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I'm gonna be your Stepford wife
You can cut me like a knife
I'm gonna wear my cherry red
I'm gonna give you lotsaCherry Red - Ida Maria
Daniel doesn’t often think of his parents. He calls them each year on their birthdays and picks up the phone when they remember to call him, but the truth of the matter is they’d faded out of his life years ago. His fondest memories of them are of the early years of his life, when things were easy and they still had affectionate smiles for him, their only son.
His mother smoked Lucky Strikes, so Daniel never buys that brand. He still remembers the scent of the ash on the carpet, the stiletto shape of her nails as she flicked it from the cigarette end. She was funny back then, he remembers, and sometimes he recognises her in the sardonic twist of his own mouth.
“Would you ever wish to settle down, be normal?” Armand interrupts his reverie to ask him, a flurry of smoke accompanying the words. He flicks the ash into a dish on the hotel side table, a familiar motion in its elegance.
“No.” Daniel turns over fully in the bed, looking up at Armand’s side profile. “What was it you said? Vacuuming on valium? Counting down the thrusts? Doesn’t really appeal.”
Armand glances down at him and smiles, bringing the cigarette to his lips and taking a drag while Daniel watches the movement closely. “There’s parts that appeal to you, aren’t there? Pretty wife cooking you dinner when you’re home late, in stockings and an a-line dress.”
Daniel sputters a little, offended. “They’re all career girls now, not ditzy housewives. And anyway, that’s what I’d want - if I did want it - a woman with a brain.”
“Of course,” Armand says, indulgent and a little patronising. Daniel scowls at him until Armand reaches out a hand to play with his curls, the sharp tips of his nails just barely scratching at Daniel’s scalp and sending tingles down his spine. It makes Daniel feel loose and pliant, he settles back against the pillows while Armand pets him and closes his eyes.
It doesn’t occur to him that the conversation may have set something dangerous in motion until he arrives back at his apartment a few weeks later to find it sparklingly clean; all of his usual piles of shoes and junk mail have been vanished and the air is full of the scent of cleaning products and savoury food. He creeps down the corridor, nervous despite his absolute certainty that Armand is somehow involved.
He rounds the corner into the kitchen-diner and stops short, taking in the scene in front of him. Armand is bent over the oven, looking at something inside, the position showing off the layers of ruffles under his skirt. He has a lit cigarette clasped between two fingers, Daniel notes distantly that the box lying on the counter is Lucky Strike brand, and an oven glove that Daniel has never seen before on the other hand. The whole bizarre scene is obviously meticulously planned, staged and posed for maximum impact, just waiting for Daniel to walk into it. That knowledge doesn’t make his dick any less interested.
He stands mutely, watching as Armand pulls a pyrex dish out of the oven with a flourish and sets it on the stovetop before turning to look at Daniel. The effect is even more bewildering from front-on; Armand’s lips are a shiny red and his inky hair has been styled into waves that curl away from his face, making him look both feminine and severe. He has to be wearing a corset , Daniel thinks, his eyes tracking their way down the shape of Armand’s torso in the dress.
“Sit down,” Armand says, disconcertingly sweet, “I’ll dish you up some food.”
Daniel isn’t sure what he’s expected to do here exactly. Armand likes to play games with him, making Daniel guess his role and punishing him when he gets it wrong. He knows exactly what he wants to do, however.
“I’d rather have a bite of you,” he tells Armand, almost laughing at the cliché line from his own mouth. He darts across the kitchen to grab Armand by the waist, pulling him close with a rustle of fabric.
The dress is black, with an adorable little white collar and buttons all the way down the front, which Daniel wants to rip open so he can get to Armand’s tits, and the fabric is gathered at the waist to emphasise the wearer’s hips. Daniel enjoys the texture of the soft fabric under his palms, the boning that can be felt underneath the bodice, for mere seconds before he’s unceremoniously knocked away from Armand, tripping and falling next to his tiny kitchen table.
From his angle lying on the floor he finally notes the pair of heels Armand is wearing, blood red and with stiletto points that make Daniel’s dick twitch in his cheap suit trousers. The shoes are loud on the linoleum as Armand crosses the kitchen, that familiar tap-click sound that Daniel remembers his mother’s heels making in the kitchen of his childhood home.
