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Let Me Entertain You...


10:55 PM
Logfile from Ivanya.

The Second Circle - Michigan Street: South
    ABANDON EVERY HOPE! That's the first thing you see as you enter 'The Second Circle'. It's scrawled on the wall of the small hallway that leads to the main room, and it seems to glow in the black lights that light this entry.
    The main room of the club is fairly large. The decor is set up to look like a fire-lit cave. The predominant feature of the room is the stage. It has a long runway in the middle, and two smaller ones off to the sides. There's the obligatory metal pole in the center of the main runway. There are wooden benches that line the stage, so that folks can get an up close view. Tables are available further back from the stage, with a few odd booths the farthest back from the stage as one can get. In one corner rests an Inquisition Torture array that's really a well stocked faux-bar. While no alcohol is served, virgin drinks of all types are available.
    The staff are all courteous, and quick to respond to a patron's need in their little black bikinis, black wigs, and red bodypaint. The club has a small menu of food and non-alcoholic drinks available, at fairly high prices for what you get. A DJ stand is settled in the corner of the stage, filling the club with music for the girls to dance to. There are several large men who wear red horned baseball caps placed around the room. One is stationed at set of stairs that head up to the members' lounge.

Eyes like candy. She has eyes like candy. Hard and blue, yet soft as kitten's feet. There's a distance in those eyes, a flickering of something held in deep thought. Hair is thick and silken, falling to her mid-back. It is a deep red that cannot possibly come out of any bottle; undertones are both blonde and black, genetics combining oddly to create the radiant color. Her complexion is fair, paleness not from a lack of sun, but European descent. Lips are painted a dark red, purse slightly. A hint of a smile tugs at the corners, promise of full bloom almost constantly near. Her words are drenched in a thick, purred Russian accent, her English a bit rough, but easily understood. Her form is tall and thin, standing at only a few inches bellow six feet. She's not as curvy as most young women, her hips subtle swerves, her chest well rounded. Not too small, yet not overly large. Her neck is gracefully long, smooth and creamy, adorned by a thin chain, a small diamond and sapphire snowflake charm hanging from it. Slender hands and small fingers, nails kept neatly manicured. She seems the perfect portrait of a lady. But, as many know, appearances can be deceiving…
          It is not one of Ivanya's...usual outfits that she wears this night. No, tonight she is dressed to perform, to draw all eyes to herself. A corset of ice blue vinyl holds her curves, pressing and lifting the swell of her breasts high and close. Rimmed in black, it zippers down the front, ends just above her bellybutton. A firm, toned stomach is revealed, before the garterbelt begins, matching the corset perfectly, complete with black rim. It clasps to a pair of black topped fishnet thigh-highs, the pattern wide, revealing more skin than the black hides. A seam runs down the back, perfectly centered. Covering her front is a triangle of black vinyl, keeping things out of view, barely. It does nothing to hide her rear, however, leaving the pale, smooth skin if a taut backside to plain sight. Strappy black heels complete the outfit, stilettos that bring her height just past six feet, making the muscles of her calves curve and flow.

Rolf told Ivanya to be dressed and ready by 9 p.m. and made a quick phone call while she was doing so. A quiet - silent - ride in his rented dark sedan with driver, and he arrived at the club. Hope was outside, and Rolf in his quiet voice made his introductions. "Miss Kozlova, this is Miss Nahja. Miss Nahja is a friend of mine, a recent close friend. I did not wish her to miss this opportunity, and she and I have infrequent opportunities to share experiences like this. Miss Kozlova is a recent student of mine, assigned by my superiors. She requires a particular sort of instruction in some ... abilities, and tonight is one of her first lessons." he says. He slides in past the bouncer, and into the club proper, flicking his gaze left and right before he finds a seat at a table, pulling two chairs out and settling into one with elegant grace. "Amaretto, honey Miss Nahja?" he murmurs in his soft voice.

