Wanted: Male stripper for ladies night at local bar. Call Ted at 555-1212.
 
  It was the 80's. Ladies' nights and male strippers were just coming into vogue. This ad was
the first indication I'd seen of one in our area. I would have ignored the ad except for two things: I
wanted to make some extra money and I was looking for a way to 'meet women' (code word for
'get laid').
 
  I was 23 at the time and working in a packing house lugging beef. It was a union job and paid
pretty well. On the other hand, it didn't have much of a future and because I was making pretty
good money, I had maxed out my credit cards. I could make the payments OK, but it didn't leave
much money for fun, and it would take me years to pay them off at my current rate.
So I called Ted. He told me he was looking for good-looking guys with a good build. I agreed to
go over and interview.

  I should explain that I'm 5' 11" and weigh about 170 lbs. In size I'm very average. But what I
did all day was lift beef quarters (which weighed anywhere from 150 lbs. to 275 lbs.) off a pallet
on the floor and hang them on an overhead hook. The hooks moved slowly by on a track and I
did this all day. As a result, I had a very impressive set of muscles. They weren't the bulging body
builder type, but rather more compact working muscles (around the plant we had a certain
contempt for body builders; we thought they were afraid to do any real work because it would
make their muscles smaller and more efficient). I was, if anything, even stronger than I looked.

  The bar was a strip joint called the Silver Slipper. Ted was maybe 50, about 6' and around 200
lbs. Ted had me take my shirt off. "Not too bad," he said, "but I was hoping for somebody maybe
a little flashier, more of a body builder type."

  I stuck a hand under each of Ted's arm pits and heaved. His head took out a ceiling tile. "OK,
OK, I get the point. Just put me down."

  I set Ted back down on the floor. "Sorry," I told him, "but that body builder shit always pisses
me off." I explained about my attitude toward body builders. Ted laughed. He actually turned out
to be a really nice guy. (This was highly unusual. I had worked for a couple years as a musician
and all musicians know that all club owners are ass holes. That's why I didn't hesitate to stick
Ted's head through the ceiling tiles. That's how you deal with ass holes. Ted was indeed unusual,
perhaps unique.)

  "Here's the deal. I'm starting a ladies' night on Tuesday nights. That's my slowest night, so I
can afford to give it an extended trial if it doesn't take off right away. I need four guys to go on
each hour from 9 to 12. I'll give you a try on the nine o'clock slot. Have you ever done anything
like this before?"

  "No," I admitted.

  "There's not that much to it. Just play some music, dance around, take off some clothes, flex
some muscles. Drop in a few evenings between now and then and watch the lady strippers. Do a
masculine version of the same thing. You'll get the idea. Pick out some music you like and give a
cassette to Brad, the sound guy."

  I felt rather weird after leaving Ted's place. I was glad I got the job, but I was also very
nervous.  I'd never done anything like this before, and didn't know if I could do it. I was also
surprised that I hadn't had to audition or anything. I suspected Ted was short of applicants.
 
  The next night, I went to the Silver Slipper and watched the girls. Ted introduced me and they
told me what they were doing, how they constructed their routines, and pointed out the things
they did that weren't likely to go over with a female audience. One of the girls, her name was Ann,
tried to explain. "With women, you have to be more subtle. More suggestive and less overt. No
humping motions. Women don't usually get instantly aroused the way men do. If you want to get
a woman turned on, the place to touch her is between the ears. Leave them with suggestions of
things that might have been."

  I left, both heartened and confused. It was going to take a while for Ann's comments to sink
in. I went home, put on some music, and started working out a routine. I worked in the basement,
partially because there was a stereo down there, but mostly so no passerby would glance through
the window and see me. I felt like an utter fool. I almost called Ted and told him I couldn't do it,
but I persevered.

  Tuesday. I got to the club about 8:00. I was really nervous. Anticipating this, I'd practiced like
a maniac all week so that if I had a really severe case of stage fright, I could switch off my brain
and function on automatic (that was the plan, anyway). I looked out at the audience. The place
was about half full of women of all ages. Some of them could have been my grandmother. Others,
I'm sure, had had their ID's scrutinized pretty carefully. Since I was first, I wouldn't even have the
benefit of watching the guy before me.

  9:00. It was time. The music started and I stepped tentatively onto the stage. From that point
on it was all sort of a haze. I pranced and strutted, flexed muscles, discarded clothing, and then it
was done. My practice had paid off and I had managed to do it on automatic.

  I sat down at the table with the other guys. They did the mandatory back slapping and
congratulating, and it did make me feel better. Actually, I hadn't done a bad job, especially
considering it was my first attempt. Nonetheless, audience response was somewhat
underwhelming, so I felt somewhat of a failure.

  Ted came over. "Good job, Dave."

  "Well, maybe. I didn't get much reaction out of them."

  "Hey, that's normal. Even the guys don't get rowdy during the first hour. Your job is just to
get them warmed up and started buying drinks. Don't worry about it. You did fine."

  Gary was next. He was slumming from the theater community. He didn't have my build, but he
was a natural dancer. I saw how he watched the audience as he moved about the stage, noting
reactions and adapting and responding to them. He was able to convey to them that he wanted
them, and wanted them to want him. Since Gary was gay, I decided that he was indeed a good
actor.

  After that, things were sort of a blur. I watched Tom and Dexter do their acts, but don't
remember much about them except that they were better than me. I got paid and went home.

  I worked on my routine through the week and made some improvements. The next week
things went better and I felt better about the whole thing. After that, things stumbled along pretty
much on automatic. One evening, Ted called me into his office.

  "Dave, you're a good guy, and I like having you work here, but your act needs help. You just
haven't progressed as much as the other guys, and you don't get the audience reaction they do.
Even though you're the first hour, you should be doing better than you are by now. I'm sure
you've been disappointed with your tips. I don't want to have to replace you, but something needs
to be done. Any ideas?"

  Ted was right. I wasn't achieving either of my goals. I wasn't making near the tips the other
guys were, and I wasn't meeting any of the women either. So why was I here? Deep down, I knew
what my problem was. I had no talent. I was not a dancer, not an actor. Gary could convey an
interest he didn't really feel, while I couldn't convey something I did feel. Ted was trying to let me
down easy, giving me the opportunity to quit so he wouldn't have to fire me. I wasn't quite ready
to give up, though. I may not have been talented, but I was tenacious (code word for stubborn to
the point of stupidity). On the other hand, struggling against the odds is one thing, struggling
against reality is quite another. Even so, I would feel like a total idiot all my life if I quit this job
without getting laid even once.

  "Let me think about this. I'll call you tomorrow."

