#dominant!michael

Trying to explain how you felt at that exact moment with just one word was hard. It felt like a thesaurus was chucked at your head but all you were seeing were blank pages. And in a way, that’s how you felt… blank.

There was nothing on your mind, no color, no sensation, no feeling, just one big void in which you levitated without an anchor. You were free, with no destination in sight, wondering if you even existed in your corporeal form. It felt like the atoms in your body started to reform, regroup but somewhere along the way decided that they liked being solitary units that danced to their own music.

But there was a hum somewhere in the distance, like a Brown noise slowly increasing in volume, nothing too overpowering yet but it piqued your interest. It sounded like something was moving in your direction, and the closer it got, the more you started to discern a pattern. It wasn’t homogenous, it kinda felt distorted but you could definitely single out two thumps before there was a lengthy pause. The thumps became stronger, more steady and you thought you were hearing other sounds as well, like the noise in your ears when you break the surface of the water. Maybe you were drowning, that sounded like a logical explanation for the weightlessness.

This idea that you were resurfacing made you think that breathing should definitely have been involved, so you opened your lungs to the possibility of fresh oxygen. And it hurt. It hurt like hell.

Suddenly you were assaulted with a million emotions at once. Piercing pain like you’ve never felt before as the tiny sacs inflated with air for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. Crushing pressure in your ears as the blood rushed to your head. Tiny prickles all over your body as your skin awakened from its slumber. Dull throbbing on the back of your thighs. Warmth on your right cheek. Hollowness in your belly. Something rough pressing on your neck. Dried tears on your face. Strange taste in your mouth that almost felt familiar. Coarse hair tickling your left ear. Skin pressing on skin. A digit slowly smearing the remnants of your chapstick onto your lips, pulling your bottom lip down and bearing your semi-opened mouth. Light. Thump-thump. 

Blinding light as you worked to lift your eyelids. One blink, then two, and the blurriness faded. Your eyes tried to make sense of what they were seeing. Skin, lots and lots of skin, peppered with dark brown hairs sticking in all directions. Your fingers itched to run over it, to see if they were as soft as they looked.

Your focus shifted upwards, the skin less visible as more and more hairs poked out of it until your eyes met one of the most glorious sights you’ve seen. There, nestled against what you knew was a soft belly, was the reason for your blissed-out state. Semi-hard after thoroughly abusing your mouth and glistening with the remnants of your spit, laid Michael’s cock. You could see an almost imperceptible twitch, making you inhale a bit loudly. 

The silent appreciation didn’t go unnoticed as your little trance was broken by a low chuckle. You immediately moved your stare up to meet the sound coming out of the most sinful lips. Full and plump, and oh, so vividly red, you could see them move in a patronizing smirk. “I don’t think you’re ready for it yet.”

It took you a second too long to understand what he meant to say, too transfixed on the movement as they formed the words. But then you felt yourself flush, blood rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment. You were caught being a little bit greedy and very, very needy, the hollow feeling in your tummy morphing into a powerful clench.

The more you berated yourself for wanting to feel his weight on your tongue and his come gliding down your throat when you knew it wasn’t up to you, the more you became aroused. It was such a contradiction, a self-induced punishment for feeling alive in ways you never thought would’ve felt natural. But you did. You felt invigorated, buzzing with energy as the thumb that was rubbing your lips moved from the side and slowly pushed in past your teeth. 

It tasted salty with a hint of sugar as you swirled your tongue around it, finding solace in little substitutes. Your eyes met his, a grey-green storm brewing behind them, becoming electric with each hollowing of your cheeks and each nibble of your teeth.

You could feel him shift, his thumb leaving your mouth in favor of the side of your head, moving past your ear and finding a good grip on your hair. He used his other arm to wrap it twice around the leather belt attached to your neck, shortening the leash and pulling you up. 

You didn’t move very gracefully, your legs felt dead from sitting on them and your arms still felt like lead, trying to keep you grounded into subspace for a little while longer. Michael didn’t care. Your lack of coordination left you sprawled on top of him, arms braced on his pecks, legs bent and shaking like a little doe. His chest hair was stimulating your nipples, not that they really needed stimulation to become rock hard. Your eyes never left each other the whole way up. It’s like he was pulling your leash at the same time an invisible string was pulling your being closer to his, wrapping itself in a tangled mess, never to be freed again.

And then he kissed you. A single peck while staring deep in your soul, and your atoms found their place in your body. Each and every single one of them shifted into position, fixed every broken link, found its meaning. 

“You were so good for me tonight, pet.” He said it so softly against your lips, praise you didn’t know you needed to hear. But you did, and it felt like a balm. “Treated me so well. Passed every test with flying colors.” His stare softened even further, little crinkles appearing next to his eyes as he smiled against you, proud of how far you’ve come. 

