Michael sported a childish grin — the corners of his lips tugging each side as he fought to suppress it.

“A camera.”

“I can see that, honey, but what’s it doing out while we’re kissin’?” Your tone had Michael pulling his bottom lip between his lips.

“Wanted to try somethin’.” He revealed, his voice soft and sweet despite the sensual undertone.

You’d barely been situated in Michael’s lap five minutes, lips moving feverishly against his own, anticipating some intimacy with your man, before the clicking of the Sony Handycam CCD-M8U you bought him for his birthday started a recording.

“Come on, baby, keep goin’.” He whispered — behaving like a producer backstage of a performance, using hushed tones to support you with your next act.

You shook your head in protest — lips parting to tell him to turn that damn thing off. But, it was Michael’s way or no way. He perched up from slightly beneath you, capturing your lips again on his own. You could sense the camera on you as Michael slid his eager tongue into your mouth — the wet muscle exploring yours as his right hand levitated in the air, capturing every second of your private moment. His spare hand slid up the centre of your spine, fingers tips tracing the dip, pushing you closer to his chest.

“Michael, turn it of—“ “Shh, just let it happen, doll.”

His muffled dismissal against your lips had you huffing into his — giving up fighting him. Luckily for Michael, you soon forgot about his little friend in the air — your enclosed lip-locking becoming increasingly more heated as time pursed. Your hips ground against his own involuntarily, muscle memory kicking in from your many previous sensual encounters, eliciting a sharp gasp from your throat. Michael hummed into your mouth at the sound of your first pretty noise of the night — the excitement of his future self watching the tape back and watching your neediness increase in real time had him buzzing.

Michael bucked his hips up to meet yours halfway — a genuine whine of desperation leaving your mouth against his own, still locked in a ferocious kiss. Your hands encased his flushed cheeks, holding him dearly close to you, your whines blossoming into authentic moans of pleasure as your throbbingly touch-starved clit nudged against the painfully obvious bulge in his slacks.

Your lips left Michael’s in a frantic, needy frenzy — planting hot, open-mouthed kisses to his jawline, lips dragging along the spectacularly chiseled bone, smothering the skin in your mauve lipstick. Before following his anatomy and furthering your pout down his neck, licking a tentative stripe down the slope.

Michael shuddered under your brutal teasing, hands twitching around the camera ever so slightly. He peered up at it, ensuring he was capturing you in the perfect way.

“Gosh, baby, y’look so pretty like that.” Michael breathed, titling his head back to allow you to expand your surface area of tentative licks, “Kissin’ all on me like that.”

At this point, all the sense you had to smack that camera out of Michael’s hand had long left your head. Now, all you were interested in was pressing hot kisses down Michael’s chest, shoving the loose shirt off his torso to give yourself more room to worship his body with your mouth.

Above you, Michael had managed to shift the camera angle down, now holding the painfully obvious equipment with two hands, resting on his heaving chest — angling it just right to show your arched frame moving down his body, lipstick marks forming on his glossed skin. Your manicured hands reached the waistband of his slacks before peering your head up from his crotch, eyeing him seriously, as if to say put that thing away now.

“Please?” His pleading, slightly whiny voice had any form of judgment you’d once obtained now ten feet out the window as his eyes sparkled above you — lip threatening to fall into a pout as the camera taped you rolling your eyes before unbuckling his trousers, shoving them down his thighs. Michael grinned excitedly as you pressed your chest close to the aching bulge in his boxers.

“Wow, you really do like that camera, huh?” You teased, tracing a calculated finger down the ridge of his hard cock.

Michael hissed at the sudden, feather-light touch, knuckles going white around said tech, lip being gnawed by his pearly whites at the sight of you between legs.

“Quit teasin’.” He spoke shyly, his eyes flicking between the screen and your in-person frame, an anticipatory smile on his face.

Usually, Michael would dislike it when you suck his dick — believing his lady should be pleasured and looked after, not made to strain herself for only his gain. But, he knew how you secretly enjoyed having your throat stuffed full, rendering completely at your mercy, so every once in a while, he’d allow it.

That and you looked so pretty with his cock in your mouth.

Especially on camera.

So, when your lips wrapped around the flushed head of his proud cock, Michael didn’t know whether to focus on making sure every second of this was caught on video, or the feeling of intense delight you were succumbing him to. You suckled the tip just how he liked, his salty, yet equally delicious, pre-cum flooding your taste buds, relishing in the way the perfect dip in his eyebrows adorned his face — he was crumbling.

“S-Shit, sweetheart, doin’ so good.” He panted, thighs tensing against your hands as you steadied yourself on the meaty muscle.

You slid him deeper, tongue dancing over the throbbing vein on the underside of his shaft, while your pretty fingers wrapped around the base, pumping him slowly in beat with your eager mouth. Michael watched you like a hawk — heart thumping in his chest so hard he was certain the tachycardia was going to send him into cardiac arrest at the way your seductive, doe eyes fluttered up at him through your lashes.

“Oh, Lord.” He heaved, head falling back against the pillow as the head of his swollen manhood punched the back of your throat — a loud gag of rejection sounding out into the room.

Michael secretly adored when you did that.

In his trance of lust, the camera slipped from his grasp, sliding down his side, leaving his hands free to slither down and cradle your face. You noticed.

“Ah, ah, ah!” You teased, pulling off his cock with a pop, saliva connecting you even in disengagement, “Thought you wanted it filmin’, angelface?”

Michael whined, trembling hands leaving your face to pull the camera back into his possession — focusing the lense to put you back into shot. Michael’s breath hitched at the sight — even on the choppy, blurry screen, your blown out pupils, tear-streaked, flushed red cheeks and swollen lips glossed with spit and his pre-cum had him twitching in your hand as you pumped him slowly.

“Look so fuckin’ good, girl.” He admitted, furrowed eyebrows hidden between the large hunk of plastic as he watched through it, “Can’t wait to watch this later.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to the head, collecting the pre-cum that dribbled down him with the tip of your tongue, smiling at the way Michael whined, “Oh, you dirty dog, Michael Jackson.”

Michael chuckled cheekily, “Come up here, wanna feel you.”

Obeying his orders, you let his hardened cock fall against his tensed abdomen, climbing up him once more. Your hips settled either side of him against, clothed pussy lips now hugging the thickness of his cock through your soaked panties.

“Well, would you look at that?” He started, a teasing finger coming down to toy with your damp underwear, a whine leaving your lips at the tentative touches, “Looks like you’re enjoying this after all, hm?”

You failed to reply — words catching in your throat as his finger traced the outline of your aching clit through the thin material, your lips parting at the sheer sensuality of his touch.

“Where’s that teasin’ girl gone, hm? Cat got your tongue, mama?”

“Michael.” Your voice a whiny, needy plea of despair.

“What, baby? Talk to me. Tell me whatcha’ need.” He coaxed, his tone a gentle dominant force that your mouth rambling to answer, to please.

You whined, hips rolling against the hard of his cock, rubbing alongside the pad of his finger that remained flat against your nub, “Plea—please, need it—need to feel you.”

Michael’s hand, steadily holding the camera, angled it perfectly to show your needy pussy humping his cock, as well as the eyebrows knitted in lust on your pretty little face — his cock twitching at the thought of fucking his hand to the recording later.

Michael tapped your hip, demanding you lift your hips to have access to your drooling cunt. He peeled the drenched cotton panties from your puffy pussy lips, tucking them to the side of your vulva. With practiced ease, Michael slid an expert finger between the slickness of your cunt — collecting the sweet essence of your arousal on his digits. With methodical swiftness, a long finger of Michael’s slipped into the clenching hole which needed him most.

“Mmh, such a pretty pussy, doll. Got all wet just for me?”

Michael knew the answer, he just loved to hear you say it. Loved to hear you admit in your drunken state of ecstasy that he was the one to make you slick with arousal. Michael’s fingers moved with excellence you were stunned by each and every time — the relentless abuse against the sweet, spongy spot inside you that had you crying out, tears jerking from your ears at the sheer force of the sensation.

“Ooh, there she go,” He whispered, the ball of his hand coming up to roll against the excluded nub that was screaming for touch, a move that had you sobbing, “That’s the spot, huh, ma? So good it got you cryin’ f’me, hm?”

His name left your swollen, cum-stained lips in a wretched sob, nails digging into the flex of his bicep, gripping on for dear life as you fucked yourself onto his hand.

“Y-Yes! Yes—o-ah! Yes, God, Mike—gonna cum!”

Michael could’ve laughed at the way your face dropped in sheer disbelief as he pulled his hand away from your sopping cunt after your confession of near climax. Your chest heaved, clit throbbing as your eyes welled up, pulling on Michael’s heartstrings.

“Oh, sweet girl.” He laughed, leaning up to press a soft kiss to your pouting lips, “Need you to cum around my cock, babygirl, yeah? Can you do that for me, pretty lady?”

You nodded meekly, bottom lip still jutted out in protest as Michael guided his cock between your shaking legs. Just as his burning hot tip slid into the familiar, wet comforts of your hole — your disappointed pout fell into a gasp of relief.

Michael laughed, his free hand coming to pull on your bottom lip, cock slipping further inside you, “Don’t want this out again, you hear me? No poutin’ girls around here.”

You nodded feverishly — not ever wanting to disobey him, in fear he’d take away the one thing that’s fulfilling the desire that burned fiercely inside you, as he stretched you open, inch by inch. The camera, still rolling, captured all of this — the way each inch of his cock disappeared slowly, your pretty pussy lips wrapped around his shaft, your slick drooling around him.

You whined, feeling impossibly full as he bottomed out, seating you fully down onto his pelvis. His own bottom lip was sucked in between his teeth, admiring the sight of your perfect frame on top of him.

“Oh, I bet you’re so full, huh, baby? Usually don’t let y’ride me first — can feel that pussy throbbing.” He confessed, laughing softly as you whimpered, his free hand slithering up your bared body — making sure to record his hand palming your tits through your lacy bra.

Michael wasted no time pulling the material off your body, reaching behind you to flick the fastener apart one-handed — watching as the bra fell from your chest, your perky tits on full display to him, and the camera, of course. His teasing fingers crawled up you, grabbing a gentle handful of your right breast, humming at the feeling of the soft skin and the sound of your desperate moan. You shuffled around him — wincing at the feeling of his perfectly curved cock nudging your quivering walls, awaiting the approval to start moving.

No matter what you were doing — Michael was always in control.

Michael moved his hand to roll your erect nipple in between his nimble fingers, “Go’head, girl, show me how much you need it.”

You didn’t wait for him to change his mind, not that he would with the way you were clenching eagerly around him, lifting your hips off him, about half-way, before slamming back down. Your head fell back instinctively, a cry of sheer joy slipping from your lips, only encouraging Michael to throb inside you.

“Come on, sweetheart, falling apart after one bounce? Can do better than that.” He teased, smirking at the way you bit your lip shyly, suddenly embarrassed at how much effect he had over you.

Your hips rose again — now bouncing with the help of Michael’s tight grip on your hip, pulling you up and down on him. You whined, cheeks flushed in timidity as he hummed behind the screen.

“Oh, that’s the fuckin’ money shot, girl. My baby’s a natural. Look at that pussy—fuck, yeah, doll, keep goin’.”

Michael’s words of encouragement had you crying out — moaning in pure lust as his cock continued to relentlessly nudge against the best spot inside you, one he never failed to hit each time. Michael’s hand cradled your hips dominantly, grinding you down with each movement, rubbing your clit onto his neatly groomed pubic bone, failing to hide the smirk that crept onto his face at the sound of your needy noises.

“That’s it — let me hear you, darling.”

“Mike.” You whined, hand coming up to grabs handful of your tits and the other holding yourself up on his chest, slick with sweat. Michael’s eyes could’ve popped out of his head at the sight of you — seductively playing with your perky breasts, nipples rolling between your fingers like he once did, head thrown back, mouth agape letting your slutty moans fall upon his perked up ears.

Now, this was the shot.

Michael couldn’t wait another moment. Throwing the camera down on the bed, he lifted you up with both strong hands, pulling you off his slicked cock, and laying you down gently on the bed with ease.

“Mikey.” You whinged, “Please.”

“I know, sweet thing, ‘m coming back, don’t worry that pretty little head.” He reassured, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Michael slid you onto your side with ease, one shaking leg laying over the other, revealing your swollen cunt. He slid a soft hand over your skin, squeezing the plush of your ass, humming at the sight of you beneath him. He picked up the discarded camera once more, pointing it down at you once more.

“Now, this,” He started, “is the perfect position for when my baby’s gettin’ recorded. Y’know why, sweet girl?” He spoke, sliding the flushed head of his cock between your drooling folds, ignoring the way you whined loudly, peering up at him as if to beg him to shut up and just fuck you, “Because I can see this perfect ass, cute lil’ waist, beautiful titties, and most importantly,” He complimented cheekily, free hand sliding over each body part as he listed them, before gripping your chin between his index finger and thumb, “This pretty little face makin’ the cutest faces while I fuck her needy little pussy.”

Michael entered you in one swift motion — the cutest faces he was referring to filling your expression, a loud cry leaving your lips. His name fell from your mouth like a prayer, a chant, as he rocked into you deeply — his cock-end nudging your cervix each time, sending you clawing at the bedsheets. Pleased with himself, Michael smiled behind the camera once more, angling it down perfectly to capture every aspect of you he listed — tits bouncing, ass recoiling against his abdomen, face contorted into pleasure and his cock sliding in and out of your raw cunt, a white, milky ring forming around the base of him.

Michael was in heaven — knowing this video wouldn’t be your last as he watched you through the small screen, hand now clawing at his flexed arm, nails digging into the skin as he filled you.

“Michael, Michael!—fuck, Mike, please, God, fuc—“

“Hmm, that’s right, dollface, tell me all about it. Feelin’ good?”

You whined desperately, clit throbbing against his free hand that had slithered between your sweating bodies to rub tight, practiced circled onto the aching nub, “Gonna fuckin’ cum, Mikey, please, don’t sto—ah!”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, sweet girl,” He admitted, leaning down, not caring about the camera angle, as he pressed soft kisses to your face, some landing on your parted lips, now only bothered about your pleasure, “Cum around me, baby, wanna feel it.”

The nearing peak of your orgasm crawled down your body, nestling in your abdomen, body slowly igniting in fierce heat. The sheer explicitness of the intimate moment had adrenaline and lust pumping through your veins. Your trembling hand reached across the bed, taking a hold of the camera once more, holding it out for him.

“Want it to see you fill me up wit—ah!—with your cum, Mikey, please.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Your provocative declaration had him frantic — doubling over, one hand on the bed, the other steadying the camera, fucking you twice as fast. Your cries only getting louder as he pounded the sweet spot inside you over and over again, his name being screamed so loud you were certain the whole house could hear.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—there! ‘M there!”

You orgasmed with a cry so loud it had Michael cursing under his breath at the eroticism — revelling in the way your cunt squeezed him, sucking him in further as you came around him, nails dragging down his tensed back.

Michael wasn’t far behind you, fighting every urge in him to throw the camera away and fuck his seed so far into you that you’d be swollen with him for days, but holding it firmly in his grasp, recording just how sweetly your cunt milked him for everything he had to offer, your slickness pooling beneath you. He, though, forced himself as deep into you as he could go — making sure the camera picked up on his your cunt accommodated the sheer size of him, his milky white cum now frothing around the base of his softening cock.

He slowly pulled himself out of you with a wince, “Hold still for me, babygirl.” He ordered, forcing your legs to stay open as he leant down between your thighs, groaning at the way his cum drooled out of your swollen cunt, sliding down your shaking thighs.

Feeling a sense of post-orgasm confidence, you slid two tentative fingers between your legs, dipping into your sopping cunt, collecting both your juices onto your digits. Michael could sense where this was going, softened cock twitching, threatening to harden as you slipped your slick fingers into your mouth — sucking the mix of your salty and tangy essences clean from your burning skin.

“Holy shit, baby,” Michael breathed, feeling as though he was capturing pure talent through the screen as you released your fingers with a pop, similar to how you did with his cock prior, eyeing the camera with a knowing smirk,

“Got myself my own filthy lil’ pornstar, huh?”

