She dances her ass off in her sluttiest catsuit

Saturday night arrived with a mix of dread and anticipation that left Susan's stomach in knots. She'd spent the day in a state of nervous energy, unable to focus on anything for long. Reed had noticed her distraction during breakfast, briefly asking if she was feeling alright before immediately returning to his latest research notes. The momentary attention had sent a pang of guilt through her, quickly subsumed by resentment at how easily he returned to ignoring her.

By evening, she had her story in place – another night out with college friends – and her bag packed with everything she needed for Ralph's **** performance. The address he'd texted was for a hotel in Midtown, nothing fancy but not seedy either. The kind of place that asked few questions as long as the bill was paid.

Susan arrived ten minutes early, a strategic decision to give herself time to center her thoughts before facing Ralph and his "cousin's" bachelor party. She'd chosen her most provocative latex outfit yet – a blood-red catsuit that gleamed like wet paint under light. Despite being a catsuit, it left vast sections of her skin utterly exposed via some stupendous cutouts, including a plunging neckline that went from collarbone to navel, creating a valley of full, delicious cleavage. Most daringly, she'd decided to forgo the hood entirely, relying solely on the perception filter to disguise her face. It wasn't like it had saved her before.

As she approached the hotel room door, Susan took a deep breath, mentally rehearsing Alexis's advice. Find the pleasure in it. Make it yours. Use him right back.

She knocked firmly, projecting a confidence she didn't entirely feel.

Ralph opened the door, his eyes immediately traveling the length of her body with frank appreciation. "Susan," he greeted, her false name a reminder of the power he held. "Right on time. I like that in a performer."

He stepped back, allowing her entry. The suite was larger than she'd expected, with a spacious living area already arranged for her performance. A portable pole had been set up in the center of the room, and about a dozen men lounged on couches and chairs arranged in a loose semicircle around it. They fell silent as she entered, their collective gaze like a physical weight pressing against her skin.

"Drink?" Ralph offered, already holding out a glass of amber liquid. "To steady the nerves."

Susan accepted it gratefully, taking a substantial swallow. Whiskey, good quality, burning a warm path down her throat. "Thanks."

"The changing room is through there," Ralph indicated a door to what was presumably a bedroom. "Take your time getting ready. Music system is all set up with your selections."

There was something oddly professional about his demeanor, as if this were simply a business transaction rather than ****. Susan wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

In the bedroom, she took another long swallow of the whiskey, welcoming the warmth spreading through her limbs. She shrugged out of her street clothes and began the meticulous process of donning the latex catsuit. Without Ebony's help, it was more challenging than usual, requiring liberal application of talcum powder and careful maneuvering to avoid tearing the delicate material, especially when it came to not sticking her limbs through the wrong bits.

By the time she was fully dressed, the **** had done its work, creating a pleasant buzz that dulled the edge of her anxiety. Susan examined herself in the mirror, struck by the contrast between the provocative outfit and her face, bare for the first time during a performance. The perception filter altered her features subtly – higher cheekbones, slightly fuller lips, a more angular jawline – but the expression of nervous excitement remained unmistakably hers.

"Here goes nothing," she whispered to her reflection.

When she emerged, the room had filled with a few more men, bringing the total to about fifteen. All fell silent as she appeared, their eyes hungry as they took in her latex-clad form. In the center of the group sat a young man wearing a plastic crown and a sash declaring him "GROOM TO BE," his face already flushed with ****.

Ralph approached, handing her another drink. "Jason's the man of the hour," he said, indicating the crowned figure. "His last night of freedom, as they say."

Susan nodded, taking another fortifying swallow. "I'm ready whenever you are."

Ralph gave a signal to someone by the sound system, and the first notes of her selected music began to play – a throbbing industrial beat that matched the accelerated rhythm of her heart. As Susan moved to the center of the makeshift stage, the men shifted forward in their seats, anticipation palpable in the air.

The latex performance itself passed in a blur of sensation. Susan moved with practiced grace, her body responding automatically to the music while her mind maintained a strange detachment. The catsuit clung to her like a second skin, amplifying every sensation – the brush of air against her exposed flesh, the constriction around her waist and thighs, the slight friction against her nipples with each movement.

The men's reactions were more vocal, more uninhibited than at Sakura-Mai. They whooped and hollered, called out crude compliments, held out bills with less ceremony and more demand. Susan reveled in how close they were, no separation by a stage, and danced close enough to them that they could tuck bills directly into her cleavage.

By the end of her third song, she was drenched in sweat beneath the latex, her skin flushed with exertion and the persistent heat of arousal that she couldn't quite suppress. The final notes faded, and she struck a concluding pose, breathing hard as the men applauded enthusiastically.

"Gentlemen," Ralph announced, stepping into the performance space, "let's show our appreciation for Suzanne's amazing performance."

Another round of applause, accompanied by raised glasses and appreciative whistles. Susan gathered her tips and prepared to retreat to the bedroom to change, already calculating how quickly she could leave.

"Actually," Ralph said, catching her arm before she could exit, "I had a thought. The boys were hoping for something a little more... conventional as well. A traditional strip show."

Susan tensed. "That wasn't our agreement."

Ralph smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. "Plans change. But I'm willing to make it worth your while." He lowered his voice. "Do this second set – just a regular strip, nothing **** – and I'll delete the photos. All of them. Right in front of you."

Susan's breath caught. "You're serious?"

"Completely. One more performance, and you walk away clean. No more leverage, no more favors." Ralph's expression was earnest enough that she almost believed him. "What do you say? Twenty minutes of your time for complete freedom."