The club was dark and smoky, strewn randomly with small round tables where men reclined in various states of arousal. The writhing bodies on stage moved frantically to the driving beat pouring from the sound system. I smiled at the realization that aside from the dancers, I was the only woman present.
The old Abercrombie & Fitch hat I wore kept my hair away from my face as well as shadowed my striking emerald eyes. Low-slung blue jeans hugged my hips suggestively and my 38D breasts were barely contained in a scant, white baby tee. My entire body was tanned and toned to perfection, thanks to hours a week at the gym.
Let me digress for a moment. I've been married for nearly five years to a wonderful, loving man, but for the last year, our sex life has seriously waned. Love-making is nearly non-existent, and I'd already worn out two impossibly expensive vibrators. And, as of late, fantasies of being with someone else, man or woman, have crowded my thoughts. Perhaps I could seduce an older man, wiser in the arts of pleasure, or a beautiful, confidant woman who would willingly plunge her face into my sex; tantalizingly tender, yet insatiable. In any case, to say the least, I needed a good fucking. Thus the trip to the club.
I reasoned that any man in this sex-haven would no doubt be looking for a little action on the side. From my vantage point, I could see several wedding rings glinting in the light thrown by the flashing strobes. Interesting. I watched one such married gentleman receive a lap dance from a very well-endowed stripper. She gyrated shamelessly against the bulge in the customer's lap, licking her lips seductively as he pinched her hardening nipples. This club obviously had no rules about touching. The dancer turned and rubbed her ass on his crotch, then reached back and guided his hand to her asshole. She arched back in ecstasy as he probed her, then gripping his knees, proceeded to cum all over his lap. I felt my pussy contract as I watched her unzip her customer's fly, pull out his lovely cock and artfully blow him until he came, shuddering and groaning. Delicious.
Suddenly, the sound of Pink's "You Make Me Sick" reverberating out of the speakers drew my attention back to the stage. A tall, lanky young thing strutted out, dragging her toes as she walked. She danced like a caged panther, her eyes hot and passionate. She wore a tiny, satiny red thong that clearly outlined her nether-lips and a lace-up red leather bustiere that accentuated her full, pale breasts. Her long red hair was straight and shiny, her blue eues sparkled with barely contained lust. Her body glistened under the lights as she thrust her hips lewdly, then gripping her hair, yanked her head to one side. With her free hand she teased her thinly clad cunt. Tauntingly, she unlaced the bustiere then wriggled her shoulders until it fell, hitting the stage with a soft plop.
Unlike the other dancers, she wore no shoes, and her beautiful toenails were painted a deep red. God, how I'd love to lavish my attention on those adorable digits. I continued to watch her with avid interest as she finished her set. For some reason, I could not tear my eyes away from her act of simulated sex. She left the stage to a smattering of applause and wolf whistles. I was absolutely intrigued.
The rest of the night slipped by uneventfully as I watched for HER to return to the stage. Alas, she did not. It was nearly closing when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was her, standing beside me, one eyebrow cocked jauntily, a perfectly manicured hand resting on one hip.
"Hi." she greeted me huskily. She had a voice like liquid sex, smooth and sultry with a slight touch of a southern accent. "You enjoy the shows?" I could only nod stupidly, my lips suddenly frozen shut, unwilling to allow me some measure of intelligence. I cursed myself silently.
"Your name" she murmered.
"Heather, yours?" (FINALLY, I had a voice!)
"Emma." She chuckled softly as though aware of my predicament.
