But then came the lady’s choice and she pranced up to me and – with a sweet smile – offered her arm. As we danced, her breasts were always there, jostling my elbow, crushed into my chest, or just jouncing as she kicked and stepped and my chastity belt throbbed in time, not to the music, but to her flesh.
Somewhere, a flying saucer was feeding off my frustration, and then gem in my palm glowed slightly less.
We danced every dance until, around midnight, somebody called last orders at the bar. She beckoned me off through a side door. I followed, mesmerised by the swing of her hips, through the panelled corridors of the hotel, up a staircase lined with hunting pictures, and into her room.
I checked at the threshold, but she just stuck her tongue down my throat and shoved the door shut. Holding the kiss, she all but sucked me over to the bed.
Did she know I was chayste? Had she seen the gem?