EVERY SHADE OF WRONG.
Better, updated version here, for those wanting even more BadWrong...
Title: Seeking Normal
Author: babies stole my dingo (agilebrit)
Fandom: Iron Man (movieverse)
Rating: NC-17
Length: Short story (about 1900 words)
Disclaimer: Marvel owns, just playing, so not mine and no way am I making money from this.
Feedback: Concrit adored! If you see something that can be improved upon, please let me know, even if it's only a typo.
Written for: My own sadistic pleasure, if you can call it that--sparked by a discussion here that sent my brain spiraling out of control. pensive1, sunnyd_lite, and quite a few others on my flist and elsewhere aided and abetted me through it.
Warnings: BDSM gone very very wrong. Non-con. May be triggering. Tony/OFC. Also, leave it to me to write an NC-17 fic wherein no actual sex actually occurs.
Summary: Tony tries for normalcy again, two weeks after getting home from Afghanistan. It...doesn't work. At all.
How.
How had I gotten here?
I'm not quite sure. I remember Jarvis telling me that a girl is at the door, and she's got a note from Obie saying "Here's a gift for you--hope you get back to normal soon." We have drinks. I think we have drinks. I wonder, later, if she put something in mine.
It's hazy after that; I take her to the bedroom, not the one I sleep in, the fun one. And she undresses, and she's all long legs and natural blonde hair. I'm betting Obie told her about how much I like strap teddies and six-inch heels and garter belts and thigh-high black stockings with lace on top, because that's what she's got on under that little red dress she showed up in. She peels me out of my clothes and tells me to lie on my stomach so she can give me a massage. Her hands dig into the tense muscles of my back, working down and up and around until I feel like a particularly limp jellyfish and it's ohsogood, I'm almost asleep, haven't been this relaxed in ages...
The "snick" of the handcuffs around my wrists is nearly an afterthought, the Japanese silk rope around my ankles hasn't even registered until she rolls me onto my back and my hands are fastened to the headboard and my feet to the footboard. My breathing has suddenly accelerated and I'm not so relaxed anymore.
"Shh," she whispers against my throat. "Obie wouldn't send someone you couldn't trust, right?" Two weeks after Afghanistan, and trust issues are still rearing their ugly heads. "What's your safeword, Tony?"
"Pepper," I say with no hesitation whatsoever, and my breathing calms just at the mention of her name.
"Isn't that interesting." It's not a question, and then the blindfold comes out, which is...okay. I'm okay with it. Really. Even when she pulls the pillow down to under my shoulders and my head tilts back to rest a little uncomfortably on the mattress. And she's massaging my chest and my arms and doing things with her tongue that probably aren't legal in the state of California and her hand is around my cock, but only for a teasing moment before she's rubbing my thighs and calves and then moving upwards again. Before I know it, the ball gag is in my mouth and suddenly it's not (quite) so okay anymore, because what if I try to safeword but she doesn't get it?
And it's involuntary, but my arms and legs are tugging against the restraints now, and my heartbeat has suddenly sped up. I can't breathe. "Shh," she says again. "I'm not going to hurt you, Tony. I promise." And I strive for normal, this used to be normal for me. But I'm tied down, gagged and blindfolded, and this is bringing back some bad memories. I'm not at all sure I want to go here, but she's right about Obie not sending someone I couldn't trust, I'd trust Obie with my life--
The flogger is both a pleasant and unpleasant shock. She's taking full advantage of the Fun Drawer, apparently. Hard enough to sting but not hurt, and she's straddling my hips and doing interesting things to other parts of me with other parts of her. And then the flogger comes down harder across my stomach and she found the nipple clamps and her pelvic bones are grinding into me and it's gone from almost-pleasure to not-quite-pain. I used to get hard from this. Why am I not hard now?
