Violet Eyes

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You've got to stay professional at all times, so I managed to prevent myself from wincing at the sheer mediocrity of the fat woman's blowjob.

This was not normal for me. My experience in the nude-male entertainment industry, going on eight years now, is that larger women generally give better head. It goes like this: the kinds of women who come to events with full-frontal male strippers are not the kind of women who are shy about sex, but with fat chicks, their sex drive usually isn't matched by society's males, who often don't want to give them the sex they crave.

So they often become very, very good at sucking dick.

A male stripper gets used to evaluating the fine nuances of blowjobs and the women who give them. There are the hot chicks, all show and no go, who've never had to develop their oral technique because they've never had a problem getting a guy to go between their legs. The nerd girls tend to be bashful, even squeamish, though occasionally you'll get one of those really, really repressed librarian-types who'll even insist on giving you a rimjob. Then there are the older, middle-aged types, who used to suck a mean cock in college but whose husbands aren't interested any longer; the result is boundless enthusiasm with, alas, an inability to keep track of where their teeth are.

But usually, fat women are a reliable source of a pleasurable few minutes between twerking for some bridesmaid and losing your load all over some drunk MILF's chest. Not this one, though; she was into it, but she just didn't have the technical skills I'd been expecting. The only reason I gave her more than a few seconds, in fact, was because the younger woman beside her kept shoving her firm, fat tits into my hands, grinning like she'd just met her husband, and I don't get paid to reject horny women.

Crazy eyes on that one, though. She had a phenomenal rack, which I dutifully squeezed, but this was not the lady to cum on later. She had the look of a chick who'd follow you to the parking lot, maybe stalk you home.

This was one of those sweaty, stroboscopic evenings we don't often book anymore, so Jerry and Lauren had jumped at the chance: three strippers and a fluffer! It was like the glory days, back when I'd been a rookie. Whoever was paying for this must be loaded.

He was certainly loaded with sexy female relatives, that was for sure. Almost every guest, from the bride on down, was lovely, and most were beautiful. Some were flat-out hotties. Hell, even the fat auntie with her lips around my cock; even she had a pretty face, plus the requisite massive breasts. Hell, looking down at her, with one nipple prodding out from the neckline of her bunched party dress, you could almost pretend she was simply busty.

But no. And, as her hands came up and under for the umpteenth time to tug on my balls, her younger companion continued trying to get me to pivot her way for a titfuck. My attention started to wander around the room, as it sometimes did, checking to see what my buddies were doing under the insistent throb of the bass, which mirrored the insistent throb from my dick under the relentless pressure of the cock-ring.

Well, Prince Carlos certainly wasn't feeling any pressure. He was over on one of the bench seats in the corner, getting his chest and balls played with by a sneaky-looking little minx with a sharp nose and no visible boobs at all. I watched as she whispered into his ear, moving both knees onto the seat, and then he reached casually around to push his greasy fingers straightup her skirt and into her snatch or her ass, whichever. Her whoop carried across the room, even over all the cackling and shrieking and the heavy pulse of the bass.

My other coworker was Justin. He called himself Mr Beef sometimes, but on most gigs he'd at some point get excited and tell the customers his real name. He usually got great tips thanks to his penis size and his willingness to go down, but he couldn't ever last long. So he needed to make his money while he could. Me, I had the opposite problem: my cock's nothing all that special, but I can hold it in longer than most. At the moment, Justin was kneeling between the skirted legs of some bridal cousin named Jan? Jenn? I didn't remember; she'd propositioned me earlier, back when I'd still had my ball-hammock on. Cute girl, but at the time I'd been more interested in the melons on one of the chicks by the stage.

Well, my loss. The chick was evidently game for anything; a woman who'll let herself get eaten out by a stripper in front of all her female relatives will let you do anything to her.

My attention drifted back toward Carlos, who was laughing and murmuring with his new friend, and with a shock I noticed there was another girl sitting on the other side of him, watching Carlos with striking violet eyes that now showed more than a little nervousness mixed with her excitement. There was some other girl on the far side, craning across, totally incredulous, and then further along that same bench I caught sight of our fluffer.

