Dancer in the Storm

By billtremendous

Today was the day.

I was going to be productive today. I was actually going to do something on the weekend! I had no excuses, it was a nice, stormy day out and none of my friends were online. I was going to clean something up, or work on those complicated returns to have less to do during the week. I’ll do it! I’ll get myself some spare time!

…Just after this video. And this video. And a round of Station in Space 23…

Crap.

It was the evening now, the sun had set and the rainstorm hadn’t let up at all throughout the day. I had just finished up with a satisfactory dinner, and I was now sitting at my desk, struggling with the 1040-Schedule C form and expenses my client provided for me. This was no time for listening to music, or dealing with the screeches of any number of electric or bass guitars. But, then again, it wasn’t often a storm this dark and violent made its way here. As such, I left my window open for the storm, both for the sound of roaring thunder and droning rain, as well as to cool the sweltering furnace that was my house.

And what a refreshing breeze it was. That was until I could feel the wave of heat rapidly approaching my office.

“Hey,” a rough, feminine voice called out, “‘m bored. Ya wanna fuck around a bit?”

It was Wiktoria, that bitchy, piercing ridden fri- housem-

The chick I was living with.

“No.” I gruffly respond. “I’m busy.”

“Ah c’mon! Don’t give me that crap. I’ve been watchin’ ya all day and ya haven’t done dick with yer time.” She scolded.

“Which is exactly why I need to focus on getting something done right now! I need to finish SOMETHING today!” I turn my chair to personally front my disdain for her interruption. “And the last thing I need is you to be wrecking my thought process.”

“Uh huh. That why ya’ve got another window open?” I quickly close the window in response to her accusation. I’d have to use prior history to find what it was I had been looking at before.

“Just stuff from earlier that I haven’t looked at for ten minutes.”

“And the other window? The random cracks of thunder and the humid stink from the rain ain’t breakin’ yer thought process?”

“First of all, the droning rain is relaxing and the thunder is less discordant than the screeching of your guitars. And second,” I point to the cigarette between her fingers, its tip lit and trailing smoke to stain my perfectly good ceiling, “The nice smell of rain does a lot to drown out smog, to say nothing of the stench of your ciggies. Speaking of which, didn’t I tell you no smoking in my office?”

“Tsk. You say that shit like ya don’t bum one from me every other night. Either way it sounds like an excuse.”

“Yeah, well. I like the stormy weather. Didn’t get to see it much where I’m from so I’ll enjoy it whenever I can.” I turn back to my tax forms, content to let her boil over from my sharp repudiation.

“So that’s it then.” Wiktoria questioned after a brief period of silence.

“Yes.” I responded.

“Yer stickin’ with those shitty papers?”

“Yes!” I confirmed. She turned on her heel, seemingly prepared to leave me to my work in exasperation.

“And not even enjoyin’ this shit the best you can?” She blurted out.

“Ye-” I pause in my seat as I catch a glance at Wiktoria’s expression from the corner of my vision.

It was That Look of hers. That half-lidded, over the shoulder, glare; not angry, but happy either. It was a flirtatious yet challenging glance, one that demanded my attention. I felt a lightness appear in my chest as I turned to meet her provocation. A charming evocation, one that primed me with inflammable emotion, ready to ignite with but a single spark.

I turned back to her in my chair, skeptical of what she wanted. “What’s that supposed to mean Wik?” I asked. She had her back to me, looking over her shoulder with her one visible eye as she held that cigarette up to her plump, lush lips. She puffed out a cloud of smoke from her ring pierced mouth before stomping away, her hands beginning to work at a button about her waist. By the time she rounded the corner to the living room, I had leapt from my chair to follow that tail of hers like a moth to a flame.

“Wik,” I called out, following her to the living room. What little stunt was she planning to pull now? As I turned the corner, her bra landed in my face, stunning me for a moment as Wiktoria opened the back door. “What the hell are you doing?” I questioned. She glanced over at me from the door, topless and bootless, before stepping out into the stormy dark.

Illuminated by the flame of her fiery tail, and outlined with her glowing, metallic piercings, she stepped out into the rain. As she stepped into the domain of the storm, a hiss of steam accompanied her, the puddles at her feet and the rain itself vaporizing as it came in contact with her intense heat. She paused a distance outside and took another puff from her cigarette before looking back with that same flirtatious glare. I worked to gather my senses at the display before me as ribbons of smoke and clouds of steam congealed in the air before fading into nothing.

Satisfied with my newly found attention, Wiktoria began her display.

The steam still rising about her, she set to softly shaking her hips, stretching and waving her arms as if to catch every single drop of rain she could. She started bobbing her tail to some unheard beat, as if she were merely a rider on the beat of the storm as she rose her wings up and down like silken fabrics hanging off of a dancer’s arms. Even from the doorway and the chill of the wind on my face, I still faced an intense wave of heat coming from Wiktoria’s body, an aura of defiance to the forces of nature and my own negligence. She twisted her body about slowly to face me for a brief moment before resuming her dance facing away from me, cigarette still in her mouth.

All sense of self had left me at that point. I was utterly enthralled by the display before me, a combination of sheer awe and what was likely Wik’s pyrow charms working at my soul. It was as if I was watching a beautiful, personification of a dancing flame. One that instilled the basest desire to contain and embrace it.

I tossed her bra aside and stepped out into the storm, uncaring for the rain pelting me. The heat only intensified as I approached her, the front of my body being steam cleaned as the rain seemed to vaporize the moment it touched me. I wrap my arms about her stomach and pull her close, something she reciprocates by pushing her rump into me. She’s hot, almost unbearably so, to the touch like leather in the hot sun. I rested my head on her shoulder, utterly hypnotized by her as she wrapped a gloved arm about my neck.

“Wik,” I whisper, “you know I’m busy.” She chuckles and holds her cigarette to my lips, letting me take a puff of that sharp cancer stick.

“Since when’s that ever stopped ya?” She whispers back. She leans in close and nips my ear, her lip piercing scalding my skin where it makes contact. She leans in even closer, her other arm wrapped around my own around her waist as she makes her request.

“C’mon, baby, light my fire.”


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