Her weight disappears, and the next thing I feel is the tip of a crop caressing my face and my throat. I swallow, and the impact of the crop on my chest makes me gasp and nearly choke. She's not touching me with anything else now, and alternately strokes and strikes me with it, but in a completely random not-pattern that I can't quite grasp the math on. She's whispering to me, soothing words on warm breath into my ear. "Shh, Tony. Shh..."
Before, I loved being at the mercy of a beautiful woman. Now it's all bound up in the memory of scary, swearing men beating me so I'd make weapons for them. I'm wondering if she's getting insulted that I'm still not hard, although by rights I should be. This stuff used to work, but it's just not anymore. I'm too damn nervous, and the words meant to be calming are in fact having the opposite effect. I'm pulling against the cuffs again, drenched in sweat. "Shh, Tony," she says. "Easy..."
She stops, finally, and my chest and thighs and abdomen burn. Stilettoed footsteps on the carpet, water running in the bathroom sink. She comes back and resumes her position straddling me.
And then she yanks the blindfold away and puts a washcloth over my nose and mouth.
Her face is implacable. Where did that video camera on the periphery of my vision come from? The red LED blinks at me like Satan's own eyeball and I remember another camera, in a cave, an angry voice reading a statement.
The cloth...the cloth is soaking wet, and I seriously can't breathe at all, because there's water draining into my nose, and who the hell thought this was a good idea? I've had enough, and "Pepper," I try to say around the gag and through the water, because it's too much, and it's not pleasure anymore (if it ever was), now it's fear and flashback and suddenly it's them not her and ohholyfuckno this is bad this is really really bad I'm going to die this time and all I can do is scream "pepperpepperpepperpepper" but it's not coming through the gag and more water pours onto the cloth and up my nose from a glass in her hand and even Pepper, who's always come through for me before, can't save me from this.
My brain is overloading and I'm thrashing against the restraints and my heart feels like it's going to blow out of my ribcage, right through the arc reactor, in a messy and spectacular explosion. And her hand is on my chest, too close too damn close oh Jesus God what's she doing now, she's touching the reactor, all it would take would be a slight turn and not even a hard pull--
That tips me over the edge, and I black out.
:x:
When I wake up, she's gone, along with the washcloth over my face, but the blindfold is back, and I'm still fastened to the bed. Breathing is a mental issue rather than a physical one but still an issue, and my heart still feels like it wants to burst from my body and gallop away like an unbroken horse.
"Miss Potts is on her way, sir," Jarvis tells me. This doesn't make me feel better.
I hear Pepper's step on the carpet, I'm not sure how much later because time has become fluid and inconstant, and the bed dips under her weight. Gentle hands take the blindfold and gag off. "Where are the keys?" she asks, and I don't actually know and I'm beyond coherent speech right now anyway. All I can do is shake my head.
At least the silk ropes around my ankles don't require a key, and she unties them with minimal fuss. I curl around myself as much as possible with my wrists still fastened to the headboard. "Jarvis?" she says softly.
"Top drawer," he answers, and my hands are free and I pull them against my body and lie there, shaking, trying to remember what normal breathing feels like. I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to feel like this.
"Shh," she says, which is the exact wrong thing, because that's what the other girl kept saying. My arms cover my head, on autopilot, the breath catches in my chest, and I can't even form words. She makes a little noise in her throat. "Come on, Tony, let's get you out of here and into your own bed, okay?"
I'm not sure I can walk, I'm just that shaky, and it takes me a couple of tries to get my knees to hold me up. Pepper leads me to the room I sleep in, the room I don't ever take anyone else into, and she peels back the covers on the king-sized bed. I collapse into it, and she tucks the blanket around my shoulders, smoothing it over my arms. "Will that be all, Mr.--"
"Stay," I rasp.
She stops, and turns, and looks at me, and her expression has me slamming my eyes shut. "Tony, it's one thirty in the--"
"Please." This isn't a word I use often (ever), and it's not fair that I use it now on her, but I need her more than she knows, more than I can ever let her know. The tremors haven't stopped, might never stop, but they're easier to bear with her in the room.
