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Glamour Lust, Girl!Mark fic, part 8. Woo, about time.
Continued from here.
Part 8, in which the cheerleading costume is brought out, and there is spanking.
Aerael changed position so he was sitting next to Mark, positions almost identical. Mark smirked, twisted around to face Aerael and swung his feet up into Aerael's lap, stiletto heels close enough to danger to make Aerael wince and Mark's smirk widen into something dangerously close to a grin. "Take my boots off," he said with his usual arrogance.
Aerael thought about objecting but changed his mind. Mark had obviously chosen these boots for looks rather than comfort, and was yet to realise the second of the great pleasures boots like this could give. The first, of course, was the moment after you'd put them on, when those extra few inches made you feel ten foot tall and radiating more power than the entire Seelie court.
The second was taking them off. He unzipped the boots, keeping his eyes on Mark's face as he pulled them off and dropped him by the bed. Mark's eyes closed briefly, pleasure/pain apparent as he wriggled his toes and the blood flowed back into them. It was a shame to get rid of the stockings, but needs must when the devil has his feet in your lap, so Aerael disappeared Marks clothes. Mark barely even noticed. He went back on his elbows, almost buckling, as Aerael started to massage the sole.
"Ah! That's good, pet," Mark purred. "Oh, you don't know how good that feels."
"Yeah? Say that to someone who hasn't spent whole nights in six-inch heels," Aerael said. Mark was melting on the bed, normal lust softened with something warmer, closer to love. It was rare enough that Aerael almost changed his mind about the punishment. He
"You know what I want," Aerael said, smiling cheerfully.
Mark gave him a curious look. "Well, yes. Sex, pain, rough, affectionate, tongues, whips, oral sex, kissing, biting, sucking, fucking, holding, topping, bottoming, hands only, hands bound… You'll need to be a little more specific, pet."
Aerael rolled his eyes. "Something that'll be a proper punishment for you as well as a reward for me for putting up with you. Something that appeals to me as much as it disturbs you. Something peppy." he said the last word with the same relish Mark normally put into words like "hostile take-over" and "bloody sacrifice".
Mark stared at him, face expressionless, for about thirty seconds before speaking. "I'm not wearing the cheerleader's outfit."
"You will," Aerael said. He kept massaging Mark's feet, amused by the warring signals he could feel in Mark.
"What is your obsession with that thing anyway?" Mark said, managing a good impression of pacing around the room, while still sitting on the bed with his feet in Aerael's lap. "Beyond the obvious desire to humiliate me, I mean. Neither of us ever went to high school, neither of us had any real exposure to cheerleaders. Apart from when we ran into one when out looking for a meal," he added before Aerael could interrupt. "It probably won't even fit me now I'm a female." He ran his hand over his breasts and hips with a certain self-satisfied gesture.
"It's iconic," Aerael said. He dropped Mark's left foot to concentrate on his right. "The image of lust, wholesome and whorish at the same time. Like a catholic school girl uniform, it's the focus of so much desire, so much obsession. And it's stretch, so it might be a bit tight, but you'll still be able to get into it."
Mark honestly didn't mean to pout, but it came out anyway. "I am not the cheerleader type."
"It wouldn't be as fun if you were," Aerael said. He dropped both feet on the bed, moved closer to Mark and stroked his cheek with the back of his hand. Mark half closed his eyes and tilted his head, both hands coming up hold Aerael's hand in place while he rubbed his cheek on it in a way that gave Aerael flashbacks to Discovery Channel programmes about cats and scent marking.
"What about your other half? When am I going to get to play with her? You know Bonnie might change me back the moment I look like I'm enjoying myself. We may not have much time." He turned his head and kissed Aerael's knuckles quickly before dropping his hands. "And you know you'd look much better in the costume than me."
"That wouldn't be much of a punishment, would it?" Aerael said dryly.
"You could have a whip," Mark said, a little too quickly.
Aerael's eyes glinted. "You'd like that, would you? Tell you what, we have a nice round of naughty cheerleader, just for me to check your limits, before we go on to anything more."
