𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄: 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐄𝐃 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
⋮ ⌗ ┆ Being in love with Michael Jackson is a absolute dream, but behind closed doors, your sex life is a total disaster. Every time things heat up, he panics and pulls away. He might be the King of Pop, but when it comes to intimacy, he needs a serious crash course in Sex Ed!
╰┈➤ warnings/tags: sub Michael, soft dom reader, (a little bit of switch from both), no use of y/n, kissing, oral (male reviving), p in v, BIG MOMMY KINK BEWARE, no use of y/n, daddy usage (once), sexual nickname usage, cum play, spit play, dirty talk, unprotected (silly rabbit), y’all this is so filthy
Tags: @michaelsfayvourite @chrollosblackgf66
A/N: I’m not gonna lie y’all after this shit I might go on a break and decide if I wanna continue writing for mjblr. Idk we will see.
Being in love with Michael was like hitting the boyfriend jackpot. He was, quite literally, the golden standard.
You loved how effortlessly doting he was: always showering you with affection, bringing you fresh flowers weekly, and finding subtle ways to make you feel like the center of his universe. Your family adored him, his family practically claimed you as their own, and he spoiled you rotten without a second thought. You could go on forever about what that man meant to you.
When people asked how you met, though, expecting some cinematic, star-crossed fairy tale, you had to laugh. It wasn’t magical. In fact, it started with both of you being utterly miserable at the exact same place.
Michael hated private industry parties. If anything, he tolerated them on the off-chance he might meet someone who wanted to talk to him like an actual human being. Most of the time, people just wanted to negotiate contracts, hustle for deals, or pitch ideas that added more stress to his already loaded plate. So, he did what any socially exhausted person in a crowded room would do: he retreated to the bar.
Even though he rarely drank, he ordered something light just to give his hands something to hold and give himself an excuse to look occupied. He sat on the high stool, quietly observing the room. Everyone was clustered in tight, exclusive circles, laughing and networking while smooth jazz filtered through the speakers, a welcome break from the deafening rap track playing in the foyer when he first walked in.
He hated feeling isolated in a room full of people. Usually, nights like this ended the same way: he’d engage in polite, surface-level flirting with someone, realize halfway through the conversation that he had zero real interest, and spend the rest of the night orchestrating a polite exit strategy to avoid ending up in anyone's bed. It was a tiring cycle of people falling in love with "Michael Jackson" the icon, a character he couldn't bring himself to care about when the lights went down.
Then, someone sat down right next to him. Not touching, but close enough that he felt the sudden shift in space.
He turned his head, and the breath caught squarely in his throat.
God, you were breathtaking. You looked to be right around his age, dressed in an outfit that accentuated every curve and made you undeniably, effortlessly stunning. From the effortless way your hair fell to the gorgeous heels on your feet, you caught his eye so fast it felt like a physical pull.
You hadn't noticed who you were sitting next to; at least, that’s what Michael assumed. He decided to play it cool, waiting to see if you’d make the first move. Instead, you ordered a drink that was distinctly not light. A bright, sweet-looking pink cocktail slid across the bar, and you immediately took a long, unapologetic sip.
He watched your shoulders slump, your head resting lightly in one palm as you stared ahead. You looked entirely exhausted by the room. Okay, he thought, I’m making the move.
"Are you okay?" Michael asked, slipping into his best, softly spoken, genuinely concerned voice. A simple opener, nothing too forward.
Your shoulders rose and fell as a heavy sigh escaped your lips. "Yeah, I am. Thanks for asking."
The answer was polished and quick, like a line you’d practiced ten times before walking through the door. Michael wasn't satisfied. He leaned in just an inch closer.
"You don't really look it," he offered with a quiet, breathless laugh. "You look a little stressed out, no offense."
"None taken," you said flatly, not even turning your head.
Oh goodness him. You sounded thoroughly irritated, and for a split second, Michael wanted to find the nearest trapdoor and slide right through the floorboards.
"I'm sorry if I'm pushing," he blurted out before his filter could catch up to his tongue. "I just... I really don't like seeing pretty girls looking stressed out."
