The Male Review

"No way was I going to see Male strippers with the wild bunch again," I thought, as I got ready for the bridal shower. I was thinking back to the last time I went to one of these things. We had the usual cake and punch party but when the older ladies left to get home to their boring husbands, the real party began. We ended up at Carnal Syn's House of Dongs, stuffing our hard earned dollars down thongs of oiled hard bodied hotties. All hell broke loose when one girl's hand "froze" inside a Bon Jovi look-alike's g-string. When he pried her hand out of it, she immerged with tissue, thus proving my point that the guys stuff their stuff with fluff. We left not long after that, just in time to save the bride from an indiscretion before the wedding. So needless to say I was a bit apprehensive tonight.

I arrived late for the bridal shower. The older boring tea-sipping crowd had left. I took a quick look around at the remaining 8 ladies. I saw glee in their eyes. My fears were founded. We were going to the male strip club again. The theory was that it had been 6 months since our last venture there and that the troublemakers weren't with us, so the club won't remember that we were the cause of a riot. I was doubtful. We had been drunk and they hadn't. But I was a minority, so off we jetted to the club.

I decided that I would be the one to make sure everyone behaved. Soda for me tonight! When we arrived at the door, the tuxedoed doorman took one long look at us and told us to wait. We exchanged glances. I still held the key to the van in my hand. I figured we would be turned away, as their memory wasn't as bad as my friends thought.

The manager had been summoned. He was the most exquisite creature that I had ever seen with thick curly Coal Black hair, turquoise eyes, dark olive skin and full pouty lips. Towering over us at 6 feet 5 inches, he hid a smile. "Are you ladies going to behave this time?" I cleared my throat, "Sir, I promise you that I will make sure none cause any problems." With those melt away eyes, he looked at me, giving me the "once over", before replying, "If there are any problems like the one from your last visit, I shall expect you to be held accountable." Why did my mouth go dry and my pussy get wet when I heard him say that?

Amongst high-fives and cheers from my gang, my answer was lost. But the look that was exchanged between he and I made my heart pound. We were granted entrance to Carnal Syn's House of Dongs. I felt intuitively that tonight was going to be wild. I was in for it.

Luckily for my crowd, the club wasn't too packed with patrons. We found some seats close to the stage, but more importantly close to the bar. Since it was early the better dancers weren't out yet, they had the warm up guys on stage warming up the crowd. The Bride was the center of a lot of the dances once they found out that we were a bachelorette party. I chewed my nails as I watched my friends get toasted and stuff their mad money down g-strings, clapping and squealing as they did. Why was it that when you aren't drinking that drunks get on your nerves? If they weren't my friends, I would have decked them all. I sipped my soda, while discreetly searching the bar for the hunk of a man they call the manager. This man was a pussy juice generator. He gave the word "lubrication" a totally new meaning. But he was nowhere to be seen. I had this uncanny feeling that he was watching us.

When the main show began, I realized that the girls were drunk as skunks and wild as banshees. I was ecstatic. It looked like the only way that I would get to see the manager again was if they acted like heathens and tore off a few thongs.

The announcer's voice rang loud and clear over the rowdy crowd, "Ladies for the first time in 2 years at Carnal Syn's House of Dongs, we are proud to announce that The Bounty Hunter is returning from retirement for a special show tonight in honor of the Bride to be!" Bowing his head at our table, he raised his free arm and pointed to the curtained stage.

Periwinkle smoke began pouring from the smog machine; kaleidoscope neon lights swirled over the billowing curtains as the tempo of the music became wilder and more animalistic. The crowd grew louder and louder, as our suspense and anticipation mounted. With a blinding flash of light, the Bounty Hunter appeared. Oh my God! 6'5" of pure oiled toned sculptured muscles and eyes of turquoise. It was the manager!

My mouth fell open, as lust invaded every inch, every pore of my being. He gyrated to the left. Then he gyrated to the right, dressed in a pair of cowboy boots, leather chaps, wearing a cowboy hat with a black bandana wrapped loosely around his neck. But what had me hypnotized was the tangerine orange G-string. It looked solidly packed. For once I forgot my stuffed with fluff theory. My mind imagined a rigid hard cock, calling my name.

He grabbed the bride-to-be, pulling her onto the stage. I almost died when he pushed her down on all fours and pretended to ride her like a horse. Of course she loved it. He let her help him undress. Off came the bandana, off came the boots, and off came the chaps. With a leap from the stage, he landed on our table. Glasses and ashtrays went everywhere but none of us minded. We were seduced by the subliminal message his orange crotch radiated.

From everywhere, hands were sliding $$$ under the string of his thong and groping the exposed flesh of his body, as he did his dance routine. I couldn't move. I wanted this man. His animal magnetism was beyond my resistance.

The Bounty Hunter gyrated around to where I was sitting, trying not to drool all over myself. He straddled my lap, bumping and grinding. I feared for the stability of the chair. His devilish eyes looked into my soft gray ones. He took my long reddish brown hair in his hands, using it to pull my lips to his. His kiss of passion caught me off guard. Our tongues met, burning and hot. Never have I been so instantly attracted to a complete stranger, much less a male stripper.

