CHAPTER SIX
Kacey
It had been overwhelming, exhilarating, and frankly, a little scary. I hadn’t wanted to do the contest because of what could happen. Although the Donkey Club had never sponsored a Mongo Size show before, it had put on a live revue called Big-Breasted Betties that hadn’t ended well for the performers. The girls had had to go to the hospital, their tits raw and wrung out from multiple dudes sucking and gnawing at them.
So the Mongo Size thing sounded like a bad idea. When presented to us backstage, we’d all shook our heads no.
“No fucking way, Lester,” said Shanina, a dusky, sloe-eyed beauty. “No fucking way am I fucking some monster dick on stage unless it’s for a lot, and I mean a lot, of money.”
That about summed up our feelings. The girls who’d done Big-Breasted Betties had been paid decently, but with no health insurance, they’d had to spend the so-called bonus pay on hospital bills. Where was the justice in that?
And so Lester presented a revised deal from management. The three girls who participated would get $5k each, no matter who won. And we got our money by certified check before the contest started, not after.
So there was definitely an incentive to put out. I mean, five thousand is a lot of money to me. I know girls at the big clubs can earn that much in a night, but at the Donkey Club, a good night for us is three hundred bucks. Men here tip with ones and maybe fives, not the twenties or hundreds that the girls at Skye and Mystique rake in.
Worst of all, I really needed the money. My rent was late again, and I needed to come up with nine hundred for my portion asap before the first. This five thousand would be the start of a new era of financial responsibility I promised myself.
So when it was time to get up on stage, we smiled, we shimmied, we acted like professionals, albeit nervous ones. The first two dudes who came up were so fucking disgusting, I couldn’t bring myself to have sex with them although I knew I was only prolonging the inevitable. And my stomach dropped when it came to my turn. The leather biker dude, the old, fat one with “Hellion” on his biker jacket could have been my gym teacher from fifth grade, the one who liked boys. I cursed myself for not going first.
But then I saw him. The man from last night, the dark, dangerous one with the penetrating green eyes. He was making his way up to the stage, unzipping his fly, and … my mouth fell open when I saw his dong pop out. It was a monster. Fifteen inches at least, the myth that all strippers talk about. And now I was going to take it on stage in front of a crowd!
My little cunny shivered and trembled. I was terrified, sure I’d be used and raw tomorrow, barely able to walk. But at the same time, I was unmistakably turned on, leaking between my legs, my sweet female juice lubing me up for the massive fucking to come.
And oh god, but it felt damn good. The dong lifted me in the air, jouncing me up and down, it was so fucking big and I felt so stretched, so tight, so female riding that rod, letting it demonstrate its mastery over me.
And when a second dark stranger appeared, I could hardly believe my eyes. My dream guy had a twin? The roar from the crowd was overwhelming, men pounding their fists on the table, stamping their feet, wanting to see me violated two ways – thirty inches total. So I was ashamed at my sluttiness but also a little proud. I mean, how many girls can say they’ve taken thirty inches? I’ve done it … and I loved every second.