#invincible era

✎ᝰ! A pleasure dom through and through. Sex is always about you. Your pleasure comes first, second, and third. He makes sure you cum countless times before he even thinks about his own release. 

✎ᝰ! Absolutely loathes doggy style. It feels too impersonal and unromantic to him; he can’t see your pretty face, can’t kiss your lips, or bury his face in the crook of your neck to suck fresh love marks into your skin. The lack of eye contact actually frustrates him.

✎ᝰ! Makes the filthiest sounds known to mankind. He’s not obnoxiously loud, but he whimpers and groans right against your ear, voice breaking as he tells you no one else has ever made him feel this good, no one else ever could.

✎ᝰ! Does all the “work.” Your only job is to lay there and look pretty for him, taking everything he gives you. Your passivity turns him on beyond belief. He’s forbidden you from riding him or sucking him off because that’s too much effort for his precious girl. You’re meant to be worshipped, not to labor.

✎ᝰ! Michael is high key a freak and not ashamed of it in the slightest.

✎ᝰ! Definitely has a foot fetish, you cannot prove me wrong. He tries to be so discreet about it, but the way he unconsciously focuses on the way your toes curl when he’s deep inside you gives him away each time.

✎ᝰ! He is absolutely infatuated with the way you taste. He could, without exaggeration, spend hours between your warm thighs just making you finish over and over with no breaks in between. He gets easily drunk on your flavour and the sounds you make, his eyes crossing and fluttering from keeping himself on edge while his jaw aches but doesn't dare stop.

✎ᝰ! He rarely subs. The closest it gets is when he’s exhausted but still desperate to take care of you. In those moments he’ll lie back and let you ride him, using his cock like your personal toy while he watches you with hazy, adoring eyes. 

✎ᝰ! He is hung, honey. Seven inches when soft, a thick nine when fully erect. Uncut, girthy, and veiny — the kind of cock that makes your mouth water and think the gods may have you as their favorite.

✎ᝰ! Shamelessly whimpers on the phone with you while slowly stroking his leaking cock when he’s on tour. He needs you to hear exactly what you do to him, even from hundreds of miles away.

✎ᝰ! Loves when it gets messy. He goes feral at the sight of a creamy white ring of your arousal frothing around the base of his thick cock, dripping down his heavy balls with each deep slide.

✎ᝰ! Michael is very handsy. He’s constantly groping and squeezing your soft skin, especially your hips, waist, and love handles, like he can’t you’re real.

✎ᝰ! Is obsessed with the fact that your hand can't fully encircle his cock. Strokes his ego just right.

✎ᝰ! He’s very possessive. The idea of a threesome makes him physically gag, yet he can’t stop fantasizing about having both of your holes filled at the same time. What a delicious dilemma he’s trapped himself in.

✎ᝰ! Steals your panties constantly and uses them when you’re not home. He’ll either wrap the silky fabric around his throbbing cock while he strokes himself or press them to his face, inhaling your scent as he fists his weeping length.

✎ᝰ! On the rare occasions he lets you suck his cock, he always has you lying comfortably on the bed while he stands at the edge. He refuses to let your knees touch the hard floor, that’s too degrading for his sweet girl.

✎ᝰ! Ass eater.

✎ᝰ! Whenever he takes you against a wall from behind, he always puts his hand against the surface so you can rest your cheek on it instead of the cold, hard wall, protecting you even while he’s pounding into you.

✎ᝰ! Extremely attentive to your cycles. Knows exactly when you’re ovulating and becomes even more insatiable, fucking you slower and deeper like he’s trying to make it take.

✎ᝰ! Surprisingly into temperature play. Will run an ice cube down your body before following the cold trail with his hot tongue, especially around your nipples and clit. The contrast makes you arch and shiver so prettily for him.

✎ᝰ! Keeps the lights on or at least dim. He needs to see everything.

✎ᝰ! Gets stupidly turned on when you’re shy in public but filthy for him in private. The contrast makes him want to ruin you the second the door closes.

✎ᝰ! Has an odd yet intense fixation on your pulse points. He’ll spend long minutes sucking and licking at your throat and wrists just to feel your heartbeat fluttering against his tongue.

