He's Wearing My Shirt~~đź’•
Author's Note
Maybe this is going to be a series, or maybe it won't be.
Maybe this is an unfinished sequel to another unfinished fic, or maybe it isn't.
Maybe this will be downvoted to Hell, or maybe it'll gain a few appreciative comments.
Maybe this will become hate fodder for anonymous circle-jerking, or maybe secret bookmarks for closet fetishists.
The only thing for certain is that Xan-gelx drew an amazing work of commissioned art for me, and I felt compelled to toss words at it. So enjoy. Or don't. I like to think that I did.
-a lazy lemur
The Morning After
Fuzz.
Glow.
Azure on gold, wrapped in fuchsia.
The image grew foggier...
...so a set of snow-white fingers reached in and tapped dead-center on the phone's screen.
The fog lifted as the digital image intensified. The lens adjusted. The curtain of obscurity dissolved. At last, the body came into focus. Petite. Soft. Young and lithe. Effeminate—except for subtle, choice places: the shoulders, the throat, the back of the head, perhaps—but otherwise a prissy portrait that deserved to be wrapped in nothing but pink.
At last, the screen zoomed in, focusing on his face. The fragile, fluttering eyelashes. The kissy lips pursed, breathing, coming to.
And those same snow white fingers from earlier slid over to the circular “button” situated at the base of the app. The framed image of a angelically waking young man flickered with a simulated shutter snap.
Click.
An ear wiggled—like a cat's—and he even let loose a tiny trilling sound as he stirred awake from the whiff of discordant noise against the otherwise velvety silence of that bedroom. Forearms hitched, fingers kneaded against a plush mattress. Slowly—like a blooming flower—he undeflated, rising up from the heart of the king-sized bed with precious grace, his otherwise masculine body betrayed by a pink shirt that looked deliciously enormous on his diminutive figure. Each second of his resurrection was utterly precious, every minute filled with mirth and muscle coming alive in the early morning glow wafting through the lacily curtain'd windows beyond.
The white fingers—shivering slightly now—slapped and slapped over the phone camera's buttons multiple times, preserving each angle of this awakening masterpiece with great earnest.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The young man seemed mostly unaffected by the digital percussion sounding off from the other side of the room. He was still encumbered by the anchors of slumber; his eyes hadn't even completely opened. Then—when it looked at last that a feline stretch was about to commence...
...the author of the pale fingers swung around, pivoting the camera in tow, until the device's screen clearly caught the proud porcelain smile of a buxom, curvaceous woman. Principal Celestia captured her flowing pastel hair, her lively rose-tinted eyes, and her ample bosom tucked into a lacy black bra. But—far more importantly, for her and the rest of the universe—she also captured a wondrous prize in the background.
Her prize, finally sitting up, stretching one arm heavenward and yawning adorably to the early-morning glow. Flash Sentry squatted tinily, drowning among the satin sheets of an enormous bed still warm from a night of furious love-making, and the only thing covering his naked nethers was the billowing lengths of Celestia's very own shirt, which he wore comfortably like a priceless statue might model a silken shroud just milliseconds before a glorious unveiling. Even if the opposite was true.
Celestia smiled.
Celestia winked.
And Celestia—
Click!
—captured her young lover in mid-stretch. Even if the Principal occupied more than half the frame, the true and tantalizing focus of the selfie was more than obvious. Flash Sentry looked like a perching mermaid in the ocean of the woman's most personal of personal spaces, and the image made it look like he'd have to swim twenty-thousand leagues to even consider escaping the fringes of her absolute dominion.
Try as she might to look commanding and dignified in the half-hearted self-portrait, Celestia realized—upon gazing at the digital image—that her right hand had clutched itself into a fist. That—combined with her coy wink—made her look like a giddy little schoolgirl who had just happened upon her idolized celebrity crush. The sheer joy and enthusiasm enraptured the woman, and a pair of diamond-hard nipples stabbed the inner fabric of that expensive onyx brassiere of hers.