"I'm not weak, Aerael," Mark objected. "As I believe I've already proven, so..."
"Didn't say you were," Aerael said, holding a hand over Mark's mouth to stop his speech, pressing just enough that Mark was forced to tilt his head back, exposing his neck. "But you don't know how this body deals with pain. Or damage. Permanent damage now might be permanent when you turn back." he bent his head and gave Mark a quick kiss on his exposed throat. "It's in the wardrobe. Get changed now or I'll dress you myself."
Mark stared at him. Aerael could almost se a dozen schemes being thought up and discarded, while a dozen revenges were carefully stored away for future reference, before Mark got up and headed towards the wardrobe. Aerael decided to help him by removing the rest of his outfit as he walked. Mark ignored the little magic working on him as he stalked over to the wardrobe, and threw the doors open so hard one of them banged into the wall.
The uniform was too small, and even as a woman, it didn't suit Mark. It stretched too tight across his chest and hips and the colours looked wrong, too bright against his skin. That didn't make it any less perfect that Aerael had finally got Mark into it.
Mark walked over to stand in front of Aerael, one eyebrow raised and carefully calculated expression of disdain gracing his face. Barefoot, he was short enough that Aerael could have tucked him under his chin and Aerael didn't bother resisting the urge to pat him on the head, even when Mark snapped his teeth and tried to bite his hand.
"Make up," he said cheerfully, holding up the bag he'd got when Mark was getting changed. "And your hair... Ah, you can leave that out."
"Thank you," Mark said, bowing with enough sarcasm to sink a small armada. Aerael caught his chin when he came up, held it still and started to apply lip-gloss. Mark's tongue flicked out and he made a face. "Cherry flavour, really Aerael..."
"Hold still, you don't want me to smudge the mascara," Aerael said. "And.. there." He stepped back with a satisfied nod. "The natural look, wholesome yet accessible."
He stood behind and slightly to the side of Mark, stroking along his spine and watching the way he shivered when Aerael touched him low, at the base, and between the shoulder blades, before finishing with his hand holding Mark's nape in a light grip. He pressed down, slowly but relentlessly, forcing Mark to bend over at the waist. He didn't know what to do with his hand so he braced them on his thighs.
Aerael stood back and admired the sight, flipping Mark's skirt up over his waist. "Very pretty," he said approvingly. "You've been a bad girl, Mara."
Mark squashed his body's instinctive response to Aerael's tone. "Really, you are mining the clichés today, aren't you? Couldn't you think of something a little less so- Oh!" He let out a small cry as Aerael's hand connected with his butt and had to take a step forwards to stop himself from falling over.
"Keep still," Aerael ordered. "If you can't hold position I'll have to make you." He brought his hand down again and this time Markkas was prepared, jumping a little, but not stumbling.
The pain was no greater than anything Aerael had given him in the past, but the sense of vulnerability was so strong that he almost wanted to move away from it. He didn't, and was proud of his own strength of will, not buckling under the pain or the pleasure it brought. His hair acted like blinkers and he could barely hear anything over the sound of his own breathing. Already he wanted more, wanted Aerael to grab him by the hips and pull him back onto him without warning, wanted to drop to his knees and use his mouth on Aerael until Aerael forgot to be careful of his new form and dug sharp nails into Mark's scalp without thinking. Aerael put his free hand on Mark's bare midriff, not supporting him at all, but feeling each harsh intake of breath.
"I should record this, if Bonnie isn't doing that already, show it to my friends," Aerael said, his voice a low counterpoint to the harsh, sharp sound of his hand hitting Mark. "Everyone would see you, like this. Do you think they'd figure out who you are? Figure out what you're really..."
"Bastardbastardbastardbastard Aerael, please..." Mark said, gasping, wishing the warm hand on his stomach would move lower or higher or something, anything.
