Chapter Text
Nicholas has an issue that’s been plaguing him for the past four months, so thus, he’s only actively working on it now: he needs to learn French.
Or at least learn enough to make it seem like he’s been studying for four-ish months. In less than a month. More like half a month. More accurately, twelve days. But that’s fine. He remembers some school Spanish, and those are both Romance languages, and he knows that French is like… slurred and gendered and sexy. That’s practically half his problem solved, now he just needs to throw together a sentence or two (probably just like Spanish’s are constructed! Too bad he doesn’t remember much Spanish!) and learn some impressive vocab. And maybe make sure he has something approximating an accent? Or pronunciation, anyway.
But tutors are expensive. And Duolingo sucks ass, not fast enough. A search for alternative language-learning apps only leads him to sites trying to shill their own products, too, but he’s always been a visual learner. Thank god for free video sites.
YouTube sucks ass as well but he finds a promising series on one of those copycat sites. ‘FRENCH LESSONS FROM CUTE BLONDE’ is the title, which is a little odd, but it does make him click. Mostly because seeing the thumbnail, he absolutely agrees with the title’s declaration.
What the title does not share and the thumbnail only hinted at, however, is that said cute blonde is in a maid dress.
Nicholas almost clicks out. It’s not a sex thing—it’s not skimpy by any means, not overly tight or made of latex or leather, simply a cute blonde man in a short-sleeved maid dress. Judging from the way the skirt swishes around his hips, he’s guessing it’s short, but maybe about the knees, not showing anything off. It buttons up to his chin, has a frilly apron with a marker sticking out of the pocket, and comes complete with one of those equally frilly little headdress things.
Nicholas’ mouse hovers over the exit button. But this seems actually legit? The cute blonde maid stands next to a white board and there’s a nondescript grey ottoman in the foreground. He can’t blame a guy for wanting to look cute on the internet. It’s what people did, and this one’s doing it exceptionally well. So maybe it’s a harmless gimmick to attract attention? A little nod-nod, wink-wink to French maids without actually getting into anything else.
And then the video loads.
“Allo allo! Welcome to Oh La Vache’s channel, I’m back with another one of my free videos on the French language. This is… Um, let’s see, are we up to part nineteen in this series? Eighteen? We’re not at twenty yet—I have something planned for that one—but, uh, one of those!” He’s charming, in an effortless, real way. Not awkward, even with how he trips over his intro, but sincere and very human.
And he has an incredibly nice voice. Nicholas swallows.
His eyes dart back up to the video’s clickbait-y title. This doesn’t seem like a crosspost; did someone repost it? He isn’t familiar with this specific video site, but honestly, he barely trusts any of them these days. It’d been enough that it wasn’t PornHub and didn’t set off any virus alerts.
“Anyway! Thank you for coming to another part of my special lessons on the French language! I think these are pretty fun, even these itty bitty bite-sized kind of lessons, so hopefully you do, too,” the blonde continues with a pink-cheeked smile. He adjusts the headband atop his fluffy hair, and it says something about how nice his smile and how attention-grabbing his outfit is that Nicholas is only now realizing he’s only wearing a long, black glove on one of his arms. It goes all the way up to his puffy little sleeve. “This video has been highly requested—body parts!” He spreads his fingers in illegally cute jazz hands before planting his fists on his hips. With the little rustle of his skirt, Nicholas thinks he sees a big bow on the back of the apron.
Is this guy for real? He hasn’t completely dismissed that it might be this guy’s kink, to dress up and act normal in front of a camera, secretly getting off on it, but it’s not overtly a kink. Everything seems too normal for that.
The cute blonde maid whips the marker out of his apron and begins writing on the whiteboard. ‘MASC – FEMME’ he scrawls in laughably curly handwriting across the top, then draws a line to separate them into two columns.
He does, in fact, have a big white bow tying his apron closed behind him. Maybe it’s cosplay? It’s simple, but a nice outfit, and appears almost tailored to his tall and skinny frame. Not a random Amazon purchase.
