When I turned eighteen, I wanted something that would light a fire under me—a thrill so raw it’d make my heart slam against my ribs. I wasn’t about to sit around waiting for life to hand me excitement. So, I grabbed my phone and called this club ninety miles away, a place I’d heard whispered about for wild nights and even wilder dancers.
The manager’s voice came through like velvet wrapped in steel. She asked about my experience, my look, and then told me to send pictures. I did, holding my breath as I waited. Minutes later, my phone buzzed.
“Hell yes,” she said, laughing like she’d just won the lottery. “With your face and body? You’re gonna make a small fortune.”
She explained the pay, the hours, and that since I was still in school, I could start almost right away—just a couple of nights dancing for tips. She sounded like she believed in me, like she already saw the cash stacking up in my hands.
I was good to go!
Wednesday after school, I packed a bag with a couple of outfits—just in case—and drove the ninety miles to check the place out.
Walking in, the air was thick with perfume, sweat, and something unmistakably naughty. I asked for the manager, and she appeared, sharp and confident, like she owned every inch of that smoky room. She smiled when she saw me and said, “Welcome to your new adventure!”
The stage was lit by neon and a soft haze, a single pole standing tall in the center. Three dancers were already working—a bleach blonde with tits so big they could probably stop traffic, a tired-looking woman who’d definitely seen more than her share of nights like this, and a small, light-skinned black girl with fake boobs that screamed “danger.”
The blonde and the older girl barely glanced my way, but the little one gave me a wink and said, “Just starting, huh? Listen, don’t bother playing by the rules. You wanna make real money, you gotta bend ‘em.”
She leaned in close, whispering about the couch dances, the after-hours deals, and how the motel down the block was a safe bet for staying in, doing the after-hours stuff, and nights when you didn’t want to risk driving home. I felt a rush just thinking about it.
The manager asked if I wanted to work that night. I hesitated, but hell, why not? I’d come this far.
Back in the dressing room, I changed into boots, cutoff shorts, and a flannel tied just so over a lacy bra and matching thong. The older dancer burst in, snapping about how she needed the money, and I was about to steal ALL of the tips. I just smiled sweetly and walked right past her.
Then, my name was called.
The moment I stepped on stage, the room went quiet. Every eye locked onto me like I was the main event. Then, like someone flipped a switch, the crowd closed in and the bills started flying.
I moved slowly at first, teasing every inch of my body, letting the flannel slip off my shoulders and my bra fall away. By the middle of the second song, the only thing left was my boots.
Every tip got me closer to shedding that last piece of fabric, leaving the crowd hungry and breathless.
When my set ended, I grabbed the cash and stuffed it into my bag. Outside the dressing room, guys were lining up for couch dances—$20 a song, with $5 going to the house. The rules said I had to keep my thong on, but my new friend winked and said, “No one cares what you do back there, just get the cash.”
The first guy I danced for was shy at first, his hands hovering nervously on the back of the couch as I crawled over him. When I straddled his lap, I felt his cock hardening against me. His eyes never left mine as I whispered in his ear, "It's OK to look."
Next, a bolder guy asked how much to lose the thong. Fifty dollars. I added a little extra incentive—he could touch my legs and ass. He practically threw the money at me.
By the time the third dance came, I was feeling unstoppable. When a guy asked about after-hours, I told him I didn’t have a room, but he explained the motel setup and offered me two hundred and fifty dollars to meet him there after my shift.
The rest of the night was a blur of flashing lights, whispered promises, and the sweet sound of cash hitting the stage.
At ten, I wrapped up and met my first after-hours client at the motel. Clothes hit the floor fast. I dropped to my knees, taking his cock deep into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tip until he was hard and ready.
He wasted no time, pushing me back onto the bed and diving between my legs. His tongue explored every inch of me, driving me wild until I came hard, clutching the sheets.
Then he slid inside me, slow at first, then harder, pounding me until he spilled his seed deep inside. He kissed me with apology, but I just laughed and told him I was just getting started.
He licked up his mess, sending me over the edge two more times.
Switching to doggie, he grabbed my hips and fucked the shit out of me, his hands rough and his thrusts relentless. He shot his load in me so hard I felt it splashing off my cervix! We lay tangled, catching our breath before I texted the next guy "five minutes".
He arrived within a minute. He wanted me on his face first, he wanted the other man's pie filling, so I started grinding, rocking, and riding his face from his chin to his forehead until I came all over him.
I moved around and I took his cock in my mouth, sucking and bobbing my head until he begged for doggie. Once in position, he slammed into me hard, grabbing my hair and hips, dirty talking as fuck as he pumped his cock into me.
He didn't last long before he came hard inside me. I figured he was going to want to eat more cream pie, so I reached down as he slid out and kept my lips together. I told him to lie down and open up!
I positioned myself over his face, sat my pussy in his mouth, and moved my hand. I felt some of his load leaking out, and he gobbled it up.
He stayed hard, and we went again—missionary this time, with him whispering filthy things until he filled me once more.
He laughed when I asked if he wanted to eat it. “Nope. You can take that one home.”
I had to laugh, as that is where I was headed once we were done.
By 1 a.m., he left, and I grabbed my bag, heading home with my head spinning and my pussy still tingling.
The plastic grocery sack full of cash beside me was proof: I wanted to do more of this, I needed more of this!
Yeah, this was definitely going to open up a whole new chapter in my life.
