As she sat down at our table with our drinks, a couple of Manhattans, I complimented her on the fan club and asked her what she had in mind for the evening. “A little dancing,” she said. “I know you like it when I grind on you. But you never get to appreciate the view. So perhaps I’ll dance with someone else for a change. And you can watch.” I asked if she had anyone in mind. “Not yet. Let’s see who’s out there.” Finishing our drinks, we moved to the dance floor - dark, sweaty, and smoky. A couple hundred people bumping up against each other, trying their luck; more of a singles scene than anything else. A slow track came on and we danced face to face for some time, her eyes locked on mine, before she turned to grind her beautiful ass on my hardening cock. I noticed that the show wasn’t just for me; she was making eye contact with a dark-haired guy watching her from just a couple feet away in the crowd. She ran her hands over her breasts as she eyed him, and he smiled back as she bit. Still, having four pair of hands fondling her body wasn't so bad. But, just as she settled into her state of complacency, she heard the rustling of one of the mysterious bags, and she lifted her head up in curiosity. Two rather large glass jars, with holes punched into the lids, were proudly presented to her wide eyes.RATS!! One in each jar! How perverted, she thought…and how incredibly exciting, in a perverted sort of way. Two of the sick minded boys began to knead and squeeze her milk-filled breasts, as the other two boys slowly unscrewed the lids. Diane couldn't help but squirm around on the table, challenging her tight bondage, but saying nothing. She wondered if Terry could make out the jars' contents from the house. She didn't know these two rats were actually one of the boys' docile house pets, not the dirty, diseased sewer rats that she envisioned, and she shuddered at the thought of what was to come next. As her breasts became drenched in the milky fluid, a jar was.
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