My Michelle Ch. 06

I awoke to the sound of Michelle crying softly next to me, her sobs shaking the bed just enough to stir me. It had been a marathon fuck before bedtime and I had been sleeping the sleep of the mostly dead. Reflexively I checked the clock (1:42 AM) and reached over to make sure my .45 was still in place on the nightstand. It was. And the pre-Wilson, Nashville-era Scattergun Technologies "Border Patrol" model shotgun in the corner, and- ah, never mind. This was about her pathologies, not mine.

"Michelle? What's wrong?"

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry I woke you up. I was just having a bad dream, and I woke up, and I've been laying here thinking."

I hugged her. "Come on, what's wrong?"

"Go back to sleep, Master. I'm okay. You're the one with an early class tomorrow."

"Michelle, this is important. Come on. No titles or that bullshit. I want to know what's bothering you." Early was relative. I didn't have to be to "Special Topics in History", a pre-grad school seminar, until ten.

"Well, the dream was about living in a shitty apartment in LA and fucking guys on camera for heroin. Not a good dream. I mean fucked up sex dreams can be fun, but that was not what I wanted at all. And I've never even tried heroin."

"The dreams haven't happened much lately anyway."

Weird dreams and nightmares are often a symptom of cocaine withdrawal, and for a while I'd actually been writing down descriptions of Michelle's dreams with some idea of using them to try helping wean her off. They'd basically fallen to nothing, at least that she could remember or would admit to. Besides, normally if she got freaked out on account of a dream she'd do something sexual to take her mind off it. She had woke me up to fuck a few times. Laying there crying was not her usual style.

"I was dreaming about how bad I wanted the needle the guy had, even more than I wanted to cum, and then I woke up and started crying."

"Aw, hell, I'm sorry." We hugged. You know, like normal people.

"Anyway, I've been thinking. You, me, us, how good things have been. It's been serious moment of clarity stuff. And with the way the last almost-month has gone, I've figured my problem out. I am two girls in one body. Not in a bipolar psycho way like Joan. She just goes zero to bitch in two seconds. I just have two completely different sets of goals and needs.

"Goal one. I am an intelligent, educated woman who plans to work hard, make a lot of fucking money, retire young, and enjoy myself. I already have a marketing job lined up back home in Dallas with an ad agency one of Dad's friends owns. In five years I'll have my own department."

"All right, admirable goal so long as you don't go pushing yourself to eighty or ninety hours a week and go back to the Bolivian marching powder the way the Wall Street types do."

She smiled weakly. "That ties into goal two. I'm a complete fucking slut who doesn't even want to put her clothes on to leave the house. If I'm not getting fucked or slapped, I better at least cock have a cock in my mouth. With what I have learned about myself over the last month, and looking back at my life of the last three years, unless I get the right sort of entertainment, I will go looking for it, and I have shitty self control. That means I'll end up a stripper or a hooker. Maybe, if I was lucky, I'd be a porn actress if I relocated to Southern California. Either way, my education is out the window, I know I'd be doing drugs again, and I probably catch something and am dead in five years."

I was somewhat taken aback at all this. "Damn. How long have you been laying awake thinking about this? We only went to bed a little over three hours ago."

"I haven't just been thinking about this tonight, dummy. This goes way back, even before our little romantic interlude in the hot tub a couple nights ago."

"Yeah, the rape roleplay. Real romantic. Even I know better than that."

"Not the roleplay, which you will remember was my idea, the second fuck after that. You should have seen the look on your face when I dropped the hint about 'our' next place."

"I was meaning to ask you about that-"

"Wait, let me finish this part first. These two goals are completely incompatible, and dying a junkie is what I moved in with you to avoid. So I need someone in my life with enough responsibility to make me put my clothes on and go to work, but enough of a vicious asshole to treat me the way I like when it's playtime. I've only ever gotten that treatment one place, here with you. So the solution is to keep you around in my life, and if that means I have to make this more of a lifetime deal, that's it then."

Wow. That was a lot to digest on short notice. And maybe I didn't pick my next words with quite the delicacy the situation required. I'm into equal rights. I'll talk to women the same way I'll talk to anyone else. That means I can be remarkably insensitive to what women think they need to hear, and I'm a little too brutally honest when emotional tact is needed. There was a reason I spent a lot of time single.

