Female orc pole dancer x female reader (kinda nsfw?)
Surprise! A shortish drabble I drabbled this evening to take a break from writing my angsty modern orc boy, and because the idea of a female orc pole dancer just took over my brain and held it to ransom. *shrugs* No aesthetic for this one this time, but modern orc boy has got one, and I hope to finish his story tomorrow. It turned into a two part (at least) beast…
All the neon was a bit of a stereotype, with the pedestals and the stage in the centre, the poles and the lights, but that hardly mattered. You were here, and you were here to get a little drunk and watch the most beautiful creatures in all creation dancing.
You ran your eyes across the room as you and your group of friends came down the stairs into the club. On one plinth was the most beautiful sylph you’d ever seen, and two of your friends made straight for her as she circled the pole elegantly and began a graceful butterfly. At another, two naga – a male and a female – intertwined using their immensely strong tails to coil around the pole and each other.
But your eyes landed on a stunning orc with smooth green skin who was just beginning her routine, swirling casually around the pole while her long black hair, braided and flashing with traditional beads, flowed down her back. She had thick, chiselled thighs and you found yourself drawn to her like the proverbial moth to the flame. Her costume was as non-existent as the others’ in the club: a little fur trimmed top and a black thong that revealed her incredible glutes in a way that made you almost dizzy to look at. The corded muscles of her arms also made you weak at the knees as she reached up and began to ascend the pole like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Money was already fluttering from wallets as you shoved your way through towards the front. Someone actually grabbed your ass but you didn’t even stop to berate them. She had those incredible thighs wrapped around the pole and was already beginning her routine.
Where the sylph was graceful, she was almost vicious, and the energy she gave off had a feral note to it. Her stage name, you discovered as people started chanting it, was ‘Barbarian’, and you found yourself utterly entranced. How she moved like that, you had no idea, but as you added your own meagre savings to the pile building up at the bottom of her pole, you found she had climbed right to the top.
The crowd began to chant, “Split drop, split drop, split drop!” and after a few casually executed moves at the top, of which you only knew the name of the layout, she drew her torso up vertically, extended both legs into a perfect split, and threw her head back to laugh.
She plummeted to the base of the pole at breakneck speed, catching herself at the last moment to a roar from the crowd, your own voice lost among the cacophony. She hung there, just a few tantalising inches off the ground for an easy ten seconds, breathing hard, before swirling around and standing.
“Take your prey!” a shout went up.
“Choose a captive!” another yelled.
She circled easily and gracefully around the pole, though how she did it in those skyscraper platform stilettos, you had no idea, extending her hand and then bringing it to her chin to feign deliberation. She tapped on a silver-cuffed tusk with a lacquered black nail and your heart skipped a beat as her dark eyes met yours.
She continued to swing around the pole, sometimes lifting those legs up, others extending them to show off her unbelievable quads. You drank in the ridges of her six pack with your eyes and bit your lip as she came to a halt, facing where you stood. There was a tall guy in front of you, who kept shifting excitedly, and as the ‘Barbarian’ stepped off the plinth, he stepped forward eagerly.
She batted him aside like he was a summer fly, and came to a halt right in front of you. She towered over you, especially in those heels. She leaned down. You could smell sweat and hair product, see the glisten of glitter in the beads of perspiration on her chest.
“I choose you,” she said, taking your chin between her finger and thumb. “Will you come with me, the Barbarian?”
You nodded mutely, heart pounding, which drew a few snickers, but she rounded on them, tusks flashing.
“Come on,” someone yelled. “Give us a little girl on girl action!”
“Show’s over, asswipe,” she growled, grabbing your hand. “But not for you,” she added, leading you towards a private booth.
“I can’t afford –” you stammered, but she turned and smiled a breathtakingly sweet smile.
“Shh,” she said. “None of that. Barbarian’s captive is my treat. I’ll do whatever you ask of me, providing it’s still under house rules.”
She ushered you into the booth and you stood there, awkward and shy as she closed the door.
“Never been with a girl before?” she asked once you two were alone.
“Never been with an orc, that’s for sure,” you blurted. “Never anyone like you.”
“I’ll take care of you,” she smiled. “You just sit down and enjoy the show for now.”
And she began all over again.
