Playing House

by PotentiallyLovely

Summary:

"Momentarily torn, Michael debated whether to continue his vigil at the school or follow the childhood friend that had fallen into his lap. With Heather disappearing down the street and Boo safely situated in class, Michael began to move. School wouldn’t be out for hours and there was still plenty of time left this Halloween."

While stalking his little sister, Michael stumbles across an old friend and acts on impulse.

Michael had come across her completely by chance. He had been across the street from Boo’s school when he saw her, Heather. But instead of a chubby red-headed nine-year old in her mother’s Rolling Stones shirt, she was now some sort of leggy businesswoman in a tight skirt. In spite of the stark difference, he would know her anywhere. She walked with a purpose, her heels clacking against the sidewalk as she prattled into her cell phone, oblivious to the shape watching her from the other side of the road.

Momentarily torn, Michael debated whether to continue his vigil at the school or follow the childhood friend that had fallen into his lap. With Heather disappearing down the street and Boo safely situated in class, Michael began to move. School wouldn’t be out for hours and there was still plenty of time left this Halloween.

-

Michael followed her to a local café, then a nondescript office building that she only remained inside for an hour. He spent this time reminiscing over their past. For three years she had been his only friend and his only reprieve from his shithole homelife. Even before Boo, there had been Heather.

He remembered the time she had found him burning ants with a magnifying glass and shoved him over. Michael had called her a wuss and refused to speak to her for two days. He had only given up on punishing her with his mother’s encouragement. The relief he had felt when Heather had welcomed him back with open arms, squeezing him against her, had sustained him through another violent episode that night at home.

Then she had left. Her dad had found a better job a few towns over, and she had moved, never to return. Or maybe she would have come back to see him eventually, he never would have known as he had been taken into custody a few months later.

But she was back now, and he was going to make up for lost time.

-

Heather kicked off her heels as soon as she got home. She usually dressed a little more casually at the office, but she had an important meeting with a client that afternoon and she had forced herself to make the short, ten-minute walk to and from work in her stilettos. The meeting hadn’t gone as well as she had hoped it would and so, rather than peel off her clothes and throw on some flannel pants, she stopped in the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine first. Wine, television, and then falling asleep on her vibrator sounded like a good Halloween to her.

Standing in her living room, Heather turned on the TV and flipped through channels until she landed on a new episode of Say Yes to the Dress. She had only moved out of her parents’ house six months before and the constant silence that comes with living alone drove her nuts. Next, she set the wineglass aside to undo her hefty bun. Her hair wasn’t particularly long, but her unruly curls were thick and created a cloud of copper around her head. Heather was massaging her aching roots when she felt a change in the room.

Some primal, caveman portion of her brain told Heather that she was no longer alone. Unfortunately, her survival instincts had sensed the shift in the air too late. Somebody gripped the hair at the back of her head and shoved her forward, causing her to topple face first over the back of her couch and land sprawled on her area rug. Wheezing at the wind knocked out of her, she didn’t bother attempting to recover before bolting upright and using the couch cushions to push herself to her feet.

She was confronted by the sight of a massive, masked man standing across from her, with only a feeble sofa separating them. Heather opened her mouth to scream, cry, do something, but it caught in her throat. Something about him seemed familiar, not physically of course, she had never met a man nearly seven feet tall, but the mask gave her pause.

She was transported back sixteen years, when the country was consumed by the tragedy that had occurred in her little hometown. Fuzzy news footage of her best friend being driven away in a police car and the tawdry televised trial. She wouldn’t say that she was obsessed with Michael, but she had watched the trial unfold and read that quack Loomis’ book. She had stared at the glossy black and white pictures within the book, depicting a masked Michael with long tangled hair and ran her fingers along his broad shoulders, so unlike the boy she had known.

“Michael?” she managed to whimper. The man stiffened but declined to react otherwise. “It is you, isn’t it?” she asked, gaining confidence. Heather brought her hands up to cover her mouth and stifled a sob. “Michael!” she cried as she scrambled onto her couch and threw her arms around his stoic form.

