dbf!michael . . . who can feel your eyes on him at all times. you're too stubborn to admit it, but he knows that if he's in your vicinity your eyes will be on him. and eyes tell a story he always reminds you, and yours beg for the attention of the older man. even going out of your way to barge yourself into your father's study, waltzing over and perching yourself on the desk. lazily tracing a finger over the wood pattern as you interject yourself in their conversation . . . it never takes you long to leave just as you came, but not before you look over your shoulder to see if michael is eyeing your exit.

dbf!michael . . . who as easy as he loves to deprive you is quick to seek you out. call it cat and mouse, but michael will always find a way to excuse himself and catch you to play the little game the two of you have been playing.

it's been all afternoon, the glances you and michael have been giving each other. starting from the moment you stepped foot on the bricked concrete of the back patio, flip flops clapping and attitude in your walk as you make your way to the lounge chairs lined against the pool. paying no mind to michael and his shielded gaze from where he and your father are seated in the expensive wicker chairs your mother had insisted on getting years ago when the backyard was getting renovated.

only when you're rubbing tanning oil onto the lengths of your legs do you raise your gaze to be met with the distant view of michael. his lap as inviting as ever as he manspreads, an arm thrown over the hair of the chair and you can already tell his fingers are absently tapping as he nods along to whatever your father is talking about. clearly not paying the most attention to what is being said as the only movement his mouth remotely does is clench and unclench from the gum he's toying with in his mouth.

his attention only gets worse when you flip about an hour into tanning, and his it a dangerous game he's playing as he allows his sunglasses to slight the smallest bit down the bridge of his nose to get a clearer view of you flipping your body over. teeth nearly breaking the skin of his bottom lip when your as recoils as you shift and get comfortable once again.

it takes you taking a dip in the pool and retreating inside for michael to excuse himself to the 'bathroom', following the water droplets from your dripping body to the kitchen where your back is turned, fiddling with the top of a contain full of fruit. body bronzed and glowy from the tanning oil and sun, you're just irritable as he comes up from behind you, large hands on your waist to pull your back flush against him chest, not caring if you get his top wet. hands feeling up all on your torso, even daring to slip beneath the tiny triangles of your bikini top, enveloping the entirety of your breast in his grasp, "we gotta be quiet 'nd quick, baby. know you're achin' for me like i'm achin' for you."

dbf!michael . . . who is only on your side when it comes to your fashion. muttering, "she's a grown woman" when your father disapproves of your scandalous clothes. maybe it's his own perverted selfishness, seeing you prance around in skimpy tank tops which enunciate your pebbled nipples, skirts so short that when your purposely bend down michael can get the perfect view of you puffy cunt confined within your panties, or dresses so tight and low cut that it leaves nothing to the imagination. and boy, would your father hate to learn that he's the one enabling your fashion habits.

ּ❥ : you think this is too much mikey ? ( image ) michael : You look very gorgeous, Baby. I think it's perfect. ּ❥ : you're only saying that because it's showing off my ass  michael : All the more reason it's perfect, I think.

dbf!michael . . . who's eyes widen when you lift your shirt, so baggy it's falling off your shoulder, first his eyes fall on your plump ass, tracing the bedazzled juicy on the signature velour fabric . . . until his eyes catch the cling wrap taped to your lower back. leaning closer from where he's sat on the couch, legs spread to fit you between them. large hands finding their familiar spot on your hips, thumbs tracing over the edge of where the smooth plastic covers the tattoo and your soft skin. he'd always tell you to wait for tattoos, to think hard and long about it, 'cause it's permanent. nothing like the temporary tattoos that come off with water and a little scrubbing. but this? he's choking on his words, a million thoughts popping up in his mind and poofing into thin air before he can process them. the only thing that consumed him is the is the small tramp stamp being none other than a butterfly.

michael is a gentleman, even in bed. he loves⎯thrives off of making his woman experience the best she's ever had when she's with him. which is exactly why he prioritizes making love with you, and he'll give into whatever you ask within the confines of the bedroom walls . . . well that is unless that's asking to do any position where he can't see your face. he finds it intimate to be able to see you and all the ways your face contorts in pleasure. but ever since you've showed him the delicate tattoo on your lower back something has been simmering low within him⎯the want? the need? to see you sat on his dick, backside facing him as his eyes stay trained on the butterfly as your hips roll.

