What was I doing?

Ashamed to look the barman in the eye, I mumbled for a straight Talisker. Peaty, dry and smoky with a bitter hit on the lips, it always seemed to suit nights like this. Here I was again, dressed up and alone, soaked in aftershave as if it could somehow hide the stench of what I was lowering myself to.

'Thanks,' I murmured, taking my whisky without raising my eyes from the bar. I lifted the glass to my mouth and found my thoughts wandering, as they always did. I was married, happy, loved; I had everything, I didn't need this. I was still young, thirty-seven, in the best shape of my life, years of running chiseling my body like coastal winds erode a cliff. What's more, I craved young, supple bodies and the excitement of the forbidden.

My wife was everything, but everything wasn't enough. In the same tired way, my better angels wrestled with my baser instincts; they always lost. So here I was, again, alone in a backstreet lap dancing bar in a city just far enough away to reduce the chances of my being recognised. I had planned every detail, even down to the thin, smart trousers, with no underwear for extra feel. Fuck me, I was pathetic.

'Hey,' the inevitable soft voice and tap on the shoulder. For all my self-disgust, I couldn't stop my instinctive excitement; my stomach dropped a note and I felt a stirring in my groin as I turned my head to my girl for the evening.

'Aoife!' I exclaimed.

She reeled in surprise. 'Mr...'

'Neil,' I interrupted, sharply. 'Please,' I corrected myself and recovered some composure, 'call me Neil.'

'Neil.' She sucked on my name like a gobstopper, trying it out then spitting it back, 'Neil...' She giggled a nervous laugh.

'I don't...' I began my excuses, not really knowing where the hell they would lead. Shit, I thought.

'Don't,' she interrupted. 'It's okay. You don't have to, you know, explain.'

Aoife had been my student, two or three years ago now, in my advanced history class. She must have been twenty, perhaps twenty-one. She explained that she was in the final year of a law degree and had 'got into this as a fun way to earn a bit of money.' She leaned in to look me in the eye.

'Are you okay?' she asked. 'I mean, you've barely looked at me.'

'I'm just...'

'Don't!' she insisted, placing a hand on my knee and looking directly into my eyes. 'It's okay to be here. I'm here too, aren't I?' She smiled, reassuringly as much as anything else.

I smiled back and looked tentatively into her face. Other than a simple brush of mascara, a smudge of black eyeliner and a smear of dusky pink lipstick, she was without makeup. Aoife had always been stunning, one of a handful of students who had fueled my fantasies and many illicit wanks that always made me feel terrible afterwards, but which I just couldn't resist. Irish by background, her skin was pale and unblemished, like Greek marble, and her long, luscious hair the deep brown colour of Guinness just before it settles. Her eyes were a grayish, pastel green, more jades than emeralds, and a dusting of tobacco brown freckles was scattered across the bridge of her nose. Her mouth was lively and expressive, twitching and curling in conversation.

My eyes surveyed her body as she spoke about her degree. She was wearing a simple, strappy black dress which clung tightly to the contours of her body. She was thin and petite, but adulthood had sculpted her tight body into breathtaking curves, at her small, pert tits and down her hips.

'So,' she interrupted my wandering thoughts and eyes, 'do you want to dance?'

'Er... sure,' I replied, now a little freer of my embarrassment and inhibitions.

She led me by the hand past security and through a cordoned passageway to a private area. I paid a heavy-set, bald guy for a ten-minute dance and followed Aoife into a small, curtained booth, containing only a chair, a small table and a stereo.

I placed my drink on the table and sat dutifully on my hands while Aoife drew back the curtain and pressed 'play' on the stereo, starting up a side of bassy R&B. She began swaying confidently to the pulsing rhythm, slipping herself from her black dress, strap by strap. I was conscious that she must have done this hundreds of times, for hundreds of men, that this was just a job for her, but I was still entranced. Inch by precious inch, the milky ocean of her skin was revealed, glistening in the soft lilac light they always use to flatter the girls. Not that she needed it.

Her hands felt behind her neck, tossing dark chestnut waves across her porcelain shoulders, then wandered purposefully and slowly down her chest, lingering on her perfect little tits. Her eyes locked in orbit with mine and watched me watch her trace her hands down her flat stomach, meeting at the band of her black knickers. Her impish face crumpled a cute smile at the very moment I gulped and felt a wave of excitement fall to the pit of my stomach, her eyes narrowing as she nibbled suggestively on her tongue. Slowly bending over her long, straight legs, she wriggled the last item of clothing from her body; I saw her pussy for the first time, a narrow strip of thin black hair only partially hiding the glistening, fleshy pink lips of her womanhood.

The music quickened as she strutted towards me, placing a perfectly pedicured foot between my legs and running it slowly up the inside of my right thigh. I glanced down at a harp of Erin, no larger than a pound coin, tattooed elegantly on the top of her foot, and felt my cock strain and harden to meet her touch; somehow this was so erotic, a secret part of the real Aoife revealed in confidence to me in one intimate moment. She pressed deeper into my crotch, caressing my cock with her toes.

I moaned deeply, throwing my head back against the chair.

