Back in her room, Lauren inspected herself in her full-length mirror. Dear God, her butt was just a swollen bunch of red welts. She didn’t think she’d be able to sit comfortably for a week. A few moments later she discovered that showering wasn’t so easy, either, and shortly after that, that just wearing jeans was a problem. She sighed. At least she was absolved of her previous sins.
The next day passed interminably slowly for Lauren. She had made it to her meeting just in time. As the other group members, all guys, had picked up on Lauren’s unwillingness to say, “No,” she’d ended up accepting all the hardest parts of the project. Then she had gone home and, as predicted, spent hours writing out the passage that Don had assigned her.
Now, she was trying to pass time at work. Because of the soreness of her butt, she spent as little time sitting at her desk as possible. Walking around completing other tasks presented another problem though: the short pubic hair that she was required to keep was bristly and walking made it rub against the inside of her panties leaving her itchy for most of the day. Meanwhile, the two interns who reported to her were giving her odd looks at her insistence on calling them “Mr. Smith” and “Mr. Jolik” while requesting that they continue to address her as “Lauren.”
To top it all off, she knew that she still had one punishment yet to be revealed. What could it be? She knew only Don’s promise that she would find it humiliating. She had done some furtive searching on the internet and had come across a few possibilities-- each one more disturbing than the last: Was he going to use her as a footstool? Make her eat out of a dog bowl? Force her to tell other people about their arrangement? She shuddered especially at the last thought.
Finally, the day was over and Lauren headed home to learn her fate.
Lauren stood in front of Don as he examined her 500 hand written passages. She had been VERY careful to make no mistakes and didn’t expect any problems. Don hadn’t given her any instructions, and Lauren didn’t expect a spanking, so she hadn’t bothered to pull her pants down.
Don finally looked up. “Good job, Lauren.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now, I suppose you’re eager to find out the last part of your punishment for your failure to write a proper letter.”
Lauren gulped. She had almost hoped that he had forgotten. “Yes, sir.”
Don smiled. “Are you familiar with an establishment a few miles from here called ‘The Landing Strip’, Lauren?”
“Ugh,” she made a face. “The strip club? Yes, I know of it, sir.”
Don looked perplexed. “Why the face, Lauren?”
“Well, I just think that kind of place is degrading to women in general, sir. I have no idea why any woman . . .” She trailed off. “Oh, God, no.”
“It’s a shame you feel that way, Lauren. You see, they’re having an amateur competition next Saturday and you, Lauren, are going to enter it.”
“Sir, please, someone I know will see—”
He talked right over her. “And if you don’t win, Lauren, if I have any reason to believe you aren’t trying your hardest, I am going to give you a spanking that will make yesterday seem like a love tap. They only have limited slots, though, so I suggest you go to sign up tomorrow. You can go now, Lauren.”
She ran, crying, to her room.
The next day found Lauren looking furtively up and down the street before approaching the entrance to The Landing Strip. She had changed out of her work clothes in advance and was now wearing a tight pair of jeans and small t-shirt. Her hope was that if there were any body requirements for entering this contest, the decision-maker would be able to see whether or not she qualified without having her disrobe.
Finally, she steeled herself and walked up to the bouncer, a man with a shaved head whose biceps were bigger around than her legs. His name tag said “Eric”. He held out a hand. “Fifteen bucks.”
“Um, actually, sir, I just wanted to sign up for the amateur contest.”
“Oh, okay. Fifteen bucks then go to the first door on your left when you’re through the curtain.”
She looked around uncomfortably, not wanting to be standing in front of the entrance any longer than necessary. “I don’t have any cash on me, sir,” she practically whispered.
Eric opened the door and pointed to an ATM in the small entrance before a heavy red velvet curtain. She could hear some peppy country song coming muffled through the curtain. She sighed—this was ridiculous—but went in and put her card in the machine. It warned her that it was going to charge a $6 fee plus 10% of her withdrawal. Was that even legal?!
It didn’t matter. She hit the button for $20, the minimum it would distribute, knowing that it was costing her $28, and turned to give the twenty to Eric. He gave her five singles in return and told her, “See Mr. Lopez. Through the curtain and in the office on your left.”
