#i showered and shat on a Boat!

[5-htreuptakeinhibitor]

im on a BOAT! in ALASKA! a really BIG BOAT!

[hisgirlwonder]

Atonement - Part Three

Length: 2.3K words Warning: A lot of this is power play with intrusive thoughts but there’s also the addition of smut in the form of sex toys/anal stuff, humiliation, some degrading pet play, sadism of sorts, voyeurism, that sort of thing~ Synopsis: With his trust broken, Michael is doing all he can to make you regret ever crossing him. Notes: Here’s the third part in the continuation of my favourite fic series I’ve written to date (I think my niche might be humiliation which probably speaks volumes about me lmao) and you can find part one and two here on my master list. Hope you enjoy!!! I should also probably point this out but I always write Y/N as consensual because we all know she secretly loves Michael and can’t resist him (even if she might come across as loathing him)

Michael’s actions towards you had caused quite a commotion in the Outpost. Since that show in front of the others, they were all scared stiffness and didn’t want to be the next in line and abided by his rules. Nobody realised that Michael wasn’t interested in punishing them even if they acted out because you were his target, his prey, his toy. He would have just snapped their necks and let that be that. But with you? No, you were different. You were his.

“What the fuck, where are they?”

Desperate hands of yours rummage through bags of clean laundry trying to find your own. You specifically remember last night putting them on a wash cycle and one of the other girls said she’d take care of the rest which by your calculations means they should be there. But they’re not and you’re stressing out. You didn’t need more punishment on top of what you were already being given.

Certain you’ve got another outfit hanging up in your wardrobe, you run back to your room as fast as you can. The adrenaline pumping through your veins turned you into a fumbling mess and made trying to unlock the door difficult, albeit not impossible, and you get there eventually. Once inside you rush over to your closet and fling open its doors.

Michael surely had better things to do than take my clothes, didn’t he?

Apparently, you might have been wrong. The cupboard in front of you is bare, stripped of your belongings. You mutter a fuck under bated breath, heart pounding. Knowing you don’t have much time, you quickly move onto your drawers and yank them open whilst praying you’re still in possession of something, anything, to wear to his office – your search falls flat. You haven’t even got a pair of socks.

There’s a knock at the door. It was if your thoughts were so loud that the Devil himself answered you because you open the door and who was it? Michael.

“Good morning, little grey. Did you get my message? I hope you enjoyed it.”

His tone was all too self-righteous and cocky for this early in the morning.

You’re staring at him in confusion, saying nothing.

I didn’t get a…

It clicks. He took all of your clothes to send you a message.

He continues, “I just love that look upon your face right now. It’s like you’re becoming aware what I can do to make you feel your own shame. There are a few things planned so don’t take too long to get ready. Make sure you shower first,” Michael says, rubbing it in with a wink. You wanted to slap the smug off his own.

**

A concerned Ms. Mead clears her throat, breaking the silence in the room.

“Michael, don’t you think you’re being just a little harsh on that poor girl.”

You look up from your screen to see Mead staring down at you, sadness in her eyes. She hated seeing you like this – she missed the old Michael, the one that had become buried deep under a cloud of jealousy. Mead could read you like a book and knew from the way you were reacting and the things she’d observed that you really did care for Y/N but you didn’t know how to show it.

“Thank you for the concern. I really do appreciate it but after she went behind my back and metaphorically shat all over me then she’s going to get every last bit of my harshness. How dare she let him-” you pause, smacking your clenched fist down in exasperation.

Miriam leans in on the edge of the desk, sight focused on you and trying to read your expression since you had a guard up. You’re refusing to look at her and instead your vision veers off to the side with flared nostrils and a mouth scrunched up in disapproval, matching the current mood.

“Michael, please, look at me.” Mead begs, moving around to be in your line of sight but you move your head again, still refusing to look at her, “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know? You don’t need to let your feelings get the better of you. You’re not a monster, Michael.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Michael. You’re not a monster, Michael.” You mimic, deflecting the obvious truth she was speaking. You did feel something for her but the news of betrayal hurled you back into the past when you were abandoned by your own flesh and blood.

“Wow, okay. I see I’m getting nowhere with you. I’m going to go and attend to other things but you know where I am if you decide you actually want to act your age and not like a defiant, spoilt child.” Mead sighs heavily then walks out of the room. You notice she’s left the door ajar as you hear her speaking in a surprised tone, saying, “Oh, hello, Y/N. Michael’s in there.”

**

“Uh, sir, hello,” your words were sheepish, uncertain. He doesn’t acknowledge your greeting nor does he do anything besides type away on his laptop. You’re about to say something else when he bluntly tells you to come to him. You comply with the instructions and tiptoe over to him, standing to the right of his desk.

The tapping of fingers on the keyboard ceases once he feels your presence near. He closes his laptop, pushes himself off the seat, and walks around you in circles with eyes fixated on your exposed skin.

Those icy blues are taking in the sight of the damage inflicted on your body. A single finger lightly skims over the parts that were tinged in shades of blue and violet from where he’d dug in too hard. With cold yet curious tone, he asks, “Do these hurt?”

The answer to that question is simple – of course they hurt. You were in agony trying to fall asleep last night because of that. If he had asked you, however, if anything had hurt more then that was an entirely different story. You’d say yes because it didn’t just hurt, it tormented you to be around him and to almost suffocate on the anguish filling the room that he was experiencing, all because of you. You can’t recall him ever using the word “hate” but you wouldn’t be surprised if that was how he felt about you nowadays.

You pull together a sentence but your words are spoken too timidly for him to hear. He wraps his hand around the bruised skin, gripping where the marks were present, and squeezes as he’s demanding for you to speak up. Tears pool in your eyes and you’re wincing in pain, yelling out that they do. Gasping under the pressure he’s putting on your contusions.