"'m gonna come, mikey," you moan out, all desperate as your movements becomes rigid as you reach your peak. head lulling to the side when michael's tip hits gummy spot that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. michael hums, hands sliding down from where his fingers pressed into your plush hips. a pair of helping hands for your tiring muscles. "go on, mama," he urges, all while gentle fingers trace around the inked wings of the butterfly, "i've got ya'."

dbf!michael . . . who becomes your makeshift chauffeur. and the man rarely drives, but the moment you say you want to go somewhere, whether that's a strip mall or your favorite overpriced restaurant he's picking up his keys, following the sound of jingling as you waltz after singer. and it's truly sight a see, michael driving. he used to be beyond diligent when driving, seat straight up, both hands on the steering wheel, and no music because it distracted him too much. michael now is far more relaxed, one hand on the steering wheel and one hand resting on your thigh. you spend most of the drives just staring at him inbetween your belts as you sing the latest pop song.

and what better way to repay his acts of kindness than a sloppy blow job in his rolls royce? is it classy? absolutely not, but you never cared about being classy with michael, not when you can be messy and passionate.

"that mouth of yours⎯"  you had managed to butter michael up just enough. and by enough, which is just peppering kisses along his jaw as a manicured hand rubs up and down his chest, stopping just below his belt before your hand makes it way back up. and now with his casual slacks and briefs pushed haphazardly halfway down his thighs, your swollen lips wrapped around his dick, and the same manicured hand stroked whatever length you couldn't take in your mouth. drool escaping your mouth as your head bops, falling down your chin just to dribble onto your fisted hand. michael's chest raised then falls as he watched you past heavy lidded eyes with a hand in your curls. when your you glassy gaze meets his you pull up from off his length with a pop, still pumping at his base. flashing him a love (dick) drunk smile just before you duck back down. except instead of taking him back in your mouth you kiss down the underside of his shaft, licking your way back up, planting a kiss on his leaking tip. only then do you take his tip into your mouth once again, all while maintaining eye contact. "it's dangerous, girl," he rasps out. throwing his head back against the headrest when you take him further down your throat.

dbf!michael . . . who is known by your homegirls. and i mean like it was an eye bulging reaction when a rolls royce pulled up along the curb of the club, and a not so discreetly dressed michael exits the drivers side, jogging over the passenger's side to open the door for you. the cherry on top that left their mouths agape was the kiss planted on your glossy lips, then another, and another, until words are spoken that can't be deciphered from the loud music booming within the club. it's safe to say that wasn't the last time they'd see michael. and it's only fueled their amusement that you have the michael jackson saved in your phone as mikey and they're even more amused that the award winning singer puts up with your antics. giggling and waving off their comments because as much as you never expected how easy and how soon you had the man wrapped around your finger, you never expected how deeply in love you'd be, "he's a good man, a real sweet one at that" ⎯ moving on from the conversation as they berate you further for your mushy comment about the man.

dbf!michael . . . who becomes touchy when he's tipsy at a dinner party. he knows he shouldn't, there's still common somewhere in the back of his mind, especially with eyes around everywhere. but he can't help it, not when you look so pretty ⎯ already having pressed his face into you're coils greeting you when he had first arrived, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, "lookin' so gorgeous t'night, baby" giving your waist one final squeeze before he releases you from his grasp and walk away with your father ⎯ and he's only escalated from there, his presence seemed to follow after you, much like a ghost binded to its prized possession. you didn't mind one bit, you were thankful for it because was the one carrying these conversations he'd follow you to, hand coming up to rest on your shoulder as he joins you and the other guest, only for it to fall lower and lower all while he's nursing another glass of champagne.

dbf!michael . . . who is stern with you. it isn't out of the ordinary for michael to have dinner with your family throughout the week, and it isn't out of the ordinary that he'd always find his spot at the dinning table right in front of where you. diverting your teases about how he just can't not be as close as he can to you by playing it off that the seat he sits at happens to be be the only seat open ⎯ knowing damn well there are at minimum five other open seats he could've chosen to sit at. but michael didn't know that by choosing that seat would give you the best access to mess with him, as you currently have your foot ⎯ removed from your heel, of course ⎯ pressed against his crotch. ignoring the tight grip he has around your ankle, while his free hand remains above the table, knuckles turning pale from his grip on the silverware. or turning your head every time michael tried to get your attention to grit some kind of warning past his teeth, only applying more pressure to his semi as you engage in conversation with your family or cut another piece of food to shove into your mouth.

