tagBDSMMy Michelle

My Michelle


Author's Note: Most names and times have been changed. Some of this is true. And yes, the title was inspired by that old Guns n' Roses song.


The phone rang, shaking me out of an afternoon doze. Still tasting the Jack Daniel's from this Friday's "lunch", I answered it as I untangled the wire. This was a few years ago. Phones had wires and plugged into the wall back then.


"Who the fuck else would it be?" I recognized the young woman's voice, but saw no need to be polite. Michelle was my ex-fiancee's roommate, and she was fucking gorgeous. Five seven, a fucking smoking-ass body that scored a dress size two, a natural 34D, and she had the statistically unusual combination of raven-black hair and blue eyes. This was all topped with a sweet Southern drawl that was the voice of a horny angel. The problem was she couldn't have been harder to get if she actually did have wings and a halo. First, she was nice enough, but was a major cokehead with an out of town boyfriend. Second, she lived with my psychopathic ex. I still got crazy-girl ex-sex now and then, and didn't want to fuck that up by striking out with her friends. Joan had become more obnoxious since we split, but her clandestine taste for submission and masochism had grown as well. With her antisocial paranoia cutting into her social options, she still came back to me to get it. With a year left of college in a town I hated surrounded by fifteen thousand people I hated worse, I wasn't going to fuck up the one outlet I had here in town for my more unusual desires, especially as the shiny new toy called the Internet showed me new things to do to her. Joan had actually taken ninety percent of my gear when she moved out of our apartment with the excuse "she'd paid for it", forcing me to covertly build up a second set for a Northwest Airlines stewardess Joan didn't know about. I'd met her in an AOL chat room and caught up the road in Memphis on her layovers.

Back to Michelle. "Can you come over for a while?"

"Uh, I don't feel like dealing with your roommate."

"She's up in Memphis for the weekend." Huh, so she was still banging the manager from our old casino on the side. Probably the plain vanilla style, since I knew the guy was too lazy to get into BDSM. Still, Joan could give amazing blow jobs even when she wasn't cuffed so I could figure why he'd put up with her.

"OK, so what do you want? Last I knew you had a boyfriend to kill spiders for you on weekends."

"That's what I want to talk to you about."

"I am not playing fucking relationship doctor for you two again, and I have better things to do than sit there while you watch afternoon Seinfeld reruns and want to talk during the commercials. We tried that once, and I didn't care for it no matter how little you were wearing."

"Ummm, I want to talk to you about that too."

"Fine, I'll be over there in a few minutes."

Just on the odd chance Michelle was going for another good cocktease, I rationalized it as cheaper than a trip up to Memphis and the strip clubs even if I'd never get a lap dance out of her. I showered, threw on clean clothes, and grabbed my old leather flight jacket on the way out the door. The sun was going down, and the cold would come early this fall afternoon. It also covered up the cocked and locked Colt 1911A1 I wedged in my jeans behind my right hipbone. Michelle and Joan's townhouse was pretty close to where a couple frat-boy coke dealers lived, and I'd been having a disagreement with them. It was a guns-had-been-drawn-before type of disagreement. I didn't buy the stuff or use the stuff, but I didn't care for loudmouth kids who thought they were tough and who'd tried proving to me unsolicited that they were tough, so I wasn't going over there unarmed. I also had my usual four knives tucked various places from my cowboy boots to my pockets to a sleeve.

It was a fast drive. Everything in Cambridge, Mississippi was a fast drive except on football game days, and the Confederates were playing at South Carolina this week. I pulled my car in to a space at the vet's office a couple hundred yards away, and looked carefully before I got out. That black BMW was nowhere to be seen up the road.

I knocked, she answered. Her hair was messed up, and her bathrobe was tied tight. I could give a shit why she was wearing a bathrobe at three in the afternoon, I just would have been happier if it was hanging open. On the other hand, her eyes looked normal and she didn't seem twitchy. She handed me a can of Mountain Dew straight off. I took it with my left hand, scanning the room as I entered with my right hand straying back toward the Colt. She was never this nice. She was being nice enough I half expected Johnny to have given her an eight-ball to lure me in for a half-assed ambush. Fucking dipshit college kids. I'd spent too much time in the last six years bouncing bars, chasing bail jumpers, and working for psychotic Vietnam vets in the National Guard to buy the farm on account of a goofy white kid from the suburbs of Nashville who thought he was Tony fucking Montana. I made sure she was locking the door behind me, then I checked the kitchen and dining rooms for unannounced guests.

