“Don’t look so nervous,” my husband, Silas says as we approach the doors of the gentleman’s club. He gives my hand a warm squeeze. “This’ll be fun.”  

“Fun,” I mutter under my breath. I have a feeling it will be anything but fun. Uncomfortable, embarrassing, possibly humiliating; yes. Fun? Not so much; but he’s my husband and I will do almost anything to make him happy. Up to, and including, letting a woman grind her naked pussy on my lap. 

Frolick is the only strip club in our city where the dancers get completely naked. It’s mere steps away from expensive restaurants and hotels. But behind those seemingly innocuous doors lurks a den of debauchery. I know that’s not exactly accurate but that’s how I imagine it.  

“Let’s check your coat,” he offers; always the gentleman. 

I untie the sash and pop the buttons of my beige quarter-length trench coat. He slips it off my shoulders, uttering a long, low wolf whistle when he sees what I’m wearing underneath. Sour apple green dress, tight and clinging to every curve; candy apple red, patent leather,six-inch stilettos. 

“Well, look at you,” he mutters under his breath. I know this outfit is unlike anything he’s ever seen me wear. I made sure of it. I didn’t want to be myself tonight. I wanted to be saucy, sexy, something from a music video or a magazine. Something that he desired. 

It’s no secret that Silas and I have lost the passion in our marriage. In fact, we’ve been simmering on low heat since the birth of our last child. I don’t think he’s cheating; he’s too much of a family man for that. But cheating isn’t my biggest fear. I’m worried that it’s something far worse than that. My biggest fear is that he’s just plain bored…in which case, there is nothing I can do to change it. We’ve been seeing a marriage counselor for a few months now and in our last session, she advised us to share our fantasies. Watching me with another woman is one of Silas’s. The idea of it is tantalizing but I’m not exactly comfortable with the idea. But if this is will bring the passion back then, damn it, I’m down.

“You ready?” he asks. His hand in the small of my back is already guiding me toward a pair of double doors behind which a throbbing baseline pounds and bright white strobe lights flash.

I roll my shoulders back and stand up tall. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I say confidently.

Frolick’s interior is just as I expected it to be; one large center stage that is currently empty surrounded by several smaller stages where dancers twist, gyrate, and thrust their pussies at men seemingly dazed with lust.

I am not impressed.

“Is this table okay?” my husband asks. The table Silas has selected butts right up to one of the go-go cages where a waifish, blond dances sensuously.

“This is fine,” I answer flatly. Silas pulls out my chair--those impeccable manners again--and I sit gingerly; imagining that the surface of the grimy, vinyl chair is covered with all manner of bodily fluids. Silas covers my tense shoulders with his hands and kisses my neck.

“Relax, Juel,” he whispers in my ear as he massages his thumbs into my shoulders. 

“Sorry,” I mumble, but the music is so loud that I’m sure he didn’t hear me.

Silas removes his jacket and lounges in his seat. In just a few moments, he looks just as dazed as every man in here; he licks his full lips and follows the sway of the blonde’s behind with his eyes. I try to imagine him here alone. Would he be one of those men lined up at the stairs of the go-go cage with a sad and hopeful dollar in hand waiting for his chance to have this girl push her pussy in his face? I don’t want to believe he would be but his behavior, and leering expression say that he probably would.

A brunette bounces--and I do mean bounces--up to our table and asks us if we want to buy a drink. Her huge, round breasts and dusty rose nipples draw Silas’s immediate attention.

“I’ll have a Heineken and my wife will have a--”

“Vodka tonic; two limes, please.”

Silas eyes me suspiciously as the brunette waitress wiggles--and I do mean wiggles--away to fill our drink order. 

“Vodka tonic?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. I’m not a big drinker. Usually, I order something with more fruit juice than alcohol but somehow I don’t think that is going to be enough tonight. I need be drunk—and I mean good and drunk--in order to go through with this. 

“Just to help me relax,” I explain to him. He accepts this explanation with an eager smile and turns his attention back to the blond in the go-go cage in front of us. Mutely, we watch her body undulate in languid, sensual movements. When I glance at Silas he seems enraptured. When I look at her face she seems bored and detached. If I was willing to buy into the fantasy before, all the glitter wears off when I look into her eyes. I’m no longer focused on what she’s doing and how her body looks; the mother in me is wondering how she ended up stripping in the first place.

