Subway Femboy's Private Strip Club Session

Victor hunched over the fluorescent-lit counter at Subway, the fluorescent buzz drilling into his skull the same way the endless columns of spreadsheets did back at the firm. Forty-two years old, still grinding numbers for a mid-level accounting firm that paid just enough to keep the mortgage afloat and Fiona’s credit cards from maxing out completely. Their marriage had ossified into polite silence and separate bedrooms months ago—hell, years if he was honest. Sex had become a ghost story they both pretended not to remember. He ordered the usual turkey on wheat without looking up, voice flat, until the soft, lilting “Anything else?” forced his eyes higher.

The girl behind the counter—no, the femboy—stole the air from his lungs. Vanessa, her name tag read in looping silver script. Twenty-one, petite as a dancer, maybe five-two in those black non-slip sneakers. Her Subway polo was two sizes too small, stretched tight across the gentle swell of small, soft breasts that pushed against the fabric with every breath. The hem of the short black skirt rode high on smooth thighs, and when she turned to grab his sandwich from the assembly line the fabric clung shamelessly to the unmistakable bulge nestled between her legs—thick enough to outline the soft curve of her cock and the hint of balls tucked beneath. Pale skin, glossy pink lips, dark lashes framing amber eyes that sparkled with something filthy the second they locked on his stare.

Victor’s cock twitched hard in his slacks. He couldn’t look away. Heat crawled up his neck as he watched her fingers dance over the register, the way her narrow waist dipped in before flaring to that tempting little ass. Vanessa caught him full-on. A slow, knowing smirk curved those painted lips. She leaned across the counter, close enough that the sweet vanilla of her perfume mixed with the bread scent, and slipped a plain white card under his napkin. Her voice dropped to a velvet whisper only he could hear.

“Meet me here tonight, daddy. Nine o’clock. Don’t be late.” She pressed the card into his palm, fingertips grazing his skin like a promise. “I saw how hard you were looking. I liked it.”

Victor’s throat worked. He mumbled thanks, paid, and fled with the sandwich he no longer wanted. In the parking lot he sat gripping the wheel, staring at the address scrawled in girlish handwriting—an industrial side of town he didn’t know. His dick was rigid, aching against his zipper. Fiona would notice if he came home hard and restless. The risk of her finding out burned through him hotter than the desire itself. He hadn’t felt this alive in years.

By five-thirty he was already inventing the lie. He called from the firm parking garage, voice steady even as his free hand stroked once over the outline of his cock.

“Babe, hell of a quarter-end mess. Boss needs the entire portfolio reconciled before morning. I’m stuck here till at least midnight. Don’t wait up.”

Fiona’s sigh crackled through the speaker, tired and unsurprised. “Fine. There’s leftover lasagna. Just… try not to wake me when you get in.” She hung up without waiting for goodbye. Victor exhaled, the guilt a brief sour note under the roaring hunger. He drove.

The address led to a nondescript black door beneath a flickering neon sign that simply read VELVET BOYS in pink cursive. No windows. A bouncer the size of a fridge checked the card, smirked, and waved him inside without a cover charge. The club was dim, velvet booths and chrome poles catching low purple light. Music pulsed low and dirty. A handful of well-dressed men nursed drinks, eyes fixed on the main stage where a spotlight waited.

Victor took a seat near the front, heart hammering. At nine sharp the lights dimmed further. A throaty announcer’s voice rolled out: “Gentlemen, the main event you’ve been waiting for—our very own Vanessa!”

She appeared like sin poured into lace. Glittering makeup made her amber eyes huge and hungry. A sheer black babydoll clung to those small breasts, nipples already peaked and dark against the fabric. Matching crotchless panties framed the heavy, half-hard cock that swung gently between her thighs as she stalked the stage on six-inch heels. The skirt of the babydoll flared with every spin, flashing pale ass cheeks and the thick shaft that thickened further under the lights. Vanessa moved like liquid sex—hips rolling, hands sliding down her own body, cupping her breasts then trailing lower to stroke herself once, twice, just enough to make her cock jump and bead at the tip.

Victor’s mouth went dry. His cock strained so hard it hurt. She danced closer to the edge of the stage, dropping to her knees and crawling toward him specifically. When she rose again she locked eyes with him and only him, tongue tracing her lower lip as she hooked a finger in the crotch of the panties and tugged them aside so the full length of her pretty femboy cock slapped free against her stomach. The crowd cheered. She ignored them. Her free hand beckoned once, sharp and clear.

The set ended with her spinning around the pole, back arched, cock bouncing, until the lights cut. Two minutes later a hostess in a corset appeared at Victor’s elbow.

“Vanessa wants you backstage. Private session. On the house.”

