Straight-a Stripper

"Oh, come on! Everyone's doing it!" whined the starry-eyed 18-year-old freshman to her apprehensive roommate.

"Not in a quintillion years," Violet returned, constricting her arms beneath her well-developed C-cup chest.

"OMG, Vi. Quit acting like your parents are lurking in your closet, ready to bust you the second you have any fun!" Jasmine pressed, shaking her glowing Mediterranean curls in frustration.

Violet Owens was the quintessential nerdy good girl blessed with the looks of the classic girl next door. Her long, blonde hair was usually swept up into a bun, drawing attention to her expressive brown eyes. A smattering of freckles accented her nose and a wide smile revealed a row of perfectly straight white teeth. Her body, like her brain, was sharp. She had long legs and a slim waist, with curves that rivaled those of her exotic friend, though she was conscious to keep them concealed under conservative, loose-fitting clothing.

With the polite and sweet demeanor befitting a Southern debutante, it came as a surprise to many when she had opted to attend a notorious party school. The decision was a practical one, however. Violet's parents weren't well off and couldn't afford the high-priced tuition that came with a private university. Even with her scholarships and financial aid, she was forced to take out a number of dreaded student loans.

Her plan was to major in Applied Mathematics & Computer Science, graduate at the top of her class, and land a job that would enable her to pay off her debt in a few years. Always a stellar student, she had spent most of the first year with her nose in a textbook. Now that the semester was over and summer was in full swing, she spent her days searching for jobs and internships. The only success she'd had was securing a meeting to be the TA for an introductory coding class next term.

"I'm sorry, I don't feel like objectifying myself to a horde of wasted dudes," Violet stated flatly to her overzealous roommate.

The popular brunette wasn't having it. "It's National Nude Day! And you're so pretty! I bet you have a rocking body under those potato sacks you insist on wearing," Jasmine coaxed, her eyes pleading.

"You only want me there so you have a DD if you end up wasted again. That's what ride-sharing is for," Violet countered.

"You know what, fine! Stay here in this lame ass dorm, fuck me for trying to get you out of your comfort zone," Jasmine huffed.

Violet's heart sank. For all their differences, she and Jasmine had grown close that year. The impulsive brunette had taken her under her social wing, tolerating her reclusive quirks, and been a gateway for new friendships.

"It's just not my scene, Jazz."

Jasmine moved to her side of the room in front of the full-length mirror. "Doesn't even mean you have to flaunt everything, just wear your undies," she mumbled, removing her top and tossing it on her bed.

Violet sighed knowing her friend had a point. "You're right," she said reluctantly. "But I have this meeting to be a TA tomorrow-"

Her eyes slid down her roommate's physique, envious of Jasmine's olive skin. She looked like a porcelain doll in contrast. The dark-haired girl turned around, her 36D breasts sitting high and proud within the confines of her purple lacey bra.

"How do I look?"

"You're actually going to the party like that?"

Jasmine raised her brows and gave a teasing shrug. "You have your whole life to be all old and responsible. Only a short time to make mistakes." And with that, the boisterous girl slipped out into the hall.

*****

An hour later, Violet's phone started buzzing relentlessly. All she wanted to do was read her book, but her roommate didn't give up easily. Out of what she could decipher from Jasmine's emoji-riddled texts, the outgoing co-ed was practically begging her to join the fray:

"Where RU? This is like the biggest party of the year—music, free booze, boys, keg stands, jello shots!"

Violet rolled her eyes. Why were girls her age so thirsty? There's a rager every week and a million desperate horny guys all over campus.

Longing for a distraction, she peeked into the hallway. It was deserted, except for the faint video game noises coming from Lionel's room across the hall. Poor Lionel, with his pimply complexion and crippling shyness around girls. Violet quickly shut her door. Perhaps her mother was right. During spring break, she had been peppered with questions about her social life, or lack thereof. She couldn't remember the last time she had done anything reckless and impulsive. Even losing her virginity to her ex-boyfriend had been about as boring and laborious as it could get.

Fueled by a sudden wave of determination, she grabbed her phone and texted Jasmine, "Okay. Where are you?"

The device pinged back almost instantaneously: "745 E Belmont."

The address was about a 13-minute walk. Doable.

