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Olivier's Stiletto

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Olivier slowly traced a hand up the inside Edward’s thigh, feeling his soft legs shake as he let out a quiet moan. He tossed his head to the left, his golden hair spilling over her sheets, framing the black tie wrapped around his molten coin eyes. His voice was as thick as honey dripping into her ears, persuading her on, and at once she dug in her clawed, night blue nails, forcing his deliciously thick legs further apart as she leant over him. His own hands fisted in her comforter, his fingers grabbing for something to ground himself with.

For a moment, she merely remained there, watching the rise and fall of his chest with in unsteady breaths. He squirmed beneath her, not in any particular direction, knowing better than to attempt to satisfy himself while staying in her domain.

Finally, she spoke, arching her back to bend right over the burst of fluffy, curly hair protecting his mound. Her warm breaths puffed against his folds with her every word.

“You’ve avoided returning to Fort Briggs for quite some time, Elric,” she accused.

Edward shivered, and she smirked, removing her right hand from his leg to reach up and tenderly cup a small breast. She ran her thumb along the curve of his nipple, close but unsatisfying.

“Were you trying to avoid me? Are you scared?”

There was no response, but the sharp curl of Edward’s toes into her back was telling enough. She let out a low chuckle, then slid her hand away, down Edward’s pliant, waiting body, feeling the now-softer stomach that the boy presented her with.

She plunged in, licking a strip from his hole to his clit, thickly lavishing his vulva with the wide, flat middle of her tongue, curling the tip up before pulling away again. A string of either saliva or vaginal juices dripped down her chin. She raised her hand to it, catching it, then held it above her in the light, considering. She looked back down at Edward to see him panting, straining to keep from bucking up towards her.

“Slut,” she accused. She then drew herself up to her full height to continue, spreading her own legs to put weight onto his.

“You’re a slut, Edward Elric. You run from place to place, nation to nation, spreading your legs to your superiors and to civilians alike, always searching for your own pleasure and alchemical information.”

She threw her head back with a cruel laugh, patting the inside of Edward’s other thigh.

“You’ve probably whored yourself out for information, haven’t you?” she asked, before sliding down again, all the way up over his body, leaning in to speak into his ear. In a whisper, she commanded, “You won’t be doing so here. At Briggs, permanent exchanges require permanent offerings.”

She drew up, watching as Edward’s body tried to rise up with her, held back only by his own fists in her sheets and the knowledge that were he to disobey her, their session would immediately end.

The boy - no, she reminded herself, now the man - had done remarkably well so far, managing to stay in much longer without falling to desperation than he had last time she’d taken him into her bed.

The thought was immensely satisfying.

Leaning over the side of her bed, she reached out for a tiny bottle of oil, opening the cap.

“Hold out your hands,” she ordered.

Slowly, Edward obeyed, reluctantly releasing the balled up sheets from his fists and turning over his hands, though they remained at his side.

Impatient, Olivier huffed, grabbing at them and pulling him up into a sitting position, adjusting them so that they outer sides of his palms met. Then, she tipped the small, brown  glass bottle, watching as clear fluid dripped from its opening into his hands.

Seeming to realize what it was for, Edward moaned again, leaning forwards, though his hands remained thankfully in position. Olivier smirked again.

Yes, this was a huge improvement.

A sudden thought, though, stilled her. It was an idea, and a wondrously arousing idea at that. She grinded down into her mattress at the thought, then, deciding to follow it, rose to her knee, dragging her still-shoed foot over her comforter.

The stilettos were simple and white, allowing full coverage of her foot, made of a soft leather material uptop and a covered base beneath. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, then sat back, bending one knee and raising the other up to brush the tip of her toes beneath the shoe against Edward’s fingers.

“Coat it,” she ordered, her voice thankfully still as strong and relentless as the mountain leopard she drew strength from personifying.

Temporarily confused again, Edward felt around the shoe, trying to figure out just what he was holding. Then, a bright flush spread across his face and shoulders as he realized just what she meant to stick inside of him.

“Is there a problem?” she asked, as he fumbled.

He shook his head jerkily from side to side, still with that rosy flush over his heavily sun-tanned skin. His nipples were perky in the air, though whether it was from his arousal or the cold remained a mystery. It could easily, she decided, be both, and that’s how she’d best want it.

However, asking could bring about more of his shamed flustering…

“Are you cold?” she prodded.

He flushed harder, his fingers curling around the base of her foot.

Well, then.

She supposed that that answered that question.

Next time, I’ll prepare ice for him.

With a jolt, she realized what she’d thought. To prepare for a partner… especially one such as him, was incredibly uncommon of her, as she preferred to merely see how things would progress naturally. However, surprised, she found that she still wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea. In fact, it rather furthered her excitement.

Trailing a finger down her soft crease, she found her own pussy wetter than the fountains of Central.

Would you look at that? she wondered. Who would’ve thought that Elric could bend enough for this?

She drew her foot away, smoothly slipping off of her bed to stand on the floor, then grasped Edward’s legs, dragging him down with her. He yelped in shock, then tried to resist, then finally allowed her to push him to the ground.

“On your hands and knees,” she ordered, her voice cold. Then, reconsidering, she added, “ass up.”

Edward hurried to do as bid, rolling over and resting his lips against his forearms, arching his back to present his behind to her every whim. Only half impressed by his display, she raised her lube-slicked foot, not-so-gently kicking his right cheek and then pressing the tip in.

His breaths came fast and hard, his head falling further even though she’d yet to deliver any pleasure but for the lick.

