ᴀᴘᴘʟᴇʜᴇᴀᴅ

The second you opened your eyes from your deep drunken slumber the next day, you felt this unrelenting sense of confusion that started the hammers pounding in your skull. You didn't know whether to feel elated that Michael helped you with your needs, even in the most erotic way possible, or feel disgusted with yourself as a woman.

You swore you never wanted to touch another glass of wine after mulling over what you had done that evening, & all you wanted was to just take back what happened. Alas, you simply couldn't help being attracted to Michael, very attracted. The alcohol was simply a catalyst for what you've always dreamed of doing: fucking his brains out. You knew that it wasn't a true mistake, & you hated yourself for it.

Truthfully, you felt like a slut. You felt easy, & you were terrified Michael would also think the same of you. You knew you weren't at heart, but you'd never even attempted or thought of doing something so lewd & taboo in your life, so you surprised yourself. Not to mention your relationship with him had just started blossoming into something beautiful & trustful, and you started to feel like family instead of a worker. You felt like pulling the hair out of your scalp, knowing you practically threw all that out the window, the relationship you had before, gone.

The thought of Michael potentially hating you for your foolish, lustful acts clouded your mind the same morning. You knew it was his idea to help you, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that if you politely declined his request, he'd respect you more. You two never even shared a friendly embrace anymore.

The tension in the house from then on was unbearable. You've never been so grateful to work in a mansion, being able to avoid him easily. Any room before he entered felt sparse & light. When he did come in, it immediately felt small & cramped, like you wanted to escape from embarrassment. You swore you would catch him looking at you at times. Lingering in doorways, watching you leave a room. But when you'd turn your head properly to look at him, he'd be gone or looking somewhere else. You truly couldn't remember the last time he'd looked you in the eye. Yet somehow, when your back was turned, you'd always feel his gaze. You'd still pass each other by in one of his many hallways as he'd attempt to throw you a feeble smile that wasn't even a smile, but more a downturned frown that you assumed said,

I acknowledge your presence, yet I don't want to be in it.

You absolutely adored Michael's kids like they were your own. Your heart would shatter in your chest when you'd see them catching onto yours & Michael's sudden change towards each other. Yes, he was their father, yet you were like a second mother; it hurts them.

You'd be tucking them into bed, slowly pulling the covers up to their necks with a gentle peck on their forehead. You always tried to leave their rooms as soon as possible, knowing they would try to question you. You didn't make it this time. You'd hear one of their little voices mumble your name as you were just about to crack open the door to leave.

"What's wrong with you & daddy? Do you hate him?"

You felt like crying, you didn't hate him. You hated yourself.

"No, I don't hate him. Nothing is wrong, you guys sleep now. See you in the morning, okay?" you'd whisper, leaning on the door.

You never visited the living room after you put the kids to bed anymore, especially knowing Michael would be there. Old habits die hard.

The dinners were the most painful endurance; having to sit with all of them in one room for an hour felt like centuries. The satisfying sounds of laughter & small talk, now replaced by deafening silence & the clinking of cutlery on china plates. The only thing that made you feel like you could still function was the size of his dining room, large golden chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, & a substantially large cedar table that seperated your distance from him enough to breathe. You'd subconsciously look for escape routes if things got too uncomfortable, pathetic.

The children would compliment the taste of the dinner you prepared while eating, Michael's head never turning your direction, only his children.

"Tastes really yummy, thank you," they'd murmur shyly, feeling the energy shift themselves.

"You're very welcome, make sure to try & eat it all, yeah?"

You'd continue cutting your food with your head down, your posture straight on your chair.

"Tastes good, well done." Michael would say barely above a whisper as he nodded to himself.

You'd shoot your head up in his direction from sheer surprise, both of you exchanging a 2 second glance before resuming the silent treatment.

When the time came for you to wind down in your bed, you were left to drown in your thoughts with nowhere to go. You'd look at the baby pink paint on your walls, the fresh white coving & that pretty little vanity he got installed for you with a clear vase and roses situated in it. Your room was always a reminder of how kind-spirited Michael was to you, how pure your relationship was. Now you don't know how to feel when you look at your room. It's like everything is a reminder of what will never be. Your eyes fall on your sundress hung up in your closet, memories just rushing back like a tidal wave.

Sure, you feel regret & disgust with yourself. But there will always be a part of you that didn't regret it. The way he made you feel that night, emotionally & physically. You've felt from no other. You've never had someone arouse you so much to the point it feels like constraint. So much so you'd masturbate to the thought of him every consecutive night, while smelling one of his t-shirts you took from the laundry hamper.

You couldn't help it, you'd wait till Michael went to sleep too, making sure he wouldn't be able to hear your little whimpers & moans as you fingered yourself, the t-shirt propped on the pillow next to you as your head buried into it. You'd imagine the way his cock felt as it dragged in & out of your walls, the way he smelt, the way he felt in your grasp. Every attempt you'd ever had at masturbating in the past has failed; nothing was able to make you finish.

Michael was the only one who could make you cum, whether it was him giving it to you himself, or the thought of him in your own privacy. He was the only one.

You'd bite your bottom lip till you tasted blood as you grew wetter & wetter towards your orgasm, all the while trying to hide the sounds of your slickness under the duvet.

"Michael," you'd whimper breathlessly into his t-shirt, his familiar musk filling your nose just right.

You knew you were obsessed with him, you hated yourself for it, but you'd always had an innocent little crush on him since the day you were hired. One last muffled squeal into your pillow & you'd cum, hard. Your fingers suffocated by the sudden tightening of your pussy. You'd still be feeling surprised you're actually able to do that. You always wonder to yourself if he ever does the same to you, still thinks of you like that. You've had the assumption that he doesn't, so you'd try to stop doing it yourself. Yet, you'd always be betrayed by the hyper-realistic sex dreams you'd have of him nearly every night. You didn't know whether you felt trapped or horny, perhaps both.

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It was another predictable & tedious evening in Michael's kitchen, you were preparing a lasagne you learned from one of your favourite recipe books. You used it for half of the dishes you prepared for his family, & every single one came out perfect. You smile to yourself as you smell that satisfying scent of fresh herbs in the air, proud of your craft. Your hair was tied up loosely in a chic French twist, your regular polka-dot apron tied firmly around your taut waist. Soft interludes of gentle lounge music play on the radio on the windowsill as you hum along, grabbing some fresh tomatoes from the fridge as you start unwrapping them. As traditional as it sounds, the kitchen is where you felt the most peaceful after what happened. It cleared your mind, like white noise in your brain.

You placed three tomatoes on the cutting board & pulled out your knife. You could say confidence got the best of you, you diced one of them furiously, trying out a new technique. You hiss through your teeth sharply as you shake your hand, cutting yourself suddenly. You look at your trembling finger, blood rolling down to your palm.

“Shit.”

You make sure to not let any drip on the food, yet some reaches the floor. You quickly turn around & grabbing a tea towel from the oven handle, wrapping it tight around your finger. Sure, you were panicking because you just damn near sliced off your finger, but you also didn’t want Michael to see. He was too kind-hearted. Even in the current state of affairs between you two, if he saw you right now, you knew he’d try to help you & intervene. You didn’t want that.

You practically fled the kitchen, attempting to get into the bathroom before accidentally bumping into Michael, knowing he was already occupied in the front room, which was dangerously close to the bathroom. You manage to make your way in, immediately locking the door behind you & turning the tap on, placing your open-wounded finger underneath. You let out a sigh of relief as you watch the red water simmer down the drain, the pain starting to die down. Though, the relief doesn't last for long.

You hear 2 knocks at the door, making you jump out your skin, water droplets spraying your face.

You don't know why, but you have this horrible feeling it's Michael. If it were his kids, they would call out. You know they would. The silence that follows is deafening; your mouth falls agape, trying to think of something to say. No words come out; you turn back to the sink, deciding not to reply. You hear another knock.

"Can you open the door?"

Michael. His voice was soft & gentle with a hint of concern, the sound making your stomach drop. You haven't heard him speak to you directly in what feels like forever.

You close your eyes, of course he'd make this harder. You shut off the tap, keeping your hand over the sink. The bathroom even more silent than before.

"Im fine." You semi-shout, trying to sound as normal & uninjured as possible, your eyebrows pressed taught from the raging sting in your finger.

"There's blood on the kitchen floor, open the door."

"I'll clean it."

"It's not the floor im concerned about, please just open the door, let me help."

You let out a deep sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with your uninjured hand. You don't know why you're trembling. A few weeks ago, standing close to Michael or talking to him hadn't frightened you. Now the simple, pathetic act of opening a door felt impossible. You straightened your back, swallowing your pride hard & painfully. You moved to the door with caution as you placed your free hand on the lock, hesitating. Before you would let any useless thoughts invade your brain, you turned the lock quickly. Your adrenaline had you practically swinging open the door.

