3) Dance

I break free of his grip but do not try to escape. Not that I deserve an escape. But I know if I will survive this place and take charge of my destiny…. I must be strong. If he wants what I have. He's going to have to work for it.

Shaking my finger, I tease him with a smile. He shakes his head, and his rounded shoulders lift and fall with a shrug. But he seems willing to play along.

I will delay the inevitable by making it a game of seduction. I gesture for him to follow, to chase me across the dancefloor. We cut through a sordid sea of sin and shame: hungry eyes and amorous minds with adventurous hands.

Doing my best to fit in, I wiggle my arse as I strut and smile wickedly. I'm going to be a bad, bad bitch.

I head towards a bar, where I spot a group of women with drinks. Safety comes in numbers, plus I need to create some space between me and the pervert. I ask them to lift me onto the bar. They don't speak English, but as they watch me struggle, they help.

I dance like a harlot, letting my dress ride up my thigh, and bow down to show off my cleavage. I now have a fan club and feel the need to perform. Seeing a bottle of beer on the bar, I lean down and pick it up, noticing it's unopened. In my student days, a friend participated in a silly fresher's competition of 'Who gives the bottle blow job'. Never did I think this stupid would inspire me. But here I am, sucking on a bottle of Bud. I slowly and deliberately kissed the bottle's rim before licking its neck with my outstretched tongue. I can feel the eyes upon me as I slide its neck in and out of my mouth.

I notice it's a twist cap and decide to outdo my old uni friend. Biting down on the cap, I twist it off, spitting the cap out into the crowd. I feel flattered that a few of the men try to catch it.

A couple of the girls want to get in on the action and climb onto the bar. I now have competition.

Placing my thumb into the opening, I shake the bottle before shoving it back into my mouth, letting it ejaculate beery froth. To the room's delight, the frothy beer fills my mouth and bursts from my lips.

To think Dan never liked my blowjobs. The fucking pride.

We dance like strippers, sultry slut drops and snaking hips. A man tries to climb onto the bar, causing some to boo. One of the girls laughs and playfully pushes him until he falls back into the crowd.

The crowd start chanting something in Romanian.

A red-haired woman with snowy skin gently pulls at the zipper on my dress. I eyeball her. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Men want titties."

"Oh."

I continue to dance and push my dress down over my naked breasts. The men whistle and shout. I can feel the odd sensation of the bass from the music flowing through my erect nipples.

The man who fingered me is standing in the crowd. His stare is intense. I try not to meet his eyes and pretend he isn't there.

Pushing the dress down my stomach, I shimmy out of it, letting it glide down my shaven legs and pool at my shoes. I confidently step out of it, leaving me in my lace panties and heels.

My girls follow me. We're a troop of strippers.

The crowd cheers. Some thump at the bar, others throw bank notes. I feel sexy.

My heart stops mid-dance. Daniel is in the crowd. Guilt washes over me, soaking me like cold winter rain. Gabriel is at Dan's side, and he's got his arm around my husband, no doubt making him watch.

I am distracted by a smartly dressed barman passing me a massive bottle of champagne. "From the boss."

"I don't drink and work." I wasn't blind to the irony that I had been caught drink driving.

"Don't drink it…"

I'm confused. "What?"

"Use it."

I wonder what he wants me to do with it?