John Gray runs his eyes over the gyrating dancer - naked save for a tiny thong - as if he were a farmer eyeing prize livestock. The dancer, who looks Spanish, but is maybe Italian or Greek or any of 20 other nationalities, finishes her routine and then, as protocol demands, waits until her replacement arrives before descending the stairs.

In the sepulchral gloom of the strip club two other dancers are substituted. Meanwhile scores of other girls, clad in revealing dresses, move around the club, making eye contact with the men streaming in. Gray takes a sip on his Red Bull and then says proudly: 'My wife's a world-class porn star: she really understands what I do.'

What Gray does exactly is run the world's biggest chain of table dancing clubs. The 44-year-old former law student and his ex-Penthouse pet wife, are living proof of the cliché that sex sells.

If every chief executive were so candid, the world of business would be a much more colourful place. But then Gray, perma-tanned and terrier-like, with a big grin and the swaggering confidence of someone who is frighteningly rich, is very, very unusual.

Gray's business is practically unique. He is the founder of the ridiculously named, but hugely popular, Spearmint Rhino chain of clubs. Already an institution in the City, where the biggest banks spend lavish amounts entertaining clients, Spearmint Rhino has massive ambitions for the UK, then Europe, then the world. Forget Playboy, Gray's business model is McDonald's. We already have fast food, but the future, according to Gray, is fast fantasy.

Several times he cites the example of Ray Kroc, the burger chain's ruthless founder. 'Before entering one of his restaurants, Ray used to go around the car park and pick up the litter,' Gray says reverently.

The Spearmint secret, apparently, is to give the punter a feeling they are unique. Whereas other clubs will offer table dancing, Spearmint has its own private booths. 'We believe a dance should be for the individual consumer. We don't want people to feel embarrassed. It's about getting value. It's a one-to-one experience. There's nothing seedy in it.'

Such attention to detail, Gray says, gives the punters a feeling of self affirmation. 'It's a fantasy business. It's not reality. If you do the maths, £20 for a three-minute dance has nothing to do with sexuality. We just want to feel we're special to a woman.'

As such the dancers - who number 200-plus on the busiest days in Gray's biggest clubs - are trained to flatter. They are taught to remember a name and to use it three times within the first minute. The sentence 'We don't get many guys as good looking as you in the club' is also a regular fixture.

It's cloying, but the approach seems to work. Whereas clubs such as Stringfellows have been unable to move out of London, Spearmint has six clubs already, to add to its 31 back in the US. Robbie Williams and Sir Richard Branson are fans and Sir Clive Sinclair is a regular. Gray recently opened a club in Moscow. More are planned in Australia and perhaps South Africa, but it is the UK that Gray believes will be his company's biggest market.

He is encouraged by its relaxed advertising standards and the lack of competition in the market. The licensing authorities are not as puritanical as in the US either. 'The US may be the only superpower,' says Gray, 'but we're much more immature about thinking about sexuality. You're much more open here than in the US.'

Gray's anglophilia is such that he now plans to open 100 clubs within the next five years. His biggest club, on Tottenham Court Road in London, turns over more than £300,000 a week

The company receives 20 applications a day from potential strippers, lured by the prospect of easy money. A dancer can make £2,000 a week and the perks seem outrageous. One dancer was given a Mercedes SLK last week. Another was handed a £7,000 tip. Many have other jobs during the day. One woman farms pheasants during daylight and takes her kit off when night falls.

Gray says the dancers prefer his clubs to those of his rivals. Spearmint Rhino takes pride in its decor - think ersatz Dallas - and in the amenities for the dancers. There are showers, lockers, and, of course, tanning beds. 'We make it nice for the girls, so they want to come and work at our clubs rather than anyone else's. And it creates credibility with the authorities.'

For their part, the women pay around £80 a head to dance in the club each evening. Spearmint in turn takes 20 per cent of every Rhino dollar sold in the club - each of which buys a three-minute dance. In addition the women give around 15 per cent of their earnings back to the club. It makes money on the (quite good) food and drink. It seems quite a sophisticated business model. It is also, apparently, a licence to print money.

'You could rip out 75 per cent of our turnover and we'd still be profitable,' Gray says, shaking his head in disbelief. '11 September didn't happen to us. It had no effect at all. This business is phenomenally recession-proof. There's no logic to it. Nothing comes close to this.'

It could have worked out very differently. Growing up as an only child in California, Gray wanted to be a law enforcement officer. He trained as an attorney but to fund his way through law school he ran a construction company in Las Vegas.

The firm made so much money, Gray decided to concentrate on it full time. The firm built nightclubs, which weren't that successful. To rejuvenate their fortunes, Gray experimented with topless dancers. Business exploded. Somewhere along the way he divorced his attorney wife.

A chain of children's restaurants - branded Peppermint Elephant - were quickly converted into table-dancing clubs. Struggling for a name, Gray and cohorts played around with their options. They were adamant they didn't want anything sleazy. Spearmint Rhino was born.

Gray hints at floating the business. 'The question we have to ask in the final analysis is: do we want to be in the goldfish bowl? We're analysing our options. We're using the likes of PwC and KPMG to evaluate the possibilities.'

Not that Gray needs the windfall a flotation would bring. He and his present wife, who live with Gray's 75-year-old mother, have just bought a mansion in Buckinghamshire where Gray's daughter - by an 18-year-old ex-Rhino dancer - goes to 'monastery school'. 'There she's just like any other kid. No one knows what her daddy does.'

More and more of Gray's time is spent in the UK, and if it weren't for the weather, he could see himself spending all his time here. His base remains the west coast of the US, although he likes to holiday at his Florida home. He has the jet, the fast cars, the boats but he is not content. Gray is building a global empire. Days start at 6am and he has little time for hobbies. Gray says his business is his life.

He takes another sip on his Red Bull and casts an expert eye over his club, checking that everything is just how it should be. It's a Monday night, but trade seems brisk. Gray is happy: 'It's all about golden eggs. We're breeding geese.'

What they say

No one understands this business like John. I'd been trying to run table-dancing clubs for four-and-a-half years. It was only when I started working for him that I could see what was really possible

Spearmint Rhino manager Phil Whitehouse

This industry is in its infancy. It's got to be kept respectable. I'm concerned about the influx of new operators coming in ignoring all sorts of rules

Peter Stringfellow