"Dave, sit down please. I really have to talk to you and you being paranoid is going to totally ruin the mood."

I sat, now keeping my eyes on her. "Your fucking dealer buddy showing up would ruin mine. I made a big gesture, by my standards, coming in to town from my little hidey-hole apartment in the woods."

"I know. I would have come out there except I never could have found it."

"Ask Joan."

"I don't want her to know about this."

"You have about three minutes to start making sense." I even looked down at my watch. I had a reputation as an unpredictable ex-military nut to keep up.

She sat next to me, hands folded and legs crossed, perched on the front six inches of the couch as the sorority she'd snorted her way out of would once have expected. "Dave, I have a problem, a serious one, and I need some advice on self-control."

"I have no experience with addiction counseling, and I'm sometimes a drunk, so what did you have in mind?"

"Look, I was going through Joan's stuff once, and I found some of the toys. And one time when I was using her computer, I was just bored and looking at her bookmarks. There was some wild shit, way wilder than I've done, and I've looked up more of it. But I've heard the noises coming from her room sometimes, and I know you still visit..."

I managed the sort of stare my old battalion commander had, and dropped my voice from "friendly conversation" to "faint growl". "What you're asking about isn't self-control. That's control I'd be imposing for a couple hours at a time. I see no need to try explaining it to you since you think you know what's going on. Two things prevent it. First, you have way too much baggage and risk involved for me to bother coming over here to play. You have at least one boyfriend plus a coke dealer, and there's your drug problems for me to think about. Second, I know you'd love to get a cheap thrill every now and again, and I'm sure you'd like to use your looks to get what you want yet again. I swore I would not be any woman's pawn again after Joan. That's why we split, and the only reason we still hook up and fuck is we get things from each other we can't get elsewhere in this shitball town. After graduation, I doubt we'll ever speak again. Besides, she knows what she's doing, and I know where she's been. We were each other's first a few years back, so some things we still reserve for each other alone. You're probably a bondage virgin but that's the only kind of virginity you've got left."

"Look, I got a fresh set of bloodwork after this past weekend. I...I almost fucked some guy whose name I didn't know at a party down at State because he offered me a gram of coke and a couple ounces of weed in advance. Brian was off talking to someone else, I mean I almost did it except he told me up front he wanted anal and I've never done that before. It sounds scary. I've cheated on Brian before and gotten drugs from the guy after, or maybe slept with a guy I thought was cute because I knew he had some, but this was the first time it would have been a straight up sale. I'd officially be a fucking coke whore. But I had a moment of clarity, and I decided I really needed to get some control in my life, and since I've proven I have no self control I have to get it somewhere else. I mean you can even control that nut Joan a couple hours at a time, and that's more than I've got going for me now."

It didn't seem like the time to brag that Joan used to spend entire weekends naked and bound in various poses getting all three of her holes used in rotation. She was so much easier to deal with gagged, and stuffing a vibrator in her cunt first made raping her asshole much more entertaining as she was tied over the back over the sofa. I'd also be lying my ass off if I said my cock wasn't already twitching at the thought of having Michelle stripped down to tall spiky heels and steel cuffs and trying fifty feet of Japanese rope bondage around those perfect fucking tits before I fucked her, all of which to be carried out as soon as possible. But man, Amber had a layover in a week or two so I could get some no-strings fun, and I knew Michelle was trouble I did not fucking need. Besides, I didn't know what she wanted, or how bad she really wanted it.

"Michelle, I am not going to be your kinky three-shot thrill fuck. I'm going to work slowly, and you're going to need to take time to get used to some of it. I just don't want to get the bad shit in your life sucked into mine, and I don't think you'd give up the things you do just to play with me now and then."

She stood, took a deep breath, and moved in front of me. She undid the belt of her bathrobe, and knelt on the carpet in front of me. My cock went from "steel" to "titanium" as the last blood-starved cells in my brain screamed "No, no, no, you asshole, no!"

"I'm not offering myself for now and then play. I need to save my life. If I keep partying and getting high, I'm going to end up dead or dying of something, and I think you can stop it. I'll put most of my stuff in storage, and I bet you have enough room for two in, well, wherever you're living. I've read about modern live-in slaves on the Internet. I used to cook well all the time before I started smoking weed every damn day, and I'll clean up after us both. Do whatever you have to do to me to make me someone else than who I am. We have a year 'til graduation. Take away my car keys and keep me locked in the house. Spank my ass. Hurt me when I misbehave. I might even like it. I mean you studied Vietnam, you ought to know how to brainwash prisoners, right?" There were tears in her eyes. "Look, most guys I know I can flash the tits at and do my breathy little Marilyn Monroe voice, and they're wrapped around my little finger. Some guys I might have to suck their cocks to get them to do what I want. I know that won't work with you. I'll have to work at it to make you happy. I might have to learn to love you, but until then I know you can do what I need and my body is your toy in exchange."

