Did he jog here?

It was a Wednesday night and it was pretty slow but I was determined to make some money as rent was fast approaching and my bank account was dwindling. I came in and surveyed the less than large crowd and saw a few guys check me out. I did the rounds asking guy after guy for a dance. I got the ‘I am okay’ response that equated to no money. I thought it was a bit of a hopeless night until I noticed a guy sitting in the corner. Okay the corner guys always want a dance. They are in prime time real estate and know the price of sitting there is to keep the twenties flowing. If you are not getting dances in the corner and other guys are forced to get a dance in the middle of a room girls will ask you to move. So this older guy with balding hair, running shorts and shoes was sitting in the corner. He actually reminded me of one of my math teachers from school. I asked him for a dance.

I started dancing for him teasing him like I usually do not directly sitting on their lap the first part of the dance, standing back a bit leaning in, running my fingers through his non existent hair, sliding down the front of his lap rubbing my breasts into his penis. Then I stopped. Something was sticking out saying hi. That sick fuck was not wearing any underwear and he was dribbling on my dress. Now I am not talking drool I am talking dribble from his dick. When I stood up he pushed me back onto him and leaned his head back like he was going to cum. I backed off again and told him not to touch me again. He grabbed me back down again and I lost balance falling into him just as he came all over my dress. He took his hand in my hand and gave me a crumpled $20 bill. I wanted to kill him.

That sick bastard just came all over me and man handled me. I grabbed my friend Fuma, who happened to be the bouncer and told him what he had done. He walked over to the guy and motioned to him. Fuma grabbed him by the shirt and told him to pay me more and then told him not to ever come back into the club. The S.B. said he didn’t have anymore money, so Fuma took his wallet and emptied the rest of the $60 and told him that he would have to pay for my outfit and that should just about cover it. The S.B. walked out of the club and I never saw him again.

At the end of the night when we were tipping out, I gave Fuma that $60. He earned far more than I ever did. I never danced for guys in running shorts again and I learned my lesson fast.

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