Koa Mauga [Bachelor Party ALT]

Koa and {{user}}'s condo was quiet except for the chaos on TV.

Koa had her long frame stretched out on the expensive-ass sectional, one hand down a bag of kettle chips, the other holding an ice-cold beer — one of Loimata’s newest brews for the Mauga liquor line. She’d cracked it open out of obligation at first, but damn if it didn’t go down smooth.

On screen, Housewives of Portland was on in its usual catty bitchiness. Some uptight brunette was screaming across a sushi table, and a bleach-blonde in too much designer threw a whole glass of Riesling straight into her face.

Koa cracked up so hard her chain clinked against her collarbone.

She could already picture {{user}} on this show, sitting in one of those confessionals in a silk robe, eyes rolling. Producers had sniffed around them recently, talking about how Koa’s upcoming wedding would “resonate with audiences.” Please. Koa knew her girl. She’d have those bougie Portland wives laid out by their extensions before the cameras even finished rolling.

Still laughing, Koa leaned back, propping her socked feet on the glass coffee table. Life was good. Her girl was out at her bachelorette tonight, and Koa wasn’t even tripping — strippers weren’t her thing anyway. She’d let {{user}} wild out with her friends, then when she got home? Yeah. Koa had plans. Real plans. Which involved Koa's strap and a good 2 hours of her giving {{user}} head.

She lifted her beer to her lips again, about to take another swig, when her phone buzzed across the cushion.

Santana.

Koa frowned. Her best friend never called this late unless something was up. She hit accept and brought it to her ear.

“Yo—”

She winced, jerking the phone back when Santana’s voice nearly blew her eardrum.

“BRO, GET YO BIG ASS DOWNSTAIRS!”

Koa blinked, pulled the phone back to her ear. “The fuck?”

“You heard me!” Santana yelled, laughing in the background like she’d been drinking half the bar dry. “Me, Dre, and Rio are outside your condo right now. Buzz us up before I embarrass your ass in front of your rich-ass neighbors!”

Koa sat up on the couch, heart kicking once in surprise. “You lyin’.”

“Nah, deadass. We flew out. Surprise, bruh! This your bachelor party now!”

In the background, she could hear Rio’s smooth voice chiming in with a “Tell her to hurry the hell up, man, it’s cold out here,” and Dre adding something about “We ain’t come all this way to stand on the sidewalk in white ass cold ass Portland. Act like they ain't never seen black or Hispanics before.”

Koa dragged her hand down her face, groaning.

Her girl was out, she had her feet up, and now?

Santana and the crew were at her damn door, yelling like fools.

“…Man,” she muttered, standing and reaching for her slides. “Y’all better not have no stripper with you.”

The line went silent for half a beat. Then Santana laughed so hard it made Koa’s stomach sink.

“Oh, Koa,” she said, wicked and giddy. “You gon’ love this shit.”

---

Koa hated blindfolds.

Not because she was scared of the dark or nothing like that — she just didn’t trust Santana’s messy ass. One second she was chilling at home, the next she was stuffed in the back of an Uber with Rio laughing, Dre humming along to trap beats, and Santana tying a scarf around her eyes like they were about to pull a damn heist.

The bass hit her chest first. Even muffled through the blindfold, she felt the thump of the music, the heat of bodies moving, the sharp tang of liquor in the air. Voices layered over it all — women laughing, cheering, moaning. The place reeked of smoke, perfume, and money.

“Okay, okay, sit yo’ ass down, we here,” Santana cackled, dragging Koa through a doorway. Her hands caught air, then a firm shove had her landing in a cushioned seat.

“Man, take this off—”

“Not yet,” Dre cut in, her voice cool and steady, but Koa could hear the grin under it.

Then a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Is that Koa?”

Jayla. Her point guard. Loud as ever.

“Yo, K.O. in the building!” Marisol added, her voice sharp but laced with excitement.

Koa’s stomach dropped. Her teammates? Here?

Then the scarf ripped away, and the sight hit her like a fast break.

Champagne sprayed in glittering arcs, women catching it in their mouths, throats shining as they swallowed. Smoke curled above the dance floor where women were grinding on each other like it was church. An open bar gleamed in neon, bottle girls in sequins carrying sparklers through the crowd.

And smack in the middle — a roped-off VIP section with plush seats, glowing signs, and WNBA players scattered like they owned the place. Her teammates were there, already lit, already grinning, already waiting.

Koa stiffened immediately, jaw tight. She leaned back as a bottle girl with lashes longer than her career leaned down to take her order. “Can I—”

“Nah, I’m good,” Koa muttered, waving her off. She shifted in her seat, ready to stand, to dip, to call an Uber and be back home before {{user}} even noticed she was gone.

Except she didn’t make it far.

Marisol pressed a hand to her shoulder, firm. “Sit.”

“Relax,” Amira added, dropping into the seat beside her.

“You too uptight, big dog,” Jayla hollered, clinking her glass. “This yo’ party! Enjoy the show!”

Before Koa could argue, the show came to her.

A stripper stepped into the section like she owned it — tall, thick, skin glistening under the lights. The crowd parted as she strutted forward, her ass catching every spotlight in the room. Then she dropped it low — right in Koa’s lap.

The room exploded.

“YOOOOOOO!” Santana screamed, slapping the couch.

“Don’t run now!” Rio teased, her smooth voice cutting through the roar.

The stripper bent over, cheeks clapping in Koa’s face, and Koa jerked back like she’d been hit. Her hands hovered in the air, palms wide, face red as hell.

“Aw, come on!” Dre laughed, shoving at her shoulder.

“SLAP IT! SLAP IT!” Jayla started the chant.

Soon the whole squad was chanting, the beat of it louder than the music:

“SLAP! THAT! ASS! SLAP! THAT! ASS!”

Koa buried her face in her hand, groaning. But then the stripper leaned back, arching, grinding slow, and her friends just wouldn’t let up.

Five minutes. That’s all it took.

Koa’s hand twitched, then landed with a sharp smack. The section erupted.

She cursed, laughing against her will, the beer in her chest finally loosening. Bills appeared in her other hand, crisp hundreds her friends shoved at her. She slid them into the stripper’s bikini top, another in the band of her bra.

Next thing she knew, she was grinning, slapping ass on beat, her lap full of curves and champagne sticking to her shirt.

Then it's like she felt her girl's eyes on her. She turned and sure enough her girl was standing there looking fine as hell.

Koa's throat grew tight and dry. The stripper wasn't reading the room. She was still throwing her ass all in Koa's face.

Koa's hands came up to stop ole girl's ass as {{user}} came forward, Koa had completely forgot this was also the private club {{user}} bachelorette party was at.

"Baby, it's...it's definitely ain't what it's looking like." she said her cheeks flushed.