Fic: "Cheap in plastic heels"
Jun. 5th, 2010 01:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cyusTitle: Cheap in plastic heels
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Length: 2100 words
Summary: I like to tart you up in lipstick, but only after your face is tear-stained.
Notes: Probably for kink_bingo, "humiliation (verbal)" square, but mostly an experiment at writing porn.
Something more beautiful would be you in a dress or you in a pair of lacy knickers, but the bra is doing it for the moment. The bra and the red flush on your chest underneath, your downturned face all red and the first shine of wetness on your cheeks. You're naked and barefoot, only wearing that one piece of clothing that makes you so pretty. You clench your fingers into fists at your side. I want you to suck me with the lips I haven't tarted up yet, mostly because I'm not sure the lipstick would add to the display or take away from it and maybe because you'd look better if I painted you red when your lips are swollen from the blowjob and you're out of breath.
I clear my throat. "The eye shadow," I say, and point at the green glitter I set out on the desk. Eye shadow, mascara, and then a pair of pointy cheap heels.
You inhale sharply, dick twitching against your thigh. I slide a hand into my trousers, close my fingers around my cock and jerk myself to your hitching breaths and the cute little glances you give me through your lashes. You tremble. It starts in your shoulders and moves down the fingers you clench.
I lean back in my chair. "Come on," I say and pitch my voice low. "I've seen you play with it."
You let out a sob and take that one step closer to the desk, reach out a shaking hand for the tiniest brush and the flaky powder that spreads itself over your fingers as you try to open the small lid, nearly drop it altogether. You hold the brush in one hand and the case in the other, and look up at me with a flickering, fleeting glance, away again. The movement slides one of the straps off your shoulder. I lean forward and push it up again, the movement pressing the ball of my hand to the base of my cock in delicious pressure.
I can't resist your face, can't resist brushing the tears away that cling to your lashes and roll down your cheeks as you blink.
"Jack," you say, and your half-choked sob gets lost in the palm of my hand as you turn your face into it.
I tighten my fingers on my cock, jerk myself slowly inside my briefs, precome sticking to fabric and my fingers, and your eyes track the movement of my arm, shrinking away when I trail my fingers down your face and to your chest, tracing the line of your bra, pull at the hair on your chest. Your nipples are tight underneath the stretched fabric, perking the white lace up.
"Eyeshadow," I remind you before I move my hand to your dick and stroke it just once to remind you that you're hard for me, and hard for this.
"I need a mirror," you murmur, just under your breath.
I push your foreskin back and rub my thumb over your exposed cockhead. You jerk into the touch and back when I squeeze at the head. I laugh. I don't want a girl, and you're so pretty when your skin flushes a deeper shade of red under the white bra. "Bathroom," I say and reach down to unbutton my trousers, only to give myself a little more room, draw my cock out through the side of my briefs and stroke myself in full view of you. You can't take your eyes off me. Your dick is hard and twitches with every beat of your heart, every hurried inhalation.
"You're my pretty girl," I tell you, and your eyes glitter up to meet mine and then they turn for the floor again. "No, look at me." You do, reluctantly, and your eyes are wet. "You'll wear the bra under your clothes tomorrow, that one line of extra fabric, and every single one of them will see it." You sob, and I squeeze myself, jerk into my own touch and let out a little surprised laugh. Only you would do that to me. "I'll make you carry your lipstick and eyeshadow, and after the meeting I'll tell you to pretty yourself up at the boardroom table." Your hand goes to your dick, then jerks quickly back, and your fingers clench to fists again. "And you'll get it out and I'll ask you to unbutton your shirt so they'll all see what's underneath. You want to be admired."
You're coming apart in front of me, shoulders shaking and heaving and the hot tears that pool between your lips. You pull up your nose, rub it on your shoulder.
"Go get the mirror," I say. "Like that." It's your lucky day that the others are home, but if I'd asked you'd have done it even then and been hard throughout all of it, Gwen's gasps and Owen's jeers and Tosh's pleading. You're thinking of it now as you glance at the dark Hub beyond my office door. I reach for the heels and hold them up. They're hot red and will match your lipstick.
You shake your head.
"Ianto, it's not that fucking hard," I say, and you swallow your sob and then reach for them, drop them as you fumble them and only check for disapproval for a moment before you slip into them and stand up straight, a good four inches taller and a bit wobblier, but you're standing, cock bobbing in time to your shakes. "The mirror," I remind you.
You turn, take too big a step and have to catch your balance. Your balls hang long between your legs still, and if this wasn't now I'd be there and tongue them for hours after you've come, when you jerk from every smallest touch, and I'd make you take it.
