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It's amazing what you can get away with, in a pair of high-heels and a low-cut black dress.
Being married to a gangster has its merits - money, security, a dishwasher - but there are the drawbacks as well. If Caesar (my husband) wants something, he has to have it, there and then, no matter what I'm doing, or how I feel. He's never hit me (he wouldn't dare) so I guess I should be thankful for that consideration. However, the 'little woman' act does become pretty much hard to swallow, when the guys are round and he's trying to show them what a 'man' he is. Thinks he's one of the fucking Goodfellas! Makes me mad, but I keep the peace and continue to work, giving him what he wants. And with doing that, I keep my set-up and enough spare time to go out in the cool moonlight, exploring the darker side of Chicago - the seedy bars and dingy clubs. Oh, Cae thinks he gives me everything that I need, materially and sexually; I let him think so - it's easier that way, then he doesn't suspect what I really do when I go out nights dressed to kill, returning hours later. Ha! The thought wouldn't cross his mind in a million years.
Most Mafia women are bored and frustrated. They live their lives in fear for the safety of their loved ones, consoling themselves with rearing heirs and shopping. As somebody very perceptive once said, '...shopping and fucking, darling, are the gay community's two cultural pastimes'. In a sense I think they're also a woman's, though most don't get to enjoy the latter and become obsessed with the former. Don't get me wrong, like every clueless woman I love shopping - but I adore sex even more. That coming together of two heated bodies craving for a touch, a sensation so intense it can destroy the weakest of women and make a goddess of the strongest. Caesar fucks me. We don't have sex. It's mere penetration, and the pleasure is all his. But even if the fucking were good, he still doesn't have that special something for which my body hungers… he never could have.
This one night he was out at work. I knew he wouldn't be coming home until late, and it had been quite a while since I last took a walk on the wild side. I was beginning to get restless, and for once Caesar could sense something was wrong, though he probably thought it was the wrong time of the month. He slipped some money into my palm, told me to go out and enjoy myself at the theatre, the cinema, or a club. I took the cash and thanked him with a long kiss, raising his heartbeat with the touch of my fingers on his thigh: it would come in handy where I was going. Grinning at the thought of another night's pleasure hunting, I packed Caesar off to work and set about making myself irresistible.
For a long time, I had worked at a club as a dancer in one of 'those' shows: tits 'n' arse at the drop of dollar, for sad little men with three-tonne stomachs and one-inch dicks that grew hard as my fingernail when they looked at me. Working in that line of business you learn how to increase your basic salary - you have to, in order to survive. There were plenty of hookers in our club, but I was the only showgirl, and I didn't want to become like them. Flirting with the clientele to get bigger and better tips was all part of the business - but anybody can do that. It takes a special innate talent, however, (which I discovered I possessed one rainy night downtown) to bewitch a man, or woman, at fifty paces with a mere look, seducing them with one swift stoke into giving you all the cash they were carrying at that moment. I was the most successful girl on the Chicago club circuit. My toned but still curvy physique, large breasts and gorgeous looks gave me a good start; my husky drawl furthered my career; but it was this seductive, predatory talent I had, which kept me at the top for so long. That's the reason why I was now living with (and had kept) the manager, Caesar, and why I had never failed in securing what I wanted - whatever (or whomever) it may have been.
Standing under the shower, water evaporating off of my heated breasts, I wondered out loud what corner of the city I would venture into that night. Part of the reason why I had been so frustrated, recently, was because I'd become disillusioned with the lack of talent on offer - it almost wasn't worth all the bother. And I was bored with the same old routine, the easiness of it all. I wanted a challenge: someone who wouldn't fall at my feet the moment I walked through the door; somebody dark, mysterious and beautiful. And though I doubted I would find such a person, I had discovered a new bar that I could check out, where I should at least find someone new to seduce.
I had come across the bar one evening the week before. Ironically, it was Caesar who had pointed it out to me as we drove by on the way to Micky's. He'd snorted and told me to be careful if I ever went near a place like that - you never could trust that type. Well of course I would be careful! I was being very careful as I walked up to the door dressed like one of Califia's mistresses... careful that I would achieve exactly what I wanted.
