That Time I Creampied A Stripper From Night School [MF]

“…that club meetings may not be held at any location displaying racist or sexist memorabilia, or where controlled substances, alcohol, tobacco, firearms, explosives, or any other materials deemed unsuitable by the faculty adviser or the director of student activities are available to students.”

I was 23, had started taking classes at a community college and was seeing a short, curvy, redheaded grad student. Some classmates had wanted to organize a club, and I thought participating would be a good way to get to know people. The first year had gone well, we’d secured a room in the back of an old coffee shop and had twenty or thirty regular attendees.

Some drama had happened at another club, though, and now we had to sit for a formal reading of the student activities rules. The rambling list of prohibitions had gotten old, and I tried to make a joke.

“So the backup plan to use my apartment is out. The rules don’t say we can’t get some cocaine *after* the meeting is adjourned, though, is that right?”

One girl started laughing. She was a founding member of the club, I didn’t know her that well, but she was attractive. Some Italian surname, on the tall side with long, shiny black hair and a tight body with decent curves, probably a C cup. I remembered her from class, she’d said something about getting some of her poetry published, and she had some boyfriend I’d talked to at the Christmas dinner, an older guy who was slim and fawned over her, raving about how good she was with his kids.

Whatever. We went on with our meeting, had some fun, and afterwards, I wrapped up a quick conversation with the faculty adviser to turn around and see her standing there smiling at me expectantly.

“Uh, hey. Ashley, right? What’s up?”

She hopped up on her toes a little bit, then her eyes widened and got round where I could see the whites all the way around. “We’re going to go do coke, right?”

Her demeanor and a couple of things I’d heard about her in passing led me to suspect she was serious. “Oh, that… I mean, that was a joke. I’m not into that.”

The corners of her mouth dropped, like when a little kid first starts contemplating the hard questions about Santa Clause. She looked genuinely confused and disappointed.

“So it was… OK.”

She *was* hot, though. “I’m actually going to go get a drink, if you want to do something.”

“I do, I’ve had a really shitty week.”

We hit the place across the street, talked for a while, and she was eager to pick up the check. When she took her money out of her purse, there was an easy $2,000 in there.

“Are you serious? You can’t carry cash like that around in this neighborhood.”

“I don’t care, I’ve got more.”

“Like, in the bank.”

“Yeah, and in, just different places. Um, I don’t want to home right now. You want to go to another bar? I know somewhere fun.”

We walked over, and on the way I asked her what the deal was and she started opening up about her work dancing. Supposedly, she’d saved up six figures, would work here and there to stack up some more, and ran off to the beach in Mexico to visit her “friends” whenever she felt like it, but also knew she was getting out of it eventually and wanted to do something else with her life, hence college. She had some notion that she was going to be a big literary success.

In other situations, my bullshit meter would be pegged, but things people had said about her before suddenly made sense, and so did the situation was her older “boyfriend”, one of those middle-aged divorced guys who gives a dancer a lot of money and assumes he’s rescuing her and she loves him for it. If anything she’d said was a lie, my guess was that nobody had published her poetry.

When we got to the bar she’d picked out, I was surprised to see that it was a notorious lesbian bar. I got a beer and we grabbed a corner seat, she wanted to dance but I’m a shitty dancer and wasn’t feeling it. Instead, she asked me to watch her, and that turned out to be a pretty good show. Within a few minutes, another girl had her down to her bra with their tongues down each other’s throats. Her body was tight as shit, and my cock was rock hard enjoying the show.

When she came back, she asked me if I wanted another beer, then brought it back and surprised me by sitting in my lap, right on my dick. I put my hands on her thighs and up her skirt a few inches, and she wiggled her ass, feeling my erection.

“Oh, what’s that? You’ve got a dirty mind.”

“You’re doing all the hard work.”

She reached down and squeezed then bit her lip and looked away with a pained look on her face. “We’re friends, right? You know I’ve got a boyfriend. I can’t fuck that up. We should go.”

Then she stuck her tongue down my throat. Yeah, alright. Friends.

I walked Ashley home, it wasn’t too far from my place, just on the other side of the river in a residential neighborhood. On the way, she started going into more detail about how much she hated her week and what a relief it was to go have some fun, then started complaining that her boyfriend is too rough with her. Then she stopped in front of the house. “I don’t know if anybody’s home, you should go.”

She started to get her keys out, but I was caught off guard and needed to finish the conversation. “Wait, back up. *That* guy is too rough with you? Bullshit.”

She hiked up the back of her skirt. “Yeah, he did this.”

She had a blue bruise the size of a fist, with well-defined teeth marks. Somebody had bitten her ass cheek like they were trying to tear a hole in it. Maybe she was even telling the truth about it being him. She had a really nice, tight ass though, and I couldn’t help but grab at the lacy black panties to get a better look.

“OK, holy shit, and you’re not into rough sex?”

“I am, but he just beats the shit out of me. It’s not fun. He thinks I’m going to be like the next mother of his children or something and I’m not…”

I was still checking out her ass, and she was getting anxious and excited. I ran my hand down her other ass cheek and grabbed her thigh, then kissed the back of her neck. She whimpered and we both snapped and started making out there on the sidewalk, with her pushed up against the side of the house, my left hand up her skirt getting a feel for how hot and wet she was while she unbuckled my belt and put her hand down my pants, started cupping my balls. Her hair was soft, perfumed, and smelled incredible when I grabbed it to draw her face in closer.