You turn to look over your shoulder you step into the darkness of the Hub. I lean back in my chair and watch you wobble forward, jerk myself at the sight of the clasp in the middle of your back, the bra cutting into the skin where it goes around your sides. I reach for the mouse with sticky fingers, a few clicks and as you are halfway through the Hub, just passing the water tower, the flights flare on and you stand there and look at me, just you, on display, in the middle of it all.
It's only you. You hurry on as much as you can and I leave you to it, close my eyes and listen to your steps on the metal walkway as I imagine the chafing of the bra on your skin, the small hitching sobs and the swing of your hard cock, the draft of air on your exposed skin. You're doing it only for me, and you're beautiful at it. I love you even more when you cry, and you do when you come back, walking on heels you've never worn before, the small handheld mirror in your hand.
You exhale hard when you step back into the office and I turn off the light in the main Hub, giving you the illusion of privacy, of it being only us and this being something private. You breathe through your mouth, your nose stuffed with snot from your crying. You set the mirror down and pick the eye shadow back up, leaning forward to apply it without further prompting, but I slide the mirror away and relish your surprise squeak, the surprise freeze, the caught breath.
Then I hold up the mirror next to my face. "Now do it," I say.
You look at me, blink once and more tears roll down your face. Your hips twitch with arousal and I squeeze my cock in response, breathe in time with your shaky, uneven breaths as I jerk myself.
You lean forward and you paint your eyelids. The powder drags where your lids are wet and my thumb doesn't help, smudging at the edges.
"Now you look more the cheap little whore after a long night out," I say, when I drag some of the colour down past the corner of your eye, then apply your mascara myself and smudge it through your tears. "Stick out your tongue."
You do, trembling, hot air coming from your mouth as you breathe through it. I wipe my finger on your tongue, "Suck," and it must taste bitter from the look on your face, but you suck obediently, spit sliding from your lips around my finger and down the side of your mouth. I spread my thumb up against the roof of your mouth and your lips open and shove my fingers inside until the tips hit the back of your throat. You retch on them, the flutter of your throat as I hold my hand just there, your body convulsing. "Take it." Your fingers are white as they hold onto the desk, and your dick is hard where you press it against the surface, humping my desk. I slip my fingers out, let you catch your breath for a beat and then push them in again, holding them there.
"You're so pretty," I say as you cry over your smudged mascara, cough against the intrusion into your throat. "Take it, take it all." And I try to push deeper, and you try to pull away but I drag my hand from my cock, and sticky with precome, clasp it behind your head, thread my fingers into your hair, and I keep you just there for a moment longer.
Then I slip my hand out of your mouth and leave you coughing and panting for air, and eyes so wet, but my fingers fist harder into your hair and pull you around the desk and to your knees. You know what's coming because you've done this before. I drag your mouth to my cock, and my cock slips into you.
"Just a sweet wet hole, you like sucking my cock, don't you, Ianto. You're waiting for it when you come in every morning, just waiting to drop to your knees and wrap your pretty little lips around my cock. And you're waiting for it again before you go home, because you can't sleep without it." I thrust my hips up and force my cock into your throat because you like it there and because your eyes are so wide, so blown. You're jerking yourself and I tap against your ball with my boot. The sound you make opens your throat just a little more and I slip deeper. "Such a good cocksucker," I praise and move your head up and down on my cock. "Come on, make yourself come while choking on my dick."
You make sounds but they're only the erotic background porn noise, not real syllables or sounds. "You live for my cock, live to take it, live to be tarted up by me because you like it, don't you? You like being my dirty little whore."
My balls draw up tight and I pull out. One hand in your hair, I jerk myself with the other, just wanting to come now while you're pulling at your puny little dick as if it would do anything. "Just my little whore," I say, and two, three more pulls and I'm coming on your face and hair, thick gloopy pulses that run down the side of your face, over your eye and I smear it with your make up. "So pretty," I pant through the aftermath and you look up at me, eyes wide open as you watch me watching you, watch me smearing come into your hair.
"How does it feel?" I ask, laughing as I trace a heart in semen onto your cheek.
You avert your eyes and bow your head, and I clean my cock in your hair, then pull your head up to shove it, half-soft into your mouth again and you suck, like a good little boy. "How does it feel?" I ask again, and you gurgle around my cock, fingers flying on your own dick.
I pull out and reach over for the lipstick, screw it out, and then I paint your swollen, wide, wet lips in whore-red, and, your mouth open, you let me while you're frantically trying to come. "Now you're really pretty," I say and press an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, smearing the lipstick over half your chin.
I smile and push you back as I stand and tuck myself back into my briefs and trousers, tightening my belt. I pull a ten pound note from my pocket and throw it down in front of you. It lands in a puddle of come and and spit and maybe even your tears. A few clicks and the lights turn off. "Clean up before you leave," I throw over my shoulder before I climb down to my bunk.
