Audience Participation

Scott sat down on his usual stool in the lone sports bar in town. He was in his early 40's, divorced, tall and very thin. He waited for his best friend, John, to come and join him. It was a ritual on Fridays and Saturdays.

John came in a bit late, he was divorced as well and a bit on the heavy side from drinking too many beers. They talked about the usual sports and watched the women come in and out of the bar. It was the same each week.

Scott sighed amidst the silence. John finally spoke. "So for the last month I've been hearing about the new place so I checked it out"

"What kind of place?" Scott asked.

John got quieter. "A sex club," he said. "Three different rooms with stadium seating, back in the old theatre building, various sex performances" he said.

Scott laughed at him. "Anything good?"

"Not at first, but the last stage" John said, quieting down again. "There's a muscle lady, thick huge muscles, soft skin, picks audience members and spends the night using them in a strong woman act but with lots of release for the participants and the audience. I've seen her 3 times, the last two I've been dying for her to pick me, but she hasn't" he said.

"Wow" Scott said. "What does she look like?"

"Five two.....very thick, short dark hair, mid 30's"

"Sounds like my ex," Scott joked. He gulped. "How much?"

"50 quid. Want to go?" John asked.

Scott looked around. "Heck yes," he said and they got up.

"I need to pee first," stated Scott, and turned into the appropriate room, followed by John.

Scott unzipped and withdrew his impressive member, aiming into the urinal. John stood beside him, also releasing a veritable waterfall. As he urinated, one hand dug in his pocket, producing a small plastic bag.

They finished, shook off and rinsed their hands. John opened the small bag and shook out two pills.

"For fuck's sake," exploded Scott, "I'm not doing drugs. What're those? 'E's or some shit?"

"Nope," replied John, "Viagra. Believe me, you'll need it. If you end up on stage, you'll more than need it."

Scott looked bemused. "Don't be stupid. I haven't got a problem getting it up. Never have. Didn't think you had from what you say, or is that bullshit?"

"No. No bullshit, and I ain't got a problem. You need it to stay up. Not to cum once, then flop, but to cum and cum and cum again. Take it, mate. You gonna need it."

Scott still looked dubious, and they debated a little longer, when John explained it wasn't actual Viagra, just did the same thing and was a bit more potent, and that it didn't have any other effects, wouldn't act badly with alcohol and wouldn't make Scott's balls drop off. Nor was it illegal.

Eventually, Scott succumbed and dropped one of the pills as John took the other.

"It takes about an hour to work, so plenty of time to get to the club, get inside and be ready. After that, you'll be rock hard all night, even if you shoot your load a dozen times. Let's go."

It was roughly twenty minutes' walk to the club, and despite being told that the pill took an hour to work, Scott could already feel a slight stiffening - or maybe it was just the idea of going to a sex club.

As they walked, they chatted. John assured Scott that there were plenty of women there, not just a bunch of men wanking under long coats, and that admission was a bit of a performance, but once it was done, the fun could start.

They arrived at the door and were looked up and down by a half-man, half-gorilla in a suit. He gave the impression that any trouble makers would not only be ejected, but probably eaten as a late night snack afterwards.

The club did little to advertise itself. There was a small door in the side of a disused industrial building. A knock, and the gorilla-man opened up. Welcome guests squeezed past him as he glowered down at them. Unwelcome guests - they probably took one look and ran.

Scott and John followed a narrow corridor to a small window, staffed by a beautiful girl, probably no more than twenty years old, wearing an outfit which defied gravity. The strapless top was cut so low that her dark areolae peeped out, offering customers a view of her expansive breasts which must have made many stand and observe in case they fell out.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she cooed, "as it's your first time, Sir, Dmitriy will take you through orientation. Another huge man appeared, easily a foot taller than Scott, but slim and wiry. His eyes had all the emotion of a Great White Shark eating a surfer.

"Come viz me," he ordered.

Scott and John followed him into a small office, where he produced a sheet of paper with a list of rules.

"You read. You remember. You break rule, I break you."

Scott gulped, and read the sheet. Mostly it was pretty much as he would have expected - respect people and property, consent is essential, no drunkenness or drugs, respect privacy. Only a couple of rules stood out.

