Friday morning, I loaded my stuff for the weekend and said goodbye to my dad. I was supposed to be spending the weekend at my mom’s, but I’d already told her that something had come up. I had other plans—plans that had me so excited I could hardly keep still.
The drive to school felt endless. I sat through my classes trying to take notes, but my head wasn’t in it. My stomach fluttered, and I kept glancing at the clock. At 2:57, the last bell rang, and I was out of there like a shot.
I fired up my pickup, pulled out of the lot, and headed down to the road to where I would be working for the weekend. First stop was checking into my motel room—just a block and a half from the bar. I tossed my stuff on the bed, did a quick touch-up in the mirror, and headed over.
Inside, I said hi to the manager and bartender. One of the older dancers spotted me, rolled her eyes, and stomped off. Typical. I laughed and muttered something to the manager, who just shook her head and told me not to worry.
In the dressing room, I slipped into my first outfit of the night: tiny denim shorts, a tied-off flannel top, and underneath, a yellow lace bra with a matching thong. Topped off with my boots, I was a full-on cowgirl fantasy.
Since I wasn’t up until the second set, I worked the floor, offering table dances—five bucks a pop—a good way to warm up the room and line my pocket. By the time my set came, the spots around the stage filled fast. The music hit, and I worked it hard—bending over, spreading wide, giving them clear views of my shaved pussy, the soft swell of my meaty lips, even the little brown pucker of my asshole when I arched just right. I made sure to move from one side of the stage to the next, letting every guy get his peek while I raked in their bills. Money poured in, hands twitched with the urge to touch, eyes locked on me like they couldn’t look away. That rush never got old.
After my set, it was time for couch dances. Topless by default, bottoms optional if the tip was right. The more they paid, the freer their hands. And tucked into that dim little room, I had my own menu: pussy or ass eating, quick blowjobs, or whatever extras they were bold enough to ask for. That Friday, every single guy wanted more. Naked, touched, tasted, sucked—it was nonstop. I gave two blowjobs in the back before my shift was even close to done. And in between, I lined up my after-hours dates.
By the time my last set was over, I was happy with how the night went, still buzzing from the adrenaline, and more than ready to cash out. I stuffed my earnings into my bag, grabbed what I needed, and headed to my room to freshen up.
The first knock came before I even got dressed. I opened the door naked, and he didn’t complain. He was an older guy, short, with a pot belly and white hair. Sweet but nervous. We chatted for a minute, then he undressed and stood in front of me, his cock short and soft. I knelt on a pillow, opened my mouth, and took him in. Slowly, he hardened enough to slide into me once he climbed on top.
Ninety seconds later, he came. His face flushed with embarrassment as he admitted he hadn’t been with anyone since his wife died years ago. Almost made me feel bad for him. I stroked his cheek and told him to come back the next afternoon—I’d give him a freebie and teach him a couple of tricks to last longer. He thanked me over and over as he dressed and left.
The next knock came while I was flipping through bad late-night TV. This guy was different—eager, confident. He peeled my top and shorts off, spread my legs, and went down on me. His tongue worked my pussy, teased over my ass, and had me moaning until I came twice. Then he looked up, grinning, and asked if I did anal.
“Absolutely,” I told him.
I got the lube, dropped to all fours, and backed up to him. The first push hurt, but I took it. He didn’t waste much time, driving into my ass with steady thrusts. Ten minutes of smashing my asshole, and he filled me up, then dropped back down to eat me again.
When he got hard again, I gave him a quick blowjob before he bent me over once more. This time, he fucked my ass harder, fists in my hair, grunting as he came a second time. He collapsed on my back, still panting, and called me the best piece of ass he’d ever had. Not a bad review. He left smiling, tipping me extra before heading out.
The third knock came before I’d even gotten my shirt back on. I answered in just my shorts. It was a younger guy, shy, with trembling hands. I sat with him, kissed him, calmed him down. He couldn’t get enough of my tits, kissing and sucking them like he’d never touched boobs before. I had a good guess why.
He worked his way down, kissing my stomach, sliding his tongue between my lips. He wasn’t great, but he tried. I rewarded him with some head, then asked if he wanted me bare. His eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning.
I lay back, legs open, and he slid inside me raw. “Holy fuck,” he groaned, wide-eyed.
I giggled, wrapped my legs around him, and teased his nipples. He lasted maybe three minutes before he shoved in deep and shot his load. His smile said everything—this was his first time.
I offered him another round, told him I had a couple tricks to help him last. He agreed instantly. I tied a scrunchie around his balls, then looped one of my hair ties around the base of his cock.
“Now you’ll last,” I whispered.
Missionary again, he pounded into me harder, and the bands worked like magic. He made me cum twice before begging me to take them off. Sixty seconds after I did, he exploded inside me, groaning loud enough to wake the neighbors.
When it was over, he lay beside me, glowing like I’d given him the world. Before he left, I slipped him a thong from my bag as a souvenir. He kissed my cheek, stuffed it into his pocket, and walked out smiling.
Finally, I got a little sleep. I needed it. Because come 7 AM, the next guy would be knocking.
