A night on the town with Charlotte (part 2)

You read part 1 here.

And now… part 2:

As Charlotte sucked my cock, I said, “You know… I had thought about going to a strip club, giving you a wad of cash, and putting you in charge.” The last/only time we had gone to a strip club, Charlotte hadn’t liked seeing me caress a dancer as she gyrated on my lap, and I had wondered if putting Charlotte in charge might make the whole thing more comfortable for her.

“That would be so fun!” Charlotte exclaimed.

“Well,” I said. “The night is young.” And it was.

Not too long after that, we straightened ourselves up – no clothes actually had been fully removed at this point – and headed out. We stopped by an ATM, I withdrew said wad, and handed half of it to Charlotte. We got in a cab, and headed to the same strip club we had been to before (home of Riley and of Melrose).

As the cab made its way north, I had Charlotte come again. And again. For me.

When we arrived, we began to confront Charlotte’s distaste for actually being in charge. She didn’t like interacting with the bouncer, or the woman at coat check. She didn’t like selecting our table or ordering our drinks.

And she didn’t like the responsibility of selecting – and calling over – dancers. “Do I hail them like a cab?!?”

I made a “come here” motion with one finger. “Make eye contact,” I said, “and go like this….” I curled my finger up, as if you say “come here.” And instantly was brought to mind of another situation in which I might make a similar gesture. I repeated the gesture with two fingers. “Or like this,” I added. And then, again, with three fingers. And, as I added a fourth, I brought my fingers together a bit into a point. “Or like this,” I joked, “but with four fingers, you definitely will want to be a bit more gentle….”

Somewhere between when we arrived and when we left, we each had two scotches, a massage, and two lap dances. And, I texted Melrose: “Charlotte and I are at Rick’s. Seems you aren’t….”

Charlotte asked the maitre d’ to select, and to send over, the dancer who most resembled her. Moments later, a curly headed brunette, too thin, with silicone in her breasts, appeared. She gave each of us a desultory dance, and moved on. Another dancer approached me. “Talk to the lady,” I instructed her. Charlotte procured us each one more dance, and we headed back to our playpen. (As of the next day, no reply from Melrose.)

This time, I sent Charlotte up ahead of me with slightly different instructions: “When you are naked, spread eagle on the bed, text me ….”

As you might imagine, so began a festival of feasting. I devoured Charlotte’s sweet cunt, flipped her over and teased her asshole with my tongue as I slid a few fingers deep into her and summoned a dancer.

Charlotte came God knows how many times – though not fifty – and we continued drawing cocksucking fortunes from my envelope.


Charlotte hadn’t really been bruised by me. And she wanted to be. So I spanked – and flogged, with my belt – each of her round cheeks until it was burning, until she said “red.”

But still, the next day, when I asked how her ass was, she said “Satisfied,” and added, “You don’t bruise me.”

Challenge accepted.

“Yet,” I replied.

I came deep in Charlotte’s throat with a loud, “FUCK,” and we commenced the small talk/post sex part of the evening.

As I rode home, we texted one another, confirming that, for each of us, that had been SO FUN.