𝐕'𝑠˚˖𓍢ִ໋𝐵𝑙𝑜𝑔˖

Michael couldn’t believe himself. Why is it every time he does stuff like this with you, his body reacts so sensitively and makes him cum in his pants like some pathetic teenage boy? It’s every time, seriously. He wishes he could fix it but, he can’t help it. You just feel.. too good.

Soft noises of lips touching consistently emanated in the room. You’ve been going for a hot minute now, jaw slowly becoming taut from moving so passionately and vigorously. Saliva collecting at the corners of your lips, tongues swirling and touching every now and then, sucking on each other’s lip. You could do this for hours if you really wanted to. But, you’re hoping for a little.. more than this afterwards if you’re picking up what I’m putting down.

Michael gasps for air silently when he pulls away from your moist lips. His breath staggered. He gazes up into your eyes filled with some kind of hunger, his being big and so sweet to stare into you’ll get lost in them. Blinking rapidly for a moment while catching his breath and mouth agape, his long curled upward lashes tickle under his eye. “Oh..baby please.” He managed to get out after a pause of words not coming out of his mouth. He looked so good desperate. His large hands sat on the fat of your hips and gripped like you’d disappear if he didn’t do so. Licking his lips, he spoke again. “I need you. Can I have you, please?” He begged. “Need you s’bad, you don’t even know.” Oh but you do know. Being that of the raging boner sitting under you, jumping. You cupped his warm face. “I need you too, Michael. But, I want this t’last a little longer baby. Here, how about over the pants stuff? That’d feel good too.” You say as you put a hold on his needy cries but suggest a somewhat just as good idea. A soft thumb of yours rubs slowly over the apple of his cheek as you wait for an answer. He’s devastated, to say the least. That’s not what he wanted.

He’s practically solid in his slacks right now and knows you can feel it too. It’s throbbing and so hard to the point it’s sore even. He needs to be inside of you, but if you say over the pants stuff for now then that’s what it is. He’ll always listen to your word. Though, he’s not really happy about it, you can see it in his face and expression with the way he’s pouting right now. Lip jutting out and covered in a thin layer of shine from spit. You’d give in right here and now if you really wanted to just by looking at his eyes. They’re a weakness to you. A strong one, you’d say. You don’t get the response you were waiting for so you just speak aloud again. “..I know, Mikey. I’m sorry. But you don’t want this to last a little bit longer?” You say with persuasion in mind and give a head tilt with a look. You know he wants it to too but just with the exception that he’s in you, not that you’re grinding down on him whose dick is aching badly that it’s hurting.

“I..I do. Want it t’last. But can’t it last longer with me in you? Please mama it aches.” His voice sounds down right pathetic now. He sounds so wrecked and nothing much has happened, it’s making you soil your panties even more. His voice is also another weakness of yours. Hell, all of his traits are. But can you really blame yourself? I wouldn’t. “Michael..” you say gently but it holds a tone underneath that says ‘don’t make me repeat myself’ in the way that means what you said was final. Period. Nothing you can do to stop it. He heard the tone, loud and clear actually, and it made him pout even more. Full eyebrows curved upwards in a glumly manner. Your heart ached slightly at his cute face, but you held on to your words and put ten toes down behind your word. To make him feel a bit better, you hold his face in your palms and kiss all over his lips, mumbling soft sorry’s and promises of how you’ll make him feel good. You back up your said promises by gradually letting your hips move forward and backwards in his lap. Your clothed pussy lining up with his pulsing dick made it much worse for him but at the same time better. Because for one, you’re letting him get friction of any sort from you and two, he’s not able to be stuffed in you. So yeah, bad and good.

Michael is letting out salacious moans with every hump you make, which also makes you let out some moans of your own. Even while you’re torturing him, you still feel good while doing it. Slick collects in your panties and bleeds through the fabric to make a wet spot on the gusset of it. Your palms on his shoulders and your fingers digging into them as you make movements. His hands go up to your hips to ground him and his forehead is press against your collarbone. You bring up a hand from gripping his shirt and curl your digits in his hair. On his end, he’s absolutely losing his mind. Eyes closed and brows furrowed in immense concentration to not bust in his slacks. Don’t do it, wait. You can’t cum yet it’s way too soon—it’s pathetic of you to do so this soon. Don’t do it, not like the over times you did it. He said to himself, giving a pep talk essentially. His breathing was heavy and fast, as if he ran for a long distance. All you could think of was how amazed you were at his state of condition because you effectively him so heavily. You were proud at yourself, grabbing up a good man before anyone else could. He pays for everything and anything you want and is a mess for you in bed? What more could you ask for, really? You get real close to his ear and talk to him in a racy tone. “You feelin’ good, Mikey? You sound a little out of breath. You okay?” If teasing was something that could kill, he’d be dead. Whenever your voice gets to that specific point, it’s melts him like chocolate on a scorching day. He’ll forever get worked up just from your voice. He loves it.

Michael lets out a noise of pleasure as an answer to your questions. You knew he couldn’t even answer right now with the way you’re talking and grinding so viciously on his lap. He’s too far gone and in the clouds now, you don’t think he’s coming back down anytime soon.

After a few minutes pass of continuous moaning and soft praise, he starts his babbling again. “I—oh—baby, I can’t-I can’t hold it..It’s too much now—” his words slur and blend together as he talks with hast. He drags out some of the words in his broken up sentence. Perspiration is collected at his hairline and his tight ‘fro is dripping with it. His body is on fire, feeling like someone lit a match and threw it in his lower abdomen. The band of climax snapped after trying to hold it in for as long as he could. With a soft cry of protest, he soils his pants.

A warm patch of wetness is started in the middle of the crotch section of them. You stop your sweet anguish by stilling your hips and peek down where you’re touching. Smiling to yourself at the cum stained slacks. He heaved slowly but faster than normal as he comes down from his high. “It hasn’t even been five minutes.” You sounded almost astonished at the fact. He lets out a disappointed whine and throws his head back against the couch cushion head rest. Droplets of sweat glide over his exposed neck.

“I’m sorry Tink’, I really am—I tried to stop myself, honest. I wanted t’last because you said you wanted this to go on a bit longer.” Before he could go on with his explanation, you kiss him. Real sloppy too, just to stop his nonsense.

“Mikey, you don’t have to be sorry, it’s okay. I like it actually, lets me know that I still got it.” You giggle at your own speaking and he looks at you with an upturned eyebrow. “Whaddya mean ‘still got it?’ You’re not old.” You suck your teeth and wave him off saying it was only a joke. A couple seconds go by without talking before you get sparked with an idea. You play it off as a continuation of your previous talking.

“Besides, you cumming in your pants only means I get to lick it off you, doesn’t it?” You lean close when you said that, and it immediately got him stiff once again.

You were gonna kill him someday with that mouth of yours. Figuratively and literally.

“m—mama,” panted michael, eyes darting to the firmly closed partition, to the windows now fogged up with his heaving breathing that painted tinted visions of the blinding lights of the city as the car whirled past, “mmh—gosh, i—”

“just let it happen, mikey,” you purred, pulling from his length, spit connecting your plush, swollen lips from the prior excitable kisses he’d stolen from you, to the head of his twitching dick, still resting heavily in your grasp as you lewdly pumped him as you talked, “let me please you, baby.”

“o-okay..” he spoke apprehensively, not because he wanted you to stop, absolutely not, he was enjoying himself thoroughly, but because he was still the shy, timid boy underneath that infamous stage presence, and knew he’d curse himself if anyone found him with his dick half-way down his girlfriend’s greedy throat in the backseat of his car.

you smiled, pecking the tip with a gentle kiss, swarmed with a sense of satisfaction as he whimpered at the sensation, before wrapping your lips back around the tip, instantly swirling your tongue over the slit that drooled with pre-cum, humming at the sweet, yet salty taste of his premature release on your tongue.

michael shivered at the feeling of the vibration of your noise around him, only doubling the pleasure as he panted heavier…if it was even at all possible with the speed his chest was rising and falling. his head fell back harshly with a loud thud against the headrest as you slithered further down his dick, taking him deeper and deeper with each loosening of your throat, his groans and whines of pleasure only growing louder as your nose pressed against his pubic area, nestling into the short tufts of dark, curly hair that painted the skin.

“oh, baby—i, oh gosh, i, i—”

he was babbling and nearing on incoherent as your tongue darted out and flattened against the underside of his dick, beginning to trace the thick, throbbing vein that rest along it as you slid back up. your hand pumped him faster as you bobbed your head in time with your movements, spit now coating near about everywhere on Michael as you increased your speed.

you really sent him toppling over the edge when you began suckling on the head like a sweet lollipop, increasing the pressure around his dick perfectly that sent him shaking as his orgasm neared.

“o-oh my, mama—i-i’m gonna—can i...can i—mmmph—can i…in your pretty mouth, mama, please? please, please.” rambled michael, his voice coming out broken and croaked as his eyes clamped shut, the pleasure taking full control over his shivering body, hips now jutting up into your mouth as he chased his release.

“cum down my throat, mikey.” you pulled off for half a second to mumble the words that had him moaning out loud, not a care in the world who heard, before latching back onto him quickly.

“s-shit—” he cried, mouth forming into an O shape, before his cock twitched violently in the erotic enclosure that was your warm, wet, welcoming mouth.

michael came whimpering and whining, rambling on, his voice breaking aggressively with each word, his hips now bucking senselessly into your mouth, his tip punching the back of your throat as his cum filled it. you squealed in surprise around him, your hand stilling around the base, now running cold from your slick saliva, as his release spurted into your throat, settling on your tongue, the tangy taste of him consuming your tastebuds.

michael vibrated with shakes as he came down from his high, his breathing ragged and uneven as his let himself attempt to catch his racing breath, his cheeks now flushed a dark shade of burgundy as the car thumped with heat.

you slid your mouth off his cock with a giggle, swallowing his release with a content smile as you watched him, sweaty and broken, dick going limp in his lap, his abdomen and crotch soaked in spit.

“sorry, mama, didn’t mean to loose control back there.”

“shhh.” said you with a smile still on your face, crawling up his frame to settle in his lap, hovering over his exposed dick, as he sighed and rest his hands on your hips with a lopsided grin, heavy eyes finding your own, “happy anniversary, baby.”

© dreamylace 2026 ❦ all rights reserved

Michael had been on the phone with you for nearly two hours. You loved listening to him talk, but the man could really yap when he was comfortable with someone.

You were somewhere between checked out and half listening as you focused on painting your toes, holding the phone between your cheek and shoulder. He had called right after getting back from New York and hadn't come up for air since.

“—so we in the car, right? And 'Toya’s in the front seat with that new coat she got on Fifth Avenue, y'know the one with the big shiny buttons? So Jackie’s drivin' and he keeps looking at her like he's got something to say but he’s holding it in. Then out of nowhere he goes, ‘Toya, why you got that coat buttoned all the way up to your neck like you goin' to church? It’s 95 degrees outside.’ And La Toya turns around real slow, like she been waiting on him to say something stupid—” He started laughing hysterically to himself, wheezing before he could get to the punchline.

“That’s crazy,” you murmured, wiping polish from the side of your foot

Michael kept going like he hadn’t heard you. “—and so she go, ‘At least I don’t wear the same boots three days in a row like some people.’ And Jackie got all tight-lipped, you know how he do, and he’s like, ‘These boots got history, 'Toya. These boots walked through the Apollo. These boots—’” Michael began mimicking Jackie's tone perfectly, creating the entire visual.

“That’s sooo funny”

“—and then she reaches over and flicks one of the buttons on his jacket and says, ‘History don’t mean they ain’t dusty.’ And he almost hit a curb! I’m in the back seat with my headphones on tryna mind my business and Tito’s over there laughing so hard he choking on his soda—”

“Mmm, really?”

Michael paused for half a second, then kept going, voice getting more animated. “—so now they both goin' back and forth about whose outfit was more embarrassing, and 'Toya says at least she didn’t wear that one shirt with the big collar that made him look like he was auditioning for a disco movie. And Jackie goes, ‘This collar got range, girl. This collar been places.’ And I’m just sitting there thinking, Lord, we still got two hours left on this drive—”

“That’s crazy.”

The line went dead, a busy signal taking over where Michael's voice had been.

You sat up so fast the phone cord snapped against your wrist. Did he really just hang up on me?

You dialed him back, still half in disbelief. It rang once. Twice. Three times. He picked up on the fourth ring, voice low and deliberately bored.

