At the feet of a goddess

It's Saturday night - you're out at Fyre - a new club that just opened. It's a fairly normal scene - pulsing EDM, dim lighting, young bodies writhing to the beat, scantily clad in mixtures of fetish and goth fashion. Fog machine billow clouds of haze across the dance-floor, reflecting the strobe lights above. A mixture of perfume, body spray, and fresh sweat hangs in the air. The club feels stifling, despite the chill of the night outside, the collective body heat of the crowd rolling in palpable waves.

You are standing by the bar, sipping a vodka and Red Bull. You're alone, again, recently out of a relationship, and you're horny. The women around you, while all looking extremely attractive, don't seem to be looking for company, dancing with friends or busy with partners in dark corners.

Then you hear a whisper calling your name - you turn, but don't see anyone but the bartender pouring drinks several yards away.

Then you hear it again, can practically feel the warm breath on your ear, sending tingles down your body. Your nipples are stiff, and your cock hardens in your pants.

"Over here..."

This time the whisper seems to be coming from the dance floor.