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[personal profile] silverfoxflower
Title: The Right Stripes
Fandom:
Library Wars
Genre: Het, PWP
Word Count: ~2400
Pairing: Komaki/Asako, Tezuka/Asako, Asako --> Dojo, Asako/Iku's jacket
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dirty, dirty, girl masturbation fantasies. Stealing one's roommate's jacket without their knowledge and masturbating with it.
Notes: Fills the Uniforms/Military square on my [info]kink_bingo.
Summary: Asako is a librarian with a military fetish. Lucky, then, that she is surrounded by men in uniform.
Disclaimer: No ownership was claimed in the making of this porn.




Saturday night, Asako limps into the dorm room and finds herself, thankfully, alone. It had been, if not a “bad day”, certainly a sort of day which would necessitate Freudian displacement upon an unsuspecting Iku. And she feels like the girl would cry, although she would just as quickly forgive Asako her hopelessly abusive ways.

Mostly, it’s the shoes. Asako winces as she tugs the heels off of her swollen feet. Even though she had been living in heels since age twelve, manning the library in eight centimeters on a Saturday was unending agony. At least forty people had made requests, and she had had to sprint between the front desk and the stack room no less than twenty five times.

It’s times like this when Asako absolutely despises the uniform she is required to wear: the heels, the expensive, easily-shredded pantyhose, the suit-skirt that severely limits movement. So it’s not a uniform in the sense that the Library will ship it to her in garment bags and whisk them away every week for cleaning. It’s more of an unspoken requirement for all the female librarians at the head desk to exhibit a classy sort of sex appeal. If she wasn’t so normally good at it she’d be protesting.

A soak in the cramped bath hardly does wonders for her sore musles. On the way back from the bathroom, now cuddled in silky pajamas, Asako picks up her cellphone as it rings with a tinny Für Elise. It’s Iku.

we’re all going to the grand

Asako scowls at the lack of invitation, even though she would have declined anyway, on the grounds that she hadn’t been sitting on her ass all day, in khakis and laced boots, playing card games with her Sergeant. Also, she’s slept with everyone in Iku’s division, a fact which would have made the night awkward.

Have fun. Asako texts back, hoping the lack of a darling and the flagrant period on a sentence fragment would tip off Iku that she was being sarcastic and bitingly so.

Then she throws the phone on the counter and slithers into bed on her stomach. Asako dims the light instead of shutting it off completely, because without Iku’s bulky, protective form on the other bed she doesn’t like the dark. The room looks softer in the low glow of the table lamp.

At first, Asako’s too tired to do anything, thinks she’ll slip easily into a dreamless sleep. She almost succeeds just by force of will. But twenty minutes later, the bed is nauseatingly warm, the covers tangled at her ankles, and every comfortable position has been exploited and discarded. Asako rolls on her back and hates the universe.

She’s too peaked, she decides, and there is definitely a solution to that. It involves the second drawer from the bottom on her nightstand and a sparkly purple vibrator hidden in a folded pillowcase. It is kind of sad, if Asako thinks about it for too long. She should be at the Grand tonight, in a slinky black dress. The Defense Force boys love librarians, but to her, they are just uniforms.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

And here’s the good part of the night, Asako thinks, wriggling herself deeper into her covers. Her fingers rub gently over her shower-smooth skin, inching up her silky little nightie.

The vibe is at her thigh, and she ignores it for now in favor of slow caresses that make her sigh. She has all night, of course, and she plans to make the best of it.

Now if she had gone out to the Grand and brought a boy back here,well, there would be none of this luxury of slow strokes over her dampening panties, one hand curled over her left breast, fingers circling her nipple into aching stiffness.

The boys were considerably clumsier. Rough hands on her hips, sloppy, tedious kisses. Asako pinches her clit, hard, so she can feel it through the thin barrier of lace. Oh, but what she does like … the feel of coarse khaki chafing her sensitive nipples. Quickly, as if preserving the thought, Asako hikes up her silk pajama top and flips over, rubbing her breasts against her sheets.

Too high of a thread count, probably, but it just doesn’t feel the same, Asako mourns.