  I went home feeling depressed. I would either have to come up with something, or quit, or get
fired. I sat in a chair, feeling sorry for myself, and drifted off to sleep with the TV on. I woke up
about 4:00 AM. There was an old Zorro movie on TV. I watched it, amazed at what a bad movie
it was. That's what gave me the idea. I would do what untalented people have always done. I
would get a gimmick. I started thinking about Zorro. The mask, the cape, the sword. You could
get suggestive in some subtle or not so subtle ways with a getup like that.

  In the morning I gave Gary a call. I told him what I was thinking and asked him about sources
for costumes. He was encouraging.

  "I was going to suggest something like this, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

  "While I appreciate the sentiment, I could have used the help."

  "Sounds to me like you figured it out on your own. I'll give you input if you want it, but you
probably just need to let this soak into your brain for a while and it'll come together."

  I thanked Gary for the information and called Ted.

  "Hey, Ted. I'm changing my whole act. Something totally different. You'll love it."

  "Glad to hear it. I knew you'd figure it out."

  I spent the week working out my new routine. I wasn't going to do Zorro. I'd settled on
something more akin to a dungeon master. I went out and got the stuff I'd need for a costume and
spent a couple afternoons at the club practicing. I wanted my new act to be a surprise, so I didn't
practice in costume. I spent my time there leaping and tumbling. Although I wasn't a dancer, I did
have some experience in tumbling and gymnastics. I wanted to practice on the scene to make sure
I really could do what I had in mind and do it without landing on one of the customers.

  Tuesday. Ted's stage is set up against one wall with a pole in the middle. The girls use the
pole for dancing, and sometimes the guys used it. There is a shelf above the back of the stage
which supports speakers and lighting. It was also supporting me at the moment. The lights were
dim, I was wearing black and was above the line of sight, invisible. I had been practicing with
Ted's sound guy and my entrance was timed pretty well.

  9:00. I leapt from my perch. A thunderbolt cracked from the speakers, followed by a minor
chord.

  A spot light made a circle in front of the pole. Simultaneous with its arrival, I landed in the
middle of the spot. I was wearing tight black pants, bloused black shirt, cape, hood, mask, gloves,
and jack boots. I carried a short quirt. I stood for a moment, hands on hips, surveying the
audience.

  The music picked up tempo a bit. I strode back and forth across the stage, pausing
occasionally to examine the audience. I danced over to the pole. I had bolted a pair of manacles
(real ones, they locked) high up on the pole, dangling by about a foot of chain each. I pulled one
of the manacles away from the pole with my quirt, examining it, then looking toward the
audience, looking for someone to lock it on. Extending my right hand, pointing, I swept my arm
across the room, pausing now and again to point at one woman or another. Finally, my point
came to rest on a girl at a table in the second row directly in front of me. I held this position long
enough for her to realize that I was not going to move on, that she had been chosen. Then I leapt.
I turned a somersault in mid air and landed with a bang and a fluttering of cape almost on her
toes.

  She screamed and jumped back, nearly overturning her chair. I stepped close again. She
moved back. I jumped behind her, picking up the chair, returning it to it's original position.
Then I was in front of her again. I cupped her chin in my hand, tilting her face up toward mine,
looking into her eyes.

  "Tell me your name, wench." I was wearing a throat mic and this came over the PA after
being processed to deepen my voice and add some reverb. Sort of a Darth Vader effect, but
without the breathing. She just looked back at me, frozen like a mouse before a cobra. "Your
name, wench.  Tell me your name", I thundered.

  "Melinda," she gasped.

  "Melinda, you are chosen. You must come with me." I held out my hand to her. She shook
her head, leaning away from me. "Do not demur. You must come."

  Her friends were urging her on. "Go on. Go on. Do it."

  "I'll go," said a girl at the next table. That seemed to make up her mind. She timidly extended
a hand toward mine. I didn't take her hand. Instead, I wrapped my hand around her wrist, pulling
her to her feet. I headed for the stage with Melinda in tow. As I led her up the steps, I whispered
to her.

  "If this gets to be more than you can handle, say 'I have to go now' and I'll take you back to
your table. If you say anything else, I'll assume you mean it to be part of the act and ignore it. Do
you understand? Nod your head." She nodded. (Brad, the sound guy, knew when to turn the mic
on or off. This didn't go out over the PA.)

  I led Melinda to the center of the stage, toward the front. Brad put a spot on her. She was
pretty.  About 5' 6", shoulder length brown hair. She was wearing a navy blue blouse, white skirt
that hung to mid-calf, hose and white pumps. I stepped back for a moment and left her standing
there in the light. She looked sort of dazed (probably not too different from how I looked my first
night). I walked slowly around her, making a show of examining her. She stood stock still,
seemingly afraid to move. Stepping behind her, I pulled her arms up and clasped her hands behind
her head. I circled her again, lifting the hem of her skirt to mid-thigh with my quirt. Her legs were
quite attractive. She looked down when I lifted her skirt. I moved the quirt up under her chin,
tilting her head back to its previous position. I circled her again, admiring how she stood there so
straight with her fingers laced behind the back of her head. I circled her again in the opposite
direction, then stood behind her, looking out at the audience. I had their attention. They were all
looking at us. I put my hand around the back of her neck, turning her so her back was to the
audience and started guiding her to the pole. Brad shifted the spot to the hanging manacles, then
widened it to include us as we reached the base of the pole. I turned her around and backed her
into the pole, then pulled one of her arms up and locked a manacle around her wrist. Brad had
turned on the overhead mic and the click of the manacle locking on her wrist was clearly audible
on the PA. I did her other wrist. Melinda was now standing with her back to the pole, facing the
audience, with her arms pulled straight up and locked in the manacles. I skipped back out of the
light. She was gingerly moving her wrists around, trying to see if these were like the ones in the
movies where you could scrunch your hand up and slip out of them if you wished.

  "No, Melinda. They aren't fakes. You really are chained to the pole," I whispered to her. She
struggled a little harder. This was the desired result. I wanted her to struggle so the audience
would understand that she was really chained. I danced away, discarding my cape while watching
her struggles. I glided back up to her, went down on one knee, seized her ankle, removed her
shoe, and tossed it aside. I spun around behind her and removed her other shoe. I leapt away
again, shedding my hood, but retaining the mask. Melinda stood chained to the pole in her
stocking feet, looking even more dazed than before. So far, she had not said a word except for
telling me her name. I was hoping she wouldn't freak out and blow the whole act, but that was the
chance I had to take. Then I was back at her side. I laid my quirt against her cheek, then drew it
slowly and sensuously down the side of her body, coming to rest at her knee. I shuffled away,
working my way to the far side of the stage removing my shirt. Under my shirt I wore a heavy
leather strap over my shoulder which ran diagonally across my chest. I worked my way back over
to Melinda and started on her shirt. I unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. I skipped away,
then returned. Another button undone. There were five white buttons on her dark blue blouse.
Only three now held it closed. I circled the pole twice, then undid another button. Two remained.
Melinda was starting to look panicked. I stood directly in front of her. Taking her chin in my
hand, I turned her head to either side, emphasizing my control of her to the audience while
whispering to her that she didn't need to go just yet, it would be all right. She seemed to relax a
bit. I grasped her blouse and undid the fourth button. I circled her again. I undid the last button.
Her blouse fell open. She was wearing a lacy black bra that showed up nicely against her white
skin. I pushed her shirt open to either side with the quirt, exposing as much of her bra clad torso
as possible. Then I capered across the stage, leaving Melinda in the light, blouse hanging open,
struggling in her chains. Brad kept the spot on her as he faded the house lights, then slowly faded
the spot until Melinda was in the dark. I returned to Melinda and unlocked her, then picked her
up.

