da last don .

And at first, you blamed circumstances.

Eventually, you started blaming yourself.

The following weeks were a disaster, diva.

You changed your hair, changed it again. Then you became convinced the first version had actually looked better and spent three days mourning it. You switched nail colors so many times that your nail tech eventually stopped asking questions and just started staring at you with growing concern because you were starting to work her nerves. Long nails! Short nails! Red! Pink! Nude! French tips! Nothing seemed helped. Every appointment had the optimism of a woman who was genuinely convinced that the solution to her problems might be hiding inside a bottle of acrylic powder. It never was.

You bought new clothes.

You rearranged your makeup routine.

You spent a ridiculous amount of (his <3) money on skincare products advertised by women who were so obviously professionally done in makeup.

At one point, you became convinced that a boob job would somehow save your relationship.

A boob job would not save your relationship but mostly because your relationship wasn’t actually in danger. But to be fair, you just didn’t know that yet.

The problem was that once insecurity took root, it became impossible to think normally. Suddenly every mirror was an enemy, every picture of yourself fueled your dilemma and every minor flaw you found turned into a very big one. You stood in front of mirrors turning your head from side to side like a confused puppy.

Maybe it was your hair.

Maybe it was your body.

Maybe your skin looked weird.

Maybe your face looked weird.

Maybe you needed botox?

The theories became increasingly unhinged.

By the end of the second month, you had somehow managed to convince yourself that Michael no longer desired you because of a collection of microscopic imperfections that literally nobody else on Earth had ever noticed. The longer Michael avoided sex, the easier it became to convince yourself that there had to be a reason. A person didn’t simply wake up one day and stop wanting someone they loved.

So naturally, the explanation had to be you.

There was simply no other possibility.

Certainly not Michael Jackson, like.. thee Michael Jackson? Get real. A man who instinctively apologizes to inanimate objects after bumping into them. A man who asks you to send his food back because he doesn’t want the staff to feel bad. A man whose default response to conflict is both palms up and hoping the issue is resolved without much confrontation.

No. Clearly the issue wasn’t him.

By the time Michael finally came home from the studio that night, you’d already prosecuted the case, delivered the verdict, and sentenced yourself accordingly. The only problem was that nobody had bothered informing the defendant.

Michael knew something was wrong the moment he walked through the front door.

And not because you said anything weird. In fact, the opposite. You greeted him with a bright smile and an enthusiastic, “Hi, baby!” before immediately returning to furiously wiping down a perfectly clean kitchen counter. The surrounding area smelled aggressively of purple fabuloso. Every surface sparkled pristinely, the furniture had been rearranged—there wasn’t a single thing out of place.

Michael glanced at the clock on the stove. It was nearly two in the morning and exhaustion lingered in the slope of his shoulders. The Bad sessions had been consuming him lately, turning days into nights and nights into mornings. Normally he returned home looking drained, tonight however, the fatigue seemed to disappear the second he got a proper look at you.

He smiled to himself.

Stress cleaning.

He’s learned this quirk of yours long ago. Stress cleaning only happened when something was deeply upsetting that pretty little heart of yours. Normal people cried. Some people yelled. You wanted to flip houses. And that was okay.

“How was the studio?” you asked cheerfully, already moving on to a cabinet door that did not need cleaning. Michael slowly set his bag down on the kitchen island. The smile on your face looked.. suspiciously forced and assembled in a hurry, your eyes red and puffy.

“It was real good.”

“That’s good.” You continued scrubbing.

For a few moments, Michael kept watching you. The way you moved from one task to another without actually accomplishing anything. The way you wiped surfaces that were already spotless. The way your smile appeared and disappeared depending on whether you thought he was looking. A lesser man might have missed it. Michael didn’t.

Slowly, he crossed the room. “Baby love.” The nickname was soft, gentle. And it usually made you look at him.

This time, it didn’t.

Michael’s smile faded slightly. He’s worried.

“Hey.” His hand settled lightly against your arm, stopping your endless circuit around the kitchen and only then did you glance up. The concern in his eyes nearly made you cry all over again. After spending weeks convincing yourself that Michael no longer wanted you, it felt deeply unfair that he still looked at you like that. With that stupidly beautiful face like your sadness mattered.

“You okay?” The question was simple.

And you hated it because it would’ve been much easier if he’d been cold. So much easier if he’d actually done something wrong. Instead, here he was. Standing in front of you after a fourteen hour day, still more interested in your feelings than his own exhaustion.

You nodded too quickly. “I’m fine, Mikey.”

Michael tilted his head. Patient. Skeptical. And entirely unconvinced. “You’re not.”

His statement wasn’t accusatory, it wasn’t even challenging. Just super matter of fact like noticing rain through a window.

You laughed weakly and turned back toward the counter. “I am.”

“This spot is about sick of you wipin’ it..” Your hand froze and Michael’s mouth twitched. “You wiped it about five times.”

The laugh that escaped you sounded suspiciously close to a sob. Immediately, the hint of amusement vanished from his face. Without saying anything else, he gently took the rag from your hand and set it aside. And he reached for you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest.

Michael rested his cheek against the top of your head, one hand slowly smoothing over your back as he held you there. Waiting. Patiently. The way he always did. Because Michael had never been the sort of person who demanded answers.