Michael begins to laugh to himself for some reason and drops the clasp he has around your bruised limb. Your eyes, slightly narrowed, on him and you’re rubbing at the soreness. He sits back down on his chair and as he’s pulling in his chair, he mocks you, “I already know what you’re going to do before you do, little grey. You think you get the privileges of a normal human being? Don’t be silly. We both know where you belong.” His head tilts in the direction of the floor, “Down you go, on your hands and knees.”

You’re amazed at how well Michael pulls off the cold, clinical act but you fail to realise that this is what he’s taught himself throughout his life – through the hurt, the abandonment, the pain, the loss, the best and only thing he can do is to build the fortress inside him higher, and stronger; even if this means losing himself even deeper each time he rebuilds it. He’s done it so many times you could almost call him a master in carpentry.

With you following his commands, you’re resting on your bent knees and flat palms. Michael squats down for a minute, eyes perusing over your positioning. You part lips to speak but Michael snatches your face up in one hand and he snaps, “Does the little bitch wish to speak? Too bad she can only bark.”

His emphases on the word bark showed how serious he was, he throws you from his hand and stands up, hovering above like a figure of authority. “You want to speak? So do it, and you get points if you make it extra convincing.”

You put two and two together and come back with something that makes a whole lot of sense. He didn’t want you to speak, he wanted you to bark like a dog because his aim was to make you feel less than human. So, naturally, you don’t want to rock the boat and you show him how convincing you can be.

“Very good. I think you’ve earned the right to speak for a little bit.”

“Thank you, sir. What’s the point in all of this?”

“To teach you obedience, silly. You clearly lack it and all dogs need training sometimes. Oh, and before I forget, I have something for you... a gift, if you please.” Michaels words were mostly calm but there was a touch of condescension thrown in there for good measure. “Before you feel the need to waste any extra oxygen in this room by asking another trivial question, just know it’s something I’m sure you will love, like the slut you are.”

You’re trying to swallow down your nerves but it’s as if you’re a cat with a furball caught in its throat, wanting to cough them back up.

Michael can’t do anything worse to you than he already has.

You’ve been staring at the floor and psyching yourself up to bundle your nerves and shove them deep down inside you that you didn’t notice Michael had disappeared until he came back. You look up and there he is, holding up a red bag. “Little grey, get up off the floor and come and get this,” he swings the bag in front of you by the handles, like an owner waving a toy in front of their pet.

Dying to speak, you bite your tongue for fear of backlash. Michael already senses it in you and pipes up with, “I know, I know. This must be confusing, right? I’m punishing you and then I’m giving you gifts,” Michael grabs his chin in his free hand, pursing his lips before he continues, “I guess you’ll just have to sit on the edge of your seat to see what I have planned next, huh?”

You stick out your hand to grab the bag from him, looking at him in the eyes but you can’t work out what’s going through his mind. Part of you wonders if this is some kind of joke and then the other part wonders if he’s trying to win you over just to gain more control.

Your teeth chew at your bottom lip and you pluck up the courage to dive in, feeling what seems to be a bottle and something fluffy. You pull both out and place them on the table; a butt plug with a tail and a bottle of lube. “I don’t understand. Why these?”

“I just thought I’d get you something to help with your canine transformation since apparently you do quite like being a bitch.” His hands grab for the bottle, shaking it around before holding it out to you, “See? I’m not entirely cruel.”

He places the bottle back down on his desk, continuing to explain his plan, “You’re going to wear this, if not for me then for your own self, because I can promise you things will be worse if you don’t.”

Your eyes hit the plug – it wasn’t like you hadn’t had anything up there before and it wasn’t overly huge so you figured you could do it.

“Do I make myself clear?”

You nod your head.

“Good. Now show me just how clear I’ve made myself.”

Michael points at the toy, “I want you to put a foot up on the chair so I can watch you stick that,” then he points at your ass, “In there. I also want you to look at me so I can feel every second of it. Got it?” He tongues his front teeth in some kind of sick enjoyment.

You bite back the nerves and nod your head again to show your understanding. Despite your submissive streak, you were being crushed slowly and painfully because this wasn’t how you wanted anything sexual with him to go.

With one foot propped up on the chair, you pick both the bottle and toy up, hands trembling slightly, and squirt fake slick on to the plug before rubbing it in and bringing it to your ass. The flesh of your behind hitting Michael’s gaze.

“No. Turn your face around and look at me when you do it. I want to see you.”

Was this just a punishment or his own fetish?

You turn, facing Michael, trying your best to be brave but you knew he’d be able to see the pain. It was pain because over and over again thoughts like you’ve done this to him, he’s hurting because of you, you worthless piece of shit, Michael is right to teach you like this ran through your mind.

For the first time in who knows how long his eyes light up as he’s staring at you pressing the tip of the foreign object into your hole, gasping slightly as it easily slides in. He’s tried to remain calm and composed this whole time but even he can’t hide his own enjoyment, whether it be from the power or from him fill your ass with something, and it’s showing. He’s biting down on his fingers at his own titillation over your docility.

“Wow, you didn’t even cry out in pain, almost as if it’s not your first time filling that ass of yours with something.”

His eyes are stuck on you, particularly on your ass, as his feet lead him to be behind you. His hands pull at your hair back his direction, you too were growing aroused but trying to hide it, “You really are a slut. Shall we see how much you can take?”

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sammythankyou @sevenwondr @langdonsdemon @creamy-pasta-boi

 Also wanted to add in you darlings since you loved the first two parts!! @icylangdon @langdonsrapture @cocosfern