'If requested to participate by a performer, you are expected to involve yourself willingly and without question. Any reluctance will be seen as disrespect and you will be ejected.'

And.

'What happens in the Club stays in the Club. Any recording will be considered a breach of confidentiality and will be considered offensive. Maximum prejudice will be applied in addressing such matters.'

Finally.

'You will be given a mask. Wear it at all times. If you know the identity of any person in the club, you will never disclose it at any time, or in any place. We will find out. Maximum prejudice will be applied in addressing such matters.'

"Er... what's 'maximum prejudice'?" Asked Scott.

"It mean," replied Dmitriy, "you vake in hospital - if you vake at all."

Scott gulped. "And how would you find out if someone was talking?"

The shark-eyes turned and pinned him to the spot. "Ve have friends everyvere. Ve find out."

Scott's mouth was dry, and he did not doubt for one second that the massive Eastern European was speaking the truth.

Then - perhaps even more frighteningly - Dmitriy smiled from the eyes down.

"And now. Ze masks."

He opened a draw and took out two rubber eye masks, made to look like they were from a Venetian carnival. They were tight fitting - essential, Scott realised, to avoid identities being exposed. Their town was not big, and some people could be easily recognised. The tight fit also meant removing clothes would be easy, if any items had to pulled over the head.

Dmitriy clapped Scott on the shoulder amicably - except he was so powerful, that Scott was certain his shoulder would bruise as his knees threatened to crease, dropping him to the floor.

They were led back to the reception desk and crescents of deep pink areola, like eyebrows on the white top. The receptionist smiled sweetly.

"Thank you, gentlemen. I hope you have a lovely evening. If I can have your jackets please. Please leave your phones and any cigarettes and lighters. That's just fifty pounds."

They removed their jackets - not because they wanted to, but because Dmitriy's glower suggested that the polite request demanded compliance - and paid over the cash which they had withdrawn from the ATM on the way to the club, along with a reasonable sum for drinks.

Dmitriy pushed open an insignificant door, and they walked into a new world.

The main room was large - not so large as to lack intimacy, but large enough to accommodate maybe a hundred people without seeming crowded. These people sat at tables, in groups. There were some couples, but mostly mixed groups of men and women.

There was a marked level of intimacy, and those in the groups were highly tactile. Unlike most clubs, where people may have sat kissing, or with arms around one another, these people openly touched each in places usually considered off limits. In one group, a woman sat with a man each side fondling her breasts, while she had a cock in each hand. In another, two women kissed passionately, one with a hand up the other's mini skirt, while she manipulated the man next to her.

There were three raised podiums, each with a pole in the centre, around which swung three stunning beautiful young women. Scott stared in disbelief. Each woman was naked except for stockings and suspenders, and was clearly a highly talented dancer and gymnast.

The dance, however, was highly sexual. Not only did the girls perform exactly as any other pole dancer, but they flaunted their buttocks and genitals.

As Scott and John watched, one girl hung upside down from a pole and spread her legs wide, before reaching up and opening her labia with two fingers. She hung and masturbated as they watched, before swinging elegantly to the floor, leaning on the pole and pushing her buttocks backwards. She reached behind her and spread her pert, toned cheeks, showing the puckered skin leading to the dark hole of her back passage. She then moved her hand underneath and continued stroking her pussy, held open for the audience to enjoy.

At the end of the room was a stage, currently in darkness.

"Good evening gentlemen." A small young woman stood in front of them. Yet again, she was gorgeous. She held a tray, on which was an order pad and a piece of paper with a plan and some writing.

She was topless, apart from tassels on her nipples. Her breasts were not large, but were beautifully shaped, sitting proudly as the gold tassels dangled, catching the lights from the mirror ball. She, too, wore stockings and a suspender belt, with just a tiny thong covering the slit between her thighs.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she repeated, with a seductive smile, "What are you looking for this evening? The hot tub has two spaces, and the dungeon is available. We have the wet room for water sports and various spaces in rooms if you wish to join a group. Our dancers will be performing on the main stage in fifteen minutes, and we have three other performance rooms for various tastes. In room one a bukkake performance, which you're welcome to take part in. In room two..."

