I watched Molly and the man (momentarily I wondered what his name was, but it didn't much matter...I was going to give myself to him before the night was much older whether his name was Mike or Melvin) kissing passionately, nude and beautiful. For the moment my services seemed unnecessary. I turned, leaning against the bar, my right hand still caressing Molly's soft skin. I looked at the handsome poet, and was surprised to see him.

He was still on our little makeshift stage, still at the microphone. But he was now completely nude, and his erect cock was in his hand. He was masturbating, watching us, waiting for the muse to strike again. The other patrons were watching, some watching him, some watching us, enjoying the evening's unusual entertainment. Inspired by the poet, I let my left hand move down my front, and my fingers began to probe my clitoris in soft, slow circles...

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Thank you, sir, may I have another?