You're never prettier than when you're this hot, and my cock twitches again as I listen to you moan your way through your orgasm upstairs.
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Length: 2100 words
Summary: I like to tart you up in lipstick, but only after your face is tear-stained.
Notes: Probably for kink_bingo, "humiliation (verbal)" square, but mostly an experiment at writing porn.
Something more beautiful would be you in a dress or you in a pair of lacy knickers, but the bra is doing it for the moment. The bra and the red flush on your chest underneath, your downturned face all red and the first shine of wetness on your cheeks. You're naked and barefoot, only wearing that one piece of clothing that makes you so pretty. You clench your fingers into fists at your side. I want you to suck me with the lips I haven't tarted up yet, mostly because I'm not sure the lipstick would add to the display or take away from it and maybe because you'd look better if I painted you red when your lips are swollen from the blowjob and you're out of breath.
I clear my throat. "The eye shadow," I say, and point at the green glitter I set out on the desk. Eye shadow, mascara, and then a pair of pointy cheap heels.
You inhale sharply, dick twitching against your thigh. I slide a hand into my trousers, close my fingers around my cock and jerk myself to your hitching breaths and the cute little glances you give me through your lashes. You tremble. It starts in your shoulders and moves down the fingers you clench.
I lean back in my chair. "Come on," I say and pitch my voice low. "I've seen you play with it."
You let out a sob and take that one step closer to the desk, reach out a shaking hand for the tiniest brush and the flaky powder that spreads itself over your fingers as you try to open the small lid, nearly drop it altogether. You hold the brush in one hand and the case in the other, and look up at me with a flickering, fleeting glance, away again. The movement slides one of the straps off your shoulder. I lean forward and push it up again, the movement pressing the ball of my hand to the base of my cock in delicious pressure.
I can't resist your face, can't resist brushing the tears away that cling to your lashes and roll down your cheeks as you blink.
"Jack," you say, and your half-choked sob gets lost in the palm of my hand as you turn your face into it.
I tighten my fingers on my cock, jerk myself slowly inside my briefs, precome sticking to fabric and my fingers, and your eyes track the movement of my arm, shrinking away when I trail my fingers down your face and to your chest, tracing the line of your bra, pull at the hair on your chest. Your nipples are tight underneath the stretched fabric, perking the white lace up.
"Eyeshadow," I remind you before I move my hand to your dick and stroke it just once to remind you that you're hard for me, and hard for this.
"I need a mirror," you murmur, just under your breath.
I push your foreskin back and rub my thumb over your exposed cockhead. You jerk into the touch and back when I squeeze at the head. I laugh. I don't want a girl, and you're so pretty when your skin flushes a deeper shade of red under the white bra. "Bathroom," I say and reach down to unbutton my trousers, only to give myself a little more room, draw my cock out through the side of my briefs and stroke myself in full view of you. You can't take your eyes off me. Your dick is hard and twitches with every beat of your heart, every hurried inhalation.
"You're my pretty girl," I tell you, and your eyes glitter up to meet mine and then they turn for the floor again. "No, look at me." You do, reluctantly, and your eyes are wet. "You'll wear the bra under your clothes tomorrow, that one line of extra fabric, and every single one of them will see it." You sob, and I squeeze myself, jerk into my own touch and let out a little surprised laugh. Only you would do that to me. "I'll make you carry your lipstick and eyeshadow, and after the meeting I'll tell you to pretty yourself up at the boardroom table." Your hand goes to your dick, then jerks quickly back, and your fingers clench to fists again. "And you'll get it out and I'll ask you to unbutton your shirt so they'll all see what's underneath. You want to be admired."
You're coming apart in front of me, shoulders shaking and heaving and the hot tears that pool between your lips. You pull up your nose, rub it on your shoulder.
"Go get the mirror," I say. "Like that." It's your lucky day that the others are home, but if I'd asked you'd have done it even then and been hard throughout all of it, Gwen's gasps and Owen's jeers and Tosh's pleading. You're thinking of it now as you glance at the dark Hub beyond my office door. I reach for the heels and hold them up. They're hot red and will match your lipstick.
You shake your head.
"Ianto, it's not that fucking hard," I say, and you swallow your sob and then reach for them, drop them as you fumble them and only check for disapproval for a moment before you slip into them and stand up straight, a good four inches taller and a bit wobblier, but you're standing, cock bobbing in time to your shakes. "The mirror," I remind you.
You turn, take too big a step and have to catch your balance. Your balls hang long between your legs still, and if this wasn't now I'd be there and tongue them for hours after you've come, when you jerk from every smallest touch, and I'd make you take it.
You turn to look over your shoulder you step into the darkness of the Hub. I lean back in my chair and watch you wobble forward, jerk myself at the sight of the clasp in the middle of your back, the bra cutting into the skin where it goes around your sides. I reach for the mouse with sticky fingers, a few clicks and as you are halfway through the Hub, just passing the water tower, the flights flare on and you stand there and look at me, just you, on display, in the middle of it all.
