Martin removed his cap with the same grace and panache that he had seen his colleagues use dozens of times already. The girls in front of him screamed.
He had already taken off his jacket to rapturous reception at the start of the song; had torn open his shirt, which now lay on the floor, to display his shiny, muscular torso, the skin stretched smooth and taught.
A male strip show was completely different from watching a female stripper. When lads watch a woman strip, they just stare and slabber. All they want is to see a woman's tits, and if they're lucky, her bush, but generally, once a female stripper has discarded her slip and bared her fanny, she makes a quick exit from the stage.
With girls it is different: they want a show; they want entertainment; and Martin and his colleagues provide them with just that. Their show is a more interactive performance.
Martin looked at the girl sitting on the chair in front of him, her eyes staring at him with a mixture of fright and eager anticipation. He took another step towards her and tore off his white trousers, which parted along the Velcro seam to be swept away in one swift movement, leaving him standing there wearing nothing but a thong.
The girl was celebrating her hen night with her friends. This was her last night of freedom before she married in the morning. Martin smiled at her, determining to make her last night a memorable one.
She was not a particularly good looking girl, but not ugly either. She seemed shy and naive. Martin took her hand and guided up towards his cock. She shrieked as her fingers touched his massive organ, but her protest was drowned by the cries from her friends and the other girls in the audience, encouraging her to 'rip it off'.
Martin nodded at her to proceed, and helped her hook her fingers into the little strap of his thong. Without waiting to see whether she would have the courage to pull off his last remaining scrap of clothing, he stepped back. The thong tore in its pre-determined places, leaving it lying limply in her hands, and leaving him totally naked.
But hanging limply was the last description that could apply to Martin. Stepping towards her again, he took her hand once again and placed it on his growing shaft. She tried to pull away, but the desire in her eyes was stronger, and after the initial resistance, allowed him to guide her hand onto his erection. This was what his cap was for. With his other hand he held the cap in front of his cock, partly hiding it from view of the other girls, offering this pleasure to the bride to be alone.
She smiled nervously as she began stroking his shaft, and then he used his free hand to guide her head forward.
"Oh no: not that."
He could read the words on her lips, even if he could not hear her above the music and the calls of encouragement from the other girls, but he knew that she wanted to. Pushing her on, he allowed her to kiss the tip of his now fully erect shaft. This was what girls expected from a male strip show.
Martin judged that it was time to allow the other girls to see what he had. With a flourish he threw his cap into the audience, and exposed himself to the lustrous stares of dozens of young, wild and drunk women.
Now it was time to see just how wild the girl on the stool in front of him really was. With both hands now free, he stroked over her soft blonde hair, down her neck and onto her shoulders. Then, with a swift movement befitting his profession, her slipped the shoulder-straps of her dress off her shoulders and pulled her dress down to expose her tits.
His inexperience showed itself. The girl was happy to let him thrust his cock into her face, but as soon as he started touching her, she had had enough. His colleagues had warned him that some girls were prepared to do more than others. It was just bad luck that his first client should be so uncooperative. The girl pushed him away and covered her breasts with her hands.
Gallantly Martin took a step back, lifted the girl's hand one more time to give it a gentlemanly kiss, gave his audience a bow, and retired backstage.
The girls screamed and whistled for his return, but his show was over for tonight. It was time for one of his colleagues to take over, dressed as a fireman. Another girl would occupy the hot seat - someone celebrating their twenty-first birthday, or something similar.
Paul led Martin back to the curtain, where he could watch his more experienced colleague, and learn what he did right and wrong.
---
Martin Ladbroke had been obsessed with body-building from an early age, after seeing a sword-and-sorcery film in which the muscle-packed hero paraded around in a loin-cloth, and compared the image to that of his couch-potato father stuffing his face with a jumbo packet of potato-chips. He wished for a set of weights for his next birthday, and began training with an iron discipline.
At the age of sixteen he joined a gym, and began to get professional guidance for his training programme.
