"How do I look?"
Wendy stared at Stan, hazel eyes bright and sparkling, awaiting the boy's reply. From the moment she stepped out of the bathroom, Stan couldn't stop staring, not even sparing a blink. His mouth gaped open, looking as though he was about to say-scream-something, but no words leaving his throat. She expected her boyfriend to be surprised, but after three straight minutes of silence, she felt she had to ask.
The question rang in Stan's ears as he gazed wide-eyed at his girlfriend. Her words replied over and over, but he just couldn't find an answer. He couldn't even find a reaction. He was shocked but was it in the good or bad way...? Was he pleased or disturbed...? Was he going to get slapped if he said he was leaning more towards aroused than anything...?
Stan just didn't know.
Thus, he only stared, looking over Wendy, trying to decode his emotions and formulate a decent reply. Not to mention shrug off some of the sexuality questions that popped into his mind.
If I say good is she going to think I'm gay...?
It wasn't like he was ogling a guy, it was just Wendy. But she was dressed as a guy, so wasn't that almost the same thing? Stan wasn't sure where to draw the line.
None the less, Wendy looked handsome. All her silky, ebony hair was tied up, feigning a short-haired appearance. Rather than the normal beret, she wore a beaten Gatsby cap, the hat tilted atop her head. With the help of thick clothing and a bit of binding, her breasts were just about nonexistent, chest as good as flat. The collar of her white cotton chemise was popped, overlapping the collar of her buttoned-up black blazer. The fabric of her suit was fine, the material smooth and dully shiny. The girl looked like she just stepped out of a JoS. A. Bank catalogue, complete with a signature crimson tie. If not for her feminine cheekbones or plump, curvy lips, Stan would've taken her for a man.
But she was still Wendy. And she was damn attractive.
Stan choked on his words, unable to cough up anything but gargles. He sounded like he was about to throw up, and at this rate he would puke on her before complimenting her.
Wendy bit her lip, watching Stan's deep azure eyes bulge and his cheeks redden. Just to be safe, she took a step back. Those clothes were her father's, and explaining why his finest suit had throw-up on it would not be a pleasant experience.
"Are you...okay?" She thought Stan finally got over tendency to barf on what he found beautiful.
"Fine-!" Stan croaked. He cleared his throat, covering his mouth, muffled coughs escaping.
The fuck do I say? The fuck do I say? What the fuck do I say?
Wendy pouted, raising an eyebrow to silently question him. Stan might have said he was okay but he certainly wasn't acting like he was. This was all her idea-just a little surprise to mix things up-and if it made him feel uncomfortable...
Stan breathed deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring as his thoughts raced. Wendy was stunning, that was certain. She was dashing, dapper, and debonair. She was the poster girl for the world's classiest men; and that was what kept hitting him wrong. It worked, but his fixation on the mechanics of how it did kept troubling him, mind questioning and rethinking the fairly irrelevant matter of orientation rather than allowing him to enjoy the handsome girl before him.
I'm so confused...
"Stan..."
Wendy reluctantly sauntered forward, brushing back her little anxieties as she took long, confident strides towards the baffled boy.
He gulped, springing straight up, hands falling to his side. He tensed up, her very aura making butterflies flutter rapidly in his stomach. His eyeballs nearly rolled out of their sockets as he watched Wendy near, feet vibrating in place. His jaw locked in place, teeth chattering in his mouth. He breathed in, senses overwhelmed by the scent of her cologne, the woodsy and spicy aroma delighting his nostrils. His vision blurred, going in and out of focus as she leaned towards his face.
"What's the matter?" She purred, a sex kitten in a stallion's attire. She breathed lightly against his face, her breath caressing him with warmth.
"N-nothing!" Stan's voice cracked. His mouth dried up. His skin clammed up. His thoughts blurred together. His muscles tightened. His stomach churned.
And then they kissed.
Wendy's soft, sweet lips, with just one touch, calmed Stan down, her kiss so soothing. It assured him, yes, this was still Wendy. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing herself against his chest. And Stan, albeit hesitantly, kissed back. He welcomed the hold, returning it by hugging her waist. However, what he didn't expect was to feel her packing.
