Sue kills it, and gets hot doing it

The side stage was smaller than the main platform but still offered enough space for a basic routine. As Susan stepped into the spotlight, she felt a moment of sheer panic, a desire to flee. But then the music began – a pulsing, sensual beat that she recognized from contemporary radio – and muscle memory took over.

She began to move, letting the rhythm guide her. Without the latex encasing her, Susan felt strangely exposed, even though she was technically wearing more than she did in her catsuit. The sensation was disconcerting but not entirely unpleasant – a different kind of vulnerability, a new way of being seen.

For the first minute, she simply danced, getting comfortable with the space and the audience. A small crowd had gathered – not as many as for the main stage performances, but enough that Susan felt the weight of their collective gaze. She made eye contact with a few men in the front, offering small smiles that they eagerly returned.

Then, remembering Alexis's advice, she began to tease at the hem of her dress, lifting it slightly to reveal more of her thighs before letting it drop again. The response was immediate – men leaning forward in their seats, attention sharpening.

Emboldened, Susan turned her back to the audience and slowly, deliberately pulled the dress up just enough to reveal the lower curve of her ass, the black thong a stark contrast against her pale skin. She glanced over her shoulder to gauge the reaction and was met with appreciative murmurs and the first bills being held aloft.

A thrill shot through her, different from but no less potent than what she felt in latex. This was more direct, more primal – the straightforward exchange of skin for cash, no fetish barrier mediating the transaction. She could feel that thrill between her legs.

Susan approached the edge of the stage, swaying her hips to the beat, and accepted the offered money with a smile that felt more genuine than she'd expected. The bills were mostly singles with a few fives mixed in, but the quantity was impressive for a side stage performance.

As she returned to the center of the platform, Susan reached for the thin straps of her dress, crossing her arms in front of her chest in what she hoped was a seductive pose. Then, with a deep breath, she pulled the straps down her shoulders and let the top of the dress fall to her waist, revealing the black lace bra underneath.

The reaction was electric. More bills appeared, and the crowd grew as men from other parts of the club noticed the new dancer on the side stage. Susan felt a surge of heat, of thrill. They wanted her – not the Invisible Woman, not Susan Storm-Richards, but her, this version of herself that existed only in this moment, under these lights.

For the remainder of her set, Susan played with the boundaries of her comfort zone, eventually stepping out of the dress entirely to dance in just the borrowed lingerie. She didn't remove the bra – that felt like a line she wasn't ready to cross – but she teased at it, slipped the straps off of her shoulders, ran her fingers along the edge until the edges of her areolas were visible, letting the audience imagine what lay beneath.

By the time her music ended, Susan was breathing hard, her skin flushed with exertion and excitement, and the borrowed underwear utterly soaked. She collected her final tips, gathered her discarded dress, and exited the stage to scattered applause.

Alexis was waiting in the wings, her expression a mix of surprise and approval. "Holy shit, housewife," she said, genuinely impressed. "You're a natural. I've seen veterans with less stage presence."

Susan laughed, feeling oddly light-headed. "I can't believe I just did that."

"Believe it." Alexis guided her back toward the dressing room. "And from the looks of it, you made a killing in tips."

Susan glanced down at the fistful of bills she'd collected. "I didn't even count. I was too focused on not falling off those heels."

"Count it later. Right now, how do you feel? And be honest."