The problem was that once you finally opened your mouth, you weren’t entirely sure you could stop.

The first sound that escaped you wasn’t a sentence.

It was a wail.

A loud, ugly sob that seemed to surprise even you.

Michael immediately froze.

Because one second he was rubbing slow circles into your back and the next he was staring down at you with wide eyes, completely confused. “Hey..”

“I’ve been tryin’ to fix it!” You managed to get out through your cry.

“Fix what?”

“Whatever’s wrong with me!” You wiped your nose. “I changed my hair. I changed my nails. I bought all those dresses!”

Michael looked bewildered. “Why? Why would you think you need to fix somethin’? There’s nothing wrong with you, pretty girl..”

“Because!” You cry again. “You won’t fuck me!”

Silence settled over the kitchen.

Complete, suffocating silence.

You watched the realization arrive in stages. First confusion, as he tried to understand what you were actually saying. Then understanding. Then immediate, unmistakable embarrassment. His entire face went red so quickly it was almost impressive. The color climbed from his neck to his cheeks and straight into the tips of his ears. Michael looked away at once, suddenly finding the refrigerator, the cabinets, the floor, and quite possibly the structural integrity of the kitchen tiles more interesting than making eye contact.

“Oh.” The word emerged strained.

You sniffled miserably. “’s what I've been talking about this whole time..”

Another pause followed. Michael rubbed the back of his neck, his expression growing more flustered with every passing second. He looked like a man desperately searching for an emergency exit that didn’t exist.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“No, not okay,” He corrected immediately. “I mean..” His voice trailed off and the poor man looked completely mortified.

“That's what this is about?”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Yes, Michael!”

Michael squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment.

Because he was embarrassed.

Utterly, completely embarrassed.

For months you’d apparently been carrying this hurt around by yourself, blaming your hair, your nails, your clothes, your body, your face, your existence. Meanwhile, he had been operating under an entirely different misunderstanding. Now he had to explain himself, which unfortunately required discussing a subject that already had him blushing so hard he looked overheated.

The heat spread further down his neck.

“Michael.”

“I’m trying..”

”You’re making me anxious!”

He groaned softly and covered part of his face with one hand. “’m trying to figure out how to say it..”

You would’ve laughed if you weren’t actively fighting back tears because the sight would’ve been funny under different circumstances. Here you were having the emotional breakdown while Michael looked seconds away from dissolving into the floorboards.

“Baby,” he said quietly.

“What is it, Michael?”

His gaze dropped again. “You really thought I didn’t want you.. like that anymore?” The sheer disbelief in his voice almost offended you.

“Well, what was I supposed to think!” The question seemed to connect the dots for him because from your perspective, the conclusion made perfect sense. And suddenly his embarrassment gave way to guilt.

Deep, genuine guilt.

Because now he understood what these past months had looked like through your eyes. You hadn’t been obsessing over your hair or your dresses because you were vain, not that he would even mind anyway. You’d been trying to solve a problem, trying to fix something you believed was wrong with you.

When in reality, it had never been about you at all.

Michael swallowed then looked down at the floor. “It’s spreading.”

Your brow furrowed. “Huh?”

There’s long pause. “The vitiligo.” His voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “It’s spreading.” It seemed like he might stop there, he’d already said more than he wanted to but he forced himself to continue.

“On..” He swallowed. “Those parts.” The blush returned.

“Oh.” Your expression was unreadable.

Michael laughed softly, humorlessly. “It looks different now.” His eyes remained fixed on the floor. “I know it shouldn’t bother me.. but it does.” The words came out small as he continued. “I just..” He shook his head. “It’s ugly.”

You just stared at him and then stared some more. Blinked.

Because you were furious.

Absolutely, incandescently furious.

Months?

You had spent months without his dick, crying in bathroom, changing your hair, buying new clothes, and conducting increasingly deranged investigations into your own appearance while this man had been convincing himself that you would somehow stop loving him.

First of all, you didn’t even play like that.

“Ugly?” You repeated.

Michael visibly shrank. “Lovey, I—”

“Ugly?”

His eyes squeezed shut.

Before Michael could start apologizing, you grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him. Hard. And the sound he made was mostly surprise as you felt it more than heard it.

When you finally pulled back, Michael looked thoroughly stunned, curls slightly disheveled, cheeks still hot.

“You are ridiculous.”

“Okay.” Its all he can say, really.

Another kiss. “You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met.”

Somewhere between your outrage and Michael’s flustered attempts to explain himself, the conversation dissolved completely. Every time he tried to apologize, you interrupted him with a kiss. Every time he attempted to look away, you guided his attention back. By the time you found yourselves stumbling toward the bedroom, Michael looked overwhelmed in the particular way he always did whenever he realized he was being loved much more aggressively than he’d anticipated.

Michael lingered at the edge of the bed, still looking uncertain with the traces of insecurity that had brought the two of you here in the first place. You could see it in the way his shoulders were drawn tight, the way he avoided your gaze.

You moved closer as you sat between his thighs on your knees. “Michael.”

He glanced up at you. “Show me.”