She went to the mirror and slid her hands down her sides. Then she pulled off her shirt and undid her jeans, leaving her in just her bra and panties. Pulling the puffy, dark indigo-blue robe from her closet, the tall blonde wrapped it tightly around herself and then slipped on her pink flip-flops.

Checking her appearance, she decided to let her hair down and put on a bit of makeup. As the silky blonde strands cascaded over her shoulders, she brushed them back behind her ears. Carefully, she applied some mascara, a touch of blush, and a coat of her favorite bubble-gum flavored lip gloss to her plump lips. She felt a mix of excitement and dread.

Stepping out of the elevator and through the sliding doors of the building, she clutched the robe around her tightly. The night air was cool and seemed to whip up between her thighs, sending a shiver through her. She had opted for her most comfortable, least revealing panties, still uncertain about this whole "National Nude Day" business.

Her phone buzzed again with another message from Jasmine. "Hurry up! You won't regret this!"

*****

745 E Belmont.

It was the address Jasmine had texted her, a place off-campus that was supposedly the epicenter of the night's festivities. As Violet approached the house, she could hear the distant thrum of bass and laughter. She hesitated at the door, her heart pounding. She could count the number of ragers she'd been to on one hand. Taking a deep breath, she knocked lightly.

A shirtless guy with a goatee wearing a sombrero opened the door.

"Well hello!" he exclaimed, leaning against the doorway.

Violet cringed inwardly. "Uh, hi."

He looked her up and down, a mischievous grin forming across his face. "Nice... You're super early."

"Huh? I'm sorry, I-"

He laughed and grabbed her hand. "Come on in," he shouted over the music, leading her inside.

It was dark as the host weaved them through the house, past a deserted poker table, and toward a den in the back. Violet glanced around nervously. The scene felt off; it didn't look like your typical college kegger.

"Where is everyone?" she asked, noticing the absence of beer pong, strobe lights, and drunken, hormonal students. The guy shook his head and put a finger to his lips, shushing her.

They were standing outside the den.

"Put this on, quick," he whispered, holding out something black.

"A blindfold?" Violet's voice wavered, but before she could protest, the guy was already tying it around her head.

The next thing she knew, he had placed his hand on the small of her back and was guiding her into the room. A second later, the music cut out, and she heard a butter knife clink against a glass.

"Gentleman! The entertainment has arrived," he announced. She registered the grip on the back collar of her robe just before it was yanked and she was pushed forward, knocking her off balance as the fabric slipped off her shoulders.

"Um, wha-!" She stumbled into someone's arms. The guy smelled like Old-timey spice and brandy. Her skin prickled, suddenly exposed. She tugged at the material blocking her eyes and found herself in a room filled with men in their late twenties to mid-forties. Some wore suits and ties, but some had shed their shirts and were sporting dumb party hats and sunglasses. All of them stared at her. There was something in the air. An energy mixed with cigar smoke and the pungency of unadulterated testosterone. Judging by the "Last Days of Freedom," banner hanging overhead, she had accidentally crashed a bachelor party.

"Hey! Who invited the stripper?" a balding guy in a pink polo called out. The room erupted in hoots and applause.

Violet's eyes widened in shock. She turned to leave, but the path closed behind her.

"Hey, hey, don't be shy! The party's just getting started," a dark-haired man in an unbuttoned Hawaiin shirt drawled, slapping a palm to her ass.

"I think I'm in the wrong place," Violet stammered, but the men weren't listening.

The sombrero guy tossed her robe on a nearby leather recliner and reached into his back pocket.

"I gotchu, sweetheart," he said, holding up his wallet. A fat wad of cash poked out from it. He extracted some bills and waved the currency in front of her. The rest of the men took it as a cue and started digging into their pockets.

Violet began to refuse, shaking her head, but her eyes widened as she caught sight of the money. These weren't just a few crumpled bills; these were hundred-dollar notes, crisp and numerous. The young blonde swallowed hard. He was holding over a thousand dollars.

Textbooks, food, clothes, gas, parking—everything cost money. Whoever believed college towns were affordable probably hadn't attended college in the last decade. She could work every summer until she graduated and still not make a dent in her debt.

An internal battle waged within her: pride and dignity versus common sense and need. She thought about her options. Walking away meant holding onto her pride, but it also meant years of living paycheck to paycheck.