Perhaps it was this euphoria that impulsed her—against all rationality and common sense—to submit a copy of the picture to her closest gal-pals, but not without swiftly thumb-plinking the accompanying text:
He's Wearing My Shirt~~đź’•
The statement was boastful. It was also daring. But—worst of all—it was ludicrously redundant. Anyone with a lick of sense could tell by looking at the fabric-ensnared boi that the article he was wearing could only have belonged to Celestia. The visual totem—the solar crest dotting the bust of the shirt—was more than a dead giveaway. Beyond that, the low v-neck of the tee, designed for revealing more than a modicum of “tasteful” cleavage for when the Principal was off-duty and partying with friends (or strangers), was currently displaying a gold-tinged chest, flatter than conspiracy theories, and glazed with a cream-smooth texture of skin that produced a veritable shine in the light of dawn. Without a bosom to fight it, the shirt easily drooped down the boi's torso like the pastel peak of a loose nightgown, and even his somewhat masculine shoulders simply weren't broad enough to prevent the upper frames of the womany top from slinking off the foundations of his nubile arms.
Such was the result of the rapturous contrast in size between the two lovers, a length that was ever-so-tantalizing matched by years, which was a self-repeating thought that had flickered like muzzle flash in the Principal's mind over the last eighteen hours, between explosions wrought by other factors... such as hands, fingers, tongues, and varying lengths of well-lubricated silicone. There was a part of her who could not deny—and instead had to shamelessly admit—that a huge portion of their relationship relished in the wretched kink of it all: of hinging so damnably and precariously close to the knifing edge of the unthinkable. Even unlawful.
But—like sane human beings—they solaced themselves with remaining safely within the fringes of survivable boundaries, so that it felt like riding a roller coaster with mere inches' measure of avoiding dismemberment or decapitation with their sweat-covered limbs stretched to turgid mast. Or a bungee jump spent screaming—and laughing—with full knowledge that they had just enough skin on their teeth to avoid impact upon the nadir of their lurid plunge.
And then there was the fact that Celestia once mentored Mr. Sentry at a public high school. And in regards to that... well... the only thing the older woman ever groomed prior to his graduation was her own pubic hair. In private. While listening to Bruno Mars on Spotify. She never once contacted Flash for social reasons until he was well into his first year of college, and after that the two listened to lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of Portishead.
Still, the whole current-principal and former-student thing wasn't the best. Except when it was.
Like right then—as Celestia's trembling finger sent the laughably questionable selfie to her closest friends, and she felt a wickedly hot wetness spreading through the crotch of her panties that could only hope to mimic the horny Niagra she experienced the sunset prior—when she was carrying the young man through the bedroom door, tossing him onto the covers, and pouncing on him like a carnivorous panther as her streaking lips, stripping fingers, and starving tongue compelled Flash to call out “Miss Celestia!” again and again and again with increasingly fractured octaves.
Back when their affair first began, they had conjured a safe word to allow a loving and gracious escape from anything that proved to be far too “rough” or “intense,” but beyond that it was fair game—or perhaps unfair game—and as Celestia ravaged and dominated to her carnal heart's content, she lost count of which part of her submissive lover leaked more: his eyes or his nethers. But it mattered little. She licked and kissed it all clean once he descended from the crest of her conquests... and then they cuddled for the many, many soft hours to follow.
A contented sigh escaped her lips. At the very last second, she thought of editing the text of the selfie to say something more akin to:
Look At This Adorkable Nearly-Twenty-Year-Old College Twink Who Is Totally Mature And Consensual But Is Just The Right Size And Demeanor To Roleplay Questionably Taboo Fantasies With Me And Doesn't He Look Absolutely Cute In My Shirt As Captured In This Photo That I've Gotten His Express Permission To Casually Take Of Him Long Before We Met For This Most Recent And Secretive Consummation~~đź’•
But—naturally—she relied on the shorter message that had been pre-ordained. Life, as it wonderfully turned out, was stranger than fiction. And if it wasn't, then Celestia was more than happy to turn the page of this proverbial smut, rather than linger there, dwelling upon erotiphilosophical redundancies, propagated by those who might misconstrue propriety with fear, anonymous or otherwise. At the end of the day, nobody was hurt. Except for maybe Flash's butt—and that was likewise tempered by cautious, mutual, and playful acceptance.
