𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑯𝑨 ♡ྀི.ᐟ

Underneath your materialistic nature, you were the perfect lady for him. Albeit a lot younger than he would’ve usually gone for, not that he cared nowadays, but you were the embodiment of marriage material. You spoilt him with unconditional love and affection, showered him in praise and compliments that left him blushing, tended to his needs and wants whenever he so needed, respected his busy, demanding career, spent every minute at his side, supporting and sticking up for him, and never stopped loving him no matter what.

You were proud to be his woman — no matter what anyone had to say about you.

A week didn’t go by without the tabloids reporting on how you were a horrible girlfriend, irritating you further as it was hard to miss the humongous twenty-four carat gold Cartier engagement ring on your finger that literally blinded everyone who walked past you, and that you were dragging him down by being a spoiled brat.

They also didn’t know that Michael made you this way.

Before him you were a normal girl — you grew up in a traditional household, seemingly classic childhood, and didn’t have things handed to you on a silver platter. You understood you had to work for what you wanted, and that extravagant, expensive things didn’t come without effort.

It was only when you started dating Michael did he remind you that money actually did grow on trees in his eyes — and those paper notes in his wallet were at your fingertip whenever you so desired.

It all started on your twenty-fifth birthday — you had been seeing Michael for a mere few months at this point, and had been slowly integrated into his bustling lifestyle. You saw the money, the clothes, the antiques, the jewels, the cars — everything. It was a sight to see, the wealth that oozed from like it was natural, like how a billion-dollar net-worth was normal.

You had spent the evening at an extremely fancy restaurant, one that required a minimum of two years waiting time to get a table, one that Michael had obtained with a five minute phone call two days beforehand. He was Michael Jackson after all.

He had arranged, in the sweetest way a boyfriend could do, for all your family and friends to join you in the restaurant that had been booked out — leaving you with your loved ones, and very famous boyfriend, to have some much needed privacy. You all indulged in ridiculously overpriced, minuscule portioned food that, much to your dismay, tasted incredible — practically moaning with each bite.

It was only when dessert had been polished off, did the gifts begin to roll in. Your parents had bought you a gorgeous necklace, a locket, with a portrait of their wedding photo and your baby picture on each side — a heart-warming, sentimental present that had tears welling up in your eyes.

Your friends got you personal, hilarious yet fitting gifts that had a smile spread so wide across your face you were certain it was stuck there.

But, when it came to Michael’s gift, it took the cake.

He placed an item in front of you on the table, unable to his smile, as the words ‘Hermés’ embroidered into the cotton covering hit your eyes.

“No way, Michael.” You breathed, eyes practically bulging out of your head at the gift before you.

“Open it, baby.” He pressed, voice soft and calm was he awaited the excitable panic to arise.

Your hands trembled frantically as you tore the covering off, gasping loudly, as well as many others on the table, as a chic, white Birkin bag rest in your hands. The very one you’d mentioned to Michael you’d wanted your whole life, an item you knew you’d never have, but desired more than anything.

The loud scream-like squeal that left your mouth had Michael chuckling softly as you rose to your feet, jumping up and down in undeniable joy, hands flailing as the realisation hit you that the one physical item you had wanted in the whole world had been blessed upon you by your boyfriend of only six months.

You flew into Michael’s embrace, throwing your arms around his neck as you giggled delightfully into his ear, pulling back to litter kisses all over his grinning face.

“Happy Birthday, doll.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek, as you flew back into your seat, gazing lovingly at the bag, feeling wrong to even be able to touch it, let alone carry it around.

It was from that moment Michael knew he had created a monster — watching as the glint in your eye, as you gazed at the present, grew stronger than any reaction you’d given to the previous presents. He could tell, by the look in your blown pupils, that this, this bag, that cost a fortune, that was just a drop in the ocean for him — meant more to you than the any personal, sentimental gift your loved ones had got you.

A bag — a fucking bag, meant more to you than a personalised present that had real meaning.

And when you got home that night, in a loved-up daze of excitement as you rode him into the mattress, all other gifts discarded downstairs, back arched into his touch as his cock slammed into you, did Michael feel the obsession with money begin to start by the way your eye kept catching the bag that rest upon the nightstand in the moonlight — needy whines of pleasure only increasing in octave at the moment you realised you needed more.

More of his cock, more of him, more of his money — you didn’t care. You just knew that Michael was yours, forever and always.

And Michael felt the exact same way. He knew you deserved this, that he wanted to spoil you rotten with this expensive lifestyle, not because he wanted to win over your love and loyalty — but because you already gave it beforehand without needing to be spoiled. You had shown irrevocable love and attention to him, despite his life, career and age, and never once faltered. You had been there, a constant reminder from the day he met you a year ago, to the moment he gifted you that bag, that you were always going to be the one to love him.

That’s when he decided he had to turn you into his little princess. One that was shocked when something was only $3,000, claiming that it was cheap, or refused to buy (let him buy) something that didn’t come from Dior or Chanel, or didn’t understand why you had no more room in your walk-in closet at your shared home after your thousandth shopping trip on his card this week.

You were truly spoiled tooth decayingly rotten.

But, you never let it ruin how you felt towards him.

He could’ve gone broke and you would still love him. Sure, you’d be fucking devastated as you now you were hooked on clearing out every department store every chance you got — but you knew he was the one for you. The one you wanted to marry, have children with, love forever and grow old with.

But, you were too far gone now.

Michael had marked his expensive taste into you forever — branding you into a materialistic diva who always needed his card or his cars. And he loved it — literally dying at any chance to spoil you, shower you in gifts and surprises that cost thousands each time, something he wouldn’t even notice coming out of his bank account, but something that would leave you smiling and squealing, kissing him all over.

He had built the perfect lady to spoil.

And the more you were drenched in expensive clothing, and jewellery, and sunglasses, and nails and a new blow-out each week, did you become just that little bit more ditsy.

Ditsy and unaware of how unbearably stunning you were — and how much of a brat you had become.

Everyone around you, including Michael, knew — they could sense it each time you’d have a conversation with him or talk about things that were such first-world problems, but meant so much to you. They would exchange glances, as Michael would just smile, glistening eyes hidden behind his infamous aviators, as you rambled on, pouting about how Armani didn’t have the $14,000 dress you wanted in stock, even after you told them you were marrying Michael Jackson.

They would see you, pouting and complaining about something totally unnecessary and borderline ridiculous, and then Michael, enabling the behaviour by apologising to you, kissing you with a smile, before getting Giorgio himself on the phone to demand the dress to his home within the next twenty-four hours or else he’d pull his credit card from file and threaten to never spend another cent there again if they upset his lady like that again.

They’d watch, utterly gobsmacked, as you’d purr praises into his ear as you kissed along his jawline, complete oblivious to the fact that other people were in the room and watching you press yourself up against him, whispering ‘Thank you, Mikey, I just need it so bad, ‘Love you so much.’

But, with being a spoiled brat came with its downsides.

The downside being your temper tantrums at your least favourite word.

No.

A downside that he thought was utterly hilarious and adorable each time your eyebrows would furrow in irritation with a pout on your face whenever he’d, once in a blue moon, say the word ‘No’ to you. A reaction he’d only brought upon himself with his incessant spoiling — but he didn’t care, he would just tease you back, tugging on your jutted out bottom lip, pressing a peck there before demanding you to behave or else he’d never spend another dollar on you again.

You both knew he was lying whenever he uttered those words — because you’d soon get your way.

But, these tantrums would make you into a real brat. Often acting up just to further your point or to piss him off deliberately, just so he could feel exactly how you felt right now.

Your latest had been after being told you couldn’t have a $150k Chandelier for a room you never even went into in your twelve bedroom mansion.

So, in retaliation, you’d either not speak to him for a few hours, caving in yourself in the end after you realised your silent treatment didn’t prevail, or refuse to drink the $50 cocktail you ordered when he’d take you out for dinner just to rub it in his face, or blast music throughout the house, a song with deliberate intent to wind him up.

Just like today — you had walked down stairs, rubbing your eyes from the tiredness that plagued you, yawning as you sauntered into the living area, where Michael resided with a few familiar producers, musical engineers, his manager and his close personal friend, Chris Tucker.

“Ah, there she is!” Chris spoke excitedly, “Speak of the devil, huh?”

Michael chuckled, peering behind him to meet your sleepy frame, lip coming between his teeth at the sight of you.

You were dressed, barely, in a Dolce & Gabbana lacy nightgown, one that left little to the imagination due to its short length and thin straps that were loose over your shoulders — a beautiful duck-egg grey that complimented your skin tone, a colour Michael loved on you. His eyes raked over you, a familiar seductive glint present in his pupils at your erect nipples poking through the satin filled his vision.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Christopher?” You sassed, eyebrows furrowing as you stared him down.

Chris laughed, “Damn, someone’s not a morning person, huh?” Michael returned the chuckle at the truth in his question, “We were talkin’ about that Chandelier.”

Michael groaned, rolling his eyes with a playful smile, “Don’t get her started.”

You instantly burst into a smile, “Oh my God, isn’t just such a good idea!” You exclaimed, “It’s so pretty, like the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. I need it.”

“Baby, we don’t even go in the room you want it in.” Michael reminded, peering over at you as the room erupted into laughs.

“That’s beside the point.” You huffed, hands settling on your hips, “It’s pretty and I want it.”

You missed the way the room exchanged looks that said ‘Oh, wow’ in shock at your sassed firing back, as Michael just smiled at you.

“Do I not even get a good-morning kiss before you start demanding stuff this early, baby?”

Your face changed dramatically again, a soft grin tugging onto your face as you giggled, walking towards where he sat on the couch.

You bent down, completely unaware to how your nightdress rode up your backside, flashing the curve of your ass and your lacy panties to the men sat behind you, as you pressed a kiss to his lips. The only noise, in the uncomfortable silence only falling upon those not engaging in the lip-locking, was your happy hums into his mouth and the sound of lips connecting.

You rose once again, the room huffing out stabilising breaths as your behind was covered once more, again barely, smiling down at Michael, “So, can I have it now?”

“Still no, baby.”

And it started.

You frowned deeply, an even deeper pout forming on your face as your hands crossed over your chest, not noticing the way Michael licked his lips hungrily as your tits pressed up more into his view, as the tantrum began.

“Why?”

“Because it’s $150,000, angel, for something that will collect dust and never even be seen.” Michael spoke, voice still soft despite your attitude.

“It won’t collect dust, I’ll clean it.” You attempted to convince him, knowing that it was all lies.

Michael snorted, “Baby, I don’t think I’ve seen you clean a single inch of this house, let alone a Chandelier in the guest bedroom.”

You huffed, finding the other men’s laughter behind you taunting, “Fine, I’ll get Martha to clean it.”

Michael chuckled harder as you dragged the maid into your convincing, “I don’t particularly want her breaking her neck trying to get up there, honey.”

“Come on, Mikey, it’ll look so nice in there.” You whined, forcing your pout out further to push him to agree to your ridiculous request, “All the guests who stay in there will agree with me.”

“Baby, no one stays ‘round here. It’ll just go to waste.”

“Chris can stay, I’m sure you’d love waking up to a Chandlier, right, Chris?” You turned around, facing the laughing man who shot his hands into the air in surrender.

“Don’t drag me into this, girl.” He chuckled, shaking his head, “I’m with Mike on this one.”

You groaned, stomping your foot, clad in fluffy slippers, on the floor, “Michael.” You drawled out, voice a whiny beg.

“I said no, honey. Sorry, that’s final.”

You huffed loudly, grumbling under your breath, as Michael just smiled up at you. He was loving this — he absolutely adored riling you up, seeing you pout and get so irritated at him as you sassed him, just making him fall in love with you more.

“Fine, I’ll just go hang out in the kitchen where I’m actually wanted.” You shot back, words completely unreasonable and false as you acted out.

Michael breathed out a laugh, reaching for your hand, “Baby, you are wanted here. I just told you no and you don’t like it. Come on, gimme’ a smile, pretty girl.”

“No.” You fired back, moving backwards to avoid his touch, believing only you were allowed to say the word, “Have fun without me, boys.”

Michael just shook his head, grinning deeply as you moved to storm away, hands still firmly pressed over your chest, “Hey, angel, will you grab me an OJ while you’re in there?”

“No Chandelier, no orange juice, Michael!” You shouted as you moved out of the room, disappearing into the kitchen and out of his view as the room burst into laughter once again.

You were truly a brat — and he adored it.

“Jesus, Mike, that lady of yours sure is something.” One of his engineers chuckled, still in disbelief at your ordeal.

Michael smiled, “She’s perfect.”

And he meant it — even when you were throwing your toys out of your pram like you were so hard done by, he loved you. He was utterly, crazily in love with you. He always treated you with the utmost adoration and respect — caring for and tending to you like you were a real queen, giving up everything to make you happy.

But, when you pushed him too far — you knew about it.

So, when a familiar 90’s tune began blasting from the kitchen, did Michael start to feel his patience wear thin.

His jaw clenched as the lyrics hit his ears, as well as your loud singing, that caused the men sat before him in the room to side-eye one another with cackles at your dig towards him.

No Scrubs by TLC.

A song directly dissing a broke, lazy boy who had the confidence of a King, but couldn’t afford anything for his woman and made himself look a fool.

You say particularly hard when the song sounded, ‘Always talkin’ bout what he wants, and just sits on his broke ass!’, directly aiming it towards your fiancé who twitched in irritation at your insinuation that he was anything but a provider for you.

“Oh shit.” Chris laughed, puffing out his cheeks as Michael kissed his teeth, choosing to let you have your fun.

He didn’t let it affect him too much, knowing that the lyrics were more fitting to you as you were the one who talked about all the things you wanted from him — but it wasn’t the last time you pushed him that day.

He had parted from the house, composing his frustration as you moved your face when he leant down to kiss you before he left for an important meeting, his lips landing on the corner of your mouth instead of where he intended.

He brushed it off, only giving you a pass as you reciprocated his words when he told you he loved you, as most times you’d give him the silent treatment, and went about his day.

But, alas, you didn’t let up.

He had been deep in important business — having a serious conversation about contracts, and expenses, and documents that needed to be signed, when you came storming past the large window that covered the conference room.

The room went silent as the sound of your voice, arguing with the office building receptionist, who trailed behind you, commanding you to stop walking and leave at once, rang through the room, muffled through the glass.

“Ma’am, that is a confidential meeting, you are not permitted to be in there.” The older lady demanded, pointing her finger at you harshly.

You scoffed, “Lady, I’m the wife.” Michael had chuckled at your false words as you wiggled your ring-clad finger, ignoring the way the businessmen in the room looked at him in confusion, “If I wanna talk to my man when he’s in a meeting, I can. Talk to the hand, girl.”

Michael laughed again at your childish response as you shoved a manicured hand in her face, ignoring the way she gasped as you pushed the door open.

“Hi, baby!” You exclaimed, smiling brightly as you shuffled into the room.

You were an oxymoron to the boring professionalism of the meeting where middle-aged men with greying beards in dark-coloured suits watched you in shock as you stood in the doorway — dressed head to toe in a pink D&G mini-dress, kitten heels on your pedicured feet, five large shopping bags in your right hand, and a baby-blue, bedazzled leash in your left, connected to your two-year-old Pomeranian puppy-dog who barked loudly, one he’d got for you on your one-year anniversary.

“Say hi to Daddy, LV!” You let the leash go from your grasp as the tiny dog ran towards Michael at the end of the table, jumping up at his leg as it continued to bark.

Michael, choosing to ignore the way everyone in the room looked utterly bewildered at what was occurring in front of them, picked up the small dog and cuddled it in his lap, letting the pup lick all over his face.

“Ugh, what a day I’ve had already, Mikey.” You started with a huff, setting your bags down in the large table that adorned majority of the room, unaware you’d just placed them on important documents right in front of a random man, before you continued with your rant, “The lady at Louis tried to kick me out ‘cuz I brought LV in there.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “Even after I told her I named my baby boy after the store.”

It was true — you had legitimately named your dog after Louis Vuitton. Something that Michael thought was hilarious and adorable all in one each time you’d beckon the pet into the back garden to use the bathroom before bedtime.

“Sounds awful, honey.” Michael spoke softly, hands still pawing at the fluff-ball in his hands, “How much today?”

You peered down at the many bags splayed across the table as he nodded towards them, wondering how much of his net-worth had been drained today.

“Oh, not even that much, like $8k?” You smiled, “Found some self-restraint.”

Someone in the room scoffed, cutting through your conversation, all heads whipping towards the noise as the man scrunched his face up into disgust as he stared at you.

“You do realise we are in the middle of an extremely important meeting, right?” The man spoke, hands waving towards the men crowded round the table.

“Yeah, so?”

Michael couldn’t help but smile at your ignorant response — revelling in how ridiculously rude, yet hilarious, your interrupting prescene was. He thought it was blissful — you visiting him while he was working despite your morning.

But, he knew you had an ulterior motive.

You were deliberately embarrassing him — making an unnecessary scene just to make a fool of him. To piss him off just because he said no to you. That you travelled from the other end of town where the shopping mall was just to bombard his meeting.

He knew it was annoying you that he hadn’t snapped yet — that your hard work to rile him up wasn’t working. Yet. You still had a few tricks up your sleeve — one’s that would have him seething.

“Ma’am, I—“ “Anyways, baby, which one should I wear later?”

Michael’s jaw clenched tightly as you reached into one of your shopping bags and pulled out two sets of extremely promiscuous, laced lingerie sets — leaving nothing to the imagination as you held them up for the whole room to see.

One was red, with a garter belt you could wear around your thigh, with silk and lace decorating the rim of the panties and bra. The other was white, with pretty bows on the front of both items, and the panties were crotchless.

Michael sucked his lip between his teeth, shaking his head as you smirked evilly at him — you both had a silent understanding that you knew exactly what you were doing.

“I’m thinking the white,” You started, peering at it as you held it higher, “Easy access, y’know?”

You didn’t miss the way Michael’s eyes darkened as you giggled, feigning innocence, as the room plastered shocked expression on their faces at your audacity.

“Still a no, baby.”

You raised your eyebrows at his words, tongue rolling over your front teeth as you titled your head to the side, looking at him as if it were just the two of you in the room.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re referring to, Michael.” You fired back, a hand on your hip as you moved your head sassily.

“You do. And it’s still a no.”

Michael couldn’t help but feel a sense of success as you huffed in irritation, stomping that heeled foot once again, shoving the sets back into one of the bags and snatching the rest off the table quickly, letting papers fly to the floor, ignoring the way people groaned out loudly in frustration.

“Come to Mommy, LV,” You ordered, tapping your bare thigh as the little dog jumped from Michael’s lap to sit by your feet as you took the leash in your hand once again, “Daddy clearly doesn’t love Mommy as much as he says.”

Michael laughed, “Baby, c’mon now.”

“Whatever, Michael.” You spat, waving him away as you turned on your heel and stormed out of the room, heels clicking as the door slammed behind you, head held high as you flicked the sunglasses that rest upon your head back over your eyes, disappearing around the corner.

The room fell into awkward silence as the men exchanged disbelieving looks with one another until Michael let out a chuckle, still finding your out-break humorous.

“Let’s continue, shall we?”

Michael had assumed, in his ignorance, that maybe you would let this go soon enough — that you’d find something else, hopefully a little less expensive, to obsess over. Maybe he’d surprise you with new heels you could wear out with your bratty stomping, or a new bag you could smack him with whenever you fell into one of your adorable little moods that he loved.

But, no.

You weren’t giving up that easy — it was no fun getting glamorous things without a little challenge sometimes.

And Michael soon realised you weren’t letting this go when he slipped into the back of the black Mercedes that always transported him around, now late in the evening, sighing as he got comfortable in the seat, eyes hiding behind his aviators as people swarmed the car, raising a hand to wave with a smile to his delighted fans.

It was only when he looked down at the Nokia you had bought him for his birthday, one that he still had no idea how to use, and saw a notification that had him cursing under his breath and grinding his teeth in anger.

-$150,000 — New transaction from ‘R.H CHANDELIERS’ on American Express ending in 3398

Oh, you had really done it now.

When Michael pushed open the door to your home, ignoring the way it slammed against the wall from the sheer strength of his hands against it, you were no-where to be seen. Just a few handy-men who walked down the stairs, carrying empty boxes and bubble wrap, sighing in fatigue as they wiped sweat from their foreheads.

“Who are you?” Michael snapped, not even bothering to be jovial and pleasant as the two worn out men froze.

“I, uh, sorry, Mr Jackson, we just had a call to fit this new Chandelier, your fiancée said it was urgent.” One spoke up, voice cracking nervously at the look of rage in Michael’s face.

“Get out.”

They didn’t wait around — instantly rushing out the door and shutting it gently behind them, with trembling hands. Michael also didn’t skip a beat, striding up the stairs with long, rushed steps as he rushed across the house, straight to the guest bedroom.

However, when he pushed the door open, chest heaving, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

There was no Chandelier.

“Wrong room, jackass.”

Michael’s head snapped to his left, clenching his jaw at the sight of you stood in the doorway of the master bedroom where you and Michael resided the most, clad in the white lingerie set you had once attempted to embarrass him with, the heels you were wearing previously still on your feet as you stared at him, daringly.

“What did you just say to me?” Michael snapped, walking slowly towards you, clear anger spread across his face, only furthering his heightened emotions as you just smiled.

As he reached you, you slipped away from him inside the room, making sure to sway your hips the way you knew he loved, as you disappeared out of view. Michael followed you, cursing the betrayal of his lewd mind as his eyes fell to the curve of your bare ass, before walking straight into the room you had hidden in.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight.

You were now splayed across the bed on all fours, back arched, legs spread to display your glistening pussy through your crotchless panties, a seductive grin still tugged onto your lips. And above you — a breath-taking, bejewelled Chandelier, cladding 3,500 diamonds that twinkled in the sunrise through the large window behind you.

“Which is prettier?” You spoke lowly, never leaving his eyes as he undressed you with his eyes, the burning flame of fury never leaving his gaze.

Michael was scarily quiet as he sauntered slowly towards the edge of the bed — eyes dark and unreadable as he approached you silently. His jaw was still pressed into a tight clench when he reached you, forcing you to swallow thickly in anticipation.

“I told you no.”

The words hit deep in your chest as the insinuation of the concequence of your actions crept up your spine — the smile now dropping from your lips as you shuddered.

“‘M sorry, baby, but,” There it was, your argumentative tone as usual, “You said no to the guest room — not in here.” You sassed, sporting your usual pout

You gasped loudly, half-heartedly mixing with a moan, as Michael’s large palm connected with the bare of your left ass-cheek, sending shockwaves of anticipatory pleasure through your body.

“You never listen.” He started, rubbing soothing circles over the skin he had assaulted, “You’re so ungrateful.”

You whimpered at his harsh words, before squealing as another crack of his hand against your stinging cheek sounded into the room. Even despite the blinding pain with each brutal spank, your body betrayed you as your soaked cunt clenched around nothing, begging to be touched as the sexual tension ignited in the room.

“‘M really sorry, baby.” You mewled, tears springing to your ears as another smack landed on your swollen skin, “Just wanted it so badly.”

“And I wanted you to behave but you decided to be a fucking brat instead.”

You couldn’t suppress the moan that fell past your lips at the word, meant to be an insult, but sent shockwaves of arousal coursing through your veins, landing straight between your legs where you dripped.

Michael’s eyebrow twitched up his face at your reaction, a dangerous smile creeping up onto his face, “Oh? You like being called a brat, huh?” He started, fingers trailing down the skin of your inner thighs, “You like it when I call you out for being my fucking spoiled little princess?”

“Yes.” You cried out, hips jerking backwards as his fingers finally dragged along your clothed pussy lips, avoiding the opening where your cunt revealed itself to him, now drenched from your essence, “Please punish me, Daddy.”

Michael groaned — the sensuality of the nickname hitting him beneath his boxers where he too twitched, now the hardest he ever had been as you lurched back into his touch, whining with your lip tucked under your teeth.

It was only when he slid a finger through your spread folds, collecting your arousal on a singular digit, drowning in the way you whined his name like a prayer, hips now jolting involuntarily as you begged for his touch as his finger swirled around your clenching hole, did he finally smile. He teased you relentlessly, letting you cry out, tears now falling freely from your eyes as he refused to fill you with his fingers, watching as you writhed pathetically from one touch.

“Beg for it.” He commanded, dipping just the tip of his middle finger into your spasming cunt, smirk deepening as you whined loudly.

“Please, God, please, baby, I’ll be good. I’ll be so fucking good f’you—fuck!” You panted, streaming eyes locked on his eyes as you pleaded, “I’ll never disobey you again, Mikey, I promise. ‘Be such a good girl, forever, ‘swear.”

He hummed, satisfied with your response, pushing a singular finger inside you, vision locked on the way your back arched deeper as he curled his finger just the way you liked — a needy, theatrical moan leaving your test-stricken lips as you ground back onto his hand.

His free hand spread across your side, pulling you back down onto his fingers as he slid a second inside, rubbing tight circles into the curve of your hip-dips, as you fucked yourself back onto him. His name fell from your lips in a chant — eyes rolled to the back of your head in pleasure as the pads of his fingers repeatedly abused the sweet spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“Need your cock!” You exclaimed, eyes now squeezed shut as the arousal thumped deep in your bones, wanting nothing more than to be filled by his manhood.

“Don’t think you’re in a position to be making demands, sweetheart.” Michael reminded, grip tightening on your hip.

“‘M sorry—mmgh—just need to f-feel you!”

He hated the way he felt his resolve wearing thin at your pitiful begging — cock throbbing violently in his briefs as your cunt clenched around him, your wetness dripping down his knuckles.

