Raping Michael

He shouldn't have flirted with me like that-- all charming and intense one minute, then
nonchalantly blowing me off the next.  He shouldn't have insouciantly whispered that he
wanted to hog-tie me and do wicked things until I screamed, and he shouldn't have
squeezed my thigh in such a forward and imprudent manner. I just wasn't that kind of girl.

But I squirmed and blushed demurely, giggling that he was Very Bad to say such things,
pretending to be uncomfortable with the concept as I considered how delicious he would
be, how suprised and unwilling.  We were barely even friends- just co-workers, really,
shooting the breeze over some Guinness and tacitly blaming the turn of conversation on
a couple modest pints.

How long had I wanted him?  A year, at least.  But all my previous attempts to make it
known had been met with a thimbleful of talk and even less action.  He only bothered to
flirt with me during the off-again months of his famously turbulent relationship with an
adorable but ditsy blonde that reeked of submissiveness.  I'd have left it alone, but not
after he tested me with such blatant disrespect.

Michael has the broadest shoulders I've ever seen.  Heaveyset and ox-strong, I knew it
would take a few good men to pull this off.  The total price was my entire paycheck-- two
weeks of hard labor at my computer in that chaotic office-- but Michael was worth it.
Every fucking penny.

It helped that I knew the right people.  One of my best friends from high school is not only
a deranged pervert, but a girl with wealth and connections.  It still took hours of diligent
and careful planning, waiting for people to confirm, waiting for people to introduce me to
other people, etc., before my Saturday with Michael finally arrived.  By then, it was four
months after our seemingly benign Happy Hour and I had only seen him a couple times
in crowded elevators since.

Just entering the playroom made my pulse race-- I had checked it out before making
payment, but had only spent a few minutes looking around...on The Big Day, my widened
eyes noticed what I missed the first time, inspiring my most vicious fantasies. I was
shaking with anticipation as Debby, my "hostess", explained the equipment and showed
me which buttons to use if I needed assistance.  I felt self-conscious in my black lace-up
thigh-high boots and severe corset; I knew Michael wouldn't be able to see me, but I
wanted to let him feel what I was wearing.

10:45 AM...they were VERY late.  I was checking out the steel bondage chair when the
door erupted and three men struggling with a raging Michael half-carried and half-tripped
him down the wooden stairs.  Michael's voice was muted beneath a black hood that
covered his entire head-- my heart burst with pride to witness the valor of his fight.  The
muscular Puerto Rican I had hired for the job was sporting a swollen eye and limping,
and the other two looked considerably worse.  Of course, they had strict orders to not
harm their captive, regardless of how hard he fought.  I indicated the chair, and they
crammed his body into it, losing no time in shackling his arms, then his ankles, using the
thick leather restraints built into the chair.

Because of Michael's size, I placed a strong leather collar around his neck while one of
the men held his head.  I chained the collar to the back of the chair, forcing him to sit up
straight.  A bar was lowered across his midsection like a roller-coaster safety device, and
then I stood back to admire our handiwork.

Breath-taking.

Debby and the men put ski masks on themselves, and I peeked at them from behind a
cabinet to watch them work.  They jerked the hood off Michael's head, then pulled his
hair and grabbed his face to keep him still while Debbie pulled his eyelids back and put
"blinding" contact lenses on his eyes...no easy feat, since Michael was struggling so
hard.  He attempted to bite one of the hands holding his face, and was slapped so loudly
that I almost leapt up and called the whole thing off.

But it was a little too late to turn back, now.

Three minutes later, the contacts were in his eyes...tears were running down his cheeks
as he raged expletives and rattled the chair.  His eyes were still the same smokey
turquoise with the contacts in, but it was obvious to me that he couldn't see well enough
to identify anything in the room.

I gestured to my helpers that they could be dismissed; I'd run the show from this point
forward. I could summon them with the touch of a button if I needed to. They hobbled
back upstairs, their mouths open and incredulous, the Puerto Rican's eyes popping out
nearly as far as his erection.

Michael's breathing slowed to ragged gasps, and his shirt was soaked with sweat.  He
could not disguise his quaking, and I was torn between white-hot lust and heartbreak as I
watched him try to break loose, to no avail.  The vibrant, heady smell of his fear made me
long to comfort him, but his anger touched me more deeply, made me want to devour
him.

Scissors in hand, I approached him slowly so he could hear the tap of my high-heeled
boots on the floor.

"What do you want?" he panted.  He didn't sound like himself at all.  I touched my finger
to his lips so he'd know I wanted him to be quiet, and then began cutting away his shirt.
He shuddered when I pressed the cold scissors to his skin.  I could almost feel the
thoughts spinning inside of him as I cut away the sleeves and threw the scraps of his shirt
to the floor.  I didn't want to speak; I loved that he had no idea who his captor was.  He
was already barefoot, and I wondered if they had kidnapped him right off his bed that
morning.

