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Warholian interloper treated to breast-ified naughty party

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Justice

“Watch out for my wife,” a customer once told me and two of my work friends as we take turns shoving our high heels into his testicles. The four of us were in a private room while his wife was mingling with other people in the strip club. She was oblivious to the activities just behind the wall. We were instructed to keep her oblivious or do our best to keep her that way.

So there we were, three busty blondes and one happy man. This particular incident was memorable because the customer had a particular fondness for nut crushing and getting choked. It was also memorable because it was my first time dancing with two other girls. Also, I won’t forget it any time soon because it was the first time I was actively hiding from a customer’s wife.

I couldn’t help but to feel like we beat him up and took his lunch money, though I doubt he ever felt like a victim. He was almost definitely high on ecstasy and was certainly out of his mind. He had the telltale cold sweat, and an increased sensitivity to touch. I noticed him earlier in the night and mentioned that he looked a bit like Andy Warhol. “You know your party is great when Andy Warhol shows up,” I told someone. He had thick, gray, messy hair and facial features similar to Andy Warhol’s. He was walking around with his hands up in the air while dancing, socializing and over all having a better time than anyone else in the room.

With out any resistance, we ushered him into the private room and began dancing. For whatever reason, the particular club DJ has a fondness for techno music. This can be a blessing or a curse, since you don’t know when a song begins or ends. “The beat changed. I think it’s over.” I’ve had more than one customer argue about the length of a song or the number of songs that had passed, and hence, a disagreement about payment.

This customer was definitely not concerned with the length of songs and we just proceeded. It was a nut-crushing, dirty-talking, naughty party in that private room. I am not good at dirty talk, so I was delegated the task of choking him and pulling his hair. The girls and me were looking at each other in disbelief, trying not to laugh. And what a sight it was from my perspective. My breasts were sandwiched between other pairs of breasts as a muffled, “Oh God!” came from a voice below the mammary pile. That’s not something you see every day. I appreciate the experience, though. I was able to engage in team building activities while being reminded that arousal means different things to different people.

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