Sissy Boy's Wild Private Dance

The bass still throbbed through the thin walls of the Sissy Boy Strip Club as Brigitte stepped off the stage, bare feet sticky on the scuffed black floor. At nineteen she was petite even among the other dancers, five-two of soft curves and smooth planes, hips that swayed with every step, a flat little tummy and small rounded breasts that still felt new and delicious under the stage lights. Her first dance had ended only seconds ago. The crowd’s shouts and whistles still rang in her ears. Her tiny black thong was soaked clean through, the thin fabric clinging to the stiff little cock tucked neatly back between her thighs, slick with the desperate wetness she had leaked the entire time she spun and arched for them.

She could still feel their eyes. Every whoop when she dropped low and opened her knees had made her clit—no, her pretty sissy cock—twitch harder. Every time a bill fluttered onto the stage she had ground her hips a little more shamelessly, imagining rough hands instead of paper. Now her heart hammered and her bare ass cheeks still glowed faintly pink from the way she had spanked herself on the pole for their entertainment. She needed more. Needed it immediately.

A tall shadow cut across the narrow backstage corridor before she could reach the dressing room. Terrence filled the space like he owned it. Thirty-two, solidly built, shoulders broad enough to block the exit light, dark skin gleaming under the low red bulbs. A businessman by the cut of his open-collar shirt and the heavy gold watch, but the way his gaze raked over her said the boardroom was the last thing on his mind. He looked hungry.

“You,” he said, voice a deep gravel scrape that went straight between her legs. “That was your first time up there.”

Brigitte swallowed, still catching her breath, tiny chest rising and falling. “How could you tell?”

“Because you danced like you were fucking the whole room in your head.” His smile was slow, predatory, appreciative. “I’m Terrence. I want a private dance. Now. Back room. Whatever the house takes, I’ll triple it.”

She should have played coy. Club rules said private dances stayed mostly clothed, hands mostly off. But her soaked thong was already rubbing every sensitive inch of her as she shifted from foot to foot, and the way this man looked at her—like he could already taste her—made the last of her nerves melt into pure heat. “Yes,” she whispered. “Okay. Yes.”

He led her down the short hall without another word, one massive hand resting lightly at the small of her back, fingers spanning nearly the width of her. The private room was small, mirrored on two walls, a wide black leather armchair in the center and a low table with a bottle of oil already waiting. The door clicked shut. Music from the main floor became a distant pulse. Terrence sat, knees spread, and crooked a finger.

Brigitte stepped between his thighs. Up close he smelled of clean cologne and warm skin. She started slow, the way she had practiced in her tiny apartment mirror for weeks: rolling her hips, letting her small breasts brush his chest as she turned, dragging soft fingertips down his open shirt. Her bare ass brushed the thick ridge already straining his slacks. Even half-hard he felt huge.

Terrence’s hands stayed on the arms of the chair at first, knuckles tight. “Fuck, look at you,” he growled. “Pretty little sissy boy all worked up already. That thong’s ruined, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she breathed, grinding down harder, feeling the wet fabric drag across her own aching cock as she straddled one of his heavy thighs. The friction made her whimper. “They were all watching me. I couldn’t stop leaking.”

“Show me.”

She rose onto her toes, hooked her thumbs in the sides of the thong, and peeled it down just far enough for the shiny head of her little cock to spring free, flushed and wet, no bigger than a mouthful. It slapped softly against her belly. Terrence groaned like he’d been punched. One big hand finally left the chair and cupped her bare ass, squeezing hard enough to leave white fingerprints on her pale skin.

“Perfect little sissy slut,” he said, voice dropping even lower. “Tucked so neat for the crowd, then dripping the second you’re alone with a real man. You need this, don’t you?”

Brigitte’s answer came out broken as she sank fully onto his lap, grinding her smooth, hairless crack along the massive bulge beneath her. “I need it so bad. I’ve been thinking about getting used all night. Please—tell me what I am.”

