Tiny Tina Stripper Novels & Stories

The fair grounds were packed for the concert that day. It was mid-August and even though night had fallen it was still sweltering hot. Tina was dressed to beat the heat in a low slung denim mini skirt and bikini top, hiking sandals on her feet. She turned more than a few heads in her revealing outfit. At twenty-one years of age, she had a lush yet firm body. Full 36C tits filled her bikini top, her narrow waist flared out gently to her tight round ass, which was clearly evident even though the fullness of her skirt and her long, tanned, athletic legs gave every guy there something to lust over.

“How come you're the only one not getting the gist?” “Okay!” I stood up and moved to the closet. “That's enough about my relationship, you guys made me come here to relax, and this is not exactly relaxing now is it?” I looked pointedly at Roxy. “You know what? You're right.” Tina emerged from the bathroom, her natural curls tamed into a disciplined, glossy mane that hit her waist. “We basically dragged her into this, we should give her a break, Roxy.” With a sigh, she huffed a “fine” and walked into the bathroom to change while Tina applied her makeup.

The moment she said those words, he was reminded of what she really was—just a woman who entertained men for money. His jaw clenched. What a slut. They’re all just after money. His anger flared. This woman would do anything for the right price. Sex. Blowjobs. Stripping. Anything for a few bills. And he hated that about her. For a moment, he had forgotten that she was just a stripper he picked up to satisfy his lust. "Get out. Fix yourself and leave," he ordered coldly, tucking himself back into his pants.

"I'll play your dumb game. Who's playing first?" "Ladies first" She sips her glass of wine. "Okay…." her tone drops, sultry. "What's your body count?"

It was like they had a mind of their own or maybe I could say my whole body because my mind was the only one that was slow to react. "Good girl." He whispered as I sat down on him. I hated my height. What had they given me that made it where I was too tall? Now I was like everyone else. "Now how about we start with your name." He said against my ear. "Tri, Trixie." I whispered softly. "Trixie, so you are a stripper here?" He asked. "A stripper?" I whispered a little confused. "Yes a stripper?" I did not know what that was. I had never heard of that.

“Look, why do you need to bother with what they say? Why don’t you just show them and prove to them that it is wrong to judge you.” “How am I supposed to be unbothered with those things, Andrius? How?” she asked, frustratingly as she stepped backward. “You were right! No matter how I dress, no matter how I try to be your ideal girl, in other people's eyes… I’m just a stripper. A fucking whore!”

I secretly used him to punish her whenever I was particularly upset or annoyed with her - and it worked like a charm. “I need to fetch a package at the strip club downtown,” I responded, leaving the invitation open for her to join me. “You don’t need to ask me twice,” she jumped at the opportunity, already heading toward the door so she could get ready for her night on the town. A few hours later we were sitting in our private booth, a gloriously fake, blonde stripper hanging upside down from the pole in front of me, her tits barely contained in the miniscule glittery bikini top. She twirled around the pole and dropped onto all fours, crawling toward Nina and myself seductively. Nina giggled

I heard the sound of his grinding teeth to my question. “Yeah.” he finally answered. “Are you going to give me more than a one-word answer?” It became silent once again. Between the grinding of his teeth and the tapping on the steering wheel meant he was trying so hard not to snap. “Why are you a stripper?” You can hear the distaste in his question like he hated that his mate dances are naked with other men. “It’s fun that’s why. I don’t need to do it, I want to do it. I know you’re thinking that there is a reason that I had to do this. Well, there isn't anything other than it’s my only talent.”

The walls are bare the tapestries an empty dark blue. "I haven't stripped in a few years since I've been bartending but I'm sure it'll come to me quick. I've got old routines I can do to begin with and am comfortable on stage." I tell him trying not to sell myself short. "Well, you're not hard to look at." He stared and it doesn't sound creepy or like a compliment just a fact. "May I ask how old you are?" "Twenty-three." I supply without hesitating. "Sixteen when I started stripping and eighteen when bartending,'' I add knowing that's his next question.

As the breadwinner in my family, this opportunity came at just the right time. Life took a different route for us. Mom used to work as a stripper, and it's not your everyday story, but it worked for us. I'm 22 now, and my little brother is seven. Different dads – yeah, that's how our family tree shaped up. Growing up without a dad in the picture was just the way it was. Mom did her thing, juggling the bills and bedtime stories. It wasn't the textbook family setup, but it was ours, and it kind of worked. Mom decided to retire from stripping and embrace her 'mommy' groove. At 45, she looks like an angel and defies aging norms. Leaving the stage didn't dim her spark; she swapped stilettos for a