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"Good evening, gentlemen. You like striptease?"

The skinny coyote was what felt like that two dozenth scammer to approach us during our weekend trip to Wylenka. We had spent the weekend pounding the narrow cobblestone streets and -- more importantly -- an indeterminable number of delicious local beers, spending what felt like Monopoly money as busty waitresses in traditional costumes brought plate after plate of sausages and potatoes to our table.

The trip couldn't have come at a better time. I had spent the week leading up to it arguing nonstop with Claire about why she couldn't come, ending in her telling me that it was over if I got on that flight with the other guys.

Well, here I was, a thousand miles away. Whatever repercussions of her threat seemed to be a distant problem -- something for Monday morning me to deal with.

And this coyote's question was similarly well-timed. I'd had just enough beer to trigger the late-night munchies, and went Trev had tapped me on the shoulder to ask if I wanted to grab something to eat, I was halfway out the door before he could down the last of his beer.

Trev seemed to share my mood. "Fuck yeah, we like striptease!" he bellowed.

The coyote grinned. "Follow me," he said in heavily accented English. "I know good place." He went on ahead.

Trev grabbed me by the front of my tank top. "Dude, strip club!" he shouted in my face.

I allowed myself to be dragged along without much protest. His enthusiasm was contagious. "All right, fuck it," I said. "Let's do this."

We followed the coyote down a side street, the sound of our flip flops bouncing off the brick walls. The coyote knocked rhythmically on what looked like an unremarkable door, and it swung open. He pointed us inside.

Two huge men clad in black were waiting inside -- a bull terrier and a boar.

"Aw, fuck," I said, mentally kicking myself for falling for the scam so easily. I reflexively covered the pockets of my cargo shorts, half-expecting to feel a pickpocket's hands. But no -- my stuff was still there; my phone, my wallet, and my passport, which I had decided against leaving behind in the sketchy apartment we had rented for the weekend.

But then the two men stepped aside, and we were led through another door. Suddenly we were in what looked and smelled like a small strip club. The floor sloped down to a single stage in the middle of the room, which featured a lone stripper pole. There were others in attendance, lounging in plump leather sofas, smoking, and sipping drinks.

"Front," the coyote said behind us, pointing us to that bar that circled the stage. "Special seat."

...

As we sat waiting for the next chick, I let my gaze travel around the dimly lit room. The clientele looked about right for an illicit strip club. There were some older, crusty guys who looked like they spent every evening there, as well as some younger, nervous-looking people who looked like they couldn't quite believe how they had ended up in this club -- or maybe I was just projecting, I thought.

Squinting, I could also make out the shape of a huge man sitting in a booth in the back across from us. A cigar flared in the darkness, and the features of a beast of a bear came briefly into view. He was wearing a suit, and if his fur wasn't black, it was dark, dark brown. He was staring intently at the stage directly in front of us. Judging by the buffer of empty booths around the bear, I easily guessed he was the owner of the place, or perhaps some other VIP.

"Check out boss man back there," I said, tipping my bottle in the bear's direction.

"Who?" name said loudly, craning his neck to get a better view and making it painfully obvious to anyone less intoxicated than he was who we were talking about. "Whoa, that dude looks like a straight-up mob boss," he said, finally locating the bear.

"Real smooth," I said.

An announcement went up. Lights swirled. A lone spotlight scanned the room, coming to a halt on a set of closed red curtains to our right. They parted, and out strode the most beautiful Arctic fox I had ever seen. She was wearing nothing but a red thong, the color blazing against her pristine white fur.

No words were needed. Trev and I clinked our bottles together, then settled back to watch.

...

The Arctic fox left way too quickly. I watched her saunter away with what had been the last of my paper money stuck in her thong, leaving me with nothing but a painful hardon and an ache in my balls.

This place was nothing like the Peach Pit, the run-down club with the busted neon sign we'd normally go to -- mostly as a gag -- back home. It felt exclusive, a secret reserved for those in the know.

I blinked several times to lift the spell of sexual intoxication that the Arctic fox had cast on me, feeling the full effect of the one caused by alcohol set in. The bar in front of us was littered with empty bottles. When had we ordered all of those?