She broke into a girlish giggle at the other end of a long, silky, white leg.

'You like this, don't you?' she teased.

I swallowed a dry gulp and nodded, looking up at her face, simultaneously playful and masterful. The student-teacher dialectic was reversed here, in her domain; we both knew it, it was in our eyes.

'I can tell,' she grinned, gliding her foot down the outline of my shaft, peeling my foreskin through my trousers. I could feel the first drop of precum ooze from my throbbing head. 'You can't cum,' I told myself, looking along the endless lazy curve of her outstretched leg, 'not so soon. Not here. Not with a student.'

Aoife pirouetted and sat herself between my legs. She ground her arse against my cock, pressing hard and reclining her body into mine. Her hair wafted across my face, tickling my skin. I greedily breathed in her strong, heady perfume as she pushed her head into my shoulder; she smelled of jasmine. My mouth moistened and my hands strained to touch her; I was consumed with animal lust for the young, faultless body draped before me, the purple light revealing tiny goosebumps flowing across her shimmering skin as she arched her back, thrusting her ripe tits and cherry nipples before my open-mouthed gaze.

With serpentine grace, she shimmied and slithered to the floor, prising my legs further apart with her hands and placing her head between them. She edged closer until I could feel her hot, wet breath penetrate my trousers and brush past my aching cock. Then she stopped. She bit down on her lower lip and lifted those pale green eyes to mine, half smiling, taunting me without words.

Right there and then, at that moment, she had me. I bucked against the thin fabric of my trousers, desperate to get off, to fuck this teasing cunt with every fibre of my lust, to bury my throbbing dick in her hot, pink mouth. My nostrils flared, my eyes grew wild and wide, I was a riled beast. Aoife's mouth melted into a wide, artless smile; she had me, she knew it, and she loved it.

Slowly raising herself up and brushing her treacle hair along my chest, she stood before me with her legs wide, the lily-white beauty of her body just inches from my hungry senses. Her sight and smell enveloped me, I could hear her fast breaths between the low beats of the music. Taking one purposeful stride forward she pushed me back into my chair and lowered herself onto my desperate cock. I felt the damp heat of her naked cunt flow through my trousers, and exhaled a deep moan as she straddled me, jerking forward and pushing her chest into my face.

I tasted sweet jasmine and saw tiny rivulets of sweat glide slowly like honey through her cleavage. Gyrating and thrusting against me, my foreskin was edged back and forth by the rhythm of her dancing; my hands grew white and numb, pinned helplessly against my seat. My groans and breaths grew faster and shallower, I throbbed in sublime agony as I thrust pathetically upwards, desperate to fuck. I grunted and writhed in pained lust; Aoife bubbled and breathed hot, gentle words into my ear.

'Let go,' she whispered, toying with my chest between the buttons of my shirt.

She arched slightly backwards and dragged her body across my face, slowly from left to right, her erect nipples grazing my lips as she leant into my face.

'Let go!' she breathed, a little more urgently it seemed, 'it's okay.'

A new song kicked in, with a driving downbeat, and Aoife suddenly plunged down on on my raging member, throwing her hands behind her head and her tits into my face. My nose and mouth were now buried in her cleavage, all the usual club rules against touching shattered in one instant. I lapped up her warm, salty sweat and felt her rise and fall against my hardness. She moaned for the first time, a breathy, feminine moan pierced the low bassline as emphatically as breaking glass pierces silence. It shocked.

Faster and faster she rocked against my cock, her pussy smothering me in dense, humidity. She trailed her lips temptingly across my face, pausing just millimeters from my parched lips and mouthing, with hot breath, 'Let go.'

Then back to my right ear, her body crunching harder and faster, my cock edged closer to orgasm by wet heat, soft friction and frustrated desire. 'Let go,' she whispered, her voice growing higher and breathier, 'let go... Sir.'

On the last word, spoken with an audible snap of relish, she rode harder and deeper, tossing my foreskin back and forth along the length of my shaft with wild, irregular jerks and thrusts. 'Let go, sir.' Those words, breaking the taboo we had both strained against our urges to keep, rang in my ears as she rode hard with reckless abandon, her breath rising and mingling with mine as if in a tango. It takes two, and she was into this.

Then I felt it. My hands pushed against the chair, my toes curled and hairs shot up across my body. My cock opened like a breached dam as the trickle of precum was replaced with a full-flowing spurt. Then another. And another. I came in thick, heavy waves.

'Let go.' Aoife ground harder and tighter as she felt the pooling dampness beneath her, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling my face into her tits as she rode my orgasm to its long, shuddering completion, my moans muffled in her soft, sweet skin. 'Let go.'

And then the comedown. Our slowing breaths rose and hissed above the bassy music like rain off a hot pavement. Slower and slower, until Aoife breathed in my ear once more.

'We'll both have sweet dreams tonight,' she giggled.

Then she kissed my cheek, climbed off me and quickly dressed to leave, leaving me to clean myself up as the brooding sense of guilt and self-loathing came seeping back. Everything had changed, and nothing. Just like that.

What had I done?