The band set up their instruments, and most of the crowd had returned to their seats. Time to commence the dancing event.
The contest Dread organized was a sick tribute to Eloth. A competition that rewarded perversion and shamelessness above all else. Given the required skills, Aelodi had to be the favorite to win. Despite all of Myla's prowess on stage, the half-fairy girl was at a great disadvantage.
Dread stepped up, front and center, and addressed the audience. "Welcome back, dear audience. I promised this contest would be unlike any other you've seen before. How do you like it so far?"
The audience exploded into wild cheers. The excitement and anticipation reflected in the eyes before him simmered with feral desire.
"Next is our dance event. Our girls will come up on stage, introduce their act, and request a style of music from our band." Dread extended a hand towards the band, a popular group hired from a middle district tavern.
"The girls have two minutes each to make an impression with a dance of their choice, but first let's hear from our judges. What should the girls do to earn your favor?"
Dread gestured at the table of judges.
"My cock is voting for me," Wreven boomed.
Lavie nodded. "I will definitely favor sexy over anything else."
Vallim leaned back and spoke with a broad grin. "I want to see some skin and feel some curves."
"Sounds like our judges are expecting a very specific type of performance," Dread said.
The audience cheered, plainly excited.
"The order remains the same as the first round, so, to start, please welcome our first performer, from the elegant swan dance troupe, Poulet!"
Poulet pranced out onto the stage.
"Hello, I'm Poulet," the girl said. The audience cheered halfheartedly. "I will be performing a traditional elegant dance to classical song."
The girl posed, waiting for the music, and the band broke out in a boring, old tune. Poulet performed a series of very challenging, smooth, liquid movements between hard forms, but her dance appealed to patrons of art rather than patrons of sex.
Half a minute in, the judges' started booing, mostly Orf and Boya, but before long the others joined. Poulet's movements grew jerky and uncertain. At one point, she lost her balance and stumbled to catch herself. Her face burned bright red.
"Show us some skin!" Glinge shouted.
"I wanna see your tits!" Boya crooned.
Poulet swallowed uncomfortably, ignoring their jeers, and continued her artful dance.
The judges booed the rest of her performance, and by the time she finished and the music trailed out, she stood with tears in her eyes.
"Okay," Dread said, stepping forward. "That was a very reserved, very traditional dance from Poulet. How did our judges feel?"
"Boring!" Wreven said.
"Yeah!" Boya shouted. "You should've shown us your tits!"
The audience cheered at Boya's words.
"I don't know what that was supposed to be," Orf barked. "But if a girl's going to dance, she should show off her body, not balance on her toes, stiff as a board."
Poulet burst into tears for the second time that evening and ran off the stage, not waiting to hear her scores.
"Wow," Dread said. "It's a tough climate out here for artistic performers. Judges, your scores?"
The judges raised one finger again, all across the board, and Poulet earned her second six, the lowest score possible, of the evening.
"That's another six for Poulet, giving her a total score of twelve! Surprisingly, she's not in last place, even with such a pitiful performance." Dread grinned. "Next up, we have the table dancer, Cresha!"
The buxom, curly-haired brunette sauntered out on stage. She wore a small skirt and a sleeveless blouse.
"Good evening," Cresha said in a sultry tone. "I'm going to be doing a special dance that involves losing some clothes." The audience grew louder, leaning forward in their seats. "I request some upbeat tavern music."
The band broke out into a jaunty tune with a good rhythm. The busty table dancer worked her hips in circles, rotating, giving everyone a full view of her curvy body.
With the beat of the drum, she popped open the buttons of her skirt, one at a time, and the audience roared their approval. The tiny piece of fabric slid down her legs, and she danced out of it, only her panties protecting her pussy. The chesty table dancer crouched down low and opened her sleeveless blouse one button at a time.
As the blouse split at her chest, the mounds of her cleavage popped into view, and the audience went crazy. Dread chuckled to himself at the looks on some of the faces of the men. A wife clapped her hands over her husband's face but he nudged her arms aside, desperate to see.
Cresha tossed aside her blouse and rose, only to bend over, working her hips in circles, moving up and down in an obvious attempt to jiggle her tremendous tits.
Dread thought she really was a mediocre dancer, Poulet had far better technical skill, but Cresha knew how to work her body to her advantage and Poulet was, well, Poulet.
The song ended and Cresha smiled brightly, bowing to the crowd and giving them one last, long look at the cleavage of her massive breasts. The audience rose in a surging wave of approval, clapping fanatically. More than a few women were giving their men the side-eye but others joined in, whistling their appreciation.
"What a seductive display from the table dancer Cresha," Dread said, walking forward. "What do our judges think?"
"She might move like one of my soldiers," Wreven said. "But she's got a rack from the gods."
The audience cheered their agreements. Cresha's smile wavered at the comment about her moving like a soldier.
Orf rushed forward until he stood in front of Cresha, panting like an idiot dog. "I only have one question," he said.
"Yes?" Cresha said uncertainly.
"Can I feel them?" Orf asked. He extended his hands, squeezing at the air, making it clear he wanted to feel her up.
The audience burst into laughter, and someone whistled.
"Of course," Cresha said uncertainly.
Dread knew that she worked as a table dancer, so she was comfortable exposing herself, but she never sold her body to any customers. Cresha worked in a brothel, but she wasn't a whore.
