Works Of Art...
The building was old, worn and on its last gust of wind but it served a purpose. It wasn't the kind of place schools would rally eagar faced children together to tour. Far from it quite frankly and yet, through the doors and up the stairs were many exotic, beautiful things on display.
The sound of quarters jingling from several pockets twirled through the hallways. One man's steps seemed to drag slower than the rest. Almost as if he was searching for something in peticular. Finally, he chose a seat at the far end of the hall. As soon as he slipped the four coins in the socket, the lights in the room sprung to life, revealing a pair of clear, blue eyes. This one... She was the one. He could not avert his eyes from her full lips. Almost nestled in the corner was a long, silver pole. She wrapped herself around it with such precision, slowly climbing to the top. She dropped to the floor in a split right when a bell dinged and the lights went out, signaling the dollar was spent. Quickly, he counted out four more quarters. She reappeared, this time sliding across the floor as if in a dainty ballet studio instead of a room that reeked of sadness and regret. He wanted her. He had to have her for his collection. He tapped on the glass.
She stopped. The spaghetti straps of her lingerie slipped from her shoulders. He couldn't tell if the movement was on purpose or not but it did not matter.
She approached the glass, step by calculated step, not breaking eye contact before reaching out to touch it. Right palm first, then left. Again, there was a ding and everything went dark. He patted his pockets. He only had four quarters left. When the lights lit the box once more, he expected her to be in some type of pose but she was still standing palms up against the glass.
"Hello." Was all she said. "Hello" was all he needed. He expected her to do something yet, she continued to stare. He cleared his throat before asking if she would mind spending time with him. Her eyes were eager, hungry. He knew that look. She reached in her bra and pulled out a tube of lipstick. As the color touched her lips, again, darkness enveloped the room.
As she had requested, he waited behind the weather battered building. He had expected her to be wary of joining someone she'd only just met. Instead, she'd linked her arm through his and they walked. Once inside his home for the evening, she stood there for the longest of seconds, staring into space, waiting for something.
"Kiss me." She said softly. His name slipped through blood red, painted lips. He had wanted to taste them ever since the fluorescent lighting had flickered on in her box. She moaned against his embrace.
He had not expected her to be how she was. He allowed her to undress first him then herself. She insisted on removing everything before pushing him back on the blankets.
"Keep on your heels." Was his only request.
She nodded then half walked, half danced to the bed. The entire time, she barely so much as blinked. She lowered herself on him and a little sigh escaped her throat.
She repeated his name over and over as if she had been saying it her whole life. As if tonight was not her first time hearing it. She threw her hair back and clawed down his chest like a cat at a damn scratching post. He allowed her this courtesy. It was the least he could do.
She continued to ride with her eyes closed. He watched, transfixed by the beads of sweat gathering on her breasts. Drip by slow, poetically beautiful drip, beads dropped on his stomach. A clear, slick pool was beginning to form.
Again, his name escaped her mouth. Louder this time. Her hair, curly and long, bounced against her arched back. For the right man, in the right setting, her talents would not be a waste but for him... Such a pity. He could tell she was about to climax. Her ride had escalated into a full blown assault. Her nipples, hard from excitement and pleasure pointed directly at his face.
She fell forward. Carefully curled tresses swept across his face. She leaned up so that their eyes could meet. She smiled at him. The smile of a secure lover who had been held in place by a tender embrace for several magnificent years. He had to admit: It was a wasted gesture. They all smiled at him.
"Now what?" She asked quietly.
Oddly enough, this newly sweet, innocent sounding voice suited her more than the carnal moans she was slathering across the walls moments before.
He didn't break their stare. Women did things like this for some reason. As if staring deeply into someone's eyes gave them some weird, mystic key into a man's soul. Unfortunately, he knew that game and he was well versed in how to win.
"Now..." He sighed. Her breasts were pressed against his navel. He didn't need her on top of him for this.
She matched his sigh. "What are you thinking about?"
Earlier, when he had invited her back to the hotel, she had posed the same inquiry. That was a loaded question.
When he said nothing, she sat up, her back now turned from him. He could make out the lining of her ribs each time she took a breath. He could tell she had so much she wanted to say and yet, the words would not gather as she wished. He glanced down to scan the carpet. A tie was the closest thing to the bed. He reached down to retrieve it. She was lost in her own mind; deep in thoughts she could not bring herself to voice. She didn't even register his movement until he'd slipped the tie around her throat.
She tried to scream but to no avail. The spikes of her silver heels tore holes in the covers. She tried to throw them both backwards using her weight. Each time she thrashed, he pulled tighter and tighter. She reached behind herself to fight him off. He had expected this. They all tried to fight. She was not the first. Nothing she was doing earlier was close to as seductive as watching her writhe against the blankets, trying in vain to break free. Little gasps escaped now trembling lips. Mesmerized, he pulled tighter, waiting...
Waiting for that last...
She gasped and went limp.
He released his grip and tossed her to the side. Her hair showered over her face, covering it.
He had an affinity for busty, women with raven hair but this one, she was different. She masqueraded as a woman whom had known him every day of her existance. Not as if their paths had only crossed because she was on display behind a glass wall like a work of art in a museum.
"You..." He leaned down to brush the hair from her cheek. It was still warm to the touch. "You..."
He redressed, still keeping his eyes trained on her; displayed like a tragic, delicate work of art. His body twitched, recalling how she fought. Each gasp. Each thrash. He reached down to twist one of her curls through his fingers. She truly was a wasted, exquisite, work of art, tucked behind the dusty glass of a shadow box.
Never again. In his mind, he had freed her.
Tomorrow... One day or the next, someone would open the door and see her. News cameras would be salivating in the hallways, trying to catch the tiniest of glimpses for their ten o'clock news. A coroner would pull a zipper over her head, shaking his own at such a rare, stunning flower but not before an officer or four took countless pictures at every angle imaginable. She did not belong in the caverns of a weather beaten building. She belonged here...
Because now she was on display for all the world to see.