u/cubookii

disclaimer: this is gonna be a long one, sorry not sorry. also not sure if this belongs here but I’m a slut and this is a confession sooooo 🤷‍♀️ also i know you guys just want the dirty naughty stuff but I haddd to go into detail. in my opinion it makes everything hotter.

i auditioned at this strip club a few months ago, not because i needed the money (i have a very well paying, stable, fulfilling job); but because i wanted to know if random men would think i was hot enough to get hired.

they hired me immediately.

and then i ghosted them because i panicked lol

but after my most recent breakup i started spiraling really bad. i was betrayed. heartbroken. hurting. i stopped wanting love, my trust in men was gone and i started wanting attention instead. i wanted men to stare at me. i wanted to feel wanted so badly it honestly became pathetic.

eventually i texted the club manager asking if i could finally come dance.

he said yes.

i remember sitting in my car in this tiny little slutty stripper outfit i last minute bought on amazon, staring at myself in the mirror trying to convince myself i could actually walk in there. my makeup was perfect but my hands were shaking so badly i kept smudging my lip gloss.

i had popped a molly about 30 minutes prior. i wanted to feel something other than the hollow ache in my chest. as i was sitting in my car, it all hit me at once. by the time i walked into the dressing room, i was floating, my skin buzzing, my pupils blown wide. the other girls looked at me like i was prey. they knew i was fresh meat. i didn’t care.

backstage felt insane. bass vibrating through the walls, glitter everywhere, girls casually walking around topless while i stood there awkwardly adjusting my outfit every two seconds trying not to look scared. i had basically no experience. i’m naturally shy and quiet so the whole thing felt surreal. this was a one and done type of thing, just so i could finally feel something.

suddenly every man in the room was staring at me and i swear i got addicted to it instantly.

the dj called my stage name and i stepped onto the floor. the lights hit me like a warm wave. i chose the song myself: “Talk Show Host” by Radiohead which is a weird song to strip to but i was sad and didn’t care. slow, brooding, desperate. i wanted to dance like i was bleeding out.

i was so awkward at first. my hands shook. i couldn’t look anyone in the eye. but the molly kicked in harder, and suddenly i could feel every note in my bones. i started moving like i was possessed, grinding against the pole, dropping to my knees, arching my back like i was offering myself to the whole room. i didn’t know what i was doing, but men started making it rain on me, i noticed the other girls staring at me with hate. i was dancing sloppy and emotional and needy. but these men were completely obsessed with it. i think they could tell i was emotionally falling apart underneath all the body shimmer and fake confidence.

the molly made everything feel amplified too. every stare felt physical. every reaction from the crowd went straight between my legs. i purposely started doing tricks that would purposely grind my clit on the pole. i was wetter than i have been in weeks. the attention from these gawking pervs was addicting, and the money flying around me was only motivating me more.

and then i noticed him.

he was sitting alone at the corner of the stage, much older than me. quiet. intense. sexy as fuck. i wanted him.

he looked sad. not the kind of sad that makes you pity someone, the kind that makes you want to crawl inside them and find out why. i couldn’t stop staring at him. he wasn’t reaching out like the others. he was just watching me, almost like he was studying my pain.

while every other guy looked excited he just looked sad. almost empty. he sat there staring at me so calmly that it made me nervous. like he could already tell exactly what kind of girl i was.

and for some reason i became desperate for his attention specifically.

after my set he paid me more money than id ever seen at once for a private dance.

the second the curtain closed i got shy all over again. i tried acting confident but my breathing was shaky and my thighs were literally trembling and of course he noticed immediately.

that seemed to make him even more interested.

he barely touched me at first. mostly just sat there watching me dance while i slowly got more flustered from the way he looked at me. every time i hesitated he’d quietly tell me to keep going and i obeyed instantly every single time. i wasn’t fucking built for this.

it was embarrasing how badly i wanted his approval.

at one point he asked me if i liked being watched by strange men.

i got so flustered but admitted yes.

then he asked if attention always made me this needy.

i swear the humiliation alone almost killed me because unfortunately the answer was also yes.

eventually i admitted it was my first real night dancing. admitted i was high. admitted i was heartbroken. what my ex did to my trust. tears began forming in my eyes.

he just looked at me calmly and said “his fucking loss, come sit on my lap babygirl”. i sat on his lap bawling into his arm the entire time. he held me the entire time.

after the “dance” i followed him outside without even thinking. i felt judgmental eyes darting at us from the other girls working. i didn’t care, i probably wasn’t ever gonna go back there again.