He winced internally, fully expecting a scoff, an eye-roll, or a swift rejection. What he didn't expect was the sound of your laugh. It was soft, contagious, and warm enough to instantly cut through the awkward tension.
You finally turned your body toward him, and Michael felt a sharp, nervous knot tie itself in his stomach.
"As corny as that was," you smiled, eyes twinkling, "I can actually hear how genuine you are." You extended a hand, introducing yourself.
Michael thought your name was the sweetest sound he’d heard all night. He took your hand, and the moment his skin brushed yours, a faint, electric jolt seemed to jump between you both.
The rest of the night vanished in a blur. You confessed that you hadn't even wanted to come, but your friends had dragged you out under the guise of "networking." You were a homebody at heart, completely unbothered by the grand allure of stuffy industry galas. The only draw was finding a proper sponsor for your career, but you hadn't met a single person who felt sincere.
Michael listened intently, watching the faint frustration in your expression tug at his heart. His mind immediately scrambled to figure out how he could help.
"I could talk to my management," he offered gently, his tone completely serious. "See if we can get your portfolio in front of the right people."
Your eyes went wide as saucers. You immediately started lightly swatting at his chest, shaking your head. "Oh, absolutely not! No way. I am not letting you take on my problems like that."
It was a massive gesture, he knew it, and you knew it, but looking at you, he knew he wasn’t going to let you walk away empty-handed. He gently caught your fluttering hands in his, holding them together between his palms. The room around you seemed to blur out as he locked eyes with you.
"Trust me," he murmured softly. "I don't just do this for anyone."
You stared at him for a quiet second, completely disarmed, before breaking into a soft giggle. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Thank you, Michael."
His cheeks flushed a deep, hot crimson. He folded his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder and pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to the side of your head.
"You can thank me properly by letting me take you out to dinner," he whispered.
And just like that, it began.
Within a month, you were inseparable. What belonged to Michael quickly became yours. You met his massive, vibrant family, who welcomed you with wide, open arms; he met yours, who treated him like a son from day one. Even with insane schedules, you always carved out time for each other. As your career took off and Michael worked on his projects, the media went wild over the two of you, but the public noise barely touched your private bubble. He started skipping the industry parties entirely, preferring to stay home on the couch with you, watching movies, playing with his pets, or letting you sit quietly in the studio while he worked his magic.
Everything felt straight out of a fairy tale.
Except for one minor, increasingly frustrating detail: you hadn't had sex.
You weren't sex-crazed by any means, but you were a healthy adult with very real needs. You had your fair share of past relationships, but none of them had provided the kind of passion or satisfaction you were looking for. When you first met Michael, you assumed his playful, flirty energy carried over into the bedroom.
And Michael was an absolute dream in every other aspect: he gave the best foot massages, ran hot baths for you after long shoots, and doted on you with endless kisses. But when it came to taking the final step, the main event never arrived.
You wanted to take the initiative, but every time you made out and your hands dared to wander toward his belt buckle, Michael would abruptly pull back with some ridiculous, out-of-left-field excuse that instantly killed the mood. Worse, he seemed genuinely panicked whenever you tried to undress around him.
The breaking point arrived on a Tuesday night.
You had just come back from a high-profile fashion event where you walked for Chanel's Spring collection, and Michael had attended as your date, performing a couple of acoustic songs for the crowd. You were both utterly exhausted. The front door barely swung open before you kicked off your heels, adding them to the growing pile of discarded coats by the entryway, and headed upstairs while continuing the debate you’d started in the car.
"I'm just saying, the silhouettes were a little hit-or-miss," Michael said, loosening his tie as he followed you into the master bedroom.
"It was trying to revive Chanel's archival aesthetic," you replied, unclipping your heavy diamond earrings and tossing them onto the vanity. You unpinned your hair, letting it tumble down your shoulders with a relieved sigh. "Though I agree, a couple of those outerwear pieces were a little weak."
"I think me singing Human Nature was the only thing keeping half the front row awake," he snickered.
You cackled, stepping out of your shoes. By now, your jacket and top were already off, leaving you in your delicate lace bra. You reached for the button of your trousers, pulling the zipper down to shed them.
