Static clears to reveal a young woman with red hair, holding safety scissors and a roll of duct tape. “Hi,” she says. “If you’re, like, younger than eighteen, or don’t like explicit sexual stuff, please don’t read anymore.”
Another voice drifts in from somewhere, too muffled to understand.
She looks over her shoulder, giggles, then goes on. “Any resemblance to real people or situations is a coincidence, okay? And, um...”
The voice drifts in again, clearer now, and closer. “Sheila! It was supposed to be my turn!”
The view swivels to frame another figure. There is a squeak of protest, a loud crash, then—
Dance
Arclight
Gabrielle hopped about and tried to peek over the surging throng. One guy pushed past her in mid-hop, nearly knocking her over. She glared at him. Looked clueless, but he had a nice butt. Dressed well, too. And—wait, was that his boyfriend?
“Gabby! Pay attention!”
Whoops. Gabrielle gave her friend a sheepish grin—Vi was standing on her tiptoes, looking around. “Keep looking,” Vi said. “She’s waiting somewhere.”
Gabrielle nodded. They had just arrived at the Munich airport. Vi’s mom was here for business, and had let them fly over. A free hotel suite, a happening nightlife, and lots of shopping—all care of Vi’s ultra-cool mom. Or as Vi liked to say, mucho-cool.
Now, if they could only find her. Gabrielle spotted a hot Latino guy, hitting on two other chicks near the baggage claim. Seemed to be scoring, too. He looked her way, and Gabrielle leaned against the wall. Had to act normal—he was looking straight at her, whispering to someone. Was he checking her out?
“Mama!” Vi ran up to chick-number-two, and strangled her with a hug.
Whoops again. Gabrielle trotted over, trying not to blush. Vi’s mom looked chic as always, wearing one of those sleek pantsuits that Gabrielle would have killed for. The other chick and the Latino-type were nowhere in sight. Probably weren’t with Vi’s mom after all.
“Violeta! I’ve missed you!” Vi’s mom pulled away and smiled at Gabrielle. “Come, let us find your luggage.”
They headed towards the baggage carousel. Gabrielle tapped Vi’s mom on the shoulder. “Thanks for letting me come, ma’am. It’ll be great to see Munich before I move here.”
Vi’s mom nodded. “We will see much of each other, this week,” she said. Her lips twitched into a smile. “So please—call me Elena.”
Gabrielle grinned. Elena was cool. Or as Vi liked to say, mucho-cool.
Europop blasted through the nightclub’s refrigerated air. Gabrielle laughed as she hit the dancefloor, Vi in tow—the club was awesome. They’d headed here straight after the hotel check-in. The hotel concierge was Elena’s friend, and she’d gotten them in despite the long line. Just like L.A., it was all about who knew whom. When the bouncer shooed them in, they picked up glares galore from everyone waiting outside. Vi blushed, but Gabrielle just stuck her tongue out at them.
On the dancefloor, Gabrielle and Vi moved slowly at first; flexing their legs, feeling out the music and the pulse of the crowd. Then Vi grinned, and held up three fingers. Time to make a scene.
One. Gabrielle spun, feeling Vi twirl beside her. Her view flitted around the crowded dancefloor: across the club, she saw Elena watching, with her concierge friend.
Two. Gabrielle spun again. Now the concierge was leaning closer to Elena, whispering something. Elena turned towards the other woman, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted as she flicked out of Gabrielle’s sight.
Three. Gabrielle spun a final time, and Vi bounced into view. They mouthed a countdown, then hit their moves—arms flashing out, bodies and heads swiveling at opposite angles. Perfect sync, and always a hit at the parties back home. Around them, the other dancers slowed and began to watch.
A hand touched Gabrielle’s shoulder. She turned and saw Elena. The woman smiled and mouthed the same countdown. On cue, Gabrielle hit the moves again, watching with disbelief as Elena matched her step-for-step.
No-fucking-way. Elena never said she could dance like that. She and Vi had been doing that routine forever, and Elena had gotten it perfect in just one night?
The sequence ended. Elena winked and hit a new series of moves: her hips swung, her shoulders shifted, her hands twisted through the air, tracing patterns in time with the churning beat.
Two could play at that game. Gabrielle watched, counting the steps.
Four-three-two-one.
Then she began to move, her body matching Elena’s.
Soft shapes stroked at the edge of Gabrielle’s consciousness. She blinked sleepily into her pillow and stretched; her fingers touched something soft. Gabrielle poked it a couple of times. It felt like a...tit?
Gabrielle bolted upright. She was on her bed, in her hotel room, but there was someone beside her. A woman, wearing a loose red robe and a pair of headphones, looking very amused.
