“m—mama,” panted michael, eyes darting to the firmly closed partition, to the windows now fogged up with his heaving breathing that painted tinted visions of the blinding lights of the city as the car whirled past, “mmh—gosh, i—”

“just let it happen, mikey,” you purred, pulling from his length, spit connecting your plush, swollen lips from the prior excitable kisses he’d stolen from you, to the head of his twitching dick, still resting heavily in your grasp as you lewdly pumped him as you talked, “let me please you, baby.”

“o-okay..” he spoke apprehensively, not because he wanted you to stop, absolutely not, he was enjoying himself thoroughly, but because he was still the shy, timid boy underneath that infamous stage presence, and knew he’d curse himself if anyone found him with his dick half-way down his girlfriend’s greedy throat in the backseat of his car.

you smiled, pecking the tip with a gentle kiss, swarmed with a sense of satisfaction as he whimpered at the sensation, before wrapping your lips back around the tip, instantly swirling your tongue over the slit that drooled with pre-cum, humming at the sweet, yet salty taste of his premature release on your tongue.

michael shivered at the feeling of the vibration of your noise around him, only doubling the pleasure as he panted heavier…if it was even at all possible with the speed his chest was rising and falling. his head fell back harshly with a loud thud against the headrest as you slithered further down his dick, taking him deeper and deeper with each loosening of your throat, his groans and whines of pleasure only growing louder as your nose pressed against his pubic area, nestling into the short tufts of dark, curly hair that painted the skin.

“oh, baby—i, oh gosh, i, i—”

he was babbling and nearing on incoherent as your tongue darted out and flattened against the underside of his dick, beginning to trace the thick, throbbing vein that rest along it as you slid back up. your hand pumped him faster as you bobbed your head in time with your movements, spit now coating near about everywhere on Michael as you increased your speed.

you really sent him toppling over the edge when you began suckling on the head like a sweet lollipop, increasing the pressure around his dick perfectly that sent him shaking as his orgasm neared.

“o-oh my, mama—i-i’m gonna—can i...can i—mmmph—can i…in your pretty mouth, mama, please? please, please.” rambled michael, his voice coming out broken and croaked as his eyes clamped shut, the pleasure taking full control over his shivering body, hips now jutting up into your mouth as he chased his release.

“cum down my throat, mikey.” you pulled off for half a second to mumble the words that had him moaning out loud, not a care in the world who heard, before latching back onto him quickly.

“s-shit—” he cried, mouth forming into an O shape, before his cock twitched violently in the erotic enclosure that was your warm, wet, welcoming mouth.

michael came whimpering and whining, rambling on, his voice breaking aggressively with each word, his hips now bucking senselessly into your mouth, his tip punching the back of your throat as his cum filled it. you squealed in surprise around him, your hand stilling around the base, now running cold from your slick saliva, as his release spurted into your throat, settling on your tongue, the tangy taste of him consuming your tastebuds.

michael vibrated with shakes as he came down from his high, his breathing ragged and uneven as his let himself attempt to catch his racing breath, his cheeks now flushed a dark shade of burgundy as the car thumped with heat.

you slid your mouth off his cock with a giggle, swallowing his release with a content smile as you watched him, sweaty and broken, dick going limp in his lap, his abdomen and crotch soaked in spit.

“sorry, mama, didn’t mean to loose control back there.”

“shhh.” said you with a smile still on your face, crawling up his frame to settle in his lap, hovering over his exposed dick, as he sighed and rest his hands on your hips with a lopsided grin, heavy eyes finding your own, “happy anniversary, baby.”

© dreamylace 2026 ❦ all rights reserved

It started casually. the house was quiet when michael stepped through the front door, the soft click of him closing the door filled the empty ambiance of your shared house in california. It was just past nine, the kind of late evening that came after long studio days. his curls were a little frizzed from the headphones, his shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, and the faint scent of tape and taste orange juice on his tongue still clung to him from the hours spent in the booth. he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the hook by the door, calling out into the stillness.

“baby? i’m home.”

no answer from the living room. the kitchen lights were off. he smiled to himself, already knowing where you probably were. you loved that big bathtub after a long day, the one with the claw feet and the little ledge where you kept your oils and the small radio which was spilling anita baker from it. he loosened his collar as he waltzed through halls, boots soft on the carpet.

the bathroom was clacked open, warm light and steam spilling into the hallway. the air smelled inviting, vanilla and your favorite cocoa butter soak filling his nose. he could hear the gentle lap of water whilst the low hum of your voice rang, low and soothing.

he knocked lightly, two taps. “you in there, minnie?”

your voice traveled back, a little sleep yet like velvet. “yes, mikey. come in.”

that gave michael the green light to push the door wider and step inside. the sight made something in him relax and made his chest and shoulders loosen up the way it always does when he comes home to you . you were sunk deep into the tub, brown skin glistening where the water met just right above your breast, curls pinned up and out your face, some stranded wet against your neck and forehead. you manicured nails rested against the edge of the tub, painted in a soft pink. your face was bare, shiny from the hot steam of the water.

you looked up at him and smiled, that easy, soft smile that pulled him from the beginning. “long day?”

