While Sal drove them downtown, Freddie idly flicked through his phone. He started off with rereading their invitation, then looked into the fancy nightclub Lucas had rented for the birthday party ... but like usual, he eventually turned back to the group chat. He sighed. “It’s too bad Laura couldn’t make it tonight.”

Sal shook his head without taking his eyes off the road. “Honestly, I never thought she would. Even if she didn’t get called into work tonight, she’s not much of a party girl, you know? I mean, when was the last time she did come out with us?”

To answer that, Freddie went to his photo gallery. “It was ... yeah, here it is. That Magic tournament in March.” He looked at the picture he’d taken after her most dramatic victory.

It made a good emblem of who Laura was. Outwardly, she looked mousy: brown hair in a long and plain style, big glasses, an oversized sweater. But in that moment, her blue eyes sparkled more brightly than the lenses of her glasses. She had a devious smirk on her pretty face, gleeing in how she’d tricked and trapped her opponent.

“And that wasn’t exactly a party.” Freddie sighed. “A guy can dream, though, right?”

Sal snickered. “Trust me, I get ‘dreaming’ about her. I remember that Yoko cosplay from last year. But trust me, you’re not going to see Laura going to a party like this. She’d rather stay home and build websites.” As he spoke, they pulled up in front of their destination. “We’re here.”

The Laruche nightclub: a multi-level bending, built in a bending, twisting shape, with abstract shapes on the signs and psychedelic lighting leaking out from inside. Freddie had only ever seen it from the outside before. It had always been too rich for his blood. He gawked up at it. “Lucas really rented this place out?”

“Not just that.” Sal grinned as he left the car. “The VIP room. Come on, let’s go, we’re almost late.”

In they went. The bar’s décor inside was just as psychedelic – the carpet was coloured with swirling patterns, the chandeliers twisted in the same strange shapes as the exterior, and abstract art on the walls messed with his sense of space. The staff were all in fancy dress, whether suits or evening gowns, and wore masquerade masks.

A hostess read their name from a list – it felt so strange to have his name on the guest list for a place like that – and escorted them to the VIP lounge. That lounge was almost as big as some entire bars, but the small, vacant stage and relatively low music still gave it a sense of exclusivity and privacy. Small clusters of seats gathered around sturdy tables. Freddie barely knew most of the people there.

But then, he barely knew their host, too. Lucas strode right up to them, a wide grin on his caramel-toned face. “Sal, Freddie, my friends! Welcome, welcome.”

“Lucas, my man, happy birthday.” Sal did their usual handshake, clasped at such an angle that they could end with a finger-snap. “Where do you want these?” His free hand held up the brightly-wrapped package they’d brought.

“Ah, my friend, you truly didn’t have to.” Lucas touched his chest, like the gifts were an arrow to his heart. “I’ve received far too many blessings already.”

“Didn’t have to,” Sal said. “Wanted to. And oh, here’s the gift table right here.” He threw Lucas a wink while he added the gifts to the pile, giving him no further chance to refuse.

Lucas laughed richly while he clapped a hand onto Freddie’s shoulder. “I do appreciate it,” he said, “But the most important thing is to have my friends all here, sharing good times.” He gestured around the lounge. “Make yourself at home! Mingle. Drink. The entertainment will be here soon.”

Freddie rubbed his shoulder while he looked for a seat – that clapped hand had been a bit harder than he’d expected. He wasn’t much for mingling on his own, so he found a small table in the corner to get himself more comfortable. Sal soon found him, drinks in hand. He didn’t explain any more about the ‘entertainment’ Lucas mentioned, but just winked and smiled.

Then a few minutes later, she arrived: a woman wearing a long, black coat. She bound her dark brown hair in a ponytail, tied near the end with a red ribbon that rang some bells. When she reached the stage, the coat came off, and Freddie knew where he’d seen the ponytail before.

