Chapter 1

Two teenage girls stood outside the blacked-out doors of Club Velvet, their giggles echoing in the evening air. The club’s tinted windows displayed its name in bold, neon lettering, alongside glamorous images of dancers and the hours of operation, leaving no mystery about what happened inside.

Julie, a blonde with bright eyes full of mischief, turned to her friend, Angie, a sandy-haired girl whose laugh was just as incredulous as her own. “Can you even imagine us working there?” Julie scoffed, her voice dripping with disbelief. Angie wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. “Stripping for strangers? Ew!” They both burst into another fit of laughter, the idea too ridiculous to take seriously—at least for now.

Angie tries to join her in arguing about stripping, but realizes that they had spent much of their day without their clothes on already, since the school has supported Rule 8 since the very beginning, the only reason they are now clothed was due to the weather. November brought on cold rain and very cool temps. They are both bundled up in heavy sweatshirts and jeans with rain boots on their feet.

“Um Jules, we spent most of the day following Rule 8 already. Why would taking our clothes off for the entertainment of someone be any different, at least if we did it in there, we would get paid.” the Angie said in a very reasonable and thoughtful tone.

Julie started to get upset, but froze as her WE spoke to her. She is right. You have spent much of the day following Rule 8, even enjoying the touch of Calvin while in Biology class as you all were studying.

The memory of her friend Calvin touching her between her legs while they were studying made her flush with arousal and she had to squeeze her legs together just to remain calm.

“You’re right.” Julie said. “I suppose that we could do it if we had the skill. But I’ve never danced and neither have you. We would look like fools on stage.” She said arguing against going in and trying out.

“Ok, then you and I will have to just learn how to do it, then we can try out.” Angie said, taking her friend’s hand and walking her down the mall to the Mexican restaurant for afternoon/evening tacos and mock-margaritas.

Greg and Rachel Caldwell drove up in a Suburban and parked. Rachel had on a tight black dress that stopped well above her knees showing off her well toned legs that now work. Greg parked the truck, got out and moved around the vehicle and opened the door for his wife. She got out of the truck and stood before him, still amazed that she was able to stand and walk now, even if it had been a year and a half since the WE healed her spine and taught her how to walk and balance once again.

“Are you ready?” He asked her.

“I suppose. Though I hardly doubt that this place is going to do anything for me. You know I’m not into girls.” She said, protesting the same argument she had given him just this morning as they were getting ready for work. She wasn’t really bisexual and the idea of watching other women take their clothes off while tossing dollar bills at them just didn’t do anything for her arousal levels.

“I know that is what you said, but try watching and appreciating their skills. I mean have you seen them move and hang from the pole before? That can’t be easy.” He said, taking her hand and walking toward the door of the club.

The big sign overhead read Club Velvet in big pink and purple neon lights with gold glowing from behind it. The sign caught your eye and drew you in since the colors said exclusivity and passion with only the colors of the sign.

Rachel Caldwell, in her fifties, stood beside her husband, though both appeared no older than twenty-one. When the WE came alive more than a year ago, they not only healed humanity of all ailments but also restored everyone’s physical form to the prime of their youth. Along with this transformation, the WE granted the ability to communicate mind-to-mind, even across vast distances, by relaying messages from one person to another until they reached their intended recipient.

Self-aware and ever-present within every human, the WE sustained life indefinitely, preventing illness and aging. With accidents being the only remaining cause of death—an occurrence so rare it was nearly obsolete—mortality itself had been rendered meaningless.

Greg noticed the two teen girls walking away, giggling as girls do, and then reached for the door and opened it for his wife. She put on a brave face and walked in. The entryway was very simple with tile on the floor, a wall blocking their path but that wall was also blocking out most of the noise coming from the sound system inside. The deep bass was the only sound they could hear or feel while they took in the club.

Greg pointed to the security check point where Spike was waiting with a smile on his face. His big strong arms weren’t crossed over his chest trying not to intimidate anyone, he was just bored at the moment and didn’t know what else to do with his arms.

“Hi, my wife and I want to come in and see the new club.” the man said to Spike.

“Sure, that’ll be $40.”

The man had to pause for a minute, “40?”

“Yes. 20 per person. That is the regular entry fee to enter the club.” Spike said, still holding his smile as best he could.

Greg pulled out his wallet and handed over his debit card and Spike rang it up and put the receipt in his drawer then welcomed them to Club Velvet.

They moved to the door, anticipation thrumming in their veins. As Greg pulled it open, a wave of sound and light crashed over them—pulsing bass from the speakers vibrating through the floor, the rhythmic clinking of glasses, and the soft murmur of hushed conversations mingling with bursts of laughter. The air was thick with warmth, carrying the faint scent of perfume, sweat, and something electric—anticipation, desire, energy.

They stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the dim, seductive glow of neon and stage lights reflecting off gleaming surfaces. A woman moved toward them with practiced grace, balancing a tray of drinks on one hand. She wore only a lacy bra, matching panties, thigh-high tights, and a small apron tied around her waist, the delicate fabric doing little to obscure the smooth curves of her body.

She smiled, sultry yet welcoming. “Pick a seat anywhere, and someone will be over to take your drink order,” she said, her voice warm, intimate, as if she were sharing a secret meant only for them. With a wink, she turned, her hips swaying as she glided toward a nearby table where a group of men sat enthralled.

Their gazes were locked onto the stage, where a nearly nude woman twirled around the pole with mesmerizing control. Suspended in the air, she clung to the gleaming metal with only the strength of her hand and the grip of her leg. Her free leg extended outward in a slow, deliberate motion, parting to reveal the thin fabric of her panties, framing the curves of her body in a display both elegant and enticing. Cheers and whistles erupted as the men at the table eagerly tossed bills onto the stage, their appreciation evident in the growing pile of cash at her feet.

For a moment, Greg and Rachel stood frozen in place, overwhelmed by the intoxicating mix of movement, music, and uninhibited sensuality surrounding them. This was a world unlike any they had known—a world where pleasure was an art form, and they had just stepped into its embrace.

“Honey, you know what goes on here. What’s wrong?” Greg asked his wife since she froze upon seeing the people in the room. Yes, the WE had been alive for more than a year so seeing people following Rule 8 wasn’t as much of a shock as it first was, but seeing the dancer caught her off guard and seeing her display herself like that was turning something on inside of her mind and body that she wasn’t expecting.

Are you doing something to me? she asked her WE.

No. That is all you. They said back to her.

Am I gay? she asked herself which was heard by her WE as well.

No. Not gay, not really bisexual either. You may just be turned on by the environment. Relax and let the music move you, you may actually enjoy this evening. Her WE said to her as her husband took her hand and led her to a table near the second stage on the left.

They sat down, adjusting their jackets to rest on the back of the chair as the dancer who had been on their stage was leaving and another dancer was being introduced.

“On the second stage, welcome our very own Lola Belle!”

Lola Belle, dressed in a simple costume of a men’s dress shirt over the top of a bra and panty set, strutted on stage as several men moved to the tables around them just to watch Lola strut her stuff on stage.