"Michelle, my dear, please don't take this the wrong way, but are you fucking insane? We've been together less than a month, and you're talking marriage already? Ignoring the fact that I am really shitty husband material, you're-"

Yeah. She took it the wrong way. Guys, I don't give a shit if you call yourself a dom, a sub, a switch, or are as vanilla as that partial half-gallon of Breyers I've got in the freezer. Shit, you gay guys too. Don't think you're off the hook either just because you don't like pussy. Every fucking one of us has said something our "significant others" took the wrong way and it either involved tears or yelling.

At this point she was crying again, and visibly trying to decide if she was going to hug me tighter or roll over to her side of the bed to cry in peace. "You mean you're unhappy? I thought I was being good! I thought I was making you happy!" she managed to choke out in between sobs.

Now this was exactly the third-worst scenario that I thought up that first day in the campus video arcade. Absolute worst case was Joe using her as bait to kill me. I solved that problem by putting him in the fucking dirt instead. Second worst was her stealing a bunch of my shit and trading it for coke. Hadn't happened yet. Third worst was she falls in love. I figured our chance of this becoming long term happiness was less than zero. It was still just above zero, but there she was rolling the dice on it.

"No, goddamn it, I am way TOO happy. It's probably illegal for me to be this happy. I'm going to graduate college after six years, and I have you around. Someone beautiful, intelligent, pleasant company even with her clothes on, who fucks like a goddess, and to be honest is completely and totally out of my league. Even after you called me that day, I figured I had exactly zero chance with you no matter how hot I always thought you were. I had no idea who you really were under the pothead act. It's not that I don't appreciate the arrangement, I don't think you're looking at the downsides for you."

And yeah, my emotional reserve popped like an overripe pimple, spraying stuff I didn't want to see. It was moment of clarity stuff for me too. Here we were, just under a month in, and I was finding I loved her back even if I hadn't said it yet. Goddamn it, I did not want to be in this situation when we started out with this. Big risk, but the rewards were turning out to be more than I could handle. Fuck it, no guts, no glory. Let's see where this goes.

"I don't give a shit about the downsides. As far as I'm concerned there are zero valid downsides. Getting married after graduation is standard fucking procedure, and I was going to be stuck doing that anyway if I hadn't left Brian."

You know, maybe I was rubbing off on Michelle, but she didn't used to cuss that much. On the other hand, we were dealing with a lot of raw emotions here so her usual decorum went out the window.

"So you're not some asshole fraternity boy that will make my friends jealous. Doesn't matter. In case you haven't noticed, my friends aren't really my friends any more, assuming they ever were. Fuck them. You and I are both smart people who will make more than enough money to live well on, and that's the important thing. I grew up in that whole bullshit upper-class putting on appearances fucked up upper class life. Mom and Dad drove the right cars, we lived on the right street, I danced, I cheered, I hung out with all the right people, and all it got me was two or three addictions we're still dealing with, a pregnancy scare or two, oh, yeah, and I don't think I ever told you, I lost my virginity when my Oh So Special high school football player boyfriend raped me the week before Prom-"

"No, you didn't mention that. I definitely would have remembered." My first instinct was to ask her where I could find this young man so he could end up in a nice deep hole somewhere as well, but I bit off the question before I could ask it. "Is that something you'd like to talk about?" I admit, it made a couple other things about Michelle fall into place.

"Fuck no. Disappointment aside, it was not a big deal. I would have fucked him if he'd just asked right. I mean if he'd actually known what he was doing and tried getting me excited a little first, I might have even played along with it. He was what I now know was distinctly undersized, and he barely got it in before he shot his load. As rapes go, it was the worst three seconds of sex in human history. Damn, he was worthless in bed. He couldn't even pull my hair the way I like it-"

"Oh, like this?" I got my left hand deep into Michelle's thick mane of black hair, flexing my fingers just a little for an extra tug to her scalp. She liked it that way.