She sighs, and I don't have to be able to see her to know she's half-rolling her eyes and her lips are tight and she's pitying me, which is almost more than I can stand (again). I nearly tell her to just go ahead and go, I'll see her in the morning. But before I can say "That will be all, Miss Potts," the chair scrapes across the rug and stops next to the head of the bed, and she sits down, and I hear her shoes hit the floor one at a time. "Go to sleep, Tony."
My chest unclenches, and I can breathe again. The quest for "normal" has ended in disaster, as it was bound to do, because nothing is normal anymore and probably never will be again. But Pepper is my constant, my North Star to navigate by. I haven't been sleeping well since I got home, plagued by nightmares and spending my nights more often than not in the shop. Maybe with her here, I think before dropping off, the bad dreams will stay away.
...Or not. I wake up in a freezing sweat with a scream ripping its way out of my raw throat, sitting straight up in the bed, panting.
"Jarvis...? Where's...where's Pepper?" I ask between gasps, because the only thing left of her in the room is the faint lingering scent of her perfume. The clock reads 2:47.
"She slipped out eighteen minutes ago. You were slumbering quite soundly."
"Mmph." I rake my hand through my hair and scrub at my face for a few seconds, drooping because her leaving has left a far bigger hole than it should have. Then I get up, throw some clothes on, and stumble down to the shop. I'm going to drink as much scotch as humanly possible and do what I can to grind out the flaws still haunting the Mark II armor.
I won't be sleeping any more tonight.
:x:
Obadiah pays the girl, sends her on her way, and settles in with a warm cognac to watch the video of her skilled handiwork. He grunts in satisfaction when it's over. The server on the ghost drive files the raw vid away in the same directory as the one from those incompetents in the Ten Rings. That one won't ever see the light of day, but this...
Getting the Board to agree to an injunction after showing them this, he thinks, will be a piece of cake.
END
Pepper's POV when she gets the call.
Title: Seeking Normal
Author: babies stole my dingo (agilebrit)
Fandom: Iron Man (movieverse)
Rating: NC-17
Length: Short story (about 1900 words)
Disclaimer: Marvel owns, just playing, so not mine and no way am I making money from this.
Feedback: Concrit adored! If you see something that can be improved upon, please let me know, even if it's only a typo.
Written for: My own sadistic pleasure, if you can call it that--sparked by a discussion here that sent my brain spiraling out of control. pensive1, sunnyd_lite, and quite a few others on my flist and elsewhere aided and abetted me through it.
Warnings: BDSM gone very very wrong. Non-con. May be triggering. Tony/OFC. Also, leave it to me to write an NC-17 fic wherein no actual sex actually occurs.
Summary: Tony tries for normalcy again, two weeks after getting home from Afghanistan. It...doesn't work. At all.
How.
How had I gotten here?
I'm not quite sure. I remember Jarvis telling me that a girl is at the door, and she's got a note from Obie saying "Here's a gift for you--hope you get back to normal soon." We have drinks. I think we have drinks. I wonder, later, if she put something in mine.
It's hazy after that; I take her to the bedroom, not the one I sleep in, the fun one. And she undresses, and she's all long legs and natural blonde hair. I'm betting Obie told her about how much I like strap teddies and six-inch heels and garter belts and thigh-high black stockings with lace on top, because that's what she's got on under that little red dress she showed up in. She peels me out of my clothes and tells me to lie on my stomach so she can give me a massage. Her hands dig into the tense muscles of my back, working down and up and around until I feel like a particularly limp jellyfish and it's ohsogood, I'm almost asleep, haven't been this relaxed in ages...
The "snick" of the handcuffs around my wrists is nearly an afterthought, the Japanese silk rope around my ankles hasn't even registered until she rolls me onto my back and my hands are fastened to the headboard and my feet to the footboard. My breathing has suddenly accelerated and I'm not so relaxed anymore.
