‘I’m not that kind of girl.’ Smokin Hot Nan told herself for the umpteenth time since her out-of-character action of allowing Nightclub Supplies Ned to slip a cupped hand into her panties. ‘I didn’t just let him do it—I asked him to!’ She forgot about her plan of making him wait longer and went over to Ned’s table.
“What do you want?” Nan’s voice was taut.
“I want many things,” he replied mysteriously, “but just a beverage will do for now.”
‘You’re not getting anything from me.’ Her mind quipped as she left the table curtly: Nan hastily brought his nightclub drink order and then went about her business.
Smoking Hot Nan’s eyes couldn’t help but drift over periodically to the nightclub man she had allowed the invasion of her intimacy: it seemed like nightclub mind control. He spoke for some time with her boss, the nightclub manager. And on several occasions, she caught them looking at her, but she was fairly used to men following her through the club with their gazes.
They hailed her over to their nightclub table once to get some drinks but with perfunctory attention given only to another nightclub round. Then she went back to waiting the nightclub’s other patrons. Still, her mind kept wandering back to the brief moment, when the older man’s palm was cupped over her Venus mound. ‘I’m not that kind of nightclub girl!’ She reiterated internally, as if her mental words could banish the incident from her mind. 'I don't believe in nightclub mind control'.
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