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#8 and #28 with dy where reader is a stripper and doyoung is her rich private visitor, lets him watch her alone for free unlike others. made a bet with her that he can’t touch her while she’s seducing him otherwise he’d have to pay her like half a million LOL but dy doesn’t care in this scenario cos she looks especially sexy so he just fucks her raw on the couch 🤷‍♀️ men will be men and reader gets the cash $$$

“I’ve never wanted to fuck you more than I do now” + “ Touch me and you lose”

ao3 | m.list | minors dni! | if you read it, reblog it.

wc: 4.3k

paring: doyoung x afab reader

taggs: pussy drunk and rich as hell doyoung, stripper reader, unprotected sex, cream pie

note: slight change of the prompt, she doesn’t give doyoung free dances because this drabble contains his first dance by her. HOPE YOU DON’T MIND NONNY.

minors dni

Having sex with a client is a big no-no in the industry you’ve grown to love. You are to be desired, eye-fucked, and paid to look sexy. You don’t have to give them any part of you outside of a show, what’s not to love about it?

There are men who try to get touchy, men who are too shy to make eye contact, and men who refuse to break eye contact. All three of these types of clients bring in the big bucks and tend to become regulars to either yourself or one of the other girls who make the men believe they are also an object of desire.

Then you have those clients. The men with big-shot jobs, walking in and ordering the most expensive drink, quietly observing the women as if they aren’t even interested at all. The ones who have wives, with children, with stresses that will weigh on them the moment they walk out of their doors. To them, you are their secret little stress relief, and you often find yourself acting out towards them, letting them break a rule or two, dancing a little longer for them when they pay for private dances. Mostly because they’re the ones who pay your expensive rent. They’re the reason you can live on the high-end of the city and buy new, sexy, lingerie to wear each night you dance and bounce around on the stage.

Doyoung was one of those men. You remember the first time he walked through those doors. You thought he was going to be one of the shy men, avoiding eye contact and shuffling in his seat to hide the boner he gets just from looking at a woman he could never have. He wasn’t though, and you swear he bought out the entire club because he was there for hours watching each woman, silently judging. You remember when he made eye contact with you for the first time too. His eyes were sharp under the dimmed lighting and you swear he could hear your heart skip a beat over the music you were dancing to.

You kept eye contact with him due to the amount of money he had slipped to the other girls. One of your best friends walked into the back with two hundred dollars. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when she told you it was from the quiet guy you had already deemed as shy.

He was rich. Even the richest of clients typically don’t give a bill over fifty to the dancers unless he pays for privacy. This man though, he was tipping with bills that showed his status. So, naturally, you stayed on his side of the stage to dangle yourself in front of him. You kept your eye contact with him until you managed to get three of those big bills from him.

After that first night of meeting him, you never thought you’d see him again. A week went by, a week of good money, a week of eating fancy lunches paid for by the lust of men– and then he shows up again on the busiest night of the week. Saturday.

You called dibs on his as quickly as you could, to the dismay of the other dancers. Calling dibs was never truly honored though because who the man chose was who would dance for him. Doyoung never chose a girl though. He never paid for dances, never spoke, never so much as shivered in his seat at the image of a pussy sticking to panties in front of his face for his money.

Weeks and months had gone by at this point and Doyoung became a regular Saturday night face. He became the talk of the back room for a long while until it just became a normal thing. Sometimes the girls would come back with tears in their eyes noting how the man didn’t tip them a dime that time, only to feel better when one of the bouncers brought back a tray of expensive drinks and an envelope with her stage name on it. Other times the girls would roll their eyes at his presence in the club, wondering how desperate he must be, how privileged he must be to flaunt his money the way he does. Still, that didn't stop every single one of you from working your bodies for him in hopes of that money.

That is, until now. Half a year since Doyoung became a regular, you walk into work on Saturday night as the sun begins to go down. You had gotten new shoes, big and pretty platforms to slide across the stage in. You bought them with the money he gave you the week before, almost regularly receiving three to four hundred dollars from him alone. He was a big tipper, and annoying because he never offers a chance to let the girls really blow his mind for the bigger tips. Again, until now.

