moonwalker's lady

The door crashed open and he was on you before it swung shut.

He was still in his stage clothes—black pants and a thin, sweat-soaked white top clinging to the sharp lines of his torso. The smell of him hit you first: hot skin, sweat, and the faint, smoky smell of pyrotechnics. His eyes were dark and wild, pupils blown wide.

He essentially lunged at you, opening the door in nothing but a silk robe. His hands gripped your waist and he moved you back against the wall, his mouth finding yours in a desperate, engrossing kiss. You could feel the nervous, antsy energy radiating off him; show-night Michael, always horny and a bit wild.

The kiss broke as he walked you backwards, his hands undoing the knot of your robe. The silk gave way, pooling at your feet. You both stumbled another few steps into the next room, a clumsy tangle of limbs, and then you were falling.

His arm hooked around your back, taking the brunt of the impact as you landed together on the plush carpet of the sitting room.

He was on you in an instant. His black pants were shoved out of the way in a rushed motion and he practically ripped the white tee off of himself, messing up his hair in the process. Where it had been damp and curly, it was now slightly frizzy.

He braced himself over you on his forearms, knees digging into the deep pile of the shag. You spread your thighs wide around his hips, locked your ankles behind his back, and pulled him in. He drove himself home with one deep, searing thrust that knocked the air from your lungs.

Then… well, he was pounding into you, the wet slap of skin echoing in the quiet room, the furthest thing from romantic practically ever. Each thrust jolted you up the carpet with the force. Every withdrawal was a sweet, hollow ache; every return a jolt of pleasure in your core that made your back arch and your toes curl. It was fast and unforgiving.

He looked wrecked and beautiful; sharp cheekbones from where he'd lost healthy fat during the tour, lips parted and scabby from where he bit them in a nervous state before he emerging onstage that night. That same fierce concentration on his face as he moved above your body as he did during performance.

Your eyes wandered from his face down the taut plane of his pale abdomen, dark clouds of pigmented skin swirled into the paleness.

You watched the muscles clench and release with each drive of his hips. The deep V-lines cutting into his pelvis pointed like an arrow to where you were joined.

After a while, he sat back on his heels, breathing hard. He hooked his hands under your knees and dragged your body up onto his cock with a rough, possessive pull. The new angle was brutal, perfect, hitting your g spot rhythmically.

His eyes locked on where your bodies joined, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, watching himself disappear into you with a dark, rapt focus.

You were babbling, lost to the neurons in your brain that were on fire. "Mmh… god, Mike… s'good… jus’ like… mmph…"

His hips never stopped, but his eyes flicked up to yours.

A slight frown creased his brow, his lip caught hard between his teeth.

"Baby you know I hate mumblin'," he stated, his voice low and commanding.

The next thrust was deliberately deeper, making you yelp.

"Use your words. Tell me what you need. Lemme hear you."

The command cut through the haze. Your eyes met his, wide and desperate. The need was sharp, shocking on your tongue. You swallowed.

"Spit in my mouth."

His entire body went rigid for a split second, it was barely noticeable in the grand scheme of what was going on but you felt it.

Then a slow, sly smile spread across his face.

The rhythm of his thrusting changed completely after your outburst.

He drove into you harder, but slower than you started off, each thrust a deliberate, soul-shaking impact.

He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of your head again, caging you in. His silver chain dangled against your lips and clinked off of your teeth as you gasped. Your lips were so dry that immediately you could taste the metal.

"Did I," he began, his voice a husky whisper, each word punctuated by a deep grind of his hips, "just hear what I think I did?"

You nodded helplessly to him feeling your hair move behind your head, matting it, your breath now coming in short, sharp pants.

"Y-Yeah, baby. Please. I want it so badly. N-need it."

A low, guttural sound escaped him. "Need it?" he purred into your right ear, goosebumps now raising on your sweaty skin, "is that so?"

"mhmmm," was all you could manage.

"You filthy, perfect girl." His eyes were twinkling with mirth.

I n one smooth motion, he shifted his weight. One hand cupped the underside of your jaw, his fingers firm, tilting your face up to his. His thumb brushed your lower lip gently, then his index and middle fingers pressed against your parted lips.

"Suck on em," he whispered, his voice thick.

You obeyed, letting the two digits slide into the heat of your mouth. You swirled your tongue around them, and he groaned, a low, shaky sound, his hips giving an involuntary jerky thrust into you as he watched.

After a moment, he slowly pulled his glistening fingers free.

"Now," he breathed, his eyes locked on yours. "Open for me. Stick out that pretty tongue."

As you let your jaw go slack, your tongue resting in invitation, his hand shifted. His grip firmed. His thumb pressed insistently down on the center of your bottom lip, pinning it to your teeth, while the rest of his hand cupped the point of your chin, tilting your head back and holding your mouth in a forced, wide-open circle. You couldn't have closed it if you tried.

His eyes darkened. He worked his mouth, took his time, tongue running along his teeth, then leaned down and spat; a spray of warmth initially, and then a wet plop directly onto the center of your waiting tongue.

The taste exploded in your mouth; salty, musky, intimately him. A shocked moan vibrated in your throat as you swallowed convulsively.

"m'god, you really liked that, didn’t you?" he praised, his voice thick. He began to move inside you again, resuming that deep, punishing pace, his eyes locked on yours.

He fucked you through the shock of it, his face now smug, the energy between you turning a bit manic.

“fuck, you’re so wet for me, I keep slippin’ out,” he grunted, and each time he did, the fumble to get himself back inside felt crazy; his cock sliding up and down past your clit before sinking back in with a breathy sigh of relief from him.

He leaned down close again, his lips brushing your ear. "If you like bein' spat on that much, baby," he whispered, the words hot and dark with promise, "m'gonna do it again."

Before you could even process it, he pulled almost all the way out with a wet, slick sound. He was breathing hard, chest heaving. He looked down between your bodies, at the creamy evidence coating the base of his cock, and gathered another thick mouthful. With his free hand, he spread your swollen folds.

He leaned back and spat a thick, viscous string directly onto your clit.

You gasped at the sudden cool shock as it dripped down.

The moment it dribbled near the head of his cock, he drove back into you with a guttural groan, the spit easing his way into a devastating, slick glide. You cried out, arching off the carpet.

His thrusts pushed you further away each time, but he dragged you back, his long fingers digging into your hip bones, grabbing your ass cheeks tight to pull you onto him. He was dangerously close, you could tell, the sex becoming sloppy and frantic.

"Head up and watch me make you feel good," he commanded, his voice a rough scrape. He put his large palm behind your head, pulling you up slightly so you were looking down at where your bodies joined.

He held your gaze as he pushed back into you, slowly. You watched, mesmerized, as his spit-slicked cock disappeared into you, over and over, a lewd, shining mess.

“You are dirtier than I thought you were.”

As he rocked himself into you again, you glanced up from watching your bodies join and gave him a half assed wink.

That got another deep moan from him, and the rhythm became something desperate, his control fraying at the edges. The coil in your own stomach tightened, pulled taut. You were right there, teetering on the brink.

“Mike— I’m close, keep going like that” you gasped, the words torn from you. His thrusts were short and staccato now. He was hissing slightly, his foreskin making his shallow thrusts even more pleasurable.

His eyes, which had been glazed with his own pleasure, sharpened instantly on yours again. A wild, tender pride flashed across his face.

“Yeah? That’s it, baby,” he gritted out, his hips snapping harder, faster, chasing your release as much as his own. "love it when you take back control and you tell me what to do,"

and with that, you were catapulting off the edge, your pussy clenching around him

"There you are. That's m'girl."

⭒ 〔 © urbanfunkchild 〕

tags;

@vxrmillion @babyimhis-mj @vincrichc @bigassapplehead @skywriter777 @sugarplumskiies @michaeljacksonbutheadcanons @ladyofmjslife @marley-n-me @saysaysay29 @t-o-pswifey @misscowboyhat @bowoah @bonesxinnyiwantushesoheavy @vntgamericana @wannabestartinsmth @impatientlynocturnalthorn @youkeepdreamin @auriuex @nyctogeny @raxxxxxxxxxxxx @kisssmethrudaphone @riiiiaaz @artflooo @loveposiie @nxctivaaa @ashmariet @nata-de-coconuts @marigoldmourning96 @sugrcookiiee @cass0419 @cherubae111 @izluvsyou @lovingyeet @sadieisagoodgirl @tinyvagrantorb @babyimhis-mj @vinylang3l @j-nae @trizixi1 @triviroko @jazzycurls @matcha-nicolas @glitterqueen123 @amnesia-sc @d3adlyclassrat @ssstarburst @literarycoquette @loonajacksons @belladafellaa @shadesofcool51

You were naive, though, to believe that late into this Saturday evening, on July 4th weekend, prompting your later-than-usual finish, that a certain black Chevrolet Caprice wouldn’t be hiding in the shadows to find a reckless law-breaker such as yourself. The thankful thought to slow down never hit you as you cruised along, completely forgetful to the fact that Police often roamed around later than usual on a busier, popular weekend such as this one.

