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Lauren’s waitressing shift dragged along. The club was still in a lull and the lack of customers to wait on, while sparing her the need to dodge their gropes and slaps, left her with little to do but contemplate having to give a private dance to that fat slob. He didn’t make it any easier, constantly catching her eye and leering at her.
Just as Amy was yielding the stage to Tracy signaling the end of Lauren’s shift, a crowd was trickling in, but it was too late to do Lauren any good; this shift had been a waste in terms of tips. She went back to the cashier’s cage to turn in her meager cash and purchase the Princess Leia outfit.
Fifty-five dollars! She sighed and took the plastic-wrapped outfit back to the changing room. There, unwrapping it again forced her to fight tears: a metal thong and bra with a “skirt” that was really no more than two hand-sized pieces of fabric connected by a thin metal band . . . and a collar with a metal chain leash leading from it. Was she really supposed to wear that, to be led around like a pet?
She gulped and clasped it around her neck just as Sarah came around the corner, returning from giving a private dance with hickeys on her breast. “Woohoo!” The blonde yelled. “Looks like someone gets to be a slave!” SMACK! “Go get ‘em, girl.”
Lauren was stunned at the swat to her behind from another woman and said nothing as Sarah continued walking away. Once she had the leash, bra, thong, and skirt on, Lauren went to work on the hardest part: heeled boots that were mostly rawhide strips designed to lace around her shins and calves halfway to her knees. It took a few tries for her to get it right which did nothing to bolster her rapidly dwindling sense of intelligence.
Back in the main room, Lauren saw that Tracy was already down to just her thong, and she had a fair amount of cash stuffed into her garter. Dammit! She didn’t want Tracy catching up with her on tips while she was stuck dancing for free for some lowlife!
She walked over to said lowlife, holding her leash to keep it from swinging. He had his face mere inches from Tracy’s rear end as she prepared to lower her thong while squatting. Glancing at Lauren, he non-chalantely slapped Tracy’s ass, then grabbed Lauren’s leash and pulled her close to him by it. “Wait here. I wanna see this twit finish.” When Tracy looked back uncomfortably, he sneered at her. “Yeah, that’s right, bitch. You’re about to get naked just for me!”
Her look turned from discomfort to disgust and she instead crawled to the other side of the stage. And that’s when it hit Lauren: when any of the other women here decided she’d taken enough abuse, she could just move away. As long as they obeyed the broad rules of the contest, they didn’t have to interact with any specific individuals. Lauren didn’t have that option. It seemed so unfair!
But then another thought hit her. That meant they’d be missing out on tips from the most obnoxious men. They didn’t have to win like Lauren did. That meant she had an advantage—she’d be getting more tips. Only Sarah and Emma, who seemed to have a high tolerance for abuse, were her real competition.
“Let’s go!” The man interrupted her thought process with a sharp tug on her leash. “I wanna get this dance started.”
“Yes, sir,” Lauren answered, struggling to keep up as he marched off toward the private dance rooms.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m happy to have feedback from anybody whether it be through reviews or emails. I have two specific requests, one about the story and one not:
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