Michael, who had been looking toward the mirror, turned around mid-sentence and instantly let out a dramatic, high-pitched gasp.
"Mama! What in the world are you doing?!" He froze, staring at you as if you had just pulled out a dangerous weapon.
You paused, pants caught right around your knees, staring at him in utter disbelief. "Taking off my pants?" you said, pronouncing each word like he’d lost his mind.
Michael turned his back to you so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet, waving a hand frantically in the air. "I see that! A little warning would be nice!"
"A warning?!" You pulled your pants off the rest of the way, kicking them aside. "Michael, taking off my clothes isn't a surprise attack! We've been dating for months!"
"I know, but... gosh, it's a big step!"
"Undressing in my own bedroom is a big step?!"
"If you're panicking over trousers, what are you going to do when we have sex?!"
"Don't say that!" he squeaked, his shoulders hitching up to his ears.
The silence that followed was heavy enough to drop an anvil through the floorboards.
Your eyebrows pulled together. The weirdness around intimacy had crossed from mildly confusing into genuinely concerning. You leaned back against the dresser, arms crossed tightly over your chest.
"Why can't I say the word sex?"
"It's just... a very loud word," Michael muttered, his voice dropping into an embarrassed, hushed whisper like he was admitting to a crime.
"Michael, we are grown adults," you said, trying to keep your voice grounded. "Adults have sex. Unless there's something you're not telling me?"
The truth was, it had nothing to do with religious guilt or cold feet. Michael had long moved past the idea that intimacy was something to feel ashamed of. He loved you, he desired you, and he knew perfectly well that sex was a natural, beautiful part of a healthy relationship.
The actual problem was much, much dumber, and infinitely more embarrassing for him.
Michael was, by nature, extremely vocal. He wasn't particularly experienced compared to his brothers, but he knew how to treat a woman right. The issue was that the moment things got intense, he couldn't keep his voice down if his life depended on it. Even when he was alone, touching himself while thinking about you, he couldn't control the high, sweet, breathless sounds that escaped him.
He’d had humiliating experiences in his younger years where past partners had actually mocked him or made him feel ridiculous for being louder than they were. Over time, his brain had wired itself to believe that real men were supposed to make deep, muted grunts, not high-pitched, desperate moans. He had convinced himself that if you heard the noise he made when he completely lost control, you'd be turned off, embarrassed, and head for the door.
He had spent weeks trying to train himself to be quiet, biting down on pillows, holding his breath, and none of it worked. So, his genius backup plan had simply been to delay the moment for as long as humanly possible.
Your voice snapped him out of his internal spiral. He slowly turned around, looking like a man awaiting a sentence.
"I'm sorry," he breathed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't have a secret or anything like that... it's just, we haven't had the talk yet."
You rolled your eyes, running a hand through your hair. "The talk? Michael, we're not in health class. What talk?"
"About... expectations. And comfort zones," he offered weakly, stepping closer to the bed.
You sat down on the edge of the mattress, looking up at him. "Okay. If you want to talk, let's talk. But first, can you please take off your jacket and sit down? You look like you're about to jump out a window."
"I'm fine right here," he said quickly, his posture stiff as a board.
"Michael," you cooed gently, rubbing your palms against your thighs. "I'm sitting here in my undergarments, and you're dressed for a board meeting. It's making this ten times more awkward."
"Well, yeah, because you're... bare!"
"I am wearing a bra and underwear! My chest isn't even exposed!"
He glanced down, suddenly realizing that yes, you were, in fact, covered by a secondary layer of lace. His brain had entirely over-dramatized the situation.
You let the silence hang between you for a moment, the humor draining out of your expression as a quiet, terrible thought crossed your mind.
"Is my body ugly to you?"
Michael's heart dropped straight into his shoes. The raw, vulnerable hitch in your voice made him feel instantly sick to his stomach.
"God, no! No!" he gasped, dropping to his knees right in front of you without a second thought. "Tink, no! Your body is breathtaking. It's gorgeous, mama, I swear to you. I spend half my day thinking about your curves, about how incredible you look every time you walk into a room..."