We were using Lindsay today, one of our frequent fliers, but not a lady that was very popular with us guys. She was a knockout, all tall, sexy confidence; still, there was something about her we didn't like. We brought girls like her along when we could, as plants within the crowd just to keep things moving in case the customers started losing interest, or in case one of us shot too early; she'd be expected to get him up again, if possible.

A thankless task, if ever there was one.

And Lindsay knew it, too. She was drinking today, sitting cynically with a vodka tonic, smirking around the room with that cynical expression of hers, and with a start I realized I still had my dick in that same girl's mouth. I needed to get moving; the last thing I needed was Justin laughing at me for monopolizing a fat chick. Or, worse, cumming on one.

With a slick twist down to the side, I caught the trembling lips of Crazy Eyes and gave her enough tongue to at last make her quit shoving herself at me; she tasted like tequila. In the same motion I maneuvered my cock out of Fat Chick's warm, toothy piehole and spun around, my penis bobbing to the beat of the music, to collapse between the bride and the maid of honor.

Really, all I wanted to do was catch my breath, get a drink of water, and stare across at that violet-eyed beauty next to Prince Carlos. God, she was a smoker: long, thick curly hair all over her head, a face like a model, tits for days, long olive legs aiming out of her black satin dress like a pair of deadly weapons. She was prime, and apparently Carlos had noticed; he was glancing over at her, muttering at the skinny bitch who had ahold of his cock, and I'd seen that look in Carlos' eyes before.

But before I could keep further tabs on him, and long before I got my drink of water, the bride and her friend had already attacked me. "Hi, Doctor Steve," purred the maid of honor; that was the name I used when stripping, for no reason at all except that I look like one of those TV doctors on that one medical show, the one with the lady doctor who can't stop fucking her coworkers.

"Hi, sexy," I replied automatically, gluing on my usual smile, the professional one for work. I forgot about Violet Eyes and draped a brawny arm around each of the two ladies, my cock sticking straight up between my spread thighs. "Can I get you two anything? A drink? Something to eat?"

The maid of honor giggled, her eyes riveted to my penis. "I'll eat some of that fat dick, Steve," blurted the bride, and there went my mild obsession with Violet Eyes. She was an incredible piece, and I was dying to get over there, but rules are rules. And when you're working a bachelorette party, and the bride wants a piece of you, well...

So I leaned back, reaching down to stroke her tit. Might as well enjoy her; she certainly was a cutie, and there's always an extra thrill when you know they're going to be getting married in a couple days or so. She had a nice rack, but a little on the small side. "Your wish is my command, honey," I told her. "Why don't you get down there, maybe get a closer look?"

"I will," she burbled, unable to take her eyes off my abs. I've got two major attributes in this business: I'm fitness-crazy, and I can usually keep myself from cumming. I'd learned early on that a six-pack is what a lot of these girls are looking for; they can get dick anywhere, but it's not usually attached to muscle. "Let's go, Kathleen!"

"Fuck yeah!" The maid of honor was tiny, maybe five foot one, and that was with heels. She made a tight, tasty little package as the two of them knelt, the bride swaying a bit, and began giggling at each other as they sorted out which testicle belonged to which mouth.

And really, I can't see why every single American male doesn't get into this business.

I'd just seen them licking chocolate sauce off Justin's dick five minutes ago, so their enthusiasm impressed me. The bride seemed especially into it, her back straight, one hand light on my thigh, the other holding my cock up out of the way while her tongue burrowed around the quivering sides of my scrotum; her maid of honor, giggling, was already patting my hips, urging me lower on the seat; dirty little whore wanted to take a stab at my asshole!

I leaned back against the overstuffed cushions, my hands behind my head, and closed my eyes halfway. Christ, I was tired. I was doing double shifts as a trainer at the gym, and with the better weather lately my clients had all been expecting me to be at their beck and call with my dogwalking job too. Then there were these stripping gigs; sure, sitting at a table getting serviced by a pair of sluts was great and all, but I paid for it with all the dancing and the extended cleanup time; it's disgusting, walking around with a thick coat of spit, spooge, and body oil all over you.

