Hank and Velvet

"So… stripping."

"You're not allowed to judge me for that."

"I know. I wasn't-"

"Especially since you're a man who frequents strip clubs."

"I wasn't judging!"

After silent tears and vocal apologies the two had begun to converse like regular people. Though there was no covenant binding them in honesty they still found truth and comfort in each others presence. Twelve years of catching up had come as easily to Dean and Stacy as it had to Dean and Heather.

"I didn't know you were Hank, or I guess, Hank was you, until just before you came through that door."

"I didn't know Velvet was you until that catfight you and your sister had last night."

Blue eyes narrowed from across the table.

"I'm sorry we got you banned from the club."

"Well, I'm not sorry you got banned too. At least this way I don't have to worry about that bitch Mercedes getting all your tips."

"Mercedes? I got one dance from her and noped the fuck out of that back room. I don't know how she makes a living stripping."

Stacy made a jerking motion with her hand while pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek.

"Ahh, that would be how."

They shared a laugh not as father and daughter, but as adults with a shared history.

"So, Hank, I-" Stacy stopped in her tracks. "Shit, I mean, Dean-"

"It's okay. I've almost called you Velvet a couple times now. It's hard, you know. Changing what names we know others by."

"Do- do you mind if I just, for now, keep calling you Hank?"

"Take it away, Velvet."

She smiled. It wasn't the practiced gesture her mother or the other strippers would have given, but a genuine, honest smile.

"I know you and I don't have some divine covenant binding us in honesty, but I'd like to try being straightforward and honest with you anyway. It sounds refreshing. Liberating. And I want that. I need that. So, Hank, there's something I want to say that I probably shouldn't but I'm going to anyway."

The blonde took several deep breaths in preparation for her announcement.

"Hank, I want to fuck you. I've wanted to fuck you for a long time. Whenever I work the club I look for you and whenever I see you with another dancer I get jealous."

"Velvet, to be straightforward and honest… You are the reason I keep going back to that club. You make me feel like a young buck again. This past year, watching you strip and having you grind my lap, has been the easiest year in the past dozen. I can't deny that there have been a couple times I've almost whipped it out while we were in the back room."

The blonde flushed at the image and bit her lip.

"If you did I don't think I would have stopped myself."

Silence again fell over the table. They were not father and daughter. Dean and Stacy were nowhere to be found. They were Hank and Velvet. A man and his favorite stripper. Two adults mutually attracted to one another.

Hank slid his chair back from the table. Velvet rose and walked around to him. Her hips swayed with each step and let the hem of her dress ride high. The blonde crossed the short distance and with one exaggerated gesture she straddled the still sitting man.

His hands found their way to her ass. Without care for rules or observers the man tugged at the fabric just barely covering her ample rear. It took only a moment for her juicy backside and G-string to be exposed. She ground herself into his lap in response. Her heat, her moisture, he could feel it even through the denim of his jeans.

They kissed.

It was brief, but hungry. A little taste of what was to come. Velvet, a stripper, knew how to tease and entice. That Hank enjoyed being teased was one of the things she had grown to love about him.

She first slid down the man's body. It was a practiced move, one she'd done a thousand times before, but never with the intent to expose any body but her own. The busty blonde brought her hands to the mans crotch and found an all too familiar bulge. She had gripped time and again in the club, but it would finally be revealed. It would finally be hers. First a belt. Then a button. There was some difficulty in exposing him, but the desperately horny young woman made due.

"Fuck…" Hanks cock, long and hard, rose between the two. A bead of pre-cum glistened on its tip. "...fuck yes."

She couldn't help herself. She kissed the tip. Then pouty lips pushed together to give what resistance they could as she took it into her mouth. Inch after inch of thick meat worked its way over her tongue and up to the back of her throat. The stripper held him there, his cock crushing her uvula, until the need for air overwhelmed her.

"No gag reflex?"

The blue eyed blonde only smiled and got to work pumping the mans shaft while sucking his balls. She went slowly. Delicately. It would do no good for him to climax before the main event. An event she desperately wanted to get to.

Velvet rose, pulled her underwear to the side, straddled Hank and came down again. She shuddered as the mans thick fuck stick stretched her eager hole. Spit and her own bodies desire made his penetration a smooth experience. He filled her. It was a fullness not just in her pussy, but somewhere higher. A hole was being filled. When he bottomed out she again rocked her hips in his lap.

"Hank…"

The word came as a soft whisper in his ear. Her sweet scent filled his nose. And her body, her heat, he had never before felt anything like it.