“Oh, God, don’t stop!” You cried out, head thrown back as your hair splayed across your back, “Fuck, ‘m gonna cum!”

And as soon as your release threatened to spill over — it was snatched away from you as Michael retracted his fingers swiftly. You whined loudly, much like you had done in recent times, more tears splashing down your flushed cheeks as your head hung low as the blissful sensation of an orgasm fizzed away.

“You don’t get to cum.” Michael spoke darkly, the sound of his belt clinking against the floor mixing with his voice as he knelt against the bed, “Not until I say so.”

You nodded meekly, whimpering, “Yes, Michael.”

“Good girl. See? Not that hard, is it?” Michael praised, a hand coming to rub smooth, gentle circles on your ass cheek.

You gasped once more as the head of cock slid between your folds, catching on your aching clit, your muscles tensing as the familiar pleasureful sensation that was ripped away from you climbed back into your body. Your hips pushed back into him at the feeling — whining for more as he just stared down at you menacingly.

“Convince me why I should let you have it, baby.” Michael started, gliding his stiff cock between your folds, collecting your essence over the tip, revelling in the way you whined each time it would nudge your clit, “Why should I let my baby have what she wants all the time?”

“Fuck, please, Michael, please.”

Michael scoffed, “Gotta do better than that, sweetie.”

You cried out, hips jerking back to feel more of him, a desperate noise leaving you, “‘Cuz I love you so much, Mikey—fuck—‘cuz I’m so pretty and sweet and spend all your money on cute clothes that you l-love me wearing. ‘Cuz I wanna marry you and have your babies—oh, fuck me please!”

I mean, you weren’t wrong. If anything, it made Michael chuckle behind you — what you said was so correct yet so you at the same time he couldn’t help but let you have it. You cried out, hand clawing at the bedsheets beneath you as you fell into them, as Michael’s cock dragged to your entrance and slid inside — stuffing you to the hilt as he bottomed out immediately, your cunt twitching aggressively as it struggled to accommodate the fullness.

“So tight f’me, baby, fuck.” Michael groaned, eyes fluttering at the sensation of your convulsing sex wrapped beautifully around his hard cock.

His thrusts were relentless from the get go — the first drag back and push in was harsh and brutal, slamming against your cervix each time. Your eyes were permanently rolled to the back of your head as you drooled, mouth hanging ajar as you jittered around him, the prettiest noises sounding from your lips with each jerk of his hips.

He was unsympathetic — fucking you like he hated you as he set a devilish pace, grunting behind you as pleasure consumed him, too. Your hands frantically flailed behind you, pushing against his flexed abdomen to shove him away, his impressive stamina getting the better of you as he stretched you open — but it did nothing, only spurring him on to fuck you senseless for your teasing and childishness.

“‘Can’t—Can’t take it, ‘S too big!”

Michael landed another harsh slap to your ass cheek, “You can and you will. You owe it to me, baby, for being such a fucking brat.”

His words elicited a pounding throb to your clit — your whines only increasing in octave and decibel as his pace remained unceasing. Michael noticed the way you clenched, begging for more as you sucked him in, and leant over to grab a fistful of your hair — dragging you firmly, albeit still gently, up against his chest.

You panted as your head threw back against his shoulder, eyes still slammed shut, as his thrusts never let up — pleasure surpassing what you had ever felt as his hand slithered down your strained body, and began rolling tight, precise circles onto your clit, slick coating his fingers once more.

“Look at that stupid thing, baby.” Michael ordered, your eyes pouncing open, the ethereal bedroom decoration filling your vision, “Think those diamonds can see how much of a pathetic little princess you are?”

“‘M not—Not pathetic.” You managed to blurt out, whimpers falling past your lips the second sentence left you.

“Quit your bitchin’.”

Michael soon shut you up, shoving his free hand of fingers down your throat — the taste of your essence landing on your tongue as you hummed and swirled the warm muscle around him, now plugged at both ends as his other hand still worked magic against your clit, the familiar sensation of your release creeping up your spine.

“‘M there!” You mumbled against his fingers, spit coating his digits as you slobbered over him.

“Yeah? ‘M there too, pretty, give it to me. Give Daddy what he wants for once.” Michael panted, breath hot against your ear, “Gonna fill this pussy so good you’ll want nothin’ else from me ever again.”

You cried out — loud enough so that everyone in the house could hear exactly how blissfully pleasured you were as your orgasm hit you full force. You writhed in his grasp, the hand stuffed into your mouth now grabbing a handful of your breast, toying with your erect nipple through the lace of your bra as he continued to not only plough deep into your convulsing cunt, but also play with your swollen clit. You chanted his name like a prayer as he soon found his release, groaning as he sunk his teeth gently into the bare of your shoulder to ground himself as his hips finally stuttered, burying himself as deep as he could reach — his warm, spurting cum flooding your spent pussy.

Michael, despite your whines of overstimulation, rolled lazily, deep thrusts inside you — ignoring his own overwhelm as he fucked seed further inside you, before pressing a soft, loving kiss to where his teeth marks con-caved into your skin.

When he pulled out, hissing at the sensation, you fell forward onto the bed, panting as you attempted to retrieve your breath — cheeks now red hot, and body aching from the relentless sex. Michael crashed next to you, sighing loudly, as he pulled you against his chest, until the only sound that filled the room was his thumping heartbeat in your ear, and soft, yet ragged breaths.

“You.”

“What?”

“You’re prettier.” He admitted, eyes meeting your dazed ones, both of your lips tugging into a smile.

You leant up — connecting your lips in a gentle kiss, displaying your deep, irrevocable adoration for your man, mouths moving slowly together. You pulled away, brushing a stand of his silky hair away from his face, cupping his cheek, before pecking the tip of his nose.

“Does that mean it can stay?”

Michael laughed — even after everything, you were still set on that damn Chandelier.

“Fine,” He breathed out a chuckle, kissing to your cheek as you both peered up at the glistening decoration that had caused your playful disagreement,

“It can stay.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

That’s right — Michael Joseph Jackson was your fucking boss.

And you weren’t the colleague that attended his meetings, or interviews, or helped on set of one of his many music videos — you were his children’s nanny.

You ate, slept and lived in his home — a live-in babysitter for his two young children. You orbited his world — learnt his habits, and daily routines, likes and dislikes, and became a prominent figure in his offspring’s lives.

They loved you, treated you like the mother that wasn’t as present in their lives, much to your dismay as you’d much rather be seen as a sisterly figure, which only made Michael adore you more.

And that’s what made you fall so deeply head over heels for him.

Michael, much like most celebrities parents, was a busy man, his sole reasoning to hiring a nanny in the first place — but never, ever let his children feel unloved. He was present, as much as he possibly could be despite his demanding career, in his child’s lives like a loving, caring father should be. Every night he’d trudge home in the early dawning of the morning, the sun threatening to rise, and he would still creep into his son and daughter’s individual rooms, and press a soft, tentative kiss to their sleeping foreheads, and whisper how much he loved them. He would, earning childish giggles from his two little ones, attempt to make pancakes on the mornings he was home, bags under his eyes from the interrupted sleep he had gotten the previous night, smiling to himself as the premature batter would crumble the sugary meal into a pile in the saucepan.

He was truly a good man, and an even better father.

Which is exactly how you fell so hard for the older man.

Michael was at least nine years older than you — you in your mid-to-late twenties and he, early forties, something you never felt bothered you. And even in his growing age, Michael had never lost his looks. He was gorgeous and a total flirt — always finding a way to touch you, or give you a compliment that would have you reeling for the next few hours, and leave your pussy soaking wet. He was aging like fine wine — face a carved display of beauty, with sleek, long black locks and an intense confidence that had you blushing each time he walked into a room.

A blush that adorned your cheeks just like in this moment.

You had been preparing dinner — spaghetti bolognaise, albeit with a few finely chopped greens mixed in as you knew the fussy toddlers would downright refuse otherwise, a dish you knew they enjoyed.

You turned your back towards the children in their high chairs, sucking a stray dollop of tomato sauce off your thumb as you straightened the apron that clad your torso.

“Good?” You questioned, running your hands over the material of the apron that had ‘What’s cookin’, good lookin’?’ embroidered into the front — a gift your best-friend had bought you for Christmas, one that Michael would often chuckle at whenever you’d sport it in the kitchen.

“So good!” Prince Jackson, Michael’s eldest child, beamed first, face already smothered with sauce, using his hands to eat his food despite the fork that was gripped in the other.

“Prince, use your fork, please, honey.” You reminded, beginning to gather the dirty saucepans and empty sauce jars towards the sink, where you flicked on the tap, letting the water warm.

You rolled your eyes playfully as Prince whined at your request, shaking your head with a laugh as he ignored you, continuing to messy himself.

“She said use your fork, Prince.” Paris Jackson, Michael’s youngest, fired towards her older brother, looking so sweet in her cherry-red Minnie Mouse bib, as she pointed accusatorially at the older boy.

You giggled, “No fork, no pancakes tomorrow.” You revealed, sounding your words out in a sing-song tone, smiling deeper as the young boy gasped, suddenly letting his hand fall to his side as he began using his fork to swiftly eat his dinner.

“Alright, alright, slow down, buddy.” You smiled as you plugged the sink, letting it rise with warm, soapy-clad water, “You’ll get your pancakes, don’t worry.”

“Do I get some too, lovey?”

You smiled at the nickname — an adorable term of endearment the two children had conjured up for you in the three years you had been working for Michael.

Three long years of loving your boss — and he still had no idea.

“Of course, babygirl,” You reassured, as her face lit up.

“That’s ‘cuz I’m using my fork, Prince.”

You chuckled quietly, as to not promote the behaviour, as the two children bickered childishly, firing playful shots back at one another as they continued to eat, while you washed the dishes slowly, awaiting their filthy ones once they’d finished.

They were the sweetest children, both showing you great affection and adoration from the very moment you met them, often sending you into fits of laughter at the unsuspecting awareness of their brilliant, child-like humour.

“Lovey?” Paris called out, now sporting a similar sauce-covered face to her brother.

“Yes, baby?”

“Are you Daddy’s girlfriend yet?”

You hated the way your heart jumped at the question, completely harmless and inquisitive to the little girl, but an intense sense of need for you — a title you so wished you had.

“Baby, no, I’m your nanny, remember? Lovey makes your dinner, washes your clothes, takes you to school, cleans the stinky toilets,” You reminded as they giggled at the mention of the childish description of the bathroom appliance, “Not Daddy’s girlfriend.”

Paris pouted, “When will you be Daddy’s girlfriend?”

You tried to suppress the small blush that was creeping onto your face at the all too familiar conversation that had your mind reeling. Paris broached this topic with you often — constantly asking you why you weren’t her Daddy’s girlfriend and when exactly where you going to be, a question that had you failing to repress a smile each time she’d ask you. The answer being no, every time, an answer you hated giving — you dreamt, daily, that you actually were his girl, but alas not, and you knew you never would be.

“Paris, don’t ask such questions. That’s rude.”

“Daddy!”

The sound of Michael’s soft, yet sternly guiding, voice hit your ears, alongside the children’s excitable exclaims at their fathers presence, as you paused your gliding movement against a dirty saucepan — the blush that had been growing on your face at the reoccurring topic of your romantic affiliation with the boss you deeply desire, was now at the full force, sending shockwaves of warmth throughout your body.

Michael strode into the kitchen calmly in an unbuttoned, white shirt and black slacks, tie loose around his neck — god, he looked perfect.

“Sorry about that,” Michael started, smiling softly at you as you met his gaze, your heart thumping in your chest at the eye-contact, “She’s just a nosey girl.”

“It’s okay, really.” You replied, voice now softer and less relaxed as you had been when it had just been you and the kids, “I think it’s sweet.”

Michael smiled gently at you, lips tugging at each side as he watched you glance over at Paris who couldn’t care less about her father’s correction of her words, eyes glistening with affection at the adorable little girl.

“How were they today?” Michael questioned, reaching into the fridge to retrieve a cold carton of orange juice, his favourite.

“Amazing, as always.” You admitted wholeheartedly, eyes not daring to meet his own out of your own nervousness, gaze glued to the soapy plates between your grasp, “Paris finished her book, which she was happy about, and Prince finished a banana.”

Michael laughed loudly at the difference in his children’s days, “He finished a banana?”

“Very big achievement, actually,” You chuckled, smile so wide it made your cheeks burn, “You said he’s been refusing to even touch one, let alone finish it, for the past week, right? Not sure what changed but he did it.”

Michael grinned deeply, vision fixated on the way your own gaze landed on his young offspring, eyes full of pure love for his children as you admitted your proudness.

And he knew exactly why Prince decided he suddenly liked bananas. It wasn’t because his tastebuds had changed, or he wasn’t in the mood for it the previous days where Michael had attempted to get him to eat one — it was because of you. You were the reason — knowing his son loved and admired you so dearly that he was willing to finish his least favourite fruit just for your happiness and approval.

“Well done, Princey, good job, buddy.” Michael spoke as Prince thanked him back loudly, voice muffled with the mouthful of food he had eaten, “Thank you, I know I say it all the time, but you are really too good to us.”

The blush spread wildly across your face deepened, the smile splayed over your lips tugging further into your aching cheeks, “No, thank you. I’m forever indebted to you, Michael, and your beautiful little ones.”

As Michael watched you giggled as Paris claimed triumphantly that she had finished her dinner first and that she had first dibs on dessert — his eyes glinting at the genuine grin that adorned your gorgeous face.

Michael, unaware of it yourself, had always found you utterly breath-taking — a stunning sight to bless his eyes each time you’d leave Prince’s room late at night in your skimpy, tight pyjamas shorts, yawning a good-night as you rubbed your eyes, or how you’d let stray pieces of fair fall over your face from your messy bun as you taught Paris how to roll dough with a rolling-pin as you made sugar cookies, or when you’d fall asleep with the kids on the couch, mouth ajar as you slumbered peacefully, a snoring child under each arm, pulling them close to you as you all rested in unison, not helping his own feelings towards you as he’d pull a blanket over you, pressing a kiss to his children’s temples, and then yours, letting his heart flutter in his chest.

Unbeknownst to you, Michael had always felt a little something special towards you that he had never felt for a colleague before — a special place in his heart being reserved just for you. He didn’t know whether it was your kindness towards him, or your dedication to your job role, or your continuous care and love for his children, that made him so interested in you — but he knew he felt something. Something deep in his soul, a familiar feeling that clad your heart too, each time you’d lock eyes.

“Right, let’s get these mucky pups clean, hm?” You spoke, hands on your hips as the two children before you, now finished with their meals, giggled loudly.

Michael watched, taking slow sips of the cold beverage with a smile hidden behind the carton, as you took a turn with each child, wiping down their hands and faces with a warm rag, encouraging them to keep still with a chuckle as they wriggled away from your hands.

“Alright, alright, that’ll do.” You breathed out, shaking your head as you attempted to wipe one last smidgen of sauce from Prince’s cheek, who squeaked, jerking his head to the side to get away from you, “Time for bed.”

Michael, completely transfixed with your natural, maternal instincts, kept his gaze on you as you set Prince down from his chair, and slid Paris onto your hip, smiling to himself as the smaller girl nestled her face into your neck, small arms clinging to your apron.

“Do you want some tea after I finish up?” Your dedication to everyone’s happiness had Michael’s heart swelling in his chest.

Not only did you care for his children so deeply — but you also cared about him, too.

“You go ahead, you’ve done plenty today, thank you, though, sweetheart.”

This time, it was you whose heart skipped a beat at the casual pet-name, nodding quickly, biting back a smile as you led the children from the kitchen, towards the back of the large, elegant mansion, nearer to their bedrooms. You spent the time, finally alone to reduce your increased heart rate, brushing their teeth, fighting to put their pyjamas on, and tucking them in with a bedtime story.

Prince was already fast asleep when you slipped from his bedroom quietly, tip-toeing into the hallway as you closed the door slowly behind you. As you turned around, attempting to head towards Paris’ bedroom next, you jumped with a gasp, your hand slapping over your mouth as you collided with a broad chest.

“God, Michael.” You breathed, hand steadying against your chest as your heart leapt into your throat, “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” He whispered with a small laugh, “Is he asleep?”

“Yeah, just gonna read to Paris,” You nodded, “Wanna come with me? She likes it when I do it, but no-one’s better than Daddy.”

Michael hated himself — not because he didn’t want to aid his daughter to sleep, but because of the thoughts that plagued his mind at your words.

The words, meant to be harmless, turned wicked and twisted in his mind — now clouded seductively in his brain as you addressed him as the pet-name often used in the bedroom, one he was partial to himself.

Michael agreed, nodding slowly as you began to lead the way, cursing himself as his eyes wondered down to the curve of your ass in the shorts that clad your behind — riding dangerously high up the skin that threatened to peek out underneath, a thought that had him twitching beneath his joggers.

He tried not to be a lewd man — striving on traditionalism and being a gentleman. But, when you were this sweet, tentative, and gentle with his children, and cared for him just as much too, whilst being unfathomably beautiful — he literally couldn’t help himself. Often letting his cock twitch as it dared to stiffen in his boxers each time you’d smile at him or accidentally brush your fingers against one another’s.

He was unaware you felt the same way — panties sticking to the ridge of your folds in slickness at the way he’d laugh or hold your gaze intensely, having to swallow thickly from the sheer weight of his aura, eliciting an undeniable, visceral reaction out of you each time without fail. You’d spend most nights, after carrying out your usual day-to-day routine babysitting, with your hands shoved down your pyjama shorts — fingers rubbing frantic circles around your throbbing clit in an attempt to soothe the arousing desire that surged through you every time you got close to him.

You slipped into Paris’ room quietly, smiling as she lay in her bed, eyes open awaiting your arrival, smiling as she met your eyes.

“Hey, princess.” You whispered, striding across the room to perch on the edge of her bed, eyes warming at the sight of her adorable frame tucked up into bed.

Michael wasn’t far behind you — sliding in quietly, not pushing the door completely shut behind you to allow you both to exit in the quietest form possible, before joining you on Paris’ bed.

“What story do you wanna read tonight, babe?” You questioned, voice soft and delicate as your gaze flickered towards the large array of books next to her bed.

“No.” She protested, “Don’t want a book.”

“Oh?” Michael finally spoke, laughing softly at his daughter’s change in character, “Why not, princess?”

Paris huffed, tugging her bedsheets further up her chest, “Well, Daddy, I finished my book today.” She started, rambling, “A-And Lovey said I did a good job so I don’t want to read another one.”

You and Michael, flickering glances towards one another, shared small laughter, as you reached over smoothed the hair on her head, “You funny girl. Why don’t you tell Daddy about your day, then?”

Paris, jumping for joy at the chance to talk, began ranting about how she had pancakes for breakfast, how yours were better than his as they had chocolate chips in them, and then how she and Prince ran around the garden for ages (half an hour), and then she finished her book in the sun with you and Prince, who took a much needed nap in your lap, as you helped her sound out words she didn’t understand yet, before she had the best dinner ever, a meal she’d had a million times before but still adored, especially when you made it.

“Wow, princess,” Michael breathed, now having his hand taken hostage as Paris wrapped her tiny fingers around his own, “Sounds like a great day with Lovey and Princey, hm?”

“Was the best, Daddy.” She mumbled, her own rambling tiring her out as her eyes fluttered against her cheeks, “I miss you.”

You pouted slightly at the adorable connotation of her words, your heart warming as she threatens to drift off into a much needed rest after her bustling day.

“I missed you too, baby,” Michael whispered, leaning over to press a soft kiss to her cheek, thumbing the skin where he had kissed, smiling as her eyes shut for a few seconds before opening once more.

She reached for your hand, tiny fingers now enclosing around your index finger as she peered up at you, “Lovey?”

“Yes, babygirl?” You replied, tracing soft circles on her skin as you grinned down lovingly at her, not noticing the way Michael’s heart thumped in adoration at the interaction.

“I wish you were my mommy.”

Your head snapped towards Michael as you met each other’s gaze — not noticing the way Paris finally fell asleep, grip around your finger falling slack as slumber took over her small body, as your mouth fell ajar at her shocking words, face contorting into shock as you stared at Michael.

Silence consumed you, the sound of Paris’ soft breathing the only noise filling the room, as you let her sudden admission settle in your brain.

“I, um,” Michael started, voice deathly quiet as he attempted to find the right words, “Come on.”

He took your hand, leading you out the room softly, shutting the door behind him carefully, before leading you through the quiet of the house, hand enclosed gently in your own, towards his bedroom.

You’d been in there a few times, albeit alone, grabbing something quickly before rushing out as you felt like you had intruded into his personal space — but this was a whole new step.

He lead you inside, clicking the door closed as you suddenly let the tears fall that had been welling up in your ears from the moment the words left Paris’ lips. You let out a quiet sob — chest wracking as you covered your mouth to conceal your saddened noises as to not wake the children.

Michael embraced you instantly — wrapping his slender arms around your back and pulling you against his chest as you let the tears fall freely from your eyes, down your flushed cheeks at the sudden contact. You clung to his shirt as he held you, your head falling into his chest as you sniffled.

You pulled away, wiping the tears from your eyes, “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t expect her to say something like that.”

Michael breathed, looking down at you as you blinked the wetness away from your lashes, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t either.” He admitted, still holding you close to him, trying to ignore the way his heart thumped in his chest, “I apologise if it’s off-putting.”

Your eyes widened, “No, no, not at all.” You reassured, hands still gripping the smooth of his t-shirt, “I’m honoured, I just feel so sorry that she doesn’t have her real mother here.”

Michael’s chest tightened at the mention of his absent ex-wife, the mother of his two children, “She’ll understand when she’s older.” He whispered, his gentle hand coming up to move a strand of your hair from your face, “I’m just glad she trusts you enough to view you as a motherly figure.”

You peered up at him — finally meeting his gaze, breath hitching in your throat at his deep stare. Your heart-rate rapidly increasingly as you remained locked in his vision — a deep, irrevocable sense of desire blossoming into undeniable tension around you as he kept you flush against him.

“She just loves you so much.” Michael breathed, eyes flickering down to your lips, before uttering his next words even quieter, “As do I.”

His words hit you straight in the chest — a quiet, barely audible gasp leaving your lips as your eyes darkened. Michael heard it — the physical reaction to his admission of his infatuation giving him all the answers he needed to your mutual pining.

“Michael.”

He wasted no time at your whimpered plea — hands flying to cup your face as his lips pressed against your own in a desperate, intense kiss, revelling in the way you moaned into his mouth. Your hands flattened against his chest, tongue lapping at his own as it slid into your mouth, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks at the connection you’d been yearning to have for years.

Michael pulled from your mouth, catching his breath as he locked eyes with you once more — a sudden change in his blown pupils as you tugged your lip between your teeth.

“Say you want me as much I want you.” Michael panted, hand tightening around your flushed cheek, “That you need me like I need you.”

You sighed deeply, lips falling open as your deepest desire came to life, “Michael, I need you. Please.”

In one fell swoop, you were raised from the ground — gasping in surprise as Michael lifted you from the floor, wrapping your legs around his waist as he guided you to the bed, laying you flat against it gently, his lips connected to yours once more in a frantic kiss.

Your legs tightened around his middle, whining into the air, attempting to muffle your noises with your lip between your teeth, as his mouth slipped from the comforts of your mouth, to trail eager kisses down your neck — suckling and nibbling at the warm skin from your jawline to the curve of your collarbone, as his hand slithered down your side to knead the flesh of your hip.

You arched into his touch — needy whines falling from your spit-stricken lips, his name slipped from them like a plea, begging for his pleasureful love.

Michael’s hands found the waistband of your shorts, toying with the soft material as his face parted from the soft of your skin, meeting your eyes, “May I?”

“Dear God, please do.”

He tugged them down in one swift movement — the bare, nakedness of your pussy meeting his eyes as the arousing prospect that you weren’t seeing any underwear clouded the forefront of his brain. He groaned lowly under his breath, as you tore the oversized shirt from your torso, revealing your similarly bare chest to him.

Michael let out a shaken breath he didn’t know he was holding as your stark naked frame met his eyes — cock twitching violently beneath his clothes at the sight of you.

“My God,” He exhaled deeply, eyes taking over your bare figure, vision darkening at the sight of your perky tits, nipples erect in anticatpru arousal, the beautiful curve of your waist and hips, and your slicked-up cunt all on display for him, “So fucking beautiful.”

A daring hand slipped between your legs — a singular finger dragging between your folds, collecting your essence on his fingers, groaning at the way you writhed breathed him, whining loudly at the contact. It was only when Michael slid a digit towards your entrance, sliding inside you with one thrust, curling his finger instantly to abuse the sweet spot inside you, did he have to shut you up — leaning down to capture your lips in another ferocious kiss, swallowing your noises.

“Shh, baby,” He coaxed, now grinding his hard cock into the smooth of the mattress as you mewled beneath him, finger still forcing you open, “They’re asleep remember.”

You cried out again — whimpering against his lips as you nodded your head, trying your hardest to keep quiet as the ball of his hand nudged against your throbbing clit.

“Don’t want all your hard work today to go to waste by letting those pretty noises wake them up, huh?”

“No, no, Michael, no.” You agreed, head falling back as a second finger was slipped inside you, the stretching sensation sending a shudder through you as you clung to his shirt tightly.

“Good girl.” He whispered, fingers never stopping as he fell to his knees between your legs.