Hot breath on my dick, now, as the bride came up to suck me. She made good, strong eye contact at least, glaring up at me with that challenging huntress' gaze that some girls get once they've had enough to drink. Her mouth was open already, lips and tongue gliding along my shaft as her saliva dribbled onto her little friend far below, and with an internal sigh I went back to work.

"Got a little itch for me to scratch, baby?" I rasped, my hand going down to find a boob; I already knew her nipple would be trying to make a hole in her bra.

She came off me in a little explosion of spit. "Maybe," she sang, her eyes wide and blue. Her freckles made her look about nineteen, but I knew she was over twenty-five. Her little breast was solid and meaty in my hand, and once my thumb found the corrugated hardness of her nipple she closed her eyes for a moment. "Why? Want to scratch it?"

"Fuck yeah!" The little maid of honor popped up like a whack-a-mole, her shoulder strap down around her elbow. Fuck yeah seemed to be her only phrase. The bride and I ignored her; she had her eyes on the big tip of my cock, and I simply had mine on a big tip.

I smiled slowly, lewdly. "Scratching itches is what you hired us for," I pointed out. Never, not once, did her hands stop moving up and down my dick, her friend still fondling my balls. "Want to head backstage? You can show me what you want me to do."

Her eyes flashed boldly. Beth! That was her name. Shit, some days you just can't remember. "Why not just show you right here?"

I allowed my eyebrows to arch. Many brides will put out at their bachelorette party, but most don't want their friends and relatives watching. That's what Lindsay was for. I let my gaze flicker around the room again; Justin was standing over his woman, his ass flexing steadily as he thrust into her mouth with her legs all splayed out; Carlos was straddling Violet Eyes, titfucking her. In between sat Lindsay, cynical and quiet, watching to see what I'd do.

But it was out of my hands. Beth was coming to her feet with a marathon runner's control of her body, the purple sash drooping off her shoulder with its gold BRIDE embroidery all stained with amaretto, and then her dress was coming up to reveal a bright red thong. I recognized it as the top of the Secret Whispers line, $89.99 with matching bra and kimono, a very good deal. A high-pitched, eerie feminine warble rose behind her as everyone but me took a look at her butt. The maid of honor, wiping her chin, was prancing around like PT Barnum, getting everybody whipped up.

Beth looked coldly down at me, her whole face and chest bright red, and she dropped her panties. She was shaved totally bare underneath; instinctively, I curled my arms along her smooth, lean thighs, up to her naked ass. Her mouth twisting strangely, she sank down onto my oiled legs and scooted forward until my dick trembled hard against her belly. She cradled it there, rubbing it thoughtfully back and forth like a windshield wiper, her flesh streaming with sweat. She had her dress smashed up into her armpits, and she badly wanted my sperm.

Alas, though. The contract the maid of honor had signed with Jerry had been explicit: no sex with Beth. Jerry had made sure to tell us that in no uncertain terms, even going so far as to pull out the big guns: "I'll fire y'all if you put your dick in her." She apparently had a history, or addiction problems, or whatever; she had a hard time keeping cocks out of her snatch, anyway.

Well, okay then. I let her shiver for a few seconds, holding her warm body against mine with her hips rolling slowly, and then I leaned up to whisper in her ear. "Lie back, sexy." She blinked down at me, uncertain; clearly, nobody had told her about the contract. The women were freaking out, chanting, screaming, flocking around our table, and obviously they hadn't been told either.

Slowly she uncurled her body, and I helped her land it gently on the little table, between a cocktail napkin and half a line of someone's unused cocaine. I made meaningful eye contact with the little maid of honor, who at least wasn't dumb; she moved in, snakelike, to grab the glasses and bottles off the table, and then it was all Beth, her tanned abs writhing, the unblinking eye of her gushing slit glistening right in front of my face.

I didn't waste time nibbling. She wanted something torrid and nasty, and she'd get my best efforts. I was in there at once, one hand holding her belly down while the other cupped her buttcheek, my thumb resting lazily up against her asshole, and I led with my tongue out and tensed. She tasted musky and a little bit acrid, and mostly of sweat. Guys in my profession taste a lot of pussy, and hers was nothing special. But I'd need to work; she was one of those women with good symmetry but nothing flapping outside, so I had to dig deep until I found hot, gooey bitterness.