But, not to worry—you were soon reminded!

Red and blue blasting lights consumed your vision in your rear-view mirror, as well as a patronisingly infamous siren screaming at you into the quiet night, as you whizzed past a hidden vehicle behind a cluster of trees.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck—“ You panicked instantly, pressing on the brake to slow down to a comfortable 68MPH, before the familiar Police car caught up to your speed, tailing behind you closely.

The sirens never let up, neither did the lights, and that only meant one thing—Pull over.

“Oh, fuck, shit, shit, shhhhiiit!”

Panicked adrenaline pumped through you instantly—hands shaking as you indicated right, pulling over messily to an old dirt lay-by area, the gravel crunching under your tires as you slowed to a stop. The sleek ‘81 Chevrolet joined you—parking a few metres behind you, for safety precautions, the sirens finally halting.

“Don’t panic, don’t panic—breathe, breathe, breathe.” You affirmed to yourself, closing your eyes briefly to focus on your breathing, hands trembling in your lap as you prayed for a humble, generous Officer that would show you mercy.

In your right wing-mirror, you gazed anxiously, awaiting the Officer to exit their car, and ruin your night with a $75 ticket. But, as the luckiest lady you were, a tall, slim, young male emerged from the car—adjusting his belt, adorned with a .38 Special service revolver hanging along his upper-thigh, and a flash-light, that was being pulled from its sleeve, and flicked on as he approached your car.

Bingo!

You knew exactly how to get out of this one.

With swift, nimble fingers, you popped open the top three buttons of your pink blouse, ‘Ricky’s Diner’ embroidered on your left breast now folded over to slightly conceal your place of work—before grabbing a handful of your breasts, and pushing then further together in your bra.

A Policeman is a man at the end of the day—and what man can resist a poor lady with her tits out in the middle of the night!

You jumped slightly as the hard plastic of his flashlight banged against your window. Your head flew in the direction of the noise, and swallowed thickly as you reached for the lever, winding down the mucky glass slowly.

“Licence and registration, please.”

Your heart stopped as you met the dark eyes of the Policeman in front of you—this was about to get real good. He was ethereal—quite possibly the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes on, staring broodily down at you. For a second, his gaze flickered as it met your own, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smug smirk, as his eyes shamelessly dropped to your exposed cleavage, before trailing back up to your eyes.

Flirting was going to be real easy when he looked like that.

He was dressed in a dark, fitted navy long-sleeve shirt that hugged the curve of his biceps deliciously, paired with deep black trousers, and black boots on his large feet. Alongside the matching navy blue peaked cap upon his trained set of dark curls on his head, a twinkling silver badge, with ‘LAPD’ etched into its shape, rest upon his clothed left breast, and on the other side a nameplate above the right pocket that read ‘M.JACKSON’—He looked edible.

“Evening, Officer Jackson.” You started, eyes never leaving his own as you dug through your glovebox, “What’s the reasoning for this?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, lil’ lady.” The man breathed out a short laugh, “Licence, now, please.”

“Yes, Sir.” You answered, drawled and sensual, lip coming between your teeth as you handed both documents to him.

“Ma’am, are you aware of how fast you were goin’ back there?” He spoke smoothly, voice laced with a thick accent that you had clenching your thighs together involuntarily.

“No, Officer, I’m sorry …was I going a little too fast?” You feigned innocence, eyelashes fluttering as you cocked your head to the side.

“Just a lil’ bit, ma’am.” Officer Jackson spoke, fighting a smirk at your faux-innocence, “82 in a 70.”

You gasped fakely, “No! Was I really? Oh, well, Officer, I am deeply sorry. Just tryna get home after a long shift, y’know how it is, Sir, hm?”

“I sure do, ma’am, but I stay under the limit.” He shot back smartly, “Just headin’ home after work, were ya?”

“Yes, Sir.” You nodded, gaze still locked on his, “Can’t wait to get home, take off all my tight, sweaty clothes and get in a warm shower.”

You didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched at your words—tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes trailing to your conveniently pressed up breasts again, before finally landing on the documents in his grasp. He shon the light of his beaming flashlight directly at the plastic card of your personal information in his hands—vision raking over the numbers and letters.

“Ma’am, are you aware your licence is expired?”

Fuck.

“I—um—“

“Hm? What’s the excuse now, ma’am?” He taunted, the smug smirk finally reaching his lips as he peered down at you.

“I …uh, I wasn’t aware, Officer, I’m sorry. Work’s been hectic, I haven’t had chance to check it.” You spoke, honestly this time.

He hummed suspiciously, eyes once again flickering over your face, chest, and dropping to your short skirt that danced along your upper thighs, exposing the skin to his wondering eyes under the spotlight of his light.

“Where’d you say you worked again?” Officer Jackson pressed, cocking an eyebrow as he stared at your provocative outfit.

“I didn’t, Sir.”

“Is that a refusal to answer Police questioning?”

Shit—what?

“No—no! I work at Ricky’s, down on 4th.” You answered honestly, “Worked there for 5 years now.”

“Ah, I know it. Opposite the KFC, right?”

You giggled genuinely, “Yes, that’s the one. Been real hard gettin’ customers with such a big chain across the street.”

He hummed again, more of a satisfied noise this time, allowing a small smile to grow on his face, “Well, you’re outta luck, girl, ‘cause I love KFC.”

“Well, if you stopped by some time I could show you some real cooking.” And the charm was back on—game time!

With an elbow on the window, your hand pressed under your chin, and a sweet, toothy smile—you put the magnitude of your flirting to its maximum.

“I see what you’re doin’, ma’am.” He started, the smirk, however, never leaving his face, “Y’know it’s a felony offence to attempt to seduce your way out of a citation?”

“ …Uh—“

“Ma’am, can you step out of the vehicle for me, please?”

Well, shit. The idea that just because he was hot, that he’d succumb to your devious flirting was a stupid one. That citation, and even an arrest with a court date scheduled, had your name written all over it now.

You complied—switching off the engine, and popping the door open to swing your legs out. Hitting the gravel road, your legs shook in panic as your undecided fate lay in the hands of the painfully attractive man before you, who was now eyeing you up and down slowly—taking in your slightly trembling frame, clad in your matching pink blouse and skirt, and black kitten heels over your pedicured toes.

“Little slutty for a diner, hm?”

You gasped softly—the nonchalance and causality of his crude words hit you suddenly, your mouth falling ajar.

“Excuse me? Who do you think you’re talking to like tha—“

“Ma’am, there’s no need to get aggressive.” He interrupted, the smile permanent on his face, as a hand came out in front of him, “If you don’t calm down, I’ll have to detain you.”

“What the fuck? Detain me? For what?”

“Two felonies—speeding and expired license.” Officer Jackson recalled, “And possibly aggravation towards a Police Officer.”

“You just called me a slut, Sir, I—“

“Ma’am, I told you to calm down already.” Oh, this guy was playing a real sick game right now, “This is your last warning.”

You scoffed, words failing you as you eyed the man in-front of you. You weren’t sure whether he was a seriously corrupt Police Officer who strived off making money and arrests to innocent, vulnerable women, or an aroused, perverted fiend just like yourself. And with the way he was licking his lips, wetting the skin, as he gazed dreamily at your exposed chest—you were sure it was the latter.

And you were more than into it.

“I’m so sorry, Sir,” You pouted, welling up faux-tears in your eyes as the flirtatious charm sprang back into life, “I’m just so nervous—feel my heart, it’s beatin’ right outta my chest.”

Without giving him any time to process your next move, your hand clasped around his extended hand, and pressed it directly against your bare chest—deliberately smushing his dark brown palm into the plush of your breasts.

“See? You just make me so nervous, Officer.”

“Turn around.”

The gruffness of his usual soft tone made you widen your eyes suddenly—lip coming back between your lips, as you willingly turned around. Your heart hammered loudly in your chest—whether it was genuine nerves or the thrill of being so close to such an attractive man, you weren’t sure—probably both.

