The Strip Club - by Silvery Eyes
“I am gonna have a very good time with you, slut” the fat lawyer let it be known to me with his burly, coarse voice. I didn’t know why he spoke that way – perhaps chain-smoking or the pounds of lard he carried around his belly. Either way, his irritating voice was just one more thing that made him disgusting.
“I love punishing uppity little sluts like you” he said grinning. That big dumb grin… it was scary. Scary because it seemed all his good sense was washed away with that grin, under a wave of senseless enthusiasm. He was a lawyer – or so I guessed, maybe an accountant, but definitely something technical and mundane – and buying me for the night was the sort of thing that brought him the excitement he craved. The sort of excitement he could probably never quench, except at Club Crawler…
I’d been on the stage no more than 2 hours ago. Prancing in my high heels, putting as much spin as possible in my hips, strutting for the men as I’d been taught. I was gyrating to the music, stripping off whatever little clothing I had, licking the damn poles, smiling at the men, teasing and taunting as best I could… Like a well-trained stripper. And they - men of all ages – had been laughing and cheering, and, of course, sticking money on me. I always smiled gratefully when they slipped a lousy bill under the waist band of my thong, as if I ever saw any of the money.
The fat lawyer had been there, too, of course, sitting by the stage and he did make me kneel before him several times to get tipped – but he was obviously saving most of his money for later.
You see, it is different, being a stripper at Club Crawler. Perhaps, normal strippers, strippers in Vegas, strippers who wanted to be strippers in the first place, enjoy showing off on the stage, teasing and frustrating the men, getting off on how they could just push the men’s buttons with no consequence, and get paid huge tips for it…
It isn’t like that at Club Crawler. The girls aren’t untouchable. Teasing the men is the job but it does have consequences.
Strippers at Club Crawler can be bought – for whatever you wanted to do with them. Every one of us has a price tag. A dear price, yes, but the girl will be yours for the remainder of the night to do with as you please. No ifs, no buts…
Like the fat lawyer, who’d bought me after the regular show. I knew now I looked exactly as he wanted: Scared and naked but for a pair of high heels… The fat lawyer and I were in one of the rooms in the adjacent “hotel” provided for clients and their purchased dates. I was scared – all but trembling in fact – and it was no act. I’d never been bought by him before, never even saw him perhaps, but I knew he was going to hurt me – I knew the type. Nothing permanent of course, that would be against the club rules, and Igor was very strict about his club’s rules. All the same, the fat lawyer was going to abuse me for real, I could tell, he was going to get every penny’s worth and enjoy every moment of it. It was good that I looked scared as hell, that perhaps got me some sympathy points, and I was of course going to suck him off like my life completely depended on it as soon as he gave me the chance, and I was going to look scared out of my mind doing it, fearing that I may disappoint him in the slightest way, and none of it was going to be acting. I was scared for real – he knew it and loved it.
