Beautiful Losers - Part Twenty One

After rehearsal, I turned on my sleek new phone. It occurred to me that I didn't actually know anyone's mobile number by heart, but I needn't have worried; either Sebastian or Jean had saved both their numbers in memory. I called the later.

"So, I'm calling, as promised. Where are you?"

"Shirakins! Oh, hurry home. We need you immediately!" It was delivered with attendant giggles, so I assumed it wasn't urgent.

"Home where?"

"Seb's."

"Have you guys eaten? I'm starving. Maybe I should stop and get something on the way home."

"We ordered Chinese, and there's tons left," said Jean dismissively. "Now get your butt home."

* * *

It took me a moment to recognize Jean when he opened the door. He was dressed up like Marie Antoinette - dress, powdered wig, beauty marks and all - except that his lipstick was artfully smeared across his face.

"What took you so long?" he demanded, hauling me over the threshold in none to gentle a manner.

"Huh? It's only been fifteen minutes." I made an attempt to resist the manhandling as he pulled me down the hallway. "What's going on?"

"We need you. We needed you an hour ago!" muttered Jean as he dragged in into Sebastian's workspace. "She's finally here. Finally!"

Sebastian was partway up a stepladder, fiddling with the lens of his camera. Most of the furniture had been moved, and the floor was covered in drop-sheets. Two photographic lights on stands blazed down onto the wrinkled sea of cream canvas sheeting. He looked me up and down and then said to Jean. "The boots and the black jeans can stay, just get her into the shirt and the frock coat."

"No make-up? No wig?" asked Jean, sounding a little disappointed.

"Just powder her so she doesn't shine and slap one of those dots on her cheek."

Jean started tugging my jacket off, I let him, but wasn't so sure about the rest of it. "I'm hungry, I haven't had dinner yet. And... Stop it!" I batted Jean's hands away as he attempted to pull my t-shirt off. "What are we doing here? I hate being photographed."

"It's for his mask exhibition. Don't be a cow, we need you," Jean said. He selected some clothes from a pile on the floor and pushed them at me. "Put these on. Hurry!"

"But I'm hungry. And tired." I whined, pulling my t-shirt over my head. I held up the white shirt, trying to figure out why it had long bits at the collar.

Sebastian climbed down off the ladder and set his camera down. "Just half an hour, and then you can eat. Deal? We have kung-pao chicken and barbequed duck... in the oven."

The sound of the food made me salivate. "Can't I eat now and do this later?"

"Don't be uncooperative, Shirakins. Thirty minutes - promise. Okay?"

I shrugged the shirt on and buttoned it up, letting Jean tie the cravat in front into a floppy bow thing, and slid my arms into the dark purple velvet frock coat. He fussed around me, doing up buttons, pulling out the lacy ends of the sleeves. I felt like someone in an Eighties new wave video, especially when he gathered my hair at the nape of my neck into a very small ponytail and clipped a red bow on it.

The powdering was a little more extensive than I thought was necessary and, after combing my eyebrows and pushing a black beauty mark on my cheekbone, Jean dragged me onto the canvas. Sebastian had regained his place on the ladder. He looked through the lens. "She needs the crop. Where's the riding crop?"

"Don't I even get to see what I look like before we do this? I bet I look stupid," I muttered, looking up into the lens, seeing a distortion of my own reflection.

"You look hot. Shut up and do as your told."

Jean pushed a riding crop into my hands. "Okay, ready when you are."

From his vantage point, Sebastian gave us directions: move here, move there, stand like this, do that. After a couple of minutes of it, he stopped. "Look, you're not getting into the spirit of this at all," he said testily.

I glowered up at him, my stomach growling at me, my temper wearing thin. "The spirit of what? I don't have a fucking clue what you actually want."

He huffed and looked up at the ceiling, as if only god and he actually 'got it' and the rest of us were just morons. "Jean's the innocent virgin Mademoiselle and you're the fiendish libertine who has designs on his virtue. Use the crop. Threaten him if he doesn't let you have your wicked way."

It took me a while to stop snickering, then I brandished the crop at Jean, feeling very silly.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Shira! Look like you actually mean it! Remember, the sooner we get through this, the sooner you get dinner."

That struck a chord, but I still felt acutely uncomfortable.

Sebastian gazed up at the ceiling again and then said, "Okay. Jean? On your back. Shira? You straddle him..."

We got down onto the drop-sheet, and moved around till Sebastian was satisfied. "Now, Shira - one hand on the front of Jean's bodice, pull it down, like you're about to rip it open. The other, holding the crop, so it lays across his upper chest."

I positioned myself as Jean giggled. "Shut up, you. I'm starving," I hissed.

Sebastian looked through the viewfinder again. "Now, tell him that if he doesn't give himself to you willingly, you're going to fuck him with the handle of that riding crop."