A couple of girls from the university walked by and started laughing, and I dragged her off to the side behind a tree where we wouldn’t be under the streetlight. She turned around and stuck her ass out. “You have a condom?”

Fuck. I was having a hard time shaking the image of her half-undressed, making out with a lesbian, and no matter how stupid it was, I wasn’t going to pass this up. “No, but this is still going to happen.”

She pushed her ass out further. “OK.”

I pulled her panties down around her ankles and she managed to get one foot out of them while I unzipped and then, admiring how nicely shaved she was, I went to stick the head in and she was so wet, I was balls-deep inside her before I knew it. The only girl I’d been fucking for a couple of months was the redhead, a tiny thing who needed me to work it in slowly for a few minutes. Both were great, but a strange partner is always refreshing.

As I fucked her against the wall, she struggled to stay quiet. There were people walking by and I playfully put my hand over her mouth. She reached for it, at first as if to pull it away, but then pressing it tighter over her face and running her fingertips over it. I took the hint and started thrusting more deeply, taking the intensity of her muffled cries into my hand as a guide to whether or not I was hitting bottom too hard.

Soon, she grabbed my other hand and guided it up, I thought she wanted her hair pulled but instead, she put it on her throat, and I went with it and squeezed lightly, and then the sound she made, a near-weeping noise as she came through short breaths, was all I could take.

“I’m going to cum.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You want me to finish on your ass?”

She shook her head and grabbed my hand and pulled it back a little, spitting a few words out through my fingers. “In me. In me.”

She didn’t have to ask again. I couldn’t have stopped if I wanted to hearing that. When I shot my load, she started to climax again, and her desperate attempt to get a scream out just made me clamp down on her mouth harder, and she started twisting her head as she bucked her hips against me and I got the last couple ropes out.

Then it was over and she started to stand up and catch her breath, with my cock still inside her. Then she hurriedly pulled her panties back on, gave me a kiss, and started for the door. “I’ve got to go, right now.”

As the door shut, I zipped up and walked away, then, when I was maybe two doors down, I heard it open again. She was already naked but poked her head out smiling. “Pssst, hey. Hey! Nobody was home. This was so fun!”

When the door shut again, I took in the sketchy looking building I’d left her at, and that was when it hit me: I don’t know where the fuck I dropped her off, but it wasn’t the house she lived in with her successful middle-aged boyfriend and his kids. Maybe it was her dealers’ and she got some coke that night after all.

As I walked home, I thought about the situation with the redhead. I’d just fucked a stripper of questionable mental stability raw, like an idiot, and the redhead was on the pill and wanted us to be exclusive so we could stop using condoms. I was going to have to stall that conversation and get tested because, I mean, Jesus.

We only saw each other outside of the club once more, a week later. I hadn’t wanted to give her too much attention and risk any more drama than I had to, but she took the initiative and texted me asking if I could have a drink with her, and we ended up hanging out at a well-known bar on the university strip downtown. In a bizarre turn, we ended up drinking with two FBI agents not much older than us who’d just been transferred in for the month and had nobody to talk to, then we all went next door because Ashley wanted to dance. Her leather pants were skin-tight, and we ended up grinding for a while before she ran off to the bathroom.

When she was out of sight, the louder of the two FBI agents got too drunk and over the thumping music, yelled “I know what you’re about, bro! You’re trying to tap that ass!”

“I already did, bro.”

High five from drunk FBI guy. His partner, who had been trying to discourage him from blurting out things all night, shot him a look like he was an idiot.

Then I went to the bathroom, and on the way down, passed Ashley on her way up the stairs. She was too excited to see me there, and it wasn’t rocket science to figure out she’d done a line in the bathroom. She ended up topless on her knees in the bathroom stall, trying to suck me off and unaware that I’d been hanging out with the redhead when she texted and had already cum just a couple hours before, plus that morning. What should have been a quick and mundane blowjob turned into a brutal skullfucking and teabagging session, as I held her by the hair and pumped her throat while she gagged and coughed, tugging on my balls.

She was committed, and I don’t know how many people came and went while we were in there, but when I finally managed to get off on her breasts, only then was I able to step back, get a look at her, and realize how long this had gone on. Her eyes had teared up and her makeup was running, and the first rope of cum had actually hit her right in the nose and draped over her lip. She looked exhausted but content with herself, and I stuck around while she cleaned up before we went back upstairs.

She’d tried to get her makeup fixed, but there were only two conclusions you could draw: either we’d had a huge fight and she’d been crying her eyes out, or she’d just spent nearly ten minutes choking down an entire dick like an anaconda. When we rejoined the group, the more serious FBI agent obviously drew the first conclusion and glared at me like he thought I’d done something awful to her, until she started laughing and yelled out how much fun she was having. “Whooo!” Then he clearly solved the equation and just looked depressed, which made his partner laugh and give us both high fives.

Who knows what happened with her after that. A couple of months later, she had some kind of meltdown where she had a public cat fight with another woman in the club, then ran out of the meeting and called me crying. I tried to smooth things over but she lost it when she heard another club member chuckling in the background, then the club voted to eject her at the next meeting. Some of us got a couple of weird late-night phone calls where she wouldn’t say anything, but I suspect she dropped out of school. She never came around anymore and that was that. This was all about ten years ago. A couple of years ago I ran into a former classmate, and she asked about Ashley. We Googled her together and found a recent mugshot from a few counties over. I don’t know what she did, but I’ll bet I could guess in three tries. There’s no way all that cash was legit.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/atj7te/that_time_i_creampied_a_stripper_from_night