She gasped just a tiny bit, and her eyes closed. "Um, yes, Master, that is just the sort of grip that makes me feel properly helpless. And you know how much I like feeling helpl-"

Using her hair as a pivot point, I reached over for her hip and pushed her onto her back. My right leg slid inside her right leg, locking the knee with mine in such a manner that she couldn't close her legs if she wanted to. And sliding my right hand's fingers gently along her pussy, I got her attention and made sure she wouldn't want to. "Oh, yes, I know how you like feeling helpless." I delicately teased one finger past her lips. She was hot, but not yet really wet. She'd been up and down an emotional roller coaster tonight, and deserved a good orgasm before we tried to get back to sleep. And really, I did want to get her off a couple times and maybe get off myself so I COULD get back to sleep. I didn't want a long manic night of discussions. I wanted that last five and a half hours of sleep. Her hips eagerly thrust up to meet my finger, craving whatever she could get inside her. "You're rather eager, aren't you?" I began to finger her harder.

"Because I'm an uncontrollable little slut, Master."

"But you're my uncontrollable little slut, aren't you?" I teased.

"Mmmm, by you, I can be controlled. You know how to treat me."

I fingered her clit a little extra for that. "Like that?"

"Fuck yeah....that feels good. Deep down, all I give a fuck about is pleasure. Giving pleasure, receiving pleasure, showing off my body for the pleasure of others. Turning men on...sometimes women if I'm really feeling like it. I love making other girls' boyfriends look at me. I love knowing I turned their men on. My nice big tits, my tight ass. Little, tight tops, or short skirts or tight jeans. That's one reason I was told I had to become an inactive member at the house. The vice president's boyfriend wanted me, so I blew him at a party just to piss her off. Well, him, I supposedly blew the treasurer's boyfriend too, but I honestly never laid a finger on him, wasn't my type, and there was the other fact that I never showed up to the mandatory meetings because I was usually getting high in the afternoons. But mainly because I blew her boyfriend. But I can turn on anyone, just like I turned on you."

Hmm, a lyric from "Rocket Queen", by Guns n'Roses. Wonder if that was deliberate? "Oh, Michelle. What am I going to do about you?"

"Right now, Master, I'm hoping if I talk dirty enough to keep your attention, you'll just shove a couple fingers in my pussy, or maybe give me permission to touch myself. Or tell me to touch you. Fuck, that's even better."

I rolled back a bit, freeing my cock from where it had rested against her thigh, and using her hair for leverage, made her look down. "Oh, you want to touch my cock, Michelle?"

"I'd rather get it shoved in me, but yes, I'd love to touch my Master's cock. Even calling it Master's cock gets me wetter. Does it get harder when I call you Master?"

"Yes, Michelle, you're a fucking turn-on. Every time you flirt and tease, my cock gets hard again. You know it, too. You know what you do to me. See it? See how hard it is for you?"

"Fuck yeah, I do. That's why I do it. I like being a slut. I like being your slut. Every since that first time I knelt for you and showed off my big fucking titties you'd been sneaking looks at ever since we met, I've loved showing off for you, making you want me, making you want to keep me safe like a treasure. Nobody has made me feel safe in years. You've made me happier than I have ever been, and I don't just mean cumming my fucking brains out all the time. You've probably saved my life, Master, and to keep it that way, I'm going to give you the rest of it. Now whose cock do I need to suck around here to get my ass spanked before we go back to sleep?"

"You need to suck my cock, Michelle. And you'd better do a good job." Who the fuck was I kidding? She wasn't going to do a bad job, she enjoyed it too much.

"Mmmm, will you hurt me if I do a bad job?"

"I'll hurt you anyway just because you like it." I pinched a nipple quick and hard for emphasis, getting a nice happy squeal in response.

"Fuck yeah. Make me do it." Awkwardly, since I was leaning on my left side and mostly leaning on her, I rolled back and kept my handhold in her hair. I dragged her (gently, I didn't want to tear her hair out at the roots or anything) up off her back and pulled her mouth down to my cock.

My left hand came up the back of her thigh and started fingering her from behind. She stopped sucking long enough to moan, and I reached over with my right and smacked her on the ass. "Get back to work, you lazy bitch." She eagerly pushed her ass backward for more, oohing and ahhing theatrically, so I smacked it three more times quickly.

She slid to her right, throwing her leg over my head, settling into the classic 69 position.

"There you are, Master. You can get a better swing that way. Spank my ass until you shoot your load and I swallow it like the cumslut I am. You haven't gotten my ass really red lately, you know how I need it...I love it...I love your cum..."