Oh. It was just Elena.
Gabrielle swallowed. Now what do you say to someone you just poked in the tits? “Um...good morning?”
Elena eased off her headphones and nodded. “Afternoon, actually. You passed out last night, so we carried you back.”
Ugh. Gabrielle dropped back on the bed and watched the ceiling spin. Her nipples felt tender under her nightshirt. No, not tender. Kinda nice, like someone had just—
“Here. Take this.”
Aspirin and orange juice; Gabrielle gulped both down. Maybe she could get Elena to adopt her. Dad always freaked out when she came home hammered. Too protective, especially after Mom died. Gabrielle had tried to set him up with Elena once, but they just didn’t click.
“Violeta is still asleep,” Elena said. Her robe was slightly open, and the skin of her chest gleamed ivory. She slipped her headphones back on. “Please. Sleep for a few more hours.”
Yup. Definitely adoption.
The bedroom drifted away. Gabrielle settled back to sleep, as Elena leaned closer with a strange, killing grace.
An attendant slipped into the club’s VIP section carrying a champagne bottle and a crumpled napkin. Vi snatched the napkin, and her eyes widened.
“Wow. Gabby, you have a fan.”
Gabrielle slid next to Vi and squinted at the napkin. A scrawled note in German. “What does it say, Vi?”
Vi giggled. “See? This is what you should learn German for, not just for school. He says you dance like an angel. Der Engel.“
Angel. Mom used to call her that, especially after dance class. Cool.
“Here you go, ladies.” Elena handed over the opened bottle. They poured glasses and drank down, miming Elena. It was good champagne, but there was another taste that Gabrielle couldn’t place. She felt her head spin.
Elena’s eyes twinkled, and she yanked Gabrielle off the couch. “Maybe your friend is watching now.” They grinned at each other, struck a pose, and—
Four-three-two-one.
Gabrielle spun into an eight-count pirouette, throwing in extra hip action for show. Big mistake—her head wasn’t up to it, and she nearly spun out midway. Twelve years of dance school instincts kicked in, and she finished the sequence, then stumbled back into Elena’s arms, giggling.
Elena laughed and pulled her to the dance floor.
Gabrielle looked at the concierge. Still on the phone, so she settled back into her chair. The concierge had been in one of Gabrielle’s dreams last night. Gabrielle couldn’t remember too much about it, though—which was weird; she could usually remember most of her dreams when she tried hard enough. Vi said she was freaky that way.
The dream. She was dancing, and Elena and the concierge were with her, and there was this pulsing beat. Gabrielle could still hear the music in her head.
The concierge finally banged down the phone. She took a deep breath, then smiled. “Sorry. My ex-husband, so bothersome.”
Ex-husband? But she looked barely older than Gabrielle. Cool accent, though.
“Sorry to bother you ma’am,” Gabrielle said. “I need to find my way around the city. I’ll be starting school here next month, see—”
“Please, call me Hana. Elena has told me so much about you.”
“Well, I was hoping to visit my new school.”
The concierge started ruffling through some maps. “The Institute of the Arts, yes? A dance scholarship?” She pursed her lips. “I watched you dance the other night. The crowd loved you.”
“Thanks, ma’am. My mom used to dance too.”
The concierge nodded. “I’m sorry about what happened to her.” She scribbled on a map and gave it to Gabrielle. “Here. You need to hurry, though—I hear they close the gates early.”
Oh no. Gabrielle looked at her watch. Maybe she should call them first. It was already late afternoon, and cabs were so tough to get...
The concierge looked around, then smiled at her. “Let me get someone to watch over my desk. I will drive you there.”
Wow. “Thanks ma’am,” she gushed, following the concierge down the hall. Their footsteps matched the beat in Gabrielle’s head.
The leather couches of the VIP section were a welcome sight. Gabrielle snagged the closest one and plopped down, sweaty from the dance and needing a drink. Across the room, she saw Hana sitting with some blonde dude. Hana was giggling constantly, barely paying attention to the poor guy. Were they making out? Hana kept looking at Gabrielle’s legs, and—
Wait. Gabrielle had seen that look before. She turned to Elena, but her question never got out; Elena just chuckled and cut her off.
“Yes, she is. Sometimes.”
Hana was into women? But didn’t she have an ex-hus—oh. Gabrielle felt herself blush. She looked back at Hana; the woman was whispering into the blonde guy’s ear, her fingers stroking his face in time with the pulsing music.
“It’s the wine, usually,” Elena said. “The poor thing can’t hold her liquor.”
Now Hana was giggling again. Her fingers moved faster as the music picked up.