No acting was involved - unlike the night before: The previous night I had been bought by a some lowly immigrant from Colombia, and he’d been barely able to speak English. He was thin and muscled, had a dark, ill-trimmed beard, oily hair, and a permanent stench of motor oil that made me think he was working at a gas station. His pleasure wasn’t to see me scared or in pain – he wasn’t that twisted or “sophisticated” – but to see me as his slut. Me, a perfect, young, blonde, conceited American woman, reduced to being his little whore, dying to please him, pandering to him like a pathetic little dog, sucking and spreading for him better than the cheap whores he got back home and all the time acting like pleasuring him like a king was the greatest honor bestowed on a slut like her. Yes, that had required a ton of acting. Of course, no matter how good the acting, I think he could tell, but that just pleased him all the more: Me, the arrogant American slut, putting together a whole pathetic act, out of fear that I may displease him, a lowly immigrant…
Acting came with the “job” of course – the job of being a Club Crawler girl. Except it was no job, anymore than cows have a “job” at the farm. We were all working off our debts to Igor Abromsky – we never got any money except enough to survive. All the rest went to the Club…
The girls at the club were not so much hired as “acquired”. Acquired by Igor, whose acquisition techniques ranged from hooking girls into drugs and gambling debts to all forms of blackmailing to threatening their loved ones with the same fate… I’d been told in no uncertain terms that should I dare to flee, my replacement would be my 16-year-old sister currently residing happily in Palo Alto, wondering why her big sister had dropped out of UCLA despite being the “smart one”, why I barely dropped them just a note a month, why I never let them know where I was, even though my parents were so devastated – she couldn’t know of course that Dad had once embezzled money when he’d been in a tight fit, and that certain authorities would receive all the relevant material if the right calls were made, or that Mom had once succumbed to the temptation of her tennis teacher and that there was a full-length video-tape of it waiting to be released on the internet, or that the innocent dope my sister purchased with her friends could easily be laced with something much more addictive – or certain poisons that were commonplace in drugs… No one would suspect a thing…
So, like all girls at Club Crawler, I was property of Igor Abromsky – I was no better, no worse, no more special than any other. All the girls were former cheerleaders, aspiring models, prom queens, head-turners, lookers… We shared in common good looks, a dismal fate, and an impotent hatred for Igor Abromsky. Of course, one never showed her hatred towards Abromksy. Instead you did what you were supposed to: When Igor said to suck, you sucked, when he said to dance, you danced, and you did it all with a smiling face, no matter how much you abhorred it…
Igor was Russian mafia. He wasn’t anything like in the movies - there wasn’t anything cool or ironic about him. He was a short, stocky, bald man – yet he generated nothing but a cold, bottomless fear in your heart. He was a cruel brute who was amused by the torment and humiliation of young women. With all the dirt he was in, I think the club was mostly a hobby for him.
“I hope you have enough tolerance for the whip” the fat lawyer chuckled.
“I do, Sir” I replied, knowing fear was in my voice. He loved it, I could tell, loved my pathetic fear, and wasn’t going to give me any sympathy points. I was in for a bad night.
“What was your name, again?” he asked with a mocking grin.
“Cindy, Sir” I replied haplessly, giving away my true name.
In normal strip clubs and whorehouses, I knew girls changed their names, often using obvious fakes. Not at Club Cruelsy. That was not a luxury Abromsky afforded his girls – we were not allowed to imagine ourselves as strippers in the club and somebody else back in the real life. We were one and the same. The same Cindy that had been a Finance major at college 16 months ago was now the Cindy who stood naked before the fat lawyer, waiting to be used like the whore she was.
When I’d first started out at the Club, I’d thought I’d only be a waitress – I’d thought I could please Abromsky and pay my dues just by waitressing, nothing worse. Just for a few months, I’d be a waitress at a lowly strip joint in the middle of nowhere, and then I could go back to my real life. That’s how all girls start at the Club, of course, fooled into thinking they can squeak by, just fetching drinks for the men and smiling…
Even waitresses at the Club were dressed like whores: I’d been given nothing but an electric-pink shorts-like panties, and a matching pink top so small for me that it felt like my breasts would tear apart the tiny clothing to pieces any moment… Nothing else but a pair of impossibly high-heels that turned the mere act of walking into a challenge.
Of course, the new girls, the naïve little waitresses, were always fair game for everyone. Even the skimpy waitress uniform was designed as such: The short-bikini and the top were really a pair of separate pieces held together by a bunch of strings, all of which were tied into a giant bow at the small of the girl’s back. Just one little pull on the bow, and the whole garment would be on the floor. Not so humiliating for a stripper perhaps, but devastating for a girl who thinks she’ll walk out of Club Crawler in 3 months time with her pride intact. Guys often untied the girls for fun, especially when they were most vulnerable, carrying a tray full of drinks. Or tipped one of the waitresses to untie another. When that happened, the stage manager always shined a spotlight on the poor girl, even as she ran for cover. The customers just loved to watch a girl waddle off with her panties dangling between her thighs…
Of course, in due time I’d learned that was the least that could happen to a waitress…
Fridays were bondage night – the plain striptease left its place on the stage to a full blown show of bondage and discipline. Except at Club Crawler, it was not an obvious and cheesy act. A girl was really picked as the slave for the night, tormented and punished on stage for the amusement of the audience. And the slave was always picked from the waitresses – a big bowl was brought on stage, containing the names of the waitresses. Then someone from the audience would be invited on stage to make a random pick from the bowl. Few fearful feelings could compete with the feeling of seeing the man announcing your name with a grin, as I’d seen several times. It was nothing compared to what the fat lawyer would be doing to me, but it was no walk in the park – the ropes were still tight and the whip still hurt… And the first time you were brought on to the stage and got whipped by the strippers – who always did the punishing, often with glee – you’d know you weren’t going to come unscathed from your hell.