Her pragmatic side began to eclipse her reservations. This opportunity was fleeting. These guys looked so inebriated already, she probably wouldn't even have to stay long to earn some serious dough. But the more she protested, the higher the chance they'd catch on to the fact that she wasn't an actual stripper...

To her right was a tray of shots, each filled high with a gold concoction of liquid confidence. Without another thought, Violet reached and downed, not one but three of the glasses.

"So, who's the lucky one getting married?" she coughed while blinking away tears. They were more potent than she was used to. Regardless, she needed to sell that she was a professional entertainer. Strutting through the room she boldly made it a few feet before stumbling as her flip-flops caught on the carpet.

A few wolf whistles came from the back as she bent forward to catch herself. She had never been this exposed in front of so many people outside of the beach.

"Right this way." The sombrero man was back, wrapping his arm around her waist and guiding her toward the giant TV. Violet felt her stomach flip as she saw the man of the hour. A shirtless, heavyset douche in his late thirties with a combover and a face as red as a tomato, looked back at her through bleary hazel eyes.

"Whassat?" he slurred, gesturing with a beer in his hand and sloshing its contents on the ground.

Sombrero guy whispered to Violet, "This is my boy, Brian. As you can see, he's pretty shitfaced already, so go easy on him," before slipping a couple bills down the side of her panties.

The scantily clad woman bit her lip. This was it, her last second to back out.

"Hi, Brian," she said to the half-lidded man with the idiot grin. I'm... V-Vixen." Violet blushed at how stupid she sounded. She had only witnessed these scenes in movies. Assuming the persona of her alter ego, Violet plastered a sexy smile on her face, trying her best to appear alluring and unflustered.

In the back, one of the bachelors flipped the playlist to a slow jam with heavy bass.

Swaying her hips to the rhythm, she closed her eyes and ran her hands through her hair. The feel of her smooth locks and the smell of her favorite floral-scented conditioner flooded her with a sudden rush of confidence.

I'm sexy, she told herself. A modern femme fatale. Not timid, not shy, not some meek Violet. A siren, a Vixen. I've got this.

Stepping out of her flip-flops, she let her toes curl into the carpet as her nervousness receded and her lust for money and excitement took over.

She leaned forward with her long legs spread apart and straddled the large man's lap, placing her hands on his hairy shoulders to steady herself. The heat radiating from his sweaty body was unsettling, but not unbearable. The man weighed enough that the cushions sunk low, causing her to tilt forward against his potbelly. Her stomach churned as the man placed his meaty paws on the side of her ribs.

"You smell good, babygirl. I bet you taste sweet." The drunkard grinned like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood, his breath hot and stinging against her neck.

With a shudder, she locked eyes with him and started gyrating her hips to the synth progression.

"Seems like you have had quite the night already," the brown-eyed beauty observed.

"Just gettin' started," Brian replied with a toothy grin before belching unceremoniously.

Violet did her best not to gag from the smell of his sour breath. "Well," she rasped. "You seem like a real catch."

"Lose the bra, honey!" a man catcalled in the back.

Acutely aware of the growing erection pressing against her inner thighs, she continued undulating her hips and grinding against her prey.

"Don't be a tease! Lose it." another voice growled.

Brian licked his chapped, cracked lips, lewdly staring at her bra as if he were considering snagging it off with his teeth.

"Ah, I uh, umEE!" She squealed, feeling multiple hands start sloppily sticking bills into the waistband of her panties and then letting the elastic snap back like a rubber band.

Her resolve waned and the delusion she'd created in her mind crumbled. Her insecurities came bubbling back to the surface. She didn't have a clue what she was doing, did she? She was just some kid. An awkward nerd. She wasn't like those popular girls who paraded around campus in tube tops and fuck me pumps. She wasn't Jasmine...

Her heart thumped in her ears, threatening to beat out of her chest. She couldn't breathe. She could feel herself beginning to hyperventilate. Was she going to pass out giving a lap dance? Half naked in front of a bunch of men with her tits spilling out. A hot and sweaty mess. The prospect was daunting.

"Hey!" Violet was snapped out of her daze as the balding guy in the pink polo pushed another glass of the brown liquor into her hand. The nervous teen glanced behind her. The men's faces were lit with desire.

"Thanks." She took the glass and tossed her head back for the fourth time. It went down smoother. The alcohol's warmth coursed through her veins. The bass rattled her bones as she reached back to unclasp her bra. It slipped off her chest onto the floor. More whistles and cheers greeted her as her ample boobs bounced free. She felt the weight and the sensation of the humidity against her hardening nipples.

