At a nightclub, where you wait in line

Staring around you spot a long line of people in night club clothes, and a rather seedy looking place with lots of flashing lights and several large muscle-bound men guarding the entrance. Strangely there was no sign indicating a name, which you take to mean it's an exclusive place. A shiver of warmth goes through you at the thought of Jacob taking you to a special place like this.

The glowers of the beefcake bouncers gives you second thoughts as you take a few steps toward them and you look down the long long line, wincing at how long you're sure it will be. Then again, nightclubs like hot girls, so they're bound to send someone along who'll snatch you out of the line-up, and you're sure Jacob won't have any problem getting in. He is the Mayor's son, after all.

Sighing you turn on your four-inch heels, finding it second nature to walk on the tall stilettos. A month ago you'd might have said the same about two-inches, but not four.

"I need it so bad," you sigh, thinking of the washroom, wishing you could clean up your hand if not your pussy as well. The words come out louder than you realize and catch the attention of a group of guys who'd been making up stories about how many girls they'd banged in the last week.

Walking onward you arrive at the end of the line, stopping at the entrance of an alley overstuffed with garbage, beside a couple who are all but fucking against the graffitti stained brick wall.

With a final sigh you crane your neck toward the entrance, leaning on the lamp-post next to you as you wonder if someone - Jacob, or a bouncer maybe - will rescue you from a long, uncomfortable, boring wait.