“Now rest,” He placed a kiss on your nose, followed by another one on the top of your head. “You’re gonna need it for what I have for you in store.” He tucked your head in the crook of his neck, letting you nuzzle the skin and lay a lingering kiss. Your lips slipped out a content “Hmm.” as you closed your eyes again, following his orders. 

It was learned behavior. Six months of picking what you wanted made you aware, it made you strong. You learned how to live based on your own desires. Living through someone else’s wants made you resent life in general, transforming into the worst breakup that you ever had to weather alone. 

Michael made an impact on you. He still lived in the front of your mind, smiling in color with the bittersweet memory of what you were. You knew him. Michael was predictable—always 5 minutes early. He brought you flowers, he never forgot to call, he was never too forward when he leaned in to kiss you. He was an angel with no wings. 

“I don’t want to lose you.”

You remembered the night that Michael wanted to commit. You could see it in his eyes—longing. A desire to be next to you, a preoccupation with the way he was when he was with you. Michael was yours before you asked him to be. He wanted to be there for everything, texting when he had an extra minute on top of asking if you could come by.

“I’m trying.”

Michael pressed his forehead to yours, locking his gaze on your apprehension. Your conscious mind replayed the sensation of his lips on your collarbone, the pressure of his hands on your waist when he went to lift up the hem of your shirt. He wouldn’t tell you everything. It was frustrating because Michael regularly boasted that you had ‘all of him’. It wasn’t true due to the many secrets in spare rooms and a second phone. You had one part of Michael, the part that made you weak in the knees and fucked well. 

You tried to ignore it. 

You saw strange figures walk in Michael’s house at leisure while you were there. They interrupted tender moments, times when you needed him. 

“I’ll be right back.”

It stung. Michael would return to you sleeping on his side of the bed. He kissed your shoulder after he got under his sheets, sliding back into the role of boyfriend. It was hard to dismiss him because he seemed so genuine. He kept you satisfied, he sent you gifts. Yet, the nagging fear that something was going on drove you wild. 

You followed him once. 

You knew Michael, it wouldn’t hurt to follow him on a night he wasn’t with you. What you found was your boyfriend at a nightclub, unfazed by other women topless around clients. 

You adjusted when you got back to your apartment. Michael lied. Your eyes stung when your back was hard against your front door. Your phone flashed with Michael’s contact right at ten o’clock, the time he always called. You remembered how good he was at leaving no trace of his other life in yours. He had an affair with business—chasing the mistress that put out hundred dollar bills. 

Near the end, you left notes when he was busy. You wrote ‘I’m at home’ with no heart, no indication of softness. Michael had driven you away bleeding, unable to tell which offenses hurt you the most. 

Trouble crept into your life under the guise of artificial sunshine and fearing nothing. You had to get away from Michael because he made you question your own desires. You ignored how sad his eyes were when you cut the ties he had to your life. Michael was thinking of you long after you left his door open, not looking back at the damage. 

You didn’t give him a choice in the matter.

You chose yourself to survive. 

*

Your recollection of personal history with Michael was profound as you traced the edge of the wallpaper in his room. Flashing lights were on every edge of the windows that faced outwards. Sensors, probably to detect motion outside (or anyone trying to get out). 

You were trapped. 

It was easier to digest with expensive decor and the luxury to have whatever you wanted. Yet, a prison is a prison. No matter how nice Michael made it. You assumed that he was lamenting in another part of his house, ignoring you. You walked towards the door, only to see two sets of shoe prints on the other side. 

Michael doubled up on security since the first day. You were able to pick the lock to his door with a pin and a half hour. It was a game of cat and mouse until one of his goons grabbed you by the legs, locking you inside a room with no handle.

Twelve hours passed since then. 

You were counting because you had nothing else to think about, restless in the midst of the situation. 

“I’m keeping you here for your safety.”

You wanted to punch him in the face when you were tied to a chair at the dining room table the night before. Michael looked harmless compared to the muscle he kept in his house. The faces of those men had nothing to offer but soulless glances, looking at you as a threat. 

That’s what you were to the ‘business’ he conducted on the side—an illegal ring of laundered money and illicit travel. 

The pieces popped in place one by one with things you overhead from outside the door. Transactions, movements, and ‘handling difficult situations’ were theoretical until they were said in this house. 

You tried to forget about it while you let hot water rush over your skin. Cleaning yourself was the one thing you could do without being watched. You relished the fact that Michael had a steam shower and turned the faucet as far as it could go. The heat reminded you that you were still alive and able to take control, blocking out the rest of the world with a wall of vapor. You closed your eyes for as long as you could stand it so you could daydream about being on your own. 

It was useless being afraid of what could happen. 

“You okay?”