Brian's erect cock jerked against her thighs. Violet felt her pussy twitch. It was so surreal. An hour ago she was up in her dorm jotting notes in her journal. Now she was stripping naked in front of a group of strangers for money like a whore.

"Shiiit. This bitch has some big titties!"

Violet couldn't help but smirk. These guys were so dumb.

Brian's pudgy hands swept from her hips to the swell of her behind. He squeezed and pulled her in until her boobs brushed his chin. Taking in the faint feminine musk of perfume and sweat, his stubbled cheeks rubbed against the silky skin of her breasts.

"Hey now!" Violet gasped, placing her palms against his chest and attempting to scoot backwards.

"Ahhh, relax love. Don't be shy!" Another hand caught her shoulder and held her.

"Ah! Nn-" Violet's pussy quivered as Brian let go of her buttocks and began exploring the rest of her body. She continued to undulate in time with the music as his palms traced down her taut belly to the hem of her panties and across her slit. He rubbed his index finger back and forth over the material until he felt her clitoral hood and began thumbing it. She shivered as he teased her, instinctively rocking her hips to the pleasurable sensation.

"I think she's loosening up!" chortled Brian as he held up two fingers and brought them to his bulbous nose.

The groom grinned at her like the cat who got the canary. His hungry fingers returned to the flimsy fabric of her panties and pulled the back forward until they cut deeply between her ass cheeks. He hooked his thumb over the seam and yanked the material aside. Violet whimpered softly as the cool air met her damp folds.

"Nngh!" The blonde was now a flushed, horny mess. Sweat was building on her back. She shouldn't have drunk whatever that was on an empty stomach. Her head felt super fuzzy. The alarm bells rang but the booze made them muffled and distant.

How did other girls do this for hours at a time? And why couldn't she stop grinding against this bastard? The thought of being objectified by all these men, and their hard rods was starting to excite her.

"Vixen!!" "Shake dat ass!" "Squeeze Dem Titties!!" the guys cheered, between swigs of their beer.

Her feet dangled off the floor, her bare toes unable to touch the carpet. Her arms wrapped around the back of Brian's thick neck as his hands continued to fondle her. Somewhere in the commotion, he'd managed to unclasp his belt and push his slacks down his thighs. His throbbing cock pressed firmly against her tummy. She hadn't had sex in months and she wasn't used to this level of attention. It sent her libido soaring. She'd always been the brainy shy one. But these guys... they wanted her. Wanted her body. Hell, they were willing to pay for it.

In a move that would have mortified her sober self, Violet reached back, took the back of the man's head, and pressed his face to her tits. His lips connected with her nipple, and he immediately began suckling it like a newborn. Violet winced, his teeth skimming her tender nub. In her sheltered 18 years, her boobs had barely had any real stimulation since puberty. His tongue was almost too much. The wet slurping felt indescribably good, all well his gluttonous fingers massaged the toned globes of her ass.

His dick wasn't huge but compared to her tiny-packaged ex it was like a python, throbbing and alive, wanting nothing more than to slither all the way into her warm nest. The feeling of pressure on her crotch also sent happy thrills from her belly up. The fact that she was so hot and bothered in a room full of spectators... She'd never imagined anything even remotely kinky like this.

He slurred, "Wanna fuck you." The feeling of his drool pooling around her tits was so gross. Her chest heaved. A strand of saliva connected his chin to her pink right nipple.

"Ha...I don't think that's a good idea." Violet shook her head, embarrassed.

But the groom-to-be was insistent. "Five grand... TEN, Fuck you right here. Right now." The motherfucker's grip became an iron cuff on her wrist.

That's when Sombrero Guy appeared beside them again. He looked at his friend and chuckled, "Alright Brian, I think that might be enough. Wouldn't want to do anything Georgia wouldn't like," clearly trying to keep the party in check.

"Fuck Georgia. And fuck off Whitney!!!" he slurred drunkenly, "Can't you see the girls considering it?!"

Violet blinked as her clouded brain, fogged with arousal and indecision, struggled to summon words. The sleazy man with the comb-over tweaked her boob again with his slippery tongue, running it across the circumference of her puffy areola. He then lifted his face to her ear.