  "We're done," I whispered. "I'm taking you back to your table."

  I walked to the front of the stage, Melinda cradled in my arms. Brad put the light back on us
and turned up the house lights. I walked off the stage carrying Melinda and set her gently in her
seat.  Then I took first one foot, then the other and put her shoes back on her (I didn't button her
blouse). Standing erect, I bowed, took her hand and kissed the back of it, then returned to the
stage. As I walked away, I could hear her talking to her friends.

  "That wasn't fake. I was really chained up..."

  Back on the stage, I bowed to the audience and departed. This time there was real applause. I
usually got applause after my act, but it had always been minimal and somewhat perfunctory. This
time there was not only more of it, but it was enthusiastic. I glanced back at Melinda as I left the
stage. One of her friends was reminding her to button her blouse. She had apparently forgotten.

  "Well, Ted, what'd you think?"

  "Great job, great job. I knew you'd come through if I pushed you a little. It still needs some
refining, but you showed an enthusiasm tonight I never saw in you before. Now that you're
motivated, you'll get better every week. This gimmick with the outfit is just the kind of thing you
needed."

  "I agree except for one thing. The outfit isn't the gimmick. The gimmick is the word play. I'm
a stripper, but I'm not going to strip any more myself. I'm going to strip the customers."
Ted winced when I told him I was going to be undressing his customers, but I knew he'd wait to
see the gross before making any decisions.

  I'd been putting this performance together all week and had tended to think about various
pieces of it rather than seeing it as a whole. Now that it was over I felt I had a better perspective
on the big picture. Looking back, it seemed  tame, even lame. I'd chained a girl to a pole, removed
her shoes, and unbuttoned her blouse. That was it. But it had worked, and worked well. I had
certainly touched Melinda between the ears.

  On the other hand, I'd chained a complete stranger to a pole, removed her shoes, and
unbuttoned her blouse, with the implicit threat of the quirt. I could probably go to jail for that.
(Brad later came up with a great idea. He hooked a cassette recorder up to his mixer so that when
I gave the chosen customer her bail out phrase, even though it didn't go out over the PA, he could
record it in case we ever needed proof that anyone's participation was voluntary. Ted especially
liked this idea.)

  The problem with a gimmick is that it can get stale fast. I would have to escalate the action
every week to keep it alive and lively. It had worked tonight because it was completely new and
no one knew what was going to happen or how far I was going to go. It would get boring all too
soon if I did the same thing every time. But it had to start off slow to leave the maximum room
for expansion.

  I figured I could do pretty much the same thing next week. Ted's ladies' night crowd had
settled down to about 60% regulars, but less than 10% came every week. Most of the regulars
only showed up once or twice a month. Next week would be a whole different crowd, so I could
squeeze another week out of tonight's routine.

  I was wrong, of course. The crowd on the next Tuesday was about 50% larger than usual and
almost all of the increase were repeats from last week. (Melinda wasn't there, but her friends
were.) This was encouraging but I hoped a repeat wouldn't bore them, although I suppose a
repeat was exactly what they had come to see. This time I chose a regular I'd seen there last week,
so she knew what she was in for when I selected her. Her name was Lisa.

  Lisa seemed less intimidated by the whole thing than Melinda had been, so I decided to push
things a little farther. After I had pulled her to her feet, I took her by the shoulders and turned her
around. I removed a pair of handcuffs from my pocket, pulled Lisa's hands behind her, and locked
them on her wrists. Then I placed my hand in the middle of her back and guided her toward the
stage. I stood her at the front of the stage, as I'd done with Melinda. Lisa was tall, probably 5' 9",
had long black hair and blue eyes with small breasts and long legs. She was wearing a dress which
buttoned down the front (one of the reasons I'd chosen her). Once again I made a show of
examining her, but also admiring her. I circled around her, lifted the hem of her dress, corrected
her posture when she moved out of position, drawing the whole thing out longer than last time.
Then I led her to the pole.

  I unlocked the handcuffs, pulled her arms behind the pole, and locked the cuffs back on her.
She was a captive of the pole. I danced around, removed her shoes, threw off my cape, and did
the whole routine much like before only longer. I unbuttoned her dress all the way down. It hung
from her shoulders, revealing her bra, panties, stockings. I danced away and left her there in the
spotlight, handcuffed in her underwear. After a while I returned and released her, picking her up
and carrying her back to her table. I replaced her shoes, kissed her hand, and returned to the
stage. Like Melinda, Lisa had never said a word except her name. Before taking a bow, I stood
scanning the audience, as if deciding who would be next (which was exactly what I was doing).
The room went completely silent. Everyone seemed to be holding her breath. Was I going to do
another one? Then I bowed and disappeared from the stage. Audience reaction was the best ever.
They clapped and screamed and screamed some more. Ted was going to have to get me a bigger
tip jar.

  "Looks like you've got a winner," yelled Ted as I headed toward the back. "Just don't let it get
stale."

  "I'm already working on the next one," I yelled back.

  The next week was a continuation along the same line. I knew where I was headed. I was
going to strip one of Ted's customers completely naked. But I would work up to it over a period
of weeks, or even months. I was going to ride this horse as long as I could.

  After 4 weeks, I was packing the place. Ted swapped Gary and I, giving me the 10 o'clock
hour.  Gary redid his act. It now had an air of apprehension about it, a feel of mystery, a sense of
foreboding. I don't know quite what he did. He moved around much the way he always had, but
the atmosphere he created was very different. He really was good.

  I talked to Gary, worried that he'd be pissed about the change. I had this image of gays being
really sensitive and touchy. Gary was totally cool. He said he preferred the earlier hour because
there were fewer drunks and he liked doing the warm up for my act. Creating an atmosphere was
the kind of thing he was into. Besides, too many customers had been leaving after my act, so the
tips were now better at 9:00.

