Big Mike Ch. 21

I woke up on my mattress on the floor. I still hadn't replaced the bedframe that Mike had crushed weeks earlier. I didn't really care, but it did take more effort to stand upright, straining my tender ass in the process. I showered and reflected on the last week, particularly last night.

Mike had told me that he'd been unsure about relationships, him having never been in one before. He needed time to quell the new, dominant sex drive that I'd awakened in him, so I had foolishly agreed to let him do whatever he wanted to me for two weeks. I agreed to be his personal hooker, to let him dominate me, abuse me, or treat me like trash if he wanted, before he agreed to engage in boyfriend duty. His growing dominant streak had climaxed the previous night when he'd tied me up, mind fucked me, and planted a flag of discovery deep in my rectum.

I still needed to move slowly as I got out of the shower and toweled off. Putting on clothes was awkward. I sat back down on the edge of my mattress and crunched some granola, still unsure how I felt about things.

Mike had texted me in the morning with a brusque message.

-hope u slept well ill come pick u up at 7 and well go somewere chill-

It was the first time that I wasn't simply delighted to hear from him.

When I'd first met him at the comicbook shop, I'd been so in awe of his physique that any priority but sex seemed completely irrelevant. Such a big, tall, heavy, hairy, bearded, masculine man had expanded the limits of what I thought was possible in a partner. Then prodding him to be dominant and feeling him take control of me, inch by inch, had made me question if I even wanted a partner or, rather, a master. My quirk of lusting for big, controlling men had become so perfectly actualized that it was frightening to feel it manifest around me like a tight collar around my throat. Catering to him felt so satisfying and bizarrely fulfilling that the centre of gravity within my desires shifted from dating and life goals and hormonal yearning to simple submission. I'd been coasting on this high of being low for the last few weeks, but as I neared the one month anniversary of meeting Big Mike, bruised shoulders and stretched sphincters and tattered work schedules had made me question if I could go on.

Girl problems, am I right?

I finished my granola and got up with another wince of pain. I needed to go out, get some sun, and breathe fresh air. I needed to return to some normalcy before I could arrange my priorities into a sensible order. I needed to clear my head before I could decide what I wanted. Before leaving the apartment however, I finally answered Mike's text.

-Sounds good. See you tonight.-

Despite any confusion, I knew I wanted to see him again.

I kicked around town, accepting the discomfort of my wounded anus. I grabbed a coffee and scrolled social media, perused a few stores on a commercial strip downtown, stared at travel deals on the big lit-up board at the travel centre, and eventually remembered that I had money waiting for me at work. It took me about forty minutes to head in, but despite the mark Mike had left on me, I pushed through and hoofed it over to the restaurant where I worked.

I asked Cassie to see if there was money for me. Since I'd cleared my schedule at Mike's request, I'd barely been in at all over the last week. I'd forgotten my cheque when I'd worked last; my mind had been occupied with the sexual punishment that he had waiting for me at home. I only had one shift that I couldn't get rid of over the next week, and I was beginning to be glad for it. I'd sacrificed my schedule to be at Mike's service, and a day or two per week was a needed reprieve from his thrall.

"Where've YOU been?" Cassie asked. She was the day bartender; we only saw each other in passing at shift change.

"Oh, well...stupid mistake...I signed up for an online course at the same time that my family is visiting. So I kinda realized at the last minute that I didn't want to be anywhere near here and thankfully Marty didn't freak out. So I'll be back on next week like normal."

"Oh yeah?" Cassie didn't really care to assess the veracity of my lies, which was fine by me. She handed me my cheque and we shot the shit for another ninety seconds before she needed to head to her table.

I found myself lingering on the way out, using the bathroom, making small talk with the kitchen guys in the back, and staring at the paper schedule for longer than need be to confirm when I was next in. I think I just needed to soak in anything mundane, something that was completely platonic and bland.

After I'd exhausted the attention of whoever was available and it just started to get weird, I waved goodbye and returned to the sunny day outside. I was almost running out of bland things to do, so I headed by a nice park and sat on a bench. Families were about, kiddies were playing on a multi-coloured playground, teenagers were smoking weed sitting on concrete barriers in the parking lot, and a dog was shitting under a tree. I slumped in my seat a bit and resisted the urge to stare at my phone. I wanted to be blank and meditative.

I guess my brain was receiving its regular dose of female hormones, because I kept staring over at the kiddies and smiling. Their giggly conversation and lack of coordination was endearing as they chased each other around the playground. I watched the parents, either solo or dual, as they kept an eye on their offspring. I mostly watched the dads.