Michael blushed as he slowly unbuttoned his jeans, hesitating before lifting his hips an inch to slide them down along with his boxers in the hooks of his thumbs. His initial reaction when he settled back down was to cover himself, for his big hands to hover protectively over his cock to shield your pretty eyes but he knew better. His hands trembled slightly as he revealed his semi hard cock, glancing up at you with eyes that look like he’s maybe expecting rejection or laughter. But he’s not met with any of that. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes because you’re staring at it and maybe if he closes his eyes, it would make him invisible. Michael knows it won’t but, it makes him feel a little better about exposing the dick he’s hid for months.

He hesitantly reached down, his beautiful fingers trembling slightly as he wrapped them loosely around his length. He gave it a gentle tug upward, his breath hitching at the soft sound that escaped him. The motion was tentative—careful he was unsure if he should even be doing this in the first place. Was this even a good idea? What was he thinking? What are you thinking?

Michael opens his eyes a little, to peek at you. Wait. Why were you looking at him like that? Like you.. like this or something? His cheeks burned with embarrassment and he kept his gaze lowered, unable to meet your gaze.

Because.

The look in your eyes was genuinely humiliating. Women had fought for your right to vote and own property only for you to sit there staring at Michael like you’d never had a coherent thought in your life. The look in your eye wasn’t remotely mysterious. There are novels worth of yearning written across your face.

You looked at him with shameless affection and a viseral need that would’ve embarrassed a lesser woman. Every thought seemed to be written plainly across your face. A very obvious: oh my God, it’s so fucking pretty. I need this in my throat.

Your hands slid slowly up his thighs, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles beneath your touch. He let out a shaky breath as you gently pushed his hands away, replacing them with your own. His hips twitched instinctively at the contact and he squeezed his eyes shut again, face burning as you slowly wrapped your fingers around his length instead.

Fuck, its been so long since you had his dick in your hands.

You could see what he’d been referring to. What he’s been so insecure about enough to hide from you and lose sleep over.

It’s different than what it was the last time you saw it. Yeah.

But his vitiligo had created a beautiful, unique pattern across his cock. His shaft was like a piece of abstract work of art; creamy ivory petal shaped patches mixed with brown and pink sections in a way that reminded you of neapolitan ice cream. His balls sat beneath with the same splashes of paler pigment.

“It’s so pretty, Michael.. You were hiding this from me?” you murmured softly, leaning in close. Before he could stammer out a response, your tongue darted out to taste him, starting at the base of his beautiful marbled shaft. You dragged your tongue upward along one of the paler patches, earning a sharp, breathless gasp from him.

Michael’s thighs trembled under your hands as your tongue traced the intricate patterns across his sensitive flesh. “You—you think it’s still pretty?” he breathed, voice cracking with disbelief as he finally looked down at you through lidded eyes. His hips bucked forward instinctively as you swirled around his tip, his shyness melting into need. ”I always thought it was ugly..”

“So pretty, baby..” You murmured against his cock. “Can’t believe you were worried about me not liking it.. God, Michael, he’s gorgeous—can’t wait to feel him cum. Missed him so much, did he miss me?”

“Don’t—don’t talk like that about it..” He manages to say.

The pattern continued across his pelvic area, lighter patchwork breaking through some of his deeper skin tone like poured cream, soft patches drifted across his mons pubis into delicate maps of contrast. Further down, his thighs bore the same mesmerizing pattern, ivory splashes dancing along the inner and outer legs that stretched down toward his knees.

Michael had gotten very good at hiding it. The lower half of his body was easy enough. He rarely wore anything that revealed much skin anyway, so long pants, socks, loafers, and layers concealed most of the areas the public never saw. It was the visible places that required the real effort. His face. His hands. His arms. The parts constantly photographed, filmed, and scrutinized. Topical treatments and makeup helped even out some of the discoloration there, making it easier to step in front of cameras without drawing attention to every new change.

The areas hidden beneath clothing were different. There was no makeup artist touching them up before an appearance. No careful lighting or tricks to soften what he saw. They existed entirely in private, which somehow made them harder to ignore. Michael knew his body intimately and because he spent so much time looking for changes on his face and hands, he noticed every new patch everywhere else too. What most people never would have thought twice about became impossible for him to overlook, leaving him alone with insecurities nobody else even knew he carried.

Standing at its full size, Michael’s cock was a sight—thick and long but it wasn’t.. overly large. He had perfect boyfriend dick, a dick big enough to stretch you out but not so big it would hurt every time you attempted to just sit on it.

He looked down at himself, then at you and his cheeks flushed deeply as he realized how hard he was and just how good you were sucking his dick. He’s not going to last long.

Your mouth closed around him, taking him deep into your throat while your fingers gripped the sparse curls of his pubic hair. Michael let out a broken moan, head falling back and surrendering completely as your warm mouth overwhelmed his usual hesitance.

You pressed your tongue flat against the sensitive underside of his cock, dragging it slowly from base to tip. The broad and smooth surface of your tongue applied pressure against a particular throbbing vein, earning a deep and guttural moan from him. His hips jerked involuntarily, his knuckle in between his pearly whites as he watched you with furrowed brows.

It was filthy.

“M gonna—finish, gonna—’M gonna..” He whined, voice strained. ”Where do you want it? In your m-outh? On your face? Don’t know where to put it..” His hands gripped the sheets tightly, tugging just slightly as his body coiled with impending release.