“Just a mandatory pat-down.” He spoke lowly, his chest mere inches from your back as he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low grumble behind your head, “Do I have your consent, ma’am?”

“Yes, Officer.” You breathed, voice shaken as you braced yourself for his hands against your body, trembling in ecstatic anticipation.

“Good girl.”

He didn’t miss the way you gasped—breath catching in your throat as he chuckled darkly. Your eyes fluttered shut as his hands met your tensed shoulders, rubbing the skin quickly—his hands were warm and large, covering substantial surface area of your arms as he made his way down. His hands smoothed down your back slower this time, sliding to follow the curve of your waist, and around your middle—fingers curling over the plush of your stomach. By the time he crouched down, hands patting over your exposed legs, prickling with goosebumps, you had been biting your lip so hard you tasted blood—it had been a long time since you’d been touched, by anyone, let alone being pat down by a divine man such as the one behind you.

“Oh!”

The word left you before you could stop yourself as his two large palms cascaded over the round of your behind—each cupping a cheek of your ass, kneading gently. He could easily play it off as attempting to feel for any weaponry, but the way he was toying with the plushness of the skin was hard not to interpret as sexual.

“Need me to stop, lil’ lady?” He whispered, breath hot against the back of your ear as he rose to his feet once more, hands now sliding across your lower back, and back to your waist.

“N—No, it’s okay. Keep going.”

God, you sounded pathetic—your voice broken and wobbling, chest heaving as his thumb trailed across the side of your breasts, your jaw instantly clenching at the sensation.

Soon enough, his hands cupped the swell of your clothed breasts—palms gliding over your now pebbled nipples, fully erect from the sensual touching. Involuntarily, your back arched into the touch, a quiet, almost inaudible mewl left your gnawed lips—You froze. As did he.

In the silence of the dark freeway, it was hard to miss the way you just moaned at a Police Officer groping your breasts for a mandatory search. Even the quietest of whimpers hit his perked up ears, his hands stilling around the mounds.

“Well, well.” He murmured, voice husky, “What are we gonna do with you, girl?”

Another noise left you as his thumb, deliberately, trailed against your left nipple—the pebbled nub rolling over the pad tantalisingly slow.

“Officer, I—“

“Shhh, it’s okay.” He whispered, chest pressing against your back, hands still tracing over your clothed breasts, “I think a strip-search is in order, I’m not satisfied you’re not concealing any weapons.”

You swallowed thickly, turning around slowly, his hands leaving your chest, your blown-out pupils meeting his own. Your hands, now shaking from anticipatory excitement, reached for your shirt—painfully slowly popping open each button, the blouse coming increasingly more loose as you finally reached the last button. Even as you slid the shirt from your body, your lacy, black bra on full display, your gazed never slipped from his face—even when his vision locked on your exposed breasts. His lip, just like yours had been, was caught tightly between his teeth, as if he was fighting every urge to not break any code or agreement he’d signed once he started the job—but, he was already too far gone. Especially when you unzipped your skirt at the back, and let it fall to the floor in a swift drop—now, half-naked in your matching undergarments and high-heels.

“Well,” He croaked, throat going extremely dry as his eyes raked over your bare frame, “I didn’t say leave those on.”

“You want me to go all the way, Officer?” You breathed, licking your lips.

“Hmm.” Officer Jackson hummed, nodding briskly.

Your hands crawled behind you, fiddling with the clasp, before popping it open—letting it fall off your arms. You fought a grin as Officer Jackson’s breath hitched in his throat—teeth grinding together as he eyed your swell breasts, nipples hardened from equal parts the cold, crisp air, and the arousal that flowed through your veins like electricity—pooling in the panties you were now sliding down your legs.

You didn’t even care that you were stark naked in front of the stranger before you—pussy and tits in his complete vision as he eye-fucked you, hunger dazzling in his eyes even in the dark.

“This better, Sir?”

“Much.” He mumbled, nodding slowly, “But, a physical exam is still required.”

“And how does that work, Officer?” You questioned, feigning stupidity—you knew exactly what that meant, and every fibre of your being was praying to God that he’d take those large hands of his and fuck you senseless with them.

He stepped closer, the intoxicating scent of his cologne, deep and musky, danced around in your nostrils—the smell dizzying and sending you breathless as he towered over you. Up close, you really got to look at him—he had dangerously gorgeous brown eyes, almost black from how blown-out how pupils were in desire, stunning brown skin, baby-hairs smoothed to his forehead, just before his neatly-kept dark curls, as well as a small, blooming moustache atop his upper, plump lip.

His hand dipped, smoothing under the back of your left knee, and raised your leg—resting your levitated leg on the sliver of your exposed tire. This position was vulnerable and open—your legs now deliciously spread, your arousal painting your thighs as you awaited his next move.

“This is mandatory, y’see?” He drawled, a hand crawling up your inner thigh slowly, “Can’t miss a single spot.”

“I understand, Sir.” You breathed, “You can search anywhere you want.”

He hummed once again, the noise rumbling in the back of his throat, as his finger came in direct contact with the wetness soaking your thighs. He swallowed thickly, pressing himself closer to your body that radiated a scorching heat—rolling a familiar bulge into your other thigh. You gasped at the feeling of his stiffened dick beneath his slacks, a bodily reaction purely from your nakedness—your own body reacting similarly, more slick drooling from your bare sex.

“Consented, right, sweetheart?”

You blushed harshly, your cheeks glowing a deep red as his middle finger grazed along your folds, “Yes, Sir.” You forced out through gritted teeth, fighting every urge not to beg for his fingers.

That calculated logic went straight out the window the second his finger pushed past your soaked lips, and slipped inside your wet heat—the impressive length of his slender digits reaching so deep that submissive whines fell past your plump lips.

“Jesus.” He groaned lowly, his facade faltering as you clenched around his finger, your slick arousal coating his digits, dripping down his knuckles.

A second finger joined the first, and instantly began a gruelling pace—curling against your front wall to abuse the sweet spot inside you that your hand flying to his wrist, acting as an anchor, as he worked you open with his fingers.

“Officer!”

“Shh, just take it.” Officer Jackson whispered, rolling his hips forward, his erection rubbing against the bare of your thigh as he repeatedly nudged your G-spot, “‘M just doin’ my job, right?”

You nodded, eyes rolling to the back of your head as pleasure consumed you, your brain going numb, “You’re such a good Police Officer, Sir.”

“Yeah?” He breathed, hips stuttering at the praise, fighting a groan that threatened to slip from his lips, “Y’doin’ so good, sweetheart.”

You moaned, louder and shamelessly, head lolling back, eyes fluttered shut as his thumb grazed upwards—now rolling your throbbing clit along the pad, doubling the pleasure. Your fingers tightened around his wrist, the other scratching the paint from your bonnet as the lewd sound of your squelching cunt filled the silent air—alongside your carefree whines and whimpers.

“Oh—Oh, God, I—Oh, fuck, Officer, I’m gonna—“

“Yeah? You gonna give it to me? Gonna make me proud?” Officer Jackson growled, leaning forward to brush his lips against the shell of your ear, his breath warm against the skin, goosebumps blooming once again over your skin at the sensation.

You cried out, louder than you expected, turning your head to capture his lips in a fierce, frantic kiss as you released—moaning loudly into his mouth as your hand flew to his face, cupping his warm cheek, as your tongue danced into his mouth. He groaned into your mouth—teeth grazing your bottom lip as he french-kissed you swiftly, not wanting to waste a single second apart from you as your pussy spasmed around his fingers—creamy release drooling down his hand, his pace slowing as you came down from your high.

“Not deep enough.” He panted against your lips, hands, still coated in your slick, fiddled with his belt, unbuckling it quickly, “Don’t know if you’re still a threat.”

You whined, lapping into his mouth desperately as he forced his blacks slacks and impossibly tight boxers down to his mid-thighs, his hard, thick dick springing free from its restraints. He trailed kisses from your mouth, to your hot cheek, to the crook of your neck—nipping and sucking at the skin, marking it in deep, dark purple lovebites. Meanwhile, his right hand fisted his stiff cock—pumping himself, allowing pretty, flustered noises to escape into your flesh, as he prepped himself.

“Turn back around, baby.” Officer Jackson commanded, a large hand splaying across your lower back, signaling you to move.

You did so quickly and frantically—your heeled foot meeting the gravel once more as your bare chest hit the cool of your metal bonnet, hissing as the crisp, coldness rolled against your sensitive nipples. The iciness didn’t last long as Officer Jackson pressed himself against you—warm chest flush against your chest, as his twitching dick, drooling with pre-cum, slid between your glistening folds.