Teadora moves from table to table in the club, quietly taking orders, slipping empty glasses off tables and onto her tray, as she tries to avoid customers trying to grab her bikini clad ass, smiling all the while.

A small, but genuine smile was offered to Hope when introduced, Ivanya taking the woman's hand, raising it to her lips. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Nahja," she purrs in that Russian accent. There is an air of slight nervousness as she is brought into the club, following behind Rolf, hands folded infront of her. She does not sit, looking to the stage, and then back to Rolf. "Sir. Do you wish me to go back, and prepare, now?"

Hope is a silent party, sheathed in white velvet with her inky dark hair brushed slick over her shoulders. She nods her tall head to Rolf's student. "A pleasure," says the voice tainted with a trace of accent. The tall woman takes her seat when offered, her body moving like silk over water, all boneless and liquid. Legs crossed, she begins to wave off the drink, but pauses, and agrees. "Please." Her golden eyes scan the room in a casual gesture to return to the man at her side, and the tableau before her.

Teadora stops dead in her rounds as a familiar face enters the club. She looks nervous, for a moment, biting her lip. She's not sure exactly how to handle this one, as she is supposed to be avoiding her, but she moves over to where Ivanya and Rolf stand, "Good evening. I am Teadora. May I get you anything?"

Rolf flicks his fingers, summons a waitress ... which happens to be Teadora approaching as he's doing so. He offers a small flash of a smile, his voice a soft whisper. "Good evening. Yes. A tumbler of amaretto and a shotglass filled with honey, please." He glances to Ivanya. "Yes, Miss Kozlova," he says in that same soft whisper. "Remember my instruction. Do not lose control. Focus on the feelings in the crowd. Do not under any circumstances feed. If you begin to lose control I will be forced to attempt to stop you and we do not want that. Do not," a pause, "Disappoint me. Go."

Ivanya's own eyes widen at the sight of Teadora. And already, the test has begun. She wraps a tight fist around her power, shutting it down. "Teadora," she says affectionatly, giving the woman a small smile before turning to Rolf again, when he speaks. She nods, even lowering her head in a little bow once he is finished instructing her. "Yes, Sir. I will not disappoint you," she says softly, carefully avoiding touching Teadora as she makes her way to the stage, behind it.

Hope looks bewteen the vampires as if she were watching a very intriguing ping-pong match, her lips curled into a soft smile. The woman is cool, and the energy that flickers around her is smooth and white. Her legs cross at the knee and she aranges the velvet of her skirt into smooth perfection. "Thank you," she smiles to Teadora, when the order is give, though there is no warmth in her amber eyes to match her tone.

Rolf lifts his hand to settle on Hope's knee, squeezing slightly. He dips his head to Teadora. "Thank you," he says in that soft whisper, and he watches Ivanya dip away. "Let me know if there is anything else you wish," he murmurs to Hope, his glance moving to the stage to take in the tableau.

Teadora's eyes go wide, and she even backs away from Ivanya slightly as she moves towards the stage. "Ivanya. It is...good to see you." she says softly, before turning to Rolf, something in her eyes, "Right away, sir." she says, moving off to fetch the order from the bar.

The music switches as the previous dancer leaves the stage, and the lights dim. Nervous, but controlled, Ivanya stands at the ready. The lights rise again, and the woman puts on a confidant face, a smirk, as she stalks down the catwalk. There's a roll to her hips, and Ivanya even does a hair flip as hands begin moving along the sides of her body, her exaggerated curves that the outfit brings.

Hope 's smile warms a little at the touch to her knee and she nods her head. "Certainly," though she is now distracted by the pupil who takes her first steps on stage. The tall woman's lips curl into perhaps a more genuine smile, and her eyes survey the crowd once more. A few hoots and hollers rise from the assembled guests.

Rolf keeps his hand resting on Hope's knee, and he glances around the room. He seems to be taking in the reactions to the new dancer, finally letting his half-lidded gaze settle on Ivanya. "Let us see," he says in his soft whisper to Hope, "How much inner drive she has to excel." One knee slides over the other, and the pale skinned man in his dark suit settles into an unnatural stillness to apparently watch.