You’re in the back room settling into your seat to lace up your new shoes when one of the owners walks up to you.

“You’ve got a dance.” He says to you, smiling. “You’ll never guess who it is.”

You look at yourself in the mirror and then shift your eyes to the owner through the glass.

“Mark, again?”

The owner shakes his head with a laugh. Surely Mark would be there soon to try and get you to dance for him again though.

“Who, then?” You laugh, leaning back down to fix a strap on your shoe.

“His name is Doyoung,”

“Okay?” You laugh, turning in your chair to face the man. “Is this his first time buying a dance?”

“Oh yeah.” The owner says brightly. “He bought you out for the entire night, head to room 11 when you’re dressed, he’s already made himself at home.”

Nothing else was said by the owner, he just turns on his heel and walks out.

“The whole night?” One of the girls laughs at your situation. “You’d better hope he tips well.”

“Well, buying out the entire night sounds expensive, he must be one of the rich ones.” You laugh with a shrug, a little frustrated that your new shoes won’t be seen by the foot-fetish men. They’re always out and feral on Saturdays.

“Maybe–” The other dancer laughs, looking at you with kind of a pitiful look. “Hope he’s not ugly.”

~

You’ve done so many private dances before, but none that had ever taken the entire shift. To be fair, you didn’t even know they could do that. You assume that the owner took the offer because he decided the money was worth it. Wondering how much was offered to pay for your presence, you feel kind of good. This isn’t exactly a cheap club, surely this is a great opportunity.

Whoever Doyoung is though, he’d better make this wasted shift worth your time.

“Hi,” You whisper, sauntering into room 11 with a small voice. They always liked when you’d act smaller in terms of personality, submissive even.

The lights are even dimmer when you walk in, and you’ve only used this room once or twice during your entire career at this club. It was the most expensive room, one with its own pole, a large velvet couch, and more space to move around compared to the others.

The man doesn’t respond to you as your eyes adjust to him, but then–Oh.

Oh.

“Doyoung?” You look at the man who had spent thousands on you and the other dancers since he’d become a regular. “That’s the name of the man who spoils us?”

He just nods at you, staring you up and down with the same sharp eyes he had the night you’d first seen him.

“Not a man of many words?” You question, walking over to him slowly, swinging your hips like the way you always do when you’re on the clock. “So, I take it you won’t tell me why you picked me, huh?” You laugh playfully, looking over to the pole but parking yourself in front of him.

“Why wouldn’t I have picked you?” He lets out, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re my favorite to watch.”

Hearing his voice felt surreal, somehow setting him apart from any other client you’ve had seated in front of you. His voice is smooth, but you can’t tell if you think that because he’d held your curiosity for the longest time, or because he just said you’re his favorite to watch.

“Oh yeah?” You smile at him with a tilt of your head. “Lucky me.”

With that, you see how he relaxes against the couch to watch you. You don’t even ask how much he shelled out for this, because you know it was a lot. His first offer was probably much more than what the owner would have accepted to begin with.

You do your job for him though, twirling and sliding yourself against and on the pole. The music is a lovely choice tonight, one that is chill enough to move slowly, but upbeat enough to bounce and wiggle for him.

The pole is cold, allowing your nipples to perk enough to where, now, because he is closer to you than he had ever been, he can see them. You continue your routine, spreading your cheeks, pressing your tits together, making eye contact with him, smirking, and licking your lips.

Doyoung mouths the lyrics to the songs sometimes, but his eyes never leave you even when he dips his head for a drink. His eyes are less sharp now though, being replaced with a hazy kind of look as he looks up and down your mostly-exposed body.

Noting that you’d never seen his face shift before out in the main area, you believe that you are experiencing Doyoung actually react to a woman now. No longer looking uninterested but tipping as if he had came in his pants during each dance. You feel entirely desired by him, and you kind of like it.

“You’re the most handsome client I’ve ever danced for.” You say in a soft voice, slowly backing away from the pole as the song changes. “Do you know the rules?”