  I asked him how he managed to strip for a bunch of women and make it convincing. He said it
was easy, he just pretended it was a room full of guys. I was impressed. There was no way I could
strip for a bunch of guys, make eye contact, respond to their reactions, and pretend it was a group
of women. My imagination is more limited than that. But then, I have no talent. That's why I need
a gimmick.

  As I said, my goal was to strip one of Ted's customers completely naked. And keep doing it.
That would certainly turn me on, but what about the audience. Why would women come to ladies
night at Ted's place to see a woman undressed? I was doing what I was doing partly because it
worked and partly because I liked doing it. But why did it work? I had some ideas, but wasn't sure
if I was really on the right track. I decided I needed a focus group. Kelly and Janice were the two
waitresses I was the most friendly with, so I asked them.

  "You're looking at it all wrong," Kelly said. "They don't come to see a woman undressed.
They come because it could be them. There's a certain element of danger that's a real turn-on for
many women. They aren't really sure they want to be chained up and undressed in public, but the
possibility is exciting."

  "That's right," Janice said. "The girl on stage is them. They vicariously experience whatever
she does. They don't see some other woman being undressed on stage. They imagine themselves
in her position. The thing that makes it work is that they really could be in her position. And it
helps that the chains are real. It just wouldn't be the same if they were phony."

  "And at the end when you carry her back to her chair and kiss her hand. They like that." This
from Kelly.

  While this conversation helped, I still couldn't understand the motivation and the girls couldn't
really explain it to me. Why would they want the experience vicariously or otherwise? I still didn't
know.

  I'd recently finished reading Richard Feynman's book "Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman".
He described an episode in his life after his wife died when he spent a couple summers in the late
'50's hanging out in bars in the southwest. He'd buy drinks for girls, dance with them, etc. Always
right around closing time they'd evaporate. He tried and tried to score. Always the same result.
Finally, a guy clued him in. The guy said that if you wanted a girl to sleep with you, the thing to
do was not respect her. Be rude. And above all, don't buy her ANYTHING. Not a drink, not a
sandwich, not a cigarette, nothing. Then she'll sleep with you. He tried it. The guy was right. It
worked.  Then he thought that these were only bar girls and that's why it worked. It would never
work with a nice girl. So when fall came and he returned to his teaching position at Cornell, he
tried it on a nice girl. It worked just fine. Why? I don't know. He didn't know. It just worked. I
wonder if that guy in the bar in the southwest is still alive. I'd like to talk to him.

  My routine was like that. It worked, but I don't know why. One thing was clear from my
conversation with Janice and Kelly. I needed to work on the selection process. My current system
of leaping from the stage only gave me access to the first couple of rows. I needed for every
woman in the room to feel she could be chosen, was likely to be chosen.

  The next Tuesday I changed my opening. First I walked back and forth across the front of the
stage, dangling a pair of handcuffs from an extended index finger. I looked over the crowd,
making eye contact with as many as possible. Then I did my leap and somersault from the stage
(this had become sort of a trademark) but this time I landed in an open area, instead of in front of
my chosen target. I headed for the back of the room. I walked from table to table, still dangling
the cuffs from my finger. Sometimes I would stop in front of a woman and dangle the cuffs before
her, watching her reaction. Sometimes I would cup my hand under a chin and tilt her face
toward me and look into her eyes. Sometimes I would lay the end of the quirt against a cheek,
turning the girl's head to the side to see her profile, or brush her hair back to see more of her face.
I tried to make contact with someone at every table. Eye contact if not physical contact, but I
actually physically examined quite a few ladies. One girl toward the back was wearing a hat. I
made her take it off, had her stand up. I walked around her. Then I moved on. I would have
chosen her except she was wearing pants (she didn't know that was the reason I'd moved on).
Skirts were sexier, and I liked lifting the hem with my quirt. By now, every woman in the room
realized it was a real possibility that she could be chosen. I worked my way back to the back
again.

  There was a woman sitting alone at a table against the rear wall. I'd seen her twice before,
about a month apart each time. She appeared to be in her mid to late 30's, older than anyone I'd
previously selected. The thing that had always attracted my attention was that she was always so
perfectly groomed. Not a hair out of place, conservative make up done just so. It made you want
to stick your hands in her hair and mess it up. She would be quite properly disheveled when I
finished with her. She wore conservative business clothing, dark jacket and skirt, white blouse,
scarf tucked neatly into her collar and a single strand of pearls. She always sat alone and I had the
feeling she was in town on business and didn't know anyone here.

  I walked up to her, dangling the handcuffs. I was directly in front of her, the small cocktail
table between us. I laid the handcuffs on her table, between her and her drink.

  "You. I choose you."

  She picked up her drink and took a major gulp. It was like an ambiguous lottery. Her number
had been drawn. But had she won or lost? And the others, were they relieved or disappointed.
Both.

  "Tell me your name, wench."

  "Elaine. My name is Elaine." She whispered so softly I could hardly hear her. The room was
absolutely silent, otherwise I wouldn't have heard her. All eyes were on Elaine. No one spoke, no
glasses clinked.

  I picked up the table, set it aside, and stepped closer to Elaine. I circled her chair, inspecting
her. I picked the cuffs up from the table and stepped behind her.

  "Place your hands behind you, Elaine."

  Slowly, she drew her hands together behind her. I snapped the cuffs on her wrists. Then I
pulled a collar from within my cape and buckled it around her throat. Elaine had blond hair which
was cut short enough to leave her neck exposed. The collar was a new addition to the act and was
highly visible on Elaine's throat. I snapped a leash to the ring on the front of her collar and told
her to stand. She rose slowly and stood waiting for whatever was next. She couldn't believe this
was happening to her. I tugged on the leash and turned toward the stage. Elaine turned and trailed
along behind on about 6' of leash. I positioned her at the front of the stage as I had her
predecessors and began her inspection. I touched her here and there with the quirt, correcting her
posture (which didn't need any correction, but I liked doing it anyway). I unbuttoned her jacket,
then stepped behind her and removed her handcuffs. Then I slipped the coat off her shoulders and
hung it over the back of a nearby chair.

  Picking up the leash I led her over to the pole. I backed her up to the pole and told her to raise
her arms overhead. It would be the manacles for Elaine. I snapped them onto her wrists. I danced
around her a couple times then removed her shoes. After a bit more dancing around, I pulled her
blouse loose from her waist band and began unbuttoning it. A bit more cavorting and unbuttoning
and Elaine's blouse hung open.

  She was wearing a front hook bra. I'd been waiting for one of these. I unhooked it. I thought
for sure she'd bail, but she didn't say a word. I pulled the halves of the bra to the sides. Elaine had
small conical breasts. It was difficult to keep my hands off them, but mauling her tits in front of
the crowd would blow the effect I was trying to create. I danced away, then returned. I placed the
quirt under her chin, then drew it down her body. I withdrew again.

