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"Dirty Pretty Things"
Title: Dirty Pretty Things
Author: Daytona Demon
Summary: Mike introduces Peter to more of his interesting psychosexual quirks, and Peter learns the reasons for Mike's distorted self-image.
Warnings: Explicit sexual language and situations, sexual violence, humiliation, cross-dressing.
Disclaimer: This story is about the characters, not the guys who played them, no implication is meant about the men who played the characters, I don't own the characters, and I get no profit from this (except a case of the jollies). So there.
“Peter, come here. I have something to show you,” Mike yelled from his bedroom.
Peter had grown accustomed to Mike’s demands, so much so that at first he missed the urgency in Mike’s voice.
“PETER!” Mike roared. “NOW!”
Peter dropped his magazine and scurried to the bedroom. Ignoring Mike was never a good idea. Punishment would be swift and brutal.
When Peter looked through the doorway, he was confused momentarily. At the end of the room, facing away from him, stood a female form – tall, slender, long-legged in a clingy multicolored minidress, white tights, and pink boots. Chestnut-brown hair reached down to her back.
The brunette turned around. Peter’s jaw dropped and he heard himself gasp.
“Yes,” said the brunette, fluttering his heavily made-up eyes and pursing his lips at Peter. “You like?”
Peter opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “You’re…wow. You’re gorgeous.”
Mike flirtatiously stroked the long locks that draped his face. “Thank you. I do my best.”
Peter stepped back to take in the full sight of Mike dressed as a surprisingly attractive woman. The eye makeup, false lashes, and lipstick were just heavy enough to be convincing, but not enough to make Mike look as if he were in some sort of Halloween costume. The minidress fit him as if it were made for him. The tights and boots accentuated Mike’s long, slender legs.
“You look like Elizabeth Taylor or something. Your eyes. Wow,” Peter said.
Mike let out a slight, feminine “hmph” and smoothed his dress. “Her eyes are a different color from mine,” he said, delicately holding up his wrist to admire a chunky bracelet.
Peter scratched his head, feeling thoroughly confused. It had been difficult enough to accept his attraction to Mike and eagerness to let Mike order him around, humiliate him, or treat him roughly at times. Peter knew it was all part of their game, roles they both needed to play to satisfy urges deep inside them that they could never share with anyone else. But now, Mike was a chick, and a damned hot chick. Irresistible, in fact.
Mike fluttered his eyelashes at Peter again and turned around, bending to look out the window.
“Mike? How long have you been doing this?” Peter asked, admiring the way Mike's ass looked in the tight, short dress.
“Since I was a kid,” Mike said, still looking out the window. “There was a girl down the street who was tall and skinny like me. Janine, her name was. She was a couple years older than me. Her mother couldn’t afford to buy her a lot of clothes, and there was hardly anything around in the stores for a girl built like that. Her mom had to sew almost all her clothes. Her mom used to pay my mom to have me go over to their house and be their dress model, because we were the same size. It was still cheaper than trying to get to one of the tall-girl shops and buy their specialty stuff.”
Peter’s mouth dropped open. “What? Why couldn’t Janine’s mom just let Janine be the clothes model?”
Mike turned around briefly to look at Peter, then turned back to stare out the window. “Because if you’re making your daughter a special dress for her birthday or Christmas or Easter or whatever, it isn’t as special if she knows about it ahead of time. My mom needed the money, so she’d send me over there to stand with these hunks of material on me, while the neighbor lady sewed and stitched and tore stitches out and put new ones in.”
Peter squinted, still confused. “OK…that sounds awful. Didn’t you hate it?”
“At first,” Mike said, crossing his arms high on his chest, still staring out the window. “Janine, she was always out running around while I was over at her house, but she had friends in the neighborhood and a few times, they came over and saw me with these girl clothes on. They’d make fun of me, call me ‘pretty girl’ and say I was a better girl than a boy. I was embarrassed. I asked them what I could do to make sure they’d never tell anyone. The neighbor lady didn’t care. She thought it was all just kids having fun.”
“What did they want you to do?” Peter asked.
Mike stood up straight and smoothed his hair again. “They wanted to put makeup and wigs on me. They said they could make me pretty. I was an ugly boy, but they could make me a pretty girl in a dress. And I let them.
“After the neighbor lady was done making adjustments to the clothes, and her afternoon cocktails put her to sleep for a nap, and Janine was out running around God knows where, the other girls would take me into Janine’s bedroom. They all used to play dress-up together, so they knew where Janine kept her clothes and makeup and even some wigs.”
Peter walked over to the bed and sat down. “How many times did they do this?”
