I stretched my arms above my head, aiming for the pleasant ache in my shoulders and back. I bent over and touched my toes, chasing the ache in my legs. It was always best to limber up before a performance.

Straightening, I took a deep breath and glanced at the clock; just a couple more minutes until I was due on my stage. Before I set off, I checked myself in the mirror that spanned one wall, floor to ceiling. Tonight, I wore a pair of lacy black panties that barely contained my bits, creating a snug bulging sack that I knew my audience would drool over. To match, I wore a pair of equally lacy black cuffs around my ankles and wrists. To accompany the outfit, I also wore a leather harness with small red jewels bedazzled along the stitches. It was strapped skin-tight around my chest, just loose enough to allow me to breathe.

I hummed and smiled at myself. I flexed my chest and enjoyed the tight feeling the harness created. I turned slightly and felt up my bare butt, squeezing the mounds. In a way, this was a different form of limbering up; appreciating the level of sexy I displayed. It certainly helped with confidence.

“Alright wolf," I said to my reflection. I gave my butt one last tight squeeze. “Time to swish your tail." I turned away from the mirror and strutted out of my dressing room. The room was lit with warm light from the vanity and overhead modernized chandeliers, and stepping out of it felt like emerging into a completely different dimension. Like all the other dressing rooms, the doors opened out into a long hallway, which led to a set of heavy locked doors, which opened out into the club's main lobby. The hallway had just enough light to see where to go, and the club's lobby had even less.

I entered the lobby with my head up and a smile on my face. Neon accent lights of purple, blue, and red lined walkways between seating areas, lit up the edges of tables, adorned the platforms the dancers performed on, and framed every other piece of decor in the club. Deep thrumming bass from the music vibrated my bones. Smells of sweaty men, perfumed women, potent alcohol, and fancy leather assaulted my nose. But even amidst all those, my own scent began to dominate the space around me.

Patrons who recognized the scent turned their heads and whooped their delight at my arrival. Others hollered vulgar remarks at my stark lack of clothing. I merely smiled through it all and made my way through the crowd to my stage.

I stepped up, the smooth floor cool under my bare feet, given that no warm bodies had been dancing on it recently. As I rose, more patrons noticed my presence and made noise in response, cheering my upcoming performance. A bit of pride swelled in my chest; in the month I had started working here, I had managed to turn myself into a popular attraction. There weren't many male strippers to begin with, and I liked to think I was easy on the eyes for many. My scent seemed to help matters; a pleasant smell helped to bathe me in a more pleasant light.

I touched the pole that stood from the center of the stage up to the ceiling. A few small overhead lights turned on above me, illuminating the stage with a gentle purple glow. A small crowd gathered around; some of the people within whistled loudly.

I leaned back against the pole, and began to dance. The music pulsed and thrummed around me in a sensual, intense beat, and I followed its rhythm. My hips swayed this way and that, my hands caressed every inch of exposed skin, slow and teasing. I wrapped a leg around the pole and arched backward, reaching my arms up over my head. I repeated a few moves like that, using the pole as an anchor point and stretching out towards the crowd. I spun gracefully, then grasped the pole and bent forward, sliding my feet out to spread my legs. Someone whooped as the crowd got an eyeful of my nearly-bare ass. To spur them on, I bent forward more and reached back to spread my cheeks. Someone chucked a few bills at me.

I slid my hands down my legs and touched the floor, where I then slid out from a downward dog pose and lied down on my belly. I rocked my hips in a figure-8, mimicking the movements of sex, and I received another hyped whistle. A few more bills rained down on my back, and I grinned. I curled my legs up underneath me and pushed myself back up onto my feet, rising butt-first, with my torso and head following.

The rest of the performance went similarly, with me teasing the onlookers with a commodity they couldn’t touch. I wrapped myself around the pole as if it was a dance partner, leaning on it, spinning around it, grinding on it, even going as far as licking it.

About an hour into my performance, one of the club’s staff approached the stage. I paused as they held out a card. I took it. “Table 20” it read. I tucked the card into the waistband of my panties and turned my gaze toward the table in question. Table 20 was partially secluded in a corner, a semi-circle booth with a few orange accent lights propped on the wall behind it. I expected a group, as Table 20 was usually reserved for parties of three or more, but instead there sat only a lone man. Curious, and obeying the summons, I quickly gathered up the cash that littered my stage, tucking it alongside the card, and stepped off onto the ground floor. By then half of the crowd had dispersed, either pulled away by drugs or more alcohol or a body beckoning their attention. A few people groaned at the loss of my show, but I simply smiled and blew kisses to them.

