Apartment Eight Makes A Golden Challenge - Sex Stories

Apartment Eight Makes A Golden Challenge

... thinking to give him, his bat, and his “package” the hook. “Move, you idiot!” Carie shouted over the clamor, standing up from her stool. Suddenly, Vasily stepped his left foot forward. The audience noticeably and unexpectedly quieted a few notches. Planting the ball of his foot on the floor, he gyrated his hips a little... just a little bit. Explosions. The women screamed and waved their hands in the air, whistling, clapping. The applause and cheers swept around Vasily, through him, behind him, and pulled him forward. He put his right foot out and wiggled his butt. Screams. He put his left foot out again and grinded his crotch. More screams. The energy of the club was through the roof. Holy shit, Vasily thought. “Holy shit!” Carie mumbled to herself, her face blank. The noise was like breaking glass and rattling chains. The crowd was just a flurry blur of hyper, over-stimulated and intoxicated women. Vasily moved through the pandemonium, focusing on the steady lights and listening to the music. He found his rhythm, his calm, his pleasure. He swung his bat over his head like he was warming up for a plate appearance, putting some extra “oomph” in the sway of his hips. That went over like gangbusters, especially since the buttons on his stretched jersey started popping open as he did so. He knelt down and leaned back towards a group of women. They “helped” him by stripping his shirt off his oiled-up body like wax paper from a stick of butter. He barely managed to stand upright ...

... again before they were able to claw him into their quagmire of lustful exuberance. Vasily crunched his abs and flexed his arms, showing off his tattoos and highlighting every line etched deeply amongst his muscular frame. He planted the bat at his crotch, jutting it out into the women’s faces and then hopped around the catwalk as if he were busting a bronco. An appreciative murmur of “Oh my God” bristled through the crowd. The velcro on his pants was barely hanging on at this point and Vasily decided to give the people what they wanted. With a deft tug of his fist, he yanked them off and flung them into the crowd, right into the flush face of a red headed patron. She didn’t seem to mind and firmly shoved away a couple of other ladies who rudely grabbed at the souvenir. With his cock barely strapped in behind the limited confines of a black, mini-hammock, Vasily pounded his crotch towards the women as if he were trying to drive a nail into a wall. Fingertips and nails were just barely within reach, brushing at his glazed pink flesh. Still he managed to find a path through them to strut and swivel. It was getting easier as the seconds passed, as he got a better understanding of the women surrounding him. He was used to dealing with clients everyday for work. He knew that, sometimes, he had to concede to their needs. And sometimes it was Vasily who decided what was best for them and he made them accept it. He locked the bat behind his neck and cranked his abs like a pornstar. The ...