A fit, busty body, wrapped in a tight, white tank top and tiny, black miniskirt, held up by suspenders. Above, black arm-warmers tucked into fingerless gloves; below, matching stockings hugged from her thighs down to her red boots. The only break in her costume was a black smartwatch on her left wrist. She jumped onto the stage with a bounce of her hefty breasts. She strutted around it, each step flicking her skirt high enough to hint at white cotton beneath. As she circled, a pole extended out of the stage’s centre, until she could finally grab it and twirl.

Freddie watched, awed and entranced. The ‘entertainment’ was a stripper. One done up as a spitting image of Tifa Lockhart.

She kept one hand on the pole, forming the hub of her movement. Each step was a swaying strut, swishing her skirt to call his eyes low. With her free hand, she nudged a suspender off her shoulder, letting her skirt fall a little lower on that side – highlighting the womanly breadth of her hips and athletic tightness of her abs. She let the suspender hang, that hand instead cupping and lifting her breast, showing the soft, natural way it shifted under her top.

She held that pose. Freddie could have sworn she was looking right at him, though he wasn’t close enough to read the look on her face.

When the dance resumed, she hooked both thumbs under her suspenders, shimmying them back and forth. The motion teased her skirt, fluttering the leather back and forth – and it sent ripples of motion through her chest. That was what she emphasised, bending at the waist and shaking her shoulders to send her cleavage dancing. It drew in Freddie’s attention, focusing it all on that cleft of sweet flesh...

So he was already watching closely when she tugged her tank top down just far enough to flash her lovely, pink nipples.

That was just a preview, a sneak peek of her perfection. She tucked her breasts back into her top as she slowly straightened, her back arching to display her tight core and heavy chest. She stepped off the stage and stroke towards Lucas, her movements full of purpose. Each step was saturated with eroticism, from the slam of her heels, up her gliding legs and swaying hips, past her jostling breasts, and up to the heated look on her face. It gleamed in her mahogany eyes, making them look almost red.

As she closed the distance, she knocked each suspender off her shoulders. She gave her audience just a second to enjoy how the suspenders swung from her hips before she gave them something even more beautiful. She crossed her wrists over her abdomen, gripped her tank top, and whisked it off all at once. Her breasts dropped dramatically free, springing with a few ripples of bounceback that showed just how firm and perfect they were. That ‘strip’ part of the striptease drew a chorus of cheers from the room – and Freddie blushed when he realised how loudly he’d joined in.

When she reached Lucas’ table, she bent forward with her hands on it. Her breasts swayed, the pose lifted her skirt. She was close enough for Lucas to touch...

... so he did, drawing a chorus of gasps as he ran his fingers along the stripper’s arm and across to her breast. “I know, my friends, I know. You’ve heard it before. ‘Look, don’t touch.’ But the lovely Viv plays by other rules when she’s working a more private party. Those QR codes will tell you more.”

Freddie had to tear his eyes off Viv’s body to find what Lucas was talking about: a small, laminated square of paper, sitting on the table. Scanning it brought him to the website for Vivid Fantasies, their entertainer’s agency – or maybe just her own full stage name, what ‘Viv’ was short for.

The gallery showed her in several different costumes: Tifa Lockhart, Lara Croft, Samus Aran, Yoko Littner, and more. All the pictures her had at least somewhat clothed and kept her face either obscured or out of shot, marketing her body without risking her identity. The list of ‘special services’ was much more explicit. For a fee, he could touch her, kiss her, feel her mouth, all the way up to high-ticket items that made him ache with yearning.

While he tweaked Viv’s nipples, Lucas said, “Everyone’s free to get your hands on her tonight. My treat. If you’d like more, I leave it up to you.” He reached around and gave her a quick, firm swat on the ass, just under her skirt.

She gasped, her tone full of enjoyment, and took the signal. She made a circuit of the room, checking in at each table to put herself in reach of all the guests. As she went, she lost more clothing. A suspender here; a glove there. By the time she reached Freddie and Sal, she was down to just her panties, one stocking, and her watch.

