Grand finish

I slide down the pole and let my thighs part as I drop low, my body sinking until I'm nearly sitting on the floor, the slick pink fabric of the swimsuit stretched taut between my legs. The room goes quiet for a beat — just the bass thumping through the speakers — and I feel the heat of their stares like a physical weight. I'm not even breathing hard anymore. I'm just... aware. Of the way my chest rises with each shallow breath. Of the tightness across my nipples, pressing against the suit. Of the damp fabric clinging to every line between my thighs.

I hold it for a moment. One heartbeat. Two. Then I drag my eyes back to you, a slow, deliberate smile curling my lips.

"Still with me?" I ask, my voice low and a little hoarse, loud enough for only you to catch over the music. I don't get up yet. I let the position speak for itself, the audience hanging on my next move.

The guy to your left lets out a low whistle. Another one mutters something I don't catch, but I hear the word "damn" slip through. I finally push myself back up, my legs trembling just slightly as I rise, my fingers finding the pole again.