Chapter 8: No One Likes to Practice

It was still early evening when Alexander bundled the girls into a taxi. He sat behind the driver and gave him directions. No one spoke as the cab made its way across Paris to a back street in Montmartre. They stopped in front of a dismal looking strip club. Alexander ushered the girls inside to a seat in a booth toward the back. He told them not to move and left behind a curtain at the opposite side of the club.

There was a waist high runway jutting into the center of the room with three brass poles affixed to the runway floor and ceiling. A nude girl was spinning slowly around one pole with a vacant stare. The room was practically empty. A few waitresses were wandering around. They were dressed in four inch black pumps and a g-string —nothing else. The clientele looked as bored as the dancing centerpiece. The place stank of stale cigarette smoke and dried beer.

One of the girls came over and asked if they wanted something to drink or possibly a lap dance. Amy and Margaret declined. The waitress sighed and sauntered back to the bar. Her tits barely bounced.

“Margaret, what the hell is going on?” Amy whispered. “Why are we here?”

Margaret was about to answer when she looked up to the dancer who was leaving the stage and coming toward their table, still stark naked. As she slid into the booth, another girl approached the pole and shed her clothes.

Amy openly starred at the girl’s shaved and open pussy. “Welcome to the Chat Rouge,” the naked girl said looking directly at Margaret’s auburn hair. The stripper grabbed Amy’s arm and pulled her hand between the stripper’s open legs. Amy pulled back, but her hand was held firmly in place.

“The place doesn’t get very busy until 10 with the action starting about mid night. So, you girls will have ample time to practice.” She pulled Amy’s now balled fist even tighter into her crotch. She called one of the waitresses over and ordered a pitcher of red wine and two glasses.

“What do you mean practice?” Amy stammered. The stripper smiled and rubbed the balled fist up and down her slit. Margaret looked down and said nothing.

The stripper ignored the question. She continued to masturbate herself with Amy’s unwilling hand. “I have been asked to get you ready. I will come back around 9:30 to show you around. Until then, watch the strippers and waitress closely. You have a lot to learn in a very short time.”

She released Amy’s arm, raised Amy’s still closed fist to her lip, and kissed it gently. Amy withdrew her now wet hand to her lap as the stripper disappeared across the room. Before she could speak, the waitress returned with the pitcher of wine and poured a glass for the girls. She leaned close to Margaret and brushed her breasts against Margaret’s arm as he turned to leave.

“We should leave now.” Amy declared. She started to scoot out from the bench seat when Margaret’s stare stopped her. “Oh God, what are we going to do?” Amy sighed.

“I think we should pay attention to what is going on here. We need to be prepared before we do anything rash.” Margaret whispered. “I don’t know what Alexander has planned, but I am pretty sure that we aren’t going to be allowed to leave until he says so.”

Amy sagged back into her seat. She gulped down her wine and refilled the glass. At least, she would have the refuge of alcohol. Terrified, she looked about the bar. Another stripper was now on the stage lying on her back with her legs widely separated. A patron had his face plastered between them. In a corner, a g-stringed waitress was vainly slapping at the wandering hands of her customer. Another waitress was leading one of the customers behind a velvet curtained barrier in the rear.

“Is this a brothel?” Amy asked.

‘From what I have heard, this is a pretty typical strip club in Montmartre,” Margaret replied.

“How would you know?” asked an incredulous Amy.

“Just pay attention. I think we may be joining those girls soon.” Margaret said.

Amy winced. “No I won’t do it.” Amy declared.

“I’ve seen the pictures of you in Alexander’s office. I don’t think you would want them of the internet.”

“I was being raped.” Amy almost shouted.

“Yes, but it doesn’t look that way in the pictures.” Margaret replied.

Amy slumped even further in her seat. She finished her wine and ordered another pitcher. She was determined that if she was going be naked before a bunch of slobbering Parisians, she wasn’t going to do it sober.

Both of the girls were pleasantly buzzed, when the stripper returned about 9:30. She was wearing an elegant black cocktail dress black nylons and five inch Louis Vuitton shoes. “Its time for the tour girls,” she said as she approached. “Please follow me.”

Amy pouted. “Why does she get to wear clothes when everyone else is naked?” The stripper turned. “I won’t be wearing them for long,” she remarked as she turned and led the girls behind the velvet curtain. The three squeezed past an elegant man dressed in a tuxedo who was chatting with Alexander.