There was no greater form of art than the act of dancing. With the pole as your canvas, each graceful movement was a perfect stroke of paint; slowly working to form an ethereal picture of salacity and seduction.

Lap dances and private sessions were in high demand from hedonistic men with voracious hands and thick wallets bulging from their pockets. Fuelled only by the hopes of skin to skin with the image of their desires, suffering wives left at home, abandoned.

Albeit, you were too expensive for them, you were exclusive — and to Chuuya, you were worth it.

“You’re popular tonight, it almost makes me jealous of who gets a closer look.” Met with your usual drink and his usual flirtation, your favourite bartender watches your approach with lustful eyes.

Picking up extra shifts as tests of endurance, Chuuya spends his nights watching your hypnotising display of pure temptation. Even he wasn’t immune to your allure. “Say, i’m almost on break, why don’t I buy a private session?”