Sparkle Someone Else's Eyes
Melanie decided that she definitely liked this club-- "Empire", it was called. Located in a somewhat revitalized part of the city, the decor was classy, the drinks were expensive... and everybody was dressed to the nines. Very chic.
In addition, this DJ was pretty good, but she wanted to hear something closer to heart. She wandered over towards his booth while a dance mix of some Eighties tune was spinning.
He sat amidst a tangle of wires, a microphone, and a laptop computer. Hispanic, goateed, and decent-looking, he smiled as she arrived in front of him.
"What would you like to hear?"
"Do you have anything by Finicky Trope?"
"Yeah, I've got both of their albums. Who should I dedicate it to?"
He laughed. "Could you be more specific?"
She grinned back and said, "Melanie."
"Will do, Melanie." He typed up her name on his screen next to "Fcky Tr", and she walked back to the bar.
Sweat-Guy was back, and he'd ordered her another kamikaze. She was tempted, but she didn't want him to think she was interested, so she told him that she was taking it slow tonight. He looked disappointed, but he shrugged it off and knocked the drink back before smiling at her and returning to the dance floor. Now where is Paul-With-The-Moustache? she thought.
There he was: taken by a petite blonde who was obviously surgically-enhanced. Dammit. Men are such idiots. Enhanced-Blonde was smiling and nodding, her vapid eyes giving away the fact that Moustache-Paul was lost to Melanie for the night. She signaled for another kamikaze, and started drinking it slowly when it arrived.
Well-Dressed-Guy was back now, and his redhead was nowhere to be seen. He pulled up a stool next to her and lit up a cigarette. "Hi again," he said, holding out his cash to catch the bartender's attention. "How was dancing?"
"Fun," she replied, giving him the look that implied that more questions would be welcome.
"So what's your name?"
"Melanie. And yours?"
"Robert. Can I get you another one of those?"
Well what do you know? She was almost done with it! "Sure," she said, "It's a kamikaze."
"Gotcha." He handed the bartender a twenty and placed his order. "And who are you here with, tonight, Melanie?"
She mock-scowled in response. "No one. I was stood up."
"The man's an idiot, whoever he is." He took the opportunity to glance up and down her figure. "A real idiot."
Heh. You're the most transparent guy I've ever met, she thought. Of course, you're also reasonably good-looking, so I'll overlook it. Just this once. "Nah, you've got the wrong idea. My friends were supposed to go out with me tonight, but they all flaked on me and so now I'm
stuck dancing alone." Come on, guy, that's an opening and a half...
Her next kami' arrived, but at the same time came the pulsing bass of "Violation", from Finicky Trope's first album. She really wanted to dance to it, but she was kind of interested in finding out more about Well-Dressed-Robert. She stood up. "Ooohh. I love this song!"
"I'll watch," he replied. "I don't dance."
"Come on," she coaxed, "You wouldn't leave me out there all alone, would you?"
"There's little danger of that," he said, indicating the quickly-filling dance floor.
Damn. Well, he'd had his chance. "Okay, Robert," she slapped him on the shoulder. "I'll see you later. Maybe." With that, she shot back her new kamikaze and strutted off to join the throng, swaying her hips a bit to let him know what he was missing. The bozo.
She was dancing almost before she hit the floor, as the song's rhythm was inescapable. She pushed through the mounds of people to a less crowded area over in the corner by the unused stage, where she could dance without being danced on. The pulsing bass-line soon had her moving in sync, and slowly but surely a group of men assembled to watch and (at least attempt to) participate. She grinned to herself at this behavior, and kept moving her shapely limbs in ways meant to entice.
The lights were even wilder than before, with the disco-balls actively sparkling in multi-colored splendor. A couple of lasers shone down on the wall nearby Melanie, and she was amused to see they, too, were in sync with the music. They pulsed with a blossoming effect every time the deep synth notes did, and they even moved around in circles slightly as the bass pattern repeated. It made her want to dance even more, and her movements grew ever more in tune with the sound and the lights.
This is it, she thought. This is why I came out tonight. To feel like this. To feel at one with something wonderful. She smiled broadly as the beat intensified, and watched the laser patterns on the walls change slightly in response. The patterns were really, really neat to
watch. They expanded and contracted, and seemed to spin around in a complex, beautiful way. One red, one green, both amazing. She moved her body ecstatically, her eyes fixed on the patterns.
