strippers fucking customers

It’s the number one search that leads people to our blog.

strippers fucking customers

Except ‘strippers’ is usually spelled wrong.  Or ‘customers’ is.  That (and the fact that neither A nor I have ever written a post about fucking customers) aside, people have still somehow made it to our page in hopes of finding some lurid account of how I readily took a customer in back where there are no cameras and sucked him off for $20 because I’m so horny and uninhibited and wild and have no shame.  Or whatever other cute little excuse I can come up with for being okay with having illegal, unprotected sex with some stranger for the same price or less than what I can get for 3-4 minutes of dancing where I don’t have to worry about being groped or contracting AIDS.

You’re one of those people, aren’t you?

Well, there will be no such sordid story.  I’m sorry I tricked you.  But to make it up to you, and as a ‘thank you’ for visiting our site, I have a gift for you.  No, not the kind that keeps on giving.  Are you ready?

For all of you who got here by searching ‘strippers fucking customers’, ‘stripers fucking customers’, or even ‘stripers fucking costumers’, here is my public service announcement to you.  You should not go to a strip club looking for extras (kissing, fingering, blow jobs, hand jobs, anal in the parking lot, etc.) because:

1) If she’ll give you a blow job or let you suck her nipples for $20, imagine how many other dudes she’s gotten down with.  A lot of people have $20.  My niece is 7 and gets $5 a week in allowance.  Every month, she has $20.  Your $20 doesn’t make you rich or special.  It’s pretty safe to say that almost anyone who walks into a strip club has $20.  This means that you could be swapping spit (or worse) with any one (or more) of them. Do you really want to lick some guy’s stale cum or have his herpes virus rubbed all over your dick?  For $20?  Really?

2) There absolutely should be no need for a #2, but I’m sure that, for some of you, there is.  So, you can probably pick up a drunk chick in a bar who will fuck you for free and doesn’t have a huge bouncer wanting to kick some ass checking in on her every few minutes.

3) If money isn’t the issue, there are plenty of clean, professional providers who will take care of your every need in an appropriate environment.

4) The strip club is not that environment.  Clubs are there for people who enjoy the tease (myself included), and when illegal activities go on in my club, it compromises my money and the money of all the clean girls.  It also puts us at greater risk for a raid.  The last thing I need is money trouble or legal trouble, which brings me to…

5) If you get caught, you’re probably going to jail, where you will have no shortage of suitors lining up to peg you — and not the kind who look good in 8-inch heels and a two-piece.

6) If you’re still not convinced, just drive up and down the road in your area where all the streetwalkers hang out and pick up one of them.  That way, you get your rocks off for cheap, complete with the exciting possibility that your ween might soon fall off, and I get to dance in a place where I don’t have to dodge your grimy fingers or wonder if I’m sitting on your crusty jizz spot.

Thanks.

~W~

Mind fucking. Also, a budding photographer, a stripper fight, goo-stained clothing, awkward encounters, and a pork chop ass.

I wasn’t looking forward to my first night back, but I got a new dress and g-string for super cheap, and I was trying to be optimistic.  And what I got was a night that was so bizarre and disjointed that I’m putting it in bullet points because it’s impossible for me to tell the story in any kind of read-able format:

• My first dance of the shift.  Pulled up next to a reasonably attractive dude sitting at the bar by himself.  He bought me a drink (which I normally don’t do), and we chatted for about 5 minutes.  He asked me for a dance.  I told him my pricing structure up front, and he seemed amenable, so we went to the private booths.  I asked him what kind of dance he liked, and he told me that he liked full nude.  I explained that I don’t do full nude dances because I do not rotate onto the nude stage, and I could get in trouble.  He kind of groaned, but he got the dance anyway.  I had to remind him to keep his hands to himself the whole time, and after the dance, I had to sit at the bar and listen to him while he told me that we’re all cockteases and extortionists, and what we do is just plain wrong.  And then he propositioned me.  Multiple times.  Fucking dick.
• I was sitting at the bar talking with a couple of other girls when an older man came up to us.  He kept rambling about my legs, how gorgeous they were.  He kept asking me to stand up, and he kept giving me dollar bills to just kind of twirl around.  He kept trying to give me his card, telling me he wants to taking me shopping and be my boyfriend when I’m “in between boyfriends, or when they’re not treating [me] nice”.  Ugh, just…. ugh.  It’s a strip club, not a bar, you are not going to get any of us to go home with you, and to top it all off, you’re probably damn near old enough to be my grandfather!  During my set on the main stage, I looked over to him, still at the bar, and he had his phone opened and pointed right at me.  I asked another girl to look at his phone as she walked by, to see if he was taking pictures, and she said she was pretty sure he was.  I told one of the bouncers afterward to keep an eye on that guy, but he left shortly after.  The whole thing made me feel really fucking violated.  It’s one thing to go home and beat off to your memory of a stripper, but to take pictures and blatantly disregard club rules AND my right to privacy makes me feel like shit.
• I saw my first stripper fight since I’ve worked there.  I mean, I’ve heard about them, but I’ve never seen one.  I’ve seen close calls, but never a knock-down, drag-out fight.  I have to say… it was everything I’d hoped it would be.  I’d even go so far as to say it was glorious.  There was weave-snatching, hair-pulling, kicking, and punching.  They fought themselves into the ladies’ room, even with the DJ and two bouncers tugging them apart.  One of the girls involved happens to be one of my favorites.  I hope she doesn’t get fired.  The other girl involved pressed charges, I think, because at the end of the night as everyone was being moved into the nude room for after hours, she was talking to the police.
• I was in the dressing room changing outfits when L came in crying.  Her make-up was running down her face, and she was asking me if she could use my chair for a minute.  A manager followed her in, and she had him stand on the chair and look at the top of the lockers.  Pink goo was everywhere, and it had seeped down into her locker and stained all of her outfits.  I would cry, too, if I was her.  She wears pretty expensive outfits and jewelry.  But even if they weren’t expensive, she couldn’t change into anything else, and her stuff was probably ruined.  I don’t necessarily like this girl all that much, but that’s a shitty thing to happen to anyone.  I felt bad for her.
• I got a text as a head’s up that a group of guys I kind of know might be coming in for a bachelor party.  I wasn’t super concerned because there are four strip clubs in town.  My odds were good.  And aside from that, these are indy, hipster-y musician dudes.  Not really strip club dudes.  But I saw a pretty sizeable group of guys who had just come in, and it was them.  They went to sit by Stage 3, and they just sort of stayed there.  I knew I was up on Stage 3, though, and even though they’d been there for about 20 minutes and hadn’t recognized me, I knew they would.  I got up there, and one by one, I saw them each get that look in their eye, the one where they’re trying to figure out how they know me.  One recognized me right away.  They’re used to seeing me in beat up Converse and cardigans without much makeup on.  I’m pretty sure they never even thought about whether or not I have boobs.  I was too nervous to touch them much or to even take any money in my thong from anyone other than the bachelor (because I didn’t know him).  I did manage to lie down, get my leg over my head, and I made it clap for them.  I mean, fuck.  It is a strip club after all.  I got a text later that I got “rave reviews”.  I told him I was surprised because I was so nervous.  “Yeah, mostly really drunk and inappropriate, but rave reviews nonetheless.”
• I sat down next to a couple of gentlemen in their late 40s, early 50s, and we chatted for a bit.  I’m not sure how or why, but the conversation turned to my ass.  Henry couldn’t believe I don’t eat meat because “That?  Is a pork chop eating ass.”  It’s funny that people think that vegetarians or vegans or pescatarians are emaciated and weak.  I’m a tall, strong woman with a good-sized ass.  According to Henry, if I ate meat, my ass would be like, “blahDOW”.  I’m pretty sure that means extra meaty.

