'Phoenyx: Flesh and Fire' Sample: Svetla - Sex Stories

'Phoenyx: Flesh and Fire' Sample: Svetla

... Something told me that, in a way, she was right, and was probably justified in feeling angry. Her parents, after all, would have had some experience of the last horrible war. But Berlin had also suffered not once but twice under the Soviets, and it seemed as though those memories wouldn't be allowed to fade. But it still wasn't my problem. I chewed my lip in silence as I sat down at the mirror and tried to concentrate on getting myself ready for my performance. I angrily wiped away the black blot she had put underneath my nose. I couldn't allow her to unsettle me, if that was her game. Top billing at the Klub was never that big a deal – it was just Bruno and Mel's way of swapping us around and making sure that those of us who were up to it, got given the chance to raise our game a little. It was a matter of pride really, providing gentle rivalry – or at least it had been merely that until now. It occurred to me that Svetlana had barely spoken to me before the previous week, when I was granted a headline slot for the first time. Perhaps that was it – she saw me as an easier target than the long-established Olivia, the mouthy Petra, the genuinely world-class Gloria or the full-on Honey. Well, I told myself as I brushed my hair out, I wasn't going to be anyone's pushover. “Hey, Phoenyx. Still up for tonight's face-off then?” Svetlana leant herself against the doorframe and looked down the dressing-table. Everyone, including me, turned to look at her in almost perfect unison. She ...

... grinned back at us from beneath a black beret bearing a big red enamel star. A riding crop in one hand, the rest of her outfit was all leather – knee boots, a halter neck top, and laced-up hotpants. Even her long opera gloves were the real thing, and from over ten meters away she still smelled like a tanning factory. The crop slapped against the top of her boot. Mrs. Groenenberg did that with a lot more panache, I observed. Now that would be a battle to contemplate, I mused: grim Mrs. G and not-so svelte Svetlana. I would have paid to see that show. “I'm not afraid,” I said, “But I still don't understand what you're playing at.” “Oh, you will.” Olivia bent close to me. “Stepped on someone's toes, darling?” she asked me with her usual gentle concern. I shook my head. “No idea. You'll have to ask the Comrade Colonel.” Just then, Bruno appeared in the doorway and tapped Svetlana on the shoulder. “Hey,” he said. She turned to face him and he took a step back to get a good look at her costume. He pointed to the beret. “Could you take that off, please.” “I won't.” “Svetlana, it might have escaped your notice – but this is Berlin. Not Leningrad. Now please take the hat off, because I don't want any complaints. It doesn't bother me but some people are touchy about these things.” Svetlana looked ready to argue back when I stepped in. “Bruno? Let her wear it. It's okay. This club has a long and noble history,” I reminded him. “It flourished during the early Nazi years, with satire and ...