The song was reaching a peak, now, and she felt an incredible excitement overwhelm her as the green pattern slid across the wall, closely followed by the red, drawing Melanie's gaze along with it like a string. Then the music grew louder, and the patterns moved away from the wall, vanishing for instants as they bounced from person to person, body to body and finally came to rest on
She wore a shimmering, silvery, silken dress, almost liquid in its motion. Her body moved to the rhythm in the most natural of ways, Her dress rippling with the wind of Her undulations. The patterns struck Her, and gleamed like jewels, still engaged in their own dance.
Melanie was lost.
The Woman was standing atop a platform, alone, and She was looking directly at Melanie.
The music was like a voice in her head, now. Melanie, it said, you are the Dancer. You must follow the Dance.
And the Patterns were the Dance; they were the pulse of the beat and the beauty of the melody. And she could not look away from the green and red swirls, and their silvery background.
Come, Melanie, the Patterns said, the pulses said, Dance with me. Now.
The song was over, now, but a new one took its place. The rhythm was similar, but contained new subtleties and more harmonic elements. The laser Patterns followed suit, and as more tones were added to the song, so were more voices added to Melanie's mind. Most of them, however, were murmurs on the edge of comprehension.
One spoke with the voice of Command.
Melanie, it called, approach Us.
Volition didn't even enter into the equation. Her body was marionette to the strings of the red and green colors projected onto the Woman's body. And her legs moved stridently toward the platform, her eyes never leaving the Patterns or the Woman that bore them on Her dress, Her shoes striking the floor in rhythm with the Dance.
She brushed past the men who had been watching her perform as if they didn't exist. A sweat-covered man called out to her in recognition, but her thoughts slid off him as if he were glass; a weakly-smiling man (who something inside her insisted was "Robert", and who shouldn't be here) reached out to touch her arm and received no attention whatsoever. They were nothing in the realm of the Patterns, the Dance, the Woman.
Now she approached the platform, and the Patterns blazed in emerald and ruby ecstasy up and down the Woman, grazing Her legs at the hem of the short dress, and sliding round to caress Her breasts and stomach as the fabric swirled around Her. Melanie stood transfixed before Her, eyes
even with Her knees, and the Commanding voice inside her skull instructed her to ascend to the Dance.
While she clambered atop the wooden dais, an audience began to gather around the two, all of them wondering what was going on. They saw an attractive woman climbing to join another atop Empire's central dance riser; the new arrival was oblivious to her surroundings, and her gaze
was locked on her predecessor, whose face was inquisitive, though unsmiling. The women closed, and the riser's original occupant turned slowly in place, presenting the newcomer with her back side.
Melanie was confused as the Woman turned away-- the patterns were out of view, with only the pulsing voices in the music to reassure her. What am I doing up here? she started to think. Who is this W-woman?
Look into the mirror! To your left! shouted the voice of Command, but she resisted. What the hell is going on?!? She looked around her, at the faces below the platform, seeing them stare back. She was losing the rhythm, now, and felt awkward up here, and wanted to get out of here and figure out what had hap--
The Patterns were back, on the Woman's back now, rotating in unison with the pulses that communicated Melanie's needs to her. And she was lost again.
Melanie approached the Woman now, her eyes raptly fixed on Red and Green. Suddenly, Red slid away, but she was Commanded not to fret, and to look into the mirror instead, to look at the Woman in the mirror. Gazing there, she saw Red moving up and down the front of the Woman's
billowing silvery dress. The other Pattern joined it, and the voice in her head made her move forward again.
She almost didn't notice when her hands brushed the silken fringes of the dress fabric, but she continued to sink her hands into its luxurious shimmer. She slid her hands around the Woman's waist, resting them on Her hips in a firm-- even possessive-- grip. The Patterns went wild at this, reassuring her and exciting her at the same time.
In the mirror, the Woman smiled.
As the Woman leaned backwards, Melanie felt Her backside pressed up against her. The voices encouraged her to savor the feeling of thigh against thigh, breast against shoulder, groin against buttock. She sighed as the Woman ground Her tight ass hard into Melanie's crotch to the rhythm of the Dance, and she savored the hot, satiny slickness of the Woman's dress as she moved her hands from Her hips down to legs, and back up again to the Woman's breasts.
The Woman's expression changed from a smile to a lascivious grin.