As Lauren stepped through the curtain, the music got a little louder. The place was mostly empty. Just a few patrons paying close attention to a lone woman dancing on the stage. Lauren knew a moment of hope: the petite blonde dancer was wearing panties and a bra to go with her high heels. Maybe she wouldn’t have to get completely naked in front of a bunch of strangers. Sure, the panties were thong and she’d still be really exposed, but anything was better than completely naked. She did, however, screw her face in distaste at a poster advertising a “Pet of the Month” who would be performing. Did they need to be so degrading to women by giving them titles like “Pet”?
Hope faded when she looked around a little more. There were two other women circulating around delivering drinks. They were completely naked except for their high heels. If the waitresses had to be naked, what hope did she have as the entertainment?
Somewhat furtively, Lauren observed that one of the women had a completely bare mound and the other was maintaining a landing strip. She gulped and turned left. The office door was open so that the occupant had a clear view of the stage, but Lauren knocked anyway.
Mr. Lopez was on the phone, but he gestured her in. She stood there for a few moments and then suddenly felt her heart pounding. What if he wanted her to take her clothes off now? Her butt was still cherry red from her spanking the other day. It would be so embarrassing.
As she half-listened to Mr. Lopez’s phone conversation—it sounded like he had some sort of supply issue that he was clearing up—she realized that she was standing in what she had come to think of as Position 2. She took a deep breath, lowered her arms, and tried to relax.
He finally hung up. “What can I do for you?”
“I would like to enter the amateur night contest, Mr. Lopez.”
He nodded. “Turn around slowly, please.”
She did so, cringing at the feeling of her body being examined. When she had turned one complete revolution, he told her to take a seat. As she did so, he added, “You can have our last guaranteed slot for $200 or compete for one of three dance-in slots for $150.”
Lauren’s jaw dropped. She had to PAY to be allowed to strip?! Mr. Lopez apparently read her mind. “It’s a contest. The winner gets $2000. We can’t just give that away.”
She resigned herself to the situation. A $50 difference didn’t make it much of a choice when she couldn’t risk not getting into the contest. “I’ll take the last slot, please, sir.”
Mr. Lopez nodded and hit something on his computer. The printer started spitting out paper. “Ok. Just need you to initial at the end of each of these paragraphs and then sign the contract at the end.”
Lauren hesitated, then started scribbling her initials. “Um. . . I want you to actually read it. Here. I’ll go over it with you.
“The first paragraph just acknowledges that you are not an employee of The Landing Strip, are not entitled to any benefits, and will not receive any direct pay. You are an independent contractor responsible for all of your own expenses.
“The second paragraph notifies you that The Landing Strip is a fully nude club. You are committing to dance at least six sets and get completely nude during each one. For every set that you fail to complete, you will pay us $1000.” He looked up. “We’ve had problems in the past, especially with these amateur nights, with girls getting shy and backing out on us. It’s a real hit for us financially.”
He continued with the contract. “Paragraph three reminds you that The Landing Strip is NOT a no-touching club. If you prefer to be no-touching, that is still your right, but it is up to you to enforce it.
“Paragraph four outlines The Landing Strip philosophy. In general, the customer is always right. However, in the event of any dispute that you cannot personally resolve to the satisfaction of the customer, any Landing Strip employee can adjudicate. Whatever decision the employee makes is final.
“We’re dedicated to making this a truly amateur night, so paragraph five just says that you’ve never done any stripping other than other amateur contests or any porn at all. If we discover that you did do any before working at The Landing Strip, you’ll have to pay us any money you earned here plus a $5000 penalty. At the end of the paragraph, you need to write in where you currently work. Don’t worry. We won’t reveal it, but our customers like to know that it’s classy white collar chicks or college students taking their clothes off for them, and we want to be able to guarantee that.
“Paragraph six just says that sexual activity is not permitted on the premises of The Landing Strip. If you’re caught, you’ll be disqualified, sent home, and subject to the sanctions from paragraph two.”
Lauren had initialed the remaining paragraphs as Mr. Lopez went through them and now signed at the end of the contract. “Sir, I’ll just need to go get the cash.” He nodded.
Back in the entranceway, Lauren sighed as she put her card into the ATM. This was going to take up almost the rest of her allowance, she realized. Back in Mr. Lopez’s office, she handed him the $200.
