Becoming Michael's Ch. 01

Author's note: Credit goes to the wonderful Scarlett Gunn from Literotica's volunteer editor program for the feedback and assistance in fine tuning this chapter. I have about 100 pages of this written now. So if you enjoy it, stay tuned.

Chapter 1: Escalation

Ella liked the person she was with. Really, she told herself, she did. After all, she had been with Doug for over a year. She had to remind herself of this when she started feeling hollow in a perfectly good relationship. The only problem was that Ella had always had... proclivities. They were important to her, despite the fact that they were more of a poorly defined craving than a definable need. Besides, Doug had seemed interested when she told him about her fantasies, or more accurately, he said he was.

After some tentative searching online, she had dragged Doug with her to a local restaurant to meet with other like-minded people.

At the dinner, Ella had soaked it all in eagerly, snippets at a time, too excited to focus. She had quickly forgotten the names of the people who introduced themselves, but Ella felt a weight shedding off of her just being around other people with a few of the same desires. She was happily oblivious to the amused looks she was receiving from veterans or the appraising looks she received from others. Her bright, nervous chatter made it hard to miss her.

Conversely, Doug had balked upon hearing several of the conversations. He was listening more continuously and caught more of the details than she did. This was more serious than what he had signed up for.

Doug and his discomfort escaped the notice of most people by virtue of him being quiet. Only Michael was watching both of them and the nervous tension growing between them. When Doug's face paled and it finally became obvious that he was going to bolt, Ella's anxious excitement quickly gave way to panic. Under her breath, she had begged Doug to stay.

Seeing her desperation, Michael had smoothly stepped in and deescalated the situation. He extended an offer. If Doug couldn't give her pain, then Michael would. No sex. He wouldn't even undress her and he would send her home satisfied.

And so, an arrangement had been made. One that seemed very foreign to both Doug and Ella, but which Ella had needed, more than she could have ever known.

Late on a Thursday afternoon, there was a loud knock on Michael's door and he opened it to find both of them there. He furrowed his brow at the disturbance. They had no appointment this time. He had seen her only a few days ago. He kept his temper in check though, seeing that Doug's was already unchecked.

"Back so soon?" Michael asked. And then more pointedly, "I wasn't expecting to see you."

"Right now, you can do better with her than I can." Doug walked back towards the elevator, leaving Ella standing in the doorway and stabbing irritably at the down elevator button.

Michael raised his eyebrow at her. "Well," he drawled, "why are you back then?" He stepped back as he asked the question, allowing her in so he could shut the door behind her.

She trembled before him sensing he was different tonight. He was usually playful, but wasn't feeling it after being interrupted without warning. "I guess... maybe because I can't sleep? I've been keeping him up and he can't-- I mean--" Ella's skin grew hot and frustrated, trying to communicate.

"Because?" he snapped. When she said nothing, he leaned over her, looming. "What were you thinking of, when you weren't sleeping? Was it this?" He dragged the sharp edge of his nail down the curve of her exposed throat.

"No," she whispered.

"What then," he asked again.

"I don't know," she lied. He stopped and stared into her eyes, grabbing her chin when she tried to shift away. Under the intensity of his gaze she softened, vulnerable. "I must be broken," she breathed out.

His eyes flashed. "And what has brought you to that conclusion?" There was a forced evenness to his voice.

"He hates this. He just doesn't know what else to do. He..."

"Stop," he ordered and she went silent.

This wasn't the first arrangement of this type he had made. It was easy enough to provide a little pain to help a masochist stay sane in an otherwise loving relationship. This was not acceptable though. An arrangement like this one should be made out of love for a partner and a recognition that, sometimes, loving something isn't enough to make them happy. This was not a place to abandon someone out of frustration.

He tried to hide his anger, but at that moment he couldn't keep it off his face. She felt it radiating off him and not knowing its direction, shrank.

"There is nothing wrong with you," he said, breaking the silence. She stared at him. "Say it," he demanded.

"I-" she fumbled. He had moved closer to her. She could feel his breath and he dug his hand into her sensitive thigh. "Say it," he growled, low and undeniable, disregarding her whimper.

"There is nothing wrong with me," she whispered.

