After seeing her husband off to his weekly social function with a polite kiss on the cheek, she rushed upstairs to rip off her pristine dress and pearls, to unwrap the seductive presents she had bought for herself: stockings, corset, and a wig – black with bangs to cover her long, luscious strawberry locks.
Ashley threw on a trench and grabbed a tiny purse that would hold a lot of money, a few wet wipes and a sharp switchblade… to protect herself.
She felt like a femme fatal sneaking out of her gated home in this sexy disguise, catching a limo in the night.
She hadn’t been to the club in years, but lately she’d felt the calling. She’d been inspired by recent events. None of the girls would recognize her in her wig, which was just as well. It wasn’t a social visit.
Although she knew she shouldn’t be there, she instantly clicked into that old feeling of energy and power, something she’d missed and had to tone down in her role as perfect wife to a controlling banker.
She walked through the big black door, past the bouncers, through the neon corridor where the dance music first pumped its primal beat, past the heavy curtains into the underworld of black light, hot exotic dancers and animated businessmen.
She loved the charge of being in control, the power of being a sex symbol; loved wearing shoes with platform soles so high the heels hit nine steel inches; loved how they dug into the leather of the VIP chairs while she gyrated her flawless body above those execs, catching her own full neon lips and lithe undulations in the mirror above.
Her first objective: get a whiskey sour and score some E. Then she’d be off to a good start. She’d need some help tonight. She hadn’t been here since she’d married three years ago. She felt guilty, but it also excited her – this night ahead.
It didn’t take long before she spotted him: the easy target. He was drunk already and pawing a girl who wasn’t having any of it. Ashley made her way over and, removing her jacket, relieved the girl of his company.
It was clear that he couldn’t see straight as he was bombed, but Ashley was very strict with him as she stepped up onto the seat and towered above placing her feet on either side of his thighs.
He tried to paw her, but she pushed him back with a foot jab, a bit of heel. She grabbed his tie and made a noose to secure his hands together, which she pulled to the side holding onto the booth simultaneously to maintain balance. He seemed to like this.
“Kinky one. I’ll pay for that.”
“Yes you will,” said Ashley playfully as she slowly pulled the switchblade from her little purse. Crouching to his level, she flicked it open and held it softly to his throat.
“Whoa!” He joked, “You remind me of my wife, before I beat it out of her!”
Ashley brought her face very close to his – shaking, yet almost kissing. She stared into his big dazed eyes.
“Sweetie,” she said seductively,” I am your goddamned wife, but you never beat it out of me. I’ve just been saving it up. Happy anniversary darling.”
There was a hint of recognition in his eyes, before Ashley drew the knife slowly and deliberately across his neck.
She flew off him as blood spurted in all directions. She grabbed her purse and jacket and ran towards the door screaming. “Someone attacked him. Help, help.”
Ashley fled out the front door, as her husband was swarmed by dancers, bouncers and patrons; confusion erupted and police were called.
Ashley crept around the back of the club where it was quiet and dark. She put the switchblade back into her purse and tried to clean some of the blood. It would take a shower or two.
As police swarmed the front of the club a limo slipped past them, picked Ashley up and drove off into the night. Ashley asked to stop mid-way at a bridge. She took the switchblade out of her purse and flung it into the water, watching it sink into oblivion… Free.
© kym darkly