Now, at the age of twenty-one, he was a fine figure of a man, his biceps bulging under the tight sleeves of his t-shirt; his chest broad enough to fill a doorway when he walked through; his thighs pulsating with the power hidden under his skin.
His job as a security guard was easy, and left him plenty of time for perfecting his body, but did not pay well. One evening, just after his twenty-first birthday, the owner of the gym where Martin worked-out approached him and asked him if he wanted to earn some good money on the side. When Paul explained what the job involved, Martin was very sceptical. Despite his pride in his body, he did not think that he could strip in front of crowds of girls. But as soon as he saw what took place in the clubs where Paul's strippers were hired to perform, he became interested. He watched the other strippers and trained with them, learning their trade, until this memorable night when he was ready to give his first performance.
"You did real good. You just have to be a bit more careful before you start taking the show any further. Look at Carl: his girl is completely different - she's game for anything."
The red-head on the stool was clearly more mature and self-confident than the bride-to-be for whom Martin had stripped. She was swallowing Carl's erect cock with greed, and was clearly quite happy when her pulled her t-shirt down to reveal her gorgeously firm tits. Pulling his shaft from her mouth he rubbed it against her bare nipples, teasing them to erection, while she rubbed his erection with her hand, pumping furiously, wanting to see a result.
"Your girl was too frigid. You give them a bit of fun, let them kiss your dick, and then leave it. You'll have plenty of opportunities to find a hot one like her out there."
He looked again at the climax to Carl's performance. The girl's tits were slapping furiously against his cock as she rubbed her hand up and down across his shaft. This was a totally uninhibited performance, and as she felt Carl reach his peak, she sank her lips onto him once again, and took his orgasm in her mouth.
Carl waited until his climax abated, withdrew his hot penis, covering it with his helmet, and gave the girl a kiss on the mouth, before taking his bow and making his retreat.
That was what Martin wanted. And he would get paid for it too.
---
Two days after his first professional strip, Martin was back in the gym, lifting weights on the bench.
Unlike some of the young guys who visit the gym with the prime intention of staring at the fit young ladies, Martin was dedicated to his fitness programme, and therefore did not notice the young woman with the jet black hair approach the bench beside him. She however noticed him, and recognised him. She had seen those muscular biceps before, glistening with oil rather than sweat. She had seen that broad chest before, which was now stretched taut as he lowered the weight, taking the entire load on his muscles. She had seen what was lying hidden beneath those black trunks which Martin was wearing: she had seen it all two days previously while she had been sitting whistling in the audience, wishing herself to have been in the place of her friend Judy, who was sitting in the chair in front of Martin. She would not have pulled away, embarrassed.
Rebecca watched as Martin put the weight to rest, and sat up to wipe the sweat from his body with a towel.
"Hi."
It was not much of a greeting, but she didn't know what else to say to him. The smile in his eyes indicated that he appreciated her approach.
"My name's Rebecca. I'm new here."
He studied her body. She was certainly no stranger to fitness clubs - she was slim, but well trained, showing not an ounce of fat under her tight black leotard, with its high-cut hip and low-cut neckline indicating that she was quite proud of her results. Her firm breasts seemed to strain inside the tight confines of the elastic material.
"Martin. I was just about to head over to the bikes."
"Mind if I join you?"
"My pleasure."
He watched the gorgeous curves of her arse as she walked in front of him towards the exercise bikes. They spent a good twenty minutes 'riding' next to each other, and then Martin asked her a question.
"D'you like, fancy going for a drink afterwards?"
That was the question Rebecca had been waiting for from the moment she had recognised him.
"Yeah: I'd like that."
After getting showered and changed, they met up in the cafe which belonged to the gym. Her dark hair was still wet, but made her look even more sexy than before, despite the baggy training suit she was wearing.
They immediately agreed to extend the drink to dinner, which led to a few drinks afterwards, and then he drove her back to her apartment.
"Won't you come in for a last drink?"
He followed her upstairs and watched as she poured a Southern Comfort.
"I think I've had enough to drink. I still have to drive home remember."