Author's Note

Characters Used: Anonymous, Octavia
Perspective: Second Person, Anonymous
Fetish: Sex workers, Premature Ejaculation
Type: Clop/Humor
Done by Request!

F#3: The Prancing Pony

It's Friday, and you're feeling naughty. With much apprehension, planning and thought, you make the decision to visit the Ponyville Strip Club. You fiddle with the bits in your pocket, unsure how much this sexualized outing will cost you. Is this embarrassing? Is this even worth it? Should you spend another Friday evening with your hand gripped around your dick mournfully?

All these questions and more, like tears in the rain. You have transcended past shame, or so you think. It's entirely normal to ogle mares by yourself, everypony must do it once in awhile! How many lecherous stallions spend their nights drooling over lewd, shaking flank? It's entirely natural.

With a lump in your throat you stagger past the bouncer at the front of the facility, he takes your cover without gusto. Despite being over two feet taller than him, his grizzled face does give you a fright. The flashing, strobing lights of cyan and succulent purple don't help to calm you. The thump of a deep bass beat causes your heart to pump erratically. You nearly don't notice a serving girl who spooks you, entwining her tail around your leg. A small, empty tray levitates near here, suspended by her magic.

"Hey, sweetie," she says, batting her eyes. You almost recognize her, but you can't pin down her name, "how's your night?"

"I-I'm good, how're you?"

"Doing fine," she says sweetly, blowing you a kiss and walking off, "if you need a drink, let me know."

You nod, and quickly realize she's already turning and walking away, and doesn't see your gesture. A pair of stallions push past you, laughing loudly over some joke. You scurry in, taken aback by the vastness of the club. Down a small flight of stairs takes you to the main floor, with about five performance platforms, each circled by lounges. Along the wall, smaller tables and booths. It isn't very busy, but there are a few patrons hooting and wooing at the two performers that are currently flaunting their bodies.

Eagerly you eye the strippers up, hoping to determine if you knew them based on cutie marks, or coat color. No such luck, but their lewd ministrations freeze you in place. Your attention flicks between the ass of one grey mare and the enticingly lustful expressions of another. Each was being showered in attention by stallions, donated bits laying at the dancer's hooves as they showed off their assets.

You felt yourself stiffening, but quickly turn around and try to ignore it. Opposite the dance floor is, naturally, a small bar. The red seated stools laid before a clean looking white counter. The counter is under lit by white florescent lights, beaming softly. Shelves of beautiful multi-colored bottles hang in front of mirror surrounded by more lights. A bartender tends to something, their back turned to you.

Drifting over to it, you quietly sit on the middle stool, but still rouse the attention of the bartender, who's back was turned a moment ago, "how can I help you, darling?" they say.

Her white coat is so beautiful, soft fluff lit angelically by the spotlight above. Her tightly tied purple mane ending in, ironically, a ponytail. Deep red eye shadow outlined by black eyeliner. You stare at her for a moment before she dips her head lower and inquires if you'd like something.

"Yes, please, something strong," you reply, erection pressing against your trousers. She twirls around and begins fixing you something. A cocktail or mix of some sorts. Using her unicorn magic she weaves together a little show for you. Ice, a deep brown liquor, two packets of sugar, all twirling around her as she combined them in a shaker. She coos and huffs sexually as she does, not looking at you directly but teasing you with her subtly erotic movements.

Finally, the finished product, a tall thin glass of what looks not unlike a Long Island Iced Tea. Served on a small napkin, you quickly lift it to your mouth to try it. It's bitter and sweet, almost like tea, but with the harshness of alcohol. You never really liked liquor, and you don't really like it now.

"How is it?" she inquires.

"It's great," you lie. You place the glass back down and let out a breath.

"Hard week?" she asks.

"Yeah, I-I was just hoping to relax a little here."

She nods and looks past you, "why not ask for a private dance, Starshine over there is almost done with her set." She waves over to the grey mare with the rich black mane and simple tri-star cutie mark. The one you were drooling over just a second ago.

"How do I get time with her?" you blurt out, breath slightly harried and eyes wide. The barmare directs you over to a small console beside the bar, with a simplistic, somewhat grimy, touchscreen.

She leaves you to it, and you awkwardly tinker with it, fumbling through the menu to find Starshine. Her profile picture on the menus once again stoked the fires of your arousal. A private dance with her? Any price would be worth it. Wait? Two hundred bits! You looked down at your money, just barely enough to cover that and the drink.

All your saved up money on one lap dance? You look back over your shoulder to her, as she panted and pulled down her stockings slowly for her two viewers. She's already booked directly after he public show, but her final slot of the night is open. Quickly you reserve it for yourself, mashing through the menus. A small receipt prints out after you insert your bits into the machine.

With the smallest smidgen of buyer's remorse you clutch your ticket, and return to the bar.

"Don't worry, hun, I watched your drink for you."

"Thanks," you say, although it's little more than a whisper and hardly audible over the now sensual, rhythmic music which elicits imagery of wet mares and thrusting stallions. You whittle away the half an hour of waiting time by drinking and fumbling through small talk with the bartender.

Time passes slowly, and your confidence in the situation would have been entirely eroded if not for the drink clutched in your mitts. Eventually though, the bartender reminds you that your private show was about to begin in one of the rear lounges. You realize now that you have no clue where you are suppose to go to meet Starshine.

"See that there, past the pole on the left, go through those curtains, she'll be waiting."

"T-thanks!" you stutter, nearly falling off your chair as you bumble down to the rear rooms. You carefully step down the stairs, as to not embarrass yourself with a misstep.

