The rhythmic bass of the music hit him like a physical wave when the doors slid open, a pulsating tide of force that vibrated him down to his bones and filled his world with the chaotic roar of the late night hotspot. Club **Juice** was one of those few places that successfully straddled the line between upscale experience and the exotic allure of societies seedy underbelly that drove so many Corp types like him to come flocking every night. The central floor was a riot of milling humanity, all writhing together in a pleasurable fugue comprised of omnipresent music, flashing lights, and liberal amounts of synthinol combined with whatever illicit substances might be getting passed around that night. Raised above the crowds on neon lit dais' were one of the clubs signature attractions, exotic dancers in barely there costumes and body paint writhing sinfully to the rhythm of the DJ's tracks. Thomas stood in his tracks a moment and grinned, taking it all in, soaking noise up like a sponge before he plunged headlong into the crowd, forcing his way through squirming clumps of humans to make his way to his personal table.
Thomas was a corporate officer, not just a wage slave but one of the real deal holo-field elite that comprised what passed for an 'upper middle class' in today's world, so far above the average wage slave it would've been funny if it wasn't so tragic and far enough below the executives and upper level royalty that it wouldn't have even rated for the board to know his name. But that didn't matter, because in a place like this, in this part of town, he was basically as close to a big-wig as it got. The private table and personal bottle that were waiting for him at the end of his little safari through the human jungle were all just perks that were a part of that. Thomas didn't visit many of the same clubs twice, but **Juice** was one place he kept coming back to. Nowhere else could he get the executive treatment in an environment sanitized enough he didn't think he'd get mugged when he stepped outside. As he flopped into his elevated booth and stretched out, arms resting across the back of his couch, he surveyed the club room floor like it was his own personal fiefdom.
With a cocky grin, he scanned the menu for tonight. **Juice** was famous for it's dancers, and under-the-table famous for their 'hospitality' to a man or woman willing to flash a full enough cred-stick. And Thomas had plenty enough cred and plenty enough stick, he liked to think. At least for this place. He perused the writhing bodies of the dancers like a man choosing his lobster out of the tank, a HUD lighting up across his table to show him close ups of each of the girls, their stage names, and a prompt to 'donate' funds to a particular dancer in order to show his appreciation. Tips, of course, were done digitally via clean-cred stick - the only way anyone did business they didn't want being tracked three dozen different ways. Another part of **Juice**'s 'ghetto mystique'.
His browsing stopped as his gaze settled on someone new - at least he didn't recognize her from the last few times he'd been here - a hot blonde something-something in what amounted to white lingerie with pasties, stockings, and opera gloves, dancing and writhing against her pole with the kind of tender eroticism that made a man stand up and pay attention. Something was different about her - the graceful way she moved, not jerky and wild and free like everyone else, but controlled and alluring. A knowing smirk was plastered across her full lips - which were painted black - as her hands caressed the pole like it was a lovers shaft and her toned but full ass swayed back and forth tantalizingly, beckoning Thomas's mind to think about that ass writhing above his groin in the same rolling little circles... He poured himself a drink and downed it in one go, licking his lips. The HUD said her name was Vivian Vitale - an obviously fake stage name, but that was part of the fun. Thomas inserted his cred-stick into the tables slot and typed in a number before hitting donate and watched the 0's roll across the screen.
On her stage, Vivian's eyes lit up as she saw a donation alert scrawl across the smart display in her contacts. She hooked a leg over her pole and spun around, scanning the booth decks for her lucky number that night. Her eyes settled on Thomas, sitting in his booth and grinning at her cockily as she leaned back against her pole and slid her ass up and down the metal shaft, hips rolling temptingly, back arched to display her lace and pasty covered breasts as she reached above her head to grab hold of the pole. She flashed him a knowing smile and winked, blowing a kiss in his direction. He grinned wider, typed something into his keypad, and sent another small donation her way, crooking his finger in a come hither gesture. The message was clear. She smirked and nodded her head, twirling around the pole gracefully. She'd come and visit him as soon as she was finished with her set.
Thankfully, Thomas didn't have to wait long. Another 10 minutes of tantalizing gyration and she was done, and after she left her stage he quickly saw her returning escorted by one of the suited gorilla's that served as bouncers for the club - still 2/3rds naked and covered in a fine sheen of sweat from her exertion. She climbed the steps up to Thomas' booth deck with a smile, sliding easily into the cushioned seat next to him. "Hey there sweetie, thanks for the donation," she purred in a seductive little voice, looking Thomas over. He wasn't bad looking by any means - short brown hair, a relatively defined jaw covered in a dusting of stubble, nice brown eyes. Of course, with the creds he was flashing around, it wouldn't have mattered if Thomas had looked like a sewer toad. He was still smugly satisfied to see Vivian's smile didn't waver as she gave him the up-down-up-down. "No problem babe, consider it a down payment," he replied with a smirk, pouring her a glass from his bottle. "Drink?" It wasn't really a question.