"What did I say?" Aerael said. He pulled Mark upright up the neck and kissed him, one hand on his butt pushing him closer, up on his tiptoes. Mark brought his hands around Aerael's neck, half-climbing on Aerael. Aerael walked backwards around the side of the bed and Mark followed him blindly. Mark was vaguely aware of Aerael rummaging through one of the drawers with his free hand and a hundred speculative fantasies ran through his head before being cut off by the sound of Aerael throwing something onto the bed.
Mark looked at the handcuffs tossed on the bed in front of him. They were not part of the arsenal Aerael commonly used with him. Iron or no, they were simply too weak to be able to hold him, and besides, Markkas preferred the feel of something less suburban. Heavy chains and manacles from Eeorlking's army surplus store, or antique high-class prisoner's cuffs, iron covered with delicately patterned leather to prevent a precious hostage from being damaged.
Still, they went with the outfit, erotica kitsch.
"To one of the bedposts," Aerael said, one gesture taking in the bedposts, the handcuffs and Mark. Mark hesitated, shrugged, slipped a cuff on one wrist, looped it round a bedpost and secured it on the other. He gave an experimental tug. There was no iron burn, but they dug into his wrists pleasantly when he strained against them. Although not a perfect fit and sized for a man, he'd probably have to dislocate a thumb or something to slip out of them.
Aerael's hand was on the back of his neck again, pushing him down and this time he held onto the bedpost as he bent over. The first set of slaps on his already tender rump made him inhale sharply. Aerael stopped and moved around to face him, bending down and touching Mark's face with a heated palm, before holding it up in front of him. It was already red.
"See? I think this is hurting me as much as it hurts you," he said.
"Promise?" Mark said, baring his teeth in what wasn't a smile.
Aerael rested his hand on mark's shoulder before disappearing around mark's side. Mark bent his head to follow the movement, only to be stopped by that firm hand holding it straight ahead.
Then Aerael was stroking his cheeks with the tips of his fingers, cool lines being drawn against the heat. His other hand reappeared on Mark's belly, flirting around the waistband. Mark bit his lip an concentrated on not moving. The hand moved up, under the stretchy, too-tight top, and Mark's head went down without him meaning too, watching as those clever fingers stroked his breasts, pushed the top up so one was exposed and reminded Mark that they had another purpose, other than controlling the minds of those less blest.
"Head up!" Aerael snapped, the hand disappearing and immediately followed by a sharp pull on Markkas's hair. he felt him move position, but didn't look to confirm it, and held back a sigh of relief when he felt both hands, warm and cool, moving up his thighs.
Oh! Nothing new, Iolaus had done this, and Aerael's sibling wasn't exactly an amateur in the heavy petting front, but it was just more, now. Maybe it was the burn from the spanking, or the previous rough fuck, or maybe even the costume, but if Markkas was going to be honest, he'd admit that everything was always better with Aerael. That little bit more intense, that little bit more everything, and clever fingers were in danger of making his knees buckle, clever fingers and cleverer thumbs and he didn't notice when two hands became one, but he sure as hell noticed when that free hand came down with a smack loud enough to cover Mark's immediate cry. And that was perfect, and torture, genuine pain making it strangely easier to accept the sweeter work of those fingers on him, inside him. Wonderful fingers, bastard fingers, making it harder to stand, soft and gentle while Aerael slapped him, harder and harder and...
And then there was nothing. Mark held his breath, waiting for the next blow, but it never came. His shoulders shook and his legs and back ached enough to be noticeable, even with the pain making him burn with need. He started to straighten up, something made more difficult by the handcuffs. He stepped forwards, so his hand fell down by his waist on the other side of the bedpost and looked around.
Aerael was leaning against a wall, watching Markkas and holding something Mark couldn't see in his hand. "I was thinking, a cheerleader isn't really a cheerleader if she doesn't cheer." He held up a handful of silver metal things, a few loose chains falling out of his hand. "And I've got a few toys to make it more interesting."
tbc
Part 8, in which the cheerleading costume is brought out, and there is spanking.