Teadora moves back to the table, gracefully balancing the tray, and herself on her four inch heels, while she slides the glass to the table in front of Hope. She /knows/ it's not for Rolf. She smiles brightly, but it's sort of two dimensional, and glances over her shoulder at the stage.

The desire to excel, along with pure stubborness, have oft pushed Ivanya along her way. On the stage, she looks out over those that watch her, opening herself up to them, their lust. It is tempting, very much so, especially with one of her favorite treats in the room. But she holds on to her power, as hands continue to tease over her body, one catching the zipper of her corset, pulling it down as she walks. She reaches the pole, presses her back to it, sliding down slowly, back up. Once standing, the corset is completely unzipped, parted to reveal pale flesh, slowly uncovering her breasts.

Hope mms softly to Rolf as he speaks to her in that general out-loud kind of way. As her glass is delivered, Hope takes it up in her long fingers, bypassing the honey for the amaretto. Glittered eyes shaded by dark lashes watch the woman on stage with a calm appraisal, as if her were she who were the judge. She turns her head slightly to Rolf. "First time for her?"

Rolf is a study in lack of motion, glancing at Teadora for a moment and back at Hope. His gaze settles back on the stage, and his eyes seem to catch every little movement from Ivanya. Occasionally his eyes flit left and right, watching the reaction of the men in the crowd - who are beginning to watch intently what is going on. "First time," he says in his soft whisper. "She enjoys the embarassment. The humiliation. It creates lust in her. Lust makes it hard to concentrate. Concentration is key." These short sentences seem to be all his explanation.

Teadora gazes, then, grinning impishly, loving the reaction of the crowd, her own cheeks flushing - not that you'd notice it with the red paint she has covering her from head to toe. She can't help it, letting out a loud wolf whistle, before moving over to take orders from a couple more customers.

Already, Rolf knows her so well. Ivanya is indeed embarassed on the stage, but she doesn't let it show. Only those that know how to read the vampire's eyes would know the truth of it all. The corset is held closed for another few moments, before she lets it fall to the ground. Covered by a pair of black pasties, Iva's nipples are hidden from sight as she sways down the catwalk further, dances on those heels. Her body moves with the beat of the music, hands sliding over skin, her breasts, up into her hair. Travelling back down, fingers snap one of the clips of her garterbelts, unfastening it, before she uses a crooked finger to beckon a man over to the edge of the catwalk, to undo the next. Still, she is controlled.

Hope watches Ivanya with a cool detachment. She might as well be a prized pony or a child playing soccer by the blandness of Hope's expression. Her uniqueness is her actions, and what they mean in regards to her education, while the lewdness of the acts are lost on the white-clad woman. She nods her head to Rolf and sweeps her hair back over one thin shoulder. She watches as a fat man chewing on a cigar with grease stains on his shirt ambles forward, leaning on the stage with a fist full of dollars.

"The trick with a student, Hope," Rolf says in his quiet, subdued whisper, "Is to present them with an unenviable goal. A goal that is paramount to their ego, as they have heard suggestions in their instructor's voice that they cannot do it. A sort of resignation that suggests that he or she will attempt the test, but surely they will fail. This brings about the best in their efforts." This long speech for him is punctuated by a pause, and his his fingers move slowly on her knee. "She would rather impale herself on a bed of nails then fail now. And afterwards, you will see her surprise." He flicks a glance at Hope, and back at the stage. "She moves well. The men like that."

Teadora slides back to the bar, to fetch a few more drinks, moving to fill a few orders closer to the catwalk, as though magnetized there. Yes, there is a connection there, metaphysical as well as physical. It's like the sun, and the moon, or some such thing. The slight crunch of bones almost breaking can be heard as she 'gently persuades' a gentleman not to slide his hand down the back of her bikini.

