AllFreeNovel
Share Us
ROOSTER
“That can’t be real.” The woman before me bites her bottom lip as her eyes dash across the waistband of my G-string; her fingers are quick to follow suit.
I grab her hand mid-stroke and bring her digits to my lips. “Oh, honey, they call me Rooster for a reason.” I wrap my lips around her fingers and suck them slowly. Even in the dim light of the Velvet Room, I can see her cheeks turning pink.
“Stop that,” she says with a grin and a tone that beckons me to keep going.
With a wink, I pull her index finger out of my mouth with a pop. “If that’s what you want, gorgeous, then just call me your personal genie. I’ll make all your wishes come true.”
She’s biting into her bottom lip so hard that I swear she’s about to break the skin. “Tell me how big it is.Really.” She emphasizes. “There’s got to be stuffing in there.”
I know a couple of guys known for stuffing their G-strings, but I’m not one of them. When I came to my audition for Stallions, the Hiring Manager took one look at me and said that whatever I’m packing, I better pack every trip to the stage. “I don’t care what you’ve got in there—tissues, a handkerchief, a dildo, hell, even a big fucking dick—if you can’t show up to every lap dance and performance with your bulge looking like that, we don’t want you.”
I told her I’d whip it out for her if she wanted, but Ariel held her hand up and told me to keep it in my pants. “I’m not that kind of girl, Robert. I like tacos, not burritos, it’s what makes me perfect for this job. I’m not here to get down on my knees and suck you off because you’ve got a big one. I’m here to make sure that the men hired have got their shit together and know what they’re doing.”
Ariel was the one who gave me my nickname. After I showed her my dancing skills, with a courtesy thrust of my hips that put my package in her face, she said a whole lot of vulgar words while proclaiming I had the biggest member in the club. “Your stage name is Rooster now,” she said as she shook her head, eyes glued to the bulge on my front, “because that’s the biggest cock in the joint.”
I climb on top of my guest, one leg straddling each of her thighs. My ass hovers over her knees as I grind against her lithe figure in time with the music. “Honey, I can promise you that whoever the biggest man you’ve ever had is,” I lean down to whisper in her ear, “I’m bigger.”
The giggle that escapes her lips can be heard by the security guard standing in front of the Velvet Room. I catch him tossing a look toward us with a raised eyebrow. I shoot Mikey a wink and go on grinding.
“So,” she whispers up at me, her hands resting on my muscular thighs, “are you like, seven inches? Eight?”
These women are all a cliche, I swear. They ask me about my size as if somehow imagining my dick inside them is their biggest fantasy. Not that I blame them, of course. If there was a woman gyrating on my lap with the biggest rack I’d ever seen, I’d probably start inquiring about her size as well. But if there’s one part of my job that’s a drag, it’s the constant pronouncement that I’m large and in charge.
Stallions markets me as the biggest dick they’ve got on the roster. It’s no surprise that I spend half my night teasing ladies with the idea of what I’ve got tucked inside this tight little G-string.
“Try nine, baby,” I whisper in her ear. “A thick nine with all the trimmings.” Some guys are growers, but I’m a show-er. If she asked me to whip it out and show her, it would be hard to dispute my claims. But if she asked me to whip it out, she’d also be carted off by security and sternly warned by the owner that this isn’tthat kind of establishment.
The client gasps and out comes her tongue, wetting her lips as if they just chapped thinking about how big I am. “Nine? How does it all fit?”
This is an aural fantasy for her. I bet if another man talked to her this way, she’d throw up. If some dude who didn’t have six-pack abs came onto her like this, she’d laugh at him and walk away. But because I work at a strip club, because I take it off for money, she’ll take whatever I give her. Call me the chosen one, because this work isn’t for everybody. “If you get a girl hot and ready, anything will fit, honey. Including every, inch, of, this.” Each word is punctuated with a thrust of my hips into her belly.
Her eyes drift lower and she starts licking her lips like I’m a pork chop. Check and mate, baby. I’ve got this one in the bag.
When the dance finishes, she tips me a $20. It isn’t much compared to some of the ladies that have invited me back to the Velvet Room, but it was $50 to secure the room for 10 minutes. There is no doubt that she’s going to wake up tomorrow morning wondering if that $70 was a valid use of her hard-earned funds.
I see her back to the table she was at with her friends. Her cheeks flush red when they start cheering as we walk up. I give them a wink and tell my client that I hope to see her again soon. That kicks off a round of salacious gossiping from the girls as I walk away.
My buddy, Big D, is standing at the bar. He’s 5’7” and wearing a neon G-strip that accentuates his ass like a dream. The woman in front of him has to be 6’0” without shoes on. His head comes up to her chest. In any other situation, people wouldn’t look twice at him. But in here, where the lights are low and dicks are on display, he’s the king of the castle.
“How does he do it?” Hammer walks up to me and nudges me in the side. “That short prick gets all the girls. You know that one woman refused to date me because I wasonly6’0”? Acted as if I barely reached the height minimum to get on the ride.”
I snort in derision. “It’s the confidence. Diesel never looks at a tall woman and thinks that he can’t bag her.”
Hammer rolls his eyes and indicates he wants to head to the bar. “How’s your night going, anyway? I saw you head to the Velvet Room with that blonde girl.”
“She was nice but a little handsy. I had to keep her fingers from disappearing into my G-string once.” I don’t think she would have actually crossed the line, but I couldn’t risk it. The last thing I need is the owner walking through and catching a hot little thing getting friendly with me.
“You gotta keep that guy in a cage,” Hammer clucks his tongue as he orders a water from the bartender. “I swear I hear about your dick when I’m with ladies. You’d think I wasn’t packing my own anaconda.”
I don’t keep track of what cup size my fellow dancers are working with, but let’s be honest, we wouldn’t have gotten hired on at Stallions if we weren’t carrying impressive loads. “I’ll trade ya any time, big boy. How many times can you tell a chick you’re packing everything but the kitchen sink before she gets the picture?”
Hammer shrugs his shoulders. “We all got our problems. Look at me.” He pats his stomach, emphasizing his larger-than-usual physique. When Ariel hired him, she said he was here to cater to the women who liked dad bods. In his first month, he made five figures. I don’t know why he’s complaining.
“More to love, big stud,” I tell him with a wink.
I get my own water and gulp it down. I’ll admit, I’ve loved working at Stallions since the day I got the job. But sometimes on boring nights when the club isn’t packed and I’ve got too much extra time on my hands, I wonder if there’s more to life.