he let out a breathy laugh and dragged the small vanity stool closer, sitting down so he was level with you but giving you your space. “long don’t even cover it. quincy had me in there till my throat felt like sandpaper.”

you tilted your head, watching him steadily, listening. “did you eat anything?”

he shrugs. “some crackers and orange juice in between takes, he kept saying ‘michael one more, give it your all’ i swear that man hears things in music no one can.” michael smiles, rubbing the back of his neck, tiredness taking over a bit and slightly dismissing the look of disapproval you gave him when he confessed he only ate juice and crackers. “we were working on that mid-tempo groove, the one with the strings. he had this idea to layer the background vocals like they were answering each other. i did the lead, then doubled it, then we tried it with a little breathy falsetto on the tag. he made me do it seven times before he was happy.”

you laugh softly, the sound of water sloshing as you moved. “seven time? that man is serious.”

“serious ain’t the word. but it felt good, you know? when it was finally right, the whole room just… breathed. after a little while i knew it was just right.”

you reached over, fingers finding the ones that were resting on his knee. “i’m so proud of you. you give everything your all and i know how much it takes.”

michael’s eyes softened. he looked at you for a long moment, really looked at the way the steam had made your skin glow, at the peaceful set of your shoulders, at the woman who had somehow become both his biggest cheerleader and his quiet place to land. “coming home to this… to you… it makes all the takes worth it. i was sitting in the booth between songs thinking about how lucky I am that I get to come back to somebody who knows the real me. not the lights, not the stage. just michael.”

now it was your turn to smile, some how after years of marriage, michael still managed to make you nervous. “we’ve built something real, haven’t we? even with the schedules and the noise outside. it feels steady. like we actually talk to each other instead of just existing in the same house.”

he nodded, leaning forward a little, elbows on his knees. “it does. I don’t take that for granted. some nights I come in so wound up from the studio, and you’re here… just being you. asking about quincy like you care about the music too. letting me ramble about ad-libs and basslines. that matters more than you know.”

felt warmth inside you, michael always says words that came from the heart it showed in his music as well. “i do care. because it’s part of you. and I married all of you, the man who stays up till three in the morning chasing a perfect vocal, and the one who still remembers to leave me love letters before he leaves.” your voice stayed light, casual, but the truth sat warm between you. “it’s not always easy with everything that comes with your name. but we make it work because we choose it every day. I choose you every day.”

michael reached out and gently took your hand, thumb brushing over your nails. “I choose you too. every single time. even when i’m held up at the studio, I know i’ve got you here waiting. not waiting like you’re stuck… waiting because you want to hear how it went. that’s the difference.”

“i’ll always want to know how your days went, it’s my favorite part of the day.” you smiled deeply when michael pressed a kiss on the dip of your knuckle, continuing his caresses on that same spot. the gesture never failed to make you blush.

the water had cooled a little, but neither of you moved to drain it yet. He stayed on the stool, talking with his hands the way he did when he got excited—describing how quincy had pulled out an old vinyl to show him a chord progression, how the two of them had ended up laughing over some silly studio mistake. you listened, asked questions about the strings, teased him gently when he admitted he’d drunk three cups of tea just to keep his voice going.

“you better be drinking real water too, michael,” you said, mock-stern but smiling. “I’m not trying to nurse you through another sore throat.”

he chuckled, that soft, high laugh that always made your chest feel full. “yes, ma’am. I already had two bottles on the way home. see? I listen.”

you let out a little chuckle, shaking your head a bit before relaxing into the water again.

you both fell into an easy silence for a minute, the only sounds the faint drip from the faucet and the occasional shift of water. It wasn’t heavy or dramatic—just the kind of quiet that came from knowing each other deeply. marriage wasn’t always fireworks; sometimes it was this. him still in his studio clothes, you in the tub after a long soak, talking about nothing and everything at once.

after a while he stood, stretched, and grabbed the big fluffy towel from the warmer. “you ready to get out, honey? water’s probably cold by now.”

you nodded, and he held the towel up like a curtain, turning his head politely even though you’d been married long enough that modesty wasn’t the point. It was just him being him—gentle, respectful, and yours. you stood, water cascading off your deep brown skin, and he wrapped the towel around you without making it anything more than care. his hands rubbed slow circles over your shoulders through the fabric, warming you up.

“dinner?” he asked, voice low and content. “we can just order from that spot you like and eat in bed. y’want me to rub your feet? i could use that oil you like.” you hummed, letting your eyes close as his ideas sounded good in your head.

“bed sound good, rubbing my feet sounds even better.”

michael grinned, pleased at your response. he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your silk-wrapped head. “then that’s what we’ll do. I missed this today. missed you.”

you turned in his arms just enough to look up at him, water still clinging to your lashes. “I missed you too. But you’re home now. And that’s all that matters.”

He grinned, that full, bright michael jackson smile that still made your stomach flutter after everything. “yeah,” he said, voice warm and sure. “it really is.”

he helped you into your robe, carried your glass downstairs, and the two of you moved through the rest of the evening the way you always did—side by side, talking, laughing, choosing each other in the quiet spaces between the music and the world outside. just a husband and his wife, building a life one ordinary, beautiful night at a time.