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jamjarPart two (in which Mark plays dress up, and various other of the authors kinks are fed)
Dedicated to Thistle_dear, because she said I had to. Geez, it takes Mark a long time to get dressed.
"Markie-girl, you're just easier than an incubus at solstice, aren't you?" Bonnie said. The nun's habit she'd adopted rather suited her, although the way the skirt was hitched up to reveal fishnet stockings and a red lace garter belt ruined the effect somewhat. "There's no point me turning you into a helpless, vulnerable, perfect example of the ideal prey..."
"It's redundant," Mark said, digging his nails into his hands to stop himself from punching before she got close enough," to say perfect example of an ideal prey. You need to work on your grammar, you chaos-damned- fuck!" He jumped up, misjudged how far his human legs would take him, barely managed to grab the hem of Bonnie's habit and fell to the ground landed in an uncomfortable heap at Bonnie's feet. He looked up and saw that Bonnie had accessorized the red-lace garter-belt with matching crotchless panties. "And show some taste."
"Yeah., 'cause that cheerleader's outfit Aerael has in the closet is just so tasteful," Bonnie said, rolling her eyes. "Like I was saying, there's no point me punishing you if Aerael's going to come along and make you like it." She sniggered. "Come along..."
Mark stared in disbelief while she sniggered at a joke that a drunken frat boy would have considered beneath him. "What the hell are you on? And how long am I going to be like this." He gestured at his female body. "Human, wingless, female... Pulling the same trick twice shows a lack of imagination."
"You're going to stay like this until you've learnt your lesson," Bonnie said. "So I suggest you start by figuring out what lesson that is. And humans only get seventy of so years, so you really should get started." She blew him a kiss that hit his cheek like a bee-sting and disappeared.
Mark picked himself off the floor and brushed himself off. He caught sight of himself in the massive mirror opposite Aerael's bed. Female and human and his body felt both wrong and right at the same time. Wrong, because the weight on his back from his wings had disappeared, wrong because his hair was even longer and the texture felt different and it already had tangles that he'd have to brush out- no spells of convenience while he was like this- and disturbingly right because it was still his body. Not like getting shoved into someone else, he felt at home, even if the home had changed all around him.
But he didn't know how long he could stay like this. The feeling of being powerless was almost unbearable. At least if he'd been a human man, he'd have been able to keep his own height, have the physical advantage, but this body wasn't as strong and the centre of balance was different. Even with the extra weight that having solid, human bones, rather than his own hollow made-for-flight Drakthae ones, he wouldn't be winning any fights. He needed to make Bonnie change him back to normal, and soon, before any of his enemies, or allies found out.
Which meant pleading with Bonnie, or at least getting someone to plead on his behalf. . Someone to persuade Bonnie to take this curse off, . He narrowed down the list of people who knew her to people who she liked enough to be swayed by, and then narrowed that down even more to people who actually wouldn't fall over laughing at seeing him like this, or take advantage of his temporarily crippled state.
People like that, that he could lean upon… He closed his eyes. Really, there were only a few names that leapt to mind, and only one that he could make contact with, without magic. He only hoped that Adavidarian's discomfort over seeing him like this would outweigh his amusement.
His phone was still in his briefcase, back at home, so he had to us the one in Aerael's study, walking out with one hand across his chest to stop the giggling. It wasn't painful, exactly, just a strange sensation and a little distracting. He tried Davy's flat first, then the office, then the cell phone. No answer. he was probably at Iolanthe's, then, but Mark had no idea of the number. On a hunch, he tried speed-dial on Aerael's phone and was moderately pleased when he heard his own machine pick up on the first stored number. Iolanthe's was second. he waited impatiently while it rang, then opened his mouth the moment it was picked up, only to be interrupted by a masculine voice.
"Hi, this is Iolaus, I'm not in right now, but if you need to speak to me or Iolanthe," and here the voice changed genders, "then leave a message after the- Davy, cut that out! I'm trying to be serious- Davy! Oh that's it you're going down." And then a muffled "Promise," in what was definitely his brother's voice. He almost hung up, but changed his mind at the last moment.
"Hi, it's me," he said in a deliberately breathy tone. "I can't put the last time out of my mind, and I know you said it was just once and you were seeing someone, but if you change your mind again, call me." There, that should get a nice reaction from his rather possessive brother if he heard it. Maybe he should do the same on Davy's answerphone, in case they went back to his… For a lust fae, Iolanthe was absurdly territorial.
