Very much

"Yeah...yes...I'd like that...a lot," he stammers, obviously overwhelmed by your nearness, the heat of your breath against his ear.

"Mmmm.... me too," you purr, getting into your Bambi role. "So Darren, a private dance is fifty bucks a song, or three for a hundred."

"Uhhh...where? Like...is there a private room?"

"There are, but those cost more sweetie. Minimum two hundred for five songs. Plus any....extras..." you whisper. Your mind is wanting him to reject the idea, particularly now that you're smelling the **** sweaty aroma of him, even while your body wants him to go for it, decide to have you in private, letting him....Oh God Lisa, get hold of yourself, you scold your emotions.

"So where....where would be do the...the...other thing," he stammers.

"The lap dance? Those chairs against the wall, sweetie," you coo, resting your hand on his arm. "You sure you don't want a VIP room, have me all to yourself, no one watching, no one sharing." You bite your lip as you look at him from under your half closed eyelids, teasing him mercilessly, the wet heat in your pussy growing moment by moment.

God Lisa, the small rational part of your mind thinks, you sure got good at being a harlot in a hurry, didn't you?