He followed on unsteady legs down a narrow hallway lit by red bulbs. Vanessa was already waiting in a small velvet-walled room that smelled of perfume and sex. The babydoll was gone; she wore only the heels and a thin silver collar. Her cock stood fully hard now, flushed pink and leaking against her flat belly. Small breasts rose and fell with each eager breath. She shut the door, locked it, and crossed to him in three steps.

“Fuck, I’ve been wet for you since lunch,” she breathed, pressing her body flush to his. The hard line of her cock rubbed against the matching ridge in his slacks. “Felt your eyes eating me up. Knew you’d come. Married, right? I can smell the guilt on you and it makes my dick throb.” She took his hand and placed it deliberately on her shaft. “Stroke it. Feel how bad I want this.”

Victor’s fingers closed around the hot, silky length. She was thick for her size, heavy in his palm, the head already slick. He groaned. Vanessa’s own hand worked his belt open with practiced speed, shoved his pants and briefs down just enough to free his aching cock. She wrapped both small hands around him and pumped once, slow and tight.

“Christ, you’re big. Been starving that thing in a dead marriage, haven’t you?” Her voice was pure filth, lips brushing his ear. “I want you to wreck me tonight. Want that accountant cock buried balls-deep in my tight little femboy ass while I jerk myself off all over your chest. Tell me you want it too. Say it.”

“I want it,” Victor rasped, thrusting into her grip. “Fuck, Vanessa, I want you so goddamn bad. Been hard since you handed me that card. Need to taste you, need to fuck you until I forget my own name.”

She moaned open-mouthed, grinding her cock against his. “Good boy. Private room’s ours as long as we want. No rush. No one coming in.” Her fingers smeared the precum leaking from both of them, mixing it, using it as lube to stroke them together. “I’m going to suck that married cock until you’re dripping down my throat, then I’m going to ride you reverse so you can watch my hole stretch around you and my little tits bounce. You ready to start, Victor?”

He answered by fisting a hand in her dark hair and dragging her mouth to his. The kiss was filthy, tongues sliding, teeth nipping. Vanessa’s free hand cupped his balls while the other kept working both shafts. Heat and need rolled off her in waves. Victor’s other hand found one small breast, thumbing the stiff nipple, then slid lower to grip the firm curve of her ass and spread her open. His fingertip brushed the tight, smooth pucker between her cheeks and she whimpered into his mouth, pushing back for more.

“Yes—finger me while I jerk us. Get me open for you.” Her voice cracked with raw want. “I’ve been thinking about your cock splitting me since I watched you walk out with that sad sandwich. Gonna make you forget that cold bed at home. Gonna make you come so hard you’ll still feel me tomorrow at your desk.”

Victor pushed the tip of his middle finger inside her. She was burning hot, clenching greedily around the intrusion. Vanessa stroked faster, their cocks sliding wetly together, heads kissing with every upstroke. Pre-cum drooled freely now. She broke the kiss only to lick a stripe up his throat, biting gently at his jaw.

“Feel how bad I need it? How empty I’ve been waiting for a real man to fill me after that stage tease?” She rolled her hips, fucking herself deeper onto his finger. “Add another. Stretch me. I want to take every inch when you finally shove in.”

He worked a second finger in beside the first, scissoring carefully while she moaned like a porn star and jerked them both in a slippery fist. The private room’s low light painted her sweat-slick skin gold. Her small breasts heaved. The silver collar glinted. Victor’s balls drew tight already; he forced himself to slow, to savor the filthy perfection of it—the risk, the secrecy, the way this twenty-one-year-old femboy goddess was openly offering every hole and begging for his load.

Vanessa’s amber eyes locked on his, pupils blown wide. “We’re just getting started, daddy. You’re going to ruin me tonight and I’m going to thank you for every second of it.” She squeezed their cocks harder, twisting on the upstroke, and pushed her ass back so his fingers sank to the knuckle. “Tell me again how much you want this. Make it dirty.”

“I want to bury my face between your cheeks and eat that pretty hole until you’re dripping,” Victor growled, scissoring deeper. “Then I want you to sit on my cock and bounce until I’m flooding that tight ass. I want to feel you come all over my stomach while I’m still buried inside you. Fuck Fiona. Fuck the job. Right now I only want you.”

Vanessa shuddered hard, a clear bead of precum pulsing from her tip and sliding down over both their shafts. “Yes. God, yes. Keep talking like that and I might cream right now.” She dropped to her knees without warning, both hands still wrapped around his cock, and looked up through glittering lashes. “But first I’m tasting what’s mine for the night.” Her tongue flicked out, swirling the head, collecting every drop. “Private session means I get to be as filthy as I want. And I want everything.”

