Peepshow by Leigh Redhead Page A

really getting into it, and I was feeding off their energy and giving a really good show.
    Like any live performance stripping depends on the audience, and working-class ones were always the best.
    They’d usually seen heaps of shows and knew where the line was and not to cross it.
    White-collar blokes were a different story. They didn’t have the experience and saw you not as a performer but as some amorphous, sexually available creature they had a good chance of fucking. They were more likely to make snide, degrading comments and grab for your pussy.
    At the end of ‘Bad Medicine’ I unzipped the outfit all the way and it fell to the floor. There were cheers and whistles and I felt like a rock star. The next song started without a break: ‘Doctor Doctor’, by Huey Lewis.
    I got up on the bar and crawled along like a cat, everyone grabbing their beers out of the way. My hands and knees got all sticky from spilled drinks but I didn’t care. One of the guys who’d put in a tenner was at the bar so I stopped and sat in front of him, opened my legs and nuzzled my breasts in his face. His mates cheered him on. I hopped off the bar and spun his chair around so he faced the crowd, then put the stethoscope to his crotch and pretended to listen. A highly unoriginal move but it went down a treat.
    I found the other ten-dollar guy, sat on his knee and let him undo my bra. After I’d bounced up and down on his lap a few times I strutted to the stage where I prepared to slide down my G-string.
    Dave got on the mike: ‘Do you want her to take it off?’
    ‘Yeah!’
    ‘Well let’s make some noise!’
    I cupped my hand to my ear like I couldn’t hear them, and when they cheered loud enough I slid my knickers down to my ankles then stood up with my hand over my pussy. What a tease. I stepped out of the G and removed my hand. Ta da!
    The last song was Warrant’s ‘Cherry Pie’, not exactly about or pertaining to nurses but a classic pub strip song nonetheless. Dave threw me my rug and I got down with much writhing around and flipping of hair. I dripped moisturizer on my tits to simulate that just-been-cum-on look then I went over to the ten-dollar guys and let them rub the lotion in. That’d teach the cheapskates. Right before the last song ended I was back on the rug for a bit of open leg work culminating in a final squirt of Nivea down there.
    I stood up and took a bow and got a standing ovation that lasted until I was well into the girls’ room, sweating like crazy, the hair at the back of my neck damp and matted. It had been a good show.
     

Chapter Thirteen
    When I got home I had a cold shower, made myself an iced water, took the phone out to the balcony and called the Marquis Centre for Bondage and Discipline.
    ‘Yes?’ the receptionist was stern right from the get-go.
    ‘Hi,’ I said, ‘I was wondering if I could talk to Ebony?’
    ‘I’m afraid we don’t allow personal calls.’
    I thought fast. ‘It’s just that, I’m a stripper and I want to get into the B&D industry and a girlfriend of mine knows Ebony from when they used to strip together and suggested I talk to her . . .’
    ‘Oh all right.’ Her voice instantly changed to bubbly and chirpy. ‘Ebony’s not actually in today. Were you looking for work as a top or a bottom?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘A dominant or a submissive?’
    ‘I hadn’t really decided yet.’
    ‘Well, I’ll tell you right now that there’s not much work around for mistresses,’ she said.
    ‘Really?’
    ‘There’s a bit of a glut in the market. You need a lot of experience and training or else have something special, different. Ebony does very well because she’s the only African-American mistress in Melbourne.’
    ‘I see . . .’
    ‘But we’re always looking for submissives,’ she said brightly, ‘and the money’s very good.’
    ‘What does a submissive have to do?’
    ‘Be available for paddling, whipping. We have this new A-frame rack that’s really