  Elaine remained chained to the pole longer than any of her predecessors, but finally I wrapped
it up and carried her back to her table. Elaine was the first loner I'd chosen. All the others had
been returned to a table occupied by their friends. I put Elaine in her chair, draped her jacket over
her shoulders, and put her shoes back on her. As I bent to kiss her hand, she whispered, "Why
me? Why did you choose me?"

  "You knew you would be chosen. How could you doubt it?" I turned away walked back to
the stage.

  On a whim, I had left Elaine's collar on her. As soon as I left the stage, she headed for the
ladies room to put herself back together. She returned a few minutes later, all fixed up and
looking just like she did when she arrived, except she was wearing the collar. She had one more
drink and then left, still wearing the collar. Definitely touched between the ears. I hoped I had
done the same to/for the rest of the audience.

  The following week I chose a girl who refused to go. She just wouldn't do it. I'd never heard a
room full of women hiss and boo before, but that's what they did. It sort of blew the mood I'd
tried to set up, but I chose another and things went much as before. This started me thinking. A
girl who refused at the outset wasn't too much of a problem, but if one ever bailed out in the
middle, after she was chained to the pole, there was no way to recover. It would blow the whole
evening. The chances of this happening were reduced by the reaction of the audience to the girl
who'd refused to go this evening, but the chances of a bail out were much greater if I stripped a
woman completely. I decided that when I completely stripped a woman, it would have to be a
put-up job. It would have to be somebody I knew who knew what was coming.

  I knew just the person. My sister Barbara was 26, 3 years older than me. We loved each other,
but had always fought when we were kids. She had often made my life miserable in the ways only
a big sister can. Having grown up with her, I knew how to push a few of her buttons, too. I
thought I could probably talk her into it. Also, the idea of stripping my big sister in public had an
element of payback to it that was very appealing. The next day I gave her a call.

  "Hey, Barb. This is Dave."

  "I know who you are, Dave. I've heard your voice all my life."

  See what I mean? This was really going to be fun.

  "I need your help with something."

  "Oh? What's up."

  "You know that part time job I've got?"

  "You mean that stripper act? I've heard about that. It's disgusting. Why don't you get a real
job?"

  "You mean a real job like the packing house?"

  "You know what I mean. How could I help you with your act, anyway? You need someone to
undress you?"

  "Just the opposite. I've changed the act. I don't undress anymore. I undress the customers. I
want to undress you."

  "David, you're completely nuts. You've always been crazy, but this is the weirdest thing you've
ever come up with. You want your sister to get up on stage with you and take her clothes off?
Dream on."

  "No, I don't want you to take your clothes off. I want to take your clothes off. You'll be
chained to a pole."

  "DAVID! How could you... I'm your sister... I wouldn't... Fuck you, Dave."

  I knew I was getting her goat when she started to splutter like that.

  "It pays REALLY well, Barb."

  "Oh? How much?"

  "$500. Cash."

  "I really don't think I could do that. I just couldn't."

  "Well, think about it. If you change your mind, give me a call. Bye, sis."

  "Bye, Dave."

  Notice how fast she calmed down once I mentioned the money? Like I said, I could push her
buttons, too. She'd come around. That was more money than she made in a week. She just needed
some time to spend the money in her head. Barb also had a bit of exhibitionist in her soul. She
would never admit it, but I knew the idea would appeal to her. I was confident she'd call back.
This wasn't going to happen for a couple of months, so there was no rush.

  In the meantime, I continued with my act. Each week, I'd select a girl from the crowd, lead
her to the stage on a leash, chain her to the pole and remove some portion of her clothing. One
night I noticed a couple in the crowd. I was puzzled by this since Ted didn't normally let guys in
on ladies night. That was the whole point. The women could come in for an evening of
entertainment with their friends without being hit on every 2 minutes by some guy with a really
bad pickup line.  There were plenty of other places they could go if they wanted to get picked up.

  Naturally, that was the girl I chose. He just sat there and quietly watched while I cuffed her
and buckled the collar on her throat. As I led her away on the leash, she looked over her shoulder
at him. He nodded toward the stage. She turned and followed on the leash. I put her through the
usual routine, except that the I only removed her shoes and unbuttoned her blouse. Instead of
carrying her back to the table, I led her on the leash. I handed her shoes, the keys to the
handcuffs, and the end of her leash to the guy. He told her to sit down and continued drinking his
beer. When he finished, he got up to leave. He had her shoes in one hand and her leash in the
other. She followed behind, hands still cuffed behind her. I was envious. That was exactly what I
wanted to do, take one of these ladies home on a leash. Ted later told me the couple were friends
of his for whom he'd made an exception. He'd told them about my act and they'd wanted to see it.
Ted had warned them that she might find herself a participant. I later got the collar and cuffs back.
I wondered if he'd acquired his own set.

  The next week, as I was cruising the room making my selection, a girl stood up as I passed
her table. "Choose me. I'll go."

  I stopped and circled around her, looked her up and down. "You're very attractive," I told her
(she was), "but you don't do the choosing. I do." This exchange went over the PA. I moved on. I
considered my point made. I usually preferred some ambivalence in the one chosen. I found that
more exciting and the audience identified better with a choice who wasn't entirely sure she wanted
to be there.

  Even so, the following week I noticed a girl in the front row wearing a collar similar to the
one I'd been using. She had long hair, but she wore it up so you couldn't miss the collar. Although
she was an obvious volunteer (exactly the thing I had rejected the previous week), I chose her.
Her name was Cindy. I liked the idea of women coming to the club wearing collars and I knew
that if her ploy was successful, there would be more of them next time. Fortunately, once I got
her hands cuffed behind her and snapped a leash on her collar, she didn't seem quite so eager.
Nonetheless, there needed to be a price for her forward behavior. I was going to have to carry
things a little farther with her. After the usual inspection, I locked her in the manacles. She was
wearing a front hook bra, which didn't surprise me. After I unhooked it, I unbuttoned her skirt
and slid it down her legs. After I got her skirt off, I unlocked the manacles and turned her to face
the pole and locked them back on her. Then I cuffed her ankles. I had a pair of ankle cuffs laying
behind the pole. The chain was short enough that she had to stand with a foot on either side of the
pole. This was new. I'd never chained a girl with her back to the audience before nor had I
chained anyone's ankles. Cindy looked apprehensively over her shoulder trying to see what I was
doing. I spanked her. I gave her about 20 or 25 strokes of the quirt on the butt and the back of the
thighs. I didn't spank her hard, but hard enough to elicit an occasional yelp. I saw Ted standing off
by the side of the stage. He was nervous. He'd gotten used to me chaining his customers and
partially undressing them, but I'd never beaten one before. I could tell he was ready to step in if
this got out of hand. It didn't. I'd intensify each blow until I got a yelp out of Cindy, then back off
and repeat the process. I finally took Cindy down and carried her back to her table.

