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.

“Be nice, but be naughty.”

The dancers became more and more bold with you, going from soft kisses on your cheeks, then lips, as you tipped them to standing you up and putting your face in their cleavage. It seemed that the performers talked about you backstage because each dancer took more and more liberties with you and when you didn’t protest, it gave the next stripper the ok to take the game a bit further. While all the dancers were beautiful, the interaction between you and them seemed to garner more of the audience member’s attention than when the dancers were inches from the men on the tip rail. Before too long, the strippers pulled open the front of your dress and exposed your beautiful breasts to the patrons of the establishment. I swear there was more excitement from the guys seeing your “civilian” titties than all of the dancers combined. It probably had something to do with how they kissed and caressed your boobs. One of them went so far as to take your nipple ring into her teeth and pull on it gently.

While you tried to keep your composure, your hands naturally wandered. After all, if they could touch you, why couldn’t you touch them in return? Combine the mutual touching with my manipulation of the remote egg (pulse, rising vibration, steady on low, medium, and high, and off) and I could tell by the glazed look in your eyes that you were very, very ready for some fun. Hell, there were a couple of occasions where your breasts remained exposed as you sat down. Either you liked the attention or you didn’t even notice.

Even when they were off stage, your sexuality drew the dancers to you. A couple of times those dancers hugged you from behind as you stood to tip the one on stage. That gave you the extra stimulation of a woman’s soft breasts on your back and hot breath on your neck while the other dancer kissed your lips and used your body as a personal play toy.

Finally, a dancer named Violet came to the stage. Finally, because she seemed to be your favorite. Auburn hair, light violet eyes, a large and very firm “rack”, and an ass you could hit with a baseball bat and it wouldn’t jiggle. One would think with her tan there would be tan lines, but she had none. Both of you had your hands roaming over each other, giving the rest of us a show we would have only gotten on dvd, but when your hand strayed towards her pussy, she stopped you short.

“I can’t do that out here. Maybe we can go to the back.”

After a moment you realized she was offering you your first lap dance and you eagerly agreed, sitting down and waiting for her to get off stage. When she did, she sat on my lap and faced you.

“Your boyfriend certainly seems to be enjoying the show,” she said as she wiggled on my hard cock. I took that opportunity to place some money, along with the control, in her hand and asked her to take good care of you. She stood up and took your hand and it was almost as if you were on automatic pilot, following her as if you were oblivious to anything around you.

Violet led you to the very back of the VIP room and sat you in the middle of a two person love seat. She sat on your lap, facing you with her mouth inches from yours and asked you to explain how the remote control worked. Her smile got bigger and bigger as you told her of all the features it had. Of course she had to try out each setting as you told her what it was doing to your now incredibly wet slit. Warm, wonderful oblivion enveloped you, making everything except your body and hers completely disappear from existence.