The Elysian Key

Vera sipped her drink, the too-sweet melon liqueur and sour lemon dancing across her tongue. The smoky dive blurred pleasantly at the edges, many of the patrons gone or passed out. Only a few still drowning in their drinks.

The odd woman at the end of the bar was still perched there after several hours, somehow still upright after a whole bottle of tequila. Vera liked her sharp, black bob and leather trenchcoat, but she didn't really do chicks. Pity.

Her eyes flicked again to the couple in the corner, the woman in the short red dress grinding on the man's lap with his tie wrapped around her fist. Vera swiped her tingling tongue over her lower lip and pressed her thighs together.

"—and that's why I got into finance in the first place. But now… I don't know what I'll do without that job."

Her attention snapped back to the man hunched over the bar beside her, nursing his second whiskey in as many hours. His light brown hair was mussed and his suit was a little bedraggled. He'd shed his tie a while ago, but now all Vera could think about was having it wrapped around her fist while she wrapped herself around him.

"That's tough," she said, tucking her dark brown hair behind her ear to justify another peek at the lascivious couple on the lounge.

The man beside her—Tom? Liam?—slapped a hand on the bar. "It is what it is." He tipped the last of his whiskey into his mouth and pulled a tart face. The same one he pulled each time.

Vera downed the last of her drink, abandoning the empty glass on the bar with a gentle tap. She leaned over, pressing her breasts into the booze-stained wood until they bulged from her neckline. Vera glided one crimson-nailed finger up the outside of Tom's thigh. "Do you wanna… take this someplace else?"

His unfocused eyes widened, and Vera couldn't contain her predatory grin.

"I-I—" He swallowed hard, eyes dropping to her tits, set out like a buffet. "I live with my parents."

Vera's grin pulled wider. "That wasn't quite where I was thinking."

Dragging Tom by the hand, Vera threw a nod to the bartender and shoved open the back door, into the shadowy alley behind the bar. Tom stumbled out after her.

She turned and planted both hands on his chest and pushed him against the grey cinder-block wall.

A soft "oof" escaped him, and he grabbed Vera's upper arms. To stabilise himself or keep her at bay, she wasn't sure. So she gentled her touch.

Stepping closer, she caressed his chest through his rumpled button-up. "How do you like it?" she asked, fluttering her eyelids and adding a seductive tilt to her lips.

Tom glanced around. "Uh, you mean… right here?"

Vera leaned in close, brushing her lips against his neck. "Or, if you want your parents to watch…"

Tom drew in a sharp breath. "Here's fine," he choked out.

Vera raised her head and planted her mouth on his. His whiskey and despair mingled with her lemon and want, creating a potent cocktail all its own. She pushed her tongue into his mouth and drank her fill.

He groaned helplessly as Vera fitted her body to his, pressing her pelvis where he was already hardening. She twisted her hands in his hair and pulled him closer, consuming him. He released her mouth, gasping, and she grazed her teeth over his pulse point.

Tom fumbled at his belt for long seconds, before Vera helped him, effortlessly popping open his fly and freeing his erection. He paused, uncertain.

Skittish, she thought. Don't let him bolt. Vera gripped him gently, stroking her fingers over his length. The ache between her legs sharpened. Velvety soft cock always got her going.

She licked a stripe from his collar to his jawline, the salt of his sweat tainted by the smoky dive air. "Touch me," she whispered against his skin, still wet with her saliva, and watched goosebumps race up his neck. He let out a soft sigh, cock pulsing in her hand.

Tom slipped shaky fingers beneath her short skirt, dragging them up her naked thighs until he found her slick apex.

"Oh, fuck," he whimpered into her hair. As he slid a finger along her center and plunged it inside, Vera quicked her strokes, gripping his hard cock more tightly. With flicks of her wrist, she twirled her palm against the tip with each up-stroke, setting the poor man to twitching and smoothing his precum along his length.

Tom's lone finger lay inside her, flaccid and forgotten, though her pussy practically vibrated with need. He thrust into her palm, increasing the pace.

Vera knew what was coming. "Wait—"

He tipped his head back with a moan, gave one more hard thrust, and shuddered. Thick spurts of white cum sprayed onto Vera's plaid skirt, dribbling down the pleats.

Tom panted at the sky, trying to catch his breath.

Vera gritted her teeth, trying to summon her patience.

"That was… Wow." Tom lowered his eyes from the cosmos, and met her gaze, removing his useless finger from her unsatisfied pussy. "I— I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Vera shot him a dazzling smile. "It's alright, baby. Happens to the best of us. I'm glad you had a good time." She planted a chaste kiss on his lips as she tucked him away, zipping up his fly and surreptitiously wiping her fingers on his pants.

The clatter of an empty beer bottle rolling down the alley made them both turn. The woman in the leather trenchcoat stood by the bar's back exit, unlit cigarette held between two fingers. "Oh, excuse me. I didn't mean to interrupt."

The little smile on her bright red lips suggested otherwise.

Tom smoothed his hair back, forehead slick with sweat. "Um, thank you." He gave Vera an awkward head bob, turned on his heel and all but ran from the alley, back to the cleaner, brighter main street.

"Satisfied?" The woman leaned against the wall, cigarette between her smirking lips.

Vera glanced down at the cum drying on her skirt. She scoffed. "Not even close."

The woman chuckled. She seemed awfully sober for someone who'd spent hours downing tequila shots alone. "I could help with that, you know."

Vera cocked one brow and rested her hands on her hips. "I wish. Never could get into chicks, despite my best efforts."

"Not me personally," the woman said, blowing a puff of sweet-smelling smoke. "I know a place. A club. For women like us."

Vera sniffed, pulling her cropped jacket tighter against the chill of witching hour. "'Preciate the offer, but I'm not much of a dancer."

The woman fished in a pocket of her trenchcoat and held out a card between painted black nails. The card shimmered gold in the city's neon backwash. "Not a strip club."

Vera took the card and squinted at it. The Elysian Key. She turned it over. Paradise beyond your wildest dreams.

No address. No phone number.

"Then what is it?" Vera held up the card. "And where?"

The woman took her time answering, drawing a slow draft of her cigarette.

"Paradise," she breathed, trailing smoke through her nose. "And a sanctuary, for anyone who feels a little… other. You can find it beneath the bridge." She turned and pointed to the city's beating heart, Thornton Bridge. "South side. Just knock and give the password."

She's fucking with me, surely? A wry smile twisted Vera's lips. "Which is?"

The woman grinned, showing a mouth full of needle sharp teeth. Vera blinked, wondering if the melon liqueur was turning on her.

The woman leaned closer, and, with a theatrical whisper, said, "Mashed potatoes."