The announcer repeated what I now assumed was the introduction to the next dancer. The spotlight danced around the room once more, blinding me. I shielded my eyes and realized that it had stopped on me.

The sparse crowd hooted with laughter and began to applaud. After a moment's embarrassment, I joined in.

"You'd better go up there, man!" Trev said, drunkenly elbowing me in the side.

I pretended to get to my feet to get a rise out of the crowd. The spotlight lingered on me. The announcer said something that sounded like an encouragement. The applause continued.

"OK, seriously, what do they want?" I asked Trev through clenched teeth, shrinking as the spotlight continued to glare down on me.

Trev shrugged, clearly enjoying watching me sweat.

I leaned forward in my seat to grab my nearly empty beer bottle, pretending to ignore the announcer I couldn't understand and the applause and the spotlight. Before I could bring the bottle to my lips, however, someone grabbed me by the arm.

I looked up -- it was the bull terrier bouncer who had shown us in, his face a chiseled mask of hostility.

I made to cover my tenting crotch with the hand that wasn't in the bouncer's grip. Were we too drunk? Had we been too handsy with the Arctic fox?

There was a scuffle behind me, and I heard Trev stammering "All right, all right, I'm getting up!" I looked around and saw him being led away by a different bouncer, a hulking gorilla. Trev stumbled and knocked a couple of beer bottles to the floor.

"OK, I'm leaving," I said, getting unsteadily to my feet. I took a step toward the exit, but the bouncer blocked my path. I looked up at the towering canine, feeling puny.

The bouncer said something and pointed at the stage with the pole. Then he looked at me.

In the time it took my beer-soaked brain to process what he was trying to communicate, he repeated the gesture.

"You want me to...?" I frowned, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder.

The bouncer nodded.

I snorted. "Yeah, no thanks." I again tried and failed to get past the bouncer.

I felt something behind me and looked up to see another bouncer. Yet another was approaching from the right. A whole group of them were converging on me, blocking every exit.

Suddenly their hands were on me. They lifted me from my feet and forced me down on a table, ripping at my clothes. Before I knew it, they had torn my tank top from my body. Two of them grabbed me by the arms and forced them apart as another pair wrenched my shorts off.

I bucked and fought against their grip like an animal caught in a snare, screaming at them to let me go -- and finally felt myself slip loose.

I landed hard on the stage. I was naked. The crowd cheered.

I tried to cover myself, cowering at the base of the stripper pole, looking this way and that way for a direction in which to run, but I was walled in by lights, and behind them, the unmistakeable wall of bouncers. How were there so many of them?

A voice sounded from from beyond the lights. Something soft hit me in the face.

I grabbed it with one hand and held it up -- it was a red thong, much the one the Arctic fox had been wearing. Not thinking, I put it on awkwardly with one hand. The crowd cheered again as they caught a glimpse of my crotch. My dick had shrunk to the size of a button during my struggle against the bouncers.

The music started playing. I stood motionless, bathed in multicolored light, my heart hammering, my face burning.

"Dance!" someone shouted.

"I'm not dancing!" I shouted back, a new wave of defiance cresting within me.

"Boy!"

My head snapped involuntarily in the direction of the infantilizing nickname.

A bouncer stepped in front of the lights. In one hand, he held my shorts; in the other, my passport.

"Dance," he repeated, wagging the little blue booklet.

I watched him disappear behind the lights, the gravity of the situation squeezing my heart. The last little part of me that yearned for the situation to be an elaborate joke fizzled out.

I had pulled myself upright somehow and stood clutching the stripper pole as though it were a weapon. The music thumping, the lights flashing, I tried to think of what the Arctic fox had done on stage, but I couldn't remember a single move. I started swaying my hips uncertainly, afraid that doing nothing would cause the bouncer to rip up my passport. The crowd cheered, and I felt angry, humiliated tears pressing against the corners of my eyes.

I wanted to be home. I wanted to lock myself in my room. I wanted to turn off the lights and sit in darkness and silence.

I felt my sweaty palms sliding against the warm metal of the stripper pole as I attempted an clumsy twirl. The crowd cheered me on nonetheless.