  "What a rush!" Cindy told her friend.

  Janice returned Cindy's skirt and Cindy headed off to the ladies room to dress. I noticed the
place was about half empty. They were all in the can.

  "Why don't they just go before I start instead of trying to hold it all the way through my
routine?", I asked Kelly. "There's plenty of time after Gary gets done."

  "I thought you knew. Whoever you choose goes through a major Q&A in the ladies room
right after you finish with her. She's a celebrity for an evening. That's why the increasing
competition to be chosen."

  "You're kidding."

  "No, really. She has to tell them what it's like. How it felt, what she thought, the whole mess.
They over-process everything."

  "Amazing."

  "Many women have occasional fantasies about being ravished by a handsome stranger in a
mask.  Some of us have them more than occasionally."

  ("Oh, really," I thought, looking Kelly up and down. This bears looking into.)

  "You provide a safe outlet for those fantasies. Usually vicariously, but if they're chosen it's up
close and personal," Kelly said.

  Kelly's remark reminded me that I'd only completed half the equation. Although I was making
great money now, I still wasn't getting laid. How had I managed that? I resolved to do something
about it.

  I went to the coat room and slipped my handcuffs into Kelly's purse. A not too subtle hint.

  Near closing time, Julie came up to me.

  "Dave, are these your handcuffs? I found them in my purse."

  "I wondered what happened to them. What were they doing in there?" (Damn, wrong purse.)

  "I dunno, but here they are. Better keep track of them."

  I was right about the collars. There were seven or eight of them the next week. I didn't choose
one of them, but I did the week after. That girl also got a spanking. That became the pattern. I
wouldn't always choose a girl wearing a collar, but if I did, she got a spanking. I gave an
occasional spanking to girls who didn't wear them, so not wearing a collar was no guarantee
against a spanking but wearing a collar was a guarantee she would get one. I tried to get Ted to
change the name of the club to "Castle Anthrax" but he wouldn't go for it.

  I still didn't get it. Girls were coming into the club wearing collars, knowing that if I chose
them I would take their skirts off and publicly spank them. I'd heard an interview a couple of years
before on NPR's "All Things Considered". The guy they interviewed sold a brand of women's
jeans in California called 'Cheeks'. He'd just been dumped or jilted or something and he decided he
was going to 'really let women have it' as he put it. He put up a bunch of billboards. On the
billboard was a picture of a girl wearing the jeans. The Cheeks jeans were pulled down so you
could see her cheeks. The reason they were pulled down was because she was lying across a guy's
lap being spanked. He sold tons of jeans. Couldn't keep them in stock. Finally they made him take
the billboards down. Apparently the bare butt was too much even for California, not to mention
the spanking. But while they were up, he sold lots of jeans. (If anyone ever saw any of these
billboards, or knows anything about them or the jeans, I'd be curious to hear about it. E-mail me.)
I didn't know what to make of this except that I'd stumbled upon the same phenomenon.

  Barbara called. She'd decided she might be willing to give it a try. I almost didn't need her
anymore. Things had evolved to the point where I could probably strip one of them completely
without any negative repercussions, but this was safer. Besides, I just couldn't resist the chance to
do Barb.

  I told her what to wear, where to go and when to be there. I gave her a rough rundown of the
routine so she'd have some idea what to expect. I didn't tell her everything. I wanted her to get a
few surprises.

  She had a surprise for me. She'd brought friends. Barb was sitting at a table in about the
center of the room with two other girls. I didn't know them but she obviously did. I started my
circuit of the room, stopping at various tables and examining various women. I finally worked my
way around to Barb.

  "Your name, wench."

  "Barbara," she replied.

  "You are selected, Barbara. Place your hands behind you."

  Barb quietly placed her hands behind her and I snapped the cuffs on her wrists. Then I buckled
the collar on her throat. Her friends seemed stunned. She apparently hadn't clued them in. I
leashed her and led her away.

  I stood Barb at the front of the stage and gave her a more thorough inspection than usual. I
touched her here and there with the quirt, smacked her on the butt once when she moved out of
position. Then I unbuttoned her blouse. This was different. I'd never done that before until the
chosen girl was chained at the pole. Then I led Barb to the pole, unlocked the cuffs, and
completely removed her blouse. This was also new. Then I raised her arms and locked the
manacles on her. Barb seemed somewhat taken aback. I think the full reality was more than she'd
anticipated. I removed her shoes, then unbuttoned her skirt and pulled it off. Then I chained her
ankles. Barb was now standing with her wrists chained overhead and her ankles chained on either
side of the pole. She was wearing only her underwear: bra, panties, and stockings (I'd told her not
to wear pantyhose). I unhooked her bra. She was now as undressed as she could get without
unchaining her or cutting her clothes off. I pulled out my knife (I'd started wearing a dagger on
my belt several weeks ago--up until now it had seemed merely decorative). I cut her bra straps
and hurled the garment away. I danced away and let Barb squirm. It was obvious to me that this
was more than she'd bargained for. I loved it. I returned and put the quirt under her chin, ran it
down between her breasts to her crotch and away. Barb spoke not a word. I'd slipped out of my
shirt on my last sojourn about the stage. I was no longer her little brother. I was a man with
bulging muscles in a mask who had locked her in chains and stripped her, who had complete
power over her. She would never again think of me as her little brother. I took her head between
my hands, tilted it up and looked deep into her eyes. Even through the mask she knew that look
was predatory. She shrank against the pole. The women in the audience could feel the electricity.
Then I hooked a finger in the band of her panties, thrust the dagger into the gap and slashed the
fabric. Several women gasped. Barb whimpered. I slashed the other side and pulled the panties
away, exposing her to the room. There stood my naked sister, chained to a pole and wearing only
her stockings. She jerked at her chains, trying vainly to cover herself, but succeeded only in
emphasizing her helplessness and exposure. I cavorted about the stage, leaving Barb on display.
She truly was beautiful. I'd never look at her quite the same way again either.

  I returned to bound Barbara and unlocked her chains. She thought we were done. We weren't.
I turned her to face the pole and put her chains back on her. The audience knew what this meant,
but Barb didn't. She could tell from their murmuring that something was going to happen. She
twisted her head around, trying to see what I was doing. I placed the quirt next to her cheek and
turned her head back toward the pole. She squealed when the first blow landed. It couldn't have
hurt much but it surprised the hell out of her. I hadn't told her she would be spanked. After a
moment she realized she wasn't hurt and I settled down to the pattern I'd used with the others:
increasingly harder blows until I got a good yelp, then repeat the pattern. I got four or five good
yelps out of Barb, then we were done.