Aerael changed position so he was sitting next to Mark, positions almost identical. Mark smirked, twisted around to face Aerael and swung his feet up into Aerael's lap, stiletto heels close enough to danger to make Aerael wince and Mark's smirk widen into something dangerously close to a grin. "Take my boots off," he said with his usual arrogance.
Aerael thought about objecting but changed his mind. Mark had obviously chosen these boots for looks rather than comfort, and was yet to realise the second of the great pleasures boots like this could give. The first, of course, was the moment after you'd put them on, when those extra few inches made you feel ten foot tall and radiating more power than the entire Seelie court.
The second was taking them off. He unzipped the boots, keeping his eyes on Mark's face as he pulled them off and dropped him by the bed. Mark's eyes closed briefly, pleasure/pain apparent as he wriggled his toes and the blood flowed back into them. It was a shame to get rid of the stockings, but needs must when the devil has his feet in your lap, so Aerael disappeared Marks clothes. Mark barely even noticed. He went back on his elbows, almost buckling, as Aerael started to massage the sole.
"Ah! That's good, pet," Mark purred. "Oh, you don't know how good that feels."
"Yeah? Say that to someone who hasn't spent whole nights in six-inch heels," Aerael said. Mark was melting on the bed, normal lust softened with something warmer, closer to love. It was rare enough that Aerael almost changed his mind about the punishment. He
"You know what I want," Aerael said, smiling cheerfully.
Mark gave him a curious look. "Well, yes. Sex, pain, rough, affectionate, tongues, whips, oral sex, kissing, biting, sucking, fucking, holding, topping, bottoming, hands only, hands bound… You'll need to be a little more specific, pet."
Aerael rolled his eyes. "Something that'll be a proper punishment for you as well as a reward for me for putting up with you. Something that appeals to me as much as it disturbs you. Something peppy." he said the last word with the same relish Mark normally put into words like "hostile take-over" and "bloody sacrifice".
Mark stared at him, face expressionless, for about thirty seconds before speaking. "I'm not wearing the cheerleader's outfit."
"You will," Aerael said. He kept massaging Mark's feet, amused by the warring signals he could feel in Mark.
"What is your obsession with that thing anyway?" Mark said, managing a good impression of pacing around the room, while still sitting on the bed with his feet in Aerael's lap. "Beyond the obvious desire to humiliate me, I mean. Neither of us ever went to high school, neither of us had any real exposure to cheerleaders. Apart from when we ran into one when out looking for a meal," he added before Aerael could interrupt. "It probably won't even fit me now I'm a female." He ran his hand over his breasts and hips with a certain self-satisfied gesture.
"It's iconic," Aerael said. He dropped Mark's left foot to concentrate on his right. "The image of lust, wholesome and whorish at the same time. Like a catholic school girl uniform, it's the focus of so much desire, so much obsession. And it's stretch, so it might be a bit tight, but you'll still be able to get into it."
Mark honestly didn't mean to pout, but it came out anyway. "I am not the cheerleader type."
"It wouldn't be as fun if you were," Aerael said. He dropped both feet on the bed, moved closer to Mark and stroked his cheek with the back of his hand. Mark half closed his eyes and tilted his head, both hands coming up hold Aerael's hand in place while he rubbed his cheek on it in a way that gave Aerael flashbacks to Discovery Channel programmes about cats and scent marking.
"What about your other half? When am I going to get to play with her? You know Bonnie might change me back the moment I look like I'm enjoying myself. We may not have much time." He turned his head and kissed Aerael's knuckles quickly before dropping his hands. "And you know you'd look much better in the costume than me."
"That wouldn't be much of a punishment, would it?" Aerael said dryly.
"You could have a whip," Mark said, a little too quickly.
Aerael's eyes glinted. "You'd like that, would you? Tell you what, we have a nice round of naughty cheerleader, just for me to check your limits, before we go on to anything more."
"I'm not weak, Aerael," Mark objected. "As I believe I've already proven, so..."