The Patterns gyrated triumphantly. Melanie's locked gaze followed them upward, past the Woman's stomach, past her hands, and up until the Patterns reached the Woman's eyes. As one eye went Red and the other Green, the voices chorused in unison, Command loudest of all, This is the Dance. The Patterns are the Dance, and they are in Her eyes. Your will is the Dance. Obey the Dance.
Melanie had no choice but to Obey, and no volition left to resist with.
She stared into the Woman's eyes, lost in the Patterns there, lost in the Dance. The song ended somewhat abruptly, and the Woman whirled around to face the enraptured Melanie. Though the laser lights had switched focus after the end of the song, for Melanie the Patterns were still in the Woman's eyes. The Woman spoke quietly but with certainty.
"Take my hand and follow."
And Melanie, who only Obeyed the Dance in this Woman's eyes, held out her hand. The two women stepped down from the dais amidst quite a squawk of disappointment; the kind of spectacle these women had made of themselves wasn't something that Empire's patrons witnessed very often. Countless comments were directed to Melanie and her companion-- lewd remarks, mostly regarding how much they needed a "real man", and even some half-drunken offers from women-- but all were coldly ignored as the women made their way toward the nightclub's exit.
The Woman led her to a long, white sedan, fumbled with the remote locking mechanism, and moved Melanie into the back seat. She followed and closed the door behind Her, and Melanie sat quietly on the leather-upholstery. The Woman was examining her face closely. Melanie didn't
mind, she just stared deeply into Her eyes, her mind's eye still seeing the red and green Patterns swirling within them.
"What is your name?" the Woman asked her.
"Melanie Cole," she replied dreamily.
"Well, Melanie, is it often you feel up strange women on the dance floor and then hop into the back seat of a car with them?"
Melanie was confused. "No..."
"Why, is it, then, that you're here with me now?"
"The Patterns... your eyes... the voices told me to obey... you said to follow..."
"I see." The Woman hesitated, thoughtfully. "Well, I guess it worked the way it was supposed to, then." She paused again, then shook herself out of Her reverie and gave Her attention to the other woman. "Melanie?"
"You must obey me. Is that correct?"
"I must obey you."
"Good. Um... are you alone at the club tonight?"
"Okay. Let's see... Uh... are you a lesbian? Or a bisexual?"
"Could have fooled me. Why did you grab me up there on the dance floor and then start fondling my breasts?"
"The voices told me to caress you."
"Yes, the voices. And they told you to obey me, so you'll do anything I tell you, is that right?"
"Yes. The Patterns are in your eyes."
"Um... yeah. Very well, Melanie, unbutton your blouse. You must obey me."
"I must," the woman replied, as her fingers unbuttoned her blouse all the way down to her skirt, "obey you."
"Good. Now, remove your brassiere."
Melanie doffed the satiny garment without thought, only obedience.
"Very good. Your breasts are quite lovely. You should start stroking them for me."
The Woman breathed a bit heavily. "Damn. Okay. That's quite nice stroking. Keep that up." She crossed and uncrossed Her legs briefly, excitedly. "You know, Melanie, most straight women don't stroke their breasts in front of other women. That's something a bit more likely to be seen with a lesbian woman, don't you think?"
"Hike up your skirt and use one hand to stroke your panties in a way which arouses you. Feel free to moan if necessary. As I was saying, someone who's sitting half-naked in the back seat of another woman's car pawing at herself is probably some kind of lesbian slut, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes. And she's doing everything the other woman tells her to do; she must be some kind of submissive lesbian slut-slave, right?"
"Yes." A moan escaped her lips; her masturbatory rubbing was having its inevitable effect.
"You're definitely my lesbian slut-slave, then, aren't you, Melanie?"
"Tell me who you are."
"I am your lesbian slut-slave."
"Indeed. And if you are my slave, then I am your Mistress, wouldn't that follow?" The Woman was breathing deeply, now.
"You are my Mistress."
"Good. Melanie, do you know what lesbian slut-slaves do for their Mistresses?"
"No? Surely you know what lesbians do with each other. Sexually, I mean? Have you ever seen pictures, or a movie?"
"Yes. My ex-boyfriend once rented a lesbian porno movie. I didn't enjoy it."
"Heh. That's not too shocking. What were the women in the porno doing?"
"Mostly they were eating each other out."
"Yes, I'm sure they were. Do you know how to eat a woman out, Melanie?"
"We'll see about that. Melanie, have you ever been eaten out?"
"Yes." Her panties were utterly soaked right now.