“Needa’ see if you’re gonna hurt me, baby. You wouldn’t do that, right? I’m such a good cop after all, hm?”

“Never, never—mmh!—please, please!” You heaved, nails dragging along the bonnet, scratch marks indented into paint as the head of his dick caught at your entrance.

A string of profanities left your lips as he slid inside—the size of him knocking the air out of your lungs as he pushed himself as deep as he could go in one fell swoop. Your name, one he’d memorised from your licence, fell from his mouth, a sensual, lewd, low growl as your tight pussy constricted around him, accommodating the stretch.

“God, y’so fuckin’ tight.” Officer Jackson breathed, heart hammering against your shoulder blade, as he pressed a soft, gentle kiss to the side of your head, “You gonna be a good girl and comply, hm?”

“Yes! Yes, Sir—do what you want with me.”

Needy and desperate—that exactly how you sounded, and exactly what you were. Dying for him to move, to feel the drag of his throbbing dick against your spongy walls, abusing the sensitive spot inside you that had you seeing stars without even needing to look up at the night sky.

And that’s exactly what it did.

With every thrust, his hips snapping against yours ruthlessly, you screamed—the dark blue paint of your Toyota physically coming up under your nails as he pounded into you relentlessly. His name, ‘Sir’ and ‘Officer’ repeatedly spilled from your mouth—begging him for more, deeper, harder, faster, as he took you on the hood of your car. He was unforgiving—just as a Police Officer should be, despite his irresponsible, corrupt ways, by ploughing into you with such fever you couldn’t help but cry out into the night.

“Fuck, girl, y’pussy’s squeezin’ me so hard. What’cha tryna hide from me?” He teased, his tongue darting out to trace your earlobe, “You got a concealed weapon I don’t know about? You tryna get arrested, sweetheart?”

“No! No! Swear—mmmhh!—“ You exclaimed, breath ragged and uneven, as he drove in harder, angling his hips to repeatedly slam against your anterior vaginal wall, an area that had your second, more powerful orgasm, creeping up your spine.

“Mm, I don’t trust you.” Officer Jackson taunted, his pace never letting up as his hands climbed up your front, one hand cupping your breast, rolling your right nipple between his nimble fingers, and the other slipping between your conjoined legs to rub your sensitive clit.

The triple sensation, sending the pleasure to another level, had you blabbering nonsensical sentences—his surname, not knowing his first, along with cries of ecstasy, mingling with the shlap! shlap! shalp! of his hips against your recoiling ass.

“Oh! Fuck, fuck, Officer, ‘m gonna cum!”

Your voice broke loudly, your hips bouncing back to meet his thrusts, forcing him to the hilt, as your second orgasm hit you like a freight train—the overwhelming euphoria washing over you violently.

“Fuck!” Officer Jackson spat, hand tightening around your breast, as his hips stuttered at your pussy clamping down on him harshly, “So fuckin’ tight—should be fuckin’ illegal the way you’re squeezin’ me, baby, fuck!—“

With a low, loud grumble of a moan, the ferocious pounding sped up, if even at all possible with the speed he was fucking you, ending with a crescendoing, harsh thrust—burying himself to the brim, the tip of his flushed cock nudging your cervix, as he spilled inside you—warm, thick, spurting cum flooding your convulsing pussy, whining softly as you shook from the aftershock of your orgasm, as well as the sensation of him flooding your womb.

For a moment, no one moved—the ragged, broken heave of your breaths being caught surrounded the quietening atmosphere, his hips still pressed firmly against your ass as he softened inside you. His hand dropped from your breast, and to your hip as he finally eased himself out of your pussy, ignoring the way you whined at the loss of fullness. A whispered curse fell from his mouth as a dollop of his release dripped from your sex, and onto the gravel beneath your feet.

“Here.”

You craned your head at the sound of his gruff voice, still pressed against the bonnet, legs weak and shaking, watching as he handed your clothes to you—now coated in thick, dusty dirt. You took your blouse and skirt from him, holding it close to your exposed chest, feeling suddenly too vulnerable for your liking, as he crouched down to grab your panties.

“Leg.”

His voice was short and simple as he peered up at you from his bent knees—holding your panties open for you step into you. You tried to ignore the way your heart clenched at the sweetness of his actions, as you slipped your feet into each hole of the lacy panties, smiling softly as he slid them up your body, and around your bottom half once again. He did the same routine with your skirt, letting you slowly stand into it, and sliding it up your body, zipping it back up gently. You opted for no bra—just sliding the blouse over your chest, and doing up a few buttons—too fatigued from the feverish sex to do anymore.

Officer Jackson cleared his throat once he’d risen to his feet once again, after retrieving the flashlight he’d thrown the floor previously, tucking his softened dick back into his trousers, buckling them up again, smoothing out the material, before looking back at you.

“Now, I’m gonna let you off just this once, but get that licence renewed ASAP, miss.” He ordered, the stern, authoritative tone returning, pointing a finger at you, the same one that had been deep inside you a few minutes prior, “And slow down.”

“Yes, Sir, will do.” You smiled, the post-orgasm buzz consuming your body as you succumbed to the hazy feeling, “Thank you.”

He hummed, checking his watch, cursing, and wetting his lips, “Gotta head off, got another criminal like yourself to catch.”

You giggled, “I understand.“

You waited for him to turn on his heel and speed off in his Caprice—but, he kept his feet planted where he stood, before he lunged forward, his hands cupping your cheeks as he smashed his lips against yours once again. You gasped in surprise into his mouth, your hands darting to his forearms as you kissed him back frantically.

He pulled away with a sharp breath, “I’m Michael.” His voice a gentle whisper, “Here.” He let his hands fall from your face to dig into his back pocket, retrieving a small, rectangle piece of cardboard, before handing it to you, “I gotta go, but drive safe, girl.”

Without waiting for your response, he rushed away, turning on his heel and jogging towards his car—climbing in quickly, putting it immediately into drive, and speeding off into the dark. As the red and blue lights, one’s that originally had you panicking and sweating, now had you smiling deeply at the crude memories, sped off—you climbed back into your own car, flicking on the dim, amber roof lighting, and glancing down at the card. You laughed softly, running a hand over your warm face, clenching your thighs together as another dollop of his release slipped from your pussy, into your panties—what a night.

LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT

OFFICER MICHAEL JACKSON

BADGE NUMBER : 4389

MOBILE NUMBER : (213) 555-1***

And scribbled underneath in messy black biro—

—Call me ;)

was this too crazy …?

© dreamylace 2026 ❦ all rights reserved

𝟎𝟔/𝟐𝟐/𝟐𝟔: 𝑀𝑖𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑒𝑙 𝐽𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑠𝑜𝑛ˊ𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟ˊ𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙-𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑤. “I always found it hilarious whenever they'd report that he was gay or asexual or whatever. There were so many people who assumed that, just because of all the shit the media spewed. I toured with him in the late eighties, and I can tell you now that Michael Jackson couldn't have been any further from asexual. I don't think any of the other guys in his entourage have ever said this before and I probably shouldn't be sayin' it myself, but we had first-hand experience of just how high that man's sex drive was. There'd be times where in that break just before the encore, Mike would rush backstage, take his girl from the wings, and they'd be fuckin' like animals in his dressin' room. No, I'm not kiddin'. We could always hear 'em from the other side of the door. All that adrenaline—the rush from performin', the screamin' fans, those hip thrusts he'd be doin' all the time... it's hardly surprisin'. And he couldn't even wait until the show had finished. Wait, don't go askin' her about this now—I think I've said too much. [laughter] But just know, if you were ever at a show where you thought the encore was takin' forever to start, that's probably what was happenin'."

MAY 23, 1988 ; Stadio Flaminio, Rome, Italy…

On a genial spring night in Italy's metropolis, you watched from the sidelines as your husband performed the 55th show of his current world tour. He'd been onstage for almost two hours now, delivering a sensational, top-notch performance as usual, and as you took in the delirious screeches and the incessant fainting in the crowd below, you realised that if you were to be truly honest with yourself, in that moment you weren't feeling all too different to those women. Having known Michael since the age of eleven and having been in a relationship with him for ten years, one might take the assumption of most marriages: the belief that the longer an individual spends their life with somebody, the less likely they are to maintain thrill and satisfaction in that shared life.