Your eyes rushed open to Michael’s figure behind the glass. He looked at you blankly, not reacting to your attempt to cover up. 

“Jesus Christ, Michael.”

He raised his brows when you turned off the water. You noticed how tired he looked before you could say anything. His eyes were puffy, complimented by a two day stubble and a red bottom lip. 

He was stressed. Something had to be wrong. 

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

He was right about that.

“You had my permission then.”

Michael backed out of the room when he noticed you hunching over to cover your naked body. You grabbed a towel and went to meet him in your holding cell, exhaling at the sight of him. It was frustrating that Michael could still make you feel. He was wearing a black t-shirt and black sweatpants, mussing hIs hair with his eyes on you. You felt a familiar tingle at the base of your stomach—accompanied by a warmth between your legs when you heard Michael speak. 

“I wanted to check on you.”

He was different. The night before, Michael reeked of arrogance, he couldn’t stop smirking at the sight of your frustration. You remembered him enjoying it. Here, he was somber in front of you. He couldn’t keep his eyes on the bruise you got from trying to escape. 

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

You pointed towards the door when you noticed a puddle of water forming under your left foot. You wanted to change—in a hurry to do nothing but find a bad show to pass the time. 

Michael wasn’t done.

He shuffled to the end of the bed and sat. You moved towards the closet in the corner and sighed, decidedly changing while you listened to whatever Michael had on his metaphorical chest. 

“I want to talk. I invited you here with the intention of a conversation we never got to have.”

The vibrato of his voice made you shiver. You slid on a pair of underwear, unpacking the pain in his phrase. 

“Then talk.”

You responded softly. You turned your head to make sure the door was closed enough that Michael couldn’t see you. A thought crossed your mind of him watching you quietly—observing how your nipples were still hard even when they were covered. You couldn’t deny that you were thinking about Michael more. He was down the hall, doing whatever he did. The thought process of him coming in his dark room and finding you then was intoxicating. You wanted him to touch you, smell you. Find the little wet spot on your underwear and have his way with it, making sure that he put his fingers around your neck to keep you quiet. 

Tender, loving, sex.

You could feel your body tense as you went to find a pair of socks to put on. You checked for a wet spot as Michael gathered his thoughts from a distance, looking out at his backyard with flat lips. 

“We ended things abruptly,”

You walked out of his closet with a twisted face.

“Now?”

Your feet stopped right before his. Michael turned towards you. Anguish was drawn all over his face. He didn’t blink when he answered you. 

“Someone is dead. A client of mine is dead. I don’t expect you to understand why I’ve been so paranoid. It’ll make you hate me forever, I’m sure. This is serious shit that I’ve gotten wrapped in, and unfortunately, you’re wrapped in it too,”

You couldn’t find anything to say. Michael was a bad liar, he was even worse at trying to explain himself if he didn’t want to tell the truth. This was him being honest, so real that you didn’t want to believe it. 

“I’m keeping you here because I know you wouldn’t want to stay on your own volition. I love that about you, you’re damn stubborn. I didn’t want to risk it,”

Michael’s eyes searched yours when he rose to standing. They were a pale green, standing out against the royal blue wallpaper.

“The thought of losing you is enough of a motivation to keep you safe. Even if it means you can’t leave right now.” 

A genuine explanation flooded you with relief. You assumed the worst—dying by Michael’s hand as if he had been inspired by Silence of The Lambs and wanted to experiment on you first. 

Instead, he walked towards the door.

“If it’s okay with you, I want to visit a little later. No guards, no locks, just us. I can arrange for us to meet in the sitting room.”

You nodded. 

“Don’t try anything funny this time, please.”

Michael looked away from your shoulder. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Michael walked out of the door without looking back. One of his guards nodded at you before closing the door, leaving you alone. 

You flopped back on Michael’s bed with a feeling. 

It stirred inside of your chest. It made you want to get up and be free of him, shake off the dust of what was certainly more than a bout of lust. Michael cares, he never stopped caring about you. You convinced yourself that he was using you as a hole to get off in—that every sweet nothing he said was a way for him to get past your defenses. That version of your relationship made it easy to hate him. 

The complexity of your lives made things difficult. 

Michael was fluid, transient in the way he dealt with clients and his own top secret list of priorities. You were on it. Clearly marked as someone willing to protect. You swallowed the intensity of his statement with a promise of dissecting it later. You had more pressing matters to deal with. 

You still loved Michael. 

And you knew he would be able to tell. 

*

“You look nervous.”

You had been sitting across from Michael for the better part of an hour. You dressed up in decent clothes you’d left there from an occasion that required multiple options, sitting with your hands in your lap. There was an impressive spread of food and entertainment between you—full of alcohol and fruit you were sure you had never seen before. 

Neither of you touched it.