Michelle could be an enthusiastic and presumptuous little slut, but if you could turn down an offer like that, you're a better man than I am. With my right hand, I began laying an even pattern of spanks across her ass, while she turned the blowjob throttle to 11. Maybe 12. I repaid the favor by sliding two fingers into her pussy with my left hand. If I could have reached the vibrator in the nightstand, I would have used that, but hey, I can work bare-handed.

From there, it was a drag race to see who'd cum first. Michelle's muffled happy I'm-getting-fingerfucked noises were throwing an extra weird vibration into one more of her world class blowjobs. I leaned my head forward to see if I could get a tongue on her and really make it a 69, but she was just a little too far forward. The fingers would have to do.

She sucked fast, she sucked hard. It was like having your dick in a NASA wind tunnel and getting electric shocks at the same time. Her hands pumped my cock, played with my balls, and it took serious mental effort to concentrate on keeping my hands working on her. But she won the race. The orgasm was like a bomb going off in my head, but as I worked her clit a little more, I felt her shudder with her own release as she was still swallowing.

She bounced off of me and spun 180 degrees for the post-orgasmic cuddle. Taking a long pull of her ice water off the nightstand as a chaser for the shot she just took, she kissed me on the cheek as a near-unconsciousness claimed me.

"Good night, Master. I love you."

The next morning, the alarm clock beeped at eight. We stumbled out of bed after some brief kissing, and wandered through our morning routine. Thank fuck that house had more than one bathroom. Michelle was not always quick to get ready. She'd usually do her makeup on the drive in, but her hair required The Big Mirror. Really, I didn't care. If she wanted the big mirror and take twenty to thirty minutes in the bathroom so I had to shave downstairs, who gave a shit?

I heard our gym bags hit the hallway floor out by the front door. We always went to the gym in town before we came home from class, five days a week. Well, almost always. Accommodating for the knee, I tried to stay in something approaching combat conditioning. It was handy for the occasional gig bouncing bars or burying inconvenient drug dealers. Michelle was willing to sweat and suffer to stay porn-star hot. We did very different workouts, but we did a good job of dragging each other in there.

I was working on putting breakfast together when she walked in, properly dressed to impress her fellow business school types as always. Hell, some mornings she'd walk in naked just to make sure she didn't get toast crumbs or her preferred orange marmalade on her clothes. Thursday was her longest class day and a long day for me at the gym, so I tried to get some extra protein into her.

She blew me a big kiss as I handed her a glass of orange juice. "Halloween is this coming Saturday. How shall we celebrate?"

"We're too far out for trick-or-treaters. We can do a jack-o-lantern for the front porch, but I imagine we'll go somewhere. Memphis comes to mind. We can just hit a club up there and take our costumes with us."

"Sounds good. But that also means we're a month from Thanksgiving, and that means my parents are coming."

I slid the bacon and eggs onto plates as the toast popped up. "Not a big deal. I've met your parents before. Besides, your dad used to fly Phantoms before he got out of the Air Force. I'm pretty sure he likes me."

"Uh, hello? When you met them, we weren't dating, let alone had anything to cover up! Dad's not the problem. Dad likes anybody who'll talk airplanes with him. Mom is the problem, and she has her hand up Dad's ass like a puppet. If you act like you, Mom is going to be horrified, and we have problems." She raised her eyebrows and looked at me as if to say "OK, you're the dom, now what?" as she crunched into her toast.

Oh, yeah. That part. Michelle's folks didn't know she wasn't living at the townhouse they were paying the bills for. They didn't know their carefully crafted corporate merger with her ex-boyfriend's family was out the window. They also didn't know about the coke problem I was helping her with, but what the hell, I'd hidden stuff from my family too. My family was East Coast while Michelle's folks lived in Dallas these days Jackson, Mississippi before that, I think. My family wasn't an issue. I'd been gone for years. But with the big Mississippi University versus State University of Mississippi game being played in Cambridge that Thanksgiving weekend as it was every other year, a lot of parents (a shocking number of whom had gone there themselves) took that as an excuse to have big turkey dinner tailgate parties and lavishly entertain. It was the sort of inbred family tradition bullshit I didn't fit in with that made me hate that school and made me wish I'd gone somewhere else, but this close to graduation it wasn't like I was going to pack it in.