She parted her lips and took him halfway in one hot slide, moaning around the thickness. Victor’s head fell back against the velvet wall. Her free hand reached back between her own legs to stroke her neglected cock in time with the wet bobbing of her mouth. The suction was perfect, greedy, the soft scrape of her teeth careful and teasing. Every few seconds she pulled off just far enough to lick a long stripe from balls to tip, then dove back down deeper, throat relaxing until her nose brushed his abdomen.

Victor tangled both hands in her hair, not forcing, just holding on while she worshipped him. The sight alone—petite femboy on her knees in nothing but heels and collar, cheeks hollowed, own dick bobbing untouched now as she focused entirely on sucking him—threatened to finish him too soon. He pulled her off with a wet pop.

“Bed. Now. I need to fuck that mouth properly and then I need inside you before I lose my mind.”

Vanessa scrambled onto the wide padded bench that served as a bed, ass up, knees spread, looking back over her shoulder with pure hunger. She reached back and spread her cheeks herself, showing him the glistening pink hole his fingers had already opened. Her cock hung heavy between her thighs, swinging.

“Then take it, Victor. Claim your free private fuck. I’ve been waiting all day to feel married accountant cock rearrange me.” She wiggled her hips invitingly. “Come put it in. Slow at first so I feel every thick inch. Then pound me like you hate that empty marriage.”

Victor stepped out of his pants completely, stroked his spit-slick cock once, and lined up. The blunt head kissed her entrance. Vanessa pushed back immediately, the tight ring yielding, swallowing the first inch with a broken moan that turned into a string of filthy encouragements.

“More—give me more—fuck, you’re stretching me so good already—”

He sank deeper, heat and pressure gripping every ridge. Halfway. Three-quarters. Then balls-deep in one smooth thrust that made both of them cry out. Vanessa’s hole fluttered wildly around him. She reached under herself and started jerking her cock in earnest.

“Don’t you dare pull out until you’ve filled me,” she panted. “I want to feel you throbbing when you shoot. Want your cum leaking out of me when I go back on stage later smelling like you.”

Victor drew back and slammed home again, setting a hard rhythm that made her small breasts bounce and her collar jingle. The private room filled with the wet slap of skin and their overlapping moans. He folded over her back, one hand reaching around to help stroke her cock while the other pinched a nipple.

“So fucking tight. So fucking perfect. Been starving for this—starving for a pretty cock-girl who actually wants me.”

Vanessa pushed back to meet every thrust, voice high and desperate. “Then keep going. Harder. I can take it. I want bruises tomorrow. Want to sit behind that Subway counter tomorrow with your cum still inside me and smile at the next boring customer knowing I got wrecked by the hot accountant who couldn’t stop staring.”

He pounded deeper, the bench creaking. Her walls clenched rhythmically. Victor felt his orgasm building like a freight train, but he gritted his teeth and held on, determined to drag this out, to make her come first all over his fist so he could feel that sweet clench milking him dry. Vanessa’s breath hitched higher, hips stuttering.

“Victor—fuck—I’m close already. Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop. Make me paint this bench while you’re buried in my ass. Make me yours for the night.”

He angled sharper, hitting the spot that made her cry out raw, and stroked her cock faster in perfect time. The tension between them coiled tighter, unfinished, hungry, both of them right on the edge of something that would wreck them completely—but not yet. Not until they had wrung every last filthy drop from the free private session Vanessa had promised.

Victor’s hips snapped forward, burying every thick inch deep inside Vanessa’s fluttering hole, but the edge they’d been riding finally tipped her past restraint. She gasped and pushed back hard, forcing him to pull free with a wet pop that left both of them shuddering. Her cock slapped heavily against her belly, flushed and dripping.

“Not yet,” she panted, amber eyes blazing. “I want you watching every filthy second.” She stood on shaky heels, peeled the silver collar off and tossed it aside, then kicked the heels free. Completely bare now, Vanessa stretched under the low red light, smooth pale skin gleaming with sweat. Her perky little tits rose and fell, nipples tight dark peaks. Between her legs her hard little cock jutted proudly, balls drawn tight, the shaft already slick from her earlier stroking. She turned a slow circle, letting him drink in the petite dancer’s body—narrow waist, soft curves, that pretty leaking cock.

Victor’s own cock throbbed, glistening with her slickness. Before he could reach for her she stepped in, small hands flat on his chest, and shoved him backward into the plush armchair against the wall. He landed hard, legs sprawled. Vanessa straddled his lap immediately, facing away, and ground her bare ass down onto his rigid shaft. The hot cleft of her cheeks sandwiched him, sliding up and down in a filthy tease. Her own cock bounced between her thighs with every roll of her hips.