Turns out, it was okay to be okay.
Celestia smiled as her finger released from the button on her phone, and she saw indications pop up of the image having been sent to her closest confidants. The tiniest flicker of uncertainty tickled her eardrums—of the terrifying possibility that the image might get “intercepted” by some lifeless digital guru with career-murdering intent. To which, Celestia merely giggled, a fraction of it brought on by the crazy risks that her middle-aged soul had grown addicted to. The sheer gamble of it all. Of everything. And the absolute euphoria it brought her—both of them—in wave upon wave that their glorious affair endured. And even if a monumental drought canceled the entire ocean underneath them, nothing could take back the stars that they had reached while surfing on high together.
Besides, the principal thought—with more mirth than logic—I'd consider it an “upgrade.”
It was more silly than cynical, and she didn't tread water there long. Celestia turned the page, and—in so doing—strolled back to the bed where her precious pet lay, finishing his stretch. Ocean blue eyes opened, one after the other, glittering and thin and sleepy and beautiful. She saw a tall, dominant woman reflected in both, and for a brief lapse in horniness, Celestia wondered whom she was in love with the most, until she remembered it was all three at once.
“Good morning, my little princess~,” the woman purred down at him.
And there it swam to the surface—the pinkish blush that instantly rose to the young man's cheek at even the slightest hint of doting feminization. It suited Flash, honestly, with his petite features and passive personality. And it suited Celestia that it suited Flash: their little game of playful prettifying—if only because it further magnified the degree to which he served as her submissive and obedient toy. After all, it wasn't Mr. Sentry's masculinity that won Celestia over, but rather how easily and majestically she engulfed the entirety of his trembling world with the merest flick of a wrist, and if it took pink frills and cute bows to kite him even further into her loving arms, then she was all for it. Besides—since childhood she always wanted a full-sized doll of her own that laughed and cried; so what if it came with an extra switch... that came a lot...?
“Mmmmm...” He balled up a dainty fist and rubbed one eye, smiling up at her as he stifled another cutetastic yawn. “Good morning, Tia.”
The earth stirred. Mountains crumbled. At the crest of such continental shifting, Celestia's brow furrowed intimidatingly. Despite the venom of that scowl, the hum in her voice carried an ounce of sweetness that was more coaxing than admonishing: “What did you just call me, pet?”
Flash went limp. He stared up at the matriarch like a deer in headlights, terrified, as if having forgotten something immeasurably important, like forgetting to sign off 4chan on his laptop back at the dorm. “Uhm... I... I-I...”
“You do remember what we both agreed to, yes?” She stood rigidly on the end of the bed. Her rigid posture was only flimsily betrayed by a lilt in her voice—playful as it was threatening—which conveyed that he was allowed a narrow escape from this moment, one she hoped he wouldn't take, or else the afterglow was about to end pretty damn quick. “Do you want to be a sweet princess today? Just like you were last night? Hmmmm?”
A tiny squeak escaped his lips. He blushed. He avoided her gaze. He pulled the collar of her shirt up—only for it to slide back off his shoulder again. He blushed some more.
At times, it was hard to tell just how coquettish Flash Sentry truly was, and how much of it was him putting on a show: just playing a part. But that was fine; Celestia loved to play too. So she delighted in the ambiguous charade as much as he did, although her patience had limits.
“Come on, sweetie...” She licked her lips. An adoring smile. There were times when she had to squeeze this sort of thing out of him. But they had both well exerted each other the night before. She knew as well as he did that the both of them were positively dripping in the weak rosy shade of it all. “It's not that hard. I know you love to call me it almost as much as I love to hear it.”