I was released with regret. He bounced back on the stage to finish his set. With another flash of light, he disappeared backstage. His dance of debauchery accomplished its goal. My gang was wired now. I got high fives from everyone. Wilder than they were 6 months ago, my gang started chanting and banging on the table, "More meat, and more dick!"

The beginning of the end came when the luckless Bon Jovi Look alike strolled out. My heart sank to the ground. What were they thinking? The management knew that he was the cause of all the trouble last time. I knew what was coming. One of the girls yelled, "Stuffed with fluff" and then started to boo him. Another charges the stage to grope him, causing security to grab her, which instigates the other girls to defend her. We were hustled out the doors fast.

The girls stood in the entrance foyer, with their heads down like children caught playing with matches. I knew it would be wasted breath to chastise them. To be honest, if I had been drunk too, I would have encouraged more rioting. Security had us off in a corner while we waited for the manager. I wondered what kind of punishment we were in for? Probably be barred from ever entering the club in our next 10 life times. The bouncers seemed to find humor in the situation, teasing us about mauling the men and such.

The manager arrived, clad in his street clothes. Wondering if he still had his tangerine thong on I asked, "Are we were going to be arrested? They meant no harm."

He replied, "If I remember correctly, you are to be held accountable for any trouble they caused. Instigating a riot is a major offense I believe." Why did I detect a twinkle in his eye?

"Well sir, you knew that if the stuffed guy went on stage there would be hell to pay. My friends are drunk and celebrating they can't help it if they call a spade a spade."

Cheers from the peanut gallery rallied me on. He studied with a stern statement on his handsome chiseled face, "I would like to see your driver's license please."

I frowned in puzzlement for a moment, "Yes sir," I said, complying with his request. He let our fingers brush for the longest time before taking it from me. My God, the electricity was awe-inspiring.

"Is the information correct, Sherrie?" I nodded my head, still trying to recover from the touch of our fingers.

"Come with me to my office please." He demanded in a stern tone. I looked over at the girls, giving them a dirty "I told you so look". I tossed the keys to the van to the nearest one, telling them to wait for me, and to behave. Then followed him to his office.

I couldn't take my eyes off his tight round ass, as I followed him to his office. My mouth was dry. I was a tad bit nervous. Maybe I had misread him earlier. I didn't need him calling the cops on me. My boss wouldn't understand at all.

When we entered his office, he politely offered me a chair. I took it, sitting on the edge poised for flight.

Scribbling on some paper, he said, "So umm, Sherrie, shall I call the police or are we gonna settle this out of court?"

Shocked, I said, "There can't be any damages. We didn't break anything. Just groped that guy. What kind of damages are you talking about?"

He pushed the paper he had scribbled on towards me. He had written an estimate on it:

Broken chair: $80.00

Broken glasses (12): $120.00

Torn pure silk G-String: $200.00

Counseling for distract employee: $600.00

total of damages: $1000.00

I stammered, "Wha…wha...what is this? I…you…oh my...this is crazy! A thousand dollars? We didn't break anything. Those glasses broke when you jumped on the table during your dance number. Nor did we tear that silly guy's thong." I threw the damage report on the desk in disgust, "These charges are trumped up."

This has to be settled tonight," he said. "I don't have that kind of money to just give away. I will have to get the girls to pitch in and help me," I replied. I could cry. None of them had any money left. He knew this too.

"They are broke, I bet. The bar tab was rather high and they do believe in tipping the dancers." He pulled out a wad of money from his desk drawer, counting it as I sat there, trying to find a solution to my problem.

"What do you suggest, sir?" I asked. My heart pounded, as I waited for his response. I was going to get my friends for this. I didn't know how nor when but one day I would.

"Let's see if we can reach a settlement here. Tell you what; I will deduct the bill for the counseling and the thong, since he quit tonight. Say, give me $200 bucks and we will be even Steven." He smiled as if he were offering me manna from heaven.

"I don't have $200," I sighed. I had never been arrested before. Was I doomed to become the "wife" of a butch woman named Mo?

He said back in his seat, "Well, miss, looks like I will have to call the police. Tsk… tsk...I thought you would opt for the easy quiet way."

"Don't call the police," I said in a pleading voice. I thought he was a nice guy but now I knew looks were deceiving. "Sir, I can't pay this now. Can we make some kind of arrangements?"

"I have a solution," he said, shuffling through his tip money he made from his dance. "You dance for me, and I will tip you until our matter is settled. Mind you, the hotter the dance, the better the tip."

I didn't know a thing about dancing burlesque. Oh hell, I was going to go for it. I stood up, saying, "Music would help me find my rhythm." He smiled, "I think you're the kind of girl that Barry White sings about." The slow sensual sounds of Barry filled the air. I closed my eyes and began to sway with the music.

I moved my chair into the center of the room, pointing at it, indicating that I wanted him sitting in it. His turquoise eyes watched my slow sensual gyrating. He held out a dollar. Where to put it was the question? I had a sleeveless navy dress on with a heart shaped neckline, black satin thong and navy heels. No bra or stockings on since it was summer and I had a slight tan.