"Didn't say you were," Aerael said, holding a hand over Mark's mouth to stop his speech, pressing just enough that Mark was forced to tilt his head back, exposing his neck. "But you don't know how this body deals with pain. Or damage. Permanent damage now might be permanent when you turn back." he bent his head and gave Mark a quick kiss on his exposed throat. "It's in the wardrobe. Get changed now or I'll dress you myself."
Mark stared at him. Aerael could almost se a dozen schemes being thought up and discarded, while a dozen revenges were carefully stored away for future reference, before Mark got up and headed towards the wardrobe. Aerael decided to help him by removing the rest of his outfit as he walked. Mark ignored the little magic working on him as he stalked over to the wardrobe, and threw the doors open so hard one of them banged into the wall.
The uniform was too small, and even as a woman, it didn't suit Mark. It stretched too tight across his chest and hips and the colours looked wrong, too bright against his skin. That didn't make it any less perfect that Aerael had finally got Mark into it.
Mark walked over to stand in front of Aerael, one eyebrow raised and carefully calculated expression of disdain gracing his face. Barefoot, he was short enough that Aerael could have tucked him under his chin and Aerael didn't bother resisting the urge to pat him on the head, even when Mark snapped his teeth and tried to bite his hand.
"Make up," he said cheerfully, holding up the bag he'd got when Mark was getting changed. "And your hair... Ah, you can leave that out."
"Thank you," Mark said, bowing with enough sarcasm to sink a small armada. Aerael caught his chin when he came up, held it still and started to apply lip-gloss. Mark's tongue flicked out and he made a face. "Cherry flavour, really Aerael..."
"Hold still, you don't want me to smudge the mascara," Aerael said. "And.. there." He stepped back with a satisfied nod. "The natural look, wholesome yet accessible."
He stood behind and slightly to the side of Mark, stroking along his spine and watching the way he shivered when Aerael touched him low, at the base, and between the shoulder blades, before finishing with his hand holding Mark's nape in a light grip. He pressed down, slowly but relentlessly, forcing Mark to bend over at the waist. He didn't know what to do with his hand so he braced them on his thighs.
Aerael stood back and admired the sight, flipping Mark's skirt up over his waist. "Very pretty," he said approvingly. "You've been a bad girl, Mara."
Mark squashed his body's instinctive response to Aerael's tone. "Really, you are mining the clichés today, aren't you? Couldn't you think of something a little less so- Oh!" He let out a small cry as Aerael's hand connected with his butt and had to take a step forwards to stop himself from falling over.
"Keep still," Aerael ordered. "If you can't hold position I'll have to make you." He brought his hand down again and this time Markkas was prepared, jumping a little, but not stumbling.
The pain was no greater than anything Aerael had given him in the past, but the sense of vulnerability was so strong that he almost wanted to move away from it. He didn't, and was proud of his own strength of will, not buckling under the pain or the pleasure it brought. His hair acted like blinkers and he could barely hear anything over the sound of his own breathing. Already he wanted more, wanted Aerael to grab him by the hips and pull him back onto him without warning, wanted to drop to his knees and use his mouth on Aerael until Aerael forgot to be careful of his new form and dug sharp nails into Mark's scalp without thinking. Aerael put his free hand on Mark's bare midriff, not supporting him at all, but feeling each harsh intake of breath.
"I should record this, if Bonnie isn't doing that already, show it to my friends," Aerael said, his voice a low counterpoint to the harsh, sharp sound of his hand hitting Mark. "Everyone would see you, like this. Do you think they'd figure out who you are? Figure out what you're really..."
"Bastardbastardbastardbastard Aerael, please..." Mark said, gasping, wishing the warm hand on his stomach would move lower or higher or something, anything.
"What did I say?" Aerael said. He pulled Mark upright up the neck and kissed him, one hand on his butt pushing him closer, up on his tiptoes. Mark brought his hands around Aerael's neck, half-climbing on Aerael. Aerael walked backwards around the side of the bed and Mark followed him blindly. Mark was vaguely aware of Aerael rummaging through one of the drawers with his free hand and a hundred speculative fantasies ran through his head before being cut off by the sound of Aerael throwing something onto the bed.