I thought about the Peach Pit again and how the sketchy crowd would devour the stripper with their eyes, hooting in response to their every move. I thought about how the dancers would tease the men sitting at the edge of the stage, allowing them to stick dollar bills in the band of their thongs as they balanced on the edge between hands on and hands off. Every now and then a drunk patron would cross the line and grab too much, and in the seconds before the bouncers descended on him, the stripper's face would light up with fear.

I shuddered at the thought and pulled myself closer to the safety of the pole, imagining a circle of hungry, disembodied hands prepared to grab me if I veered too close to the edge of the stage. I squatted down and felt air brushing down my crack -- a reminder of the skimpy thong that barely covered me.

...

Finally, after what felt like an hour, the song ended. I let go of the pole for the first in minutes and crossed my arms over my chest, feeling as it filled with a sick sense of embarrassment.

The bouncers surrounded me again. The crowd cried out in disappointment as they led me off stage. I kept my eyes on the floor, my lower lip quivering.

We stopped sooner than I had expected. I looked up and found myself face to face with the bear in the back booth.

"Mob boss" was right. The black bear was wearing an expensive-looking tailored suit and shiny leather shoes that caught the lights of the club. He sat with his arms resting on the backrest of his private booth, a curved piece of leather furniture that faced the stage. In one hand, he held a smoldering cigar, which hovered above an ashtray next to a small glass of some golden liquor.

The bear put the still-lit cigar down in the ashtray as he watched me with dark, calculating eyes. He nodded.

"Private dance," one of the bouncers said gruffly.

I stood rooted to the spot. No one moved. The bear was staring at without blinking. The bouncers walled me in. Two seconds of silence later, one of them pushed me in the back. I fell forward, instinctually throwing my arms out to break the fall.

The bear caught me and pulled me between his legs. I stared into his face, not sure if I should apologize or not. Before I could react, he grabbed me by the thighs, gave a great heave, and hoisted me into his lap. He growled in approval at the look of horror on my face, grinding his crotch against my ass.

I felt the unmistakable bulge of his cock pressing against me, and for the first time since the bouncers had ripped the clothes from my body, I shivered.

The bear looked me dead in the eye and spoke a word I didn't understand, but the command was obvious: dance.

I didn't know what to do, but I did. I tried to put my hands on his wide shoulders, but he shifted forward and forced me into a kind of embrace. I tried to lift my ass from his crotch, but he put his hands on my hips, forcing me down. At one point when I tried to turn around, he took my bare leg and ran a hand all the way up to the pouch of my thong, licking the inside of my thigh while maintaining eye contact. He smelled of cigars and cologne.

His hands were everywhere, rubbing my chest, squeezing my ass, stroking my face. All the while, the bulge in his pants was an ever-present reminder of what he wanted. I knew what it was, but I couldn't bring myself to spelling it out in my head.

The tension was building inside me. I tried to think back to the Peach Pit and what those girls would do with a handsy client. They had their moves -- slapping a guy's wandering hand playfully, wagging their finger in his face. But those moves in many cases only riled up the guy further, and if worst came to worst, the bouncers were always watching, ready at a moment's notice to kick a guy out. Here the bouncers were on the handsy guy's side, leering at me as I serviced their boss.

The bear spun me around effortlessly so that I was facing away from him.

I looked up at the bouncers -- the bull terrier, the gorilla, and several new faces I didn't recognize. Some watching the display hungrily, others merely looking on with disinterest. I felt my face burn with humiliation.

The bear spread his legs wide and pulled me back into his lap. He seemed to enjoy this move, because he shouted something that drew a chuckle from the gang of bouncers. He ran his hands up and down my back and grabbed me by the waist. I shuddered as he rubbed my ass and toyed with the thong I was wearing -- the same thong that Arctic fox had worn, seemingly so long ago.

I felt him shift behind me and imagined with a shudder that whatever he was forcing me do doing was making his cock strain against the inside of his pants. Before I could finish the thought, however, he grabbed me around the chest and pulled me close, resting his snout on my shoulder. I purposely leaned the other way.

He ground his crotch against my ass again, his cock so hard that I swore I could feel every thumping vein as it brushed past my all-but exposed hole.