-

Michael stood still as Heather engulfed him in a hug. The hand holding his knife twitched, but he waited to see what would come of this. Standing on the couch, she was almost eye-level with him, and her arms encircled his neck as she buried her face in the rubber throat of his mask. “Oh I’ve missed you Michael; I’ve watched all your interviews and read all the news articles.” She pulled back to look him in the eyes, tears glittering in her own blue gaze.

This was a trick. It had to be. Instead of begging for mercy or appealing to their past like that guard Cruz had, she was throwing herself at him, trying to put him off balance. It wouldn’t work. He brought the blade up between them, pressing the length of it against her soft belly. She froze.

“Is that why you’re here, Michael? To kill me?” She looked so despondent at the thought, her plump pink lips turned out in a pout. Michael couldn’t answer that question. The past hours he had stalked her, he hadn’t actually considered what he would do with her. He just hadn’t been able to resist the draw to his past and had followed on instinct.

Then she surprised him again. Heather leaned forward, pressing herself against the sharp edge, but Michael slackened his arm just enough to prevent her from harming herself. With the blade braced between them, she cupped his face and pulled him forward to meet her halfway.

Closing her eyes, Heather pressed her lips against the mouth of his mask. The pressure forced the rubber against his own lips in a facsimile of a kiss and Michael’s blood raced at the contact. After a moment, she pulled back and began to pepper the rest of his mask with light kisses. “Oh Michael,” she breathed against him with a dreamy sigh, “I’m so happy to see you.” She nuzzled his mask and then her body met all of his. The knife was now flat between both of their stomachs and Michael became acutely aware of her breasts pressing against him.

He was overwhelmed by an onslaught of sensation. She smelled like flowers and continued to whisper his name as she wriggled her lush body against his. Michael, Michael, Michael…

-

Heather was practically panting as she continued her assault on Michael. Was she desperately trying to distract him from gutting her on the spot? Absolutely. Was she also incredibly wet and hopeful that this would culminate in mind-blowing sex? Definitely. If she could survive the night and have an orgasm, could she really complain?

“Do you remember when we were seven and still played house?” she asked shyly. “Remember how you would pretend to go to work, and I would kiss your cheek because that’s what the mommies did for the daddies on the TV?” Michael tilted his head slightly at her line of inquiry. “We can go to my room and play Michael, anything you want.” She held her breath as she waited for his response. Heather knew he hadn’t spoken in fifteen years and would have to gauge his reactions based entirely on his body language.

Slowly, she felt his arm drop, removing the immediate threat from her person. She resisted a sigh of relief; it was too soon for that. What should she do now? Lead him to her room? Or wait for further instruction? Blessedly, Michael made the decision for her. He scooped her up so that she was straddling his hips and carried her into the hallway. The hand holding his knife supported her back while his other gripped her bare thigh, just under the hem of her pencil skirt, now pushed up around her hips. The rough material of his coveralls scraped against her tender cunt and Heather had to resist the urge to grind against him as he walked. There would be time for that later. Hopefully.

Once they had made it to the bedroom, Michael dropped her onto the bed without ceremony. She supposed she should be grateful he had dropped her on that instead of the ground. He stood in front of her, just staring down at her splayed form. Right. She’d need to take the reins here.

Heather stood, only to be confronted with the disparity in their height. Michael towered over her, she only stood eye-level with the top of his coverall zipper. She reached up to fiddle with it. “Remember when we used to share clothes? I still have the Black Sabbath shirt you gave me. I used to sleep in it after I moved.” She was trying to seduce him, yeah, but Heather meant the stuff she was saying. Losing Michael to twice in the span of a few months had been a pretty formative experience for her and now she was just spilling any given thought that entered her head. Giving into an impulse, she hugged him and laid her head on his chest, “Did you miss me too?”

Heather stared into the shadows of his mask’s eyes and slowly, so slow she wasn’t sure it even meant anything, his chin dipped in the affirmative. She couldn’t contain the genuine smile the broke across her face. With renewed enthusiasm, she took hold of his zipper and lowered it as far as it would go, then dropped to her knees.