In your case however, you never for one moment took for granted the fact that you were married to the sexiest man alive. You saw him in his softest, most vulnerable moments, cared for him in the times where sex was the last thing on your mind, but it really wasn't possible for the wife of Michael Jackson to ever 'get used' to the way he looked and behaved onstage (and in the bedroom). No, you weren't screaming or fainting, but you sure as hell felt like doing so. Those girls in the audience had no idea that even owning the man they yearned for didn't calm the insatiable desire. Your urge to jump him was constant.

So instead of displaying your emotions in that humorously frantic way, you were leaning against a wall with a glass of white wine, lip bitten between your teeth, freshly applied gloss already semi-faltering as you stood restlessly. You were wearing a champagne pink satin dress, adorned with a silver crystal trim tracing the neckline and running in curved lines down the bodice. The back was mostly left open, crossed with delicate strands of crystals, an image coordinated with the silver platform heels on your feet. Smoky blue-grey eyeshadow dressed up your striking eyes, contrasting with the opposing colour structure of your dress; and your lips were a glossy nude, highlight shimmering on your cheekbones.

Just after Michael entered the stage at eight thirty, your makeup team had carefully dolled you up, because tonight you would be performing The Way You Make Me Feel with your husband during the encore. Initially you were going to perform your collaboration, I Just Can't Stop Loving You, like you had done in the past, but due to prior engagements you couldn't get to the stadium on time for a song so early in the setlist.

As Michael's forever muse, you starred in every single one of his music videos, for he felt it a disservice and a strong level of disrespect to ever consider casting another woman—even when you were at your busiest and he had to keep messing the director around with constant rescheduling—because you were his star girl. He didn't write all the songs he released, but each one he attached to you—and therefore, it would be incredibly out of alignment if he was to assign the role of leading lady to anyone other than you.

In the music video for TWYMMF, you wore a classic tight black mini dress, a dark look to bode relevantly with the purpose and scenery, but tonight you were wearing the direct opposite, on intention. You'd accompanied Michael for the song several times previously on the tour—whenever you could be in the same city as him, he always convinced you to join him for various performances—and you often liked to switch up your look, never wanting to give the audience the same thing one too many times. You were known for your glittery, colourful numbers, whereby as the world's biggest pop princess, you and your team never chose designs half-heartedly. Tonight you looked breathtaking, and soon enough you would display tonight's carefully crafted look to the thousands of fans beyond. Unless someone caught a glimpse of you backstage, your entrance was always a surprise for everybody, because you liked to maintain the element of mystery regarding when you'd show up. It always made for the best reaction.

But there was something else you and Michael had planned prior to your dazzling appearance, and it was all you could think about as you stood there waiting for the main show to cease. He was in the middle of performing Bad, dressed in his signature black-and-white and dancing across the stage seamlessly, those hips moving with a mind of their own...

God, you were in heat.

You took fast, repetitive sips of your wine almost as a compulsion to calm the overly wild thoughts racing through your mind, but what settled you more than anything was the knowledge that Michael was on your same level of arousal. Performing the way he did, so explicitly sexual, had him aching for you at the end of every single concert—unable to function socially on the nights you weren't there, which unfortunately for him was most nights.

That voice, those grunts in between lines, that long curly hair spilling out of his useless hairtie, those fucking hip thrusts... You sometimes wished he wouldn't do them so much because the impact they had on you was absolutely ridiculous. It was embarrassing how easily soaked your panties became whenever you took in the sight from the wings, because not only were the moves inherently sexy, but you knew exactly what those hips could do during intimacy. All those other girls were down there fawning over their mere imagination, but you knew just how incredible that man was in bed.

You altered between sighing, rolling your eyes in frustration, tapping your heel and fidgeting agitatedly, all while unable to take your eyes off the sensation in front of you. Your baby was a star—so completely captivating, and sometimes you struggled to believe he was real, with an equally stunned reaction to his existence as the screaming fans.

And with regard to the fabric over your nether region, they were indeed entirely soaked. You'd definitely need to change them before going onstage, because of course performing to the public in drenched panties was highly inappropriate. You even felt a little uncomfortable now, in a space with only two members of Michael's backstage team.

The material clung to your dripping folds, already skimpy enough before the sticky mess you'd exuded had transformed it from a thong into something completely useless. You couldn't stop daydreaming about how in just under a minute your husband would rush through, whisk you away and happily make use of that sloppy liquid. There would be no time for foreplay, so the wetter you were, the better. It was pretty reasonable to assume that nobody backstage had any lube hanging around; and so, via that perspective, the embarrassing amount of wetness had quite a necessary positive use in such an environment.

Through a little more frustration you waited, feeling as though you'd just been edged for the better part of two hours, but finally you heard the song fading out, watching as Michael skipped up and down, waving.

"I love you!" he shouted to the crowd, and then without looking back, he rushed offstage and into the wings.

Immediately, his eyes locked onto yours, and he pretty much sprinted over, hardly breathless despite all the dancing he'd done that night.

The two men that had been stood near you turned the opposite way as if on cue, knowing that while you and Michael were in fact in public, what the pair of you were about to display would be much too private to bear witness to.

Instantly, you slammed your drink down on the table beside you and collapsed into his kiss, neither of you needing to initiate anything with words. His hands gripped your hips, holding you to him as his tongue wove through your eager mouth.

"Mm, baby, I've been goin' crazy back here," you moaned against his lips, uncaring about the dripping sweat running down his face and onto yours, although you very much should have cared, because if you wanted to spend the break before the encore fucking, there was no time to fix your freshly applied makeup.

But was it really surprising that in your man's arms, you could think of nothing else? In that moment he could've created a tear in your dress and you wouldn't have batted an eyelid.

"I know, honey, jump," Michael murmured against your cheek, running his hands down to your ass and squeezing as you jumped up into his hold. Your arms went around his neck with a happy squeal, legs locking around his waist, and he gave a light smack to your ass before carrying you down the hallway. You didn't appreciate how fast you guys had to be, but you did enjoy that such a small time slot meant you'd be getting fucked hard, with zero teasing.

"My panties are ruined, Mikey," you whined into his ear as he rushed to his dressing room, bouncing you a little in his arms. You felt delirious at the feeling of his warm forehead on yours, and his familiar scent lighting up your senses.

"Thought as much, baby," he whispered back. "’s okay, 'm here now."

You giggled as he sped past the murmurs and knowing looks of his entourage, the whole group so fed up of the pair of you. They all loved you, but it was honestly much easier to work with Michael on the days he didn't have you there as a distraction.

Finally, you were in his dressing room, under fluorescent lights and amongst a scattered mess of items. Michael slammed the door behind you both—not meaning to be so aggressive with the action, but naturally it spoke of the passion within. He reached one arm down to twist the lock, now holding you up with just one, and then before you knew it you were hoisted up against a wall right beside the door, legs still wrapped tight around your man's waist.

You dragged him back into a heavy kiss again, tongues making the most lewd noises, merged with the hums and whines spilling from your throats. Your hands moved up and down from the nape of his neck to his pretty curls, getting tangled in the damp strands, while Michael's hands kept a firm grip on your hips and thighs, keeping you secure. And now, of course you had to be quick, so each of Michael's actions escalated quickly. It stunned you how rapidly he undid his heavy belt and dragged down the zipper of his black slacks to pull out his cock from his boxers. He breathlessly tugged at his aching shaft decorated with streaks of milky-white precum.

And at the mere viewing of his huge length being stroked through his slender fingers, unconsciously your eyes rolled back with a groan.

"Mm, honey..." you sighed, gripping his shoulders with need.

"Just a second, angel," he murmured, still gliding his wetness over the flushed flesh, biting his lip as he did. Miraculously, he'd managed to reserve a hard-on until right at the very end of his performance, despite the fact that he'd been thinking about you the entire time.

But he'd been dancing on thin ice throughout the last ninety seconds of Bad, already half-hard at the excitement of knowing he was about to be backstage with you. He'd spent that part rushing up and down the stage much more than he usually did, because he couldn't exactly stand directly under the lights while that happy problem existed at his lower half.

Finally, he reached a hand under your pretty pink dress, and ran his fingers along the tiny material saturated with your cum.

"Oh, pretty baby..." he whispered, kissing at an erogenous zone on your neck as he slid the futile panties to the side and smeared your cunt with its gushing liquid. "Made a mess while watchin' me, huh?"

You nodded quickly, humming in response.

"’s a good thing y' don't need foreplay," Michael muttered, "'cause there's no time—jus' need to get in this sweet lil pussy..."