Ivanya is tempted, there's no doubt, to let that power loose, to feed off of the lust that moves through the room, to increase it. But as Rolf says, she will not let herself fail. She lets the fat man unsnap two clips, slide the money into the top of her thigh-highs, before she winks at him, convincingly. Moving away, she stands in the center of the stage, turnt to give some a good view of her rear. She bends then, at the waist, hips still moving to the music as she works on the clips to the other thighhigh. Undone, she straightens, eyes on Rolf as she begins moving the garterbelt over her hips slowly.

Hope watches the men now, since Rolf pointed them out. Gathered around the stage, they reach forward. Some call out for attention, some shift uncomfortable in their chairs or adjust themselves. There are women too, gathered in between the men, leaning up on the stage and boosting their cleavage up against the catwalk. So many faces looking up with hungry eyes, licked lips and raging lust. A thousand dark dreams and desires, focused on the dancer.

Rolf's face is implacable. While he meets Ivanya's gaze his face is impassive, his body immobible. Aside from the tiny movements of his fingers on Hope's knee under the table, he's otherwise an exercise in stone - although his eyes do flick here and there, as if he's somehow taking in the whole scene and filing it away in neat little categories.

There's a second, where that raised lust, the cleavage and the adjusting and the feeling of desire all around here, that Ivanya could loose that grip she has. Eyes close, hidden by her hair as she slides the garterbelt down further. Control. Control. It's like a mantra inside of her mind, as she tightens herself again, closes that door tight before anything can leak out. Straightening again, a flick of her foot sends the garterbelt into the crowd, leaving the woman in only fishnets and thong as she struts to the pole once more.

Hope mmms softly and licks her lips. She takes up the shot glass and dripples some of the honey into the amaretto before reaching in to stir with a long fingertip, a casual gesture. Her knee shifts under Rolf's casual fingertips and she breathes a small sigh. "The crowd is getting warmed up now," she notes, leaning her long body back in the chair and sipping from her glass.

There's a moment where Hope can feel Rolf tense - both his hand slightly and the power wrapped tightly around him, as if he was readying himself to rise to his feet and take some action. But he stills and for just a moment - a very brief heartbeat - a smile curls on his lips. A single blink and it's gone, and he's back to watching Ivanya curl and twist, lean over and dance her way back to the pole. 'Yes. And so is my Hope," he murmurs softly to the woman next to him. "She is doing well,' he says as he increments a nod to Ivanya.

On the stage in nothing but a thong, pasties, fishnets and heels, Ivanya's body moves with the seductive beat of the music that plays through the club. She's en route to the pole, hair swaying like red flame behind her as she moves, dances. A pause, to let another man slide money into her thighhigh, another into the band of her panties. Once the pole is reached, she wraps her hands around it, presses her body to it. Her back arches, top half going back as her lower parts press to that pole, hips rocking.

A girl enters the club. She does not look old enough to be here, and yet somehow she got through the doors. But she seems fairly familiar with this scene, unruffled and uninterested. Her violet eyes scan the staff here. It seems she is looking for someone who works here.

Someone in the crowd shots something about a lucky pole, while another shouts to take it all off. Hope is aware of the slight tense in the man whom sits beside her with his fingers light on her knee. She turns her head to the door to watch the new arrival with passive interest before turning back to the stage.

Rolf is sitting at a table with Hope, watching the pale woman dance. One leg is slid over the other, and his right hand is under the table, on Hope's knee. Hope has a drink in front of her, and from time to time Rolf is murmuring something to her. His gaze mostly seems to be on the stage, watching Ivanya with an implacable, stoic face.

As the words come from the crowd, the nearly completely bent Ivanya looks to Rolf, eyes questioning softly. How much longer did she have to go? The lust presses all around her, and her power so desires to feed, to increase. But it's held back, stomped down on, as she rises once more. Fingers hook into the string of her thong, making as if to take it off, eyes on Rolf still.

