I Like Stories Where I Get a Blowjob

Note: This story is filthy and fucking disgusting. If you are squeamish or are at all dainty, please go to the next blog. Thank you. Do not comment that the story grossed you out, for you have been warned. I wouldn't even read this post. Seriously.

This may seem like a shock to some of you, but I used to frequent a strip club when I lived in Louisville. By frequent, I mean I'd go there about two times a month. That was all I could afford.

Being the nice, unthreatening sort, I got to know a stripper who would sit and talk to me and occasionally tell me her problems. She was a beautiful young thing and she never tried to hustle me. Of course, she hustled so many others it wasn't much of a sacrifice on her part. Also, she was under twenty-one, so when she sat at my table I wasn't buying drinks for her the entire time.

One night I was in the club and she ran up to me and said, "Hey, I'm finally twenty-one." To celebrate, I bought her two drinks as we talked while she was waiting for her turn to go onstage. She came back a little later and said she had to go hustle a table of rich guys and she'd "make it up to me" the next time she saw me. At the time I thought it was an empty promise.

About three weeks later my friend Wu and I were at a bar called The Phoenix Hill Tavern for their Rewind Wednesdays. They'd play seventies and eighties music in the main room and Coors Light cans were only seventy-five cents. I hate Coors Light but come on, SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS. That night, however, we were drinking cranberry juice and vodka.

I walked up to the bar to get a drink when who did I see but My Favorite Stripper. Lo and behold, she walked right up to me and grabbed my crotch. I know when to keep my hands to myself, but since the only things between her hand and my cock was a pair of boxers and some Old Navy jeans, I reached around and grabbed a few handsfull of her hot ass. I ordered drinks for us, we talked for a minute, and then we started making out in a dimly lit corner.

Just when I thought it couldn't possibly get any better, it got way better. Without saying a word, she lead me to the back exit, we got our hands stamped for re-entry, and the next thing I knew, I was leaning up against a dumpster and she's on her knees with my cock in her mouth.

Okay, at this point I need to give you, the reader, a bit of a backstory. I had already had plans to move to Vegas in the fall, but my lease had expired and they wouldn't renew it for less than a year. So, since I needed a place to live before I moved, I lived with my mom that summer. You'll know why I'm telling you this in a minute, but I CANNOT masturbate while my mom is in the same house. I had my own bathroom, but that wasn't good enough. It always seemed like any time she left the house I was at work. I went weeks without a good rub out.

As the off-duty stripper proved her mastery of the fellatic arts, she had no idea of the ticking time bomb she was about to set off. When the moment of truth was about to arrive, I gave her the tap out but she waved it off. She was in this to the bitter end, content to take in a heapin' helpin' of throat yogurt. Little did she know I'd had no release of any kind for the past month.

When I finally reached orgasm, I was the Energizer Bunny in reverse: I kept coming...and coming...and coming...and coming. I dropped about a half-gallon of liquid love down her gullet. At one point I think some of it came out of her ears. She damn near drowned in it. That would have been a tough thing to explain to the cops. "Actually, officer, she drowned in my spunk. No I'm not kidding."

The next time I saw the stripper she very politely introduced me to the guy she was going to marry. I never saw her again.