He casually smacked the head of his cock over your throbbing clit, and you trembled in his arms.

"Nngh, Mikey… need y—oh!"

Without warning, he bottomed out in one heated thrust and nearly knocked the wind out of your lungs. Your entrance was dripping with natural lubrication, so he knew your body was more than ready for the intrusion, but your walls were always shocked by the extent of his girth, and in that moment your nerves almost seized at the sudden hit of pleasure.

"That okay, ma?" Michael whispered, stilling as he kissed your earlobe while his fingers dug into your thighs. You felt so perfectly full.

"Mhm, baby, fuck me..." you whined back, directing his face back to centre with a hand on his jaw and licking your tongue into his mouth again.

"Alright, sweet girl," he hummed against your lips.

With no time to waste—literally—Michael began harsh and speedy thrusts, hips snapping roughly to direct his flushed tip against your sweet spot every time he moved.

"Love this pussy, baby... drippin' for me... Gonna make her cum b'fore we need to get back out there, yeah? Y'gonna let me make that happen for you, mama? Y’gotta take it hard for me…”

“Yes, baby, fuck me hard—oh, shit!”

You were babbling incoherencies, entirely drunk on his cock, and it hadn’t even been two minutes. The huge, veiny weight of him ploughed relentlessly into your tight cunt, and he grunted with each thrust, face scrunched up in pleasure.

The tell-tale sound of wet slaps of skin echoed through the spacious room and out into the hallway alongside your uncontrollable moans, and the framed photograph above your head was loosening its security on the wall with every rough stroke. Michael had astonishing stamina, so usually he'd indulge in your body for quite a while before reaching his climax, but of course tonight he had to be as quick as possible, while still of course ensuring you came too.

"Yeah, feels good, pretty mama?" he whispered into your neck, beginning open-mouthed kisses with the intention to leave a bruise, before you pretty much yanked his head back.

"Michael, don't you—ugh—dare." There was no way you'd let him mark you up when you would be going onstage in front of thousands in the next ten minutes.

He chuckled against your skin, and that feeling paired with the sight of his big hand squeezing your thigh to hold it in place was driving you insane. You felt as though heaven had made its home within your core.

But suddenly, that heavenly harmony was disrupted by a shout and a knock at the door.

"Hey!" Michael's stage manager called. "Can y'all never wait 'til after? Michael, you care so much about pleasin' the audience until it gets to them waitin' 10 minutes for the encore to start!"

Michael rolled his eyes with a groan born of both pleasure and frustration, still refusing to let up his merciless rocking into you. "Whatever, I'm pleasin' my lady!"

You giggled through an angelic sigh of bliss, high off the adrenaline of your man's cock and the inherently wrong nature of your predicament. The only thing that would ever have the potency to disrupt Michael's attention toward his devoted fans was his own devotion to his wife.

The stage manager shook his head with a chuckle on the other side of the door, half disbelieving the insanity he had to deal with, but all the same being used to it.

"I don't know why I even bother," he replied. "But if you're not done in five, I'm comin' in and draggin' you out myself. Your lady's gotta get ready too, y'know. You better hope the crowd won't be able to tell what you've just been doin'."

You and Michael were only half-listening, he too pussy drunk and you entirely cock-drunk. It was wild the way your husband never stopped or even slowed for a moment while he was being berated and rushed. Neither of you had the willpower to cease this celestially impure activity.

"Yeah, 'm sorry," Michael called back, trying to bite back grunts as he did. "But are y' gonna leave us alone, or what? Y' commentary's not helpin'!"

"Whatever," the man sighed.

You laughed through a high moan, as your sweet spot was perfectly stimulated yet again. Michael was right—if there was such an issue with the two of you wasting time before the encore, then you surely didn't need the stage manager himself to slow things down further. You wouldn't climax any faster with him rushing you on the other side of the door. Really, the man had been hoping you'd put an end to the sex completely and come to your senses, but said senses were much too overcome with arousal to pay any logical reason to your surroundings.

The room felt like it was spinning, every sound feeling muffled where all the spatial and auditory factors were secondary to what your man provided. Over and over he rammed into your soaking pussy, the lewd composite of your shared wetness seeping past your entrance and leaving a pretty glisten on the top of your inner thigh.

Everything was indeed muffled, but in your haze you managed to make out the words of another man who was coming down the hallway.

"What the fuck are they doin'? I've got his clothes here for the encore."

"Just leave 'em be," another man replied. "They should be out in a few minutes."

You couldn't help the series of giggles that spilled from your mouth again, because this really was so ridiculous. Michael's team deserved a pay rise for this.

"Rub your clit f'me, honeybaby," he said softly, between masculine groans, wanting to pleasure your sensitive bud himself but unable to since he had to keep you held secure against the wall. You could tell he was close now, and you were too.

So you obliged, reaching down and rubbing in tight circles, feeling the tightness in your abdomen endeavour closer and closer to your peak.

"Oh, Michael... angel... you were so sexy out there..."

"Yeah? Y'were waitin' a while, huh?"

"So long, honey..."

"Well, y'got me now, mama, and you'll have me back in our hotel room too, hm? Y'want me to give it to y' all night?"

"Yes, all night, oh please baby—" You sounded like a whore on his cock, head almost lolling to the side at the immense sensations. "Mikey, I'm close—"

"I know, I know, y' squeezin' me so tight, sweetheart..."

Suddenly, that photograph that had been gradually loosening made a loud crash on the floor, smashing into little glass pieces. You gasped in shock, but still your husband's attention didn't falter.

"Michael!"

"Jesus Christ..." a man tutted from outside.

"Hm?" Michael sounded against your jaw, of which he was now kissing the length of.

"The photo... oh—"

"’s alright, I'll get it replaced," he shrugged, now lifting your leg higher to get the best angle as you each approached orgasm.

"Mmmmm, yes—" you nearly screamed, nails raking up and down his clothed back while you rubbed rapidly over your clit. "Oh baby, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna—oh, fuck!"

"That's it, mama, tha's it, cum for me..." Michael hummed, talking you through the overwhelming nature of your orgasm. Your eyes had drooped shut, body feeling so light in his hold, and you briefly wondered if he'd completely knocked the energy out of you.

As you caught your breath, coming down from your heavenly high, Michael's hips were still working erratically against yours, cock pistoning in and out of your core, and finally you felt that familiar, hot seed, the milky spurts fluttering into your womb, painting your insides. He groaned unashamedly into your ear as he decorated your walls, rope after rope of heavy cum shooting into you.

Now his strokes slowed, writhing in the afterglow as he kissed all over your chest. But there was no time for aftercare.

As soon as his body felt remotely calm following the depletion of his spent arousal, he pulled out of you, leaving you whining. And then in an instant, with a quick hand he slid your panties back over into place, where immediately you felt his cum seep out of your entrance and into the material. Your eyes widened, brows furrowing in confusion.

"There," Michael said, with an amused smile and a light smack to your clothed cunt. "Saves y' legs from gettin' all messy. No time to clean y' up, baby."

You choked out shocked laughter, shuddering at the sensation of his syrupy cum oozing into your already drenched panties, as he let go of you so that you now stood on the floor in front of him. "Mic—?"

"What?" he smirked, tucking his softening cock back into his boxers and doing up the zipper of his slacks. "Y'have another pair of panties lyin' around anywhere?"

The answer to that question was of course a certain no, and therefore you had indeed fallen into his dirtily playful trap.

At the realisation, you burst into a fit of delirious giggles. What a cockslut you were, to be going onstage with your husband in panties filled to the brim with an intermingled fuse of your cum and his sticky, heavy seed. It had flooded through as soon as he'd trapped it inside, making a too-audible squelching noise as you adjusted the fabric, and the musky, slightly salty scent of sex filled the air from between your thighs.

That night, those panties were a symbol of sheer erotica, and nobody knew but the two of you. Nothing could have been more adrenaline-inciting, and Michael's eyes darkened at what was before him, but unfortunately he couldn't look for too long.

Quickly, you wiped at some of the excess that had leaked. You were still catching your bearings, in utter disbelief at the night's predicament, when Michael unlocked the door quickly and retrieved his final outfit from the assistant that had been impatiently waiting.

"Thank you," he said politely, in that beautiful, sweet cadence that to the public always automatically negated the filthy side of him that you knew. Although none of his entourage were ever fooled, of course. They were the only ones who knew what he could be like whenever you were present.

While Michael quickly got changed, you smoothed down your dress in the mirror on the opposite wall, and fixed up where your hair had become slightly askew.