“Mmmm...” Flash Sentry clutched both hands demurely together between his body and his legs. Somehow, he now looked even smaller in her shirt, if that was even possible. Bashful eyes lifted towards her, as if staring her majesty in the face was tantamount to scaling the atmosphere of Jupiter, and Celestia quietly cursed the young man for possessing just the right degree of poise and grace to make her melt so damned easily. “Good morning, Mommy.”
An airy sigh escaped her lips. Like an autumn cloud, Celestia drifted down onto the bed, shifting the boi towards her with the impression her beautiful body made into the mattress, a body that now surrounded him, engulfed him. She clutched his near-naked self to her near-naked self, and it would take a hypothetical jury of immortal outsiders centuries to decide which was hotter: the naked femboi in an oversized t-shirt or the amazonian goddess in black lingerie. She decided to obsess over neither, for it was Flash's turn to melt.
“That's my good girl~” she whispered, into his ear. Into his mind. Into his soul. Arms snaked around and squeezed around his chest. Pillowy white breasts pressed into his upper shoulders. A fountain of hair caressed her neck and his as she peppered the top of Flash's soft blue head with motherly kisses. “My sweet... sweet baby girl~”
The young man cooed, surrendering himself limply into the fantasy—into paradise—provided by Celestia's arms as her far larger figure swallowed him into her lap, arms, and bosom from behind.
The Principal was tall and magnificent by many standards, which brought her more than a small amount of difficulty in landing relationships with most men... until she stopped desiring most men. After all, the most treasured “things” about them could be more than met in water-proof engineering. But beyond a good fuck, she mostly desired a soul she could hold onto without it bounding off with an impulsive mind of its own. A soul that would cling to her without any desire to be anywhere else. A soul like Flash Sentry's. And, if the need arose—and it arose often—he could be trained to utilize the said engineering in Celestia's possession without the risk of it failing to scale the mountain midway. Such was his dedication and—by definition—his endurance.
But that's not what Celestia needed right now.
For the moment, what she needed was for him to know that he was hers—roleplaying or not. And she needed to delight in knowing that he knew that he was hers. Hers to control. Hers to adore. Hers to dominate. Hers to tease. Hers to torture.
But—for right now—hers to cuddle. And smell, her nose coming to a roost at the fluffiest point of his scalp, relishing in his criminally pure scent, sprinkled with the fruitiest hint of the womanly perfume and conditioner that she had lent him often throughout the past months, instructing him—mothering him—to ritualistically use day after day, even when she wasn't present, so that he would always smell what she smelled... and know that she knew...
...that he was hers. He was hers and hers alone.
“You are mine,” she purred, those arms around him squeezing and owning tighter and lovelier. “You are mine.” Almost weeping this time, fractious and fervent, upon the crest of breaking, so that her deepest core wasn't entirely sure who owned who anymore, and which of the two might shatter harder if ever this delightful little duet of theirs was to come to an undue end. “My sweet little princess~”
A humming sound came from the boi. Content. Domesticated. With the hint of uncontrollable shudders. So that she knew—and could sigh with intense relief—that she had won him all over again.
“Mmmmm... y'know...” Celestia's fingers kneaded his chest, tummy, and ribs through the fabric of her own shirt. “I had the most marvelous dream last night.” Her nose wandered from his scalp to his temple to his neck-and-chin. “I dreamt that I had a dinner date with this absolute cherub. And then—after dessert and dancing—I took him home and made him gasp and cry...” She licked her lips, then his... as she snaked her beautiful face around for an invasive kiss or two. “... … ...with a gargantuan strap-on that would put minotaurs to shame.”
Flash's responding gulp was cartoonishly audible. Celestia sensed his tight fannie wriggling into her lap, which only made her panties all the wetter. But when she stroked a hand down to play with his thigh, that wriggling turned to wincing.