Two of his massive fingers found my mouth, and with his other arm squeezing me tight, I saw no way out but to allow them in. I felt him stroke my tongue and wondered whether this was something people actually enjoyed. My gaze moved from one bouncer to the next, their expressions inscrutable, businesslike.

He removed his fingers, and I saw a long strand of spit extend, extend, extend, and then finally collapse. The fingers disappeared out of view but returned as the sensation of something slick and blunt pushing against my hole.

My survival instincts kicked in. My entire body tensed, but he easily held me still. The fingers paused.

He put his mouth next to my ear again and shushed me. The fingers stroked playfully up and down my crack, brushing past my puckered hole as though trying to trick it into relaxing.

"Please, no," I gasped, desperately reaching behind me to find and stop his wandering hand.

The bear merely continued to shush me as he played with my hole. No one had touched me down there before, and every sensation set off by the bear's groping screamed that it felt wrong.

The bear grabbed my wrist with his other hand and pinned it to my chest. He added more saliva to his fingers and then unceremoniously pushed past my sphincter, tightening his hold on me as I cried out and twisted in pain.

I whimpered as the full weight of the evening came crashing down on me. The booze, the embarrassment of being forced to dance, and now, this. I felt like some animal undergoing a medical exam it didn't comprehend. I looked pleadingly at the bouncers but didn't find the slightest trace of sympathy in their faces.

The bear worked my hole methodically, forcing his fingers deeper or adding another digit whenever he felt me relaxing even the slightest. I felt every knuckle as he probed my ass -- I could even feel his rings as the metal butted up against my sphincter.

Still fingering me, the bear barked at the bouncers. Two of them stepped forward and grabbed me by the arms, lifting me off his hand and turning me to face him again. I fell to my knees at the bear's feet, gingerly rubbing my stretched and slick hole.

The bear's cock was already out. He must have fished it out of his pants while my back had been turned so that he could grind it against my crack, I thought. The thing was as red as the thong I was wearing, a tower of veined flesh that stretched well past his bellybutton.

An odd sense of numbness descended upon me as I sat and watched the surreal scene in front of me. Here I was in a private booth in a strange underground club in an even stranger country, wearing nothing but a thong and kneeling in front of a bear whose pants were unbuttoned, his massive erection jutting out for his gang of bouncers to see.

I watched in horror as he pulled a condom wrapper from the inside pocket of his coat, as casually as though he were getting a fresh cigar. My breath caught in my throat as I watched him tear the wrapper nearly all the way open, still leaving it in one piece. The condom caught the light of the stage and glistened greasily.

He pinched the rim of the condom with two fingers and pulled it from the wrapper, which he returned to the jacket pocket. Turning the condom over in the dim light, he identified the inside from the outside and brought it down on the bulbous head of his cock. With two strokes, he had rolled the condom all the way down to where his cock met the dark of his crotch fur.

He gave himself three more quick strokes as though to test the slickness of the condom. Apparently satisfied, he issued another command to the bouncers. I felt myself being lifted from the floor.

"Please, sir, please," I said faintly. My body had gone limp. There was no more fight in me.

The bear looked at me closely, reading my ashen expression.

"You do this, you go," he said.

I looked up from his cock. "I do this, I go?" I said to myself, repeating it like a perverted mantra.

The bouncers brought me to the bear, who again grabbed my legs to seat me in his lap. They began to lower me down.

I looked past him to the brick wall behind him, breathing shallowly, trying to find something, anything to steal my attention away from what was happening.

The announcer introduced the next dancer. Music filled the club.

My head spun with an endless stream of thoughts. I do this, I go. Somehow I found myself bizarrely grateful that he had decided to wear a condom. I do this, I go. He was wearing a rubber. It wasn't really like I was about to be fucked in the ass by a stranger. I do this, I go. Maybe it would be like taking my temperature. Maybe it would be like taking a big dump. I do this, I go. Maybe it wouldn't be bad. People have anal sex all the time. Maybe it would even be... enjoyable?