"Then why do you act like looking at me physically pains you?"
His mouth ran dry. He had no smooth answer left. "It's complicated," he whispered, searching your eyes. "I promise you, it has nothing to do with you not being beautiful."
"I'm not stupid, Michael," you said softly, your voice small now, the frustration melting into genuine hurt. "Every time we make out, you find some ridiculous excuse to pull away. I respect your boundaries, I really do. But if you didn't want to be intimate with me, you should have just told me instead of making me feel like I'm forcing myself on you. It's driving me crazy."
Her words broke his heart into a million pieces. The realization that his stupid insecurity had made you feel unloved, unwanted, and exhausted hit him like a freight train.
“Baby, I love you, okay?” he blurted out desperately.
You scoffed, a sharp, bitter sound that cut him off before he could even start.
“Don't do that, Michael,” you said, your voice trembling as you gestured toward the space between you. “Don't just throw 'I love you' at me like a band-aid. Every single time we get close, you pull back like I’m burning you. Tonight, the second my clothes came off, you acted like you couldn't even stand to look at me!”
“That’s not what it is, I promise you...”
“Then what is it?!” Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes. You pulled your arms tightly across your chest. “Are you even attracted to me? Do you even find me pretty, Michael? Because right now, it feels like you can barely stand the sight of me!”
The words hit him like a physical blow. Michael flinched, his jaw tightening so hard his teeth clicked.
Before you could pull back any further, he closed the remaining distance between you, taking both of your hands in his with an urgency that startled you.
“Look at me,” he pleaded, his voice dropping into that quiet, fierce register he used when he needed you to hear every single syllable. “Look at me, please.”
You swallowed hard, looking down into his wide, shiny dark eyes.
“Don’t you ever say that,” he whispered, his thumbs stroking the backs of your hands with desperate tenderness. “Don’t you ever think, even for a second, that you aren’t the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. You’re stunning. Every single inch of you. It takes every ounce of willpower I have just to keep my hands to myself when you’re in the room.”
He brought your hands to his lips, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to your knuckles, his forehead resting against your knees for a second before he looked back up.
“I get scared,” he admitted, the confession coming out small, raw, and completely unpolished. “I get scared because... because I’m noisy.”
You blinked, completely caught off guard. "...What?"
Michael ducked his head, his cheeks burning a shade of red so deep it reached his neck. "I'm loud," he mumbled into your knees, his shoulders hunching up in shame. "I've had women in the past who literally laughed at me or walked out because of... how loud I get in bed. They said it wasn't manly. That I sounded ridiculous."
He took a shaky breath, his hands trembling slightly in yours. "I thought... I thought if you heard me, you'd be embarrassed by me. You'd realize I'm not this smooth, composed guy you think I am, and you'd leave. So I tried practicing by myself to stay quiet, but I couldn't do it. And I was having such an amazing time with you that I just... kept kicking the can down the road, hoping I'd fix it before we got here."
He looked up at you, completely vulnerable, looking like a little boy waiting to be scolded. "I'm so sorry, love. I should have just been honest. Please forgive me?"
The absolute absurdity of his confession mixed with the profound relief in your chest made a breathless, disbelief-filled laugh escape your lips.
You reached down, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to look directly at you. "Michael... are you serious?"
"You've been dodging me for months... because you make noise?"
"It's high-pitched!" he defended weakly, wincing. "It's really embarrassing!"
You couldn't help it; a bright, genuine laugh bubbled up from your chest, cutting through all the heavy tension that had filled the room. You pulled him up by his lapels, leaning forward until your lips met his in a soft, sweet, lingering kiss.
When you pulled back, your thumb gently wiped a stray tear from his cheek.
"I understand you," you whispered, searching his doe-like eyes. "I'm sorry for not considering your perspective sooner."
Michael’s breath caught. The panic in his expression melted away into something so impossibly soft, so overflowing with affection, that it made your chest ache. He turned his head slightly, pressing a tender kiss into the palm of your hand, his eyelashes fluttering closed.
"You don't have to apologize, beautiful," he murmured against your skin. "I just never want you to doubt how much I adore you."
