Patreon Compilation – Fic#189 – Shane/Clint – coercion; cross dressing – Life Keeps Being Hard 2 (Patreon)

Part 1 (Patreon Link)

Part 2 (This Part)

Part 3 (Patreon Link)

Part 4 (Patreon Link)

Part 5 (Patreon Link)

Shane/Clint – First part of Shane getting his first client.

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Shane is mad. So mad that he’s close to tears and he can tell that Morris sees as much; the grin on his face is so damn broad and satisfied, Shane wants to punch it off – but he knows that there’ll be repercussions if he does it.

Peering up at the camera that is always recording things in Morris’ office, he reminds himself to stay in his fucking lane and just… do what has to be done. He grabs the wig that had been laid out for him neatly, pulling it onto his head with jerky, aggressive movements.

“Easy now. Don’t want to damage the property, yes? It needs to go back to the store by tomorrow evening. You will take it back there, naturally. Take care not to get any cum on the dress.”

Shane flushes hot but does not say anything. He brushes down the dress that he’s somehow slipped into. He’s not sure why it fits even without any fake tits to go with it. But looking at himself in the mirror he can see that he resembles Emily quite a bit in his get-up. He’s shaved himself beforehand just as Morris had instructed.

“Very good. You know what to do, yes? The customer has been very precise in his instructions… and very generous with the payment. I expect nothing short of an absolutely perfect conduct by you. Don’t make me regret putting in hours upon hours of work into your customer service training.”

Morris’ gloating voice scrapes along Shane’s nerve endings. It makes him feel raw and aching – which is why he hates even more that his body responds to it by immediate, desperate arousal.

Training indeed. He’s been all but conditioned into being hot for this disgusting little worm, all so that he wouldn’t kick him out of the company and tell his Aunt what he’s been up to…

Shane licks his lips nervously. In the pocket of his red dress, he curls his fingers around the instructions of the customer. He still can’t quite wrap his head around the concept that Clint would actually go through with a perverse game like this.

Morris waves him away as one would an annoying puppy.

“Well then, go on! You’ll have to be there in ten minutes. I expect great things from you, Shane. Do not disappoint me, you understand?”

He nods, not quite daring to look at Morris’ flushed, excited face. He turns and walks out, awkwardly wobbling on the heels he’s wearing until he gets somewhat of a grip on things. It doesn’t make the little walk of shame down to Clint’s shop any easier, though. His heart is beating so fast and hard in his chest that he is feeling nauseous even though he keeps hiding around corners as much as possible. Nobody really walks back here other than that weird farmer that had taken up residence a few months ago but the mere thought of being seen in a get-up that so very obviously is supposed to be Emily is making him want to puke.

He has barely rapped his knuckles against the door to the blacksmith that it already opens beneath his hand, Clint standing there in his usual get-up sans the thick leather apron that he tends to wear.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Shane can’t bring himself to say a single thing. Surely this all has been a mistake and Clint will back-paddle immediately now that he’s seen Shane and could note just how ridiculous this whole situation was… but no, after just a second longer of Clint looking him up and down, he starts to smile and steps to the side.

“Emily! It is so nice to see you. Please… come inside,” he says, moving his arm to indicate that he should step in. Honestly, it’s the most that Shane has ever heard him talk, now that he thinks about it. Clint has always been high in his regard because he’s the same miserable bastard that Shane is and usually keeps to himself.

He’s certainly never seen him smile like he does now as he looks at ‘Emily’ and waits for him to come inside… which he does with awkward, jerky movements. His body is on what feels like auto-pilot as it gets him inside the little room. There is not much clutter about; Clint is a pragmatic bachelor – yet despite the smithy having been powered down for the day, it is still desperately hot inside.

It is like walking through a curtain of heat as he steps over the doorstep; he can feel sweat starting to prickle under his arms and on his upper lip.

“Clint, please-” he starts weakly but is interrupted by Clint who puts a hand on his back and pushes him in just a bit farther while kicking the door closed.

“I am so glad you could make in on such short notice, Emily.” The emphasize he puts on the name sounds ominous; he does not need to spell it out to Shane, really. Either do what I paid you to do or it’ll have consequences.

Was this all real? Could it be that Clint has been a deranged psycho the whole time without any of them knowing?

Shane swallows hard and stumbles a little deeper inside as he’s gently pushed by Clint’s hand. He’s forgotten about the heels for a moment and they make him stumble some. He must look like a buffoon but Clint does not mention it. In fact, he is already breathless, his hand sliding down Shane’s spine to rest on his ass as he says: “Oh, do excuse me, Emily… I did not mean to make you trip, my dear.”

Shane shakes his head, hands nervously brushing down the front of the red dress he is wearing. Underneath the wig it feels like it is a thousand degrees.

“I, uhm… d-don’t worry about it,” he simpers with an awkwardly high-pitched voice.

Humiliated, he just stands there, unsure what Clint wants him to do. There actually is a little table that he hasn’t noticed up until then; Clint has set it quite nicely, though other than a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, there is nothing to be seen in terms of food.

There’s still about a finger of wine left in Clint’s glass; he must have started the party early. Maybe he’s had to get some liquid courage to actually go through with it because from what Shane had known about the guy he’s been just a shy bastard that couldn’t jump over his own shadow.

Either the wine has helped or he’s not nearly as shy when he’s making another dude dress up like his crush so he could do whatever the fuck with him…

Or maybe both.

“Come here, Emily… I got the perfect wine for the occasion,” he croons, urging Shane to come closer toward the little table. It’s basically next to the anvil on which Clint has put a little flower bouquet.

“Looks like you already started without me,” he says, wincing at his own high-pitched voice. It does not seem to grate on Clint as much as it does on Shane. In fact, he seems to get even more excited about it because instead of pulling out the chair so Shane can finally sit down, he curls his arm around his hips and pulls him against his body. He’s about as hot as the furnace he uses, not a drop of sweat visible on his face though his cheeks are flushed from the alcohol and his eyes look a little glassy as he peers into Shane’s face.

“I did, I did. I was just too nervous, my dear. You know, I have always been d-dreaming about this moment. You and m-me alone… t-talking over a glass of good wine…” He stumbles over his own words at times but he sounds so sincere that Shane almost feels a little bad for him.

That is, until he feels his hand sliding once again to grip his ass, thick fingers digging into the flesh. Shane slaps his wrist on auto-pilot. It is just a reflex, really… though his next words aren’t.

“You are pretty forward, Clint! You can’t grope a l-lady like that, you know.”

The silence that follows is deafening as Shane peers into Clint’s face, lax in surprise as he just blinks at him a few times, visibly needing to reboot his brain. His expression twists a little in anger but smooths out seconds later as he slides his hand back up to Shane’s waist and pulls him around so they are pressed front to front.

“Ah, my apologies, dear Emily… I just… slipped, you know? I would never mean to upset you. After all…” here he flushes even deeper, reaching up to cup Shane’s cheek in his palm. “After all, I love you,” he says in a low, intimate whisper, leaning in to press a kiss against Shane’s slack, surprised mouth.

Shane doesn’t think about it before pushing his hands against Clint’s chest, struggling to get away as he suddenly freaks out about the whole situation.

“What the fuck? N-no, get away!”

Clint looks stunned again, but when his face twists into a mask of rage this time, it does not smooth out again.

Shane immediately realizes that he’s fucked up big time.

To be continued…