Doyoung nods as his legs spread a bit when you walk towards him. He knows you’re taking your time because he did pay for the entire night. Lap dances, personal pole dances, even just lounging and talking, all of it could happen.

“No touching.” You whisper as the bass picks up on the speakers. It was lap-dance time, and like always, you recite the most important rule.

He nods again, eyes glued to you as you turn around in front of him and begin to ghost your ass over his lap.

Watching you, he is well aware of the rules and perfectly comfortable with them. He would never violate a woman regardless of how sexy he finds her. He can buy her time, but he knows he can’t buy her intimacy on any level higher than he already has.

You dance against him for what feels like an hour, but only three songs come and go. Doyoung is stoic beneath you, but you can see his facade break every now and then. He will shake his head to himself sometimes, or flutter his eyes closed when your tits are less than an inch from his face.

Usually, he is great to compose himself in this kind of situation. He knew when he became a regular here, that having you would be impossible but that didn’t stop him from showing up. He knows it’s your job, and you act this way with everyone, so he can’t just break composure. Doyoung can’t embarrass himself by showing you just how much he’s wanted to fuck you since he’d seen you grinding on the stage.

“I imagine you’re struggling, Doyoung–” You break him out of his thoughts, turning and now spreading your legs across his lap to sit on him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, mostly because you know he’s going to tip you big time. “Don’t you want to touch?”

He stutters out a laugh, and maybe believing he was one of the shy clients isn’t entirely untrue.

“It’s against the rules.” He deadpans, keeping his hands at his sides and glancing away from you, trying not to imagine the fact that he’s got the prettiest stripper in the club grinding against his cock right now. Though you’re not entirely grinding against it, he can feel a soft sort of friction every few seconds as you dance on top of him.

“Do you want to break the rules?” You tilt your head, knowing that you’re already touching him by wrapping your arms around him.

When he looks up to make eye contact with you, you nod at him and he follows, nodding himself.

“If you break a rule and touch me, you will have to pay me a hefty fine not to tell on you.” You laugh. Deep down, you’re perfectly fine with him touching you, because damn, he’s attractive and has money? You'd marry him right the fuck now, honestly.

He could pay your rent for the next several months if he wanted to, just for fucking fun? Like hell you’d report him for touching you when you’re struggling yourself not to touch him more.

“How much?” He instantly says, smirking. Because suddenly, hearing you offer some sort of deal in order to let him touch you has him well aware that he could pull it off regardless of the number you speak out.

You’re a little taken aback by his playing along. You were mostly joking, but the suggestion was still there if he were the type to . . . y’know, wanna fool around with a stripper.

“Half a mil.” You joke again, pulling back from his lap to slap against his arm. “Touch me and you lose”

You didn’t expect him to nod back at you.

“Five hundred thousand.” He confirms, keeping his hands at his sides. “Go on then, try and win your money.”

You’re fucking floored. Half a mil is really on the line right now? There’s no fucking way he thinks he can lose. No way would a man really put that much on the line just to see if you can seduce them into breaking a rule that you’d allow him to break for free.

The game was on now, as you do everything in your power to tease the ever-loving fuck out of the rich man in front of you. You ruffle his hair, you ghost your lips over him, you dance against him, on him, around him. You spread your legs out for him, slapping your own clothed pussy, you tease your nipples at him as if you’d pull your breasts out.

You can see him start to falter about two hours into the game. You had whispered into his ear and noted how he leaned into it. When you walked around the couch so that you could stand in front of him again, you saw how painfully hard he had become. Lowering yourself to your knees in front of him as if you would be in a position to swallow his cock whole, you look up at him innocently. “Is that for me?”

Doyoung groans, slapping a hand on his forehead with a laugh. He’s definitely breaking, and he’s starting to not care.

“I’ve never wanted to fuck you more than I do now–” He admits when he drops his hand and looks at you with a crooked smile.

You smile at him, that half a mil is yours.