My brain was running six thousand miles an hour. She hopefully had no idea how little she'd have to do for me to be entertained. I stood up. "Take that robe off."

She closed her eyes and gave a little sigh before smiling. "Yes, sir." The terrycloth slid off her pale white shoulders and fell behind her. Damn, those were just big perfect fucking tits.

"You realize you're probably not going to enjoy this."

She took a deep breath, and the pink-tipped wonders heaved. "I understand, sir. As long as you let your slut cum her brains out now and then to make up for the coke rushes I won't be having, I'll learn to enjoy it." She smiled naughtily. "I tried putting clothespins on my nipples the last time I used my vibrator. I fucking loved it."


"Really. And me kneeling in front of you like this, it would be perfect for you to just fuck my mouth-"

I slapped her lightly on the cheek. "There is a term for that, slut. It's called topping from the bottom. This is not about you getting what you want. I'm sure you actually like to suck cock, don't you?"

"Mmmmm, yes, sir. I do love making men squirm as I suck them, and then make them shoot their cum on me, or in me, whatever they like."

"Michelle, that gives you power over them, and for quite a while, your power in this relationship has effectively ended. Now, have you broken up with Brian?"

She looked down, her mood dimming. Tough shit. This wasn't going to be easy for either of us. "I know he's fucking somebody else, so I haven't been taking his calls since last weekend."

"Well, after all, you cheated on him too. To be fair, call him. I'm going to sit here and listen. Just blame it on his cheating, you don't have to mention this."

Deep breath. "Yes, sir. Could you pass the phone, sir?" I did, and watched a tearful conversation turn to ten minutes of screaming. I couldn't tell who hung up on whom first. "Well, that's done", she said, trying to smile bravely.

"It's for the best. Look, let's go upstairs, pack a bag for you, and we'll go get out of sight for a while. You won't need much."

She wiped a tear and smiled a bit. "Slutty lingerie, I hope?"

"Yes, slutty lingerie is good", I grinned a bit at that. She certainly was enthusiastic, or at least trying to fake it. I'd learned as a cadet there is no motivation like faked motivation. I knew that wouldn't last.

"Mmmmm, good. I fucking bust my ass in the gym to keep this body, and I like flaunting it."

Poking through her drawer was actually something of a let-down. Plenty of cute bras, were in evidence, so I grabbed a couple black lace ones with the matching panties, but no teddies, corsets, garter belts, or anything resembling serious lingerie or fetish wear. I sighed. "Michelle, find me some nice high heels, and any color as long as they're black." She frowned, and pulled out a pair of satin pumps that couldn't be more than three-inchers. "Fuck, that's it?" She looked down and nodded.

"Yes, sir. I was trying not to look like a whore, and if I can't walk in them I couldn't see the point at the time."

"Change in plan. I think we're going on a supply run to Memphis first."

A few more things went into the bag, then I got Michelle into an old sorority t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts and led her out to the car. I pulled an old olive drab bandanna out of the glove box and blindfolded her. She giggled a bit, but said nothing.

It was a detour onto the northbound highway out of Cambridge, off the main road, across a bridge, and then up a couple gravel roads to find my small rental house. Besides being four months ahead on the rent, there was over four thousand in twenties and hundreds concealed in one of my bookcases from a mixture of gambling profits and gunrunning money. I calculated how much it would take to run her past one of the stores catering to the stripper trade for a some play clothes, and pulled a thousand just in case. This definitely counted as an emergency expense. Once we were back out on the road, I removed the blindfold. "I expected you to leave it on, sir", she said with a flirty smile.

"Well, the only secret is where the house is. Besides, even pulling up to where we're going, you being blindfolded would attract some attention. While it might be fun to strip you naked, cuff you, shove a vibrator in your pussy, and shove you in the trunk of the car to get to where we're going, it would attract attention when we get there. Discretion has its place in my life, if not out and out secrecy. In a hick town like Cambridge, hell, a state like Mississippi, we'd be regarded as a domestic violence situation and fifteen kinds of sinners."