I do this, I --

The bear shoved his cock inside me, and whatever illusion I had hastily constructed about getting fucked in the ass shattered. My hole body clenched around his cock, doing whatever it could to stop the bear's progress, to leap up, to push itself away. I screamed, but the noise was lost in the music.

The bear held me firmly by the hips as I squirmed. I felt hands on my shoulders pushing me down. The bouncers had closed in and were doing their part to ensure that their boss could fuck in peace.

The bear moved his hands to my ass, pulling the string of the thong to one side and spreading my cheeks roughly. With the bouncers' help, he continued to cram more and more of his cock inside me. He traced my struggling hole with a finger as his cock stretched it open, encouraging it to take another inch, then another.

The bear bottomed out and immediately started bouncing me on his cock. I kept my eyes shut as he fucked me, fighting to be somewhere else mentally, but the obscene feeling of his cock stretching my sphincter from the inside as he pulled out, popping free from my ass, and then being slammed back in brought me back to this club, this booth, over and over and over again. Every time I felt the warm, condom-covered head of his cock against my hole, I clung to the hope that there was no way the monster could fit inside me -- that I could simply clench my hole and keep the bear out of me -- yet every time I'd feel the sick sensation of my sphincter succumbing to the pressure and opening, letting the cock penetrate deep inside me until I felt disgustingly bloated.

The bouncers were still holding me down, their sturdy grips a persistent reminder that the only escape was to let the bear fuck me for as long as wanted.

I had hoped the bear's quickening pace signaled just that, but in the middle of his rutting frenzy, he shouted at the bouncers, who immediately pulled me off his cock. I collapsed at their feet with a whimper.

I looked up. The bear was standing up with his pants around his ankles, his thick cock bobbing above me. I dropped my gaze to the floor as I imagined what was going to come next. The bear was going to make me suck his cock, forcing me to stare into his eyes as he made me swallow his cum.

But no -- the bear had other plans. He hooked a hand under my arm and then threw me down on the sofa. I landed on my back, saw one flash of the assembled men and the bear's cock, glistening in the light, and then he was on me again. I closed my eyes again and braced myself against the sofa, feeling the heat from his body lingering in the leather.

The bear pushed my legs up roughly, pulled the thong to one side, and then forced me to take his cock in my ass again. His coat fell open, covering my head, enveloping me in the sounds of his grunts and the slap of his body against mine, and the smell of cigar smoke, cologne, and sweat.

He didn't last long. After a few minutes, he drove his body forward and arched his back, his cock pulsing as deep inside me as he could force it -- the unmistakable, primal actions of a male stimulated to completion.

I didn't move as I lay in the darkness under the panting bear, trying not to think of the cock twitching inside me, trying not to think of the fact that another man had fucked me until he came inside my ass. I clung to a single thought: Did I dare to hope that it was over?

After a minute, the bear straightened up. His dark face was shining with sweat. He looked down to where his cock was still lodged inside me. He laughed crudely and flicked my still flaccid cock in the pouch of the thong. He said something to the bouncers, who laughed as well.

I was amazed that there were yet new depths of embarrassment to sink to. I imagined that the bear was either disappointed that I hadn't enjoyed him fucking me, or that he was bragging about having fucked me so forcefully that I hadn't been able to get hard.

His cock softening, the bear grabbed the base of his cock and slowly pulled out, watching as I gritted my teeth in discomfort.

I looked down, my heart in my throat, and once again felt a sick sense of relief when I saw his cock emerge from my gaping hole with the condom intact -- a twisted consolation prize to the idea that things somehow could have been worse. The reservoir at the tip of the condom drooped with a fat load of cum, the angry, red head of the bear's cock swimming inside it. A combination of the bear's spit and mucous leaked from my hole.

The bear stood up and gave a command with a wave of his hand. One of the bouncers threw me my shorts and the remains of my tank top. I dressed hastily, avoiding eye contact, wincing in pain as I pulled up the shorts. I patted my pockets and felt something missing.

Looking up, I saw the bear brandishing my passport, and again, my head lit up with images of what he might force me to do next.

Without breaking eye contact, the bear pulled the cum-filled condom off his cock with a rubbery snap and dropped it in my passport with a splat. He shut the passport with a squelch. Grinning maliciously, he tossed it to me.