Mark looked at the handcuffs tossed on the bed in front of him. They were not part of the arsenal Aerael commonly used with him. Iron or no, they were simply too weak to be able to hold him, and besides, Markkas preferred the feel of something less suburban. Heavy chains and manacles from Eeorlking's army surplus store, or antique high-class prisoner's cuffs, iron covered with delicately patterned leather to prevent a precious hostage from being damaged.
Still, they went with the outfit, erotica kitsch.
"To one of the bedposts," Aerael said, one gesture taking in the bedposts, the handcuffs and Mark. Mark hesitated, shrugged, slipped a cuff on one wrist, looped it round a bedpost and secured it on the other. He gave an experimental tug. There was no iron burn, but they dug into his wrists pleasantly when he strained against them. Although not a perfect fit and sized for a man, he'd probably have to dislocate a thumb or something to slip out of them.
Aerael's hand was on the back of his neck again, pushing him down and this time he held onto the bedpost as he bent over. The first set of slaps on his already tender rump made him inhale sharply. Aerael stopped and moved around to face him, bending down and touching Mark's face with a heated palm, before holding it up in front of him. It was already red.
"See? I think this is hurting me as much as it hurts you," he said.
"Promise?" Mark said, baring his teeth in what wasn't a smile.
Aerael rested his hand on mark's shoulder before disappearing around mark's side. Mark bent his head to follow the movement, only to be stopped by that firm hand holding it straight ahead.
Then Aerael was stroking his cheeks with the tips of his fingers, cool lines being drawn against the heat. His other hand reappeared on Mark's belly, flirting around the waistband. Mark bit his lip an concentrated on not moving. The hand moved up, under the stretchy, too-tight top, and Mark's head went down without him meaning too, watching as those clever fingers stroked his breasts, pushed the top up so one was exposed and reminded Mark that they had another purpose, other than controlling the minds of those less blest.
"Head up!" Aerael snapped, the hand disappearing and immediately followed by a sharp pull on Markkas's hair. he felt him move position, but didn't look to confirm it, and held back a sigh of relief when he felt both hands, warm and cool, moving up his thighs.
Oh! Nothing new, Iolaus had done this, and Aerael's sibling wasn't exactly an amateur in the heavy petting front, but it was just more, now. Maybe it was the burn from the spanking, or the previous rough fuck, or maybe even the costume, but if Markkas was going to be honest, he'd admit that everything was always better with Aerael. That little bit more intense, that little bit more everything, and clever fingers were in danger of making his knees buckle, clever fingers and cleverer thumbs and he didn't notice when two hands became one, but he sure as hell noticed when that free hand came down with a smack loud enough to cover Mark's immediate cry. And that was perfect, and torture, genuine pain making it strangely easier to accept the sweeter work of those fingers on him, inside him. Wonderful fingers, bastard fingers, making it harder to stand, soft and gentle while Aerael slapped him, harder and harder and...
And then there was nothing. Mark held his breath, waiting for the next blow, but it never came. His shoulders shook and his legs and back ached enough to be noticeable, even with the pain making him burn with need. He started to straighten up, something made more difficult by the handcuffs. He stepped forwards, so his hand fell down by his waist on the other side of the bedpost and looked around.
Aerael was leaning against a wall, watching Markkas and holding something Mark couldn't see in his hand. "I was thinking, a cheerleader isn't really a cheerleader if she doesn't cheer." He held up a handful of silver metal things, a few loose chains falling out of his hand. "And I've got a few toys to make it more interesting."
tbc
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and what a tease it is. cheerleader!mark, spanking, and oooh, aerael is really enjoying this too much. good boy.
erotica kitsch
*grins* i like that.
you know mark is so going to try to get him back for this, no matter how much, in the end, he enjoys it. =)
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(I've got one more part on this fic, I reckon, and then one very short sequel ficlet, which'll be pretty Aerael-centric.)
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