“What?”

You could hear him fighting a smile through the phone.

“Boy did you just hang up on me?” you said, still stunned.

Michael let out a chuckle he couldn’t hide. “You weren’t listening to me. Hurtin' my feelings baby.”

Before you could even respond, he added, light and teasing, “ You still think everything "crazy"?”

You burst out laughing. “I was listening!”

“You ain't gotta lie to me” he said, smiling to himself on the other end of the phone. “You were on your fourth ‘that’s crazy.’ girl, I counted.” Truthfully, he had hung up to regain your full attention.

“I was listening, Michael!” You rolled your eyes to yourself.

“Then what did 'Toya say about Jackie’s boots?”

You opened your mouth— then closed it.

Michael waited, patient in that way he always was when he already knew the answer.

“See, that’s the problem,” you finally said, admitting defeat and grinning into the receiver. “You be yapping.”

“I be listenin',” he corrected, still laughing. “That’s why I know you wasn’t. I told you every little thing — the buttons, the collar, the dusty boots, even what 'Toya said about his jacket looking like it came from a disco movie. And you can’t tell me none of it.”

You could picture him on the other end, probably sitting on the edge of his bed at Hayvenhurst with the phone cord tangled around his fingers, shoulders still shaking a little from laughing at you. Michael noticed everything. The tiny details, the side comments, the way somebody’s voice changed mid-sentence. It was one of the things you loved most about him… and also the thing that made it impossible to fake listening.

“You really hung up on me,” you said, still smiling.

“You really checked out on the fourth ‘that’s crazy,’” he shot back, but his voice had gone warm. “I was tellin' you about my whole day and you were somewhere else, hummin' that song playing in the background.”

“Fine," you huffed "maybe I zoned out a JUST a little.”

“A little, mama?”

“A lot.”

Michael sighed dramatically, but you could tell he was still smiling. “Next time I call, I’m keepin' count. If you hit four again, I’m hanging up.”

You laughed, twisting the cord around your finger. “Fine. But if you start another three-hour story about one car ride, I’m hanging up on you.”

“Deal,” he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “Now tell me about your day. And this time actually listen when I ask questions.”

You smiled into the phone, settling back against your pillows.

Some things never changed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

This is how I pictured Mike laughing on the phone:

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please respect my work 💌 Everything posted here is written by @brownsugarletters. Please do not repost, copy, translate, claim as your own, upload to AI tools, or share my writing outside of Tumblr without permission.

Your clock reads 1 am, a chill in your room due to the half opened window Michael climbed in from an hour ago, parents passed out down the hall but now you’re not too certain with how loud he’s becoming.

“Michael.” You deadpanned for the third time, pulling away to watch him sheepishly cover his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just tickles..” As if it wasn’t obvious to you already, to which you rolled your eyes at. Deciding to be a little mean, you continue a little more. “Oh, what does? You mean this?”

You couldn’t help yourself. Michael’s laughter is the most melodic sound you’ve ever heard, dare you’ll say it pleases your ears more than his singing voice. The kind of laughter that has you not wanting it to ever end. However, unfortunately it did, because in the midst of your tickly kisses, your lips pressed a little too firm on a spot near his ear, letting out a moan before he could even think to stop it.

You both simultaneously freeze, Michael due to shock, and you trying to decide if you heard correctly or not. Suspicions were confirmed the minute Michael tried to babble out an embarrassed explanation, but you didn’t care for none of that. You wanted him to make that sound again.

“Oh, did you like that?” You asked, yet knowing the answer already. You don’t even wait for a response, going back in search for that particular sensitive spot, pressing a repeated kiss there.

He delivered another noise for you, this one sounding a little whiny which is coming from his shy nature, and the moan he did earlier because it’s sending heat all the way down to his pants.

And boy, do you feel it.

A tent forming in his pants that is gradually getting tighter because you now let your tongue peek through your slow kisses up his neck. You sense him wanting to say something, worried he’ll get too loud and get the both of you caught, but his greed is stronger as hands now find their way to your hips, encouraging you to start grinding down.

But you don’t, not yet at least.

You don’t budge, hovering a bit. “Don’t do this to me, baby..” He often says when he’s not getting what he wants, having you pull a smile. You get bolder — kiss, suck, then lap the hickey with your tongue. One hand leaves your hips to cover his mouth, aware he won’t be able to help himself.

“Can’t believe I’m now finding out how sensitive your neck is, Mikey. I wonder if I could make you come from just this?”

Surely you must be joking, he thought.

Him fighting to stay quiet with a trembling hand clamped over his mouth only gave you fuel to keep going, pathetic looking real good on him.

The hickeys you create are scattered on all different places on his neck, almost like you’re trying to not miss a single spot. As you like to believe you’re not entirely evil, you pull away to start grinding down on his bulge that’s been aching for any type of friction, soaking up the way he sharply inhales through his teeth. He uncovers his mouth to hold your hips again, to keep your moves real nice and slow.

You press your palms on top of his chest for balance, your grinds getting more desperate and needy when your clit keeps getting hit perfectly by each tiny buck of his hips. Room is no longer filled by the sound of the cold wind coming from outside, instead being of your guys hushed noises of oohh’s and aahh’s.

Until you opened your eyes to look down, and not being a fan on how lonely and naked the left side of his neck looked in comparison to his right, painted by your reverence. You couldn’t let that slide, right?

His voice cracked in the middle of another moan being ripped out from his throat the second you bring your face back down to his neck, repeating the same pattern that’s been turning him into a breathless mess. Kiss, suck, then soothe it with your tongue.

“Please baby, you’re gonna kill me.” He gasps out, since just because you’re back to giving attention his neck, your grinds haven’t stop. Two pleasurable feelings mixing together into one is overwhelming every bone in Michael’s body, mouth open to let all noises be set free that he’s given up on holding back.

You wanted to tease, to edge. Michael being a trembling mess beneath you all because you accidentally discovered something new he enjoys that he himself didn’t know until now, how could you not take advantage of it and have a bit of fun?

Although, you became a little too eager. Lips running across to stop in the middle of his neck, feeling his adam’s apple throb with each whimper. You plant a kiss there, then suck, and that’s what did it for him.

Michael pants heavily from beneath, eyebrows screwed and eyes shut, a face you recognize all too well what it meant. “No way..” You softly breathe, stopping the movement of your hips.

“You’re so mean to me.” He whines into his hands, causing you to huff out a scoff. “Right, like you were telling me to stop.”

You giggle at his silence, all so telling. “You’re not mad though, right?”

He gives you a reassuring shake of his head, pulling you back on top to kiss you all over your face. “Never mad at you.” You hum as his kisses get softer, lolling your head to the side as they get lower.

Until you let out a giggle at a particular one because it tickled, making you both still. There was no point in backing out of it, as Michael’s already flipping your positions, now hovering over you with nothing but a sweet revenging glint in his eyes.

The private island felt like another world. Free time was not something Michael Jackson got often.

He was constantly working—touring, rehearsing, recording. But if there was anything he always made time for, it was his girl. Michael absolutely adored you, and he would pluck the moon from the sky if you asked.

He didn’t celebrate holidays the way most people did, but your birthday had always been special to you. When he asked how you wanted to celebrate this year, your answer was immediate: a week and a half, uninterrupted, just the two of you.

Michael had cleared his schedule without hesitation. You chose the location. A secluded private island with white sand, turquoise water, and absolute peace. And that peace had wrapped around you both like a warm blanket.

You were tucked together under a shaded cabana, shielded from the bright afternoon sun. The gentle crash of waves mixed with the soft breeze and the low hum of music drifting from a nearby speaker.

Michael’s fingers were intertwined with yours, your hands resting on the soft cushion between you. He’d been insatiable since the moment you’d arrived. Needy, obsessed, unable to keep his hands off you for long.

The long night before had left you both exhausted; you’d slept through breakfast, grabbed a lazy late lunch, and come straight to the water. Now the late afternoon light painted everything golden.

His thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles in tender circles, a gentle rhythm that made your skin tingle. He leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, then another to the corner of your mouth. His lips lingered, warm and affectionate, before he pulled back just enough to look at you. His dark eyes were soft, almost pleading.

“Let’s go back to the room for a little while,” he murmured, voice low and sweet.

You side-eyed him, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “Just a little while?” you asked, voice light with amusement. You both knew how that usually went.

Michael gave you those doe eyes, wide, innocent, and impossible to resist. His thumb kept stroking your knuckles as he leaned in again, kissing you properly this time: slow, deep, and full of promise. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “I promise. Afterwards we’ll have dinner on the beach. I already arranged for the chef to make your favorite Indian food. No rush at all on getting there.”

You had a light buzz from the piña coladas you’d been sipping all afternoon, warm and pleasant in your veins. You felt good and relaxed, desired, a little bold. And the way Michael looked at you, like you were the only thing in his world, made heat curl low in your belly.

You let him pull you up. His arm wrapped around your waist as you walked back along the path to your private villa, his hand occasionally drifting to brush your hip or lower back with the same tender reverence.

The moment the door to your suite clicked shut behind you, Michael turned you in his arms. His hands slid over your sun-warmed skin, tracing the curves of your body with open worship.

“God, you’re so gorgeous,” he breathed, voice already husky. His palms smoothed down your sides, over your hips, then back up to cup your face. “Every inch of you… I can’t get enough. You have no idea what you do to me.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, pressing you gently back toward the bed as his mouth moved hungrily against yours. When he finally pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead rested against yours, eyes dark with need.

“Please, baby,” he whispered, voice soft and begging. “Let me have you again. I promise I’ll make you feel so good. Just let me have you… one more time.”

His hands never stopped their tender exploration, thumbs brushing over your skin like he was memorizing you all over again. The long night before still lingered in both your bodies, but Michael’s hunger for you was far from satisfied. And from the way heat pooled between your thighs, you knew you weren’t going to deny him.

Two hours later, the room was heavy and warm and soft sounds of birds calling to each other and waves crashing drifted through the window. Music could be heard playing quietly from the beach, lulling the room into a state of serenity.

You were on your stomach with your hips lifted high, back deeply arched. Michael's thick cock sank into you with slow, deliberate strokes, dragging along every oversensitive inch of your walls and pushing out thick, pearly ropes of the cum he’d already pumped deep inside you earlier.

Saliva kept slipping from your parted lips, trailing down your chin as he dug deeper into your slick, gummy walls, your body trembling from how long he’d been taking you.

Michael’s hands glided from your hips to greedily knead your ass, fingers sinking deep as he spread you open. Your pulsing heat swallowed him whole with every thrust, the slick, velvety walls milking his cock like they never wanted to let go.

He couldn’t stop the broken whimpers and needy moans that spilled from his lips, his voice cracking with raw desperation as your fluttering grip hugged him so perfectly.

Each powerful collision made your whole body jolt. Your walls fluttered and clenched around his girth in helpless, exhausted pulses, raw and aching from how thoroughly he’d used you.

His lower abdomen was glistening from your combined cum. Every time he drew back, he gazed at the warm, creamy ring painted around the base of his shaft, like spilled ice cream on sun-warmed skin.

He was lost in the sight of how your body took him, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he kept sinking into your wet heat over and over again. He loved the way you allowed him to paint such a filthy picture between your thighs.

He was totally overstimulated, but he couldn't stop. You were intoxicating to him. He tilted his head back as he drove back in with a low, whining groan. He brought his hand down, leaving a firm but gentle smack on your ass. You gasped from the sensation of the pain combined with pleasure.

“Talk to me, baby,” he coaxed, voice already rough. “Tell me how good it feels.”

You tried to answer, but the words came out broken and stuttering. “F-full… s-so deep”

He let out a soft, affectionate laugh. “Look at you… drooling all over the pillow because I’m making you feel so good. My sweet girl can’t even talk properly, huh?”

Pleasure came fast and sharp. Your walls started fluttering hard around him. Michael slid one hand down to gently massage slow circles into your lower back as your next orgasm crashed over you.

You came with a broken cry, legs shaking, walls pulsing rhythmically while you drooled into the pillow. Tears ran down your face from the intense sensation.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he praised, voice warm and loving. “Such a good girl. I’ve got you.”

The way you clenched around him pushed him over the edge too. Michael’s release hit hard. He was already sensitive from how many times you’d gone, his moans coming out broken and raspy, lips swollen as he gasped your name. “F-fuck—baby—ahh—” Thick pulses of cum flooded you while his hips jerked helplessly.

