Shackle strip

Dylan stood aghast, like a deer frozen in the spotlight. She was trapped on a stage. Naked. She was standing in front of a crowd of people. NAKED.

“Well folks, it appears we’ve got a new dancer this evening. And by the looks of things, we’re going to be stuck with her for a while. Let’s hope she puts on a good show!”

The announcer’s voice snapped Dylan out of her stupor. She immediately covered her breasts and crotch, which prompted a bit of booing and complaints from her audience. The metal pole Dylan was cuffed to left little in the way of interpretation as to what this place was, and what her viewers expected from her. She glanced over at the stage hands behind the curtains, as well as the bouncers, but none of them seemed to be doing anything. It seemed they too thought she was a performer, and were unlikely to interfere with her 'act.'

Which left Dylan two options, the first being that she confessed that she wasn't actually a stripper, but being in the middle of the stage meant she would have to shout it to everyone in the room - and who knew how everyone would react. Her 2nd option: she could play along and give a quick performance, and then someone would help her get off the stage believing it to be a simple prop malfunction. But could she bare all and dance in front of a crowd?

It's either this, or Charlie is dead.

With a sigh, Dylan affixed a cheeky grin upon her face, and began to move her hips in tune with the music beat, slowly silencing the boos of the audience. Grabbing the pole, Dylan began to spin around, the crowds cheering as her bare back and behind became viewable at every angle. Using the cuffs to her advantage, Dylan let go of the pole, and turned her front to the audience, scrapping at ever ounce of willpower she had to refrain from covering her nipples and her , sending the crowds wild, as they doused their dollar bills atop the stage. As the song kept going, Dylan nervously began pulling off more elaborate poses, maintaining stretches for only brief moments, but the light flashing seemed to play well with the audience.

Eventually, the music stopped. Dylan took it as her cue to end the performance, and bowed to the applauding viewers. She turned around to summon the stage hands, only to find a group of angry looking strippers staring back at her.

“So, you're the weirdo that locked us out on our smoke break? Looks like you've been stealing our tips!"

“No wait, this wasn’t about your money!”

“Oh! So you wanted the attention then? Well, we’ll be happy to help you with that!”

Before Dylan could get a word in, two of the ladies grabbed her, while a third undid the handcuff locked around Dylan’s wrist. Free from her bindings at last, the ladies dragged the protesting Dylan backstage.

A few minutes later, Dylan was pushed outside the club entrance. The strippers had replaced Dylan's handcuffs with a leather arm and bicep binder, which positioned her arms horizontally across her upper back, rendering it impossible for her to cover her bottom.

But the strippers hadn’t stopped there. Her ankles had been tightly bound together with a piece of rope, forcing Dylan to move in a slow hop, a fact that was emphasised by the pair of fake bunny ears that sat atop her head, and the fluffy white bunny tail glued just above her bottom.

With bright red lipstick, the girls had written on Dylan's body. "Honk for luck," had been written on both her breasts, and "Spank me" had been scrawled on her plump butt cheeks. To make matters worse, a bright red ballgag had been fitted into Dylan's mouth, depriving her of the ability to explain herself. Not that there was any good way to explain this.

Dylan gazed at how crowded the street before her was, pondering the horror that her route to the rendezvous entailed.

With great ****, Dylan began to hop at snail's pace down the street.