✎ᝰ! Gets painfully hard just from watching you get dressed in the morning. The way you hook your bra, slide panties up your thighs, or bend over to grab something makes him groan low in his throat. Sometimes he can’t resist pulling you back into bed before you even finish.

✎ᝰ! Obsessed with your nipples. Spends ages teasing them with his tongue, sucking them into his mouth until they’re swollen and sensitive, gently biting just to hear that sharp little gasp you make. 

✎ᝰ! Adores when you wear nothing but jewelry in bed, especially the ones he bought you. The way they sparkle and jingle against your skin while he drives into you is pure art to him.

List of some of his kinks/fetishes:

✎ᝰ! Creampies: He loves filling you up to the absolute brim with his thick, sticky seed. The feeling of his tip kissing pressing against your cervix while he paints the tight sensitive ring white drives him wild. He cums so much that it always leaks out of your spent pussy no matter how deep he buries it.

✎ᝰ! Size kink (not about body size): he is obsessed with the whole “oh, no it's not gonna fit” thing. He loves the slow, careful process of stretching you open on his fingers first, turning you into a leaky, nonverbal mess long before he finally pushes the fat tip of his length inside you. Nothing gets him harder than watching you struggle to take all of him, reduced to a dumb little thing as he fucks you like you were made for him.

✎ᝰ! Light exhibitionism: Loves filming and taking photos of you two while making love, capturing every detail. He secretly fantasizes about someone finding them and seeing exactly how well he can ruin you.

✎ᝰ! Praise kink: Mostly centered on you. He’s always whispering praise about how well you’re taking him, how gorgeous you look all spread open and dripping for him, how perfectly you squeeze around him.

✎ᝰ! Spit kink: He enjoys both giving and receiving. He loves catching you off guard in non-sexual moments. Pulling you into a dim corner of a museum and telling you to be a good girl and open your mouth for him just to watch you blush. On extremely rare submissive nights, he’ll beg so prettily for you to spit in his mouth.

© michaelsfavgirl 2026

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Michael? God.

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

God.

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

I pounced the moment that door car door shut.

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

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

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

"I got divorced… recently."

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

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

"A month ago."

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

"I do," he murmurs.

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Take them off, and fuck me."

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

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

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

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

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

"Lie back."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're so young," he mutters.

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

"I mean in comparison to me."

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

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

"No! I'm not a hoe."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your cell phone."

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

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

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

Yeah, I know that man is mine now.

____________________________________________

End notes:

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

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

The moment the hotel room door was shut and locked, she heaved a sigh and plopped down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It had been a long day, and all she wanted to do was sleep.

Michael was silent in the car the entire way back from the awards ceremony. He'd stuck a pair of sunglasses on his face and stared out the car window, and went straight to his hotel room—which was across from hers—the second the car was parked.

She felt bad for him.

She rolled over to her side and closed her eyes, not bothering to change out of the dress she'd worn all night. She tried to sleep, tried not to think about his soft lips on her hand, tried not to think about the way he looked at her on that stage.

Just when she started drifting into unconsciousness, a knock sounded at the door.

She sat up, not sure if she'd heard correctly.

A moment later, and a second knock confirmed what she'd heard.

Peering through the peephole, Michael stood on the other side of the door, holding the kangaroo plushie she'd given him months ago.

She unlocked the door and turned the knob.

"Hi."

He, too, was wearing the same clothes he'd been in all night.

"Hey, Michael." She paused, noticing the glassy tears in his eyes. Concern washed over her face. "What's wrong?"

He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, um," She hesitated for a moment. "Of course." She opened the door wider, allowing entrance to her room.

A quick shut and lock of the door left the two of them in silence.

Michael began crying.

Shock took over her body. He had never showed this kind of vulnerability in front of her before, and for a moment, she wasn't sure what to do.

Slowly, she stepped closer to him, and at the same time, he sank onto the edge of her bed.

Wiping the sweat from her palms, she takes a deep inhale and holds his hand, sitting next to him.

Her heart fluttered at the contact, pulse no doubt rising, but that didn't matter to her right now. What mattered was the fact that Michael was upset.

"Michael?" She says gently.

He continued sobbing, and her stomach nearly fell out of her ass when he hid his face on her shoulder.