I imagined Mike with some fat little munchkins running around him. I pictured a whole pack of dark haired kids circling his ankles, with one fat baby slung over his shoulder, Viking-style. It made me smirk down into my lap in a total girl moment.

"Damn you, biological impulses." I got up and started to head back home.

I was never the type to get lonely and my childhood upbringing hadn't instilled much familial affection in me. The thought of being pregnant grossed me out. So, in an urge to maintain the commercial value of my sexual organs, I'd declared to myself at seventeen that I would never have children. I'd spent a few years at college, travelled, worked, modeled, honed my art, and gotten into a few drunken misadventures unscathed, all of which had never been diverted by the desire to settle down; the fact that that had changed so quickly so almost embarrassing to me. I couldn't believe that a guy could alter my internal chemistry in less than a month, and have me suddenly starry eyed at the kiddie park. So corny.

I got back home, slight fatigue in my legs somewhat replacing the tenderness of my ass. I stripped down to my underwear and started to stretch out. I'd ignored any workouts for a while now and was in need of a yoga tune-up. I hit the floor and delicately entered cobra. My ass didn't hurt too much, but it was enough to make me hesitate before entering any new position.

That was another roadblock to the topic of reproduction: my beautiful body. I've always been quite happy with the way I look; call me self-absorbed and you won't be lying. I've gelled a high metabolism with a strict workout regimen, and it's always helped me catch eyes, both guys' on the street and my own in the mirror. Despite any wit or wisdom I thought I possessed, my ego was supported by the backbone of my fit, slender physique. What Mike had done to me the night before, leaving his mark on me like he had, felt like he'd toppled the altar of that ego.

His fat fingers and his fatter cock stretching my virgin ass and bruising my thighs had left me battered, ashamed, and confused. The momentum of Mike's indomitable sexuality hit its first speedbump when it collided with my bruised, superficial ego. I wondered what other wounds I'd accrue while surviving his sexual captivity, and how they would chip away at my pride.

I held a quadruped pose and raised and arm out and the opposite leg up behind me. My glutes gave out and I wobbled out of my bird-dog. The muscles around my hips and thighs felt weak still. I slumped over on the floor, my body now flushed with the slightest perspiration. I smirked at my failed attempt at a yoga routine: pathetic. The tension of my pelvic floor and sacrotuberous ligament was a little sacrifice I'd made in exchange for letting Mike be the first to fuck me in the ass. How many more would there be?

I rolled onto my back and imagined Mike's big body again. I visualized him on all fours above me, naked, hairy, and massive. A cocky grin lit up his bearded face as he smothered me in his abundant belly fat. His body was slick with sweat and he thrust his hips down, crushing me under his bulk, filling me with the girth of his cock. The memory of his past sexual demolition animated this little fantasy of mine until his phantom blew its load inside of me. I ran my fingertips up between my thighs and over my navel, imagining his hot load bombarding my eggs with sperm and instantly swelling me up into a nine month melon. I imagined being bloated with his dna, being fattened and burdened by it, like a ball and chain within me. I imagined waddling about, not fitting into any of my clothes until the day his chubby progeny burst out of me like a gory scene from Aliens. Blood would spill around me while I looked up into the face of this satisfied master, my whole body yet another living sacrifice for a powerful god above me.

I rolled back onto my side and ended my melodramatic little fantasy. I pushed up onto my knees and finished with a quick child's pose. My phone buzzed on the floor and I intuited it was Mike. On my knees, I answered him.

-my ride cant come until 8-

-that okay? Well go somewere chill and talk-

I hesitated for only a second before responding.

-Yeah, that's fine. I don't wanna dress up too much.-

He didn't wait long either.

-U always look amazing-

I perked up a bit from my weird reflective funk and got to my feet. I still wasn't sure how Mike and I would move forward but it felt good to exorcise the hormone-induced demon of pregnancy anxiety from my body. It was already after five so I headed straight into the shower. I cleaned myself up and felt like I'd finally shaken off the minor trauma from the night before. I stood in front of my closet and stared at my many outfits.

There was a reason why I'd told Mike I didn't want to dress up. It seemed to affect how he looked at me. When I'd first met him, I was dolled up after a modeling gig. I'd been done up in heels, heavy makeup, and a dress that screamed for attention, while he'd worn the most casual clothes, lacking any style save for nerd culture graphics and his reluctant, sweaty charm. And his reluctance came from that dynamic between us, between him and all women he found attractive: an imbalance of power.