“I don’t remember,” Mike said, touching his hand to the windowpane. His expression looked lost, distant. “I remember the first time. They picked me out a dress, and I had to take Janine’s dress off so carefully so no pins stuck me, hang it up where her mother could find it later. They watched me standing there in my underwear, taking off a dress and putting another one on. They must have spent an hour on my eyes, my lips, rouge, picking out a wig, the whole nine yards. When they were done, they kissed me on the cheek and told me how pretty I was, and would I like to see.”
“Did you?” Peter asked.
“Yes,” Mike said quietly, “because I was tired of being big ol’ ugly Mike Nesmith from down the street. I was tired of being made fun of because everything about me just looked wrong, out of proportion. I was tired of girls in class teasing each other saying, ‘Would you kiss Mike?’ and they’d say, ‘No, I’d rather kiss my dog.’ You hear enough of that, it kinda gets old after a while.”
Mike leaned his cheek on the windowpane. Peter thought he looked beautiful, the sunlight streaming in and highlighting Mike’s strong features and dark eyes. If Mike had ever been ugly, he’d certainly grown out of it, and those girls would surely kick themselves now.
“When they were done, they gave me a mirror so I could see how pretty I was,” Mike continued. “And I was pretty. I couldn’t believe it was me. If I’d been the new girl at school, I would have liked me. Then the girls, they started teasing me again, saying how cute I looked as a girl, how all the boys would like me, and all the girls would be jealous of me, and…”
and I know I turned red because my face was hot, and and my crotch was on fire and I had to get myself off, right then, I couldn’t wait and I couldn’t stand it and I ran out of the house and I only made it to the shed behind another neighbor’s yard before I had to hide and jack off, right there, the wig and the makeup and dress still on me. That’s what I couldn’t tell anyone. How I felt when I was dressed up. Trying to hide a hard-on when the neighbor lady had that dress on me, making me pose so she could see how the fabric would lie. The way I looked when those girls made me up, fussin’ all over me and making me beautiful. The way it felt to see myself all pretty. And I was pretty. Even then. As long as I was a girl.
“And then what?” Peter asked, wondering if he wanted to know the answer.
“I liked it,” Mike said. “I liked it so much, I had to leave, right away. But I kept coming back so they could keep doing it. Teasing me. Making me pretty. Then Janine and her mom moved, and there I was, needing to dress up and be pretty and not knowing what to do. So I stole stuff. From girls. From stores. From my mom. From anywhere. Makeup and wigs and dresses and shoes, I had it all. I’d dress myself up. Sometimes I’d come home from school, and I’d be mad as hell and my hands hurting because I’d beaten up some kid who made fun of me, or I’d be angry at some girl because of something she said to me, and so I’d hide in my room and make myself pretty.”
Peter’s mind reeled. “Why do you do it now, Mike?”
Mike turned away from the window, his face beautiful but his expression harsh. “Because it turns me on. It makes me hard. Because when I fuck a girl, she doesn’t know I just swiped one of her wigs or lipsticks or a skirt or a pair of shoes, and that makes me want her more. Because when I fuck her, I know I’m just as pretty as she is. Maybe prettier. I know how good her clothes feel. I look at her in those stockings she’s about to take off, and I think about how those stockings feel on me, and I can’t hardly stand it. I need to have her right then, spread her legs and fuck her like she’s never been fucked, make her scream for me. I become her. I make her fuck herself, and she doesn’t even know it.”
Peter’s face hardened, turned angry. “Because when you’re fucking her, you’re fucking yourself. Oh, that’s great, Michael. I’m so glad you shared that with me. I’m so glad to know I’m not pretty enough for you unless I’m a girl. Screw your bullshit. I’m done with you. I’m done with you messing with my head.”
Peter stood up and walked toward the door, but was jerked back sharply as Mike grabbed his arm.
“Mike, let me go,” Peter snarled. “I swear I’ll hit you –“
Mike threw Peter across the room. Peter flattened himself against the wall as Mike approached him, eyes as dark and threatening as thunderclouds. Peter put his hands up to warn Mike away, and Mike grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the wall over Peter’s head.
“Leave me alone,” Peter hissed. “Leave me alone. Let me go. Get out of my face.”
Mike stunned Peter by dropping his wrists and backing up. “OK, Peter, you’re free to go.”
Peter stayed against the wall, staring as Mike smoothed the locks on his wig and straightened his dress.
“Do you think I’m pretty, Peter?” Mike asked, cocking his head to one side.
“God, yes,” Peter breathed. “I already told you that. But you –“
Mike stepped forward, leaned in close, and put one hand over Peter’s mouth. “I’m going to make you pretty too,” he breathed into Peter’s ear. “I want to dress you up. You’re so beautiful, that smile…you’ve always been beautiful, haven’t you? Not ugly like me. No, sir. I’m going to dress you up. You’re going to be so amazing. Nobody would ever want a real girl again who saw you after I dress you up. But only I get to see you.”