"Where's Helga?" Interrupted John.

"Ah," replied the hostess, "I like your style. Helga is in room three, down the corridor to the right. If you'd like to wait, I'll bring some cups and your complimentary champagne. Helga will be on stage on fifteen minutes."

She turned and walked smartly away, Scott's eyes glued to the wiggle and bounce of her pert, shapely backside.

"Come on," ordered John, "room three."

They strolled through the dimly lit room, past the exotic/erotic dancers, bumping, grinding and stroking to the heavy beat of blues music and into a dark corridor. Dim floor lighting guided them past the men's and ladies' rooms to a door at the end, labelled 'Room 3'.

John opened the door on to a room similar to the one they had just left, but smaller. There were eight tables, all of them surrounded by groups ranging in size from two to six. John surveyed the room and selected one where three women were sitting.

Scott was surprised when they were welcomed at the table. He had assumed that these ladies were lesbians and their group would be exclusive. However, as soon as they sat, a hand was placed on his thigh, and he was greeted with a beaming smile.

"Hi," breathed his new friend, "lovely to meet you."

He smiled broadly. "Hi, I'm Scott"

She leaned across, kissing him deeply as her hand found his erection, making her produce a small exclamation of approval.

"D'you like my outfit?" She asked.

He looked down, drinking in her body as he admired the plunging neckline of the translucent top. Her breasts were clearly outlined by the light behind her, and her protruding nipples were evident. Her skirt was little more than a belt over stockings and suspenders. She took his hand and guided it between her thighs, where he encountered smooth wetness. His finger slipped between the outer lips, unhindered by any underwear, and he fingered her clitoris as she sighed contentedly.

Scott was just thinking that life didn't get any better than this when the main lights went down, and a fairly small stage was lit by a single spotlight. Through speakers around the room, a voice intoned.

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight you will see something extraordinary. We would remind you that audience participation in this act is expected and required. Please do not embarrass yourself by showing any reluctance. And now, without further ado, please welcome, Helga."

There was a ripple of applause and some whoops from other tables, and music played - 'Muscle of Love' by Alice Cooper. Scott settled back to watch the show, and hopefully `get very, very well acquainted with the lovely lady whose was hand was stroking his cock after barely five minutes acquaintance.

A small woman walked on stage, wearing a baggy hoody and loose jeans. Scott looked on in confusion. This couldn't be right. She looked more like a housewife off the street than a sex performer, in these shapeless clothes.

She had short, dark hair, which curled around her face. She was certainly pretty, but surely the performers would be like models - slim, toned, no older than 25, wearing very little. In truth, beneath her clothes, this woman looked rather large. He knew she was supposed to have muscles, but still.

She stood on stage, gazing across the room, self-possessed and supremely confident, before approaching a microphone.

She approached the microphone and spoke, with a strong Eastern European or German accent.

"Gut evening. I am Helga. I look for a friend to play viz."

Around the room, hands went up, presumably people who knew the act. Helga continued to look, before pointing to a man sitting to the side of the room and beckoning for him to join her.

He was a good looking, middle-aged man with an athletic build. He wore a shirt with the top three buttons open, and formal trousers. It looked as if he had just arrived from the office. As soon as he was called, he jumped up, leaving the lady beside him (who might have been his wife, or a lover), and strode up to the stage, smiling broadly.

"Your name?" purred Helga.

"Martin," he replied.

"Very vell, Martin. We wrestle. Vinner is first to take off ozzer persons' clozes. Loser stand still for forfeit.

Martin must have been several inches taller than Helga, and looked as if he worked out or played sports regularly, so he was hardly phased by her suggestion.

They knelt, facing one another, then Helga suddenly stood and returned to the microphone.

"Vait. I vear too many clozes. I make zis fair for Martin."

It seemed an odd thing to say, as the amount of clothing appeared to be fairly matched. What followed was stranger still. Instead of grabbing her hoodie by the waistband, Helga took hold of the collar, and with one might tug, the thick garment was rent in two. Any thought that it had been weakened was quickly dispelled by the sound of tearing which filled the room.

With the garment torn from collar to waistband, she turned her back to the audience and shrugged it off her shoulders.