Michael stood in the doorframe, the sleeves of his usual white linen shirt rolled up, dark blue jeans sitting loosely on his waist. And of course, concern written plainly across his face. Surprisingly, he looked a little relieved the second he saw your face.

For a second neither of you spoke, just basking in each other's long-lost presence. Your little heart was pounding in your chest, how he didn't hear it bemuses you. You hated how badly you still wanted him deep down. Your gaze drops to your finger, blood resurfacing itself again.

"Let me see," he whispers.

You hated how gentle he sounded.

"It's really not that bad Michael-"

"Please. That's not what I asked." He snaps. A hint of intensity on his face.

The second you assume you're irritating him, you hold out your hand reluctantly. He takes it with no hesitation, making your breath catch in your throat. It'd been weeks since he touched you, weeks since he'd looked at you properly, weeks since he performed those nasty acts on you. The simple touch of his hand sends you right back, making your cunt jump in your panties a little; you tried not to think about it.

He sucks in his teeth at the sight of your knawed finger. Stroking the blood around the wound softly. Your heart pounds even faster.

"& you said that's fine?" He scoffs.

He grabs the tea towel hanging off the sink, wrapping it back around your finger.

"Keep pressure on it, I'll grab some wipes & bandages okay? Don't go anywhere."

You nod, taking a seat on the toilet as you keep the pressure around your finger, just like he said. You watch him leave the room, listening to drawers being rumaged in a nearby room, you're not sure which one.

He comes back with bandages in one hand & antiseptic wipes in the other. He kneels down in front of you, taking your hand.

"How did you even manage to do this?" He mutters, looking up at you.

You look down at him, your plump lips fallen open. You try to find the words, a sudden conversation with him is not what you expected this evening.

"I didn't mean to, I was just cutting tomatoes. Too fast" You say, watching him unwrap the wipe sachet.

Michael looks visibly stiff, yet he still manages to let out a laugh at your clumsiness.

"Silly girl." He tuts.

Once he gets the sachet opened, he hesitates before swiping it across the wound, looking at you for approval, knowing it's gonna hurt like hell. A little smile creeps up around your lips, you nod.

"Should be fine if it's quick, right?" You say.

Without warning, he presses the wipe to your wound, the burn penetrating through your nerves as you hiss. Michael strokes your knee gently, cooing to himself.

"I know, I know, you're doing great."

A few more seconds pass while he cleans your wound. Your eyes fixated on him the entire time, reverting back to the floor if he looked at you again. The collarbones peaking through his half-open shirt nearly made you consider making the same mistake again; you can't help yourself.

He throws the wipe in the nearby trashcan, keeping one hand on your knee, stroking with his thumb, making your cunt pulsate in your jeans. After what seems like ages of him over-analysing your wound, he finally pulls out the bandages & starts unravelling them.

You give him your hand to take as he starts gently wrapping it around your finger.

"Do you regret it?"

His voice was hoarse all of a sudden, still looking down at your finger while he wrapped it. You shoot your head up, locking eyes with him momentarily. The same pair of eyes you saw on top of you a few weeks ago. Your body practically freezes as you think of the right thing to say, already subconsciously trying to please him. You decide to just be yourself, say what you really feel.

"I do & I don't, if that makes sense." You say, watching his face intently for any sign of emotion shift. You swallow,

"& you? do you regret it?" You continue.

You expect him to reply instantly, seeing that he was the one who asked the question first. Yet, surprisingly, he doesn't. He just keeps wrapping tediously, eyes focused a little too hard on your hand as if there's something very interesting about it. The silence stretches further than you'd like, & you wish it didn't hurt as much as it did.

Michael smooths the edges of the bandages before letting go of your hand.

"That should be fine now." He says, standing up.

Your chest sinks as you stay on the toilet, feeling even more embarrassed than ever before. You couldn't give yourself a definite answer to whether or not he disliked you. He still cares for you, still touches you, yet he's blocked off certain areas.

"Try to keep it clean for a few days."

Before you can find the courage to press on with the conversation, he's already heading out of the bathroom. Your head falls into your hands; dinner is going to be hell.

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Dinner was as usual, silent clinking of cutlery & deafening silence. This time feels a little lighter than before, knowing you & Michael broke the ice a little. You'd give each other little glances & smiles across the table at times, & you'd notice he wouldn't just be looking at his children, this time he'd look at you too. You felt light, you hadn't felt this much relief in a long time. Even finding your designer purse you left on a park bench after forgetting it was less relieving than this. You knew he didn't hate you. You saw a longing in his eyes, some sort of want that you also knew he saw in yours. It was a mutual feeling, & you both felt it.

"Despite your finger, you did great." Michael compliments you, chewing on the lasagne, a little tantalising smirk plastered on his face followed by a wink.

The wink awakens a feeling that'd been lying dormant in your belly, butterflies. You wave your bandaged finger in the air, giggling a little.

"Couldn't have done it without you."

The children smile, seeing their two favourite people communicating again must feel warm. The whole atmosphere of the dinner started to pick up towards the end, small talk wavering its way in. & this time, you swear Michael placed his seat closer to yours.

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You spent the rest of the evening trying not to think about what happened in the bathroom. You zoned out as you washed the dishes The same memory of how everything started between you two giving you deja vu. Being distracted from Michael should've been easy. The children kept you busy with their demanding requests, dinner came & went, rooms needed to be cleaned, lunches needed to be packed. Yet every time you glanced down at your bandage, Michael on his knees in front of you flashed into your mind. The way he gently touched you, gently spoke to you like you were this little delicate entity, & the way he completely ignored your question.

By the time you tucked the children into bed & the house had fallen silent, your thoughts were once again unbearable. Just like before. You sat on the edge of your bed, absentmindedly brushing your hair after just finishing your nighttime routine at your vanity. The room was dimly lit by your bedside lamp, casting an amber glow over the walls. Despite your raging thoughts, things felt peaceful tonight. It was the first night in a while you felt a little lighter, you couldn't stop thinking of him. His smell was addicting; it took up that entire bathroom while he was in it. Intense vanilla & sandalwood.

Your brush slowed as your mind wandered back to the bathroom.

"& you? do you regret it?"

Your words replay in your mind like a mantra,you genuinely wish you'd never asked. You promised yourself you wouldn't let your pride be a factor when it comes to Michael, but you couldn't help it. You wanted to take it back. That silence he gave you afterwards made you want to scream. Apart from all the guilt & disgust you felt initially, you were scared that your feelings & wanting for Michael were unrequited, that he didn't want you the way you still want him. Part of you knew you could be wrong, you'd see the way he used to gawk at your body, your legs, your tits. You hated how it turned you on. You placed your brush down on your bedside table with a little sigh, your hair blowing. You quickly slip out of your silk pyjama pants, leaving you in your usual pink camisole & your panties. You slip under the covers, staring out the window.

A knock at your door makes your entire body tense; you know who it is. Your heart instinctively starts pounding.

“Who is it?” Just to be sure.

“It’s me.”

You pull the covers up a little higher.

“Come in.”

You hear the door creak open as Michael steps in, shutting the door behind him, making you frown in confusion. He’s changed into his usual grey sweatpants & a plain white T-shirt. His hair is a little more dishevelled than when you last saw it, he also has his glasses on this time. The ones you love.

Michael sees you laid up in bed with your hair down, your tanned shoulders peaking through the covers. You see him swallow & re-adjust himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?”

You sit up, shaking your head. The thought of knowing Michael is in the same room as you while you’re practically half naked under the covers makes you feel exposed.

“No, I wasn’t sleeping anyway.”

Michael hums as he takes a seat at the end of your bed, fiddling with his fingers.

“I just wanted to talk. I feel like it’s been weeks since we’ve spoken properly.”

You nod along, agreeing with him. it has been weeks, & it’s been killing you.

“You’re right, but you never actually answered my question earlier,” you say, raising a brow.

He takes his glasses off, letting them hang on his shirt. His head falls into his palm momentarily, looking a bit hesitant.

“No, I don’t regret it.” He says, looking in your direction.

Your body feels even lighter than before. You stare at him, hoping for an elaboration.

“I know I’ve never admitted it because it feels wrong, but I can’t help my attraction towards you. & I know you work for me, but I didn’t care at the time. I wanted to help you feel things. What’s wrong about that?” He questions.

You can’t help the smile that threatens to invade your face, your thighs tense under the sheets. You place a gentle hand on your chest, trying to steady your heartbeat.

“Nothing's wrong, I feel the same way.”

“I know you do.”

“What?” You furrow your brows.

“I’ve heard you.”