Saturdays were another special event – the lesbian night. The waitresses were spared from this, assuming it required some tolerance to stage jitters. Once again, two girls were picked at random, two strippers. Then began a lesbian performance for the benefit of the audience. Again, unlike the normal strip joints in Vegas or elsewhere, this was no simulated acting. It was the real thing: Girls really did screw each other, the full nine yards, as men howled and cheered.
The videotapes of the bondage show and the lesbian show were always made available that very night and the patrons could purchase their copies for a cool $39 as they left the club… And just thinking who had copies of me getting whipped naked or fucking another stripper was enough to tie my stomach into a knot.
But the worst humiliation was the 21st birthday. I’d had mine barely a couple months ago.
When a girl’s 21st birthday came up – and most girls ended up “celebrating” their 21st at the Club – it would be a special occasion. Customers were encouraged to buy the birthday girl a drink – a favor she was supposed to return with a blow-job. Always under the spotlight and the cheers of the audience. First the drink, then the blow-job. Pretty soon, the girl celebrating her birthday would have sucked two dozen men, and would be drunk out of her head, even as the crowd had a ball. If you were a waitress or a stripper at Club Crawler, you celebrated your 21st on your knees, sucking off countless men in the middle of a crowd.
And of course this too was taped and titled. “Cindy’s 21st” was a hot-selling item at the Club Shop, one of the best birthday tapes made; and there were more than 100 of those…
My one pathetic solace was that no one remotely related to my ex-life could be at the Club. It was located 60 miles out of Reno, well out of reach of the regular folks. The patrons were not regular types – they’d heard things and they made the long trip for a purpose. They were a darker, meaner, sinister collection of men. They knew they were at a joint run by a Russian mob boss and they knew there was stuff that you couldn’t find at your vanilla Vegas or Reno strip club. Of course, not all of them knew the full truth. You’d have to become a real regular at the Club before you awakened to what was really going on: That the strippers at the Club could be bought like whores and they weren’t really at the club out of their own accord...
Of course, discovering that little morsel of a fact hardly turned off these men. You could usually tell those who knew – they seemed to be having all the more fun…
The fat lawyer chuckled. “Cindy, huh? Pretty name…”
“Thank you, Sir” I managed to utter in my most fearful, subservient voice…
“You don’t remember me, do you, Cindy slut?”
A cold fear, almost worse than the prospects of the impending hurt and abuse, struck my heart.
“I am a lawyer, more precisely I am the in-house attorney at your father’s firm, my little darling. We’ve met several times before, you know, at those boring company picnics. Your embezzling pig of a father was always kind enough to bring along his daughters – I guess he just wanted to show off what a nice couple of hot sluts he’d raised with that whore of a mother of yours…”
My heart skipped a beat. It felt like the world was spinning all around me – I couldn’t even get angry at his insults, I was too scared to care.
“Well, I’ll be glad to enjoy one of his sluts all night long… I’ve dreamt about this for quite some time, after all. In fact, I can think of a number of guys from the firm who’d love to get a piece of ass from daddy’s little girl – I got them one of those ‘Cindy’s 21st’ videos. Don’t worry though – they are not all as rough as me, and I can usually make it out here only about once a month… And of course, we’ll keep our mouths shut. So long as you’re being a good little girl…”
I was all but shaking… in dread and shame...
Men from Daddy’s office...!!
The fat lawyer picked up the whip and smiled again:
“I am gonna have a very good time with you, slut…”
THE END
THE END
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