The blonde leaned back to let her more mature partner pull at her dress and exposed her massive breasts. Two perfect teardrops the size of a man's head swayed and jiggled as Velvet continued to grind her pelvis against his. Hank didn't hesitate to take one of her olive nipples in his mouth. She moaned. He moved to the other. She groaned. He mashed her tits together and did his best to give attention to both. She gasped.

"Hank…" Velvet leaned forward. Her pouty lips mashed against his in a sloppy, hungry kiss. "...you can do whatever you want to me."

"Oh?"

"Use me. **** me. Just as long as it's you."

No other words were needed. Hank gripped the strippers thighs and came to his feet. He hadn't the strength to fuck a tall, full bodied woman in a standing position, but that wasn't his plan. He laid her down on the table, all the while never pulling out from her hot, eager cunt.

What they were doing was wrong. Where they were doing it was wrong. Even their state of mind was wrong. Neither thought clearly. In his mind the man held an irrational fear that if he removed his cock from the bombshell of a blonde he would never again have the chance to fuck her.

And so, with his hands on her hips, he pulled back until the head of his swollen member was just barely wrapped in the folds of Velvet's hairless box. Then he slammed forward with enough **** to rock the table. Again he pulled back and again he rammed his meat into her body. His speed increased. His **** increased. The man held nothing back.

"Ahh- Ohhh!" The stripper moaned, "Oh fuck. P-p-pound my pussy. Give my tha-at big dick. Oh god, give it to me!"

Velvets cries were almost drown out by the bestial grunts Hank made as he ravaged her body. He had never before fucked a woman with such reckless abandon. He didn't just see Velvet on the table, but also Amber. His ex-wife. The cheating whore. What he did to that shapely blonde was fueled as much by hate as by lust.

Hank growled and slapped one of Velvets massive tits. She gave a sharp cry, more from surprise than pain, and smiled. He struck the other. As his thrusts grew in intensity the man leaned forward and braced himself, one hand kneading her breast and the other squeezing her neck. Enough to dominate, not enough to fully ****.

If she asked him to stop he wouldn't. He couldn't. He was back in time. Eighteen years old with a hottie on his dick. But things would be different this time. She wouldn't be sleeping around. There'd be no passing someone else's child off as his. No. This big tittied blonde wasn't pregnant. Not yet.

"Oh god, are you close? I- I'm so fucking c-c-close…"

I'm close and you're going to take it all

Hank gave one last thrust to bottom out in the young blondes sopping wet cunt. There he exploded into her with the largest cumshot of his life. The tightness of his balls, the volume and **** of ejaculate, it was nearly painful. He grit his teeth and dumped his load right where it belonged.

Blue eyes went wide at the feeling. The blonde knew she should have been upset but her state of mind was just as compromised as Hanks. Instead, she wrapped her legs around her partner and kept him from pulling out. More of his hot spunk poured into her. A womb, ready and eager to give life, found itself drowning in the divine cum of a god.

In her mind only one thing stood out clearly; the chance to be better than Amber. To be a better mother. A better wife. To settle down and be the person that selfish bitch could only pretend to be. Could only wish to be. It wasn't fair what she had done to Dean and it was up to her, Stacy, to make things right.

Hank and Velvet were gone.

Dean fell back into his chair as his daughters legs went slack around him. He watched with disbelief as his cum poured from her gaping hole. It pooled on the table and dripped to the floor. The sheer volume of what he had unloaded into her was unreal.

"...dad…"

Stacy adjusted her G-string to cover her well fucked hole. The diminutive garment did little to stem the tide of musky spunk.

"...we… we should…"

It was enough to snap the man back to reality.

Dean Cassidy, father of two, founder and owner of Cassidy Customs, nascent god, sat with his dick out at half mast. Before him, laying on a small round table, was Stacy; daughter, sister, stripper and cum dump.

Around them were a half dozen customers and a barista. Each was frozen with a look of shock on their face. They were in a tiny café, a fact that had been lost on him as he lost himself to the moment. There had been no interruptions from the small audience. There had also been no attempts to record what Dean and Stacy had done. There was only shock and awe.

"...we should-"

"Go. Yes. We should go."

Dean helped his daughter to her feet, caught her as she nearly collapsed, and supported her as they made their way out the door. The pair left only silence in their wake.

Six customers. One barista. Their lives were changed forever that day. What started as a pair of young women arguing in the corner had turned into an enlightening experience.

The brunette, Heather, prophet of the one true god, had shared a spiritual truth to her sister and they, the seven, were blessed to have overheard. It was the truth of god. A humble god. A human god. One that then graced the little café with his presence and allowed them to bear witness to the conception of his child.

They believed themselves to have been chosen for a higher purpose.