Your heart stops beating, your stomach feels like a washing machine as you feel your mouth becoming dry. Your lashes flutter as you blink rapidly, trying to talk. You’re terrified to ask what he’s referring to, hoping it’s not about you playing with your pussy to him every night. You go for it.

“Heard what?” You stutter, trying to appear stoic.

“I’ve heard you touching yourself, I heard my name. I know how you feel about me, so don’t feel ashamed.”

You don’t know whether to accept it or try to deny it. Either way, what difference would it make? You’ve already fucked the man. Though what Michael wasn’t telling you is that he’d do the exact same.

Michael had been masturbating to the thought of you ever since he fucked you. You were like human superglue on his mind, he couldn’t get you out even if he tried. He’d imagine the way your tits bounced beneath him, the way your teary eyes looked up at him for guidance, & how damn tight your pussy was. He’d be gripping his cock tight, brows pressed together as he grits his teeth, stroking desperately. He’d wait till everyone was asleep, not wanting to be bothered. That’s how he heard you, he’d sneak by your room to check for any noise, any sign you were awake. His cock would twitch at the sound of your desperate little whimpers & the wetness of your pussy, spurring him on even more. His heart dropping when he heard his name. You could’ve been thinking about anyone, but hearing his name in your mouth felt right.

“You still want me?” He says, his eyes piercing your soul. You have nowhere to go, nowhere to run. It’s like he’s cornered you on purpose. All you can do is swallow the lump in your throat & lick your dried-up lips.

"I've been trying hard not to, but I'm sorry I did that, I’m sorry I touched myself.”

Michael's face softens, inching a little closer to you, placing a hand on your leg under the duvet.

"Why didn't you say anything? Had me suffering for weeks, thinking I did something terrible. If only you told me this earlier." He says.

You exhale a breathe, he has no idea.

"I didn't tell you because I thought you hated me or something. I thought you regretted it & looked down on me, like I was..."

He tilts his head, eyebrows tight. "Like you were what?"

"A slut."

"Oh baby," he mewls, now stroking your covered leg. The sensation travelling right up to your core, you feel yourself getting a little slick down there.

The pet name sends you into shock. The last time he called you that was during the act. Safe to say he sent you right back.

"I don't think you're a slut for wanting to feel good. I simply provided a service, & I don't regret it. I'll say it again."

You nod, thanking him for reassuring you. You realised how stupid you were those past few weeks. He never thought you were a slut, never looked down on you. Hell, he wanted you just as bad.

Michael shifts on the bed, his hand leaving your leg to place on the mattress, assuming the conversation is coming to an end.

"Thank you for telling me that, Michael." You say sweetly.

He doesn't respond, his attention caught onto something tucked beneath your pillow. You feel like you're going to end up having a heart attack the way it keeps fluctuating in speed. Your fingers fist the sheets beneath you a little, your body tense. You know exactly what he's looking at, his t-shirt.

Before you can react, he reaches over & pulls at the corner of the exposed fabric. His familiar grey t-shirt slides free, he just holds it in front of him, his lips falling agape. For a second, neither of you says a word, you feel your face burn hot immediately, feeling like you want to vomit.

"What's this? Is this mine?" he whispers, almost to himself.

He doesn't sound mad, more surprised or impressed. His eyes flick from the shirt back to you, & the classic look on your face seems to answer the question for him.

You lunge forward instinctively, attempting to get it back. He gently turns away, still looking at it like he can't believe it's real or something.

"I know it's mine because I've been looking for it."

"Michael, don't be mad, please."

He chuckles, "I'm not an angry person, & you know that," he says, gently placing the shirt on the bed.

He shifts closer to you, closer than before. He notices your chest rising & falling rapidly. He places a hand on it, stroking a little with his thumb.

"Hey, breathe. Im not mad." He says, leaning down a little to get on your eye-level.

"God, I'm sorry." You mutter, your voice starting to crack.

You feel yourself becoming teary from the searing humiliation, it felt like someone broadcasted all your secrets worldwide at once. Your bottom lip starts to quiver, your eyes looking wet as you drop your head, feeling shameful. The second Michael saw your face crumple, something inside him seemed to break.

"Baby, don't cry." he says softly.

You look away instantly, not wanting to look him in the eye. He didn't give you a chance to shy away, he gently took your wrist & pulled you towards him. He made sure the movement was slow enough for you to stop him or pull away. The moment his arms wrapped around your frame, you buried your head onto his shoulder, small little sobs ripping from your throat.

"It's okay, don't feel ashamed. It's okay, I'm not mad." His voice high pitched & gentle.

One of his hands settles against the back of your head, his fingers slowly playing & moving through your glossy hair, smoothing it back from your face as he juts your chin up to face him. The gesture was so familiar. You look up at him through your thick n' wet lashes, your lips puffy & all cried out.

Michael's thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching another tear before rolls down your rosy cheeks. You hated how easily he seemed to unravel you. He kept his eyes on your face, admiring your beauty, as if he hadn’t been doing that anyway. You could see him studying every detail as if he was trying to memorise it for later. You could hear your heartbeat slowing in your ears.

"You know what the worst part of all this is?" He mutters.

You blink, "What?"

A slight smirk tugs at the side of his lips, bringing his face closer to yours. So much so you could smell the mint on his breath.

"You've spent all this time thinking I hated you, when really, I've been trying not to walk into this room every night."

His words sat heavily and soppily between the two of you. Those doubts you had weeks before feel even more dumb.

"You have no idea how hard you've made this for me. I've wanted you so damn bad." he continues, stroking your cheek with the knuckle of his index finger.

A strange yet unrelenting sense of confidence rushes over you. Perhaps it was the relief, or the way he was looking at you like you were sweet candy. You felt tired of holding back your desires. You realised that for those few weeks, you'd convinced yourself that wanting him was something to be ashamed of, looked down upon. For once in your life, you didn't give a damn.

Your eyes flicker down to his parted lips before looking back up at him. You feel your mouth start to salivate, like you're ready to eat. Your heart hammers in your chest against his.

"Then show me." You say just above a whisper, keeping those eyes on his. You know he loves that.

Michael smiles with all his teeth, grinning at your sudden confidence. He strokes a hand through your hair again, leaning in closer. You don’t move an inch, just stare at him.

Before you know it, his hands are cupping both sides of your jaw so gently you can barely feel it. One hand travels to your chin, inching it up a little as his lips hover dangerously close over yours. Your little shallow breaths hit his lips, making him shiver.

Finally, he presses his lips to yours, they’re practically burning hot & supple as anything. You hear a little moan from him the second you two connect you lips, making you furrow your brow. You’d been dreaming about kissing him again after what happened, daydreaming about it while grocery shopping. You never wanted him to stop kissing you, never.

By the time he broke the kiss, he didn’t move far. He leaned his forehead on yours, playing with your bottom lip with his thumb. You pout a little, wanting him back like a baby would with their favourite treat.

“Are you convinced yet?” Michael mutters.

You nod, a vulnerable & pleased expression on your face.

“There you go.”

Michael slid his thumb across your chin, his face completely unreadable. You keep your gaze on him, not faltering. Suddenly, you feel his thumb graze & rub on your pouty lips.

“Open.”

You hesitate before opening your mouth into a small O. His Thumb slowly slides into your mouth, resting against your tounge. Your mouth warm, wet, & inviting.

“Suck.” He whispers hoarsely.

You start blinking rapidly, not used to him acting such a way. He’s always been so gentle, so soft-spoken, almost shy. Yet the way he’s acting right now, it’s like you bring out this erotic side of him, & you can tell he relishes in it.

Without thinking any longer, you latch your lips & tongue around his slender thumb, the slight salty taste making you hum. You flutter your eyes shut, swirling your tongue around it. Michael watches you like he’s in a trance, his eyes half-lidded, full of pure untainted lust.

You release your mouth of his finger.

“I wanna taste it,” you say, palming his cock through his sweats. The stiffness of it takes you by surprise.

“I didn’t get to last time & I’ve been dreaming about doing it, can I?” You continue.

Before Michael could even answer, you were crawling out of the bed desperately, your little ass perched up in the air momentarily as you made your way to the floor.

You situate yourself in between his legs, kneeling. You never realised how long & lanky they were until now.

“I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable on that floor,” he protests, yet you can see his bulge swelling up more & more with each second.

You giggle, flipping your locks to one side as you slide your hands up his meaty thighs, making him twitch.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” You smirk, a dangerous twinkle in your eye as you pull at his waistband, signalling him to take them off.

"Didn't want your little knees getting hurt, but if you say so."

He hesitated before grabbing his waistband himself, lifting himself up as you took over & pulled them down his legs impatiently.

His thighs were dad thick, the subtle hair on them made your hands tingle as you rubbed them up & down. You knaw on your bottom lip as you slide a hand over his boxers, gently playing with his bulge.