He stayed buried for a second, chest heaving, then pulled out slow. The moment his cock left you, a heavy rush of his load spilled out, running thick and warm down your folds. His spent length gave a visible twitch and started thickening again almost instantly at the sight.

He rolled you over onto your back with careful hands so he could see you fully. You felt limp and shy, completely overwhelmed, face hot and eyes glassy with unshed tears. He couldn't stop the slow smile that spread across his lips.

You looked beautiful, and perfectly ruined by him.

Suddenly you felt exposed under his gaze, you covered your face and giggled softly. You felt like you were floating.

"Don't hide from me, princess. Let me see that pretty face."

Michael cradled your face and leaned down to kiss you deeply. It was slow and messy, his tongue sliding against yours as he tasted the salt of your tears and the mess on your lips. You kissed him back weakly, still trembling.

When he pulled back, he looked down at you with soft, hungry eyes. He gently pushed apart your thighs, craving more of you. A chill involuntarily ran over your body as the cool air from the room hit your slick heat.

He cooed, “You look so pretty like this. Oh baby…”

He rocked his hips, dragging the thick head of his cock against you, the broad tip catching on your sensitive bundle of nerves and rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. Your body jolted hard from the hypersensitivity, hips twitching, a broken whimper escaping you. Michael cooed again, clearly loving every reaction.

You were breathless.

But your body was already arching toward him like flowers with sunlight, already aching to be filled again.

Michael lined himself up with your entrance, gently sinking back into your warm center one inch at a time. You couldn't help the desperate little sounds that escaped you, your mouth fell open and your eyebrows knitted together from the sensation of his cock slowly dragging along your hypersensitive walls.

Even after taking him for two hours, the stretch was intense. His thick cock forced your swollen walls apart inch by inch until he was buried deep. Moaning in unison with you, Michael gazed adoringly into your eyes.

"I love seeing you in this position, you're so pretty baby. Wanna watch you cum for me again". he gingerly brushed his lips against yours.

He started moving in slow, deep rolls. With every thrust, the warm, firm press of his pubic mound ground deliciously against your sensitive pearl while the thick head of his cock deliberately dragged over and ground into the soft, spongy spot inside you.

He knew exactly what he was doing. Every time he rolled his hips forward, the blunt head caught and rubbed firmly against that sensitive, ridged patch of tissue, pressing into it with steady, deliberate strokes.

"Feel how deep I’m hitting that spot, baby?” he rasped, voice low and filthy. “Right there… that soft, spongy little place that makes you lose it. I can feel it pulsing against the head of my cock every time I grind in. You love when I fuck you right there, don’t you?

The stimulation was intense and focused. Every deep roll made the head of his cock press and rub insistently against that spot, sending sharp, electric jolts straight through your core. Your lower belly tightened with every stroke. Your walls fluttered wildly around him as he kept targeting it, refusing to let up.

“Talk to me,” he coaxed again, hips rolling in that same deliberate rhythm. “Tell me how it feels when I rub that spot inside you. I know it’s making you crazy.”

You tried to answer but the words dissolved into incoherent babble. “S-so—ahh—right there—Michael—can’t—”

The pressure built fast and sharp. Your walls pulsed wildly around his girth. Your back arched as your second orgasm slammed into you.

It was brutal.

"Who else can make you feel this good, baby?" He gently brushed his thumb over your swollen lips. You tried to answer, but what came out was nonsensical. So you simply shook your head back and forth to answer him.

No one was the answer, and you knew it. The pressure in your core was building and you couldn't help it.

Michael kept grinding the head of his cock directly into that soft, spongy spot with every thrust, refusing to let up even as you started to come.

Your G-spot pulsed hard and rhythmic under the relentless pressure, sending white-hot pleasure exploding through your entire body. Your vision whited out. A high, sobbing cry ripped from your throat as your thighs clamped around his hips and you gushed around his cock in messy, uncontrollable waves. Hot spurts of slick splashed between your bodies while your walls clenched and fluttered desperately around him.

Michael moaned at the way you were coming apart. “That’s it… cum for me while I rub that perfect spot. Feel how I’m stroking it? Right there… fuck, you’re squeezing me so hard when I hit it like this.”

One hand slid under you to gently massage slow circles into your lower back as you came, grounding you through the overwhelming pleasure.

Even after the peak began to fade, he kept those deep, targeted rolls, the head of his cock still grinding into that sensitive spot through every aftershock. A smaller, third wave rolled through you, gentler but still making you gasp and clench hard around him as fresh tears slipped down your temples.

Michael leaned down and kissed you again. This time it turned into slow, deep making out. His tongue moved tenderly against yours while he stayed buried inside you, one hand still gently rubbing your lower back. He kissed you through the aftershocks, soft and hungry at the same time.

“Still with me, love?” he murmured against your mouth, voice raspy and full of affection. “You did so good… my perfect girl. I’ve got you.”

He kept kissing you — slow, deep, messy presses of his lips to yours — while he moved inside you in those gentle, relentless rolls, still occasionally grinding the head of his cock against that same sensitive spot just to feel you twitch and flutter around him.

“Love you so much, baby… such a sweet girl for me.”

A gentle breeze blew through the window as he stayed buried inside you, still kissing you like he never wanted to stop, still moving, still completely wrapped up in the way you trembled and fluttered around him.

He pulled you against his chest, wrapping you up in his arms while he stayed tucked inside you, unwilling to pull out just yet.

And from the way his cock twitched and thickened inside you again, you knew he wasn’t anywhere near finished.

"Mikey I'm gonna need my Indian food soon" you mumbled sleepily.

He dissolved into giggles, leaning in and pressing a lingering kiss to your swollen lips.

"You keep putting it on me like that, and you can have whatever you want baby".

You rolled your eyes and laughed lazily, pulling him on top of you.

michael had you laid out on his bed, but he’d asked you to tilt your head over the edge of the mattress, your eyes tracking him carefully as he rounded the bed and settled himself right in front of your face. your eyes and mouth at level with hips when his thumbs hooked onto the edge of his boxers.

“what…”

“i wanna try something,” his voice was low. a small smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watched your eyes widen when he lowered his boxers, his cock slapping lightly against his naval and a damp spot from his tip glistening in the low light.

“you look so pretty like this. open up.” one of michael’s hands gripped his cock, pumping it a few times while the other cradled your throat. bending your head back as your lips parted for him, your tongue sticking out and taunting him.

his eyes flicked up as he got to fully take in your body, your soft skin wrapped up in his sheets, completely bare and flush for him. groaning as he slid into your mouth, watching as you took as much of him as you could.

teeth sinking into his bottom lip because he could feel himself through your throat from where his hand was resting against your neck.

when he started to fuck your mouth, your whimpers made him briefly shut his eyes. your saliva gathering as you choked on his length. your hands coming up to hold onto his hips and your nails dug crescents into his skin.

“that’s it baby, taking me so well.” he praised, his words being rasped by a moan. his hands reaching out to massage your breasts and the moment his fingers left your throat, he saw it.

his cock dragging in and out of you— your throat constricting around him as he went deeper and you gagged. your thighs rubbing together as you desperately sought out your own relief.

“fuck, mama.” he threw his head back, his pace growing erratic and he knew he was probably going a little too hard but his mind was so wrapped up in how you felt and looked, he didn’t pay your comfort much mind like he usually did.

and when you moaned around his cock, he lost it. tipping over the edge of oblivion as his hips rolled into you. one hand holding your throat while the other dug into his sheets, moaning your name as he came. delighting in the way he could not only feel but see you swallowing his release.

a pathetic sound leaving him when he pulled out, seeing sticky strings of his cum and saliva stretch and break from your tongue and lips.

michael was panting as he fell into the bed beside you, rolling his head to the side to kiss your thigh. “we’re definitely doing that again.”

you laughed, wiping tears from your eyes given the position and how he had practically been suffocating you— absolutely no complaints on your behalf.

“how about you let me catch my breath first?” you teased, watching him as he lifted himself up on an elbow. a contemplative look to him as he hummed.

“i’ll leave your mouth alone for now, but no promises on you being able to breathe.”

your brows furrowed. but before you could even think to ask him to elaborate, michael was lowering his head between your thighs.

michael jackson masterlist

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JANUARY 27, 1989. Los Angeles, California…

At ten o'clock in the morning, after only four hours of sleep, you unfortunately awoke. Nothing could be registered but the harsh sunlight breaking its way forcefully through the curtains—painfully so. Your head was blaring with an ache, your throat felt uncomfortably dry, and as you stretched upon your first intake of breath, you felt entirely paralysed from the waist down. An exaggeration, of course—though you were always prone to hyperbole when it came to describing the feeling of what Michael could so easily do to you.

But for a moment, you wondered why you felt this concerningly awful. In your sleepy haze, you assumed you were hungover, but such an assumption only lasted for that short moment, because suddenly another sensation hit you, born between your lower thighs. You were sleeping on your husband's warm chest—you had registered that already—but as your body grew familiar with the bright of day (as opposed to the happy slumber you'd been frustrated to be pulled from) you felt something else. Shuffling on Michael's torso slightly—humming into his neck as he too stirred—a warm, trickling substance exuded from your sex, swimming from your entrance to the already ruined sheets below.

Funny that you should notice the cum before the much more obvious thing that had accompanied it, because immediately afterward, you finally remembered that you and your husband had fallen asleep cockwarming. While unconscious, Michael was beginning to harden inside you, somehow still nestled in your comforting heat despite the hours of sleep. Usually, when you cockwarmed in other positions, he'd slip out easily during slumber because he did tend to move around a lot, but since your straddled weight had been keeping him still, that position had kept the two of you deeply entwined the whole time.

You smiled as you took acknowledgement of the feeling, and began peppering kisses all over Michael's neck and chest. But you giggled against his skin as you now noticed how the area was littered with your smudged lipstick kiss stains aside your lovebites—purple bruises that decorated his beautiful frame, a frame now mostly devoid of the makeup he'd covered himself in before the concert last night. He could only ever be this vulnerable with you—nobody else. The patches of pale and brown were colliding with one another all over his torso, and on his face were light expanses of depigmentation, shone over by the morning light.

Eagerly you kissed every inch of what you could reach, ensuring you didn't move too much and trigger him to accidentally slip out of where you wished he could stay forever.

While smothering him in your affection, you laughed again as you saw what were literal bite marks on his shoulders—faint, but visible up close—from where you'd gotten a little carried away during one round. His torso had been pressed flush to yours, suffocating you beautifully with his weight, and you’d been trying to suppress your moans. Then, it seemed that the only way to do that effectively was to bite your man’s shoulder, but that wasn’t a sustainable option of course, so most of the time your whines and screams were released into the sex-scented air, and Michael’s shoulders were safe from being gnawed at further.

At the time, you had believed the two of you were alone in the house—it being so big that the noise of the others coming back had completely bypassed your senses. So, without the knowledge of there being several people who went on to listen to you and Michael going at it all night, at the time you really had no actual reason to be suppressing any of your moans. Truthfully, you just felt slightly self-conscious sometimes, because even though you’d been together and married for so long, you often felt it was a little ridiculous the way you acted around your man. You were concerned your pornographic moans would sound either pathetic or over-done, but as the years had passed, Michael truly had become a master at sexual intercourse, and he knew it too—so he never once judged you for the noises you made. To him, hearing your high whines and your soft moans was a slice of heaven on earth.

A much lesser, subtle version of those sounds he now heard as he himself awoke. You were still humming against his smooth skin, kissing him all over—partly because you loved to do so, and partly because you wanted to wake him.

“Hey, honey,” he giggled as you were busy smooching from his forehead to his cheeks.

“Hi, sexy,” you beamed, with so much love in your eyes, and in his too. “My angel…”

He gripped your waist with a soft passion, then ran his hands up and down your ass and thighs that sat over his mid-section. You were still leaning forward, now cradling his jaw beneath a handsome smile. Your heart ached—but with the satisfaction of completion, the overwhelming gratitude that this was your forever beau.

“You’re drippin’ out of me,” you whispered in his ear with a smirk, and he laughed, instantly remembering everything.