the heated impact against your wetness causes your body to jolt and your hips to buck. michael's hand is large enough to perfectly cover the entirety of your pussy, applying just enough pressure to have you whining after he's delivered the pleasure filled slap, just as you'd done to him during dinner in your act of teasing. but never enough pressure, keeping you at a frustrating medium of teetering on the edge of release and dissatisfaction. he's still michael though, so a large hand is cupped around your jaw to allow for his thumb to brush away any stray tears that might've fallen out of frustration. and he's still nice enough to give you a break in between each smack, coos that mock your ruined form fall from his lips. eyes darting down for just a moment as he removes his hand, pupils dilating further at the sight your pussy's sticky strings of arousal still connecting you to his hand. and when he delivers another smack, he's already doing damage control, pressing his lips against yours to swallow the moans your cry out. you're a hiccuping mess when he pulls away from the kiss, "this is gonna be a long night, swee'heart," he muses. delivering another blow to your puffy pussy as you attempted to seek further pleasure to ease the ache by grinding against his hand. no amount of sorry's could get you out of this.

dbf!michael . . . who revels in you turning into a babbling mess. whether that's him making you flustered from saying all the right things that causes your body to heat up and your heart to run rampant. stumbling over your words as you try to think of something to combat what he just said ⎯ which you almost never succeed at, and it proudly amuses michael to get of you guarded and wide eyed. or whether it's when he's got you below him, all sweaty and mindless as you babbling nothing else other than his name past your plush lips. and better yet when it's his mouth that's dumbed you down this far already. precise licks against your sopping entrance as his nose nudges against your swollen clit. all that work to witness you gasping for air, thighs clamping his head in place while your hands clench and claw at whatever is closest in your vicinity. it's all worth it for the mess he makes you for the mess you make on his face in return.

dbf!michael . . . who manages learn tech from you, you're twist with your legs sprawled over michael's lap while you're body is pressed as close to his as possible, his phone clad in hand. it's difficult because after you're done showing him something he'll immediately ask "how'd you do that? show me again, baby, please" and it doesn't help that michael's large hands and thick fingers miss click the little buttons on his phone. the same hands to smooth up and down your legs, tracing shapes and patterns onto your skin as you help set up his voicemail, humming along to what you have to say.

"jus' like that, mama," michael purrs, voice slightly staticy from beyond the other side of the screen. his fist lazily stoked his dick as he admired in the sight of your hand between your spread legs, "take your fingers f'me again." you circle your clit a few more times before you sink your fingers back into your warmth, heat creeping up your neck when when the enter with a squelch. you'd be on your back normally, but you want to be able to see michael pleasuring himself at the same time as you from where your laptop is propped open. so you've opted to put all your body weight on the arm that's fisting the wrinkled bedsheets in its hand. through a heavy gaze and a wide mouth you pump your fingers in and out of your slicked pussy, "wish they were your fingers, mikey." michael exhales through his nose, shifting from where he sits in the arm chair in an empty hotel room across the world from you. being able to hear your beautiful noises and pliant body in front of him, but not being able to touch you is something cruel ⎯ torturous, even he thinks. and it's selfish, to want you to by his side wherever he goes, and maybe if it was a normal day, one where he didn't need you as bad as he needs you right now, he'd agree. but today is not that day. "i know, i know, baby. doin' s'well though, jus' keep doin' that. and i'll be home soon t'give you the real thing." at least technology gives him the privilege of seeing your body contort every which way as you please yourself. the phone would confide him just hearing you and his imagination.

dbf!michael . . . who gives in when you've begged enough. just like how he isn't above making you work for what you want, he isn't above making you beg either. but it never comes easy, not when you're as stubborn as you are, it'll take hours of the silent treatment and boredom before you result to the tiniest bit of begging. but once you've started, you don't stop. and michael knows you think you're the one in charge, you've got him all wrapped around you're finger and that it'll only be a matter of time before he gives into you. it's a tortuous game when you have yet to realize that michael is making all the right moves.

"mikey," you huff, "let me move." you shuffled just the smallest bit and michael's hand plants itself on your hip, stilling your movements. "whole lotta demands with no use of please in sight," he murmurs, not bothering to look up from his book. disbelief is what someone would call the face you made. you don't even know how long you've been sitting on michael's dick, but far too long for you liking to not even have moved an inch at all within the span you've been sat on top of him. and that damn book in his hand is getting on your nerves, every time he flips a page, reaches a new chapter, fucking sighs, you think he's finally done reading. yet every time nothing happens, and you're fed up. "could you please put the book down and fuck me know, michael?" your attitude laced tone caused michael to close the book, using his thumb as a bookmark. looking up at you ⎯ face adorned with a pout and squinting eyes ⎯ past his glasses that have now fallen a smidge down the bridge of his nose. his mouth opens and closed as quickly as it opened, watching you for a moment before he opens his mouth once more. "that please didn't sound genuine enough," he concludes. opening his book once more to leave you helpless and begging.

