CHAPTER ONE
Kacey
I have a secret. I’m a stripper and I have a crush on one of my customers. It’s the ultimate no-no for girls in my line of work. I mean, who dates and marries the stripper at their local club? No one, right?
What makes this worse is that this isn’t even Lace, Mystique or New York Dolls. I work at the Donkey Club, a joint that prides itself on its hot girls, but also the sawdust on the floor, the peanut shells littering the ground, the take-no-prisoners approach of its dancers.
Because that’s why we’re called the Donkey Club. Here, the girls are able to take nine, ten, eleven … even fifteen inches. Not that I’ve ever gotten up to fifteen. Since starting here a couple weeks ago, I’ve done nine and ten, but fifteen is like a myth. It’s something the girls are always chattering about backstage, but who knows if it really exists?
“I could swear it was at least fifteen,” confided Alana to the semi-circle of ladies around her.
“Oh yeah, did you have a ruler with you?” snapped Jenny, a bitch as usual.
“Please, girl, this is my line of work. You know how many men I’ve fucked by now? I can size up a cock in two seconds, sometimes even before his tightie-whities are off,” Alana spat in retort.
And it was true. Though I’ve only been working a few weeks, I’ve already been promoted to the exclusive Donkey Girls service. Not every stripper here is trusted to fuck our customers … only those who have elastic pussies, who can take a big man hard, deep and rough. And you’re put through the ringer during tryouts too. I had to fuck three men, all of them enormous, before I was even considered for the job. I wish I’d gotten it on tape. Those tryouts had been brutal but yummy … god, I’m getting wet just thinking about it again.
But my line of work pretty much means that I don’t have a boyfriend. After all, I dance three or four nights a week, and I’m fucking six to eight men per week too. I’m proud to say I’ve built up a few regulars even, guys that I see once or twice a week after they’ve had a hard day at work.
So I’d been dancing last Tuesday, shimmying for dollars, when I saw him. He was dominating and elegant at once, which caught my eye because unfortunately, most guys here are overgrown frat boys, their mouths open, drool practically hanging off their chins. But not the new guy. He was wearing a grey suit and I couldn’t see his face because he sat in shadow, but I could see his crossed legs, arms neatly folded over his chest.
And damn what an expensive suit can do for a guy! The stranger was trim and fit, not too bulky, but definitely athletic, you know? It takes a lot to make my mouth water these days, but I was curious about our new customer, and started sidling over to him, shaking my ass, gliding my hands over my curves.
You know you’re a good stripper when a guy is completely still, his hand too busy to even stroke his dick. I admit, at the Donkey Club, guys whip out their poles in public, fondling themselves, letting those stiffies get some air. But you know you’ve got a guy captive when he’s not even beating himself, he’s just so mesmerized.
The classy guy obviously didn’t have his dick out. But he was absolutely motionless, still as a rock. He didn’t move a centimeter as I approached, stroking my curves, wiggling my ass, letting my breasts bounce up and down. Oh, and did I mention I was completely naked? Yeah, the Donkey Club doesn’t pull its punches … we girls wear nothing but our heels by the time we’re finished.
So I was butt-naked, sensuously gliding over to this guy, and I could tell he was breathing hard, but still as a statue. When I finally got close to him, I gasped involuntarily. He was gorgeous. Deep, dark hair, coupled with emerald-colored eyes that took in my every movement. I shimmied seductively, my body begging him for attention … and dollars.
Like a movie in slow motion, his hand reached for his money clip. Hmmm, I liked that. I’ve noticed that high rollers don’t really use wallets, instead they have these fat rolls of cash, and sure enough, this dude pulled out an extra-wide roll. Peeling off a bill, he gestured for me to dance closer.
I pulled up in front of him, shaking my boobs in his face and then held still so that he could latch on. Fuck, his lips felt good! He lapped gently at my nipple first, teasing my tit with his tongue, before suckling hard, pulling on my breast flesh. When he’d gotten his fill, he nodded and gestured for me to hold my boob up.
I lifted the pendulous Double D, and he tucked a Benjamin Franklin underneath, my jug pinning the bill in place as I lowered it. He then nodded to my other tit, the nipple hard as rock now, and I lovingly offered it to him, letting him suckle to his heart’s content. And god, the man’s mouth was like honey. He slipped and slid over my peak until my cunny was gushing, it felt so fucking good. Again, he had me lift my breast so that he could slip another bill into my secret space.
But the best was coming. I twirled around, the money tucked securely under my girls, but there was still one entrancing crevice that attracted bees like honey. Taking advantage of a chair nearby, I perched a high heel on it, lifting my knee so that my cunny was bared. Taunting him, I reached down and spread my lips with my fingers, showing him my hole, that deep, pink flesh moist and dripping. He nodded and gestured for me to turn around.
I knew what he wanted. I bent over, spread my legs, and held my ass cheeks apart so that he could get in. Lovingly, he licked my cunny and I mewled, it felt so fucking good. I love this job … I love the attention, I love dancing, and most of all, I love feeling men in my snatch. And this one was particularly handsome, just an incredible fuckstud, someone I wanted to do hard and unprotected.
As he licked my cunt from the back, I moaned again, wiggling my ass in his face, forcing him to grab my butt to hold me still. But he got the message. He took a couple bills from the roll this time, and folded them up into a little square. Teasingly, he pushed it into my wetness, the folds grabbing the money like it was gold. Fuck, bills are always nice, but it felt extra-nice in my twat.
Straightening, I blew him a kiss, and the dark stranger smiled. My set was ending, and I’d be damned if this guy didn’t order a private dance from me later in the night. Our interaction had been too hot, too steamy for him to walk away.
But as the night passed, there was no call from the manager, no nothing. Instead, the evening continued, and I went up for a second set, then a third, but the dark stranger had disappeared. What the … ? He had to come back. He had to.