His eyes flickered over to your relaxed frame — a soft smile evident on your lips as your gaze remained on the TV in front of the pair of you, popcorn being nestled into your mouth.

To a passer-by, the scene was innocent — a young couple, going steady, spending the evening together with a warm, salty snack and their favourite late-night Television show.

What they wouldn’t notice is your leg — your oh so taunting leg that suddenly came up to rest against his own, pressing together so tightly there was no space left between.

Again, to a passer-by, this would be seen as fairly straightforward act from girlfriend to boyfriend — a leg pushed up against one another’s as they practiced close proximity.

But, to Michael, it was an enticing gesture that threatened to break any vices he had.

All because of one touch.

Your warm laughter at a particular humorous scene made Michael jump — something you still failed to notice. His mind, running away with itself at the simple push of one’s leg against his had him spiralling.

You and Michael had been seeing where things go, as they say, with your newly established relationship. You knew as he, being a global superstar and all, had slight experience with female companions in the past, but he’d assured you it was nothing too serious — nothing quite like what he felt for you.

Michael was a darling — something beyond a gentlemen, a gift sent from God himself. Generous, kind, gentle, tender and affectionate — Michael was your man. He treated you with the utmost respect, bowing down to his lady like his life depended on it, tending to any need you wanted, just because he wanted to see you smile.

You were desperately in love.

But, something.

Something was missing.

Something as little as a touch could fix.

You knew Michael was shy, especially so when it came to the topic of sexual activity.

You’d overheard conversations he’d had with his older brothers — Michael being teased for still not making love to his girl, and Michael’s shy, embarrassed response gave you every answer you needed as to why those acts had not occurred yet.

He was nervous.

Nervous beyond words.

Exactly how he felt right now.

You moved again, a subconscious shuffle, readjusting your self in your seat — harmless, right?

Not for Michael.

The way your jeans rubbed against his own, thigh on thigh, had his brain reeling with desire — his heart thumping so loud in his chest he was sure you could hear it. He felt utterly helpless as his body threatened to betray him right next to you.

"Popcorn?"

This time, when Michael physically jumped at your soft voice, you noticed — a playful giggle leaving your lips.

"Someone’s jumpy." You teased, "Everything okay?"

Michael swallowed again — forcing a smile onto his face to maintain his calm and collected persona as he met your sparkling eyes, a wave of infatuation cascading through him.

"A-All good." He forced out through pursed lips, feeling bashful under your gaze.

You hummed in response — clearly suspicious of his response, but choosing to brush past it, as you turned your attention back to the TV.

Michael let out a silent, shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding — his eyes fluttering shut momentarily as he composed himself. He was 20 years-old for Christ sake and was stuttering and blushing in front of his girl like he was a frigid adolescent.

"Knew something was up."

Michael jolted in his seat, eyes shooting open as they met your own, a knowing smirk on your face. But, what didn’t you didn’t realise and what he knew would make matters worse — was your manicured hand resting innocently on his clothed thigh.

Oh, Lord.

The one thing Michael was dreading in his passionate state of pining was the intimate feeling of your beautified nails on his strained leg. Your soft, perfect skin against him properly, no more denim on denim, his girl’s real-life hand, metaphorically burning a hole into his jeans.

Dreading it purely as he knew his traitorous cock would stiffen at the mere touch of your loving hands on his tensed leg.

And that it did.

"Hm?" He croaked out, voice breaking in his throat. Jesus, Michael, he thought.

"You’re tired, aren’t you?" You observed, incorrectly, "Shall we head up to bed?"

In your head, that translated to getting ready to fall into a slumber you assumed Michael needed. In Michael’s corrupted brain, he instantly went to the other activities couples get up to in bed.

With a bite of his bottom lip, his timid gaze flickered down to your hand, now rubbing comforting circles on his stiff leg. If there wasn’t a tent in his trousers before, there definitely was now.

You giggled softly at his shy demeanour, taking his warm hand in your own, missing the way his breath hitched, "Come on, I wanna get cosy."

Michael obeyed as you stood up, dragging him with you — your hand still encased in his, leading him towards the stairs. Humming as you flicked off the lights in each hallway, Michael gnawed his bottom lip continuously, anticipation radiating off him like heat.

Michael’s bedroom was relaxation encapsulated — dim, warm lighting, a record player waiting for his own beautiful voice to fill the room and a beautiful, large four-poster bed adorned with clean, cream linen sheets, almost begging to be used.

You sighed softly as Michael pressed the door closed, your hands disconnecting, a whine threatening to leave his lips at the sudden loss of connection, before you reached for the hem of your t-shirt. With your front turned to him, your nimble fingers began lifting your shirt over your head.

Michael gasped, turning his head the other way before his eager eyes came in contact with your bare skin. His heart drummed in his chest at the near vision of your breasts, the tent in his trousers throbbing at the thought.

You laughed lightly, "Michael?”

He huffed softly, words suddenly failing him as he still refused to look your way, "Y-You can’t just do that." He admitted, his voice laced with defeat.

You let your shirt fall from your fingers, back to its original placement around your middle, "What? Get changed?"

"Yes." Michael’s voice was one octave away from a whine.

"Why not? I’m your girlfriend, aren’t I?"

"Well, yes."

"And you’ve seen them before, haven’t you?"

Michael’s ears burnt at the thought, "Clothed but I suppose yes."

You chuckled at his frame — facing the window as still as statue, like he had committed a crime and was damned to never move again unless he wanted instant death. He looked utterly hopeless — his eyebrows furrowed nervously and his hands shaking at his hands at the mere idea you were threatening to get bare in front of him.

"Michael." You muttered, approaching him slowly, raising a hand to cup his red-hot cheek, burning with need, "I don’t mind you lookin’"

He shook his head rapidly, "I can’t."

You gently manoeuvred his face to look you in the eye, the visible bob of his throat highlighted his anxiousness, "Baby." You chuckled breathily, "Why not?"

"Because if I do, then I’ll wanna do things to you I shouldn’t."

Now you were the one whose breath was hitching in their throat. Your eyes widening slightly in shock at your ever so timid boyfriend’s words — you had been taking this slow as you knew he was new to sensual acts, as were you, but the way he was speaking had your clit twitching at the possibility of him being ready to go all the way.

"Michael." Your voice was quiet, tender — anticipating his next words as the unpredictability of him increased.

Your hand slid down his cheek, to the back of his neck, your fingers lacing through his curls that tapered the nape — a whine of need slipped past his lips that sent shivers down your spine.

His forehead dropped to yours — his body twitching at the feeling of your slender fingers twirling his tiny ringlet curls around each digit, the relentless feeling of undeniable arousal spreading through him like a rash.

Now flush against his body, heat exuding from him like a scolding furnace perforating your own skin, your clothed cunt was deliciously pressed against the reason Michael was so tetchy. You leaned up — pressing your needy lips against his own, a whine of pure joy emitting from Michael’s throat as you connected. His hands pressed against the small of your back tentatively, pushing you closer to him, if that was at all possible, as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. You gasped into him at his boldness, the desperate side of him blossoming at the mere touch of your lips.

His ever-growing, throbbing cock pushed against your crotch so perfectly, if your clothes weren’t on, he’d have slotted between your slick folds like a puzzle piece. A quiet whimper ripped from your throat at the feeling of him — hard and thick, a statement of his lust.

You peered up at him once more, disconnecting your lips, as your heart skipped a beat at the sight — Michael’s bottom lip pulling down in a pout, cheeks flushed pink, paired with his beautiful eyes brimming with tears at the overwhelming desire his body was yearning for.

"Oh, baby." You whispered, your fingers instinctively curling against his skin, the longing to protect and please him growing in your chest at his teary-eyed expression.

"I’m sorry." Michael whimpered, pressing his clothed boner into your body, "Can’t help it. Just wanna feel you."

Your knees nearly buckled at the submission he was providing you — his whiny, needy persona had you buzzing, your mind running away with itself.

"Honey, it’s okay." You reassured, his puppy-dog eyes meeting your reassuring ones, "Let me make it better."

Michael nodded quickly, his furrowed eyebrows deepening as you fell to your knees in front of him — his mouth falling agape at the sight of you below him. The most you’d ever done was desperately hump one another, clothed, before mutual orgasming in your underwear — you’d never seen one another fully bare before, let alone have him in your mouth. Just as your eager reached for the buckle on his slacks, his hands grasped yours, swiftly but gently.

"Wait — I-I can’t make you strain yourself for me." He revealed, worriedly.

You smiled lovingly up at him, the reminder that no matter how aroused he was — he was still that perfect gentlemen underneath.

"Just for tonight — since it’s so uncomfortably hard for my baby."

Michael thought for a second — his brain fighting his gentlemanly instincts against his pleasure-hungry opponent, before nodding once more, giving you all the consent needed. Your hands worked quickly — the buckle of his smart trousers coming undone and being pushed down his legs, along with his boxers, before he could even register.

You gawked at the sight before you — Michael’s thick, heavy cock bobbing in your face, pre-cum drooling from the flushed tip keenly. Your lips fell open, subconsciously begging to have him slip inside your mouth, as you admired his manhood. Michael groaned above you in embarrassment — his hands coming up to cover his blushing face, the sight of you marvelling at his hard-on had him bashful.

With a shaky wrist and a glob of saliva, your hand wrapped delicately around his shaft — the noise that left Michael’s covered lips had you rubbing your thighs together. Your slick palm instrumentally pumping him, up and down, up and down, up and down, dangerously slow. He was a mess above you — arms around his head, buried into his inner elbow as he whined, pushing his lips into your enclosed fist, the sensation of his throbbing cock fucking your lubricated hand had his knees threatening to buckle.

Your lips encased around Michael’s tip without warning — sending the poor boy into shock. His hand flew to your head, entangling his long fingers in your hair as you slid him deeper into your warm, wet mouth.

The feeling that did send Michael’s knees buckling was when your eager tongue, cock still 5 inches deep in your throat, traced the pulsing vein underneath his shaft.

Michael crumbled to the bed, his bare backside hitting the mattress in a tumble — his mewls of burning desire failing to mimic his fall, but only increasing as you hummed in surprise around him, your hands grasping at his meaty thighs at the sudden flail.

In the chaos of his collapse, Michael’s pulsating dick forced itself perfectly at the back of your throat — all of his inches slithering into your willing mouth. You cried around him — tears now brimming the corners of your eyes as Michael yelped beneath you, succumbing to the feeling of his tip abusing your uvula. The rumble of your wail around him had Michael purring out whimpers of pure ecstasy, revelling at the feeling of you gagging around his cock.

Michael could sense the climb of his climax becoming increasingly clearer — his shaking hands coming up to slide your mouth off of him. With a huff of desperation, his antsy voice sounded in your ears.

"Please — wanna do it inside you."

Nodding restlessly, climbing up his seated frame — pushing his chest back against the bed to lay him down fully. Standing, you slithered out of your clothes — your bare body rendering Michael speechless as your glorious hips, tits and waist hit his vision. Finally, you climbed out of your undergarments — pulling your damp panties off your quivering legs, holding them in your hand as you crawled to slide either side of his hips.

"Open." Your commanding voice had Michael throbbing against his stomach — his cock achingly hard as he obeyed you willingly, sliding his mouth open.

As your enthused hand wrapped around his base, sliding his drooling tip between your folds — your hands crawled to his face, obsessing over the needy expression on his face.

"Be a good boy for me and stay quiet, okay? Gonna make my baby feel so much better."

Cramming your damp panties into his keen mouth, you stuffed your wavering cunt full of his cock — a predictable groan of his relief filling the material. Michael revelled at the taste of your arousal his tongue as he stretched your cunt to the sheer size of him — the sweet, tangy essence of you clouding his taste buds. His hands shook against your hips where he gripped you so tight you were certain bruises would be remain. You too let the tremor of pleasure possess your body as Michael stuffed you full to the brim, his tip dripping against your fertile cervix.

Your name fell from his lips like a prayer as you began to move, lifting yourself from his pelvis in a slow, teasing movement that had him whining beneath you in despair.

"Please, please — God, oh, baby, please." He cooed, spitting your panties from his mouth, saliva coating his lips and chin, chest heaving, "God—I love you, I love you so much—So good to me, sweet girl, fuck, oh—“

He was blabbering — like his mind had turned to mush at the pure stimulus of his dick, relishing as you bounced on him. Your tits jerking with every leap, a fucked-out expression on your face and the way your cunt clenched around him had his head pounding. You were literally fucking him dumb.

"God, Michael — cock’s so perfect." You cried, leaning down to press a kiss to his swollen lips, "Feels so good."

Michael whimpered on your mouth, "Thank you, God, baby, thank you, thank you." He chanted, his hand sliding around to grasp a handful of your ass, "N-Never felt anything like this in my life — you’re angelic."

His praise sent floods of adoration through your veins, your cheeks flushing as you admired the beautiful man beneath you — his own cheeks reddened, lips swollen and slick with his spit and your juices, and his eyes a needy, silent plea of arousal.

Michael grew curious — temptation taking over he slid a careful hand around your body, his agile fingers latching to the agonised nub that was begging for touch the most. You exclaimed in delight as Michael’s eager fingers rubbed tight, practised circles on your clit.

"Oh, Michael." You murmured, your hands sliding down his heaving chest, "Doing such a good job, baby."

"Yeah? Am I doing good, mama?"

"So good, darling — gonna make me fucking cum around your cock."

"Oh, Lord." Michael squeaked, his lips slipping under his teeth as a way to suppress his submissive noises.

You could tell he was close by the glint in his eyes — so eager, desperate, longing to fill your tight cunt up to the brim with his hot seed. But, you, unbeknownst to your betraying body, came in surprise. The orgasm hit you like a train at a thousand miles per hour — your legs shaking at his hips, your mouth wide open as noises of theatrical ecstasy slipped from deep within your chest. Michael whimpered at the mere sight of you cumming around him — the feeling of your clenching cunt, now forming a white, frothy ring of sweet nectar around the base of his cock, had him peaking, too.

Though, Michael came a lot more desperately than you.

"Oh, Lord, god, please forgive me for I have sinned." He cried, tears streaming down his cheeks, head thrown back against the sheets as he held you tighter, pulling your body down against his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut, "Lord, please, God — forgiv—"

His orgasm rendered him mute — his voice shutting off as he moaned louder than you ever had, bewitched by the sensation of your cunt milking him for all he’s worth. He stuffed your quivering pussy to the brim — his never-before sexually released seed squelching out the side of where you connected, cum drooling from both of you, pooling on his abdomen.

Michael’s tears soon subsided, sniffling as he nuzzled deep into your neck, rubbing his face into your sticky skin — wanting nothing more than to be as close to you as possible, doing so by keeping his softening cock inside your stretched cunt. Your gentle hands, shaking with the aftermath of your climax, came up to stroke his sweat-stricken curls, cooing him to calmness.

"You okay, sweet boy?" You spoke quietly, your voice hoarse from all the screaming — cupping his face to lock your eyes.

Michael knew he could’ve said a thousand words to show his adoration and pure appreciation of how you just blew his mind and rocked his world all in the space of an hour, but instead he met your gaze with a hazy, fucked-out expression on his gorgeous face, and spoke two words he’d been meaning to say all night that he felt were more fitting.

"Thank you."

i got this idea from another creators fic, but can’t for the life of me find the user. if anyone knows who it is pls lmk!!! reqs are open! edit: found it!!

Maybe you were overthinking it, or maybe it was because you hadn’t seen, heard from or touched your husband in 3 days. 3 long, excruciating days. Michael usually would call, but it seemed the concentration and focus the album needed was at the centre of his mind.

So, you had situated yourself in front of the television — a movie you’d already seen twice playing in front of your tired eyes. Barely focusing on what the actors were saying — you drifted off to a place where your husband was. Picturing him sat beside you — warm, salty popcorn in a bowl and a freshly squeezed orange juice in hand, giggling away at a movie he loved.

The soft smile that had crept onto your face slowly sank away into the depths of despair at the reminder your man wasn’t here, and you had no idea when you’d next see him.

You knew you could see him if you really wanted to by paying Westlake Recording Studios a visit, but, Quincy Jones was a perfectionist like Michael, and any unnecessary distractions this close to finishing the album were not permitted to enter the studio.

And you were definitely a distraction to Michael.