She was delighted and concerned all at once. “Oh, precious...” She cooed as her other hand stroked his feathery bangs from behind. “...you're not still sore, are you?”
“I... uh...” Flash tittered with a nervous laugh. Celestia noticed his calves shifting, but the toes couldn't muster the nerve to wiggle. The boi blushed for the umpteenth time as he managed a smile through a pained expression. “...I-I don't think I'll be able to walk straight... mmmm... f-for a few more hours.”
“Awwwwwwww... sweetie...” Celestia petted his head and gave him one kiss... two kisses... three kisses to the back of the neck. “I guess Mommy will just have to carry you to breakfast.”
The young man giggled. It was high-pitched. Soft. So that Celestia wondered why he didn't carry such an airy melody all the time. He was fully capable of this persona, and she felt blessed that she could lure it out of him so easily. It was a gift, and she cursed herself for wanting to spoil him. Every minute of every day. Even if that somehow meant spoiling herself.
If they lingered there in silence any longer, he was bound to feel the increasing sharpness of her nipples poking into his back.
“Sooooo...” She curled a finger against his cheek before toying with those pert lips of his. “...did my little princess remember any marvelous dreams from last night?”
“I... uh...” Flash gazed stupidly into an infinite horizon. “...I dreamt that I was lost inside a giant mall. But it was also a pool. Or maybe it was a shower? Anyways, it was raining everywhere.”
Celestia blinked.
“And... uhhhh... I was trying to get to work? But the Beatles were there. And every time I tried to step around Ringo's drums, I kept getting lost. I tried to find a map or a directory, but my brain couldn't process anything. Then I saw a shop selling lolita dresses but each time I moved towards it, the length of the floor would draw away. Or the rain would sweep over like a veil. But then you took my hand and said something funny and we floated off on Splash Mountain logs.”
“Pffffft!” Celestia rolled her eyes before giving him another squeezing hug. “Well, I'm glad I was there in some capacity.”
“Oh... OH! You mean l-last night!” Flash sputtered to the giggly surface of the moment. He clutched harder to his domme's arms. “I-I really liked that part when you sat on my face and came hard. Like... screaming hard.”
Celestia raised her eyebrow. “Care to be more specific?”
“... … ...the really wet time that you came.”
Celestia raised her eyebrow even higher. “...Care to be more specific?”
Flash giggled hard. Instinctively, he kicked his legs out—only to wince from the juvenile gesture. “Ow ow owwwww...”
“Ssshh-sshhh—” Celestia caressed him from behind, easing him back into her lap. “Careful, sweetie. You were such a good little princess for me last night.” A warm, humming chuckle. “It's no wonder you slept like an angel. Poor thing—I absolutely wore you out, didn't I?”
“Mmmmyeahhhhhh...” Flash squeezed her hand as he leaned back into her bosom. “But... this is—like—the comfiest I've ever been.”
She smirked knowingly. “Comfy enough to slip into my shirt at some point before sunrise.”
“Uhm...” Flash blushed—almost hard enough to match the article in question. She gave the drooping collar a bit of a tug, before snuggling up all happy and content in the fuchsia fabric. “I-I just c-couldn't help myself.”
“And why is that, sweetie~?”
He tilted his adorable gaze up at her, eyes sparkling as he clutched at the opposite sleeves of the shirt. “Because it smells like Mommmmmy~”
Celestia's heart fluttered. Among other things. She had to squeeze her thighs together a few times. When her hands caressed Flash next, they drifted considerably lower than before. “My Goddess, do you know how to turn me on.”
“Heeheehee...” He raised himself up just enough to give her nose an upside-down-eskimo-kiss. “But it's truuuuue~”
“You keep talking like this and breakfast will have to wait.” Celestia nibbled on his neck—then did so a bit harder. “Grrrrrr—or I could just have my meal here.”
“Ah! Hahahaha—”
“Mrmmmff—well?”
“Mommy—!” He gasped, wriggling. “That tickles!”