“Often, we like to have fun with her when she is like this. Then she remembers nothing the next morning.” Elena drained her gin-and-tonic. “Excuse me, I will see you on the floor.”
Fun?
Hana was into women. So that was why Hana kept staring, while Gabrielle and Elena were bumping and grinding on the dance floor. And she was still staring now.
The bass throbbed. Gabrielle’s shoulders wriggled.
Hana’s left hand lifted to caress her collarbone. Her right hand stroked her lover’s nape. The music was speeding up now, just like Gabrielle’s own pulse and the movement of Hana’s fingers. Gabrielle’s skin was tingling, afire.
Eww. Hana’s pussy was probably wet.
Slick. And hot.
Hana’s left hand dabbed under the low-cut blouse. Her eyelashes fluttered. Gabrielle’s thighs tensed, just like they did earlier, on the dance floor.
Eight-seven-six-five.
Hana’s fingers moved, stroking, circling. Gabrielle felt her own nipples twitch in time. Her knees spread, her hands drifted lower. No one else would see. Just Hana.
Four-three-two-one.
Gabrielle laughed and hiked her miniskirt higher. She saw Hana’s mouth open in a moan.
She smoothed the garment back down and stood shakily from the couch.
Time to dance.
Vi’s voice wafted in from the dressing stall next door. “Gabby. How’re you doing?”
“Need a minute.”
She frowned at herself in the mirror. No. She’d never wear something like this. Her nipples were dark circles under the thin white material. If she wore it to the club, people would watch. And she’d see them watching.
She shivered.
“How does it look, Gabrielle?” It was Elena’s voice. She’d gotten off from work to join their shopping trip, which was great since she knew where all the good stores were. Maybe if Elena’s work was all done, she could spend the rest of the week shopping with them. And dancing.
Gabrielle pulled back the curtain. Elena was standing outside, her fingers tapping against the wall. The rhythm matched the music in Gabrielle’s head. Gabrielle stepped out, and lifted her chin a little higher.
“So...are you all done with work now?” Gabrielle asked.
“My employer is being probed by the German trade ministry. I need to resolve it.” Elena’s fingers never skipped a beat, and Gabrielle felt her shoulders sway in sync. “And men are...difficult to convince.”
Elena lifted one hand, and Gabrielle felt herself pose. The blouse and miniskirt pressed cool against her skin. She watched Elena’s fingers, and shifted her weight.
“D-do you like it?”
Elena’s head tilted to the side. Gabrielle turned in response, her hands running up the thin cloth. Around them, shoppers turned to look. Gabrielle felt her thighs rubbing together.
Elena smiled. “Perfect.”
The club’s crowd parted as Gabrielle and Elena danced. Lights strobed overhead, chopping their movement into staccato images of black and white and ultra-violet. Gabrielle licked her lips, stalking Elena, swaying with the music, waiting as the beat rose.
Four-three-two-one.
Gabrielle swayed lower until her knees were fully bent. Arms in the air, body shifting, Gabrielle’s eyes leveled at Elena’s waist, then moved below it.
Eight-seven-six-five.
Gabrielle straightened and spun backwards into Elena’s arms, grinding her buttocks into the other woman’s pelvis. Her fingers flashed up and behind to brush across Elena’s face. Elena bent closer, her breath warm against Gabrielle’s skin.
Four-three-two-one.
Gabrielle gasped as Elena nuzzled her neck. She felt the eyes of the watching crowd, hot as the touch of Elena’s lips.
Vi paused in the doorway and looked back again at Gabrielle. “You sure about this?”
Gabrielle nodded, one hand holding the door. “Go on. I’ll meet you later at the club.”
“But I thought you wanted to see the—”
Gabrielle closed the door and let the bolt slide shut. Through the peephole, she watched Vi walk away; then she leaned against the wall and breathed deeply. Why had she done that? Of course she wanted to go to the museum—she and Vi had been babbling about it since they got here.
She stumbled back to her bedroom. Had to sleep. She’d been sleeping a lot lately, usually through the whole day, just waking up to go clubbing at night. The music was playing in her head again, her thighs twitching.
As she closed her eyes, she heard the creak of a door opening.
The bass thrummed, pulling Gabrielle and Elena through the dance. Around them, a crowd had already gathered. Gabrielle basked in the attention, letting Elena lead her through a furious series of spins.
“Go Gabby!” It was Vi’s voice, egging her on.
She twisted back into Elena’s arms; felt Elena’s hands grip her waist and swing her up, lifting with her momentum. In mid-air, Gabrielle struck a split-second pose: her arms flung out, her left knee bent, her feet pointed behind her. She laughed.
Eight-seven-six-five.