“You will remain in this position unless otherwise ordered, and you will not disobey me again. Do I make myself clear?”

She dug the pointed toe of her stiletto in harder. It would undoubtedly leave a bruise for later. Edward gave a short nod of his head.

“And you do remember your safeword?” she questioned, just to be clear.

He nodded again.

Satisfied, she repealed her shoe. Edward let out a relieved sigh.

Miffed, she curled it under his torso beneath his cunt, pressing now upwards as though to lift him off of the ground. He moaned, caught between pressing down onto it and allowing her to raise him higher.

“Spread your legs further, whore,” she ordered.

Edward obediently spread them for her, a string of clear liquid dripping from his core onto her shoe. Her breath caught at the sight, and she dragged her toes back along between the inner lips of his vulva, watching, enraptured, as his spine pressed down further, his thighs clenching as he fought not to follow it.

Then, she slowly pressed the tip of her shoe inside of him, pushing into his sheath.

His inner walls contracted around her foot, clenching and releasing as his body tried to adjust.

Slowly, she ordered herself. Take it slowly for the boy.

Opening one up for her size-nine foot could hardly be classified as a fun time, though Edward took it like a champ, moaning and rocking back to try and take her in deeper. She could only imagine how it must feel, the rougher materials of her stiletto rubbing gloriously against his muscles.

“Guhh- hhaaahn, ” Edward moaned into his arms, burying his face deeper into them as though to hide from his shame, the bright red tips of his ears poking through strands of shiny golden hair.

“Do you like it?” she asked. “Do you like the feeling of a General’s shoe sliding into you? Knowing that it’s adorning the feet,” she ground her shoe in hard, the platform of her foot disappearing into his pussy, “of your superior? Do you agree that that’s where you belong, on the floor before me with my shoe inside of your pussy, the foot of a woman satisfying you better than the dick of another man ever could?”

Okay, so maybe, just maybe , she was a little bit envious of General Mustang. The man did, after all, have Edward on his team full-time, which undoubtedly lead to all sorts of sexy scenarios with the lascivious young man.

“Y-yes,” Edward groaned, and that, that right there , begged her pause.

She hadn’t ordered the boy not to speak, never planned on it, but that had been unexpected. Most tended to assume it to be a silent agreement, though she begged to differ, and now could assume that Edward did as well: when fueling the scene, his words were tremendously welcomed.

All at once, she pushed the rest of her shoe in up to the heel, adjusting the position of it so that its golden tip pressed against Edward’s clit. He howled, his shoulder blades stretching outwards as he curled his back upwards, raising his head, his biceps straining.

For a moment, all was still, Edward fluttering around her, his body jolting as little spots of pleasure flickered throughout his being. Then, she began to pull her foot out, only to slam it back into place. He grunted, his body following along with it, and he stilled himself.

In and out, in and out, she pressed, watching as his juices trailed down along the heel of her shoe. Elbows rough against the floor, Edward, sobbed, tears leaking from his eyes with every dragging stroke.

Finally his body convulsed around her foot, his once-more shaking legs spreading impossibly further, so much so that he would’ve probably collapsed without her foot inside of him, holding him up. She slowly withdrew it, bending down to place a hand under his body, lowering him to the floor before gathering him in her arms by his chest, hoisting him back up onto her bed and gently removing his blindfold.

He blinked up at her a few times, trying to regain his senses, his eyes blown dark.

Tenderly, she brushed away liquid from above his cheek. He looked up at her, his eyes wide and confused.

Leaning over the other side of her bed, she grasped a fluffy white robe, gently pushing him up from his lower back again to envelope him in it. She smiled softly as she worked, covering one side with the other before tying it in place.

“Why?” he started to ask, before she gently hushed him with a finger over his lips.

“Shh,” she shushed him, gently pushing him back down onto her bed. In a much softer voice, at least in her opinion, she informed, “I’ve got a pair of slippers in the closet if you need them, and can have some warmer, fleece pajamas delivered to your dorm if you desire.”

She relaxed into the bed beside him, raising only one arm to stroke through his hair, letting out a pleased noise at the softness.

His brow furrowed. After a moment, he turned his head to her.

“But… why?” he again inquired.

She closed her eyes, taking a moment to consider her answer. Then, she opened them, saying:

“At Briggs, we take care of our partners right after kinky sex, survival of the fittest be damned.”

As if only just realizing how he’d relinquished his control to her, he nodded, turning his head back up to look at her ceiling some more.

His voice was dry, as if unused, when he said, “You didn’t cum.”

She’d have to remember to have a night patrol guard leave a glass of water inside of his dorm for him.

She laughed, pinching his cheek between her fingers. He grit his teeth.

“Don’t worry about it tonight. Call it charity, or a ‘welcome back’ gift.”

He pouted.

“Fort Briggs doesn’t give those,” he whined.

She pinched harder.

“Is that a complaint?”

“No, ma’am!” he quickly answered, almost sitting up to salute his attention.

She stared at him for a moment, incredulous, then laughed harder, turning into her sheets to muffle the sound. He blinked at her, confused, as if to ask, what the hell?

She then sat up, shaking her head.

“They’ve properly trained you to be a military dog,” she commented.

He flushed again, glancing to the side. A smug smile played across her face.


“I, uh… yeah…,” he murmured, briefly meeting her eyes then immediately looking away again.

How interesting. So, then, Mustang has been training him further.

“Don’t mumble when talking to your superior,” she scolded.