Lap Dance

Her lap dance was perfect: slow and sensual, with her violet eyes piercing my soul as her hot breath ignited my skin. It was hard to keep my hands gripping the ends of the armrests, but I knew that I must, because if I allowed my willpower to fade away, I would instantly touch her - and likely more, since I definitely would have enjoyed having my way with her.

But, that would be against the rules. Even though we were alone in the small room, even though every fixed surface except the floor, the ceiling, and the door was mirrored, there was almost certainly at least one hidden camera somewhere – perhaps behind a one-way mirror – which was being monitored to ensure that I did not actually touch her.

There was no music being played within the room: The pulsating, pounding rhythms from the club upstairs permeated the ceiling, which made her languid movements all the more frustrating for me. With such music befalling us, she should have been using fast, harsh movements, her lengthy hair bouncing and swaying as her hips thrust hard and her breasts jumped for joy before my eyes. Instead, she moved as if she was trying to traverse a massive pool filled with molasses.

Actually, that imagery was not helping. If she was indeed covered with molasses, she would be even more appealing to me, and I definitely would not have been able to prevent myself from touching her.

Her hips moved back and forth, her legs rubbing against mine as she straddled/squatted over me. Reaching behind her, she finally unclasped her bra, the red sequins capturing the light in a way which truly enhanced her breasts. For just a moment, I lifted my hand up off the right armrest, but quickly realized what I had done and again gripped the end of the armrest before she even noticed (I think).

Her painted lips curled upward, her long eyelashes batting at me, she arched her back as the skimpy top was loosened, which further thrust her chest practically into my face. It was clear that she was enjoying this, that she had such power over me without even saying anything, that she had me in her thrall just because she was there and I was not permitted to touch her.

But she was definitely permitted to touch me. Bringing her arms forward, she drew the sequined bra toward me, allowing it to practically slither with life down her arms and become entangled in her wrists. With amusement in her eyes, she pressed the sequins against my lips and slowly rubbed the bra across my mouth. I loved it, but it would have been much better if her breasts were still encased within the spectacular cups.

With a flick of her wrists, the bra was gone, and somehow had been completely separated from her. My eyes tracked it as it drifted several feet away and toward the floor, but then she pressed forward once more, and suddenly her breasts were in my face, each taut nipple being dragged across my chin and seeming to dig into my skin.

Before my willpower crumbled and my mouth opened to attempt to seize a nipple, she backed away, grasping my head in her small hands. My eyes rose from her chest to her face as she bent down to me, and for a moment, I truly thought she was about to kiss me – my forehead most likely, or perhaps my cheeks – but then she stopped, her lips barely an inch from mine, and exhaled hotly on my face.

A flash of desire ran the length of my spine. I groaned from the frustration, instinctively arching my body toward her, and she must have anticipated my reaction, given that she arched away from me, her hands on my shoulders to brace herself.

"It's okay," she said softly, her sirenic voice almost lost amidst the pounding tones crashing down from the club above us. "Go ahead and touch yourself."

I was still a bit fearful of loosening my grip on the ends of the armrests - fearful that instead of touching myself, I would touch her and bring everything to a swift and premature end. Straightening up and leaning forward again, once more she brushed her breasts across my face, and it took every last thread of willpower to keep my mouth from sealing around a nipple and attempting to drink from her.

"Touch yourself," she encouraged me. "Do it for me."

My entire arm shook as I loosened my grip on the end of the armrest and cautiously moved it between us and to the front of my jeans. She kept touching me, caressing me with her hands and with her eyes, whispering soft words of encouragement which were lost in the pounding music descending from the club. Single-handedly, I released the button and lowered the zipper, and slipped a hand inside...

I gasped at my own touch, amazed at my own wetness. Soon she was not the only one moving on the cushioned chair, for as she caressed me and peppered my face with soft kisses, my frustration transformed into a pleasure which continued to peak under her tender adoration. I was vaguely aware of her voice, soft and angelic, as I cried out in exquisite bliss, giving this beautiful woman a performance she was not permitted to give me.

She was only topless, so there was definitely still more to come.......