“Oh yeah?” You run your hands up and down his thighs. “You wanted to fuck me before?”

Doyoung nods, watching how dangerously close your hands get to his cock.

“You’ll lose if you touch me though–” You’re cut off by him, seething out words in a deeper voice.

“You act like I didn’t intend to lose.” He says, leaning forward and pinching your chin between his fingers and lifting your head to look at him. When he lifts your chin, he pulls your face a bit closer, shifting your body in a way that allows him to slot a leg between yours from the floor. He stares at you, almost like he knows that even after giving you the prize money, he’d still be the one to win.

“D-did you?” You say, a bit intimidated by him and his rough hand holding your face in place so you can’t look or wiggle away.

“I did.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve never moved your body like this on stage, was I wrong to think you’d let me fuck you?”

You shake your head, sticking your tongue out a bit to lick the tip of his thumb, unintentionally rubbing your pussy against his shin.

“But I don’t fuck clients.” You try to argue for the sake of it, but Doyoung is definitely a client you want to fuck.

“Oh yeah?” He says, turning your face to the side and skewing his neck to see your ass. “Is that why you’re practically fucking my leg right now?”

You bashfully shake your head out of his grip, halting your hips and pulling back from how close his face is to yours.

“No?” He laughs, leaning back and crossing his arms as he looks down at you.

“I mean. . “ You go back on your own word. “You already touched me and–” You shrug. ”I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wet right now.”

Doyoung’s cock instantly twitches against his pants.

“Stand up then.” He says, nodding his head as if to motion you to do as he says. His legs spread as you rise to your feet and he instantly adjusts himself when he goes to stand up in front of you.

Fuck, he’s taller than you and the way he looks down at you feels so much more intimating than before. You are entirely silent when he towers over you and you flinch a bit when his arm wraps around your waist.

You’re a little shocked by how rough he is when he moves you around, twisting you to where you’re facing the couch and being shoved down against it. “You want this, right?” He groans out as you hear his belt being unbuckled.

Almost in a whine, you whisper out a ‘yes’. He’s floored by it, because it almost sounds like a fucking plead. Lucky him, he thinks.

Doyoung doesn’t hesitate after hearing you, the money he’s lost in the bet is so far in the back of his mind because to be fair, he would have paid far more just to look at you. The only reason he’s pulling his cock out right now is that you want it. Not because it’s your job, quite frankly, he knows it isn’t your job to fuck clients. He feels special, and he knows he damn well should be special.

You were seeing stars from the moment he touched your face, but this? God, this is more than you could have imagined. Such a fit, attractive man throwing his money at you and slipping your panties to the side just to see what no one else in this club sees. You wonder if his mouth is watering, if his hands are trembling, if his cock is twitching.

Doyoung slips a finger into you with ease, just to test and see if you really do want him to fuck you into the next dimension, and thankfully, you were more wet than he could have imagined. Seeing it alone confirmed it, but feeling the warm slick envelope his fingers had his cock on fire to be inside of you.

“Do you want it?” He asks, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear you say it again with your sweet voice.

You nod your face against the couch, arching in a way that props your ass up a little higher for him.

“Good girl.” He says, fucking his finger into you a bit more before taking another step forward and resting his cock between your cheeks for a moment.

His hand wraps around your middle and pulls you up and against him. “Letting your clients fuck you now, hm?” He grunts against your ear when your back is flush against him.

You couldn’t even answer when you feel him press his cock down and between your legs.

“Go on, look.” He demands against your ear, holding you still against him with his arm as he slides between your folds. You look down to see the head of his cock peeking from between your legs and the image alone had you feeling gagged.

When you moan out at the image, you hear him chuckle against your ear and then you feel him pull his hips back, angling himself perfectly so that he can slide his cock into you.

In one long, languid thrust, you feel the entirety of him. You can hear his sigh against you, and his hand tighten around your middle when he bottoms out. His cock is pulsing inside of you and all you can do is sigh out with him.

“Good?” He asks, finally releasing your middle and letting you fall forward against the back of the couch.