It was her big reveal. From her waist, her chest angled out, thanks to massively developed muscles. Scott was hardly familiar with muscle names, but recognised vast lats and trapezius muscles, forming her upper back and neck. Her triceps were huge, explaining how she had shredded the thick fabric with such ease.

Her skin was entirely smooth, oiled and glistening, around the sports bra which was her only covering. She bent her arms, in a typical 'muscle' pose, her biceps swelling magnificently, causing the audience to gasp in appreciation.

She bent one leg and stretched to the side. As the hoodie had shredded before, so the jeans were rent, not just along the seams, but through the thick fabric. It had, in truth, been a little like watching the incredible Hulk transform.

She flexed her glutes, making her backside protrude, at the same time as, presumably, she flexed her abs. Metal buttons pinged across the stage and the waistband fell loose, causing her jeans to drop to the floor in shreds. If she wore a new hoodie and jeans every night, thought Scott, she must be being very well paid.

Now she stood, back to the audience, in sports bra and lycra shorts, turning slowly to share her magnificent physique. Scott was in awe. Previously, he had always said that he preferred women without too many muscles. Now, however, gazing at this magnificent specimen, her physical appeal was undeniable.

Every movement was managed with supreme control as she turned, allowing the audience to admire every single aspect of her body. Eventually, she faced them, tanned, oiled, silky skinned and developed to perfection. She dropped into several typical poses, flexing her arms, legs, shoulders, buttocks, demonstrating her prowess.

Scott watched open-mouthed, before suddenly noticing her breasts. He had always thought that muscular women had small breasts, perched like tennis balls on their might pecs - however, in Helga's case, this was clearly untrue. Despite being flattened by the sports bra, it was clear that was she was possessed of beach balls rather than tennis balls, and Scott's mouth watered at the prospect of seeing them in all their glory - he had always been a boobs man!

The audience applauded rapturously, once their stunned silence had passed, and Helga returned to face Martin, who had noticeably paled.

He had expected a middle-aged housewife, but the odds had shifted considerably.

As she knelt opposite him, she smiled and spoke to him. She was clearly audible in the small room.

"I vill go gently viz you."

Scott was almost jealous that someone was able to run their hands over that skin, feel the firm ripples beneath as they moved as if living beneath the velvet softness. He had forgotten the hand which rested on his cock - although in fairness, the woman next to him seemed to have also become oblivious to the position of her hand.

Martin and Helga engaged. He struggled manfully, but it was no match. If Helga could decimate a hoodie and jeans, the feeble cotton of his shirt was no competition. She simply shredded it into tatters, leaving only a collar, which she tore away.

He seemed unconcerned that his shirt was destroyed - perhaps he had been planted as part of the act, Scott thought.

Once again, They engaged. This time, Helga flipped him upside down, clutching the waistband of his trousers. Her hands wrenched sideways, ripping out the button and tearing the nylon zip, depositing Martin in an ungainly heap on the floor.

Helga turned to her audience with a beneficent smile as Martin regained his feet, now looking decidedly bruised and battered. He went to withdraw, but boos from the audience, and a slight twitch from the security guards either side of the stage made him think better.

Reluctantly, he turned to face Helga in nothing but his boxer shorts.

It was no contest, and he made little effort to compete as she dragged off his final article of clothing.

Unsurprisingly, he was not erect - clearly not having access to the tablets which Scott had taken, and as he knelt naked, Helga approached the microphone.

"Helga vin," she cried, causing the audience to cheer and applaud, "and now I make cock hard."

Approaching Martin, she lifted him to a standing position, then, as she had before, she flipped him upside down, so that his penis hung before her face. He grabbed tightly to her waist and put his legs around her shoulders, hanging on to prevent himself from falling.

Opening her mouth, she drew in his penis, and began to suck.

Martin, however, was clearly intent on exacting some revenge. He hooked his fingers into her shorts, and wrenched them down below her buttocks and half way down her thighs.

She glanced towards him, never releasing his member, and raised an eyebrow before resuming her oral stimulation.

Martin, meanwhile, found his head directly between her thighs, and while the audience could not see exactly what was happening, he buried his face in her crotch.