Despite being a busy man, whenever you did spent time together, by God did he make up for lost time. That man would spend 50 days and 50 nights making up for any time you’d spent apart by showering you in irrevocable affection to show you just how much he missed you too.

With an exaggerated yawn, you glanced at the glistening gold watch around your wrist, one Michael had gifted you for your 4th wedding anniversary. Mumbling about the time, the numbers 20:38 stared back at you.

‘Time to get ready to sleep alone, again’ You thought to yourself.

Sighing dramatically, you pushed yourself off the couch, switching off the television and dragging your tired feet towards the stairs. The house was always eerily dark and quiet at this time of night, especially being alone, leaving goosebumps down your arms as you reached your even quieter bedroom.

A wave of sadness hit you as you observed your cold, dark and pitiful bedroom — once filled with glistening low lighting, a bottle of Champagne and love-making all night, giggling with your other half. Now, the total opposite.

And the worst thought of it all — even when the album was finished, you knew he’d be touring, and you’d either be stuck at home alone permanently or living on the road for the next year. Either way, you’d do anything for Michael — which agitated you even more.

There was no one better — he was the one for you, the one you promised at the alter that you’d be there, sickness and in health, for better and for worse. This was the worse they were referring to. You loved him more than life itself to ever leave him — it’d break your heart more than this loneliness ever would.

For now, you’d wait for his call. Sit around all night, yawning and rubbing your tired eyes — awaiting a call that would never come, before succumbing to sleep and kicking yourself in the morning for not staying up for him.

Brushing away the negative thoughts that corrupted your mind, you trudged to the bathroom, deciding a floral scented body cream to flood your nostrils would hopefully cheer you up. Grabbing the large bottle, you squeezed a small amount out of the tube — rubbing the delightful smelling cream into your arms, your eyes locking on the phone on your nightstand.

‘If he didn’t call by 10 o’clock, you’d call.’ You decided, knowing that the next hour would be spend watching the time, feeling as though watching paint dry would be quicker. But, what else would a viciously devoted wife do?

Once your body was slicked with the fanciest lotion Michael could’ve possibly bought, just because, you slipped under the covers of your four-poster bed, the Emerald green, satin bedsheets sliding over your skin like water as you settled down.

21:05, Check the clock.

21:18, Sigh irritatingly at the ceiling.

21:25, Rest your eyes for a moment to pass the time.

21:29, Surely at least 10 minutes had gone by—oh, no, just 4 minutes!

"Oh, fuck this." You mumbled to yourself, ignoring the 21:34 on the clock metaphorically screaming ‘You’re weak’ at you as you picked up the phone and dialled the number to Westlake Studios.

The sound of the phone ringing droned on throughout the room — your nails tapping impatiently on the handle, your bottom lips being gnawed on as you waited.

"Hello, Westlake Recording Studios, this is Susie, how can I help?"

"Hi Susie. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you why I’m calling, huh?" You chuckled into the phone, knowing your voice was recognisable by now.

"Oh, good-evening, Mrs Jackson," She replied, a smile evident in her voice, "Let me check with Mr Jones that he’s available, okay? Give me a sec, sweetie."

"No problem."

A rustle, a click and the sound of the hold music indicated Susie, the receptionist at Westlake, was calling Quincy Jones to make sure your husband wasn’t knee deep in a song. Knowing your husband, he probably was.

Click! "Hey, sweetie, just gonna connect you now."

Butterflies erupted in your stomach like a lovesick teenager at the confirmation you were about to speak to your husband, having to bite back a smile at the thought of hearing his sweet voice.

Click! "Baby?"

Oh, Lord, it was better than you imagined.

You sighed a sweet relief, "Oh, darling, it’s so good to hear your voice." You admitted straight off the bat, "Hi, my love."

Michael laughed, a smile that hurt your cheeks creeping up onto your face, "Hi, sweet girl, are you okay?"

"I’m so much better now I’m talking to you." You spoke, clutching the phone in two hands in desperation, "Mikey, I miss you so much."

"I know, baby, I miss you too." Michael agreed, "I’m coming home tonight, so don’t fret that little head anymore, okay?"

"Really?"

"Yes, really, my baby, I can’t wait to hold you." His voice as sweet as sugar, echoing in your brain like an addiction begging to be tended to, "My beautiful wife all alone — makes me so sad."

"So alone." You pouted, craving to be babied, "Need you so bad, Mike." You whispered.

Michael breathed out a laugh, your grin deepening as you pictured his flustered face behind the phone — blush creeping onto his face at your suggestive words, "Oh, darling." He whispered, "I love you, I hope you know that."

"I love you so much more." You sighed, "The house is so quiet and boring without you."

"I know, I know. I’m sorry I’ve left you for so long — things have been hectic here. Y’know how Quincy gets when the album’s nearly finished, he just gets so excited and just wants to make that push to the finish line without stopping."

"I know." You mumbled, toying with the phone cord, "I just can’t wait to have you all to myself."

"Won’t be long, baby. Only a few hours."

"Mm, I can’t wai—" "Mikey, come back, the album won’t finish itself!"

Silence filled the room as your eyes widened, the smile wiped clean off your face as the reality of what you just heard hit you.

A female voice — calling your husband the nickname you have for him, beckoning him back to the studio. A voice laced with an undertone you didn’t like nor want to hear the other end of the phone knowing she was with your man and not you.

Absolutely the fuck not.

"O-Okay, Coming!" Michael called out, "Baby, I gotta go."

"Who was that?" You pressed, your eyebrows knitted together.

"Oh, just another producer. I’ll speak to you later, okay? Don’t wait up for me. Love you."

Click! Beeeeep!

Your jaw dropped, moving the beeping phone away from your ear as the line disconnected. You blinked, in utter shock at the conversation that just occurred in your ear without even a second to process.

Your brain ran a mile a minute as you replayed the scene in your head. An unfamiliar female voice, with a suspicious tone, calling your husband back to the studio, then being hung up on after being told to not wait up for him, ending with the ‘I’ missing from ‘I love you’, had you spiralling as you placed the phone down.

The silence that consumed the room was deafening — your heart beating out of your chest as your mind ran away with itself.

Michael, tired, lonely, and equally as sexually frustrated as you, alone with a musically talented woman who’s investing in his career and spending more 1-on-1 time with him than you, could easily lead to—

You’d never picked the phone back up quicker, speed dialling the Studio back, the mortifying thought of anything happening clouding your judgement, your foot tapping impatiently against the floor, now sitting on the edge of your bed cautiously.

"Hello, Westlake Recording Studio, this is—“

"Hi, Susie, it’s me again. I need you to connect me with Michael again right now please." You rushed through gritted teeth.

"Oh! Hello, again, I thought I already connected you, sweetie?"

"You did. But, I need connecting again, please. Now." You pleaded, your shaking fingers pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Let me check with Mr Jones, okay? One second."

Click! Before you even had chance to plead her to just put you through, the hold music sounded again. Groaning as you flung backwards onto the bed, phone still pressed to your ear, you could feel the anger growing inside you.

Click! "Hey, honey, I’m afraid I can’t put you through. Mr Jackson’s very busy right now."

Could worse words ever be spoken.

"Okay, I appreciate that, Susie, but I must speak to my husband right now."

"I’m sorry, Mrs Jackson, there’s nothing I can do."

"Please. Let me just speak to Quincy, I’m sure he’ll let me speak to him."

"I’m sorry, but Mr Jones has just left for the night, so Mr Jackson is with one of our other producers who has left me with strict instructions to make sure Mr Jackson has no distractions. Goodnight, Mrs Jackson." Beeeeep!

You placed the phone down once more — the beeping subsiding as you stared off into the distance, zoning out as the recollection of the past few minutes clouded your mind.

He’s in there, alone with her. Not even Quincy was there anymore. Your heart was in your throat as you remained perched on the end of the bed, chest heaving in pure adrenaline — visions of your husband doing things he shouldn’t polluting your thoughts.

How he didn’t even notice how concerned you sounded when asking who she was made anger and jealousy bubble in your chest. Knowing that you’d been dying to see Michael for days, not counting the past few weeks, months and even years he’s been busy working on music where you’ve missed out on marital business because of his work — and now she was getting to spend alone time with him without even having to lift a finger?

Furious didn’t even cover half of it.

Michael didn’t know what he was walking into when he pushed open the door to the Hayvenhurst mansion, sighing tiredly. It was just past midnight, his eyes were heavy and his feet were dragging against the floor as he trudged through to the kitchen, expecting an empty room to make himself a warm glass of milk and head up to bed, to hold you as promised.

What he didn’t expect to see was you, in a long sheer gown, feathers on the edges, barely covering the matching black and baby pink lacy lingerie set that adorned your delicious body. Your tits pushed up perfectly, and your hips, waist and glorious legs all on display, with your hair perfectly groomed and a glass of wine in hand, stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island.

His heart jumped into his mouth at the sight of you — in shock of not expecting you to be there and the vision of your beautiful body on full display for him.

"Baby, wow, you look— wow, incredible." He breathed, taking in the sight of you as a took a swig of your wine, "What are you doing awake? I told you not to wait up."

You didn’t answer straight away — just stared at him, taking sips of your wine as you remained in constant eye contact with him. After a few seconds of silence, Michael’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

"Honey, you okay?"

"Do you like what you see, Michael?"

Michael breathed out a laugh, "Like? Baby, I’m in love. You look breathtaking."

His eyes never left yours as you sauntered your way around the kitchen island, slowly heading towards him, your high-heels clicking against the floor.

"I called you back, did you get the message?"

"Sorry?" Michael questioned, utterly confused at your words.

"Earlier. I called you back — did someone tell you I called again?"

Michael scratched the back of his neck, puffing out air as he thought, "Uhh, no. Sorry, honey, I was really busy."

You hummed in response, standing before him, eyeing him up and down, "So I was told. Something about a new producer not wanting you to be disturbed, hm?"

"Oh, yeah, that’s Ester, she’s great. Been helping me and Q with the album." Michael innocently complimented, a smile on his face as he looked down at you, "God, baby, I can’t get over how amazing you look. I just wanna touch you all over."

You brushed past him before he got a chance to grab a hold of you, a waft of your sickly, addicting perfume clouding his nostrils, "Come get me then." You beckoned, heading towards the stairs, your gown traipsing behind you.

Michael trailed behind you like a predator to prey — his eyes glistening in desire at the sight of you, your plump ass and curvy thighs on perfect display as he practically crawled up the stairs like a rapid dog behind you.

"Come here, darling, wanna touch you so bad."

"Patience, Mikey." You dragged out the nickname, "Gotta catch me."

Playfulness glistened in his eyes as you turned around, walking backwards up the stairs slowly, as if assessing the threat that crawled slowly behind you, his eyes never once leaving yours.

After making it up the stairs without being ‘caught’, you waltzed into the bedroom with an aura radiating off you that Michael had never seen — your hair bouncing as you walked, along with the wobble of your perfect ass, which he couldn’t help but stare at, his cock twitching in arousal.

Michael remained behind you as he watched you slip your gown off, letting it fall of your body sensually, your half naked body now fully exposed to him. A shaky breath left his lips at the sight of you as you crawled onto the bed on all fours — your hips swaying while looking back to meet his eyes.

"Fuck." Michael groaned under his breath, his gaze not daring to look away from your frame, contorting into sensual positions.

You slid slowly onto your back, your arms holding you up and your legs pressed together, your eyes never leaving his own blown out ones — observing as his chest rose and fell quicker as he anticipated your next move. Fulfilling his undeniable need, you slowly parted your legs, revelling in the gasp that ripped from his throat at the sight of your crotchless panties, your gushing cunt exposed to him so suddenly.

"Oh, baby." He sighed, falling to his knees at the edge of the bed, his eyes locked on your glistening pussy.

"Is she pretty?"

"Mhm, the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen." He mumbled, barely listening to you as he gawked at you.

"No — Is she pretty?"

That’s when it hit him — the reason you were awake, the outfit, the wine, the questions. It all finally clicked in his head what was going on.

"What? Ester?"

"Yes, her." You spat, a foul look on your face, acting as those even referring to her tasted vile in your mouth.

Michael breathed out a laugh, "Baby, no. Not at all. Never in a million years. She’s my producer." He answered, a playful smile on his face, "Enough of that — let me taste this sweet pussy that I’ve missed so much."

Leaning forward in attempt to press his face between your thighs, he was met with a forceful being stopping his path.

Your shoe — the heel pressing firmly on his forehead, stopping him in his tracks.

"Ah, ah, ah! No touching for you, Mikey." You teased, "Or is it only her that’s allowed to call you that?"

Michael groaned, a hint of a pathetic whine threatening to blend with the gruff of his voice, the severity of the situation really setting in for him now.

"Baby—"

"No. Beg."

"Honey, please," He wasted no time, his eyes meeting your own challenging ones from between your legs, all of his wrong-doings becoming apparent to him now he was being denied your pussy, "I don’t know why she called me that — that name is reserved for you and you only. You, my beautiful, loving, perfect wife. Not her." He rambled, his eyebrows curved upwards in despair as his voice threatened to break, desperation dripping off him more than the slick from your wet pussy at the submissive sight of him, "And I am beyond sorry at the fact I didn’t say ‘I love you’, I was in a rush and I didn’t think. But, I should’ve thought. How dare I deny my gorgeous sweet little one the words of my true love. And I should’ve answered your second call, and I should’ve been here to begin with. I hate leaving you alone for so long, but I’m an idiot husband, please, please, forgive me."

You stayed silent as your high-heel, the Armani ones he’d bought for your birthday, still remained pressed against his warm forehead. His puppy dog eyes, now a silent plea of desperation as he looked at you, his face a complete wreck at the pure fact that he was being denied your glorious pussy.

"Hm." You spoke finally, lowering your foot off of his face, "I suppose I’ll forgive you."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you." He chanted, grabbing a hold of your ankle, craving any sort of touch at this point.

"If."

"Yes, baby, anything." He rambled, "Anything — just let me feel you, please."

His obvious built up sexual frustration was manifesting itself in the most submissive, pathetic manner you’d ever seen — his voice cracking and stuttering as he begged you for physical contact.

"You let me use that pretty mouth and cock of yours until I decide you’ve made up for it."

He could’ve cum on the spot at the pure erotica that left your pretty pink lips, swallowing hard as his cheeks flushed, trying to ignore the way his cock throbbed in his boxers.

"Jesus, sweetheart." He breathed, "You’re killing me over here."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, absolutely, 1000%, yes."

"Lay down then."

Michael wasted no time doing what you asked. Usually, he would dominate in the bedroom, and he knew deep down the second he slid his achingly hard cock into your tight little cunt, that you’d submit to him that millisecond, but right now, he’d humour you — secretly enjoying letting you take the reigns for once, especially if it meant getting to devour your pretty pussy.

You crawled up his body, before hovering over his face, your legs either side of his head — your clenching cunt just centimetres above his eager mouth that had him twitching in excitement at the thought of the taste of your sweet pussy, one he’s missed for so long.

"Lemme take care of you, sweet girl. Make everything alright again." He promised, two firm hands coming to grab a handful of your shaking thighs.

Without giving him a second to prepare, you lowered your pussy down onto his face — both of you moaning at the feeling of one another after so long.

"Oh, Michael." You cried out, your hands flying to the headboard above your bed, as his tongue wasted no time in delving between your lips.

His tongue slithering its way around your quivering sex — the tip of the warm muscle swiping over your throbbing clit, eliciting the most needy, pornographic whine from your lips. Michael couldn’t help but smile into you — knowing the dominant act was going to wear off pretty soon with that way he was devouring your cunt like his last meal.

The erotic noises that filled your once depressingly quiet bedroom had Michael twitching uncontrollably in his pants — his cock screaming to be freed as you began rocking your hips back and forth on his face, moaning like a bitch in heat at the feeling is his nose nudging your sensitive nub.

"O-Oh, baby, yes! Yes, God, baby, so good." You whined, your voice a high-pitched strain of undeniable ecstasy as you rode his face.

Michael was in heaven — after weeks of not even seeing you naked let alone having his face stuffed full of your pussy, he couldn’t be stopped from devouring you even if anyone tried. He didn’t even care that his dick was begging to be touched — he wanted, no, needed to be forgiven, to make things right. Prove to you that you were the only woman he needed in his life.