Your legs tightened and an instantly regretted loud moan fell from your lips as Michael’s own wrapped around your clit — crying out at sensation. Michael, who’s hands squeezed your thigh in a silent plea for your reduction in noises, starting working his oral magic against you — sucking and slurping at your clit, before licking a tentative strip from your leaking hole to where you throbbed most, collecting your drooling arousal on his tongue. Meanwhile, his fingers never let up — still curling deep inside you as you bucked your hips to chase his digits, back arched sweetly into him as you whimpered his name like a prayer, begging for more.

“Quiet for me, sweet girl.” Michael whispered, giving your thigh a gentle tap, as you squirmed violently, “Gonna wake up the whole house with that mouth.”

You whimpered — voice, luckily, reducing in decibel as Michael retracted his mouth to speak, allowing you a few seconds to catch your breath, before his lips were back on you. You resorted to clasping your hand over your mouth in attempt to mask your sensual noises, crying out loudly as the slick noises of your sopping wet cunt against his lewd tongue now filled the room.

Michael continued to work you open with his fingers — the tip of his ring and middle finger abusing the sweet spot inside you that you had seeing stars and pleading his name out into the skin of your hand, the sensation of his eager tongue lapping at your cunt having you feeling otherworldly.

“Oh, God—fuck, oh, fuck yes,” You whined, voice muffled against yourself, before pulling your hand away completely to whimper, eyes falling into his gaze as he peered up at you, nose nudging against your clit, “Oh, Daddy, please.”

Michael lost it — his explicit, private fantasy blooming to life as the erotic name left your swollen lips. Michael groaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head, before planting a particularly hard suck to your clit — before rising to his feet. He shoved the bottom half of his clothing down his body, freeing his hard cock from his boxers, before instantaneously wrapping a hand around his aching dick — gasping at the sensation as his fingers continued to work themselves in and out of you.

“Please, Michael,” You cried, tears once falling in adoration for his daughter, now pleading to be stuffed full of his cock, “Put it in, baby, please.”

“Fuck,” Michael breathed, eyes locked on his fingers disappearing inside your clenching cunt, and his own hand pumping his cock, leaking with pre-cum, “I-I can’t.”

“W-Why? God, please, Mikey, please. I need you.”

Michael sighed, restraint wearing dangerously thin as his face contorted into pleasure at the sensation of him pumping himself quickly, “Y-You’re not my wife, not even my girl — it’d be w-wrong.”

You whined, head thrown back as the pad of finger left your spasming hole, found your clit, now rubbing quickened figure eights against the nub. You hated it — his traditional ways getting in the way of him stretching your needy cunt and filling you to the brim with his cum. But, you had to respect him — as someone you loved so deeply.

“Cum on me, Michael.” You breathed, dark eyes meeting his own as they jerked away from where you masturbated you both, the familiar feeling of an orgasm creeping up your spine.

“W-What?”

“Cum on my pussy, please, ‘M gonna cum, Daddy, mmph—!” You whined, teetering on the edge as your voice hit a higher octave.

The orgasm you’d been craving from him from the moment you locked eyes on the first day of the job, washed over you brutally — eyes slamming to the back of your head as you shook around him, clit overstimulated as he continued to circle the twitching nub.

Michael, watching you come undone on his fingers, nipples now erect from your overwhelming pleasure, had his hips stuttering into his enclosed fist — angling himself nearer to where you throbbed.

He found his release with a low groan, mouth falling open in cascading pleasure as he spilled over your cunt — hot, white cum drooling over your spread pussy lips, now shining with your clear essence and his fertile seed, as erotica left his lips in his blind lust, “Yeah, baby, let me make you a real mommy—fuck, that’s it, sweetheart, take this fucking cum.” He groaned, fingers now sliding down to disappear in and out of you once more, pumping his release, dripping all over your cunt, inside your willing hole.

You moaned out — watching as his seed trickled down your swollen clit, and disappeared inside you, his fertile arousal now flooding your womb without even needing to be stretched with his cock.

Michael slowed his jerking fist around himself, while his fingers let up inside you, pulling away to catch his breath as he stared at your cum-stricken pussy — glistening with both your releases.

He smiled, leaning down to press a loving kiss to your lips, humming into his mouth as the taste of your tangy essence lingered in his tongue. When he pulled away, he moved to spread your legs with two strong hands on your knees, eyes trailing over where a glob of his release drooled from your spent hole.

You shuddered, completely overstimulated, as two of his slender fingers reached down to shove his escaping cum back up inside you — gasping as he filled you once again.

His fingers remained there, plugging you up to prevent any more of his warm seed from falling out of you, as he leant over once more, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke, before pressing a kiss there,

“Gotta give my babies a mommy, right?”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The crazed obsession started on a bleak, icy morning in November of ‘95, the air had grown colder with each passing day in the winter month, forcing Michael to wrap up in a thick coat as he slipped into the back of Bill Bray’s car. Although Bill, his life-long Head of Security and the embodiment of a father figure, had reduced his day-to-day personal contributions to Michael’s bustling life — he was always there to provide Michael a lift like the good old days.

“Hey, son.” Bill spoke first, turning to face the now older man he had helped raise, a calming smile spread across his face, “Lisa’s?”

“Yes, please, Bill.” Michael replied, his voice soft and gentle even in his adulthood.

Bill started the car, the engine rumbling to life as he slotted it into gear and rolled slowly forwards. Silence consumed the car as the radio played familiar, popular songs of the mid-90’s in the background, Michael eyes transfixed on the blurs of the streets as they sped by.

“How are things with you two?” Bill qiestion, his voice tentative as he raised the obvious question on everyone’s lips.

Lisa Marie Presley, daughter of the famous Elvis Presley and now wife to Michael Jackson himself, hadn’t made their marriage easy. Vacations with ex-lovers, fighting at award ceremonies, silent treatment games back and forth — it was becoming a toxic relationship, something Michael wanted no part in. Everyone in Hollywood, and across the globe for that matter, was relentlessly hounding the pair with questions regarding the state of their marriage — and the answer was simple.

Destroyed.

Michael sighed, “I don’t know,” He started, voice quieter, a tone of sadness evident, “Not good, I think.”

Bill laughed despite the sensitive topic, “You think? Son, that definitely can’t be good.”

“Yeah.” Michael breathed a reciprocal laugh, “It’s not.”

Silence consumed the car once more as Michael’s brain flooded with thoughts of his wife. If you’d even class as her one, as she hadn’t been acting as such. Fights, brutal screaming matches, happening every day — like clock work. Whether it was over the phone, in person or even through their own personal management — there were arguments. Ones that grew so volatile that it had Michael shaking in anger. He didn’t want to grow to hate her, to resent his own wife, but his heart was sure going that way. He was getting older, and ready to settle down, not spend his days in a whirlwind of cuss words and shouting.

It was only the sweet voice of a blissful symphony that dragged Michael out of his depressive trance.

The beat was slow and fluid — the type you’d involuntarily sway your hips to. The backtracking beat was low, something you could easily groove to, paired with a high-pitched, yet not unpleasant, ding! that flowed beautifully with the music.

And then your voice sounded out — and Michael’s heart stopped.

You sounded angelic, like the gates of heaven had opened and dropped you straight into a recording studio, opening your pretty lips and blowing everyone away with your utterance. You sang with such incredible delivery and talent that Michael’s breath hitched in his throat as he listened intently to each words that came through the radio.

‘One touch can bring us closer,

Don’t want this to be over,

You know that you complete me,

Your love is what I need,

Don’t rush to say you’re leaving,

Stay with me while I’m sleeping,

‘Cause you know what you do to me,

I’m weak and you know my heart is beating,’

Michael hummed — hands tapping against his clothed thighs as the fluidity of the beat took control of his body, leg bouncing and head nodding in time.

“Want me to turn it up, Mike?” Bill spoke as the music flowed quietly into the car.

“Please do.”

Once the dial of volume control was turned to the right, your voice now a perfect decibel to hit his delighted ears as you reached the chorus — Michael was a goner.

‘One, two, three, kiss, that’s when I know that we,

Four, five, six, kiss, have the right chemistry,

You don’t have to hold back or be shy,

I can tell you want me in your eyes,’

You repeated the catchy chorus once more, unaware to how besotted Michael was becoming with the sound of your voice and your musical talent — now complete submerged in the effortlessness of your sound.

‘Feels so good ‘cause I know that you’re mine,

Boy I got my eyes closed ‘cause you know that I,

Love it when you kiss me,

Love it when our lips meet,

You intoxicate me,

I barely can breathe,

I love when you kiss me.’

Now, he was hooked.

Mumbling a silent curse of blissful disbelief under his breath, a wild smile splayed across his face, lip coming between his teeth as he attempted to suppress the grin — but failed to prevail, teeth shining in the morning light as your beautiful vocals continued to bless his ears.

“Bill,” Michael sounded out as the song finished, only allowing silence for when you were singing, “Find out who that girl is.”

And that he did — Michael was informed you were an up-and-coming, young singer from LA, born and raised. At first, he was let down, assuming you were going to portray yourself like every other Californian singer — but alas, not. He watched every interview and concert you provided to his willing eyes — you were a sweetheart, always appreciative of your parents for bringing you into this world to provide music, and for selflessly paying for your singing lessons and vocal coaches. He was similarly enamoured by the way you would thank God for helping guide you through the hard, starting years where your career didn’t take off, stating his patience and commitment to your success was forever indebted to them. His heart would flutter, like a small boy with a crush, each time your delicate, gentle voice would hit his ears with a girly giggle.

But, it wasn’t just your lovely, down-to-earth nature or perfect voice that really got him good — it was that face. And by God, that body.

He hated himself for being such a lewd man — but whenever your gorgeous complexion would cloud his vision, he’d physically feel his heart rhythmically fall into tachycardia in his chest. In mind, body and soul, as well as voice and face, you were truly an angel — a truly heavenly being that had swept him off his feet from the moment he fell deep into your orbit. He had grown to love every part of you — the way you talked with such delicacy, the nude lipgloss adorning your plump lips glistening in the bright light of the interview recording he’d been watching, or the way your skin glistened like a glazed baked good begging to be devoured, or the way your slender fingers adorning a fresh manicure moved as you talked, or how your hips moved with experienced precision when you danced to the beat of one of your beautiful songs, hair flailing behind you as you grooved — every part of you had him transfixed, willing to be at your mercy if you so needed him to.

He spent the next few months, his affection for you bleeding into December, completely in love. With his wife, barely. No, he was dangerously in love with you. Something he deep down hated himself for — a thought he’d push to the back of his mind, hiding his guilt behind his fleeting, boyish crush.

He attended a routine interview, one he was bored of the second he arrived, growing increasingly more fatigued as he was grilled about impersonal and inappropriate questions — not once attempting to ask him about his musical career or inspirations, just about his private sexual life and his failing marriage.

It was only when your song, the one he had fallen deeply head-over-heels for, began playing softly in the background of the interview did he perk up — the radio softly crackling as your angelic symphony filled his ears. He hummed, an undeniably wide smile spreading across his face at the sound of your vocal heaven, hand tapping in time along the arm of the chair he was say comfortably in.

The reporter picked up on it — “Do you like this song, Michael?”

Michael really couldn’t hide his grin now, “Hm? Oh, yeah,” He breathed, the mere thought of you in his dazed brain flushing his cheeks burgundy, “I really do love it, yeah. She’s so talented. Truly an amazing, notable artist of this generation.”

“And beautiful too, right?”

Michael knew what the pressing interviewer before him was trying to do — attempting to force him to make a mess of himself on camera after making subtle hints to the decline of marriage, and then admitting he found another woman attractive.

Michael laughed, the answer ‘Oh God, yes’ hitting the forefront of his brain, as he just nodded in agreement, requesting the next question, pushing the thought to the back of his mind, cheeks now scorching hot.

You had heard the interview yourself — wanting nothing more than to watch it over and over again a thousand times as Michael’s words hit your ears. You had squealed so loudly your throat burned — cheeks flushing in admiration at the King of Pop complimenting you wholeheartedly and alluding to your beauty. You were, unbeknownst to Michael, in a similar state of infatuation with the said man — your heart hammering in your chest every time he would appear on your television, or play through the radio, his own beautiful, unlike-no-other voice hitting your ears having a familiar affect on you like you did to him. You had admired him for years — him being one of the main inspirations for starting your music career due to his passion and strong leadership in the artistry — that and he was gorgeous, truly a godly statement of handsome in the industry.

You had responded swiftly at an award ceremony, one that he regretted instantly not attending — talking jovially with a reporter when they asked you about him.

“Oh, yes, I saw that.” You giggled, suddenly shy at the reminder, “He’s so lovely, I’m truly thankful for his kind words. He’s been an idol of mine for many years.” You paused, winking as you spoke your next words, “And I think he’s pretty beautiful too.”

Michael had to practice his breathing after he watched what you said — his heart hammering violently in his chest as you spoke flirtatiously with ease. You had noticed him — yes, he was Michael Jackson, arguably one of the most famous men in the world, but you had acknowledged him, and he was spiralling, unable to wipe the smirk off his face for a good two days afterwards.

But, that smile was soon wiped clean off his face as the latest hot gossip that was revealed to the media.

You had got yourself a boyfriend.

One Michael decided he absolutely despised without even meeting him, let alone even meeting you — he knew he had intense, undeniable feelings for you, growing more so as his marriage declined further, and this idiotic, teenager-looking loser wasn’t about to take you away from. Not that he even had you — you had acknowledged him a few weeks ago, and to him that meant everything, his heart only swelling further, practically begging for you. But, he wanted you, badly — so badly that every chance he got to talk about you, or listen to your new single’s or even the incredible album you released, he did, your name on his lips constantly.

Lisa noticed this — questioning him constantly about your affiliation. He’d reassure her, despite the ache in chest, that he hadn’t even met you in person before — that you were just two artists in the same musical category and had acknowledged one another’s talent. Nothing more, nothing less. Technically, to his dismay, it wasn’t a lie — but, he knew, a thought that constantly plagued his mind, that the way he felt about you wasn’t professional, it was full-blown infatuation.

In January 1996, Lisa-Marie filed for divorce — a bold move that Michael could sense was coming. At first, he was shocked and upset — the end of his first marriage suddenly flooding nostalgia and grief into his heart. But, as a smitten man does, he soon let his soul consume itself with relief — relief that he was finally free of what was holding him back from getting to you, and having you to himself.

Sure, he hadn’t finalised it yet — but when did that ever stop an emotionally detached man from loving another woman who wasn’t his wife?

And it wasn’t until he finally met you did his heart truly skip a real beat.

It was Elizabeth Taylor’s 64th birthday — now February 1996, and a party was now bustling at her large, elegant home. And Michael was antsy at the prospect that you were attending. He had wiped his sweat-stricken hands on his slacks around eighty times before Elizabeth picked up on his unusual behaviour.

“Honey, what is up with you?” She questioned with a giggle, pulling him to the side of the loud room, filled with music, chatted and laughter, “Everything okay? Did something happen with you-know-who?”

Elizabeth, one of Michael’s life-long friends and idols, always respected his sensitivity to certain things — especially now so he was going through a very public divorce, whilst also worried his shy self was overstimulated in the frenzied room.

“No, no,” He reassured, “That’s still being finalised. I’m just..” He paused, “I’m just nervous.”

Something he’d only ever reveal to the older lady stood before him as he swallowed thickly, eyes falling to his shoe as he mindlessly scuffed the floor.

Elizabeth smiled at his timidity, “Nervous about what, sweetie?”

Michael, now forming an obvious blush on his face, attempting miserably to suppress the bashful smile that crept into his face, turning his expression away from her to hide it.

“Is this about a lady? Oh, please, tell me it is! Is she here? Do I know her?” Elizabeth rambled, eyes flashing hopefully as she grabbed a hold of his arm, practically shaking the answer out of him.

“Yes, yes, it is, but please don’t tell anyone.” He whispered, his eyes finally meeting her own, “She’s supposed to be here, but I can’t see her anywhere. ‘S makin’ me nervous thinkin’ about when she’s gonna arrive.”

Elizabeth giggled excitedly beside him as Michael shot her a playful roll of his eyes, he knew she’d always disliked Lisa, so any new romantic interest of his, she already liked.

“Look, honey, I’m sure it’ll be fine and she’ll be here soon.” She reassured, sending him a warm smile, “You’ll have to introduce me when you talk to her, okay? I don’t even know half of these people and it’s my own party.”

Michael chuckled, “Bold of you to assume I’m gonna talk to her. I’m sweatin’ all over, probably make a fool of myself.”

“You will talk to her. It’s my birthday, you have to.”

“That’s an awful excuse, ‘Liz.”

“Hey! Don’t say tha—Oh, sweetie! Hey, come here!” Elizabeth’s excitable voice cut herself off, her eyes lighting up as they met the gaze of another guest who had just entered, her hands beckoning the mysterious person over.

Michael followed Elizabeth’s eyeline — and his eyes shot open.

There you were.

In all your enchanting glory, a beautiful smile spread across your face as you strode towards the older woman — wrapping her in a hug as she welcomed you to the party. You looked absolutely breath-taking, your outfit physically giving Michael a violent, visceral reaction as his jaw fell slack at the sight of you. Your dress was an eye-catching display of the finest jewels only a dedicated miner could obtain, shining diamonds glistening in the light, adorned with white, delicate feathers rimming the bottom hem of the dress — while also dangerously low-cut, the swell of your breasts visible to pretty much every one that was now staring at you as you walked further into the room.

If Michael thought he was sweating before — he was mistaken. The second his glinting eyes landed on your gorgeous frame, his body shuddered, a cold bead of sweat trickling down his temple, one he wiped swiftly with the back of his hand to save himself some dignity, as he let out a shaken breath he didn’t know he was holding. You were a thousand times more beautiful in person — your face dolled up to a T, hair cascading elegantly down your back, nails manicured white to match your captivating outfit as well as your stilettos that clicked against the marble flooring, and the dangerous dress hugging your curves in every way a man could dream of.

“You must meet Michael. He’s just over here.”

Elizabeth’s words hit his ears before he could even compose himself — eyes widening even further as anxiety flooded his system at the idea that he was about to finally meet you in person.

They both approached him, giggling at one another’s jokes, attention on themselves — unaware of the nervousness that consumed his whole body as you grew closer.

“Michael, this is one of the loveliest ladies I’ve ever met.” Elizabeth stated, telling him your name before continuing, “Her Mother and I were good friends back in the day. And, lovely lady, this is Michael.”

When you met his eyes, Michael swore he died and went to heaven — you locked gazes with a genuine smile tugging at your lips that his breath hitching in his throat as you extended your hand.

“Hi, Michael.” You started, in-person voice just as sweet as it had been through the television, “Finally, huh?”

“Y-Yeah,” Michael finally breathed, cursing himself as he stumbled over his words, voice cracking as he attached your hands, a jolt of unmissable electricity igniting through his body at the contact, “Been wanting to meet you for a while.”

“Likewise,” Your voice was as smooth as silk as you shook his head gently, eyes never leaving his own, your fiercely intense gaze sending exhilaration coursing through his veins, “I’m sorry to hear about you and Lisa-Marie.”

Michael smiled appreciatively as your hands dropped, the loss of connection finally allowing his heart rate to decrease slightly, “Thank you, I appreciate that. It’s been hard, but it was expected.”

“I bet you understand that a little bit, huh, honey? You and what’s-his-name just broke up, didn’t you?” Elizabeth questioned, facing you with a pointed finger as she revealed the words that sent Michael ablaze.

Fireworks of delight exploded in Michael’s chest at Elizabeth’s admission — you and that idiotic boyfriend were done. His mind instantly ran away with itself — you were both, on a technicality, single, finally free of your dead-weight partners.

“Yeah, we did.” You smiled despite your saddened news, “Much needed, though, he was a real sleaze-bag. Total bum. Literally jumped for joy the day we split up.”

“Sounds like Michael over here.” Elizabeth laughed, “I was so happy when they filed, god, she is a vulture that woman.”

“Is that so?” The way you smirked, contrasting your angelic persona with a devilish tug of your lips, looking happy that he disliked his ex-wife, had Michael flushing in heat once more — the way you were looking at him, like you were planning something evil and calculated, like a predator who just stumbled across its prey.

Michael was certain his cock had never been harder.

“Wasn’t the greatest marriage.” Michael admitted, voice soft and low, to avoid prying ears, “‘S over now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He wasn’t sure whether you meant for his benefit or yours, but, he didn’t care — shooting you a sly smile as his wondering eyes raked over your frame.

“I’ll leave you to get acquainted. Thanks for coming, sweetie.” Elizabeth spoke pleasantly, squeezing your shoulder before turning on her heel and busying herself in the growing crowd beside you.

“So,” You started, a smile that could kill still plastered on your face as you peered up at him, “Am I as beautiful in person?”

Michael, almost choking on his own spit at your boldness, let his mouth fall open ever so slightly — you were so sweet and delicate for professional interviews and in front of your fans, but right now? A formidable flirt — teasing him with every word.

“Yes.” Michael spoke, all too quickly for a man trying to hide his intentions, “Really beautiful.”

You hummed, satisfied with his response, “I’m going out for a cigarette, care to join me?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t keep me company, Mr Jackson.”

The way his name fell from your lips, in a sultry, provocative tone that he didn’t miss, had him swallowing slowly, nodding, watching as your smile deepened. You took his hand in your own and turned on your heel, leading him through the crowd, not a care in the world for who staring at the pair of you — the King of Pop with America’s new popstar-sweetheart.

You lead him through the backyard, walking straight past the odd small group of people he didn’t recognise nearer to the patio doors, and towards the end of the long garden. The cold air of February whipped around you, engulfing your half-naked frame, hair swaying softly in the wind, as your hand remained a warm testament in his own — guiding him into the dark of night.

You finally stopped, reaching a large, oak bench decorating the farthest end of the backyard, near the edge of a cliff — staring out onto the gorgeous view that adorned the back of Elizabeth’s grand home. You took a seat, letting go of his trembling hand, and got comfortable. Michael, awkward as always, stood by the arm of the bench, awaiting your next move as you rustled into your purse, digging out a pack of Molboro Red’s and a baby-pink lighter. You slid one out of the packet, placing it neatly next to you, before slipping it between the plump of your lips — your lipgloss staining the white paper.

You turned your head to look at his bashful stance, eyeing him up and down as he stood oddly, looking like a kicked puppy, “Are you gonna sit?”

He obeyed as you flicked the lighter, the fluorescent burn of the orange flame lighting your face in a dim glow as you singed the end of the cigarette. Soon smoke flooded his nostrils as you took a deep inhale, holding the cigarette between your two fingers, your elbow resting on your bare thigh as you exhaled with a sigh, eyes fixated on the captivating view in front of you.

“You know smoking is really bad for the vocal cords.” Michael spoke quietly, watching as your face tugged up into a smile.

“Don’t want me to ruin my pretty voice, do’ya?”

Michael blushed for the millionth time that night — turning his face the other way as he grinned, words failing him as he hid from you.

“It’s a bad habit I haven’t been able to kick for a long time.” You admitted, “But, what celebrity doesn’t smoke these days?”

“Me.” He replied, sheepishly, smile deepening as you laughed loudly.

“Well, you are one of a kind,” You revealed, eyes finally meeting his own as you took another drag, letting silence fill the gap in the air before you questioned him, “What does Michael Jackson like to do when he’s not being the King of Pop?”

The question hit him full force — a sensation filling his body that he wasn’t sure of. He didn’t think anyone had ever asked him a question so personal, in the sincerest way, before. And not the improper, raunchy personal like the reporters did — the kind of personal where it seemed like you actually cared.

“I don’t know,” Michael breathed, his breath shaking as he exhaled, eyes fixated on the way you took a particularly long drag, and let the smoke trickle from your mouth like water as it uplifted into the dark sky, “I’m not really sure what I like these days.” He admitted wholeheartedly, the question stumping him, “Ever since me and Lisa.” He paused again, “I feel like I’ve lost myself a little bit.”

You hummed, listening intently as silence consumed you once more, as eyes flickered towards the skyline in front of you both, the bustling high-way and skyscrapers glistening brightly, a sight so beautiful it had have stunned the average person — but Michael couldn’t care less for it, his vision still full of your gorgeous frame, slightly hunched over as you smoked, making the toxic habit look gracious as the end of the cigarette ignited in glinting red and orange colours each time you took a drag.

“I get that,” You finally spoke, leaning back to meet his gaze, “That’s why I plan on not gettin’ married.”

Michael laughed, “Ever?”

“Well,” You breathed with a chuckle, “If I meet the man of my dreams, then maybe I’ll consider it.”

Michael watched you deeply — locked on the way you would smile as you talked, clearly amused by your own words.

“I’m sure that won’t be hard for you.”

You giggled, “Oh, now that was smooth. Whoever said you were shy was lyin’.”

“I am shy.” He protested, failing to his conflicting smile miserably.

“Sure, honey, the second you aired that you thought I was beautiful on live television while being married, I knew you were a smooth-talking flirt underneath.” You teased, sending him a wink.

“Oh, God, that looked real bad, didn’t it?”

“If it wasn’t me you were talkin’ about, I’d say yes. But, since the Michael Jackson thinks I’m hot shit, I’d say it was the best day of my life.”

Your unison laughter filled the space between you, shaking torsos and flashy smiles co-ordinating between you as you shared a humorous moment.

“You’re real interesting, y’know?” Michael’s voice dropped a decibel, suddenly feeling high on adrenaline at your continuing interaction, “I really didn’t expect you to be like this.”

“Good or bad?” You pressed, wetting your plump lips as you slot your long, bare leg other the other.

“Good. Definitely good,” Michael replied, “You intrigue me.”