The hazy, smoky atmosphere hit my eyes, the darkness blinding me for a second as I walked through the doorway. I smiled knowingly to myself - it was another spit 'n' sawdust joint: bare wooden floorboards; dreary décor; a 50s style jukebox in the middle of the left-hand wall, beating out Patsy Cline; and a battered, old pool table at the far end. I didn't have to glance at the customers sat in twos and threes drinking bottled beer at their wooden tables, I knew that every single one of them had raised their heads curiously (or simply out of boredom) to view the newcomer to Bannon's Bar. It amused me to see their expressions, as I flirtatiously swung my hips in time to the music en route to the small, old-fashioned bar: gazes of awe, lust, and amusement; the one or two of them whom I could tell were thinking, by the grins on their faces: ‘She's in the wrong bar’.
It didn't bother me, I was used to that reaction, and it in turn made me smile to ponder over how little things had changed in the 15 or so years I'd been coming to bars like this. I knew what they were thinking, and I knew that I could have any single one of them. As I said before, I have this innate talent.
The thought was just running through my mind whether I would have to settle for another easy and unsatisfying fuck tonight (that's exactly what I would be getting from the looks of the dull, uninteresting characters whom I passed as I strolled over to the old-fashioned bar), when I noticed the bartender had stopped staring at me and was, instead, gazing over towards the pool table at the back of the bar. Turning my head slightly to the left, I saw what she saw – a woman with dark hair and a body to beg for, bent over the pool table and aiming a shot. In the few seconds I had been in the place, every woman had raised her head to behold my entrance - every woman, except this one, and she was by far the only one I'd consider.
From what I could see in the dim light, she had a divinely athletic and well-toned body. As her hand tightened around the wood of the cue, I could see the muscles flex in her arms and ample breasts. She was totally ripped! Considering the stereotypes, the brunette would be defined as butch, but in a totally different way to any woman I had met before - more Gina Gershon than Martina. Her small, firm arse was packed into a pair of tight black jeans, and she wore a white vest that stretched over her torso like it would a drying frame. As I watched her take the shot, I could imagine my hand running up her inner thigh, extracting a small moan from her lips as I teased and stroked my way upwards, our bodies hot and trembling as we…
‘What can I get you?’ a deep, dry voice from the right interrupted my thoughts.
I turned and saw the bartender, a stocky, 40-something butch redhead, addressing me. She glanced at the woman playing pool and then back at me, cocking an eyebrow half in curiosity, half in amusement, as she did so. The sparkle in her eyes, and the broad grin on her face, told me that she knew exactly what I was thinking. I moved a few paces to stand right by the bar and put my black, leather handbag on the counter. Tilting my head slightly to the left and parting my lips in a subtle, but very sensual manner, I gazed into her amused eyes. I have found that flirting with bartenders is always advantageous, especially in these situations when they more often than not can give you names and addresses. This one, although far too old, leathery and macho to be of any interest to my own personal tastes, probably knew the gorgeous woman playing pool; and as her eyes were raking over my body hungrily (especially my oh so inviting cleavage), I knew she would be little more than a pushover.
'I'd like a Vodka Martini, straight up, with a twist - if it isn't too much trouble,' I replied, parting my lips again and sensuously licking the corner of my mouth.
A wicked idea had just come to me: the butch had interrupted my very pleasant, erotic daydream, and I didn't appreciate her doing that. Anyway, I felt like being mischievous - I would have my fun with her. For a second, the woman appeared flustered, and I knew that she would be putty in my hands: all dykes are once they realise you aren't afraid of them or your sexuality. Turning to stare behind her at the row of bottles on the back counter, she then moved to gaze at me once more, her eyes full of confusion and apology.
'Er, er, Martini? We, er...' she stuttered, her hands trembling a little, presumably because of the heat and confusion I was creating inside of her.
'You don't serve Martinis?' My voice was soft and a touch disappointed. I wanted her unease, to knock off a chunk of that imperious bartender pedestal.