“Yeah?” he chuckled. “Lemme see…”

You felt him twitch inside you, hardening even more, and you clamped your eyes shut in anticipation. Could you really go for another round? You definitely should no longer be in this position, and no wonder your legs were aching so much despite how you were always so athletic—because not only had you been fucked into the mattress for six hours straight, but you’d also then slept directly on top of Michael, with your legs bracketing his thighs, for a subsequent four hours immediately after. It was a serious advantage that you were a dancer, for in your skill you were incredibly flexible, and God knows how bad this would've been otherwise.

But somehow in that moment, under the mid-morning radiance, it didn’t matter. Despite all the aches, you were so cosy, cuddled up into your husband's chest with his thick cock inside you, the tip inching closer and closer to your cervix the more his member grew.

Keeping one hand on your hip, Michael reached his other down further to your leaking pussy, spreading his fingers to caress the width of your stretched folds, tugged tight around his length. Using his index and middle finger, he ran through the mess seeping from there and down his balls.

“Mikey…” you sighed against his Adam’s apple, head resting in the crook of his neck as your arms wrapped around him, hands finding their place in his adorable, messy curls. He felt so perfect both beneath you and inside you, now fully hard, and still playing with the mess he’d made in the earlier hours of the morning.

“How d’you feel, mama?” he murmured with a kiss to your temple, morning voice thick and husky—his natural tone coming through in the most intimate of moments.

“I feel like you broke me,” you giggled, and Michael adored the way the sound vibrated against his collarbone.

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, 'm sorry, baby. I'll run you a bath when we get up, alright? Carry y' everywhere…” Two kisses to your cheek. “And then we’re gonna have to rehabilitate before tonight.”

“Tonight? Oh God, I forgot about that…”

Admittedly, you were still in a haze—of post-sex and of too-little sleep—so it had slipped your mind that you were to be performing two songs with Michael tonight for the very last date of his world tour.

"Yeah, y' not gettin' out of it either," he replied, rubbing his thumbs over your hips.

You pulled your head out of his neck and squinted at him in annoyance. "Michael, you made me like this. You're to blame."

"Oh, was I also to blame for how you begged me to keep goin', huh?" he smirked, with a light smack to your ass.

Instinctively you moaned, before nudging his bicep and resting back on his chest again, nuzzling into his warmth.

"Honey, y' look crazy," Michael chuckled, referring to the bruises blossoming all over your skin, your entirely messy hair, and the makeup smudged all across your features.

"Shut up, you look crazier. And wait 'til you see those scratch marks."

"Oh, Bill saw 'em last night."

"What? Bill was in the kitchen with you?"

"Mm." Michael was trying not to laugh.

"Michael!" You nudged him again, although it was really more of an actual hit this time. "It's bad enough that he heard us but now you're tellin' me he saw what I did to you?"

"Baby, he doesn't care. He found it funny."

"He probably thinks I'm some sort of depraved sex freak."

Michael sighed in amusement. “C’mon, y’know he's heard a lot more than jus' las' night. He's known us since the very beginnin', baby, this is nothin' new," he pointed out, as his attempt at reminding you that you didn't need to freak out over the current situation, but his supposed reassurance only really stressed you out further.

He kissed your temple, running his big hand through your hair and cradling the back of your head as you laid in his comfort. His other hand continued to rub up and down your torso, but it mostly sat over your ass, squeezing and kneading the skin there. He was achingly hard inside you, but in knowing how fucked out and essentially broken you were, he wondered if he should cut this short

"Darlin'..." he whispered, rubbing his thumb over your lips that were bruised with his kiss—the intensity of a mouth that couldn't display its affections gently, despite how gentle the owner himself was in many other ways. Now, both your top and bottom lip were a fluctuation between your natural shade, your smudged lipstick, and purplish-brown marks where his teeth and the force of his own lips had brushed harshly.

To each other, you both looked sexier than ever—entirely ruined at the mercy of your love's passion, looking as though you'd each been attacked by a vicious animal and then ran over by a car in short sequence.

"Mm?" You yawned, noticing a very faint lipstick kiss on the underside of his jaw as you lifted your head. You giggled and kissed over it. "Love decoratin' your pretty face in kisses, my baby. So handsome."

Michael laughed softly, thumb still smoothing over the softness of your bottom lip. He blinked back the intense pleasure of your soaking pussy gripping him, and to you it didn't go unnoticed.

"Mikey, I love you," you sighed, reaching your hands up to wreathe them through his curls, scratching lightly but careful to irritate his sensitive scalp.

"I love you more, I swear. God, my beautiful lady... Never get tired of havin' y' like this..." he whispered back, bucking his hips up a little to direct a slow thrust upward. He hit your sweet spot instantly and you gasped, trying not to tug hard at his hair.

Protectively, he pulled the silk comforter up around your waist, so it would both cushion your lower back and provide a little privacy if one of the maids happened to walk in. Although, it was pretty much a straight given that after last night's noisy activities, everybody would be steering clear of the master bedroom this morning. Nobody would dare go near even the doorknob, until they'd seen with their own eyes that the two of you were elsewhere.

"So, d'y' think we made a baby las' night?" Michael asked—as casually as he might ask how you'd slept, or what you wanted for breakfast—while he continued to rock into you with his slow strokes from beneath.

"Michael..." you warned, because he was no longer just moving with absent mind—he was initiating morning sex, and that really wasn't the appropriate, responsible thing to be doing right now. Especially not after last night. The two of you had a lot to do today that simply couldn't involve more lovemaking.

But Michael wasn't interested in what was most appropriate.

"How many times did I cum in y', honey, I can't remember?" he murmured in your ear, repositioning his arms to create a protective hold around your waist, his slick cock coated in more and more of your wetness with each re-entry into your heat.

"I don't remember either, baby," you giggled, but you cut yourself off with a sharp moan, arching your head back as he rolled his hips up again, so achingly slow; and you couldn't argue against the honest truth that this really was the most perfect way to start your day.

"Mikey, my legs literally don't work, I can't ride..."

"Shh, 's okay, I don't want y' to. Lay like this with me, mama. Rest on me..."

"Mmkay." You grinned, knowing you were about to get scintillating princess treatment. This exact position had actually inspired part of the ending of The Lady in My Life, back in '82. Wrapping your arms comfortably around his neck, and shuffling your weight a little to get the perfect resting position, you pressed several kisses to your man's chest as your way of confirming that you were settled.

"Mhm, jus' like that," Michael groaned, both at the feeling of your soft body against his, and at the feeling of your walls fluttering around his throbbing length. "Yes, baby, now let me—mmmfuck—"

Another deep stroke upward, where his feet were now planted on the bed to allow him to drive into you with ease. His arms mostly stayed wrapped around you, but his hands would often snake their way down to your ass, to grip and knead.

"Such a pretty ass f'me, baby... All for me, huh?"

You only mumbled into his chest, equal parts sleepy and dazed out in your arousal.

"Got the most perfect body, angel girl..." He smacked your ass a little harsher this time, and you yelped, beginning to kiss over his neck to keep quiet. You really couldn't be sounding like a whore this early in the morning, and even though Michael wasn't fucking you hard like he had been a few hours ago, often it was actually the slower, more sensual sex that had you unable to control the noises that elicited from your throat.

Michael hadn't forgotten about the question that had gone unanswered by you just a few minutes prior, as pertaining to the babymaking potentiality.

"Y' think our baby's down there, huh?"

It was a sort of unspoken agreement that you were both ready for another child. What had been unspoken had been instead prophesied and actualised in every filthy act of the night prior.

But you didn't know how to respond to such a question, because indeed, you hadn't at all talked about this. In that moment, you pictured that there very well might be a zygote currently forming itself within your fallopian tube, ready to travel to your uterus to begin its growth. Certainly, you felt there had to be—but that wasn't how the fertilisation process worked, and science told that even though you were ovulating, the amount of cum your husband had shot into you consecutively didn't increase your chances of getting pregnant.

The sex itself had surely been a statement though, on both your part and Michael's, because there had been no element of protection used, and neither of you had cared for a moment. Whether an embryo was to begin inside you or not, the way you'd made love last night was a symbol of something you had both wordlessly wanted. Three kids had always felt too little a number for Michael, because he was still set on one day having eighteen—in his ridiculous idealism—and you were also looking forward to the day your careers would come to a comfortable lull, a period that still allowed you to create and perform successfully, but didn't demand of you constant presence.

During that time, when it eventually came, you would spend so much of it making more babies, with the confidence that they wouldn't be pushed to the side in the multitude that would then exist in your household. You could spend at least two years at a time away from any industry responsibility, just living for the purpose of creating children and nurturing them.

Now, Michael was just finishing up his world tour, and you were close to the end of yours too, so even while you were both still in your prime, still the most magnetic, well-known figures in entertainment, it wouldn't be the worst time to have a baby. After all, did you really want to wait until that unknown date that your careers could begin to quieten? Neither of you knew when that would be, so wasn't it best to live in the present?

"Mikey, baby..." You moaned and whined, pulling your head back to kiss all over his face and his neck, sucking more marks into his erogenous zones, and licking over the marks already cemented into his salty skin.

You rocked a little, grinding your clit over his pelvis as his thrusts quickened—still on the slower side, his perfect girth filling you incredibly. You were amazed at how seamlessly your pussy could envelop him in this way, even after the organ had faced so much the night before. And too, you wondered how on earth this was the same body part that had produced three children (a set of twins, even) for the man plowing into you.

Michael's low grunts were even more gruff now that it was the morning, and when he wasn't busy talking you through it, those sounds were creating the perfect autonomous sensory meridian response, only adding to the flutters of sheer pleasure building up through your spine.

"Sweet girl, wanna make you feel so good..." he whispered, bringing one hand to your head again to cradle the back of it. You always smiled whenever he did.

But you were starting to place yourself in the real world again, remembering the busy day ahead.

"Baby, y'know we need to get up soon... You need to start signing those—ohh, mmph—autographs for the fans... And then we need to—"

"Aht," Michael stopped you from any further logical speaking, never ceasing to fuck up into you in those beautifully slow rolls. "There's nothin' we need to do more than this right here, mama. 'N then 'm gonna pamper y' in the tub. Y' not gonna rush us, 'm takin' it real slow, yeah?"

Instantly, at the sound of his handsome voice you were back in your daze of total arousal. "Mm... oh, baby, you hit my spot so good..."

"Yeah, I know," he whispered, kissing your nose and your bruised lips softly. You kept shuffling on him, wanting to make out but also loving the feel of being babied as you clung to his chest.

Moments passed without a word—with nothing but grunts, sighs, and moans, and Michael was moving even slower now, almost not moving at all at points. This was the beauty of sleepy sex, for you were merged as one, in the most intimate embrace you could wish for.

You played with his curls again, leaning back to press your lips to his. "Bambi," you whispered.

The doe eyes that earned him the nickname looked up into your own orbs. "Mm?"

"Are we really sayin' we want another baby?" you asked.

"Y'know 'm always ready, Tink. But it's obviously up to you."

You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath that then undercut a high moan as he hit your spot a little harsher than the last time. You cleared your throat.

"I actually think, um... I think I am ready. Y'know..." As you spoke, Michael took his hand from your ass and interlaced it with one of your hands, listening intently. "You're just about to finish touring," you continued, "and I'll be done too after next month. It'll be the first time in a while where we'll be free to somewhat relax. I think now's a better time than ever."

"Really?" Michael's eyes were shining. "I think so too, baby. You seriously want a fourth now?"

"Mhm. Really. I've been thinkin' about it for a while," you said quietly, before beaming as your man paused his thrusts, beginning to tickle you with a huge, heart-achingly childlike smile on his face. The sudden action made you squeal, and even more so as he started to smother kisses all over your chest and neck, completely overcome by the ecstasy of sheer happiness.

"Seriously, honey?!" Michael grinned, cupping your cheek and pulling you down into a kiss that you had to fight to retreat from in order to respond.

"Yes, baby," you laughed, and again he tickled you further. "Mikey, stop it!"

Without pulling out for even a second, he shifted the two of you onto your sides facing each other, and in that new position—your other favourite for morning sex, alongside spooning—he made love to you with even more passion. Legs and hands entwined, bodies entirely covered in the bruised effects of an ardent devoted love well-displayed, Michael sped up, mercilessly hitting your spot as he fantasised about how you'd both go through the process of pregnancy again, and then the process of bringing another child into the world he hoped to save. He held so much gratitude for you being the one to give him all his children—that you'd put your life on hold in so many ways for at least a year, and he couldn't wait to help you through it all again.

As he held your leg up to hit deeper, he smirked at the sight of your thigh.