“Remember!” He whirls around on the camera and brandishes the uncapped marker like a threat. “Always learn new vocab with the article attached. I know I say this in every video, but I really mean it! You’ll save yourself a lot of pain down the line if you memorize the nouns with their articles—you’ll learn what sounds right and won’t mess it up later. Practice with the articles! Or else I’ll know you’ve been naughty.”
Nicholas swallows again. It has to be a kink thing. There is no innocent explanation for the way his voice dipped so goddamn low at the end there.
And yet, the man on screen brightens again and caps the marker with a click. He pockets it again, then offers his spread fingers to the camera, almost covering his face. He appears to notice and swiftly moves it out of the way with another beam.
“Un doigt,” he says and points to his index finger. “Des doigts, plural. Finger is masculine. Un doigt.”
Except this is also going really far if it’s some secret sex thing. He points to each part in turn, repeats the new vocab, and writes it on the whiteboard last. Un is masculine and une is feminine; that much processes, even if the silky, too-smooth words otherwise slip past Nicholas’ attention. He assumes that’s an accurate accent and pronunciation. It’s nice at least. But there, he can say he’s learned a bit of French.
Finger, hand, arm, shoulder, then he lifts up a leg—flashing a lot of frills, but indeed proving that his skirt is almost knee-length and pretty innocent—to go with foot, leg, and knee.
Then his fingers curl around his own waist. “Une taille,” he says and trails his index and middle fingers across the apron’s ties. “Waist, and it’s feminine. Une taille. Je veux tenir ta taille.” He doesn’t offer a translation of the second bit.
But Nicholas thinks he understands French for the first time, because the way the man is regarding the camera with lidded eyes and his fingers dug tight into the fabric covering his waist is fairly explanatory.
He still doesn’t click away.
It’s educational, after all.
The blonde’s sultry look is gone, quick as a flash, and he grins at the camera. He walks his fingers up over the white apron. “Alright, well, there’s a lot of terms for the chest area and its various attachments… Just like in English and most other languages. French does have some level of formality into it, but it isn’t a level-of-respect type language. That said, as with everything, you ought to be careful about what comes out of your mouth, so let’s keep this PG! Of course, if you’d like to learn more about the less-than-kid-friendly words for this area,” he says and goes as far as miming cupping breasts, which makes Nicholas’ breath catch from the incongruence of the movement with his peppy tone, “I’ve already done several videos on French slang on my channel! Please check them out after you finish this one—I’ll add some links down below, and remember, my videos are only available on my Oh La Vache channel!”
As he slides back into what is probably the textbook (and thus boring; why does Nicholas suddenly feel that when he is actively trying to learn boring, safe French?) translation for chest, Nicholas realizes that this must be someone reposting the video. Nothing about this site seems like it’s what the cute blonde maid is talking about. The title is off, too generic, and after a quick glance to the side, he finds that this video’s poster is an annoyingly bot-y GNMAN781422.
Nicholas listens to the sounds of French body parts while he does a cursory glance over the rest of the page for the report button. (Or in the microscopically small chance of the reposter doing something like providing real links, searching desperately for those. No luck.)
Even listening without watching is pretty nice. In a soothing, educational way, he tells himself, then tries to ignore everything else that is getting his pants too tight. It’s just a proclaimed cute blonde offering French lessons. Who happens to be wearing a maid dress—a totally innocent one—and who has an outrageously nice voice. To match his nice face. And nice body. And there was nothing wrong with that! Attractive people are the internet’s bread and butter, after all. Especially when it came to the visual corners. Nothing wrong with a guy wanting to start a video channel offering free French vocab lessons while also showing himself off in the most platonic way possible.
Nicholas doesn’t find an easy report button. He admittedly gives up as soon as he hears some sort of rummaging noises coming from the video and scrolls back up.