My head snapped up. "Eww, gross! Do I have to?"

The glare Sebastian gave me was a little strange. "Do it! And damn well sound like you mean it!" He gave me this slow nod and what people describe as a significant look.

That's when the penny dropped. This, it seemed, was Sebastian's response to my plea for help regarding the whole domination thing. I wanted to tell him that his timing sucked, but not in front of Jean. I returned Sebastian's 'significant' look. Meanwhile, inside, I was thinking, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. But it wouldn't do to say that either, especially with Jean still giggling away like a lunatic.

I glanced down at Jean, fighting the infectious urge to giggle to. What do you really want, my beautiful friend? I thought. You don't really want me to giggle with you. You want me to want you - past all the superficialities, and the silly wig and the smeared lipstick. You want me to want you despite all that. And, the thing is, I did. But I wished I were bigger, stronger, more male, more aggressive, more demanding. Most of those things weren't going to happen. I'd just have to be a lot more me. More substantial somehow.

To hell with the tugging of the bodice; I gave it a good yank and the first few hooks gave way. Trapping his small pink nipple between my thumb and forefinger, I gave it a hard pinch and a twist. That, at least, stopped the giggling, I didn't let go.

"Jean," I whispered, bending over him and looking directly into his eyes. "Stop all this silliness or I'm going to bugger you with this crop."

For a moment, his eyes flickered, and I was worried that he'd start giggling again. I gave the nipple a painful tug and brought the head of the crop up to his cheek, letting the leather tongue play against his skin. "Don't even think about it."

The short, soft whimpering sound he made when straight through my brain and embedded itself in my pussy. Beyond that, I could tell I had his full attention because he blinked and looked a little shocked.

"That's right, pretty Jean. I'm fucking tired of all this bullshit. I came for you - don't you know that? That night I accepted your invitation, it wasn't for Sebastian; it was for you." I released his nipple and drew my hand up under his jaw, holding it to ensure his attention. Beneath the blinding white make-up, I could feel the beginnings of a beard. There was something about the anomaly that I liked - that made me brave.

"I know," Jean whispered.

"No, you don't," I said, my voice rising. My fingers squeezed his jaw. "But you will."

And suddenly, it was like being possessed by someone else completely, as if an entirely different person had crawled into my skin and was growing bigger, stronger, more. It didn't matter that I was four inches shorter or twenty pounds lighter. He felt frail and delicate in my hands. I covered his mouth with mine and I kissed him in a way I don't think I've ever kissed anyone in my life.

Vaguely, I heard the shutter clicking and whirring, but my focus was all on the tongue I was pushing into Jean's mouth to claim it, and the distinct bulge that, despite all the layers of skirt I was sitting on, I could feel growing at his crotch.

When I felt his arms rising up to embrace me, I grabbed them and slammed them back to the floor. "Don't you dare touch me until I tell you!"

"Shira?" he said, his voice small and unsure.

Footsteps on metal told me that Sebastian was climbing down from the ladder. Suddenly, it bothered me that he was there and witnessing this transformation, and I liked it less that he was documenting it. But if I stopped and told him to go away, I would lose my ground with Jean. And that's what it felt like - like clawing territory, like pulling something into me. I pulled my focus back to Jean.

"Don't you ever kiss me like a sister again. Do you understand?" Reaching beneath the wig, letting it fall away as I grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of Jean's head and lifted it nearer.

"But...I..."

I gave him a smart smack on the cheek and held his jaw again. "Don't fucking lie to me. I know you know what I mean. Never, ever again."

The smeared, painted lips trembled, the fine Adam's apple moved as he swallowed. "I promise, Shira. I swear."

The words spread out over my chest, setting it on fire, making my skin rise and my nipples sting. "That's better," I whispered, and kissed him again.

This time, as his mouth opened to mine, he shuddered beneath me. I took the offer of his tongue savagely, sucking it into my mouth, letting my teeth graze over it, feeding all my desire into that sweet, open wetness. That's when I felt him change; I felt him kiss me the way he'd kissed me the night he forgot I wasn't Sebastian.

Shifting, I pulled at the dress, feeling more and more of the little hooks pop and give with every yank. Even that small destruction felt good, like I was ripping open more than the dress. And my hand was greedy for the soft skin beneath, the erect nipple, the rising breath, the beating heart and the muscles rippling with tension beneath the skin at his belly. I liked what my touch did to him. I liked how he gasped as I gripped his cock and squeezed it hard. I liked the way his hips thrust upwards helplessly, mindlessly. But I loved that, only moments later, as I pulled his head back and bit hard at the flesh on his neck, he exploded in my hand like a virgin who'd never been touched.

My primary motivation for posting my work online is to maintain a relationship with my readers.
This means, if I don't get any feedback, I won't be nearly as motivated to make my writing public.
Please keep this in mind before you "read and leave"