Jake had always been the quiet type, the one who blended into the background at family gatherings. At 22, with a lean, toned body from years of casual gym sessions and a part-time job as a delivery guy, he dreamed of something more exciting. Stripping. It started as a wild fantasy after watching a movie about male dancers, their bodies glistening under stage lights, commanding attention from adoring crowds. The money was good too—enough to pay off his student loans and maybe escape the suffocating family home where his stepmother, Elena, ruled with an iron fist, his stepsister Mia flirted shamelessly, and visits from his aunt Lisa and cousins Sarah and Tara always felt charged with unspoken tension.
He signed up for an underground stripping service called 'Midnight Thrills,' a discreet agency that catered to private parties. No experience needed, they said—just confidence and a killer body. Jake practiced in his room, stripping down to his boxers, gyrating to bass-heavy music on his laptop. His cock twitched at the thought of eyes on him, hands reaching out. After a week of rehearsals, he got his first gig: a bachelorette-style party at a secluded mansion on the outskirts of town. Five women, masks mandatory for privacy, high payment. Perfect for a newbie.
The night arrived, nerves buzzing like electricity in his veins. Jake arrived in a sleek black sedan provided by the agency, dressed in tight jeans and a button-up shirt that hugged his chest. The mansion loomed dark and opulent, lights dimmed in the main hall. A butler-like figure led him to a side room to prepare. 'They want the full show,' the man said. 'Start with the strip, then interact. No limits unless they say stop.' Jake nodded, heart pounding, as he oiled up his abs and thighs, the scent of coconut filling the air.
Music thumped from hidden speakers as he stepped onto the makeshift stage in the living room, spotlights hitting his skin. The women sat in a semi-circle on plush couches, faces hidden behind elaborate Venetian masks—feathers and lace obscuring their features. But something felt off. The silhouettes... one curvaceous like his aunt Lisa, another slim and perky like Mia, the twins Sarah and Tara with their matching builds, and Elena's authoritative posture. No, couldn't be. This was a private gig; clients were vetted for anonymity. He shook it off, focusing on the rhythm.
Jake swayed his hips, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, revealing his chiseled torso. Whistles and catcalls erupted. 'Take it off, stud!' one voice purred—familiar, but distorted by the mask. He peeled the shirt away, tossing it into the crowd. Hands grabbed it, and he felt the first rush. Dropping to his knees, he ground against the air, his bulge straining against his jeans. The women leaned forward, their bodies shifting—dresses riding up thighs, cleavage spilling from low-cut tops. One stood, a voluptuous figure in red, and began to twerk against the stage edge, her ass cheeks jiggling inches from his face. 'Dance for us, baby,' she cooed, voice husky.
Emboldened, Jake unzipped his jeans, kicking them off to reveal black briefs that barely contained his hardening cock. He spun, flexing his ass, and the women cheered. Another rose—a lithe one with dark hair cascading down her back—pressing her body against the pole he'd been given, grinding her pussy mound against it while staring at him through the mask slits. Her hips rolled seductively, teasing him with the outline of her nipples poking through silk. 'You like what you see?' she whispered, licking her lips. Jake's dick throbbed; he nodded, stepping closer, letting her hands graze his thighs.
The seduction escalated. The group moved like a pack, surrounding the stage. One—the tallest, with an hourglass figure—dropped to her knees, crawling toward him, her tongue flicking out as if to taste the air between them. 'We're starving for you,' she growled. They began to dance in unison, a hypnotic ritual: twerking in sync, asses bouncing, tits swaying free as they shed outer layers. Bras unclasped, panties flashed—wet spots visible under the lights. Jake's shock deepened; these moves, this hunger... it mirrored the forbidden glances he'd caught at family barbecues, but masked, it was surreal. Lucky for the covers, or he'd bolt.
He hooked his thumbs into his briefs, sliding them down. His cock sprang free, thick and veined, already leaking pre-cum. Gasps filled the room. 'Oh fuck, look at that meat,' one hissed. No rest for him—they swarmed. Hands everywhere: stroking his shaft, pinching his nipples, slapping his ass. He tried to lead the dance, grabbing a remote to amp the bass, but they overpowered, pushing him onto a velvet chaise they'd dragged center stage. 'Our turn to devour,' the leader said, her voice like Elena's commanding tone.
They stripped him bare, tying his wrists loosely to the chaise arms with silk scarves—bondage play, cult-like in their fervor. Phones emerged, recording every angle: his cock twitching, their masked faces hovering. One straddled his face, grinding her soaked pussy against his mouth. 'Lick it, stripper boy.' He dove in, tongue plunging into her folds, tasting her tangy arousal. She rode his face hard, juices smearing his chin, while another mounted his dick, sinking down inch by inch. Her cunt clenched around him, hot and greedy, as she bounced, tits flopping wildly.