The subtle sensation makes him weak, he throws his head back as a low & lengthy groan escapes him. He braces one hand beside him on the mattress for support, the other playing with your hair tediously.

You waste no time slowly pulling the hem of his boxers down. He lifts himself, allowing you to fully slide them down to his ankles. Your mouth is practically watering at the familiar sight of his cock sprung free in front of your face, standing tall. The tip mauve & deep, the skin warm, & incredibly soft as you traced your finger across a singular vein.

You wrap your hand around his lower base, inching your head up to look him in the eye as you stick your tongue out, slapping the tip on your tongue a few times. You've always been a slow love maker. You feel him viciously throb around your grip, glistening pre-cum starting to pool on his head.

"Quit teasin' ", he giggles softly, rubbing the back of your head.

You lower your head, licking one long, painfully slow stripe up his shaft, followed by suckling on his tip. His hand grips the sheets roughly, knuckles white as he lets out a sharp hiss through his teeth. You keep your eyes on him at all times, noticing the way little beads of sweat collect at the sides of his temples. It doesn't take much to please him.

"Oh my god," he moans.

Finally, you sink your ripe lips down his length as much as your throat can take. You reach his base, gaggling slightly as you feel his hand travel to your breast, groping it over your camisole.

You continue your work on his cock, rhythmically bobbing your head up & down his length at a safe pace as you jerked his lower half, not able to take him all. He tasted clean & a little salty, you loved it.

You realised your mouth off him with a wet pop, stroking him.

“You taste so good.” You whisper seductively.

His mouth is practically pryed open as he watches you stroke him, amazed by your talent & desperation.

Just before you're about to go down on him again, he stops you.

“Enough of me, I wanna touch you.”

Without any further notice, he’s grabbing you by your armpits, lifting you off the floor with a groan. He situates you on the bed, pulling the straps of your camisole down as he pulls your top completely off. Your full breasts sitting cute in front of him, nipples hard from arousal.

“So damn pretty.” He says, latching his mouth onto one, sucking gently, humming to himself. He’s exactly where he’s dreamed of being.

You throw your head back as you whimper, the feeling of his slick tongue on your sensitive nipple sending you onto overdrive.

He releases himself from your breast, turning his attention to your hot pink panties, stained & just begging to be removed. He slides two fingers across your clothed folds, whispering profanities under his breath as you spread your legs wider. It’s like your body knows who he is & reacts as such whenever he touches you.

“Mhm, there,” You let out a guttural moan, your eyes falling to the back of your head from the sensation of your clit being grazed.

He leans down, groping the squidgy skin of your inner thighs as he kisses your damp lips, sucking & tasting you through the fabric.

“I can feel you throbbing, want more?” he chuckles, looking up at you momentarily.

“Yes, yes,” you beg, nodding aggressively. You don’t care how desperate you may seem, if you want something, you want it.

He latches his finger around the hem of your panties, pulling them to the side to reveal your glossy slick folds.

“Sexy pussy,” he coos, playing with your swollen clit a little before latching his mouth onto it. He laps up your juices from bottom to top as if he wants to physically consume it, his shoulders hunched.

You let your mouth fall completely open as you fall back on the bed, your thighs trembling as you listen to him slurping you up, your hands flying to his hair.

“Fingers please,” you beg, barely audible as you struggle to talk.

Michael listens to your command, sliding 2 of his lengthy fingers into your weeping entrance. One hand flies to your mouth covering it as you arch your back into an aggressive C. Suddenly, you’re painfully aware the children are in close proximity.

“Remember, baby, the children. Try to be quiet for me.” He says, slowly sliding his fingers in & out.

You nod, clamping down on your bottom lip till you taste blood as you struggle.

“Please Michael, wanna come again so bad.”

He speeds up the pace with his fingers, licking & sucking your sensitive nub with a calm gentle rhythm driving you over edge.

“Give it to me baby, I want it,” he presses.

You start to feel a familiar sensation crescendo in your lower belly again, the same feeling on the couch & in your bed at nighttime, you knew what it was. You squeeze your eyes shut as your mouth hangs open, anticipating your release.

“Michael I’m gonna come! don’t stop don’t stop,” you warn, gripping his hair even tighter.

“Yes,” he hisses against your pussy, “cum for me, there you go.”

With a muffled cry, your let your orgasm tear through you. Your thighs like jelly as your pulse booms in your ears.

Michael sits up, crawling over you as he grabs your face for a messy kiss. He kicks his boxers & sweats off his ankles. You have no time to come back to reality after your orgasm, desperate to have him inside of you.

You shift your panties down your legs, both of you now completely stark naked infront of eachother. You both pause for a second, taking in eachothers bodies. You rub your hands along his chest, it’s taught & defined. You pepper little kisses along his collarbone as you signal him to flip over & lie down.

“Lay on your back.” You say, flipping your hair out your face.

Michael props himself against the headboard, lying flat on the bed. He’s already holding his hands out awaiting you. Heat creeps up your cheeks as you crawl over on top of him, throwing your legs on either side of his hips. You situate yourself on his shaft, your bare pussy now pressed against it. He lets his hands rest gently on the curve of your hips.

“You’ve gotta be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, y'know that?” He says lowly, grazing his hands up & down your ass with a light slap.

“& you’ve gotta be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, or boss.” You giggle.

His lips twitch into a smile as he holds your lower half up, allowing you to take a hold of his stiffened cock. Little whimpers fall from your lips as you rubs his slick tip across your folds, both of you are so wet & you haven’t even started. You’d love to tease him a little, sitting down a on his tip allowing it to sink in a little.

Your actions would only make him harder, a small bang from the headboard whenever his head would fall.

Finally, you slowly sink down on his length. Every inch that enters you feels suffocating yet extremely pleasurable. Your eyes flutter shut as you squeal under your breath, placing both your hands on his chest. Your pussy practically sucks him in like a hoover, not letting him go anywhere.

His hands instinctively inch you down a little further, desperate himself to be inside of the girl that’s been living in his imagination for weeks.

You wiggle your ass as you get comfortable, now fully seated on his cock. Your chest rises & falls, the pleasure so intense you’re scared to move, you feel like you could cum already.

“So tight, oh my god.” He groans, raking a hand through the ends of your hair.

"Wanted to do this for so long," you whine n' pout, rolling your hips back & fourth.

Michael hums as he guides you back & fourth on his length, your hair flying & sticking onto your lips. His tip violently hits your g-spot with each roll making your legs almost give out. You try your hardest to keep your eyes out your head & on Michael at all times, you wanted to remember this.

Your cheeks flush a light rose color, already fucked out. You start to bounce impatiently, loving the feeling of him entering & re-entering you. Your tits bounce freely in front of him, automatically making him lean forward & hold one, latching his mouth onto your right nipple.

"I love it," you moan pornographically, "It's so big."

His ego swells up at your comment, spurring him on more. He grabs onto the fat of your hips a little harder as he manually bounces you on his cock, mouth still latched onto your breast. The subtle sound of skin meeting skin fills the emptiness of the room, the air humid & warm with the aroma of both of your unique scents now melted together.

"Feeling good ma?" Michael breathes, his face red and fucked out already, his body jutting up & down from your continuous bounces.

“So good,” you whisper, leaning down into his ear.

He plants a peck on your cheek, wrapping his arms around you as he flips you over so you're on your fours.

One thing about Michael was that he loved missionary, that was one of his favourites. Sure, he'd loved seeing that pretty little face of yours tear up as you came. But truthfully, he'd been fantasising about having you bent over for the past 2 weeks, & he feels elated that it's no longer a dream.

You point your ass up in the air for him, eager & starved. You wrap your arms around his t-shirt, the one you'd been touching yourself to for weeks. You let your head rest on it as you look back at him waiting for him patiently.

He positions himself behind you, for a second he just admires the view of you bent over & waiting for him. He loathes in it, & you loathe in the attention, all on you. He plants a semi-rough slap on your left cheek, leaving a red mark. You whine into his shirt, smiling.

"Always wanted to do that, seeing you around the house lookin' all pretty."

Before you can reply, you feel his cock return to your slick folds as he drags the tip over it a few times, collecting your arousal. He strokes a hand from the nape of your neck to your lower back, keeping it there as he pushes himself into you.

You drag out a whine, biting on his shirt to muffle yourself. He starts of slow, just watching the way your cunt swallows him like it knows who he is.

"My god," he whimpers, both hands on your hips now.

You feel your body jolt as he starts to speed up, a white ring of sweet elixir forming at the base of his cock. Moans n' whimpers fall from your lips uncontrollably as you happily take him.

He loved watching the way your ass recoiled against his thighs, growing even harder inside of you.

"I'm trying not to swear, goddamn." He groans.