A devilish hand slid up your thigh to grab a handful of your ass, earning a moan of delight into your pussy as Michael sucked your aching clit. Nearly buckling over at the vibrations of his noises — you hunched over, knuckles turning white as you gripped onto the headboard for dear life at the feeling of his swollen lips wrapping around your clit like his life depended on it.

It was only when two of his long, slender fingers dipped suddenly into your hole, reaching such depths so quickly that you came on the spot — crying out deliciously as you coated Michael’s face in your juices.

"Michael—ah! God, yes! Don’t stop!"

Your hips rocked back and forth faster than before, denying him of oxygen, not that he cared, but prolonging your orgasm as his slicked nose repeatedly abused your extremely overstimulated clit.

Lifting off his face with a whine, your legs threatened to collapse before Michael caught you, two strong, reliable hands holding your waist and legs before they gave way. Michael picked you up with a smile, before laying you gently on the bed beneath him.

"You’re such a good girl for me, baby." He whispered, leaning down to press a sweet, gentle kiss on your forehead, cheek and nose, "Did so good for me."

You hummed tiredly, looking up at him innocently — one side of your bra strap had fallen down in the bustling of your orgasm, revealing your rounded left breast, your erect nipple on show for him, as well as your now dripping wet pussy one buck upwards away from meeting his thick bulge as he situated between your open legs.

He knew your dominatrix act would let up after he made you cum.

"Look what you did to me, sweet girl." Michael revealed, guiding your hand gently to grab a handful of his despicably hard cock, a loud gasp ripping from your throat, "So fucking hard for you baby. Missed feeling you cum against me so fucking bad."

"Mikey." You whined, irresistibly desperate beneath him.

"Fuck, I only love it when you say it, darling."

You wrapped your arms swiftly around his neck, pulling him down to connect your lips in a fiery, needy, frantic kiss. You hummed into his mouth, the taste of your tangy release still evident on his tongue. Michael kissed you with a burning passion that had you rubbing your legs together once more — the feeling of irrefutable arousal radiating off you like heat.

Michael, without needing to be told, freed himself quickly from his boxers, hissing into your mouth at the contact of his warm hand around the base, guiding it towards your slick cunt.

"Legs up, baby." He mumbled into your mouth, not daring to break the intense kiss.

Michael hummed in pure delight at the feeling of your heeled feet wrapping around his waist and forcing his hips closer to you — his leaking tip now colliding with your clit.

Michael cursed under his breath as his positioned his cock at your hole, his hands shaking at your sides, as he pushed in slowly. The feeling of his pulsating tip, dribbling with anticipatory pre-cum, stretching your pleading pussy had both of you crying out in euphoria — your moans already growing louder before he’d even filled you to the brim.

"Oh, my fuck — this pussy is to die for, Jesus." Michael whined as he pushed further into your tight cunt, inch by inch, his cock stretching you so perfectly.

Once bottomed out and fitted perfectly into your abused cunt — Michael began to set a brutal pace. One that you seeing stars and moaning beyond control underneath him — your sharp nails dragging down his muscular back as he ploughed deeper.

"Mhm!, Mikey, right there!" You gasped blissfully, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he slammed perfectly into your G-Spot, brushing your cervix perfectly.

Michael was a piece of string held taut and being sawed at — ready to snap at any given moment. You hadn’t had sex this good in months — the build up frustration and lack of communication had you both needing each other like water in the desert.

"M-Michael?"

"Yeah, baby?" He panted above you, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek, and down your neck.

You whined, "Pass me the phone."

"What?"

“Don’t stop. Just pass me the phone."

Michael obliged reluctantly, unsure of where this was going. He reached over, his thrusts slowly slighly, one handed to grab the phone, handing it back to you.

"Dial her number."

Michael’s face drained of colour as his thrusts slowed to a stop, which earnt him a slap on the ass from behind, like a jockey on a horse, "Don’t stop, I said. Now, dial her number."

Michael’s swallowed thickly as he searched your face for any sign of humour, but your knitted eyebrows in pleasure paired with your oh so serious eyes had him reaching over to the phone and dialling Westlake Recording Studio.

This late at night had the calls connecting directly to Michael’s studio, Susie long gone, and the only person left in the Studio, was the one person you wanted to answer the phone the most.

"Hello, Ester from Westlake Studio speaking."

A wicked smile flickered over your face as her muffled voice filled your ears. You took the phone from Michael’s hand, sneaking out from under him, pushing him onto the bed and climbing on top of him, guiding his slicked, hard cock back inside you — now riding him just how you knew he loved. Michael strained a loud moan that threatened to escape his lips.

"Hello?" Her voice sounding more confused at the rustling and whispering on the other side of the phone.

You handed the phone back to Michael who eyed you confusedly. His only instruction was the word ‘Speak’ that you mouthed at him, before lifting your cunt off his throbbing cock and bouncing straight back down, his cock nudging your cervix perfectly now.

"H-Hi Ester, it’s M-Michael."

"Michael? What are you doing calling this late?"

Michael looked at your fucked out face for answers — as your beautiful frame and gorgeous complexion stared right back at him, your wedding ring glistening in the moonlight as you grabbed a handful of your tits, he knew exactly what he needed to do to make things right.

"I’ve decided your actions at the Studio are wildly inappropriate and disrespectful to my wife." He started, his voice huffed as he bucked his hips up into you, "Using a personal and private nickname that is reserved for my wife and my wife only is—ah, baby! unprofessional and calls for immediate dismissal."

"What? A-Are you firing me over a nickname?"

"Yes, e-exactly." Michael breathed, "My w-wife is the most important thing in my life, and anyone who upsets her will be—o-oh fuck—banished effective immediately."

Michael positioned the phone to be held up with his shoulder as he gripped your hips — slamming upwards into your tightening pussy, forcing your moans and whines to grow deliberately louder.

"What the fuck? Are you having sex?"

"Pack your stuff and be gone by tonight," Michael breathed, biting his lips momentarily at the sight of your tits bouncing as he fucked up into you, "And never disrespect my wife again."

Not even bothering to hang up, knowing the embarrassed woman on the other line would, Michael threw the phone onto the floor and thrust up into your drooling pussy like he had seconds left to live.

"Oh, Michael, I love you—I love you so so much. Thank you, baby—mmhm!!— thank you, you’re so good to me!"

"I love you, sweetheart, god, M’love you so much."

With a tentative hand crawling down your body to rub tight circles on your clit, to the way it made you clench around his twitching cock — the both of you came with a strangled cry.

"Yeah — cum on my cock, baby, give it to me." Michael coaxed, a whine following shortly after as he forced his cock as deep as it would go before letting his much needed release fire up inside of your oh so willing cunt.

Whining on top of him, juices flowing down his length, coating his tightened balls, your orgasm subsided and you crashed onto his chest, heaving as he, too, came down from filling your cunt up to the brim with his hot seed, before slipping out as he softened.

His gentle hand came up to caress your head, the other taking a hold of your left hand, lifting it carefully to display your wedding ring to the both of you, the 24 Carat gold rock glistened in front of both your eyes, a smile creeping onto your face as it remained a reminder of your dedication to one another no matter.

"This will get you anything you want and more." He admitted, "Just say the word and I’ll go to the ends of the Earth for you, darling."

You peered up at him, your eyes a hazy, fucked out mess, "Will it get me a week alone with my husband?"

Michael smiled, pressing a kiss to your jewelled finger, a boyish giggle leaving his lips before he spoke, "I’d have to check with Quincy—“

"That’s so not funny."

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Which made his private infatuation with you a million times worse — the shame lingering deep in his chest whenever he feels his heart jump whenever you grin at him.

But the guilt that often crept up his spine in an obvious crawl was eerily absent today — instead a familiar yet unaccustomed feeling loitered deep inside him. Michael couldn’t quite put his finger on it — he was certain he’d felt like this before when he looked at you, but it was clear he’d never acted on the feeling before.

It was something about the way that you laid oh so deliciously on the sun-lounger — legs crossed at the ankle, displaying your pedicured, white toenails glistening in the sun, skin a sun-kissed glow from the sunscreen you’d lathered on yourself, hair in a messy ponytail, eyes shielded in Armani sunglasses and a Pina Colada in hand. You were tanning — and it had Michael spiralling.

But, the best part? Your striking, baby-pink, string bikini.

The one that he knows his sister bought you for your birthday a mere few weeks ago, now deciding to bring it out for its first wear. Michael cursed the day you accepted that gift as he was now fighting the urge to let his cock twitch desperately in his swimming shorts at the sight of your exposed body — gawking at the way the condensation from the Pina Colada glass dripped down your manicured fingers, before dropping and sliding down the curve of your breast.

He shuffled uncomfortably on the sun-lounger next to you — trying his best to shift his shorts to display his achingly hard cock in a less obvious way. His eyes though, locked onto your glistening frame, your relaxed stance had him admiring the way you got comfortable — your fingers curled calmly by your sides, sometimes reaching up to twirl the string of your bikini bottoms between your manicured digits, or the way you sighed out loud every now and again, tongue darting out to wet your dry lips. Michael gawked at each movement — wondering whether you sighed that gracefully when you were tired, or whether it was a noise of content? Or was that the kind of noise you’d make as his fingers would slide over your skin, or whether it reached a higher octave when he’d slide his fingers insid—

“Michael, sweetie?”

Your sweet voice made him jump — his startled eyes now connecting with your sun-glasses clad ones, a playful smile on your face, “Would you be an angel and put some sunscreen on my back, honey?”

Michael took a stunned few seconds before he answered, lips parted in shock ever so slightly, “I—uh, sure. D-Do you not want me to grab Jermaine?”

He hated the way his chest tightened in envy at the mention of your boyfriend.

You sat up slowly, eyes never leaving his slim frame — his curls slightly frizzing up in the heat, smile deepening at the adorably innocent expression plastered on his face, “He ain’t out here, is he?”

Michael swallowed thickly, his eyes flicking to his brother, Jermaine, in the large pool that covered the backyard of Hayvenhurst, watching as he swam after his other brother, Marlon, before averting his gaze back to you, “‘Suppose not.”

“Then come over, baby, don’t want me to start burnin’, do ya?”

Michael sat up too, shuffling in a way that avoided his still hard cock to be concealed by his shorts, not leaving anytime soon after the casual nickname fell past your plump lips, before perching on the edge of his lounger.

“Atta boy.”

Michael sighed shakily, picking up the sunscreen lotion that laid beside your chair, flicking the cap open gently before squeezing a generous amount onto his clammy palms. You had already situated your bare back to face him, humming quietly to a song Michael recognised as one of his own, awaiting his touch.

You had no idea what you did to him — that’s what killed him most. You, humming away subconsciously to one of his songs, waiting patiently, half-naked, for him to rub lotion into your skin. Jesus.

Michael reached forward, a gentle, yet shaken, hand colliding softly with the leanness of your shoulders — his large hands beginning to lather the protective lotion into your skin. He tentatively avoided your bikini, to avoid staining the material in the grease of the lotion, but also knowing if he had to touch the very clothing that had him so antsy with desperation that it would definitely send him into tachycardia beyond rescue.

As he moved smoothly down your back, the cream now slicking your supple skin, he couldn’t help but admire the painfully obvious ink that clad your spine. He cleared his throat behind you — eyes never leaving the trail of flowers that bloomed in black, slightly faded, ink on your skin.

The artistic sentiment of your dainty tattoo had him pondering — mind trailing over to how different you were to him. You were older, closer in age to Jermaine and La Toya than you were him, oozed confidence like you were the most important person in the room, wore expensive, out-going, feminine outfits that always caught his eye whenever you’d visit the family home, had wit quicker than he’d ever seen and a flirtatious attitude that had him blushing every time you’d compliment him subtly.

You were polar opposites — he was shy, quiet, gentle and, some would say, insecure, despite his superstar persona. On the surface, he pretended he didn’t know why he was so infatuated with you — but, deep down he knew it was because you were something he couldn’t have, but so desperately wanted.

“Gone real quiet back there, Mr, you doin’ okay?”

Your voice dragged him out of his daydream once again, a blush creeping up onto his cheeks, “Sorry. Was just looking at your..thing.”

“My thing?” You laughed softly, “Funny way to describe my tattoo, honey.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Michael chuckled behind you, hands still moving gently against you, “Your tattoo, I mean. It’s very..different.”

“Good different I should hope. I had that done a few years ago.” You revealed, “Had some good reviews from it.”

Temptation crept up Michael’s neck at your alluding comment, the devil on his shoulder screaming at him to ask what you meant by such a sentence. He gave in. “What do you mean?”

You smirked, turning around to face him, “I’ll let you figure that out, sweetie. If not, ask your brother.”

Michael couldn’t hide the shy smile that curved up onto his lips, skin now flushed bright red at your sexual insinuation, “So cute.” You teased, reaching a hand around to pinch Michael’s rosy cheeks, giggling as his timidity.

Your casualness in regard to discussing such promiscuous acts and touching him so sweetly had his boyish crush on you flourishing — his hands trembling as they moved down to your lower back, now scarily close to your plump behind.

“Did it not hurt?” Michael questioned sincerely.

“Hm? Oh, no, not at all.” You spoke, “I like the pain.”

Oh, now that made him twitch — his bottom lip coming between his bottom teeth to steady himself at the way his cock throbbed achingly beneath his shorts, mind running away with itself at the thought of you enjoying pain.

“Hey, you two!” La Toya’s high-pitched voice filled both your ears, “Come in! We wanna play Chicken!”

You gasped, “Ooh, I love that game!” You stood quickly, missing the way your backside came in Michael’s full frontal vision, his eyes flashing open in shock, before turning around to face him, “Thanks, baby.” You whispered, squeezing his chin between your index finger and thumb, before strutting off towards the pool.

Michael couldn’t help himself but stare at the way your bikini bottoms had ridden up around your round ass, now curved between each cheek, displaying your plumpness to him perfectly.

“Lord.” He whispered to himself, rubbing his slicked up hands across his thighs, ridding himself of the lotion, before rising to his feet himself.

You slid into the pool gracefully — sighing as the cold temperature cooled your warm body, swimming towards the rest of group who formed a circle, awaiting the two of you. Michael climbed in after you, eyes locked on the way your tits bounced as you jumped across the length of the pool, barely being held down by the flimsy material of your bikini.

Michael watched from the edge of the pool as you let La Toya climb onto your shoulders, heart thumping as you laughed loudly while you attempted to keep her steady on top of you, before hopping towards Marlon who held Jermaine on his shoulders.

“You’re going down, baby.” Jermaine teased, eyeing his girl from his brother’s shoulders.

“Yeah, right, weakling. I know Toya’s gonna shove your sorry ass into that water, right, Toya?” You sassed back, missing the way Michael clenched his jaw at the causal flirtatious tone of both of your voices.

Michael watched from afar as you and his siblings played multiple rounds of Chicken — not caring to join in himself, just enjoying admiring you from across the pool, pretending as if his brother wasn’t there when he swam close to you or leant down to press a kiss to your cheek inbetween games.

“Hey, Mike! Your turn!”

Michael peered over at the group through his Aviators, who were all now staring at his relaxed frame.

“N-No, I’m good.”

“C’mon, Mikey, I’ll get on your shoulders and play Toya, how about that?”

The nickname you gave him hit him straight in the chest — heart now pounding in his throat. It’s almost like you knew, from the way you said it, that it had an effect on him.

“Okay.” Michael mumbled in defeat, moving through the water to join you.

“That’s my boy.”

Michael swallowed a groan that threatened to leave his lips — you were literally killing him with every word you spoke, his cock now painfully hard in his shorts.

Once he got to you, you slithered behind him, hopping from the edge of the pool and onto his shoulders, giggling as you settled against him. Michael swallowed as your thighs enclosed around his head, his shaking hands coming up to rest on your bare thighs — his head was reeling. He couldn’t help but let his mind fill him with the imagery that your clothed cunt was pressed up against the back of his neck — your clit practically rubbing against him as you got comfortable.

“Tighter, Michael. Don’t want me to fall now, do you?” You commanded, grabbing his hands and pressing them further into your skin, smiling as he tightened his grip, “That’s more like it, babe.”

God, he had to be a pervert the way his dick was jumping around in his briefs at every comment you made. You were turning him into a lustful man — something he strived to not be. But, he couldn’t help himself when you acted like that.