He finds the cute blonde maid bent over the footrest. His head is out of frame, but it’s facing the camera, so while his ass is in the air, it’s in the chastest way possible. That’s normal, that’s fine, he’s just grabbing something off camera, even if it means making his frilly skirts bounce and wiggle.
Nicholas wonders what the other side of the room’s view might look like. There are obviously enough layers of fluff under the black skirt to add a lot of volume, if the skirt is remaining up like that, so would anything be showing…?
His pants feel a little tighter. He has the sinking feeling he’s not going to be learning much more French very successfully from this video, and he also has the feeling he’s going to jack off to this tonight, which is the most clothed and most innocent damn thing that’s ever caught his attention. It feels almost silly how he’s reacting to it.
Until the cute blonde maid comes back into view with a triumphant noise and a dildo as long and thick as his forearm. “Ceci n’est pas une pipe!” he happily declares.
Nicholas jolts so bad his laptop flops off his lap and he bangs his elbow into his headboard.
The cute blonde maid prattles on as Nicholas tries to realign his entire being with the image he so desperately rights his laptop for. “Again, you should really check out my videos on slang terms, because I’m actually really proud of that joke, even if Bonbon says I’m not allowed to keep using it. Oh, and I’ll be doing a video way later about French art—I know I’ve talked about art a few good times now, but it seems like it’d be a fun video to really get into it. History, movements, some famous names you’ve likely heard before. Probably mispronounced. What do you guys think?” He idly shows off the dildo like he’s unaware he’s even holding it, even if a thing that size has to have some real heft.
He rolls it back and forth between his hands a couple times, then up against his arm to indeed show off that it is absolutely as long as his forearm and thicker than his wrist. It’s only semi-realistic, with a flared base instead of fake balls, but there is a distinctive crown at the top that the blonde’s fingertips dance over.
Nicholas consciously lets out the breath that had caught in his chest. His pants are definitely too tight now, his dick is definitely too damn interested, and there is no way he can pretend any of this is innocent anymore.
Even if it remains oddly educational.
“Like the chest, there are a lot of terms for this fun little bit of anatomy, but my favorite has always been une bite. Feminine, which I get a kick out of, even if I really know that the gendered articles have nothing to do with their nouns in the way that English speakers—and native speakers of other, non-gendered languages—think. But yeah, this is une bite. Wait, hold on, let me write it down—you’ll see why I think it’s funny as a name—”
He scrambles back to his feet with a flounce of his skirts and leaves the dildo just… there. The base is wide enough that it can sit upward on its own. Nicholas stares at it. His staring is not helped in the least by the way the camera auto-focuses on it, turning the maid writing on the whiteboard in the near background a little fuzzy.
“…So dick is spelt ‘bite’ in French,” Nicholas finds himself saying. That’s a talking point that would make Livio laugh. Does that mean mission successful? He learned some French. That’s enough, right? He doesn’t need to stay in learning mode any more, not with the way arousal has his blood on fire and his eyes absolutely cannot leave that behemoth of a toy.
His mouth probably couldn’t fit all the way around it, could it?
Nicholas doesn’t even know if he wonders about his own or this pretty blonde’s.
His maid-y video host drops back to a kneel beside the ottoman and wraps his long fingers—the hand without the glove—around the dildo and proceeds to simply jack it off as if that is an entirely normal thing to do.
With his gloved hand, he points to his brilliant blue eyes, crinkled with his warm smile. “Des yeux, and that’s a tricky singular one, so let’s just stick with plural for today’s lesson,” he says, and oh. Oh Lord above. He’s continuing the French lesson. The vocabulary parts are continuing? Even when he sits there, on camera, with a too-huge dick in hand—his fingers only barely touch, and that’s because they’re so long, Nicholas realizes, and his mouth fucking waters—
French goes in and out of his ears with less than zero processing. Any English explanation follows it. Is he supposed to be normal about this? This random-ass reposted video that he almost learned from and now has his hand in his pants? He hisses out a breath when he first wraps his fingers (des doigts) around his stiff cock (une bite, isn’t that funny, because it’s spelt—) and the blonde in the video smiles at exactly that moment like he heard that relieved exhale.