She squeezed his hand and patted his back as he cried and cried and cried, until it seemed like he wouldn't stop.

Eventually, he lifted his head.

He'd cried most of his makeup off, eyeliner smudged under his eyes and vitiligo on display.

"I didn't win anything." He says so softly that she barely heard him. "I worked on this album for years and won nothing."

She wasn't sure what to say. She felt pity for him, but was that all he was really crying about?

"I'm sorry, Michael."

He looks at her, a fresh wave of tears burning his eyes.

She clears her throat. "Do you want me to call Tatiana?"

An immediate "No." leaves his lips.

"I want-" He takes a deep breath and swallows. "I don't want to bother her. It's late."

She lets go of his hand and reaches for the phone on the nightstand, dial tone filling her ear. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind–"

He grabs the phone from her hand and slams it back on the receiver. "I said no."

Heart racing, she lowers her hand to her lap. "Alright."

Silence and tension consumes the air surrounding them. Was his face always this close to hers?

He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his suit jacket, paying no mind to the box of tissues on the nightstand. Black makeup smudged the red fabric.

He chuckles. "This jacket costs thousands."

Not following, she waits for him to continue.

"I have more than enough money anyone could ever want." He says matter-of-factly. "Yet I feel like the loneliest person on the planet."

Oh.

"I'm sorry–"

"My father used to beat me."

She shuts her mouth, the audible sound of her teeth snapping closed filling her ears.

He looks down, playing with the tail of the kangaroo. "Every pitchy note, every wrong step. Any and everything I did wrong, I was beat for it."

She grabs his hand again, squeezing it, a sad frown stretching across her face.

Hesitating for just a moment, and deciding to do so before thinking better of it, she wraps her arms around his neck.

It was his turn to be shocked.

"I'm so sorry, truly I am."

He buries his face in her neck, placing his hands on her back.

Her back burns under his fingertips, a heat flushing her skin at the physical contact. She was painfully aware of his hot breath on her neck. She wondered if he could feel the pulse in her flesh, how quick it was.

"My father wasn't that great either." She catches herself saying.

He pulls back, big brown eyes staring into her soul.

Her breath hitches, though she continues. "He was an alcoholic. I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen him sober." She chuckles.

"He used to hit me. And my mom. It was only a handful of times, but I remember it well. My mom refused to put up with it and had the police remove him from the house. I haven't seen him since."

"I'm sorry." He reaches for her hand, and she allows him to take it.

"Oh please, it's nothing compared to what you've dealt with." She stares at the way their hands mold together perfectly.

"What about your mother?"

She closes her eyes and sighs. "She's dead."

Her blunt answer made Michael flinch, and she dropped his hand, opening the locket around her neck.

"She died three years ago from breast cancer." She looks at him as he looks at the silver locket around her neck. "It's just me and my grandmother now."

Sympathy paints his face. "I'm sorry." He repeats the same words from earlier.

"Anyways, that's enough sob story for today."

She grabs the plushie from his lap, flashing a smile. "Have you given her a name yet?"

"No I haven't." He wipes the dried tears from his face and chuckles. "Got any ideas?"

"Hmm," She taps on her chin. "What about Alice?"

Michael bites his lip, smiling. "I love it, it's very fitting for her."

His face had been inching closer to hers, and she only noticed it when she could smell the mint on his hot breath.

No, no, no.

Everything in her wanted to lean forward, wanted to feel his lips on hers. God, she wanted it desperately, dreaming about this very moment for months.

But she knew it was wrong.

So she cleared her throat and put some distance between them.

"I'm not a homewrecker." She states plainly.

Michael shifts and fidgets with the kangaroo plushie again, mentally cursing himself.

"I think it's time for you to go." She stands up and heads to the door, hand on the doorknob, when he stops her in her tracks.

"I don't love her."

She stares at the door, refusing to turn around, refusing to acknowledge what he'd said.

"Did you hear me? I said I don't love her."

Oh she heard him. Loud and clear. That doesn't change the fact that she nearly kissed her boss.

Slow, heavy footsteps walked up behind her, stopping way too close for comfort.

"I tried to love her, I really did. I thought if we were together long enough that I would get there one day, but–"

A sharp ring of the telephone cuts him off.