"We'll go at whatever pace you want, Michael," you said softly, smiling as a warm, bashful heat crept up your neck. "It's just you and me. You don't ever have to hide anything from me."
He let out a long, shaky, utterly relieved breath, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He peppered sweet, light kisses along your collarbone, making you giggle softly as his curls tickled your skin.
"I love you so much," he whispered against your collarbone. "So, so much."
"And Michael?" you murmured, tilting his chin up so his eyes met yours again. "About the noise?"
He flushed again, waiting nervously.
"You don't ever have to hold back with me," you said, your tone dropping into something far warmer, far more suggestive. "I don't care how loud you are. In fact? I love it when a man expresses himself. Knowing I'm making you feel that good? That's hot, Michael. It makes me want you even more."
His breath hitched, his dark eyes darkening as the reality of your words set in. "You... you mean that?"
"Every word," you whispered, leaning down to brush your lips against his ear. "I want to hear every single sound you make. Don't you dare hide them from me."
Michael swallowed hard, his hands tightening on your waist. The relief, the overwhelming affection, and the sudden, surging wave of long-suppressed desire hit him all at once. He looked up at you, his eyes lidded, taking in the sight of you sitting on the bed in your lace undergarments, completely open to him.
"Well," Michael started, his voice dropping an octave, rich and velvety. "If you're really sure... and if you're not too tired..."
Your heart did a sudden, violent flip against your ribs. "Are you sure? I don't want you to feel rushed..."
"Baby," he cut you off softly, leaning up to press a firm, possessive kiss to your lips that sent a jolt straight down to your core. "I am so ready for you."
He stood up from the floor, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly unbuttoned his vest, tossing it onto the chair. Next came his silk shirt, sliding off his broad shoulders to reveal his smooth, sculpted chest. Every piece of clothing he discarded made the air in the room grow heavier, hotter.
When his hands reached his belt buckle, his eyes darkened further. He unbuckled it with a slow, deliberate click, sliding his trousers down to reveal the heavy, prominent bulge straining against the dark fabric of his briefs.
The sight made your mouth go completely dry. You hadn't realized just how well-endowed he was until this very second.
Slowly, you reached out a hand, looking up at him for permission.
Michael bit his lower lip, a dark, heavy flush spreading over his cheeks as he gave a single, tight nod.
You rested your palm over the front of his briefs, cupping his length through the cotton.
A sharp, breathless whine instantly ripped from his throat, a high, sweet, needy sound that vibrated right against your palm.
Your eyes widened, a sudden, delicious wave of heat pooling directly between your thighs. Oh. He wasn't exaggerating. The sound was sweet, raw, and completely uninhibited. And the fact that a single, gentle touch could pull that out of him set your pulse racing.
You stroked your hand up and down his length through the fabric. Michael gasped, his head falling back as another soft, high whimper escaped him, his hips instinctively twitching forward into your palm.
"Mama... ngh... your hand..." he panted, his hands coming up to grip the bedpost to steady himself.
A wicked, playful stroke of confidence surged through you. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his briefs, dragging them down to his thighs.
All nine inches of him sprang free, thick and throbbing, standing tall against his flat stomach.
A quiet, astonished "Woah..." escaped your lips before you could stop yourself.
Michael shifted his weight, suddenly bashful under your intense gaze, a light blush dusting his nose. "Don't look at me like that..." he mumbled shyly.
"Like what?" you purred, leaning forward on the bed. You reached out, your thumb tracing the swollen head of his cock, catching the tiny bead of clear pre-cum glistening at the tip. You brought your thumb to your lips, licking it clean while keeping eye contact with him.
Michael let out a choked sound, his knees visibly shaking. "God, mama, please..."
You didn't keep him waiting. You leaned down, taking the broad tip of his length into your mouth, swirling your tongue over his sensitive flesh.
"F-Fuck!" Michael yelled out, the sound high and breathless as his back arched off the bedpost. His hands flew to your hair, his fingers tangling tightly into your locks, not pushing you away, but anchoring you to him as his hips twitched involuntarily forward. "Mommy, your mouth... it's so warm, oh God..."