'Well, most of our customers drink beer. A few are Jack Daniels drinkers, but not much else.' Abashed, she put her hands on the bar and murmured, 'I'm sorry.'
I smiled and put my hand on hers gently, my fingertips lightly squeezing her wrist.
'That's okay,' I whispered, watching her melt before me, 'why don't you just get me a beer?'
Sitting down on one of the tall, wooden stools at the bar, I positioned myself so that I half faced it, and half faced the pool table. That way I could easily watch the exquisite woman whose body had made such an intense impression on me, but do it subtly. How tedious it would be to have her think I was desperate: gagging for it, I may be, but she didn't need to know that. The bartender returned to stand before me and placed the cold bottle of beer on the counter. I smiled gratefully then glanced up to the rack of glasses above her head, indicating that it might be nicer to drink from one of those rather than the bottle. She took down a glass and poured my beer for me, her hand shaking all the while. I thanked her, took a sip and nonchalantly turned to see what the girl was up to. Fortunately, a couple of other women walked up to the bar, just then, so I could concentrate on dreamily eyeing-up the gorgeous pool player.
She had finished taking her turn and was now stood by the wall, swigging on a bottle of beer and watching the other woman play: one eyebrow raised and a half smile - an amused expression that made her the hunter, and the other woman the prey. If I had been enamoured by her beauty before, I was now utterly smitten: dark, mesmerising eyes; full, red lips that arched like her eyebrows, and which I felt I could slide off of into that alluring mouth; a tanned, brooding countenance that made me even more fascinated. My heart was already racing at the thought of this temptress touching me, her large hands massaging my back as her tongue licked at my lips and found its way into my mouth. I closed my eyes and ears to the surroundings, becoming oblivious to the dreary atmosphere and terrible music, and pictured her doing that. Hmm... it was so pleasurable a vision that I found myself rubbing my legs together slowly, teasing my throbbing crotch with the thought. After what seemed like hours, but was in reality merely seconds, I opened my eyes to find the dame staring at me curiously. Her right eyebrow raised invitingly as she rubbed the bottle mouth sensually over her slightly parted lips.
'You're up!' I heard her opponent say to her gruffly - she obviously didn't enjoy losing. As she was dressed in the most diesel fashion (even down to the red bandana in her dungarees’ back pocket), maybe she’d just lost her truck on the game.
Swinging her hips seductively, the gorgeous brunette walked back to the table, turning her head so that her eyes stayed fixed on mine. Her provocative swagger surely left no room for interpretation – or could I have found the only woman in the world who was a greater clit-tease than myself? She took some chalk out of her hip pocket and slowly, teasingly chalked the cue tip, continuing to stare into my eyes - prolonging my agony. I wasn't embarrassed or intimidated by this, and had no problem with staring right back at her (which I was doing magnificently), but the fact was that my panties were beginning to get more than just a little wet, and I was afraid I might lose my composure. I mean, this was ridiculous! I hadn't even spoken to her, let alone touched the bitch, and yet she was already turning me on more than even the most talented women I'd slept with had done during the height of passion. 'Violet the Vixen' I've been called, for some very good reasons: I'm the hunter, the seductress who decides where, when and how things happen. People don't seduce me, for fuck's sake!
Turning slightly, I picked up my glass and gulped down a few sips of beer, hoping to shake myself out of this trance with the effect of the cold liquid. When I looked back up, she was bent over the pool table once more, aiming for her shot. Just before taking it, the brunette turned her head to the left, looked straight into my eyes and licked her lips. Oh God! She was irresistible! That thought made me laugh softly at the irony: we used the same methods - she was doing to me what Sharon Stone and I had done so often to women in the past. But I didn't intend to lose my self-control like some silly, inexperienced teenager, and throw myself at her feet. I knew I would have her. No woman had ever resisted me, and this one was certainly not going to slip through my grasp. So, with a greater will than I thought I'd ever need, I turned back to the bar and began to chat with the bartender.