You hum against the cushions, feeling him slowly fuck into you.

“Hold onto the couch.” He advises you, staring down at his cock disappearing in and out of you, he can’t keep this slow pace up for much longer.

You do as you’re told, lifting yourself to grip onto the back of the couch, and when you turn your head to look behind you, Doyoung is pulling his hips back and slamming into you. You watch his neck tense when he throws his head back with a drawn-out moan, and he doesn’t stop. He snaps his hips so quickly, and fucks into you so hard, that all you can do is let out small whimpers each time the head of his cock hits a soft spot inside of you.

When he doubles over you, using his other hand to stretch your panties impossibly far to the side, and lays his head against your shoulder, you can tell he’s losing his composure. His hips stutter in and out of you and his breathing is heavy. But then he starts talking again, reminding you that you’re the one being fucked and you will not be the one fucking him tonight.

“Can’t believe you’re spread out for me right now,” He moans against your shoulder when he snaps his hips back into you sharply. “I’ve waited so long for this.” As if he knew he would have you under him someday, you don’t argue. If you had met Doyoung on the street and he hit on you, you’d be far too easy for him to capture.

“Don’t ever let another man do this for you–” He moans out again, trying to lay claim on you if you’ll allow it. “Don’t ever let another man make this deal with you.”

You nod, struggling to keep your grip on the couch with his weight on you. “I’ll stop showing up.” He threatens, finally lifting himself back up to resume a quick and aggressive pace.

And as if the one-sided conversation never happened, you feel Doyoung release himself as he fucks you at an aggressive pace, cumming inside of you without so much as a warning. He grabs you by the hair, pulls you back up against him, and holds you so tightly that all you can do is cock warm him throughout his orgasm.

The sounds he let out against you were so erotic that you almost can’t imagine ever letting another man do this anyway, and for some reason, having Doyoung act all possessive over you is much less offensive than it should be. You don’t see it as him assuming you’re a woman who would allow men to pay for bets of sex. Doyoung seems to know and trust that this isn’t a normal occurrence, though if it were it would be none of his business. If anything, you decide he just gets possessive when his cock is wet.

The fact that the man cumming inside of you is the man all of the girls want to dance for makes you feel like you’re the prettiest woman in the world. His money was attractive, but god, the way he fucks is somehow more enticing. You wouldn’t mind doing it again, and again, and again.

And when he finishes and pulls out of you, all he does is slide your panties back to their rightful place and give your pussy a little tap. He knows you didn't cum, and to be fair, as much as he would have loved giving you an orgasm, your pussy felt too good for him to stop.

By the time he’s sat back on the couch, allowing you to lounge against him as you catch your breath, he’s already pulling out his wallet.

“I don’t carry cash.” He says, pulling out a card. “At least not half a million worth, so, just take this.”

You look at him wide-eyed, seeing the black card he holds out to you. He's actually paying you?

“You’re just going to give me your card?” You laugh, raising a brow in confusion. “I could go way over the limit of the deal.”

Doyoung shrugs. “You wouldn’t.” He laughs.

Taking the card into your hand, it feels much heavier than any credit card you’ve ever held.

“No, really. You can’t just give me your card.” You laugh, tossing it back at him.

“Says who?” He looks at you seriously this time. “If I don’t see you again, I’ll just report you for fraud.”

He’s being fucking serious? Genuinely? What a stupid man.

“Doyoung–” You try to scold him, but he doesn't let you.

“Just take the card.” He demands, standing to his feet and ruffling his hair with a breath. “Don’t embarrass me more by not taking it.”

“Embarrass you?” You ask, looking at the card and the way he just left it lying against the couch.

“Listen, I don’t normally do this..” He trails off, feeling the post-nut guilt. “The least I can do is hold up my end of the deal.”

“This is your credit card.” You still try to argue with him, turning to watch him walk towards the door.

“Don’t use it then. Just give it back to me when I see you again.”

You watch him reach for the doorknob.

“Saturday?” You ask.

“Saturday.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re five hundred thousand dollars richer, somehow.

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