“There is absolutely no sex in the champagne room” [MF] 20’s.

Once upon a time, on my 21st year, I went out in Vegas to visit a friend who had relocated there. At this point in my life, I was a moderate to heavy drinker, typical nerdy shy-guy with minimal sexual experience. I only had a few “not serious” girlfriends. Making out, bad blowjobs, and what have you. So the prospect of going to one of the top 5 strip clubs in Las Vegas, with beautiful women, was daunting. Coming from a TEENY TINY town in the midwest, the siting of a beautiful woman was rare, and often met with skepticism by your peers.

My friend and I had dressed well, as is customary for a “night out on the town”, black slacks, suit jacket, decent button up shirt. And there had to have been a little magic in my outfit since we won a few hundred bucks at blackjack following basic strategy.

After we cashed out our chips, my semi-local friend suggested we hit up one of the top strip clubs in Vegas. He asked if I had a preference. I suggested full nude, and NOT that far away from where I was staying, but he nixed that and said all the full nude performances had no liquor and were out in bumblefuck. And he was an alcoholic. So we hopped over to “The Blue Gem” (names changed to protect the innocents).

We get in some time before midnight. There’s strobing gaudy lights, mostly naked girls in giant martini glasses, thumping generic dance music, and a three drink minimum and cover charge. Those hundreds of bucks in winnings are already starting to get picked off. But whatever, casino winnings are free money, right? So we head in drinking well gin and tonics, as I’m walking by a VIP booth, I spot a particularly buxom performer being felt up by a balding but fit man in his 40’s. She had a huge grin on her face, so I figured this sort of behavior was … welcomed for the discerning VIP’s and probably not in bounds for groundlings like myself. My friend picks out a decent spot a few rows back from “pervert’s row” as the regulars refer to it. The front row, where you stuff crumpled bills into the current performer’s stockings.

We get maybe 2 dancers in, when a particularly waify, pale dancer type drops her underwear and goes full nude. I notice the liquor in the place, and the entirely nude performer on stage and think “well, rules were meant to be edged around?”. More and more, I’m starting to realize… this place is ever-so-slightly hornier than it appeared. Which was an exciting environment to be in.

Before I’m finished with my first drink, a dancer comes by in a latex blue little number, and asks if I want a dance?

“Sure, it’s my first time in a strip club, how much?” she tells me the price, and for 3 dances. And she wiggles a bit on my chub with a bit of routine aloofness. I thank her, slip her an extra $20 and get back to my drink thinking “well, everybody has to make a living, and maybe she’s been working all day”. I get approached by a full figured, dark skinned woman in a neon mesh number. She’s significantly more personable and nice. Gets paid, gives me a big smile and a hug and is on her way. Then another woman in a black strappy leather get-up comes by and gives me some grind-and-bounce for another 3 songs. I’m STILL not finished with my first drink when another woman approaches me, this one was a bit of a petite goth type with long black hair and gauzy white lingerie.

“Would you like a dance?” She says with a big bright smile. And I say “sure! Or if you wanna just sit down and talk for a bit, that’s fine”. I had just been through the stripper gauntlet after all. She gives me a big goofy grin, and proceeds to grind on me. Her enthusiasm was palpable. And she eventually leans over into my ear

“hey it’s kind of slow tonight, and I can work better at a booth”. The “booth” in question was a giant red leather bench marked off for VIP’s.

I tell her “only if you won’t get in trouble!”. She smiles and puts her tiny pale hand in mine and guides me to the booth where she proceeds to grind hard, and bounce a little wild on my cock which is standing straigt up and against my boxer-briefs and slacks at this point. I notice we’re… very noticeable here, and I don’t care as there is a topless a-cup, gorgeous, rambunctious goth breathing heavy in my ear and jackhammering her hips to rub her crotch against mine. We sat for a minute and talked about how long she had been living in Vegas, and our respective college program.

She was studying to be a nurse. She was worried about how petite she was, but figured she was okay with needles and could be a phlebotomist. (She had a ton of great tattoos and some piercings). After a few minutes the conversation resumed with her sliding up and down on my cock. She was gasping and moaning, and giving out the occasional “oh fuck” which I had to assume was “all part of the show”. No currency was requested, but I think I tipped her somewhere in the $60 range and told her I was really glad to meet her, and I hope she likes being a nurse. She left me with another big, sweet smile through black lipstick, and went on to other customers.