You observed that Michael trimmed his beard down to a stubble, the kind that left a handsome shadow on his face. You loved when he kept a little facial hair. He must have remembered.

“I am, a little. It’s kinda weird not being in the room.”

Your conversation so far consisted of what he did that day in detail. He didn’t leave anything out, occasionally playing with the dagger earring on his right. You were trying to hide the passion you held for Michael while you were listening. 

Trying to stop yourself from moving from your couch to his and finding an excuse to touch him. He looked sharp in low light. You thought about him coming in your room several times before you had to meet, laying on your back and thinking about how deep he could fuck you over the bathroom sink. You closed your eyes every time you had a thought of his naked body. It wasn’t right to feel so much at a time like this. 

That’s what you told yourself, at least. 

“I’m happy you’re here.”

Michael leaned over the table to give a reassuring hand on your knee. It drove you to new heights of what you thought you could handle—nearly drooling over a waft of his cologne when he sat back. To an untrained eye, it would seem like conversation was dying out. 

Yet, Michael knew it was the opposite. 

He had watched your face right before you orgasmed, knew the way your top lip quivered when you were close to the peak of your arousal. He saw you adjust in place several times while he had been talking—pulling at your clothes to find something to do with your hands. He had felt similar feelings earlier that day, finding a reason to take a long look at the photos he had of you on his phone. 

He had an excuse planned to break the tension.

“Do you want to see my battle scars? I figured it would make you feel better about your shoulder.”

You broke the train of thought you were on to witness Michael standing over you. You met him halfway, gripping his forearm on the way up. He started to unbutton his shirt with one hand, watching your reaction closely. It was like a badly written sitcom—matched with you running your tongue over your bottom lip when you saw Michael’s shirt open. 

“I got these the day before you came here.”

He opened one side of his shirt to reveal an angry bruise crawling up his side. There was a scuff on his skin below a small cut on his collarbone. Michael winced when you went to touch him, grazing your fingers along the side of his injury. The severity of his situation came back with a blow to your subconscious, drawing you close to Michael’s body. 

“Jesus.”

Your chest was on his when you wrapped your arms around his torso. You held him with just enough pressure for him to know you were there, anchoring yourself with the black fabric of his shirt. Emotions stirred inside of you when you pulled back. Michael’s face was steady. He watched you with intention when you moved, meeting your energy with peace. You held the top of his shirt with care when you pulled it off his shoulders. Your eyes were on Michael’s when you let his shirt fall to the floor. He reached for the hem of your shirt, pleading in a silent message when he moved closer. 

Neither of you said anything. 

It was a game of one piece moving after the other, clothing falling on the floor between you in a heap. You didn’t stop until his skin was bare, your hands preoccupied with Michael’s softness. You missed his body, the way he touched you like he knew what you needed. You sidestepped when Michael guided you back to the couch—sitting back so that he could watch you follow. 

He was so delicate when he helped you. 

Positioning you over him with ease as he held your hips. You could no longer hide the drive of your actions when your legs were open. Michael had gotten accustomed to knowing when you needed him. It was like he could smell your sex, heightened to the aroma of your desire. It made it easy to want him because he gave you what you needed, putting you first with every touch. 

“I missed you so much.”

Michael kissed you after he spoke. His lips were firm when he opened his mouth to yours, intensifying your embrace with his tongue. You grinded your hips on his, waking up his length with the stimulation you wanted to give him. You dreamt of his cock long after you were together. It had a way of filling you that you knew you wouldn’t get over—meeting your sex in a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain. That was your focus until Michael tapped your backside. 

It was his way of letting you know he had an idea. 

“Move up.”

You did as you were told, letting your legs fall over the back of the couch when your crotch was in Michael’s face. 

He wasted no time.

Michael’s mouth went from your inner thighs to your sex in seconds. His mouth was fixed on your sweet spot. The one place you didn’t know you liked to be licked until Michael did it—teaching you things about your own body. You had forgotten how good his mouth was. His lips were focused on pleasure while his hands gripped your backside, spreading your cheeks while he worked. You could feel the beginning of an orgasm swelling between your legs when Michael pulled away to suckle on your skin. Your moans bounced off the glass in the room, making them seem louder as you pushed yourself on Michael’s face. He moved one of his hands between your legs to make a variety of sensations. 

He nearly made you tip back when he nipped your skin, tapping you again to let you know it was okay to move. You found his lap, wet and sensitive. Michael’s fingers were on your lower back when your sex met his. You grinded on his lap as a way to let him know you needed stimulation, trying to push his cock inside of your hole. Michael moved under you every time you tried to slip him inside, drawing out the tease.

You tried to move your legs to the side to get on the floor. If Michael wasn’t going to appease you, the least he could do was fuck your face. It was something he liked, and you wanted the taste of him in your mouth just to feel something. 