You took more of him, sliding his length past your lips until you felt the heavy weight of him hitting the back of your throat. You kept a steady, rhythmic bob of your head, swallowing around him as the wet, slick sounds filled the quiet bedroom.
Michael completely lost his mind.
He was practically weeping from the sheer sensory overload, his high-pitched, needy moans echoing off the walls without a shred of restraint. "I can't... I can't take it, mama! It feels too good, I'm gonna..."
You paused, popping his length out of your mouth with a wet pop. You kept your hand tightly wrapped around his shaft, squeezing firmly, and looked up into his tear-rimmed, blown-out eyes.
"You're going to take every second of it, Michael," you said, your voice dripping with sweet authority. "Because you're mama's good boy, aren't you?"
A loud, desperate whine tore from his throat at the title, his head tossing back against the wall. "Y-Yes! Yes, mama, I'm your good boy, please!"
Satisfied, you took him deep into your throat again, pumping your hand rapidly at his base.
He wasn't exaggerating at all: he was insanely, gloriously loud. Every slide of your lips brought out another high, whimpering cry, his fingers tightening in your hair as he rode the edge.
The sound of his voice mixed with the wet heat of his cock in your mouth was driving you wild. You reached down with your free hand, slipping two fingers past the damp lace of your panties, sliding them inside your own soaked heat.
"Oh fuck, you're taking me so deep," Michael sobbed out, looking down through lidded eyes as spit glistened along his length. "Look at you, taking all of me..."
You picked up the pace, both with your mouth on his cock and your fingers inside yourself, matching his desperate rhythm. You let out a muffled moan around his shaft, the vibration traveling directly into his nerve endings.
Michael gasped violently. "Mama, I'm close... I'm so close! Please let me cum, please, pretty please, mommy!"
You pulled off him, stroking his slick shaft rapidly with your hand, adding a generous drop of saliva to keep it gliding smoothly.
"Do you like how mommy touches you?" you cooed, watching his face unravel. "Did you need this so bad?"
"I needed you so bad!" he babbled out, entirely unfiltered, his hips rolling helplessly into your hand. "My hand wasn't working anymore, I needed you! I'm such a slut for you, mama, please let me nut!"
"Cum for mommy, then," you rasped, leaning in to lick a wet stripe right up the underside of his shaft. "Give it all to me."
Michael practically shrieked as his body went completely rigid. Thick, hot streams of his release shot out, coating your chin, your chest, and your lips. He trembled violently, his breath coming in ragged, high-pitched gasps as he rode out the intense orgasm, his hands clinging to your shoulders for dear life.
As he slowly came down from the high, his heavy eyelids fluttered open. He looked at the mess he had made across your skin, a shy, utterly smitten smile breaking across his face.
"I have to clean you up now," he whispered thickly.
He sank down onto his knees on the bed, leaning in to trace his tongue across your jaw, lapping up his own warmth from your skin until his lips met yours, sharing the taste of his release in a deep, slick kiss.
The heat between you hadn't died down. If anything, it was burning hotter. You could feel his cock, already hardening again, pressing firmly against your thigh.
You pulled back, a thin string of saliva connecting your lips, your voice raspy and low. "Now it's your turn to take care of me."
You pushed him back onto the mattress, straddling his hips as he looked up at you with wide, reverent eyes.
"You did such a good job," you purred, grinding your damp core against the hard length of his shaft. "My good boy deserves a reward."
Michael let out a low, desperate moan at the friction of your wet heat against his skin. "Please put it in... please, mama, I want that pussy so bad. I need to be inside you."
You let out a breathless laugh, leaning down until your breath fanned over his earlobe. "I love when you beg for me. You want mama's pussy? That big dick aching for me?"
You positioned his tip at your entrance and slowly, deliberately sank down onto him.
Both of your breath hitched in unison as he filled you completely. The stretch was intense, glorious, and intoxicating. Michael let out a long, high-pitched whimper that turned into a soft groan as you bottomed out against his hips.
He reached up, wrapping his large hands firmly around your waist, his eyes dark with a sudden, possessive intensity. "Such a good girl... you take me so well. This is my dick, mama... and I own this pussy."
Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden flash of dominance in his voice.
You began to roll your hips, setting a slow, agonizingly deep pace. Every bounce impaled you further on his length, hitting a spot so deep it made your vision blur. Michael couldn't keep a rhythm; every time he tried to thrust up into you, the sheer tightness of your walls around him made him cry out, his head thrashing against the pillows.
"Oh fuck, you feel incredible!" he wailed, his voice echoing loudly in the room. "Faster, mama, please, fuck me faster!"
You picked up the pace, riding him harder, the wet, slapping sound of skin against skin mixing with his high, shameless cries.
"Look at you," you panted, staring down into his flushed, gorgeous face. "Look how vocal you are for me. Let me hear you, Michael!"
"Fuck! Don't stop, mama!" he screamed out, tears of pure pleasure pricking at the corners of your eyes as you set a relentless, punishing rhythm. "Your pussy feels so fucking good, God, I love you!"
Seeing him completely undone beneath you, weeping from the pleasure you were giving him, snapped the last thread of your restraint. You started lifting yourself and slamming back down onto him, abandoning all control.
"Fuck, Michael, your dick is so good!" you gasped out, your voice breaking. "Give it to me, daddy, please!"
Something in Michael snapped at the shift in your tone. The sweet, boyish warmth gave way to pure, unadulterated instinct. He grabbed your hips with an iron grip, holding you down against him, and began thrusting upward with powerful, relentless snaps of his hips.
"Right there?!" he growled out, his voice a thick, raspy rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Right there, mama? Such a good girl, letting me fuck you like this!"
You threw your head back, a loud, helpless scream tearing from your throat as he hit your sweet spot again and again. He leaned up, latching his mouth onto your exposed nipple, sucking hard while his hips worked relentlessly beneath you.
"Yeah?" you gasped, holding his head against your chest. "You want mommy's milk, baby? Suck on it, you're mama's boy, such a good boy for me!"
Michael whimpered against your skin, nodding frantically as he sucked, his lower half driving into you with frantic, desperate speed. He felt your internal muscles begin to pulse violently around his shaft, gripping him in tight, rhythmic contractions.
He pulled off your chest, looking up at you with wide, tear-filled, dark eyes. "Can I cum?! I wanna nut inside you so bad, mama, please let me cum inside you!"
You cupped his face in your hands, looking down into his desperate, beautiful eyes. "Cum inside me, baby. Give it all to mama."
With a ragged, primal roar, Michael thrust deep one last time, pinning you against his hips as he came undone.
"Fuck! I'm cumming!" he screamed, his voice cracking as his release flooded deep inside your womb.
The sensation of his hot seed filling you, combined with the raw sight of him completely losing his composure, pushed you right over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you in violent, paralyzing waves, your inner walls milking him dry as you cried out his name.
Michael held you tighter to ground himself, you whispering soft praises as whimpers softly fell from his lips until they slowly transitioned into quiet, even breathing.
"Was I too loud?" he asked softly into your skin.
"Not at all," you murmured, stroking his hair softly, your fingers tracing the gentle curls stuck to his forehead with sweat. His chest rose and fell in deep, steady rhythms against yours, the heat radiating off his skin feeling like a warm blanket.
Michael stayed quiet for a long moment, his face still buried in the crook of your neck, his arms wrapped so snugly around your waist that there wasn't a single inch of space between you.
"I mean it," he murmured softly, his breath fluttering warm against your collarbone. "You didn't... you didn't feel like it was too much? You didn't mind?"
You let out a soft, sweet giggle, leaning down to press a kiss right to the top of his head.
"Michael," you said softly, pulling back just enough so you can look into those big, doe eyes of his. "Hearing you lose control like that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. Every single noise you made proved to me just how good I was making you feel. I never, ever want you to hold back with me."
A shy, breathless smile slowly tugged at the corners of his lips, a deep blush dusting his cheeks all over again. He buried his face right back into your neck with a quiet, contented sigh, squeezing you tight.
"Good," he whispered, his voice thick with sleep and utter devotion. "Because I don't think I could ever be quiet with you even if I tried.”