“You’re a cock-hungry little fucktoy who just discovered how wet she gets when men stare.” His free hand slid up her spine, fisted gently in her soft hair, and tugged her head back so she had to meet his eyes. “Say it.”

“I’m a cock-hungry little fucktoy,” she gasped, rocking faster, the ridge of his cock dragging mercilessly against her hole through the ruined thong and his expensive pants. Precome smeared shiny streaks across the dark fabric. “I need to be used. I need your hands on me, your mouth, your—oh god—your cock. I’ve never felt this empty.”

Terrence’s control snapped with a low snarl. He stood in one smooth motion, lifting her with him like she weighed nothing, then set her on her feet only long enough to yank his shirt the rest of the way open. Buttons scattered. Brigitte’s fingers flew to his belt, yanking leather free, shoving slacks and boxer-briefs down together. His cock sprang out thick and dark and heavy, the head already glistening, veins standing proud along a shaft that looked longer than her forearm and thicker than her wrist. Her mouth watered. Her little cock jerked hard against her stomach.

She shoved the soaked thong the rest of the way down and kicked it aside. Completely bare now—smooth thighs, neat pink hole between soft cheeks, tiny bouncing breasts, and that desperate sissy cock leaking a clear string onto the floor. Terrence’s trousers hit the ground. He stepped out of them, fully naked, muscle and power and heat. They crashed together again, skin on skin, her soft body plastered to his hard one. His cock trapped hot and throbbing between them, smearing precome up her belly as she rubbed against him like a cat in heat.

“Fucking look at that pretty hole,” he muttered against her ear, one hand already spreading her cheeks so the cool air kissed her entrance. “Winking at me already. You want it rough, little slut? Want me to ruin this tight virgin ass?”

“Yes—yes, please, use me, stretch me, I don’t care how rough—” Brigitte’s voice cracked into a moan as two of his thick fingers pressed against her rim, not entering yet, just rubbing firm circles that made her knees weak. She reached down, both hands wrapping around as much of his cock as she could manage, stroking the burning length, smearing the wetness. “I need it inside me. I need to feel every inch. Make me your sissy cumrag tonight.”

Terrence spun her, bent her forward over the arm of the chair so her ass arched high and open. Oil trickled cold down her crack a second later; his fingers followed, one sinking in to the knuckle with slow, relentless pressure. She cried out—pleasure, stretch, the sudden intimate invasion she had craved since the first bill landed on stage. He worked her open while his other hand reached around to stroke her little cock in short, filthy tugs that made her hips buck helplessly.

“That’s it. Open up for me. Gonna fuck this tight hole until you forget your own name.” His finger curled, found a spot that made white sparks burst behind her eyes. A second finger joined, scissoring, stretching. “Tell me again how bad you need it.”

“I need your cock,” she sobbed, pushing back onto his hand, fucking herself on those thick fingers. “I need you to split me open and fill me until I can’t walk. Please, Terrence—I’m so empty, I’m so fucking horny I can’t think—”

He pulled his fingers free with a wet sound that made her clench around nothing. The blunt, scorching head of his cock lined up against her slick hole, so much hotter and bigger than his fingers. He rubbed it there, teasing, coating himself in oil and her own desperate wetness, while Brigitte trembled and moaned and tried to push back onto him. His hands gripped her narrow hips hard enough to bruise, holding her still.

“Not yet,” he growled, voice thick with lust. “I’m going to bury every inch in this perfect little sissy ass, and when I do you’re going to take it like the slut you are. But first I want to hear you beg one more time while I feel how ready you are.”

Brigitte’s whole body shook with need. Her tiny cock dripped steadily onto the leather. She looked back over her shoulder, eyes glassy, lips parted, completely lost in the heat of him.

“Please,” she whispered, raw and honest. “Fuck me. Use me. Make me yours right now before I lose my mind.”

