The Team's Slut Chapter 5: The Bachelor Party

Hey everyone! Hope you’re all having a great weekend. I know Roomies in Arms is a slow burn, so I like to mix things up with some hornier stories now and then. This time, we’re catching up with Darren—seven years after his steamy submission in the locker room showers. He’s tried to clean up his slutty act, and now his best friend is Chase, who’s about to get married. But when Darren forgets to book a stripper for the bachelor party… well, he has to improvise.

Everyone in this story is 18+

I fucked up.

Like, really fucked up.

All I had to do was book the damn stripper. That was literally my one job as Chase’s best man.

I remembered everything else. The Airbnb. The liquor. The playlist. I even made little custom “Groom Squad” tank tops as a joke.

But somewhere between work, planning, and pretending I wasn’t lowkey jealous of my best friend getting married… I forgot the main event.

And now here we were. Eight drunk, rowdy dudes packed into a living room with dim lights, loud music, and zero tits in sight.

Milo looked around the room like something was missing.

Because it was... He turned to me. “Where’s the stripper?”

It was like time froze.

And everyone turned. I blinked. “I—uh…”

Milo squinted. “You forgot?”

“I—I thought I did, but I must’ve…” I trailed off, voice cracking. “Shit.”

No one spoke for a second. Just a beat of stunned silence, broken only by the faint hum of the bass in the background.

Then someone snorted. “Dude.” “Bro.” “Seriously?”

The groom, Chase laughed into his beer. “You had one job, Darren, like come on...”

“Guess we know who’s gonna be the entertainment tonight,” Milo grinned, eyes locked on me like a wolf that just spotted a lost lamb.

I raised both hands. “Okay, come on. It was a mistake.”

“Oh, no doubt,” he said, stepping forward. “And you’re gonna make up for it.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You forget the stripper? You be the stripper.”

Everyone laughed.

I shook my head. “Fuck off. I’m not like that anymore. That was years ago.”

But Milo didn’t break eye contact. He just took the Bluetooth speaker from the counter, flicked through a few songs, and hit play.

A dirty bassline started to pulse. Something slow. Sleazy and stripper-y.

He tossed me a stupid pink cowboy hat.

The guys started chanting, just like before, like they used to in the locker room.

“Take it off.”

“Strip, strip, strip—”

“I am not—”

Milo stepped up, leaned close, and dropped his voice to a low tone only I could hear.

“You humiliated the groom,” he said. “You owe him a show. Unless you want this whole night to end early. You want to ruin his bachelor party?”

I hesitated. Eyes flicking around the room. Every guy watching. Some laughing. Some serious. Chase looked amused. Curious even.

And I—

My heart thudded. I took the hat. Slowly. Someone whooped.

Another said, “That’s it, baby. Let’s see some skin.”

I swallowed, knowing full well I had tried to suppress this side of me, but the inner cheerleader slut won out.

Hands shaking, I lifted my shirt—just enough to show my stomach—and the room erupted.

I was about to make the worst decision of my life, or the second worst, I don’t really know.

And my dick was already getting hard.

The music still thumped and my heart beat even harder.

I stood there in the living room wearing a fucking pink cowboy hat, shirt half off, surrounded by several guys — half of them shirtless themselves, beers in hand, grins wide and hungry.

I’d expected a couple of laughs. Some teasing. What I got instead was attention. Real, heavy, hungry attention.

“Go on, bro, just like old times.” Chase said, lounging back on the couch like a king. “One last hurrah, let’s see what you got.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. And I resumed dancing.

Badly. Awkwardly at first. Just swaying a little, tugging the shirt off fully and tossing it aside. Catcalls erupted instantly. Someone whistled. Another smacked the back of the couch.

“Damn, best man still got abs?”

“Shit, shake it!”

I forced a smile. Maybe if I played along hard enough, they’d let it go.

Then a folded dollar bill hit my chest. I blinked.

Milo flicked another one at me. “Earn it, slut.”

Laughter. But no one was joking anymore.

I laughed awkwardly, bending down, picking the money up — and then someone shouted, “In the waistband, dude! Like a real stripper!”

A second later, cold fingers slipped a bill down the front of my gym shorts.

I gasped. I didn’t even see who it was.

The bills kept coming. Slipped into my waistband. My boxer-briefs. One guy tucked a five right down the back of my shorts — fingers grazing my ass in the process.

“Damn,” someone muttered. “He’s actually hard.”

My face flushed deep red.

I looked down. My cock was stiff against the inside of my shorts, outlined just enough under the tight fabric. Fuck.

I tried to cover it.

“Uh uh,” Milo said, standing now. “You hide it, we stop the party. And if we stop the party, it’s your fault again.”

He stepped close. Hands on my hips. And then — he sat Chase down in the chair.

“Groom gets the first dance,” he said.

Chase laughed. “Wait, me?”

“You’re the man of the hour.”

Chase hesitated, like it was something he had tried to avoid for a long time.

But then he grinned. Sat down. Legs wide. “Fuck it.”

I stared at him. Milo patted my ass. “Go on, best man. Make it up to your best friend.”

I stepped forward, my legs shaky.

My thighs brushed his knees. He was already smiling up at me like he’d won.

I straddled him. The room howled. Someone blasted the music even louder.

And I started to grind.

Slow. Careful. But not careful enough — because I felt him. His erection. Hard. Pressed against my ass through layers of fabric.

“Holy shit,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re still actually into this.”

I didn’t answer.

His hands gripped my waist. Helping me move. Using me.

More money slipped into my shorts. Hands roamed — bolder now. One brushed my chest. Another squeezed my ass.

I moaned before I could stop it. Someone behind me — I think it was Milo — leaned in and whispered, “You moan again like that, I’m gonna cum in my pants.”

More laughter. More touching. Then—

Milo’s voice cut in. Loud and casual.

“All this teasing,” he said. “Someone’s gotta finish.”

I froze. The room went quiet.

Chase looked up at me. His hands still on my waist. His breath shallow.

Milo said, calm and slow:

“One of us has to nut on the stripper. House rules.”

My eyes widened. “W-what?”

Devon laughed. “You forgot the real show, remember? So be the show.”

Then Chase — my best friend — looked me in the eyes.

And said:

“If I’m gonna cum anywhere tonight… might as well be on you.”