As in most arrangements of this type, he had kept away from advanced play. Some light pain, spanking or maybe a paddle. Enough to keep her sane, but not enough to push her. She always went home at the end of the evening and always left happier than she was before she had come to him.

But that man had broken her spirit, and the arrangement was about to change and escalate to something entirely different.

Michael's voice was decisive yet somehow soothing, "I'll tell you what, sweet one... tonight, we will give you what you actually need."

"What do I need?" she dared to ask.

"I have some ideas," he responded cryptically. "Go ahead and strip for me."

She flushed blushing red from her cheeks down over her breasts. Michael noticed with some amusement. "Is a lack of clothing the thing you think will make you naked?" Now even more embarrassed by her own hesitation, Ella quickly removed her clothing.

"Come here." She went quietly, looking at him with nervous apprehension and then down at her feet. She was afraid of what she would see in his eyes now that she was naked-- disappointment maybe? "Do you remember your safeword?" he asked, tilting her face up to him and forcing eye contact. He had never put her anywhere near needing one, but it was just one of those things you did, so she had one. She nodded at him, her eyes widening some.

He lifted her up to sit on his worktable and then pushed her down roughly to lie against the metal. It was cold and a stark contrast to being over his knee with her face resting against the warm couch cushions. He ran his hands over her, casually acquainting himself with those few areas previously covered by clothing.

Ella found his sudden matter of factness disconcerting. However, Michael was working in his way, watching her subtle reactions, each muscle twitch and embarrassed blush.

When he had made his assessment, he took a tool case out from beneath the bench. It was his favorite diagnostic tool for assessing someone's real pain tolerance. Ella eyed it suspiciously. It looked like the case of a cordless drill. "We'll come to that later. Focus," he ordered.

Michael pinched, and stroked and teased her. But Ella only kind of managed to disengage from that mysterious case. She was beating herself up in the back of her head. I shouldn't feel turned on by a random tool that looks like it belonged at a hardware store... should I? A normal person would be scared... right?

He grabbed her other thigh, the one neglected earlier and drove his thumb deep into the flesh, high on her leg. She let out a startled half-swallowed sound. "You're not focusing," he observed coldly. "Why" And then, with a dangerous edge to his voice: "Am I boring you?"

"Oh no!" she responded hurriedly.

"Well?" he was holding her so tightly now that it would bruise. Oh god, she thought wildly, his fingerprints will be on me in the morning. "I'm waiting for an explanation," he finished with a note of irritation.

"This shouldn't make me wet," she responded.

"Why not," he probed. Michael's tone had a forced casualness, but his eyes were sharp.

"Because it's not normal. Pain and fear shouldn't turn me on." She looked ashamed and he could see her drawing tightly into herself again.

"What did we establish earlier," he asked, now almost gentle. She shifted awkwardly under his gaze. "Say it," he demanded firmly.

"There is nothing wrong with me," she whispered again.

"Good... now where were we?" He grabbed her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples hard between his fingers until she moaned. He smiled to himself. He loved masochists. She had clung to the light spanking of previous visits like a drowning woman to a buoy, but back then, the point hadn't been to push her. He had just made his assessment of her and filed it away for a possible later date. That day had come.

He reached down to pinch her clit as hard as he had grabbed her nipples. She cried out and he watched the analytical side of her brain shut off. Good, he thought.

He grabbed her hair with one hand, pulling her head back to expose her throat, and grabbed it with his other hand. The pressure increased gradually until it got a little hard for her to breathe. Ella let him, but when he let her go and she gasped for air, some small amount of shock was on her face.

"You can leave," Michael offered her. She shook her head no. "Then trust me," he said, somehow both commanding her and coaxing her.

From a nearby drawer, Michael acquired a ball gag made of rubbery silicone. He was all matter of fact and business-like again. "This is so you don't bite your tongue. Since you won't be able to speak, your hands will be unbound. Just bring either of them to your face if you want to stop... It's not for everyone."

He secured the strap on the gag and slid a pillow under her head. Her instinctive gratitude evaporated as he unpacked the rest of the box. She didn't recognize its contents.