Kneeling between his shackled, spread legs, I began cutting away his shorts, sometimes
ripping the material for dramatic effect. My body was practically humming with desire, and
I could barely discern his questions- who I was, where was he, why why why.  Then he
was naked, except for a small rag of clothing he was still sitting on.

He was so noble, yelling and threatening and demanding.  I rocked back on my heels to
watch him, gourmandise.  He was absolutely perfect.  His muscles bulged against each
restraint magnificently, glistening with exertion, and his adam's apple jutted when he
breathed.

He attempted another tactic, then; talking.  His voice barely wavered as he began to
explain the consequences; the police, jail.  He offered amnesty.  Michael is a lawyer, and
extremely eloquent; I enjoyed the bravado in his voice, and the intelligence of his
arguments. When he started to talk about ransom and international relations, I realized
for the first time that he was uncertain of my intentions.  Stripping him hadn't convinced
him that he had been kidnapped for sex:  I had to show him.

I started by leaning forward and cupping his balls in my hand.  He fell silent; each muscle
tensed in him, and then I brought my face to his crotch and gently sucked his flaccid cock
into my mouth.  I made a breathy "mmm" sound as I nuzzled and sucked, half-
wanting/half-fearing that my hair spilling across his thighs would give me away.

"Who- why are you doing this?"
I let the silence thicken.  Then he whispered,  "Are you going to hurt me?"

"A little", I replied, my voice low and different in my throat.  Why tell tales?

I slid my mouth up and down the length of his cock for a few minutes and was rewarded;
he started to swell upon my tongue.  I continued, stroking and licking, while he performed
a litany-- he would make love to me, I didn't have to do this, he enjoyed a little fun as
much as the next guy, yada yada yada. I slid to the floor and gently raked my nails across
the sole of his right foot, and he thrashed in response.

Ticklish.  I loved it.

He wasn't laughing, but bellowing with rage as I drew my fingertips between his toes,
under the arch, then scraped my nails across the balls of his feet.  His helplessness and
awareness consumed me.  His profanity was colorful and creative and became more and
more agonized, turned slowly to pleading, as I focused on what seemed to be his most
sensitive areas; his sides, his abs, his lower thighs. His whole body convulsed, heaving,
as I investigated every possible ticklish inch of him.  I ended by scripting "I love you" with
my tongue across the bottom of his foot.

I eventually stood up and stretched languorously as he gulped for air.  Putting my face
against his, I told him he was mine.  He didn't answer, but tried to squirm away when I
wetly licked the inside of his ear.

The bondage chair was full of amazing gadgets- I'd never seen anything like it before.  I
knew I had to be careful, but distrusted myself. I pushed the button and Debby returned
within a minute.

She was a petite, lithe lady with honey-blonde hair and freckles across her face, a very
youthful early 40-ish in tight jeans and a cute blue sweater. Her smile was full of mischief
and appreciation-- Michael was a handful, a challenge, and she was admiring.

"He's a big boy- I'm suprised you didn't need more than three helpers", she remarked
casually.  Michael's lips were an angry line and his knuckles were white.

"Please, just let me see" he whispered.  We ignored him.

"Do you want him standing up?  We could also flip the seat off the chair and bend him
over at an angle."

I was awed by the possibilities.  I quietly asked if we could invert him so he'd be upside
down, knowing it was impossible, but wanting him to hear my request.  Debbie just
laughed.  She had a manual that showed the options, and I took my time before deciding.

"This one."  The manual depicted a woman (how sexist, I thought) standing up and bent
forward, her arms tightly manacled to the raised arms of the chair, her feet spread far
apart.  She was on tip-toe, straining.  I needed to see what Michael would look like in that
position.

He remained steadfastly silent as Debbie pressed buttons, altering the chair.  She had to
read the manual as I watched large rivulets of sweat pour down Michael's smooth chest.
His legs were getting pulled apart as he helplessly fell forward, the bar across his middle
holding him upright as his arms stretched away.

"Want him completely on tip-toe?" she asked as the device continued to pull him upwards
by the arms and collar.  He wasn't fighting or speaking, but I could see his pulse
throbbing rapidly in his neck.  The panic he was working so hard to contain was making
his face twitch.

I shook my head "no", deciding that Michael's discomforts should be inflicted by me
instead of his feet.

"Have you selected the instruments?" she asked me, indicating a medical tray spread
with an assortment of vibrators, dildos, gels, spanking toys, nipple clamps and a few
things I couldn't identify.  If he was blindly imagining the worst, I knew by looking at the
assortment that I could live up to his most terrifying fantasies.  I picked up something that
resembled a harness and raised my eyebrows at Debby.

