Roger hits the strip club

American Dad – Possession Story Chapter 5: Roger Hits the Club

Roger (still in Francine’s voluptuous body, wearing the tight red polka-dot pin-up dress) was buzzing with excitement as he cruised down the highway in the family minivan. One hand stayed on the wheel while the other kept wandering back to Francine’s chest, squeezing and bouncing her breasts experimentally.

He pulled into the parking lot of The Golden Garter, Langley Falls’ seediest strip club. The neon sign flickered “AMATEUR HOUR TONIGHT.” Roger’s eyes lit up.

“Perfect.”

He adjusted the low neckline of the dress to show maximum cleavage, fluffed Francine’s long dark hair, and strutted inside like he owned the place. The bouncer did a double-take at the gorgeous, slightly tipsy housewife walking in alone.

Inside, the club was dimly lit, loud music thumping, and half a dozen men were scattered around the stage. Roger immediately started working the room, leaning over tables and flirting shamelessly.

“Hey there, big boy,” he purred in Francine’s voice to a burly trucker, pressing her chest forward. “Like what you see? These are all natural… well, mostly. Want a closer look?”

The trucker’s eyes nearly popped out. “Holy shit, lady… you’re smokin’.”

Roger laughed and moved on, brushing against another patron and letting his hand “accidentally” graze the man’s arm while whispering, “I’ve never done this before, but I’m feeling extra naughty tonight.”

When the DJ announced amateur hour, Roger practically skipped onto the stage. The crowd cheered as the curvy brunette in the pin-up dress grabbed the pole.

The music started. Roger tried to dance seductively… but he was still getting used to the human female body. His movements were awkward and exaggerated — hips swaying too hard, making Francine’s breasts bounce wildly out of rhythm, heels wobbling, arms flailing a bit too much. He nearly tripped once but caught himself by grabbing the pole and spinning, which only made everything jiggle more.

The guys in the audience went absolutely wild anyway.

“God damn, she’s into it!” one yelled.

“Look at those tits bounce! She’s got no idea what she’s doing and it’s hot as hell!” another shouted.

Roger was loving the attention. He bent over, shaking Francine’s ass toward the crowd, then turned and squeezed her own breasts together, blowing kisses. “You boys like these? They’re heavier than they look!”

The cheers got louder. Money started flying onto the stage.

Roger was mid-spin when the front door opened and a group of men walked in — Stan, Bullock, and a few other CIA buddies, all still in their suits after a long day at work.

Stan froze mid-step. His eyes locked onto “Francine” on stage, dress riding up, breasts bouncing as she awkwardly humped the pole.

Bullock’s jaw dropped. His eyes went straight to Francine’s chest and stayed there.

“Smith…” Bullock muttered, voice husky. “Your wife is… spectacular tonight.”

Stan’s face turned beet red. “That’s not— Roger, you son of a bitch! Get off the stage right now!”

Roger spotted them and broke into a huge grin. He blew a kiss directly at Bullock and waved.

“Hey there, handsome! You look like you could use a private dance. These babies have been dying for some real attention all night.”

Bullock didn’t hesitate. He pulled out a thick wad of cash and slammed it on the bar. “Private room. Now. Whatever she wants.”

Stan grabbed Bullock’s arm. “Sir, that’s my wife! You can’t—”

Bullock shrugged him off, eyes never leaving “Francine.” “Relax, Smith. It’s just a dance. Your wife is clearly in a giving mood tonight. I’m feeling very… patriotic.”

Roger sauntered over, hips swaying dramatically, and hooked his arm through Bullock’s. He pressed Francine’s chest against the director’s side and whispered loud enough for Stan to hear:

“Come on, big guy. Let’s go somewhere private so I can show you how these work up close.”

Stan stood there sputtering as Bullock happily followed “Francine” toward the back rooms, cash in hand.