After they've gone

She paced the empty dance-floor slowly turning, scanning the club. The club was dark, the smell of sweat filled the building, she missed the smell of cigarettes.

The music was low, her closing up disc playing. The bar man had left, the kitchen was empty, the DJ had been the last to leave. She had the club to herself, this was her favourite time.

She wore a long red satin dress, a slit running from ankle to thigh on one side, backless. Black high heels. Black hair ran down her back, pale skin above the dress that followed the curve of her body without underwear spoiling its line.

In the middle of the empty dance-floor she turned doing a final scan. She began to gently sway to the music, slow deep music, not fast hectic music that played most of the night. She closed her eyes, hearing the beat running through her body.

She moved slowly, feet barely moving on the tiles, movement coming from her hips, her shoulders, her neck. Her hair rippled with each move of her head. Fingers trailed lightly over the smooth material round her waist, fingers tracing the curves of hip bones.

Her lips opened, warm breath pushed between. Her tongue emerged to moisten her lips. Her face tilted up. She no longer smelt sweat, smoke replaced it, hazy smoke of her teenage years from middle eastern clubs where she had fallen in love with the exotic sounds and smells.

She felt fingers gently make their way round her waist, thin cloth letting her feel their details. They crept round, her stomach quivering under their touch. Warm breath ran past her neck, arms encircled her, silk pressed against her back.

She knew the dress, a ring of yellow material provided the collar for the high fronted, backless thigh length dress. The dress was ivory, black Chinese dragons running up the sides.

Ling had been 17, a hostess in a private club where hostessing meant doing anything the customer asked. On Ling's nights off they would go dancing in town.

The hands moved up her front, fingertips lightly sliding up the curve of her breasts, they found nipples already strained against the material that confined them. Her knees gently circled as she pushed down into the hands, the slit of her dress widened, revealing marble legs beneath.

Her arms rose, swaying in the air, before drifting down behind her neck. She pulled the bow beneath her hair, the front of her dress fell away to cover the hands on her.

They spent a year together as friends, before becoming lovers. They made love in the open air, in fields and woodland. At night they danced their hands exploring each other. She worried about Ling's work, especially when she returned with bruises.

A hand closed over her exposed breast, the other slipped downwards, palm rubbing through the dress. Fingers slipped round her hip, down her leg, pushed through the cut in the dress meeting soft flesh beneath.

They made love beside a stream, bodies entwined, taking turns they brought each other to orgasm. Afterwards, Ling announced she wanted to go to America, open a club and spend her life dancing.

Fingers pushed between her legs and as she pushed backwards into the warm embrace they pushed between wet flesh. She let out a deep breath as fingers pinched her nipple. Two fingers slid inside her making her gasp, the noise quickly hidden by the music engulfing her.

She knelt between Ling's legs, lowering her mouth to her, the excitement of their American future  still buzzing through her head. Her tongue probed, running over flesh, sliding from the wet opening up to encircle the hard nub then back down to dip inside.

She leant back into the embrace no longer supporting herself. The fingers slipped deeper inside stroking the most sensitive spots inside her. Her heart to pounded, its beat mixing with the music.

Ling's fingers in her hair, urged her deeper. She strained her tongue forcing deeper, flesh pressed against her face. Ling screamed in climax, back arching, thighs squeezing the head between them.

She began to feel her ascent to orgasm. Breasts rising, filling the hand holding her, blood surging through her body. The music seemed to grow louder in her ears. Then her orgasm engulfed her body, she moaned, muscles convulsed around the fingers within her. She felt her own juices squeezed out, trickling down the her legs.

In a panic she forced her way into the office. Ling was sprawled over a sofa, the front of her dress, the ivory dress with dragons climbing the sides, was soaked in blood. Above the collar was where they had sliced her throat. She ran from the room, and burst out onto the street. They had found out Ling was leaving.

The CD finished, she tied her dress back up and made her way across the floor. She didn't look back. She danced with Ling every night, knowing she was alone. She never looked back, she was scared that the silk she felt against her back would be caked in blood and Ling's open lifeless eyes would meet her gaze.

Word Count: 863
Written For: March 27th 2010 "The Weekly Quickie Contest" 
Prompt: Ah the dance floor. I just couldn't resist some sultry music, the lights down low, and a handsome
hottie with just the right tempo. Write me a story that starts on the dance floor. It can stay there, or
move elsewhere.