He stopped you before you could get in position. His hands were on your thighs. He took the skin of your neck between his teeth before speaking, leaving a mark after a twinge of pain. 

“If I’m going to come anywhere, it’s going to be inside of you.”

You whined when his teeth pulled on your earlobe. Michael moved you from his lap to the empty side of the couch, straddling you with a hard length. You watched him observe you. It turned you on to see him thinking of ways to tease you in real time—parting your legs when he saw you tense. His right hand traveled from your knee to your hole, grazing it with his fingertip. Michael pulled your legs so that they would rest behind him, moving your right leg over his shoulder. That position was one of his favorites because he could open you up and see you. 

Michael liked watching your reactions. 

You whimpered under his touch. He wet his fingers in his mouth before touching you. You could feel the warmth of his fingers at your opening, barely pushing inside before pulling out. You bent the leg that rested on his shoulder when he leaned forward to kiss you, pushing his fingers inside of you when he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth. 

“That feel good?”

Michael spoke into your mouth when he found a steady pace, scissoring his fingers in your hole as he moved back. Two of your fingers seemed weak in comparison to what Michael could do to you, making you curl your toes as he grazed your sweet spot. Your moans were repetitive whenever he got close to making you cum, saying his name like a mantra when he pushed deep inside of you. His middle fingers made a mess of you in no time—making you hollow your stomach as you arched your back into his touch. You gripped the couch cushion with your eyes squeezed tight, unable to form a sentence when Michael stopped. 

“Mmm.”

Michael hummed when he saw a sheen of sweat on your torso. Your pleasure seemed to dance through your body, making your skin hot when Michael positioned himself between your legs. He let your shins rest by his waist, letting you push your sex into the tip of his cock. You closed your eyes while Michael took a survey of your body, running his finger over every mark and crevice that used to be his on demand. 

You were everything to Michael—someone he needed—someone he loved. 

Michael thought about how much he liked to make your brow furrow when he fucked you. He liked to watch your eyes flutter when he pushed his slick cock inside of you, holding your hip as he felt you for the first time in a long time. You were trying to keep up as your head rolled from the pleasure centered in your hole. Michael knew how to move, he focused on stretching you out in just the right way. 

“God yes.”

You muttered for him when he sped up. His moans fell out of his mouth when he pulled you close—angling you upwards as he held you. You held Michael’s chest as he tried to focus his energy on your sex, pressing his forehead on yours. Michael closed his eyes when he got in a stride that he couldn’t get enough of, hitting a spot that made his tip feel like he had reached a point of desire that both of you wanted to ride out. He hit a high that made you cry out, causing a collision of sensations that brought you close to the orgasm that was on your mind all day. 

You could feel Michael everywhere. He was on your neck, in your sex, in your head. You couldn’t escape how good he made you feel. Another place made its way into your conscious mind when your orgasm fell over the precipice of impulse. You curved into him when you came—gripping his skin as a drop of sweat rolled down your brow. Michael reacted to your sex tensing around him. He let you lay back, fucking you through your high with intensity. 

“Fucking cum for me.”

Michael’s thrusts were sloppy when two of his fingers pressed on your bottom lip. You opened your mouth to accept them, sucking on his digits while he watched. Your saliva coated his fingers while your moans followed, leaving the taste of sex in your mouth. You could see stars on the ceiling when he groaned. He slowed his thrusts when he emptied himself inside of you, filling you with his cum. He slumped next to you as you blinked in slow motion—trying to catch your breath. 

Even though the smell of your embrace barely dissipated, you had a desire to feel him again and again. 

That’s what satisfaction felt like in your eyes. 

*

Michael held you after he helped you clean up. 

He sleepily wrote a note on your side, pressing his lips to your neck. You thought about the progression of that day, how he went from the biggest monster to the man you wanted next to you at any given time. It was complicated, messy in the way you told yourself you liked to avoid. Every good thing you had came with terms and conditions. 

Michael came with an instruction manual that was never written. 

And there you were, trying to find out how you could get up to get both of you a glass of water and a takeout menu. 

“Are you trying to get rid of me already?”

Michael lifted his head to watch you stretch in front of him, enjoying the view. 

“No. Just wondering how much your security detail heard.” 

*

It was the end of November, an uncharacteristically cold weather had blown into town, the air smelled of snow and you decided that your fingers could use a pair of gloves. You quickened your steps. The neighborhood was neither bad, nor the greatest, but the streetlights were flickering and you started feeling the panic swell in the pit of your belly. The motel was in your sights, a flickering red sign above the main entry showed that there were a few rooms left vacant. 

Entering the lobby finally set your nerves at ease. You’ve entered familiar territory.

There was a middle-aged man tending the front desk, his thinning hair glowing under the neon light. He was flicking through the pages of an old magazine, not paying too much attention to the sound of the bell when you opened the door. Really, he couldn’t even bother to look up. 

