The dancer’s name was “Hot Chocolate,” and he looked luscious enough to swallow in one big slurp.

He strutted across the stage with a grin, flexing muscles that rippled in all the right places. From his shaved head to his ripped and toned chest and abs, he was mocha-flavored sex on a stick.

I looked at Riley sitting across from me. She was staring open-mouthed at the approaching dancer, her wide eyes locked on the impressive length of cock dangling between the man’s muscular thighs. Even soft, it had to be eight or nine inches long. God only knew what it would be when it was erect.

As Hot Chocolate came closer, Riley’s eyes grew wider. There was no question she was his target: the bachelorette and bride-to-be. In the limo on the way to the club we had stripped her out of... Read More