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The VIP room was a velvet box with a red bulb and a couch that had seen things. Jade sat me down, then sat herself on the arm of it and picked up a little laminated menu.
“Before we start,” she said, “you should know girls dance better with a bit of champagne in them.”
“How much is champagne?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered.” She laughed and slid off the arm into my lap, facing me, knees either side of my hips. “Relax. You’ll love it.”
She started moving. Slow rolls of her hips, her pussy pressed through the white sequins right against my cock. She peeled her top off and dropped it on my shoulder. Her tits were full and dark-nippled, a little tattoo of a swallow under the left one. She cupped them and pushed them together an inch from my mouth.
“No touching,” she whispered. “That’s the official rule.”
“And the unofficial one?”
“The unofficial one is that I decide.” She caught my wrists and held them down on the couch, grinding harder, her breath getting quicker. “Some nights I’m strict. Some nights I’m not.”
Then she let go of my wrists and waited, watching me, eyes half-closed, still rolling her hips slow and deep.
My hands were free on the velvet. Her waist was right there. The menu was still on the arm of the couch, champagne at the top in gold letters.