"Shh," she whispers against my throat. "Obie wouldn't send someone you couldn't trust, right?" Two weeks after Afghanistan, and trust issues are still rearing their ugly heads. "What's your safeword, Tony?"
"Pepper," I say with no hesitation whatsoever, and my breathing calms just at the mention of her name.
"Isn't that interesting." It's not a question, and then the blindfold comes out, which is...okay. I'm okay with it. Really. Even when she pulls the pillow down to under my shoulders and my head tilts back to rest a little uncomfortably on the mattress. And she's massaging my chest and my arms and doing things with her tongue that probably aren't legal in the state of California and her hand is around my cock, but only for a teasing moment before she's rubbing my thighs and calves and then moving upwards again. Before I know it, the ball gag is in my mouth and suddenly it's not (quite) so okay anymore, because what if I try to safeword but she doesn't get it?
And it's involuntary, but my arms and legs are tugging against the restraints now, and my heartbeat has suddenly sped up. I can't breathe. "Shh," she says again. "I'm not going to hurt you, Tony. I promise." And I strive for normal, this used to be normal for me. But I'm tied down, gagged and blindfolded, and this is bringing back some bad memories. I'm not at all sure I want to go here, but she's right about Obie not sending someone I couldn't trust, I'd trust Obie with my life--
The flogger is both a pleasant and unpleasant shock. She's taking full advantage of the Fun Drawer, apparently. Hard enough to sting but not hurt, and she's straddling my hips and doing interesting things to other parts of me with other parts of her. And then the flogger comes down harder across my stomach and she found the nipple clamps and her pelvic bones are grinding into me and it's gone from almost-pleasure to not-quite-pain. I used to get hard from this. Why am I not hard now?
Her weight disappears, and the next thing I feel is the tip of a crop caressing my face and my throat. I swallow, and the impact of the crop on my chest makes me gasp and nearly choke. She's not touching me with anything else now, and alternately strokes and strikes me with it, but in a completely random not-pattern that I can't quite grasp the math on. She's whispering to me, soothing words on warm breath into my ear. "Shh, Tony. Shh..."
Before, I loved being at the mercy of a beautiful woman. Now it's all bound up in the memory of scary, swearing men beating me so I'd make weapons for them. I'm wondering if she's getting insulted that I'm still not hard, although by rights I should be. This stuff used to work, but it's just not anymore. I'm too damn nervous, and the words meant to be calming are in fact having the opposite effect. I'm pulling against the cuffs again, drenched in sweat. "Shh, Tony," she says. "Easy..."
She stops, finally, and my chest and thighs and abdomen burn. Stilettoed footsteps on the carpet, water running in the bathroom sink. She comes back and resumes her position straddling me.
And then she yanks the blindfold away and puts a washcloth over my nose and mouth.
Her face is implacable. Where did that video camera on the periphery of my vision come from? The red LED blinks at me like Satan's own eyeball and I remember another camera, in a cave, an angry voice reading a statement.
The cloth...the cloth is soaking wet, and I seriously can't breathe at all, because there's water draining into my nose, and who the hell thought this was a good idea? I've had enough, and "Pepper," I try to say around the gag and through the water, because it's too much, and it's not pleasure anymore (if it ever was), now it's fear and flashback and suddenly it's them not her and ohholyfuckno this is bad this is really really bad I'm going to die this time and all I can do is scream "pepperpepperpepperpepper" but it's not coming through the gag and more water pours onto the cloth and up my nose from a glass in her hand and even Pepper, who's always come through for me before, can't save me from this.
My brain is overloading and I'm thrashing against the restraints and my heart feels like it's going to blow out of my ribcage, right through the arc reactor, in a messy and spectacular explosion. And her hand is on my chest, too close too damn close oh Jesus God what's she doing now, she's touching the reactor, all it would take would be a slight turn and not even a hard pull--
That tips me over the edge, and I black out.