His amused expression confused you. "What's so funny, baby? Oh fuck—"

"Your thigh, honey," Michael chuckled, slowing down his pace slightly to talk. "There's bruises near the top, look. That hasn't happened in a while."

Your mouth shot open—sure enough, there were more bruises you hadn't even noticed, in the shape of Michael's fingerprints, from where he'd held your legs in place during mating press and every other position where he'd needed to keep your ever-moving body still.

"Michael, what the—? Thank God they're so high nobody's gonna s—ohhh, baby, stop it, 'm gonna scream—"

He only chuckled more, pounding into you harder now as the bedframe began to shake. While one hand held your leg up, his other was resting over your womb, moving from there to your clit and back again, as he thought of nothing but the image of you swollen with his fourth child.

"I love you, oh God, I love you..." he repeated, and you said each word back with sincere conviction.

"My baby," you whined.

"Perfect mama... 'm so happy y' givin' me another... I don't deserve you."

"You deserve all that's beautiful, honey. You're so beautiful..." you sighed, eyes shut in pleasure as you grabbed his hand to hold it again.

"Y' gonna cum, pretty angel?" he murmured in your ear, unfortunately needing to let go of your hand almost immediately because your clit needed him more.

He rubbed in figure-eights, bringing you closer and closer to your peak, all the while never ceasing to whisper his devotion and gratitude for your body and your soul.

"Oh, Mikey, yes—"

"Yeah, tha's it, let it all go for me, baby girl... C'mon..."

A few moments later, and the coil in your abdomen split open, releasing its tightness into white hot bouts of pleasure. The sensation coursed through your veins, coating your husband's shaft in even more wet slick and leaving you breathless, falling forward into his chest as he chased his own release.

Soon enough he was there, and your cunt was filled to the brim with hot ropes of his seed, aside noisy groans that filled the huge bedroom—because if you were bad enough at keeping quiet during the act, Michael was even worse.

You laid there in each other's arms for a couple of silent minutes, clinging, wanting to stay in the embrace for a lifetime. Michael ran his hands up and down your torso, and then his index finger over your wedding ring, as he always liked to do post-sex. He brought your leg to rest over his thigh, breathing in your scent as you breathed in his.

You found yourself reminiscing to him over that time you broke a bed together during your honeymoon at Disney, because you'd truly been close to experiencing that same incident again last night. You laughed at the memory as you each traced over your matching tattoos: your first initial in cursive on the inside of his wrist, and his on the inside of your own wrist too. You’d got them tatted a few years ago after a drunken rendezvous, and you’d seen it as a great achievement that you’d managed to convince Michael to actually be on board with a tattoo, even though it was only small.

But there were two issues that disrupted your sweet creampie-cuddling session.

"Baby, you need to pull out."

"Why?"

"Because first I need to pee, and then I need to take off these damn sheets before Maria has to." You shook your head in disbelief at the mess you could already see parts of dotted around the mattress. "I refuse to let her deal with this, oh my God."

Michael laughed. Maria was one of your maids, and you absolutely detested the image of her having to clean your cum-ridden bed herself. You might have been a whore for your husband, but you wouldn't be so disgusting to make others subject to the sight—even if they had been unintentionally subject to the sounds. There were indeed stains of Michael's release and your own sticky liquid all throughout different areas of the bed, and from where you lay in his arms, you guessed correctly that it must be way worse than the minimal parts you could currently see from your angle.

"Alright, fine," Michael sighed, pulling out slowly. You both hissed, and of course when you shuffled to sit up, more thick cum oozed from your entrance, staining another inch of fabric. There had been no point in attempting to avoid that though, because the bed was already messy enough.

Turning to dangle your legs over the side, you winced at the aches, then stood up on the carpet below. Or—attempted to stand up, rather; because as soon as you tried to, your knees buckled, and you quite literally almost fell to the floor.

"Ow, shit—!"

This was even worse than a day-long dance rehearsal, or the most difficult workout routine you'd ever put yourself through. What the fuck? Michael had never taken you so intensely before—and that was a significant statement to make, given that he was such an intense lover.

"Mama, y' okay?" he asked, brows furrowed, but he'd expected this. There had been many a time in the past where he assigned himself the duty of carrying you around everywhere after a night of hard sex.

As he looked at you, hunched over, attempting to walk with legs that felt nearly limp and effectively useless, he noticed a matching bruise on your other thigh and smiled to himself. Without wasting a moment, he was out of bed as quick as ever.

"C'mere. Up," he ordered gently, standing naked beside you, arms outstretched and prepared to pick you up into a bridal carry. That he did, while you hummed into his neck, so appreciative of his gentlemanly efforts that always followed what could only be deemed the very opposite of gentle.

"There you go, honeybaby," Michael smiled, kissing your forehead over and over as he maneuvred your spent body into the ensuite. After having peed, you sorted out the sheets, tugging them off the mattress with the silk comforter that was also partly affected, before stuffing them into a bag that you'd deal with later. Meanwhile, Michael was preparing a bubble bath, and lighting candles around the tub for ambience, even though it was eleven o'clock in the morning.

At the mention of a bubble bath, the name reminded you of a certain somebody. "Mikey, where's Bubbles?" you called from the bedroom.

"Bill's lookin' after him!" Michael called back over the noise of running water. "He's not gonna run in 'n interrupt us, don't worry!"

You laughed to yourself. You were always so welcoming and understanding of Michael's need to have all sorts of animals around in the house, but sometimes it got a little stressful. Not knowing whether a bird or a snake or a damn chimpanzee would face you when you turned wasn't the most calming experience you could expect to have in your mansion, but you put up with it all for Michael's sake.

After he bathed you that morning, so sensually and passionately that you very nearly begged him to take you again, you both tried your best to make yourselves look as presentable as possible. It took a very long time, but eventually you were done.

Or at least you assumed you were; because of course the conversation surrounding the state of Michael's back was had only in the earlier morning, a good twelve hours before he was to go onstage and forget all about the evidence of your wild night together, displaying the extent of it to the world.

Then, when you joined him on said stage for a sensual duet, you didn't hesitate to run your hands all over the artwork you'd produced. You would be chastised for such promiscuity in the weeks that followed, but you never regretted the display one bit; nor did you regret the embryo that indeed began to grow that same night, into your welcoming womb.

angelcrescent © 2026 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡🧁₊˚⊹♡ ╱ started out as a short drabble n then i developed it into this. . . hope u guys loved !! happy sunday ;’)

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𝟎𝟐/𝟏𝟑/𝟖𝟗: 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝐾𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑄𝑢𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑃𝑜𝑝 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑤𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑦 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑊𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛 𝐴𝐵𝐶 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙.

BW: So, we're getting toward the end of our time together today, but I don't think I could've interviewed you both without bringing up a certain picture that's taken the media by storm in the last couple of weeks.

MJ: Oh God... [shy laughter, holding wife's hand tight]

BW: I have to ask!

♥︎: Do you?

BW: Look, I think we're all just very stunned that your husband went out on stage like that. And he could've kept the shirt completely on to cover up the marks, but he chose to rip it open.

MJ: I didn't—no, I'd forgotten all about, um... what was on my back. [grinning bashfully]

♥︎: Did you really? [smirks & nudges him, to which MJ nudges back] No, I'm kidding!

BW: Seems like you both had a great night prior to the, uh… display. Would be rather unforgettable instead, surely?

MJ: No, 'm serious. I get so lost in my performances that 'm not thinkin' about anythin’ else. I'm a gentleman—I don't intend to do anything dirty.

♥︎: Ha! [a quick, loud laugh] Who the hell do you think you're kiddin', sir?

MJ: No, baby, you know 'm a gentleman.

BW: Well, from the look of your back in that picture, 'gentle' isn't the word that comes to mind...

♥︎: Oh my— [trying not to laugh with MJ]

BW: You'd still describe yourself as a gentleman?

MJ: I think there's a time an' a place for everything. I'm gentle in most ways. I just never meant to bring the, uh... other stuff to the view of the public. But I also don't think it's the worst thing ever though, right? Think this reaction is a little dramatic...

BW: So, do you both think that sort of thing is okay? You're laughing it off like it's normal to be displaying the extent of your sex life in front of the eyes of millions?

♥︎: [rolls eyes w/ a sigh]

MJ: Uh, well, like I said I didn't inte—

♥︎: Okay, here's the deal. We're husband and wife. Married for eight years too, by the way. This isn't the 1950s—everyone knows what married couples do at home, and as long as we're not doin' that on stage, what's the issue? I mean, Barbara, you seem to love talking about it so much—you're obviously entertained.

BW: But you don't think that what goes on in the bedroom should stay in the bedroom? Man and wife do have sex, yes, but should the public be given access to such intimacy?

♥︎: I wouldn't really call it getting access. Unless anybody has our tapes from the bedroom, they have zero access. And that's why I don't think this is an issue. No matter how 'media trained' I might be, I'm not going to conform to what you guys want me to say on topics like these. I'm sure you'll ask the same questions to Madonna, and Prince, and all the other artists who are extremely sexual onstage, right? Way more explicit than anything my husband and I have done.

BW: You make a good point, however I think it's a little different when there are undertones of the artist's real sexual acts. To my knowledge, Prince hasn't yet gone onstage with streaks of scratch marks down his back for all to see. And you've seen the pictures, they were very harsh scratch marks. It was immediately evident what they were—especially when you then came onstage for the next song and ran your hands over them. We haven't forgotten about that part, and I'm sure someone back there has the video for us to play. What was the point of that? Were you trying to mark your territory? Prove how good the sex is to somebody in particular, or to the world in general?

♥︎: [laughter] ‘Mark my territory?’ No, I was definitely not doing that. I'm very secure in my marriage, I can assure you. I don't need to prove to everybody how incredibly my husband makes love to me—

MJ: No, honey, don't say th—

♥︎: [shoos him with a hand] Oh, whatever, Michael, who cares? [laughs under her breath] As I was saying, we're way too secure to have to rely on showing the public 'proof' that we're sexually active—or whatever it is that you're getting at here. I obviously can't speak for Michael and confirm that he truly did forget about the marks, but I don't appreciate the suggestion that he or I would ever wish to prove the reality of our marriage to the world. We really couldn't care less about what the world thinks. As you've shown us throughout this entire interview, and as we've experienced in every other interview we've ever done, everything is always misconstrued, either deliberately or just because you want to be ignorant.

BW: I do understand that. But we have to ask these questions so that the misconstrued narratives can be corrected, don't we? And with that, we also don't have to agree with everything you state. I personally believe, along with many others, that a married couple bringing the privacy of their bedroom onto the stage is a very uncouth thing to do, and that in doing so, whether unconsciously or not—maybe it was just unconsciously—you have both garnered the controversy that's often necessary to keep your names in the headlines.

MJ: [scoffs]

♥︎: You think we need to try to keep our names in the headlines? Don't be silly, Ms. Walters.

BW: Listen, I know the two of you are always in the media no matter what, but it's not hard for us to believe that you would intentionally do something to further that attention, right?

MJ: Listen, Barbara, we can't leave our house without being mobbed by fans and paparazzi. We could try to disappear entirely from the public eye for months, or even years, and still they would attack us from all ends.

♥︎: [rubbing her thumb over his knuckles] Honey, there's no point. You know they always decide on their narrative and then they run with it, no matter what we say.

BW: Is that how you both feel? That as journalists we'll never truly understand?

♥︎: [speaking solemnly] Are you seriously asking us that question? None of you could ever understand even slightly. I would hope that at least some of our fans might try to, but me and my husband live such an insanely complex life that really, all you can do is continue to only attempt to examine it through your biased lens, poking holes in the tiniest of things. We rarely do interviews for that reason.

BW: I do understand that.

MJ: Y' sure?

BW: Yes, but if there were no journalists and paparazzi to help promote you guys—and the same goes for all the other celebrities out there—you wouldn't be half as celebrated and as widely known as you are now.

♥︎: Well, we can agree to disagree. Now, would you excuse me and my extremely explicit husband while we go off and fornicate in the corner? He needs some inspiration for his next song.

MJ: [squinting shyly & laughing, averting eyes]

BW: Oh, very funny.

♥︎: And maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll hear my sex noises in the background of the next single!

MJ: [eyes widen] Uh, I think we’re done. Thank you for having us today, Ms. Walters.

BW: It was a pleasure…

TWO WEEKS AGO ; 𝓲𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝐨𝐟 𝓳𝒂𝒏𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝟐𝟕, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟗...