"I understand, sir. Fortunately my family lives almost as far away as yours does now. They're not likely to visit, otherwise we'd never conceal it and Mom would think I'd been kidnapped."

"We don't need that. I imagine your parents didn't even know about the coke."

"They didn't. Knowing my idea of rehab is to be the unquestioning live-in stripping fucktoy of a gun-owning lunatic would send them further over the edge."

"Speaking of stripping, have you ever even been to one?"

"No sir, but I did watch Showgirls a few times."

"Eh, not quite the same thing. Well, if you're not homophobic enough to get offended by freaky bisexual chicks hitting on you, we could stick our heads in one sometime."

"Mmmmm, I took a lot of dance classes growing up. I always had dreams about entering the amateur contest, but I never had the nerve. I know I could do it if you took me there and kept me safe." Oh, yes, I liked that idea. Take Michelle up there dressed at Goth-Fetish Barbie and turn her loose on stage. She'd be such a cut above the usual she'd just have to stand there. Maybe Schoolgirl Barbie instead. That kink always worked, even though Britney's "One More Time" video was a couple years in the future. "And I confess, I have made out with a few girls when I've been high."

"Did you like it?" I inquired

"They're fun to kiss, but until they get the ability to cum on my face or fuck me with something that's not plastic, they'll never replace guys. Besides, I don't think I could give up the control to another woman that I need to give you. I'm scared about getting all the way clean, so I'm just going to put it all on you."

"You just let me know when you start getting the shakes and I'll do my best to help you through it. I don't know a lot about cocaine withdrawal and I'm going to have to learn quickly."

"The hardest part is everything seems so flat and gray when you're down. Nothing seems fun, and you think you'll feel better after one more line. My last time was last weekend, and I've been going fucking crazy. I couldn't sleep, and when I did I had bad dreams. I just couldn't think of a plan to give it up. AA is bullshit, and I figured the only way I wouldn't do coke this weekend would be if somebody tied me up. Then I thought of the cuffs I found that time looking for a little cash in Joan's dresser, and her taste in porn, and figured you could tie me up to get me through it. At first it seemed like a stupid joke I told myself. Then, well, the idea got me wet. I surfed a little porn on the Internet, thought about it, and then I called you before my courage gave out."

"Michelle, you don't have to do it this way. It's supposed to be a consensual deal except in rape fiction where kidnapping and the white slave trade provide slave girls to rich Arabs and Eurotrash."

She closed her eyes and smiled. "I think you'll find me agreeable enough, sir, and I know you well enough to know that you'll get me through this."

Memphis wasn't that far up the highway. It was the closest Big City to Cambridge, and so it was a frequent commute for all the big-city conveniences. This time it was the mall. Victoria's Secret, and each of the six malls I knew of in the area had one, was a bit tame for my increasingly esoteric tastes, but the Mall of Memphis also had a Fredrick's. Michelle had perfect legs for stockings, and I intended to use that to my advantage. Between the two stores, she left with two black satin garter belts and several pairs of stockings in back-seamed tan, classic black, plus black fishnets. Red fishnets just looked stupid to me, so I skipped them. In addition to a nice black satin corset/bustier top, Fredrick's also had classic slut heels. I handed her a pair of black patent five-inch stilettos. They'd go so well with the stainless steel ankle cuffs at home. From there it was across town to a store that advertised itself as "dancer wear". It was basically a supply store for the thirty-odd strip clubs of wildly varying quality in the area. In those days before you could just order from the company web sites of Leg Avenue, XTC Leather, Trashy Lingerie, Dream Dresser, and whoever else, these places did a much better business. There were several outfits her size in black leather, including a miniskirt and a lace-up minidress for public wear and a spectacular corset with red leather trim for at home. Expensive, but under the circumstances I totally did not give a shit. I knew the identical stuff was cheaper in the French Quarter of New Orleans, but I could always build a few more "assault" rifles for people if the cards in Tunica didn't run my way. She picked a pair of knee high patent leather spike-heeled stripper boots and a red plaid miniskirt herself, and I certainly approved. I told her pick out a couple nice big vibrators for when she'd been a good girl, and I picked out a cock-style gag for when she was bad and I needed to shut her up. Pulp Fiction had ruined red ball gags for me. I had a couple paddles and crops at the house. Crops were actually cheaper at a horse-tack shop in Holly Springs. I wasn't impressed with the collar selection, but I knew a place in Nashville that did custom work. Meanwhile there was always PetSmart.

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