So I walk into the club by myself one weeknight, because I've got nothing to do, my girlfriend is working midnights, and right now I've got cash to blow on this kind of thing. Hardly anyone's in the place. I sit at the bar and order a Blue, something that won't eat through my wallet if I decide I want three or four more. But that's the last thing I need to worry about.
Before I'm halfway done my drink, a hot blonde with pale skin, knockout curves, and blue eyes all that makeup really does something for pops her tight little ass on the stool next to mine. As she rubs her foot, along with its loose gold anklet, cherry red nail polish, and killer white fuck-me shoes, up the inside of my khaki pant leg, she leans in and asks, in a sweet southern drawl, "What's your name, honey?"
I reply, while I scan the beauty before me, starting with her foot that's already got me stiff. Her legs are absolutely perfect, calves, thighs, and Holy Shit she is showing a lot of them. That white band she's wearing around her waist doesn't even qualify as a miniskirt: most of her ass is sticking out of it even while she's sitting down. The little neon patch covering her pussy is just begging to come off. Her little waist and flat stomach, with a cute dangling belly button piercing, give way to a big, round set of tits barely contained by a tiny shirt tied off in front. Her cleavage is unbelievable. Her neck is tilted a little, so one of her earrings rests on her collarbone. Her bleach-blonde hair is ponytailed and dips just to shoulder level. Her puffy lips are perfectly dressed in red lipstick, matching the polish on her fingernails, which are presently tracing their way up the top of my thigh.
"So you want something special, Matt?" she asks. I grin widely and reply with an affirmative, blissful in the knowledge that I'm about to make her sixty bucks richer.
She leads me back to a booth with a comfortable leather couch deep inside. The booth she chose is kind of wedged into a corner area, out of view of most of the bar and thus a bit quieter. Now, normally it turns me on that while I'm looking at a girl's tits, a dozen other guys (and girls) are watching her shake her ass. But tonight, there's hardly anyone here, and Jessica's sexy accent is much clearer in here. We spend a minute that seems like an hour shooting the shit, while she drives me wild with her killer smile and her curvy legs draped over my crotch.
The next song starts. It's Genie in a Bottle. Cliche? Maybe, but from where I'm sitting, it's fucking sexy as hell. Jessica gets up and starts really showing me her stuff. She may have come here for easy money, but it's obvious she enjoys it. She unties her top with one hand, eyes shut, and those glorious tits pop out, each with its little steel barbell piercing. Her hips twist, and as they do so does she, and soon she's grinding in my lap without mercy.
The thong comes off in no time, but I ask her to leave the "skirt" on -- she gives me a wicked smile and then straddles me and takes me to heaven with her tits in my face and her shaved pussy's lips enveloping my hardon through my pants. When the beat starts to fade, she asks, "One more?"
The next song, some rock track I don't recognize, seems to last even longer than the first, and I'm feeling positively high. Jessica is wildly good at this, and I am as horny as I have ever been in my life. After the first two verses through, though, she slows down a bit and loses the smile. As I'm about to ask what the matter is, she pulls in tight, leans over to my ear, and quietly says, "If you hook me up with another hundred, I'll fuck you right here."
I'm speechless. This kind of thing doesn't happen, it's bullshit! Yet here is Jessica, this hot little stripper slut, offering to fuck me in a private booth. I stutter for a second, and then manage, "Oh, you got it." I pull out my wallet. She stands up, looks out toward the seats and the bar cautiously, then turns around with her naughty smile back on. I pass her eight twenties, and she expertly drops in into a little purse and pulls out a Trojan.
She leans over again. "Here's how this works. I'm going to dance, you put this on. Then I turn around and sit in your lap, and we fuck. Then you do up your shit, and walk out of here with the condom in your boxers." I nod. She gets up and starts to dance again, as I fumble to get the dome and my fly open. When I'm ready, she turns to face outward, then backs up and slowly sits onto my cock. I cup her perfect ass with my hands and guide her pussy on... and let out a gasp. She giggles.
She is so good at this. She starts fucking me slow, gyrating her pussy on my dick, hand on the couch in front of us. The way she was dancing before, someone sitting right outside probably wouldn't even notice. But then she lifts her hand and starts rubbing her clit. The way her legs are moving I can tell she's enjoying it. Soon she abandons the attempt to hide what we're doing in case anyone walks by, leans all the way back onto my chest, and starts going hard. Man, I need to come, but even though I paid for it I want her to get off like crazy!
She hears my thoughts and twitches a few times, letting out a little shriek. And keeps on rubbing. Figuring we're beyond the no-touch rule at this point, I play with her tits a bit, and she grinds her teeth. Half a minute later, she blows again, and then a third time. She's practically screaming, which sounds particularly loud in this little booth out of the speakers' range.
It's too much for me. Her hips convulsively pound her hot pussy down around my cock, while her hair and her eyelashes and her lips graze my cheek and ear. She grabs her tits for my benefit, then I grab her waist and just FUCK her until I bust.
When the waves die down, she lets out a sigh and just sits there for a minute, her pussy with my cock deep inside clearly visible to her place of work, should anyone choose to look. Then she hops off, kisses me on the cheek, and looks down and raises her eyebrows. I quickly zip and button, while she works her tits back into her shirt. She looks out quickly, her thong in her hand, and then flashes another smile and reaches for my hand.
After I clean up, and the nerves loosen up, I decide to have one more beer before I go. Jessica is on stage now. When she's down to just the little skirt, I roll up my last five, then lay on the stage and put it in my mouth. She duly comes over, puts on a show, then instead of thanking me she says, "You hang out by the bar for one more minute, okay, sugar?" I nod.
She trots off the stage, still mostly naked, and sits in the stool next to mine again. She asks me to remind her if I said I was from around here, to which I repeat that I am. She then leans over and slides a little piece of paper up my leg. It's the top of a cigarette pack, torn off, with curly blue-ink writing on it. "I live just down the street here. You give me a call sometime when your girlfriend's working late again." Then she winks, and heads off to the changing room.