Christmas Captive

Evangeline and I picked each other’s outfits. For her, a red feather boa to go with the scarlet leatherette basque and silky black thong. For me, an ensemble in light pink—suspenders, garter belt, a bra with lace and sequins, and a pearl-trimmed pink thong. We both put on stockings and heels to complete the look.

We were dancing half an hour apart, and I waved Evangeline off as she made her way onto the stage to the sound of catcalls and dirty words being tossed around the room.

I waited in the backstage where there was always a flurry of activity. The other girls were getting ready, shooting me friendly smiles or jealous glances depending on how much they liked me. There was a hierarchy in Le Cabaret, and I’d worked hard to fight my way to the top of the food chain. I needed to keep my composure and stay cool as the other girls fought for the spots below me. The wise ones made friends with me. The foolish younger ones spewed their venom at me. Those never lasted long at Le Cabaret.

I waited until Evangeline finished, my eyes following her moves on the stage. She was a good dancer, but she didn’t have the innate calling for it that I felt. The patrons loved her because she teased them. She’d mastered the art of prying out twenties, sometimes even fifties, out of them.

I was the only one who got hundred-pound bills. Evangeline was merely a supporting act for the Kitty—my pseudonym—show.

Minutes later, Evangeline rushed backstage with a big smile on her face, flashing me a bill for a hundred bucks. “Look what I got today! It’s my first one!”

“I’m so happy for you,” I gushed with her, kissing her cheek before she disappeared into the powder room, all glitter and smiles. It was my turn to make money now, though I knew Skull would end up taking it all away from me by the time the day was over. But I’d still be paid for dancing, and a couple hundred quid was better than nothing.

The music changed to a dark, moody song I’d picked myself. I moved the best to emotional music. The notes swayed through me, making my body twist in ways that got every man in that room hard. I knew what I was doing, and I was determined to get through the night without any further hiccups. My face-off with Skull and the new bouncer had been more than enough for one day.

“Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!” The patrons were beginning to chant outside, and I smiled to myself as I finally entered the stage. They whooped and yelled my name as I stood with my back to the crowd, waiting for the music to kick off to its crescendo.

Here, on the stage of Le Cabaret, I was finally the star I’d always dreamed of being.

The music kicked off, and so did I. I whirled around, my eyes covered in a pink lace mask and—hopefully—making me unrecognizable. I was wearing my signature kitten mask, made of pink sequins on that day. I made my way to the front of the catwalk and began to move.

I always structured my dancing around my outfit. Today, I was the innocent kitten in pink—mimicking licking my paws, crawling on all fours, dancing as if I were playing with a toy. They went wild before I even took my clothes off. Bills were tucked into my bra, into my panties. Smaller bills covered the catwalk. I usually left those for the younger girls. Some of them were in even worse situations than I was.

The time came for me to take my bra off, and I hesitated, shyly regarding the men before me before unclasping it in the front. Roars and demands for me to take it off followed, and through it all, my gaze searched the crowd to find someone to focus on.

Sometimes I got lucky, finding a handsome man in the crowd who looked kinder than the rest of the patrons. Sometimes I picked Charles, a regular who was seventy years old and had lost his wife a decade ago. Since then, he’d been to Le Cabaret every night, spending most of his pension to watch women fifty years his junior dancing on the stage.

But Charles was nowhere to be found that night.

Instead, my eyes settled on a figure in the back, shaded by the lack of lights in the VIP booth. He was wearing a clean-cut, expensive suit, with a black shirt, and a black tie. His face was in the shadows, and I squinted through my mask, trying to get a better look. There was a woman there too, which surprised me. Even from my position, I could read her body language. She was pissed he’d brought her there.

“Bra off! Bra off! Bra off!” the patrons chanted, quickly transporting me from my daydream to reality. I smiled seductively, removing my bra and dangling it from my fingertips, while my other hand timidly hovered over my breasts, hiding my bruised nipples. I’d tried to correct the damage Skull had done with loose powder, but I had a feeling the purple would still show through.