Those jackets with their icy buttons digging into her back. She would always whimper for the boys to keep their clothes on, because oh, yes, I want it now.

Asako opens her thighs and gropes for the vibe without raising her head from the pillow. The silicone feels sweet and cool against her skin as she maneuvers it into place, rubbing it against the outside of her panties, then tugging them down to press the vibe to swollen, moist flesh.

Now Sergeant Komaki, there’s a man who can give it to a girl rough. Wouldn’t be able to tell from his pleasant face, but he’s a sadist through and through. Asako snickers into her pillow as she rubs the vibe against her clit, practically riding it until she feels it begin to squish obscenely between her thighs.

Asako closes her eyes and remembers the night she prepositioned Komaki. He’d responded playfully, neither affirming for refusing. He’d called her a nice girl.

Then she had gone home alone, only to find him waiting for her outside her door.

You want me to keep my uniform on, I trust? He had smiled.

A low buzzing, muffled by the mattress, fills the room as Asako switches on the vibe. It massages her pussy as she grinds against it, moaning low, once.

Komaki had remained fully dressed until she was completely tied up. On her back, so she could see him. He had touched her with gloves on, roughly, slapping at her breasts, her ass, the inside of her thighs. Then he had pulled out the belt.

He wore his uniform as if unaware of it, as if it was coincidental how much it turned Asako on. He made her feel like a slut for wanting him so badly, a whore who trailed after soldiers begging for a rough dicking. Anyone, as long as they wore the right stripes.

Well, that was true to an extent, Asako opens her mouth in a needy whine as she finally sinks the vibe into her pussy. It’s a tight, hot stretch, just the way she likes it. Shakily, she crawls up on her knees, pistoning the fake cock in and out of her pussy with one hand, clawing at her ass with the other.

When she finally managed to beg Komaki to fuck her, he did so in rough, unpredictable thrusts that were calculated to please neither of them. He smiled the entire time and she came faster than she ever had before.

And the next morning, when she was squirming in her seat behind the front desk, Komaki had brought her a cup of coffee.

Seems there are some rumors floating around about a librarian and her less-than-discreet affairs. He had smiled in mournful surprise.

I don’t need anybody to be my white knight. Asako had taken a sip of the coffee, and it was a nice blend, though she would have preferred less sugar.

Komaki had laughed. I’ll remember next time. Then he had put a vial of chamomile cream on the desk and walked out. She still remembers the way his uniform had stretched along his hips as he moved.

The bastard. Asako pushes the vibe into herself and just lets it buzz through her body for a minute, panting. It feels good, the slow building of pressure. Teasingly, she runs a finger around her clit, clamping down on the fake cock as a spasm of pleasure makes everything twitch. Asako rolls onto her back again, too tired to keep herself up any longer. Plus, she wants to play with her nipples. With the heel of one hand against the vibe, pressing it ever deeper, Asako begins kneading at her chest. A trickle of humid sweat runs down the valley of her breasts.

The motion reminds her of Tezuka, his staid caresses like so much textbook lovemaking.

Asako laughs to herself in the empty bedroom, feeling decadent with the covers kicked off and the room glowing with gold.

She normally doesn’t sleep with Corporals, but Tezuka was the son of the President of the Library Association, and therefore a very, very rich exception. Asako had picked him up easy, off the rebound after Iku had rejected his sweet little proposal.

Even with a few drinks in him, Tezuka remained as serious as he ever was, fumbling with her body with a mysterious intent. It was as if he had an inner quota: ten minutes kissing, five minutes above waist, ten minutes fingering and prepping, fifteen minutes of fucking. She’d never faked an orgasm so desperately.

Asako rolls her eyes with nobody to see, raising her hips to ride the rhythm of the vibrator as she fucks herself slowly, perfectly.

Such a shame about the sex, because Tezuka looked absolutely perfect in his uniform. The jacket was clean and straight, the shirt ironed to a sharpness that almost sliced skin. The way he moved, the way he acted, Asako knew he felt the weight of his station, as if the light khaki dragged down his body and made him as stiff as a paper doll. A model soldier. A perfect man.