You pulled back, wrapping your hand around his cock instead, jerking him off fast and tight just how he liked it. ”Cum on my face, baby.” You urged, looking up at him with lust glazed eyes. “Paint me so pretty, just like this fucking dick..”

It only took three more rough strokes before he was cumming, a strangled moan escaping his throat as thick ropes of cum spilled across your face. It landed on your cheeks, dripped down your chin, splashed across your lips and even some hitting your forehead and hair. His hips stuttered against your fist as he emptied himself completely, trembling as the waves of pleasure crashed through him. “Baby.. baby..”

As the last few drops dripped onto your face, Michael slumped forward slightly, breathing heavily as he looked down at you with gratitude. He gently moved to cup your face, thumbs brushing away some of the cum that coated your skin. “Thank you..”

You smiled sweetly. “My turn.”

Smoke sits back against the headboard, his heavy frame sinking into the pillows while she straddles him cowgirl. Her knees plant wide on either side of his thick thighs, hands braced flat on his broad chest. She lowers herself slow, letting that right-curving dick stretch her open inch by inch until her pussy swallows every fat vein. The head nudges deep, curving right against her front wall, and she pauses there, clenching once to feel how perfectly he fits. 

She starts moving with lethal control. Her hips roll in deep circles first, grinding her soaked walls down around his dick so every ridge drags against her. Then she lifts just enough for the head to catch at her entrance before she drops back down heavy, taking him to the root. The wet slap of her ass meeting his lap filling the bed room. She keeps the motion tight. No wasted motion, just a continuous bounce and grind that milks him from base to tip. Smoke’s hands lock onto her waist, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. His jaw stays tight, breath pushing out in low grunts every time she drops. 

“Fuck…you feel too fuckin’ good,” he spoke with a shaky voice. 

His eyes stay half-lidded, watching her the whole time, but the pressure builds fast. Her pussy squeezes on the upstroke, walls fluttering and gripping like she’s trying to pull the cum straight out of him. 

She doesn’t look away. Her gaze stays locked on his, dark and focused like a siren while she works him. She bounces with perfect timing, short sharp drops followed by slow grinds that drag her clit against his pelvis. Every time she clenches around the curve of his dick, his breath stutters. A single tear slips from the corner of his left eye first, tracking down his temple. Another follows on the right. 

Smoke doesn’t sob or make extra noise, just those broken grunts and the way his chest rises harder under her palms.

Her pussy is soaked, creamy from how deep she’s taking him. The stretch feels obscene every time she sinks down, tight walls hugging that fat 9.5 inch curve so good he can feel every pulse. She leans forward a little, changing the angle so the head rubs that spot inside her over and over. 

Smoke’s grip tightens. His mouth parts, breath coming ragged.

“Shit…you gon’ make me bust, baby,” he growls low but the tears keep coming while she rides him like she owns every inch of that big ass dick.

She keeps the pace lethal. 

Bounce…grind…clench…repeat…

His dick throbs harder inside her, veins pulsing against her walls. She feels him swell, knows he’s close, but she doesn’t speed up. She just keeps staring into his glassy eyes, rolling her hips in those deep circles that drag every sensitive spot along his length. Smoke’s head tips back against the headboard, another tear sliding free. His body locks up, muscles tight, overwhelmed by how perfectly her wet ass pussy milks him. He stays silent except for those low, broken sounds, eyes still on her even as the pleasure cracks him open and leaves him wrecked beneath her. 

Smoke’s fingers slide up the back of her neck and fists her hair. He drags her down hard, plush lips crashing against hers in a deep, wet kiss that tastes like his low grunts. Their tongues slide together while she keeps rolling her hips, never breaking the ride that’s wrecking him. 

He breaks the kiss just enough to growl against her lips. 

“This pussy so fuckin’ good, baby, fuck it’s so damn wet.” 

Smoke’s hands drop to her ass, gripping both cheeks right. Then, he starts driving up into her from below, thick muscular thighs flexing as he slams his right-curving dick straight into that soaked grip. 

Her walls clenched around every inch, creamy and hot, sucking him deeper with every thrust. The head of his dick drags against her front wall on each upward stroke, stretching that pussy open and making her moan into his mouth. 

“Smoke…Smoke…yes…” she gasps his name over and over, voice breaking every time he bottoms out. 

Smoke’s eyes remain locked on hers, heavy-lidded and glassy. He keeps talking while he fucks up into her. 

“You’re so quiet but I can feel you shaking. I can see it in your eye, smoke. You losin’ it, ain’t you? My pussy is wrecking you, daddy. Tell me it’s wrecking you.”

“You know it is…shit. You killin’ me.” Smoke released a deep groan. 

“Good I want you ruined. I want you so obsessed with this coochie that you can’t even think straight,” She rolled her hips. “I’m gonna bounce on this big ass dick ‘til you cry for me. You wanna cry for me, Smoke? You wanna let it go?”

 “Fuck…just leep ridin’ this fuckin’ dick, baby. Don’t stop.” 

She bounced. Hands on her knees. On her feet. Ass dropping down on him like an earthquake. 