Terrence’s answering groan rolled through the small room like thunder. He pressed forward just enough for the fat head to kiss her rim, stretching the tight ring, promising everything the rest of the night would deliver—and still he held there, teasing, letting the unbearable pressure build while Brigitte whimpered and clenched and waited for the first true thrust that would carry them both past every club rule and straight into pure, filthy abandon.

Terrence drove forward in one relentless surge, the fat head of his cock forcing her tight ring open with a wet, shameless pop. Brigitte’s cry tore raw from her throat as the impossible stretch burned through her, inch after thick inch packing her virgin ass full until his heavy balls slapped flush against her soft cheeks. The armchair creaked under the sudden weight; she clawed at the leather, toes curling hard against the floor while that massive black shaft split her open to the root.

“Fuck—yes, take it,” he snarled, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. He pulled back until only the flared head stretched her rim, then slammed home again, deeper, harder, the drag of every vein dragging fireworks up her spine. Oil and her own slick made filthy wet sounds with every brutal stroke. Brigitte moaned like a whore already, high and broken, pushing her arched ass back to meet him. Her little cock swung and slapped her belly with each thrust, leaking steady clear strands onto the floor.

“Harder—please, ruin me,” she begged, voice bouncing with the force of his hips. Terrence answered by hauling her upright just long enough to spin them both toward the low velvet couch against the mirrored wall. He bent her over the arm in one smooth motion, one big hand between her shoulder blades pinning her face into the soft cushions, the other spreading her cheeks wide so he could watch his cock disappear into her pretty pink hole again and again.

He pounded her in deep, powerful strokes that rattled the couch legs against the floor. Every thrust drove a filthy moan out of her—“unh, unh, yes, fuck your sissy”—her small breasts mashed into the velvet, nipples dragging with each jolt. Terrence’s dark skin gleamed with sweat under the red lights; muscles in his thighs and ass flexed as he drilled her, balls swinging heavy, the wet slap of flesh on flesh echoing off the mirrors. Brigitte’s hole clenched and fluttered around him, greedy, stretching wider with every brutal plunge until she felt nothing but the thick heat of him rearranging her guts.

“Look at this hungry little fuckhole,” he growled, landing an open-handed spank that made her ass ripple and her moan spike. “Clenching like it wants to milk me already. You love getting your tight virgin ass destroyed, don’t you, pretty slut?”

“I love it—I love your cock splitting me,” she sobbed into the velvet, drooling, eyes glassy. Her tiny cock throbbed untouched, bouncing wildly, the head shiny and desperate. “Make me take every inch, Terrence—use me like the cock-hungry fucktoy I am—”

He did. He fucked her through the stretch until the burn melted into pure, white-hot need, until she was babbling and rocking back onto him like she couldn’t get enough. Then he yanked free with a wet snarl, spun her around, and shoved her onto her back on the couch cushions. Brigitte’s slender legs hooked over his broad shoulders in the same motion; he folded her nearly in half and drove back into her ass in one smooth, punishing thrust that punched the air from her lungs.

Missionary now, deeper than before, his thick cock dragging over that electric spot inside her on every stroke. Terrence braced one hand beside her head, the other wrapping around her small clitty—her pretty sissy cock—and stroked it in tight, filthy twists timed to his hips. The dual sensation ripped a scream out of her. Her hole fluttered wildly around his shaft; her little cock jumped and leaked in his fist.

“That’s it, spray for me,” he ordered, pounding her senseless, sweat dripping from his chest onto her bouncing tits. “Hands-free, like a good little whore. Let that tiny clitty make a mess while I rearrange your guts.”

Brigitte’s eyes rolled. The pressure built brutal and sudden—his cock hammering her prostate, his fist flying over her leaking shaft—until her whole body locked. She came with a broken wail, clenching hard around him as clear fluid sprayed in pulsing arcs from her small cock, soaking his stomach, her own belly, the velvet beneath her. Hands-free, just like he demanded, her orgasm ripping through her in helpless waves while he kept fucking her through it, never slowing, turning the aftershocks into fresh moans.