I’m glad to see the bouncy waitress when she returns with our drinks. At least she looks happy to be here; or else is very good at faking it. I accept my drink, lean back and attempt to enjoy this experience. Unfortunately, that is easier said than done. I drink three vodka tonics but I still don’t feel drunk enough. Several dancers approach my husband and ask if he wants a lap dance and each time he raises his eyebrows as if to say, ‘how about her?’, and each time I shake my head no. When Silas sends the fourth one away I can tell that he’s getting annoyed. 

“If all you were going to do is pout and get drunk you could’ve stayed home,” he snaps, his patience worn thin. I want to help him fulfill his fantasy but every time I think about one of them rubbing against me, I break out in goose bumps. Nothing about this looks or feels sexy to me; nothing at all.

When the next stripper asks Silas for a dance I tell him to go ahead. This evening is a bust. I know we won’t make love tonight. I’ll be lucky if it doesn’t end in a fight. I owe him this lap dance. He didn’t do very much to make me feel comfortable in this new experience, but true fault lies in the fact that I never should’ve agreed to come if I was going to be so uptight.

The bouncy brunette brings me another vodka tonic when he leaves and I suck it down morosely. This night isn’t shaping up anywhere close to the way I envisioned it. Blame it on ‘Flashdance’ but, I was expecting stunningly beautiful women, oozing with sexuality who really and truly loved to dance. None of these women are even remotely close to that fantasy. It was naïve to think that it would be. I’m ruminating over how silly that is when the lights begin to dim.

“Good evening, gentleman and ladies and thank you for coming out to party with us at Frolick tonight,” the DJ’s voice booms through speakers. “I’m DJ Riff and I hope you’re all enjoying yourself this evening. And if you’re not I’m positive that’s about to change.”

The lights wink out completely and the club is shrouded in black. I glance around nervously, imagining all manner of impropriety commencing in the darkness around me. Soft giggles and deep moans feed this active fantasy and I hug myself praying that Silas will return soon.

Kanye West’s ‘Flashing lights’ begins to play in the dark room. A pulse of crimson light glows in the center of the big stage; the circumference of which increases in steady intervals, on beat with the pounding baseline. 

“Gentlemen…welcome Seoul to the center stage.”

At first, the crimson light renders her in shadow, starting with her ankles and then her hips and torso. She begins to dance as the light carves her in dark, silhouette. Her wide, curvy hips dip and snap on beat, punctuating the rhythm with precise, sharp movement as a second crimson light comes up illuminating her face. 

I know this face! This is the model from the billboard! There’s no mistaking the flashy sparkle of her eyes and the cunning smirk on her lips. Her features are far more beautiful in person; long, curly, brown hair; gorgeous, high cheek bones, tight, slanted eyes, and warm brown skin.  Tonight she sports a tough, pin-up look with glossy lips and a mole penciled in at the corner of her mouth. A heavy fringe of bangs hangs into her almond shaped eyes which are lined kohl black; lids smoky with shimmery charcoal eye shadow. Seoul is exactly the type of dancer I was expecting to see tonight. 

She struts toward the pole at the front of the stage with her thumb hooked in the belt loop of her denim shorts, strikes a pose, snarls and jiggles her breasts; drawing a chorus of cheers and enticing a surge of men to approach the stage. This woman is every man’s dream; sexy little slut waiting on the couch for her man to return home so she can suck his cock and fuck him cross-eyed. And there’s no question about it; this girl can fuck. She demonstrates this talent by gyrating and sliding up and down the pole like it’s a long, hard, glistening dick. She licks the shiny, phallic symbol with her wide, pink tongue and makes me wish I had one. When she licks the pole I feel it on my pussy lips. I feel it on my clit. I squirm in my seat and squeeze my legs together. It doesn’t do much to relieve the throbbing pressure growing between my thighs. In fact, it only intensifies the sensation making my thighs and crotch a sloppy mess. I’m certain that when I stand up there will be a damp spot on the back of my dress and a little puddle on the red vinyl chair. I scoot closer to the table, lean forward; discreetly inch up my dress until I feel the cooling sensation of my wet pussy being exposed. A moment ago I was repulsed by the idea of the vinyl chair being covered in the bodily fluids of thousands of strangers. Now I’m eager to add my own to the mixture. I tip my hips a bit and press my pussy into the edge of the slick vinyl seat. A current of pleasure surges through me. I bite my lip; I feel my eyelids grow heavy. I know my face must look like the men I criticized a moment ago; dazed with lust. I don’t give a fuck…I don’t give it more than a moment’s consideration because Seoul is about to take her top off. 