“Are you ready to be a good boy for me?” A speck of ash from the tip of Armand’s cigarette flutters to the floor, winding its way past Daniel’s face. He nods wordlessly. He feels half a young boy again, always getting in the way and asking for attention from people who had no time for him. He recalls, with sudden vividness, the sting of his mother’s hand on his cheek, the hot spill of tears that accompanied it.
Armand sits in one of the kitchen chairs, only a foot away from where Daniel fell, his ankles crossed primly. He pats his leg a little, beckoning Daniel to come sit at his feet, and smiles indulgently when Daniel moves into position.
“Who do you want me to be?” he asks, and Daniel looks up at him uncomprehendingly. “Your wife or your mother?”
A thrill shoots through Daniel, shocking and arousing. He can’t decide, he wants both. He wants to fuck Armand, wants to fuck his wife, but he wants to be punished by his mommy as well. He wants to breed Armand, make him feel good and full and loved, and have his maternal affections in return.
“Both?” Armand says, affecting surprise. “Greedy boy, such a deviant.”
He punctuates his words by moving his foot to rest on Daniel’s thigh, the heel biting into the skin. Daniel twitches violently as the pointed toe nudges at the hard line of his cock for just a moment before pulling away.
“Please,” Daniel whispers; he’s not even sure what he’s begging for, only that he wants it so badly. A gentle hand settles on his head, winding fingers in his hair.
“What do you want, sweet boy?” Armand asks him, and the affection settles warm in Daniel’s stomach. “Do you want to fuck me?”
“Yes.” Daniel can’t imagine anything he wants more than being allowed to fuck Armand’s cunt, he’s leaking precum against his thigh just thinking about it, desperate for it. “Please.”
Armand smiles at him warmly, bringing the cigarette between his fingers to his mouth, taking a final drag. It’s almost burned down entirely, the bright cherry-end reaching the lipstick-stained filter, and Daniel watches as Armand lowers it slowly towards him until the burning tip is brushing against his skin.
“Ow! Fuck!” He flinches away from the sting with his entire body, hurt and confused. “Why would you -”
A hand grabs Daniel’s face, knocking his teeth together sharply, and holds him in place while Armand brings the cigarette down towards Daniel’s wrist. “Such language, I should wash your mouth out with soap.”
Armand ashes the cigarette over Daniel’s skin, letting the hot embers fall onto his wrist and smiling as he yelps and pulls away again. The grip on his jaw tightens, preventing Daniel from moving away fully.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Armand tells him. “If you behave, you’ll get a reward.”
The toe of his heeled shoe steps down on Daniel’s cock for a moment, demonstrating the power of the reward, and Daniel moans helplessly at the pressure. He tries to twitch his hips up into it, but Armand is already withdrawing his leg and standing - heading straight to the counter to snatch up the pack of Lucky Strikes before he returns to where Daniel is kneeling next to his vacated chair.
Armand sits once more, in a flurry of skirts, and cups a hand under Daniel’s chin, rubbing his thumb gently over Daniel’s cheek. “Will you be a good boy for me now?”
“Yes, I’ll be good.”
“Give me your hand, beloved,” Armand lets go of his face and takes the proffered hand, holding it palm-up in his lap. His grip is loose on Daniel’s wrist, easy to pull away from, and Daniel realises that this is part of the game they’re playing. Armand wants him to take the pain; to take it and not pull away.
Armand withdraws a new cigarette from the pack, moving deliberately and with no particular hurry. A moment later a burst of flame flickers at the tip of the cigarette, lighting it instantly, and Armand takes a long drag. Daniel watches him, the shape of his lips around the cigarette, the elegant fingers, tipped with blood-red claws.
He represses his instinctive flinch as Armand lowers the cigarette to his wrist once more, and takes a gasping breath as the burning tip is pressed delicately into the thin skin of his wrist. Daniel is no stranger to pain, but this hurts differently to most things; hurts like hell, in fact. His whole body is tense with the effort to not draw his arm away from the concentrated agony of it, and he can hear himself breathing harshly in the quiet of the kitchen.