And you didn’t make it easy for him — not when you laced your manicured fingers through his ringlet curls, twirling them around one of your digits as you awaited for the game to begin. Michael let out a shaky breath he didn’t realise he was holding as Marlon called out ‘Aaand go!’

You squealed above him, your hands leaving the comfort of his hair to collide with La Toya’s — thrashing one another back and forth, giggling as you play-fought. Michael’s hands remained planted tightly on your wet thighs, doing exactly as you told him, trying to ignore the way the lower half of your body pressed further into the back of his head.

With a scream and a splash — you were pushed backwards, falling into the water, sliding off of Michael’s shoulders. Michael, ignoring La Toya’s squeal in delight at winning the childlike game, turned to face your submerged frame. Worry flashed in his heart at the possibility you may have hurt yourself falling so abruptly into the water — eyes flickering all over you underwater. His worry soon depleted at the sight of your elegant frame sliding out of the water, hands smoothing down your drenched hair, eyelashes fluttering the droplets away so beautifully his lips fell agape at the sight.

He couldn’t help but stare as you fully rose from the water, a playful smile creasing your lips — and your bikini strap fallen loosely down your arm.

“I—uh, um, your—“

Words failed Michael as he pointed sheepishly at the strap of your bikini, now teasingly revealing the curve of your right breast, falling dangerously down your chest to where one jump and your perky nipple would be free for him to see.

Another twitch!

You peered down at the astray strap, giggling out a breathy laugh as you shimmied it back up, before swimming close to him, “Thank you, sweetie.” You whispered, leaning up to press a soft, tantalising kiss to his damp cheek — only worsening the now painful boner he hid beneath the water.

You swam around him, unaware you’d left him speechless, congratulating La Toya for winning the game. Michael shut his eyes briefly — letting them flicker shut, gulping down his pride, as composed himself. He was surely a goner after this.

Sure you flirted with everyone, even making playful, promiscuous comments towards his sister’s, but you did it with him the most. Even more so than with your own boyfriend. He tried to pretend he didn’t notice it — but when you touched and teased him so often, it was becoming all he could focus on.

Michael rose out of the pool quickly, swift feet already dragging him halfway across the backyard before his name was called. He didn’t stop to turn around, just called out that he was ‘getting too hot’, continuing racing into the house before anyone could convince him otherwise, running up the stairs to the quiet of his bedroom.

His bedroom door slammed shut as he tripped over his own feet, scrambling to his bed, kicking off his shorts as he went. He couldn’t wait any longer — his cock was so hard from your relentless teasing that if he didn’t do something about it right now he was certain he was going to cry. He situated himself on his back, cock, now free from the confines of his damp swimming shorts, bobbed against the bare of his stomach, begging to be dealt with.

Michael’s eyes fluttered shut — hand hovering over his aching length, the fight between arousing relief or prolonged innocence battled in his head.

But, the sound of your sweet, loud laughter through his open bedroom window had him wrapping a firm first around the base.

A quiet gasp left his parted lips, eyes still squeezed shut as he stroked himself tantalisingly slowly — a whine bubbling in the back of his throat. His chest heaved, hips twitching as he bucked up into his own hand, pre-cum now drooling from the mauve tip of his stiffened cock — the relief he had been begging for all day now finally being washed over him.

The swift motions of his hand had his head falling back against the pillow — hips jerking upwards wildly, chasing his own hand as he fucked his palm like a mutt in heat, quiet little whines of pleasure filling the quiet room, along with a subtle yet equally as needy whimper of your name fell past his lips, only adding to the oozing drip of pre that fell from his swollen tip.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

In his state of engrossed arousal, Michael hadn’t noticed your presence in the doorway to his bedroom — your half-naked frame leant against his doorframe, droplets of water from your soaking wet bikini, one that had him in the lustful trance in the first place, falling onto the plush of his carpet. He shot up from the mattress, now perched on the edge, both palms now shielding his obvious hard-on from you as if you hadn’t watched him stroke himself to you a mere few seconds ago.

“I—oh, God, I-I wasn’t, I—“

“You’re so sweet, Michael.”

Your words forced his furrowed eyebrows together in confusion — sweet? Sweet for fucking his hand while moaning his brother’s girlfriend’s name? Surely you must be mistaken?

You slithered into the room, shutting the door behind you and clicking the lock closed — a sound that had Michael’s heart thumping so loud in his head his ears rang. You turned to face him once more, a teasing smile plastered back onto your perfect face.

“What a treat you’ve blessed me with, baby.” You started, walking slowly towards him, your hair swaying behind, now fallen from your ponytail, “I just wanted to use your shower, honey, and I’m so glad I did.”

“I-I’m so sorry—“

“Hush, darling.” You whispered, finally approaching him with a finger to his lips, smirking at the way his trembling hands attempted to cover his bare cock between his legs. Your hand moved to cup his flushed cheek, “There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s completely natural, sweet boy.”

“B-But, I-I said—“

“I know what you said, Michael.” Your voice as smooth as honey as your nimble fingers shuffled down his face to thumb his bottom lip, “I’m not angry at you, baby. I’m flattered, but also worried.”

“Worried?” He questioned, voice cracking as his frantic eyes never left your own, watching as you crouched in between his legs.

“Yeah, sweetie.” You comforted, your free hand now resting against the bare of his meaty thigh, smirk depending at the way he jumped, “Noticed how hard you were hours ago, baby. Must be so painful for my little Mikey, hm?”

“Oh, God.” Michael whined, embarrassment swarming his body, wanting nothing more than to cover his blushing face, but not wanting to reveal his slightly softening cock to you as you perched between him.

You giggled so sweetly despite the situation you were in, “Has it been painful, my baby?”

Michael attempted to ignore the way his cock began to harden underneath the grasp of his large hands at his referral as ‘your baby’. He gulped, breath hitching in his chest, before nodding meekly, face nestling into your palm innocently.

“Oh, angel.” You babied, your voice a sweet comfort to his embarrassed ears, now slightly hunched over as to make himself smaller in a situation where he felt so big and exposed, “Let me help you.”

Michael’s eyes shot open, “What?”

You smiled, lolling your head to the side, “I’ll make you feel so much better, sweet baby.”

“But, what about Jer—“

“Enough about him. He should be thankful he has a girl who wants to make his little brother so happy, hm?” You cut him off swiftly, your answers so reasonable yet so manipulative at the same time, going deaf upon his aroused ears, “What are big sister-in-laws for, huh, baby?”

Your smaller, more experienced hands enclosed around his own, tugging gently to move them away from imprisoning his cock — revelling in the way he whined bashfully, head turning the other way as his stiff dick sprung free. You sighed in admiration, eyes locked on the sheer length and girth of him — he was bigger than Jermaine despite the age and build difference in them, which only forced your eager mouth to salivate.

Your nimble hand wrapped around the base of him gently, sliding to your knees fully, as you gave him one languid stroke from shaft to tip. Michael whined so desperately it had you squeezing your thighs together at the sound of his arousal — a glob of pre-cum erupting from his flushed tip, drooling down your digits.

Michael couldn’t help but make the sweetest of noises as your plump lips, the one’s he’d been fantasising about since he met you, wrapped around the head of his cock — the feeling he’d once felt for you earlier, that he couldn’t place, crept up his spine.

Ah, so that was it.

Irrevocable, soul-destroying arousal.

He huffed, a whimper leaving his agape lips, now peering down at your frame beneath him — watching as you bobbed up and down his length, hand pumping him simultaneously at the base. Michael, never having had his dick sucked before, was still sincerely impressed with the way you managed to fit all of his cock down your greedy throat — moving your now free hand to squeeze his shaking thighs to provide him some comfort as your throat constricted around him, his tip punching the back of your throat so deliciously it had you gagging, and him gnawing on his bottom lip so hard he could taste blood to hold back his needy moans.

“T-This is s-so wrong.” He whimpered, hands bawled into fists at his sides, face contorted into one pure arousal.

You released off of him with a pop, hand continuing to pump him slowly, “But, you love it, don’t ya, angel?” You teased, pressed a gentle kiss to the head, revelling in the way he whined, “Just givin’ my sweet, baby brother-in-law a hand when he’s so het up ‘cuz of me.”

Michael groaned, eyebrow furrowing deeper into the crease of his forehead as you licked a stripe up the shaft of his cock, tracing the throbbing vein that adorned his length.

“Please.”

“Please, what, baby?”

“Please, I—I, I can’t—I need—Need more.”

You grinned, rising to your feet without a second thought at his submissive whines of need — reaching at your sides to pull at the strings of your bikini, letting the bottoms fall to the ground, revealing your perfect, slick pussy to his eager eyes.

A gentle yet commanding hand met his thumping chest, pushing him backwards onto the bed, letting his back hit the mattress before crawling up his slim frame. Michael’s exposed cock twitched and thrashed against his abdomen wildly as he watched you intently, awaiting your next move.

His breath caught in his throat as you straddled his hips, your bare pussy lips engulfed the girth of his hot cock — a strained squeak hitching in his mouth at the feeling of your warm sex against him.

“Have you done this before, Michael?” You questioned, your voice dropping an octave, now a sexy, teasing tone that had him suppressing another whimper, “Made love to a woman?”

Michael shook his head quickly, saliva moving slickly down his throat, ogling at the way you now reached behind your back, tugging the strings of your bikini top down — letting the flimsy material fall from your chest, exposing your perky tits to his enthusiastic eyes.

“Good.” You whispered, letting your hips move voluntarily against his own, the sleek of your cunt gliding against his manhood, meek whimpers leaving both of your lips, “I knew you were special, baby — hadn’t been ruined yet.”

Michael whimpered as you continued to rock back and forth against him, your stark naked body moving on him with experienced precision that had his head reeling — admiring the way you let your hands crawl up your body, now adorning glorious tan-lines, to cup your bouncing tits or rake through your hair. You were truly an angel that fell from heaven to bless him with your beauty.

“Touch me, Michael.” You coaxed, grasping his hands in your own to grab a handful of your pudgy hips, “Like I taught you earlier, remember? Don’t be afraid to hold me, sweet boy.” You leant down, breast pressed against his bare chest, nipples rolling against him, lips brushing against the shell of his ear, “I want to feel you everywhere.”

“Oh, Lord, please.”

Michael cursed the neediness in his voice as he tightened his grip on your hips, not enough to hurt you, but enough to make you aware of his burning desire to rid himself of the ache in his cock, now the hardest it’s ever been in his life.

“Shh, I got you, baby, it’s okay — I’ll make it all better.”

Your reassuring tone had Michael nodding hysterically — restless to feel better like you promised him so beautifully. Your hips lifted from his own, shushing him as he whined at the loss of touch. A tentative hand grasped the base of him once more, sliding the warm, oozing head between your slippery folds — sighing in content as he nudged your clit. You slicked him up with the essence of your lust — letting it drop down the length of him before lining him up to your willing entrance.

“Ready, baby?”

Michael couldn’t have nodded faster.

“Use your words, Michael. Need to hear my baby say how badly he wants to feel my pussy.”

“Please, god, please, baby, please — need it, need to—Ah!” Michael’s eyes rolled to the back of his head instantly with a gasp at the feeling of your clenching cunt wrapped around his virgin cock, only widening the smirk that clad your face.

You hummed in delight as you sank further and further down him — letting his thick cock stretch you open inch by inch, the burn you craved each time you fucked his brother now hitting you full force, the length you desired from a man now ramming you to the brim.

“So big, Mikey.” You sighed, a hand pressing against his chest to steady yourself, “So much bigger than Jer.”

“My goodness, baby, y-you’re killin’ me.” Michael admitted, catching his breath, doe eyes meeting your own, “Wanted this for so long.”

A breath of flattery left your lips as you rose all the way to the tip of his cock, and back down again, slamming your hips down onto his own, “You’re such a sweet boy, darling. My favourite brother in the whole family.”

Michael couldn’t contain the whines and groans that left him, hands now resting in the curve of your waist, following every calculated movement of your body as you bounced on his cock.

“Kiss.” Michael pleaded, eyes brimming with tears at the sheer volume of pleasuring stimulation he was experiencing, “Kiss me, please.”

Your heart, now fogged with blinding lust, ached at the innocence of him — even despite having the girl he was in love with riding his dick before him, he was still only desperate for a kiss.

You leant down, hand lacing into his curls once more, connecting your lips in a frantic, messy kiss, swallowing every noise that left his dirty throat. Michael’s tongue forced its way into your mouth — the hot muscle tangling with your own in a feverish dance that had your clit twitching against the pubic bone you ground it down onto. You broke away from the kiss to move down his face — the corner of his mouth, cheek, jawline, neck. And once you got there, you wasted no time in licking at the soft skin, basking in the salty taste of sweat on his sun-kissed flesh.

“Could eat you up all day, baby.” You whispered, sucking the sweet spot beneath his earlobe that had his hips bucking up into you, tip ramming against your cervix — hands tightening at your sides.

Sitting back up, not before pressing another kiss to Michael’s lips, you admired the sight beneath you — his puppy dog eyes clouded with lust, petering up at you in such admiration it had your heart bursting, his God-like body carved so perfectly you couldn’t help but rub your fingertips over each ridge of his abs, glistening in the sweat as the humid air in the bedroom increased, and his frizzed up curls now spread across the bed-sheets messily underneath him.

He looked so perfectly destroyable.

“Oh, God — I-I’m gonna—soon.”

Your hips ground down on him once more, continuing to rise and fall back down onto him — the slick of your pussy coating his cock in a sheen, a white, frothy ring of your juices forming at the base. As well as letting sweet, delicious moans of pleasure fall past your rosebud lips, you rolled your aching nub against the dense of his pubic bone — hitting his ears in such a way that had him throbbing inside you.

“Oh, Michael.”

The sound of his name leaving your lips, a scenario he was once imagining while he fucked his hand before you caught him in the act, had him moaning so loud, your hand came up to cover his ajar mouth.

“Gotta keep quiet, baby, or else I’ll have to stop,” You whispered, leaning down to lock eyes with the obedient boy beneath you, “Keep that mouth busy.”

Michael, set on pleasuring you in a way he was still figuring out, latched his mouth to the one thing he’d had his eye on since you arrived at his house — your tits. His puckered lips wrapped around your erect nipple — sucking sensually, soft sighs of content vibrating around the nub. Your back arched against him, tits now shoved into his face, not that he minded, his free hand from your waist, now cupping the lonely breast, fingers rolling the bud between his fingers.

Your erotic noises hit his ears in a way that had him buzzing with confidence — your eyes fixating on the way his tongue left your poised nipple to trace the newly forced tan-line around your breast.

“Fuck, Michael.” You gasped, jaw falling slack as your hips continued to grind against the rigid bone, stimulating your pulsating clitoris while Michael’s hands were busy, “‘Gonna fuckin’ cum on your cock, baby.”

“Mm, please,” Michael whined, his lips pulling from your tit, saliva connecting his lips to your swollen nipple in an erotic scene, “Wanna cum so bad, mama.”

Your head thrust back as you moaned — now succumbing to the pleasure that coursed through your veins, any ounce of dominance you once had now spilling away at the feeling of his tongue lapping at your nipple.

Michael, despite feeling guilty for not bringing the lady there before him, climaxed first — ropes and ropes of his fertile seed flooding your womb, whines only getting louder around the comfort of your breast, hands gripping around your waist tighter at the feeling of your cunt quivering around him.

“I love you, I love you, I love yo—Aah!” Was the only words that left Michael’s lips once he popped off your tit, a blush creeping up onto your cheeks at his admission.

You soon followed — one more roll of your clit against him and a suck against your breast had you orgasming around him so beautifully it left Michael speechless despite his own climax continuing. You looked so pretty like this — back arched, eyes rolled to the back of your head, cunt milking him for all he had to give, gorgeous little moans falling past your plump lips, as well as an ‘I love you too, Mikey’ that had him whining bashfully for the last time.

He felt as though any ounce of self-respect and maturity he had left in his body that threatened to fight his devotion and infatuation towards you had just been diminished to dust at the sight of you cumming around him.

You hummed in delight, flopping forward to lay tiredly on his chest — a hand tracing the definition of his peck, his cock still flush inside you, now softening, “Y’did such a good job, baby.” You whispered, tracing love hearts into his warm skin, “Do you feel better now?”