A screen of pulsing light comes to life behind her revealing itself as a series of monitors. Seoul’s image is doubled and redoubled on a dozen large screens. The uneven color saturation makes picture more vivid and gives the whole scene a gritty, pulpy feel. The camera zooms in and pulls in tight on her face…she’s gorgeous. She stares directly into the lens. She licks her lips. A wicked, dirty smile spreads across her face as the camera slowly pans down to follow a trickle of sweat in the cleft of her breasts. Short nails painted slut red grasp the torn neck of her shirt. The lens zooms in even tighter, focusing in on the tear and over the music we can her laugh as she rips it.  

“Yes,” all the men groan, and damn if I ain’t groaning along with them.

The camera zooms in…bright red nails caress and tease her nipples through black satin. The nipple hardens and strains against the cloth. My own nipples stiffen as if they are receiving the same attention. She peels back the fabric exposing her large, dark areola, then she lifts her breast again and gives it a slow, deliberate lick. The camera captures the slick of moisture left by her tongue. She pinches and pulls the nipple then decides to do away with the bra altogether. Gorgeous breasts. Enviable breasts. Breasts to bury your face in; lick, suckle, nuzzle and I imagine myself doing just that. 

“Holy shit,” I mutter under my breath and then giggle like a school girl who has gotten into her parent’s liquor cabinet.

My laughter trails off as her hand dips past her waistline. Her head tips back; her mouth opens and a loud moan rumbles through the speakers one by one; circling the room with the sounds of Seoul in the throes of ecstasy. The fingers of her right hand unbutton her shorts, unzip the flies. Peek of more black satin. She turns around. Hips sway slowly right to left, right then left again as her thumbs hook into the waist of her jeans and slowly ease them down over her ass. More soft mounds to bury my face in. I imagine myself pressing my lips into both soft mounds; drawing my tongue along the crease of her cheeks.

She tugs at her black satin thongs. The camera zooms in as she slides the bit of clothe back and forth. My legs open a bit more. I grind my pussy into the vinyl chair a bit more. I have to stifle a moan as a fresh stream of arousal seeps from my cunt.

Sly smile on her lips…the thong comes off…

What happens after that? I'm not really sure. I lose myself in a fantasy. Her mouth on my cunt. My mouth on her cunt. Me grinding my cunt into her face as I come and come and--suddenly the lights come up.

On stage, Seoul bends gracefully to pick up her tips. I notice that she’s not wearing Lucite heels, the traditional stripper shoe. Instead, she is wearing, violently high and seemingly, expensive stilettos. They force a delicious arch in her back and shape her calves prettily. The struggle to balance on those skinny heels causes a ripple in her strong thighs as she exits the stage. She tosses her hair over her shoulder in patented stripper fashion and smiles at a customer waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He has a twenty dollar bill in his hand. He trails the folded currency along her waistline and then down to her shaved pussy. She takes the money, presses it to her cunt and then trails it under the man’s nose.

“Thank you, sweetie,” she says softly and gives him a wink. Right away I wish I had some cash. I want to fold it lengthwise…slip it between her lips of her pussy…draw it out glistening with her juices. But I didn’t bring any cash. I didn’t even bring a purse. Silas has all the cash along with my ID in his wallet. Where the fuck is Silas anyway? I wonder briefly.

She turns away from her customer and, oh shit…she’s headed straight for me! I hold my breath. I don’t know how to react! Should I look away? Should I look her in the eye? Before I can decide she looks right at me and I have no choice but to look right at her. Every inch of my skin flushes hot and moist. Should I say something? I should say something…but I don’t know what to say! All I can do is lick my lips and smile like one of those lecherous men begging for her attention. My social skills have been reduced to zero and all I see is her sex. All I care about is how my body responds to her which I’m sure is of very little interest to her. Like the bored blonde, her mind is probably a million miles away. I’ve nearly convinced myself that she has absolutely no regard for me when I suddenly realize that she’s smiling back.