She lets it ring once, twice, then finally pushes past Michael to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Thank God you picked up." Teresa's voice was panicked.

"Hey, Teresa, what's going on?" The panic in her voice started to rub off on her "Is everything okay?"

"It's your grandmother."

A gentle breeze flows into the sunset-lit living room. It seems as though every piece of furniture that the low rays hit is covered in a deep orange hue, creating a surreal environment around you. You hear the ocean sing from a distance, its scent filling the large penthouse. The birds outside chirp, filling your ears just on top of the television before you. The sound tells you that the birds are making their way to their nests as the day ends. It’s a calming sound, reminding you of how peaceful life has been ever since you married Michael.

The day seemed to go by quicker than you imagined. Having not done anything significant, you thought it would be a slow one. You thought your husband was joking when he told you he didn’t want to do anything special for his birthday, but here you are, sitting next to him on the plush brown couch as he eats a forkful of the cheesecake you baked for him in the morning.

“It’s 6pm already?” He asks, watching his favourite show begin to play right on time.

You huff and cross your arms. “Yup, and we’ve done nothing all day.”

“Well I did say I wanted to relax today.” Michael sinks deep into the couch.

You had so much planned for him today. First you’d make him breakfast in bed, then take in for a walk along the beach and end it off with a lovely dinner along the coast. However, all of that was turned down the minute you brought it up that morning.

With a sigh, you turn yourself towards him. “I thought you said we could celebrate your birthday properly this year.”

He hums, keeping his eyes on the TV. This frustrates you, but knowing Michael, he probably had a good reason not to want something huge for the day. Of course his religious beliefs had something to do with it, but you knew that wasn’t all it was because as he grew older, he became more lenient with religious practices, especially when it came to celebrating birthdays.

You stand up and face him, blocking his view of the TV. He looks at you while shoving another forkful of cheesecake into his mouth with a blank expression.

“You’re blocking the TV, pretty one.” He speaks as he chews, tilting his head to catch a glimpse of the show.

“Come one, Mike,” you whine, “tell me.”

“He chuckles. “Tell you what?”

“Why didn’t you want anything for your birthday?” You fold your hands over your chest.

He chuckles some more, clearly enjoying how something so simple - to him at least - could have his pretty girl this worked up.

“I was just lazy” he shrugs, gently grabbing your hand and placing a soft kiss to it before turning you around and propping you on his lap, “Just wanted to rot in here with you, you know?”

“I can’t believe you.” You laugh and he chuckles behind you.

Michael kisses the back of your shoulders. Wrapping his arms around your middle. What an unbelievable excuse right? But you can’t argue with him. He barely gets to have a day to himself, even now as his schedule has calmed down.

“Well I’m not going to sit here and not give you a birthday gift.” You stand up and pretend to dust yourself off before walking away and into the bedroom.

“What-” He protests but shrugs and finishes up the last of his cheesecake, turning his attention back to the TV.

You walk into the large bedroom closet, making your way to the end on your side of the hanging clothes. Once you’re there, you crouch down and pull out a black velvet box tied with a red ribbon. You smile to yourself, untying the ribbon and opening the box. In it is a stunning pink lace set of lingerie topped off with a silky black robe. You begin undressing yourself, staring off with your grey leggings and cotton underwear then your black strap top and then your bra. As you stand there bare, you pick up the lacy bra from the black box and swiftly put it on, then the panties. You slip on the robe before walking out of the room back to where Michael is, still sitting with his arms splayed across the couch.

“Mike?” You call from behind him.

“Hmm?” He answers without looking back.

You roll your eyes and make your way to him, standing in front of the TV again, this time with a sly smile painted across your face. He looks at the black robe and raises an eyebrow.

“Getting ready to sleep already?” He asks, oblivious to what you have planned.

“Untie it.” He stands up; leaving only an inch of space between your bodies; and unites the robe.

“Fuck…” He whispers under his breath as the black robe opens to expose your gift to him.

His eyes roam your perfectly sculpted body. It’s as if a fire in him has been set alight looking at the way his eyes move up and down your body. You watch his eyes slowly darken and a dirty smile paints his face as he continues to drink in the sight before him.