:x:
When I wake up, she's gone, along with the washcloth over my face, but the blindfold is back, and I'm still fastened to the bed. Breathing is a mental issue rather than a physical one but still an issue, and my heart still feels like it wants to burst from my body and gallop away like an unbroken horse.
"Miss Potts is on her way, sir," Jarvis tells me. This doesn't make me feel better.
I hear Pepper's step on the carpet, I'm not sure how much later because time has become fluid and inconstant, and the bed dips under her weight. Gentle hands take the blindfold and gag off. "Where are the keys?" she asks, and I don't actually know and I'm beyond coherent speech right now anyway. All I can do is shake my head.
At least the silk ropes around my ankles don't require a key, and she unties them with minimal fuss. I curl around myself as much as possible with my wrists still fastened to the headboard. "Jarvis?" she says softly.
"Top drawer," he answers, and my hands are free and I pull them against my body and lie there, shaking, trying to remember what normal breathing feels like. I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to feel like this.
"Shh," she says, which is the exact wrong thing, because that's what the other girl kept saying. My arms cover my head, on autopilot, the breath catches in my chest, and I can't even form words. She makes a little noise in her throat. "Come on, Tony, let's get you out of here and into your own bed, okay?"
I'm not sure I can walk, I'm just that shaky, and it takes me a couple of tries to get my knees to hold me up. Pepper leads me to the room I sleep in, the room I don't ever take anyone else into, and she peels back the covers on the king-sized bed. I collapse into it, and she tucks the blanket around my shoulders, smoothing it over my arms. "Will that be all, Mr.--"
"Stay," I rasp.
She stops, and turns, and looks at me, and her expression has me slamming my eyes shut. "Tony, it's one thirty in the--"
"Please." This isn't a word I use often (ever), and it's not fair that I use it now on her, but I need her more than she knows, more than I can ever let her know. The tremors haven't stopped, might never stop, but they're easier to bear with her in the room.
She sighs, and I don't have to be able to see her to know she's half-rolling her eyes and her lips are tight and she's pitying me, which is almost more than I can stand (again). I nearly tell her to just go ahead and go, I'll see her in the morning. But before I can say "That will be all, Miss Potts," the chair scrapes across the rug and stops next to the head of the bed, and she sits down, and I hear her shoes hit the floor one at a time. "Go to sleep, Tony."
My chest unclenches, and I can breathe again. The quest for "normal" has ended in disaster, as it was bound to do, because nothing is normal anymore and probably never will be again. But Pepper is my constant, my North Star to navigate by. I haven't been sleeping well since I got home, plagued by nightmares and spending my nights more often than not in the shop. Maybe with her here, I think before dropping off, the bad dreams will stay away.
...Or not. I wake up in a freezing sweat with a scream ripping its way out of my raw throat, sitting straight up in the bed, panting.
"Jarvis...? Where's...where's Pepper?" I ask between gasps, because the only thing left of her in the room is the faint lingering scent of her perfume. The clock reads 2:47.
"She slipped out eighteen minutes ago. You were slumbering quite soundly."
"Mmph." I rake my hand through my hair and scrub at my face for a few seconds, drooping because her leaving has left a far bigger hole than it should have. Then I get up, throw some clothes on, and stumble down to the shop. I'm going to drink as much scotch as humanly possible and do what I can to grind out the flaws still haunting the Mark II armor.
I won't be sleeping any more tonight.
:x:
Obadiah pays the girl, sends her on her way, and settles in with a warm cognac to watch the video of her skilled handiwork. He grunts in satisfaction when it's over. The server on the ghost drive files the raw vid away in the same directory as the one from those incompetents in the Ten Rings. That one won't ever see the light of day, but this...
Getting the Board to agree to an injunction after showing them this, he thinks, will be a piece of cake.
END
Pepper's POV when she gets the call.