A pounding rhythm filled the air, emanating from Avery’s niece’s little boombox back in the main house. That helped Jeff a lot, and he danced around the room for a few seconds to get into the rhythm of it. Avery watched his back muscles writhe.
“You ready?” Jeff asked, flashing his dimples. He backed up to Avery, who was still seated so Jeff’s ass was around his face level. Avery’s cock rocketed to attention. The fact that Jeff hadn’t prepared to strip today actually made this more arousing — dirty basketball shorts were more alluring, Avery thought, than contrived stripper clothes. The faint layer of chest hair that hadn’t been shaved yet even extended over his shoulder. His natural musk was only barely covered up by deodorant — he no doubt wore cologne when he stripped, but he assumed no one would notice through the fatsuit. All those things turned Avery on more than any polished Hollywoodized stripper.
His asscheeks flexed, one after the other, in front of Avery’s face. Avery inhaled deeply of the sweaty scent and moaned loudly, and the awkwardness of the situation made him chuckle. That made Jeff laugh too — it was clearly forced, he was in agreeable-stripper-mode — and Avery even tried to tease those shorts down before Jeff batted his hands away.
“No touching the stripper,” Jeff said.
From The Stud