A crude scent tickles your nose as you enter rear room, pulling aside the grimy curtain with one hand and clutching your ticket with another. Starshine catches your eye immediately, she's casually waiting by another curtain, inspecting her hoof. She's re-adorned herself with her clothing, such as it is. An iris purple gossamer drapes itself over her features, accenting the curves of her flank and deep grey of her fur.

She waves you over when you notice her, and you rush over, waltzing past about three other private rooms. "Hey, ready to go?" she asks cheerfully.

"Yeah, so, how does this work?" you ask meekly.

She pushes aside the drape before her, revealing a small circular room with a pillowed seat against the wall. You head in, sitting yourself in the seat awkwardly. Your shoulders tense up, and you find yourself gripping the pillows on either side of you tightly. She follows in, swaying her hips nice and slowly, tailing flicking with her.

"Relax," she whispers, climbing atop you, running a hoof down the side of your face. Her ass presses against your leg gently, rubbing slightly against it.

Your eyes quickly flick past her to make sure the curtain was closed before following her order. You roll your shoulders and begin to relax into the seat, allowing her lay over you gently. You feel her breasts pressing against your abdomen as she brushes the soft fur of her cheek against your neck.

"Never been with a human before," she says softly, hot breath rolling over your ear lobe, causing a slight chill to tingle your spine.

"Yeah," you reply uncomfortably, feeling arousal surge in your loins as she brushes past your crotch and back to her hooves. She retreats a few paces back and spins around, revealing a rather full behind covered in very revealing panties. With one hoof she reaches back and tugs down one side of the lingerie down, riding down the side of her flank and cutie mark.

Your eyes drift to the prize naturally, her cunt. It presses harshly against its binds, a small strip of dampness along where her lips jutted against the underwear. Her scent is overwhelming, pheromones clouding your mind with sexual urges. You wanted nothing more than to take off your pants to free your straining member.

Lewdly she arches up and stands straight, using her forehooves to lean against the wall. She hikes up her tail, which she waves gently. The music is slow and steady, and she follows its beat, moving along with each note. She raptly shakes her mane to and fro, striking erotic poses between bouts of revealing half-dance. Your arousal grows, cock throbbing, instinctively you find yourself squeezing your legs together, pressing your warm dick against yourself. It's pleasurable, intensely so, especially with the lecherous show in front of you.

Starshine notices and smiles, trotting over to you. "Not so different than a stallion after all," she comments, once again elegantly, gently moving over you. She touches you very little, a hoof here, a patch of fur there. And yet, despite so little contact, your skin tingles in response, and you try to discreetly rub yourself against her, which she allows.

You not-so-accidentally reach for her flank, running your hands through her cutie mark. Her face curls in shock, and she quickly stands erect, hoof firmly but slowly moving your hand away, "no touching that," she says, all sense of lust lost from her voice.

This hardly changes your mind, but when you look down at your hand you spot something like glitter. When you look to her cutie mark it seems, well, smudged. She quickly shifts away, sitting herself right in your lap. You let out a huff as her panties press against your crotch, just a few layers of thin fabric preventing your sexes from touching.

"Eyes up here," she whispers, looking straight at you, her long lashes and blushing face entrancing you. Then, as the song changed again, she began grinding. The deep, guttural thumping of the lead-up bass moving her like a puppet up and down against your cock. It's nearly as if you're having sex, you imagine, hand tenderly hanging near her but not on her.

She places her forehooves under your arms and guides your hands to her midsection, which you tentatively grasp. Her warm frame feeling so soft and nice in your grip. She presses her breasts against your chest once more, and more feverishly begins thrusting and grinding against your cock.

Then, suddenly, you jerk forward awkwardly, and the spell is broken as you begin orgasming. Your cock thumps against its binds as it fruitlessly pumps semen into your trousers, already feeling sticky and wet. Starshine tenses up, she notices! You gulp and freeze up, the pleasure of orgasm mixing with the shame of this unwanted ejaculation into a heart-clutching concoction. She looks at you sideways and presses against you softly as your body goes through its last shivers of bliss. Your face feels like its on fire, and you can't bear to meet her glance.

"Sorry," you weakly say, trying to nudge her off you.

She lets out a half-snort of laughter before stopping herself, "no problem, happens all the time."

You blush and brush past her, shakily trying to stand, "can I go?"

She shrugs, and you catch another glimpse at her flank, afterglow finally settling and your senses returning. Her cutie mark, three stars, had one missing now, and in its place a strange curve. Looks not unlike a musical note. You thank her, awkwardly, and scurry out as comfortably as possible.

Before you leave the rear rooms entirely, you hear a soft chuckling behind you. Naturally you duck low, shame wearing down heavily on your shoulders. You want nothing more than to adjust your cumstained underwear, and move your now soft dick to a more comfortable position, but it feels like the entire club is staring at you!

The bartender waves at you as you exit, one eyebrow raised. She must realize your show ended early! The pain of realizing that mare is going to probably tell everyone else who works here what happened is too much, and you meekly retreat back home.

Monday, another day at the office. The weekend did little to rekindle your dampened spirits, as you spent the next two days stewing in shame. It's almost lunch time, and the monotonous work of your day job has been helping to focus your mind. You wrap up for the time being and stand to walk to the break room. There is a brown bag lunch waiting for you in the fridge.

Octavia blocks the exit to your cubicle, "hey Anonymous."

"Hey," you reply, scooting past her.

"Have a good weekend?" she asks.

"Ye—oof!" you trip forward, bumping against her, "geez, sorry," you say, helping her up.

She nods and smiles, "no problem, happens all the time," she says before walking away.

You gasp, frozen in place as she scampers down the hallway, a soft chuckle ringing in your ears.