That bulge wasn't normal for women.
She felt Stan stiffen, and a smirk spread on her lips. She knew he wanted it, his kiss said that. But he just had to...warm up to the plans she made.
"Don't be nervous," She whispered, her hands stroking the small of Stan's back, "It's just me, after all..."
Stan looked down at her, still internally torn. It screamed both right and wrong, both good and bad, both perfect and hellish. Confused chaos ripped the train tracks of every one of his thoughts, keeping him in a fog of uncertainty.
He wasn't making any real solid decisions himself in the near future.
That left Wendy to take charge.
Wendy liked taking charge.
"Wendy..." Stan started, only to be silenced with another kiss on the lips.
"Shhhh..." She rubbed her cheek against his neck, breathing softly against his crawling skin, "You said we'd try this...just trust me."
"But..." He didn't think that doing that was part of the package when he ordered.
Wendy lifted a hand, bringing it up to Stan's lips as she licked down his neck. A wave of satisfaction washed through her as the boy quivered. This was good, very good.
"Have an open mind," She said devilishly. Her hand ran down from Stan's back to his ass, her fluid pets felt through his polyester lounge pants (he wasn't nearly as dressed up as his girlfriend).
"W-Wendy...!" He trailed off, plunging back into mental turmoil. He liked it. He did. His body really liked it. But there was just one part of him so firmly against it, pouting and whining in the corner of his mind and anchoring everyone down and holding Stan back.
Wendy popped a finger into the ebon's mouth, slipping in just before he closed his mouth. Her skin tasted like rose soap, one of the girly expensive kinds women only used sparingly and for special occasion. Her finger teased in and out, wiggling around, tapping against his tongue. Stan went along with it, unable to fight it anyway.
As she worked magic with her finger, Wendy's other hand tugged on Stan's pants, slowly sliding them down. She hooked her fingers around the elastic waistband, working her way around to the front as she pulled the pants down. Eventually, she reached the front, revealing Stan's throbbing erection.
Stan shivered as her finger brushed up the skin, her touch so gentle, so tender. He bit down on her finger, applying more and more pressure as her finger neared the tip.
Wendy didn't seem to mind the biting, her lips curving against his collar. Things were going just as she planned, really. In what to her was such a short amount of time, she managed to get Stan into this little game. Why, they already advanced to level two: Teasing.
And as she rubbed his tip, hearing moans quiver inside the ebon's throat, her thoughts wandered to how the following level would play out. Level three was always the best.
She giggled, twirling her finger around his member as she worked her way back down, tongue licking up to his lower jaw line.
"Jesus Christ..." Stan muttered. He couldn't move. He just couldn't. All his muscles were rigid, hard, frozen. His body said, no, you're not moving because, yes, you will surely ruin everything. A voice in the back of his head mumbled something about being the submissive one of the relationship.
"You did want to experiment a little, didn't you, Stan?" Wendy murmured, easing her finger out of his mouth. She caressed his cheek, then stroked down his chest, hand sneaking around to his back, "We can't have people thinking were vanilla."
V-VANILLA?
Stan didn't really want people to think about his relationship with Wendy as boring and 'vanilla'—he didn't want people thinking about his relationship with Wendy at all, actually—but this all seemed so rushed, too rushed. Everything moved faster in confusion, though, and he had to admit that he liked what was going on.
He liked the way she touched him. He liked the way she dressed. He liked the way she said his name. He liked the way she professed.
It was weird, yes, but Stan saw it differently after realising that. Wendy always had his best interest at heart. She was smarter than he was, by far. She just wanted to have a little fun.
Though Stan's friend's regarded her as a high-maintenance bitch (and that was putting it lightly, he was sure that they spoke worse, far more colourful words about her when he wasn't around) who had Stan whipped tighter than the most masochistic sub, Stan never saw her that way. Wendy was spirited, independent, liberal, strong-willed, feisty. She wasn't like one of those small town girls they show in the movies, and she wasn't one of those bimbos either. She had her beliefs and stuck to them. She had her opinions and she stood by them. She was a role model while having the body of a supermodel.
