Hotwife Lapdance

He made sure that he got my attention. He said that I was wearing nice panties and then …
"I want you to pull them out."
"What?" I asked.
"Your underpants, off!"
'Here?'
"If you want, you can do it here. Or in the restrooms ... as long as they’re out, " he said.
It sounded exciting. What he said. The way he said it.
"Crazy boy," I said.
"You are free, you can also leave, drink your Carlsberg, go to your husband," he said.
'What are you going to do?'
"I'll wait here."
"Until tomorrow if you have to?"
"Until someone's panties are out," he said.
Hmmmm. What did that mean? He was mysterious. I was curious. That was part of his game. He wanted to drive me crazy.
"Well then … I think I go ..." I said.
All right.
I stood up.
I walked away from him. I knew he was watching the rolling of my hips, the shape of the pink dress that followed the curve of my body.
Oh, how sexy I felt, John, I felt incredibly sexy.
Jean Paul’s eyes followed my swaying butt, my rocking hips, as I walked through the Danish tavern. A waiter looked at my breasts, pushed up by my bra and dress.
And I almost flew, I floated up the stairs, the wide wooden stairs of the Danish tavern, which when you descend them, give you the feeling to be a movie star, and when you ascend them they create great expectations.