We had a few moments of pleasant, but worthless, conversation, which distracted me a little and allowed me to regain my composure. Someone fed the jukebox, and I was pleased to hear something other than country and western blaring out of the speakers: Patsy Cline is all very well, but there's a limit to how much this woman can take!
'...and that way you can do quite well, even in a specialist bar like this.' The bartender remarked, as she finished her long tale of how the bar had survived even though it was situated in the worst part of town.
The music finished (I think it was Sheryl Crow) and the room suddenly stilled. Why is it that we can quite happily talk away in bars if there is music or not, but if there was music one second and then none the next, we suddenly become self-conscious and have to wait for one brave person to break the silence? The hush brought to my attention that, as well as there being no chatter occurring, I couldn't hear the crack of the pool balls. I glanced to the left to see what was happening. The diesel was angrily putting on her jacket in the corner, but the temptress was nowhere to be seen.
'Fuck!' I screamed to myself, thinking that she might have left already and I'd lost my chance.
The short-haired cliché threw her cue onto the table and, as she stormed past in her dungarees, I heard a voice just to the right of me say a touch insincerely:
'Bad luck Nick. Maybe next time.'
The voice was deeper than mine, and very, very sexy. It was so breathtakingly sensuous, that it caused the hairs on the nape of my neck to stand up and my entire body to tremble. I glanced to the right and was thrilled to see the woman I'd been daydreaming about, leaning against the bar and grinning like the Cheshire cat. As the door slammed, signalling the exit of her opponent, she gripped her beer and moved to face me. Still grinning, she looked at me in a seductive but curious manner, and said:
'Hi, I'm Corky. We sort of met earlier.'
I smiled, trying to hide the intense feelings she was producing inside of me, and glanced up to meet her eyes, uttering as best I could:
'Sure, I'm Violet.'
She raked her eyes down my body slowly, taking in the whole of my appearance, and after a few seconds raised her head smiling.
'Well, Violet,' she declared, holding her bottle and nodding it towards me, I presumed as a welcome to the bar, 'you're among good people here. May I buy you a drink?'
Regaining my composure, I walked a few inches towards her so that I was almost touching the beer she was holding, took the bottle from her hand and with a cheeky grin lifted it to my lips, swigging it back. Slowly licking the beer from my lips, I raked my eyes lasciviously over her physique. This gave me the upper hand and brought me back to my more usual role as seductress. With a wink and an assured sparkle in my eye, I replied:
'Thanks, this will be fine.'
She flung her head back and roared with laughed, before turning to the bartender and demanding another beer.
'Hey Sue!' she yelled, for the bartender was down the end of the bar nearest the door. "Get us another beer will ya? Looks like I'll be staying after all."
Turning back to look at me, she grinned broadly, pulled up a stool and sat down, resting one arm on the bar and the other on her lap. I could see the warm gleam of curiosity in her eyes, the amused surprise at my audaciousness. Sue, the bartender, placed another bottle of beer in front of her and then headed off to the other end of the bar, chuckling:
'I'll leave you two love birds alone.'
Corky swigged at the beer, and then ran the bottle end over her neck to cool herself down, rolling her head as she did so. I in turn drank a little of my beer, and then stared into her dark brown eyes with a look that told her I could be just as arrogant as she.
'Okay Violet,' she uttered contritely, putting her beer down on the counter, 'I give in. Yes, I misjudged you, and I'm sorry. Okay?'
An apology? I was all astonishment. You never got that from her type; but then, like me she was not the norm. Corky had looked and judged: how could a woman like me be a lesbian? I'm sure that's what she'd asked herself and come to the conclusion that I was just another bored, confused housewife. I didn't blame her, most people got that impression - until we were in bed, that is.
I put my hand on her shoulder, squeezing it for a few seconds, and tilted my head to the left slightly as if I were just about to move in and kiss her.
'Yeah. You could say I'm used to it.' I whispered.
Corky laughed and looked at my cleavage mischievously.
'Well, looking like that,' she smirked, the words slowing as her voice became lower, huskier and, as I could tell, quite deliberately sexier, 'it's hardly surprising.'
I sat down, gaping in mock-horror, as if insulted by her comments on my appearance.
