The Last Dance [Sensual, Snuff, Explosives]

A dim, red glow lit Mona’s body, and washed over the audience, obscuring most of them. It came from a series of small, luminous lights placed behind the stage, casting her into shadow, only the hint of her silhouette visible for now.

Mona breathed out, slowly, with finality. She stepped out into the center, her caramel face and obsidian irises finally visible to the paying audience of Club Lux’s Last Dance. She had practiced this, honed her art into perfection over a short career, preparing for this very moment. Dressed in veils of black satin that clung to her body, Mona’s skin was barely visible, but this would change soon.

Somewhere, behind a blast shield, a jazz band starts playing. A light, pleasant, anticipatory strumming fills the room, the rhythm guitar rising above the tenor, the bass, and the sax to lead the band into the dance.

**DLANG-DLANG-DLA-DLANG**

Mona’s feet move on their own, and with every step she takes, another satin veil flutters to the ground. She has no conscious control anymore, nothing in her body or brain except instinct. Every impulse in her body is tinged with excitement, as she dances, her body swaying and her feet tapping on the wooden stage floor. The band sync with her, improvising the tune that her body is somehow creating out of thin air. It’s a melody of carnal instinct and excitement, a melody that speaks to her soul and won’t be found anywhere else, will never be played for anyone else. The band has played melodies like this before, but never the same one twice.

Mona’s muscle memory is slowly being overcome by something else. A deep, animal hunger inside her that threatens to throw her off balance, to make her sink to her knees and grind the floor, the patrons, anything, until she finally reaches the peak of an orgasm. She fights this instinct. Her Last Dance will not be ruined, her training will not be discarded.

Her hands move expertly, at once a part of the art that her body creates and a tool to remove veil after veil, satiny covering after satiny covering. As she dances, she changes colour, the black satin giving way to coffee colored skin, delicate, rose colored lips, and pearly white teeth. Her skin is covered in a sheen, at first the sheen of oil, and then slowly, with more and more exertion, the sheen of sweat. Her hair is finally loose, jet black, shiny, reflective, tinged with the red light that continues to envelop her body.

The audience watches. As the last veil drops, the first movement is complete. Mona stands, dressed in a black bodice that hides the last of her. She pauses for a microsecond as the band shifts and the sax takes front and center.

**PA-PATA-BUM-DA-DA**

The Sax is gentle, meandering. A palate cleanser, for the second movement is a transition. Mona continues to dance, and the audience sees a thin, white wire wrapping around her body. She dances acrobatically, swinging on the pole, every step vivid and controlled. Her body takes her to the only customer in the front row, someone who paid for this privilege. The man is transfixed as she straddles him, his eyes and face inches from her skin, his nose inhaling every scent on her. Sweet vanilla. Pungent rose. Tangy sweat.

As she turns around, the man is ready, a lighter in hand. He flicks it open, and a spark flies out, the wire starting at her stockings finally lit up. And yet, Mona continues to dance, even though inside her, the arousal rages on, threatening once more to overtake her.

She had practiced this scene many times. Choreographed it, practiced it, perfected it. But, crucially, never with a live wire. Never in front of an audience.

Never like this.

None of those had been her Last Dance.

Once the fuse is lit, Mona lithely makes her way back to the stage, a single finger tracing the curve of the man’s face before she is far away from him once more. The stage is hers. No money can pay for it.

The band changes once more, and this time, the bass takes over. The mood in the room shifts. The bass is heavy, low, powerful. It seems to fight Mona, engaging her body in a tenuous battle for control and superiority. They keep up with each other, but the tension is palpable.

**DUM..DUM..DARA..DA..DUM**

Mona rises to the challenge, her feet moving faster. The lit fuse traverses her body, the heat from the wire travelling down the length of her. The sparks are a stark contrast against the black bodice, and as they loop around her, the bodice starts to shred itself, falling apart into flame and ash. Small pieces at first, scraps from her waist and hips. Then, her bellybutton is revealed. More and more of the bodice starts to tear apart, coming undone slowly, and then all at once. Her dark brown nipples are visible, untouched lengths of the white fuse still looping around her.

And finally, as the hem of the bodice falls off, a flash of cherry red is visible between her legs. Beneath a coarse, trimmed patch of black hair lies the secret to the Last Dance. After months of kegels, months of training, a solitary stick of dynamite is nestled inside Mona’s increasingly slippery pussy. The stick itself is now slick with arousal, and it is a testament to the strength of Mona’s training and willpower that it stays within her as she continues to dance. Her feet are now thumping against the floor with need, as she finally takes over from the Bass, her control over this stage undeniable.

**DUM.DUM.DADADARA.DUM.DUM**

The music is moving faster now, keeping up with Mona. Her hair whips around her face, sticking to her body momentarily, then unsticking itself, and then back again. Sweat drips from her, her body coated, shining in the red lights like a beacon. Sweat and arousal, as the stage is increasingly slicker, increasingly wetter from the mixture of fluids that coat her body.

The fuse, however, continues unabated, and Mona incorporates it’s journey into her dance. The audience sees her twirl, sees her move her body ever faster, as the fuse and Mona become one, an incadescent whirlwind of color and spark and luminosity.

The band plays on.

***DUMDUMDUMDARADUMDUMDUMDARADUMDUMDUM***

The bright spark, the last thing Mona will ever feel so consciously aware of, continues to travel down her body. It is at her neck now, looping down to her collarbone, the bright white light contrasting with her brown skin, lighting it up, scalding it, burning scores into her perfect, unblemished flesh. She can barely feel the pain, all she feels is the pleasure of anticipation, the deep hunger inside her that coaxes her , pushes her to the end of her Last Dance.

Finally, the fuse travels down her belly, and is almost lost within her legs. Her feet stop, and she kneels, and spreads. The audience gazes, transfixed. They can see, in a second that lasts for eternity, that Mona is cumming. This is the last thing they will ever see, the girl become a goddess lying on the stage, her legs apart, her lips fixed in an expression of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. The fuse has disappeared within her, and Mona is gasping, trembling. The single customer in the front row has eyes for nobody but her, and is, in his mind, all alone with Mona, a private show just for the two of them.

For Mona however, there is nobody else. This is *hers*. Everyone else is incidental.

This is her Last Dance.

Mona Cums.

The band stops.

**BWOOOOOM**

Silence reigns.

The next morning, the proprietor of the Lux puts up an ad outside. They are looking for a new Last Dancer. Tickets will be available once the performer is chosen.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/ml1bqa/the_last_dance_sensual_snuff_explosives