  I'd thought about how to get Barb back to her table. I didn't want to carry her naked, nor did I
want to dress her on stage. Janice came up with a large fluffy robe. Something I could wrap her
up in that would make her feel warm and cozy, protected, coddled. I unchained Barb, wrapped
the robe around her and picked her up. I gazed into her face. She hadn't returned to earth yet, but
she was enjoying the change in emotional climate after her spanking. She snuggled deeper into the
robe as I held her. When I got back to her table, her friends were sitting there with their jaws
hanging open. (Barb hadn't told them anything. They only knew they were going to see a male
stripper. They didn't realize who he was going to strip.) I put Barbara's shoes back on her, kissed
her hand, etc. Kelly had collected Barb's clothing, folded it and left it in a small basket next to her
chair.

  "Barb," I said. "Barb, it's over. You should go get dressed now." Barb hadn't been touched
between the ears, she'd been hammered. A major mind-fuck courtesy of the masked stranger who
used to be her little brother.

  I turned to leave and noticed Barb's friends still sitting there gaping. I just had to fuck with
them. I walked over to the nearest one.

  "And who might you be, wench." The room fell silent again. It had been abuzz since I'd
returned Barb to her seat, but now all conversation ceased. This, too, was different. Always
before when it was over, it was over. Would there be a second episode? The only sound was the
clink of a few glasses.

  "We are all waiting for your answer."

  "I'm...I'm"

  "Just say your name."

  "Susan."

  "Have you enjoyed your evening, Susan?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "And you'll have quite a story to tell at work tomorrow, won't you."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Let's add a little footnote to your tale, shall we?"

  "I don't think..."

  "You won't need to. Just do as I tell you. Now place your hands behind you."

  Susan didn't move. I leaned closer to her.

  "Susan, you're not paying attention. I'd hate to think you're being naughty like Barbara."

  Susan's hands flew behind her back. She certainly didn't want to be naughty, with all that that
implied. I stepped behind her and cuffed her. I walked back around Susan.

  "And what is your friend's name, Susan?"

  "Her name is Alice."

  "Thank you, Susan. You've been a very good girl. I hope you'll visit us often."

  I turned to Alice. "And what about you, Alice. How is your evening going?"

  "Just fine, sir. So far."

  "So far, huh? Well, we'll try not to trash it too badly. Stand up, so I can look at you." I began
pulling Alice's chair out from under her so she had to stand. She stood with her hands clasped
tightly in front of her.

  "Come, come, Alice," I mocked. "We can hardly get a good look at you when you stand like
that.  Now place your hands behind you like a proper young lady so we can all see how pretty you
are."

  "Oh, please," Alice whimpered as I locked her wrists behind her. She was terrified. I thought
she was going to cry.

  "It's all right, Alice. You can sit down now." I held her chair for her and she sat back down,
looking very much relieved.

  I walked back over to Barb, who had come out of her daze and was watching me tease her
friends. I took her hand, placed the key to the handcuffs in her palm and closed her fingers over it.
I said nothing, but turned and headed back to the stage. Barb picked up her basket and was off for
the ladies room. It seemed Alice and Susan would remain in their cuffs until Barb was dressed.

  Barb was still wearing her collar. This had become sort of a trademark of mine, too. If a
woman wasn't already wearing a collar when I selected her, I left mine on her. It was my way of
marking her as mine. It also became customary for her to leave it on the entire time she was in the
club.  They usually took them home as a souvenir, so I had to maintain a stock of them.

  I returned to the stage, took a bow, and headed for the bar. This had been a more intense
experience than usual for me, as well. I wanted a beer. By the time I got to the bar, almost all the
tables were empty. They were all in the can with Barb, except for the ones out in the hall who
were still trying to squeeze in. Alice and Susan were also gone from their table.

  Ted came over. He hadn't been fooled for a minute.

  "That girl was a shill, wasn't she, Dave. It was a setup."

  "Well, yeah, it was. For my first full frontal nudity, I had to know it was going to work. It
would ruin the whole thing if she bailed right in the middle."

  "It's OK. You don't have to apologize. You did exactly the right thing. I appreciate your
prudence.".

  "But how did you know?"

  "A whole bunch of things. For one thing, you were just a little bit too familiar with her. For
another thing, you chose a girl I'd never seen before. You never do that when you're going to
crank things up a notch. You always choose a regular who has some idea what she's in for. Other
stuff, too, that tipped me off. I don't think anyone else picked up on it, though."

  "You know," Ted continued, "I could probably get some of the girl strippers from the other
nights to come in and shill if you need them."

  I was shocked at his suggestion. He was smart and experienced. If anybody didn't show up,
Ted pulled their shift. He could tend bar, wait tables, work the door, quiet a noisy drunk, stop a
fight, muscle a troublemaker out the door, dry tears, and mop the floor. Ted had radar. He could
spot an underage with a phony ID from across the room. Liquor control had never caught him in
any violations. But this one went right by him.

  "No, Ted, I couldn't use them. Everyone knows them. It would be obvious they were shills. It
would make the whole thing phony. Each woman in the audience has to believe it's one of them
that's chosen, that she could be chosen. It's a real customer who gets locked in real chains and
gets a real spanking. It's the whole 'there but for the grace of God go I' thing. We both know this
thing will be over some day, but if we phony it up, it will end real fast. Please, let me get the
girls."

  "OK, OK. It was just a suggestion."

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to get excited. You just never missed one that bad before."

  Janice wandered over and reported on Barb's debriefing. Barb was enjoying the attention,
although about 6 girls jumped down her throat when she tried to take her collar off. I'd forgotten
to warn her about this aspect. I hoped she wouldn't blow it and let on that it was a setup.
Apparently, Barb had had the sense to play along. I think she realized that if she let the truth slip
out she would instantly change from heroine to traitress. It seemed Alice and Susan were also
receiving a minor amount of attention. They were probably going to spend the rest of the evening
handcuffed.

  I usually left right after my act, but tonight I needed to keep an eye on Barb, so I sat at the far
end of the bar in the dark. I couldn't take my mask off in the bar in order to maintain my secret
identity. The customers all thought Ted had fired the old guy and hired a new one when I changed
my act. There was a lot of speculation as to who I was. There were rumors that I was a doctor or
lawyer or some rich guy who was only doing this as a hobby. I tried to discourage this sort of
rumor since it could cut into my tips if they thought I didn't need the money. I started a rumor that
I was a poor college professor who'd had to resort to this to make ends meet. That didn't work
too well. I wasn't built like they imagined a college professor would be. Be that as it may, I didn't
want them to know I was Dave. I liked it better if they thought I was someone mysterious and
elusive. It added a little bit of extra drama to the whole thing; so I always wore my mask in the
bar, and I usually disappeared quickly after my act was over.

