Stripper Roommate: Best Must-Have Hot Encounter

My stripper roommate had just gotten home when the landlord knocked, and I remember watching her open the door still in her work clothes, that tiny sequined outfit that barely covered anything, and the way he froze mid-sentence when he realized what she did for a living. She invited him in like it was nothing, and I stayed on the couch pretending to scroll my phone while the tension between them got so thick I could practically feel it from across the room. Within minutes they were in her bedroom, and I could hear everything through the thin wall—the soft clicks of her heels hitting the floor, the low murmur of his voice, her quiet laugh. She told me later he sat on the edge of the bed first, and she climbed right into his lap facing him, riding him slow at first, her hands braced on his chest, then faster, her breath catching in that way I’d heard through the wall a hundred times before. They shifted into doggystyle with her bent over the mattress, and then he flipped her onto her back for missionary, her legs wrapped around his waist, and when he finally finished, she came out wrapped in a sheet, grinning, and just said, Well, that was a first.