She twists the vibe every other thrust, sucking on her knuckles to starve off her moans. Whenever she walks by Tezuka she smiles a little too knowingly, and his flush runs straight into his starched collar. It makes her breathless, this small sign of weakness from an otherwise impenetrable man. It almost makes up for the sex.

The shaking in her thighs is getting more pronounced, and Asako draws her knees up to her breasts, folding herself almost in half to get that right angle. She’s fucking herself fast, fingering the rim of her asshole although she’s too lazy to rummage for the lube and actually do anything about it.

One last fantasy to push her over the edge …

Dojo. Ah. Asako sighs out loud. Now there is a man who can wear a uniform, like it’s an extension of himself, his innate authority. He looks especially good with a gun.

The images she has of him are all clothed – sweat soaking through a thin wifebeater after running ten kilometers, rolling his shoulder under his jacket and wincing at a strained muscle, in full military dress at last year’s graduation. He was the only man who had ever turned down her offer.

“A beautiful woman like you can find a better man than me,” He had answered gracefully, his eyes far too knowing.

Asako arches as the particular blend of humiliation-shame-arousal shivers through her like it always does at the thought of Dojo. She’s rubbing furiously at her clit, punishing it and indulging it while she cranks to vibe to ‘high’ and crams it into herself roughly.

So close, so fucking close …

“Kasahara!” A gruff exclamation in Sergeant Dojo’s familiar voice. A thump outside the door and a smattering, jingling sound of keys.

More angry than embarrassed, Asako slides out her vibe and throws it, damp, under her pillow. She pulls up her moist lace panties, and her pajama bottoms, hissing at the rubbing sensation on her oversensitive pussy. The urge to come is burning through her bottom half, and she almost locks the pair of idiots outside instead of opening the door.

“A-Asako!” Iku slurs, surprised as Dojo manhandles her into the room. “Though’ you were asleep …” If either notices the prominent scent of sex in the room, they don’t give a sign.

“She’s a lightweight.” Asako ignores her roommate and talks to Dojo as he places Iku, gently enough onto her bed.

“Yeah, I gathered.” He was trying to project an air of annoyance, but it fooled Asako least of all. The way Dojo looked at Iku as she drooled into her pillow gave it all away.

Asako wonders if she can manage to manipulate Dojo into removing Iku’s clothing. It would serve the dual purpose of furthering their slower-than-a-turtle-moving-through-gelatin relationship and revenge against the both of them in the form of extreme embarrassment in the morning.

Before she can think of anything, however, Dojo had gives a last, disgustingly longing stare and leaves with perfunctory goodbye statements.

“Dojo …” Iku mumbles into her pillow, and Asako rolls her eyes as she unlaces her friend’s boots, pulls off her socks, and strips her of her pants. The jacket takes a bit of cursing and a lot of smacking around to wrestle off.

The idea comes to her suddenly.

“You brought this on yourself.” Asako warns her slumbering roommate as she hugs Iku’s jacket to her body.

Shutting off the lights to complete darkness this time, Asako climbs into bed. Reaching into her panties confirms that she is still sopping wet, still throbbing with denial. Feeling a dirty thrill but more annoyed than guilty, Asako slips one sleeve of Iku’s military jacket into the front of her panties, adjusting it until the metal button scrapes against her clit.

From the other bed comes a soft groan, and Asako freezes in the middle of rolling over.

After a breathless minute, it seems as if Iku isn’t going to awake, and Asake finishes on her stomach, feeling the row of buttons digging into her pussy, the soft skin of her hip. She buries her face in the khaki, breathing in gunpowder, sweat, alcohol.

Dojo’s cologne? Or is she only imagining it? He doesn’t seem the type so it might just be deodorant or aftershave. The rough material is chafing her skin, the inside of her thighs. Oh, has she missed this feeling.

It takes only two rolls of her hips before Asako is moaning with the pillow between her teeth, falling apart from the inside out as her legs become wobbly and her pussy throbs into a perfect numbness.

In the aftermath, she pants, and cuddles the jacket like a child’s blanket. For a little while, at least, she’ll twine her legs around the coarse fabric and sharp buttons, dreaming of neither men nor women, but bodies of khaki cloth and the right stripes.

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