Then you heard him open the door again behind you and speak to somebody. "The makeup artists can come in now."

So they did, quickly touching up your makeup and Michael's, where sweat had poured through his vitiligo patches; and then finally, you were both deemed picture-perfect. Really, there would've been no need for a touchup on your part if you hadn't been fucked dumb three minutes prior.

Now it had been just over ten minutes since Michael had left the stage, and from the dressing room you could hear the screeching fans, desperate for his return. You did feel a little bad, and hoped that your surprise presence would be enough respite for their needless wait.

Michael was now wearing a bright royal-blue button down hanging loose over a white shirt, above a new pair of black pants. And as you looked at him, you desperately wanted him to take you all over again. God, your panties were literally dripping with his fertile seed. This truly would test your ability as a performer, to somehow act normal despite what had been bestowed upon you.

Stood arm in arm at the side of the stage, preparing to go out, it was the sexiest thing on earth that your husband could be so fucking filthy with you and then maintain nonchalance as if nothing had happened. His jaw was tight as he looked ahead, mentally readying himself for the second-to-last song, yet you on the other hand were concerned you'd forget every lyric, or forget how to even move. You shuffled a little in your heels, then took a deep breath.

"Michael," you whispered with urgency.

He turned to face you, eyebrows raised in sweet concern. "Y'okay, baby girl?"

You shook your head with a low chuckle. "I can't believe you…”

But Michael only kissed your cheek with a teasing smile, soft lips heating up your already warm skin, and then he was off, with you following behind.

The stage was pitch black, and you moved to one side, while Michael took his place in the centre. Two more deep breaths, and then the spotlights shone.

First it hit Michael, to the wild screams of the audience, and then a second light hit your shining figure, achieving even wilder screams consequential to their surprise.

"You knock me off of my feet now, baby! Hoooo!"

The backing track began, and then followed the beat, where Michael danced solo around the microphone stand, and you watched him in awe. As he started to walk up and down, you began to stroll past in the opposite direction, swaying your hips to the music as you went.

Michael skipped after you, singing the opening lines. "Hey pretty baby with the high heels on..."

You blew a playful kiss to him, winking as you continued to walk, enacting the cat-and-mouse routine from the music video.

"You give me fever like I've never ever known..." He reaches out for you, a wide smile on his face while you feign ignorance, still swaying your hips nonchalantly—still while your cunt felt uncomfortably sticky, and despite how Michael could behave as nonchalant as he wanted, your messy panties were the only thing on his mind.

You noticed as his eyes kept darting to the hem of your dress, although the hem wasn't his focus.

"You're just a product of loveliness... I like the groove of your walk, your talk, your dress," Michael sung, rushing up behind you and taking hold of your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

The crowd erupted in louder screams, and you returned his kiss with a teasing smile, before swiftly turning and making your way back up to the other end of the stage again.

"I feel your fever from miles around," you begin to sing, looking behind you at Michael as you sashayed.

"I'll pick you up in my car and we'll paint the town," he sung back, stepping beside you now and picking up your hand again. In character, you shook him away, skipping along, before he spun you back by your waist, holding you to him.

Your smile beamed, eyes glowing as you swayed, one hand on your chest while delivering a pretty pout. "Just kiss me, baby, and tell me twice..."

"That you're the one for me..."

"The way you make me feel... the way you make me feel..." You both sung the chorus together, he the line itself and you the echo, coming closer to each other with playful eye contact. Michael's hand remained on your hip, gripping as he grinded his hips into the air.

He reached your arm up by your hand and spun you once, then twice back into him, so that your back was against his chest. The crowd were screeching with excitement now, and you laughed happily as your man held you.

"You really turn me on..." Now he gripped both your hips tight, grinding on you from behind, and you almost ruined your note with a moan.

"You really turn me on..." You swiftly turned to face him, holding his jaw with a teasing smile.

"You knock me off of my feet..." Michael pulled you into his chest and picked you up bridal style momentarily, before setting you back down and spinning you three times.

"You knock me off of my feet..."

Your performance together was akin to ballroom in the manner in which you were twirling around with him, where even though the music video was mere walking up and down after each other, your skill as a professional dancer would never be wasted. No matter the song, you and Michael put on a perfect display.

"My lonely days are gone..."

"My lonely days are gone..."

The second verse began, and with it the physical touch only deepened.

"I like this feelin' you're givin' me," you sung, leaning against him as he smoothed his hands down the satin of your dress just over your ass.

You turned your head with faux-surprise, mouth open in an O, while he smirked and held your hips again, moving in front of you to sing his line, his own hips practically glued to yours.

"Just hold me, baby, and I'm in ecstasy..." The final word was punctuated with a thrust and a hand to his crotch, and you felt lightheaded for a moment.

"Oh, I'll be workin' from nine to five... To buy you things to keep you by my side," he continued before your line, still grabbing at your waist and rocking his hips.

You shimmied and spun, running your hands over your body and letting them linger over your cleavage to tease. "I've never felt so in love before... Just promise baby you'll love me forevermore..." You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, then circled around him as his gaze followed.

"I swear I'm keepin' you satisfied..."

Now behind you again, pressed up against your back, on 'satisfied' he ran both hands down your silhouette and thrust his hips into your ass. You could hear the immediate gasps echoing across the audience, but more importantly you could feel his bulge at your dress, and you giggled into the microphone dazedly, bringing your hand back to hold the nape of his neck, leaning further into his touch.

Then you stepped forward away from him, turned and pushed his chest lightly, with a beaming smirk across your face. "'Cause you're the one for me..."

In turn, he smirked too, skipping around your figure again. "The way you make me feel..."

"The way you make me feel..."

In the slight gap between your lines, you took the opportunity to say something necessary to Michael, taking hold of his hand again before dropping it sensually. "Be careful," you mouthed, gesturing your eyes downward to his crotch. If he didn't chill out a little, he'd be visibly hard, and you knew he'd never live that down.

But he bit his lip with another sweet smile, raising his brows in typical faux-innocence as he sung the next line. "You really turn me on..."

"Stop it," you mouthed, shaking your head with a laugh.

But he continued to ignore your warning, whereby you were instantly pulled into another intimate dance.

You gasped, although ridiculously betraying yourself as you instinctively swayed your ass over the very crotch you just cautioned him to be careful about.

"Dirty girl," you heard him murmur into your ear as he kissed the lobe, before singing out to the audience again. "You knock me off of my feet now, baby!"

"You knock me off of my feet..."

So now it was your turn to look up at him and shrug in faux-innocence, with a bratty smile and sex-blown eyes. As you moved, you felt more slick dripping into the disgusting mess he'd trapped your pussy in, and it only made you grind harder. Who could've guessed that such a pretty girl all dolled up in pink would have so much filth between her thighs? And the culprit of said filth was dancing right next to her, as unassuming as can be.

"My lonely days are gone..."

"My lonely days are gone..."

Michael detached himself from you now, walking behind as you sauntered ahead for this part of the song.

"Go on, girl! Go on!" he yelled, smirking as you strutted around all pretty in pink, glowing from the inside out. The noise from the crowd was deafening, and you felt on top of the world.

Your husband sung after you, while you smiled with confidence. "I've never felt so in love before... Just promise, baby, you'll love me forevermore..."

As you acted the role of a woman pushing him away, he grabbed your hips again, and rocked his against you from behind, pressing a hot kiss to the side of your neck. "I swear I'm keepin' you satisfied..."

Everything he did tonight was with much more force than the toned-down passion you'd decided on in rehearsals—or rather, what his team had decided on. Neither of you had any problem with being explicit to this degree.

You twirled in his arms, interlacing your fingers with his while your other hand met his warm chest, and as you delivered your line, your eyes bore into his. "'Cause you're the one for me..."

"The way you make me feel!"

Michael sung for the crowd, then without hesitation pressed your lips onto his—a kiss much shorter than he would've liked, but he had to kiss you in some way at least.

You beamed happily, hands on your hips with a flirtatious shrug as you looked out at the thousands beyond.

The next few lines were heard only via backing track, because Michael decided to start murmuring in your ear, at the exact same time as he resumed your grinding motions together. He felt all over your torso, wrapping his arms tight around your waist as your back again collapsed comfortably against his chest.

"Panties feel nice 'n snug, huh?"

You almost choked, but continued to smile and twist your hips for the audience, before then twisting your head to reply in his ear while he continued to sway you in his arms.

"They're a little damp, honey."

"A little?" he chuckled.