“Very good,” Armand whispers, the sincerity of the approval like a flood of warmth through Daniel’s body. He pulls the cigarette away, relights it and places it between his lips. Daniel can’t help but wonder if Armand is breathing in some of Daniel’s blood and skin, alongside the tobacco, as he takes a drag.
Daniel’s arm still rests in Armand’s lap, wrist up, keeping the perfectly circular burn mark on display for him. It throbs with each beat of his heart, the pulse that’s thundering in his ears and flowing down to his desperately hard cock. Armand is smiling a little as he looks down at Daniel, pleased with him in a way that makes him crave even more; more pain, more blissful approval.
There’s a tug on his wrist, Armand pulling at him lightly. “Come here, sweet boy, sit on my lap and show me your neck.”
He scrambles upwards, nearly knocking over the chair in his haste, until he’s safely sat on Armand’s lap, his thighs bracketing Armand’s waist. He tilts his head to the side, exposing the precise part of his neck that Armand loves to bite, where the sternocleidomastoid vein runs under his skin. Armand exhales a cloud of smoke into Daniel’s face, the sweet-smoky scent of the nicotine enveloping him pleasantly.
Then he brings the cigarette down onto Daniel’s neck, pressing the burning tip into the skin just above his collarbone. Daniel flinches hard, before he remembers Armand’s command to behave and forces himself to stillness. He thinks he can hear the hiss of burning flesh as the cigarette is ground into his delicate skin, or perhaps he can smell it. A different ashy scent joining the smoke Armand had breathed out.
Daniel swallows convulsively, the movement making his neck move against the tip of the cigarette painfully, and a tear falls down his cheek.
“That’s good,” Armand says, as he withdraws the extinguished cigarette and drops it onto the floor. “You’ve been very good for me Daniel, would you like a reward?”
“Please,” Daniel breathes, his cock twitching against Armand’s stomach.
“On your knees then,” Armand says, gentle but firm, as he tips Daniel slowly out of the chair. “Spread your legs for me.”
Daniel complies, his cock making an embarrassingly unmistakable bulge in his trousers as he sits back on his heels and parts his thighs. Armand calls it barbaric sometimes, the size of his junk; too big, too unwieldy. The memory of being mocked has him twitching, jerking his hips up into empty air, searching for friction.
Armand extends his leg gracefully and Daniel’s breath catches in his throat as the pointed toe of the stiletto presses down on his cock, sending a burst of pleasure up his spine. His hips stutter desperately and he releases a whine as Armand rolls his ankle slowly, working Daniel’s cock between the sole of the shoe and his thigh. His wrist and neck are still throbbing painfully, a perfect contrast to the delicious pressure Armand is exerting on his cock. Daniel rolls his hips up into it, taut as a bowstring, teetering on the knife’s edge of an orgasm.
“Not yet,” Armand says, pulling his leg back despite Daniel’s pleading sob. “I want it all inside me, later. We’re going to need it, if you’re ever going to knock me up.”
The idea sends a rush of arousal into his stomach and Daniel presses the heel of his hand down on his cock, trying desperately to stop himself from coming. He closes his eyes, breathing deeply until he thinks he has himself under control. When he opens them again Armand is smiling down at him, which evokes both a wave of affection and a thrill of fear.
Armand leans forward to cup his face, brushing his thumb across Daniel’s cheek gently and wiping away the remnants of his tears. His ankles are crossed, just out of reach, and Daniel wants to run his hands over Armand’s ankles and press kisses to the top of his foot where it meets the bright red of the shoes.
“You like my shoes, don’t you?” Armand asks him, still with that dangerous sweetness in his voice. Daniel nods, flicking his eyes from the shoes to Armand’s face and back again. “Open your mouth.”
Daniel parts his mouth eagerly, wetting his lower lip with his tongue, and waits. Armand gives him another approving smile as he lifts his leg until his ankle is resting on Daniel’s shoulder, close enough to kiss.
“If you choke there will be consequences,” Armand tells him, his voice firm. Daniel shivers at the implication, his mouth flooding with saliva as he imagines what Armand is about to do to him.