Not a bad first night back.  I experienced the good, the bad, and the grabby all in one night.

~A~

Exhausting

I don’t normally write two blogs in a row, but something has been bothering me this week.

I sold my first ‘sky box’ last week.  Basically, a customer can buy you off the floor for half an hour for $150.  $50 goes to the house, $100 goes to the dancer.  While it’s not terribly lucrative for me, it’s kind of a steal for the customer.  For $150, he gets me to dance privately for him for 30 minutes.  If the customer buys dances per song, it will cost him at least $250.

I’ve heard some girls say that it’s not really ‘worth it’, but it is.  It’s $100 of guaranteed cash flow for 30 minutes of work.  I don’t know about anyone else, but it is HIGHLY unlikely that I would make $100 in 30 minutes out on the floor.

Anyway.

I walked up to the DJ booth to see when I’d be going on stage again.  A bartender was sitting at a table nearby as a customer that night.  She had a baby a few weeks ago, so she’s not quite back to work full time yet.  She approached me at the booth and said, “Come over to our table when you have a minute.  I think this guy wants to buy a sky box from you.”

Perfect!  I was having a decent night, but this would really help.

I walked over to the table, sat down, and chatted the bartender and her friends up for a few.  The guy she mentioned was M.  6’6″, easily over 300lbs.  Seemed nice enough.  Collared shirt, cargo shorts.  Actually, he was really nice.  Very smiley.

“So, M, how do you feel about a dance?”

“I feel great about a dance, actually, let’s go.”

“Perfect!  You’re my first of the night, you know.”

“Well, let’s make it worth it and do a sky box.”  Ca-CHING.

Okay, so I didn’t exactly sell the sky box so much as he wanted to purchase one with me.  But now that I know how these things work, I think I can sell them in the future.

I let the bouncer in VIP know I was doing a sky box, and we got to our booth.  He told me he knew the touch rules, but he asked me anyway if there was anything more that I allowed because “every girl has a different comfort level”.

“I don’t allow anything that would get me or the club in trouble, so let’s just follow the rules, okay?”

The guy seriously made me work for that $100.  No sitting down and talking.  Dancing.  Half an hour straight.  Which gets kind of sweaty after a while, particularly when you’re holding yourself in a squat position for at least half that time.  Think gym class wall sits.  Only cuter.

Here’s where it gets dicey.  He kept trying to kiss me.  And he kept talking about how much he loves a big smile and full lips and kissing.  I had to deflect the entire time.  It was exhausting.

I don’t understand the whole kissing thing.  I don’t understand why a stranger who is paying me for a sensual experience would want my lips on them.  They don’t know where my lips have been.  I told him he was my first dance all night, but he would have no idea if I was lying and/or sucked someone off a few hours prior.  (I obviously don’t do that, but, shit.  He doesn’t know that.)

I was trying really hard to be diplomatic while still holding my ground.  He used to be a regular, and he is a friend of one of the bartenders.  I didn’t want to go nuts on him, but I also wasn’t going to give in.  Keeping that balance in my head while dancing while physically replacing his hands was just… exhausting.

The whole situation is still kind of bothering me.  I hate knowing that people think they can push and manipulate and get what they want out of me.  Why can’t some people just enjoy a pretty girl dancing mostly naked for them and be content with that?  Why does there always have to be more?

Anyway, I have a new strategy at work that seems to be working for me.  I’m re-focusing and getting my head in the game for this weekend.  I am so ready.

~A~