He leans forward, pressing his clammy chest on your back with one hand on the mattress and one guiding your hips back & fourth. Michael's greedy, he doesn't know whether to look at your face or ass. Both just as hypnotising as each other.

You look back at him, your eyes half lidded & glossy.

"Michael, I think I'm gonna come again," you whine, your voice breaking.

You feel his breath hit your ear as he leans into it. Both his hands now on your hips, driving you onto his cock even harder.

"Come with me, I'm so close," he pleads with you.

"Mmyeah, please don't stop." You beg, twisting your neck as far as you can to kiss him.

You share a passionate kiss as you feel another searing orgasm crest in your belly. Your brows pinch together as you try to keep your lips on his. The second he feels your cunt tighten up, he nods, pushing you on to finish as you feel his own thrusts speed up.

"Fuck, Im coming!" You cry.

"Me too, baby, shi–"

Your head falls into his shirt beneath you as your release tears through you once again without warning, your walls tightening around him violently, bringing him to a sharp halt as he releases himself inside of you. You hum in satisfaction as you feel his warmth pool deep in your pussy, little bits trying to escape out the sides.

He finally pulls out of you, watching the way his seed drips out of you in awe, collecting some on his fingers.

"So much," he says to himself.

He finally flops down next to you, both of you half-dead & useless as you stare at each other with your chests rising and falling rapidly. Reality rushes in once again, though this time felt a little less heavy. Neither of you seemed to care, you were content & bliss.

You share a final kiss as Michael wraps his arms around your small frame, pulling you tight against his sticky chest. The smell of his sweat & cologne an addictive mix.

You look up at him from his arms,

"We didn't learn anything from the first time did we?" You mutter, a small smirk on your face.

Michael shakes his head, looking elsewhere.

"No, I definitely learned somethin" He replies.

"& what's that?"

"That I don't wanna stay away from you."ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

thank you guys for your patience with this fic, I had so much fun writing it 🥹

You've been hired as Michael's personal nanny for around 8 months — nearly a year. You enjoy it a lot, playing Jenga with his kids all night long, then tucking them in bed with a little story you made up. Even doing the dishes was enjoyable. Also, not to mention that Michael's house was huge, he had countless rooms for each of his specific niches. Sometimes when everyone's gone to sleep, you'll sneak out of your bed & snoop around each of the rooms, just out of curiosity. Your house is so small, so being here is like being on holiday. Although when he’s away touring or just busy, you’d miss his company.

Michael’s been so very kind & just to you ever since you've been working for him. You protested to him that you didn't even need a room at first, that you could just sleep on one of his couches. The idea irritated him.

"I'm not having no lady sleep on a couch, you'll sleep in a proper room, your own. I'll make it real nice for you." He'd say.

& he did. You told him you loved baby pink, so he'd hire someone to paint the walls pink, install clean white coving & put some pretty floral sheets on your bed with a little vanity installed across the room. You were shocked when you saw your bed was king-sized.

“This is too much Michael…”

“It’s the least I could do to thank you.”

You aggressively scrub the stains from tonight's dinner off the bone china plates as you do the dishes, your hair tied up in a messy pony with a tight polka-dot white apron on. Soft rain taps on the kitchen window, the draft of air from the opening crack hitting your face blissfully. You overhear the soft mumbles of Michael & his children a few floors above you as he puts them to bed.

“Goodnight, Daddy. Love you.” They say in their sweet little voices.

“I love you guys too. Sleep well now. Busy day tomorrow.” You hear Michael say.

You smile to yourself, continuing to scrub as you hear heavy footfall coming down the stairs. You straighten your back & flick the hair out of your face. You hate to admit it, but you think you’re starting to develop a little something for Michael. Any little thought you have of him that’s mildly inappropriate, you push it away instantly. You’re a professional after all.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you hear a soft voice mumble behind you.

You turn to see Michael propped up against the doorframe with his hands behind his back. His eyes were dark and worn from the intensity of the day. He’s wearing a loose linen white shirt paired with baggy grey sweatpants & his glasses. You only really see him wear them in the evening, you secretly love them.

“Oh, no, I don’t mind at all. It’s my job after all, right?” You chirp sweetly as you continue to scrub, a little gentler now.

You always try to appear perfect around Michael, sweet & polite at all times. Not because it’s part of your job to maintain a modicum of respect, but because you want him to like you personally. He’s such a huge public figure, a star — the thought of being close to him excites you.

“I know.” He says, taking the wet plates you’ve washed & drying them off. “My mother raised me to be a gentleman. So nanny or not, it never sits right with me for a woman to be doing all my dirty work, y’know?”

You nod softly, giving him an understanding smile as you continue to lay wet plates on the rack.

A few minutes pass of you & Michael cleaning & drying the dishes together, mindless small talk floating in the air. It'd been a long day for you, the weather was burning hot, which automatically made you sluggish, & the children were constantly begging for your attention while you attempted to do 1000 other tasks at once. So surprisingly, doing the dishes with Michael in the cool of the temperate evening soothed your nerves.

You passed Michael the last remaining dish as he dried it off, placing it in the cabinet with a clank. You pull the plug as you watch the soapy water collect down the drain, feeling Michaels eyes on your back.

You turn around with a loud sigh, attempting to fill in the awkward silence that hangs in the air while you two share a glance, just smiling.

"Well," you cut in, wiping surplus water off your manicured hands on your apron, "you tucked the children into bed?"

Michael takes his glasses off in one swipe, hanging them on his shirt opening.

"Yes I did, they'll sleep tight. I know they bothered you a lot today, they can get pretty active, so i'm sorry about that." He chuckles softly, the sound sending a mere tingle to your belly.

You two haven't had a proper two-on-two conversation since the morning started. After that, tasks had to be done, errands had to be run, so you two never got the chance to really talk. You shake your head with a reassuring smile, your cheeks a little rosy.

"I understand that constantly playing with children can be hard & tiring, especially when you don't want too but,"

You untie your apron from behind, placing it on the counter top. Michael's eyes fall to your waist instinctively, crossing his arms & shifting his feet.

"I like playing around y'know? I find it fun. I like my job." You smile, showing off your pearly whites.

Michael nods slowly, trying his hardest to keep his eyes on yours & not gawk like a pervert at your tanned legs n' thighs under your sundress.

"Good," he said gently. "You know I'd hate to think you're only staying because the pay's decent."

You let out a little giggle from his comment.

"If I didn't like being here I'd be gone by now, trust me."

Something about your comment seemed to please him by the look on his face; he liked having you here. Not because you were doing most of his work for him or taking extra care of his children, but because he liked you. Secretly, he liked having a sweet piece of ass around the house 24/7. He'd never tell you that, though; he's a gentleman after all.

Michael clapped his hands together, turning around to open the cabinet behind him full of all different types of liquor. You watch him pull out an expensive looking bottle of pinot, holding it in front of you.

"its's been a long day, how do you feel about a glass of wine? Do you drink?" He asks.

"Occasionally, yes." You mumble, taking the bottle from his hand as you analyse the label intently.

"Great."

Michael takes 2 slim wine glasses from the bottom cabinet as you read the label, you forget how wealthy he is. The wine you drink is nowhere near as rich as this.

"Burgundy Pinot Noir? Seems nice."

Michael hums in agreement as you pass the bottle back to him. He pops open the cork, the soft glug of wine filled the silence as he tipped the bottle. Deep red swirled into both glasses, a little more than you'd usually drink of an evening. You take a quick peek at his back before he turns to pass you the glass; it's lean & broad. His back bones n' muscles stretch his shirt a little. You feel your bottom lip pull in a little before you stop yourself.

"Here," he turns to hand you a glass, "I hope this isn't too much."

You take the glass & swirl it around a little, smelling the rim. It's rich, fruity, & sexy. The scent travels straight down in-between your legs.

"No it's not. I enjoy your company," you say.

"I meant the contents of your glass," Michael laughs as he takes a short sip, his pearly whites shining.

You feel your face burn up a little from embarrassment, chuckling to yourself.

"Oh! no, this is perfect. The amount is perfect." You reiterate.

Michael smiles to himself, the innocence of your embarrassment flattering him. Sure, you're a full-grown adult, but you have this innocence about you that he picks up on. Your sweet floral scent when you pass him by, or your cute coordinated outfits you pick out every day. He'd always love seeing you in those little sundresses that revealed the smooth of your calves & chest. He'd feel guilty for thinking of you like that, but he couldn't help it. He finds you immensely beautiful & special, he can't help but wonder who gets to enjoy you.

"You wanna go to the front room? Might be a little more comfortable to sit down," he questions, starting to move towards said room.

"Yeah sure, good idea."

