VIII: Tomorrows

It’s a normal night. Cheryl and I are on the poles of the club. The stage has several set up across its top, some close enough for dual-pole acrobatics. The crowd is rough. It’s one of the lower-grade clubs that we’ve worked in. The dressing room isn’t a dressing room as much as it is an old office that still has a beat up desk sitting in the corner. The entire building is dingy if you look through the shadows.

This is a bit of a fetish club. Black ankle-strap stilettos cover my feet, a tiny latex skirt wraps about my hips, and the tips of my breasts are covered by a thick, torn-edged strip of leather tied in a bow on my back. The strip is thin enough to cover only the tips, letting the rest bare. A heavy leash is clasped to the collar that circles my neck. Cheryl is in similar attire, though she’s already topless. We don’t particularly care for this club, but the others that we frequently dance in are full for the night.

I walk to the front of the stage, hips swaying, swinging the end of the leash back and forth. It twirls in my hand as I drop into a squat, my legs spreading open for the front row to see. A man reaches forward and snatches the leash from  my hand, yanking it and pulling me onto my hands and knees. I grip the leash, wrapping my hand around it and yank hard. The man lazily releases it and settles back into his chair. I flip him off, then suck on my middle finger.

A cheer goes up through the small audience as a girl walks up with two sets of handcuffs. One cuff of each set goes around a pole and she gently guides my hands into the remaining cuffs. I toss a glance over my shoulder and see that Cheryl is already bound to her own set of poles. I think nothing of it and slide my body up and down the poles, writhing to the music.

The girl comes back a short while later with another set of cuffs. I slide to my knees, then plant my hands on the ground and wiggle into a hands and knees position as she cuffs my ankles to the nearest pole. My body moves slowly, chest falling to the ground and ass rising in the air, waving side to side with the music. Moments go by.

I freeze as hands grip my hips.

My head snaps around as I try to see who’s behind me. I hear Cheryl, but she sounds muffled. I manage to turn enough to see her in the same position, but her mouth is full of someone’s fingers. I look behind me again.

Bucking wildly, I try to keep him away. Another man grips my hair and forces me to crawl forward until my shoulder makes contact with the pole in front of me, my ankles still bound to the pole behind me.

The next hour is loud with the sound of cheering, and my body hurts.

When it’s over, I collapse as my cuffs are unlocked. My throat is sore, my face and back are sticky, and the backs of my legs throb. I rise enough to turn my head and see Cheryl, curled up fifteen or so feet away, her back toward me. I crawl over to her.

“Sweetheart?” She turns toward me and curls up around my arm. I sit next to her, glaring out at the figures hiding behind the bright lights and stroke her hair, “It’s time to get up, baby.”

She nods, “I think I’m done for the night.”

I help her up and grab the metal cuffs that had bound her. We walk off stage.

“Hey! You’re not done!” A girls stalks after us, heels clicking against the concrete of the hallway, “You have another hour and a half out there. It’s a rough crowd and everyone pulls their weight tonight.” Her hand grips my right arm, the one slung over Cheryl’s shoulder.

I let her pull it and swing my left arm around, slamming one of the cuffs against her face. She screams and slides down the wall.

We leave, quickly.


“I think I might have to take a night off, maybe,” Cheryl whimpers as I dab at her puffy lip.

We’re in a hotel room now. We’d made quite a bit the night before and had a regular room ready for the next few days. The light from the entry way casts shadows on her face as she leans back against the pillows, knees still pulled to her chest.

“I think you might have to take a night off, definitely,” I murmur. I brush her dark hair behind her ears and rub some mascara from her cheek, “I’m sorry that happened to you. I’ll make it better.”

She shakes her head and leans into my chest. I stroke her hair and kiss the top of her head. She’s taller than me, but tonight she fits in my arms perfectly.

She falls asleep.

“Tomorrow,” I promise, “will be better.”

  1. GEO says:

    the reality of life

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