Later, maybe. He tried the rest of the speed-dial, hoping to get Iolanthe's cell-phone, which was an exercise in frustration. Mark threw the phone at the wall, where it made a satisfying crash, eyed the desk, gritted his teeth and left it where it was. It was expensive, heavy oak and had been a gift to Aerael from Mark, something for him to work from while he visited, sturdy enough to withstand Aerael's attempts at distracting Mark, and frankly, he didn't think he could stand the humiliation if he couldn't lift it up and throw it through the wall.
Lets see, Davy had said something about meeting Iolanthe at Neverland, So Markkas had two options. One, stay here until Davy got home, or at least switched his phone on, or Aerael came back, or Bonnie got bored and changed him back to normal. Two, go out and find Davy and Iolanthe and get them to start pleading with Bonnie. Option one was safer in the short term, but he had no idea how long it would be before he could make contact with Davy, and every minute he was like this, he was in danger.
No, it would have to be option two. Going out, which meant getting dressed.
He walked back into the bedroom and started to look for his clothes. The trousers were a lost cause, and that was absolutely the last time he let Aerael rip them off him, but at least the short was in piece, albeit with a few buttons missing. He put on his shirt, which fitted until he tried moving his arms and the buttons gaped and looked in danger of popping. He had a moment to curse himself for getting such perfectly fitted clothes, before heading to Aerael's wardrobe.
Underwear first. Aerael didn't wear bras, except as ornamentation, and the few he possessed didn't look they'd come close to fitting. Mark enjoyed a moment's smugness at being bigger than Aerael in at least one way, before trying on a pair of knickers and found that he was bigger in another. They cut into him, and Mark refused to have a VPL, no matter what body he was in and whose panties they were.
"Dammit, doesn't she have anything that'll so," he muttered, digging through the underwear draw, corsets and underwear flying over his shoulder. After some fuss, he managed to find a suitably stretchy thong, with a matching suspender belt and stockings. Putting them on was almost enough to make him change his mind about going out to find Davy, but he had a nasty suspicion Bonnie was still watching him and... "There's not a chance in hell I'm giving her a free porn show," he said.
Looking for decent clothes to go over the underwear was another trial. Aerael could get away with clothes in public that'd probably get a mere human indicted for public indecency, and his more modest clothes didn't fit properly. In the end, Mark had to satisfied with a stretchy black lace thing Aerael had worn once, just because there was so little to it he didn't need to worry about the fit. It took a little bit of practice to get himself positioned in it properly, adjusting his breasts so they were in evenly and securely, and then a little bit more time after the reality of having breasts -and pretty spectacular ones, in his opinion- sunk in and he took the next logical step.
Mark managed to stop himself before he got too distracted, moving his hands away and pulling his dress back up. At least stretch meant it didn't wrinkle. He put one hand to his neck and stared at himself in the mirror. The dress had looked impressive for the 30 or so seconds Aerael had worn it before shimmying out of it, and it looked even better on Mark, in his not so humble opinion. The hemline that ended above his knee but -he checked- didn't show the tops of his stockings when he walked.
He tried walking again. At least he didn't jiggle so much in the dress. The stretchy material seemed to hold him in place, even though it seemed to leave a lot of him exposed. He had a weird moment where he was torn between feeling vaguely proud of his cleavage and feeling dreadfully self-conscious, before he put one to his neck and straightened up determinedly.
Maybe Aerael had a scarf or something he could borrow, something that he could tie around his neck. Intellectually he knew it wasn't the same as having so much of his throat exposed now, as a human, as when he was a drakthos, but it still felt wrong.
After some searching, he was forced to give up. The only thing that would fit around his neck were some of the adjustable collars, and while they would cover his throat they'd also send entirely the wrong message.
And that just left shoes and a coat. Thank god his feet were about the same size as Aerael's, or close enough. The high-heeled strappy sandals fit best, but he drew the line at wearing stockings and sandals together and it was too cold to go bare legged. That just left the black shoes and the boots.
The trick to walking, he quickly found it, was talking long steps, letting his hips swing like a cat using its tail to balance. Yes, he could manage with the shoes, which at least had a solid looking heel. He looked at the boots, which were a good inch higher and stiletto. Probably better not to risk those. Still, it wouldn't hurt to try them on, just in case.