“Thanks,” he said. “Be here and ready to dance at 10:00 am next Saturday. Oh, one piece of advice: make sure you’re completely clean.” She must have looked confused. “Honey, at some point during the day every single bit of you is going to be visible, and these guys WILL make comments, so I’m trying to save you some embarrassment. Make sure you’re clean.”
The next week-and-a-half flew by. Don had taken her over his knee and given her twenty hard spanks to her bare bottom the night she had gone to sign up for the contest because she hadn’t had dinner ready on time, but other than that Lauren had avoided the need for any more discipline. She had taken a personal day the following Friday and spent it cleaning the apartment from top to bottom. The following day, Don had pronounced the results, “Acceptable. Barely.”
The next Friday, the day before the big day, she heard some guys around the office talking about a bachelor party the next day and felt a silent dread that they might show up at The Landing Strip. She tried to eavesdrop a little to find out their exact plans, but couldn’t learn anything more.
And then the big day had arrived. Lauren awoke at 6:00 with a pit in her stomach. The first thing she did was examine her pubic hair in the mirror and touch it up with a razor and pair of scissors. She considered asking Don to inspect it for her but realized she’d just be opening herself up to the potential of that horrible punishment. This was already going to be the worst, most humiliating day of her life; she didn’t need to add that possibility to it.
She took a long shower, making extra sure that she was clean everywhere just like Mr. Lopez had recommended. Then, she got dressed quickly and made breakfast for Don and herself. Don asked her if she was looking forward to the day.
“Um. . . not really, sir.”
Don shrugged. “Well, I’m sorry you feel this is so beneath you. I just happen to think the world would be a much better place if more women focused on doing what pleased men. I suppose it’s just as well that you’re not looking forward to it. This is supposed to be a punishment after all.”
Lauren wasn’t sure how to respond, so she settled for, “Yes, sir,” and continued eating.
Lauren arrived at The Landing Strip at quarter till ten. This time she was let in without paying and she went directly back to the dressing room which reminded her of nothing more than a gym locker room but with more mirrors. Most of the other contestants were already there, looking mostly nervous or sleepy, but all pretty. Through some surreptitious eavesdropping and casual questioning—she had always been good at making conversation with other women—she got to know a little about her competition.
The first one she met was Connie Du, an Asian girl who was about to start her sophomore year at the local college. Connie was hoping to make enough money—maybe even win the big prize—to pay for her textbooks this semester and next. Her sorority sister Becky, a dirty blonde tall and athletic white girl, was there for the same reason. They were both thin and hot in the way that most even average nineteen year old women can be hot.
Emma was definitely going to be some competition. She was also white, but dark complected She was a shorter woman—maybe 5’1”, but definitely older than the first two. She was maybe 25, but her hotness had nothing to do with youth. Everythnig about her was tight and perfectly proportioned and she had a mischievous look to her, and not a bit of nervousness. Lauren didn’t learn much about her except that she worked for the city government in some way.
Amy was next, and she seemed to have gathered all of Emma’s missing nervousness. She had quite a chest but was otherwise pretty-but-average. She confided in Lauren that this was her way of getting back at an ex-boyfriend. He had always wanted her to do a strip tease for him, but she never would. He had broken up with her, so now she was going to do a strip tease for anyone who was willing to pay to see it. Lauren wasn’t sure how that rated in terms of good ideas.
Juliet was next. She was a law student in town for a summer internship. Her parents had fallen on hard times and the unpaid-but-prestigious internship no longer seemed like such a great idea, and she was definitely hoping to make some money to cover some of her summer bills. She was a pretty brunette, but pale skinned. She seemed convinced—and was arguing with others about it—that full nudity was not required, and she didn’t intend to strip down past her bra and panties. Considering that she didn’t understand what was plainly put forth in a simple written contract, Lauren doubted her future acumen as a lawyer.
A pale, shapely red-head claimed to be Kelly, but Lauren had the oddest feeling she was lying about her name. She was, perhaps, one of two contestants older than Lauren but by no more than a couple of years. Lauren wasn’t really able to learn anything about her background.
Tracy was the second woman older than Lauren. She was easily in her mid-thirties, but with her broad, pearly smile, wave-y dusty blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, and, most importantly, large breasts, Lauren was pretty sure she she’d be a hit with the guys. And Lauren was astonished to learn that she was a professor! And a finance one, too, but fortunately at a competing school to Lauren’s program. Lauren wasn’t able to figure out what in the world her motivation was for being here today.