I leaned down for him to put the money in my cleavage. I danced through the song, earning more dollars. I guess my dancing was boring. He suggested, "Remove some clothing and you may get better tips and not get worn out." He laughed at my expression of duress.

To be honest, I was getting heated up. His eyes dared me. I took a deep breath, slowly removing my dress and letting it fall to the floor. I stood before him, naked but for heels and my black satin thong. Cupping my orange sized breasts with their tawny colored nipples, which were erect and screaming to be touched, I straddled him. Moving my hips in a slow circle, I was inches above his lap. I removed my hands, lifting them in the h air and then weaving my fingers through my long hair. I looked down at him. My firm round breasts had his attention.

He took a $20 and slowly slipped in inside the string of my thong. I slid down on his lap, grinding and leaning backwards, so that my nipples stood upwards and my hair cascaded down my back. I could feel his erection growing, as I moved against it. Could he feel my wetness? My heat? My wanton need?

I whipped my hair forward and moved my upper body to the slow grind of Barry's voice, while my pussy moved in circles over his now rigid cock. He pushed my hips down on his lap, saying, "Damn it, I can't take this." He grabbed my hair, pulling my mouth down on his. I wrapped my arms around his neck, as our kiss releases animalistic passion. His mouth caught my tongue, slowly sucking it into his mouth. I rubbed my breasts against the fabric of his shirt. His strong hands moved to caress them while I grinded more lustily on his cock.

His tall 6' 5" frame overshadowed my small petite 5' 4", as he lifted me along with him off the chair. He moved us over to his desk, where he swept everything off with his arm. Tongue flickering my nipples, first one and then the other, he moved his hands over to my thong. I felt the fabric bite into my flesh as he ripped it off. Now I wore only my heels. Kissing down my stomach, I shivered. I couldn't believe this was happening. My wetness was a river of dreams.

He rubbed his smooth check along my soft inner thigh, before he dipped his tongue inside me. I almost came on the spot. He massaged my nipples as he licked my quivering quim, teasing my clit. It was almost like he knew intuitively how to torture my pussy with his talented mouth. When I came, there was a gush of wetness, pure honey for his pleasure.

I sat up, breathless, "You're not naked," I said. He laughed, helping me undress him. I traced his abs as he undid his pants. When I saw his tangerine g-string, I giggled. My slender soft hand slid inside to find it packed with cock. No fluffed stuff here.

With delicate care, I traced the length of his massive tool with a sculptured pink nail. He was oozing pre-cum. My dance had gotten him riled up. I flickered my tongue over the head. He groaned in pleasure when I engulfed the first three inches of his taunt 9. He was big and fat; it had been ages for me. I hoped I could accommodate him, I knew one thing though and that was that I would die trying.

My hands moved over to his tender balls, as I sucked slowly on his cock head. I let my tongue roll it around in my mouth. He took my head in his hands, "No, baby, not yet. I have to have your hot pussy." He pushed my back on the desk.

He pulled me to the edge, pushing my legs back. I felt the head of his cock at my pussy cavern.

"I will be easy," he said.

He moved into me with the slowness of a long wet kiss. His cock twitched, as my pussy muscles encased it like a velvet glove. He moaned, "You are so tight. I don't know how long I can last."

Then he pushed all the way into me. I shuddered, as I had never felt so full.

Hoisting my legs over his shoulders, he pumped into me. With one hand, he rubbed my joy button. I couldn't control it. Something deep inside me started to build. Was it from the pressure of his rimmed cock head against my G-spot? Whatever it was, I knew I would come in a matter of seconds from the combination of the inward pressure and his gentle dance on my clit.

I felt the gripping of my pussy as I came on his cock, he cried out too. Our orgasms began together and danced wildly as one. My nipples were so hard, I felt as if they were going to break. I looked down at them, amazed at how taut they were.

Once again, I was picked up as if I were a feather. With his cock still rigid inside me, he carried me over to the chair we were sitting in when our dance of debauchery began.

"Kiss me," he whispered on my lips.

We performed a duet of soft tongue touches, which soon moved into a serenade of passion. I instinctively began to grind on him. All through our wild carnal knowledge, Barry White droned on, singing the words to our song of erotic torture.

With a groan, he lifted me off only to plunge me down again. Over and over we lunged onto each other, my pussy cumming over and over on his torrid prick. He pushed me down, all the way, holding me there. I could feel his cock against the upper wall of my pussy. Moving a hand down my stomach, I massaged it, pressing it with my fingers.

He cried out, "Sherrie…Baby...I'm cu…umm...ing."

I could feel his cock shooting off its hot load under my hand and feel its hotness within my pussy. I milked him with my muscle, draining his cock.

Pulling me close, he inhaled close to my ear whispering, "I wanted to do this the second I looked into your pretty eyes. You dared me with them, you know."

I smiled, because I knew the feeling.

"So, did I work off the damage bill?" I asked as I played with his chin.

"And then some," he said, "In fact, you have enough left over to take me out for breakfast. Let's get dressed, get your rowdy girls home and go get some chow."

My heart danced for our night was far from over. I devilishly laughed, "Only if we can have dessert at my place." He tossed my dress at me with a laugh. "Only if I get another dance."