Peter trembled in Mike’s grasp, intoxicated by his words. “What do you want me to do, Mike?”
“Wait here,” Mike said. “I won’t be long.”
Peter waited, standing against the wall, as Mike disappeared into the closet, gathering makeup and clothes and shoes and wigs, comparing, cursing, tossing items back into the closet, and finally emerging with his tools of magic transformation.
“Sit there,” Mike ordered, pointing at the bed. Peter sat.
Mike brought his paraphernalia over to the bed and began working. First, the makeup, carefully attending to Peter’s eyes. “Now, the fake lashes might be a bit much with your coloring, so we’re gonna stick with mascara.” Then, the lips. Peter made himself sit still as Mike applied lipstick on him, forced himself not to squirm. It felt good, being made up, being attended to by Mike.
Mike stepped back to check his work. He tilted his head, squinted, and brushed his thumb along the bottom of Peter’s lower lip. Peter felt himself shiver with pleasure. “I knew you’d like this,” Mike said, smiling broadly.
Peter smiled back, pleased to see a rare grin from Mike. This was making Mike happy, and that made Peter happy.
Mike chose a white blouse and and red miniskirt for Peter, along with a long blond wig slightly lighter than Peter’s real hair color. “Last will be these shoes,” Mike said, pointing to a pair of red high-heeled pumps. “Dress for me.”
Peter undressed slowly, careful not to smear his makeup, and fumbled with the blouse and skirt. Mike smirked, watching Peter struggle with the unfamiliar clothing. Peter stepped into the high-heeled shoes, wavered uncertainly, and then steadied himself. Last was the wig, which Peter placed slowly over his hair, carefully tucking his own hair under the wig, drawing out the process of straightening it and making it just so, enjoying watching Mike grow restless with anticipation.
Peter balanced himself carefully on his shoes and dramatically threw his arms out, chest forward, hips tilted. “Ta-da!”
Mike smiled. “Would you like to see yourself, Peter?”
“Of course,” Peter said.
Mike fished a hand mirror out of the closet. “Oh, gorgeous you,” he said, holding up the mirror to Peter’s face.
Peter was stunned. He recognized himself, but barely. Beautiful brown eyes, dark lashes, exquisite blond hair, sensuous lips...”I’d do me,” he said, not realizing he’d spoken aloud.
Mike looked at Peter, his gaze intense and lustful. “I would too,” he said.
Peter felt himself thrown against the wall yet again, but this time, Mike was on him, pinning Peter’s wrists downward and behind him, kissing him, forcing his tongue into Peter’s mouth. Mike jammed one of his hands between Peter’s thighs to fondle him under his skirt.
“Pretty little thing,” Mike murmured into Peter’s ear. “Dirty pretty thing. I think I’m going to have my way with you. I’m going to hike up that short skirt of yours and touch you. I’m going to make you want me, make you beg for me. If you fight me, I’m going to touch you more. The harder you fight me, the more I’m going to make you want me.”
Peter knew an invitation to battle when he heard it. He struggled, turning his face away from Mike, trying to move and feeling himself pressed harder against the wall. He felt his erection brushing against the skirt he wore, wanted to give up the fight and be ravished.
“Gonna fight me, huh, slut? Go ahead. I like that. Fight me, baby,” Mike said, raising Peter’s arms and pinning his wrists over his head.
Peter turned his head back slowly to face Mike. “You’re the slut,” Peter taunted, knowing how to play the game with Mike. “You’re the whore. Ugly whore. Ugly useless whore. What kind of whore has to pay men to fuck her?”
He knew he’d gotten the reaction he wanted when Mike narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Peter closed his eyes a split second before Mike’s fist knocked him onto the floor. When Peter opened his eyes, he saw Mike’s boot headed toward his face. Peter grabbed the boot to knock Mike off balance and send him sprawling onto the floor.
As Mike tried to right himself, Peter crawled over to him and pinned him to the floor by his wrists, leaning his full weight down. Mike’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in shock. Peter dove in and kissed him, thrust his tongue into Mike’s mouth, relished Mike’s struggles beneath him. At last, Peter broke the kiss and lifted himself up.
“I didn’t mean that about you being an ugly useless whore. No whore as hot as you are is useless. You’re a fox, and I mean that,” Peter said, smiling at Mike’s shocked expression.
Mike reached up to Peter, ripped the wig off his head, and buried his hands in Peter’s hair. “Make it up to me, then. Suck me,” Mike whispered to Peter. “Suck my dick. Make me cum.”
Peter moved downward and pushed Mike’s minidress up. “Spread your legs, bitch,” Peter barked, and Mike grinned as he complied, pulling his tights down past his knees.
