It wasn't too difficult to talk you into a return trip to the strip club. In fact, I'm not even sure I'm the one that talked you into it. You have a way of talking me into things and making it seem like it was my idea. Either way, I found myself escorting you through the doors after a very nice dinner at our favorite "fancy" restaurant. I really didn't mind wearing a tie if it meant you were going to dress up as well.
To compliment my navy pinstripe suit, you chose a very low cut cornflower dress that matched my shirt. The cut of the dress did not allow for a bra and, while the bottom couldn't be considered a mini, it billowed enough to remind me of the famous Marilyn Monroe picture when she stood over the heating grate in the street. Your breasts were the perfect size for this dress, giving any observer a tantalizing view of cleavage without a danger of falling out. I noticed more than a few men attempting to bend their eyesight under the cloth, trying to see your obviously erect, and pierced, nipples.
This time, as I paid for entrance into the club, you pulled out a hundred dollar bill and asked for singles. There was no doubt your initial shyness from our last escapade had dissolved.
"Are you going to let me do any tipping tonight, baby?"
"I doubt it. You like to watch me tip better anyway."
Who could argue with that???
We entered the dimly lit club and were lucky enough to find two seats together on tip row. No sooner had we seated ourselves, a waitress poked her head between us, pressing her breasts against us, asking us what we wanted to drink. There was some doubt if she was pressing herself against you until you turned to me and gave a sly grin. No doubt about it, you were getting the same treatment as I was. It shocked me a bit that you didn't start with that low carb beer you seem to favor, instead choosing a double shot of buttery nipples. As if to accentuate your order, you ran your nails over the front of your dress, slowly letting your fingernails linger over the bumps there.
"I better stick with something lighter," I added, "since I'm going to be the one driving home. I'll have a coke. I would, however, appreciate it if you could make sure she doesn't go too long without a shot."
Just at that moment, you laid your dollar bills on the drink rail. That prompted me to tell the waitress, "I'm thinking she's here to have a good time tonight." The waitress laughed and hurried away to get our drinks.
Without preamble, you leaned over and gave me the kind of kiss usually reserved for our most private of moments and your hand moved up my thigh to test my excitement level. While I wasn't hard yet, I was certainly well on my way, especially when you surprised me like that. The dancer noticed your enthusiasm and crawled over and whispered in your ear how hot she thought that was. Maybe she instinctively knew how much you loved a sexy voice in your ear or maybe she just took a chance, but when she added a soft scratch on your neck I could see you shiver. That little move earned her several of your hoard of dollar bills.
When the waitress brought our drinks, she seemed to make a show of giving you your shot, having her head between us once again, but reaching around you to place your drink in front of you. Within an instant, you put the glass to your lips and jerked your head backwards, emptying the vessel with one gulp.
"It's a good thing I came prepared," cooed the server, placing another shot in front of you. This time you began nursing it, but I could tell she kept an eye on your drink level and appeared again whenever your glass was empty. By the time you finished your third double shot, you were very socially (and perhaps otherwise) lubricated. At that point, you kissed me once again, but instead of placing your hand over my painfully erect cock, you placed a hard, plastic object in my hand. OMG, you just gave me the remote to your vibrating egg.
