Mentioned: Nikita, Darkstar
Appearances By: Demonica
B.D.S.M.
Beating Down Stupid MoFos
Bondage.
Wrapped in leather, toes curling with the heavy, black steel-toed boots lifted and kick-started the motor of the rental dark red and black Harley Davidson 883 Sportster. A shiny, black with silver sparkle, full-face helmet covered the face, the visor tinted. It was dark outside, but it mattered not. The engine of the beast was revved, the mechanical roar resounding off surrounding buildings and inanimate objects. A few of the permanent residence shouted out their windows for the revving to stop. I smirked behind the visor, straddling the Hog and kicking it into first gear.
The black leather chaps hugged my legs tightly, caressing the black jeans that lay beneath. A dark red halter top encircled my torso, a somewhat tight, black leather jacket covering my arms. It was a chilly twelve degrees Celsius or fifty-four degrees Fahrenheit. If it had been warmer, I would have not worn the coat, but instead a vest, or in the very least, a denim jacket. Another rev to annoy my now awake neighbours and I was off, down the street and around the corner. My destination: Drake Night Club. A local strip joint in downtown Vancouver. Why was I going? For shits and giggles, of course! You dirty, perverted bastards.
Discipline.
I stood before the bouncer of the club, my helmet tucked neatly beneath my arm. I’d paid my admission fee, showed my identification and now, Big Lou was standing in front of me, blocking me from entering. The reason behind his blocking was beyond me. But I tell ya, it took almost all of me to keep from flattening him. I’d taken bigger in my day. He was about half a foot taller than me, putting him at six-three, maybe six-four. The thing that would cause me to lose in a bout against him would be his immense girth. I couldn’t tell if it was steroidal muscle, large bone density or plain fat… but he was a BIG guy. Me, being only five-eight and tipping the scale a few pounds shy of one-fifty, I decided it would be best not to mess with this guy… yet.
“What do you mean I can’t go in?” I asked; the stir and exasperation apparent in my voice. I tried to keep my cool. Oh, did I try. It was a very difficult task, to say the least. He just stared down at me; dark eyes hidden behind aviator glasses stared down at me. All he needed know was a stained white muscle-top that is stretched out like a bitch and a pair of ripped up jeans with a massive belt buckle and a trucker hat. He’d be set to be Canadian Hick of the Year.
“We don’t allow lesbians in here. Our dancers are strictly male-orientated,” he said sternly. My eyebrow rose a little bit, head tilting to the side. I adjusted the helmet beneath my arm and set my jaw. I pulled my hand into a fist, hearing my knuckles crack slightly. The urge to clean his clock was high-up on my things to do list.
“Lesbians? I didn't know you were gay, Gwen.” Demonica, my partner in crime, walked up looking amazing in a tight, black mini-dress that hugs her curves and accentuates her breasts. Her black hair is tied up. She put an arm around my waist and gave the bouncer an odd look before she looked at me. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders after moving the helmet to the other arm.
“Sorry I'm late.” I smiled a bit, patting her back.
Sadism.
“I’m not gay, I assure you.” I said firmly, letting my friend’s waist go. I took a step forward towards the bouncer, gazing up at him. Slowly, my hand snaked upwards, grasping his shirt and tugging him down so he would be eye-level with me. He winced a bit, causing me to smile. “Let us in.” I said, voice almost growling within my throat. My fingers moved upwards, wrapping around his throat. Another bouncer moved forward, but stopped when the one in my grasp held his hand up. I licked the bouncer’s face, watching it slowly grow red. He gasped.
“Let them in…” he said, his voice squeaky and lacking oxygen. I let go of his throat, letting him stumble forward and nearly fall flat on his face. A little shiver ran down my spine as I pushed my way passed the other bouncer, dragging Demonica along with me. Demonica laughed, looking back at the bouncer and then at me.
"It's nice that we make friends wherever we go." Then her pale, jade eyes looked forward checking out the people. I smiled broad, nodding frenetically and moving to a table a stone’s throw to the left of the stage. I sat down, ordering a rum and coke from a woman dressed in a Playboy bunny outfit. How… demeaning. Oh well. Too bad for her. That grin was plastered on my lips as I watched the girl up on the stage dance. She was obviously new. Her movements were wooden and off the beat of the bass-filled music. To be honest, it sounded like cheesy, seventies-porn music. Good times, good times.
Masochism.
I looked back to Demonica, smiling full out. Oh, how I loved to play with the kiddies, so much. They enjoyed it… usually. Apparently little Miss Fern didn’t enjoy it like she portrayed in the video. Ahh, the video. That smile crept back onto my lips as I replayed some of the scenes over in my mind. Demonica reached into her purse and pulled something out with her hand. Opening up her palm she reveals a bunch of steel balls. The kind bad kids used to cheat at marbles in second grade.