You smile deeper, titling your head to study him — eyes dancing over the way he sat, comfortable yet awkward at the same time, like he was trying to convince you he was confident, even as his hands rested shyly on his legs, rubbing the material of his black slacks. His hair looked gorgeous as you studied him, not like his usual curls, now sleek, long black locks that rest upon his shoulders — suiting him well.

“How so?” You pressed, bringing the torched stick between your lips once more.

Michael sighed, eyes flickering away from you nervously as he searched for the words, “I don’t know, ever since I heard you singing, something just clicked inside me, I guess,” He started, “You truly have the voice of an angel, which is why I think you should put that thing out.” You laughed loudly, ignoring his request as you exhaled the smoke, “Your voice just—I don’t know, it takes a hold over me. In the strongest grasp I’ve ever felt, like you’re literally there in front of me and squeezing me like a python around its prey.” He carried on, “And now meeting you, you’ve got this intense aura around you like a divine being. You’re so carefree and confident, like this lifestyle is a walk in the park for you. I find it refreshing and therefore intriguing.” He paused before speaking his next words, “That and your beauty is other-worldly. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with such natural femininity before. And it makes me want to figure everything out about you in one fell swoop.”

Michael, transfixed on the sight before him, distracting him from the love-sickness of his words, missed the way you stared at him in shock — mouth agape as the cigarette sizzled shorter in your hand, utterly gobsmacked at his admission of his infatuation.

He soon picked up on your silence — turning his head innocently to meet your eyes, that twinkled with desire and longing, smiling softly.

“Michael.” You breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh. I’m sorry, that sounded weird, didn’t it? I didn’t mean it that way, I just—“ “Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me, please.”

Your words took a few seconds to register in his mind, before any sense of screaming doubt in his mind was quickly evacuated as he rushed to you as you flicked the cigarette to the floor, your hands cupping one another’s face as your lips met.

Michael felt exactly like the song you had sung, the one that sent him into a besotted frenzy, as you kissed. Your lips locking in a frantic, panting connection that had you both heaving and humming into one another’s open mouths as he worked against your rosebuds.

You wasted no time — the kiss deepening as you climbed upon his lap, legs tightening around the thickness of his clothed thigh, a low groan leaving his mouth into your own at the sudden connection. His lips parted from your own frantically, his hand cupping one side of your jaw as his mouth peppered kisses sloppily against the other — hips twitching at the sound of your mewls.

“Michael, please.”

Your plea had him groaning louder than before into your skin, hips bucking up involuntarily at the sound of your quiet begging — your head thrown back to allow him access, your back arching into his touch as his free hand slipped down to cup your waist.

“Patience, baby,” He panted, “I’ve wanted to have you for so long — gonna take my sweet time with you.”

You whined — desperate for the pleasure you had been needing him from the moment you heard him nod in agreement at your beauty. Your own hips moved, beginning the hump the obvious bulge that protruded through his trousers, a lewd gasp leaving your spit covered lips as the head of his cock nudged against your clit. He moaned into the flesh of your neck as he sucked dark marks into it, hands now travelling down the small of your waist to cup your plump behind in his large palm — kneading the plushness of your ass, the feathers of your dress tickling the skin of his hand.

“Wanted you for so long too,” You suddenly admitted, panting, as his lips met the curve of your right breast, peering down at him latching onto your tits, “Loved you for too long—God, way too fucking long.”

Michael whined, a deep, guttural noise from deep within his chest at your words — an admission of your mutual yearning, his hips bucking up languidly to meet every roll of your own, drinking up every erotic noise that fell past your lips, any sense of patience now far gone.

“Take me out.” He ordered, unable to hold back anymore after the words fell from your whimpering mouth, as he pushed your dress up your body, now bunched around your waist.

Your hands moved quicker than your mind could process — fumbling with the buckle of his trousers, fingers trembling as you finally managed to get it open, lip tucked between your teeth as you shoved the tight item of clothing, along with his boxers, down his legs.

Michael huffed as his cock sprang free, the cold February air enveloping around the warmth of his manhood — but soon sighing in relief, head falling back, as the small of your hand, slicked in spit, wrapped around him.

“God, baby, just like that.” He whined, eyes squeezed shut as you pumped him fluidly, tightening each time you would enclose around the tip, his pre-cum drooling over your digits.

He was big — bigger than you had ever had, large in both length and girth, a fact that had you writhing on top of him, anticipation of the fullness he would bring to you sending shivers down your spine.

Michael, regaining some composure, lifted his head, still groaning lowly at the feeling of your tight fist around him, and pulled your panties to the side — eyebrows knitting into his forehead at the sight of your lacy G-string moulding into the shape of your drooling pussy lips.

“Fuck, you been this wet the whole time, baby?”

“Since the moment I laid eyes on you, Michael.”

Michael moaned, your hand never letting up as you jerked him, at the sound of your admission — swallowing thickly. Your hands moved with calculated precision — guiding him between your legs where you needed him most, gasping loudly at his cockend nudged against your clit.

“Tell me how badly you’ve wanted it.” You breathed, teasing him, and yourself for that matter, as you coated him with your seeping arousal, sliding him between your folds.

“God, baby—fuck, needed you since the very first time I heard your beautiful voice,” He panted, chest rising and falling quickly as his eyes locked on his dick slipping between your glistening pussy lips, “Thought about you everyday, fuck, even with her,” He couldn’t even say his ex-wife’s name as you rocked him over your throbbing clit, “You were the only woman I wanted.”

You moaned loudly at his words, his eyes a needy form of begging as they met your own — finally deciding to put an end to his pained misery, edging him towards your clenching entrance, and sinking down. Cries of relieving pleasure left both of your mouths, filling the air around you as Michael bottomed out instantly — tip kissing the sweet spot inside you from the get go, whining as your cunt struggled to stretch around him.

Michael, not wanting to let any more time spent without being inside you slip away, took a firm hold on your hips and slammed up inside you with one brutal thrust. You whimpered and writhed into his touch as the position, allowing him to claim you as deep as possible, forced his cock to kiss your cervix — leaving your back arched and lips agape as he resumed his nibbles against your neck, hips now bucking up into you at a swift pace.

The noises that left your lips were arguably more melodically breath-taking than any song you’d ever sang — his name falling from your mouth like a prayer, eyes rolled to the back of your head and clinging to his shoulders was truly a sight to see, forcing his cock to twitch violently inside you.

“Oh, fuck, Michael.” You whined, nails digging into the skin of his back, as a harsh thrust had you seeing stars, “God, you feel so good—so big.”

Michael’s ego inflated at your whimpered admission, huffing out a large breath as he continued his brutal assault on your pussy, revelling in the way your cunt, now forming a milky-white, frothy ring around his base, spasmed aggressively around him — low groans of his own muffled against your skin.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, baby,” Michael revealed, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, his grip on your hips tightening as his pace never faltered, “I’m so in love with you.”

Some may say it was love-bombing and wrong the way he confessed his love to you after only meeting you in person a mere few hours ago — but the way you tightened around him and cried out so loudly that Michael had to muffled your screams with his mouth, the enticing taste of cigarette’s still on your tongue, put any of those thoughts to shame.

It was exhilarating.

Knowing the feelings that were nestled deep inside your body for so long, your ferocious, undeniable love for him, were reciprocated was enough to have you on the brink of orgasming from just his words.

“Deeper—oh, fuck, baby, I love you too—need y’deeper, please!” You cried, mumbling against his lips, drowning in the noises he fed you.

You gasped as he stood abruptly, holding you tightly underneath the plush of your ass, and placing you swiftly, albeit gently, atop of the bench — the cold of the wood in the winter’s air pressing flush against your bare back.

Michael, forcing your legs to your chest in a brutal mating press, slammed back into you with all the strength he had to give — cock now driving the deepest it had been all night as he draped your hovering legs over his shoulders. Your tits, now spilling from your dress, were latched into his mouth — tongue swirling around your erect nipple, as his free hand trailed between your body, toying with your swollen clit, eliciting the neediest, most eager whines from your mouth at the dual stimulation.

“Gonna cum, Mikey!”

Your high-pitched warning hit his ears as he groaned against your nipples, the vibration only furthering your overwhelming pleasure as your orgasm smacked into you — your back arched into a beautiful curve, Michael’s hand, mouth and cock never stopping their attack on your body, fucking you through your release as you squirmed beneath him. The blinding arousal that seeped through your body like blood pumping through your veins had you seeing stars — whining like a bitch in heat whilst your cunt clenched tightly around him.

“God, y’gonna make me cum so quick, baby.” Michael panted, his stuttering as he neared his own release.

Just as you came down from your high — Michael pulled out suddenly. Your eyebrows forced themselves into the crease of your forehead as you studied his actions as his hand wrapped around his length. He moved to straddle either side of your shoulders, cock now inches from your face as he jerked himself in front of your face, chest heaving.

“Open your mouth, pretty.” He ordered, lip coming between his teeth as he watched you loll your tongue out, awaiting his pleasured essence.

Michael leant down, slotting his cock into your mouth, whining as your pretty lips wrapped around his length, suckling the tip, hand moving to grip at the meat of his thighs.

Michael came, not with a groan, but with words that had your cunt, stricken with your post-orgasm slick, clenching around nothing,

“Yeah, ‘m gonna fill this angelic throat,” He started, panting as the first spurt of his seed landed on your eager tongue, “Want those pretty vocal chords coated with my cum so you can only sing so heavenly knowing I painted your beautiful voice box white. So you can bless the world with that voice knowing it belongs to me.”

You moaned loudly around him as he finally let out a delighted groan — head thrown back as his cum flooded the throat he had just claimed, the bittersweet taste of his arousal settling on your tastebuds as you lapped at the underside of his cock, tracing the vein that throbbed underneath, with your tongue.

Michael, crouched over you, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, while the other gripped the back of the bench so hard his knuckles had flushed white — finally let his hips stutter for the last time before slipping his softening cock from your mouth.

You sat up as he lurched back against the arm of the bench, panting heavily, attempting to catch his breath, his flaccid cock laying gently against his thigh. You too, heaved, eyes fixated on his furrowed eyebrows, completely transfixed on his post-orgasm beauty.

Michael, finally opening his eyes that were squeezed shut, met your intense gaze for that countless time that night — a dazed smile creeping up on his face to mirror your own before you spoke flirtatiously, just as you had the whole night,

“Think my vocal cords are still ruined now?”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Michael too had followed in your release, flooding your spasming cunt to the brim — cock pushed to the hilt as he shook above you, low, deep noises muffled into your sticky skin.

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, lips delicate and loving against the skin, as you panted, fighting to catch your breath and clear the stars from your vision, before rolling off you with an exaggerated sigh. His hand, still hanging loosely over the curve of your stomach, rubbed figure eights into the plush flesh, a slow, gentle display of affection.

“‘You okay, baby?” He breathed, resting his head on his hand, tilting his head to stare at you as you slid onto your side to face him.

You hummed back — a lazy, dazed smile on your face as fatigue washed over you, eyelashes fluttering each time you blinked slowly.

“You wanna’ shower with me?”

“Mm, that sounds heavenly, babe.” You breathed at the delight of the thought, deepening the smile on Michael’s face, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from your forehead.

“C’mere first.” He beckoned, expression deepening as his nimble fingers curled around your cheek, pulling you towards him.

Your lips connected sweetly — another small hum leaving your mouth, into his own, as affection sparked. The kiss was tentative, loving, a gentle collision of love and adoration, his lips soft against your own as they moved slowly. Michael’s caring touch, albeit seductively wondering, slid from your cheek down your stark frame — cupping the small of waist to pull you flush against his chest with calculated smoothness.

It was only when a quiet gasp left your strained throat as his hand slithered down to cup the plumpness of your ass did you know exactly what he was doing.

“Again?” You giggled as your lips were freed, his own now patterning sloppy pecks down your neck, hands steadying yourself on his flexed shoulders.

“Just wanna give it to’ya all the time,” Michael whispered, lips suckling right below your earlobe, hand kneading your behind.

“I genuinely don’t think you could live without sex, Mike.” You teased, laughing breathly as he nibbled at the flesh of your jaw, your hands threading through the silkiness of his hair.

Michael chuckled himself, “Makin’ me sound like some sex-crazed creep.”

Your smile deepened, locking eyes as he pulled away from your neck, a playful smile on his face, “Seriously, I genuinely don’t think you could do it.” You laughed.

Michael’s right eyebrow lurched up, a challenged sense of pride flooding his system, “I bet’cha I could.”

“Is that a challenge, Mr.Jackson?” You pressed, a smirk tugging at your swollen lips, eyes glinting with temptation, “I reckon you couldn’t go two days without it.”

“Sure, baby,” He spoke, condescension evident in his tone.

“Oh, you think you could?”

“Of course.”

“Well, let’s put it to the test.”

Michael chuckled, “What?”

“Let’s see if you’re all talk or not.”

Michael breathed out a laugh, shaking his head at your insinuation — hands rubbing gentle circles on the skin of your waist.

“I know I could, but you though?” You continued, laughing, “Absolutely not.”

Michael’s pride took a blunt punch — your teasing words hitting him straight in the chest. His ego suddenly begging to be inflated at the idea he could possibly not be the best at something.

“You sound confident.” He spoke, ignoring the way his chest burned with the desire to succeed.

“I am,” You started, “I could go a week, easy.”

“A week?” Michael blurted, surprise flooding his voice, “What’cha tryna say, baby?”

You cackled, “Oh, stop. You know I love it, Mike.” You leant down to press a gentle peck to his pouting lips, “But I’d absolutely destroy you.”

Michael shook his head with a chuckle, “Don’t count your chickens, love,” He smirked at his next thought, “I reckon I could break you.”

He leant down, nuzzling neck back into the soft flesh of your neck, peppering kisses over the dark love-bites blooming on your skin, humming at the sweet scent of your perfume flooding his nostrils.

“Ah, ah, you think you can go without it — honour it.” You commanded, pushing his face away from your neck gently, before rising to your feet, standing at the edge of the bed, your stark naked frame now on full display to him.

“What? Come on, baby, I thought we were just joking?” Michael sighed, head lolling to the side, “Come back here.”

“Nope,” You replied with a pop, retreating to the bathroom, hips swaying as you walked, “I say two days, prove me wrong.”

An undeniable need to vindicate overpowered Michael’s brain — a desire to prove his worth flooding every ounce of rationale he had left.

He shook his head with a huffed laugh, pushing himself off the bed, following you to the colder room, softening cock lazily hanging between his legs, “You really wanna play this game?”

“Game? Sweetie, this isn’t a game.” You giggled, reaching for your toothbrush, “I’m deadly serious. I know I would win.”

“You’re real cocky for a woman who begged for six rounds after I came back off tour.”

You gasped at his dig, eyebrows knotting into the crease of your forehead — the similar need to prevail blossoming inside you. You knew exactly what memory he was referring to — he had just come back from his HIStory tour, a painfully long World Tour that lasted months, leaving you alone for weeks on end. And when he returned — you never left the bedroom. Every position, every angle, every new trick was tried that night — six intensely pleasureful rounds of much-needed sex occurred, ten brutal orgasms ripping through you. It was the best sex you had ever experienced together — and something Michael would continuously hold against you as a way to tease you.

“Oh, you wanna play dirty?” You scoffed, a smirk pulling onto your face, “Now, I reckon you couldn’t go one day.”

Michael’s lip slipped between his teeth at the challenge — inhaling deeply at the sudden ultimatum. Mind secretly reeling with panic at the realisation he probably couldn’t go without the sweet tightness of your cunt around him — but he had to validate himself.

“Fine, I’ll humour you.” He started, reaching for his toothbrush with a click of his tongue, “What’s my reward for winning?”

“Sex, obviously.”

Michael snorted, “So, the prize for not having sex, is having sex?”

“Exactly.”

Michael laughed, shaking his head, “I think that’s flawed game, baby.”

You huffed, “I told you, Michael, it’s not a game. I’m deadly serious, you will loose.”

He peered down at you, a serious expression flushed over your face, your manicured hands resting on your bare hips. You looked beautiful in this light, even despite your sassed attitude — the warm hue of the sunrise blooming over your naked body, the rays of light catching the daring look in your eyes as you looked up at his through your lashes.

“Alright then,” Michael started, sliding a glob of toothpaste along the plastic bristles, “If you believe I can’t go a day, I’m certain you can’t go two.”

“Fine,” You giggled with a breath, “Just means I’m already winning.”

Michael rolled his eyes, “You’re so competitive.”

“‘Am not,” You protested, a slight sharpness in your tone at the way your ego bruised, “Fine, we’ll tweak the rules,” You paused, thinking deeply, “Let’s both see who makes it furthest. And whoever hasn’t broken by Saturday, wins.”

Today was Sunday, leaving six days left until Michael would let his ego inflate to the maximum at his success, and finally get to slide into you once again.

“You’re on, baby.”

And that’s how it started.

A firm handshake and a determined twinkle in both of your eyes — and the contest had begun.

Michael assumed you were just going to go on about your normal, day-to-day routine as usual for the next six days — wake up in one another’s arms, have lazy mornings with gentle kisses, alas no sex, and then spend your day as you so chose.

But, no.

Michael had no idea how truly possessive you would get about winning — something that instilled a secretive panic in him at the idea that you may actually crack his resolve.

You started tame on day zero — brushing past him slowly, deliberately gliding the swell of your ass against his crotch, as you moved through the kitchen, acting none-the-wiser to his despair as you peered into the fridge, attempting to suppress the smirk that crept into your face.

Or, you’d appear that evening in the bedroom from your walk-in closet next door — heels clicking against the wooden floors as your frame hit his vision.

He’d been laying in bed, engrossed in the cartoon imagery that played across the screen, laughing softly at a particularly humourous scene, before his attention was completely focused on you.

“Goin’ now, baby.” You’d say, a slight hint of sensuality in your low drawl of words that Michael picked up on as you leant against the doorframe.

Michael swallowed thickly at the sight of you — clad in a dress so tight that every curve of your body was visible, an evil temptation in the form of a thigh-length, black, low cut, backless, body-con dress. You couldn’t hide the smirk that adorned your dolled-up face at the sight of Michael’s eyes practically popping out of his head.

“Jesus.” He breathed, the noise of the television suddenly going on deaf ears as he ogled at you, “God, you look beautiful, baby.”

You did a twirl — just to rub it in his face, the sight of your bare back and the curve of your ass beneath the tight material suddenly on full display to his eager eyes, ones that had now been without the sight of your naked frame for sixteen hours.

“Come here, lemme get a better look at’ya” He commanded, sitting up from his relaxed position, and seating himself at the edge of the mattress.

You moved slowly, teasingly slow — so slow it had Michael growing increasingly antsy by the time you reached him, slotting yourself between his opened legs, hands sliding to his shoulders as his own rose to your sides, stroking the curve of your hip-dips.

“Incredible.” He whispered, eyes trailing all over your frame, “Shouldn’t be seen out in public lookin’ this good.”

You laughed, jerking your neck softly to sway a loose strand of hair from your face, “Can’t pass up on girls night.” You started, “Besides I’m meeting your sisters.”

“Even more reason for you to stay home with me.”

“Don’t be mean.” You swatted his arm playfully, “I’ll be home before y’know it.”

“I doubt it,” He breathed, running a languid hand along your exposed thigh, “Countin’ down the seconds ‘till your home is gonna be like watching paint dry.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You giggled, shaking your head at his theatrical reaction.

“How can I not be when I have a lady who looks like this?—God help me.” Michael sighed, lip coming between his teeth.

A seductive smile trickled onto his bitten lips as his hand wondered recklessly — gliding up your inner thigh to delicately swipe a long, slender finger over your clothes folds, a gasp ripping from your throat as the pad of his middle finger nudged your twitching clit, forcing you to step backwards to separate the pair of you.

You laughed, deep from your chest, “I knew you wouldn’t last.”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He teased, smirking as he rested back on his hands, glistening eyes meeting your own.

“I should count that as loosing, y’know.” You revealed, crossing your arms over your chest, missing the way Michael licked his lips at the sight of your exposed chest being pushed further up, the round of your breasts becoming more visible to him.

“Unless one finger counts as sex baby, I think I’m still winning.”

“Haven’t won yet, Michael.” You reminded, sliding your crocodile-skin patterned handbag over your shoulder, “See you later. Be good.”

“Think you’re forgettin’ something, honey.”

You rolled your eyes playfully with a laugh, retreating back towards him, eyeing up his teasing smile. You leant down, capturing his lips in a smooth kiss, his chin caught between two of your slim digits. It was only when Michael cascaded a harsh, sudden slap to your ass over the flimsy material of your dress did you move backwards again with a half-gasp, half-laugh.

“You’re only tormentin’ yourself, baby.” You admitted, sending him a knowing look before walking straight out the door.

As Michael watched your gorgeous frame saunter away, the only sound remaining was the clicking of your heeled shoes down the stairs and the faint hum of the TV, it hit him that you were right. He genuinely couldn’t help himself when it came to you, especially when you got dressed up — something that always drove him crazy.

And the torment wasn’t self-inflicted by him like you insinuated — oh, no, it was all administered by you.

Even though his ego had been stroked at the undeniable fact that he’d managed to actually not have sex with you for a now twenty-four hours — his pride was still aching at the horrible realisation you were causing him greater anguish than he was to you.

You had upped your game — deciding that even though he had passed level one, he hadn’t won’t this yet. And you certainly weren’t done pushing his buttons.

You were blind to assume he didn’t know how to do the same.

You were stood in the living room, humming softly to the music that blared from the TV as you stood up from your strained position. You were partaking in your usual Tuesday afternoon yoga session — a habit you’d picked up in recent times after Michael bought and downloaded a whole 3-month course series on the television for you to watch and practice. You were sweating — stray hairs from your tight ponytail tickling your slick neck, cheeks flushed and legs throbbing in heat from the tightness of the yoga pants that clad them.

“And beeeend over, ladies! Stretch those calves!” The encouraging voice from the instructor over the music filled your ears, obeying the command instantly.

Your legs burnt from the tense position you were strained into, swallowing thickly as you concentrated, heat still pulsated through your body.

In your state of focus, you missed the way Michael appeared behind you, the music masking his footsteps as he approached you, standing directly behind your bent over frame. If he wasn’t about to wind you up, he would’ve let himself go at the sight of you face down, ass up for him.

You jumped, squealing loudly with a pleasured ‘Aah!’, falling forwards, catching yourself on your hands as Michael’s mouth latched around your clothed cunt through your pants — teeth grazing over your aching clit.

“Mike!” You screeched, “Y’scared me. What are you doing?” You panted, the increased bodily temperature from the workout nothing compared to the intense arousing heat scorching through you as he pulled away from you.

You peered down, staring at his crouched frame behind you through your spread legs, that infamous shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he studied your reaction.

“Hey, baby.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Michael shrugged, “Nothin’.”

You rolled your eyes, sinking to the floor to dissolve the strain on your body, crossing your legs as you panted. Suddenly, his surprise oral attack felt all too calculated for your liking.

“Nah, I know what you’re doin’.” You blamed, pouting your lips in an accusatory manner.

Michael’s smirk deepened as he too sank to his knees, reaching forward to take a hold of your tense calves, pushing your legs upwards and open, pushing you slowly onto your back. He shuffled towards you, slotting himself between your legs, hovering his body weight over you, sleek hair dangling into your face.

No words were spoken as Michael leant down, pushing your lips together in a fierce kiss — all teeth and tongue as he lapped at your bottom lip, awaiting permission to enter your warm mouth. And when he did, you moaned out loud, the glass house of your pride having stones hurled at it by yours truly from the inside — your ego screaming to be released from the pleasured prison you’d locked it in as his tongue slid against your own. It was only when his crotch met your own, the throbbing statement of his arousal pressing deliciously into the ridge of your clothed cunt, material now sleek with Michael’s spit from where he suckled you, did you spread your legs further, letting him in.

“Michael.” You breathed, disconnecting your lips in a gasp at the sensation, your resolve threatening to transpire as he pressed himself harder into you, hardened cock moving to the side ever so slightly, nudging your clit — sending shockwaves throughout you.

A pathetic whimper left you as he finally rocked against you — his stiff erection now gliding over your cunt, now drooling from the inescapable need that dripped out of you — body betraying you as it begged for him desperately.

“I’ve got you, baby.” He whispered, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, tongue darting out to lick a feather-light stripe over the lobe, smirking as you shuddered.

His hips never stopped — rolling despairingly slow against you, each thrust knocking against your clit relentlessly, the twitching nub that had been screaming for attention for the past thirty hours now throbbing against his hard-on. Your body was exploding — blind lust coursing throughout you at the intensifying desire of the pent up hunger for him.

One thrust rocked against your clit particularly hard, a high-pitched whine falling into the air as your back arched off the ground, heaving chest pressed into his own, a lazy smirk tugging on Michael’s spit-covered lips.

“Thaaat’s it, baby,” He coaxed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, hand trailing down to toy with the waistband of your pants, “Give in to me.”

Give in to me — the arousing connotation did nothing to hide the real undertone of his words.

You gasped, your hands coming to connect with his shoulders in a harsh shove, crawling out from underneath him as he stumbled backwards — his back slamming against the edge of the large couch that splayed behind you both, laughing loudly.

“You fucker.” You seethed, through gritted teeth, chest rising and falling quickly.

“Nearly got’cha there.” He breathed, chuckling as he too caught his breath.

“You playin’ real dirty, Mike.”

“And you were playin’ with fire with that dress last night, but I let you have your fun.” He shot back, smiling widely, “One all.”

His reference to a sports term, meaning both teams had scored a goal each, had you rolling your eyes — trying to ignore the way your body had a visceral reaction at his attempt to break you.