Despite the feeling of guilt that threatened to creep up his spine at the reminding thought that you still belonged to his brother, he pushed it to the back of his hazy mind, deciding the only acceptable and truthful answer was,

“Yes.” He breathed, “Thank you, mama.”

It started on your first day — an old blouse too tight around your chest, fighting back as you attempted to pull it looser against your obvious bust, and a tartan midi-skirt that your Mother forced you to wear. You looked like a house wife out of the 40’s. You hated it.

You were nervous, oh so nervous. Rightfully so — this job was a big deal. Being a Personal Assistant was an important role in a successful person’s life — you made sure everything in their world ran smoothly. No fuck up’s — not even one to test the waters. And it didn’t help your nervous system that whom you were personally assisting was the King of Pop, global superstar, Michael Jackson.

The thought of him had your heart hammering in your chest — you had never even seen a celebrity up close, let alone worked for them. You had no idea how you even managed to land this job with how little experience you had — but clearly your street-smart book-smart combination pushed you to the top of the list of applicants.

Walking swiftly through the hallways of Westlake Recording Studio, your heels clicked so loud that you cringed — suddenly feeling so out of place in such an important building. This was where a superstar made magic with his voice — certainly somewhere you thought you didn’t deserve to be.

The reception area of the studio took you by surprise — oh so this place was serious about not letting just anyone in. You forced your saliva down as you approached the mahogany desk where an older lady resided.

"Hello there." You greeted, the woman peering up at sound of your presence, "I’m Mr Jackson’s new Personal Assistant. I-It’s my first day."

The lady smiled, "Oh, yes, I’ve heard all about you. Come with me, sweetie, I’ll show you around."

She introduced herself as Susanna, 65 years-old, who should be retired but revealed she just loved the job too much. As she guided you through each hallway, she told you she’d been working in and around the music industry since she was a little girl in the late 20’s and had never seen a performer and musician quite like Michael Jackson.

"Now, Michael isn’t the only performer we have here, but he’s the most frequent, probably why Frank wanted you to come here first." She said, referring to Michael’s manager, Frank DiLeo, "Over there’s the lunch-room, and to the right of it is the ladies room." She stared, your eyes following her manicured fingers as they pointed in the direction of the rooms, "And up ahead is Michael’s studio."

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest with anxiety — you’d always pictured yourself with a simpler, less demanding job. Something where people didn’t rely on you too much as to not embarrass yourself or get into trouble. But, being the Personal Assistant of the world’s most well-known man was far from that. Which, rightfully, had your stomach churning.

"Now, as you probably know, he’s a little shy." Susanna chuckled, the cigarette smoke puffed from her thin lips left a stench in the air that crinkled your nose, "But, he’s a sweetheart, honestly. I’m sure you’ll get along just fine. Don’t worry too much — he’s not as daunting as he seems."

Her words provided little comfort as she stopped in front of a door labelled ‘Jackson’, with a blurred glass window in its middle. You knew from the way she came to an abrupt stop and smiled at you wishfully that you were on your own now.

"Thank you." You managed to squeak out, ignoring the way your voice wavered, your nerves peaking as you reached for the door handle.

"Have a good day, honey." Susanna smiled. With a soft squeeze to your shoulder and a wink of good luck — she walked away.

Fuck.

A shaky breath left your lips as the door knob burned into your retinas — the power it had over you taking over your body as you stared, your hand hovering over the metallic surface.

If it wasn’t for the money, you’d have run for hills right now. Part of your future self wished you did — but instead, with a soft knock and a push of the door, you walked into what you’d soon regret in 3 years time.

The inside of the recording studio was nicer than you’d pictured — warm lighting, cosy interior with quiet laughter and soft voices filling the air, a relaxing environment evident in its walls. Two familiar faces met your awkward frame, confused expressions smeared across them.

"Hi there, little lady. You lost?" You could tell from the sweet-talking slickness of his voice and familiar laid-back persona that you were talking with famous producer Quincy Jones.

"No, actually, Mr Jones, I’m Mr Jackson’s new assistant." You started, a bead of anxious sweat crawling down your back, "It’s my first day."

"Oh, yeah, Frank mentioned you were getting a new PA." Quincy nodded, wagging his finger in the air, "Thank god, the last one was a complete bust."

You gulped, silently wishing your fate didn’t end up like hers.

"What’s your name, baby?" Quincy questioned, bringing a pen between his lips as you revealed it, "Hm, cute." He smirked, eyes trailing up and down your frame, "Well, you’ll be listening to Frank while you’re not here, but when you’re here with us, you can answer to me, honey, okay?" You nodded quickly, eyes never leaving his own, "And we don’t bite, so don’t worry. But, I suppose for your first task, you can grab us some drinks from the coffee house down the road?"

"S-Sure, anything, what do you like?"

"Michael here, will have an orange soda," He started, "And I’ll have a black coffee with a couple sugar’s — but I suppose you can just stick your finger in there, huh?"

"Quincy. That’s no way to talk to a lady."

Michael was even more beautiful in person — the soft and gentleness of his tone had you repressing a relaxed sigh that threatened to escape your lips. He sounded so calm and collected, more so than any of his gorgeous songs. And by God was he handsome — the ringlet curls that framed his face and the contagious smile that adorned his lips had you blushing more than you cared to admit.

Quincy laughed as Michael stood up, approaching you quickly, "I’m sorry about him. I’m Michael." He extended his hand out to you, a small smile on his face as he towered over you.

"I-I know." You blurted out, flustered, grasping onto his hand. Your words hit you like a brick to the face, suddenly flushing your cheeks pink, "I’m sorry, that sounded better in my head. I’m just nervous."

Michael laughed, a slight chuckle that left his smiling lips, "You’re okay. Everyone’s nervous on their first day of a job, no matter what it is." He reassured, "I promise there’s nothing to be worried about. We’re all great friends here. Like one big family."

You nodded, listening intently — absorbing in every word he spoke like a sponge in the ocean. You didn’t notice the way Michael glanced down at your connected hands, his smile wavering slightly.

"When’s the wedding?"

His voice baffled you at first, the question hitting your ears in confusion as you held your gaze with one another still, "Sorry?"

Michael glanced down to your hands once more, his own in contact with your engagement ring that clad your ring finger. You connected the dots as you laughed awkwardly, "Oh. It’s so recent, I’m still not used to that question." You admitted, tucking a stand of hair behind your ears as your hands slipped apart, coming down to toy with the gold ring, "November 8th."

"Ah, soon." Michael grinned, "What’s his name?"

"D-Daniel."

"Well, congratulations. Daniel is a very lucky man."

"Thank you." You whispered, peering up at him, noticing the flicker in his eyes at your words, as if there was nothing threatening to be seen. Envy? Disappointment? You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you could sense Michael knew you’d seen too, "A-Are you married?"

"Yes. Only recent, much like your engagement."

A similar, questionable feeling crept up your spine at his words — something you also couldn’t place as you nodded. This clearly wasn’t in the press yet as you hadn’t heard about it, either way, you definitely felt something about it, but you weren’t sure what. Yet.

"How about those drinks, sweetie?"

Michael rolled his eyes with a smile at Quincy’s words from behind him as he lit a cigarette, "Ignore him. Classic 80’s Producers." You giggled softly at his joke, "I know you’re more than that." Your heart throbbed, "Come and talk to me anytime if you’re nervous or upset or don’t know where to go. I’ll always be here to help. Just say the word."

Your nods of agreement grew increasingly more rapid as Michael went on, your eyes, bulging with adoration, peered up at him once more before leaving him with a smile.

And as you pushed the door open, glancing back to observe Michael joining Quincy in the swivelled chairs, scolding him for not being a gentlemen, you couldn’t help but smile — a burst of sensation in your chest swelling at the sight, one you weren’t used to. You left, grinning ear to ear, like a little girl with a crush.

And that’s how it stayed for the rest of your career at Westlake.

Every morning, you’d bring Michael and Quincy a drink — either a warm tea with a spoonful of honey or a freshly squeezed orange juice for Michael, and always a black coffee, accompanied with a ‘dip your finger in it, sweetie’ sugar joke, for Quincy, everytime without fail.

You began to adore your job working for Michael — running errands for him, refilling his tea, sorting out scattered papers in the studio, scheduling meetings with managers and potential features with other artists’ for his new album. Everything, as simple as bringing him his lunch, made your day.

But soon, as all professional male and female relationships do, things became not so simple.

Brushes of hands as you passed over a drink, a buzz of electricity shooting through your veins and an overly thankful smile back from him, accompanied with comforting hands atop one another when times got hard, or a gentle kiss on the cheek when he was nominated for his new album in congratulations, had you questioning everything.

Your relationship was purely flirtatious, subtle and under-wraps — something to toy with at the comfort of your employment, and never to take home with you.

But, in the immaturity of your heart, you let yourself get personal. You let the professionalism slip. You began to feel things you shouldn’t. Anyone unwed would call it a crush — something juvenile and invalid longterm. However, the way your heart fluttered as he looked at you, or how your cheeks flushed red as he touched the small of your back — you knew were more far gone than you cared to admit.

And fail to admit your feelings, you did. Every night you lay beside your now husband, every interaction between yourself and Michael replayed in your head, drowning out the man beside you’s snoring. You knew deep down it was wrong to think of another man as your husband slumbered next to you — but, he was your friend, your boss, someone you spent everyday out of the week with. You saw him more than your own husband — leading you to secretly often referring to Michael as your work husband.

But no marriage was perfect — your own was far from it. In the darkness of the night, when your mind would graze over your boss, it would also land on the evident feeling of numbness when you looked at your husband. You were practically forced into marriage by your Mother — Daniel being someone familiar from childhood, simple, reliable, and intelligent, someone easy. Someone to sign the leases, fix the pipes, file the taxes — all the mainstream, traditional marital aspects of a man. And every time he’d rock into you unprotected, hoping for a baby, you’d lay there, faking every noise and every orgasm — wishing and hoping for something more. Convincing yourself that when your mind slipped to Michael as your husband lazily thrust into you from behind, that it was simply platonic with no underlying intention, and just a way to escape from the sheer displeasure your husband brought you.

Your husband, clearly butt-hurt that he wasn’t the breadwinner, hated your job. He would often badmouth every aspect of your job, the outfits you wore, how late you worked, how many date nights you missed to attend to a request made by Frank. But, what he hated most was Michael. He hated how infatuated and dedicated you were to him — pulling a face of disgust every time you mentioned his name or answered a phone call about him. This lead to relentless arguments — him claiming you cared too much about another man, and you persisting that it was your job and he was being controlling.

Just like today.

"Daniel. For the last time - it’s my job." You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as your knuckles flexed around the phone handle that was held up to your ear, "No, God—Daniel, are you serious? Cheating? For Christ’s sake, get a hold of yourself!"

The noise of his incessant rambling on at you had you zoning out, shaking your head as his voice drowned out in your head. You were so tired of this — the moment you took this job you knew he’d have something to say about it. He knew exactly what he was getting himself into when he proposed to you, but still decides to fight you about it every chance he gets.

"Daniel. I’m sick of this. I’m at work, I’m busy. Stop calling here because you’re bored at home with nothing better to do — go do something, okay? Get a hobby, find something to fix or clean — just leave me alone for once."

You slammed the phone down harder than intended — a wave of annoyance washing over you as his words repeated in your head. Accusations of unfaithfulness and infidelity once again — you were growing tired of it. And him for that matter.

You were ready to leave the studio for the night — now wanting nothing less than to leave and head home for the day. You couldn’t be bothered to continue the argument when you arrived home, something that you knew your bored husband would want to do. Instead, you took your time closing down the studio for the night. Deliberating taking longer to stroll the halls — switching off each light, locking each door, checking each room for stragglers. At last, you reached the familiar blurred glass door — one you’d come to grow fond of.

Knock, knock!

"Michael?"

In your many months spent growing closer to the popstar, you began to feel comfortable to address him by his first name. Pushing open the door, you peered your head around it, your eyes meeting the man you called for, all alone, his hunched over frame meeting your gaze.

"Hey, come in. Everything okay?" He spoke, glancing over at you briefly with a smile, before returning his focus onto the sound board.

"Yep, just wanted to let you know I’m heading out for night." You informed him, jingling your keys, "Shall I leave these out for you?"

"Actually." Michael started, "Would you mind staying for a little while? I would love your help with something."

Your eyebrows furrowed, ignoring the way your stomach flipped at the thought of the one-on-one interaction, "Oh, uh, sure." You let the door slide shut as you entered the room, "What’s up?"

Michael shuffled, pushing stray pieces of paper out the way of all the various buttons you weren’t familiar with, "Take a seat."

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry and tight as you did as he asked — sitting comfortably in the chair next to him.

"Listen to this and tell me what you think."

Without allowing your words of protest to exit your lips — Michael pressed a few buttons before sliding one upwards to increase the noise of a demo that began sounding throughout the room.

It was his voice — his angelic, magical voice that hit your ears. You smiled softly as you looked down at your hands, ignoring the flash of your wedding ring as you admired the beautiful work that flowed around the room. He sounded amazing.

It ended abruptly, silence filling the space once more. He turned to you, "So?"

"Wow." You breathed, "Michael, you’re so talented. That sounds incredible."

Michael smiled bashfully, bowing his head at your kind words, "Oh, thank you. I really appreciate it." He started, "But, I just feel like something is missing."

You scoffed out a laugh, "Boy, do I know how you feel." You shook your head, eyes fluttering shut briefly at the thought of your controlling husband.

Michael peered over at you, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"Oh, hah, nothing. Just my husband."

Michael’s attention was fully on you now — his chair swivelled to face you as you spoke, "Why? What’s missing?"

"Nothing, nothing." You brushed off, fearing you said too much, "Just a joke."

"Didn’t feel like a joke." He spoke softly, pursing his lips together, "Hey," His hand came to fold over yours delicately, igniting flames over your skin, "You know you can talk to me about anything."

Michael missed the way your breath hitched in your throat. The touch and the closeness bringing heat to your body like a furnace as your breathing became irregular.

Your mouth opened as you went to speak, ready to vent about all your marital issues — complain about his lack of respect for your job, his boring attitude and his profound sexual incompetence, but words failed you.

Michael noticed this.

"It’s okay." He spoke, giving your hand a squeeze, "I understand how you feel."

Your heart lurched up at his words — your despaired expression meeting his own, "You do?"

"Yes." Michael breathed, "Marriage isn’t easy."

You despised the way your heart throbbed with hope.

"Are you having problems with your wife too?"

Michael peered up at you, revelling in the way your doe-eyes, fluttering through your lashes, gazed at him with more love and attention he’d seen from a female in years. He, too, hated himself for the way he looked at you sometimes with such captivation — longing to reach out and touch you further after a brush of a finger, or to lean down and capture your lips in a kiss after you laughed at one of his jokes.

And he, like you, despised the way he felt a sliver of optimism at the depleting description of your partner.

Michael nodded, a saddened expression present on his face — mismatching the twinge of anticipatory excitement that bubbled in his chest.

"Oh, Michael." You breathed, your voice soft and attending — playing with his damaged heart strings, "It’s going to be okay. We always have each other."

God, you were so sweet. It physically hurt him to look at you when you had that irresistibly spellbinding look on your face — like a single tug of your plump lips into a smile could send a man to Heaven and back. He thought you were utterly gorgeous — something he’d believed in since the moment he locked eyes on you.

Michael’s hand twitched above your own, knocking your attention down to your enclosed hands. With one small, calculated move — you managed to manoeuvre your hands upwards, now palm to palm with Michael. You noticed the intense silence that flooded the room, both your fixated stares latched into your hands — touching so subtly, yet fuelling the desire in both of your souls. Michael shuffled ever so slightly, forcing your hands to slide against one another — now connecting fingertips.

"Your hands are so soft." You whispered, breathing out a soft laugh, your voice hushed and tender — both of your gaze still on your touching fingers.

"So are yours."

