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When Lauren went out on stage—For the final time! she told herself with a strong feeling of relief—she strutted out with as much confidence and energy as she’d had all night. It didn’t last, though. She was exhausted, and just couldn’t muster much perkiness for these last dances. A small part of her felt guilty—these men that came later deserved the same enthusiastic show that the earlier men had received, after all—but a larger part just didn’t care. She was tired, and hungry, and she just wanted to complete her task and go home.
Her low energy performance was reflected in her tips. By the end of the third song, she’d only accumulated $12. It was only then, as she slid her thong off to dance fully nude again, that she realized the mistake she was making. This was her last chance to make serious tips toward winning the contest.
And if she didn’t win, Don was going to spank her, and paddle her, and strap; it would be, she knew without a doubt, the most painful experience of her life. Giving a fair performance to the gentlemen here didn’t motivate her, but that certainly did. And so, naked, she decided not to retreat to the pole as she had most of the rest of the night and instead crawled over to a cluster of men to dance in front of them. She even willingly pushed her body up against them when they leaned in, though she shuddered to do so. That, apparently, sent the signal that she was no longer “no touching”, and soon she was getting her ass slapped and breasts fondled as she thrust her butt into the air to the tune of Nickelback’s “Bottoms Up”.
She tried to tell herself that she was doing this because it was the right thing to do, that these gentlemen wanted and deserved entertainment from her and therefore she needed to provide it to them no matter how tired she was or how degrading she found the experience. But she knew that wasn’t true. She was doing it because she was terrified of the idea of a punishment even worse than she’d received the other day, and this was her only hope of avoiding it. And it seemed to be working; the tips were flowing a lot more freely now.
She still had her limits, though, smacking a man’s hand away when he tried to tickle her slit even though he was holding a five dollar bill. He scowled and pulled the bill back, but some of the other men laughed and said something about her being “feisty” and the bills kept getting slid into her tip garter.
When it finally ended, and Lauren hopped off of stage to go to the cashier’s cage, she discovered that she’d managed to earn a hefty $56 during the dance, and only at the cost of most of her remaining dignity. Her dignity took a bigger plunge when she thought about the cost of the cowgirl outfit. Fourteen dollars. She’d just paid $14 to strip for twenty-odd minutes.
Lauren was surprised to see Carl sitting at one of her tables when she relieved Becky; she hadn’t noticed him while she was dancing and thought that he had left. She decided that she needed to start off on the right foot with him. “Sir, I just wanted to say again how sorry I am for . . . for our earlier encounter. You didn’t deserve to be talked to that way,” she shouted over the bar’s music.
He looked up at her, scowling. “What’s your name again, stupid?”
She nervously glanced around at the other three men at his table. They were all smirking at her. Without thought, she found her hands sliding behind her back into Position 2. “Lauren, sir.”
“Well, I think we’ll just stick with ‘stupid’ since you’re too dumb to know to introduce yourself when you walk up to a new table you’re going to be serving. Wouldn’t you say you’re pretty dumb?”
A quick glance around again, and she decided that she probably had more education and made more money than the four men at the table combined. She almost said something to that effect but hesitated. And, of course, all that education hadn’t exactly made a difference considering that she was the one standing here naked preparing to take their orders.
Was he trying to banter? It hardly seemed fair, and thinking about why made her even more self-conscious: she was a woman alone against four men. She stood before them naked, about to cater to their needs for the next hour—and hope that they’d tip her generously—while they were lounging fully clothed and watching another woman dance naked as their entertainment. The power dynamics just didn’t seem set up for fair banter.
She decided to avoid conflict and looked down; she just had to get through this last hour. “Yes, sir, that was pretty dumb. I’m sorry. Can I get anything for you?”
His next words made her wish she had shown a little more backbone. “Well, if you’re really so sorry about before, how ‘bout we drink for free while you’re serving us?”
If the other tables found out, she’d end up buying everybody’s drinks for the next hour. She looked around and lowered her voice. “Okay, but just you gentlemen, right? Don’t tell anyone else I’m doing that, okay, sir?” She cringed internally. She was treading a fine line here by trying to limit what a man could request of her.
Carl shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t give a shit about the other tables.”
She relaxed at his response and smiled. “Great. Thank you, sir. I’ll be right back with your drinks.” She turned to go.
“Hey, stupid,” one of the other men yelled.
She paused, uncertain at first if she should validate them by responding to ‘stupid’ but ultimately deciding it wasn’t in her interest to fight that. “Yes, sir?”
“We haven’t even told you want we want, stupid.”
“Oh . . . oh, yeah.”
“Goddamn, you’re dumb.” He looked over the drink menu. “Bring me an Irish car bomb and two shots of Jameson.”
“Yes, sir.” She looked around the table. “And everybody else?”
Carl reached out and casually slapped her ass. “Just make it four of them.”
She jumped, more startled than hurt, then gulped at the thought of the cost. “Yes, sir,” she said and fled to the bar.
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