The Alpha’s stripper mate

*Levi* Stepping into the venue, it's as if we have been transported into a scene from an old western movie. One where sultry women would saunter out onto the balcony, enticing patrons with their alluring presence, while brawls and gunshots erupt within. Hanging above the entrance, a pink neon sign proclaims, "The Kitty Club." Frankly, I would rather be anywhere else. Strip clubs have never held an appeal for me, even one as upscale and costly as this. Yet, here I am, trying to fit in with the rest of the Alphas. The other Alphas and some of the Betas have been frequenting this place during our so far two-day-long gathering, and I have resisted their invitations until now. However, with the prospect of three weeks ahead to forge alliances and unite the packs, I reluctantly agreed to join them. Despite the others' assurances of a classy establishment with top-notch performers, I can't help but feel uneasy about the whole concept. To me, there is nothing honorable in watching women demean themselves for the gratification of lustful men. But I will endure it, have a couple of drinks, then slip away to my hotel. As the Alpha of my pack, I'm responsible for fostering unity and cooperation. I need to maintain friendly relations with my fellow Alphas during this important gathering. So, I push aside my discomfort and strive to connect with them, even though it means tolerating a place that goes against my beliefs. Loneliness can be a heavy burden, especially when you are away from your pack. Usually, I can find at least one person with whom I share common ground. But in this testosterone-fueled environment, I feel like the odd one out. We settle at a table beside a stage, a pole at its center, and are served champagne by flirtatious women clad in revealing outfits. Their touchy-feely approach leaves me ill at ease, but the other Alphas seem to revel in it. I remind myself that I'm here for the greater good of my pack and the future of our alliances, trying to focus on the connections we are building rather than the unsettling scene that surrounds me. "You have never set foot in a strip club before, have you?" James, one of the other Alphas, inquires with a curious gaze. I shake my head, inhaling deeply. There is no need to hide the truth; it's not something I'm ashamed of. "No, I have never really found a reason to visit one." "Hey Jeremy, we need to get Levi a lap dance. It's his first time in a place like this; we should make it memorable," James jokes with one of the other Alphas. Internally, I cringe at the thought. The last thing I want is a half-dressed woman, who likely only does this to make ends meet, grinding against me for cash. "No thanks, James. I will stick to watching from a distance. But I appreciate the offer." "Come on, Levi. You haven't truly experienced a strip club until you have had a lap dance. And for a little extra, most of them offer, well... more," he suggests, grinning. I can feel my cheeks redden, and my words falter. The entire idea seems so distasteful. "You... you do that? When you are here, you pay them to...?" "Sometimes. It's much simpler than trying to pick up someone at a bar and risk them not leaving the next morning because they want more," he replies, shrugging nonchalantly. My regret for coming here deepens. I can't help but feel that I will end up isolating myself further while fending off unsavory suggestions. "Well, everyone has different tastes, I suppose." As the first performer takes the stage, the other Alphas whistle and shout obscenities at her, some even getting up to tuck dollar bills into her barely-there attire. True, she's attractive and enticing, but the whole scene leaves me feeling out of place. Instead, I focus on the amber liquid swirling in my glass of Scotch. Occasionally, someone from our table vanishes into the private booths at the back for a lap dance, drawn by a particular girl they find irresistible. I can't help but wonder what goes on back there and why the girls choose this line of work. My mind is peculiar, often constructing elaborate narratives from fragments of information. Some performers bare it all, and I do my best to look away. It's not that I don't appreciate the beauty of a naked woman, but gazing directly at a stranger's most intimate parts just feels wrong. Others keep their panties on, focusing more on the dancing… which I find more palatable. Nevertheless, I know I will never be a regular at places like this. The announcer quiets the crowd, his voice tinged with excitement. "And now for the main attraction, the crème de la crème! Feast your eyes on the one and only... Destiny!" Feeling the urge to leave, I start to rise from my seat. "I think I better head back and get some sleep." James grabs my arm, pulling me back down. "You need to stay for this, Levi. Destiny is incredible. Even you should be able to appreciate her performance." I sigh, resigning myself to staying. All I want is to return to my hotel room, where a comfortable bed and a good book await. Destiny enters the stage dressed as a seductive nurse. For the first time that evening, I find myself captivated. She is breathtaking, and I can't help but watch her every move. Her sensual dance is like poetry in motion. She gracefully sheds her clothing, revealing a flawless body and a cascade of honey-blonde curls. My eyes remain locked on her, and I can't shake the feeling that she is looking back at me. The rational part of my mind reminds me that this is how strip clubs make money… by playing on the fantasies of men who believe these women desire them. But that voice is quickly silenced by more primal urges. Destiny's performance is mesmerizing, a perfect blend of sensuality, skill, and innocence. When she leaves the stage, I can't help but wish for more. "See? I told you she's special," James grins. "But they know how to make you pay up if you want more. She is worth every cent, though." Without thinking, I blurt out, "How do you... you know... uh, get a private dance?" "Well, well, someone's changed his tune," James smirks, leading me towards a burly man by a door. After a hushed conversation, James explains the procedure: I am to hand over $200 to the man, then enter booth 5 and place $500 on the table. Someone will come to explain the rules. My inner voice screams one last time about integrity, respecting women, and the absurdity of spending $700. But I ignore it, handing over the money and stepping through the door.