Mike's mojo had never broken past the typical young man's deficit: always wanting from women and never attaining. Every woman that smiled at him possessed an acceptance he sought but also a rejection he feared. His relationship with women was always one lacking power; he was starving for it. I noticed that the more effort I put into my outfit, the more he would talk down to me and call me a slut. It was like an inverse relationship with fashion and abuse; the more I dressed up, the more he wanted to take me down.

That evening I wanted to be chill; I wanted to be a girlfriend instead of a model or a whore, so I wore light grey sweats and a dark green Roots sweatshirt. I left my hair down, lest a ponytail give him the temptation to grab, and I wore my black Vans. Eight o'clock rolled around and I got another text.

-On my way now hes just runing a little late-

"That's fine.-

I stared at myself in the mirror, trying my best to look mediocre yet attractive. I didn't use any makeup, but I played with my hair for a few minutes, unable to truly leave the apartment without vain final touches. It was another twenty minutes before Mike actually arrived.

-Kay downstairs now-

That was my cue. Very romantic.

"Okay. I'll be down in two minutes."

I didn't expect a horse-drawn carriage but I couldn't help but chuckle at Mike's guyish pickup service. I knew he didn't like being out in public with me, so I imagined he'd take me to some fast food joint with a secluded bench next to a parking lot. He'd be wearing the same busted grey runners with the tongues nearly falling out because of his big girthy ankles. He'd wear grey sweats and then some t-shirt with a Marvel graphic on it. I didn't mind it, really; it was kind of easy and familiar. There was no reason to get excited or worry.

I shoved my phone and a hairtie in my pockets while I flipped out my keys to lock the apartment door.

"Oh...hey, Felicia."

Much to my surprise, Mike was standing halfway down the hallway. His face was red with the slightest flush as he walked toward me. He was actually dressed up, which caught my attention fully and caused me to blindly stab the door with my keys.

"Hey..."

Mike paced with a bit of haste in his usually slow and lumbering gait. The weight of his big belly swayed from side to side with each heavy step. His big feet were wearing runners, but solid black and still intact rather than the busted grey I expected. And despite all expectations and laws of physics, he actually wore a real pair of black pants instead of sweats. Above that was an untucked grey sweater, looking snug around his huge heavy torso, despite probably having an absurd number of Xs before the L. And in the most mind-blowing addition to his wardrobe was an actual jacket. It wasn't a trenchcoat but a fashionable men's coat, also black. Beyond the clothes, he'd styled his fur as well.

"Did you...get a haircut?"

He was slightly flustered, but stopped before me and ran a hand through his hair as he answered.

"Oh...no, just combed it. Hopefully it looks alright."

His thick, black hair was combed straight back, and just ruffled out to the sides a bit. His beard, while still thick and shaggy, had been slightly formed into a loose downward point. I looked him up and down once or thrice before finally turning my attention back to the apartment's lock.

"It looks...more than alright." I opened my mouth to say something witty but nothing really came. I was pretty stunned at Mike's outfit, both at how good it made him look and at the obvious effort he'd put in. Just effort alone answered the question that had been lingering in my mind all day: does this guy even give a shit? "You uh...how'd you...get in?"

"Oh, yeah...well...the driver gave me shit for not coming up to get you and then some lady let me in downstairs so I figured I'd come...escort you."

I was stunned, charmed, and amused. I laughed out a little scoff in utter disbelief but my expression soon changed to a grateful smile.

"Get...the fuck outta here," I said, channeling as much Elaine Benes as I could. "That's...very gentlemanly of you. Thanks."

Mike kinda smiled and nodded, looking glad but nervous.

"Sorry about yesterday," he blurted out." "I uh...I guess I haven't learned where to draw the line..."

"Oh...let's not talk about that." I waved him off. "You're too good looking right now. I won't be able to think. I'm not pissed off. Let's just go somewhere." I locked the door and stepped past him down the hall.

"Alright." He seemed pleased.

We didn't speak for a minute as we walked to the elevator. There was clearly a moment of reset for both of us that stopped us from picking up where we'd last left off. I pushed the button and we stood in silence.

"That jacket's baller."

"Heh...thanks. I needed it for a funeral once." I smiled.

"I'm underdressed now. You look better than me. I guess I could run and change..."

I looked down the hall and considered running back and getting dolled up in all black and makeup. I imagined us as a matching couple, wearing heels and making a grand entrance as a luxury vixen at his side.

Then I thought about power imbalances and a young man's deficit.

"Actually, this is good. I kinda like you looking better than me."

The elevator opened as Mike scoffed at the idea.

"Like I could look better than you."

I stepped on and planted my butt in the corner against the handrail.

"You keep thinking that."

Mike got on to the elevator, his weight causing little shudders with each step, and the doors closed behind us.