Sarah was shorter than Kelly and blond, but equally shapely. She was a resident at a local hospital and was apparently doing this because, “you only get this body for so long, and I want to do something crazy with it while I still can.” She didn’t seem to share Lauren’s nervousness or Emma’s cool confidence. She was plainly excited.
The ninth contestant was the most physically similar to Lauren. A girl in her early-20s, she was slim with pert breasts and a tight, heart-shaped ass. She had wave-y dirty blonde hair, brown eyes, and a faint tan. She came in at the last minute and all Lauren learned was that her name was Amber.
Lauren did noticed that, except for Connie, they were all white. That said something about Mr. Lopez’s tastes, she supposed. As she thought of him, he walked into the dressing room unannounced. “Ok, girls,” he shouted, “gather ‘round. I need to cover a few things.”
The excited and nervous chatter died out as the dancers-to-be clustered around the bench that Mr. Lopez stood on. Lauren felt the pit in her stomach growing—she was dreading what loomed ahead of her.
“Here’s how it’s going to work today, girls. First, two rules. Number one: no drinking. Some of the customers might offer you drinks. You will graciously accept and then dispose of it while no one’s looking. You will not drink alcohol tonight.”
Great, thought Lauren. There went Plan A on how to get over her nervousness.
“Number two, and I know I already said this to all of you but I can’t stress it enough: no sex with the customers. You all know the consequences. Don’t do it.
“So, for your dancing. You will dance in sets of four songs. You will start the first song in some sort of sexy outfit. By the end of that song, you will be down to your bra and panties or whatever underwear you’re wearing as part of the outfit. By the end of the second song, you will be topless, by the end of the third song, you will be naked, and you will dance through the fourth song naked. If you fail to complete any of these steps on time, you will be docked points.”
Lauren felt goose bumps as she listened to how regimented her stripping was going to be. Looking around, it was clear that some of the other girls were uncomfortable, too. There were a lot of folded arms and worried looks.
“There are two things you will not take off,” Lauren felt a surge of hope. “You will not take off your tip garter, and you will not take off whatever footwear goes with your outfit.”
Oh. That wasn’t too comforting.
“When you are done with your fourth song, you will not gather up your clothes, and you will not stop to get dressed. You will immediately go to the cashier’s window to deposit your tips so that they can be counted toward your point total. You will then go and serve as a waitress through the next three girls’ performances. Once again: you will not stop to get dressed before this.”
Lauren was appalled. She was going to have to walk around amongst the men, serving food and drinks completely naked?!? That was far worse than even dancing naked on stage. By the muttering that was going on, most of the other contestants agreed.
“Shut. Up.” The muttering stopped and Mr. Lopez glanced at a note card. “Once you have finished your turn waitressing, you have the next six girls to take a break or offer up private dances. Just remember that we get $20 from each private dance so whatever rate you charge needs to be above that or you’re going to be losing money. And make sure you’re in your new outfit and ready to go when your turn is up. You will not wear the same outfit twice tonight, and you will not trade outfits with the other girls.”
Shit! Lauren hadn’t thought to actually bring any outfits. Again the worried looks surfaced.
Mr. Lopez seemed to notice them. “Don’t worry. There are all sorts of outfits available for purchase or rent in the shop.
“At the end of the night, I will gather all of you girls up and interview each of you before a panel of judges. Your final score will be based on three categories: the tips you earn while dancing, your private dance fees and waitressing tips, and the judges’ score at the end. Are there any questions?”
Only Juliet raised her hand. Mr. Lopez pointed to her and grunted. “Do we have to get naked? We can just get down to our underwear and dance, right?”
Mr. Lopez stared at her for a moment. “You don’t have to do anything, but if you remember from the contract you signed, you will be fined $1000 each time you don’t. And the point penalty will be enough that you will not possibly win the competition. Now, if there are no further questions, you all need to get into your first outfit for the group photos.”
Lauren wasn’t sure if she was comfortable with the idea of a group photo, but she hurried with most of the rest of them out of the dressing room and to the shop. There she picked out what appeared to be a very short red dress with a hood on it. It came with a pair of red, 5” stilettos—how in the world she was supposed to dance in those she didn’t know—a lacy red thong that would barely cover her pubic hair, and a lacy red bra. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was supposed to be, but she was hoping that the hood might disguise her a little in the group photo. And most importantly, it was only $35—five dollars cheaper than the next cheapest outfit. Unfortunately, she hadn’t brought any cash and there was a five dollar fee for her to run a tab and pay for the outfit at the end of the night after she had all of her tips. She rolled her eyes and signed the necessary paperwork.
