Private striptease

The moment I caught your eye at the table, the night shifted. You pointed at the blonde in stockings and asked for her—me. I rose, nerves and heat mixing, and led you to the private room. Once the door clicked shut, I moved for you alone. My hips rolled in slow circles while my fingers trailed along the lace tops of my stockings, then higher. I traced the curve of my waist, the swell of my breasts, letting each motion stretch out so you could watch every second. I slipped the straps of my dress off one shoulder, then the other, easing the fabric down until it pooled at my feet. Left in just my bra, panties, and those sheer stockings, I climbed onto the couch opposite you and spread my thighs. My hand slid beneath the thin fabric. I stroked my clit in firm circles, breath catching as I grew wetter. I slipped two fingers inside, pumping slowly, then faster, while my free hand pinched my nipples through the bra. Every wet sound, every moan, I gave you straight. My legs trembled. My back arched. When the first rush hit, I didn’t look away—just locked eyes with you and came hard, fingers buried deep, body shaking through it.