Shruti

Seeing the way the hot Indian girl is teasing guys all across the dance floor, you know that you’ve got to make her yours tonight. Figuring that there’s no better way to do it, you leap headfirst into the thick of the floor, bumping shoulders with the other guys and girls, doing your best to dance to the music.

It doesn’t take long before you brush up against Shruti. You bust out your best moves, a paltry imitation of a hip and arm swivelling thing that always looked cool to you when you were watching others from the DJ booth. It seems to work well enough, because next thing you know, Shruti’s dancing up close to you, her ass grinding up all over your front as she looks over her shoulder, giving you a wink.

“I’ve got a surprise for you when you join me at the bar in a minute,” you shout, worried that your voice might get swept away by the music.

“You’re a bold one,” Shruti laughs, dancing away to some other man a second later.

Shit. That wasn’t good enough to get her to stick with you. But maybe… you could try waiting at the bar anyways. She seems like the kind of person who would appreciate a power-move like that.

You make your swift exit from the dance floor, ordering two vodka sodas. The bartender—not Laura, just someone else working the same shift as her—delivers the drinks a minute later. You waste no time, taking the first opportunity you get to slip your roofie into one of the drinks when nobody’s watching. You let it fizz and dissolve into the drink for a couple seconds, looking off to the side while you cover the glass with your hands. Once you’re confident that the job is done, you glance at the drink, and confirm that it looks just like it did before. Perfection.

Shruti’s still dancing like a tornado, her saree whipping around her like the wind. You wonder if you misjudged the situation. If Shruti doesn’t come by, well… you’ll need to find somebody else to give this drink to. You begin searching the bar for somebody else ‘worthy’, wanting a real looker, somebody who could possibly compare…

“Looking for me?” Shruti says, pulling up by the bar, a sheen of sweat laced across her forehead.

“I was looking for somebody else to pass this drink to,” you laugh, pointing at the spiked vodka soda.

“Too bad, because I’m taking it,” she smiles, taking a small sip of the drink. She pauses, and then gives you a big smile. “You know how many guys offer to buy me a drink every night?”

“It’s got to be in the double digits,” you say.

“And yet,” she nods, pausing. “Most of them aren’t disgusting assholes looking to **** a girl.”

“What?” you say, taken aback by her words.

“Enjoy your last minute in here,” Shruti says, that big smile of hers now all teeth. The rows of pristine white drive a shiver down your spine, one that causes your hand to shake, some of your drink spilling out of the glass.

“But… I haven’t…”

“The guilt’s all over your face,” she says, voice ice cold “and in this drink, too. You think I didn’t catch you lacing this drink up when I was dancing?”

“But you were dancing,” you say weakly.

“And you were trying to **** me,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m done talking with you.”

As she gets out of her seat, you feel two sets of strong arms lift you out of yours, and you realise that you’re getting manhandled by the bouncers. You don’t try to resist, knowing that the entire bar would turn against you if you tried. Instead, you reluctantly accept your fate, eating a mouthful of gravel as they throw you out the door of the bar.

Shruti -200