The honesty in his voice paired with the feather-light touches had your head spinning — the potent smell of his cologne fogging your senses, rendering you brainless as all you could focus on was him. Him, and his beautiful eyes, beautiful smile, beautiful lips, hands, fingers, body—

You gasped in a quiet breath as your mind ran a mile a minute. Michael peered up at you momentarily, sliding his fingers in-between yours — interlocking your fingers so slowly, if he were anyone else, you wouldn’t have noticed. But, that simple gesture had your legs tightening as they crossed.

"Talk to me, doll."

The nickname had your mouth hanging agape ever so slightly — the sheer volume of desire that burst inside of you, oozing out of you like molten lava as your eyes fixated onto your interlocked hands.

"Michael, please." You whispered — the neediness in your voice so visible, Michael could’ve passed out.

"‘Please’ what, angel? Tell me what you need." His voice was so sincere, so full of warmth with an undertone you so desperately wanted to uncover, that it had you trembling against him.

Your eyes flicked upwards — landing on his pretty lips, the way they glistened in the light from his previous wetting of them, before sliding up his face to his eyes. He was staring down at your hands, the way they connected so perfectly, so intimately, something so dangerously beautiful about the way you slotted together.

When his eyes fluttered up to meet your gaze was when the mask slipped.

You lurched forward — your once connected hands now flying to his face, cradling his burning hot cheeks in your hands as you connected your lips in a ferocious kiss. Your body lunged at him — legs straddling his hips, forcing the wheeled chair backwards as the intensity of your jolt pushed you both in a dazzling smoulder flying across the room. Michael, kissing your eager lips back, slid his hands up your back in an attempt to drag you closer. The chair slammed against the wall, making no attempt to slow you both down as you attacked each others lips — whines and breaths of pure desperation exiting your needy mouth.

Your hand clutched at the wall behind you, nails scraping down the plaster as Michael’s swollen lips latched at your neck, licking and sucking your warm skin.

"No marks." You breathed, a hand snaking into his hair, clutching at his curls, "We’re married, remember?"

Michael hated the way his body had no reaction to your words — right now, he didn’t care.

"Happily?"

The one word rhetorical question he asked, huffed against your neck, before returning to grazing his teeth along your collarbone, had your back arching into his chest, a breathless moan leaving your mouth.

You hated that you didn’t need to give him an answer — he already knew it.

No, you weren’t happily married.

Your hips involuntarily ground down into his crotch, skirt bunched around your waist, a gasping whine leaving you as your throbbing nub nudged against him. Hard, thick and prominent — a proud statement of his arousal. From then on your hips didn’t stop — the roll back and forth on his hardened length had him whining into your neck, stopping every so often to regain his breath from the way you humped his clothed cock.

"Michael, please, need to feel you."

That was enough for him.

Michael was a gentlemen — and had been from the very moment you met him. But, right now, he had to fuck you like a greedy slut.

Michael picked you up quickly, wrapping your clothed legs around his waist and flailing you both to the floor, with a handle cradling your head to brace the fall.

He sat up on his knees, freeing himself quickly from his slacks and boxers, forcing them down his thighs swiftly. While doing so, you worked your way on the buttons of your blouse, fingers fumbling on each one as you shook in lust.

"Fuck this."

The profanity that left his gentle mouth had you gasping as he leant down to rip your blouse apart, buttons spraying across the room as your bouncing tits sprung free.

He didn’t stop there.

His hands, shoving your shirt further up your stomach, reached the crotch of your dark tights, before ripping a hole as wide as a basketball, revealing your soaked panties.

"Michael!—“ "Shut up — Need you, now. Can’t wait."

His bold, harsh words stung pathetically pleasureful in your chest as his nimble fingers pushed your panties to the side. They slid between your folds, gathering your slick on his digits, nudging your clit with each slide. You whined beneath him, a manicured hand reaching up to grasp his flexed biceps as he slid two fast working fingers inside your eager hole. Your back arched off the floor, head pounding as he worked you open.

"That’s it — give it to me."

His words only egged you on as they abused the spongy, sweet spot inside you, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your throbbing nub.

For the first time in years, or maybe even in your life, you were about to cum around a man’s hand.

"M-Micha—Michael, I’m gonna—I’m gon—"

"Cum for me, doll. Show me how much you need me."

The next twenty-three seconds had you reeling. You saw stars, your nails digging into his tensed arm as he worked you open — your first-time flowing juices oozing down his fingers as you squirmed and cried beneath him, sobbing into the air as your first real orgasm hit you full force.

Michael wasted no time lining his cock up to your quivering entrance after you came down — sucking your essence off his fingers before pressing the tip of his throbbing manhood into you.

You whined — the feeling of his cock forcing you open so perfectly had you huffing and whinging around him, your head falling back against the wooden floors.

"Lord — so fucking wet for me." Michael huffed, stuffing you full, inch by inch, too caught up in his own arousal to ease you open.

He bottomed out with a groan — head lolling forward into your neck, his hot breath against your chest perforated goosebumps over your skin. You were so full it rendered you speechless — his cock was much bigger than your husband’s, length and girth, forcing you further open than you’d ever been before.

His name left your lips like a chant as he moved with swiftness beyond belief — his hips snapping flush against you as he fucked into you like a slut on his Studio floor, which creaked and groaned beneath you. Michael lips remained hot and heavy on your skin, pressing kisses from your tensed collarbone to the sweetness of your mouth, as he pulled your legs around his waist, further up in the air so his cock angled deeper inside you.

With a cry he’d only ever imagined in his late night pleasures — Michael knew he was fucking you like you’d never felt before. The way you dragged your nails down his shoulders, ground your heels into his lower back to force him further into your tight cunt, and the way your noises refused to quieten — he was certain he was going to be the best you’d ever had.

His wife was nothing compared to you.

The way your pussy clenched and squelched around his twitching dick had him tightening his grip on your hair — his fingers tangling in the locks, tugging ever so slightly to make you whimper into his mouth.

"So close." You whined — mumbling against his lips, voice muffled from the feverish kiss he held you in, tongue swiping your lower lip to gain access to your filthy mouth.

You let him in — the hot muscle exploring your mouth, savouring the way you taste like spearmint gum and how you moaned even louder when muffled against him.

"You wanna cum for me again, baby?" Michael pressed, his pelvis rubbing so sweetly against your pulsating clit, "Let me feel it — let me feel you. Give me what you won’t give him — what he can’t make you do. Cum for me. Harder than he’s ever made you."

"He never has." You panted, eyes locking on his as your private confession hit his ears.

"O-Oh, Lord."

Michael’s broken prayer left his lips as his hips snapped into you a few more times — revelling in the way you admitted he’d made you feel better in one night than your husband ever has in two years. Whining as you came around him perfectly, legs tightening around his waist, before he spilled inside you himself. You both finished together — lips clattering together messily as you panted against one another.

As the climax fluttered to a stop — reality set in.

You, married, had just fucked your boss, also married.

Panic flooded your system. Instant, unwavering, unstoppable panic.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God — what the fuck? What the fuck, Michael!" You exclaimed, instantly shimming him from inside you, your breath hitching at the loss of fullness as he sat upright on his knees, panting, "We just had sex."

Michael furrowed his eyebrows, catching his breath, "Baby, calm down—“

"Don’t call me that! I’m not your wife! Oh my God, you have a wife. And I have a husband."

You were rambling — blabbering panicked nonsense as you scrambled to grab your clothes, forcing your unusable blouse around your breasts spilling from your bra. You shoved your skirt down your front, covering the gaping hole in your tights and Michael’s cum dribbling down your thighs, as you slipped into your heels.

"Angel, wait!"

You didn’t stop for a second after half dressing yourself before flying out the Studio door — racing down the quiet, darkened hallway before he could catch you. Michael stood in the doorway, chest heaving, guilt threatened to creep up his spine as he watched you sprint away.

Guilt never came.

For either of you.

It bugged you.

The way you got home, tears streaming down your face as you crept up to bed, after tossing all of your besmerched clothes into the trashcan outside, and slithering into bed with your husband, who only turned the other way as you weighed down the bed, and the only thing you could feel was ecstasy.

Sure, you panicked at first — but even in your frantic rant, not one bone in your body felt guilt or remorse for your actions. Just pure shock at what you’d done after waiting so long for it.

You hated the way you slept next to your husband that night — clit throbbing lovingly after getting the attention it so desperately needed as Michael’s seed drooled out of you, soaking your panties.

That was where your affair with Michael Jackson started.

The next day, after your late-night rendezvous, Michael sought you out at work. You’d been hiding from him all day — trying to do as much as Quincy asked you before actually having to speak to Michael. But, he found you and cornered you.

"Michael, please, not here." You pleaded, eyes darting behind him as he backed you into the small corner of a hallway, "We can’t talk about this at work."

"So, we can have sex here, but not talk here?"

Your eyes shot open at his words, "Michael." You hissed, sending a shove to his chest which moved him nowhere.

Michael grabbed your hand that thumped his chest, eliciting a surprised gasp from your throat at the sudden contact, "I’m telling you now, I don’t feel sorry about what we did last night." Your mouth fell open at his words, eyes meeting his meaningful, but serious ones, "My marriage is…ruined beyond repair." He admitted, "I needed you. I still need you. And I think you need me. Please. Don’t give up on me just yet."

Words failed you initially, the seriousness and vulnerability of his words setting in, "M-Michael, I-I do need you, but.."

"But, what? Can’t we just be what we are?”

"We’re married, Michael. That won’t go away."

"I know, I know. Things like that take time — I know." He spoke, reaching up encase both of his hand around your own, "But, I also know you’re not happy." He admitted, "And after all these years, I make you happy, don’t I, sweetheart?"

Your aching heart throbbed lovingly at his words and glint of adoration in his eyes as he gazed down at you — your lips parted slowly, before you nodded your head.

Michael leant down, pressing a long, tender kiss to the back of your hand, then another to your fingers — missing the shaken breath that slipped past your lips.

"Let me continue to make you happy."

In that moment, words failed you. You swallowed thickly at his promise — nodding meekly, blushing at the way he pressed another affectionate kiss to your knuckles.

From that moment on, Michael was no longer your boss. To you, he felt like the husband you were deserved but never got. Expensive gifts would show up at your door for your birthday —Flowers before he took you to a private, secluded dinner — Late-night talking as you nestled against his chest after an evening of love-making. He truly felt like your man.

Until you went home — where you were met with your legal husband, who had never felt less connected to you in your whole marriage. You were distant, cold, snappy — wanting absolutely nothing to do with him. And, every night when you trudged home, sheathed in Michael’s cologne, hair a mess, clothes battered and a soreness between your legs — your husband knew what was going on.

"You’re fucking him, aren’t you?"

You jumped — you thought he was asleep. His gruff, exhausted voice hit your ears like a horn as you froze. You knew you weren’t even trying to hide your affair anymore — but, you didn’t expect him to confront you.

"No."

"Don’t lie to me."

You gulped, not daring to move a muscle as your back faced him — not brave enough to look him in the eye. Silence filled the room as you failed to answer him — that speaking more words than you ever could.

"Do you love him?" Yes.

The word hit your brain faster than you anticipated— feeling surprised by your own inner dialogue as you tensed again, sleep suddenly feeling like a foreign concept as you glared at the darkened wall.

"Go back to sleep, Daniel."

Your dismissive response gave him every answer you failed to give — Yes and yes. You both didn’t sleep that night, just listening to the silence and the occasional shuffle of the sheets as the ever reminding final factor swirled your brain.

Your marriage was over.

He knew it and you certainly knew it.

By the time your husband woke up that morning — you were gone. Clothes packed and divorce papers you’d had saved for months on the countertop.

You were finally saying goodbye to this chapter of your life.

Walking into work that day, giddy with excitement, finger free of a ring, you couldn’t hide the smile on your face. You knew the secrets and the lies would come to an end now you had decided to take the leap of faith and end things with your husband. You’re only reasoning? Michael had promised you that whenever you decided to leave him — he assured you, he would leave his wife.

So, when you called Michael late last night, shoving clothes into boxes and whispering your plan to be gone by the morning, with nothing but a sticky note attached to the divorce papers demanding he sign, he promised you he’d leave her that coming morning.

You heard Michael before you saw him — his sweet laughter filling your ears before you turned a corner, clutching your clipboard of To Do list’s to your chest, your heart fluttering at the sound of his voice.

This was the moment you wished you never took the job as a naive, money-hungry, selfish young adult.

Your heart, once skipping beats at the sound of Michael’s laughter, was now threatening to stop at the sight before you.

Michael stood, arms wrapped around his wife, a genuine smile on his face as he pressed kisses to her face — revelling as she giggled into him, hands sliding around his back, pulling him closer.

"Oh, honey, I love you." His words forced bile into your throat as he connected their lips — fluttering her eyes closed.

Michael, pressing his lips into hers, opened his eyes for a split second. His heart stopped, too, once he caught sight of you. Tears streaming down your face, a distraught expression plastered across it as you watched in horror. He knew you knew he had lied — he was never planning to leave his wife.

His giggling spouse pulled away from the kiss, looking up at catch his eyes, fixated on a figure behind her. You turned away before she could see your tear-streaked face, your hand coming up to wipe away the tears.

Michael caught sight of your bare finger — his chest on the verge of collapse as the realisation of his actions hit him.

"Who’s that?" His wife asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

He stared at you, your eyes meeting for the last time, speaking a thousand words, before you turned on your feet, back the way you came.

Guilt had finally set in.

"No one."

Taking you against the bathroom door, hand clasped over your mouth to conceal your whines of pleasure. Or over the kitchen counter after his fiancée left for work. Or even in the same bed his wife to be slept in after you left, legs wobbling and a familiar throb between your thighs.

He knew it was wrong — especially since you were his brother’s friend. Someone who had been in his life since he was in his early 20’s — a constant reminder of something he could’ve had if he didn’t get into another relationship.

He had loved you from the second he set eyes on you. When Jermajesty introduced you both on a casual day, his heart ignited in desire. A want, no a need, for you so strong he physically felt a visceral reaction to you every time he saw you. Alas, he was harshly reminded you were meant to be friends, his brother’s friend, someone in close knit with the family — not someone to be romantically involved with. He moved on — physically, never emotionally.

He and Maddie, his future bride, weren’t the most thrilling of couples. They were simple, basic, easy — their marriage something to just say they’d done. Often lacking chemistry and connection, and that feeling deep in your soul where you know the person you’re with is the one.

Something he’d always felt for you.

The way he felt when you’d look at him, your pretty doe eyes peering up at him like he hung the stars, he could physically feel his heart thumping in his heart every time.

The affair started on Jermajesty’s birthday.

You got drunk — way too wasted, way too quick. The liquor hitting you harder than you expected as you stumbled through the Jackson home, bumping into walls, clutching onto door frame’s as you attempted to make it to the bathroom, before colliding straight into Jaafar, fairly tipsy himself.

He had been with Maddie a little over 3 years — bought their first home, talking of children and marriage, finally settling down.

Until he decided bending you over the sink and fucking you senseless sounded like a better idea.

And from there it blossomed.

Fucking you anywhere and everywhere — no matter the time. And every excuse was made.

Late home? He was on set. Or was he fucking you in his car in an empty parking lot?

Didn’t answer his phone? He was just busy! Busy stuffing your mouth full of his cock, more like.

He hated the way he felt no remorse, no guilt, no nothing. Just the sheer thrill of it — the excitement that filled his chest at thought of when he’d next be burying himself deep inside you.

He’d tell you, as he thought himself, ‘It’s harmless sex’. Something you’d laugh at — despite the cruel reality of it.

And the sex only got better when he and Maddie started fighting. Every day it was a new argument, brutal disputes that would only bring him back into your arms every time — love for her dying, and desire for you blooming.

The thought clouded his mind on set.

Standing under the bright lights, eyes burning from the sheer intensity as well as the fatigue that plagued him — not only from his demanding career, but visions of you keeping him awake, too.

When the director called for a short break, he let out a sigh of relief, shrugging a heavily bedazzled jacket from his tired shoulders, handing it to a nearby costume designer. Raking a hand through his tussled curls, he moved sluggishly to the sidelines of the set, grabbing a bottle of water, taking a slow, much needed, chug.

“Hey, you.”

He hated the way his brain automatically associated the sound of clicking shoes against the hard floor with you — his excitement dying slowly in his chest as he turned to meet his fiancée’s frame.

“Oh, hey.” He spoke, voice flat and uniform.