“Fuck yes, paint yourself for me,” Terrence groaned, still buried deep, still stroking that twitching little cock until she was whimpering from oversensitivity. He pulled out with a slick pop just as his own climax slammed into him. One big hand fisted his glistening shaft; he straddled her chest, aiming down at her pretty upturned face.

“Open that mouth. Tongue out. Beg for it.”

Brigitte obeyed instantly, pink tongue flat and waiting, eyes locked on the heavy cock hovering over her. “Please—give me every drop, paint my face, let me taste you, I need your cum, Terrence, please cover your sissy—”

Thick ropes erupted. The first hit her cheek and lashes; the second striped across her open tongue and lips; more followed in heavy pulses, coating her forehead, her nose, dripping down to her chin and small breasts. She moaned through it, chasing every spurt with her tongue, swallowing what landed in her mouth while the rest glazed her face in shiny white streaks. Terrence stroked out the last thick drops onto her waiting tongue, groaning her name, watching her lick her lips clean like the desperate slut she was.

He stayed kneeling over her, chest heaving, cock still half-hard and slick. Brigitte lay sprawled beneath him on the cum-smeared velvet, legs still loose over his shoulders, hole gaping and shiny, face a filthy masterpiece. She licked a stray rope from the corner of her mouth and looked up at him with glassy, hungry eyes, already shifting her hips like she wanted more.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, voice hoarse and wrecked. “I’m still so empty… use me again. Please.”

Terrence’s cock twitched back to full hardness against her cum-streaked tits as Brigitte’s plea hung in the air. He didn’t answer with words. He simply flipped her onto her stomach on the velvet couch, hauled her hips up until her knees dug into the cushions, and slammed every thick inch straight back into her stretched, glistening hole. The force punched a raw, grateful scream out of her. Her face mashed into the soaked fabric, still wet with her earlier spray and his load, while he mounted her like an animal claiming its prize.

“You asked for it, little sissy,” he snarled, each thrust driving deeper than the last, balls slapping wetly against her swollen clit-cock. “Still empty? Not for long.” His hands clamped her narrow waist, yanking her back onto him so hard her small breasts swung and her soft cheeks rippled. Oil, sweat, and leftover cum turned every stroke into a filthy squelch that echoed off the mirrors. Brigitte pushed back greedily, hole fluttering and gripping, the burn of the stretch already melting into molten pleasure again. Her tiny cock dangled and leaked fresh clear strings onto the couch with every brutal impact.

He fucked her through two more positions without mercy—first dragging her off the couch to bend her over the low table, forcing her to brace on shaking arms while he drilled upward into her guts, then hauling her into his lap on the armchair so she straddled him reverse, back arched, bouncing on that massive black cock while he spanked her ass red and pinched her nipples. Every time she started to flag, his deep voice dragged her higher.

“Ride it like you mean it. Show me how much that pretty hole needs a real man’s cock wrecking it.”

Brigitte obeyed, thighs burning, hips rolling and slamming down until his head battered her prostate on every drop. Sweat poured down her spine, plastering strands of hair to her neck. Her little cock slapped against his heavy balls, leaving shiny smears. She came again with a choked sob, clenching so tight around him that Terrence cursed and had to grip the chair arms to keep from finishing too soon. Clear fluid pulsed from her untouched tip, arcing onto the floor between his feet.

He stood still buried inside her, carried her three steps to the mirrored wall, and pressed her tits and cheek flat against the cool glass. From this angle she watched everything—her own ruined face, mascara streaked, lips swollen; his dark, powerful body covering her petite one; the thick shaft pistoning in and out of her pink, stretched rim. The visual alone made her whimper and push back harder.

“Look at you taking it,” Terrence growled against her ear, one hand snaking around to fist her dripping sissy cock in time with his thrusts. “Nineteen years old and already the club’s newest little cumdump. That first dance got you this wet? Wait till they see you limp out of here leaking my load.”