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP

“I’m gonna take every inch of you. This dick mine now. Every bit of this thick, heavy dick belongs to me. You feel me creaming? I’m soakin’ this dick, just sliding right on and off this big dick—”

Smoke starts meeting her stroke for stroke. Balls slapping that ass. 

“Pussy so perfect…uuuugmh FUCK—”

“I’m your favorite addiction.” She licked her lips. “Now hold my hips and push up in me—harder—I want to feel you hittin’ the back of my throat—no, the back of my pussy. Dick so good I’m saying anything—give it to me, Smoke. Fuck me like you tryna put a baby in me—”

She stopped moving and Smoke completely took over, plowing her pussy from beneath. His vision blurred, his nostrils flared, his growls grew louder. 

“I got you…I ain’t lettin’ go. You mine. This shit mine—all mine.”

“Yes, daddy…yes daddy. You’re just a big strong man getting broken by a little pussy, ain’t you?” 

“Fuck…yes, just…gahdam, girl. Good pussy…so wet…grippin’ me like that…fuck.” Each word comes out rough, voice cracking when her walls flutter around him. 

Tears still slip from the corners of his eyes.

 She leans in and drags her tongue across one, licking the salt from his temple while he keeps pounding up into her. Another tear tracks down his cheek and she catches that too, sucking it off his skin with a soft moan. 

Her back bows hard, pushing her tits against his chest. Smoke slides his arms under hers, locking his hands behind her shoulders so he can drive her down onto every thrust. The angle lets him bury that fat 9.5 inch curve all the way in, hips snapping up fast and deep. Wet sounds fill the space every time his lap meets her ass. 

Her pussy starts pulsing around him. She cries out, body shaking as the orgasm crashes through her. 

“Smoke—fuck—I’m cumming—oh god I’m cumming—”

Her walls clamp down tight, squeezing while she soaks his dick and thighs. Smoke keeps fucking her through it, eyes locked on hers, grunting low and broken while fresh tears slide down his face. 

He doesn’t stop. He keeps driving up into that spasming pussy, holding her in place with those strong arms, voice hoarse as he keeps repeating it. 

Smoke bucked upward, his hips snapping up into her with raw, primal force, trying to bury himself as deep as humanly possible. He shot thick, hot ropes of nut deep against her cervix, his entire body racking with intense, rhythmic spasms. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in like she’s oxygen and he’s been drowning. He didn’t say much, releasing one final, shaky moan.

“Fuck…you really just broke me, baby…”

————-

She swings her leg over Stack and settles reverse, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. Her back is to him, ass high, and she reaches down to line that thick left-curving dick up with her dripping hole. She sinks down slow, letting every inch stretch her open until her ass meets his lap. Stack’s hands fly to her waist, fingers digging in like he’s trying to anchor himself.  

She starts moving. 

Slow, deep rolls of her hips that make her cheeks spread and clap softly with each grind. Her walls grip him tight, pulsing around the curve that drags against her back wall on every downward stroke. She glances over her shoulder, eyes hazy, voice low and syrupy. 

“Feel that, Stack? Feel how my pussy squeezin’ every inch of that dick? Mmm, you do deep like this…right where I want you…deep in my pussy.” She rolls her hips again, slower this time, letting him feel the way her walls flutter and suck. “That’s it…just like that…let me ride you nice and deep.” 

Stack’s breathing turns ragged fast.

His head drops back against the pillows, mouth open but he can’t look away from the way her ass moves. His hands slide down to her cheeks, spreading her wide so he can watch his fat dick disappear inside her over and over. The sight makes his thighs tense under her. 

“Damn…baby girl…shit,” Stack groans, voice cracking. Tears are welling in his eyes. Spilling over faster than he can blink them away. One tracks down his cheek while he bites his bottom lip hard, trying to hold in the sounds. She keeps talking, sweet and nasty at the same time. 

“Look at you takin’ this pussy so good. Yo feel his wet I am? Drippin’ all down your balls. Keep those hands right there—spread me open so you can watch that dick stretch me. Yeah…just like that.” She bounced a little harder, cheeks clapping louder, then grinds down in tight circles that make her walls drain him from bass to tip. 

Stack’s chest heaves. More tears slip fee, running in steady lines while his lips tremble around the table. A broken moan slips out anyway, followed by a soft so he can’t swallow. His fingers flex, spreading her wider, thumbs brushing the place wheee they’re jointed so he can feel every slick inch sliding in and out. 

She looks back again, voice dropping even lower. 

“You cryin’ for me, baby? That pussy makin’ you lose it? Keep watchin’. I’m finna ride you till you can’t talk no more.” 

She picks up the pace, hips snapping down in deep strokes that have him gasping and shaking beneath her. His tears keep flowing, eyes glassy and half-shut, but every second of her taking every inch of him. 

She leans forward more, arching her back so her ass is pushed back and high, right in his face, on her feet. That motion opens her up wide. Giving him a front-row seat to the sight of his thick, left curve disappearing into her soaking wet, pulsing folds. 

She picks up the pace from the slow grind to a lethal, pound. She slams her weight down on him, the wet slap of her pussy hitting his thighs echoing in the room. Every time she drops, she makes sure to angle herself so his left curve hooks deep into her, hitting a spot that makes her toes curl into the sheets and makes Stack’s eyes damn near roll to the back of his head.

