Keep you in Lace III: Smother you in Pearls
By Charlotte Mistry
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Charlotte Mistry
Discover other titles by Charlotte Mistry at http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/charlottemistry
Cover stock source by MiraNox and Felixdeon, used under Creative Commons Attribution License 2.0
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Nick has to admit that he’s accumulated a bit of a collection. His closet, once sparsely populated with button-up shirts, jeans and the odd pair of dress pants, has gotten crammed with dresses and skirts, blouses and pairs of pantyhose and rows of dangerously precarious high heels. He only has to open the door to get a little thrill.
He sees rows of satin and lace, fluffy confections of tulle and slick supple silks. Sometimes he just stands there and stares a little bit, letting soft fabric run over his hands like water.
Mary’s closet is different. She’d started with normal clothes. Jeans and t-shirts and sundresses, and those are still there. When he peeks into her closet they’re the first things he sees. Behind them, though, is something else. Nick moves a shirt aside and is met with the sharp smell of well-conditioned leather, black and supple.
It smells like her, like her musk and perfume, and conversely she smells of leather- a low, subtle note she carries around with her like a brand.
Nick carries that smell around with him, too, sometimes. Like it’s something ground into his skin, something he’ll never be rid of and doesn’t want to be. It catches him off guard here and there, at work or in the car, and it’s always almost impossible to fight through that intoxicating distraction.
Mary’s not home. Even so he finds he can’t resist. He takes her sleek black bustier out of the closet. It’s thick with the smell of her.
Nick takes some clothing out of his own closet, too. He wants to get dressed.
He sifts through his things with deliberation. Nick settles on a short black skirt, tight and barely long enough to cover his ass. He picks out a gauzy, clinging shirt, a lacy little pink thong and matching heels to go with it.
He slides the thong up his thighs with a delicious shiver. The clothes never fail to excite him. They make him feel like something he’s never really been- beautiful- and Mary’s nickname for him echoes in his head. Pretty boy. Nick groans and feels his cock start to come to life.
The thong settles tightly over his thickening shaft. Whenever he moves he can feel it tease at him. He bites his lip and brushes his thumb over the head of his cock. He closes his eyes to focus on nothing but the trembling waves of pleasure beginning to radiate through his abdomen.
The skirt goes on next. It fits snugly, clinging tight to the sharp blades of his hips. He’s waxed off the trail of hair that had reached up to his navel, so now all that shows above the waistband is smooth, taut skin. Nick runs his hand over it and relishes the feel of his own soft skin under his fingertips, shivery and careful. His cock is starting to show as a bulge under his skirt.
The thin shirt he slips on, not bothering with a bra. Nick steps up in front of the mirror and looks at himself. He can see his nipples showing through the fabric, twin dark spots.
The gauzy shirt caresses him. Every touch is a kiss on his skin. The softness makes him harder than ever. He closes his eyes against a sudden rush of pure lust at the feeling, and he presses a hand against his chest, crushing that softness to him. His black hair, grown down longer, brushed his shoulders. He feels his cock twitch.
His skin burns with sensation. It’s almost difficult to slip on his high heels. The urge to do nothing but jerk himself raw is so great- but he manages. When he stands, long-legged and precarious, it’s a heady rush. He takes Mary’s leather bustier and presses it to his face. The smell- sweat, sex, musk, perfume, leather- overwhelms him. It takes away any last bits of rational thought that he’d had and crushes it.
Nick collapses to his knees. He barely notices the jolt it sends up his legs. He fumbles desperately at his waistband before giving up and just reaching under the skirt, pawing at himself through the lacy thong.
His cock strains against it, thick and hard and leaking copious pre-come. He whines through his teeth, hands shaking as he rubs the thin stretchy material of the thong over his shaft and it turns slick and transparent at the tip. He jerks his hips forward, fingers wrapped around his cock. He couldn’t stop if he wanted to.
Nick stares at himself in the mirror through half-lidded eyes. He sees his reddened lips and the blush starting to spread across his cheeks, the dark shapes of his nipples, not quite concealed behind translucent white, and his own hands moving under his skirt. He pulls his cock out and whines as he sees the reflection of it jutting out hard from underneath his skirt.
One hand wraps around his cock, pumping furiously, and the other brings that leather back to his face. Nick inhales that heady scent and groans at the jolt of lust it sends through him. He’s not going to last long, he can tell. He can feel his balls tightening.
Between the feeling of soft fabric on his skin and the smell of sweat and leather and Mary, the pleasure builds and builds in him until he’s moaning and crying out for Mary, Mary, Mary as his fucks his hand frantically, skirt pulled tight against his thighs and the top of his cock.
He comes in sudden hot spurts, shooting come all over the skirt and his own chest. Nick milks the last drops of come from himself and pants, trembling, as the last wave of sparks fade away.
He can feel the teeth marks he left in his bottom lip. A single drop of come has found its way onto his chin, and he cleans it away with his tongue. It tastes of salt and bitterness.
Nick lies there, waiting for the exhaustion to pass, when he hears someone clapping.
“Good boy,” said Mary, and Nick scrambled up to see her leaning against the doorframe. “Not much for creativity, but I give you full points for enthusiasm.”
Nick opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again. He can’t think of a single thing, and he’s still red-faced and dripping with come. He wipes it off his hand and onto his thigh.
“Well, that’s just a waste,” says Mary, and she crosses the room in three long strides. She leans down and runs her tongue up his chest, lapping up the stripe of come. Nick inhales sharply and Mary looks up at him through long, long eyelashes. She works her way up his body, and then kisses him.
She forces all the come she’s collected into Nick’s mouth, smearing it across his tongue with hers. It’s still salty and bitter, but with Mary there that suddenly becomes a powerfully erotic thing. He tries to pull away and Mary won’t let him. She holds him still until he swallows.
She pulls back and pats him on the head. “Very good.”
Nick can feel the embarrassment in him like all his blood is rushing to the surface. The taste of come is thick on his tongue. Mary turns her head a little and her long blonde hair brushes his face. She spies the leather bustier, discarded on the floor, and Nick only has a second to glimpse the wicked smile spreading over her face before she bends to pick it up.