“Gosh, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.” He looks down at you before pulling you into his seductive embrace.

“Oh I know exactly what I’m doing.” You retorted before pushing him back on the couch.

He lands with a soft huff, His eyes darkening more than they had already. You spread his legs a bit to stand directly in front of him before dropping the robe. You run your hands over your body swaying your hips, playing with the delicate pink material. The sight drives Michael insane. His eyes close for a few seconds before he opens them slightly as he watches you dance to whatever rhythm you have playing in your head. Without warning, you drop to your knees and tug at his black sweatpants you forced him to wear that day.

“Slow down, pretty one,” He breathes out as he lifts his hips, allowing you to pull the pants and his underwear off.

You smile at the sight of his large member propped up in front of you. The sight has you drooling, and you feel your panties dampen. God, sometimes you think about how easily turned on you are just by the sight of him. He hasn't even touched you yet and here you are, soaking your pink panties like crazy.

“I don’t want to,” you wrap your hands around his cock, “need you in my mouth.”

Before he can even respond, you sit up slightly and place your lips on his tip, sticking your tongue out and swirling it around the tip the way he showed you how he liked it a few months ago. He sighs deeply and closes his eyes as you bop your head slowly, taking more and more of him into your warm mouth.

“Fuck, baby. Like that. Just like that,” he grunts with his hands trying his hardest not to pull your freshly braided hair.

To say Michael is big is an understatement. He is huge, probably the biggest dick you’ve ever encountered. To be honest, your hands barely make it around this cock as you twist them up and down to make up for not being able to fit him entirely in your mouth. A mixture of your spit and his precum travels down his length as his grunts gradually increase in volume. You look up at him and his eyes are completely shut with his mouth hanging open. This gives you a sudden boost of confidence as you place your hands around his warm balls and massage them slowly, keeping your head bops at a moderate pace. He sucks in air sharply and you can tell the feeling is overwhelming for him. His hands grip the couch as tight as possible as you continue the delicious assault on him for a while longer.

“Shit, pretty one, stop. Stop.” He whimpers, pulling your head up softly.

“What’s wrong?” You frown confused. “I was almost done.”

“I was too close, baby. I want to come inside that pretty pussy of yours.”

His breath is shaky as he replaces your hand on his cock with his own, pumping himself slowly, before he motions for you to stand up.

“Take it off,” he commands, unbuttoning the black shirt he has on.

“No.”

“Excuse me?” He gives you the look, the one look that would scare anyone else if they defied him. It has little to no effect on you now, but you do love seeing him like that.

“Take it off for me,” you say smugly, turning around to expose the ribbons keeping the lingerie on

He scoffs with a grin, throwing his unbuttoned shirt behind the couch before standing right behind you. He places a kiss to the top of your head then your neck and rests his head on your shoulder.

“If you were anyone else I would be very upset with you. You know that right?” he places one more kiss to your neck as he pulls on the soft ribbon keeping your bra on.

“I know,” You sigh as your boobs bounce slightly at their release.

“You just love pushing my buttons,” he pulls on the ribbon on the right of your panties.

“I do.”

“Naughty.” He pulls on the one on the left and your panties fall to the warm floor with a quiet thud.

Without warning he sits back on the couch, turning you around and placing you on his lap this time facing him. Your hips seem to move on their own as they rub against his veiny length. You need him inside you so badly and he can see that. unbeknownst to you, he decides to tease you a little bit, bucking his hips as he wraps his mouth around your hardened left nipple.

“Baby, please,” you moan as you rock your hips harder, your clit’s rubbing against his cock enough to have your juices flooding.

“Patience, pretty one.” He mumbles, swapping your left nippled for the right.

You can’t wait any longer. Once again, you decide to defy him, lifting your hips up and angling his thick cock to your entrance. You look at him with apologetic eyes as you drop your hips, pushing him deeper and deeper into your soaking vet pussy.

You both moan at the feeling of your bodies connecting. Michael’s once annoyed face now melting into something darker, something you should be used to but the way his brown eyes darken with lust for you still catches you off guard. He grunts as you sit, his dick deep inside of you.

“I couldn't wait, I’m sorry,” You whine as you rock your hips, feeling every inch of him inside you, “Needed you so bad, Mike.”

