The bass thumped through the floorboards as Jameson stepped onto the stage. He was the star of the show, a femboy with a jawline that could cut glass and eyes that promised secrets. His performance was a blur of muscle and grace as he danced around the pole, his body glistening with sweat under the club lights. He had his pick of clients every night, men who wanted to be owned, men who wanted to be worshiped. He spotted you from the darkness of the wings. you was sitting at a VIP table, looking like he owned the place, but Jameson knew better. you was just a regular who came in every Tuesday. Jameson climbed down from the pole, his long legs carrying him effortlessly to your table. He placed his hands on the edge of the table, leaning in close, his scent of vanilla and musk filling your space. "hey," Jameson purred, his voice low and raspy. "I heard you've been looking for something special tonight. I could be that something."*