She reacted at once, tensing hard against my arm, her legs already flailing alongside my head. All around us the air was thick, choking with smoke and body heat and estrogen. Beth was screaming, but I couldn't hear over the din of chanting, wild female voices. I got her under control with broad, steady licks along both reddened sides of her slit, then let my hand wander up her taut body to grab a handy boob, and this time I was ready. I already had my arm locking her down to the tabletop when I curled my tongue far in and up, coaxing out her timid little clit.

It took several tries before I found my lips being taunted by a slick, quivering little bud, and again I wasted no time: I pursed my lips, made sure my teeth were out of the way, and sucked on that clit like she'd sucked on my dick, her body wedged firmly in my arms, and I wasn't surprised when she heaved herself hard against my chin, almost hard enough to buck me out of her. I slid off the seat and squatted on the dirty floor, seeking leverage.

The cheers got even louder. I began to wonder how much time had passed, me burrowing between her legs with her skin thrashing all around me, the sweat pouring off both of us with my dick still hard as fuck beneath the table; this was as nasty as it ever got. I became dimly aware of a lithe shape, gliding under the table to station itself between my crouching legs, and then I caught the sharp smell of whisky cutting briefly through Beth's stench as a mouth opened below, a pair of hands gripped strongly over my massive quads, and then just like that I was being teabagged.

Sort of an archaic act, teabagging. I didn't get it much anymore. But I hitched myself instinctively up; the girl, whoever it was, had her nose right up against my shitter, and that just wasn't fair. I didn't need her friends spending years telling each other the story of how she'd passed out, her oxygen choked off by a stripper's asshole. She didn't deserve that; she was only down there trying to do me a favor. She was doing a good job, too. She was evidently a girl of some experience, judging from the way her tongue probed expertly between my balls, her lips applying just the right amount of suction.

Curious, I gave Beth a rest while I ran my tongue down the inside of her thigh, keeping her clit hard with my hand, so that I could glance down and see who was gnawing on my scrotum. I felt my dick lurch when I saw the sharp, olive jawline working my balls, thick curly hair spreading out beside my feet, a pair of big firm tits in between my legs, held in by a short black satin dress.

Holy shit. Violet Eyes.

I went back to work on Beth; she couldn't be far off now, the noise a crashing wave around us, and I slurped at her with a purpose now. Blindly I jabbed my hand down my own lumpy abs, clawing for the cockring. I knew it was bad form to cum under the table; usually, when we shot it, it was supposed to be very loud and awfully public. But I couldn't help myself; this girl was so, so fine, and holy shit did I want to spray it all over her, and then she was helping me with the ring and everything started to go red and hot very quickly.

Beth drove against my chin, a little weaker now; below me, Violet Eyes was grabbing my dick, moving it, and with a sudden wave of elation I realized she'd shoved me down into her dress. Her boobs alongside my shaft shook as she began to move against me, still suckling lazily at my balls even as her motion wedged my cock underneath her bra strap, and with a hard lunge I jammed my meat well down into there, her dress straining; she was licking at my salty asscheeks now, and Beth was cumming with a shriek, and just as her body went tense and hard and shuddery I let go, a torrent of cum pulsing out of me onto the girl below.

Christ, but it felt fucking great.

You get to cum a lot in this business, but it never really gets old. And sometimes? Shit. Sometimes, it's heaven.

Cheers came from all sides now, hands and faces pressing against my body as Beth's friends celebrated her orgasm; she lay panting across the table, completely slack. Her hands were gripping mine, the engagement diamond glittering. I pulled back, panting, my butt finding the padded seat as cum kept dribbling feebly onto the upholstery. Below me I caught a glimpse of wild hair and that black dress, all disheveled among the tequila spills and the cigarette butts, with a broad and mischievous grin greeting me as that firm body rose up from under the table.

The screaming grew; I was busy with a dreamy, smiling Beth collapsing into my arms, but out of the corner of my eye I watched as Violet Eyes stood up proudly in front of that ravenous platoon of women, grinned smugly, and raised her dress high in front of her. I could see the line of my cum splattered all down her taut, dusky abs, soaking into the front of her thong and the inside of her dress, and I offered a wave and a grin to the whole assembled mass as she showed herself off.