His eyes are hooded again but this time, his jaw is clenched and his hands grip the soft flesh of your hips, attempting stops himself from fucking the hell out of you. It’s not often you take him completely so he knows you need time to adjust, but fuck, the sight of you like this, tits bouncing slightly in his face, pussy clenching his cock for dear life is driving him insane.

You whine from the mixture of pain and pleasure engulfing your nerves. Your body begins to adjust to his enormous size and you bounce on Michael’s dick a bit more, allowing a few inches of him to slip in and out of your warm pussy.

“That’s it, pretty one. You’re doing so well,” He fondles your right boob keeping one hand on your thigh, “taking me so well.”

You bite your lips at the sound of his words. You speed up, letting more and more his cock slip in and out of you. Your moans get louder as his cock hits that sweet spot inside you. Michael loses it too, his head falls back with a loud grunt and his hands fall to his side. You’re both a moaning, sweaty messy on the couch, breathing hard as you bounce on him like your lives depend on it. Somehow you’ve managed to ignore the feeling of your thighs burning for this long, unfortunately, Michael hasn’t. He feels your hips falter, looking up at you before hauling your movements.

“Lay on your stomach, Y/N,” He lifts you up and waits for you to get into position.

Michael props a fluffy cushion under your stomach to arch your hips in the slightest before gently spanking your butt. Your head drops to the edge of the couch with a satisfied sigh. He spanks you one move time before slipping himself into you. He barely gives you time to adjust to the new position his cock hits your g-spot before he’s thrusting hard and fast in and out of you.

Your mouth falls open and a mixture of a scream and a moan leaves your mouth at the intense feeling behind you. Thank the heavens you’re the only tenants on the top floor. Michael grinds with every thrust he makes, his eyes fixed on your reflection in the mirror facing you both. As if you weren’t a moaning mess while riding him. you eyes well up with tears of pure pleasure ass Michael fucks you with so much passion.

“Look at yourself, pretty one.” He lifts your head so you're face to face with your messy reflection in the mirror. You mascara’s running and your face is damp from a mixture of tears and sweat as he pumps himself in and out of you.

“Mi-Michael!” you cry out, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge.

“I know, baby, I can feel it.” You look up at his reflection. His eyes are fixed on you. He leans down to press a passionate kiss to the sweet spot on your neck as he whispers dirty words of encouragement to you.

The knot in your stomach tightens, your vision blurs as you climb closer and closer to the edge, and then it happens. Your body shakes as your legs clench from the gravity of your organism. Your eyes close tight as you scream Michael’s name like its a prayer

“That’s it, pretty one, let go for me. Make a mess on my cock,” He whispers into your ear as his thrusts falter.

As he reaches his high, you feel another organism creeping up on you. You warn Michael, begging him not to stop fucking you. He grunts, trying his best to grant you your wish. He holds out long enough for you to cum again. Your second orgasm is stronger than the first one. Your nails dig into the leather and you scream Michael’s name louder than you ever have. He’s soon to follow, halting his movements to spill his thick seed inside you with whimpers of your name falling from his gentle lips before he presses his sweaty body onto yours, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

God, you loved hearing him moan like that. You thought he only did it in his songs but here you are, hearing those exact sounds in between moans of your name. What a lucky girl you are.

“Happy birthday, Michael,” You breath out still under him.

“Thank you, pretty one.”

July on Tybee Island was a thick, soupy blanket of heat. The air, heavy with the smell of salt and coconut sunscreen, shimmered above the sand, making the distant dunes look like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. You were propped up in a nest of brightly colored towels, your swollen, ripe belly a heavy, warm anchor on your lap. You were due in three weeks, and this trip—this last, gasping breath of freedom before your world irrevocably changed—was Michael’s idea.

“It’s for us,” he’d insisted, his dark eyes earnest and pleading. “Jus’ us. No schedules, no cameras, no nothing. Jus’ you, me, n’ th’ ocean.”

And it had been perfect. For two days, you’d existed in a lazy, sun-drenched haze. You’d left Prince and Paris in the capable hands of their nanny back at Neverland, a decision that had felt like a small, delicious act of rebellion.