Her feet touched something solid. Somehow, she was on the raised dais at the center of the dance floor. Giddy with the music, she danced on. The overhead spotlights converged on her sweat-soaked bodysuit. Her blonde locks billowed like a halo over damp white Lycra.
A voice called out from across the dancefloor. “Der Engel!”
Someone passed a bottle up to her. She swigged it—Goldschlager, none of that beer crap. Spinning, she poured it over her head, drenching herself in cold liquor and tiny gold flakes. Her nipples stiffened against the now-transparent bodysuit, and the crowd roared approval.
The beat quickened. Gabrielle froze on the dais, waiting.
Four-three-two-one.
Her hands rose. Her hips swung. The crowd watched.
And Gabrielle danced. God, she was wet.
The music was still playing, but she wasn’t in the club anymore. Gabrielle opened her eyes: she was in her bedroom, and the music wasn’t just in her head now. She stood, listening to its beat, feeling her body shift under the terrycloth robe. Her nipples felt tender and swollen, like they had been every morning since she had arrived in Munich.
The music was coming from outside her room. From across the hotel suite, past the living room, and past Vi’s room...
Elena’s bedroom.
Gabrielle turned, moving towards the music. She stalked through the living room like a cat; her fingers brushing past the strange shapes of the post-modern furniture, her breathing slow and even, her gaze never wavering from the wooden rectangle of Elena’s door.
She paused at the doorway, licked her lips, and pushed the door open.
Elena was sitting across the room, draped in a black silk nightgown, one hand poised above the stereo system. She nodded to Gabrielle, and Gabrielle slipped off her robe, feeling it slide to her feet in a soft, white pile.
Naked, she stood and waited.
Elena was watching her, and the thought sent sparks through her skin. Elena’s gaze roamed over her body, pausing at her tits, then moving down to her trimmed blonde thatch. She was already soaked—could Elena see that?
Elena stood. She was still wearing those headphones, wired somewhere behind her back. Elena’s cheeks were flushed pink, her lips quivering—
No. Something was wrong. Elena’s eyes were screaming at her.
Gabrielle faltered, trying to think. “Elena...? Wh-what...”
The music quickened. Elena face hardened. She stepped forward and shoved Gabrielle smoothly against the broad eastern windows. The curtains yanked open and Gabrielle’s right cheek pressed against the cool glass. Through the windows she saw Munich: shimmering office towers across the hotel, people on the sidewalk, cars darting through the streets. She could see the city—
And the city could see her.
Oh dear lord. Gabrielle mashed her body against the glass, pressing her tits into soft, round shapes. She felt Elena’s finger push hard against her asshole; on the street below, people were starting to look. Gabrielle moaned and drove her own fingers deep between her thighs.
The music played on, fast and hard and so fucking hot.
Gabrielle waited on the leather couch.
They were back in the club’s VIP section. Music was flicking on and off; they were testing the sound system for a private party, and the guests hadn’t arrived yet. Elena sat across, listening to her cell phone and nodding. Hana nestled beside Gabrielle, one hand toying with Gabrielle’s curls.
No sign of Vi.
Elena’s phone snapped shut, and Gabrielle’s breath quickened. She closed her eyes and stroked her palms up her miniskirt. She could almost feel Hana’s gaze following the movement. Just like at the hotel, when Elena had let her join.
“Gabrielle.”
She opened her eyes. Elena was looking straight at her.
“Hana will introduce you to someone at this party. She is a teacher at your new dance school.” Elena said. “She is also the daughter of this country’s trade minister. My employer has learned that she likes women...”
Elena bent closer.
“She likes to watch them.”
Gabrielle whimpered. She felt Hana’s fingers push up the miniskirt and brush against her thighs. Her thong was soaked. Maybe Hana wanted to watch her change. Maybe Vi would show up, as well.
Elena stood. “You will become her friend. And when you return for school next month, you will become more.”
“Now I must leave. My employer wishes to...see me.” Elena bit her lip, then looked away. “And after the party, he wishes to see you, as well.”
The music flicked on. Dance lights pulsed through their test sequences, painting Gabrielle’s hips stark white against the black thong. Her thighs clenched in time with the flashing strobe. She felt Elena’s lips brush against her forehead, felt her body twitch in response.
“You have some time before the party begins.”
Hana grinned, her eyes painfully blue. She glanced at Gabrielle’s crotch and tugged aside the damp thong.
Eight-seven-six-five.
Gabrielle squirmed, flexing her fingers, feeling out the music. Somewhere, Mom was watching. She said she’d always be watching, when her little angel danced.
Four-three-two-one.
Gabrielle moaned, and began to play with herself.