He was already hard, and Heather’s stomach dropped at the sheer size of him. Oh god, this would be rough. Even as her chest clenched in anxiety, she could feel the fluid soaking her panties and the aching emptiness between her spread thighs. Gingerly, she pushed the front of his facility-issued boxers down far enough to free his cock. With one hand braced against his clothed hip, Heather softly ran her nails down the length protruding toward her. He jerked. She glanced up and saw that while his mask ensured an impassive visage, Michael’s chest had started to heave with every breath. Still looking up at him, Heather gripped his base before running her tongue down the underside of his cock.

He dropped the knife.

There was a split second where Heather contemplated grabbing it, but not only would it be futile, she decided she didn’t really want to. Why ruin a good thing?

She took the head of his cock into her mouth and sucked lightly as she stroked him with the hand on his shaft. Collecting saliva in her mouth, Heather laved at him before pulling back to continue pumping him with the spit. A string of saliva stretched from his tip to her open mouth, and she glanced upward to make eye contact, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth open, and tongue out. Michael huffed and puffed and shuddered beneath her ministrations, but continued to just stand there, not touching her. “I’ve wanted to do this for years Michael,” she admitted, his reactions making her bold, “since we were sixteen and I had seen you in the newspaper again. You were so big.” She stopped to lick the head one more time, “When I thought about other boys, they couldn’t compare. Not to you. Not to my Michael.”

-

Something in him snapped.

Michael reached down, and seizing Heather by the shoulders, yanked her to her feet. She was a mess. Her hair wild, her mouth red, glistening with spit, and her skirt still pushed up, exposing the tops of her sheer thigh highs.

Michael had thought about Heather constantly over the years, but never like this. The last time he had seen her, he’d been innocent, or at least as innocent as he could be growing up in his house. He had seen nudity. His mom, his sister, the television. But Heather had been a child like him. A non-sexual entity that he could feel safe around.

But things had changed. Irrevocably. Everything about her was different, but she was still his. His Heather. She had earned her safety. Not through sexual favors, but because she remembered him. Not only had she remembered him, but she had missed him and had wanted him back. And now she had him. For better or worse.

Michael spun her and bent her over the foot of the bed, pulling her hips back into his. He shoved her skirt up further and began yanking her panties down. For the first time that night, Heather stopped him.

“W-wait, wait, wait!” she sputtered out, “Wait Michael.” Irritation flashed through him, but he listened, stilling his movements. “I still want to do this, but I want to move onto the bed. Please?”

Michael stepped back. Heather stood and straightened her skirt before turning back to him, “I have an idea, okay?” Her big blue eyes pleaded with him to listen. “Go sit down on the bed and I’ll join you.” He decided to listen. Turning away, he took the few steps needed to sit on the edge of one side of the bed, hands braced on his spread knees. Heather joined him just like she had said she would. Standing between his knees, she began to push his coveralls off of his shoulders. After a moment’s hesitation, he helped her, pulling his arms free of the sleeves, and letting the top half of his coveralls pool around his waist.

Once she was finished, Heather pulled her dress shirt from her waistband and began to undo the buttons. Impatient, Michael gripped her shirt collar and ripped it open, sending white buttons flying throughout the room. Unperturbed, Heather shrugged out of the shirt, left only in a camisole. She glanced up at Michael from below her lashes, even sitting he was taller than her, and fiddled with the lace of her undershirt.

Instead of removing it, she climbed into his lap straddling his spread thighs so that her own were stretched to their limit. She had kicked off her panties and now Michael could feel the heat of her cunt radiating just out of reach of his cock. He gripped her hips.

“You’re so big Michael,” Heather said while stroking his neck just under the edge of his mask. Fire emanated from her touch. “We can’t just dive in or you’ll tear me apart.” His cock twitched at the imagery. He wanted to tear her apart. But he also wanted her compliance. “Have you ever really touched a woman Michael?” She took his lack of movement as a no. “Here sweetie,” she said and pulled the camisole over her head.

Michael was presented with her beautiful full breasts, tipped with soft petal pink nipples. He watched in fascination as those same nipples tightened in the cool air. Slowly, so as not to startle him, Heather took one of his hands in hers and Michael allowed her to bring it to a breast. Tits, as his shitty stepfather would have said. But Michael had trouble calling something so soft and warm something so vulgar, even in his own head.