From your perch under the wide-brimmed straw hat, you watched him. Michael was in the water, up to his waist, the waves lapping gently at his chest. He was trying, and failing, to bodysurf a languid, rolling wave. He’d run, stumble, and then be unceremoniously dumped by the surf, emerging a moment later, spluttering and laughing, slick with saltwater. His hair, free of its usual tight curls, was a halo of dark, wet ringlets clinging to his neck and forehead. His body… you smiled to yourself. It wasn’t the taut, dancer’s physique you’d fallen in love with. The last few months of domesticity, of late nights in the studio followed by even later nights with you, had softened him. There was a new, comfortable roundness to his stomach, a softness to his chest that you found irresistibly, intoxicatingly appealing. He wasn’t Michael Jackson, the King of Pop. He was Michael, your husband, a goofy, beautiful man playing in the ocean like a kid. He was a dad. He was going to be a dad again.

A sharp, sudden pang of affection tightened in your chest. You shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, and felt it. A strange, internal pop, followed by a sudden, warm gush between your legs, soaking through your maternity sundress and the towel beneath you.

You froze. For a heartbeat, the entire world seemed to stop. The cries of the gulls, the crash of the waves, the distant laughter of other beachgoers—it all faded into a dull, meaningless roar.

Oh. So that’s what that feels like.

A strange, serene calm settled over you. No panic. No fear. Just a quiet, knowing certainty. It was time.

With a grunt of effort that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with the sheer physics of it, you pushed yourself to your feet. You abandoned the soggy towel and started your slow, ponderous journey across the sand. You walked with the awkward, rolling gait of a woman carrying a watermelon under her shirt, a gait you’d come to know as the pregnant waddle.

Michael saw you coming. He’d just been dumped by another wave and was standing up, shaking the water from his hair like a dog. A wide, beaming smile spread across his face when he saw you. He started jogging towards you through the shallow water, his movements long and graceful. “Hey, beautiful! Come t’join me? Th’ water’s—”

“Michael,” you said, your voice placid, even. You stopped where the wet, packed sand met the soft, dry dunes. You looked down at your dress, now plastered to your legs with a mixture of ocean water and… something else. “My water jus’ broke.”

His smile vanished. The joyful, boyish energy was instantly replaced by a wide-eyed, stark terror. His brain, usually so quick, so nimble, seemed to short-circuit. He took a step towards you, moving too fast on the uneven, sandy ground. His foot caught on an unseen divot, and he went down with a spectacular, ungraceful flail, landing hard on his side in a foot of water with a loud SPLASH.

And you laughed. It wasn’t a giggle; it was a full-throated, body-shaking laugh that felt so good, so right, in that absurd, perfect moment. The sight of this legendary performer, this global icon, flat on his ass in the Atlantic Ocean because you’d announced you were in labor, was the most ridiculous, most wonderful thing you had ever seen.

“Ow,” he grumbled, pushing himself up, spitting out a mouthful of saltwater. He looked at you, indignant, but the sight of you doubled over, shaking with laughter, was infectious. A small, sheepish grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

And then another sensation hit you. A tightening in your lower back, a deep, band-like pressure that wrapped around your entire abdomen, squeezing the air from your lungs. The laughter caught in your throat, turning into a sharp, involuntary gasp. Your hands flew to your belly, your knuckles white. You leaned forward, bracing yourself against the sudden, intense cramp.

The grin on Michael’s face evaporated, replaced by a renewed, and this time fully justified, panic. The absurdity of his fall was forgotten. He scrambled out of the water, rushing to your side. “What? What is it? Are y’okay? What’s happenin’?”

“It’s okay,” you panted, squeezing your eyes shut as the contraction peaked. “It’s jus’… a contraction. Jus’ breathe.”

“Breathe? Breathe?! You’re havin’ a contraction! We need t’go! We need to—” He was vibrating with a frantic, nervous energy, looking wildly around the empty beach as if he expected a maternity ward to just magically appear. “Our stuff! We need t’get our stuff! Where are th’ towels? Did y’bring your bag? Oh god, we’re not prepared!”