"Oh, fuck yes, baby!"

"Honey, don't curse... 's okay, y' close again, huh?"

Michael cooed in your ear as he rocked into you with harsh abandon, slamming his hips against yours with each thrust. His thumb rubbed tight circles over your clit as he had you practically folded in half, your legs spread wide in a V-shape, and pushed up between where his body was a protective cage above you. They'd been up on his shoulders a moment ago, and you were so fucked out that you hadn't even registered the position he'd guided you into, only able to focus on the euphoric pleasure hitting your sweet spot every other second.

"Mikey, y'hittin' it so good, ohhh—right there, baby, keep goin'—"

The two of you had been at it for several hours, impossible in your haze to pinpoint an exact number. You'd lost count of how many orgasms you'd had, and you were honestly beginning to wonder if your body had any left in you. Biologically, how many orgasms could a woman actually produce in one night? You surely were breaking some sort of record here. Almost eleven years together, and while in those years you'd had many a night filled with sex, you were certain it had never been to this extent.

Tonight had been the night prior to Michael's final performance of the Bad world tour. You'd been touring throughout Europe yourself since Christmas, so before now you hadn't indulged in a night together in an entire month. The tour was concluding in Los Angeles, and therefore that meant that Michael had been back home in your shared mansion for the last eleven days during the residency.

Your three kids were currently being looked after by Katherine at Hayvenhurst, because she guessed that you and Michael would want your first night back together to be spent alone. So earlier on, you'd surprised him backstage as soon as he finished his second-to-last concert, and then immediately you were whisked away, nestled dreamily in your silk-laden king-sized bed, draped in pale pink, waiting almost no time at all to be filled to the brim with what you’d been craving since the last time you had the privilege of being fucked into the mattress by your husband. That last night had felt like a century ago now.

You knew exactly how lucky you were, but still you couldn't fathom that this was your reality, especially because you often looked to those days back in the seventies when Michael was the most inexperienced virgin in existence. You'd shown him the initial tips and pointers regarding sex, particularly with demonstrating how his eager mouth should perform oral, but over the years he'd exceeded performing the mere basics. And now you wondered if it was even possible that there could be a man on this earth more sexually skilled than Michael Jackson, because he gave you everything and more. It couldn’t be put into enough adequate words how perfect he was. Each roll of his hips felt like an ascension to the heavens, and my God, had you ascended tonight...

"Yeah, right there, mama?" he whispered through high groans, kneading your breast now and taking the hand that was rubbing your clit up to your thigh to hold it in place. "I know, baby girl... been hittin' it jus' right since we got home... whatever my girl wants..."

"Mhm, oh angel, 'm gonna cum—" you whined, hands gripping at the sticky sheets beneath you. The room smelled entirely of the warm musk of sex, with a hint of the clean sweat scent dripping from Michael's face and upper body; and of course where the element of sound was concerned, such was an amalgamation of moans, loud creaking, and the rough hit of the headboard banging against the wall with each thrust. Surely this piece of furniture would soon break, you thought; but you wouldn't say the concern aloud, because what kind of crazy woman would you be to say something that might have the potential to disrupt such mindnumbing pleasure?

"Ugh, God—rub y' clit, baby, I can't do everythin' at once," he murmured into your neck as he licked and sucked the most sensitive inch of the skin.

You did as he asked you to, bringing two fingers to your incredibly sensitive bud and massaging over it fiercely, desperate to reach your millionth orgasm of the night. Michael's strokes were getting erratic now, and he grunted profusely in your ear, big hands roaming everywhere. You took hold of one, interlocking your fingers, and you felt him smile against your ear, before pulling back to kiss you sloppily.

"Mm, tha's it, angel girl, yeah... keep holdin' my hand, 'm gonna get y' there..."

"Oh Mikey... baby, 's too much, I—ohhhhh—"

Your other hand now felt strangely limp, adjacent to a muscle cramp that made the movements over your clit virtually useless. So aggressively horny, you realised you were rubbing so hard that it was making the twist of your wrist uncomfortable, so you now instead wreathed that hand through your baby's curls, damp with sweat. You tugged on the lower ends of the strands, dragging his face down by his jaw to lick your tongue into his mouth, humming profanities that he always condemned.

"What did I say, hm? Pretty honey, I don't like when y' curse—oh—"

"Michael, you're—ughhhh—fucking me so—mm—dumb right now, I don't even know what I'm sayin'—"

"I know, I know..." he grinned, as he lifted your leg impossibly higher now, and drove into you with somehow even more force.

"Shit, baby—ohhhh my God—oh, 's so good! I can't believe this is real life..."

Your head lolled sideways onto the pillows, back arching as he fed an unbelievable degree of white hot pleasure into your aching body. Surely you wouldn't be capable of walking tomorrow, but you were an incredibly athletic dancer after all, and needed to be onstage for two duets to conclude Michael's tour, so unfortunately you'd have to grin and bear it.

"Been fuckin' you like this for years, honey... Not doin’ nothin’ different…” Michael moaned, head thrown back in euphoria, though pressing forward again to watch the sight of your breasts and the milky white ring around his cock that appeared each time he pulled back to thrust deeper.

"’n I never—shit—I never get used to it, babyyyyy, oh my—"

"Cum for me, beautiful... aw, my perfect lady, need t' feel it, c'mon..."

Your husband's forehead was now settled against yours, his sweat dripping into the beads running down your own face, and he'd never looked so fucking beautiful. The liquid appeared like glistening holiness on a face and an expression so inconceivably angelic, and his hand moved to cradle your jaw as he smiled through the ecstasy.

Your own face felt as limp as your hand had done, where it felt near impossible to say anything with intention; and Michael understood, knowing just how delirious you were after so much mind-blowing sex. And it wasn't merely the act of sex that was exhausting after so many rounds—it was Michael himself, the way Michael performed sex. He did nothing by halves, as was obvious in the way he produced his art, and in his eyes lovemaking was without a doubt the most meaningful, celestial art form in existence, no matter how filthy he had a tendency to make it.

But Michael believed nothing could be filthy that had you at the forefront, and he had carried that same sentiment into this night, a night complete with the sort of thing his mother had spent his entire youth deeming as pure sin. His most cherished sight was to see you reach your climax, and as you came undone yet again in his arms—in equal timing as the spilling of his seed into your welcoming heat—he held you so tight, rubbing his warm thumb over your cheek, gripping your shaky hand with his protection while your body seized and unraveled. He talked you through the comedown, as always, and now the sun was just beginning to come up—dawn was breaking through the silk curtains—so hints of gold and purple shone down all over your body.

In Michael’s eyes, that drapery of colour rendered you the most divine goddess he had ever laid eyes on. He understood in that moment—in the presence of the universe's morning light entwining with your natural, inherent beauty—that this was the most perfect experience involved in last night’s decision to make love until day began.

"So beautiful f'me, baby..." he whispered with the utmost sincerity, slowing his thrusts as he peppered the softest kisses all over your face and returned to knead your tender breasts, one at a time while you caught your breath. That was a specific thing Michael did a lot, providing a gentle massage that although didn't feel gentle in your overstimulation, always worked to calm you.

"Yeah, feel me, sweet girl... love y' so much, mama... my perfect angel..."

As gentle and tender as he never could retreat from, Michael adjusted your overexerted body so that you now lay on your side, with him also sideways, nose to nose with you. He didn't pull out, because he knew you'd whine, and of course he'd always rather stay with his body merged into yours. He kissed you softly, and continued to stroke his hands up and down your body, squeezing your ass, your thighs, and again your breasts, of course. Both of you had impeccable stamina because you were top-quality performers, but it was often the case that even just one orgasm could make you sleepy, let alone as many as Michael had given you in these last few hours. And you hadn't stopped for breath throughout each, so he assumed that now you must surely be done, therefore deciding that he'd give you aftercare until you drifted off into a slumber.

And yet despite all that, miraculously you felt in your heart and in your lower abdomen that you still weren't finished with him.

"Y'want me to run a bath for us, mama?" Michael whispered, pressing soft pecks to your nose and lips as his slender fingers caressed your torso and pulled you close to him, gently dragging your leg over his thigh, before running his hand up and down its softness.

You hummed in content, not even registering his question.

"Y' all spent now, hm?" he tried again, with a small smile at how completely blissed out you looked in front of him.

"Don't want you to pull out, baby..." you sighed deliriously, wrapping your arms around his neck and playing with his curls.

"Oh, but I need to, honey, if you want that bath..."

You did want a bath with your husband, but the mere thought of how it felt to sit between his legs in the water, back against his naked chest, soft member certain to rise against your lower back... it only made your arousal return close to violently. What had gotten into you tonight? Ovulation, probably. But absolutely no protection had been used, so that might prove to be a problem.

"I don't know what I want," you whined. "I want your dick..."

Michael's eyes widened in surprise, and he answered with a chuckle. "Y'want it some more? For real, mama? I don't wanna break this bed. Or you..." He furrowed his brows with genuine concern about your comfort. "Think you're way too sensitive right now, girl—aren't ya?"

"No, Mikey, 'm fine... Want it again... Love how you fill me, baby."

Now you were really just babbling nonsense, but you had to make him see that you were totally serious—unfortunately for your body and its inevitable incapabilities the following day.

"Alright, if you're sure," Michael laughed, kissing your nose. You felt him twitch inside you, and on instinct you bit your lip and shut your eyes tight.

"The sun's comin' up, mama. Been deep in this tight pussy for hours 'n hours..."

Playfully, he delivered a sudden thrust into your sweet spot, and your nails dug into his biceps with a sharp sigh. "Honey, don't... Don't tease."

"Just messin' with y', sweetheart. But first I need to get y' a glass of water, 'cause you’ll be dehydrated. I really put y' through that mattress." He chuckled softly, still gazing into your tired eyes.

"Nooo," you protested, squinting in frustration as you pawed at his upper back.

"Yes. Don't argue w' me—I'll be back in just two minutes, okay?"

"Whatever," you nodded, visibly irritated, but you knew he was right. Having gone the last few hours without water was akin to doing a several-hour workout without a single sip. You definitely needed to replenish your electrolytes, and you knew Michael would make the relevant decision to mix in Celtic sea salt too, to serve that purpose.

To your dissatisfaction, he finally pulled out, the wet pop sound serving as a serious bother to your desperate nervous system, despite how you knew he would be back inside you in under five minutes. A filthy stream of his release slipped out in slow drops between your thighs, coating the sheets beneath, and you made a mental note to make sure you cleaned that up in the morning before the maid unfairly had to.

The whine that left your throat as he disconnected made him shake his head with an amused laugh. He tapped your cheek and kissed your temple, before jumping up out of bed and shrugging on some sweatpants.

Your eyes almost rolled into the back of your head at the sight before you. First, there was the quick glimpse of his ever-hard, aching cock standing up against his stomach, decorated in veiny ridges, the glistening tip resting against his belly button before he tucked it into the grey cotton. Second, there was the view of that same beautifully enormous cock now poking up so harshly against said fabric that his decision to even slip into the sweatpants was rendered useless.

But thirdly, there was the wildest sight of all. Now, to preface, this wasn't the first time that the following had occurred after a passionate night, but you'd never seen it so starkly feral before. That third sight being, of course, the existence of seemingly never-ending bright red streaks of scratch marks running down the plane of your husband's back, and in their depth it felt surprising that you hadn't accidentally drawn blood. He looked as though he'd been mauled and attacked by a wild animal, and that wasn't all too inaccurate, really, as you'd certainly spent tonight behaving like such an animal, so savage and undomesticated with the way you grabbed and pawed at your man relentlessly. You couldn't help it.

As Michael stood up, adjusting the waistband of his sweats, he muttered something to you with a grin. "My entourage are gonna be sick of us..."

Immediately, your face squinted into something of concern. Aloud you gasped as you suddenly learned what you had unfairly been left unaware of.

Indeed, Michael's entire entourage were staying in your house. They were sleeping in various rooms, from the top floor to the bottom, and had been doing so all week of the LA shows. But of course since you'd only just returned to California this afternoon right before the show, and had jumped on your husband with so much aroused aggression immediately upon the show's closing, you hadn't paid attention to anyone else. Michael had made the generous offer to allow his team to stay with him rather than book hotel rooms, since your mansion was more than big enough, but it definitely would've helped for him to have told you so! Clearly it hadn't slipped his mind, and he didn't seem at all bothered by their presence, despite having spent literally all night plowing into you as loud as ever. He stunned you the way he could be so shy in so many circumstances, and so the very opposite in others.

