Stripogram


"It's for college," Joe kept repeating to himself. "It's for college, for a degree, for a better paying job, for the chance to grab the brass ring."

He hefted his bag of props on his shoulder and waited patiently, watching the office go by. Some of the women at the desks ignored him, some glanced curiously and some stared in apparent shock. It was as if they'd never seen a male stripper in the office.

He tried to ignore the more carnivorous glances and returned to his mantra. 'College tuition, college tuition, college tuition.'

The office manager opened the door to a conference room. "You'll wait in here," she told him. "I'll come get you when it's time." He nodded an acknowledgement. "Oh, she's gonna love you," the woman said with a smile. "They'll all just eat you up."

He marked that phrase off his imaginary bingo card of things he heard every single time he did a woman's party.

Office parties were better and worse than events in the back of a bar, Joe had learned. Tips were better where alcohol was involved, but the women were wilder. Then again, in an office, everyone knew each other, and the women egged each other on.

He changed into his costume, then paced back and forth for a while. Then the woman came back in and took him to the room with the party.

As they entered, every face turned to watch him as he went from the door to the table. He put on his game face, smiled wide, and stepped out of the cage.

"Someone here need legal representation?" he shouted, waving his briefcase. The women around him squealed and clapped. Two pounded the table, nearly tipping him over. He sighed and gestured to the MP3 player on top of his cage. Someone hit the button and the music started. Another woman dimmed the lights. The rest crowded around the table, looking down on him as he started to perform.

He danced around the table, spinning to swing his attaché and extend his tie. The case held small notes for the birthday girl. Joe handed them over in a stack, as if issuing a subpoena.

Debbie, the birthday girl, was delighted to find coupons for pieces of his clothing. She sorted through them while he continued to dance. Then she handed them out.

Each was numbered and listed an item he was wearing. A blonde woman squealed to get number one, his tie. He danced over to her place at the table, navigating between the plates and cups. He leaned way over so his tie dangled and she grabbed one end. Then slowly, gently, he slipped the knot so she could pull it out of his collar.

"Who's the second witness?!" he shouted. A black woman across the table waved her coupon and he went over. She got his coat, pinching the tail as he slipped out of one sleeve then the other. She tugged a bit hastily near the end, nearly spilling him into a cup of Kool Aid. Great.

Joe looked around for a smile. Coupon number three was in another blonde's hand. She waved him over. He winked and complied. Number three pinched his shirt at the ribs and yanked. Buttons flew across the table and the shirt tore off of him. Just like it was supposed to.

One woman got both of his shoes. Joe rolled onto his back and held his loafers up in the air. He'd tried splitting them up between two women, but one near-wishboning ended that. She slid the shoes off and ran a fingernail across one arch, thinking that it would tickle him.

The fingernail felt like being stroked with the edge of a shovel, but he still giggled and jerked, playing to the audience.

The pants were next. When he started to open his zipper, the redhead whose turn it was poked her finger down to stop him. The others cheered her on as she slowly and carefully tried to work the fly. Then she just ripped them free, to even louder cheers.

Damned office parties, Joe thought, hiding a limp from a strained groin muscle. The birthday girl had, of course, kept the coupon for his boxers to herself.

Spinning in her direction, he 'accidentally' fell onto a slice of cake. Covered in frosting, he stumbled back to his feet and over to her.

"Oh, sweet thing!" she murmured. Bingo, he thought to himself. As she was supposed to, she scooped him up and licked him clean. The long, warm tongue darted out to lap up frosting from his chest, back and face.

She drew his limbs into her mouth entirely, fellating them clean with suction and licking. Another day, another oral drubbing, he thought. But despite himself, despite being almost bored with the whole process, he started to become aroused at the attention.

Debbie noticed and worked his legs a little more passionately. He got harder still. When she finally raised a thumbnail and drew his boxers off, Little Joey sprung to attention.

She giggled and reached out with her tongue to lightly worry his cock. Then she held him back and looked him over. The circle of amazons urged her to take greater liberties with her party favor.

As the rest of the horde cheered, she opened her mouth wide and took him into her mouth. She tightened her lips around his ribs. Hot breath from her nostrils worked across his chest and face as her tongue swirled around his crotch.

For the benefit of her friends, he tossed his head back and forth in a frenzy of apparent sensual pleasure. Mostly, in such situations, he just hoped that they wouldn't bruise his balls or cock too much for him to walk.

To his amazement, he actually enjoyed this woman's efforts. She knew exactly how much pressure he could and couldn't stand, where to touch and how.

Her cheeks pushed his legs in towards the center of her mouth, where her tongue braced them apart at the thigh. That left him immobilized as the tip stroked his manhood.

After coming to this nation of giants, Joe had often been in the control of or at the mercy of a woman. This time was different, somehow. She was actually paying attention to him, as a lover, not just a toy.

As he realized this, he looked up into her eyes. She winked, sucked harder, and brought him off. He screeched and kicked, but couldn't move. Then he relaxed as she slid him out of her mouth to her hand.

He lay motionless in her grip as the group sang 'Happy Birthday.' Normally, at this point, he counted the number of days until he could return to Lilliput, the number of parties until he had tuition.

Today, though, he gazed lovingly back up at the customer. They'd made a connection. She smiled, wide and sincere, and put him back in the cage.

A few women slid tips between the bars, but for once he didn't even count the money.

The office manager covered him with a paper napkin, then carried the cage back to the receptionist for pickup by the party company.

He dozed a bit, humming the birthday song to himself.