Go upstairs to a room with Mr. Crassle

You're always open to new experiences. Or experiencing old things for the first time, anyway. Besides. Hugh Crassle is pretty good-looking for a man his age.

"Alright," you whisper to him. "Let's go upstairs."

Crassle grins and chuckles.

"Wonderful, doll, just great. Follow me."

You follow behind him across the lounge, excusing yourself as you wind your way through dancing couples and people chatting each other up in the hopes of making a connection. As you approach your staircase you feel nervous butterflies dancing in your stomach. There's something so terribly naughty about it all and the air is charged with eroticism.

"After you," Mr. Crassle says.

You climb the stairs ahead of him, aware that he can see right up beneath your leather coat. He has a clear view of your red thong and your toned ass cheeks working as you take each step.

At the top you head down a hall of closed doors. Mr. Crassle stops at one and knocks softly. When there is no answer he opens it to a small, darkened bedroom. Barely more than a bed, a chair, and a lamp. You start to step inside, the butterflies going absolutely crazy, but Mr. Crassle grabs you suddenly by the bicep.

He wheels you to face him.

"Before we go in there you need to understand one thing," he says. "Once that door closes behind us, I'm in charge, and I get what I want."

Your stomach flip-flops as you stare into the older man's weathered face. He's obviously serious and you realize you are moments away from deciding whether or not to surrender yourself to a stranger's lust.