She struts onto the stage, in a long black jacket with tails, wearing a leather top hat and carrying a black cane with a sharp silver tip. Her legs are sheathed in fishnet, and she’s got on knee-high boots with stiletto heels. The boots are buckled down the sides. The strut becomes a stride becomes and high-kicking sort of march, as the music builds. She tosses aside the jacket, revealing a leather bodice that cinches her waist to an unhumanly thin extreme. Her breasts are cupped and lifted, but left bare. Her nipples are covered in black electrical tape.

She taps the cane on the stage and pulls, letting the bottom half fall away, and revealing a three-thonged black leather whip. The music builds in intensity as she fondles the whip, sliding it between creamy pale thighs, sliding it across her bare shoulders. She approaches the pole and shakes her wrist, revealing a set of silver handcuffs, one bracelet already locked around her arm. She clicks the other cuff around the pole, and starts to dance. Silver rings hang off her leather lingerie, and she wears collars around her thighs as if they were leather garters. She stares straight ahead the whole time, icy eyes locked on some space beyond any of her audience.

Ethan stood next to the bar. His beer was in his hand, undrunk. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from her. As he watched, she tossed her top hat away, and turned to face another woman, also in leather, come out to the stage. The second woman was the dancer who went by “Barb Wyre.” She wore nothing but red leather straps, two around each calf and each thigh, one around her waist, one around her midriff, one around her breasts, barely covering her nipples, a choker, two around each tricep, one around each forearm, and a wristband. She came out carrying another set of handcuffs and two as yet unidentifiable leather objects. Barb cuffed the ice queen’s other hand to the pole. Then she ran her fingers through the other woman’s short blonde hair, stroking. The red of Barb’s nails leaped out in contrast to the nearly platinum of the other dancer’s bob.

Ethan sat down, awkwardly. He couldn’t keep standing – it was too overwhelming. These two incredible women were circling around one another, submitting to bondage, and were in general wrapped in nearly no leather. He didn’t know how to feel or what to do, so he just watched.

Barb grabbed the blonde’s hair in a fistfull, and pulled her head back. Then she strapped a ball-gag on the other dancer, and stepped away, watching the blonde stretch her head back and strain against the gag and the handcuffs. Barb let her hand fall to her side, and the second leather object she carried became obvious: it was the whip. Ethan finally took a long deep drink of his beer, as Barb started circling his favorite. He didn’t know if he could keep watching.

Suddenly, a familiar voice and a hand on his shoulder broke his stare.

“Ethan, man! Come on! Come with me… I know where Buck is!”

“Tim? What the hell are you doing here? Buck? Wait, huh?”

Tim grabbed his friend’s arm and started pulling him out of the bar. “It’s a long story, man. I need a favor. I need you to ride with me to Iowa to help me pick up Buck.”

Ethan stopped and freed his arm from Tim’s grasp. “Wait, Buck’s in Iowa?”

Tim turned back to face him. “Not exactly. He’s in Lincoln, Nebraska. But he’ll be in Des Moines by morning. I gotta get to him.”

Ethan blinked and turned back to the stage. He could just barely see the auburn-haired red-leather siren raise the whip in her left hand and bring it down… could see blonde hair shake and spray in the near-dark. The sound was drowned by the crowd and the music, but he could hear the slap and the smack in his head. He wanted to rush the stage, uncuff his blonde obsession, push Barb out of the way, carry the leather-laced snow queen out of the club and away from this. He wanted to be the rescuer, the hero.

Tim grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Ethan. Buck needs us, man. He needs our help… your help. Now.”

Ethan turned to his friend and blinked a few times. “Right man. Lead the way.”