I still hadn’t finished my first drink. I had lost contact with my friend. My cock was practically trying to rip through my slacks. I figured this would be a good time to finally finish my first gin and tonic. The thought of beating off in a bathroom stall occurred to me, as the goth nurse was… very convincingly into our dance.

I still hadn’t finished my first drink, when another girl with a tan, sporty aesthetic approached. She was wearing black thigh high socks, skater sneakers, black high-cut panties with a g-string underneath, a mostly cut-off shirt that barely held her breasts and left her underboob exposed, and a black baseball cap barely containing blond hair down to the small of her back.

She walked up to me with purpose. Remember folks, I was out on an island to myself, well away from the main stage, and “pervert’s row”.

With forcefulness and forwardness she asked “you want a lap dance?”

I missed the straw to my gin and tonic gawking right at her. A couple times.

“yes.” I thought for a second she had been sent here to get me OFF the VIP bench. She had arrived with such a deliberate and strong presence. But she proceeded to place her tits in my face, and her panties against my hard on. She was NOT a messenger from management.

“your cock feels so good” she purred, and sped up, gyrating against me, with long, strong and coordinated slides. I could tell in a past life that she was some kind of athlete or gymnast. Sure, exotic dancers are fit, and coordinated, but this was something else. She wasn’t shredded, but she had clear definition and balance in her movements. Like her body control was something she had practiced and honed for something other than pleasure.

And I was putty in her hands as she held my face against her soft tits. We went well over 3 dances. And I said “aren’t you going to get in trouble if you go over?”

“We can go to the VIP room”. I slid her $100 and we were very quickly on our way to a less supervised and public space. We stepped through a doorway, walked past a gruff, bald, muscley bouncer, and she proceeded to remove and toss away her top, and the high-cut black panties. I didn’t expect to get MORE excited when I saw her in just a g-string, but if my erection was trying to rip through my slacks before, it was developing sentience and trying to figure out how to unzip my fly without thumbs now.

I could see damned near everything, and it was glorious. There wasn’t an untanned inch of this woman’s gorgeously sculpted body. And she was curvaceous, soft, and full in all the best places. Her hips, thighs, butt, and breasts were all natural, and smooth. Her g-string had to have been some sort of formality insisted on by her employers, as it left practically nothing to the imagination. She climbed back on top of me, positioned her pussy over my cock and tossed her hair a bit like some 80’s music video startlet and proceeded to work me. I was in heaven.

And I started saying some of the dumbest shit

“God your pussy is gorgeous, can I watch you masturbate?”

She leaned in, and pseudo-fucked me through my slacks a little harder. “you can, but I’d have to stop doing THIS” and with smooth, sanguine liquidity she continued to ride me. I didn’t want to give that up, but I also… wanted her to get off with me. So I had a suggestion.

“What if you turn away, so I can stare at your butt, and you touch yourself?”

She seemed intrigued, and with a smirk, she hopped up, turned away from me, and I reached into my slacks to adjust my cock to point down the length of my thigh instead of up. I was sure I had just performed a faux pas by rearranging my dick in a strip club, but I had a plan, damn it.

“Cassie” took only a brief moment to figure out what I had planned. She straddled my leg, positioned her crotch to rub against the inside of my thigh, and cock, and proceeded to brace against my knee with one hand, and pleasure herself with the other.

From my angle, I could only see her arm working tight, happy circles as her butt grinded up and down my cock. But her back would arch, and her breathing was getting more irregular, and her motions were progressively getting more and more wild.

When she stopped circling her clit to readjust or stabilize herself, she’d reach down and run her hand against the length of my cock. I could feel wetness building from precum and the work she was doing for herself. And we were going way, way over three songs. At this point in my life I had seen/heard a woman cum only a couple times in person, so when she started metronomically grinding against me and popping her hips I could tell she was getting close. (Or she was at least pretending to?). She let out a little tremble and squeal and I was involuntarily rolling my hips against her. She took a second to recover. Puffed out a deep breath and resumed at practically the same pace and fervor.

This is where I was getting into trouble. As I was about to bust all down my thigh and in my very nice, lucky slacks.