'Why, whatever could you mean by that statement?' We both laughed.
'Nothing,' she replied flirtatiously, raking her eyes over my body, again, and raising both her eyebrows. 'Let's just say that you make a refreshing change from the usual characters in here.'
She nodded over to a couple sat at a table near the jukebox as she said this. They were perfect examples of the lesbian stereotype, of which I was the antithesis.
This time it was Corky's turn to look a little wet with desire, as I pouted at her alluringly. Ripples of delight coursed through my brain at this sign: she was getting under my skin, increasingly, but I wasn't sure if I'd been eliciting the same response in her. Glancing down at the tattoo of a labrys on her right upper arm, I put my hand out to touch it, running my fingers slowly over her skin, feeling the texture. As I did this, my long nails scratched her skin delicately, and I saw the look of lust creep over her face, her nose and lips twitching with interest. Now I could test the water, discover whether the time was right or not. I knew I would have her, but I wasn't sure how soon. Somehow, I felt that the sly grins of the bartender implied that Corky probably had a reputation around here as a femme fatale. And with her looks, plus that delicious voice, it would hardly be surprising.
You see, whereas I had spent time, and Caesar's money, working on my irresistible appearance (showing off my body's magnificent features in short, tight, low-cut dresses, and painting my lips the most kiss-able deep red or violet), Corky almost tried to hide hers. Wearing men's clothing and no cosmetics, she shouldn't have looked so good, but the fact is that she was still drop-dead gorgeous and the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
Looking down at my breasts, I leaned forward and seductively whispered to her:
'I have a tattoo. Would you like to see it?'
Her eyes darkened in anticipation as she too leaned forward for a better view, our faces almost touching now. A surge of heat shot through my body, my heart beating faster as I lowered the top of my dress to reveal the design - a small violet-coloured rose. Don't get me wrong, I'm not the sort of common slut who bares her tits any old place! No, I kept my fingers over the nipple that would otherwise have been exposed, but used it to my advantage, rubbing it slowly, sensually. I took her hand and gently pulled it towards my heaving chest. Lowering my voice to as deep and sexy as I could, I stared enticingly into her eyes and whispered:
'Here, touch it...', placing her fingers on my breast as I did so. If that wasn't flirting, I didn't know what was.
Corky’s fingers stroked the tattoo, sending a thousand sensations through my body as she massaged the skin. Her velvet touch was exquisite, and I knew that she would make me a very, very happy woman when we eventually made it to bed. I had captured my prey and the pleasure I’d sought, and that made me so very wet. All of a sudden, just as her fingers were beginning to take me close to the edge, she stopped. Keeping her hand exactly where it was, and her face coldly expressionless, she huskily asked:
'What are you doing?'
Oh, come on! Don't tell me she still thought I was some naïve innocent wanting to experiment. Had it not been for the fact that she was so fucking beautiful, I'd have turned round, told her to ‘fuck it!’ and stormed out of the bar. But she was gorgeous, and I did want her, so I merely gasped out the words:
'Isn't it obvious? I'm trying to seduce you.'
Well, I'd have thought the whole bar would have known that by now. Tightening her hold on my breast, she stared into my eyes and even more huskily whispered:
'Why?'
Jesus! When was she gonna let up and get on with it? I almost couldn't bear the feeling that was burning inside of me! But I knew that I just had to make her realise this wasn't going to be some crap experiment, which I would regret the second it was over.
Trying hard to disguise the tell-tale tremor of desperate frustration in my voice, I whispered in as assured a manner I could:
'Because I want to. I've wanted to since the first moment I laid eyes on you.'
She raised an eyebrow invitingly in reply, the flirtatious glint returning to her eyes. Gripping my heaving breast with her strong fingers, she teased my nipple and milked the ecstasy from my aching body. I laid my head back and enjoyed the pleasure for a few seconds, before regaining my composure as best I could and leant forward as if to kiss those luscious lips. But that wasn't my plan, and with a grin as mischievous and irresistible as I could produce, instead let out a soft moan and whispered in her ear:
'Do you have a bed someplace?'