Part 3 is here….
Up until now, the day had been pretty spectacular. She’d edged a bunch. Sucked my cock a bunch. Swallowed my cum once. And still, she hadn’t had her first orgasm of the evening.
Unfortunately, at around this point, I should’ve cut Charlotte off. Or at least noticed that she needed to be cut off soon. I missed that cue. So did she.
We got in a cab, and headed toward our next stop. “You should be playing with yourself,” I said. Charlotte didn’t hear me. Some moments passed, and I made my wishes a bit clearer. Charlotte did as asked.
“Don’t come, please,” I said. Obvs.
I was looking at my phone briefly. Charlotte looked at it as well. “We’re going to a strip club,” she said.
I couldn’t tell if she was excited, pleased, neutral, or unhappy.
“Tell me about your relationship to strip clubs,” I said.
“I love them,” she said. “My best friend is a stripper.”
I asked if she ever had stripped. “No,” she said. [Something I learned long ago: surprising women have stripped.]
We navigated the gauntlet of bouncers, coat checkers, greeters. Proved we’d been vaccinated. The last of the greeters asked if it was our first time. “Not mine,” I said. And he proceeded to treat me as if I were the kind of regular I once was, years ago, at strip clubs (but not ever at this one). It was a sort of strange treatment. In the circumstance, I didn’t care. Charlotte knew more about my strip club habits than did this guy. But I could imagine plenty of guys who might be made uncomfortable by the degree of (misplaced) familiarity this guy was directing my way.
Never mind also that they were intent on using my (real) last name over and over.
Now Charlotte knows my real last name. But I’ve definitely been to strip clubs with women with whom I wasn’t yet prepared to share that particular bit of information. I was struck by the presumptuousness. As was Charlotte.
“Two-drink minimum,” he said, “and it’s a bit quiet,” as we entered the main room.
That was an understatement.
“I’ve never been in a strip club without strippers!” I said to Charlotte.
It didn’t take long for things to pick up a bit. We had our two drinks – more scotch. So by now, Charlotte had had her wine at lunch, her scotch before we left, two glasses of wine in the restaurant, and two scotches.
As the dancers arrived, Charlotte and I discussed types. Silicone. “Basically I want to fuck a woman who looks just like me,” Charlotte said.
“Funny,” I said. “Me too!”
The first woman who danced for us, though, looked nothing like Charlotte. We had agreed she was the hottest dancer in the club (though well behind the bartenders, massage girls, waitresses and, of course, Charlotte). Blonde, with small breasts and an expressive face, “Riley” danced and gyrated on Charlotte a bit after her turn on stage. Up on stage, she barely moved. On Charlotte, she repeated the performance. She did whisper some sweet nothings in Charlotte’s ear that I couldn’t hear, but that Charlotte ate up. After two dances on Charlotte, I asked her to dance on me.
“Dance,” I should say. It was a pretty low-contact, low-movement, low-energy affair. “Riley” was more interested in talking than touching. Which didn’t bother me so much because, actually, she was a good, interesting conversationalist.
Somewhere during the dance, I stroked “Riley’s” back. At this moment, a switch flipped in Charlotte. I thought I noticed something, but I wasn’t quite sure what. “Do you want to go to a private room?” “Riley” asked me.
“Why don’t you leave us for a few minutes, and then come back,” I said.
Charlotte told me she had been suddenly filled with a deeply unpleasant jealousy. Interesting. Here we had been talking about a possible threesome, and it turns out, Charlotte doesn’t like even seeing me touch a stranger about whom I manifestly don’t care! [I dutifully removed threesomes from our well-laid table.]
When “Riley” returned, I said, “Thanks, but not right now.” Charlotte said, “That was mean!“
“Did you want to go to a private room with her?!?”
“Well, then.” I suppose I could have sugar-coated my rejection, but it felt like I was being respectful of her time more than anything else.
Soon after that, “Melrose” approached us. “Melrose” looked a bit like an actual (fake) Riley, Riley Reid (nee something else, natch).
Cute. With a bright smile. Perfect breasts. A round ass, just a bit bigger than her waist might have suggested.
Melrose danced once for Charlotte, once for me. I kept a hand on Charlotte the entire time. I think we managed to avoid triggering her jealousy again. But when “Melrose” finished her second dance, we sent her packing, too.
“I think I’d like to leave,” Charlotte said.
And so we did.
Stay tuned for the penultimate part of this eventful evening.