He went through the well-practiced steps of setting up the tens unit. Attaching contacts to her labia and inner thighs, but also to the sensitive skin just below the curve of her ass. He looked down at Ella, in a way that made her squirm. He clucked his tongue. "So eager--even when you don't know what's coming." He made it a statement, not a question and she wanted to die of embarrassment. He saw the shame wash over her face and sighed. "There is nothing wrong with you. You are allowed to enjoy this."

Michael wired the contacts, inserting the other ends into the small box with a satisfying click. Then turned it on.

He previewed how this would work, running a current to the back of her legs. He set it at a 3, just enough to stimulate the muscle and make it twitch, but not enough for any pain. Startled and surprised by the reaction of her body, she bucked her hips off the table. Chuckling, he turned it off and turned on her inner thighs, then a moment later, moved on to her labia.

He had all the control. She was soaking wet.

Checking in like a clinician: "You see how this is going to work?" Ella hesitated, then nodded her head in affirmation. "But it didn't hurt." The statement was rhetorical, but she shook her head in confirmation anyway. "Don't worry," he said, a trace of pleasure in his voice. "It will."

He skipped the next setting, moving up to a 5, this time starting with her inner thighs. She let out a yelp that was strangled by the gag, jumping as he moved through a predictable rotation. A series of short sounds, some pleased, some pleading, were muted by the gag.

Ella started to find the rhythm of it and regained a scrap of her conscious mind. She pressed her tongue against the gag curiously; explored the other details of her situation like the feel of the table under her and the slight ache of her jaw.

But Michael noticed her attention shift almost immediately and cut short her wandering. "You shouldn't be thinking about the gag," Michael observed dryly. She met his eyes apologetically. "Oh," he said, taking a moment to gently brush her hair away from her face, "it's not your fault."

They jumped forward again to a 7. Now this hurt. There was no pattern now. Instant to instant, Ella moaned or sobbed or found herself caught between the two. He started periodically turning on two areas at the same time and with pleasure, watched her drift away from herself.

Michael looked down at her: considering, calculating. He turned the unit off and she moved her hips, trying to find the lost sensation with an inarticulate pleading whimper uttered instinctively.

Michael knew there was a difference between wanting something abstract and actually receiving it. But now, he had to know whether or not she was at her limit. He powered up to 8... no 8.5. Ella screamed blindly against the gag. He toyed with her. Sometimes one, sometimes two areas at a time. Short bursts of a few seconds or 30 to 40 seconds at a time, a seemingly endless agony. He would stop sometimes, pausing just long enough to make her wonder, before continuing.

Impulsively, he turned on all the contacts, watching her back arch and her body thrash and contort with the pain. Then, with hesitation, admitted that it was time to move on. He shut it off and then turned her carefully to undo and remove the gag.

Michael could tell she was somewhere else, not quite aware of what was around her. To sate his curiosity, he reached between her legs, stroking the length of her cunt up to her swollen clit. He was pleased to find her soaking and slick. There was always the risk of losing arousal when adding pain. She murmured at his touch, rather prettily he thought.

Michael called softly to her to bring her back, laying a hand on her shoulder against her neck to ground her. When her eyes focused on him, he wiped away a tear.

Ella was surprised to find she had been crying. "I'm sorry," she said, obviously embarrassed, and reached up to frantically scrub at her face, but he took her wrists and pinned her arms down deftly, easily holding her there.

"It is expected," he said quietly. "How was it?"

After a long pause. "It was wonderful," she finally breathed out quietly.

He grabbed her chin and looked into her eyes. It made her feel vulnerable, like he could see all of her secrets. "I didn't hear you," he lied. "How was it?"

"Wonderful," she said again. In the silence of his contemplation, she second-guessed herself. "Was I not supposed to enjoy it?"

"Not many can," Michael mused. Realizing her face had turned ashen, he clarified, "It's not a bad thing. In fact, it's wonderfully remarkable. You did very well."

Ella brightened up. "Then you were pleased? Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Does my pleasure matter?" he asked with feigned indifference.

"Of course it does. If you weren't--I mean if you aren't happy.. I--" She was visibly distressed.

Oh well then he thought more than just a masochist. That man has no idea what he has gotten himself into. He considered... If she goes home to him, I'll be working every time I see her to undo the damage he does.