Stack’s breath hitches. He reaches up, his rings cold against her hot skin as he grips her hips, his fingers digging in. 

“Look at that…look at how you just swallow me whole,” Stack moans, his voice trembling. “You a little freak, ain’t you? Just a nasty little bitch for this dick. Fuckin’ me and my brother like one dick ain’t enough for this tight pussy.” 

She lols back over her shoulder with a wicked smirk on her lips, her eyes locked onto his.

“You like seeing it, Stack? You like how tight I am for you? Like this nasty bitch pussy, huh?” She whispers, her voice sultry. “Let me see if you can bust in this pussy better than your older twin. Smoke gave this pussy some work the other day. Think you can do better?” 

The sheer, overwhelming sensation of her walls gripping him so tight and hot was breaking him. His face was contorted in a mix of agony and ecstasy. 

Stack drives his heels into the mattress, flexes the muscles of his torso, and gives her exactly what she asked for. Dick beating her pussy in. Her breath stutters and hitches each time he drives up. She drops to her knees in reverse, stack placing one hand on her lower back to keep her steady while his hips levitate from the bed to pump her full of fat, curvy dick. It felt like a fresh wave of wetness was leaking from her. That hot rod was working her pussy so good. 

“Damn, Stack!” 

“Yeah, take this dick. Be a good bitch and take this dick—fuck this pussy so good—”

Her voice stays low but gets breathier. “I’m close, Stack…this dick got me right there. You feel how tight I’m gettin’?” She speeds up just enough, using the full length of him now, bouncing in short strokes that make her walls flutter and grip. Her moans started slipping out. Raw. Loud. 

Stack’s hands tighten on her ass, thumbs digging in while he watches his dick disappear as he fed her pussy exactly what it needs. His voice cracks but stays steady, guiding her through it. 

“That’s it, baby…ride that shit. Use every inch. Fuck, you grippin’ me so good. Don’t stop—keep bouncin’ just like that, I got you.” 

Her moans climb higher, hips snapping down harder as the pleasure peaks. 

“Stack—fuck, I’m finna cum—”

Her pussy clamps down hard, pulsing around him in wet grips while she rode through it, thighs shaking. She keeps moving. Moaning his name between gasps. 

Stack’s breathing turns ragged, voice hoarse as he talks her through her orgasm and straight into his own. 

“Yeah, cum on it…just like that. Shit, you squeezin’ the life outta me—fuck I’m right behind you.” 

the two screamed in excitement to see their father, it was michael’s week to have the kids which was perfect time for you. schedule was full with meetings and meetings back to back due to your clothing line coming out with another launch.

“hello michael” you said as you moved your sunglasses to act as a headband for your hair, removing the car key from the ignition. transferring the backpacks from the passenger floor to the seat so it’s easier to grab.

“no need to be formal” michael responded, “i prefer hi daddy” he added while walking up to the passenger side of the car, you rolled your eyes and waved him off out of annoyance. the oldest, minnie pops her seatbelt buckle out before attempting to help her younger sister daisy out of hers. she successfully got the chest clip but due to little strength in her thumbs, minnie was having trouble to unbuckle the buckle part of the car seat.

“i got it” michael spoke, “thank you for helping” he praised minnie before placing his thumb on the red buckle and click, the metal prongs detached in a swift before picking up daisy from her five point harness car seat.

you snagged the backpacks off the passenger seats before exiting out of the vehicle, bending down to pull the lever for the driver’s seat to move forward, creating space for minnie to get out.

helping the oldest out of the car, you glanced up to see daisy already in michael’s arms. head resting on his shoulder, her small hand placed on michael’s chest with a little pout on her face.

“how was school?” michael asked, bouncing daisy in her arms as she shook her head refusing to answer. letting out a chuckle before he turned his attention to minnie.

“school was fun” minnie answered, “we watched beauty and the beast since its friday” she contiuned, you shut the car door. standing behind minnie with a smile on your face as she was going on and on about her school day.

now heading to the front door, it was you and minnie hand in hand walking in front of michael.

your ex husband eyed you up and down from behind in the meantime, you wearing a matching green velour tracksuit with your khaki 2004 coach hampton demi bag on your shoulder, the pink straps from your thong poking out. when it’s time to go up the few steps, your jacket rises up a bit and since your track pants were low rise, the small yet noticeable ‘𝓜’ tattoo on your lower back made its appearance.

michael smirked at the tattoo before he bit his bottom lip, thinking back on the time you got it.

“you look good”

“michael please shut up”

author’s note: this SUCKSSS for now, will definitely create some headcanons + maybe more blurbs. my homegirl is now harassing me to write more

His cologne envelopes my nose, musky and delicious. My head swims with desire as I pull back from the kiss.

“I haven’t been with an older man before,” I say softly, perched on his lap in the back of his white limousine. I run my fingers over the details of his fine suit, the embroidered vest… god, his style. He's so sexy.

Michael hums, hands gently resting on my hips. “And… how old are you again?” He asks quietly, so reserved and polite, I can’t believe I managed to convince the Michael Jackson to come home with me. I’m practically purring in his lap, rubbing on him like a cat in heat. And all he’s done is kiss me.

