Dream Girl by Orghum

Spencer Rosen scanned the dimly lit room for fresh talent. He was a regular at ‘club danger’ even though, with his expensive haircut and Armani outfit, he seemed out of place in this club that catered to a gothic and fetish oriented clientele. Despite his appearance, he had a kinky streak in him. He spent his days as a movie producer for a major studio, part of the machine that cranked out an endless stream of stale, mass-marketed crap. To escape from this numbingly artificial world, he came here on weekends, not for the unrelentingly loud music, which he despised, but for the women. He liked them young and Goth, but also very beautiful, his ideal woman being a dark, dangerous princess. Similarly, he had a thing for long nails; he was uninterested in bondage, torture or domination, but loved to feel the long nails of a woman on his back as they made love or the sensation of nails on his penis or balls, as she coaxed him to arousal. He knew that a woman who possessed all these qualities was a rare prize, but that did not stop him from searching.

 

Nursing his third Absolut martini, he spotted a good-looking young brunette ordering a drink at the end of the bar. As befit the situation, she was clad in a black leather catsuit that accentuated her attractive figure, and her legs were attired in wicked thigh-high leather boots; likewise her lovely face was highlighted by heavily applied black eyeliner, dark, metallic-purple lipstick, and from the pallor of her skin, a white foundation. Various earrings dangled from her ears and the tattoo of a serpent elegantly emerged from her neckline. This was not your everyday Goth though. She not only had a perfectly shaped face and body, but also the aura and presence of that rare breed of woman whom men find irresistible, a siren, a femme fatale. She possessed an almost supernatural poise, the kind of self-confident and magnetic allure that enflamed the desires of susceptible males. Moreover, as her hands removed a bill from her pocket, he noticed her long blood- red nails; this final detail sealed the deal for him, he needed to meet this vision.

 

The bar was packed and he had to push his way through the crowd to reach her. He stood behind her, and as the bartender returned with her drink, he reached across her, handing the bartender money, and said, “I got that.” She turned with a look as if to say, “Who the fuck are you?” and giving a contemptuous smirk, proceeded to turn away and move down the bar, as he stood stunned by her dismissal. Having recovered from the abrupt rejection, he considered abandoning the pursuit; watching her stand with her drink cradled between those long, alluring nails, however, he once again mounted the courage to engage her.

 

            “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he began, as he got her attention, “I just wanted to meet you.”

 

Although this time she didn’t turn away, she once again glared at him in contempt, seeming to make a quick appraisal of him. “You don’t look like someone who craves punishment. Go away before you get hurt.”

Finally losing his patience, he shouted, “Listen you little self-involved narcissist. Don’t assume you understand me, and don’t fucking patronize me. Are you so fucking superficial that you can dismiss me with one look?  I take back what I said. You‘re worse than a narcissist, you’re a fucking arrogant, sociopathic, misanthrope.”

 

She viewed this tirade with amusement, seeming to relish his anger, as she joked, “Oh, come on baby, you’re not gonna beat me with your thesaurus, are you?” After she mockingly raised her hands as if to block a blow, the righteous anger in his eyes began to subside. Curious about the sudden change, she noticed that his eyes were focused on her hands. She slowly waved her fingers, which seemed to heighten his reaction, and said, “Beautiful, aren’t they?” He slowly nodded, staring at her long polished nails, his eyes becoming transfixed. “You have to be careful though, sometimes the most beautiful things can also be the most dangerous.” She reached out to stroke his neck and gently graze his skin with her nails as he shuddered at the delicious sensation.

 

Noticing that two women who had been kissing and groping each other in a booth across the bar had just gotten up to leave, he said,  “Hey, sorry I screamed at you, maybe we could settle this misunderstanding over a drink in that empty booth.”

 

Her menacing smile gradually softening, she responded, “I think we understand each other quite well.” Her attitude appeared to be shifting as her smile transformed into one of seductive promise. Raising her right hand to extend her index finger, she enticingly caressed his chin with her nail, saying, “Why don’t you get us two more drinks and meet me over there.” Approaching the table with their drinks, he set them down and was about to sit next to her when she stood up and gave him a sly smile.  Placing her hand on his shoulder, she leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “If you get on the inside, I‘ll give you a little surprise.”

 

“I like surprises,” he replied, sliding into the booth. They sipped their drinks and exchanged glances as the sense of anticipation developed between them. She extended her left hand and rubbed his leg as he watched her nails bewitchingly crawl across his thigh. She placed her right hand behind his head and drew his mouth towards her. As her tongue explored his mouth, her left hand moved from his leg to his lap, massaging his penis through his pants. She then reached for his zipper, drawing it down with a slow teasing pull. He felt the nails of her hand coax his growing erection through the opening as he realized she intended to give him a hand-job right here in the bar. While her right hand playfully scratched the back of his neck, the palm of her left massaged the tip of his penis, the tips of her nails sexily probing the base of his sack. As she expertly stimulated the enthralled man, his breathing grew more rapid and his heart pounded with excitement.

 

As he began to climax, she dug the nails of her right hand into his neck and clamped her left hand over his mouth. His attempted screams were muffled by her hand; nothing was heard over the hammering beat of the music as he suffered in muted agony. The candlelit darkness obscured their activities from onlookers; any witness to their deadly dance probably mistook their actions for kinky foreplay.     

 

He stared at her in shock as the poison from her nails made its way to his heart, her expression changed from malevolence to tenderness. She stroked his face gently, as if putting a child to sleep, and gave him a sympathetic kiss on the cheek. His legs grew cold and his lungs desperately sought for air, until, with one cathartic exhalation, his body surrendered to the inevitable and, as she removed her hand from his mouth, his head fell forward to rest on the table. In this position, he appeared to have succumbed to intoxication, his disemboweled chest lying hidden beneath him.

 

She wiped the blood from her nails on his shirtsleeve. She finished her drink, reapplied her lipstick and blowing him a kiss, got up and left the bar.