Back in the dressing room, she surreptitiously observed her competition as they changed. Amy and Tracy hadn’t shaved back their pubic hair much if at all, though they were neatly trimmed. Amy had a large butterfly tattoo on her lower back—a tramp stamp, Lauren supposed it was called. Becky had one, too, though it was some kind of cartoon character that Lauren didn’t recognize.
She was a little shocked to see that Becky had her pubic hair shaved into a “V”, and Sarah and Connie were completely bare. She was more shocked to see that Juliet, for all her protests of the nudity requirement, had a pencil-thin line of hair, and Emma was sporting a landing strip narrower than her own. The woman who claimed to be named Kelly joined Amy and Tracy in the unshaved-but-trimmed club—her pubic hair slightly darker than Lauren would have guessed based on the red hair on her head—and Amber had a landing strip maybe a touch narrower than Lauren’s own.
Once they were all dressed, they lined up outside the dressing room for the photo. Sarah was wearing a nurse outfit, Emma a schoolgirl outfit, and Amber a French maid outfit. All three of them had skirts that, like Lauren’s own dress, didn’t quite cover their scant panties depending on how they stood. Becky’s track star outfit was similarly revealing with the bottom of her cheeks peeking out from the teeny spandex shorts. Amy had chosen some sort of uber-patriotic red, white, and blue dress, though it was a little longer than some of the others. Connie had gone the stereotypical route in some sort of geisha get-up, Tracy looked like a stern school teacher—she even had a pair of fake glasses on with her hair pulled back—Kelly had a Jessica Rabbit thing going with a shimmering red dress, and Juliet was in a cheerleader’s outfit.
The photographer had them line up in a row, each with her arms over the shoulders of the contestants next to her. Lauren pulled her hood up before taking her spot. “Cute,” the photographer said, and let it stand.
He took a few pictures of them this way then barked, “Okay, everybody turn around. Girls on the left look back at the camera over your right shoulder. Girls on the right, look over your left shoulder. Reach back and flip those skirts up or pull those pants down to show those asses. And smile.”
As the dancers followed his directions, he moved along the line giving an arch your back a little here and a shift your hips to the left there. He also pulled Lauren’s hood down. She was mortified that there was going to be photographic evidence of this moment, but didn’t see much choice.
The photographer snapped a few photos this way, ordering minor adjustments between each snap. Then he dropped the bomb. “Okay, now I need everybody to take off everything but your footwear and garter. We’ll get one final shot from the front that way.”
This was greeted with immediate loud protests, but Mr. Lopez quickly stepped in. “Don’t worry, girls, it’s only for our wall. Nobody’s going to see it that wouldn’t be able to see you anyway.”
The protests quickly died to Lauren’s amazement, and the contestants began to disrobe. She knew she couldn’t refuse, but surely one of these other women could speak up for the rest of them? Instead, she saw reactions ranging from Sarah seeming to relish the moment to Emma looking uncertain to most of the women looking extremely reluctant, but every single one of them was complying without complaint.
She realized that this was it. For the first time ever she was about to be naked in front of a man with whom she wasn’t planning on having sex. And she was going to let him take pictures of her. She tried to tell herself that this was all part of a well-earned punishment for her long years of failing to give men their proper respect; it was truly a good way to remind her of her proper place.
She pulled the too-short hooded red dress over her head, folded it neatly, and put it on the floor, then realized that she was delaying when she looked around and saw the other contestants almost done disrobing. Tentatively, she unclasped her bra and dropped it on the before slowly easing the red thong panties down and awkwardly pulling them off over her high-heeled boots.
She and the other contestants milled—most with their arms crossed in front of themselves—as the photographer placed them. She ended up in the center of the row with Emma to her left and Sarah to her right, arms over one another’s shoulders. She really didn’t like the feeling of the outside of her butt cheeks pressed up against the outside of their butt cheeks, but she told herself it was to keep those cheeks from feeling a lot more discomfort later, plastered a fake smile to her face, and got through it.