No tomorrow—they fucked like addicts. The rider on his cock slammed down, her ass cheeks slapping his balls, while the face-sitter ground deeper, smothering him in her scent. He loved it, thrusting up despite the ties, leading by bucking his hips to hit her G-spot. 'Harder!' she screamed. Others waited, fingering themselves, toys appearing from a nearby bag: vibrators, dildos, nipple clamps. One cousin-like figure—petite and fiery—shoved a buzzing plug up her own ass, moaning as she watched, then leaned in to suck his balls, tongue swirling the sensitive skin.
They rotated, relentless. The aunt-figure, voluptuous and dominant, untied one hand just to make him finger her asshole while she deepthroated his cock, gagging wetly, saliva dripping down his length. 'Choke on it,' he growled, surprising himself, pushing her head down. She did, throat bulging, eyes watering behind the mask. His stepsister's build—slim, athletic—took his cock next, reverse cowgirl, her tight pussy milking him as she twerked on his lap. He spanked her ass red, leading the rhythm: 'Faster, slut.' She obeyed, cumming with a shudder, squirting on his thighs.
The twins—Sarah and Tara's echoes—went wild, one tying the other's wrists to a nearby pillar, whipping her ass with a flogger before offering both holes to Jake. He stood, cock slick, and fucked the bound one's pussy doggy-style, pulling her hair while the free twin licked his shaft on the outstrokes. 'Torture her clit,' he commanded, grabbing a vibrator and pressing it to her swollen nub. She screamed in ecstasy, body convulsing as he pounded deeper, his balls tightening.
Recording captured it all: close-ups of cum dripping from stretched cunts, toys buried in asses, his cock disappearing into mouths. They acted like whores in heat—every part fuckable. One bent over, spreading cheeks for him to rim her asshole, tongue probing deep while another pissed lightly on his chest in a kinky twist, marking him. He lapped it up, addicted to the depravity, leading by flipping her onto her back and fisting her pussy slowly, knuckles stretching her walls.
No rest—they dragged him to a corner where a makeshift gloryhole waited: a partitioned wall with a cock-sized hole, padded for comfort. 'Rate us, big boy,' they teased, voices muffled. He slid his dick through, anonymous now, heart racing at the taboo thrill. First mouth: warm and eager, sucking sloppily, teeth grazing. 'Eight—needs more tongue,' he rated, groaning as she improved, deepthroating with gags. Next, a pussy backed onto it, grinding reverse, her juices coating him. 'Nine—tight as fuck,' he panted, thrusting blindly.
An ass followed, lubed and clenching, taking him balls-deep. 'Ten—milk that cock,' he ordered, feeling her spasm. Toys joined: one shoved a dildo alongside his dick in her hole, double-stuffing, stretching her obscenely. He rated a perfect ten, cumming hard inside, ropes of hot seed filling her. But they weren't done—pulling him out, they tied him spread-eagle to the wall, using him as a toy station. Vibrators buzzed against his tip while mouths sucked his toes, fingers in his ass probing his prostate.
The stepmother-figure orchestrated like a cult priestess, chanting encouragements: 'Worship the cock, sisters.' They devoured inches: licking armpits, sucking earlobes, biting thighs. Jake led a chain—fucking one while she ate another's pussy, a daisy chain of flesh. Toys everywhere: anal beads yanked from asses with pops, nipple clamps tugged on swinging tits. He tortured playfully, clamping a vibe to a clit and watching her buck, then soothing with his tongue.
Hours blurred. They recorded a gloryhole marathon, his cock raw but insatiable, rating each assault: 'Seven—deeper throat,' 'Perfect—cum in that ass.' Addicts, they injected the scene with poppers for heightened rushes, bodies slick with sweat and fluids. One cousin-mask begged for bondage, wrists bound as he fucked her throat until she puked a little, then lapped it clean like a fiend. He loved leading, spanking, choking lightly—non-consent blurring into raw passion.
Finally, as dawn crept, they collapsed in a heap, bodies intertwined, his cock still buried in a final pussy. Masks stayed on, identities veiled, but the shock lingered—he'd been rented by phantoms of his family, devoured without knowing. He liked every second, the incestuous haze fueling his fire. As he dressed, slipping out, the whispers followed: 'Come back soon, our secret stripper.' Jake grinned—first gig, and he'd lead the cult next time.