You follow him to the front room. It's lit up dimly with a singular chandelier & scattered candles around the room in various places. He usually does this after he puts his children to bed —  relishes in his solitude. You never really got the chance to share this opportunity with him. You'd usually go to bed around this time too but since the day was drawn out longer than usual, he caught you just in time. The room smells of him, with notes of incense. You feel your heart rate pick up, for what reason you don't know.

"Do you do this often?" You say, taking a seat on the couch as he follows, plopping himself down a little too close to you, so close you can smell him.

Michael leans back on the arm of the couch, one hand wrapped around the back cushion while the other holds his glass. You swallow, your legs neatly closed as you sit upright, holding your glass with both hands in front of you. You don't know why you're nervous. You've spent time with him before, but this time just feels different. Maybe it's in your head, you try to relax.

"Drink wine?" he questions.

"Invite your employees for a drink after work kinda thing," your voice sweet in comparison to the deepness of his own. You've noticed it gets lower in the evening, perhaps from his lack of energy.

"Uh, sometimes yes. But if it makes you feel better, I enjoy your company the most." He says softly. "Not only do you do a lot around here, but you've got a lovely personality. Im grateful to have you in my home, truly.”

You smile warmly. The thought of your presence being accepted in his home makes you warm.

"Thank you, Mr Jackson. Means a lot." You take another sip, you feel your head start to become weightless, a little more ditzy. You've never been good with your alcohol.

"Oh, & I've been meaning to tell you, please don’t call me that." He pleads, placing a hand on his chest sincerely. "Call me Michael. My father used to make us call him Joseph; it's not the way it should be."

"Well, thank you, Michael. It means a lot." You say, pressing your thighs together a little harder than usual.

“No, thank you.”

A solid 10 minutes pass by of you & Michael sharing each others company, growing closer & closer by the minute, learning more about each other with each sip. Before you knew it, the conversation was drifting from topic to topic without paying any attention to the appropriateness of it. You were both too far gone, only a quarter of your wine left.

"You ever think you'd be somewhere completely different by now?" you questioned. Your body now slouched into the couch, one leg thrown over the other.

Michael stared at you a little longer, his eyes half lidded n' hazy as he tries to understand your question before answering.

"Different how? Like marriage?"

You shrugged, your lips pouty n' stained a deep red from the wine. Your eyes slightly drunken. The state of you making his cock twitch in his pants.

"Yeah, marriage. You never wanna get married? I don't see a ring on your finger," you slur, pointing to his hand.

Michael blushes, scratching his head.

"No, I do. I wanna get married. I've been married, I've had a lot of experience in that sector, but it never works out, y'know."

You nod, a sympathetic look on your face, "I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay. Well, and you? you've never been married?" He asks, sliding a hand through his thick black hair. Part of him inside is smiling at the fact he's able to find out more about you. He didn't ask you to drink with him for that specific reason, but the line is starting to blur.

"No never. I've had a few boyfriends but...they also never worked out. I've never been happy with someone. In all ways."

"So you've never had a serious man?" He inquires, subconsciously sitting up. Now more intently focused when it comes to your love life.

You snicker into your glass, your teeth clanking against the delicate material, "None worth writing home about."

His eyebrows raise in surprise, taking a final sip of his wine before placing the glass on the coffee table beside him.

"Thats very hard to believe."

You furrow your brows with a little tantalising smirk, inching him to elaborate.

"Well you're beautiful," he gestures a hand at your figure. "Smart, good with children. I would've thought somebody would've appreciated you enough to keep you by their side by now."

Tingles n' heat creep up into your cheeks, your lashes fluttering with nerves as you force yourself to smile & thank him.

"Thank you." Is all you can manage.

"Why do I get the feeling every guy you've dated has been a total dimwit?" He whispers. His irritation rising knowing no man will ever take care of you the way he knows he could.

You chuckle, "You'd be right then."

His eyes never leave yours, "What, did they just never treat you right, Is that it?"

You hesitated a little, lips moving to say something but then faltering. Your lips stay around the rim of your empty glass. Michael noticed your hesitation instantly.

"What? Come on!" he teases you, giving your knee a soft nudge.

"No I cant, it's so embarrassing." You laugh, stretching your hand to put your glass down on the table.

Michael points at himself, his face straight all of a sudden.

"Embarrassing? Do you know the amount of embarrassment I had to go through in my career?" He snickers.

He shifts to sit up more, counting on his fingers, "Pepsi Incident, false accusations, women not liking me back. Countless things! I can go on-"

"Okay, okay." You start, pinching your eyes together with your fingers, your cheeks practically on fire at this point.

Michael goes silent instantly as he waits, his hands wrapped around the couch again.

“I’ve just never been satisfied, sexually. I find that important in a relationship.” You come out.

“You what?” He laughs breathlessly, taken back.

The thought of what you're saying to Michael right now doesn’t even register in your brain. You’re just talking, completely relaxed. It’s a nice feeling, yet a little risky to your relationship.

“I’ve never got there.” You close your eyes.

Michael’s lips fall agape as you confess to never having an orgasm. Not knowing what to say. He can’t help but ask more questions, as less perverse as possible.

“Not even…alone?” He says barely above a whisper.

You shake your head slowly, letting your head fall into your hands as you laugh to yourself, completely exposed & vulnerable. You’re drunk, yet after saying it it’s like you’ve sobered up. You're regretting it. You press on, trying to explain yourself.

“I’ve heard my friends talk of it about their relationships, even alone. But I’ve just never been able to, let alone with another person. So there you go, that’s my secret.”

You reach for your glass before realising it's empty, not knowing what to do with your hands. You just keep your head down, avoiding eye contact. The silence is unbearable, the room is practically choking you from how small it feels. Michael doesn't answer right away, though you feel the burn of his stare on you. You cant tell if it's sympathy or judgement. The confusion is killing you. You decide to look up at him momentarily, he's already looking into your eyes. He didn't look shocked or amused, he was just looking at you.

"Wanna know how it feels?" He says, his voice an octave lower.

Your eyes shot up at him, your heart racing so hard you swear he can hear it.

"What do you mean?" You mumble pathetically, your face like a deer in headlights.

"I mean do you wanna know how it feels? just a question, truly."

His poker face isn't telling you jack, it's like he's left you to interpretation. You straighten your back, trying to appear confident.

"Uh, yes. Yes I do."

Michael scoots a little closer to you on the couch, his knee brushing yours. You can tell he's trying to seem as natural as possible. You watch him through half lidded eyes, trying to keep your balance upright as you're a little tipsy, so is he.

"You're a kind girl, I cant help but feel genuine sympathy for you. You mean to tell me you've spent all this time wondering what it feels like?"

You clear your throat, crossing your legs as you give him a little nod.

He pouts a little, "& how far would you be willing to go?"

"How far would I be willing to go for what?"

"To feel the one thing no one has ever made you feel."

You think to yourself, the number of times you'd feel terribly aroused at home, knowing you need some sort of release but not knowing how to deal with it. Or the sickening envy you'd feel hearing your friends talk about the way they came so hard they cried. Or even just your string of bad dates that included horrible sex. You hated it; you felt like a child.

You nod, "Far."

"Let me help you then." He snaps with no restraint. You look at his face, searching for any sign of unseriousness. You don’t find anything.

You feel a pulse start to build up in your cunt at the mere thought of Michael helping you. You work for him, you think to yourself. The taboo nature of the idea arouses you, yet you try to let your morals win.

“Help me with that?” You say below a whisper, saying it out loud feels like a crime. “I don’t think that’d be right, I work for you.”

“I know you do, but I’m only trying to help. It stays in this room. Only if you’re willing.” He says, his bottom lip drawing in at the possible reality.

“But what will I tell people-“

“You don’t have to tell anyone anything. This is supposed to be private. Just a person helping another person hm?”

You let the thought ponder in your head, you remember you’ve had fantasies of this man. You’d wake up in hot sweats from multiple sex dreams of him lapping up your pussy with his tongue, only to beat yourself up for it afterwards. The frame of his body, his hair, those sexy pair of eyes that threaten your self respect everyday.

“Teach me.” You nod innocently, your voice laced with a mix of desire & hesitation. You knew deep down you wanted him bad.

“You sure?” He says, tucking a strand of hair out of your face.

“Yes, I want too. I want you to make me feel it.” You scoot forward, blinking rapidly from excitement.

“Take your hair down,” he says, rubbing your shoulder gently.

You follow his command, letting your hair down out of your clip, placing it neatly on the table.

“Good, now just relax okay? you look tense. That’s not gonna help either y’know?” He cooes.

You nod along like you have no brain of your own, completely in his mercy. You like being told what to do, not having to think.

Michael’s now close & facing you, softly rubbing your smooth arms to try & relax you — prepping you. His eyes fall to your lips, ripe & agape. Just begging to be kissed n' licked.