He took her for granted sometimes. He'd zone out in conversation and just give dumb replies or stupidly nod his head. He'd forget her birthday or their anniversary and buy a crappy little gift at the last minute. He'd ogle other girl's butt cracks with Wendy standing right next to him (to which Kenny would usually point out "Sweetie, he's a man, and us men love crack, eh Stanny?"). They were just little stupid things but they added up. True, he bent over and broke his back for her on more than a few occasions, cancelling nights out with the boys and prompting her treatment as the 'Wicked Witch of South Park' (a name thought up by none other than the witty Eric Cartman), but she put a lot more into the relationship than he did.
Now was a great example.
Wendy only went off on a limb because she thought it would be a good thing to try. It would be exciting, new, not boring. She wanted to let Stan know that, though their relationship was years old in the making, things wouldn't always be the same. They wouldn't be redundant, boring, or any of that.
That was more what she meant by people. By people she meant Stan.
It all made sense.
How could I be so fucking stupid?
He relaxed, but almost as soon as he did, a finger slipped inside him. The intrusion alarmed him, body hardening as he jumped up with a gasp. Wendy's finger wiggled inside, stretching the heated walls, her touch sparking pains and pleasures Stan never felt before.
His mouth hung open, eyes flickering down to glance at his lover. His gaze was met with glistening hazel eyes, and a smile that entreated him to not be angered, for she would go softly, gently, as not to do him harm. The curve of her lips spoke for her, saying that she would do no harm and, if the games got out of hand, she would cease and desist.
He trusted her, signing his permission slip with a kiss on the lips.
It was fierce, passionate, and slightly uncomfortable. Muffled croaks came from Stan's throat, adjusting to the finger moving inside. Then the finger had a friend, restarting the process again. He clung to her, a hand clasped around her shoulder, broader with the blazer on, and the other tickling the back of her neck.
Time's pace accelerated, warped by heat and stimulation. Things moved quicker, memory working in bursts, catching clips and bits of what was happening.
Wendy's lips moved from Stan's to his neck. She bit. She gave his member another delicate stroke. Then she drew back, fingers sliding out from him.
Next thing Stan knew, he was bent over her bed frame, his soft fingers spreading apart his cheeks.
A second later, pain.
Just pain.
Another second, pleasure.
Sweet pleasure.
He groaned, enjoying it fully. The awkwardness subsided when he reminded himself that Wendy was doing it. Though that wasn't her in him, per say, she was driving it. She was controlling it.
Her hands were massaging his ass. Her melodious moans were filling the air. Her ideas were now bringing such unmatchable pleasure.
Everything blurred. Stan called her name. Wendy called his. The more they called, the closer they both came to ecstasy, to climax.
And then, it was over. She was out, but for both of them the pleasure lingered, afterglow tingling through them.
Stan fell to his knees, gripping the wooden frame, panting.
He glanced behind her, blinking away the queer moisture build up in his eyes.
She stood hunched over, letting out little moans under each exasperated breath. Her hat sat askew on her head, the black frizzing just a bit from humidity. Little parts of the outfit were off, a few new wrinkles, a little wear-and-tear, just an added tossed appearance.
Boyishly dressed or sporting a bikini, Wendy was a beauty to behold.
And, come to think of it, Stan liked what she was wearing.
He liked when she was in control.
"Babe," He breathed.
She glanced up, traces of worry dancing in the hazel.
"We're doing that again."
A/N: Look South Park fandom, I'm still kickin! Yeah, don't worry or don't start cheering, I'm still rolling around here. I've just been really damn drained and I've been exploring another fandom, ya know? I just need to break from the slump I've been in for...well for a long while.
I dedicate this fic to my darling Lia, who drew a picture that inspired me. I think that I shall also thank the equally fabulous Erica who does not know I exist but who dress crossdressing Wendy and inspired Lia and me as well. So both of those artists deserve many a clap!
Okay yeah I know, bitch at me for the end, I didn't want outright smut so I got poetic. Boo me.
Also, Stendy, haven't written that in like...ever. At least not happy Stendy. Do you like how I got out of normal heterosexual sex with the use of dildos god bless.
Anyway, thanks for reading! Do leave a little review! I will work on all my things when I can! Thanks again guys! ~CQO