It started off small, just girls’ underwear under the suit or masturbating into silk stockings wrapped around his cock. All the little steps in between hadn’t seemed to amount to much on their own.
Now there’s a routine to it. And he gets off on how weird it is, how wrong it feels. And how good.
He knows he’s got the night to himself. They had a long day, and Rude knows the code. “Wanna grab a beer?” means ‘I’m gonna get smashed and if you want to make sure I’m alive the next day, you might wanna come along.’ “I’m gonna cruise the town,” means ‘boy am I gonna have a story to tell you tomorrow.’ And “I’m just gonna chill at home,” means ‘don’t let anyone the fuck bother me.’
So Reno slips into his apartment, turns on a low lamp, and pulls off his goggles, always the first thing to come off. He checks the settings, the batteries, plugs them into the charger. Night vision goggles didn’t work so well when they were dead. Yes, he had learned that the hard way.
The shoes are kicked off into the corner.
The jacket slides down his arms, hangs on a doorknob.
Shirt flung over the back of the couch.
Trousers in a pile on the chair.
Underwear kicked into the bathroom.
Reno turns up the stereo, loud and heaving with some techno-teeny-pop.
He takes a shower, washes away the day. Sweat and tension and blood and hatred swirling down the drain.
The scent of berries diffuses the steam, saturating the air with sweetness as the pink foam runs silky smooth over his skin.
He’s already getting hard.
The music is suddenly loud again when he turns off the white noise of the running shower.
He drapes his fluffiest towel over his shoulders, wrings out his hair, takes his time running the towel all over. The bathroom is warm, he doesn’t feel a single chill as he stands naked, brushes his teeth. He blow-dries his hair, something he never has the patience for, so it still hangs damp down his back as he opens the door and steps into his bedroom, bare toes sinking into the plush carpet.
The four-poster bed beckons. Reno strips the top layer from the bed, practical blue cotton sheets and rough blanket rolled into a ragged ball and stuffed into the laundry hamper, revealing the red satin sheets beneath. He pulls the frilly pillows from the closet’s depths, sets them in a pile at the head of the bed and stretches the lacy white canopy across the posts. He lays naked on the smooth, smooth sheets, letting them caress his back as he gently strokes himself with a too-light touch of fingers. He barely brushes his nipples, which pull into peaks at the whispering contact.
He rolls off the bed and pulls the backpack out from underneath the dangling bed skirt. It’s a girl’s backpack, pink with white and yellow flowers patterned all over.
Reno kneels on the deep carpet and carefully unzips the plastic zipper. He pulls out pink underwear with lacy frills and his skin tingles all over as he stands and pulls them up his legs. He awkwardly pulls the panties over his hard cock, which comically stretches the material. He brushes a finger over himself as though to promise, later.
He smoothes the crisp white blouse out before slowly sliding it up his arms and doing up the little ivory buttons one by one.
The plaid skirt is pulled up legs naturally smooth, nearly hairless thanks to the dartboard of genetic fate. He pulls up the short metal zipper at his side and clips together the little hook at the top. He ensures the blouse is carefully tucked in and smoothes the neat little pleats over his thighs.
He sits on the edge of the bed to pull up the knee-high socks, white as bleach. He smiles as the socks roll up his legs, softening the defined musculature of his calves. He awkwardly pulls up his right leg, knee jutting into the air as he straps on the black patent Mary Jane. He repeats this with the other shoe and then stands, walking with an extra sway in his hips, to sit at the little desk. He removes the cover from the mirror, revealing his desk to be a vanity, and he retrieves his make-up kit from the bottom drawer. He leans forward.
The eyes are first, careful black lines to darken the edges. A hint of purple to bruise his eyelids. Mascara to lengthen the lashes.
A touch of blush, just a touch. Bubblegum pink.
And plenty of crimson to redden the lips.
Reno smiles as he pulls red hair together, clipping it in place to ride high on his head like a schoolgirl’s ponytail.
He almost comes when he lays back down on the bed, transformed, staring up at the frilly white canopy.
He wills himself to stillness, to internal quiet, to a gentle delirium that settles through his body like good whiskey.
When the edge wears off, leaving Reno with only a low burn, he draws one foot up, knee jutting into the air, skirt falling down to pool at the tops of his thighs and he fondles himself over the sleek, pink underwear.
Both hands move down to play, tracing the shape of his cock, the head peeking out off to one side, down to circle the balls in their sack, and further back to tap at the fabric over his hole, shoulders hunching up in order to reach.
His head drops back, digging into the pillows. With eyes closed, he sneaks one hand up to his waist, tugs the shirt from the band of his skirt, dances nimble fingers up his stomach to his torso to play with a sensitive, peaking nipple.
The other hand forgoes pretense, slipping under the elastic band of smooth panties to take himself in hand, pumping with altering touches on every stroke.
He knows his body too well and pulls away lest the party end too early.
Rolling to his side, Reno pulls a box from under the bed and flips the lid off. He sets the lube within easy reach, and dabs some across his fingers.
Both hands snake beneath the underwear again, slick and cool over his erection until he forces himself to retreat again.