And how scarily close you got to shattering.

Michael rose to his feet, leaning over to press a kiss to your head, palming a hand through your sleek ponytail, before retreating up the stairs once more with a laugh that had you huffing in irritation.

You ground your teeth — this definitely wasn’t over yet.

Michael, sincerely pleased with himself at his success of teasing you breathless, settled in his office — placing down and picking up the phone every few minutes to contact his producers, personal assistant, media executive, anyone and everyone who demanded his attention.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, that one did pretty well.” He mumbled into the phone that was pressed to his ear, swaying gently back and forth in his swivelled chair, “Mhm, okay, tell me about that one again.”

He was focused — knee-deep in important business, having conversations that couldn’t wait or be interrupted. You always respected his working time — anytime he’d click the door of his office shut, you’d busy yourself. Either going shopping, working out or going to visit a friend — you let Michael’s professional life remain separate to your romantic relationship.

But, he lost that respectful distance the second he agreed to this dangerous dance of denying one another pleasure through reckless and teasing means.

“Mhm, so the 23rd and 27th?” He muttered, pen between his lips as he stared down at the notepad full of potential dates for a charity event at a nearby Children’s Hospital.

When, out of the blue, the door to his office opened painfully slow, the low groan of the hinges forced into action filling his ears, the noise of his manager’s voice in his ear drowning into blabber the second the perpetrator behind the interruption met his eyes.

Michael’s jaw fell slack, eyes widening in shock for the thousandth time this week already at the sight before him — you, pretty frame clad in his favourite lingerie set he’d bought you on one of the many shopping sprees he’d taken you on, the delicate lace hugging every ridge and curve of your body perfectly.

It was pastel, babydoll-pink and sheer — the perfect shade of your nipples shining subtly through the material, poking out just enough to meet his darkened gaze, the underwire pushing your tits up to maximum fullness, albeit slightly uncomfortable, but any pain was softened at the reaction he gave you. And the panties didn’t solve his shock — an intoxicating G-string that allowed the curve of your waist, dip of your hips and swell of your ass to be on full display.

You leant against the doorframe seductively — a smirk full of vengeance evident on your face at his stunned expression. You let out a quiet giggle as his chest heaved, grasp on the phone tightening as he watched your every move, not daring to look away.

Michael, performing his infamous lip-bite, sucked in a harsh breath as you turned around, presenting your exposed behind to him — the curve of your ass moving with each movement, a slight recoil with each step.

“Michael?” The confused, barely audible voice of his manager rang through the silent room, questioning his sudden silence.

If you hadn’t turned to look at him over your shoulder, running a curious finger down your side, gooseflesh blooming on your skin at the tentative self-inflicted touch, and slipped around the corner with a laugh, leaving the doorway suddenly empty — Michael would’ve hung up the phone right then and there.

“S-Sorry, lost connection.” He cleared this throat, adjusting his painfully hard cock beneath his slacks, “Carry on.”

On day two, Michael was antsier than ever — cock hard from the moment he woke up, throbbing for attention. He never usually masturbated, as he would rather save his pleasure for when he was inside you, that and because you always there to provide him said arousal every day. His cock was twitching violently every time you approached him, even doing something simple as making breakfast — his dick confused at the sudden change in routine, missing its usual usage.

Thankfully, you had spared him today — not providing any tantalising treatment, just acting as the ultimatum hadn’t even been agreed on to begin with.

Some would think that would bring some much needed relief, but alas not. It was worryingly quiet, scarily calm — something dangerous and hidden underneath your normality that had him tense. He couldn’t figure out what you were planning, but it had him squirming and screaming inside in anticipation — tense and fighting off a forty-eight hour boner wasn’t a good cocktail for Michael.

Michael, who had been working again today, sluggishly pulled himself up the stairs, loosening his tie that he had been forced to wear for an in-person meeting. Fatigue washed over him quickly just as the clock ticked nearer to midnight as he trudged to your shared bedroom — tiredness at the forefront of his brain as the thought of your silly challenge left his busy mind.

“Hey, angel, sorry I’m so late—“

This vision was by far the worst so far — rated so high on the scale of your lustful mockery that it had him choking on air, hands freezing at his sides.

“Mmh, w-welcome home, baby.” You panted, voice cracking as you forced the words out due to your busied hand.

And welcome he was — your obvious sexual invitation sent a cold shiver down his spine, eyes locked on your frame.

You were on your back, slightly arched off the crumpled sheets that splayed beneath you, one hand cupping your bare tit, toying with your erect nipples, as the other worked a buzzing bullet vibrator around your swollen clit. You writhed and whined as he watched you, utterly gobsmacked at the sight of you pleasuring yourself, calling his name like a chant as you nudged a particularly sensitive part of your nub, a trickle of your arousal seeping from your hole that clenched around nothing, begging to be used after being empty for so long.

“Holy shit.” He mumbled, the only words eligible to leave his head as he stepped into the room, not bothering to even shut the door behind him as he rushed before you.

You arched your back further as he neared you, the strong scent of his cologne flooding your heightened senses, a louder, needier whine falling past your lips. Michael swore his dick was seising the way it was twitching uncontrollably beneath his slacks, begging to be freed from the tight constraints of his clothing.

“God, you’re perfect.” Michael breathed, hands coming down to take your raised ankle into his grasp, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the skin.

You whimpered, hand speeding your movements, circles swift against your clit, slick with your arousal — his touch sending shockwaves through you.

Your free foot leant down, as his mouth worked its way over your other foot, hand rubbing slow, loving strokes along your bare leg, and flexed along the obvious bulge in his trousers. Michael gasped against your ankle, lips stuttering against your skin at the feeling of the sudden contact with his stiff manhood.

“Touch yourself too, Michael.” You breathed, voice a sultry order, toe trailing along the ridge of his dick, revelling in the way he panted, hand tightening around your foot, “Wanna see you.”

Michael, hands frantic and panicked, flew to his belt, tugging it off his hips swiftly, throwing it to the floor, before pushing his slacks and boxers to his ankles, kicking them off. His cock slapped against his abdomen wildly, a loud hiss ripping from his throat at the sudden rush of air around his throbbing cock as he knelt on the edge of the bed. Obeying your command, he spit into the palm of his hand before enclosing it around himself.

“Oh fuck.” He drawled, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of his warm spit and tight fist enveloping his manhood as he began stroking himself slowly.

“That’s it, baby,” You coaxed, voice hoarse from your own desperate noises, “Look at me.”

His eyes shot open, instantly locking onto your fucked-out expression, eyebrows knitted together as pleasure washed over your face, the sight of you rubbing the loud sex-toy over your sex filling his vision as he trailed his eyes over your writhing frame.

You soon switched positions, not once leaving his eyeline, slipping a leg over the other, now on your side — before tentatively sliding the buzzing toy down your slit, teasing yourself. You whined deeply from your chest that heaved, lip coming between your teeth as you slowly pushed the short, slim vibrator inside you. It vibrated violently inside you as you slid it in and out quickly, the tip of it grazing your G-spot ever so slightly, but never fully abusing it.

Your head lurched back at the lack of full pleasure, whining desperately. You needed him, fucking badly — pussy drooling as you watched him panting and jerking himself languidly before you, eyes raking over you hungrily, but you weren’t about to loose.

You were still deep in the game after all.

But, your resolve fell on its last legs as he hunched over you, pushing you gently onto your back once more, slotting himself beneath you like he did the day prior — instantly sliding his hard cock between your slit.

The noise that ripped from you sent shockwaves of arousal through Michael’s body as he slid his erect cock over your slick pussy, gathering all of your essence on him. His tip, drooling wildly with pre-cum, nudged at your clit, now abandoned by the vibrator which shook at your side.

“Still determined to win, baby?” Michael breathed, peering down at you, baby hairs that had fallen loose from his low ponytail, sticking to the thin layer of sweat that coated his forehead, his mouth agape as he panted, muscles flexing beside your head.

Words failed you — wanting nothing more than to sass him back, but only pathetic pleas fell from your lips, eyes threatening to roll back with each rock of his hips against your clit.

“Oh my god!”

You cried out loudly, legs lurching to wrap about Michael’s waist as he slid his cock downwards once more, his hand grabbing the buzzing toy from next to you to press against your clit and pushed just the tip inside you.

You shuddered harshly, eyes now rolled brutally to the back of your head as your entrance struggled to stretch around the fat of his cockend, clenching ferociously as he toyed with your clit with the vibrator that was set to the highest setting.

“Say I win.” He panted, fitting every urge inside him to bury himself to the hilt and fuck you senseless, but deciding the childish rules of the game you agreed on was more fulfilling in the moment. And definitely something he could hold against you, “Say I win and I’ll give it to you, baby. Just say the word.”

You heaved, jaw clenching as the words regurgitated up your throat, a mere few inches from being released to his ears — but you swallowed them down.

“In your dreams, Michael.”

Michael shook his head, laughing breathily as he moved his hips backwards, retracting both his hands and his cock from your begging cunt — your eyes shot open.

“No, no! No, please.” You cried, tears filling up in your waterline as a needy, utterly desperate sob threatened to escape your mouth at the loss of contact, cunt twitching angrily at the emptiness. Michael watched you writhe in aching agony as he slipped his shirt off his torso — enamoured at the desperate show you were putting on for him.

“Y’know what to do, baby.” Michael teased, pushing forward to slide slowly between your slick pussy lips, careful to avoid your clit and clenching hole, where he knew you needed him most, a calculated move that had you squirming.

“Okay, okay!” You exclaimed, despair dripping from your tone as you accepted defeat, “You win!”

Michael pushed forward, sheathing himself inside you to the brim with one harsh thrust — bottoming out to the hilt, tip kissing your cervix lovingly.

The sound of both of your relief flooded the room — a loud, fierce scream ripping from your throat at the sudden fullness, legs tightening round his waist as your fingers dug into the tense of his bicep as he groaned lowly into the crook of your shoulder, pressing his body weight against you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight f’me, baby, my God.” Michael exhaled, shuddering at the sensation of your cunt convulsing by itself around him, struggling to accommodate the stretch.

“Michael, please.” You whined, eyes flickering up to his own wrecked ones, “Please—need you. Need you so fucking bad.”

Michael didn’t wait for you to change your mind, change the rules or spout some stupid hidden agenda about the game he hadn’t realised — actually he couldn’t care less about that stupid challenge anymore with the way you were wrapped him like a glove, your slick coating him him from tip to base. His hips moved instantly — snapping up into you with insane speed, moving completely out and back in to the brim, cursing under his breath as your sharp nails dragged down his bare back.

His name chanted from your lips like a prayer as his mauve tip repeatedly slammed against the spot inside you were you clawing to reach earlier — now being abused over and over again as he ploughed into you with intensifying stamina only a man of his talented league would have.

Your pussy squelched loudly, mixing in the air in a swirl of lewdness with your pathetic cries, tears now falling from your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure that coursed through you — something the both of you had been yearning for for only a few mere days, equivalent to about three years, only worsening at your incessant teasing.

Your orgasm crept up faster than you expected — the familiar feeling crawling up your spine and flooding your abdomen like it had done three days ago before you began your mutual torment on one another. Michael sensed it.

“Fuck, you gonna cum, baby?” He breathed, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as your cunt clenching rabidly around him.

“Yes, fuck, Mikey, yes!” The agreement fell from your lips, barely coherent as you blabbered, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure consumed you aggressively.

“‘M there too, angel.” Michael admitted, his hand slipping between your tangled bodies to where you connected beautifully, the pad of his middle digit rubbing tight circles on your pulsating clit, “Look at me when you cum f’me, I’m right there with you, baby.”

The orgasm that ripped through you, tearing any ounce of self-restraint and playful teasing that you had in you to shreds, hit you like a bulldozer to a glass skyscraper — shattering you into nothingness as your legs shook violently around his waist. Your nails dug hard into him, breaking the skin, as the overwhelming arousal took over every inch of your soul as you kept your intense gaze on him — body writhing and voice singing in electric lust as he fucked you through your release.

And he never let up — feverishly chasing his own high, eyes finally fluttering shut as the sensation consumed him. He buried himself to your very end, cervix flooded with his milky white seed as it spurted inside you — overstimulation forcing the neediest whimpers from his lips, muffled by your hair, as the orgasm he’d been dying for imprisoned him for the best blissful twenty seconds of his life.

For the first time since Sunday — you both lay still. Unmoving, just feeling. No teasing or tournaments — just listening to each other’s racing heartbeats against your chests that were pushed together, heaving breaths hot in your ears, and the pulsating of both your sexes around one another.

You remained like that for a few minutes — silence, for the first time since Michael had stepped into the room, engulfed itself around you.

Michael moved first, twisting his head to the side, cheek warm against the bare of your shoulder — pressing a caste kiss to your jaw, lips sloppy and lazy, yet loving, as he displayed his affection proudly to you. You turned your face to meet his — capturing his lips in a soft, delicate kiss that spoke a thousand words — sending a silent congratulations for winning your childish contest. He understood the language of your lips — his tender kisses giving thanks back, though, the feeling of egotistical validation cascading through his brain, but he kept that to himself.

You pulled away first, pressing your foreheads, sheen with sweat, together, sighing softly. You just stared at one another — the warm, fuzzy aftershock of your release flowing through both of your bodies as you stayed connected below the waist, irrefutable relief the only emotion feasible in the moment.

Yet, due to your mutual elementary, playful nature, Michael couldn’t help himself — leaning back with a smirk tugging onto his face, a knowing grin that had you rolling your eyes with a similar smile before he even spoke his next words,

“Told ya I’d win, baby.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Five minutes in show business was equivalent to three hours — Michael’s musical team bustling into panic every second longer that he remained missing.

Michael knew he was going to be in trouble for this — but he knew they wouldn’t understand the reasonings for his tardiness.

For there was only one reason — he needed something. Badly.

A good luck charm.

For most, it’s a kiss from their partner, or a hug from their parent, or for some, it’s a smoke break to calm their nerves, or a tradition they swore to never break before every important moment in their life.

For Michael Jackson, though? It’s sliding his cock into his girlfriend’s wet pussy thanks to her little surprise.

And that was exactly the rationale behind his delay.

If he came down to it, jokingly, he would blame it on you — you had caused the lagging to his concert.

You and your perfect secret.

Michael had entered his dressing room, a perfect fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, wanting to spend a few uninterrupted moments with his girl before he danced and sang the night away for his supportive fans.

What he didn’t expect to walk into was a quickie that would leave his team in a frenzy.

“Hey, doll,” He breathed as he walked in, eyes instantly softening as he met your pretty frame stood by the makeup counter, “I’m on in fifteen, wanted to say g’bye.”

Michael strode towards you, anxiety uplifting from his tense shoulders as the smell of your sweet perfume and sight of your gorgeous face hit his senses, hands instantly sliding around the curve of your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Before you do,” You started, hands pressed against his chest, eyes twinkling with something he wasn’t familiar with as you peered up at him, “I have a surprise.”

Michael huffed out a breathy laugh, “Scarin’ me, baby, what is it?”

“Don’t be scared. You’re gonna love it. I got it just f’you, Mikey.”

An eyebrow perked up Michael’s face in confusion as he listens to your words, anticipation flooding his emotions as he awaited your next move.

And any chance of Michael being on time disengaged itself the second you turned on your heel and bent over, lifting up your mini-skirt and revealing yourself to him.

A gasp ripped from Michael’s throat, mouth falling open in disbelieving shock as his eyes locked on the new addition the adorned the top swell of your left ass-cheek.

‘M’ — a tattoo, in dainty, fresh black ink now cladding your skin, a familiar symbol that not only also hung from the Cartier necklace around your neck, but also the custom-made panties that Michael had made for you.

But, this? This by far took the cake.

His initial, his, now marking your skin for all entirety. A cursive scripture of the first letter of his name — permanently attached to the curve of your behind for anyone and everyone to see.

Everyone to see that you belonged to him.

A thought so obscene in his mind that he couldn’t not do something about it.

Couldn’t not repay you for your devotion.

And that’s exactly why he was late.

He had kissed you with such passion it had your knees buckling underneath you as his hands cupped your face — whining at the sound of his own lustful groans into your mouth.

He wasted no time — ripping the clothes of your body like you were on fire, cascading them to the floor and pulling you against him swiftly, tugging you both down onto the couch that tucked itself neatly into the corner of the room.

First, worked you open with his tongue and fingers — whining at the sweet taste of your juices on his tongue as his long, slender fingers curled inside of you, earning seductive whimpers and gasps of pleasure as he lapped at your cunt like it was his last day on Earth.

Or maybe at such a speed as he had thousands of fans waiting for him?

Right now, he didn’t care — the thought of it not even crossing his mind as he made you cum twice before he even freed himself from his slacks, and dragging you on top of him.

And that’s where he had you now. Time ticking graciously slow for everybody else as they awaited him — but not you two.

Not when he had you bent over in his lap — pushed into a brutal position of reverse cowgirl, as they call it, your legs straddling his bare, meaty thighs as he held you back by your arms, thrusting up into you with deep, swift strokes that your eyes stuck in the back of your head.

“Mmph—f-fuck, Mikey—oh, God, I—“

“I know, baby, I know.” He panted, eyes fluttering at the sensation of your cunt pulsating around his hard cock.

He bucked up into you faster with each thrust — tip, drooling eagerly with pre-cum, slamming against your cervix with each jolt of his languid hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer at the feeling of your soaking cunt. You wailed with each jerk of his cock — tears falling freely down your face at the sheer intensity of the love-making.

You and Michael has dabbled in sex before one of his shows — the erotic notion calming his nerves and releasing tension before he worked so hard on stage. But, it had never been like this before.

Michael was fucking into you with irrevocable passion — his cock ramming so hard into you it had you seeing stars through your glassy vision.

The reason for his position, one you had never explored yet, was not only so he could watch the ripple of your ass against his pelvis every time he dragged his cock in and out of you — but to also watch the shine of your freshly inked up cheek, the light catching the reddened ‘M’ perfectly.

His eyes never left it — gaze completely captivated by the ink that clad your smooth skin, practically drooling at the sight of it.

“Y’so fuckin’ good to me,” He grunted, a trickle of sweat bleeding down his temple, “Markin’ yourself up with my name for life.”

You cried out — moans of undeniable ecstasy falling past your lips at his loving words, pleasure coursing through you like scorching heat as his pace never let up. Sounds of your lewd whines and the provocative squelch of your soaking cunt filling the room with each brutal thrust.

“You’re fuckin’ mine forever now, baby. No one else can have you like this, see that pretty little ‘M’ and not know I fucked you senseless first, huh, dollface?”

“Oh, yes, Michael!” You exclaimed from your swollen rosebuds, clit twitching as you neared your third orgasm of the evening without it even being touched.

Seven minutes had ticked over quicker than you expected — not that either of you were keeping track of precious time as he continued to fuck up into you like his life depended on it.

“Holy fuck, Mikey—shit, g-gonna cum!”

“Cummin’ already, princess, barely even got in’ya baby?” His tone was taunting as if he hadn’t been slaughtering your tight cunt for the past seven minutes.

You came with a scream louder than you intended — cunt spasming violently around him, clenching his cock so tightly it had Michael cursing under his breath. Your head threw back, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure flowed through you with ease, lip sucked between your teeth as Michael’s grip on your arms behind you tightened.

“‘M supposed to be out there right now.” Michael admitted, breath ragged, “But, the way this pretty cunt is sucking me in is makin’ me wanna cancel the whole fuckin’ tour just so I can stare at this pretty ‘tat and fill you up every day.”

You came down from your high, whimpering as Michael’s intense thrusts of his throbbingly hard cock never decreased, cunt twitching around him — you’d never felt pleasure quite like it.

You bit back a smile as you internally thanked past self for getting the tattoo.

And you knew exactly what you were doing — the strategic placement of it had every calculated reasoning. Michael was definitely, proven countless times during your sexual intercourse and private moments, an ass man — eyes remaining locked on every recoil of your plump behind as he rapidly bucked up inside you.

“‘M so close, mama,” Michael whined, voice cracking from the overwhelming arousal that pumped through him, “Y’don’t know what that thing is doin’ to me.”

You knew exactly what his insinuation to your inked-up skin meant — his profound fucking of your cunt revealing every single feeling he had about your new addition.

As Michael repeatedly slammed into you, prominently hard dick now angled directly to abuse the sweet spot inside you, a familiar feeling crept up your abdomen once more.

Four in one sitting was a record.

“M-Mich—Mikey, baby—holy fucking shit, gonna cum, ‘m gonna fucking cum again—Oh!”

Michael groaned lowly behind you, now taking your arms in one hand, the other reaching over to grip your face tightly in his grasp, “Wanna see your pretty face when you cum for me, baby.” He moaned, eyebrows curled up into a pleasureful expression, “Give it to me, angel, please.”

With his desperate plea for your orgasm and the erotic arousal glistening in his vision — you broke. Your fourth orgasm hitting harder than the other three, jaw going slack as you squealed as overstimulating arousal flooded your brain.

Michael wasn’t far behind you — the sensation of your cunt convulsing viciously, squeezing his cock, screaming for his release, had his hips finally stuttering as he pulled out quickly.

He didn’t even need to pump his cock as he came, the sensation of your cunt previously milking him for all he’s worth was enough to have him spurting all over the swell of your ass — groaning loudly as his cum splattered all over your skin. His cum shot hard over you — leaving you whining at the warm gush of his fertile, milky-white seed as he jerked explosively behind you.

Finally, he stopped — body slumping behind you as the aftershock of his release coaxed his body into stillness. He heaved behind you — chest rising and falling quickly as he attempted to catch his lost breath, the grip on your arms loosening ever so slightly, but still enough to keep you from falling forwards.

His head, now resting against the cold of the wall, angled itself down to let the sight of your pretty tattoo fill his vision. A smile trickled its way onto his flushed face once more — a blissful reminder of your loyalty to him each time it caught his eye.

You winced, eyes fluttered shut as you came down from your ferocious high, as Michael ran a delicate thumb over the sensitive skin where the ink resided, body jerking at the sudden touch to the sore, swollen skin — watching as his hot cum dribbled all around his new favourite thing about you, decorating your skin even more so.

“So pretty,” He mumbled, eyes never leaving the vision of his cum trickling all around the ink — now not only branded by name, but his sticky seed.

He pulled you against his chest, hand snaking around your body to cup your waist, pressing kisses to your warm cheek and down your neck — ignoring the loud, incessant bangs against the locked door of his dressing room as his team finally found where he had been for the now ten minutes.

You turned your face towards him, locking lips with him briefly, humming into his mouth as the tang of your own essence still lingered on his tongue, before pulling off with a pop,

“So,” You breathed, a smile tugging onto your own as your mirrored his, “D’you like it?”

He didn’t need to answer — only laughing as the evidence of his adoration for it dripped down the swell of your ass.

He fucking loved it.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You had crawled into bed with Michael one night, skin glistening from the expensive floral scented lotion you’d just delicately rubbed into your skin, settling comfortably in the sheets next to him. He was quieter that night — he mumbled at dinner, barely conversing with you, playing with his food. Michael didn’t have a large appetite, so his lack of eating hadn’t phased you as much as it did now. You didn’t expect him to be too chatty that night either, you had already had a heated disagreement a few hours earlier that remained unresolved — something that was becoming more frequent in recent times due to his demanding career.

So, when you nestled against him, his hands rigid at his sides, was when you noticed something was undeniably wrong.

“Is everything okay, baby?” You asked, peering up from his chest to glance at his pokerface.

“I think we should split up.”

The words hit you full-force, panic and shock instantly flooding your emotion — sitting up so frantically it made Michael flinch.

“What? What the hell are you talking about?” Your voice was frantic and distressed, face forced into a scrunch of anxiety.

Michael stayed silent for a few moments, not daring to meet your eyes, just staring blankly at the wall next to him.

“Michael, don’t fucking joke with me. Fucking say something.”

“Stop cursing, please.” He forced out, voice hoarse and low, attempting to keep his dignity.

You scoffed in disbelief, “So, you blurt out that you wanna break-up, but all you care about is a curse? Are you fucking serious?” Anger was the emotion at the forefront of your brain now, utterly disgusted with his coldness towards you mixed with the cruelty of his words.

“Things are complicated right now.” He started, still facing away from you, “I’ve got the album and the tour, and we’re fighting too much already because of it. It’s not good for us especially if I’m away for long periods of time. You deserve someone who can be around for you. Someone better.” He sighed, shaking his head, “I don’t want to let this progress and then end up hurting one another more.”

“‘Let this progress?’ Michael we’ve been together for three years, nearly four. You didn’t think to end things three and half years ago if you didn’t wanna get hurt? Are you serious?”

“I still love you, I just want to protect us both from pain.” He spoke quietly.

“Love? This isn’t love, Michael, this is cruel. This is worse pain. Someone who loved me wouldn’t treat me like this. Why are you doing this to me? To us?”

His heart clenched as your voice cracked, not brave enough to look you in your eyes, now brimming with tears.

“I’m sorry.”

The words felt faux as they left his lips — silencing encasing the room. You scoffed, standing up swiftly from the bed, rushing into the bathroom, slamming the door harshly behind you. You missed the way Michael flinched once more as the loud sound echoed throughout the quiet room, a single tear falling down his cold cheek — attempting to ignore your wails of despair from behind the door.

He saw you for the last time as you rushed out of the bathroom — bag full of your toiletries in hand as you raced towards the bedroom door, sobbing.

He called your name, but you cut him off, swearing brutally at him, along the lines of ‘Go fuck yourself, Michael’. Your memory of that night wavered thin now — your brain compartmentalising the pain to the back of your mind, pushing it the furthest away from to prevent you from punishing yourself with the hurtful memory.