She climbed onto their table, crawling on her hands and knees. The shake of her breasts drew his attention and his hand right away: by pure reflex, he cupped one, feeling the heavenly softness and buoyant weight of natural flesh. Sal had the same idea, his hand blocking Freddie’s view of Viv’s other breast.

But even as hot as her body was, he found himself entranced by her face. There was something comfortingly familiar about her, something girl-next-door approachable. How had she captured Tifa’s childhood-friend charm? While he massaged her breast, he peered into her eyes, trying to puzzle it out.

Wait...

Freddie jerked his gaze to the side. On Sal’s face, he found the same shock he was feeling. He’d seen it too.

The dancer swooped forward into their personal bubble. To everyone else, it would look like a tease at intimacy, but Freddie could see the glare behind her mahogany contacts. She lowered her voice to a hiss for their ears only.

“If either of you say a word of this, I’ll kill you until you die,” said Laura.

Freddie stared at her in frozen shock. Then a second later, realised he still had his hand on his old friend’s tit. “Shit, sorr—”

She grabbed him by the wrist and kept his hand in place. The move was just graceful enough that on the outside, it could look like invitation rather than force. “Don’t stop groping me! People will think something’s up.”

“Yes ma’am.” Sal didn’t need to be told twice. Or once. He hadn’t tried to take his hand off her in the first place.

Freddie stared at his own trapped hand and the body underneath it. She’d been sexy already when he just thought of her as a stripper with a strong resemblance to Tifa, famous breasts and all. But now he knew, that was Laura. He was used to being attracted to her through draping sweaters and shapeless jeans, and now he had her all but naked in front of him.

His brain shut off as pure lust took hold. She’d invited him to touch, so he kneaded that breast in his right hand, while his left wandered – feeling the smooth, firm planes of her abdomen, down over her hip and onto the sweet silk of her thigh, only to come back up and tease those panties. She gasped, surprised by his boldness, but didn’t back down. No, she straightened up to kneel upright on the table and angled her hips forward, offering herself to his touch.

He found heat waiting for him, a flushed warmth that radiated out through the thin material of her panties. She still had to strip for their table, so she peeled those panties slowly down, revealing the smooth skin of her mons and puffy, blossoming lips of her slit. That wasn’t pretence, that wasn’t an act. On some level, she liked putting herself on that display, and that thought sent Freddie reeling. His fingers returned to pride of place, circling her entrance.

That teasing touch made her whine, her hips rolling in circles that offered her to him. He was all paid up to touch her, he remembered, and this was still just touching ... so he pressed a finger inside her, pulling a gasp from her lips as her inner walls suddenly and sharply clamped down on him. So that was what Laura sounded like when she felt good. He’d been wondering that for a while.

And he’d wondered about the looks that pleasure would put on her face. He watched closely, looking past the costume hairstyle and mahogany contacts. That was Laura, her cheeks growing flushed, her soft lips hanging open. Her eyes turned hazy as she rode his fingers, until—

“Time,” she gasped. “T-Time’s up. I need to...” She nodded. There were still other tables for her to entertain.

Damn it. That was the drawback of getting her attentions on a professional basis. Freddie sighed, reluctantly took his hands away from her, and sat back again. He just nodded to her, blushing; he didn’t trust himself to speak without stammering.

Even so, the tease had started something. Her face was still flushed as she drew away from him, and her movements were more languid and sensual as she danced her way through taking those panties the rest of the way off. He could feel it wasn’t an act – no way could she ‘act’ her way into having such beautifully stiff nipples, such a flush around her loins, such a heaving weight to her breaths. She kicked off her panties, leaving herself just in one stocking, before she slid to her feet.

And Freddie could swear there was more sway to her stride as she went back to Lucas’ table. On the way, she detoured to pick up her skirt, suspenders and all. Step by step, she shimmied into it, pulling the suspenders to lift it higher. Yet, it didn’t provide anything like modesty – as she bent to climb onto Lucas’ table, the skirt hiked enough to show the rest of the room her lack of panties.