The first toy is a vibrator, small and supple. A quick coating of lube is all it gets before Reno pulls at the elastic of his panties, trying to pull them down.
The pink underwear tangles about his knees, pinning them together.
Reno stifles a groan and lets the underwear stretch tight as he draws one knee toward his chest, reaching back with the toy to circle his hole with the slick tip, dipping it in just the tiniest bit as his cock leaks precum, staining the red sheets dark like roses in uneven blotches.
He draws a pillow between his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut as he sends the vibrator all the way in and turns it on. The buzzing permeates his pelvis and he thrusts toward the sheets, too smooth, providing only enough friction to tease.
One hand grips the sheets, the other manipulates the toy in and out, the strange vibrations like an unending sonic wave flowing through him, less like sex and more like a deep massage from the inside. Until he tilts it all too intentionally to brush his prostate. He yelps at that first contact but then holds back the noise as he rocks back and forth, teasing himself, stretching tight muscles, getting ready.
Reno croons to himself as he slips the toy out, turns it off, drops it – unthinking – on the floor.
He reaches for another vibrator, thicker, longer, pale purple. Far more obviously penis-shaped, and far more intimidating. A shaking hand gives it a generous coat of lube as Reno bites his lower lip and lifts his ass into the air, arching his back to reach behind him and slide the tool inside, inch by torturous inch, opening his body even further.
He puffs short, quick breaths into the pillows, sliding the rubber in and out. The pain recedes, pleasure increases. He slides it all the way in. Flips the switch.
The tip sways in a circle, performing some unnatural dance in his bowels, striking his prostate at every rotation.
Reno whimpers and whines, his whole body jerking uncontrollably. Sweat erupts over his flesh, pulling his skin to tingling gooseflesh. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end, his cock curls upward, pushing the skirt toward his belly.
The skin of his knees burns where the elastic of his panties cuts into him. His neck aches from his cheek pushing into the bed. Arms and shoulders throb from the unnatural position he maintains.
It’s all so good.
His shoes click together as he settles himself. This time he reaches between his legs to grasp the base of his toy, shallowly thrusting it deeper into his body, altering the direction of the circling tip with the touch of a button.
Wildness is a thing made of the present and of thoughtless abandon. Reno gives himself to it, his hips jerk, hand working at his ass, arm bracing himself.
It’s delicious in a way the tongue knows very little about.
He leaves the toy on as he pulls it out, sending himself into jerking fits of ecstasy, but he won’t come yet. Not yet.
The toy disappears. He reaches for another. Just a dildo, but large, very large, the color of chocolate, with a full set of balls that will slap his ass when he jams it home.
It’s like a tree limb forcing itself into him, except it’s Reno’s hand on the other end and he whines high-pitched as he pushes, the pain a red haze across the pleasure. His other hand shakes uncontrollably, his thighs clench together, quivering.
Still he pushes until the base of it rests up against his butt. He hyperventilates into the pillow, almost loses his balance; wetness drags mascara down his cheeks in dark, shimmering lines.
He twists the dildo, lets it retreat naturally, pushes it back in. In bare increments he does this, recovering a modicum of sanity, of control. The pain is enchanting even as it recedes, the pleasure taking over.
When the massive thing retreats, it leaves Reno empty and aching. When he advances it into the depths of his bowels, it’s an old and welcome intruder settling home.
Faster he goes, a steady crescendo, the rubber testicles bouncing against his ass with every thrust.
And through all of this toy play, he never touches his own cock, not once.
It’s hard work, this self-pleasure, and the pinnacle is near now, the flushing nirvana of release.
He’s so close.
Wait for it… wait for it.
And there it is: the same thought that sends him over every time. The same thought, the same moment, the same catalyst… Reno supposes some people would call it a fantasy. But it’s not that complex. It’s just a thought.
The thought that it’s not Reno alone in his room stuffing the biggest dildo he can find up his ass, not that, but Rude. Rude fucking him, Rude holding him, Rude clinging to him, curving over him and biting into a pale shoulder. It’s Rude fucking Reno, Reno with his schoolgirl skirt and painted lips and trembling limbs.
He sees it so clearly behind his closed eyes, feels it in the heaving of his lungs, the clenching of his ass. When he reaches for himself, it’s Rude’s hand that closes on him, too hard and so perfect that Reno comes like a rocket with a gasping scream, groaning and thrusting, tears leaking from his eyes, drool from his mouth.
He collapses over to one side, letting the dildo slide from his spasming body, his legs falling every which way – still tangled in the pink panties – as he whimpers and heaves for breath.
Recovery is a matter of time. Time for his breath to slow down, steady out. Time for his muscles to ease their last clenching tension. Time for his fuzzy vision to slowly reconcile itself and focus on the familiar surroundings.
Make-up smears the pillows. Semen stains the sheets. Lube dribbles a little path across his arm.
He looks beside him, at his wet hand convulsively clutching at nothing.
Reno sighs a final sigh as his breathing returns to normal.
He thinks that next time, he’ll try nail polish. A glossy coral-pink. Perfect.
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