Vermilion Lounge: Expunging — Steve Isaak

Alec’s long brown hair fell past his face as he sat in the metal folding chair. A cigarette smoldered between his nicotine-stained fingers, smoky loops rising, dissipating in the cold light of the white-walled dressing room.

At the other end of the tiny room, Elizabeth sat in front of a battered vanity, applying white greasepaint to her face. A blue kimono covered her mid-sized frame, blending nicely with her short black hair.

She glanced at her husband. Affection was apparent in her brown eyes and gentle smile.

Elizabeth knew Alec was prepping himself. He went through this before every show, reminding himself why he enacted this “sacrifice”. It wasn’t easy to do what he did, repaying a phantom debt that nobody but ex-drug addicts like Alec could fathom.

Not that Elizabeth completely understood it. But if it helped him battle his demons, who was she to question it, as long as it didn’t compromise her integrity or hurt her?

She rose from the vanity seat. Padding across the thin-carpeted room, she took the cigarette from Alec’s grip, playfully tossled his hair while she ground out the smoke in an ashtray.

“It’s almost time, hon.”

Alec looked up at her. His troubled hazel eyes went warm as he drew her to him, his white terry cloth robe brushing her bare legs. She placed her hands on his shoulders, the top of his head abutting her belly. His hands rested on the small of her back, before sliding down to her butt cheeks to pinch them through her robe.

Squealing, Elizabeth leapt away from him, slapping his shoulders.

The boyish grin left his face when a sharp knock sounded on the door.

“Showtime!” Johnny’s masculine timbre nearly blew the paper-thin door down.

“We’re coming!” she responded, giving Alec a mock-dirty look, daring him to rejoinder.

# # #

They stood on the darkened curtained stage. Alec shed his robe and mounted the naugahyde X-shaped stand in the center of it. Elizabeth buckled his wrists and ankles in the leather cuffs, murmuring “Ready?”

Alec nodded.

On the other side of the curtain, the MC announced them.

She gave him a quick, careful buss (it wouldn’t do to muss her face paint), then darted to the other side of the stage.

The curtains opened. They winced as red and blue stage lights washed over them, deepening the darkness of the crowded lounge beyond it.

The show had begun.

# # #

Ten minutes later.

Elizabeth pressed back, slowly rubbing her petite butt against Alec’s half-erect dick; blue silk contrasted with red male flush.

Her hands lightly teased his hairless thighs and firm butt. He stiffened; she stopped, stepped away from him.

Her gait was deliberate, superior.

You are mine to do with as I please, it said.

On one of the three video screens on either side of the chintzy red stage captured her actions, for those in the back. The other screens captured other images – her albescent face, expressionless; his blade-scarred flat stomach, hairless like the rest of his lanky sun-burnt frame; her nipples, poking through her kimono, large for her tiny breasts; his wrists and ankles, leather-bound to the vertical stand; his face, registering happiness, doubt, fear.

Elizabeth knelt at the gilded trunk at the right side of the stage. The audience waited, breathless in the post, alcohol-hazed darkness. All the while Kruder & Dorfmeister’s bass and drum ambience filled the room, pacing the performance.

Reaching into the trunk, she rose, sauntering towards Alec. Her kimono rustled against her skin, a lover’s caress. She reminded herself that she’d get that pleasure soon enough.

The naugahyde cross was warm on his backside as she pressed against him. Drowning in her prolonged passionate kiss, Alec felt his dick stiffen under her teasing strokes. Her hand trailed over the faint needle marks on the insides of his arms when she broke off the kiss.

Her right hand opened, revealing the razor, the one she’d retrieved from the trunk.

Elizabeth made shallow cuts in his chest. His sweat-covered body went rigid. A collective gasp was heard from the audience.

Watching him carefully, she finished her cutting. She licked at his wounds, blood smudging the sides of her crimson mouth, garish against her corpse-white face.

Elizabeth stepped away from Alec to let one of the cameras get an overview of his wounding: she’d carved a smiley face into his chest.

Someone in the audience guffawed. Alec and Elizabeth smiled.

Moving to the sides of the naugahyde X, she loosened two bolts, gently swung him into a horizontal position. She secured the two bolts.

Elizabeth shed her kimono when she sat on Alec’s face, his darting tongue seeking the wet heat of her smooth shaved sex. Dabbing her fingers in his blood, she slicked his swelling dick with it. Her short black hair bobbed up and down furiously as she sucked it. Elizabeth’s movements matched the cacophonic velocity of Skinny Puppy’s “Lust Chance,” BPMs and creepy vocals reverberating in her head.

She heard him groan her name as he came. His igneous, salty juice erupted within her. Seconds later, Elizabeth followed suit, shuddering as she came in Alec’s mouth.

Slowly, she lifted herself off Alec. Both of their mouths were smeared with bodily fluids. They smiled at each other while she undid his leather cuffs, waves of applause washing over them as the house lights came on.

____________________

More of Steve Isaak’s sexy stories can be found here.

Steve Isaak, also published under the name Nikki Isaak, lives in California.  He is the author of the anthologies  “Charge of the scarlet b-sides: microsex stories & poems” and “Behind the wheel: selected poems”. (available at Lulu.com).   He is also the author/editor of  www.readingbypublight.blogspot.com and the multi-author www.microstoryaweek.blogspot.com.