He swayed on his feet, took a couple of steps, almost fell over, and tried again.
The extra inch seemed to make a lot of difference. Weak, human, magicless, but he got a glimpse of himself in the mirror and for a moment, felt strangely powerful. There was something about the heels, about the way the boots ended just above his knee, that made him feel a little more like his old self, like someone who was just more powerful than those around him.
He turned around in the mirror again. Human, soft, but not vulnerable. Now, for the finishing touch...
There. Smooth, polished steel bracelets, liberated from Aerael's box of toys, heavy on his wrist but without the characteristic burn he normally felt. The brushed metal looked like silver at a distance, and he let them slip off so that he could grab them like a knuckle-duster. Practical and beautiful, he decided. He grabbed a bag, dumped his wallet and keys into it, and after a moments thought, one of the bigger knives from the kitchen. The metal was cold against his fingers, lacking the normal burn of iron, but still enough to make him shiver.
He was almost at the door before the sound of rain reminded him of one more thing he needed to get. He didn't normally need to bother with coats or jackets, expect when fashion demanded it, since his wings and glamour were usually enough protection. He was forced back into digging around in Aerael's cupboard, thankful at least that the incubus liked playing dress up. He made a mental note to buy some clothes of his own, if Bonnie was going to be making this a regular punishment.
A cloak? At least it'd fit, but humans who wore cloaks always looked like they were trying too hard to be mystical. Finally, his hands touched something familiar in the closet. He pulled it out and grinned. "Yes, this will do nicely," he said out loud. A soft leather thing, a trench-cum-bondage coat, designed for Aerael when he was male. His fingers brushed the two slits for Aerael's wings. Not perfect, but he tried it on in the mirror. The wing-gaps showed little glimpses of his back, and if he tightened the straps on the arms, hitched it up at the front, left it open...
He looked in the mirror. He looked like an extremely high-class don't-call-me, I-may-deign-to-call-you girl, or possibly maybe one of the female characters on Mortal Street Fighter Tekken Combat XIII. He patted the coat down again, smoothed the dress over his hips, tugged at the neckline and pulled at the top of the boots. Feeling sufficiently well-armoured for a trip to the bar, he opened the door and headed out onto the street.
"Well, at least I won't have a problem catching a cab."
tbc.
Dedicated to Thistle_dear, because she said I had to. Geez, it takes Mark a long time to get dressed.
"Markie-girl, you're just easier than an incubus at solstice, aren't you?" Bonnie said. The nun's habit she'd adopted rather suited her, although the way the skirt was hitched up to reveal fishnet stockings and a red lace garter belt ruined the effect somewhat. "There's no point me turning you into a helpless, vulnerable, perfect example of the ideal prey..."
"It's redundant," Mark said, digging his nails into his hands to stop himself from punching before she got close enough," to say perfect example of an ideal prey. You need to work on your grammar, you chaos-damned- fuck!" He jumped up, misjudged how far his human legs would take him, barely managed to grab the hem of Bonnie's habit and fell to the ground landed in an uncomfortable heap at Bonnie's feet. He looked up and saw that Bonnie had accessorized the red-lace garter-belt with matching crotchless panties. "And show some taste."
"Yeah., 'cause that cheerleader's outfit Aerael has in the closet is just so tasteful," Bonnie said, rolling her eyes. "Like I was saying, there's no point me punishing you if Aerael's going to come along and make you like it." She sniggered. "Come along..."
Mark stared in disbelief while she sniggered at a joke that a drunken frat boy would have considered beneath him. "What the hell are you on? And how long am I going to be like this." He gestured at his female body. "Human, wingless, female... Pulling the same trick twice shows a lack of imagination."
"You're going to stay like this until you've learnt your lesson," Bonnie said. "So I suggest you start by figuring out what lesson that is. And humans only get seventy of so years, so you really should get started." She blew him a kiss that hit his cheek like a bee-sting and disappeared.
Mark picked himself off the floor and brushed himself off. He caught sight of himself in the massive mirror opposite Aerael's bed. Female and human and his body felt both wrong and right at the same time. Wrong, because the weight on his back from his wings had disappeared, wrong because his hair was even longer and the texture felt different and it already had tangles that he'd have to brush out- no spells of convenience while he was like this- and disturbingly right because it was still his body. Not like getting shoved into someone else, he felt at home, even if the home had changed all around him.
