The music ceased to thud and my body's sensual undulating came to a graceful halt. Some semblance of my brain slipped back into control of my body, not entirely lifting the drug-like haze that held me, but switching off the autopilot and giving me back some ability to think clearly. Albeit not completely rationally, that took a little more time to return.

I gathered up the few scattered items of clothing that had assembled my initial outfit, a faceless man at the base of the raised podium handed me that which had fallen into the crowd. I know I smiled, in vague recognition, as I slid the sheer material between his fingers and proceeded to drape it back around my shoulders but nothing was said, I would never even make eye contact. I then folded up the cash that had been slipped under various straps of my remaining clothing or thrown in offering onto the podium floor; the pile felt nice and chunky between my fingers. The no coin rule meant no one could tip me in anything smaller than a fiver; must have hurt the punters pockets rather badly but, hey, it suited me just fine.

With the money I'd made in tips that night clutched safely in my grip, held in tight against my stomach to deter any possible shifty fingered patron who might be tempted to sneak back his weekly wage to spend on another girl, I made my way down from the podium. The crowd that had gathered around me during my dance had all dispersed toward one of the other girls that were currently performing. The 'shows' were all given staggered start timings, so that at least two poles were always occupied with a gyrating body at any one time; good business acumen if ever there was one.

At least I thought they had all had left my then quiet, dark podium; either in search of a fresh drink or some new flesh to feast their eyes upon. Well, it turned out that was not entirely true. One man still remained, standing almost in the shadows of the walkway and appearing to be waiting for something, or someone. It was the intent with which his dark eyes stared in my direction that made me think that someone could well be me. To say that thought made me nervous would be a severe understatement.

I know Beth had told me about the men who would pick a certain girl that took their fancy and pay Vincent, the club owner, obscene amounts of money for a private show in one of the 'back rooms'. I'd even seen a few girls led away by their paying suitors from time to time, it had just never happened to me before; and a small part of me had been quietly hoping that it wouldn't. Yes so I'd heard that the shows could be nicely lucrative for the dancer which on it's own could be appealing, I just found the potential embarrassment factor of the whole thing far too overwhelming. But, of course, I'd thought that about dancing in the club at one point too; funny how quickly opinions can be swayed isn't it?

He didn't speak, didn't even make a move to approach me, he just stood there, waiting and blocking my only path of escape. Paranoid, perhaps I could have been called that, but I knew that look in his eyes. I'd seen it directed at the other girls often enough, but had never thought of how it would feel to see it directed at me.

Just how did it make me feel? Well nervous, I think that part had already been covered, but I felt a small part of me jump with an almost eager excitement. Anticipatory, perhaps, would be a good word to describe it. The part of me that had fed on the beat of the music and lived for thrilling the crowd, my 'wild-side' if you like, that in the past I set loose on so few occasions, seemed to crave the added excitement of the prospect this man could potentially offer. Not to mention my fingertips itched at the thought of the wad of cash I could be holding at the end of that session. Who was I to ignore such a craving?

 If I were to search for a excuse for why I did it, I'd say it was this suppressed part of my personality that was finally trying to take over and have a little fun with my life. I'd plagued my teenage years with studies and books, all with the ambition of getting to Cambridge so when I was finally there I was about to throw it all away for the want of a quick thrill. Either that, or the shallow part of me longed for the easy money and the extravagance I knew it could afford me. Hard working student deserved a little indulgence in her life right? I should have been happy as I was. Settled with the charity shops and greasy spoon cafés while I completed my degree, that should have been my life. But no, I caved to the temptation completely, weakness I could never have seen in myself, and just look at where it got me.

But I'm jumping ahead of myself again. As you can probably guess, I agreed to go through with the private show that this gentleman had proposed. Vincent approached me before the man had even spoken a word and explained the situation. I guess it was a 'special service' I was given as it was my first time being requested for a private show, I'd never seen him do it for any of the other girls they'd just get messages noting times and dates of appointments. Vincent was happy to take the money but preferred to stay off of the club floor if he could help it, he hired staff for that sort of thing.

"Sarah, this is Mr Robertson." Vincent said, indicating the dark haired man who smiled at me and continued to stare with the same dark intensity that made my stomach clench. "He has paid for the pleasure of your company and a private show. I realise this is the first time you will have been back to the private rooms, which is why I came to assure you that everything is approved and paid for. In the future if a man approaches you for this service all approved bookings will be handed to you from behind the bar, this is also where you collect the keys for the rooms." Vincent spewed sounding like a bad tour guide, no interest or enthusiasm in his voice whatsoever. If I hadn't felt the need to hang on to his every word, to hear exactly what was expected of me, I wouldn't have been able to recount a thing he had said.

"Room number three will be yours for the duration, you have no more shows tonight as I understand. This is Mr Robertston's first time here tonight, so if you would be so kind as to lead him out back once you've collected your key." Vincent finished simply before turning on his heel and leaving the bar, no doubt headed back to his office to count the extra money I'd just earned him.

I'm sure that I did have a choice in the matter, really, but the way he spoke? It sounded so final and conclusive, as if that were the end of the matter; why on earth would anyone consider refusing? Perhaps he'd never come across a girl unwilling to perform for one of these private shows yet, as I've said before money talks. If given the chance to decline would I? I'm not so sure. Certainly the reserved and cautious part of me was screaming words of warning from inside my skull, but she'd been kept on lock down from the time I set foot inside that door till the time I got back home and reality had the chance to seep back in once again.

So I didn't refuse. I looked up into those hauntingly dark eyes and smiled sweetly. "I'm Sarah, Mr Robertson. If you would care to follow me…"