The Bachelorette
"The stripper cancelled. Five BBW bridesmaids and one nervous bride, all dressed up with nowhere to go—until they decide the cute bartender will do just fine. Her last night single becomes unforgettable."
The call came at 9 PM.
"Sorry, babe. Food poisoning. Can't make it."
Destiny stared at her phone. The stripper—the one she'd paid five hundred dollars for—was cancelling three hours before the party.
"What do we do?" asked Brianna, maid of honor, two hundred and eighty pounds of panic.
"We improvise." Destiny looked around the hotel suite. Six women, all dressed to kill, all ready for a night that was rapidly falling apart. "There has to be someone."
The door opened.
Room service had arrived.
I was just the bartender.
Twenty-six years old, working the hotel's mobile bar service to pay off student loans. The bachelorette suite had ordered champagne, and I was delivering.
Six women turned to look at me.
Six large women. All of them in little black dresses that showed curves for days. All of them looking at me like I was the last slice of cake.
"Well," the one in the white sash said slowly, "hello there."
"I'm just here to set up the bar—"
"What's your name?" White Sash approached. She was maybe thirty, two hundred and seventy pounds, and wearing a tiara that said "Bride."
"Marcus."
"Marcus." She smiled. "How much do you make tonight, Marcus?"
"Maybe two hundred with tips."
"I'll give you two thousand." She stepped closer. "To stay."
"Stay and do what?"
"Whatever we want."
I should have said no.
Professional boundaries. Hotel policy. Basic common sense.
But two thousand dollars was two months of loan payments. And the way these women were looking at me...
"What exactly did you have in mind?"
"Our entertainment cancelled." The maid of honor joined us—her name tag said Brianna. "You're the replacement."
"I'm not a stripper."
"We don't need a stripper." Brianna's hand found my chest. "We need a man. One man. For six women. Think you can handle that?"
They made me strip first.
Not dancing—just standing in the center of the suite while they circled me, touching, appraising, making comments that should have been illegal.
"Nice arms," said Tanya—three hundred pounds, dark skin, hungry eyes.
"Better ass," added Michelle—two hundred and ninety, redhead, already flushed with champagne.
"And this—" Destiny grabbed my cock through my underwear "—this is promising."
"Very promising," agreed Keisha, the quietest one, two hundred and seventy pounds of barely contained desire.
"Ladies," Brianna announced, "I think we found our entertainment."
"Rules," Destiny declared.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, queenly despite—or because of—her curves.
"Tonight is my last night single. Tomorrow I marry Kevin, and I'll be faithful forever. But tonight..." She looked at her bridesmaids. "Tonight, I want to remember what it's like to be free."
"And us?" Brianna asked.
"You share him." Destiny smiled at me. "All of us. Together. One last adventure before I become a wife."
Brianna went first.
As maid of honor, she claimed the privilege. She pushed me onto the couch, straddled my face, and lowered herself without ceremony.
"Make me come," she commanded, "and maybe I'll share."
I licked. She was already wet—had been since I walked in, probably. Her thighs engulfed my head, her weight pressed down, and I lost myself in the task.
"Fuck—he's good—" She was grinding now. "He's really fucking good—"
The others watched. Touched themselves. Waited.
Brianna came screaming my name.
"My turn."
Tanya didn't wait. She pulled Brianna off, took her place, and demanded the same.
"Harder than you gave her. I don't break easy."
I gave her everything. Tongue, fingers, my whole face buried in her cunt while she rode me like a mechanical bull.
"Yes—there—right fucking there—"
She came even harder than Brianna. Gushing, shaking, cursing in two languages.
"He's a keeper," she gasped when she finally climbed off. "Destiny, you have to try him."
But Destiny waited.
"The bride goes last," she announced. "I want to see everything first."
So I serviced them all.
Michelle on the desk, her red hair wild, screaming loud enough to trigger noise complaints. Keisha in the bathroom, bent over the sink, watching herself come in the mirror. Jasmine—I'd barely noticed her, quiet in the corner—suddenly dominant, pulling my hair, demanding more.
Five orgasms before Destiny even touched me.
"Now," she said finally.
The others sprawled around the suite, satisfied but still watching.
Destiny led me to the bed. Lay back against the pillows. Spread her thighs to reveal a body that was meant to be worshipped.
"This is my last night," she said. "Make it count."
I climbed between her legs.
And I made it count.
I went slowly with Destiny.
This wasn't just about orgasm—it was about memory. Something she'd carry into her marriage. Something to treasure.
I kissed every inch of her. Her belly, her breasts, her thighs. I made love to her with my mouth before I ever entered her.
"God—" She was crying. "I didn't know—I didn't know it could be like this—"
"Let go," I whispered. "Just feel."
She came on my tongue. Then came again when I slid inside her. And again when I found her spot and pressed.
The bridesmaids cheered each one.
"More," she gasped. "I want more."
So we gave her more.
Brianna joined us. Then Tanya. Then all of them—six women sharing one man, passing me between them, using me in combinations I'd never imagined.
Destiny rode my cock while Michelle sat on my face. Tanya stroked me back to hardness while Keisha took over riding. Jasmine directed traffic, making sure everyone got equal attention.
We went until dawn.
"That was..." Destiny couldn't find words.
We were piled together in the destroyed suite. Sheets everywhere. Champagne spilled. Six satisfied women and one exhausted man.
"Worth two thousand?" I asked.
"Worth ten." She kissed my cheek. "Thank you, Marcus. For everything."
"What about Kevin?"
"Kevin gets me forever." She smiled. "You got one night. Both of us are lucky."
Epilogue: Six months later
I got an invitation in the mail.
Destiny and Kevin's baby shower. Inside was a note:
"The girls want to throw a party the night before. Same hotel. Same suite. Same bartender. Interested? —D"
I called to confirm immediately.
Some gigs are worth more than money.
Some clients become friends.
And some bachelorette parties... repeat.