But he didn't know how long he could stay like this. The feeling of being powerless was almost unbearable. At least if he'd been a human man, he'd have been able to keep his own height, have the physical advantage, but this body wasn't as strong and the centre of balance was different. Even with the extra weight that having solid, human bones, rather than his own hollow made-for-flight Drakthae ones, he wouldn't be winning any fights. He needed to make Bonnie change him back to normal, and soon, before any of his enemies, or allies found out.
Which meant pleading with Bonnie, or at least getting someone to plead on his behalf. . Someone to persuade Bonnie to take this curse off, . He narrowed down the list of people who knew her to people who she liked enough to be swayed by, and then narrowed that down even more to people who actually wouldn't fall over laughing at seeing him like this, or take advantage of his temporarily crippled state.
People like that, that he could lean upon… He closed his eyes. Really, there were only a few names that leapt to mind, and only one that he could make contact with, without magic. He only hoped that Adavidarian's discomfort over seeing him like this would outweigh his amusement.
His phone was still in his briefcase, back at home, so he had to us the one in Aerael's study, walking out with one hand across his chest to stop the giggling. It wasn't painful, exactly, just a strange sensation and a little distracting. He tried Davy's flat first, then the office, then the cell phone. No answer. he was probably at Iolanthe's, then, but Mark had no idea of the number. On a hunch, he tried speed-dial on Aerael's phone and was moderately pleased when he heard his own machine pick up on the first stored number. Iolanthe's was second. he waited impatiently while it rang, then opened his mouth the moment it was picked up, only to be interrupted by a masculine voice.
"Hi, this is Iolaus, I'm not in right now, but if you need to speak to me or Iolanthe," and here the voice changed genders, "then leave a message after the- Davy, cut that out! I'm trying to be serious- Davy! Oh that's it you're going down." And then a muffled "Promise," in what was definitely his brother's voice. He almost hung up, but changed his mind at the last moment.
"Hi, it's me," he said in a deliberately breathy tone. "I can't put the last time out of my mind, and I know you said it was just once and you were seeing someone, but if you change your mind again, call me." There, that should get a nice reaction from his rather possessive brother if he heard it. Maybe he should do the same on Davy's answerphone, in case they went back to his… For a lust fae, Iolanthe was absurdly territorial.
Later, maybe. He tried the rest of the speed-dial, hoping to get Iolanthe's cell-phone, which was an exercise in frustration. Mark threw the phone at the wall, where it made a satisfying crash, eyed the desk, gritted his teeth and left it where it was. It was expensive, heavy oak and had been a gift to Aerael from Mark, something for him to work from while he visited, sturdy enough to withstand Aerael's attempts at distracting Mark, and frankly, he didn't think he could stand the humiliation if he couldn't lift it up and throw it through the wall.
Lets see, Davy had said something about meeting Iolanthe at Neverland, So Markkas had two options. One, stay here until Davy got home, or at least switched his phone on, or Aerael came back, or Bonnie got bored and changed him back to normal. Two, go out and find Davy and Iolanthe and get them to start pleading with Bonnie. Option one was safer in the short term, but he had no idea how long it would be before he could make contact with Davy, and every minute he was like this, he was in danger.
No, it would have to be option two. Going out, which meant getting dressed.
He walked back into the bedroom and started to look for his clothes. The trousers were a lost cause, and that was absolutely the last time he let Aerael rip them off him, but at least the short was in piece, albeit with a few buttons missing. He put on his shirt, which fitted until he tried moving his arms and the buttons gaped and looked in danger of popping. He had a moment to curse himself for getting such perfectly fitted clothes, before heading to Aerael's wardrobe.
Underwear first. Aerael didn't wear bras, except as ornamentation, and the few he possessed didn't look they'd come close to fitting. Mark enjoyed a moment's smugness at being bigger than Aerael in at least one way, before trying on a pair of knickers and found that he was bigger in another. They cut into him, and Mark refused to have a VPL, no matter what body he was in and whose panties they were.
"Dammit, doesn't she have anything that'll so," he muttered, digging through the underwear draw, corsets and underwear flying over his shoulder. After some fuss, he managed to find a suitably stretchy thong, with a matching suspender belt and stockings. Putting them on was almost enough to make him change his mind about going out to find Davy, but he had a nasty suspicion Bonnie was still watching him and... "There's not a chance in hell I'm giving her a free porn show," he said.