“Love that dress,” she says as she passes my table. “And you are wearing it, honey.”

“Oh, thank you!” I chirp then gradually I begin to feel myself deflate as she walks by. Stupid female small talk; meaningless compliments that women toss at each other so they don’t appear bitchy. I watch her until she disappears behind a door marked, employees only.

I sigh, slump in my seat and look around me. The veil has been lifted. I look around me. Everything is as it was. The men around me look spent; exhausted; like they’ve just had a marathon fuck and can’t get their legs under them. I feel the same. A wave of shame washes over me. I’ve gotten too drunk, too horny and my husband is nowhere to be found. I pull my dress down and close my sticky thighs and suddenly realize that I have to use the restroom.

“Alright,” I mutter to myself as I stand up. “I’ll go to the restroom, find Silas and get the hell out of here.”

The walk to the restroom is agonizing. My pussy feels heavy and swollen and every step stimulates me even more, making my inner thighs feel like they have been coated with a thin layer of honey. I’m relieved when I reach the door labeled ‘ladies’ but that relief quickly dissipates when I step inside. 

The long narrow room is crowded with dancers. They gather in front of the mirror in various states of undress, talking animatedly, fixing their hair and touching up their makeup. Air thick with hairspray and perfume overwhelms me as I rush toward the nearest empty stall. The stall is a disgusting mess. The moment I’m done I hurriedly wash my hands and set out to find Silas.

I head back to our table only to find it empty. I glance around the room then proceed to walk the perimeter of the club looking for my husband’s solid, square frame. The club is much larger than it seemed on initial impression. The back of the room is littered with small cave like rooms furnished with contemporary leather couches and more red lighting. I can see where the owner attempted to make the place more upscale, but in the end it all looks a little seedy. I try not to imagine what sort of things a person might find tucked in the seat cushions of those contemporary leather couches. I’m sure that cleaning between those cushions would require latex gloves and biohazard bags.

I can’t seem to find Silas anywhere on the first floor. He’s not at any of the three bars or in any of the cave like rooms. I feel myself beginning to get annoyed. Who leaves their wife alone in a place like this? A lap dance is one thing but he’s been gone more than twenty minutes. Where is he and more importantly, what is he doing?

I do one last sweep of the room and I discover some stairs that I’d over looked before. The neon sign above the steps reads ‘The Champagne Room’. Immediately that silly song by Chris Rock titled ‘No Sex in the Champagne Room’ comes to mind. I know that the song is meant to be a play on words. This may be my first time in a strip club but even I know that if there is any sex going on, it’s happening in the champagne room. Silas’s absence could only mean he is in said champagne room. Now I’m beyond annoyed; I’m furious.  I head straight for the stairs; anger pounding my heels into the red carpet. I make it up about three steps before a large hand closes around my bicep.

“Where do you think you’re going, little lady?”

“I’m just going up here to look for my husband.” 

The beefy bouncer shakes his massive head. “You can’t go up there unless you’re accompanied by a dancer.”

“I’m not going up there for a lap dance or whatever else happens up there. I just want to find my husband and go home.”

He shakes his head again. “Sorry, Miss,” he apologizes. “Rules is rules.”

I roll my eyes. “Are you kidding me?”

“Miss, please--”

“Could you at least go up there and look for him for me? His name is Silas --”

“I can’t move from this spot. Besides, it ain’t my job to go around looking for missing husbands. My advice to you is to just go home. He’ll turn up in the morning.”

“I’m not some disgruntled housewife on a rampage for my philandering husband! We came here together you idiot!”

“Lady, look, if you don’t calm down I’m going to have someone put you out of here.”

“Are you even listening to me? I want to leave! My husband is up there. He has the car keys!”


“What’s going on here?” A feminine voice interrupts. I turn toward the inquiring voice assuming that it would be the manager or someone of authority but instead I find myself face to face with Seoul.  



Is this how men feel when they are in the presence of beautiful women? She’s changed out of her costume and is now casually dressed in cheerleader shorts and a t-shirt. The inscription on the shirt reads, ‘you’ve been a naughty girl now go to my room!’

“This lady is looking for her husband.”

“Is he up there?” Seoul asks.

The bouncer shrugs. “I told her she can’t go up there without a dancer.”

“I’ll take her up there.”