Armand shifts in the chair until he can push the shoe against Daniel’s face, the textured sole pressing against his skin and the pointed heel sliding into his mouth. Daniel’s lips close around it, feeling the solidity of it in his mouth. Armand rolls his ankle a little, fucking Daniel’s mouth with the heel in shallow little movements, never going too deep. Daniel loses himself in it; the heel sliding smoothly between his lips, the ball of Armand’s foot pressing into his cheekbone, the deep meditative breaths through his nose.
He jumps a little at the sound of Armand lighting another cigarette, the crackle of burning paper and tobacco cutting through his reverie. Daniel hears Armand take a drag, filling the room with a smoky scent.
“Don’t pull away,” Armand warns him again, and starts to slide the heel deeper into his mouth. Saliva bubbles up in Daniel’s mouth as Armand forces him to take it, spilling over and dripping onto the floor. He wants to take it all the way, craves the look of approval Armand will give him when he does, but the second the point of the heel brushes against Daniel’s uvula he gags violently. Armand pulls back immediately as Daniel heaves and chokes, tears spilling down his cheeks and a long line of spit flowing from his mouth.
“M’sorry,” Daniel gasps, the moment the dry heaving stops enough for him to form words. He glances up, braced for disapproval, and is flooded with relief when he finds Armand still looking at him with wide, entranced eyes.
“You did your best,” Armand tells him, the hint of maternal condescension in his voice doing something complicated to Daniel’s stomach. “I can’t fault you for that, but I did promise there would be consequences and I have to stick to my word.”
He ashes his cigarette as he speaks, sending a spiral of smoke towards the ceiling. Daniel shivers with anticipatory fear; he’s pretty sure he understands what the consequence is going to be.
“Unbutton your shirt,” Armand watches him intently as he pops open each button, working his way down until Daniel is bare-chested as he kneels at Armand’s feet. “Good boy, that’s very pretty.”
Daniel flushes with pleasure at the praise, his cock twitching in his trousers. Armand leans forward, gesturing with the cigarette between his fingers.
“Arch your back a little. Yes, that’s perfect, stay just like that.”
Armand extends his free hand to thumb at Daniel’s nipple, teasing it gently, rolling it between his fingers. He brings the cigarette down slowly, Daniel holds his breath as it descends, and stubs it out on Daniel’s chest, catching the thin skin of his areola. It’s an effort to stay still as Armand grinds the cigarette cruelly into the burn, before he discards it on the floor. Daniel is breathing heavily with the pain of it, sharp little inhales through his bared teeth.
He stays in the position Armand had directed him into, thighs spread and his chest pushed forward, even as he begins to tremble with the effort of it. Anything for another one of those approving smiles. Armand isn’t saying anything, just watching him with wide eyes.
“Was I good?” Daniel asks, finally, his voice cracking on the end of the question embarrassingly.
“Yes, beloved,” Armand cups his face, pulling him forward to lay his head in Armand’s lap atop the soft fabric of his skirt. “You’re always good for me.”
Daniel sighs shakily, pressing his face into Armand’s thigh. He feels gentle hands carding through his hair, playing with the curls at the back of his neck. His cock is still throbbing against the fly of his trousers, but it feels less urgent at this moment than the knowledge that he’s been good, that he’s pleased Armand.
He basks in the moment, drawing in breaths of Armand’s smoky scent, cut with a strangely familiar floral perfume. Daniel breathes through his nose with more purpose, trying to place where he’s smelled it before.
“Are you wearing my mom’s perfume?” he asks, his voice muffled against Armand’s thigh. The hand in his hair stills.
“Is it too much?” Armand replies, suddenly hesitant.
And God, it should be. It should be way too much, but Daniel is painfully hard, desperate to shove Armand’s skirts up around his waist and fuck him properly. He wants Armand gasping underneath him, wants to mouth at his nipples through the fabric of his dress.
“Please.” He glances up at Armand, hoping he’s been watching Daniel’s thoughts so he doesn't have to voice them aloud. “Please, can I?”
There’s a rustle of skirts as Armand stands, holding out a hand for Daniel and pulling him to his feet. He keeps Daniel’s hand clasped in his own as he leads him to the bedroom and Daniel follows on shaky legs, his eyes glued to the feminine sway of Armand’s hips.
When they cross the threshold into the bedroom Armand drops his hand, dropping gracefully onto the bed with his skirts spread out around him. He looks like a pinup girl, and Daniel wants to ravish him.