And then the cute blonde nightmare pulls a bottle of lube from off screen and douses the dildo with it with nary a hitch in whatever he’s saying. He could’ve switched to Mandarin for all Nicholas knows at this point.
His long fingers glisten as he rubs the lube down the hard sides of the dildo. Without enough friction to squeeze properly, his fingertips no longer touch around its girth. Nicholas tries to match his pace for all of three strokes, but God, he can’t. It’s as if the entire prior video had been some sort of subliminal foreplay, because he can’t remember the last time he’s been harder, so desperate to meet the heat clenched tight in his belly. The blonde’s voice washes over him, no meaning, only the gradually dipping tones of him going deeper and quieter and closer and hotter. He sounds like he’s right in Nicholas’ ear when he presses his palm against the head of the dildo. Nicholas mirrors the movement. His hips jerk into his palm and he throws his head back—only to frantically return his attention to the blonde in the video.
The blonde smiles through the screen at him and brings his hand, so tight on the dildo it squelches the lube audibly, all the way from root to tip.
And then he stands up.
He holds up his skirts with pinched fingers, like an old-timey way of curtsying, and Nicholas swears he sees a flash of something red beneath the white frills before the blonde takes a knee on the footrest. He shuffles forward and all of his voluminous skirts covers the dildo. Which is now between his legs.
The blonde fiddles with the camera so it zooms out exactly enough to get his whole body like this. He smiles, a little disheveled—his headdress thing is crooked again—and Nicholas actively concentrates on listening to more than his voice this time. “Sorry, sorry—désolé, remember—I thought I had the camera adjusted earlier. Now then…” He reaches his gloved hand beneath his skirt to… Do something. Something which, Nicholas academically knows revolves around holding the insanely large dildo still for the shifting movement of his hips, but with all of his skirts in the way, it’s only a tantalizing rustle that makes Nicholas’ brain stutter to a stop.
He grips the base of his cock hard. Even so, it kicks in his hand, and threatens to come anyway, because he feels like he’s losing his mind. How can someone go from zero to a hundred like this?
And still look so damn innocent, beaming at the camera, presumably mostly still dressed?
That red, his mind traitorously reminds him. Some kind of underwear, presumably staying on, which means they had to be small, which means he’s just—what, holding soaked little red panties to the side while he nudges such a huge cock against himself? He had to have stretched and lubed himself up earlier, then, right? He had to, no one can take such a thing without at least a little prep, but that means he spent the entire video just… wet and open and ready.
Nicholas’ fingers twitch around his desperately leaking cock.
There is not a damn hint of what’s going on beneath those skirts. Only suggestion. He can’t see any lifting from the blonde’s own hardness—what a sight that would be, and Nicholas’ mind nearly runs away with the image—and outside of his gloved hand shifting beneath it, he’s still.
And then, there: a small movement downward. A flutter of long lashes, a parting of pink lips. And then a little more downward movement, accompanied by a sinful sigh that will be haunting Nicholas probably for the rest of his life.
He can’t do this. He’s only human. It takes only two more strokes before he’s coming over his fist with a bitten-back groan. His heart thunders in his ears, but still he can hear the small sounds of the blonde, and the undeniable, even quieter sound of wet movement.
His climax feels like it lasts years.
When Nicholas comes back to something almost like awareness again, he finds the blonde damn kneeling on the footrest, fucking near flat, which means—all of that length—that huge thing is inside him.
Nicholas physically can’t get hard again, but Lord, is he giving it a valiant effort.
The blonde smiles serenely at the camera, then begins to move like he’s the Devil himself.
It takes three hours for Nicholas to stop pacing, stop having his crisis over accidentally finding really good porn—except it wasn’t? Nothing showed and not much happened?—and remember the plethora of details that got him to this point in his life.
He also jacks off once more, using his own dildo and trying in vain to imagine if it was damn near double its size, but that’s beside the point.