“Nah, it’s the end of your shift--”

“It’s no problem. Come on up, honey,” she says to me and heads up the stairs ahead of me. I follow close behind; mesmerized by the sway of her hips as she climbs the stairs. The cheerleader shorts ride up a bit with each step slowly revealing the smooth brown skin of her backside. A sudden overwhelming urge to place a soft kiss in the curve of her behind sweeps over me. I cough and clear my throat nervously. She glances back at me and smiles.

“You’ll have to excuse, Bruce. He’s a couple of fries short of a happy meal, if you know what I mean.”

I make some non-committal noise; too hypnotized by her swaying ass to articulate actual words.

“So what’s your name, honey?” she asks once we’re at the top of the stairs. 


“Juel…that’s pretty.” At the top of the steps she slows, turns to me, and smiles. “This your first time at a strip club?”

“Is it that obvious?”

She laughs. “You’re a little tense.”

I sigh heavily. “I really don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“Let me guess…you came to appease the husband?”

“How’d you guess?”

She shrugs her shoulders and smirks. “You’re not the first. Angry and tearful wives are almost a nightly appearance here; nearly as common as Lucite heels and neon pink thongs.”

I shake my head. “Wow, that makes me feel really pathetic.”

Seoul frowns. “Don’t. It’s not pathetic for a woman to want to do anything that will keep her husband happy. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but there’s no harm in trying. It’s the ones that don’t try that are pathetic.”

I nod in agreement but I have to admit that I feel a little silly getting relationship advice from a stripper. It seems like a huge oxymoron.  

We search the darkness of the Champagne room peering into every corner but we don’t find Silas. In fact, the entire place seems to be empty.

“Where the fuck could he be?” I ask angrily.

“Well, do you remember which dancer he came up here with?”

“Longish, straight brown hair, hugish breasts, fuck I don’t know. She looked like a stripper,” I fire off sarcastically without thinking. I realize belatedly that I probably offended her. “Sorry…that was rude.”

“It’s cool…” she says dismissively. “Was she wearing rainbow leg warmers?”

“Yes! And her shoes lit up when she walked.”

“Oh, Melody…” she intones, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Why do you say her name like that?”

“No reason…I just have an idea where your husband might be.”

I frown. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.” 

I let these thoughts sink in; slowly pass from fury into sadness. So it was boredom. Why else would a married man seek out some cheap experience with a stripper?

“Listen…” Seoul says as she gently touches my arm. “As long as you’re up here…why don’t I give you a complimentary dance?”

I laugh out loud. I’ve definitely hit rock bottom. I must look like some pathetic charity case because Seoul has just offered me a stripper’s version of the mercy fuck. “Thanks, but I really couldn’t--”

“Oh, but I insist,” she says and takes my hand to lead me over to one of those contemporary leather chairs. 

“Is this even allowed? I mean, I don’t want to get you into any trouble.”

“I’m not on the clock. No one has to know what’s going on up here.” She pushes me into the chair, cages me in with a hand on either armrest. “Besides…I wanted to get you up here since I spotted you downstairs,” she says softly.

My heart pounds loudly in my ears and my mouth is suddenly very, very dry. “What?” I ask breathlessly.

She smiles. “I said I noticed you downstairs.”

“You mean when you walked past my table?”

“No, before that…when I was on stage dancing.”


“I don’t see women like you in here very often.”

“Women like me?”

She nods. “Beautiful…classy…” she trails the tip of her index finger along the deep neckline of my dress.  I laugh, suddenly feeling foolish. She’s turning it on for me and I’m falling for it.

“Seriously…you don’t have to this.”

She sighs and backs away from me. “Fine…I’m not going to force you,” she says. “I mean, I just wanted to do something nice for you.” She shrugs. “I guess it’s true that no good deed goes unpunished.”

“Listen, I don’t mean to offend you--”

“Who’s offended? I just think it’s a shame.”

“What’s a shame?”

She leans in again. “I think it’s a shame that you are sitting down there by yourself while your husband is getting a second rate blowjob from a stripper.”