“How can I help you?” was uttered under his nose, his eyes never leaving the glossy pictures. “I have a reservation for room number 7.” Your voice cracked at the “have”, not sure if it was the nerves or the lack of use. He swung around in his chair, grabbing the key from its allotted space and placing it on the desk, no “There you go.” no nothing.

Seen as he wasn’t very forthcoming, if you were being 100% honest, he was cold and insanely rude, you just grabbed the key and left the lobby. You pulled the lapels of your jacket a bit closer and hurried to get to your room. You only had half an hour to get ready.

You’ve done these scenes in almost any kind of environment, but the stagnant air and moldy waterpipes in motels had you feeling a certain way. You never claimed to understand why you liked the things that turned you on.

The first thing you had to do was set the scene. You were both lovers of 90’s aesthetics, so the outdated furniture and yellow lighting in the room were perfect. You took off your clothes, making sure to leave your white cotton set on. It was going to get destroyed anyway, so there was no point in wearing fancy underwear - his words, not yours. Come to think of it, it might had something to do with the fact that it made you look almost virginal, and it felt like he was corrupting you time and time again.

Folding your clothes one by one, you set them in your backpack and hid it in the bathroom, leaving your old self behind. You took the bedcovers off the queen-sized bed and the pillows on the nearby chair, you knew he might need them at one point. Hiking your knee on the mattress, you settled in the middle on your back, eyes closed, hands clasped on your tummy, waiting. And you didn’t have to wait for long.

You heard the creak as the door opened, but you didn’t dare open your eyes. It was one of your demands. You didn’t want to know who he was, it was easier that way, you could fantasize about the possibilities of it being anyone on the street. You could hear the soft sounds of his footsteps as he approached your lying form. “Up.” It was a signal for you to lift your head as he wrapped a scarf over your eyes. The bed dipped as his knee came to rest behind you, securing the knot and doing quick work of braiding your hair. At first, it freaked you out, but you soon came to realize that it meant he could do less damage to your scalp when he pulled, and he liked to pull on it quite a lot.

His cold fingers trailed from the bottom of your braid to your sides, making you squirm in your seat. He’d warm them up on your skin soon enough. You could hear and feel his soft exhales in your left ear, followed by the feel of his beard on your neck as he trailed kisses on your skin. 

“Are you ready?” The only answer you dared give him was the tiniest nod. 

Both of his hands moved between your thighs, gripping them and parting your legs as wide as they would go. His left hand found your clothed breast, roughly grabbing a handful and squeezing a moan out of you. The tips of his right hand found their way on top of your cotton panties, middle finger pressing lightly between your slit, dampening the material with your juices.

It was only an interlude, you knew that he was here on a mission to wreck you, but the intimacy of it all prickled at your soul. 

You felt his whole demeanor change, his breath evening out and his muscles flexing against your body. The hand grabbing your tit moved to grab your neck, no pressure yet, he was just using his thumb and index finger to guide you against him. The one petting your pussy moved to bunch up the material of your panties and pull it up, giving you an uncomfortable wedgie but stimulating your clit at the same time. Your only response was a strangled wheeze.

“You like that? Like having strangers feel you up?” He released your neck. “Look at you. A whimpering mess and we haven’t even started yet.” You suddenly felt a light tapping on your clothed clit, increasing in force and intervals, making your head fall back on his shoulder, moaning at the slight pain.

And that’s what you were here for, the pain. You knew that he had loads of it in store for you. He grabbed your braid, maneuvering you around until your head was pressed on the bed and your thighs were spread on both sides of his knee, ass high in the air. Same as before, he bunched the material of your panties and pulled, leaving the globes of your ass bare for his eyes only. His other hand grabbed your right cheek, roughly squeezing it upwards and away, getting a peek of your puckered hole. It disappeared and came back before you could even blink behind the scarf, the resounding thwack of his palm on your ass chasing the chill away. He repeated the same motion a few times until the bottom of your ass was rosy and you were silently begging for more.

There was a ripping sound in the stillness of the room as he roughly pulled your panties. They were left to sit in ruins on your thighs as his middle finger came to inspect your leaking pussy. The whole thing looked so bad but felt so right at the same time. You were nothing but a broken puppet in his hands and you were never sure if he was trying to fix you or fuck you up beyond repair.

The pressure was building in your lower belly, his knee pressing against your bladder and his calloused finger strumming your clit, catching it with his blunt nails time and time again. Just when you thought that you might enter another dimension, his finger disappeared only to be brought back in the form of a hard hit on your pussy.

“Not so fast.”