You were packed and moved out the same night — moving back in with your parents, who comforted you for weeks on end as you experienced the worst heartbreak you’d ever felt in your life. The one person you loved and trusted the most in your life had been the one to hurt you the most, too. It was a strange phenomenon — to still love and yearn for the person causing you agonising misery.

At month one, you spent most days in bed — wallowing in your despair, reading old love-letters, staring at photos taken on your first tropical vacation, your anniversary, his birthday. You were torturing yourself — a bittersweet pain that you struggled to rid yourself of. Ending most nights by sobbing into your hand as you read the newspapers — headlines of your split plastered everywhere. Utterly devastated at how disgusting tabloids portrayed you as a deadweight on Michael’s blossoming career, that you were only dragging him down, that he made a good decision to free himself of you.

By month two, you got back to work. You had managed to find your new routine — working hard on your own music, pouring your damaged heart into each song, passion flowing from your lips with each lyric. You didn’t cry as much — only now and again when Michael would pop up on the television, his new album ‘Bad’ going world platinum again, just as his others did, his success booming. What irked you most was he looked perfectly fine — smiling happily for the cameras, performing on stage on tour with pure, irrevocable talent, adoration and excitement oozing off of him, like he didn’t destroy someone’s life two months ago.

By month three, you acted unaffected. You’d moved out into your own place — gaining some unwanted independence. You began going about your life like you’d never met him — going on a few dates, dancing at clubs with your friends with guys you were a stranger to, late night calls with men you knew deep down would never compare, but indulging in the fun of it nonetheless— heart fuelled by anger and frustration, desperate to get back at him. When you finally moved on sexually, you were irritatingly disappointed — no man on the planet could please you like Michael had. That’s what filled you with pure rage. Faking orgasms and pretending as though their cock’s even made half the stretch that Michael’s did had you furious — often pushing them away mid sex, ordering them to get out of your apartment.

You were now almost at month six and the ice in your heart towards Michael hadn’t let up.

You pretended, to your family and friends, that you were over it — that it didn’t affect you anymore. That you had totally moved on with your life. Wrong. You were still livid deep down — not a single day going by where you didn’t curl your fists up in fury at the thought of him. Fury that you still had an annoyingly large place for him in your heart — that no matter how bitter you tried to convince yourself you were about him, it did nothing to dilute the sickly sweetness that overpowered your heart.

And that lovesick heart of yours was pounding violently in your chest right now.

Sat in the back of a limousine, dolled up to the Gods — hair, makeup and outfit perfected to a T, you looked divine. So divine you were determined to make a statement — one just as bad his.

Ironic.

The man in question who you were dying to shock, self-proclaimed as ‘bad’, connotations to his new album, was someone you believed to be sweet, tender and loving. An album title you always thought was truly ironic as he was quite the opposite.

Not as of recent.

Diana Ross had been a thorn in your side since the day you and Michael met. Her relentless flirtatious energy towards the man you craved was angering — even before you called it official was she persistent with her teasing.

“So, you’re the girl Michael keeps talkin’ so much about.” She drawled, the day you met her, your handshake harsher than usual as you gripped her bony hand in your own, “Not his girl, yet though, right?” She laughed, “Better snatch that handsome thing up before I do.”

You confessed your love to Michael that night.

You did truly have intense feelings for him — but that old cow had given you the push you needed. No way in hell was she going to take him away from you — not on your watch.

So, rightfully so, you were anxious at the thought of her finding out about your split — wondering what her next move would be. You’d spend everyday reading the newspapers in a panic, skimming through a thousand words a second in an attempt to find any news of them being spotted together.

And the day came — a week before The 1988 Soul Train Music Awards. The very award ceremony you were heading to, looking so beautiful.

Michael and Diana were front page — pressed tightly against one another at a famous club. His smile was bright, wide and genuine — something you’d missed seeing in person, now adorning his captivating face because of that witch. She had looped her arm through his, the picture capturing her pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. The title read ‘MICHAEL MOVING ON ALREADY? — OLD FLAME REIGNITED’

Oh, he had really done it this time.

He knew how much you hated her — loathed her, actually. The older woman often getting in the way of your relationship throughout the years you were together — despite having a husband herself, she was betrothed with your man.

So, even if technically he didn’t owe you a thing as you weren’t his anymore, you silently felt fury at him for letting her kiss him for the cameras.

Therefore, your only response was to fight fire with fire — childish? Maybe. But, clever? Absolutely.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

The sound of Prince’s voice next to you in the limo tugged a devilish smirk onto your face as you nodded.

If Michael wanted to play dirty — you would play real dirty.

The car had rolled to a stop — flashes of the paparazzi’s intrusive cameras burnt into your vision as the driver pulled the door open. You stepped out, smoothing your dress, a wide smile on your face, waving sweetly as you waited for your date to exit the vehicle.

If you thought the flash was bright before, you were mistaken. Spots blurred into your vision as Prince stood next to you, instantly taking your hand in his own, confidence oozing from him as always, before smiling down at you. You turned to him — pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, lipstick now smeared across his skin, earning a knowing laugh from his throat.

Cha-ching!

Those pictures, dripping with revenge, were a real moneymaker — something that would put that sloppy, old hag’s attempt to make you jealous to shame.

Everyone knew of the musical feud between Michael and Prince — the two men battling for the title of ‘the biggest star in the world’. You knew that Michael took the cake — but, you also knew that seeing his biggest rival with his ex-girl would shut down any attempt of riling you up.

“Nicely done.” Prince whispered, lips close to your ear as you were ushered inside the building. He was aware of your vengeful plan — and more than willing to help aggravate his arch nemesis.

“You too.” You sent a wink his way, engaging in a childish, unison giggle, knowing exactly what you were doing was going to end messy, “I’ll see you later.”

You parted ways with your exes nemesis, not before letting him press a calculated kiss to your knuckles, peripheral vision burning as more cameras captured your (fake) romantic moment, before being ushered to your assigned seat.

You were fairly near the stage, around three rows in front, next to your favourite female pop-star and close friend, Whitney Houston. A real, genuine smile burst across your face when she seated herself next to you.

“Girl.” She breathed out a laugh, placing her clutch bag gently in her lap.

“What?” You laughed, smiling across at her in confusion.

“Honey, I think you know what.” She shook her head with a grin, “You made quite the entrance back there.”

Perfect.

The corners of your lips tugged up into a deeper smile, “Then my plan is working.”

Whitney chuckled, “I just know that poor man is beyond ticked off right now.”

“‘Poor man’?” You scoffed, “He is far from poor. You saw the papers, right?”

“Everybody did, sweetie.”

“Number one, not helpful,” You pointed a finger at her, ignoring the way she cackled, “And two, he had it comin’” You paused, “Everyone, including him, knows how much I hate her.”

“Hate who?”

You froze — the infamously familiar voice that once had you smiling like a damn idiot before, now had your face falling as your head lurched behind you.

And there he was.

Michael.

In all his annoying glory — sporting a dashing red button-up, a sleek tie around his neck, paired with a black suit jacket, that hugged the curve of the lean muscles in his arms in a way that your breath hitching in your throat.

It aggravated you that he looked so good.

But, you knew that he knew that you looked better.

Your irritation only blossomed as you glanced at the seat to your right — eyes rolling in annoyance as his name, scribbled onto a flimsy piece of paper on the chair right next to you, hit your vision.

Fuck award show assigned seats.

“Well, shit, girl.” Whitney mumbled, laughing under her breath as she turned away from the tension that was rising as Michael took his seat.

“Hello.” He spoke, voice soft and gentle, just like you remembered.

“That’s all you have to say to me?” Your voice came out harsher than expected, an angered frown visible on your face as a grin bloomed on his.

His mouth went to open, but you cut him off, hand shooing him away, “Actually, don’t even speak to me, please.”

“You look beautiful.”

“What did I just say Michael?”

You hated the way he smirked at your snappy tone, lip coming between his teeth as he obeyed your request, getting comfortable in his chair. You also hated the way your heart did an extremely noticeable flip in your chest at the compliment.

This night was going to be the death of you.

And it only got worse as Michael retreated to the stage, not once, but twice — each time looking more gracious and handsome as the next. He won Best Single and Album of the Year for Bad — the trophies enclosed around his beautiful, slender hands, ones that once gave you blissful satisfaction.

You despised your weak mind for the way you let it run away with itself — eyes trailing over his tall, elegant frame each time he’d take the stage. That infamous smile that had you weak at the knees did nothing to cool the desire that was overpowering your anger, the yearn for him only increasing.

Michael thumped into his seat next to you with a sigh, now two awards richer, running a hand through his long curls that cascaded down his shoulders.

You could sense he was looking at you — his smiling face visible in your side eye-line, but you refused to turn, your eyes fixated on the stage as the next category was revealed.

“Saw your little stunt earlier.” He whispered, “Real classy.”

You scoffed quietly, “That’s rich.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

You knew that tone — that cocky, teasing tone that had you gritting your teeth.

You finally turned to face him, “Oh, right. I’m sure letting that old crow kiss you is a regular thing now, huh?”

“Saw that, did you?” He was testing you, it was evident in the way the knowing smirk on his face never faltered.

You were halfheartedly listening as your name was read for the nomination, not even bothering to care as you held your gaze with the man seated next to you — a brutal lock of eyes that said a thousand words. You were furious, failing to hide it miserably, and he, well, he was enjoying it.

“I did.” You started, “Nice to see a downgrade was my replacement.”

Michael’s smile flickered at your harsh dig at his life-long friend, “I think I could say the same about your date.”

“At least I have one.”

That sure wiped the smirk off his face.

“And definitely not a downgrade in the bedroom.”

You basked in his shock — the smirk he once sported now adorning your face, nearly missing the way your name was called from the stage, the room erupting in applause.

“Excuse me?” Michael’s voice was bitter, cold, mortified at your admission. A false one at that, but he didn’t need to know. Yet.

“Sorry, can’t hear you.” You shrugged him off, rising to your feet with a proud smile — at your award mostly, but also at your triumphant win in the petty disagreement, as loud cheers exploded in your ears.

You took the stage — a new found confidence oozing off of you, a gorgeous smile on your face as you took the award from the announcer’s hands, pulling them into a small hug. You thanked your producer, musical team, family and friends — humbleness evident in every word you spoke.

You looked perfect — utterly radiant under the bright lighting blaring down onto the stage, award glistening in your hands as your pearly white smile twinkled in the spotlight.

Michael, albeit still in an angered daze over your admission, couldn’t help himself but rake his eyes over your frame — breasts pushed perfectly up your corseted dress, the curve of the plush mounds visible to everyone’s eyes from the audience, eyes never leaving those perfect tits he’d once nestle his face into as he flung your legs over his shoulders and filled you to the hilt with his cock.

The thought had him readjusting his slacks — hard-on now painful against the restrictive clothing at the delicious reminiscing of your love-making.

It was your next words that had the sexual memories leaving his head.

“And I wanna thank my wonderful date for tonight— matter of fact, come up here! Prince, where y’at, honey?”

The room erupted into cheers once more — everyone but Michael, who attempted to drown out Whitney’s disbelieving laughter from two seats down from him, watching as you shielded your eyes from the light, searching for the man in the crowd.

Michael stared lethal daggers into Prince’s back as he sauntered up the stairs to the stage — his chest heaving in undeniable envy as he watched Prince pull you into a tight hug. Those gorgeous breasts now pressed up against Prince’s chest.

He was livid. Hands tightening around the material of his trousers, knuckles white as his grip turned taut.

“Not only is he a Pop King,” The room exchanged hushed gasps at the title, one that everyone knew belonged to your furious ex, “But, he’s also a fantastic plus one.” Laughs fizzled out the shock at your insinuation that Prince was only there with you, not for his own musical nominations.

Michael, however, had never felt fury quite like it.

That title was his.

One he worked so hard for — something him and that idiot, in his mind, up on stage with you had fought over for so many years. And you knew that.

He knew you were aggravating him deliberately.

Prince smirked, eyes finding Michael’s in the crowd, expression darkening, “Sorry, Michael.”

And with a smooth arm wrapped around your back, and a swift dip in the air — he kissed you.

Well, not actually.

His lips attached to the corner of your mouth, barely touching, but to the audience, and more importantly, the cameras, it looked as though your ex-boyfriend’s fiercest enemy was kissing the life out of you on stage.

And, boy, did everyone in the room eat it up.

Standing ovations and screams of joy sounded in the room as they clapped — basking in the pure drama of it all.

Prince pulled away from you with a smile, winking at you as you laughed, shaking your head. He took his hand in yours, guiding you backstage, the noise of the crowd dying down as you were ushered away.

“You’re evil.” You chuckled, chest heaving from the adrenaline.

“Well, maybe it’ll give him the push he needs to try get y’back.” Prince admitted, “Either that or to write ‘nother okay album.”

You shoved his arm playfully, “Oh, stop. Y’know it was a good album.”

“Sure, sweetheart, sure.” He teased, sending another smug wink your way, earning another giggle from your lips.

You’d barely made it ten steps backstage before an all familiar frame blocked your way.

You swallowed thickly as Michael’s cold, blank expression met your eyes, his hands curled at his side as he held your gaze — watching as the smile fell from your face.

He didn’t fail to notice how quickly you dropped Prince’s hand, either.

“Come with me. Now.” His voice was darker than his usual soft, gentle tone — not holding a deeper undertone of something that had a chill running down your spine.

“Oh, he mad now.” Prince spoke up, a soft, breathy laugh leaving his lips, “Don’t be jealous, brother, y’got ‘Ross don’t’cha?”

Michael’s jaw clenched, his gaze turning to Prince, eyes darkening into something icier, “I’d walk away if you know what’s good for you.”

Prince laughed once again, eyes flickering back towards you, “Good luck, girl.” He turned back to Michael, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Be sure to bring her back t’me when you’re done, yeah?”

Michael lunged, flinging his hand off his shoulder in a brutal shove, turning towards him with clear intent. You rushed in between a seething Michael and a laughing Prince, hands steadying the angered man on his chest.

“Enough. Both of you.” You hissed, “Just go.” You signalled to the amused man behind you.

Prince didn’t fight it — just turned to walk away with his hands in the air in surrender, chuckling as he went.

“Michael, what the hell was that for?” You snapped.

Michael didn’t speak — only grabbed your wrist in a firm, not aggressive, more so possessive, grasp, tugging you away, his longer legs moving swiftly with each stride, your own practically in a run as you fought to keep up.

He found a nearby bathroom, pushing the door open with all his strength, ignoring the way you winced at the sound of the handle harshly slammed into the wall. The door was shut and locked quicker than it had opened — before you were pushed against it.

“Me?” He started, answering your prior question, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, pupils blown in distress, “I think I should be asking you that question, sweetheart.”

The pet-name spat from his mouth with a curl of his lips — face contorted into a scowl.

You gained your pride, taking two hands to his shoulders and shoving him, your strength against his own doing as little as moving him a few steps backwards.

“Don’t get it twisted, Michael.” You retorted, “You started this with that bitch.”

Michael scoffed, “Go’head, baby, try and convince yourself I’m in the wrong here.” His tongue poked out from his inner cheek, “You’re insatiable.”

“Don’t you dare call me that.” Your voice seeping with distaste at the familiar pet-name, “You lost that privilege the second you gave up on us like we were nothin’.” You shook your head, “Would’ve let you have it back if you didn’t let that old slut rub up on you like you’re a fuckin’ groupie.” You laughed darkly, looking him up and down, “Not now. Lost every fuckin’ chance with me.”

Michael looked taken aback by your disrespectful words — teeth grinding together as he never took his eyes away from your own.

“I never gave up on us willingly.” He revealed, ignoring the way you scoffed with a laugh, as he took a step closer to you, “And as for her,” He paused, attempting to find the right words.

“See? You can’t even convince yourself there’s nothin’ going on there.” You cut him off, hands flailing in the air as you spoke theatrically.

“Let me finish, woman.” He shot back, “As I was sayin’ — she means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. She’s an old friend. Someone who mentored me as a kid. We have history — but nothin’ more than platonic. Barely even platonic, just professional.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Michael. No ‘professional mentor’ kisses their ‘colleague’ like that.” You air-quoted the words that felt faux with your manicured fingers, shaking your head, “Do you take me for some kind of idiot?”

“Not in that sense, no.” He started, “For actin’ like that with him? Maybe.”

You laughed in disbelief, “You just love it, don’t you? Pretending to yourself that I’m the bad guy, that I went up there and acted like that just to hurt you with no real reason?” You looked him up and down with disgust, “You’re so blind.”

“How many times, girl? There’s nothin’ going on with me and Di.”

He regretted the use of the nickname the second it left his mouth.

“Di? That sounds real professional to me, asshole.” You turned on your heel, clicking the lock back open and twisting the handle, pulling the door open in an attempt to storm out.

Before you could even move, the door was slammed shut once again. The loudness blooming a new found silence in the room, one that failed to occur from the second you walked in there.

Michael’s hand, despite his burning anger, remained gentle as moved your body back to face him, pressing you back into the door.

“Don’t even think about it.” He whispered, “You are not walkin’ away from me.”

“That’s ironic.” You bit back, “If you hadn’t have done that in the first place, we wouldn’t be havin’ this argument.”

“Y’think I wanted to do that? Think I wanted to sit there and watch you panic? Listen to you cry? Hear you cuss me out because of pain and anger I caused? No. That’s where y’dead wrong, girl.” He let out a shaken breath, “I have always, from the moment I met you, till this very day, loved you. Loved you so much I had to give you the life you deserved. I had to let you go. Had to get you away from the pain I was bringin’. No one wants to be with someone who’s never there, and when they are, they’re always fightin’.” Then, he went silent, his eyes now softened as they met your glassy ones, tears threatening to fall as you let him talk.

You both stayed in deathly loud silence, louder than any door slamming or screaming argument — silence that spoke more words than any you’d ever said.

You swallowed thickly, your resolve cracking as his admission settled in your brain, “That wasn’t your decision to make, Michael.” Your voice was quieter now, still with the same stubborn sharpness, but less accusatory, now filled with evident upset.

Michael breathed, his head hanging low, his forehead a mere few inches from your own, “I regret that night every fucking day.” He whispered, a vulnerable string of words that hung heavy in your heart, “Letting you walk out that door was the worst mistake of my life.”

“Why her?” Your voice cracked as you spoke, a stray tear falling down your cheek as you met his gaze.

“It wasn’t a personal attack. She was just at the same club and approached me.” He revealed, “The picture was taken before I even had a chance to say no.”

You shook your head, breaking the eye-contact as you looked at your feet, hiding your rapidly falling tears. Michael’s trembling hand reached for your face, a tentative hand cupping your warm cheek, lifting your face to meet his eyes once more.

“Mama..”

“Stop.” You turned your head, pushing his hand away with your own, “I can’t even look at you.”

“Don’t act so innocent.” Michael’s tone, that had once softened, grew the all too familiar iciness that had been evident the whole evening, “I’m trying to fix things here despite your little ordeal earlier. D’y’know what it’s like to see you kissing him up there? That used to be me if you even remember.”

You let out a low laugh, “He didn’t even kiss me, fool, ‘was all an act. Unlike you and Di.” You barked, “Y’know you actually blow my mind, you’re so—Mmmph!”

Michael connected your lips in a frantic kiss, cutting off your incessant bickering, lips moving against yours quickly.

You shoved him back, gasping for air at the sudden loss of breath, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Puttin’ that bratty fuckin’ mouth to better use.”

He kissed you again — mouth sliding against your own in a feverish lip-locking, a hand now gripping the nape of your neck, the other on the curve of your waist.

And this time — you let him.

You melted into him, hands flying to his face, eyes fluttering shut as you caved, droplets of tears falling onto the tops of your cheeks — falling deeper into his mercy. His tongue slid across the surface of your bottom lip, still awaiting permission despite his frustration. You allowed it, letting his tongue slide into your warm mouth, humming in delight at the taste of his minty breath on the hot muscle, revelling in the way he pushed his body into yours. His hands wondered — now travelling down your body to grab a handful of your ass through your dress, continuing his oral assault on your swollen lips.

“Jump.”

You obeyed, leaving his lips to leap into his arms — his hands cradling your behind as he connected your lips once more, settling you on the sink, slotting himself between your ajar legs.

Michael detached his mouth from own, moving his lips down the curve of your jaw, and down your exposed neck — letting his hips rock into yours involuntarily, while he sucked possessive marks into your skin, at the sound of your breathy moans, head tilted back to allow him better access.

“Michael, please.” You whined, voice a needy plea, hands sliding up into his hair, threading through his tight curls.

“Please, what, angel?” He mumbled against your neck, breath hot against your skin, fresh lovebites forming as he spoke.

“Please—mmhm—Need you, fuck.”

Michael pulled away, hands flying to your dress, pulling down the zipper harshly — before pulling you to your heeled feet, pushing it off your body swiftly, leaving you in just a skimpy bare of lace panties.

Ones you knew were his favourite.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He breathed, eyes raking over your bare frame, glossy doe-eyes peering up at him as he towered above you, “Wore my favourite just for me?”

You nodded, “Just f’you, Mike.”

Michael turned you, with precise smoothness, pressing your stomach against the cold of the sink, your bare back now pressed against his chest.

He slid a tentative hand up your side, toying with the tiny string the thong that clad your bottom half, as he locked eyes with your own in the mirror before you, “How am I supposed to know you didn’t wear them for him, mama?”

You pushed back against him, rolling your hips into the statement of his arousal, “Shut up about him and fuck me.”

A harsh hand connected with your left ass cheek — a half-gasp half-moan ripping from your throat at the sudden contact, “Thought I told you to keep that bratty mouth shut?”

You, testing your luck, ground against him once more, smirking at the way his hand tightened against your hand-printed behind, “Give me what I want then.”

Michael shook his head behind you — one hand working on his belt, pushing his slacks down along with his boxers, his palm wrapping around his achingly hard cock, pumping himself slowly, while the other pulled down your panties, now morphed into the shape of your plush folds from your leaking arousal, to the side, “Be careful what you wish for, doll.”

With one swift, sudden thrust, Michael pushed inside you — bottoming out instantly. A scream erupted from your throat at the instant fullness, your tight cunt struggling to adjust to the sheer size of him as his leaking tip kissed your cervix. Your pussy betrayed you as it clenched around him, drooling around him, coating his cock in your slick.

His hand flew to your mouth, his large palm enclosing around your swollen lips, muffling the whimpers that left you as you struggled around him — eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of him throbbing inside you.

“Keep those eyes open, mama,” He ordered, sliding out of you slowly until the only thing that remained inside your quivering hole was his plump mauve cockend, “Want you to see how pathetically you fall apart on my cock. My cock. No-one else’s.”

He pushed in again with the familiar harshness from before as your eyes shot open — now starting a brutal, animalistic pace that had you clawing at the tense of his hand that enveloped your mouth, hiding the high-pitched squeals and whines of pure, irrevocable lust that took over your mind, body and soul.

Michael groaned into your ear, eyes locked on your own as he fucked into you with such a pace and lack of gentleness that you’d never seen before. During your companionship, Michael took his time with you — worked you open with his mouth and fingers, took his time to get you ready for the thickness and length of him. But, not this time — all the pent up rage brought upon him from the start of the night now being fucked into you with every harsh rock of his hips.

Keeping you flush against his chest, his free hand slid down to where you connected — rubbing tight figure eights against your clit that throbbed for attention. Your head fell back against his shoulder, eyes rolling to the back of your head, ignoring any order he gave you to hold his gaze.

“Mmphmh—M-Mich—Michael, please!”

Words failed you as you cried against his hand, drunk on the way his cock dragged in and out of your gummy walls that sucked him in with each thrust — the sound of your feverish moans and your squelching cunt mixing with his breathy groans filling the air of the bathroom that now stunk of Michael’s intoxicating cologne and passionate sex.

“Take it, baby, take this fuckin’ dick.” He grunted into your ear, his words unlike his usual loving coaxes, “Make up for what’cha did.”

Michael hissed as you bit down on the skin of his palm, his hand pulling away from the source of pain as he meet your gaze in the mirror — your own expression now deepening into a scowl, “Fuck you.”

The words spat from your mouth, dripping with venom, at his words of blame, watching as his face scrunched up in frustration.

“Oh, you’ve done it now, ma.”

His pace never let up — if anything, since your oral stunt, it quickened. He forced you down, now completely bent over the sink as he created a new angle — his cock now driving deeper into your sopping cunt, abusing the sweet spot inside you relentlessly.

Now released from his grasp, your loud, incessant cries sounded throughout the small room — so voluminous that any passerby would hear every scream of his name.

His hand collided with your ass cheek again — cursing under his breath as the familiar feeling of a much needed orgasm crept up his abdomen. The lustful spark in your stomach blossoming much the same as he slid a hand into your hair, tugging your head upwards to look directly into the mirror once more. You were a state, completely, and literally, fucked — eyes streaming with tears that coated your hot cheeks, lips swollen and stricken with spit from his frantic kisses, and a small yet equally evident imprint of his fingers around your mouth where he held you harshly.

“‘M gonna cum so fuckin’ deep in this pussy that you can’t fuckin’ walk without flooding your little panties with my seed.” He grunted, never letting his thrusts faltering as you squirmed beneath him, “Who’s needy little cunt is this?”

Words failed you as you continued to cry — only desperate, eager whimpers falling from your lips.

Another spank connected with your ass cheek, coaxing a loud whine out of you, “Answer me when I ask you a fuckin’ question, woman.”

