1. In the Club
John Amberley was not enjoying the strip club very much. This wasn't because he wasn't interested in women generally, nor because the women on display weren't stunningly attractive. In normal circumstances, on his own or with a couple of mates, he'd have been in his element. As it was, he was getting his first taste of extreme 'corporate hospitality.' He was out with his boss and his boss' boss, and several high-profile Japanese clients, who may or may not be signing a multi-million deal with his company later that week. Whether they did so would, of course, not be solely dependent on the quality of the tits and/or ass offered to them this evening, but the bosses had made it clear that he wasn't to make an ass of himself or do anything to risk the deal going tits up. He was simultaneously supposed to be showing the clients a good time and being on his best behaviour. The pressure made it difficult to actually give the girls the attention they deserved.
The brunette who'd been dancing finished her routine and left the stage. The crowd was asked to kindly please welcome Monique, which they duly did. Monique turned out to be a short, but curvy, black lady who could best be described as high-quality thicc: big top, big bottom, no gravity. She started her performance to 'Satisfaction' by the Rolling Stones. About a minute into the act, John stuffed a ten pound note into her garter, more from duty than appreciation. His immediate boss, Mr Roberts, had handed him a fistful of notes at the beginning of the evening and told him to dole them out as and when. This was a classy joint and fives would be frowned upon apparently. His contribution got him extra eye contact and, when she pulled her panties off, it was directly in front of him. Her pink hole contrasted with her black skin and she licked her lips seductively as she spread for him.
It has been an important and surprising couple of weeks for his career, he reflected, his mind not really on the show. Firstly, he'd take his first business trip abroad. His company was demoing a new model of drone to a potential partner in Japan and, as well as all the marketing and financial people, they'd also needed someone who was familiar with the software and firmware, which wasn't a hundred percent stable yet and could be a liability if it broke down during the showcase. The obvious choice had been the senior lead developer on the team, right up to the moment when he broke his arm on a charity parachute jump one week before the trip. His bad fortune had become John's good fortune as, at the age of 25, he got to see Tokyo for the first time which had long been a dream of his.
The demo had gone well and John's particularly talents hadn't really been called on to any appreciable degree, but he'd help out on the specially made outside stage by showing some of the audience how to fly the drone. The client seemed pleased. The partnering company had looked after them as well, taken them to the best sushi restaurants, let them watch traditional Noh theatre and they even spent an evening at a Japanese hot-spring, or onsen.
Monique finished her routine and it was time to welcome Nikita, a six-foot blonde who came out rocking a Russian army cap and green lingerie that had somehow been designed to give a military impression. Her number was a remix of 'Seven Nation Army' and she attacked the pole with an aggression and agility that marked her as significantly more talented than any of the girls so far. John liked her well enough, she was probably the most attractive girl so far, but within the first few seconds two different customers tipped her, so he didn't bother. She wouldn't be able to divide her attention between the three of them, so it would be money wasted. Mr Tanaka showed no such restraint, tipping her right at the end of the routine. Foolishness, in John's eyes, who had only ever attended a strip club as a student or as a student-loan encumbered graduate and was therefore careful with what every note might get him. It was different if you were a CEO he guessed, you saw money differently -- a reward rather than an incentive maybe.
The onsen particularly had been a unique experience. John had read that mixed-gender bathing was increasingly rare in Japan especially around Tokyo, so he'd been very surprised when he came out, full naked and found they would be sharing a tub with a lot of very attractive and playful Japanese ladies. He'd been advised, when in a different culture, to follow the lead of your hosts, but the older Japanese businessmen had been lecherous, grabby and noticeably erect throughout the evening. Despite his best efforts, by the end of the evening, he only managed to avoid one of these three sins. However, when some of the more cosmopolitan ladies saw how big his sin was, they immediately committed the other two sins themselves, so perhaps he'd been unduly restrained. It was hard not to notice the gap in the ages of the (business) men and (college) girls. His hosts had sent him off to bed early in the evening and he was pretty sure at the time that the higher-ups were going off to their own evening party later. All the nudging and winking that had been going on between them on the way to the airport had pretty much confirmed it for him. On the plane, just like in at the spa, they flew first class while he flew economy.
His hosts hadn't been completely remiss with him. Just as he'd been settling down to sleep on the futon, there had been a knock on the door. The lady, who had been dressed Geisha-style offered him a traditional Japanese massage. This had started as an interesting cultural experience and ended a religious one, in which all his sins were absolved. All things considered, it had been a great trip.
Nikita finished her dance and left the stage. It was Davina's turn on the stage. She danced to 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' by Bonnie Tyler. It wasn't that she was unattractive, she had nice firm tits and a reasonably good figure, but nothing about her or her performance seemed to impress the crowd and she got no tips. Even Mr Tanaka kept his wallet in his pocket for once. He'd seen girls get cross about this at other clubs and curse the crowd; she remained professional but she was clearly unhappy and there was a certain amount of tension in the room. John had been lost in his own thoughts recalling his Japanese trip and hadn't really noticed her lack of success until near the end, by which time it was too late.
It was quite surprising that he'd been invited along to the strip club tonight, he thought as Davina twirled and hung from the pole. It was a Saturday and they'd flown back to Heathrow earlier in the afternoon and, apparently, were going to cure their jet-lag by partying to exhaustion. He'd been expecting to crash at his sister's and then head back home on the train in the morning. His sister, Karen, had moved to London from the north a couple of years ago to pursue an acting career and he didn't see much of her. It'd be good to catch up. She was working this evening, some kind of rehersal, but that wouldn't have mattered as he was in dire need of sleep anyway. Instead, he'd only been told when they got off the plane that he was expected to come along for the evening's entertainment. It was, he supposed, a good sign for his career and he fortified himself with several strong coffees before donning his best suit.
He was no stranger to Soho. He frequently visited the area to look for old records, a hobby of his, combining it to a trip to one of the restaurants of Chinatown just over the main road. He'd attended a coming-out party for his friends on Old Compton Street, the famous LGBT area. He'd even, out of curiosity ventured into one of the infamous walk-ups that littered the area, those open doors with signs that simply said things like 'Model: Blonde' and then an arrow pointing up the stairs. He also knew about the strip clubs. They came in a variety of flavours. There was Spearmint Rhino's and the like which represented the commercial end of the business, then there were the smaller dangerous ones, with mysterious terms and conditions posted in places you never saw that meant you found you owed hundreds of pounds before you'd finished your first drink. He'd seen a documentary about them on Channel 4 once and steered well clear. Finally, there were a couple that offered a pretty decent experience for a flat fee at the door and some moderately overpriced beer. These were the type that his friends, who had done their research, had always taken him to before. The club he was in at the moment, however, was different from all those: classier, nearly everyone was a businessman of some kind, and, although the room was darkened so as to highlight the stage, it wasn't nearly as dank or tawdry as his usual haunts.
The announcer now asked for a welcome for Penelope. She walked out on to the stage with an enormous blonde beehive hairdo. Unlike the other girls so far who had been wearing variation on a theme of lingerie, she had chosen sixties style all-in one dress: white with black polka dots, completely sleeveless and only a mini-skirt length at the bottom. The do and her massive heeled boots gave the impression of height, even though she was probably only a little over average. No optical illusions were needed for her breasts. They may not have been larger than Monique's necessarily, but they were fitted around a thinner frame and thus stood out more, even before she'd started to undress. The shortness of the skirt meant that, as she strode on to the stage to "Son of a Preacher Man" by Dusty Springfield, everyone could see she was wearing blue panties underneath.
She'd clearly put a lot of work into creating this ensemble. So much so that John didn't recognize her until the third bar.