“Yes, seriously.” She glances away for a moment and licks her lips. “I usually don’t do shit like this…I sell a fantasy and that’s where I usually draw the line. But for some reason, I feel like I need to cross that line with you.” She drops to her knees in front of me. “I saw you down there…I saw how you grinding your pussy into the chair while I danced and I wished I could be that chair under you. I wished I could hold you and touch you.” She stares into my eyes. “Now…knowing what you know…why should he be the one to have all the fun?” Her hands are on my knees. She slides them slowly up my thighs. “Let me dance for you. You deserve to feel good. You’re beautiful and sexy…you deserve to be adored.”

I laugh self-consciously and duck my head; letting my hair swing into my face so I can hide behind it.

“What? You don’t think you’re beautiful and sexy?” she sweeps my hair away from my face. “Well, you are Juel. No bullshit, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in months.” She touches my cheek. Her hand trails down my neck, slides down to gently cup my breast. “Let me dance for you,” she asks again, her thumb slowly caressing my nipple through my dress.

I nod slowly. “Okay,” I softly acquiesce.


I nod again.

“Okay, stay right here. I’ll be right back.”

She jogs across the room on her strong legs and fumbles behind a countertop for a moment. Music begins to play. It’s Maxwell’s, Submerge: Until we become one. The song has a lot of heavy bass and it rumbles up through the seat of the chair as if the speaker is right under my ass. The empty champagne room suddenly seems more intimate.  

“Is that good?” she calls out.

 I give her a thumbs up. My heart is pounding too loudly in my chest to do much else. 

“Hold on a sec,” she disappears down the stairs for a moment and when she comes back up she’s wearing a big smile. “I convinced Bruce to put the rope up so that no one would disturb us.”

“How’d you do that?”

“I told him you and your husband were up here ‘making up’ and you need a moment of privacy.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Because I want to be alone with you,” she responds softly.

My heart begins to beat erratically and I feel suddenly light-headed. “This is crazy,” I mutter under my breath.

She smiles and shrugs. “It’s just a lap dance…” she says coyly even though we both know she intends for it to be more than that. “You nervous?”

I nod vigorously.

“Don’t be nervous. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to.” She takes off her shirt. She doesn’t do it seductively like she did on stage; she takes it off the way she would if she were at home with a lover and eager to engage in an intimate moment. She removes her bra; beautiful breasts bounce free of the constricting fabric as she tosses it aside. I squirm in my seat and grip the armrests with my hands eagerly waiting for her to reveal more. Her shorts come off with a bit more ceremony. She turns her back to me and bends over to remove them slowly; her taut, round ass right on level with my mouth. It looks so both soft and firm. I want to bite it like an apple. She keeps her shoes on; the same strappy stilettos she wore on stage. She glances over her shoulder at me and gives me a shy smile then arches her body backward in a fluid wave and wiggles deliciously in my lap. She leans back; my breasts compress against her. I wonder if she can feel how hard my nipples are through the thin jersey fabric. Her hair falls into both of our faces like a silky curtain. She turns her head, her mouth just inches from mine. The perfume of her hair and breath seem to encase me in a humid cloud.

“If you had a dick…this is when it would start to get hard,” she says with a laugh. I may not have a dick but my clit throbs as she grinds into me a bit more. Her legs are spread wide, straddling mine. I can feel the imprint of her pussy on my thighs. “You can touch me if you want,” she whispers. 

I want to but I hesitate. Before coming here, Silas gave me a blow by blow of how to receive a lap dance. I remember him saying that had to keep my hands at my sides in plain view. To think I was worried that the dancer would force me to touch her in places I wasn’t comfortable with. Now I can’t imagine not touching Seoul but still I’m hesitant. What if someone came in and saw us? What if Silas came in and saw me touching her? 

“Juel…it’s okay. You can touch me.” She takes my hand, which I now realize is gripping the armrest like a vise, and places it right over her heart. The feel of her skin casts a spell. It’s rose petal soft and so hot she it seems as if she has a fever. My hand has a want and need of its own. It travels over her taut nipple, tests the swell and weight of her breast, slips dangerously down the flat of her belly and beyond the barrier of her g-string; cups her wet, hungry sex in its palm. Her gasp and the sudden thrust of her hips is the only thing that brought me back to reality. Startled by my actions, I snatch my hand away and ball it up at my side. 