"That's an O-Ring gag", she explained sweetly.  "It holds his mouth open but doesn't
allow him to speak coherently...you could use it if you want to make him blow your strap-
on or something."

I looked at Michael, who remained motionless.  I knew he was striving to hear everything
Debby had to say.

I gingerly picked up a black paddle, amused that it was stamped with pretty hearts like
those rubber-stamps that women buy at craft stores.  Debby took it from me, sauntered
behind Michael, and with a wind-up like a pro baseball pitcher she thwacked him mightily
on the ass.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" he roared.  His face went almost purple with rage, and he shook so
hard that the whole chair was rumbling.

Debby put her hand beneath the rising welt, and showed me how the hearts were now
imprinted on his skin, turning pinker by the second.  "Martha Stewart would approve,
don'tcha think?" she asked.  I nodded, awed and a little intimidated.

"This hood is one of my favorites" she continued, picking up the leather sack that Michael
had been cloaked with on his entrance here.  I knew instinctively that it had made him
feel claustrophobic. "You can zip the area over his mouth, and if you tighten it around his
neck he'll breathe in leather each time he tries to take a breath.  If you have a hard time
getting him to behave, I recommend using it."

I smiled and nodded to thank her, and she disappeared up the stairs again.

Reminding myself to savor this, that I had all day, I leisurely picked up each item for
examination and set it back on the tray, wanting Michael to understand that I was
choosing from an impressive selection. For starters, I settled on a smallish rubber
vibrator. Walking back to him, I lubed it up loudly and then brushed it over his lips with no
forewarning, making him spit and hurl a flurry of profanities.  Enjoying the pace, I strode
behind him and looked him over.

Naked, Michael was a god.  I knew he was self-conscious about his weight, but I loved
how powerful his body looked.  I ran my fingertips down his back and felt his trembling,
and then I pulled up a little doctor's stool and sat with my face level with his naked ass.
He started talking again, his voice authoritative and loud with feigned confidence, telling
me I had to stop.

As if.

My tongue slaked out to his skin, tickling his butt, making tender little circles.  I let my
other hand reach through his spread legs to caress his balls and the base of his semi-
hard cock.  Spreading his cheeks apart, I pushed my tongue inside his asshole and he
gasped, stunned, as I began to tongue-fuck him there.

My hands were dripping with lube and I molested him everywhere- sliding between his
legs, I stroked his now fully-engorged cock and massaged his pre-cum into his skin.
When I squeezed him, he throbbed in return.  Pushing the slippery dildo up against his
asshole made him breathe harder, and as I invaded him gently he moaned and
attempted in vain to clench himself against the intrusion.

"DON'T you fucking- oh, FUCK-"

"Take it", I commanded. I pushed it in, slowly, twisting it wickedly, and when it was fully
inserted I slapped him hard on the ass.  A deep, guttural growl escaped his throat in
protest, so I slapped him again and watched my bright red hand-print rise on his flesh.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I pushed the dildo in and out, alternately spanking and
caressing him, fingering his ass while massaging his cock, some dark and elusive
emotion choking me as I made his body writhe and tremble against the restraints.

I felt his balls tighten and deliberately pulled the dildo out of him too fast, making his back
arch as he muffled a scream.  I didn't want him to cum yet.  He swore as I circled him and
knelt in front of his cock, taking it into my mouth and working him the way I always
dreamed of.  It was only a couple minutes before he was thrusting forcefully, trying to
fuck my face, his body straining forward as I backed away and made him wait at the very
edge.  His low groan of despair nearly sent me over.

"Say please", I whispered, molten lava churning in my belly.

"No", he croaked out tersely. I grabbed his balls roughly and he murmured "Oh, God"
before I let go.  But still no "please".

I stood up before him and toyed with his jutting cock, slapping it lightly with my palms until
his eyes were squinted shut against the beads of sweat dripping in, and noticed that
leaning forward at this angle must make him ache all over; all of his muscles were
quivering. I pinched both of his nipples and he winced, so I proceeded to bite them lightly,
scraping my teeth over them while pulling his cock.

I wished for a moment that I had the back-bone of a real Dominatrix, that I could make
him sob and beg the way I had fantasized so many times.  But he stood there so
defiantly, painfully handsome and rebellious, as perfect as Lucifer fallen...I kissed his
face, his shut eyes, his sweating temples, his furious lips.  Nothing.

At a loss, but determined to get a reaction, I started pushing buttons on the chair.
Michael's shoulders relaxed slightly- perhaps he thought it might be over.  Perhaps he
sensed my weakness in my kisses and my hesitation; after all, I hadn't really hurt him.  I
let him remain completely upright for a moment before I let the chair start falling back
slowly...my intention was to lie him back flat, completely horizontal to the floor, but I went
a little too far resulting in his head reclining down below his feet, which were spread away
from his body like his arms.  He looked like he was lying face-up and spread-eagled on
the heavy side of a see-saw.