“Feel that?” she moaned, looking back over one shoulder. “Married cock trapped under my ass. I could make you come just like this.” She reached between them, angled him so the head nestled against her still-loose hole, then lifted and sank halfway before rising again, never taking him fully—just grinding, rubbing, letting him feel how open and greedy she still was. Victor’s hands clamped her waist, thumbs digging into soft flesh. He thrust upward uselessly, chasing more, but she controlled the pace, laughing low and dirty.

“Greedy accountant. You stare at me over turkey sandwiches and now you can’t wait to wreck this hole again.” She ground harder, her cock swinging, pre-cum stringing down onto his thighs. After a long minute of torment she slid off his lap, dropped to her knees between his spread legs, and looked up with pure hunger. Both small hands wrapped his spit-and-ass-slick cock. She pumped him slow, then opened wide and took him deep in one smooth glide. Her throat relaxed; her nose pressed to his abdomen. Wet choking sounds filled the room as she bobbed, cheeks hollowed, tongue working the underside. At the same time her free hand flew to her own shaft, stroking fast and tight, matching the rhythm of her mouth.

Victor groaned, head falling back against the velvet. The sight of twenty-one-year-old Vanessa on her knees, sucking him like she was starving while jerking her pretty cock, nearly finished him. He tangled fingers in her dark hair, guiding gently. She moaned around him, vibrations shooting straight to his balls. Saliva dripped down his shaft onto her pumping fist. She pulled off just long enough to rasp, “Don’t you dare come yet. I still need this cock inside me,” then swallowed him again, deeper, faster, until his hips jerked and she had to ease back, lips shiny, breathing hard.

She climbed up without another word, turning so her back faced him—reverse cowgirl. One hand braced on his thigh, the other guided his cock to her hole. She sank down in a single wet slide, taking every inch until her ass met his lap. Both of them cried out. Vanessa started riding immediately, lifting and dropping hard, her little cock bouncing wildly in front of her with every thrust. Victor watched, mesmerized: the way her shaft slapped her belly, the way her tight ring stretched around him on every downstroke, the bounce of those perky tits from behind. He gripped her hips and thrust up to meet her, the wet slap of skin loud and filthy.

“Watch it bounce,” she gasped, looking back. “Watch my dick jump while you fuck me open. God, you’re so deep—right there—” She reached down and stroked herself in time with the ride, fist flying over her hard little cock. Pre-cum sprayed in clear arcs onto his legs and the chair. Victor’s hands slid up to cup her small breasts, pinching the nipples, then one dropped lower to help stroke her. She slammed down harder, reverse-riding him like she wanted bruises, her hole clenching and fluttering. Sweat ran down the valley of her spine. The private room smelled of sex and perfume and pure need.

When her thighs began to shake she lifted off with a moan of loss, scrambled forward onto the low couch, and planted her knees wide. She looked back, ass presented, hole shiny and open. “Bend me over and pound me. Now. I want to come with you buried balls-deep.”

Victor was on her in two strides. He lined up and shoved home in one brutal thrust that made her scream into the cushions. He set a punishing rhythm immediately, hips slamming, balls slapping her taint. One hand fisted her hair; the other reached under to jerk her cock hard and fast. Vanessa pushed back to meet every stroke, moaning broken and loud.

“Yes—fuck my tight ass—harder—make me take it—Victor, I’m gonna—” Her words dissolved into high, desperate cries. Her cock swelled in his fist. He angled sharper, pounding the spot that made her walls lock down like a fist, and she shattered. Thick ropes of cum shot across the couch cushions as she jerked and clenched, orgasm ripping through her. The rhythmic squeeze milking his cock dragged Victor over with her. He buried deep and unloaded, pulsing hot jets into her ass, groaning her name while his hips stuttered. They stayed locked together, shaking, until the last aftershocks faded.

Spent and glistening with sweat, Vanessa slowly pulled off him. Cum leaked down her thighs. She turned on the couch, climbed into his lap one last time, and kissed him deeply—slow, filthy, tongues sliding, tasting salt and each other. When she broke the kiss her amber eyes were soft and knowing.

“That free private session’s just the start, daddy. I expect you back every time you need to ‘work late.’ Subway counter’s boring without my favorite staring customer. Next time you invent overtime, you come straight here. I’ll be wet and ready.”

Victor sat dazed, cock still twitching, body heavy with satisfaction he’d forgotten existed. He nodded, already calculating which upcoming “quarter-end” nights he could steal. She helped him straighten his clothes with gentle hands, wiping him clean with a towel from a side table, then pressed one last kiss to his mouth.

He slipped out into the night through the same black door, the neon of Velvet Boys flickering above him. The cool air hit his flushed skin. Fiona would be asleep. The spreadsheets would wait. But as he walked to his car, Victor was already planning the next lie, the next drive, the next time he’d bury himself inside Vanessa until the miserable marriage and dead-end job disappeared again.