“Michael,” you said, your voice firm as the wave of pain subsided, leaving you breathless and shaky. You grabbed his arm, your grip surprisingly strong. “Look at me. Breathe. With me. In… n’ out.” You demonstrated, a slow, steady inhale and exhale. He mimicked you, his chest rising and falling in a jerky, uncoordinated rhythm.

“Okay,” he said, nodding, trying to get a grip. “Okay. I’m good. I’m calm. I’m the husband. I’m in charge.” He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and looked at you with a new, determined resolve. “Let’s go. La Perruque is waiting with th’ car. Let’s have this baby.”

The short walk back to the beach house was a blur of frantic activity. Michael was a whirlwind, grabbing towels, your bag, your forgotten hat, all while keeping a hovering, anxious hand on your back. Mike La Perruque, Michael’s ever-present security guard and driver, was leaning against a rented SUV, his face a stoic mask, though his eyes held a flicker of amusement at Michael’s flustered state. He opened the back door without a word.

Michael helped you in, climbing in beside you as Mike slid into the driver’s seat. “Savannah Memorial Hospital, Mike,” Michael said, his voice tight with command. “N’ step on it.”

The ride inland was a chaotic symphony of Michael’s nerves. He held your hand through two more contractions, each one stronger than the last, wincing every time you squeezed his fingers.

The room was a sterile, white box, the smell of antiseptic heavy in the air. You were on the bed, your legs in stirrups, a whirlwind of doctors and nurses a blur of blue scrubs around you. Michael was by your head, a pale, wide-eyed specter in a paper mask. “You’re doin’ s’good, baby, just push! You can do it! PUSH!”

“One more! One more big one, I can see the head!” the doctor shouted. You were screaming now, a raw, primal sound you didn’t know you were capable of making. Michael had tears streaming down his face, whispering encouragement, his hand gripping yours so hard you thought it might break. “They’re almost here, our little sunshine, they’re almost here…”

And then, a sudden, blessed silence, followed by a thin, reedy cry. A squalling, indignant wail that was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. The nurse held up a small, purple, writhing creature, covered in vernix. “‘S a girl!”

You were propped up in bed, the adrenaline and pain fading into a warm, hazy exhaustion. The sterile white room was quiet now, the chaotic energy replaced by a profound, gentle peace. In your arms, wrapped in a soft, pink blanket, was a miracle. She was tiny, her features a scrunched-up, perfect miniature of a person. Her skin was still a little blotchy, and she had a shocking amount of dark, wispy hair plastered to her tiny head. Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over you, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other hovering over the baby, afraid to touch, unable to look away.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with an emotion so profound it was almost painful. He reached out, his long, elegant finger gently stroking the baby’s petal-soft cheek. “Absolutely perfect.” He looked up at you, his dark eyes shining with tears. “She has y’nose.”

You smiled, a tired, watery smile. “And y’eyes.”

“We did it,” he breathed, leaning in to press a soft, reverent kiss to your forehead. “We made her. Our little Sunshine.”

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. Mike La Perruque poked his head in, a rare, gentle smile on his usually serious face. He held up a large, clunky Nokia phone, the screen lit up. “Sorry t’interrupt. The nanny has the kids on the phone. They’ve been beggin’ t’say hello t’their new sister.”

Michael’s face lit up, a whole new kind of joy washing over him. He took the phone carefully, pressing it to his ear. You watched as he listened, his expression softening into one of pure, unadulterated love.

“Hi, my babies,” he cooed, his voice a soft, gentle murmur. “Yes, I’m here. Mama’s here too… N’ guess what? You have a new baby sister… Yes! She’s here! She’s so, s’beautiful… Her name is Sunshine… Yes, like th’ sunshine in the sky… Do you want to say hello?”

He turned the phone, angoring it so the small, hopeful voices on the other end could drift into the quiet room.

“Hi, baby sissy!” Prince’s small, clear voice chirped, full of a big-brother pride that made your heart ache.

“Baby?” came Paris’s tiny, sweet lilt, a question full of wide-eyed wonder. “Hi, baby.”

Michael held the phone closer to the baby’s bundled form, and for a moment, the four of you—you, Michael, and the two small voices crackling through a phone miles away—were all together, a family, welcoming its newest member into the world. He looked at you, his eyes full of a lifetime of promises, a silent, breathtaking affirmation of everything you had just created, together.

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