As I walked across the lobby, I kept my gaze steady on the man sitting at the booth, swaying my hips in an exaggerated manner to appear more enticing. The man had a very pale complexion, with long brown hair braided over one shoulder. One elbow was propped on the back of the booth, and his other hand absently fiddled with the stem of his wine glass. His legs were crossed, but I noticed them shift slightly farther apart as I neared. The club was filled with myriad scents, but I managed to catch his particular odor. I nearly faltered in my walk; his scent was very distinctly vampire.

No matter. Plenty of vampires frequented this club, given that it stayed open until three in the morning, and it showcased plenty of unorthodox kinks. This was an oddities club, so where better to find someone willing to bare their neck to a vampire?

But vampires were not creatures to take lightly. I kept that in mind as I neared. “Hello, handsome,” I greeted, my voice barely audible over the music. I slid my hands over his shoulders and straddled his lap. “How may I be of service?”

Red eyes the same shade as his wine gazed into mine. A small smile played at his lips, already pleased. His scent didn’t carry any tang of iron, which meant he hadn’t drank any blood yet. The wine in his glass was laced, but it wasn’t enough to quench a vampire’s thirst.

The vampire slid his hand over my waist, slipping his thumb underneath a strap of my chest harness. His touch was cold compared to the heat circulating in the club, and I shivered as goosebumps flew across my skin. “What a lovely performance,” he remarked.

“Thank you, I do try. I’m open to any tips on improvement,” I responded. As I spoke, I stroked his neck and shoulders, slow and teasing.

“I much enjoyed seeing you more on the pole rather than the floor. You are too pretty for such a filthy place,” the vampire replied.

I feigned bashfulness, looking away and smiling like I was virgin. “Aw, truly?”

The vampire certainly saw right through my facade, because his smile grew into a grin, revealing two sharp fangs among clean teeth. He leaned closer, ghosting his lips over my jaw. “Truly,” he confirmed.

“You aren’t an eyesore yourself,” I pointed out. At this, I dragged my hands down his chest, over his dark grey dress shirt. I worked at the top button, exposing the dip of his collar bones. “You never answered my question,” I reminded him, leaning close as well. “How may I be of service?”

“First,” the vampire said, sliding his hand down the small of my back, where he found the waistband of my panties and began toying with it. “I have a few questions.”

Assuming them to be the typical questions— “What are you comfortable with?” “Think you can handle x, y, and z?” “How much does a night with you cost?” —I hummed inquiringly, my attention mostly on his shirt.

“Where is your pack?” he asked. I blinked, momentarily taken aback by such a bold out of the blue query.

“Hopefully where I left them: behind,” I answered. “I’m alone, and I wish to stay that way.”

“I see,” the vampire replied. His hand trailed up my spine. “Do you know where you are?”

The smallest bit of nervousness slithered into my gut, but I did my best to remain calm and nonchalant. I undid another one of his buttons, pressing a finger to his sternum. “A mixed city where humans and vampires thrive together,” I said.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “My city.”

The nervousness spread into my chest, sharp and uncomfortable. I leaned back slightly, quirking a confused brow. “So you’re… the mayor?”

The vampire chuckled at that. “No, sweet treat.” My heart jumped slightly at that. “This city is my territory. Mine and my three partners.”

“Oh…” I responded. The nervousness quietened into disappointment. I leaned away some more, one leg sliding off his lap to touch a foot to the floor. “I suppose your next question will be to ask me to leave…”

“No,” he responded immediately, using both hands to grasp my hips and tug me back onto his lap. I stared at him, surprised. His fingers kneaded the flesh of my rear as his eyes trailed down my face and body. “Quite the opposite.”

I hummed pensively, mostly to myself. “I guess a slut is no threat.” I returned my hands to his shirt and toyed with a third button.

“Slut?” the vampire echoed. “Oh no, darling.” He tucked a hand around the back of my neck and licked a slow trail up along the side of my throat. A soft sound escaped me. “You are a rare gem.”

“Oh, you flatter me,” I said playfully. I splayed my hand over his chest, and settled my hips up closer to his. I could feel his member beneath my own, the fabric of his slacks rubbing against the skin of my thighs.

“What is your name?” he asked, his breath ghosting over my throat.

“Vanilla,” I told him.

“Your real name, sweet treat,” he clarified, and gently bit the lobe of my ear.

“That is my real name,” I said. I gave an annoyed sigh. “My parents were soooo original, weren’t they? What better name for someone who smells like vanilla?”

“It’s a pretty name. A pretty name for a pretty man,” he replied. I smiled a little, but inwardly I didn’t agree with him.

“Can I guess the same for you?” I asked. There came that fang-flashing grin.

“I’m Viktor,” he said.