Peter teased the tip of Mike’s hardness with his tongue and lips, relishing Mike’s writhing and moans beneath him. “You taste so good,” Peter breathed. “Better than a chick.” He dove down, taking Mike’s entire cock inside his mouth, sucking greedily and working up toward the tip, then back to the base. Mike growled and cursed under his breath, thrusting gently into Peter’s mouth, then harder, faster, until he groaned and kicked at Peter, the orgasm racking him and making him tremble all over.
Peter swallowed the last of the salty load Mike had shot into his mouth, gently moved his lips from the base to the tip of Mike’s cock, and raised himself up. He moved in to thrust his tongue into Mike’s mouth, forcing Mike to taste himself.
Mike broke the kiss. “I think now’s the time,” he said to Peter as he removed his boots and tights.
“I think you’re right, doll,” Peter said drily. Mike chuckled as he stood up and rooted through a nightstand drawer. He tossed Peter the small jar of petroleum jelly.
As Peter stroked himself with the jelly, Mike stood up carefully, arms crossed, feet wide apart in a defiant stance, his tights still bunched below his knees. Peter knew what was coming.
“Take me down,” Mike ordered.
Peter shook the red pumps off his feet and walked over to Mike, grabbing him and kissing him. “Dirty girl,” he whispered into Mike’s ear. “Pretty little thing. You never needed those other girls to make you pretty. I see you in the middle of the day, playing your guitar, you’re the most beautiful thing I ever saw. I see you and I want you.”
Mike played at pushing Peter away. Peter grabbed him, held him tighter, and moved his hands over Mike’s ass, put his hands under the hem of Mike’s minidress. He spoke to Mike, his voice a low rumble.
“I need you like nothing I ever needed before, Michael. You make me do crazy things I never dreamed of. You make me want things no sane person wants. Jezebel. Whore. Slut. You put ideas in my head that are wrong, and I love it…you make me love it.”
Peter pushed Mike away suddenly, relishing Mike’s surprised look.
“And now you get on your knees for me, whore.” Peter lashed out and struck Mike on the shoulder, knocking him off balance and onto the floor. Mike glared up at him, tried to stand up, and then Peter was on him, fighting him, struggling to turn him over. At last, Peter flipped Mike onto his stomach and lay on him, panting heavily.
“Spread your legs, Mike. Spread for me, you bitch,” Peter hissed, shoving his hand between Mike’s thighs. Mike complied, no longer fighting, and Peter reached back for the jar of petroleum jelly that lay open on the floor.
“Put it in yourself, slut,” Peter commanded, as Mike scooped jelly from the jar and inserted his slippery fingers into his tight, waiting hole.
“I’m ready for you,” Mike said, steadying himself on all fours as Peter mounted him.
Mike gasped as he felt Peter’s cock inside him, striking his prostate, making him need to cum. Peter moved slowly, relishing the feeling of being balls-deep in this beautiful, strange creature with the minidress and the hard dick, that face that was so exquisite with or without makeup, all dark eyes and lush lips.
“Fuck me,” Mike begged, his voice cracking. “Fuck me hard, Peter.”
“Your wish is my command, as always,” Peter said. He dug his fingers into Mike’s shoulders, slamming himself into Mike as deeply as he could, relishing the moaning and swearing and desperate movement underneath him. Peter leaned to the left, balancing himself carefully so he could slide his right hand around to stroke Mike’s thigh and then grasp his cock, relishing the feeling of Mike’s erection in his hand.
Mike reared up, nearly bucking Peter off him, and began thrusting wildly. “Ahhhhh god…Peter…ohmygodsogood…” Peter felt his hand go slick, wet and warm as Mike came, and that triggered his own orgasm. Peter’s hips spasmed, legs shaking from the exertion and pleasure as he spurted his cum deep inside Mike.
Peter rolled off to face him, grinning.
“What’s so funny, hotshot?” Mike asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he lowered himself to the floor.
“Your hair’s crooked,” Peter said, plucking the wig from Mike’s head. “I like your real hair more, anyway.”
“You do?” Mike asked, surprised.
“Yeah,” said Peter. “Because it’s yours. You dirty, pretty thing. You come by it naturally. Being beautiful, that is. You don’t need all the other stuff.” Peter gently wiped the smeared lipstick from Mike’s mouth with the palm of his hand.
“But it’s fun. You gotta admit,” said Mike. “It’s hot, isn’t it? And I bet you never thought about it before…bein’ a girl for awhile.”
“It’s hot,” Peter said. “Slut.”
“Whore,” Mike countered.
“Your whore,” Peter corrected him.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Mike said, smiling again as he and Peter moved closer to embrace each other.