the cold night air hitting my skin felt unreal after being under stage lights all night. my thighs were sticky with sweat and glitter and i couldn’t stop staring at his hands while he drove. every second in that car felt heavy with tension.

when we got to his house he locked the door behind us and just stood there looking at me for a long time before touching me.

his house honestly shocked me the second we walked in.

not flashy in a tacky way, just… expensive. quiet wealth. the kind you immediately notice without even knowing why. dark hardwood floors, huge windows overlooking the city, minimalist furniture that probably cost more than my car. everything smelled faintly like expensive cologne and clean linen.

there was barely any clutter anywhere. just low warm lighting, shelves full of books, a massive record player in the corner, half-finished whiskey sitting on the kitchen counter like he lived there alone most of the time.

even the silence in the house felt rich.

and so did he.

perfectly tailored clothes, calm voice, expensive hands if that even makes sense. he carried himself like someone used to being listened to. not arrogant, just completely certain of himself.

standing there in my tiny stripper outfit with glitter all over my thighs while he calmly took his coat off made me feel ridiculously out of place.

like he could buy and ruin girls like me whenever he wanted.

and honestly that realization only made the tension worse.

he walked towards me, grabbed my chin and asked me if i understood what i was doing.

and i simply looked into his eyes and told him “yes, i do”

all the fake confidence disappeared and i just became this desperate needy mess craving attention and praise and touch. every little command from him got in my head immediately. stay still. look at me. closer. good girl.

that last one almost ruined me completely.

i loved obeying him.

he told me to get on my knees and i did instantly.

“you remember what you’re here for?” he asks, unbuckling his belt. my favorite sound.
“yes, sir.”

he pulled his cock out. hard. huge. veiny. already leaking.

“open your mouth.”

i open wide. he doesn’t ease it in. he shoves.

his hand grips the back of my head and he forces his entire length down my throat in one brutal thrust. i gag instantly. tears stream down my face. my hands fly up to his thighs but i don’t push, i hold on.

“that’s it,” he grunts. “take it.”

he starts fucking my face. no rhythm. no mercy. just his hips slamming forward while i choke and drool and try not to fight it.

i can’t breathe. i tap his leg.

he ignores it.

i gasp, gag, sputter. he pulls out just enough to let me inhale once, then rams back in.

“you came here to be used, didn’t you?”

i can’t answer. my throat is full of his cock.

he grabs my hair and forces me deeper. my nose presses against his pelvis. i’m crying now. ugly, desperate sobs, but my pussy is soaking through my thong.

“say ‘stop’ if you mean it.”

i don’t say it. i can’t. i want him to keep going.

he knows.

he pulls out and slaps my face with his cock. pre-cum and spit shine on my cheek.

“beg me to fuck your throat.”

i’m a mess. makeup ruined. eyes red. lips swollen. i look up at him and whisper, “please fuck my throat, sir.”

he smiles for the first time. dark. cruel.

“good girl.”

then he grabs both sides of my head and fucks my face raw. i take it. i take all of it. i let him use my mouth like a toy while i choke and cry and cum against my own thighs without even being touched.

when he finally comes, he holds my head down until i swallow every drop. then he lets go and i collapse onto the floor, gasping, coughing, covered in spit and tears.

he steps over me and sits down on the couch.

“don’t move.”

i don’t. i stay on my knees, face wet, throat burning, waiting for him to hurt me again.

the entire night felt intense and emotional and filthy in a way i can’t fully explain. i felt completely consumed by the attention he gave me. like he knew exactly how vulnerable i was and liked watching me slowly give in anyway.

by the end of the night my makeup was ruined, my body was exhausted, and i was curled against him feeling weirdly emotional and exposed.

and honestly? i expected him to lose interest in me afterward.

instead he ran me a bath.

that part almost affected me more than anything else.

i remember sitting in the hot water while glitter slowly washed off my skin and eyeliner ran down my cheeks into the bathwater while he sat beside the tub brushing wet hair away from my face asking me if i was okay.

he cleaned the makeup from under my eyes with a washcloth and kissed my forehead while i sat there completely drained and emotionally wrecked.

after everything, we ended up tangled together in his bed for hours. eventually he drifted off first while i stayed awake curled against him, watching the rise and fall of his chest in the dark.

it’s strange how intimate silence can feel with someone you barely know.

he had this sadness about him all night that i couldn’t stop thinking about. even asleep i could still see traces of it on his face. i kept wondering who hurt him badly enough to make him carry himself like that.

i don’t know why, but it made me want to hold him closer. and i did.