I didn't want to go.
I wasn't really given a choice. I was the manager of the project, the clients were paying our bank sa fortune in fees for the work we were doing, and we had been given to understand from our local team in their home country that when they entertained, they tended towards the more sexy venues.
So our Managing Director, Tony, got it into his head that we had to take them to the best lap-dancing club we could find. Since nobody in the office really went in for that sort of thing, it involved a lot of googling and a few suggestions from friends of colleagues before the venue was chosen, and I was a little unsettled by the decision.
What little I'd read of "Lilith's" on the internet implied that it was more than a lap-dancing club. You had to read between the lines, since the various reviewers didn't want to get the place shut down for prostitution, but from what I could tell, this lap-dancing club was willing to offer more than just lap dances, depending on how you asked your questions and what you were willing to pay.
Great. My boss is taking me to a brothel on a Tuesday night.
The clients would have preferred to have a private moment with me, I'm sure. The looks I was getting went well beyond distant admiration, and every time one of them was behind me, I could imagine their gaze settling on my ass. Truth be told, that was partly my fault, I'd let myself get talked into wearing a miniskirt that was frankly inappropriate for the office, and a moulding cashmere top that did little to hide the fact that nature had been good to me.
At least they understood that I was off limits, and all I had to deal with were the looks. Perhaps if they let off some steam this evening they'd stare a little less during the meetings tomorrow.
The club, when we found it, was a little more discreet than I'd anticipated. Still, it was clear enough that the venue was of an adult nature, and there were a couple of sturdy bouncers at the front door. Pre-booked access to the VIP area ensured that we didn't have to hang about in the street for too long and we were quickly led down a staircase into a very large two-level basement with a mezzanine VIP area overlooking a large bar space.
The place was gorgeously decorated, with a small bar in the middle of the VIP area, plush carpets and leather seats in separate areas so that groups didn't have to mingle if they didn't want to. There were near-naked girls walking around everywhere, but they didn't accost our group – instead they gave little smiles to the boys and waited to get called. The rest of the time they wandered around, talked amongst themselves and chatted up the occasional client who seemed interested. Occasionally, one of them would – at some invisible signal – get up on the tiny stage at the front of the VIP area and dance. They were very good. I could never have moved my body the way they were moving theirs, and the skill they showed implied that this was more than a standard lap-dancing club. Our clients were enjoying it plenty, and began to disappear for brief intervals with individual dancers – so we had clearly chosen well.
Every so often, one of the girls would conclude a deal for a lap dance, and would then lead their client by the hand to one of several doors set into the walls, and open the electronic lock on the door with a little bracelet they all seemed to be wearing. Ten minutes later, the couple would re-emerge, looking much as they had when they'd disappeared. So far so clean, perhaps I could stand to be here a while after all.
I ordered a fruity drink at the bar and sat on one of the leather barstools with my back more or less turned to my group so that the clients and my colleagues would not be too embarrassed by my presence. A couple of the other people in the VIP area came to talk, wondering why a girl was in a lap-dancing club, and I explained the situation to them and had a couple of decent conversations. Quite quickly, I figured out that this was a pretty good place for conversations because the guys weren't here for me, and their presence in a lap-dancing club didn't really lend itself to a pick-up, although a couple still tried. Despite my misgivings, I began having a good time talking about music, sports, politics and any other subject the guys came up with. The drinks were good, other people were buying them, and I was able to safely ignore the activities of my colleagues. The people talking to me varied as different guys went to talk to some of the naked girls from time to time.
I didn't notice the other effect I was having until I ran headlong into a very cute petite girl in the corridor leading to the bathrooms, just as I came out.
She'd been waiting for me.
"It's not very cool, you know." She started.
"I'm sorry?"
"You're dressed to pick up, standing at the bar in a place where we rely on attracting men to make a living. It's not very cool for you to be here drawing their attention away from us."
It took a minute for me to catch up with her meaning. Then I was so surprised I couldn't help but laugh.
I still managed to explain, "I'm sorry. I'd rather not be here too, for what it's worth, but my boss insisted, and so I have to wait for my group to finish having their fun before I can go. It's not my intention to get in your way."
She hadn't been expecting that answer. She had probably got it into her head that I was deliberately damaging business. She still didn't seem very happy about it though.
I tried again. "Listen. I don't get any pleasure from being here, believe me..."
Her eyes flashed up at me. Baby blue under long black lashes, blonde hair cascading in gentle curves around her shoulders. I had better breasts and several inches on her, but I would have done anything to have a face that cute, eyes that colour or hair that pretty.
Someone came down the corridor. Some guy I didn't recognise, and she moved close to me to make room for him to get past. As he went past, he brushed against her – probably deliberately – and she fell towards me. I took a step back and ended up with my back to the wall, the petite girl pressed up against me with her breasts pushed into mine. I could feel how hard her nipples were through my top.
She lowered her voice and got up on her toes, her breasts rubbing against mine and one hand going to my waist for balance. Her breath was right in my ear, her voice low and seductive.
"You should try to enjoy yourself, you know. Have you ever had a lap dance?"
I was flustered, both by what she'd said, and by the fact that I was reacting to her, my nipples tightening in my top despite the fact that I'd never been attracted to girls. All I could think was, "no wonder the boys can't resist them". The answer I managed to blurt out was much less coherent.
"I don't... I mean can't... haven't ever... I mean. Umm. No, ah, thanks. I didn't even come with money."
And now I looked like an idiot.
She just smiled, as though she knew something I didn't. She looked straight into my eyes, and I felt her hand move down from my waist to my hips, to just above the hem of my miniskirt.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like to know what it feels like? Even if I offered to show you for free?"
"I really don't think that... ah..."
How on earth did guys manage to negotiate a price under this kind of sensual pressure? My thoughts had scattered as her other hand came to rest on my shoulder. The hand on my hip was moving in slow circles, rubbing the fabric of my skirt against my thigh. Her face moved towards mine and I was completely caught in her eyes, until her lips brushed incredibly gently against mine, before she pulled away slightly.
