You impress the manager.

You are nervous as you climb up onto the stage. The audience may be small, just the manager, the lighting and sound guy and two or three barmen but this is the first time that you'll dance since taking the pills with anybody watching at all. You walk out into the centre of the stage, take hold of the chrome dance pole and take a couple of deep breaths to steady your nerves before nodding towards the man behind the sound equipment.

You hear the intro to the track and start to move, swinging slowly around the pole just be build up some momentum. As the lyrics start, you continue swinging around several times so that when the bass guitar and drums kick in the tempo speeds up you are ready. You spin round and upwards, wrapping a leg around the pole and hanging upside down by one leg as you continue to spin. This you know is an extremely hard move and you threw it in deliberately early to impress. You pull the move off perfectly and the dismount from the pole as well.

"Hot damn." You hear someone exclaim and your confidence soars.

The track alters speed and you take the opportunity to peel off the cropped Tee-shirt, cupping your ample breasts as you turn your head from side to side to make your long blonde hair whip around. The tempo picks back up and you are back on the pole again, nothing as fancy as your first impressive move, but graceful nonetheless. When the music slows once more you unbuckle your belt and slide the daisy dukes down your legs, bending over with your big round ass towards the manager. This pattern continues, slow and teasing during the verses and wild and athletic whilst the chorus and guitar solo are rocking.

You save another impressive move for a finale, as the last riffs of the track begin you spin once round the pole take a step towards the edge of the stage and pull of a perfect aerial cartwheel and straight down into the splits just as the fianal chord dies. You are flushed, but smiling, certain that your performance was almost flawless. You look towards the manager and the man is simply staring at you with his mouth open. There is a deathly silence now that the track has ended, the clinking of bottles aand other sounds are all gone. You look around and the barstaff have all stopped their work and are staring.

"Was that okay?" You ask, a little nervous as nobody has spoken or moved for several seconds.

"Okay? Was that okay?" The manager finally finds his voice. "Where the fuck did you learn to dance like that?"

"I took athletics at school and was in the cheer squad. Then I went on to major in modern dance at an academy of the performing arts." You answer honestly.

"You come straight down here and sign a contract darling." The manager insists. "What's your name by the way. Or what do you want to be called in here anyway?"

You grab your cut offs and Tee-shirt from the stage and trot back to the manager's table. He is already rifling through a briefcase and produces a contract as you sit next to him.

"Candy." You tell him adding with honesty after a fashion. "That's not my real name of course, but I'll use it as my performing name if that's alright."

"Fine with me, you can call me Lou." The manager agrees. "You got more routines Candy, enough for a fifteen minute set at least?"

"Hell yeah." You tell him, beaming with pleasure at landing the job so quickly. "If I can take a look at what tracks you have I'm sure I can find enough I've used before to do that."

"Okay, now down to the details sweetheart. Your basic pay ain't worth shit, minimum wage, but it's the tips and extras that will earn the big bucks." Lou confides. "Every dollar on the stage or in your panties and cleavage during your set is yours and I don't even wanna count it so what you declare for tax is your business."

"Sweet." You say happily, remembering how much cash you'd seen on the stage last time you visited a club.

"The private lapdances in the booths are fifty bucks and you get fifty percent of that." Lou continues. "What extras you negotiate with the Johns, I don't wanna know about. I ain't your pimp and I don't touch a nickle of that money. Just make sure if you are giving extras that you keep it clean in there. If I gotta dryclean the seats afterwards I'll be taking the bill out of your wages."

"Oh no, I won't be doing anything like that." You insist.

"Like I said, I ain't your pimp and I ain't pushing you to do anything you don't wanna." Lou said shrugging. "But if some guy offers you half a century to throttle his chicken or a hundred to suck him off and believe me they will when they have a few beers in them it's your business."

"I'm a dancer, not a whore." You insist.

"Fine, whatever." Lou shrugs again. "I always got a guy near the booths, you tell a John no and he pushes it or gets agressive you just need to raise your voice and someone will be there, you understand?"

"Sure I understand." You say, certain that the issue won't come up as you have no intention in going further than dancing.