“Are you just going to stare at me?” Armand asks him. “You don’t need permission to fuck your wife, Daniel.”
Daniel pounces on him, shoving the ruffly layers of skirts up his legs as fast as possible. He reveals the tops of the stockings first, lace edged and held up by garters, and then his hairless thighs, and finally the prim little red panties. Daniel stares for a long second at the silky underwear, barely covering Armand’s cock. There’s a patch of slightly darker fabric where Armand has been leaking precum, and Daniel’s barely registered it before he’s pressing his tongue against the spot, chasing the taste of it.
Armand moans from deep in his chest as Daniel kisses up the length of him, until the panties are wet with spit and clinging to the outline of his cock. Daniel pulls the panties to one side, tracing his finger down to Armand’s hole and finding him already slick and open.
“Jesus, Armand.” Daniel pulls back to look at him, strewn on the bed with his dress pushed up, his legs parted. Armand’s hands are working the top buttons of his dress open, revealing a lacy bra underneath, just sheer enough that Daniel can make out the hard peaks of his nipples under the fabric.
Daniel fumbles with his belt, opening the buckle and his fly and working his trousers down just far enough to free his cock with a sigh of relief. He grabs Armand by the waist, pulling him down the bed. One of Armand’s legs hooks around Daniel’s waist, the heel he’s still wearing scraping a painful line into the skin of Daniel’s back. Daniel struggles for a moment, holding Armand’s waist with one hand and his cock with the other, rubbing the tip of his cock against Armand’s hole until he finally gets the angle right and sinks into him in a single motion, burying himself in the heat of Armand’s body.
He doesn’t give Armand any time to adjust, rutting into him desperately as Armand encourages him with a heel in the small of his back. There’s a stream of nonsense praise falling from Armand’s mouth, but Daniel can’t make sense of anything except the hot clutch of Armand’s body.
Daniel curls himself over Armand, pressing his face into his neck and breathing in the muddled smoke-and-flowers scent. He kisses over Armand’s jugular, open mouthed, before leaning away again so he can look down at Armand as he fucks into him.
Armand’s lips are parted in pleasure, his lipstick slightly smeared, and he’s making punched out ah, ah, ah sounds each time Daniel bottoms out. There’s a smear of black makeup in the corner of his eyes, where he’s blinking out tears that roll slowly down his face. He’s the loveliest thing Daniel has ever seen, and Daniel wants to ruin him.
“Come on,” Armand gasps out, bringing a hand up to brush the sweaty curls from Daniel’s forehead. “I want it all inside me.”
His hips are rolling, pushing back against Daniel’s thrusts, and the sharp heels are digging into Daniel’s ass and causing delightful bursts of pain.
“Please,” Daniel says, out of his mind with lust, unsure what he’s even begging for. All he can do is chase his pleasure, fucking Armand relentlessly. Armand tenses underneath him, his cock jumping between them as he spills onto his stomach with a whimper.
Daniel follows him over the edge, the rhythmic clenching of Armand’s body pulling his orgasm out of him as if by force. He presses it deep inside Armand, almost folding him in half as he tries to get as deep as possible. He pulls out while he’s still half hard, spreading Armand’s legs so he can watch the cum drip out and catch in the petticoat’s ruffles.
After a long moment, he collapses down onto the bed next to Armand and curls into him, burying his face in Armand’s chest. They lie together quietly, Daniel catching his breath and Armand running his nails lightly across Daniel’s skin.
Armand breaks the silence eventually. “Have I changed your mind about wanting a wife?”
“Sure, I’d love a wife, but only if it’s you.” He gets a kiss for his trouble, the waxy taste of Armand’s lipstick in his mouth. “What were you cooking when I arrived, anyway? I’m starved.”
“A pie crust,” Armand says. “There’s tuna-jello filling in your refrigerator.”
“Tuna jello?” Daniel blurts out, aghast.
Armand looks hurt, pouting out his bottom lip. “I got the recipe from a real nineteen-fifties cookbook. I thought it would be authentic.”
Daniel kisses him again, laughing breathlessly into his mouth. “I love you. I’m gonna make a run to the bodega, ok?”