  It was going on 11:00. Almost time for Tom to go on. The tables started to fill back up.
Waitresses were scurrying around trying to get everyone supplied with fresh drinks before he
started his routine. Barb and her friends returned to their table. Sure enough, Barb had her collar
on, and Susan and Alice had their hands still cuffed behind them. Kelly served them drinks with
straws. They left after Tom finished. Ted kept an eye on them for me. He said Barb had freed her
friends when they got to their car, but she had driven off still wearing the collar. They would all
have a story to tell their coworkers tomorrow.

  I had one other reason for hanging around. My attempt to stuff a pair of handcuffs in Kelly's
purse had been rather inept. I decided a direct approach would be more effective. She'd already
dropped a major hint. I would handle her the way I did the customers. I hung around till after
closing.

  When Kelly came out, I was leaning against her car, dangling the handcuffs from my index
finger.

  "You are chosen, wench."

  She looked at the cuffs, looked at me, then turned and clasped her hands behind her. I locked
the cuffs on her, buckled on a collar, leashed her and led her over to my car. I helped her into the
front seat, then strapped her ankles together with my belt. I fastened her seat belt, got in and
drove off. I was finally going to get laid.

  When I got home, I led Kelly to the basement. I was not unprepared for this event. I got her
out of her blouse, then fastened her in a pair of manacles that dangled from the ceiling. I put on
some music, lit some candles, and recreated my whole act. I removed her shoes and skirt, then cut
off her bra with my knife. Only this time, I did play with her tits. I gave them a good mauling, then
sucked on them and bit her nipples. I took her face between my hands and kissed her long and
hard. I cut away her panties, ran my hand up her leg and plunged my finger into her. She bucked
and moaned as my finger penetrated her. I pulled my finger out and belted her ankles together.
She was naked except for her stockings. Stockings turned me on, so I left those. Then I spanked
her. A real spanking. I brought her nearly to tears. She begged me to stop, please stop.
Finally, I did stop. I took her down and tied her hands behind her with rope, then took her to bed.
I fucked every orifice she had and then tried to drill a couple of new ones. Finally, when we were
both exhausted, I tied her ankles again and we fell asleep. I untied her once during the night so
she could go to the bathroom. When she returned, I tied her up again, wrists and ankles, then
made her blow me. She certainly wouldn't be able to say she hadn't been ravished.

  When morning came, I untied her, hooked a finger into the ring on her collar, and led her into
the shower. I washed her down (I especially enjoyed washing her tits), toweled her dry and
dressed her. Then I picked her up and carried her to the kitchen. I set her gently in a chair, kissed
her hand, and fixed her breakfast. After we ate, I dropped her off at her car. She was still wearing
her collar. I headed off to the packing house. It was going to be a long day.

  When I got to the club the next Tuesday, I saw that Kelly had worn her collar to work. There
was a miniature padlock locked on the ring on her collar. (Cindy, the first girl I spanked, had
started that. She showed up the following week with a tiny padlock locked on her collar ring.
After that, any girl who had been previously chosen wore a collar with a small padlock to the
club.) Janice was on me the minute I sat down.

  "What's Kelly doing with that lock on her collar?"

  "You'll have to ask her. A gentleman doesn't discuss such things."

  "What a crock. Now spill it."

  "Ravished she wanted, ravished she got."

  "No wonder she's so smug."

  "If she's a problem, let me know. I'll see that she's punished."

  "Don't you get smug on me too."

  "Silence, wench."

  It was time to go on. This time I chose one of the girls who came in a collar. I'd seen her there
last week, so I pulled out all the stops. I gave her the same treatment I'd given Barb. Full frontal
nudity, spanking, the works. As I carried her back to her table, wrapped in the robe, she kissed me
on the cheek.

  Janice came up to me after closing. She was wearing a collar with a leash attached. She
handed me the end of the leash.

  "I want my padlock," she said.

  I led her outside, cuffed her, and took her home. This was pretty much a repeat of last week,
with the exception that I spanked Janice even harder.

  I'd been getting more and more turned on by the B&D aspect of my act and had bought and
built some stuff for my basement. I now had an 'X' frame built against one wall, a horse, a pole
like at the club, stocks, and some other stuff. My basement now resembled something between a
dungeon and a torture chamber. I didn't use any of this stuff in my act, but the next girl who came
home with me was really going to earn her padlock.

  The next Tuesday, all the waitresses were wearing collars. Kelly and Janice both had padlocks
on theirs.

  I started my act and began cruising the room. Elaine was sitting at the same table in the back
(she was the perfectly groomed woman who was the first one to have her tits exposed). She
wasn't wearing her collar, which didn't surprise me. What surprised me was to see her there at all.
I watched her out of the corner of my eye, but I never chose the same woman a second time.
Nonetheless, I kept an eye on her. I found her particularly attractive, perhaps because she had
been so ambivalent about the whole experience. I was pretty sure she didn't know how far the act
had progressed.

  I chose a girl named Elizabeth who had worn a collar to the club and worked her over pretty
thoroughly. I stripped her down to her underwear, made her stand in various positions of
attention and submission, then chained her to the pole and stripped her naked. I gave her perhaps
a more severe spanking than usual. Then I wrapped her in the robe and returned her in the usual
manner. I kissed her hand and then locked a small padlock on her collar.

  This became the new custom. I distributed the padlocks. (The whole routine was becoming
highly ritualized. You had to have been there a couple of times to know all the little rules and
rituals which had sprung up. For this reason, I almost never chose a newcomer anymore.) The
lock didn't lock the collar on, it was decorative only. A symbol.

  Elaine didn't join the rush to the ladies room. She remained at her table finishing her drink. I
had a beer at the bar. Elaine had left sometime during my beer. Tom was just starting his act and I
packed my stuff up to leave. My leash and handcuffs were missing from my kit. They had
probably been stolen as souvenirs.

  I stepped out the back door and almost knocked Elaine over. She was standing there wearing
the collar I'd put on her all those weeks ago, with my leash dangling from the ring and her wrists
locked behind her in my handcuffs.

  "I can't believe I'm doing this," she whispered, as much to herself as to me. "I've just never
gotten that night out of my mind. I feel so foolish."

  "Not yet, you don't," I told her. I stuffed a ball gag in her mouth, buckled it behind her head,
and led her away. I'd added a small cage to my toys in the basement. Elaine was going to miss a
few days of work.
 

 
                          Copyright 1999
                            by Harold
                       Haroldx@eudoramail.com
                       All Rights Reserved