A nightclub (origin story)

Amy had two parties on her eighteenth birthday. The first was in the afternoon, in her back garden, with family, friends, presents and cake. In some ways it marked the end of her childhood and although a few games were played, none of them involved the removal of clothing. Her second party was late that evening, when her schoolmates took her to a nightclub for the first time. By coincidence, Amy was the youngest girl in her clique, so the others had already had a taste of pubs and clubs. This party marked the beginning of her adult life and also her love of strip games.

The gawky blonde was feeling self conscious in the queue to get into the club that her best friend Suzie had chosen. Suzie had also been the one to insist she change out of the girly white dress she'd worn that afternoon into the slinky black backless number she had never yet dared wear outside her bedroom. Amy had half expected her parents to ban her from leaving the house in such a revealing outfit, but they both complimented her, proud that their little girl had grown into such a stunning and sexy young woman.

The bouncers carefully checked the friends' ages before letting them in—underaged partyers could get the club shut down. They also made a cursory check of bags and pockets for ****, but the teenagers were all far too sensible for that sort of thing. Inside, the blaring music hit them like a wall, leaving Amy stunned for a moment, until Suzie guided her towards the bar where it was a bit quieter.

"Okay, birthday girl, it's time for your next rite of passage. Get in there and order yourself a pornstar martini."

"What? No way, I'm not ordering that!"

"You have to, it's tradition. We all did it. It's not made from real porn stars, you know."

Amy didn't need much convincing. The combination of peer pressure and the name of the drink being just naughty enough to be exciting soon had her tottering up to the bar on her sky high heels to blushingly utter the taboo words and hold out her driving licence to the barman. He already knew she had to be over eighteen to get in the club, but recognized a newly-minted adult when he saw one and pretended to carefully check the official document, comparing the photograph with the young beauty in front of him, before serving her the decorative cocktail. Amy sipped it uncertainly and winced at the strong taste.

Being a law-abiding girl, she'd only ever drunk **** under parental supervision and until the glass of champagne she'd had that day at lunch, she'd never consumed more than half a glass at a time and certainly never any spirits. That was about to change, because her pals crowded around, demanding she down it in one and she acquiesced, mainly because that meant she would hardly taste it going down. Somebody ordered triple vodkas and pressed one into her hand.

"Slow down, guys. I'll get **** poisoning at this rate!"

"You'll be fine," said one of the blokes, "it's only one."

"It's three. Triple means three." Amy's grasp of mathematics might be shaky, but the number three was well within her capabilities. Still, she raised the glass to her lips, intending to sip it slowly, but another mate tilted the base up, tipping the whole contents into her mouth. The blonde coughed and spluttered, spraying bystanders with booze, although most of the intoxicating liquid made its way down her throat.

"Okay, that's enough, give her some space," the bartender stepped in, slightly annoying Suzie who's been about to say the same thing in her rôle as best friend. "You okay?"

When Amy nodded, he continued:

"You know, we have a special game that people can only play on their birthdays. You can win prizes like free drinks and discount vouchers for shops in the arcade. Would you be interested in that?"

Suzie, who had only been to this club a couple of times before (and not on her birthday), had never been lucky enough to see the game and thought this sounded great. Amy was more cautious, but her rival Samantha and a couple of the boys (who had seen the game before and knew exactly what it entailed) added their encouragement and, fuelled by **** and adrenalin, she reluctantly agreed.

The barman couldn't believe his luck. Hardly any women played the game and in the seven years he'd been serving in the club, he'd never persuaded anyone as beautiful and sexy as the green-eyed girl to volunteer. He took her details to pass on to the disc jockey and told her to listen out for her name to be called. The youngsters then promptly forgot all about it and took to the dancefloor en masse, where Amy's inhibitions were slowly shed by the booze being absorbed into her system.

Track blended seamlessly into track until the music cut abruptly and the lighting changed to highlight the small stage by the DJ booth in a bright white spot. Dancers stopped in mid-move, their consternation briefly echoing around the cavernous space until they saw the disc jockey, standing with a microphone in hand.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we have a very special treat for you. Tonight, we're going to play the birthday game." The crowd, which had gone silent while he spoke, erupted with cheers, some from people who knew what was going on, others just keen to join in. "Please show your appreciation for our victi—ahem, volunteers," he paused while the listeners laughed at his joke, "Eighteen year old sixth form student Amy Summers and forty four year old mechanical engineer Boris Horner. Come on up Amy, come on, Boris. Happy birthday to you both."

Amidst the cheers, wolf whistles and applause, Amy froze. She'd not realized the game would involve getting up on stage in front of everybody, the centre of attention. Even a pornstar martini and three quarters of a triple vodka couldn't overcome her innate reserve. However, Samantha was quick to point out the birthday girl and soon avid spectators were propelling her towards the steep, almost ladder-like steps up to the stage.

With seemingly little choice, Amy climbed the stairs, a stumble near the top adding to her self-consciousness. She saved herself by clinging inelegantly onto the handrails and made it up, a deep blush on her pretty face, to find her opponent already waiting there. Unbeknown to her, Boris had been signed up by his wife as soon as they arrived, but he'd not expected to have to play, since the game could only take place if somebody else born on the same day volunteered. He'd initially cursed his bad luck when the DJ called his name, but seeing the knockout who'd be competing against him, he began to think things might be looking up.

"Hello, Amy," the disc jockey began. "Thank-you for joining us on your birthday. Why don't you tell us a little about yourself?"

He tried to set the nervous girl at ease, drawing out information about her hobbies and interests, with a couple of bad jokes thrown in to break the tension. Next, he did the same with her opponent, before explaining the rules of the game. When she heard, Amy nearly fainted.