Maddie hesitated before speaking, eyebrows furrowed neatly into her forehead, “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just tired.” He brushed off, shaking his head, taking a firm seat in a chair with ‘J.Jackson’ neatly embroidered into the back, with a sigh, “What you doing here anyways?”

“Glad to see you too.” She huffed sarcastically, “Thought I’d bring you lunch.”

She handed over a brown paper bag, heavy in his hand as he took it from her. Jaafar peeled it open, stomach rumbling as the sudden reminder to eat filled his now conscious brain.

“Oh.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Jaafar peered up at her apprehensively, “I just—nothing it’s fine. Thank you.”

Maddie’s expression fell, “No. What’s wrong?”

He sighed, “I just don’t like turkey.”

“What?” She hissed, snatching the bag quickly, staring down at the bleak sandwich sat sadly inside, “You do.”

“I definitely don’t.” He breathed out a laugh, “You have it. I’ll grab something from the vending machine later.”

“You loved turkey when we first started dating.” She fired back, attempting to win back her pride.

“Yeah, 8 years ago.”

Maddie scoffed, “Fine. I’ll eat it. Go eat your shit vending machine food, and not the meal your fiancée worked so hard to make for you.”

Jaafar laughed in disbelief, “Maddie, it’s a sandwich. No offence, but I sincerely doubt you worked that hard.”

“What the hell, Jaafar? Honestly, I can’t with you sometimes, I just feel—“ “Jaafarrrr.”

Maddie noticed the way he perked up at the sound of your voice.

She rolled her eyes at the sight of you — a tiny, black mini skirt and a white blouse clad to your frame, kitten heels clicking against the floor as you sauntered in. You looked good without needing to try — something Jaafar always admired about you.

“Hey!” He beamed, rising from his chair, heading straight for you without a second thought, that dangerously beautiful smile adorning his face, “What are you doing here?”

The tone difference in the same question he’d asked to you and to Maddie was clear — something hard to miss.

He met you halfway across set, pulling you into a tight embrace, large arms wrapping around your frame, as you laced your arms around his neck. When you pulled away, Jaafar’s heart raced as you looked up at him — there were those pretty eyes.

“I figured you’d be hungry, so I brought you some lunch.” You admitted, a sickly sweet smile on your face as you handed him a gorgeously packaged box.

The smell hit him before he opened it — perfectly cooked steak, with freshly steamed greens and a side of mac n’ cheese. He groaned in delight.

“Your favourite.” You added.

If it wasn’t for the Jaafar blocking your view — you would’ve been met with the coldest, most seething gaze Maddie could muster.

She had been jealous of you from the start — she hated how much Jaafar loved being around you, how you got on like a house on fire, and proven just in that moment, how well you knew him.

“Oh, my God, this smells incredible.” Jaafar admitted, eyes flickering from your own to the food, “Thank you, princess.” He whispered, his voice low enough for you only to hear, “I wanna kiss you so badly right now.”

“Contain yourself, handsome.” You returned the hushed tone, “Later.”

Jaafar’s eyes darkened at the thrilling idea of getting to kiss you in secret later — visions of ravishing you filling his mind. A different kind of hunger fuelling in his heart.

“I already made him lunch.”

You heard her before you saw her — Maddie’s stern voice from behind Jaafar, gaze still sharp.

“Oh, man.” Your voice a teasing disappointment, “Sorry, J, I didn’t know. What a waste.” Your faux frown hit his face, heart twisting at the idea of your upset.

“No, no. It’s fine. Maddie’s gonna have the other one, right?”

“No, I sai—“

“Aw, thanks, Maddie!” You grinned, excitable voice hitting both of their ears once again, smiling so innocently that your intentions seemed so pure, “At least you can have your favourite now.”

Jaafar smiled down at you, grabbing the plastic fork laid neatly next to his glorious meal, before digging in, “Oh, wow, this is amazing.”

“Made it myself.” You admitted, “Worked very hard for you, Jaaf.”

“You’re so good to me.” Jaafar couldn’t contain the way he smiled as you giggled proudly, walking alongside, mouth full of the food you kindly prepared for him, back to where he once sat, “Whatcha’ got planned for today then?”

“Figured I’d sit around all day and watch you sweat.”

Maddie clenched her jaw at the way you both laughed loudly — a real, genuine laugh falling from Jaafar’s lips.

“Sounds like a riveting day.” He teased, resuming back in his seat.

You grinned, “Oh, definitely. A real thriller.”

“Nice play on word—“ “Jaafar, can we talk?”

Maddie’s harsh voice cut your laughter short — a sudden intense atmosphere blossoming. Jaafar’s smile fell quickly, eyes meeting hers for the first time since you arrived as if her presence wasn’t recognisable.

“What?”

“Alone.”

You bit back a grin — every argument they had brought Jaafar closer to you. Sick, but you loved it.

“I’ll go wait in your dressing room, J.”

To Maddie, she was silently thankful for your departure, however, completely missing your sensual undertone — alluding to the very man, she was subconsciously pushing further away from her and more towards you, that you’d be waiting for him in a quiet, secluded place where he could take you like he always did.

You parted from the tension quickly — sauntering away, hips swinging involuntarily, your back facing the upcoming argument you knew would arise.

Maddie didn’t miss the way Jaafar watched you walk away.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Her voice forced a foul expression onto Jaafar’s face, “What now?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Jaafar.” Maddie snapped, finger pointing accusingly at him, “What is her problem?”

Jaafar feigned innocence quickly, “What do you mean? She just brought me lunch.”

“So did I, but you turned that down real fast. But, when she does it, it’s like she’s moved fucking mountains for you?” Maddie’s voice got icier with each sentence — and louder, forcing passing members of staff to side-eye the growing dispute.

“Lower your voice.” He hissed, eyes darting around, “You brought me something I didn’t like. Sorry if that offends you.”

“It’s not about that, Jaafar, it’s about how fucking weird you are around each other.” She snapped, voice refusing to lower, “Is there something I don’t know?”

Jaafar hid the way adrenaline thumped through his veins at the idea of her possibly finding out well. The thought of filling you to the brim with his thick cock suddenly polluting his brain — blood rushing between the very manhood he wanted to stuff you full of.

“Hello?” Maddie sassed, face an unyielding frosty expression.

“No, of course not. Stop asking me this.” Jaafar lied straight his teeth, a lie told so many times it felt natural now, “You always paint her out to be a horrible person, but she’s always so good to me. I don’t know why you can’t just be nice to her.”

“Because she’s all up on my fiancé every five seconds.”

“We’re just close.” Jaafar spoke, a statement not entirely untrue, “Just leave her alone for once.”

“Maybe tell her that.” Maddie spat, “Tell her to leave you alone.”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“And there we go. Always at her defence.” She laughed in aggravation, “I’m your fiancé, y’know? It’s me you’re marrying.”

I wish it wasn’t.

The sentence hit his brain faster than he expected — a subconscious response to the argument and his secretive infatuation with you.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Jaafar shot back, rising to his feet quickly, “Just go home, I’ll talk to you later.” He wasted no time walking down the hallway to his dressing room, following in your footsteps

“Jaafar, what? No.”

“Do not follow me.”

His voice, a usual calm and collected tone, was now snarled and bitter — a declaration of his frustration. He meant every word he said.

Jaafar stormed through the hall — feet stomping against the ground harder with each step. His anger bubbling over the edge as his chest heaved.

He slammed open the dressing room door — agitation oozing from him like no other. His eyes immediately landed on your relaxed frame, longing on the sofa that was pressed against the back of the room. You met his furious gaze.

“You okay, baby?”

Your sweet, calming voice flooded his frenzied brain — the nickname hitting him straight between the legs. He strode towards you quickly, hands immediately cradling your face as he smashed your lips together in a frantic kiss. You squeaked in surprise at the sudden connection — hands grasping at his tensed arms, before melting into his mouth.

“Need you. Now.” He mumbled against your lips, “Need to feel you.”

“Jaaf.” You whined, the feeling of his warm breath ghosting over your mouth had a familiar tingle radiating up your spine at the anticipation.

His lips worked magic against yours once more — moving with calculated precision as he pulled you to your feet. Tongues and teeth clashing as the passion intensified in your lip-locking — spit and swollen lips the only thing evident on your mouth as he moved his kisses down your neck. His hand, once pressed against the warm of your cheek, splayed across the nape of your neck, as he worked his way down your exposed chest.

“This gotta come off.” He muttered, flicking the buttons of your top open with ease, pulling it off your body and throwing it to the floor, your plump breasts filling his gaze.

His name fell from your mouth in a desperate plea as his lips attached to your bare tits — an erect nipple swirled around his tongue as he sucked. Your head thrust back — whines now filling the room as your back pressed into the makeup counter.

Jaafar pulled away from your breasts, lips colliding with your own once more as his eager hand travelled down your body — fingers nestling right where you needed him. His fingers slipped under your skirt, finding comfort in the dip of your slit, collecting your essence on his fingers from where you drooled through your panties.

“Jaafar, please.” You whimpered, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

“Tell me how much you want it, pretty.” Jaafar whispered against you, face now flush against your own, “Tell me all about it, baby.”

His fingers rubbed tight, precise circles over your clothed clit, slick with your arousal, eliciting the sweetest noises from your pretty mouth — ones that hand Jaafar twitching in his slacks.

“Mm—Need you—Aah! so bad, J,” You cried, hands clutching at the thick of his bicep, “M’Wanna feel you so bad.”

“That’s it, sweetie, talk to me.” He coaxed, mouth suckling at the exposure of your neck, marking up your skin with the graze of his teeth.

Jaafar continued to work his fingers onto you — nimble digits rubbing the painful ache between your legs away as he relaxed you, arousing you ready for his length. His supple lips pressed soft, delicate kisses to any piece of your skin he was unveiled to — only adding to the gorgeous whines of pleasure that flooded his ears.

You leant over to press a sweet kiss to the sensitive skin beneath his ear, “Please, Jaaf, need to feel you.”

Jaafar didn’t give you time to change your mind.

He ripped his body from yours in a hurry — trembling hands from adrenaline and anger unbuckling his slacks, shoving them down his thighs along with his boxers. He hissed as the cold air hit the warmth of his cock, large hands instantaneously coming to wrap around the sheer length of him, pumping himself in relief.

“Turn around.”

You obeyed immediately — swiftly pressing your stomach to the counter, poking your half-exposed ass to him. He pushed your skirt further up your backside, now bunching at your hips.

“I’m not gonna be gentle tonight, baby.” He revealed, looking up at you from the mirror before both of you, revelling in the way you gasped as the fat of his cockend slid between the wetness of your folds, “Too fucking angry.”

“It’s okay, baby.” Your sweet, deliciously soft voice calmed his fury ever so slightly, the eyes that had him weak in the knees meeting his own in the reflection, “Use me. Take me. Just fuck me, please.”

The erotic admission had him pushing into you faster than he ever does — a loud cry falling past your lips as your vision blurred, hand slamming against the glass in a fist as he stretched you. Jaafar usually would take his time with you — work you open with his fingers, make you cum a few times before entering you. But not now. The flaming anger than burst inside of him had him selfish — not wanting to waste a single second before filling you to the brim.

And that he did. Your cunt throbbed around the size of him — girth and length forcing your slick little cunt open for him so briskly it had you biting on your lip so hard you tasted blood.

“That’s my good girl.” Jaafar growled out, a large hand stroking the plush of your hips that he gripped with the pad of his thumb, “Look so fuckin’ beautiful full of me.”

“Jaafar, please.” You mewled, tears brimming in your twinkling eyes.

“I know, I know, baby.” He reassured, dragging his cock out of you slowly, “Just feel me.”

He set a brutal pace — one that rendered you speechless from the first thrust. Only blabbering moans of undeniable pleasure releasing from your mouth as his tip kissed the smooth of your cervix, his cock rammed so deep you forget how to speak.

Jaafar grunted wildly behind you — his usual gentle love-making a distant memory as he fucked you as if you were a cock hungry slut. Something he could use for his own personal pleasure.

Right now, you were absolutely that and more.

“Fucking hate her.” He seethed behind you, grip tightening around your hips, before sliding up your back and taking your hair in a tight grasp, pulling you flush against his heaving chest, “She doesn’t do it like you do.”

The nefarious admission had your cunt clenching around him — knowing he was fucking you brainless whilst badmouthing his fiancée, who you also despised, had arousal coursing through your veins more so than before.

Jaafar noticed, “Oh, you naughty girl.” He breathed, breath hot against your ear, “You love fucking a taken man, huh?”

“Only you, Jaafar.”

Jaafar couldn’t suppress the whimper that fell from his lips, head falling into the crook of your neck, mumbling a curse under his breath at your huffed submission to him — cock throbbing inside you. Every drag of his dick had you whining underneath him — eyes rolling back as he repeatedly abused the sweet spot inside your gummy walls.

“Oh, that’s the spot, huh, princess?” He coaxed, “Look at me.” His large hand gripped your cheeks in a harsh grasp, before pushing two fingers into your agape mouth, “Suck.”

You willingly did as he pleased — suckling at the thick of his digits, the tang of your essence still lingering on his fingers flooding your tastebuds, whining at the taste of yourself. Your tongue swirled around him, eager to please, earning a hum of approval from the heaving man behind you, his pace never faltering.

“Jaafar.” Your voice muffled, mouth still stuffed full of him, a desperate, needy tone in your words, “Harder, p’wease.”

“Y’sound so fuckin’ sexy with your mouth full.” Jaafar groaned, eyes locked on the way tears slipped from your wide eyes, cascading down your face, a collecting of wetness of your tears and spit pooling at your chin.

Jaafar pulled out of you swiftly, ignoring the way you whined at the loss of fullness, before briskly shifting you to face him, pulling your body on top of the counter. He entered you once more, a blissful moan falling past your lips. His hands splayed against the fat of your hips against, pulling you down onto the hardness of his cock — bottom lip pulled between his teeth as you marched every thrust with an erotic whinge.

“‘Gonna cum, Jaaf.” You revealed, eyes glued to the milky white essence that pooled at the base of Jaafar’s cock as it disappeared repeatedly into your sex.

“Give it to me, princess.” He coaxed, fingers flying to your swollen clit, rubbing tight, fast circles around the aching nub, “Cum with me, baby.”

Your orgasm crept down your spine, settling in the low of your abdomen, the relief of a much needed climax arriving, a loud, demanding moan leaving your mouth as you chased your high at full speed. Jaafar wasn’t far behind you — pace now quickening as he too chased his orgasm, wanting nothing more right now to fill you to the brim with his fertile seed.

Slam!

“What the fuck?”

The door to the dressing room swung open — an aggressive bang that had both of your heads spinning towards the noise.

Now you were truly fucked.

Maddie stood in the door way, utterly mortified and shocked to her core at the sight of you — pussy stuffed full of her fiancée’s cock — sweat glistening off of both your bodies, chests heaving.

In a blacked-out state of intense arousal, your wicked mouth betrayed

“Don’t you dare fucking stop, Jaafar.”

And he listened.

In his own personal lust, the sound of his distraught fiancée’s shouting, catching him in a comprising act fell on deaf ears, his hips, that had once stilled, resumed once more.

Your head fell back once more as his pace picked up — your orgasm climbing back up quicker now, pure thrill and adrenaline coursing through you like an addict snorting a fresh line.

Your nails dug into the plush of his bare ass, moans hitting an all time high as you clenched around him, completely unaffected by the furious woman in the doorway — climax washing over you harder than it ever had.

“Oh, Jaafar!” His name rang out through the room, alongside the squelch of your juices with each harsh thrust Jaafar fucked into you, a subconscious twist of the knife to the disbelieving Maddie watching in shock.

Jaafar groaned into your rising chest, cumming with a cry, his own orgasm hitting him as he doubled over, folding into you as he stuffed you full. The sensation of his spurting load filling you to the brim had your toes curling around his waist, a whine hitting his ringing ears. He didn’t stop — fucking his hot cum deeper into you, hips stuttering in overstimulation, the intense feeling of his electric orgasm still flooding through him.

In your mutual state of blind pleasure, you hadn’t noticed the absence of Maddie — the room deafening silent as you caught your breaths.

Jaafar softened inside you, face still pressed into the crook of your neck, eyes fluttered shut.

“Still harmless?”