Send her to a strip club.

With her background in dancing, Gemma makes for an excellent stripper, despite her inexperience. All it takes is an audition to secure her a job at one of the highest-end strip clubs in the city. Her wage, plus the huge amount of tips she ends up receiving, becomes a steady flow of cash for you. You tell your wife you've found a job in the city, and she is none the wiser. Eventually, you are so flush with cash that you decide to pay Gemma a visit to enjoy her services.

The club is a haze of neon and smoke, the bass thumping through your chest as you nurse your whiskey, eyes locked on the main stage. The spotlight is glued to her, tracing the curve of her hips as she circles the pole, her tiny frame moving with a confidence that belies her size. She’s wearing nothing but a scrap of black lace and sky-high heels, her dark hair cascading down her back as she arches, her ass glistening under the lights as she owns the room.

Just before she finishes her set, you pay for an hour of champagne service with her, and eventually you're led to one of the back rooms. The private room is all velvet and dim lighting, the air thick with the scent of champagne and perfume. Gemma’s already there, lounging on the edge of the plush booth, her legs crossed, her fingers tracing lazy circles on her thigh. The bottle of champagne is sweating on the table beside her, two flutes waiting.

You sit, and she wastes no time straddling your lap, her hands sliding up your chest. The heat of her is intoxicating, her skin smooth under your palms as you grip her waist. She rolls her hips, slow and deliberate, her ass grinding against you, her breath hot against your ear. The lace barely contains her, and you can see the dark peaks of her nipples through the fabric, begging for your mouth.