"I can teach you to please me," Michael said slowly, "but I will demand a lot of you in that process. If your relationship with that boy," he emphasized with disdain, "is important, you may want to stop here."

She was silent as she thought and eventually he prodded, "Do you have your own apartment?" he asked.

"Yes"

"After how long together?"

"A year and a half."

"His choice or yours?"

"Mine."

You already know then, he assessed. It's been over for a while, just not ended.

"Do you want me to call him?"

"No, I guess not," she finally said.

"Good," he affirmed. When she looked at him, his eyes held hers again, serious. "You shouldn't be sleepless, hating yourself, because the person who is supposed to take care of you can't handle who you are. That's not a relationship worth keeping... Shall we continue?"

Her voice quavered, "Yes."

"Be sure," he warned, "by the end of tonight, every part of you will have been mine." Ella nodded, finding her throat suddenly dry.

Michael pulled her hair and after throwing down the pillow, dragged her to it and forced her onto her knees.

"How often has your throat been used?"

Ella's face was cheerful, beaming at the question. In this, she was certain she could please. "I give good head!" she informed him.

"Oh, I'm certain you do," he smiled back, "but that's not what I asked."

Her apparent confusion excited him. Michael unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks, bringing forth his cock. He had been hard since earlier, when the mix of pain and pleasure had pulled the first desperate, tearful sob from her.

Michael grinned. Her eyes had gone wide at the size of him. "Don't worry. You'll learn to take it." A rush of arousal hit her, she could feel her heart beating from between her legs, where it throbbed insistently.

Michael dropped down to her level to look her firmly in the eye. "Do not bite me," he warned, "I don't appreciate teeth." Ella nodded in hasty agreement. He grabbed a fistful of hair near the nape of her neck and pulled her up onto her knees, so that she was no longer sitting on her heels. "Open your mouth," he demanded, growling, "wider."

He bucked into her throat without pretense. And somehow, he found himself both pleased and disappointed by her lack of a gag reflex. She really did work to make the best of the situation. He could feel her trying to add her tongue to the equation. "Better than I would've thought," he gave her. Her eyes glowed, pleased with herself.

He groaned, pushing the last of himself into her. He could tell that the last half inch had made it hard for her. Michael liked watching her struggle and made a decision. He plugged her nose with the hand not buried in her hair. She gagged on his cock; struggled. Her eyes watered and she became dizzy. He held her there as long as he could safely, enjoying the panic in her eyes the moment before he relented.

He pulled himself out and released her nose. She coughed, sputtered, and gasped for air. She was still light-headed when he caressed her cheek and tilted her face to look at him. His hand was gentle, but his face was set and maybe even cruel. "Breathe," came the command and he counted down from 10. When zero came, he fucked her face again, relentlessly until he was done; until he spent himself and felt her contract her throat around him as she swallowed.

He pulled out and crouched down to her level again, running his thumb over her swollen lips. "This is beautiful. Look what you endured for me. You did really well." She nuzzled his hand, panting in between teary sobs.

"Tell me... did you like being used?" Silence. Maybe some shame. It was hard to hear him put it like that. Michael let the question hang because he knew the answer.

"Yes," her answer was barely audible.

"Why is it so hard for you to say so?" He stroked her hair, "It's okay that you don't want to be in control. You don't have to be. Not here."

Frustration welled up in her, "I mean of course you think it's fine," she quipped.

"Whose permission is it that you'd rather?" he quipped back. He wasn't expecting an answer and met her frustrated rebellion with a smirk. "If you don't know, mine will have to do," he said cheerfully. "Now... are you done or did you want to finish what we started?"

"You still want to play with me?" Ella sounded surprised. He wondered how often she had been put aside too soon and left wanting. Probably often, he assessed. She obviously took a while to wear out and most men would stop after gaining their own satisfaction. The thing was though, it took more than an orgasm to satisfy Michael.

"You're the one who is worried about the great moral implications of tonight," he rolled his eyes at her response. "I, on the other hand, am not." Michael was delighted she had snapped at him. It gave him all the pretense he needed for snarky banter and it showed she wasn't afraid of him--just herself.