“Yours!—fuck, Michael, it’s all yours.” You panted, tears falling from your eyes faster than you could stop them.

“Say this pussy’s mine.” Michael spat, tugging hard on your locks of hair.

“My pussy’s all yours, baby, fuck—mmph!—Gonna cum!”

Michael hummed, clearly pleased with your response, his hips stuttering as he neared his own release, “Cum with me, beautiful, cum on my cock like a good girl.”

You cried out, loud and despairingly, as you finally broke — red-hot ecstasy taking over your body as you came, the flood gates of your pleasure breaking open to consume you. Michael followed, the tight clenching of your quivering pussy sending him over the edge, spurting his hot seed into your fertile cunt as he groaned lowly — the sensation of his cum filling your fluttering sex only furthering your own orgasm.

You slumped against the countertop — chest heaving as you attempted to catch your breath. Michael stilled behind you, swallowing thickly as he softened inside you. He leant down, pushing his chest against your back, coated with a sheen of sweat, before pressing a soft, loving kiss to your shoulder.

His kisses trailed up to your neck, beneath your earlobe, your cheek, before using a trembling hand to tilt your head to the side, and pressing his lips against your own. You sobbed into the kiss, more tears, now from overwhelming emotion, falling from your eyes. Michael’s hand cupped your cheek — deepening the kiss, that once held so much irritation, resentment and anger, now filled with undeniable attachment, deep love and compassion.

“I love you.” Michael breathed, disconnecting your lips, resting his forehead against yours — singular curl that stuck to his slick forehead tickling your own, “Please be mine again.” He whispered.

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his nose, head reeling from the overstimulating rush of emotions.

“But don’t pull that shit again.” He added with a playful smile.

“Yeah,” You sniffled with a breathy laugh, “You too.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It kept you up at night — how can a man so infatuated not want to strip you bare and ravish you till the sun came up. Not want to see you, stark naked, in all your glory, writhing and whining underneath him as he took you.

Michael had his reasons.

Timidity. Inexperience. Insecurity.

But, the largest factor of all — religion.

Michael was a raised as a devoted Jehovah’s Witness — something his Mother had instilled in him from birth. A religion built on morality and modesty. A religion that forbid sexual intercourse before marriage.

Michael wasn’t as devoted as his Mother — ever since his album Off the Wall, he had slowly began parting ways with the religion. Distancing himself as the connotations of his album were subtly frowned upon due to mentions of sensuality and infidelity — however, his personal beliefs about a higher power still remained.

He still, after his parting, believed that sex was something marital and holy — something to be worshipped and protected, performed with someone you truly love and trust.

And he did. He did, wholeheartedly, love and trust you — with every fibre of his being. But, every time your hand would trickle down his body, grazing over the painfully obvious bulge that clad him beneath his slacks — he would stop you. The guilt that washed over him far greater than any aching pleasure he so desired.

As time progressed, and your relationship blossomed — that guilt diminished. Grower smaller and smaller with each tentative touch or pleading look you’d give him. Each one cracking the glass dome of restraint he had locked himself in.

You knew tonight you’d finally shattered it.

Michael was sat comfortably next to you on the sofa at Hayvenhurst, a gentle hand resting on the curve of your clothed knee, television blabbering in the background as you watched him. He looked gorgeous in every aspect, but right now — calm, relaxed, content, it took the cake.

“Watch the movie, lovey.” His voice soft and bashful, a blush creeping onto the round of his cheeks after catching you staring.

“I think my view is better.”

Michael breathed out a huff of timid air — your quick-witted flirting always got to him. “Stop. Y’know I’ll get shy.”

You giggled next to him, shuffling closer to his warm body, “I know y’beautiful, Mike.”

He laughed, turning his flushed face away from you in embarrassment, “Can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause..” “‘Cause, what, angelface?”

Michael groaned, finally returning his gaze back onto you, a smile he failed to suppress adorning his ethereal face, “‘Cause y’makin’ me think things that I shouldn’t.”

Ting!

The lustful lightbulb sparked so bright in your brain you almost saw stars.

There was your green light.

“Like what, sweetie.” Your voice now hushed, darker, deeper — an undertone of temptation that had Michael reeling inside, “Tell me.”

“B-Baby.” He was cracking — you were certain. The way he twitched as a calculated hand fell into the tense of his lap, stroking languidly along his clothed thigh, the denim scratching along your manicured nails — paired with a small knit in his eyebrows that made him look so deliciously adorable.

“What’s up, honey?” You teased, face now inches from his own bashful one, “Tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty lil’ mind of yours.”

Michael whined, deep from his throat, as you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your mouth moved slowly — trailing to his warm cheek, to the sharp of his jawline, and ending on the smooth of his bare neck. The gentleness of your lips against his burning skin had him fluttering his eyes shut — basking in the sensation. His hands moved subconsciously, once against your knee, now hesitantly holding the curve of your waist as you pressed yourself against him.

“Wanna hear it, Michael.”

He whined again, ever so louder this time, a statement of his timidity, “Baby, please.”

Your lips left his skin to move upwards, meeting his gaze once more. He looked wrecked — torn between honouring his devout innocence or letting his dirty mouth reveal his secrets.

You made the decision for him, clambering over him to settle in his lap, legs either side of his twitching hips. His eyes shot open in surprise.

“Honey, I-“ “It’s okay, sweet boy, I know what you’re thinkin’, anyways. Someone else is doin’ all the talkin’ for ya.”

Michael knew exactly what you were on about.

His embarrassingly obvious hard-on pressed into the softness of your clothed cunt — your skirt ridden up your thighs so perfectly that the cotton of your panties now resided directly on top of the boner he was attempting to hide. Despite never seeing his gracious cock with your own eyes, you knew he was big — every ridge now digging into the slick of your covered folds, hugging his length through his pyjamas bottoms.

“Let me make you feel better, handsome.”

Heaven and hell. That was the only thought that plagued Michael’s mind in this moment. Did he remain pledged to his beliefs, or was the way your drooling cunt wrapped around him, despite the barrier of clothing, enough to make him crack?

With one flex of his grip around your waist, and a breathy whine from your lips — the restraint shattered.

His lips met yours in a feverish connection — sloppy and messy. Spit coating your lips and chin as he forced his eager tongue into your mouth — hands now splayed across the small of your back, pushing you closer. His mouth met yours in a frantic motion, quick and rushed, like he was afraid someone, or something, would stop him at any moment. Your hands slipped up his body, resting on the lean of his shoulders, before sliding into the sweetness of his curls.

He truly crumbled when your hips began moving.

A slow, tantalising rock against him — movements so precise and languid he was certain one harsh buck and he’d fill his boxers right then and there. You had played this game with him before — being in this compromising position wasn’t new to you and Michael. You had once, in a state of pleasure, picked up your speed as you rocked against him, but he quickly shut it down. Telling you, bashfully, he was soon to finish and felt wrong about it — paired with a pout and blush.

This time, though, when your hips picked up a swifter pace — he daren’t stop you.

He’d been agonisingly hard and denied an orgasm for months now — every time he’d nearly get there, the devil on his shoulder telling him to carry on and make a mess of his shorts, the angel on the other side would force him to halt your hips to a stop, apologising at the way you’d whine in disappointment.

Michael let you take what you needed — back arched, hands threaded through his curls as you fucked yourself on his clothed cock, the prettiest noises falling from your swollen lips.

“Y’look so beautiful like this.” Michael revealed quietly, hands following the liquid movements of your hips, eyes trailing over your frame, focusing on your erect nipples poking through your tank-top, the curve of your breasts becoming more visible with each bounce.

With every drag he guided along the ridge of his cock that relentlessly nudged against your puffy clit — your whines got louder, only forcing his cock to throb beneath.

Michael, all too familiarly, held you to a stop.

“Michael.” His name fell past your lips in a desperate plea, the pleasure depleting as you stilled against his crotch.

“I know, I know, sweet girl.” He reassured, leaning up to press a gentle peck to your pouting lips, “M’not stoppin’, don’t worry that pretty head. Just wanna try somethin’.”

He lifted you off his lap with strong precision — settling you down to a place you’d not explored with the temptation between your legs.

His thigh.

“There y’go, pretty.” He whispered, smoothing down the back of your hair in kind strokes, “Go’head, baby, take what’cha you need.”

Your head reeled at the sudden change in his disposition — the once shy boy had magically been transformed into a confident man as the remains of his restraint settled around you.

His new attitude sent a pulsation so strong between your thighs you ground down on his — the tense of his muscle rolling against your nub in the most sensual way. Something you’d never quite felt before.

“Oh, God.” You whined — ignoring the way Michael tched at the name used in vain, not once stopping as he dragged you along his leg, lip caught between his teeth as he ogled at you.

“D’ya feel good, pretty?” Despite his switch in confidence, he was still desperate for your praise, his voice cracking slightly as he met your glossy eyes.

“Mmhm—s-s’good, Mikey.” Your voice hit him right where he needed you most — the place between his twitching legs that had been denied touch for so long.

You didn’t miss the way his hips bucked ever so slightly upwards, chasing a grasp he undeniably craved. Your hands soothed that ache — reaching forward, ever so hesitantly, to palm the bulge in his slacks.

Michael gasped, hand flinching at your side, frantic eyes meeting yours once more, “This okay, angel?” You questioned.

Michael’s lip sucked between his teeth once again, glance flickering from your gorgeous smile to your manicured hands hovering over his crotch. An act he would once deny — but not this time.

He hummed, his voice high-pitched and needy, nodding quickly, “Please, mama.”

A curse fell from your swollen rosebud at the sound of his despair — your hand enveloping around his length beneath his bottoms.

“Oh, my Lord.”

He was done for — head falling back against the plush of the sofa, eyes rolled to his skull as the pleasure washed over him. You wasted no time in pleasing the man beneath you, never once stopping rocking your hips against him, as you slowly stroked him.

The scene was erotic — a dirty array of arousal in the way he bucked his hips unapologetically into your hand, cock throbbing under your palm, as you continued to hump the meat of this thigh, your slick staining the blue denim that had trickled from your soaked panties. It was enough for him — no direct physical contact, but just the right amount of pleasure to satisfy you both.

When your thumb swiped over the oozing head of his cock, Michael lost it. Whining so loud like he didn’t care who heard — the sudden boldness depleting faster than it had come around, now replaced by uncontrollable desperation.

“O-Oh, s-shit,” The curse fell from his mouth before he could suppress it, “G-Gonna cum, lovey.” His hips now fucking up into your hand pathetically, chasing a high he’d been yearning for for so long.

In your own state of blinding pleasure, your only response was a melodic whimper, his tensing thigh hitting the ridge of your clit that had your own orgasm building. Michael, with no prior warning, came with a cry, his milky white release soaking the material of his boxers — the neediest whines of lust filling the room. You soon followed — an exclaim of his name hitting his ears, only furthering his pleasure, as you came undone on his thigh, humping him at such a speed you were almost a blur in his glassy vision.

Michael heaved as he came down from a high that had been lingering on his mind since the moment you met him — an orgasm so strong he was twitching uncontrollably. You stilled against his leg, catching your breath simultaneously, peering down at his fucked out state.

“Thank you, pretty.”

“Ah, ah, I’m not done with you yet.”

Michael swore he died and went to heaven as you dropped to your knees beneath him — eyes hungry and dark, agenda unclear to him.

It was only when you lay your tongue flat against the rough of his jeans, the ones you had once fucked yourself on, licking up your essence that clad the denim, that Michael realised how much of a sex-hungry slut you were. The tang of your seeping arousal lingered on your tongue as you lapped up the mess you’d made on him — glancing up at him through your lashes at his knitted eyebrows and agape mouth. His suspicion that you were a cock-slut only deepening as you retracted your tongue back into your mouth, savouring the taste of yourself, and kissed your way up his leg, getting dangerously close to where he was pulsating.

“Mama, I—“ “Shhh, just gonna clean y’up, baby.”

Michael saw stars when you shoved his pyjama bottoms down his thighs and latched your greedy mouth to the wet spot that clad his boxers, a crackled groan ripping from his throat as you hummed around him. Your lips, settling right against the softening tip of his cock, suckled the cum straight from the cotton — his salty release flooding your tastebuds, colliding with the tang of your own essence in a delicious blaze on your tongue. His hand flew down to cradle your cheek as you lapped up the cum that stained him — his cock throbbing once more as your hands gripped his thighs, jeans now even more wet from your eager mouth.

“Baby—fuck, I-I’m gonn—“ With a strangled cry, another irrepressible spurt of cum shot from him once more, hands tightening ever so slightly around your flushed cheek as you greedily sucked up what he blessed you with — lapping up his second orgasm like you were dying of thirst.

Only when you pulled away, satisfied with your salty refreshment, did Michael’s breathing level out — blissed out expression meeting your devilish one.

And he knew — he had never loved you more.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

and for months, you had been left with nothing but long-distance phone calls. 

you had lost count of how many nights you spent curled up in bed with the receiver pressed tightly against your ear, listening to his soft, rhythmic breathing long after the conversation had run out of words.

you missed him with a desperation that physically ached – and unfortunately, he had found out exactly how much a few nights ago.

it had happened sometime after midnight.

you were exhausted, half-asleep, and michael had been teasing you in that low, sleepy murmur of his.

before your defenses could catch up, you had admitted it.

you confessed that you’d tried getting yourself off while he was away, but it never worked.

it didn't feel the way his hands did.

without him there, you couldn't get yourself over the edge, and every single attempt while he was away had left you burning and frustrated.

michael let out a soft, breathless laugh.

"yeah?" he had murmured, his voice dropping lower, sending a shiver straight down your spine. "poor thing..." his voice softened. "i miss you so much. i hate bein' away from you."

you could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again.

“tell you what… i’ll just have to teach you when i get home.”

by the time the call ended, the tone for his return had been set.

which was exactly how you ended up here.

you were sitting on the floor right between his legs, positioned directly in front of the full-length mirror across from his bed. your shorts and panties were gone, leaving you completely exposed to the reflective glass.

your back rested flush against his chest while his long legs stretched around either side of you, keeping your thighs spread wide so you couldn't close them if you tried. one of his arms was looped loosely around your waist, keeping you tucked securely against the heavy, throbbing hardness straining against his pants. 

with only a skimpy pink tank top on, michael had you blushing and writhing in front of the mirror without even laying a finger on you yet. 

you felt so exposed, so vulnerable, your chest rising and falling rapidly under the thin cotton of your top.

"mm, look at you." he caught his lower lip between his teeth, shaking his head slightly. "so pretty f’me," he murmured, his head tilted down so he could speak right against your ear.

heat rushed to your face. you turned your head away from the mirror, burying the side of your face against his chest instead.

you couldn't bear to look at your own reflection while michael sat behind you, whispering things like that into your ear. 

"c'mon, be a good girl 'n look for me." one of the hands around your waist slid up your chest to grab ahold of your chin, turning it gently to bring your eyes back to the mirror. his other hand tickled at the skin below your navel, sending waves of goosebumps.

"'s embarrassing," you whined, your gaze drifting down to the plush carpet below you.

michael pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your hair. "no 's not, sweet girl. 's to help teach you." his fingers trailed lower, the heat of his palm brushing your bare thighs.

"that's all y'gotta do. just watch."

in the reflection of the glass, your eyes were drawn to the sight of his hand against your body.

michael’s hands alone stirred something inside of you.

the sheer size of them made your stomach flip with a heavy, restless ache. his palms were broad, and his fingers were long and slender.

as his hand hovered over your center, you could see the faint lines of his knuckles and the subtle swell of the veins tracing down the back of his hand.

they were large enough to completely span your hip, yet precise enough to know exactly how to ruin you.

the hand against your stomach slid a little lower, teasing just above your clit. "'m not always gonna be here to do it for you."

you knew that. you knew that michael wouldn't always be around to take care of you like this. not with the second leg of the tour right around the corner. 

so, you let your eyes skim over the floor, slowly inching up the glass of the mirror.

"that's my girl," he whispered, his voice soft against your ear. "if you take your eyes off yourself... i'll stop."

you were both aching with anticipation.

every nerve in your body felt wound tight. the promise hanging between you, the warmth of his body at your back, the sound of his voice against your ear – it all left you so worked up.

you wanted him to finger you the way you needed until you were cumming around his fingers. 

you needed that release from him so badly. 

and michael was desperate to have you squirming in his grasp, choking out moans for him as you gushed all over his fingers.

his fingers brushed over your clit softly, circling it slowly.

he could hear your breath hitch, your much smaller hands coming to the forearm that still had a hold on your chin.

you were so sensitive, all fidgety in front of him, your body growing even hotter at his touch.

"mikey–" you spoke no louder than a whisper, just enough for him to hear you.

he let his hand slip from your chin, his fingers sliding smoothly down to the bottom hem of your pink top, his palm cupping the soft underside of your right breast. you jerked a little at the sensation, your nipple instantly hardening under his palm.

"this okay, sweet girl?" he murmured. his low voice brushing so close that you can feel the slight curve of a smirk against your ear.

you nodded quickly, your chest heaving as you bit your bottom lip between your teeth to stifle a desperate whine.

but with his hand off your chin, your head dropped forward, your eyes instantly darting downward to watch his other hand hovering over your thighs.

"head, baby," he said softly, his tone was gentle but left no room for argument.

you lifted your head, your cheek brushing against his jaw as you rested back on his shoulder. his hair tickled your cheek as you settled against him.

in the reflection, you watched his fingers slide down past your navel, dipping right into the slick arousal gathered between your thighs.

"look how wet you are,” he chuckled, sliding the tips of his fingers through your heat, spreading the slick moisture. his bottom lip caught briefly between his teeth before a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "this all for me?”

his words made your face and neck grow warm, crinkling your nose, your legs attempting to close. but his own legs were in the way, keeping them pinned wide open.

"michael, this is humiliating," you muttered, pressing yourself farther back against his chest like you were trying to escape.

you weren’t.

and you knew that.

you were too riled up.

too desperate for him to fill you.

"take a lick, sweetheart," he teased, bringing his hand away from your heat and up to your face.

you tucked your head into the crook of his neck, your eyes flicking toward his hand for just a second. in the dim light, you could see the creamy, glistening slick coating his fingertips. 

when you finally forced your eyes upward to meet his in the mirror, your eyes were wide and dazed.

"be a good girl 'n get my fingers nice 'n wet for you," he mumbled, a tender smile playing on his lips as he looked down at you with heavy, dark eyes.

wrapping both of your hands around his wrist, you guided his fingers toward your mouth. your tongue brushed against them before you drew them in, tasting the faint trace of yourself still lingering on his skin.

you let them rest there for a moment, coating them with your saliva while his gaze stayed fixed on you. when he finally told you to open your mouth, you obeyed without hesitation. he carefully pulled his fingers free, a thin strand of saliva stretched between them and your tongue before finally breaking. 

the spit dripped off his fingers, trailing down your stomach before his hand found its way back between your thighs. his fingertips were still warm from your mouth, damp as they brushed teasingly against your entrance.

michael felt your pussy flutter against his fingertips.

"god, baby–" he muttered, beginning to tease his middle finger inside, "look at that."

"see how pretty she is? squeezin' me like that?"

your hands returned to his forearm, digging your blunt nails into the skin as his hand palmed heavily at your breast.

"please, please," you mewled, your breath catching sharply in your throat as the slick tips of his fingers parted your entrance. 

your voice was all shaky as he nudged his way inside. he eased in just a little more, letting you feel the stretch until he was two full knuckles deep. 

you were so tight around him, your walls clamping down on his fingers like a vice. every shift of his hand sent a jolt straight through you, causing your body to pulse helplessly around his fingers. 

"shit, 'can feel you, sweetheart," he gasped out, his breath stuttering against your ear. 

once he slid his finger all the way to the hilt, he kept his hand still for a moment, letting your body adjust to the thick stretch of him. 

with agonizingly gentle precision, he hooked his finger upward, curling it slightly against your gummy walls and pressing it right against your sweet spot. 

the sudden pressure hit you like a wave, making you let out a high, broken whimper as your head shook back and forth against his shoulder. 

"michael," you whimpered, your legs beginning to tremble where they were hooked over his own.

it was pathetic.

he was only a finger deep inside you, yet you were falling apart, crumbling into a shaking mess right in his arms.

the hand cupping your breast glided upwards, his fingers grazing lightly over your raised nipple right through the thin fabric of your top.

the hit of pleasure sent your head falling back against his collarbone. your back arched off the floor into his touch, your ass grinding back ruthlessly against the rigid length of his hard cock.

"need more, please," you begged with a breathy moan.

any lingering thought of watching the mirror or trying to memorize his movements for later completely evaporated from your mind.

it didn’t matter anymore.

you knew that never, ever, would you be able to replicate the pleasure he was making you feel right now.

he slowly drew his finger out of you, making you cry out from the friction, before sliding it right back in easily.

you were sucking him back in, begging for more.

he started with languid pumps of a single finger, murmuring dirty, breathless praises against your ear as you trembled and shook in his arms. 

a delicious heat coiled in your stomach at an intensity you’d never felt before.

every moment had you wound up so tight. he had you on such an edge that you truly thought you would explode.

and as he pulled back out once more, he returned with another finger.

"oh my god." you gasped, your legs clamping tightly around his own.

michael could feel your stomach tense up as he filled you even more. he could feel your breathing grow ragged and the volume of your cries become careless.

every push of his knuckles against you was sloppy and loud. you were gushing around him, slick running down his long fingers to coat his knuckles and wrist.

"makin' such a mess," he teased. "you’re close, aren’t you, sweet thing?" his lips brushed against the damp skin of your neck, his breath warm against you.

"michael! i–i’m–" your mouth fell open as your legs kicked helplessly over his thighs.

his fingers pressed deeper, curling into a spot that made you gasp out a frantic, “y-yeah–”

he adjusted his angle, pressing harder into your sweet spot until it drew a sudden burst of wetness right out of you. your walls clamped down around his fingers, his cock pulsing against you in response. he kept working that exact spot, pumping another burst out of you as he groaned against your neck.

"right there?" he murmured. "right there makes you squirt? i know it feels good right there, baby." he didn't let up, his voice soft against your ear as your thighs shook.

"uh huh...yeah?" he coaxed. "yeah, that's it. cum f’me," he murmured.

the hand on your breast slid higher beneath the hem of your top to grab your chin, gently turning your face toward him.

before you could think, he was kissing you, deep and sloppy, swallowing every sound that escaped you.

it was overwhelming.

the coil inside you finally gave way, crashing through you all at once as you gushed all over his fingers and hand.

the sudden rush of fluid soaked his fingers and stained the carpet beneath you. you moaned into his mouth as he kissed you. your body spasmed in his arms, your ass grinding up against him helplessly as he rode through his own orgasm.

just from watching you, watching how your pretty little pussy squeezed his fingers and leaked all over his hand, michael let out a deep, strangled groan into the kiss. his body locked up behind yours as he came in thick, hot spurts, soaking through his underwear as his own climax hit him.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───

his hands r just ugh

Taking you against the bathroom door, hand clasped over your mouth to conceal your whines of pleasure. Or over the kitchen counter after his fiancée left for work. Or even in the same bed his wife to be slept in after you left, legs wobbling and a familiar throb between your thighs.

He knew it was wrong — especially since you were his brother’s friend. Someone who had been in his life since he was in his early 20’s — a constant reminder of something he could’ve had if he didn’t get into another relationship.

He had loved you from the second he set eyes on you. When Jermajesty introduced you both on a casual day, his heart ignited in desire. A want, no a need, for you so strong he physically felt a visceral reaction to you every time he saw you. Alas, he was harshly reminded you were meant to be friends, his brother’s friend, someone in close knit with the family — not someone to be romantically involved with. He moved on — physically, never emotionally.

He and Maddie, his future bride, weren’t the most thrilling of couples. They were simple, basic, easy — their marriage something to just say they’d done. Often lacking chemistry and connection, and that feeling deep in your soul where you know the person you’re with is the one.

Something he’d always felt for you.

The way he felt when you’d look at him, your pretty doe eyes peering up at him like he hung the stars, he could physically feel his heart thumping in his heart every time.

The affair started on Jermajesty’s birthday.

You got drunk — way too wasted, way too quick. The liquor hitting you harder than you expected as you stumbled through the Jackson home, bumping into walls, clutching onto door frame’s as you attempted to make it to the bathroom, before colliding straight into Jaafar, fairly tipsy himself.

He had been with Maddie a little over 3 years — bought their first home, talking of children and marriage, finally settling down.

Until he decided bending you over the sink and fucking you senseless sounded like a better idea.

And from there it blossomed.

Fucking you anywhere and everywhere — no matter the time. And every excuse was made.

Late home? He was on set. Or was he fucking you in his car in an empty parking lot?

Didn’t answer his phone? He was just busy! Busy stuffing your mouth full of his cock, more like.

He hated the way he felt no remorse, no guilt, no nothing. Just the sheer thrill of it — the excitement that filled his chest at thought of when he’d next be burying himself deep inside you.

He’d tell you, as he thought himself, ‘It’s harmless sex’. Something you’d laugh at — despite the cruel reality of it.

And the sex only got better when he and Maddie started fighting. Every day it was a new argument, brutal disputes that would only bring him back into your arms every time — love for her dying, and desire for you blooming.

The thought clouded his mind on set.

Standing under the bright lights, eyes burning from the sheer intensity as well as the fatigue that plagued him — not only from his demanding career, but visions of you keeping him awake, too.

When the director called for a short break, he let out a sigh of relief, shrugging a heavily bedazzled jacket from his tired shoulders, handing it to a nearby costume designer. Raking a hand through his tussled curls, he moved sluggishly to the sidelines of the set, grabbing a bottle of water, taking a slow, much needed, chug.