Looking for decent clothes to go over the underwear was another trial. Aerael could get away with clothes in public that'd probably get a mere human indicted for public indecency, and his more modest clothes didn't fit properly. In the end, Mark had to satisfied with a stretchy black lace thing Aerael had worn once, just because there was so little to it he didn't need to worry about the fit. It took a little bit of practice to get himself positioned in it properly, adjusting his breasts so they were in evenly and securely, and then a little bit more time after the reality of having breasts -and pretty spectacular ones, in his opinion- sunk in and he took the next logical step.
Mark managed to stop himself before he got too distracted, moving his hands away and pulling his dress back up. At least stretch meant it didn't wrinkle. He put one hand to his neck and stared at himself in the mirror. The dress had looked impressive for the 30 or so seconds Aerael had worn it before shimmying out of it, and it looked even better on Mark, in his not so humble opinion. The hemline that ended above his knee but -he checked- didn't show the tops of his stockings when he walked.
He tried walking again. At least he didn't jiggle so much in the dress. The stretchy material seemed to hold him in place, even though it seemed to leave a lot of him exposed. He had a weird moment where he was torn between feeling vaguely proud of his cleavage and feeling dreadfully self-conscious, before he put one to his neck and straightened up determinedly.
Maybe Aerael had a scarf or something he could borrow, something that he could tie around his neck. Intellectually he knew it wasn't the same as having so much of his throat exposed now, as a human, as when he was a drakthos, but it still felt wrong.
After some searching, he was forced to give up. The only thing that would fit around his neck were some of the adjustable collars, and while they would cover his throat they'd also send entirely the wrong message.
And that just left shoes and a coat. Thank god his feet were about the same size as Aerael's, or close enough. The high-heeled strappy sandals fit best, but he drew the line at wearing stockings and sandals together and it was too cold to go bare legged. That just left the black shoes and the boots.
The trick to walking, he quickly found it, was talking long steps, letting his hips swing like a cat using its tail to balance. Yes, he could manage with the shoes, which at least had a solid looking heel. He looked at the boots, which were a good inch higher and stiletto. Probably better not to risk those. Still, it wouldn't hurt to try them on, just in case.
He swayed on his feet, took a couple of steps, almost fell over, and tried again.
The extra inch seemed to make a lot of difference. Weak, human, magicless, but he got a glimpse of himself in the mirror and for a moment, felt strangely powerful. There was something about the heels, about the way the boots ended just above his knee, that made him feel a little more like his old self, like someone who was just more powerful than those around him.
He turned around in the mirror again. Human, soft, but not vulnerable. Now, for the finishing touch...
There. Smooth, polished steel bracelets, liberated from Aerael's box of toys, heavy on his wrist but without the characteristic burn he normally felt. The brushed metal looked like silver at a distance, and he let them slip off so that he could grab them like a knuckle-duster. Practical and beautiful, he decided. He grabbed a bag, dumped his wallet and keys into it, and after a moments thought, one of the bigger knives from the kitchen. The metal was cold against his fingers, lacking the normal burn of iron, but still enough to make him shiver.
He was almost at the door before the sound of rain reminded him of one more thing he needed to get. He didn't normally need to bother with coats or jackets, expect when fashion demanded it, since his wings and glamour were usually enough protection. He was forced back into digging around in Aerael's cupboard, thankful at least that the incubus liked playing dress up. He made a mental note to buy some clothes of his own, if Bonnie was going to be making this a regular punishment.
A cloak? At least it'd fit, but humans who wore cloaks always looked like they were trying too hard to be mystical. Finally, his hands touched something familiar in the closet. He pulled it out and grinned. "Yes, this will do nicely," he said out loud. A soft leather thing, a trench-cum-bondage coat, designed for Aerael when he was male. His fingers brushed the two slits for Aerael's wings. Not perfect, but he tried it on in the mirror. The wing-gaps showed little glimpses of his back, and if he tightened the straps on the arms, hitched it up at the front, left it open...
He looked in the mirror. He looked like an extremely high-class don't-call-me, I-may-deign-to-call-you girl, or possibly maybe one of the female characters on Mortal Street Fighter Tekken Combat XIII. He patted the coat down again, smoothed the dress over his hips, tugged at the neckline and pulled at the top of the boots. Feeling sufficiently well-armoured for a trip to the bar, he opened the door and headed out onto the street.
"Well, at least I won't have a problem catching a cab."
tbc.
