"And now, for your pleasure and entertainment alone, I give you the Angel of Temptation that will have your hormones running helplessly wild. She's our club's main attraction and, undoubtedly, one of the most tantalizing women upon the face of the Earth! Hold your breaths before she takes them away, and try to keep your legs still even though you're bound to fail because when she dances, everything bows to Sapphire's will!" announced The Red Rose's proprietor with the rough voice of one who had had too many drinks already.
The stage was lit from all directions with tints of blue and she practically tore the curtains down upon making her entrance, wearing a stretch velvet mini-dress and lace-up coat, complete with patent crotch boots and feathered, heavenly wings on her back. Sexy, blonde, and unbelievably voluptuous, the color of her eyes had been the deciding factor in choosing her alias as an "exotic dancer", and every piece of clothing she wore in her performances had been personally designed to replicate as much as possible the unmistakable allure of her penetrating gaze.
It was rumored for a long time that a single sway of her hips could bring about anyone to their knees. Man or woman, it didn't really matter, for the way she played with her body and rubbed herself against the pole was nothing short of mesmerizing. Whenever she was performing, only the music was heard in the background; everything else faded into silence, enveloped by her magnetic aura.
Of all the people in the audience that night, it's safe to say that the one most impressed by her erotic tease was Walter Mitchell, the youngest CEO of the notoriously famous advertising company VetroMarket. Because of his job and the company's reputation, he wasn't supposed to be there at all. However, he couldn't resist the hormone rage of his mid-twenties, especially after hearing so many stories about Sapphire's beauty and sexiness. Now that she was dancing feverishly so close to him, he could attest the veracity of those tales, and he certainly knew what he wanted:
"How much for a private session?" he dared to ask her when she rolled on the stage like a tigress and the proximity of her bountiful breasts made his mouth dry.
She started crawling towards him, enthralling eyes fixed on him, her entire body oozing irrefutable seduction. Then, in a fast and almost incomprehensible torsion of her legs, her boots became so very close to his nose and he could smell the power in them.
"I don't do private sessions, sweetie," she answered, in a kind and yet disdainful way, as if he was way out of her league, which wasn't exactly a lie.
"I'll pay whatever you want!" Walter mumbled and opened his wallet, revealing dozens upon dozens of one hundred dollar bills stacked upon one another. "And there's more where this came from..."
"Is that so?" she purred as her interest was spiked. She contorted herself again until her lovely face was so close to him he couldn't see anything else. "Hmmm... Perhaps, I can make an exception for you, then, if you'll be so kind to put some of those right here, right now..." and she showed him more of her cleavage while her luscious lips blew him a kiss.
"S-sure..." Walter said, trembling like a teenager. He took a handful of notes and placed them right between her breasts but without ever touching them.
"My show ends in twenty minutes," she whispered as she moved away from him once more. "I'll ask someone to take you to my dressing room and then we can talk about the full price for what you're asking..."
He found himself simply nodding, completely in awe in the presence of her godlike charms and as her clothes began to come undone in the most provoking ways imaginable, only a couple of Vodka shots kept him reasonably sane during the rest of the show.
As promised, shortly after she left the stage and thunderous applause echoed in the room, a brawny bouncer dressed in black from head to toe came to him and told him that "Miss Sapphire requested his presence immediately." Walter got up, drank the last shot on the table and pathetically tried to adjust his tie and hair as he was led backstage, across a series of intersecting corridors with a labyrinthine-like structure. Her dressing room was in the dead center of it, spreading its sexual attraction all around.