She looks at me; her hand curls around the back of my neck and pulls me close. “It’s okay,” she whispers as she takes my hand and places it between her legs again. She brushes my lips with hers and I hold my breath as we press our mouths together in the first hesitant kiss. Kissing her makes my head swim. I can’t feel the chair under me. I’m not in Frolick, anymore. I’m somewhere--anywhere else and this feels real. Her hand guides mine beneath the triangle of her g-string again; guides me as my fingers explore her silken folds. It’s both strange and familiar; like touching myself though I know I’m touching someone else. I start to do the things that make me orgasm; touching her in the ways I touch myself. Seoul is incredibly sensitive. I love the way she moans. She moans in a way that makes me feel jealous that I’m not feeling what she’s feeling. She grinds her hips into me and whispers, “Right there,” when I’ve hit the perfect stroke.  When she comes it sounds exactly like the moan I’d heard earlier from the speakers. I briefly wonder when and who recorded her like that. 

“Wow, that was unexpected,” she says after she’s caught her breath. 

“I don’t know what came over me…” I mutter weakly. She twists in my lap; twists around so that she’s facing me.

“Whatever it was…I’m glad it did.” She drapes her arms around my neck and kisses me again. She’s an active kisser. She attacks my mouth rhythmically alternating sides; teasing me with her tongue. Her hips do a slow deep thrust, again…and again…keeping time…and I’m fucking her with my mental dick; thrusting deep; meeting her hips with mine. Wishing for just this one moment I could know what it feels like to be a man; to be inside of her. Her hands slip down my neck and she caresses my breasts through my dress. She milks them expertly; pulling at my nipples through the thin fabric until they are firm and hard under her hands. Gradually she stretches the neckline of my dress; easing it down so that my breasts are exposed. I have a mind to protest but those thoughts dissipate when she closes her mouth over my nipple.

“Oh, god…” I gasp as my head rolls back on my shoulders.

“Is this okay?” she asks timidly.

“Yes…yes…it’s more than okay. It’s delicious.” She smiles and then her mouth closes over my nipple once again. She sucks hard, just the way I like it. Each pull of her mouth on my breast echoes in my pussy.

“It’s been a long time since anyone touched you like this, hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“That’s a sin,” she says with a little shake of her head, her eyes staring right into mine. She stands up and kneels in front of me again. I swallow hard. She’s pushing my dress up to my hips. “Open your legs.”

“No…I can’t.”

She sighs, leans in and kisses my lips; soft, sweet kiss. “Open your legs, Juel. I want to lick your pussy.”

“Oh, God,” I mutter under my breath. Her hands on my knees begin to part my legs slowly. I feel my face flush with shame as the scent of my arousal rises from between my legs. Once again I’m regretting the decision to go commando. At least then my thighs would not have been so embarrassingly slick with my desire; desire that isn’t at all dampened by shame. Fresh desire which now trickles from between the lips of my swollen pussy at the thought of her putting her mouth there.

She laughs. “Naughty, naughty, Ms. Juel. Did you forget your panties?” She gives me another soft kiss as her hands move up my thighs again. “Were you thinking that you and the hubs would get so turned on that you’d have a quickie in the parking lot before going home?”

I nod. That was exactly what I’d been thinking.

“Sorry bastard doesn’t realize how good he’s got it.” 

Her thumb skims my mound and I draw a stuttered breath.

“Poor, Juel. Poor, sweet, little, Juel,” she croons. She kisses my neck, gently suckles my exposed breasts and then she focuses her attention lower. Her hands are already on my thighs. Her thumbs draw wet circles on my skin, achingly close to my pussy. It’s hard to keep from thrusting my hips to urge her further. She begins by kissing my knees…open mouthed, marking my skin with the tip of her tongue…kissing her way up my inner thigh until her mouth is right between my legs. The first is a small kiss with very little tongue, as if she’s sampling my flavor. I must taste good because she moans, licks her lips and plunges right in. She moans again, moans right on my pussy and the sound penetrates my flesh and liquefies my bones. My moan echoes hers; our pleasure is harmonious, blending easily with Maxwell’s crooning. Her hands slide under my backside and with a determined little grunt she makes me slouch in the seat; bringing my hips closer; opening my legs wider so that she can feast on my long neglected pussy. And feast she does; slowly and with confidence. Not at all like Silas. Silas gives head like it’s a means to an end; mandatory foreplay so that he can take his pleasure. Seoul is different. It’s clear that she finds pleasure in giving me pleasure; something that I haven’t experienced in a very long time.