“Cassie…” I say in protest from some far, far away place. Not entirely sure I DON’T want to cum in my slacks. “Cassie, I’m gonna cum if you don’t slow down”

Cassie heard me. Cassie DEFINITELY heard me. And sped up. She was panting with effort, and despite the terrible lighting in this place I could see sweat beaded all down her well toned back, legs, and butt.

“Cassie! Stop! Stop!” I moaned leaning back and holding her hips as she continued to hump away with undeniable eagerness.

“I’m gonna cum- stop!!” I gripped her hips, not unkindly, but forcefully, as to brake. I was the slightest friction from busting. I think if I had stood up, or felt a gentle breeze, I would cum. I held her hips for a few long beats.

“God you’re so amazing.” I said through the sweat, haze, and thrumming dance music.

“Do you want to go to the private room?” She said placing a firm nipple deliberately in my mouth, that I was obliged to give a long, drawn kiss to.

“Yes. But I don’t have the cash-” she took my hand. Left her panties, shirt, and cap. And led me with a stomping, impatient march to the “PRIVATE” room. Now, I didn’t know if I was about to get shook down, or blackmailed, or beat up by a room full of bouncers. But my dick was doing ALL of my thinking at this point. Cassie lead me into a room full of mirrors, a single, comfortable leather backed, armless chair, and a stripper pole. Cassie flung me into the chair slid her hands down my body, slid her pretty face against the bulge in my slacks, and proceeded to undo my belt, and fly.

“umm … Cassie…” my cock was about ready to explode out of my boxer briefs. She deftly pulled me out and slid me against her face.

“Yeah?”

“… I’m a virgin. I … really like you but I don’t want my first time to be with someone I don’t really know.”

Yes, dear reader. I was a virgin at 21. Asking to not have sex with a stripper. Get your laughs out.

“This monster has never been inside someone?” She said with her hand sliding down the full length of my cock. I caught what could have been awe or amazement as she compared it to her face and forearm.

“Never ever.”

“aww… that’s kind of sweet” she mused, and proceeded to stroke me against her cheek and lips.

“actually… I don’t …really want to be doing this, unless you like me”. I had to be honest. I didn’t want to feel like this was transactional. Especially with how inexperienced I was. I didn’t want to develop some “stripper complex” as the psychological foundation of my arousal.

Cassie let out a deep giggle and continued to stroke me with a bit of consideration, almost absent mindedly.

“Of course I like you! I’ve never came at work. Nobody has ever asked me to do that…” she paused, weighing the gravity of the situation. “Would you be okay if you came from a lap dance?”

“I think so.” I answered without hesitation. Cassie pulled my slacks down to my ankles, undid my shirt and tossed it aside, and positioned her barely covered privates against me. She gingerly wrapped her hands around my neck and head, and proceeded to pump her hips. This time much more slowly, and gently. I could feel the wetness of her pussy through her g-string, and the smoothness of her skin pressed against my entire body, and her heat. She smelled nice. And she was very soft as she held me.

I have to admit this was one of the more intimate and gentle moments of my life. I had already been at my limit for probably 40 minutes, and I felt no need to hold out since Cassie had already presumably orgasmed, so I told her I was about to cum

She didn’t start frantically beating her hips against me, but she did use her hand to point me -away- from her thigh highs and underwear as I came with more intensity and volume than I had ever come to expect from myself.

We had several dances left in that Private room, where we wiped ourselves off with kleenexes, and talked about college, and Vegas, and Iowa (where she claimed to be originally from).

Cassie was not her real name.

I did not ask for her number.

I did not ask if she “does this all the time”. (Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to).

We did not hook up at my hotel room later.

But we did sit with her on my lap after we cleaned up, and just… talked. One question I -did- want the answer to:

“what was with ALL the strippers coming straight to me, and none of the other guys? Was it how I was dressed, that I was obviously paying? I didn’t think I was tipping -that- well?” I was legitimately baffled. Did I look like a Mark? Was business that slow tonight and was I the only tipping customer?

“Oh! well, you were nice. You look good, you’re under 40, and … you have a big dick”. Cassie said with a full-bodied giggle. Word had apparently gotten around.

I paid Cassie about… everything I had left from the casino. It wasn’t what a private room would have cost. She didn’t care. We got her “dressed” back in the VIP room, and she gave me an air kiss and a hug.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/w34k8p/there_is_absolutely_no_sex_in_the_champagne_room