“Twenty five,” I say, gazing at his face. I tilt my head, and my long soft honey blond curls slip to the side. “Am I too young for you, baby?” I tease, tilting his chin up to meet my lips. I kiss him again, and he groans quietly, so embarrassed that he can’t resist me.

Our lips move together, softly, but passionately. I moan into his mouth, pulling myself closer to him, pressing my breasts into his chest. A soft sound escapes him as the limousine glides through New York city to my hotel, car horns sounding outside as R&B gently plays from the speakers.

He's so old school, it's crazy hot. Such a gentlemen. I couldn't name how many of these big artists or rappers would just outright ask me to fuck, knowing damn well they wouldn't call me the next morning, or even learn my name.

But Michael? God.

He'd asked my name, asked what I did. Held eye contact as I talked about the artist we were both here to support, mentioned how I knew him. He was so soft spoken it was driving me crazy. When I'd just had enough and asked if he wanted to take the conversation back to my hotel, he'd agreed. Softly saying, “lead the way, Daphne.”

God.

I wondered if he had understood what I meant, but from the way his hand slid down my back to almost touch my ass as we walked to where his driver would meet us...

I pounced the moment that door car door shut.

I didn't even care if anyone saw us leave together.

I kiss his throat, then nibble on his earlobe. He sighs, holding my hips, gently squeezing. "I don't usually do this," he murmurs.

"No?" I purr, kissing his jaw. He's already hard, I can feel him between my thighs. I smile coyly, cupping his face as I kiss his neck again. God, he smells so delicious.

"I got divorced… recently."

I sit up and look him in the eyes. I didn't even know he was married, or rather... still married. Him and his wife hadn't been seen in public for a while.

"I'm sorry," I say gently, pouting my bottom lip a little, "when?"

"A month ago."

My head tilts. He still has his hands me, holding me firmly. "You wanna stop?" I whisper. He glances over me, swallowing, gaze lingering on my low cut rich brown dress, how my breasts peak out from the gap, glistening with glittered body oil. He shakes his head and I smile slowly, "I can make you forget for a little bit," I murmur, grinding on him gently. "If that's what you want."

"I do," he murmurs.

"Yeah?"

He nods, swallowing again, and I gently bite my lip as I feel his grip on me tighten. "You're beautiful," he practically whispers. I bask in the praise, goosebumps skittering over me. I kiss him, cupping his cheeks. I can't quite believe I'm straddling Michael Jackson's lap right now, but I am. And he wants me.

His hands slide over my ass, taking a firm grip of the flesh. I moan, then squeal as he slaps me gently. I bite his bottom lip, then kiss him harder.

We pull up to my hotel not long later. The street outside is quiet, and so is the foyer. Michael's security does a quick sweep of the hotel and my room after I give them the key, then we're on the move. I'm so excited, i’m practically vibrating out of my panties as we wait, standing separately in the elevator. He watches me with those pretty doe eyes and I watch him back, still in disbelief that I get to fuck him tonight.

I take him to my room, and the moment the door is shut, I slide off my silk dress and reveal my body to him. His eyes graze over me, and he slowly slides off his long coat. His outfit is so finely put together it would be a shame to take it off, but... I want him. I want him bad.

He loosens his tie as I smirk and sway my hips to the bedroom, bending over purposefully and sliding off my thin black thong.

"God damn," he mutters from behind me as I climb onto the bed and wait for him, lying on my back.

His fine embroidered vest slides off, then his shirt, then those tailored pants. "You sure about this?" he asks me gently, moving over to the bed, so hard beneath his boxers I suddenly can't really think. My body burns, sex pulsing.

"Take them off, and fuck me."

He smiles, teeth latching gently onto that bottom lip briefly. He eases his cock out from his boxers, then beckons me over with a twitch of his long fingers. "Come here."

I gasp, excited, and shift onto my front, crawling over to the edge of the bed where he's standing, hard and ready. I know what he wants. My lips are one of my best features. Or at least People Magazine seems to think so.

I kneel, then ease his cock into my mouth, gazing up at him and pout my lips whilst sucking on his tip. His eyelids flutter as I suck harder, slathering him in my saliva. His hand rests gently on my head, then slides down to hold my cheek as I slide his length in and out of my mouth. "Beautiful," he murmurs, and I feel him pulse in my mouth as I moan for him.

His lustful sighs are so intoxicating that my own arousal drips down my inner thigh. I squirm, pressing my thighs together I ease Michael's cock deep into my throat and hold him here. He pulses, precum oozing so much I can taste him. "That's it," he praises softly, caressing my cheek with his thumb, "that's it, baby."

My eyes water as I slide him out, gasping for air. I blink the moisture away and lick my lips, gazing up at him.

"Lie back."

I do as he asks, completely entranced by him. My heart races as my thighs spread, revealing myself to his eyes. I slide my fingers down my stomach, towards my pussy. I'm soaked, completely, and I might've been embarrassed if it had been any of those random guys but Michael seems so into it that I'm into it too.

He touches me, grazing those long fingers through my slit before easing one inside of me. Pleasure tingles through me, but I want more. Right now.

"Please," I whine, spreading my thighs further, "Please, please, please."

He smiles, still so reserved despite his focus being locked in on my cunt. Then he's moving over me, positioning himself at my entrance, sliding inside. I gasp as my toes curl, my back arching as he fills me.