Her tongue is very long and pointed at the tip. She could probably touch the tip of her nose with it if she tried. She uses the tip of her tongue to tickle my sensitive labia. Her hands massage my behind; gently separating my cheeks as she dips her tongue lower; dipping down to lap at the fount released by her attentions.

“You taste so sweet…” she mumbles against my skin, half-moan, half-whimper. Her tongue dips again, parting my lips penetrating me just enough to make my cunt twitch. She moans again…dips her tongue in again. A keening cry escapes my throat as she licks and fucks my pussy with her tongue. The tip of Seoul’s tongue works around my clit; clockwise then counter clockwise. My hips follow her movements, dip and wind to the rhythm of her licking. Her lips suck at my clit; coax it from under the hood; make it hard and ripe so that every swipe of her tongue makes my whole body thrum and vibrate. Her attentions become more eager; more focused. She bunches my dress under my breasts; forces my legs open wider and slips her fingers inside of me. One, then two.

“Mmmfuck…” I moan.

“So soft and wet…” she whispers against my thigh. “How could he not love this pussy? I know I would. I would if it were mine.” Her fingers work my pussy, fingers beckoning…come, come, come. Fingers slick with my wanting gently caress my asshole. I feel that secret place give…letting her in; awakening a new sort of pleasure. Her fingers beckon me again…come, come, come. I grip the arms of the chair, dig my fingers into the soft leather as I feel the pleasure begins to melt my spine, weaken my knees. My body begins to twist and undulate against her, the movement of her hands pulling out my passion in waves. I clench my teeth; moan, writhe and come; finally gaining the release I’d craved for so long. I feel so overwhelmed that a choked sob escapes my lips; my heart swells with gratitude for what’s she’s given me and all I can do is say thank you, thank you, thank you, over and over while she showers me with sweet kisses. I’ve never come like that before. It’s embarrassing and amazing all at once. 

Afterward she helps me make myself decent. She pulls down my dress and finger combs my hair back into place.

“Thank you,” I say softly.

She smiles. “I think you already said that.”

I laugh nervously and I attempt to smooth the wrinkles out of my dress. “No, seriously…thank you. I never come like that.”

“Well, then…” She pulls me in for another slow, soft kiss. “I’m glad I could be of service.

I frown. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

She shakes her head and kisses the tip of my nose. “Don’t ask questions you don’t really want to know the answers to, gorgeous.”

I wait for her to dress and then we walk down the stairs together. She holds my hand prolonging the intimacy of the moments we shared in the champagne room. At the bottom of the steps we run into Silas. A nervous smile spreads across his face as he looks from Seoul to me and back again.

“So, I see you finally got that lap dance,” he says.

“I sure did,” is my boastful reply.

“How was it?”

“Fucking amazing.”

Silas flinches, surprised by my choice of words. He looks even more startled when Seoul leans in and kisses me. I give in to the kiss, breathe her in deep. Her face smells like my pussy. The smell of me mixed with her makes me wet all over again.

“See you around,” she says softly.


“You too, Silas,” Seoul calls over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says dismally. “That must’ve been some lap dance.”

“It was,” I mutter distractedly as I watch Seoul walk away. “Hate to see her go but I love to watch her leave,” I mutter lewdly.

“Juel! What’s gotten into you?” he asks astounded.

I shrug and then look at him. I squint my eyes at my husband, suddenly seeing him for what he really is. The flashing lights illuminate him, show his two faces. I wonder if I look different to him.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know…” Silas smiles again, when he’s nervous he always smiles too much. “Are you ready to go?”


We make our way to the door; collect my coat. The temperature has dipped outside and Silas runs out to retrieve the car, ever the gentleman. While I’m waiting, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the cash register. My face looks flushed, my hair, mussed; my lips swollen and red. My nipples are pointy nubs under my ruined dress. I look wanton. Not at all like someone’s mother and wife. 

Over the door hangs a club advertisement; the same one from the billboard on I-95. Seoul’s face smiles out at me and I smile right back. It suddenly occurs to me that the passion may have left my marriage but that doesn’t mean that it can’t be found in other places. I laugh at myself as I read the caption under Seoul’s smiling face. It reads: Frolick, a place to let your inhibitions run free.

“Run free, indeed.”


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