Without any warning, he leans in & presses his lips to yours, automatically moving his hands to cup your jaw; your skin burns under his touch. He proceeds to slide his tongue between your lips, asking for permission to be let in. You hum, allowing him. With no time to waste, you feel him enter your mouth, his tongue dancing with your own, warm & wet. You mewl into the kiss, your brows pressing together as the ache in your core grows larger. You place your hands on his shoulders & squeeze, forcing yourself to have a mind of your own.

"Mhm, there you go. Just go with the flow." He mumbled, his words barely audible, muffled by your puffy lips.

He breaks the kiss, leaving you pouting in loss of contact. Strands of hair stick to the wetness he left on your lips.

"What happened?" You say, your eyes blown out.

"Nothing," he chuckles, "Just relax & lay back, can you do that for me?"

"Mhm," you slowly lay back on the couch cushions behind you, keeping your legs together as your hands remain on your lap. It's like you've been fantasising about this moment, but when it comes, you get all shy. You can tell he's getting off on it by the bulge growing in his sweatpants, but you pretend not to notice.

"Face me, baby." He says, turning you in his direction by your waist. You feel your pussy grow wetter & wetter by the second, your thoughts clouded by the unrelenting desire for his touch down there.

His calloused hands run down from your thighs to your knees, "gonna open now okay?" he whispers, peppering a little kiss on your collarbone.

You nod, keeping your doe'd eyes on him as he slowly pushes your legs open, your sundress riding up as he does so. A few more forced pushes of your legs & they're completely open. Your pink cotton panties stained with a dark circle in the middle from your arousal. You hear him whisper profanities under his breath as he stares at your clothed pussy, your lips showing a little through the material.

"Pink really is your favourite colour, so damn pretty." He purrs, caressing the inner skin of your thighs. The rough texture of his palms against the smoothness of your skin causing little mewls to fall from your lips. He's here to help you, yet the stiffness of his cock keeps betraying him.

Michael places a gentle hand against your chest, "Breathe, baby."

You realise how hard your heart is beating, you can't tell if it's from nerves or pure arousal but you attempt to steady your breathing.

"Sorry, I think I'm just really turned on." You shudder.

Michael caresses your jaw, "Thats the most important factor."

He leans down, placing light little kisses on your thighs & knees. You tremble from the contact. He holds one of your feet with one hand, kissing your perfectly manicured toes as the other hand rubs on your the curve of your ass.

"Please touch me," You beg, giving your pussy a little stroke to signal to him where you want it.

He gently slides his middle & index finger up your wet slit, your arousal totally soaked through the cheap fabric of your panties. Your mouth falls open with no sound at first, just pleasurable shock. The feeling of the tips of his fingers grazing over your clit making you squeak like a slut.

Michael presses a finger to your lips with his free hand, "Try to be quiet okay? I know it's hard." He orders.

His cock is throbbing like a ticking time bomb under his sweatpants at the sight of you all drunken & horny in front of him, legs splayed open waiting for him to help you.

"Mm, sorry." You mumble under his finger, trying to keep your eyes out of the back of your head as he continues rubbing softly.

He tugs at the side of your panties, moving them to the side slowly to reveal your glossy folds. There might as well be a twinkle In his eye as he stares.

"Damn," He breathes out, giving your swollen clit a rub with his thumb.

You arch your back immediately, covering your mouth as he rubs your clit tantalisingly slow.

"Fuck, Michael. I swear It's never felt that good." You gasp, drawing your bottom lip under your teeth painfully hard.

He smiles, his ego rising from your comment. He proceeds to rub in small circles with his index & middle finger in a steady rhythm, gathering your juices from the bottom to rub all over your clit.

"Let's get this down," he says to himself, pulling the upper half of your dress down with one hand, letting your perky tits fall free. He gawks at the view, forgetting this isn't about him — it's all about you.

You feel heat rise in your face again, you've never felt so exposed & horny in your life.

He gropes the curve of your breast with his free hand, rolling your nipple through his fingers as he continues his work on your pussy.

"Feeling good, ma? You need to tell me."

Your head falls back on the arm of the couch as you nod, your stomach twitching from the pleasure as you try to stop your moans from erupting — you're soaked for him.

"Feels so good Michael," You cry out. The muscles in your thighs starting to clench as you chase something you don't even know what.

He takes his hands away, unbuttoning his shirt in a frenzy as he tosses it on the floor. He comes back, though this time you feel 2 slender fingers slowly slide in you, curving just right.

"Oh my god," You whine, your eyes falling into your head.

He continues to roll your nipple between his fingers with his free hand, all while kissing you simultaneously.

Your body wasn't the only thing he'd ogle at, your lips were insanely arousing to him too, he didn't know where to touch or kiss you now that he had you like this.

Your hand snaps into his hair, grabbing on for dear life as you feel yourself begin to tremble & shake, he feels it too.

"Michael? Something's happening." You whimper, your brows pressed tight as you look at him for an answer, your eyes glossy.

"Thaats it," he encourages you. "You feel it baby? I ain't stopping."

Immense pressure coiled tighter inside of you, every breath becoming harder & harder to catch the more he fingers you perfectly on your g-spot — no one's ever hit the right spot, yet he seems to know exactly where you like it.

"Michael, Michael!" You cry.

"Yes," he hisses, "Let go." He leans down.

You feel his supple mouth latch onto your pussy, lapping & sucking gently on your sensitive nub as he continues to curl his fingers into you. You break immediately; the tension that had been building for minutes reaches a point where it feels unmanageable. The coil in your belly snaps, something in you lets go, your muscles tightening as your pulse thunders in your ears with blind spots covering your vision.

You squeal as you cum on his mouth, your eyes pinched shut as you tug on his hair for support. Once you had the energy to lift your head & come back to life, you look down at Michael, the lower half of his face glistening with your juices as he pants, smiling at you warmly. He sits up, licking n' sucking his fingers like a child with candy.

"Thats an orgasm," He smirks, a cocky look on his face. He brings a finger to your mouth, "Taste yourself, you did that."

You hesitate before latching your mouth around his finger, sucking on it looking at him. You taste sweet, just how you're feeling.

"I didn't know I could do that," You bite your lip, feeling a sense of achievement wash over you as Michael watches you in amusement.

"Glad I could help." He chuckles.

You stay lying, your panties still shifted to the side. You pull them off in one swift motion, throwing them on top of his shirt on the floor. You don't know how, but your orgasm gave you a wave of confidence. You feel like you could do anything; you feel like a woman.

"Though," You press on the bulge through his sweatpants with your foot, it's extremely hard.

"I wanna cum again, but with this," you plead, not wanting to say the word.

He bites his lower lip as he thinks about it, running a hand through his hair. Touching you is one thing, but fucking his nanny on his living room couch while his children are asleep, that's messy — & he liked it.

Before you could process what's happening, he's rolling his sweats down, giving his cock a little grab before finally sliding off his boxers too. You salivate at the sight of him. Thick, slender, & deep in colour. You instinctively open your legs wider, inviting him over. He climbs over you, one hand braced next to your head while the other juts your chin up for you to look at him, your eyes too busy on his cock.

"No one can know about this, you hearin' me?" He presses.

You nod frantically, "I promise."

You reach out to touch him, you give him a few little strokes. Your hand felt tiny up against it. He drops his head on your chest from the feeling of your hand movements. You let out a little moan as you attempt to line him up to your weeping slit, the feeling of it rubbing against you driving you crazy. You buck your hips forward, desperate to have him inside of you.

"Let me baby, relax." He takes over, lining himself up with your entrance.

You feel him begin to crown you a little, already feeling a bitter sweet sting start to form.

"Please, all in." You beg as you hold your legs open, your hands in the backs of your knees.

"Dammit,"

Michael sinks all of his length into you, the pleasure even more intense than before. You quickly shoot your hands to his shoulders to push him back a little as you squeal, your lashes fluttering as you look at him from beneath them. You start to move your hips desperately, you loved watching how it disappears & reappears beneath you, he's the biggest you've ever felt. It feels like you're having sex for the first time again. Your hands return to the backs of your knees again, spreading yourself wider for him greedily.

The sound of your mixed arousal is like music to his ears as he begins to form a steady rhythm with you. He manages to hit your g-spot constantly, never missing.

"You're gonna be the death of me." He grits, grabbing one of your breasts as he leans down to suck on one of your nipples slowly & sensually.

You whimper into his clammy hair as he's leant down, your eyes rolling back as you begin to feel the same coil in your belly you felt earlier — now able to recognise it. You let go of your thighs, your strength faltering as you come closer to your release. Michael's hands quickly replace yours, pushing your thighs back a little as he continues rolling his hips into you.

“Mm—harder,” you beg, looking up at him all pretty. Your eyes sparkling with quiet mischief, “fuck me harder.”