"Jesus," he hisses, using his forearms to hold himself over me as he stills between my thighs. I whine more, squirming against him, wanting more friction. Then he's moving, hips thrusting into me, pleasure spreading all over my body.

"Oh, fuck," I moan, caressing my hands up his arms to his shoulders. My legs bend and press back into the mattress, spreading myself wider for him. He groans, noticing my flexibility, pushes himself deeper, thrusts faster, more eager.

Obscene sounds leak out of where our bodies connect. I'm so wet, I can hear each movement. But I don't care, this man is insanely hot. I've never been this turned on before. I whine, wanting his lips and pout my own, "Kiss me,"

He does, and I wrap my arms around his neck as his hips continue to pound himself into me.

Then he's pulling out, motioning with a flick of those long fingers for me to turn over. I do so, eagerly pushing my ass in the air as he holds my hips.

This is exciting, so exciting. I'm keening, blushing and smiling as he pushes his cock back inside me, groaning as my wet heat envelopes him again. From this angle he hits a sweet spot inside of me, sending fireworks up my back. "God," I moan into my pillow, gripping the sheets as he grips my ass, smoothing a palms over the flesh then lightly slapping it.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks, voice hushed and so gentle I press myself back into him.

"Yes," I reply, glancing at him over my shoulder, "so so good. You're a king, baby."

His thrusts harden, grip tightening on my hips. An orgasm begins, tingling up from my toes, making me whine needily. "Don't stop," I plead. He groans, quickening his pace. "Just like that," I gasp, tingling rising faster and faster.

"Inside me," I beg, so overcome with desire and pleasure I don't want anything else but to feel this man release inside me. "Cum inside me, please."

His groans turn into a moans, thrusts hard and fast. My own orgasm hits me, and my vision whites out. I cry out, trembling, pulsing around him. With one last thrust, he cuts, pressing himself deep, holding himself there.

I can feel him throbbing, moisture sliding down my inner thigh. I'm panting into my mattress, dazed and relaxed as Michael caresses my hips, then slowly pulls out of me. I squeak when he pops free, surprised at how tightly my sex was holding onto him.

I flop forwards, then twist onto my back, looking to the man who made me orgasm harder than I have done before. "Where're you going?" I ask softly as he stands, reaches for his boxers, cock still hard and glistening.

He glances at me, face calm, despite the slight flush in his cheeks. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"Stay," I command in a light voice, patting the bed beside me. There is more than enough space, and I plan on having him again before dawn. I hold eye contact, knowing I'm going to get what I want, since I usually do. He watches me for a moment before he moves back onto the bed, lies next to me.

I smile, pleased, then get up, heading to the bathroom to clean up, wash my make up off and everything else. "Don't go anywhere," I tease, padding nude to the bathroom. He smiles a little, though I can see it in his face he can't quite believe we fucked.

When I reemerge, clean and ready for bed, he's still there. I climb into bed beside him, smiling at him. "What is it?" I ask.

"You're so young," he mutters.

"I'm twenty five. A full adult, actually."

"I mean in comparison to me."

I grin, and he glances away from me, lifting his hand to rub at his brow, as if he is genuinely stressed about this. I giggle at him. "Oh stop fretting, old man," I grasp his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face, "our age gap isn't that bad, I've been approached by eighty year olds."

He looks at me, frowning, "And you accepted?"

"No! I'm not a hoe."

He sighs, looking back to the ceiling. I want to laugh at him so bad because I can still see him thinking about our age gap. Which is not even that bad. Only fourteen years.

"Want to take me out to breakfast tomorrow?" I ask. He glances at me. "If it'll make you feel more like a gentlemen."

"Sure," he agrees. I yawn into my hand and snuggle close him, deciding in that moment, as he puts his arm around me, that I think I'd like to keep him. I've been thinking about getting a boyfriend for a few weeks now, actually.

"Are you on birth control?" Michael asks once we've been quiet for a few minutes.

"Yes," I say sleepily, eyes closed as I rest my head on his chest. "Disappointed?" I ask the quiet. He huffs, and I smirk.

We fuck again when morning comes, finishing inside me when I ask him to, then he does as he said he would, and takes me out for breakfast. I'm smiling like crazy at the odd romance of it all. He chooses a nice place for breakfast that gives us a private room so we can drink mimosas and eat smoked salmon.

I kind of half expect him to bid me farewell for good when his limousine drops me back at my hotel, but when I'm about to get out, he says: "wait."

I glance back at him, fluttering my eyelashes. "Yes?"

"Your cell phone."

I bite my lip as I grin, sliding the device out of my little pink purse. I hand my phone to him, and he gives me his, though frowns when he sees my rhinestone covered device.

When he hands me my phone back, I smirk at his contact. "Michael Jackson," I say, as if I wouldn't know who it is. The fact he put his full name is hilarious. "Cool," I grin, "call me, okay?"

He nods, so serious and so reserved. I'm giddy as I step out of his limousine and head back into my hotel, heels clicking with a big fat smile on my face.

Yeah, I know that man is mine now.

____________________________________________

End notes:

Okay so what did we think?! I’m low key in such a mature Michael Jackson phase that I’ve been devouring all content like a maniac omg.

Let me know if you guys want a part 2! ❤️💋