Diane forced a smile as she walked into the little room. Three men watched her enter with hungry looks in their eyes. "Let's see you," said one, a tall, well-dressed guy with long hair. She knew him only as Xavier, and he was her employer for the night. As she stood, waiting, he made a kind of swirling motion with his finger. "Turn around," he ordered.
She complied without comment, trying not to look too bored. She was wearing a specially designed black tearaway catsuit, along with a set of shiny leather boots and gloves. At her waist a thick belt hung loosely on her curvaceous hips.
Except for the curious open back that left her shoulders bare, the costume covered almost every inch of her skin, and yet might as well have been naked. The thin, clingy fabric was so light it might as well have been applied to her slim body with an artist's brush.
"Nice," commented the long-haired man, reaching forward and studying her carefully. He moved close, but did not touch her, and she managed to avoid shying away. After all, they were paying her a lot of money for tonight's performance. She may not like these people, but they did pay well.
"Very nice," he went on. "All right, my dear, tonight's performance is very special, which is why we agreed to such a sum. You were specifically requested, after all."
"I'm sure I was," replied Diane. At six foot two, she was one of the tallest exotic dancers in town, and one of the most striking. Her body was slim, but not bony, athletic but not overly muscular. She had a sensual way of performing that simply enthralled an audience, so much so that they often weren't even aware as the pieces of her patchwork suit were one by one falling away.
It wasn't stripping, really. She called it "erotic dancing," a perfect description. "Shall we get on with it?" she asked impatiently.
"Come with me," the man called Xavier said with a smile, leading her into a back room behind the club. A huge table dominated the chamber, atop which sat a massive round stage of clear glass. A single pole climbed up out of the center, ending in empty air about seven feet up.
"This is where you'll dance," he told her, still grinning. "When you hear the music and see the light, begin. There will be an audience, but ignore it. Do not attempt to move to the edge of the stage. Your hands must not leave the pole until the song is over."
"Sure, whatever you say," she agreed, stepping up onto the circle. It wasn't glass at all, she realized, but a thick plastic. Something was written in the surface below, but it was upside-down and backwards. She shrugged and didn't bother trying to figure it out. After all, it wouldn't matter. In a half hour she'd be home, sipping a cocktail and five thousand dollars richer.
"Enjoy your dance," said the long-haired man with an odd grin. He turned and departed, and a single customer came in. The new arrival was moderately handsome and dressed in an expensive suit. His diamond-studded cufflinks alone could've paid for ten such dances, she thought as he smiled at her.
She returned the gesture half-heartedly and then put her hands on the pole. He watched her closely but didn't attempt to touch the plastic stage, remaining comfortably distant.
The light above came on and a slow beat of music began. Just one man? A private dance, then, Diane thought with a shrug. It didn't matter. She'd done such sessions before, after all. Without any further thought, she began to dance.
At first she swung about slowly, keeping with the tempo of the music. It was all instrumental, she noted, and it seemed familiar. She had a pretty good idea how long it would last and when the beat would pick up. In a moment it did, and she turned the dance towards the provocative. So much for the foreplay, she thought.
Above, the lights changed in brightness and color. The pinkish-yellow glow covered the stage and made it hard to see. There seemed to be a slight humming in the air. That hardly mattered, though. Diane could do her performance blindfolded and without music--and had, on several occasions.
Without a thought she slipped off the gloves and discarded them, then began to whirl about the pole, wrapping her body about it suggestively. As she danced, small sections of her bodysuit managed to find their way to the floor, revealing smooth, gently tanned skin underneath.
She began to feel a strangeness, an odd feeling she couldn't identify. She felt as if she were being pressed on from all sides. The sensation wasn't painful or dangerous, though, but in fact felt kind of nice, as though she was receiving a sensual massage. She began to run her fingers up and down her trim body, shedding pieces of her costume all the while.
In a few moments the music approached its crescendo. By now, Diane was nearly nude, wearing only a few strips of clingy black fabric over her nether regions and ample bosom. Only tall boots that were her trademark remained intact. It was too hard to remove them without disrupting the dance, and besides, most men didn't mind if they stayed on, anyway.
As the last notes struck she uncovered her breasts, then pressed herself up against the cold plastic pole. With a gasp of simulated ecstasy she enfolded herself around it, hung her head, and sighed in satisfaction. The music died as she sagged to the ground, embracing the pole lovingly, and she knew she'd earned her pay.
A tremendous booming sound assaulted her. She looked up in shock, wondering what could be making such a sound, and saw a pair of gigantic hands just above her, clapping. Higher still, the massive face of the businessman stared down at her with a huge grin. "Excellent," he said in a voice like thunder, even as Diane stared up at his monstrous form, paralyzed with shock.
"I told you," Xavier said from behind him. He, too, was now a walking colossus. "Like I said, she's the best we have. Had, I suppose you should say."
The man in the suit lifted up a huge plastic cover and lowered it over Diane and the stage. It slid into place as though built to fit, clicking shut ominously.
At last, the shock that had overcome Diane faded and she jumped to her feet, rushing to the walls that enclosed her. She pounded on them with her fists, but they might as well have been made of solid iron. "Let me out!" she yelled. "What have you done to me? Oh, God, please, let me out!"
"They never understand," the long-haired man replied with a laugh. "Even after we shrink them down, they just don't seem to get it. Oh, well, she'll figure it out soon enough. Shall I expect my money in the morning, then?"
"Yes, I'll wire it at once," said the businessman. "She's awfully cute in there. I'm going to enjoy having her dance for me every night, I think."
With that, he lifted the CD multi-pack case, with the three-inch-high Diane safely entrapped inside. He watched her beat on the walls for a moment, grinning, then put her in his briefcase, paying no attention whatsoever to her screams.