"Let's improve her dancing." With a twisted grin she quietly tossed the ball bearings onto the stage. I couldn’t help but grin. My eyes widened as I took one look back to the stage before reaching forward and grasping a couple of the balls. I rolled the cool metal around in my fingers, clenching one between my index finger and thumb in order to feel its strength and durability. I poured most of the balls into my other hand, keeping my fingers curled around one of them. I watched the girl slide across the ball that Demonica had thrown, before tossing another one into the air. I watched it descend upon the girl’s stomach; causing her to gasp from both it’s chill and the sudden connection with her belly. I giggled softly, rolling another one around in my palm. Demonica giggled with a sick excitement as she watched with anticipation.
"See she's already better than she was. Good thing we came to help her." I couldn’t help but laugh full out, turning around and whipping the ball at the girl who was stumbling to her feet. It clocked her in the naked shoulder, no doubt already developing a welt that would keep her from performing for a while. I chortled beneath my breath as one of the bouncers moved onto the stage to see who was throwing the balls. I turned around to face Demonica as my drink arrived. Casually, I sipped from it, pulling out a dollar bill from my pocket and giving it to the Playboy bunny. Yes, a dollar. So what? I’m a cheap bastard. Live with it. If she wanted better money, she should get a better fucking job, if you ask me. With the ball bearing fun stopped Demonica begins to look bored.
"Our fun always gets spoiled." A pouty look crosses her beautiful features. I smile faintly, putting the balls into the clean ashtray for later use. Behind me, the stripped was slowly being escorted offstage, much to the displeasure of the predominantly male audience. I sipped at my rum slowly, deciding it would be best not to have a reoccurrence of the night my estranged father returned. There was a big difference between a car with walls on all sides and four wheels, to a bike with no walls and only two wheels.
“Yeah. Damn those people with their laws and ethics. We should shank them. Shank them all! Just for shits and giggles, y’know?” I smirked a bit, turning around. My fingers curled around one of the balls as the bouncer walked away. As soon as I was sure no one was paying attention, I chucked the ball at the back of his big, square head. He nearly fell to the floor before spinning around, clutching the wound on the back of his head. I remained calm as I gazed down at my drink, smiling endlessly. With a laugh at Gwen's actions Demonica reaches into her purse and pulls out a knife with that is double edged.
"Did you really wanna shank someone?" It's hard to tell if she was serious or not. Gwen smirked fully, shaking her head with a little laugh.
“Honestly, Demmy… if we weren’t on trial for rape and other such things, I would take that knife and cut him from chaps to chin.” I said, completely serious. Gently, I reached forward, curling my hand around the knife’s blade. I shivered a bit as I pushed it away, telling her to put it back into her purse in silence. I drew back, my hand dripping with my own blood. I was cut across my palm and my thumb. I licked my lips, pursing them together softly, watching the blood begin to ooze onto the table. This close to the good ol’ Christian holiday of Easter… I couldn’t help but think of stigmata. I turned my hand over, letting the blood drip into my drink before stuffing a napkin into my palm and curling my hand into a tight fist. It would no doubt sting, but from pain comes pleasure. For me, anyways. I gazed at Demmy, winking once. Demonica looked at my palm for a second before looking at the blood that was on the knife. Slowly she ran her tongue across the blood and managed not to cut her tongue on it's sharp edges. Licking her lips she stabbed the knife into the table. Then like none of it ever happened she sat back and re-crossed her legs. I laughed softly at her blatant disregard for her own health. I mean, c’mon, what if I had AIDS or something. Which I don’t, mind you. I’m no whore like a few people I could mention that I know. *coughNikitacough* I mean, honestly.
“We have a meeting with our lawyer at 11:00. He’s flying in from New York just to meet with us. You still gonna be in Vancouver or do I have to cover for you while you go to Alaska and fuck D.S. s’more?” Lucky bitch… I smirked softly, knowing she would probably take that knife out of the table and stab me with it. Guess I didn’t have much concern for my own safety either. Oh well. Demonica's eyes did flash across the knife but she didn't seem to flinch at the words.
"You know you are going to have to cover for me. This is about as long of a training break as I can take. I'm slacking just taking tonight off to play. So cover for me. I'm sure it'll be fine." I frowned softly at her. I knew D.S. was a training nazi, but Christ, would he not allow her to stay behind for a meeting with the lawyer that was going to get us off the hook? Ehh, fuck it.
“All right, all right. I’ll review the tape tomorrow with him. Just tell Darkstar that you gotta make your court dates at least or the judge’ll get suspicious that ya skipped town. Deal?” It was a bit bitchy, but in the lines of getting yourself a Get Out Of Jail free card or going to jail and facing the female version of ‘Bubba’, bitchy was an A+ option.
"I'll make court. If it goes to court. I still think it won't after the tape is reviewed." She seemed content with the thought that nothing will come of this. I shrugged.
“Never know. We could get some massively anal retentive prosecution lawyer that won’t let it drop until court. Might make up a story saying we used drugs on Miss Fern.” I laughed a bit. Damn, I watched too many cop/lawyer shows.
"I guess we'll just see what happens." Her look of boredom returned once again causing her eyes to look dim and lifeless.
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