I almost tilted him back up but reconsidered...his head was perhaps two feet above the
floor. Exasperated that he still refused to make a sound, I grabbed a device off the tray
and decided to wrangle it onto him.

He struggled so hard that I had to tie his forehead to the back of the chair before I
succeeded. It was a penis gag with a dildo on the other end...I nearly lost my fingers
shoving the 5-inch, synthetic penis between his jaws.

Smiling at his muted shouts, I straddled his head and lowered myself down on the dildo
protruding from his captive mouth.  I decided to ride with my ass covering his face, my
body leaning towards his soft-again dick.  I could hear him gag each time I thrust myself
down on that big rubber dildo, which crammed the fake penis more deeply into his
unwilling throat.  I could watch his body jerk while I relentlessly played with his cock and
lifted myself up and down on his helpless face.  His cock eventually began to swell so I
suckled him gently, not enough to let him cum, but enough to frustrate him again.

I rose, turned around, and hovered above him...his face was soaked in his sweat and my
juices, his blind eyes pleaded up at me, his breathing was loud and broken.  I untethered
his neck collar from the chair to give him a little more head movement, and immediately
discovered that this allowed him to rise about five inches off the platform.  Leaving him for
a moment, I returned with gold alligator nipple clamps-- I sucked his left nipple into a
small, rosy point and decorated him with it while he wildly shook his head "no"...I did his
right nipple similarly, only he was nearly hysterical now, his whole body wrenching
against the restraints in violent desperation.  I quickly removed the midsection bar from
the chair, just so I could watch him buck and contort with his whole body.

Finally, he looked exactly like I had always dreamed of seeing him...vulnerable, strong,
half-crazed with fear and aroused against his will. I was feverish with wanting him, and
started talking loudly, completely beyond caring that he might recognize my voice.

"I'm going to have Pedro come down here and make love to you, Michael".  I meant it,
too-- as soon as I had finished with him, I was calling Pedro.  And I was going to make
sure Michael enjoyed it in spite of himself.

He went ballistic, almost screaming, head thrashing side to side while the dildo brushed
up against me.  I put my hands in his hair and pulled, then slid my pussy down against
the dildo, gagging him again.  I leaned forward to enjoy a different angle, rubbing my clit
against Michael's nose as I rambled on about how deep Pedro would fuck him, how I'd
make him cum in my mouth with that beautiful Puerto Rican dick up his ass, and I think I
screamed as I ground my hips down around his ears and orgasmed so hard that my own
ears were ringing....

He was quiet when I rose above him again. He was unconscious, apparently passed out.
I stared at his chest and saw no movement, then shook him gently, my panic rising.
Terrified that I had suffocated him, I slapped him hard on the face...a sick feeling gripped
me when he made no sound, and didn't respond at all.  Frantic, I unshackled him with
shaking hands, crying that I was sorry.  His hands fell limply to the floor.

"Please please please be okay" I begged, my own voice breaking.  I stood up to page
Debby when Michael's arm shot up and grabbed me-- I whirled around to see a snarl on
his face, and I was confused for a split second before realizing how stupid I had been.

We fought wordlessly for a few moments-- he had the disadvantage of temporary
blindness and two ankles still shackled to the chair, and I had the disadvantage of
weighing more than a hundred pounds less than him and wearing impractical heels.  He
wrestled me over his knee in less than a minute as I strained to reach the chair buttons
and redeem myself.

I only knew he removed the contact lenses because he suddenly yelled "YOU!  YOU!" in
notes of shocked disbelief.  Seconds later, he had freed his ankles...and some serious
regrets were forming in my mind.

The first thing he did was yank my already-tight corset strings as I lay face-down across
his lap before he turned me over like a ragdoll and smiled at me.

"I'll be damned", he said, appraising me the way I had checked him out an hour earlier.
Michael squeezed one of my breasts so hard that I couldn't speak-- he looked smug, and
hungry, and slightly deranged.  He scraped my corset down, exposing my nipple, and
pinched me cruelly. I thought my heart would pound right out of my chest...but I told
myself to play it cool, and I'd be able to reach the call button which was only a few feet
away.

"Well, who did you expect?" I murmured coyly.  Be calm, act sexy, stay confident...I tried
to sit up and kiss him, praying that I could pass this off as an extravagant prank. He
pushed me back down with the palm of his hand, effortlessly and coldly, his low chuckle
giving me goosebumps.

(To be continued...)
(To Michael...*if* that's possible.)

Part 2