pairing: mature michael x reader
warnings: this story contains explicit penetrative sex (unprotected), a significant size difference between the characters, riding/cowgirl position, consensual pinning and being held down by arms, heavy chest-to-chest grinding and full-body contact, detailed focus on physical bulk and softness over muscle, a creampie, and mild dominance from the man while he remains on his back.
Idea: imagine your riding thick 2000’s michael, and he’s lying down flat on his back on the bed whilst you straddle him. Then he wraps both of his arms around you and pulls you down so you two are chest to chest, and you just feel his plumpness and muscles and there is a BIG size difference between you and him omg.. and then you feel his broad shoulders and your stomach is pressed on top of his..@michaelssparklyglove
You climb onto the bed and swing one leg over him, the mattress dipping heavily under the sheer bulk of him. Michael is stretched out flat on his back, his body on full display—his chest rising and falling slow, soft muscle layered over denser strength, a solid, heavy frame that makes the sheets crease around his hips and shoulders. His skin is warm under the low light. You settle your knees on either side of his thick thighs and look down at the size of him. He’s massive beneath you. Your hands look small when they brace against his chest
You reach between your bodies, guide the heavy, flushed head of his dick against yourself, and sink down. Inch by thick inch. A low, broken sound leaves his throat as your walls swallows him. You take him all the way until your ass settles flush against his hips and he’s buried deep, stretching you open around his solid girth. For a moment you just stay there, breathing, feeling how completely he fills you. Then you start to move.
You roll your hips in a deep, grinding rhythm, lifting just enough to feel the drag of him before sinking back down. Every descent makes your thighs tremble. His hands come up to rest on your waist, thumbs stroking the soft skin there, but the longer you ride him the more restless those big hands get. You lean forward a little, bracing on his chest, and the motion presses your stomach against the soft give of his midsection. The contrast is filthy—your smaller body working over all that heavy muscle and plumpness, the way his belly yields just slightly under yours while the rest of him stays solid and dense.
“Fuck… look at you,” he mutters, voice rough. His eyes are dark, fixed on the place where your bodies join. You keep riding him, slower now, grinding down hard so he can feel every inch of how tight you are around him. His hips start to meet yours in short, upward thrusts, the thick muscle of his thighs flexing under you. The bed creaks.
Then both of those arms come up and wrap around you.
He pulls you down hard, crushing you chest-to-chest against him. Your breasts flatten against the warm, solid plane of his chest. The sudden closeness steals your breath. His plumpness is everywhere—soft give over dense muscle, the kind of body that feels expensive and indulgent under you. Your stomach presses flush to his, the slight softness of his midsection yielding under yours, and you can feel the heat of him radiating straight into your skin. His broad shoulders fill your entire field of vision. Your face is tucked against the side of his neck, and the scent of his skin—warm, clean, a little like cologne wraps around you.
He keeps you locked there, arms banded tight around your back, holding you still while he starts thrusting up into you from below. Short, powerful rolls of his hips that drive him deep every time. You’re completely blanketed by him—his size, his heat, the solid weight of those arms keeping you pinned chest-to-chest so you can’t do anything but feel how completely he fills you. Every upward thrust makes your stomach press harder into his, makes you feel the difference in your bodies even more sharply how much bigger he is, how easily he can keep you exactly where he wants you while he fucks up into you with steady, greedy strokes.
You moan against his neck, fingers digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders. The breadth of them under your hands is ridiculous. You can barely span the width of one. He just holds you tighter, breathing hard into your hair, the soft weight of his chest rising against yours with every breath. His dick drags deep inside you on every thrust, the thick base of him grinding against you in a way that makes your thighs shake. You’re so full of him it borders on overwhelming—stretched around that heavy length, pinned by all that solid bulk, forced to take every upward roll of his hips while your smaller body is crushed against the warm, plush expanse of his.
He shifts one arm lower, wrapping it around the small of your back so he can pull you down even harder onto him. The new angle makes you gasp. Your stomach is pressed so tightly to his that you can feel every flex of the muscle underneath the soft layer. His other hand slides up your spine and settles between your shoulder blades, keeping your chest locked to his. You’re completely surrounded by him—broad shoulders, heavy arms, the solid heat of his body under yours. The size difference is impossible to ignore. He could cover you completely if he wanted. Right now he’s content to keep you trapped on top of him, fucking up into you with those deep, relentless thrusts while you can only cling to his shoulders and take it.
“Stay right there,” he murmurs against your temple, voice low and rough. “Just like that.”
You do. You stay chest-to-chest, stomach pressed to his, feeling every thick inch of him slide in and out while his arms hold you down. The friction is constant, deep, filthy. Your clit grinds against the base of him with every upward thrust. Heat builds low in your belly, sharp and insistent. He can feel it—the way you start to squeeze around him, the way your breathing goes uneven against his neck. His own rhythm gets a little rougher, a little deeper, the soft bulk of his body shifting under you with every powerful roll of his hips.
You come first, clenching hard around him with a broken sound muffled against his skin. He holds you through it, arms locked tight, thrusting up into the fluttering heat of you until the pleasure tips over into something almost too much. Only then does he let himself follow—burying himself to the hilt with a low, guttural groan, the thick pulse of him spilling deep while his arms keep you crushed against all that warm, solid bulk.
Even after, he doesn’t let go right away. He stays buried inside you, breathing hard, one big hand stroking slowly up and down your back while your smaller body remains draped over the heavy expanse of his. Chest to chest. Stomach to stomach. Completely surrounded by the thick, plush weight of him.
an: i love thick him so much. Like, I’ll eat the fuck out of him. They didn’t tell him how beautiful he was enough. Gosh, it was longer, but I deleted it and it’s not proofread, so I don’t care.