They were full but proportionate and Michael’s massive hand engulfed her breast as he cupped it. Experimentally, he ran his thumb over the peak and Heather shuddered atop him. “You can be a little rough if you want Michael. I think you would like that.” Rather than grip the other breast, Michael brought his free hand up to her throat and squeezed.

Heather gasped, but rather than pulling back, she shifted her hips forward to slide her slick folds against his length. Warmth and wetness suffused his cock and Michael tightened his hold on her throat a little more all while continuing to knead and pinch at her breast. She mewled and Michael thrust against the cunt pressed against him.

“Sweetie, baby, oh Michael,” Heather sighed with her chin tilted upward to fit his hand around her throat, “I’m going to ride you for a little bit, okay baby? Just so I can get used to you.” Bracing both hands against his shoulders, she shifted up on her knees. Taking one hand, she reached between them and guided him to her entrance. Then ever so slowly, she lowered herself. Up and down, Heather rode him, taking his cock in minute increments. With every inch she gasped and twitched and shifted trying to accustom herself to his length and girth. By the time he was fully seated within her, Michael was struggling not to tear her apart as she had said. He’d give her a moment of reprieve, but he would allow no more. It was too much to bear otherwise.

Using the same hand she had guided him with, she ran her fingers around the base of his cock, collecting moisture and smearing it upward through her folds. Then she began some sort of rhythmic motion with her hand. Heather’s cunt twitched and tightened around his cock and Michael began losing patience as the stimulation was just too much. He wanted to move but satisfied himself with bringing both hands to her throat instead. Gripping her firmly, he watched as she panted and moaned atop him, her breasts thrust upward, as she shifted up and down, finally giving him some sweet relief.

Heather continued to rub herself as she rode his cock and after only a few minutes of torture, her cunt seized and squeezed him, milking his cock as she cried out, Michael, Michael, Michael.

-

Heather knew she had been pushing it when she had taken control. But as much as she wanted Michael to fuck her like an animal, she had also wanted to enjoy it rather than screaming in pain. So she had worked him in slowly, and she had ridden him at her own pace, and finally she had made sure to orgasm to loosen herself up a little.

But her luck had run out. With a roar, Michael finally lost his patience, tossing her off of his cock and onto the center of the bed. Prepared for this exact eventuality, Heather had immediately turned onto her stomach before pushing onto her elbows and knees. Leaning forward, she presented her ass to him like he had attempted in the first place.

“Please baby,” she tried to placate him, “please fuck me Michael. I want you so badly.” She felt him shift behind her, “For ten years, whenever I touched myself, I thought about you fucking me Michael.” She felt the blunt head of his cock press against her entrance again, but this time instead of a smooth transition, he thrust inside without hesitation. Heather keened at the sensation. It hurt, even with the preparation, but it was just so good too.

Instead of remaining upright on his knees, Michael bent over her from behind. He set a punishing pace, fucking her with twenty-six years of pent-up rage, as he panted in her ear. And honestly, that just made it better for her. It was primal and animalistic and everything she had ever wanted from this beast of a man.

She was so overstimulated that after only a minute or so of his aggressive thrusts, Heather came again, this time screaming at the overpowering sensation. Spent, Heather collapsed beneath him, ass still in the air but otherwise limp as she let him have his way with her.

Michael growled at her boneless body and then somehow increased his pace. Snapping his hips into hers, he came with angry shout, cum gushing from her cunt as he continued to thrust through his own orgasm.

-

Heather watched from where she was wrapped up in her comforter as Michael prepared to leave. He fixed his coveralls, collected his knife, and without a backwards glance, turned to leave her home.

“Wait!” she called out as she scrambled out of bed, dragging the blanket with her. Michael stopped in her doorway, belying the attention he paid her despite his apparent indifference. Standing on her tiptoes and pulling him down by his collar, Heather placed a kiss on the cheek of his rubber mask like she had done for him as children. “Have a good day at work Michael.”

Notes:

There may or may not be a part 2, but I will mark it complete for now. It is after midnight here and this is the most I've ever written in a single day so excuse any mistakes please.