I’ve written this short story with the femme fatale in mind. Hope you enjoy my weekend story!
The patrons warned she was the worst creature on earth. But she reigned with unruly might over the male sex, sunk her pearly whites into their flesh, and nibbled at their hearts.
Her kind first seduces you with her eyes. The lines of her dress swerve in silk, lace, and lust. Her eyes hold the world and in one naked leap, you’ll swim towards her. The waters are deceptively shallow and you’ll drown.
You wake in the river of her scent, and she is leaning over you. Her satin glove rises like a sail in the night. You fight the urge to touch her. She extends her hand with a tease, and you obligingly kiss her.
“Dance with me,” she smiles. Her eyes are full of heat and smoke. She presses her hand against the nape of her neck, beads of sweat slowly rolling down.
“It’s hot in here. Let’s take a walk outside,” she says. You cheerily whisk her into the night. Her hands roam about your face, inspecting her man of the hour. She sniffs the boyhood off your skin and laughs in your face.
“You need a silk tie. Deep and midnight blue like your eyes,” she commands. She browses the window of a closed shop. She plays a bit with the lock and thrusts you inside. She undresses you rapidly with her fingers, and you emerge a gentleman. You cock the fedora low on your head and brush its velvet brim.
She parades you in a party of her choosing. She is magnetic and captivating to touch. Leaning in close, she presses her lips upon your cheek. Her laugh is sweet to your ears.
A man recognizes her from across the room and glares with each calculating step. He hurls his fists at you and knocks you backwards. The room is spinning madly and out of focus. Your lip is warm with blood as she flutters above you in emerald green.
“Sorry kiddo,” she whispers mildly. She plants one last kiss upon your forehead, moist and scented in perfume. She eyes another man and vanishes from view.