her through the fire in my eyes, and my vision cleared for just a moment, which was long enough to see her mouth 'I'm sorry...'

Just then, the beaded curtain behind me flew open, and the little man who had made his quip earlier came into view. His eyes were opened wide and he lunged at me. Being much quicker than the average human, he flew against the broken mirror as I slipped out from the small area where my revenge had been taken.

Moving quickly, I located the exit of the club and dashed into the night...