You were impatient, but that’s not how you won this game. You felt the bed move with him, falling flat on your belly. He, once again, used your braid as a handle to position you right. You were lying like that for a few seconds or a few minutes, you couldn’t tell. The panties were off, the bra was lying somewhere on the floor and your feet were cuffed in metal rings. You recognized the familiar immobility caused by the spreader bar, holding your feet from locking together. He bound your hands in leather and left them to rest on the bed above your head. The bed dipped between your knees as he situated his body behind you, pulling on your hips, grinding your naked ass on his denim-covered crotch. You kept rotating your hips, working yourself up and stretching lazily like a cat. It was almost desperate, the need for contact so great, you would do anything for him. But he had other plans.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop making a mess? You’re such an infuriating little slut.”

He left you on the bed, tears of frustration slowly gathering behind your eyelids as you waited for any sort of stimulation. You heard the whoosh before you felt the tiny licks of pain on your back. So he decided to use the cat this time, the tiny leather knots deliciously digging in your skin. He was warming you up, knowing you needed to have a bit of pain before you reached nirvana, but ever so careful not to break the skin.

Minutes turned into eternity. Your thoughts had fled your mind. You could only feel the warmth and produce incoherent noises in different pitch. Hit after hit like tiny water droplets before the deluge. Somewhere in that not-here-nor-there space of yours, you didn’t hear the buzzing, or maybe the blood rush to your head drowned the noise. But the tiniest vibration from the wand had you shattering to pieces.

You held your breath, the scream lodged in your throat, saliva dripping on the sheets in front of you, your entire body shaking from the orgasm, your knees barely holding you up. He could only chuckle from the side, knowing that this was only the first of many that night. 

He let you breathe for a while, seeing the curve of your back dip and flatten as you tried to get yourself together was a huge turn on, if the bulge straining against his jeans was anything to go by. The next time he approached, he decided to forego the whip, but kept the wand close by, just in case. He was back between your knees, hands hugging your lower back, bending you even further. His roughened hands traveled the expanse of your reddened back, making sure you still felt the phantom pain from the cat-o-nine tails. His face was in front of you, taking in the scent of your arousal before flattening his tongue on your lips. You felt the vibrations of his moan more than his actual voice, but it was over before it began. 

You heard a click and felt the coldness of the lube between your cheeks. He used his middle finger to spread it on the rim and started applying steady pressure. You’ve done this before so you knew that it was time to relax and push back, allowing entry. He was working you up, slowly opening your hole to fit two of his fingers. After he was satisfied with the progress he made, he took them out and slowly replaced them with a lubed up princess plug. The metal felt heavy inside of you, but not entirely uncomfortable, and if you were being honest with yourself, it made you feel special knowing that there’s a sparkly button attached to your ass. He pulled on it a few times, making sure you were comfortable with it before leaning down and giving the clear zircon a kiss.

The incredibly tender moment was cut short when both of his palms landed hard on your cheeks. He liked seeing the contrast between your fire red flesh and the cool fake crystal handle, so much so, he couldn’t stop playing with your ass, jiggling the metal device with every squeeze.

It never occurred to you that you could cum from such a little amount of stimulation, but you were almost there. You were moaning the motel down and somewhere in that sex haze of yours you thought you might have heard a thump or two from the neighboring wall, but you couldn’t care less. Not when the wand was back on your clit, and definitely not when you felt his fingers curl up inside of you. He wasn’t being extremely gentle either. He knew you thrived on the overstimulation, pressing the pads of his fingers on your g-spot harshly, almost feeling mechanical. He was a conductor and he knew how to orchestrate your body, your moans and screams the most beautiful symphony. You thought that you would end with a dramatic crescendo, but the music sheet had a few more pages left.

His fingers left you, the wand went down at the same time as his zipper. He didn’t bother to push his pants down, just opened them enough to pull his, very hard and very ready, dick out. You heard the crinkle of the condom packet being ripped and felt the latex on you. He was rubbing his cock between your cheeks, gathering as much of your juices and lube on him before he entered you. The novelty never wore off. It didn’t matter what he did to you beforehand, it was always a tight fit, the stretch bordering pain and pleasure. 

You felt full at last, the double penetration making you mewl like a cat in heat, the moan slowly rising up in volume until you did nothing but scream. Each time he moved his hips against yours sounded like thunder in your ears, the plug going deeper and deeper inside you. You tried to hold off as much as possible, but it was a losing battle.

One extremely forceful push had you collapsing on the bed, blissed out. He was chasing after his own orgasm, covering your body with his. The only indication that he was a tall man was the fact that when he laid like this, his chin would almost reach the top of your head. But you didn’t mind the weight, in fact, it almost made you feel protected. 