"Wh—? Michael? What do you mean, your fuckin' entourage?"

He only shook his head with a smile, strolling up to the door, dick still pressing up very visibly against his pants. The early sun was shining perfectly over the print, and it made for the most delightful image.

"Shh, 's okay; y'know they're used to it from whenever we've been with 'em in hotels."

"Michael, we're never that loud in hotels. We were insane tonight, what the f—?"

"Aht," he quietened your cursing before it had a chance to leave your lips. "Whatever, baby. I'll be back in a minute. Play with your clit f'me while y' wait."

You laid there in sheer disbelief, heart hammering with the embarrassment of having sounded like such a filthy slut for hours on end, and with the guilt of almost definitely disrupting their sleep. How would you face them all tomorrow? Michael could be such a mischievous dick sometimes.

Biting your lip in frustration, you pictured his naked image again, how excited you were for him to come back and give it to you all over again—a little quieter this time, or an attempt at quieter—and with a giddy, ditsy smile, you reached a hand down to prepare yourself for what would have to be the final round. Surely.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Michael had come face-to-face with Bill, who had also opted to hydrate, although for the opposite reason.

"You guys finally stopped now?" Bill asked, a slight despair in his tone, but amused all the same.

"No," Michael smiled bashfully, pouring a glass of pure filtered water for himself first. For the duration, he maintained a stance in the corner by the wall that concealed the monster he was packing beneath. Of course privacy had been a foreign word to Michael tonight, but nevertheless, it disturbed him that Bill of all people might see his erection so up close.

"What, is this just a short pause for refreshments before you resume with round one hundred million? How many times, kid? Jesus! I knew you had great stamina but... shit, man."

The younger man shrugged, still smirking as he downed the glass. But then Bill walked from where he'd been standing at Michael's side, to behind him, just to put back his glass on the counter, but with that, encountering something that had him almost speechless.

The marks.

Tonight—or this morning, rather—Michael was a walking picture of sex. His now-frizzy curls had been tugged in all different directions; the bottom half of his face was wrecked with faint lipstick stains; his neck was savagely adorned with deep, bordering on unhealthy-looking lovebites; and aside from the boner he’d done well so far to hide from Bill, there was also another element that you hadn't yourself noticed in the bedroom. The newborn light hadn't been gleaming brightly enough over every area of Michael's body, so while it had shone the perfect spotlight over the marks on his back, it had failed to portray to you the product of your gnawing nails all over his chest. There were faint marks on his biceps, but they were surprisingly not a match for how intense the ones on his chest were. They matched those of his back profile, which Bill was staring in astonishment at.

"Michael, what in the name of—? Damn, what are you doin' to her up there that's got her markin' you up like this?"

Michael's eyes widened upon hearing that Bill had seen the extent of your vicious attack, but he turned casually and laughed, now having poured a second glass for you. He opened up a cupboard and took out the salt.

But now Bill had noticed the other thing. Michael was incredibly naive to assume he could've really hidden a whole erection throughout this entire conversation all the way to his journey back up the twisted staircase. For most men it was a struggle to cover up, but for Michael it was just impossible to. He was insanely huge.

"Oh God," Bill groaned at the sight of what couldn't possibly be obscured beneath Michael's sweats. "Well, I didn't see that when you first walked in. That why you won't look at me properly?"

Michael's head whipped to the side, to look in confusion at the man who he deemed his literal father figure.

"Huh?" he squinted, before seeing where Bill's gaze went. "Oh—uh, oh my God, yeah, I didn't want y' to see that, but y'know I can't really help it, so..."

Bill chuckled, shaking his head as he turned from him and walked over to the centre counter. "You're crazy, kid. You plannin' to go 'til sunrise or somethin'?"

"Whatever my lady wants," Michael hummed as he stirred the salt into your tall glass. "What time is it now? The sun's already comin' up a little."

"It's," Bill checked the watch on his wrist, "5.22."

"For real?" Michael snapped his head around, then snapped it back forward immediately afterward when he remembered he'd rather not be looking at his second father right now.

"Yup. But you didn't get back 'til around eleven thirty, so six hours you've been goin' at it for."

Michael's mouth dropped open. He knew he had excellent stamina, and that you did too, but he couldn't believe that neither of you were ready to go to sleep yet. This night was certainly one he'd title as magical, although it never took much for Michael to class a night with you as part of that category of experience.

Now done with preparing your glass, he began walking back over to the door leading out into the hall, and Bill kept his distance, refusing to look ahead.

"Is there another baby on the way, Mike?"

"I don't know—we'll have to wait 'n see. We're not plannin' on it but we also aren't tryna prevent it either."

"Man, you sure sound like you're plannin' on it, goddamn."

Michael only laughed, leaving the room to make his way back upstairs and into your arms.

He sat you on his lap, let you rock over his heavy, clothed bulge while you sipped the water, refusing to resume the sex until you were properly hydrated. And then you bounced on his cock for what felt like another beautiful lifetime, even more ethereal now as your body glowed with the rise of the sun while you worked your dancer's hips, movements always guided by your man. How you had the energy to ride cowgirl after all those hours was beyond you, but it was one of your most favourite positions, and when you did inevitably begin to falter and feel a little dizzy with the overexertion as you neared your climax, Michael took over, ordering you to now do nothing but rest over him, while he thrusted upward in long, deep strokes. Alongside that provision of pleasure, he murmured sweet nothings in each ear, squeezing your breasts, expressing all his devotion.

Yet again, his hot seed hit deep into your womb, and you fell asleep the way you'd missed so much—with him still inside you, the milky substance having more than enough opportunity to explore your walls and keep its place there for conception.

Neither of you had spoken seriously about having another child, and it really wasn't practical for your careers at this stage; but the idea of a fourth baby had always existed in the background of your conversations, in the subtext of Michael's excitement whenever he would see you hold someone else's newborn, or how you would both gush over the adorable sight of the tiniest clothing; or even in the sadness you both expressed at how quickly your children were growing.

If you did happen to have conceived a child sometime during this passionate night, it was doubtful that either of you would regret such reckless, continual insemination.

angelcrescent © 2026 ˖ ࣪🧁⁺˖꙳◦🍥 ╱ inspired by this thought and the picture that accompanied it. . . ;) see part 2 here!

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Your hands move over Michael’s body, greedy and desperate. He signed at your touch and held the back of your neck as you kissed him. Your tongues dance with each other, tasting and exploring each other’s mouths while you loosen the tie around his neck.

Michael shifted you onto his lap, hands resting on your clothed thighs, before they rubbed gently over them. You managed to get his tie off, slinging it to the ground before your fingers work feverishly to unbutton his shirt.

“Need you so badly, Mike.” You whisper, resting your forehead against his. He chuckles and pecks your lips. He dipped his hands beneath your t-shirt, pressing them flat on your bare back while you continued unbuttoning his shirt. When you fully unbutton it, you run your fingers over his chest, pulling a contented groan from him. Michael tilts your chin down and presses his lips to yours in another sweet kiss.

“Stand up for me,” Michael commands softly, patting your thighs. You comply, standing right between his legs, close enough that he can hook his long fingers on the strap of your leggings, pulling them down along with your cotton panties. You lift your feet to let the fabric pool at your sides while Michael tosses his t-shirt with them.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, guiding you back onto his lap. His fingers find their way between your legs, squeezing the warm skin of your inner thigh before he presses his thumb against your clit. You gasp and giggle excitedly when he pushes his index and middle fingers between your wet pussy lips. Without warning, he slips his index finger into you, then his middle finger, thrusting them into you, lazy and unhurried. Your hips grind on his fingers involuntarily, walls gently pulsating around them while he keeps that slow pace.

“Mike, I’m…” Your heartbeat quickens, and he hums, biting his lower lip with a wicked grin plastered across his face. With a shaky hand, you run your fingers through his hair, semi-focused on his expression as you ride his fingers.

Your inner thighs tingle as a soft orgasm threatens to come over you. Michael doesn’t let up. He curls his fingers just right with every thrust, hitting that perfect spot within you as he tilts his head to watch you fall apart. Soon enough, you cumming on his fingers. Your hand in his hair grips the back of his neck, lower lip between your teeth as you sigh loudly—a pathetic attempt to muffle your moans.

Michael scoffs at your reaction, shaking his head in disapproval. “Tsk, I don’t like that.”

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You lie completely naked on the king-sized bed in the main bedroom, your back against the cool duvet as Michael rids himself of his pants and boxers.

“Gonna make you cum all night, baby,” he teases, gripping the underside of your knees before pulling you to the lowermost end of the bed, “Gonna make love to you, then fuck you, then make love to you over and over again.”

“Fuck—” His words shoot straight to your middle, a hot, fuzzy feeling erupting right below your belly button. The slight friction burn from him yanking you forward goes unnoticed as he kneels between your legs and presses teasing kisses to your inner thigh. Your hips buck, needing more attention right where he’s purposefully ignoring you.

“So needy,” Michael blows on your clit, then kisses your thighs again. “What do you want, ma, hmm?”

“Please?” You whine, attempting to push his head forward.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” Mike resists your push, blowing on your clit again. His cool breath makes your body tingle, nipples hardening in response.

This is torture. He’s so close yet so far. You could easily push yourself forward and connect his lips to your needy centre, but he’d just pull back and leave you begging.

“Tell me,” Mike repeats, squeezing the flesh of your butt with two fingers.

“Eat my pussy, Mikey. Please.” You give in, pressing your head hard against the mattress.

“Good girl.” Michael praises you before diving right in. His tongue flattens over your vulva, then slides upwards before he presses open-mouthed kisses over your clit. He moans like a starved man, sucking and licking your wet skin with lustful eyes focused on your reaction.

Your back arches as he devours you, hands gripping the duvet while you moan uncontrollably. Michael lifts your legs up and places one on each shoulder, giving him more access to your dripping pussy. He circles his tongue over your clit, then slides two fingers into you. Your breath goes frantic when he sucks on your clit and curls his fingers inside of you, causing yet another orgasm.

“Oh my god—Mike!” You finally speak, voice strained and shaky. Your hips rock in tandem with his fingers, a tight knot in your belly so close to unravelling.

“That’s it, sweet thing,” Michael mumbles with his mouth still wrapped around your clit.

You fall apart again, eyes squeezing shut as you moan his name with a cracked voice. Your legs shake and press against Michael’s face, pussy oozing with arousal over his chin. Michael hums against you, lapping his tongue over your juices with a satisfied grin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You’re on all fours, face pressed into a soft pillow with your mouth slightly hanging open. Michael’s on his knees behind you. His hands are gripping your hips while he ploughs into you with unimaginable speed, leaving you mumbling sweet nothings, senseless and dumb. His dick, long and thick, stretches you out unapologetically with every sharp snap of his hips.

Michael—ever the tease—strokes the back of your head with a gentle touch, cooing to you in a voice so soothing it leaves your mind numb.

“Such a good girl, hmm? Taking me so fucking well, sweet thing.” He speaks between thrusts, dipping his other hand between your legs to play with your clit. He rubs slow circles on it, a juxtaposition to his feverish thrust. Your mumbles turn into cries of pleasure, eyes watering and dampening the pillow below, while your pussy clenches around Michael.

“Mike—Mike, slow down—shit!” You beg through whimpers, your hands gripping the top of the duvet.

“Are you sure? Ah—” Michael asks mockingly before he moans too.

You shake your head, whining a loud ‘no!’ as another orgasm takes over your body. Your moans are loud, really loud. Michael pulls your head up by the hair when you try to muffle your pleasurable whines in the pillow. You scream his name, pussy gripping his dick so hard he comes undone too. Michael’s seed pours into you, coating your walls with warm arousal as he groans over your back, falling flat on top of you.

You both lie there unmoving, breathing erratically while Michael strokes your head again. He chuckles, and you do the same, knowing damn well what he’s thinking.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Michael pushes into you again, making you both whine at the contact. You’re on your back again, legs circled around his hips with your hands gripping his biceps as he uses your hips to guide himself in and out of your sensitive pussy. His thrusts are unhurried, rolling his hips with a lazy rhythm. He’s making love to you now, teasing your clit with his thumb while one hand cups your boob. Each push of his hips makes you sigh breathlessly. Your eyes stay closed most of the time, opening them when he almost pulls out completely just to push back in with that leisurely pace.