"Then you know how good it feels. And you know how a properly used tongue can drive you to ecstasy."
"Yes." Did her stroking increase in urgency, slightly?
"Then you already know how to eat someone out. You do with your tongue exactly what you like done to you. Doesn't that make sense?"
"Of course it does. Now," the Woman slid over to the far end of the back seat, propping Her high heels up on the cushion near Melanie, "I'm going to prove it to you." Her legs parted, slightly, revealing nude thigh-highs and a complete lack of any other undergarments as Her
dress's silvery material dropped away from Her lap. "You, my little slave, are going to eat me out as if you've done it thousands of times before. You'll just do to me what feels good when done to you." The Woman leaned back against the sedan door. "Do you hear me and obey,
"I hear and obey."
The Woman's nostrils were flared with excitement. "Then eat my pussy now."
And Melanie, all her thoughts assuring her that she must indeed be the Woman's lesbian slut-slave, leaned her face forward into the embrace of the long, opened thighs before her.
"Yes, my servant. Yes. Use your... use... your tongue on my clit." The pungent smell of the Woman filled her senses as her lips sought to dance in Her womanhood. Melanie knew that felt good, as she'd had it done to her. She remembered exactly how good it felt as she stroked
herself through her panties while the Woman's hips began to buck rhythmically. Melanie continued to suckle ravenously, and she thrust her whole tongue inside as the Woman came thunderously with a yell.
Melanie herself was near to orgasm, as well, but her Mistress's pleasure came first. She kissed around the now-tender areas, occasionally bringing her tongue back to the lips and clitoris in teasing motions designed to reinvigorate the Woman's arousal.
Her Mistress noticed this attention to detail. "You, my dear, are an expert cunt-licker-- I'm already getting turned on for more. But you need release too, slave, and I am not an unkind Mistress. You may put your hands inside your panties now and give yourself pleasure."
Melanie was only too pleased to do so, as her access to her clit had been limited through her panties. She licked her Mistress thankfully.
"Remember, as you do so, that the pleasure you are getting is because you have pleased me. This pleasure comes from me. Do you understand?"
Melanie's answer was muffled, as were the cries from her subsequent orgasm. Her Mistress apparently enjoyed watching this, as She thrust Her crotch at Melanie's mouth with renewed vigor immediately thereafter.
"Ah, yes, my little slave," the Woman sighed as She relaxed from Her latest climactic exertion. "We have quite a night ahead of us, and much to talk about..."
* * *
"Quite a show."
Carlos snapped the case closed on the last of his equipment. "Hmmm? Oh, thanks."
Leighton, Empire's manager, had the keys in his hand and was waiting to walk Carlos out. "Well, I didn't mean you," he laughed. "Don't get me wrong, your set was as good as always. I was talking about those two freaky chicks around midnight. The lesbos. Couple of other women
complained about vulgarity."
"Well, I'd say we could all use a little more vulgarity, couldn't we?"
"Heh. I could've used some of that brand of vulgarity tonight. Instead I'm going home to my old lady."
Carlos came to the door and Leighton held it for him as he walked out. "Give her a nice kiss when you see her, man. The ladies are what we live for, you dig?"
"Yeah, I got ya. Have a good night, man."
Carlos crossed the parking lot to his car and opened the driver's door.
Sheila attacked him as he closed the door, as did the reek of sweat and pussy. When she finally removed her lips from his, he gasped for air and replied, "I suppose that means you had a good time?"
"Oh. My. God. Everything worked just like you said. It was amazing. She did everything, anything. By the time we were through, she was begging to be my little lesbian slut forever. That stuff you've got rigged up is almost scary."
"You caught me by surprise when you spun around like that. We almost lost her," he mock-chided. "So, how was your first time?"
"Better than I had ever imagined. Oh, she was a good pick, dear." She shuddered. "Very good. I'm getting worked up about it again just talking about it."
"Oh, really?" He grinned.
"Really." She kissed him again, and it lasted awhile. "Let's go home and I'll tell you all the details while you fuck the hell out of me!"
"Sounds good. But next time..."
"I want to be there."
"Of course, Carlos. You know I just wanted my first time to be special. Just me and her."
"Besides," she giggled, "there'll be plenty for everybody. I told her to bring two friends tomorrow night. Do you think your little music trick can work on two?"
"I'll find a way." He gunned the engine. "I'll come up with something. Trust me."
The white sedan pulled away into what remained of the night.