“Thanks,” I said, picking up the drink. But since I had no intentions of seeing this guy again or his coke bottle dick, I wanted to feel his girth in every possible compacity. A throbbing dick deep in my pussy, ready to please every inch of it. My rolls became shorter. “But no worries. “Oh I’m sure you can afford it.”
A strip club was no place for a naïve 20-something Caucasian man. I bucked harder and faster than his guidance and my pussy clamped down. His tongue touched my nipple and sent chills through my body. Satisfying them kept the money rolling, especially on slow nights when gullible newbies failed to cross the threshold. My back arched and hips thrusted up, bumping his face with my pussy. “Yeah,” he replied breathlessly. I pushed him off me and got on my knees. When he did, I laid there and allowed him to fuck me before his thrusts were met. I might’ve been a dancer in a seedy strip club, but I wasn’t a hoe–pussy for sale.