“So sweet for me,” Michael moans, pinching your nipple, “Wish I could lie in you forever.”

“Michael…” You whimper, raking your finger over his toned back when he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. Michael groans into the kiss, mouth parting to let your tongue slide over his lower lip. You suck on his lip, then bite it before licking to soothe it. To say you’re lost in a sensual  haze is an understatement. You’re completely gone. Your eyes are glossy with shiftless tears, hands gripping every reachable inch of Michael’s warm body while you moan and whimper mindlessly as he makes you come yet again.

This time, your orgasm is lethargic, drawing long and dazed moans of Michael’s name out of you. Michael buries his face in the crook of your sweat-slick neck, breathing in your scent while your pussy squeezes him with fluttering pulses.

“Fuck, you’re so tight—mmmm.” He whimpers near your ear, trying his best to hold it together. You wrap your arms around his neck and curl your fingers in his hair, moaning directly in his ear.

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Michael leads you downstairs, hand holding yours as your feet patter barefoot on the cool tiles. You’re both parched, throat dry from all the panting and moaning. He opens the fridge and grabs two bottles of water, popping one open and handing it to you. Your throat thanks you when you take a sip, letting the cold liquid slide down your pharynx.

“I ain’t done with you, you know that?” Michael sips from his own bottle, holding soft eye contact with you.

“Are you serious?” You almost choke on water, skin cooling down as you both stand in the kitchen naked.

“What did I say before you came on my mouth?”

Fuck

“Come on,” Michael tosses his empty bottle in the bin, placing yours on the kitchen island as he holds a hand out for you, “I wanna try something new with you.”

You raise your brows, curiosity evident in your smile as you take his hand in yours and follow him upstairs. On your way up, you poke his butt with your acrylic nail, making him scowl playfully.

“Watch it.” Michael turns around, dick hardening already for what’s to come.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Michael lies on his back, calm and drunk with desire. He motions for you with a finger, eyes hooded and dark as you crawl on top of him. You drop your hips and straddle his fully-hardened dick, rocking over him. Your slick coats his length in your arousal as he ponders for a moment.

“Come ride my face, sweet thing.” He taps his cheeks with long fingers. “Lemme taste that pretty pussy again.”

You wasted no time, crawling further up his body until your glossy centre’s inches away from his lips. Michael inhales your scent, humming in admiration before he tapes your round butt.

“Turn around for me. Want that ass right here.” Michael’s voice rumbles between your legs.

You raise a nervous brow, tilting your head to the side with an awkward smile. “Are you sure?”

“Do I look unsure?” He quips and licks his lips.

You look down at him and bite your lip, shaking your head in disagreement.

He looks very sure.

You turn around, legs on either side of his upper body. The new angel gives him complete access to your ass and pussy. He wastes no time, pulls you down to his lips, pushing his tongue into your needy hole. His tongue explores you as much as possible, lapping at your fresh arousal like a man dying of thirst.

You groan in surprise, fondling your tits as your hips rock against his mouth. When you look down, you notice his unattended dick lying hard on his thigh. As if driven by sheer hunger, you lean forward and wrap your hands around him, still moaning as Michael works behind you. You spit on his tip, thick silva trailing down his large length before you stroke him lazily. Michael’s tongue inside you halts for a second when he whimpers at your touch. Your hands squeeze him in between strokes, making him moan more and more against your dripping pussy.

When you wrap your lips around his tip, all hell breaks loose. Michael thrusts involuntarily into your mouth, whimpering around your clit, which makes you moan too. A sultry song between lovers breaks in your shared bedroom. Your moans vibrating through his body only make him moan, doing the same to you. Not only do your moans add extra friction between you two, but they also fuel you both on. You bob your head over Mike’s thick dick, slurping on your own slip, which trails down his length. Michael bucks his hips in unison with your head bobs, hitting the back of your throat with a twitching tip. He doesn’t stop eating you out either. His tongue buries itself in your pussy again, moaning over your clit while he messily sucks on it. His chin and cheeks are drenched in a mix of yours and his arousal, a mix of wetness and semen coating his chiselled jaw while he presses open-mouth kisses to your vulva.

You cum concurrently. Michael’s hands grip your soft ass while he spills into your mouth. His warm cum coats your throat, some dripping out of your mouth as you cough from choking slightly. You don’t stop stroking him. Your hands move up and down his dick while you suck on his oozing tip, milking him dry for all he has. When you cum, you cover Michael’s lips in slick arousal. He drinks it all, whimpering and lapping his tongue to capture every drop of your orgasm into his mouth.

“Tastes so good—fuck!” Michael groans, drinking your last drop of arousal. He smacks your ass then rubs the plush flesh, definitely leaving a bruise. Your legs finally give in, and you almost suffocate him with your ass when you fall against him. Michael laughs a hearty but exhausted laugh when he pushes you off his face.

“Sorry.” You giggle and rest your head atop his sweaty chest, wiping a drop of your cum off his lip. Michael grasps your hand and licks your finger clean, greedy for every drop of you. “Jeez, Mike.”

“What?” He shrugs and kisses your finger. “You taste good, ma.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Birds chirp outside, indicating the dawn of a new day. Michael flips you both on your side, spooning you under the thick covers. His hand cups your boob, then slides down to push your leg slightly forward. His dick lies hard on your thigh, ready for another round.

“Nigga, you’re crazy.” You whine, fighting sleep, but suddenly feel turned on again.

“I made you a promise.” Mike presses his tip to your entrance, asking for permission. “Sun’s not up yet.”

You nod and he slowly—lazier than before—eases himself into you. You both sigh. Michael drapes his arm over your belly, pressing his face to the back of your neck with closed eyes. Your eyes are shut too, cheek pressed against your pillow as you intertwine your hand in his.

He makes love to you again, hips thrusting sluggishly from all the sensitivity from your previous activity. He whimpers into your skin, praising how you feel and how much he loves you and your body. You’re utterly gone too, mouth ajar and drooling on your pillow. You whine his name over and over again, letters morphing into each other as you twitch from super-sensitivity.

“Sweet thing. You drive me wild.” Michael grazes his teeth on the back of your neck, dick twitching inside you. His pace lets you feel every vein and ridge of his length, turning you on more than you thought possible.

“I love you, Mikey.” Your voice cracks, and you orgasm one more time. “I—I love you so much.”

“Love you more, ma.” Michael fills you with seed once more, groaning pathetically on your skin as his hips falter. “I love you more.”

@pyt03 @lov3lylxvender @nobleumbrashrine @zerosugarcherrydrpepper @angeleface @beberock375 @michaeljacksonsleftnipple @xxhoneymo0n @kordulka @iiovey0u @michaeljacksonsbae @mikesbian @kneelarmhstrung @mikejacksbabymommaaaaa @nunusmoll @istayuptoolateonthisapp15 @funkaoverwar @khxna @uconnwbbloversworld1 @plan3tch1ld @theyluvchanel @18lkpeters @0-n-1-x @myhobari @lilitheebaddest @tojiswifeforlife @butt3rfleye @lover-of-games-horror-music17 @cloverjeanmj @star-gurl4life @michaelkisskissgirl @zero820 @justglennreading @peachypeanut @1andonlytashae @thebabykashmere @ghostlycrestcurse @delictezz @heyitsconysstuff @calicina @fruitysoulorg @ilikyo @likewf @sebbysbaby @blacclotusss @whimsicalangel07 @cunty000 @froggyreadsss @mjsbiggestlover @iimsopretty

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Soft wisps of his hair fell from the loose bun that was tied haphazard and low against the back of his head, curling against his cheek and across his shoulders, only for you to bring a trembling hand up to smooth them back and tuck them behind his ears — lewd whines bubbling from your sore throat (courtesy of Eddie and his pretty cock that he had shoved nice and deep down your throat merely minutes before).

Your thighs were wide— bitten and shaking all while accommodating his face and shoulders to settle into, just barely begun, his mouth already lapping at your slick and puffy pussy, but oh so cruelly avoiding the swollen peak of your clit.

“Eddie,” you whined out, the frustration clear in your voice and you swore you could see the corners of his mouth turn upwards and the crinkles around his eyes deepen, but with the constant love hearts and sparkly stars that swirled around your vision, you weren’t 100% sure.

“Aw, sweetheart-” he moved his mouth away from your clenching pussy with an obscene squelch— arousal still dripping from you and pooling against the sheets. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving your pretty clit enough attention, hm?”

You shook your head, no, suddenly aware of the tears that trickled down your cheeks in long, black lines, lashes all clumped and thick with your mascara.

So, so frustrated.

“See, I can’t give you what you want unless you use your words for me, baby.” He cooed out, speech sugary sweet, mocking you entirely with a pout upon his lips, just like yours. “Come on, you can do it.”

“Wan’ it so bad, Eds-” you sniffled, wanting so badly to clamp your thighs shut and squeeze them tightly— anything for some sort of stimulation.

Eddie chuckled, smoothing a callused hand up your tummy and palming one of your breasts, tugging and rolling the pebbled nipple between a thumb and forefinger.

He tutted, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth so teasingly.

“Ah ah, what’s the magic words?”

Your breath hitched, rushing to whine those two special words, the thumping of your clit begging to be eased and sated, your sopping hole clenching around nothing.

“Please, daddy!”

And in an instant, not even seconds after you had uttered your plea, Eddie buried his face into your pussy— tongue immediately running between your folds before latching onto your tortured clit, sucking it between his lips and into his mouth.

“See,” he muttered, words slurred and muffled against your cunt, the vibrations coursing through your clit, causing your hips to buck into his face. “Wasn’t so hard was it?”

His tongue pressed flat against your pulsing clit before shaking his head from side to side, more of his pretty tresses coming loose and cascading along your thighs.

“Go on, sweetheart, tell daddy how it feels.”

You arched into him, whining loud and crude, gasping all breathy, love hearts beating out of your eye sockets at the sight of him between your plush and pillowy thighs.

“Oh, daddy,” you sighed dreamily, crying out again when he pulled back to spit on your pussy as if you weren’t wet enough already. “feels s’good. Look so pretty, too.”

The tears were rolling still, and Eddie’s hips were rutting into the mattress, so hard from your pretty face and gasping whines— he thought he’d cum just from the sight of you crying all pathetic like that (and he couldn’t ignore the way he throbbed when you mentioned how pretty he looked).

But he couldn’t cum yet, gotta have you cum first, that’d fuel his ego real good.

“I know, baby, feels real good, doesn’t it.” He punctuated his speech with harsh suckles, every so often his tongue would trail farther down and lap its way into your hole, thrusting his jaw and nudging against your gummy walls, giving it something to clench around, before coming back to where it belonged— pressed snugly against your puffy clit. “Such a good girl.”

Good girl.

You shivered at his praise, yet again thrusting your hips into his face, causing him to press you back down with his two palms.

“Oh yeah, I know you like that, sweet girl.” His spit was everywhere, mixing with your creamy slick, trailing along your tummy and inner thighs— and the most beautiful sight of them all, your sweetness dripping down Eddie’s chin and soaking his pretty jaw. “Such a daddy’s girl, ain’t ya, baby.”

A constant mantra slipped from your lips in a quick succession. Yesyesyes. Fingers reaching for Eddie’s pillow for something to grip onto because you could feel that mouth-watering feeling at the bottom of your stomach, fluttering around like butterflies before pulling tight. So, so close,,

“You gonna cum, hm? Y’gonna cum for daddy, baby?” He spoke, eating your pussy like a starved man and claiming that your pussy tastes like fucking peaches, sweetheart. With him staring up at you with those pretty brown eyes, all sparkly and doe-like, completely mesmerising and pulling you into a trance, your orgasm grew closer at that, letting mindless babbles to slip.

“Please can I cum? Daddy please-” there’s those magic words again, they had his cock leaking, so close to busting, but he aimed to keep his composure. “I’ve been a good girl, haven’t I?”

“That’s right, sweetheart- been such a good girl—” his movements were sloppy, but fuelled the fire even more. “So sweet askin’ for permission.”

Once again, to seal the deal, he shook his head quickly from side to side, his nose bumping against your clit while his tongue lay flat, leaving no part of your sweet cunt left behind.

“Do it for me, baby-” he gasped, chest heaving, losing breath but it felt so good. Eddie ate pussy for his pleasure, too. “Cum.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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