It's only you. You hurry on as much as you can and I leave you to it, close my eyes and listen to your steps on the metal walkway as I imagine the chafing of the bra on your skin, the small hitching sobs and the swing of your hard cock, the draft of air on your exposed skin. You're doing it only for me, and you're beautiful at it. I love you even more when you cry, and you do when you come back, walking on heels you've never worn before, the small handheld mirror in your hand.
You exhale hard when you step back into the office and I turn off the light in the main Hub, giving you the illusion of privacy, of it being only us and this being something private. You breathe through your mouth, your nose stuffed with snot from your crying. You set the mirror down and pick the eye shadow back up, leaning forward to apply it without further prompting, but I slide the mirror away and relish your surprise squeak, the surprise freeze, the caught breath.
Then I hold up the mirror next to my face. "Now do it," I say.
You look at me, blink once and more tears roll down your face. Your hips twitch with arousal and I squeeze my cock in response, breathe in time with your shaky, uneven breaths as I jerk myself.
You lean forward and you paint your eyelids. The powder drags where your lids are wet and my thumb doesn't help, smudging at the edges.
"Now you look more the cheap little whore after a long night out," I say, when I drag some of the colour down past the corner of your eye, then apply your mascara myself and smudge it through your tears. "Stick out your tongue."
You do, trembling, hot air coming from your mouth as you breathe through it. I wipe my finger on your tongue, "Suck," and it must taste bitter from the look on your face, but you suck obediently, spit sliding from your lips around my finger and down the side of your mouth. I spread my thumb up against the roof of your mouth and your lips open and shove my fingers inside until the tips hit the back of your throat. You retch on them, the flutter of your throat as I hold my hand just there, your body convulsing. "Take it." Your fingers are white as they hold onto the desk, and your dick is hard where you press it against the surface, humping my desk. I slip my fingers out, let you catch your breath for a beat and then push them in again, holding them there.
"You're so pretty," I say as you cry over your smudged mascara, cough against the intrusion into your throat. "Take it, take it all." And I try to push deeper, and you try to pull away but I drag my hand from my cock, and sticky with precome, clasp it behind your head, thread my fingers into your hair, and I keep you just there for a moment longer.
Then I slip my hand out of your mouth and leave you coughing and panting for air, and eyes so wet, but my fingers fist harder into your hair and pull you around the desk and to your knees. You know what's coming because you've done this before. I drag your mouth to my cock, and my cock slips into you.
"Just a sweet wet hole, you like sucking my cock, don't you, Ianto. You're waiting for it when you come in every morning, just waiting to drop to your knees and wrap your pretty little lips around my cock. And you're waiting for it again before you go home, because you can't sleep without it." I thrust my hips up and force my cock into your throat because you like it there and because your eyes are so wide, so blown. You're jerking yourself and I tap against your ball with my boot. The sound you make opens your throat just a little more and I slip deeper. "Such a good cocksucker," I praise and move your head up and down on my cock. "Come on, make yourself come while choking on my dick."
You make sounds but they're only the erotic background porn noise, not real syllables or sounds. "You live for my cock, live to take it, live to be tarted up by me because you like it, don't you? You like being my dirty little whore."
My balls draw up tight and I pull out. One hand in your hair, I jerk myself with the other, just wanting to come now while you're pulling at your puny little dick as if it would do anything. "Just my little whore," I say, and two, three more pulls and I'm coming on your face and hair, thick gloopy pulses that run down the side of your face, over your eye and I smear it with your make up. "So pretty," I pant through the aftermath and you look up at me, eyes wide open as you watch me watching you, watch me smearing come into your hair.
"How does it feel?" I ask, laughing as I trace a heart in semen onto your cheek.
You avert your eyes and bow your head, and I clean my cock in your hair, then pull your head up to shove it, half-soft into your mouth again and you suck, like a good little boy. "How does it feel?" I ask again, and you gurgle around my cock, fingers flying on your own dick.
I pull out and reach over for the lipstick, screw it out, and then I paint your swollen, wide, wet lips in whore-red, and, your mouth open, you let me while you're frantically trying to come. "Now you're really pretty," I say and press an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, smearing the lipstick over half your chin.
I smile and push you back as I stand and tuck myself back into my briefs and trousers, tightening my belt. I pull a ten pound note from my pocket and throw it down in front of you. It lands in a puddle of come and and spit and maybe even your tears. A few clicks and the lights turn off. "Clean up before you leave," I throw over my shoulder before I climb down to my bunk.
You're never prettier than when you're this hot, and my cock twitches again as I listen to you moan your way through your orgasm upstairs.