The point is that he still needs to learn French. Livio is back in twelve days and Nicholas had promised to try to learn something, after all, about four months ago. More important, it isn’t every day his baby brother visits home. It’s been half a year already. Too damn long. And he’s not going to spend what precious little time they’ll have together listening to Livio talk his ear off about how Nicholas promised and he wants to tell him about his program and all he’s learned and seen and done. He needs to be an active participant in this. He needs to do it for Livio—and for all those years he wasn’t an active participant in his life.
So Nicholas tells himself it had been educational when he does a search for Oh My Vache—and remembers late that it was a La, not My—and finds the cute blonde’s actual site, along with social media links directly below. Seeing another thumbnail of that stupidly cute face with the maid outfit, he bypasses the site and clicks his Twitter instead. Tamer. Right?
He’s both right and wrong.
Twitter is one of the few sites that still allows porn, as evidenced by the pinned post, but the posts beneath that are all Actually Tame. Innocent, even! One is a picture of a bright green soda and a stack of pancakes, then several text posts lamenting how many reposters there have been of his videos lately. And then a retweet of a cute cat video, a cute dog video, and then a lewd catgirl video, and then the cute blonde himself in what Nicholas usually thinks of as a French maid dress. Skimpy, silky, a lot less frills and fabric involved.
With all of his willpower, Nicholas scrolls back up and clicks on the on about the reposters.
‘hey, found a link of a repost, didnt know where to report it, can i send it to u’ he types out before he can think better of it.
There, he’s been a good person, and repaid all the spank bank material. Well, the man had said it was part of his free video series, so hopefully he isn’t losing actual income, but he probably is if he’s mentioning it on social media like that? Nicholas thanks all his lucky stars he’s not in the online content creation meat grinder.
He gets only a few more posts down—another breakfast picture, a shirtless selfie but only from the shoulders-up, two more texts complaining about the weather—before a notification pops up.
Probably just a random like, right?
But no. An actual response. Right now. Nicholas glances over at the clock—just past midnight—and blinks at the notification alert.
‘Thank you! :3 You can send the link and the time when you found it, s’il te plaît, to my email: mignonvache (at) 3mail (dot) com. (Sorry for the spelling out, you know how sites are about links these days, wanted to make sure you got this!) Merci beaucoup! ;3’
Oh boy.
The time part seems incriminating, but it’s been a couple hours now, and he’s a porn creator on the internet. Surely he’d be used to such eager commenters. Hell, Nicholas is doing him a favor, he reminds himself.
So he sends the email. He just titles it ‘link to repost’, unsure what else is needed from him. It isn’t like he’s introducing himself to the guy. He’s doing him a small favor and then he’ll go back to his real site—after working up the courage, and telling himself it’s only for the educational value—and learn more French.
Again, a response comes quickly.
‘Thank you for your help in finding this. We have been dealing with a string of reposting lately and every site and account found helps to stop them.’
He doesn’t even bat an eye at the ‘we’ business, but he does bat an eye at the second reply that comes not thirty seconds later.
‘Thanks for your help, and to show that gratitude since I love good boys like you, please have a coupon for a free month’s subscription to my paid videos! Bises!’ It’s punctuated not only by the random string of letters and numbers he usually associates with online coupons, but an actual image attachment of a coupon.
It’s pastel blue, with pink hearts everywhere, and the cute blonde in the maid dress doing a heart with his fingers, complete with a wink. The code is reprinted there, along with a cheeky ‘Thanks, doll!’ and ‘one (1) free month, not combinable with other offers’.
He hadn’t been expecting a reward—hell, he got into this whole thing looking for free content because he’s poor as shit and likely would’ve left (after getting off too many more times) after seeing the price point involved for more videos.
But a month. That’s more than twelve days. That’s a lot of video content—French lessons, he tells himself—that he can use. To learn. This guy does seem knowledgeable, easy to listen to, easy to look at. Important things for video lessons.
Nicholas, accordingly, succumbs to what his life has become.