Just then, a melody struck the air, accompanied by sensual lyrics sung in the voice of Beth Gibbons.
“Oop!” Celestia responded to the notification by lifting her phone up before the two of them. “Looks like my gal pals have started a Discord call!”
“Mmmmmmfff—” Flash fought a lazy yawn, stretching in Celestia's embrace. “This early? What for?”
“They probably wanna gush over the photo I just took of you.”
“I see.” Flash's eyes blinked, the pupils shrinking. For a split-hair moment, his voice lowered back to the stereotypical gravel of a twenty-year-old dude spontaneously landing a traffic violation ticket. “Wait. Photo of what??”
Blip.
A tiny red light turned on along the top of the phone—which Celestia promptly aimed at the two of them in bed. Flash blinked beadily at the mobile device's screen. Featured in a tiny picture-in-picture rectangle was a mommy-domme and her prey. The rest was a mosaic of livestreamed middle-aged faces—about half-a-dozen or so—all reacting with varying degrees of adoration and enthusiasm.
“Heyyyyyyy girls~!” Celestia sing-songed, wrapping her free arm around Flash's upper body and pinning him in a bosomy vice. “Is it adorable in here or is it just this heavenly little catch~?”
The phone's speakers offered a chorus of friendly, cooing, and covetous voices:
“OoooOooooooh!~”
“Girrrrrrrl!~”
“Awwwwww!!”
“So THIS is the young stud you tamed into submission!”
“Ha ha ha! I can't tell if he's scared or turned on!”
“Perhaps both!”
“Eeep!” Flash hid in the only place he could—into the forest of Celestia's dangling hair. A forest that he was swiftly robbed of cover the moment she tossed her splendid mane, exposing him once again to all of the doting digital eyes. He turned red as a beet, trembling—and squirming—into the cloud of Celestia's own shirt.
“Don't be shy, sweetie...” Celestia leaned in and kissed his head. Only when she was close enough did she whisper at such a soft level that only he could hear: “I told you days ago that this would happen. I've been dying to show you off.”
He gulped. “I know,” he stammered.
Her eyes narrowed with an empathetic glint. “You can just say our special word, and I can end this at any time.”
He gulped again. Still clinging to her. “I kn-know...”
Her lips curved. Her breath was hot and earnest. “You're totally turned on by my showcasing you like this, aren't you?”
Flash bit his lip. The young man slowly nodded.
“I knew it.” Celestia kissed him on the nose. “My adorable little slut.”
A calm and sophisticated voice crackled from the phone: “Care to include us in your secret conversation, sister?”
“Not holding back anything, Luna. Not anymore!” Celestia smiled as she shifted herself and her trembling pet closer to the phone's camera, into focus. “Not among my besties. Ladies—it's been a long time coming, but this is the moment you've all been waiting for. I'm sure you all saw the photo I sent. Well, feast your eyes even more. This here is my prized possession. The one and only—Flash Sentry.”
“Uh huh. That won't be his name for much longer, will it?”
“Heeheehee!”
“Why good morning, sunshine!”
“Don't you just look adorable and tiny sitting next to your goddess~?”
“Tia has told us so much about you!”
“Been a long time, Mr. Sentry. How is college life treating you?”
“Pffft! Don't be such a buzzkill, Luna. You'll ruin Tia's moment here!”
“Hardly!” Celestia winked. “She knew about this longer than the rest of you.” The Principal squeezed the boi's shoulder. “These are my friends—whom I share everything with. And now that means you!” A motherly nuzzle. “Say hello, princess!”
“Uhm...” Flash threw on a nervous smile. “'Hello, Princess.'”
The gaggle of ladies' faces laughed again, which only forced Flash to blush more, which only made them giggle even more, and Celestia's instant impulse was to hug her “shy” little pet with blossoming pride. And soon the bedroom was a symphony of feminine voices, enchanted and mirthful, bright enough to match the twinkling sunlight wafting in through the windows.