The sweet sound of skin meeting skin starting to creep up the harder he goes, eager for you to come again. He wants that for you.

"Michael, It's happening again I feel it. I think i'm gonna come." You warn, your eyes squeezing shut as you feel his mouth press against yours hot & messily.

He pulled back an inch from your lips, just enough to murmur, "Come for me," as he planted an encouraging slap on the side of your ass.

With a sharp cry buried deep into his shoulder, you come hard. Your vision is blocked out once again, the same pulse in your ears as you squeeze around him. You twitch beneath him.

Michael planned to last longer in the hope of pleasuring you for as long as you saw fit, yet the way your pussy clenched around him brought him to a sharp halt instantly.

"Oh, god." He whines, pulling out & stroking himself desperately as he finishes all over your thighs. You hum in pleasure as you watch his warm release slide down your skin slowly.

You pant, looking up at him with a satisfied smile as he runs a hand across your cheek, droplets of sweat from his hair hitting your forehead.

"Thanks for helping me."

Michael brushed a strand of hair from your face.

"Anytime." He giggles.

"For the first time in my life, i'm able to understand what everyone is talking about."

The curtains billowed gently in the evening breeze.

“What is it, Mikey?” You asked quietly, sensing something was wrong despite coming down from your fucky headspace.

Michael swallowed as his gaze dropped to where he was sheathed inside of you, the tangled sheets gathered around your legs before lifting back to your face. The look in his eyes made your stomach sink—then you felt it pooling inside of you. For a few seconds he seemed unable to form words, before suddenly pulling out of you. His cock slipping free with a wet pop, a thin line of his cum and your juices stretched between his tip and your pussy, connecting the two with a delicate, glistening thread before it broke and dripped down onto the sheets below.

He dragged a hand down his face and let out a breath that sounded almost pained. “I..” His voice cracked so tried again. “I messed up..”

The silence that followed felt endless.

You sat upright and Michael moved too, retreating to the edge of the bed as though distance might somehow help him think. The sunset spilling through the window painted everything gold, casting long shadows across the room and turning the dust floating in the air into flecks of amber. Under different circumstances it would have been a perfect evening. Instead it felt absurdly cruel. The world outside was winding down into a peaceful sunset while the two of you sat here frozen in the middle of what felt like a disaster.

As you sat up, your gaze drifted downward and your breath hitched in your throat at the sight. Michael’s cum slowly dribbled out of your slit as the sunlight streaming through the window caught the liquid, making it glisten against your lips.

“Oh..” You say, still processing what you’re seeing.

Michael lowered his elbows to his knees and pressed both hands against his face. He looked impossibly young like this. Not a performer or a star. But a nervous twenty year old sitting in his childhood bedroom with absolutely no idea what to do. All he accidentally came inside his girlfriend.

“I thought I had more time,” He admitted into his palms. “Honestly, I really thought I did..” The confession was so sincere with no carelessness in his voice, only bewilderment. He genuinely could not understand how his confidence had failed him so spectacularly.

The truth of it wasn’t complicated, even if they both tried to dress it up. Neither of them were remotely sexually experienced in any real sense that would have given them confidence in what they were doing, nothing beyond fragments of hearsay and guesswork and the overconfidence you develop when you’re young and in love and convinced that wanting something badly enough counts as understanding it.

They had only recently become each other’s firsts, which made everything feel.. intensified? and urgent in a way neither of them really knew how to regulate yet; it had gone from tentative curiosity to something extremely addictive overnight the first time they decided it was time to have sex. It’s truly the closeness and euphoria of it all that makes you forget there are supposed to be rules, risks and consequences to sex because all you can think about is how good it feels to fuck.

So when you two rely on something like timing or instinct or the idea of “knowing when to stop,” it wasn’t because you actually knew how any of it worked. It was the fact that you were two people who had decided so foolishly that they were already grown enough to handle it. But in reality, you two were just learning each other too fast, caught in that blur where affection and desire all stack on top of each other neither of you are making smart decisions.

The problem was that neither of you actually knew anything. You knew fragments, half formed ideas passed along that no one bothered to verify with fact. Things told in bathrooms at parties, whispered in bedrooms at slumber parties, repeated by people who were only slightly less lost than you were. Friends. Cousins. Older girls who always sounded like they had access to some hidden manual everyone else missed. It all came packaged and wrapped with a pretty bow like it was the truth but none of it came with proof.

So now, when it matters and the stakes suddenly felt very real, all you actually had was hearsay dressed up as knowledge.

At Hayvenhurst, that realization settles into tension because when you visit, you’re constantly aware that you’re not alone even when nobody is in the room. It’s Sunday, which means the place isn’t so super busy, just dispersed because it’s a day of rest for the Jacksons and people move through their own little corners throughout the day. Somewhere deeper in the house there’s the low sound of a television on, probably one of his siblings watching something. A door opens and closes somewhere down the hall, followed by the soft rhythm of footsteps that don’t belong to either of you.

That’s why you’re both moving like this, a little careful about it as Michael leads you down the hallway in sweats and a wrinkled t shirt he pulled on too fast. His hair is a little messy as you follow a step behind him in an oversized shirt that hangs off your shoulders and cotton panties underneath, barefoot against the polished floor.

When you two reach the bathroom at the end of the hall, Michael pushes open the door to let you in first, his eyes flicking toward the hallway checking whether anyone is close enough to hear or see. There’s a faint sound of a drawer shutting maybe, or someone shifting in a chair—but nothing that suggests someone’s coming.

Inside, the bathroom is lit by the soft spill of light from the small bathroom window. He closes the door gently, careful not to let it click too loud.

You pull down your panties, the fabric sticky with the combined evidence of both your arousal and Michael’s release as you sat on the toilet seat. You can see the large wet spot clearly from here and you shift by spreading your thighs a bit, feeling a slow and steady leak.

Michael is sitting near the sink cabinet back against the door, elbows resting on his knees.

“’s supposed to work..” She says softly.

“Mhm?” He tilts his head a little. “You really think so?”

“Mhm.. well, I hope so..” She nods, chewing on her lip. “Your dad would kill me if I got pregnant..”

“I wouldn’t even let him near you, Tinker..” He huffs

After a couple seconds, you feel something warm in your bladder.

“Oh, Mikey.” She closes her thighs a bit. “Have to pee..”

“Go ahead,” he says immediately, soft about it like it’s not something she needs permission for—oh, he’s in love.

“Close your ears,” she whines. “’s embarrassing.”

He lets out a small, easy breath and turns his head away, obliging without hesitation. “I don’t mind, really.” He adds quieter this time.

He stays turned anyway, giving her space.

A few minutes pass in silence. She’s still sitting there, knees drawn together, staring at the floor while Michael remains nearby, quietly keeping her company.

Then she suddenly looks up. “What if I sneeze?”

Michael glances over. “Pardon?”

“What if I sneeze really hard?”

He frowns slightly. “Sneeze?”

“So your stuff comes out.” The answer is delivered with the complete sincerity of someone desperately trying to solve a problem. “My cousin told me about that!”

For a moment, he just looks at her. “You think you can sneeze it out?”

“I don’t know,” She admits. “Maybe, feels like there’s still some in there..”

The idea sounds strange, but neither of them knows enough to explain why. At this point they’re willing to consider almost anything.

Then she perks up slightly. “Black pepper.”

“What about black pepper, Tinkerbell?”

“It makes people sneeze.”

Michael thinks about it for all of two seconds. “Okay. I’ll go get some.” And before she can say another word, he’s already getting to his feet.

The house feels almost unnervingly normal compared to the panic upstairs. A television murmurs somewhere in the den. Somebody laughs from another room. A faint jingle of keys at the door.

He finds the little glass pepper shaker beside the stove and grabs it without hesitation, but the moment he turns toward the stairs, a voice stops him.

“What’re you doing, son?”

Michael nearly drops the shaker, slowly looking up to find Joe standing in the hallway, watching him with mild curiosity.

Michael just stares back then he looks at the pepper in his hand.

“(Name) needs it for her sinuses..”

Joe's eyes flick down to the shaker. “Black pepper.”

Michael swallows and nods, doing his best to appear casual. Unfortunately, casual has never been one of his stronger skills when it came to interacting with his father

“For her sinuses,” Joe repeats.

“That’s what she wanted..” Another pause.

Joe studies him for a moment longer, clearly aware that something about this interaction makes absolutely no sense.

But eventually he just shrugs.

“If you say so.”

Michael nods once then immediately heads for the stairs before another question can be asked.

His grip tightens around the pepper shaker as he takes the steps two at a time, relieved to have escaped the conversation. Explaining that he needed the pepper because his girlfriend was attempting to sneeze away a pregnancy scare would have been a considerably more difficult discussion.