Breena slips into the club peering curiously around. Her gaze drifting from one table to the next, clearly not her sort of normal place. Drawing in a deep breath she begins to make her way over to get a drink. Her movements weaving her in and out of those gathered.

Failing to find the one she is looking for, Ember sits. She seems removed even as her attention dances over the beauty on stage. One of the red painted servers approaches her table, but the girl waves her away.

Rolf tilts his head and watches Ivanya. His eyebrows go up slightly as Ivanya looks to him, and his face is stoic again for several seconds before he lifts his left hand and gestures for her to continue. He continues to watch her face, as if searching for some sort of weakness, some sort of fragility in her frame or manner.

Hope looks from the girl on stage to Rolf, and then back again. Her expression is quizzical, and her eyebrow raised slightly. "Why does she seek your approval for this?" she asks in a quite voice that is drowned by many of the hootings and catcalls and generally rowdy behvaior.

There's a flicker in Ivanya's eyes, of some part of her giving. The hunger, want, makes fingers tremble slightly, so that only the most observant may see it. Slowly, she hooks the thong, and slides it down past her hips. The thin strip of fuzz reveals that yes, she is a natural redhead, if there was any doubt. One leg bends, rising, and is taken out of the panites after they're brought down to her knees. Then the other. Thong in hand, her power swells inside of her, held back by a slowly weakening will. She twirls the garment on one finger, giving the crowd a wicked little smile.

Rolf smiles just a tiny bit at Hope, his head inclining to her. "She wishes to do well. It is .. important for reasons I cannot go into, for people both she and I are beholden to," he says in his soft whisper. "So it is vitally important to her that she succeed." He watches Ivanya intensely, actually leaning forward a few inches as he stares at her face.

Breena glances to the drinks menu at the bar quirking a brow before shaking her head to her lack of interest. Her gaze drifting slowly over those at the bar, turning she levels her gaze over the room once more. Her attention not really veering toward the stage, seemingly more interested in who is here tonight then who is dancing.

Hope tilts her angular head and frowns just a small bit. A crease forms between her brows and she hmms softly. She is no fool and knows enough to know that even the strongest vampire answers to another... in some subtle manipulative way. "I think I see a crack or two in her fascade," she smiles a little. No pun intended. Maybe.

Ember studies the redheads body but not in a sexual way. Her interest is more intent and cold, academic, although the girl's body language is more angry, warm. Her young face is sullen but not bored. As some of the crowd reacts to the woman removing her underwear. Strange that the audience reacts so when the woman removes that tiny piece of material. It did not leave much to imagination beforehand.

Ivanya drops the flimsy thong to a man in the audience by the stage, before returning to the pole. She twirls around it, legs wrapping. The classic grab and slide down the pole move is made, smooth thanks to being much stronger than she looks. Pulse thudding, desire building, she's close to cracking as she looks to Rolf once more, almost pleading with her eyes as she goes around the pole.

Rolf will give Ivanya another minute or two of the dancing - enough time perhaps for her to be staring at him intently - before he stands smoothly and flicks his hand to her - a gesture from her, to the backstage area - a subtle flick. "Now we leave," he whispers to Hope in his soft voice, reaching for his pocket and dropping a folded bill on the table. "Outside. She will join us." He strokes Hope's shoulder, waiting for her before turning for the door and stepping out of the club.

Hope rises with Rolf, as bidden, nodding and smoothing her dress. She makes her way towards the exit, her body easing through the thhrongs of people like a knife through butter. Outside, she waits, and as always, that simple little smile is pasted on her lips.

The relief is plain in Ivanya's eyes, for anyone actually bothering to look there. At the flick of Rolf's hand, she bows, eyes on him solidly. She slips backstage, gaining a robe to cover her, and does indeed join the duo outside. Eyes down, concentrating on not letting that power out, yet.

A flick, a presence... Ember stands and moves back to the front door. She does not look back. Her walk is serious, purposeful. The stide is long. It's a predator's strut. She exits the club without looking back.


Windy City Girls

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