“Yes—use me, fill me, I want it,” she babbled, eyes locked on their reflection. The dual assault—cock splitting her open, fist flying over her sensitive shaft—ripped a third orgasm out of her almost immediately. Her hole spasmed in rhythmic waves, milking him, and this time Terrence couldn’t hold back. He buried himself to the root with a guttural roar and unloaded deep inside her virgin-turned-sloppy ass. Hot, heavy pulses flooded her, so much cum it immediately began to leak out around his shaft in thick white rivulets that ran down her thighs.

He kept her pinned there through every spurt, grinding in circles, forcing the load deeper until her belly felt warm and full. Only when the last twitch faded did he ease out. Her hole stayed open for a long second, a creamy gape that winked and drooled his seed onto the floor before slowly fluttering closed.

Brigitte’s legs gave out. She slid down the mirror to her knees, panting, body shiny with sweat and streaked with cooling cum on her face, tits, belly, and now leaking from her thoroughly used ass. Terrence stood over her, chest heaving, cock still half-hard and glistening with their mixed mess. Without being told she crawled forward on shaky knees, cupped his heavy balls with both hands, and began licking him clean with slow, worshipful devotion.

She started at the base, tongue flat and hot, dragging upward through the thick coating of oil, her juices, and his own thick cream. Every inch got thorough attention—swirling under the ridge of the head, sucking gently at the slit to pull out the last pearly drops, lapping the heavy vein along the underside until his cock twitched back toward hardness against her lips. She moaned softly while she worked, the taste of him flooding her mouth, eyes half-lidded in pure bliss. Cum and sweat mixed on her chin and dripped onto her small breasts as she cleaned every inch, then moved lower to suck his balls into her mouth one at a time, rolling them with her tongue, humming around the weight of them.

Terrence’s big hand settled in her hair, not forcing, just resting there while he watched. His voice came out low and rough with leftover lust and genuine admiration.

“Fucking perfect. Hottest new sissy this club’s ever seen. That first dance already had every man out there hard, but this—” He gestured at her kneeling, cum-covered form, tongue still busy worshipping his cock. “This is why they’ll keep coming back. Look at you. Covered in my load, hole still dripping, licking me clean like you were born for it. Nineteen and already better than the girls twice your experience. You’re gonna own this place, Brigitte.”

She pulled off just long enough to whisper against the slick head, “Only if you keep hiring me,” then took him deep again, cheeks hollowing, throat working. The praise lit something molten in her chest. She lapped and suckled until his cock shone clean and spit-slick, until the only taste left was clean skin and the faint salt of fresh precome. Finally she rested her cheek against his thigh, still nuzzling, body trembling with aftershocks and leftover need.

Terrence tipped her face up with two fingers under her chin. Their eyes locked—hers glassy and soft with submission, his dark and hungry with something that went far past one private dance. Heat crackled between them, unspoken promises thick as the scent of sex still hanging in the small room. She knew he would book her again. He knew she would say yes every single time.

He helped her stand on wobbly legs, wiped a stray streak of cum from her cheek with his thumb, and let her suck it clean. They dressed slowly—him tucking that massive cock back into expensive slacks, her sliding the ruined thong up over her still-leaking hole and sticky thighs. At the door he paused, one hand on the small of her back again, exactly where it had rested when he first led her here.

“Same time next week,” he said. Not a question. “And the week after that.”

Brigitte’s smile was dazed, satisfied, already craving the next round. “I’ll be wet before I even hit the stage.”

They stepped out into the hallway together. The bass from the main floor hit them like a second heartbeat. Behind them the private room smelled of sweat, oil, and thoroughly spent lust. Neither looked back.

As the door clicked shut, Terrence’s fingers brushed the inside of his jacket pocket where a second thick envelope of cash already waited—enough to buy every private slot Brigitte had for the next month. She didn’t know it yet. He planned to make sure she never danced for anyone else the way she had just danced for him.