dbf!michael . . . who can't help it when his heart skips a beat when he comes home and sees you lounging in his bed. he had an extra key made for you forever ago, before the two of your entered a relationship, just in case of emergencies and you've been abusing it ever since. always finding a need to come over, so it's no real surprise to see you in this state, milky white satin slip with the little lace trim detail and a silk scarf protecting your curls, clay mask slathered on your face while you lazily flip through a magazine. it's the intimacy of seeing you like this, the way your head lifts and a smile instantly stretches your lips that's got him feeling fluttery. you'd beat him to it and ask out his day, flipping the magazine shut and getting out bed, making a beeline to michael to steal a few pecks before heading to the bathroom, where he'd follow and tell you all about his day as you wash off the mask. this is what he wants, someone to exist with, someone who makes them crack a grin when they look utterly ridiculous attempting to wash off their face while maintaining conversation. you give him a hard time ten times out of ten, but he wouldn't want it any other way. michael wants the long run with you.

© yearlyjams , 2026

and with him across the country in new york for a charity event is no exception. the night has been a long one, one with countless speeches and donations, a moment of rest as the attendees are left to mingle with each other for the rest of the night. which left him seated at a round table with humanitarians and celebrities alike as they continue to pull conversation out of him to only get brisk replies or curt nods from him. and it leaves him thinking, regrettably so, that he should've listen to you when you had peeked over his shoulder when he got the invitation to the event that allowed him to bring a plus one. knowing that if you had been here the two of you would've been disappeared, a signature the two of you have adapted since your arrangement started. doing something far more entertaining for the both of you at the hotel that overlooks the city.

right on time his phone dings from where it's placed on the table. wasting no time to pick it up just for another ding to follow shortly after the other. suppressing a small smirk because he already knows it's you, you always have a way of knowing when he's thinking about you.

a hand coming up to fiddle with the inside of his suit coat to pull out his glasses and place them on the bridge of his nose before swiping into the device. large finger pressing on the messaging app and then your contact name just to be met with the breathtaking sight of your breast on his screen. his eyes beyond his glasses widening and mouth falling agap. staring at his screen for far too long, eyes tracing over the plumpness of your breast as his hand's grip around his phone tightens at the thought of how soft and pliable you are.

a group of people at a near by table snaps him out of his trance as their laughs reach every corner of the ballroom. licking his lips and straightening his back, not realizing that he had subconsciously slouched to conceal the beauty on his screen for just himself. his hand coming up to rub at his mouth, looking over both of his shoulders before turning back to ogle at what you sent him, but now pulling the phone closer to his face.

your manicured hand (curtsy of michael's pocket) lightly rest on the side of one of your breast as your arm props them up, making them look somehow more enticing than they already are. biting his lips as his eyes train in on your nipples, your areola's are a darker brown and your nipples are pebbled. the thoughts in his head become raunchier as he envisions if you pinched and rolled them or if you worked yourself up so much that they peaked on their own. either way it has him shifting in the uncomfortable chair and heart racing at the adrenaline from viewing such a thing in public, let alone a charity event. his free hand that lays on his thigh is now pinching at the expensive material of his suit slacks just at the same way he pinches at your nipples when he's turning you into a withering begging mess.

and somehow the fuzziness of the picture makes it better, making it seem more heaven sent. he wishes he could save it like the way you've shown him a few times, but every time he tries something always ends up going wrong, so he settles on waiting when he returns home to have you do so (after ravishing for being such a needy mess for him to send him such a lewd photo just to get his attention) not yet so accustomed to the new technology.

only then does his eyes trail down to the message below the photo ⎯ "missing you :-( come home now" ⎯ chuckling at the message because of course you, only you, the brat that you are would demand for him to come home not even twenty four hours since his departure. but luckily for you the trip isn't a long one and he will be home just in time before tomorrow night.

it takes a few moments for him to type out a response, muttering under his breath as he keeps having to hit the backspace button just to accidentally his the wrong button on the small device. but eventually he gets there ⎯ "Such a demanding request, Pretty. No please?" ⎯ he could be nicer since he's technically the one who made you such a spoiled brat, but he's in the position now to toy with you a little bit.

and as expected his phone rings and he lets it, but instead of placing it back on the table he places it into the pockets inside of his jacket right over his heart. the man beside him speaks up. "hey, mike. you gonna answer that?"

"no, she can wait," he answers coolly before engaging in the quiet discourse at the table. leaving the man confused on whether he referred to his phone a she or the person on the other side calling him as the she.