The bed dipped to your left, he must’ve put his hand in front of you for leverage because his other was busy shoving three fingers in your mouth. You had your eyes closed, making sure you produced enough spit to lube his digits so you didn’t notice the moment the scarf shifted, freeing a tiny sliver for your eyes to see. He took those fingers, bringing his hand to your already wrecked pussy, finding purpose in playing with your clit. The sensation was too much, revving you up one last time. One final push had you coming hard, milking his cock for every last drop, vision going black, and the sight of a familiar finger tattoo making your heart painfully clench.

--------

It was New Year’s Eve and you were on a mission. The Christmas lights were on, the finger food was on the table and the guests were about to arrive. There was no dress code, you just told them to dress comfortably. It was a small event, you didn’t have many friends to begin with, courtesy of always working, but you did have a growing circle of people who loved video games as much as you.

You were slowly becoming a tight-knit family, getting together for game nights and the occasional drinks, and you liked it, you didn’t need more interaction. You were, however, extremely happy when one of your gamer buddies gave you a bit of his attention. Where you were generally talkative and friendly, he was your polar opposite, deciding to stay in his shy shell until he felt comfortable enough to speak. You knew he had a good soul, you just never knew what to expect from him. The only time his real self decided to come out was when he was in the middle of a game.

But you did in fact know a little bit more about him than you were letting off. He was in your apartment now, scanning the place for an empty corner to hide in. You couldn’t help but admire him, a tiny ball of lust wound tight in your lower belly. He looked so good in a pair of light blue jeans and a white tee, covered by a red plaid shirt. The tattoos peeking beneath his rolled-up shirt sleeves and the whole grungy look were such a contrast to his shy self, it almost made you laugh, that is, until you realized that you might have cum a few times from rubbing yourself sore on the coarse denim of his jeans.

The advantage of playing host was that you always had an excuse to go up to people and strike up a conversation. You let him relax for a bit, though. Cornering him right off the bat might do more harm. But you were done playing this game of cat and mouse, where the cat was in fact a kitty and the mouse was a Pit Bull in disguise and you wanted to know what was his endgame.

You found him in the kitchen by himself, licking some pizza sauce from his fingers. “Oh, hey Michael, didn’t expect to see you here. Too crowded?” You pointed behind you at the party, eyes zoned in on his Adam’s apple moving as he gulped. He looked a bit startled but he wasn’t cowering like you expected him to. “Yeah, you know me, not much of a team player.” You knew that wasn’t the full truth because whenever he tried to hide something, he would try to fix his already perfectly styled bleached fringe. 

There were layers to his personality, and he was never game to show them all at once, but you were willing to unravel him. You were thankful for once that your kitchen was tiny so it only took you a couple steps to reach his side. Before you could chicken out, you grabbed his left hand and brought it up for inspection. He tried to pull it away, but you were having none of that. “You know Mikey, I never really asked you what this tattoo’s about, and I’ve been meaning to for a while now.” He still looked uncomfortable, but the way your thumb kept rubbing over the circle and three dots engraved on his middle finger was making his eyes dilate. “You like it?” His tone was no longer shy, and you could finally understand why you never put two and two together. Turned on Michael was speaking in a low, almost gravelly voice, completely unrecognizable from his usual higher-pitched tones. And now he knew you knew. And there was no escaping it.

“I liked it better when it was disappearing into my pussy.” You whispered, looking up at him through your lashes. You knew you were trying to act tough, but the moment he wound his fingers in your hair and pulled, you knew that you’d always be putty in his hands. “Don’t forget your place, pet.” he breathed out. “You don’t get to top from the bottom. I could easily bend you over the table in front of all of our friends and have your ass red if I wanted to.” And you knew that he would. He detangled himself from you, leaving you turned on and confused in the middle of the kitchen. 

Michael’s mouth was half open when he put his hand in front of your mouth. He had been teasing you with a powerful vibrator for 45 minutes, making tears well in your eyes with how many times he brought you to the edge. Michael tied you to one of the chairs from the kitchen. Rope separated your chest in two, leaving your nipples erect in the open air.

Michael wanted you to spit in his hand to lube up his cock.

He twitched at the sight of you dripping, watching you move under the restraints that you loved to hate. You held out because you weren't sure if you could handle watching Michael throw his head back in front of you, moaning and releasing a load of hot cum that you wanted in your mouth.

“Spit, baby.”

Michael's fingers were on your bottom lip. He waited for fluid to dribble on his fingertip, moving it away to coat the tip of his cock. His moans were throaty. You watched his hand move up and down on his length--glistening in the low light.

He walked towards you, his eyes on your chest rising while you tensed your thighs. Michael was enamored with the image of you struggling under black rope. He picked up the vibrator off the floor with his other hand. The toy was nestled between your legs when the speed was set higher than it was before. You cried out for him when he pressed it against your sex--licking his lips at the sight of your face twisting at the stimulation.

Michael wanted to see how hard he could push you.

No matter what he had to do.