“Hey, you.”

He hated the way his brain automatically associated the sound of clicking shoes against the hard floor with you — his excitement dying slowly in his chest as he turned to meet his fiancée’s frame.

“Oh, hey.” He spoke, voice flat and uniform.

Maddie hesitated before speaking, eyebrows furrowed neatly into her forehead, “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just tired.” He brushed off, shaking his head, taking a firm seat in a chair with ‘J.Jackson’ neatly embroidered into the back, with a sigh, “What you doing here anyways?”

“Glad to see you too.” She huffed sarcastically, “Thought I’d bring you lunch.”

She handed over a brown paper bag, heavy in his hand as he took it from her. Jaafar peeled it open, stomach rumbling as the sudden reminder to eat filled his now conscious brain.

“Oh.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Jaafar peered up at her apprehensively, “I just—nothing it’s fine. Thank you.”

Maddie’s expression fell, “No. What’s wrong?”

He sighed, “I just don’t like turkey.”

“What?” She hissed, snatching the bag quickly, staring down at the bleak sandwich sat sadly inside, “You do.”

“I definitely don’t.” He breathed out a laugh, “You have it. I’ll grab something from the vending machine later.”

“You loved turkey when we first started dating.” She fired back, attempting to win back her pride.

“Yeah, 8 years ago.”

Maddie scoffed, “Fine. I’ll eat it. Go eat your shit vending machine food, and not the meal your fiancée worked so hard to make for you.”

Jaafar laughed in disbelief, “Maddie, it’s a sandwich. No offence, but I sincerely doubt you worked that hard.”

“What the hell, Jaafar? Honestly, I can’t with you sometimes, I just feel—“ “Jaafarrrr.”

Maddie noticed the way he perked up at the sound of your voice.

She rolled her eyes at the sight of you — a tiny, black mini skirt and a white blouse clad to your frame, kitten heels clicking against the floor as you sauntered in. You looked good without needing to try — something Jaafar always admired about you.

“Hey!” He beamed, rising from his chair, heading straight for you without a second thought, that dangerously beautiful smile adorning his face, “What are you doing here?”

The tone difference in the same question he’d asked to you and to Maddie was clear — something hard to miss.

He met you halfway across set, pulling you into a tight embrace, large arms wrapping around your frame, as you laced your arms around his neck. When you pulled away, Jaafar’s heart raced as you looked up at him — there were those pretty eyes.

“I figured you’d be hungry, so I brought you some lunch.” You admitted, a sickly sweet smile on your face as you handed him a gorgeously packaged box.

The smell hit him before he opened it — perfectly cooked steak, with freshly steamed greens and a side of mac n’ cheese. He groaned in delight.

“Your favourite.” You added.

If it wasn’t for the Jaafar blocking your view — you would’ve been met with the coldest, most seething gaze Maddie could muster.

She had been jealous of you from the start — she hated how much Jaafar loved being around you, how you got on like a house on fire, and proven just in that moment, how well you knew him.

“Oh, my God, this smells incredible.” Jaafar admitted, eyes flickering from your own to the food, “Thank you, princess.” He whispered, his voice low enough for you only to hear, “I wanna kiss you so badly right now.”

“Contain yourself, handsome.” You returned the hushed tone, “Later.”

Jaafar’s eyes darkened at the thrilling idea of getting to kiss you in secret later — visions of ravishing you filling his mind. A different kind of hunger fuelling in his heart.

“I already made him lunch.”

You heard her before you saw her — Maddie’s stern voice from behind Jaafar, gaze still sharp.

“Oh, man.” Your voice a teasing disappointment, “Sorry, J, I didn’t know. What a waste.” Your faux frown hit his face, heart twisting at the idea of your upset.

“No, no. It’s fine. Maddie’s gonna have the other one, right?”

“No, I sai—“

“Aw, thanks, Maddie!” You grinned, excitable voice hitting both of their ears once again, smiling so innocently that your intentions seemed so pure, “At least you can have your favourite now.”

Jaafar smiled down at you, grabbing the plastic fork laid neatly next to his glorious meal, before digging in, “Oh, wow, this is amazing.”

“Made it myself.” You admitted, “Worked very hard for you, Jaaf.”

“You’re so good to me.” Jaafar couldn’t contain the way he smiled as you giggled proudly, walking alongside, mouth full of the food you kindly prepared for him, back to where he once sat, “Whatcha’ got planned for today then?”

“Figured I’d sit around all day and watch you sweat.”

Maddie clenched her jaw at the way you both laughed loudly — a real, genuine laugh falling from Jaafar’s lips.

“Sounds like a riveting day.” He teased, resuming back in his seat.

You grinned, “Oh, definitely. A real thriller.”

“Nice play on word—“ “Jaafar, can we talk?”

Maddie’s harsh voice cut your laughter short — a sudden intense atmosphere blossoming. Jaafar’s smile fell quickly, eyes meeting hers for the first time since you arrived as if her presence wasn’t recognisable.

“What?”

“Alone.”

You bit back a grin — every argument they had brought Jaafar closer to you. Sick, but you loved it.

“I’ll go wait in your dressing room, J.”

To Maddie, she was silently thankful for your departure, however, completely missing your sensual undertone — alluding to the very man, she was subconsciously pushing further away from her and more towards you, that you’d be waiting for him in a quiet, secluded place where he could take you like he always did.

You parted from the tension quickly — sauntering away, hips swinging involuntarily, your back facing the upcoming argument you knew would arise.

Maddie didn’t miss the way Jaafar watched you walk away.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Her voice forced a foul expression onto Jaafar’s face, “What now?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Jaafar.” Maddie snapped, finger pointing accusingly at him, “What is her problem?”

Jaafar feigned innocence quickly, “What do you mean? She just brought me lunch.”

“So did I, but you turned that down real fast. But, when she does it, it’s like she’s moved fucking mountains for you?” Maddie’s voice got icier with each sentence — and louder, forcing passing members of staff to side-eye the growing dispute.

“Lower your voice.” He hissed, eyes darting around, “You brought me something I didn’t like. Sorry if that offends you.”

“It’s not about that, Jaafar, it’s about how fucking weird you are around each other.” She snapped, voice refusing to lower, “Is there something I don’t know?”

Jaafar hid the way adrenaline thumped through his veins at the idea of her possibly finding out well. The thought of filling you to the brim with his thick cock suddenly polluting his brain — blood rushing between the very manhood he wanted to stuff you full of.

“Hello?” Maddie sassed, face an unyielding frosty expression.

“No, of course not. Stop asking me this.” Jaafar lied straight his teeth, a lie told so many times it felt natural now, “You always paint her out to be a horrible person, but she’s always so good to me. I don’t know why you can’t just be nice to her.”

“Because she’s all up on my fiancé every five seconds.”

“We’re just close.” Jaafar spoke, a statement not entirely untrue, “Just leave her alone for once.”

“Maybe tell her that.” Maddie spat, “Tell her to leave you alone.”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“And there we go. Always at her defence.” She laughed in aggravation, “I’m your fiancé, y’know? It’s me you’re marrying.”

I wish it wasn’t.

The sentence hit his brain faster than he expected — a subconscious response to the argument and his secretive infatuation with you.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Jaafar shot back, rising to his feet quickly, “Just go home, I’ll talk to you later.” He wasted no time walking down the hallway to his dressing room, following in your footsteps

“Jaafar, what? No.”

“Do not follow me.”

His voice, a usual calm and collected tone, was now snarled and bitter — a declaration of his frustration. He meant every word he said.

Jaafar stormed through the hall — feet stomping against the ground harder with each step. His anger bubbling over the edge as his chest heaved.

He slammed open the dressing room door — agitation oozing from him like no other. His eyes immediately landed on your relaxed frame, longing on the sofa that was pressed against the back of the room. You met his furious gaze.

“You okay, baby?”

Your sweet, calming voice flooded his frenzied brain — the nickname hitting him straight between the legs. He strode towards you quickly, hands immediately cradling your face as he smashed your lips together in a frantic kiss. You squeaked in surprise at the sudden connection — hands grasping at his tensed arms, before melting into his mouth.

“Need you. Now.” He mumbled against your lips, “Need to feel you.”

“Jaaf.” You whined, the feeling of his warm breath ghosting over your mouth had a familiar tingle radiating up your spine at the anticipation.

His lips worked magic against yours once more — moving with calculated precision as he pulled you to your feet. Tongues and teeth clashing as the passion intensified in your lip-locking — spit and swollen lips the only thing evident on your mouth as he moved his kisses down your neck. His hand, once pressed against the warm of your cheek, splayed across the nape of your neck, as he worked his way down your exposed chest.

“This gotta come off.” He muttered, flicking the buttons of your top open with ease, pulling it off your body and throwing it to the floor, your plump breasts filling his gaze.

His name fell from your mouth in a desperate plea as his lips attached to your bare tits — an erect nipple swirled around his tongue as he sucked. Your head thrust back — whines now filling the room as your back pressed into the makeup counter.

Jaafar pulled away from your breasts, lips colliding with your own once more as his eager hand travelled down your body — fingers nestling right where you needed him. His fingers slipped under your skirt, finding comfort in the dip of your slit, collecting your essence on his fingers from where you drooled through your panties.

“Jaafar, please.” You whimpered, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

“Tell me how much you want it, pretty.” Jaafar whispered against you, face now flush against your own, “Tell me all about it, baby.”

His fingers rubbed tight, precise circles over your clothed clit, slick with your arousal, eliciting the sweetest noises from your pretty mouth — ones that hand Jaafar twitching in his slacks.

“Mm—Need you—Aah! so bad, J,” You cried, hands clutching at the thick of his bicep, “M’Wanna feel you so bad.”

“That’s it, sweetie, talk to me.” He coaxed, mouth suckling at the exposure of your neck, marking up your skin with the graze of his teeth.

Jaafar continued to work his fingers onto you — nimble digits rubbing the painful ache between your legs away as he relaxed you, arousing you ready for his length. His supple lips pressed soft, delicate kisses to any piece of your skin he was unveiled to — only adding to the gorgeous whines of pleasure that flooded his ears.

You leant over to press a sweet kiss to the sensitive skin beneath his ear, “Please, Jaaf, need to feel you.”

Jaafar didn’t give you time to change your mind.

He ripped his body from yours in a hurry — trembling hands from adrenaline and anger unbuckling his slacks, shoving them down his thighs along with his boxers. He hissed as the cold air hit the warmth of his cock, large hands instantaneously coming to wrap around the sheer length of him, pumping himself in relief.

“Turn around.”

You obeyed immediately — swiftly pressing your stomach to the counter, poking your half-exposed ass to him. He pushed your skirt further up your backside, now bunching at your hips.

“I’m not gonna be gentle tonight, baby.” He revealed, looking up at you from the mirror before both of you, revelling in the way you gasped as the fat of his cockend slid between the wetness of your folds, “Too fucking angry.”

“It’s okay, baby.” Your sweet, deliciously soft voice calmed his fury ever so slightly, the eyes that had him weak in the knees meeting his own in the reflection, “Use me. Take me. Just fuck me, please.”

The erotic admission had him pushing into you faster than he ever does — a loud cry falling past your lips as your vision blurred, hand slamming against the glass in a fist as he stretched you. Jaafar usually would take his time with you — work you open with his fingers, make you cum a few times before entering you. But not now. The flaming anger than burst inside of him had him selfish — not wanting to waste a single second before filling you to the brim.

And that he did. Your cunt throbbed around the size of him — girth and length forcing your slick little cunt open for him so briskly it had you biting on your lip so hard you tasted blood.

“That’s my good girl.” Jaafar growled out, a large hand stroking the plush of your hips that he gripped with the pad of his thumb, “Look so fuckin’ beautiful full of me.”

“Jaafar, please.” You mewled, tears brimming in your twinkling eyes.

“I know, I know, baby.” He reassured, dragging his cock out of you slowly, “Just feel me.”

He set a brutal pace — one that rendered you speechless from the first thrust. Only blabbering moans of undeniable pleasure releasing from your mouth as his tip kissed the smooth of your cervix, his cock rammed so deep you forget how to speak.

Jaafar grunted wildly behind you — his usual gentle love-making a distant memory as he fucked you as if you were a cock hungry slut. Something he could use for his own personal pleasure.

Right now, you were absolutely that and more.

“Fucking hate her.” He seethed behind you, grip tightening around your hips, before sliding up your back and taking your hair in a tight grasp, pulling you flush against his heaving chest, “She doesn’t do it like you do.”

The nefarious admission had your cunt clenching around him — knowing he was fucking you brainless whilst badmouthing his fiancée, who you also despised, had arousal coursing through your veins more so than before.

Jaafar noticed, “Oh, you naughty girl.” He breathed, breath hot against your ear, “You love fucking a taken man, huh?”

“Only you, Jaafar.”

Jaafar couldn’t suppress the whimper that fell from his lips, head falling into the crook of your neck, mumbling a curse under his breath at your huffed submission to him — cock throbbing inside you. Every drag of his dick had you whining underneath him — eyes rolling back as he repeatedly abused the sweet spot inside your gummy walls.

“Oh, that’s the spot, huh, princess?” He coaxed, “Look at me.” His large hand gripped your cheeks in a harsh grasp, before pushing two fingers into your agape mouth, “Suck.”

You willingly did as he pleased — suckling at the thick of his digits, the tang of your essence still lingering on his fingers flooding your tastebuds, whining at the taste of yourself. Your tongue swirled around him, eager to please, earning a hum of approval from the heaving man behind you, his pace never faltering.

“Jaafar.” Your voice muffled, mouth still stuffed full of him, a desperate, needy tone in your words, “Harder, p’wease.”

“Y’sound so fuckin’ sexy with your mouth full.” Jaafar groaned, eyes locked on the way tears slipped from your wide eyes, cascading down your face, a collecting of wetness of your tears and spit pooling at your chin.

Jaafar pulled out of you swiftly, ignoring the way you whined at the loss of fullness, before briskly shifting you to face him, pulling your body on top of the counter. He entered you once more, a blissful moan falling past your lips. His hands splayed against the fat of your hips against, pulling you down onto the hardness of his cock — bottom lip pulled between his teeth as you marched every thrust with an erotic whinge.

“‘Gonna cum, Jaaf.” You revealed, eyes glued to the milky white essence that pooled at the base of Jaafar’s cock as it disappeared repeatedly into your sex.

“Give it to me, princess.” He coaxed, fingers flying to your swollen clit, rubbing tight, fast circles around the aching nub, “Cum with me, baby.”

Your orgasm crept down your spine, settling in the low of your abdomen, the relief of a much needed climax arriving, a loud, demanding moan leaving your mouth as you chased your high at full speed. Jaafar wasn’t far behind you — pace now quickening as he too chased his orgasm, wanting nothing more right now to fill you to the brim with his fertile seed.

Slam!

“What the fuck?”

The door to the dressing room swung open — an aggressive bang that had both of your heads spinning towards the noise.

Now you were truly fucked.

Maddie stood in the door way, utterly mortified and shocked to her core at the sight of you — pussy stuffed full of her fiancée’s cock — sweat glistening off of both your bodies, chests heaving.

In a blacked-out state of intense arousal, your wicked mouth betrayed

“Don’t you dare fucking stop, Jaafar.”

And he listened.

In his own personal lust, the sound of his distraught fiancée’s shouting, catching him in a comprising act fell on deaf ears, his hips, that had once stilled, resumed once more.

Your head fell back once more as his pace picked up — your orgasm climbing back up quicker now, pure thrill and adrenaline coursing through you like an addict snorting a fresh line.

Your nails dug into the plush of his bare ass, moans hitting an all time high as you clenched around him, completely unaffected by the furious woman in the doorway — climax washing over you harder than it ever had.

“Oh, Jaafar!” His name rang out through the room, alongside the squelch of your juices with each harsh thrust Jaafar fucked into you, a subconscious twist of the knife to the disbelieving Maddie watching in shock.

Jaafar groaned into your rising chest, cumming with a cry, his own orgasm hitting him as he doubled over, folding into you as he stuffed you full. The sensation of his spurting load filling you to the brim had your toes curling around his waist, a whine hitting his ringing ears. He didn’t stop — fucking his hot cum deeper into you, hips stuttering in overstimulation, the intense feeling of his electric orgasm still flooding through him.

In your mutual state of blind pleasure, you hadn’t noticed the absence of Maddie — the room deafening silent as you caught your breaths.

Jaafar softened inside you, face still pressed into the crook of your neck, eyes fluttered shut.

“Still harmless?”

The editing crew murmured amongst themselves as you entered the room, eyes watching your every move as you walked towards an empty seat near the closest television screen. They had been working on the final touch-ups for the upcoming ‘BAD’ music video and needed a fresh set of eyes to make sure everything was in order. However, they weren’t expecting Michael’s wife to be the one to take on this responsibility.

“Uh, Mrs Jackson! So nice to see you here today.” The lead editor spoke up with professional enthusiasm, stretching his hand out across the video equipment to shake yours.

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to seeing the video. Is it ready?” You get straight to business, shaking the man’s hand with a subtle sense of pride.

“Of course.” He responds and slips a copy of the music video into the television before you.

The sound of static fills the room before the short film begins. You’d been there when Michael was filming, having been personally invited by him to watch his work. Now, it was time to see if the short film fully encapsulated his vision for the song.

You watch intently as Michael acts, smiling softly at how adorable he looks portraying Darryl. You lean forward around the scene where Darryl has had enough with being pushed around and smirk at his words.

“You wanna see who's bad? You wanna see who's bad?”

You shift in your seat, crossing a leg above the other and squeezing them to suppress the sudden feeling between them.

“Can you rewind to that last part? Before the push?” You whisper, and the editor obliges.

There are those words again: “You wanna see who's bad? You wanna see who's bad?”

You don’t even notice the words slip out of you when you speak just loud enough for the editor to hear you, “Yeah, I wanna see who’s bad.”

The editor looks away in slight chagrin after hearing your sultry comment. He clears his throat as the film continues before you.

When the film ends, you get up and bid everyone in the room goodbye, having given the ‘ok’ to publish that tape as the final cut. The editor nods with a bashful smile, your previous words still ringing in his ear. A part of him wonders if that was a subtle way to say you weren’t pleased with the acting, so when you finally leave the room, he picks up the phone and dials your home number to contact Michael about his concern.

When you finally make it back home, you slide out of your heels and toss your purse on the table near the entrance. The house is quiet. Maids have left after a long day of cleaning, leaving you and Michael, wherever he is, alone.

“Michael? I’m back! I watched the film,” You shout into the void, not certain whether he’s even close enough to hear you as you make your way upstairs to your shared bedroom.

The door opens on the other side, revealing your lean husband. He’s dressed in a simple grey sweater and denim pants. He stands with his arms crossed, eyes squinted in subtle anger. He fixes his gaze on your lips, then your eyes, then they travel down your dress.

“Come here.” Michael pulls you into the bedroom before slamming the door shut behind you both. He practically drags you towards the king-sized bed, gently pushing you onto it.

“What’s gotten into you?” you whimper softly as you watch his hands work on his jeans, unbuckling the belt around them. Your dress is hiked up just above your knees, revealing the once-hidden small tear in your stockings. You attempt to straighten yourself, but Michael stops you.

“Ah ah. Stay there.” He slings the belt off, tossing it next to you. He unbuttons and unzips them next. “I want’a show you something.”

Your heart beats faster, chest heaving in anticipation. A familiar shiver of lust rushes down your stomach straight to your core. Michael licks his lips, taking a step closer. He nudges your legs apart with his knee, standing directly in front of you.

“I heard about what ya said at the film viewing today,” he leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. His hand runs up and down your leg, squeezing every inch of flesh he can reach as he ducks his thumb under your dress, “heard you wanna see who's bad.”

A soft moan escapes you. The room feels warmer, smaller even. Michael leans back, his thumb brushing over your sensitive bud. He tilts his head when you whimper from the slight contact.

“You want’a know who's bad, huh?” He speaks just above a whisper.

“Yes,” you whisper back, hands gripping on his arm as his thumb presses soft circles to your clit, “please.”

Michael chuckles, his voice chills your chest like a cold glass of water on a summer’s day. He lowers himself again, pressing your foreheads together again.

“Say it again. Say ‘please’ again and I’ll so ya, bad.”

“Please, Michael. Please show me.” Your hips grind to match the friction between your legs.

In one swift motion, Michael flips you over, positioning you so that your cheek presses against a pillow, ass up and back arched. You hear his belt buckle swinging behind you as he chuckles, then he grabs your hands, holding them behind you before tying them up tightly.

“Are you sure?” He asks mockingly, pulling down his jeans behind you. His weight disappears off the bed, and he fully rids his pants, underwear and sweater, exposing his thick and hardened length.

“Show me who’s bad.” You nod, resting out the restraints on your hands. “Please, Mike.”

Michael hands pull your dress over your butt, hugging your knees to arch your back a bit more. In the deepened doggy style, he rips your leggings right where your underwear is, running his index finger between your soaked panties. He presses his thumb to your clit again and flicks his index finger over it, making you flinch in lustful anticipation.

“So wet already. Needy thing.” Michael teases you in a sultry voice. He dips his fingers underneath your cotton panties, groaning as he slips a single finger into your wet hole.

You shudder at the sensation, your butt instinctively pushing backwards to match the slow pump of his finger into you.

“Mike…” you sigh wistfully. Your hands clenched around nothing behind you, subconsciously trying to free themselves from his belt’s hold.

Michael holds your panties to the side and angles his tip to your entrance. On any other occasion, he would have given you more prep time, but not today. Without warning, he pushes himself into you, stretching your walls as far as his large member needs.

“Oh, Fuck!” You scream into the pillow beneath your cheek, eyes already watering from the feeling. He pulls his hips back, almost slipping completely out of you, before slamming back into your warm cunt with a harder force than the first time.

“Tch, babydoll,” Michael breathes out, voice thick and dark with need. He keeps a harsh pace, hips snapping back and forth as if chasing a high already.

Your moans fill the bedroom, bouncing off the walls, straight to your husband’s ears. Each sound you make sounds painfully beautiful. The feel of his dick in you is too much, too good all at once. He’s huge, stretching your tight pussy with every thrust of his hips. God, it’s tantalising. You squeeze your eyes shut, and your mouth falls slack as the mindless moans and whimpers escape you. It seems to egg him on more. He leans forward and whispers into your ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of your earlobe.

“Can’t handle it, hmm? Can’t handle how I feel inside you?” Michael grips the soft flesh of your hips, pulling you onto him as he pushes deeper and deeper. “Is it too much for you, babydoll? Am I too bad for you?”

You don’t respond. Words fail you in this moment. All you can do is nod vigorously against the pillow, crying out to him like life itself depends on it.

“Michael! Oh, Michael! M-m-ah!”

“Fuck, babydoll, say my name like that again.” He commands, smacking your plump butt. His large palm surely leaves a mark. He smacks it again before rubbing the point of impact in an ironically sweet manner.

You comply and moan his name like a prayer. The letters webbed into each other, making his name sound like gibberish. Michael pulls on your hair, his grip sweetly arousing along with his relentless fucking.

“I can feel it, y/n, can feel you getting closer,” he groans into your ear, slapping your ass again — the other cheek this time. “What if I just…stop?”

You gasp and cry out in lustful pain, begging him not to. The sight of you like this, tied up, whimpering in unrestrained arousal, mascara running down your hot cheeks; it’s all bringing him closer and closer to release. God, he wants to just finish inside you without giving you your own release, but the gentle part of him won’t let him completely ruin you for himself.

“You should see yourself, such a mess, y/n.” He whispers, pulling your torso up to press your back to his chest in an aching arch. His toned arm wraps around your neck, holding you up while he brings you to your climax.

Your walls begin to pulse around his length, eyes rolling back in blissful pleasure. Your breath comes out ragged, huffing out your senseless words. Michael’s belt is still tightly tied around your wrists, keeping you helpless to his thrusts. In a matter of seconds, you fall apart, juices squelching around your husband’s thick, dark cock in pure ecstasy. Each wave of your climax is accompanied by a deep moan or weak whimper, enticing Michael’s own moans as he nears release. You press your palms against his bare torso behind you, panting as if you ran ten miles in an attempt to catch your breath after your climax.

“Ah, tch, mmm.” Michael’s thrusts grow sluggish, his breath against the back of your neck coming out uneven. His hand grips your neck now, long fingers pulsing around it. In one uneven motion, Michael fills your warm core with his thick seed. He doesn’t stop thrusting, coating your velvet walls in his warm, creamy cum in short pumps.

When his strength falters, he releases you from his grip, letting your chest fall to the mattress, face pressing against the dark pillow again. His body falls beside you, back hitting the mattress in a soft thud before he turns his gaze to you. You’re still tied up, hands lying loosely on your back. Michael’s belt has left a soft ligature mark on your wrist, but none of you cares in that moment.

“You alright?” He presses a gentle palm to your face, cupping your damp cheek with a lopsided smile.

“Yeah…” you answer weakly, completely fucked out.

You smirk and wiggle your hands behind you. Michael shoots up in newfound bashfulness and quickly unties you, watching you wiggle your wrists in a shot to twist the stiffness out of them.

A pause.

“I wanna know who's bad.” You giggle, and Michael rolls his eyes, helping you turn over onto your back.

“Woman, we just finished.” He chuckles, helping you out of your ripped stocking, then your dress.

“I.Want. More.” You quip.

Michael exhales with a sly grin, preparing himself for a long afternoon of pleasing your insatiable desire. It’s safe to say you’ll need to air out the room for the entire night…and definitely change the bedding.

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