You left his hold and gave a playful smack to his chest, as if part of the choreography. And then of course you had to lean in again, to whisper-shout something else.

"Gonna need to take 'em off after."

You both continued to dance on each other as you spoke, delivering quick lines in between your speech to each other.

"I've got a few pairs of your panties in my dressin' room—I take 'em everywhere w' me," he told you—to your amazement.

You knew Michael kept at least one pair of your panties with him at all times, but he'd behaved earlier as if there were no other pairs available. This was so very typical of him—you should've known. Especially since you’d recently been wondering where several of your favourite pairs had gone.

You smacked his shoulder now, giggling as you sashayed ahead, and when he caught up again you held the back of his neck and leaned forward sensually, dragging your platform heel with a pointed dancer's sweep behind you—so graceful in your provocativeness.

"So, you had some panties for me all along," you sighed in amusement.

"Course I did, baby," Michael replied, pecking your cheek. “But y’ don’t need ‘em for the ride to the hotel. You’ll be on my lap.”

At that, your heart was racing while you walked away from him for the final time, turning to blow a kiss with a wink, and your body was aching painfully with how much you needed him again back at the hotel room . You weren't even sure you'd be able to resist him in the limo ride.

You'd spent the entire performance with his viscid, syrupy sperm swimming around in your tiny thong, beneath the ethereal enchantment of a sugar-sweet, petal-soft mini dress. Your perfect man would rip that custom-made material off of you tonight, and lick through the erotic predicament revealed underneath it. He couldn't wait to see just how dirty your puffy sex looked, completely smothered in a mixture born of your two bodies.

As you strolled offstage, you waved and blew several more kisses to the audience, while Michael's backup dancers entered the stage around him. And still, Michael couldn't take his eyes off you, raking his gaze up and down your back profile, giving you his silly attempt at a wink when you reached the wings and took a reluctant seat.

Just one more song, and then he'd be all yours until dawn.

angelcrescent © 2026 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡🧁₊˚⊹♡ ╱ i adored writing this so much, i hope u guys loved reading it hehehe. the idea came to me in a beautiful daydream… and i’m really starting to get the hang of writing smut again after several years. wow this was fun (∗˃̶ ᵕ ˂̶∗)

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After four months of constant hesitation and anxious overthinking, Michael Jackson had finally decided that the night of September 1st, 1978, would be his very first time making love. It would be the night he’d lose his virginity to the girl he’d loved since he was eleven years old.

Having grown in comfortability and confidence surrounding sex unlike the sheer disdain he’d felt toward it previously, he was still certifiably terrified—so excited to take this next step with the woman he adored more than anything, but so incredibly nervous that he would do something wrong, paired with the intense guilt that what you would be doing together was also much too sinful. He'd pondered over the question of religious purity relentlessly since you'd first told him in July that he need not take the overly strict rules so seriously, but even while he had calmed down his vehement religious adherence, it still nagged at him. He really hoped that once tonight was over and done with, he'd feel differently. He prayed that he wouldn't feel any worse—that the guilt wouldn't instead increase after the fact, because really, that was more likely—and then he remembered that the God he was praying to obviously condemned the act out of wedlock in the first place. So, again he was stuck, relying only on your insistence and his own self-assurance that the act wouldn't be the disgusting thing he'd always perceived it as. He was an adult now—freshly twenty years old—and he needed his girl so badly. There was no fighting it anymore.

He even began to wonder, if God permitted sex within marriage, surely it couldn't be that sinful outside of it? He knew from you, from his brothers and from his father how rough and aggressive it could be (that particular knowledge existing as part of the reason why he'd been so disturbed and deterred from it in the first place) but he also believed in just how beautiful and gentle it could be. He knew you'd been victim to sex that was on the more aggressive side as you'd grown into adulthood, and he was ever determined to show you that the opposite could also be true in this domineering, patriarchal world. He wanted to love you, not just fuck you; to display to your body his eternal devotion, each touch a promise that he would never, ever hurt you like you'd been hurt before. He'd always known that you were destined to be with him, that even when he was beginning to give up hope because you weren't seeming to show him any romantic interest despite knowing him for so long, something inside of that boy still screamed, "she'll be mine one day."

Michael had planned tonight extensively, down to every last detail of which he was in control of—but of course the specifics within the evening would be instructed by your expertise. He'd decided that it had to happen at your place (even though he would've preferred to take you in his childhood bedroom) because if he did attempt the latter option, precisely it would be a mere attempt and nothing more. His brothers would hear, they'd tease and ruin the moment just like they did with your first shower together; and aside that, there was also the terrifying possibility of Michael's mother finding out.

You lived in a mansion too, with a family half the size of his, and the rooms were all so far apart that you didn't really need to choose a night where the house would be completely empty. But Michael still requested that you did, because for his very first time with you he needed it to be absolutely perfect. The pressure for perfection carried him through his entire life in every sector, and while such pressure helped him to acquire greatness in his creativity and in his career, Michael was mistakenly applying it to something that in fact required zero pressure in order to survive successfully. The more he focused on being the best you'd ever had, and the more he desperately needed every little thing to fit the dream he'd been having for years, the higher the likelihood that he'd be too awkward and unable to relax.

As he walked over to your house, he began to understand that to some extent; but not fully, because even while he tried to calm down through deep, controlled breaths, the underlying yearning for perfection still didn't leave. And to make matters worse, nor did the religious guilt, and the childhood trauma. Every thought—tiny or huge—was piling on top of one another, making his chest constrict so much that he felt he might have a literal heart attack on Encino Avenue. When your family mansion came into view, his head was spinning.

Walking closer, he saw you out on the porch talking to a neighbour, clad in a tight hot pink tank top—the hem riding up to show a glimpse of your stomach—with Daisy Dukes to accentuate your ass, and Converse Chuck Taylors on your feet. Michael tried to stroll normally, but really he felt as though every step he took was mechanical, as though he was dreaming and the freshly-mowed grass would soon transform into quicksand.

You knew he was supposed to turn up around seven, and the time was indeed right on seven o'clock, but you hadn't been paying attention, because you figured he probably wouldn't turn up exactly at the strike of the hour. 

Seriously? Did you even know your boyfriend at all? When it came to you, Michael would be nothing short of punctual—especially when he'd been pacing around Hayvenhurst all day before finally allowing himself to leave at 6.30. In truth, he'd been pacing around Hayvenhurst all week.

You didn't notice him walking over at first, because you were busy engaged in a conversation with one of your girlfriends about your upcoming single. It was her that spotted Michael first as he came up behind you. She'd started grinning all of a sudden.

"What is it?" you chuckled. "Have I got somethin' on my face?"

"No—your man's here, girl."

"Hi," Michael said shyly, wrapping an arm around your waist. He was wearing a half-buttoned cream linen shirt that exposed part of his chest, with light blue high waisted bell bottoms, fixed tight on his hips by a thick brown belt.

"Oh, hey baby," you beamed, turning to the side to face him, then pulling him into a quick greeting kiss. Your face nestled into his shoulder, and the girl beside you cooed in adoration.

"I'll leave you two lovebirds," she laughed, giving you a short hug. "See you tomorrow, babe!"

Then she was heading back inside her house next door, and so you turned properly now to face your sweetheart.

"Mm, been waitin' for you all day," you murmured against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed kiss after kiss onto his facial features.

"Yeah?" Michael's eyes lit up a little, as if some part of him was believing that only he was excited for tonight. You'd had sex several times before with other men, so surely this wouldn't be anything special on your end, he thought, and he imagined you'd probably forgotten all about the appointment he'd made before you'd found him standing right next to you.

And yet, he couldn't have been more wrong, where it seemed the memory of your sexual cravings regarding him had since slipped his mind. He was also yet to be aware of just how deeply your love for him ran—how despite your avoidance (of which you were slowly recovering from) you were treating tonight with just as much care and anticipation as the boy who'd never made love before.

"Mhm, let's go upstairs," you smiled, kissing his cheek and taking hold of his hand. 

"Nervous, huh?" you asked while the two of you walked up to the front door and into the foyer. 

Michael's breath caught in his throat. He'd hoped you wouldn't notice.

"Uh—a little. I guess."

You linked your arm with his and squeezed his hand tighter, leaning comfortably into his side. "You're shakin', honey. You have nothin' to be worried about—really—but would you wanna maybe watch a movie before we, uh—?" You started to giggle, feeling a little shy yourself. "Just to loosen you up a little."

"Um," Michael smiled bashfully, "yeah, that would be great."

"Okay, let's go to my room, Mickey!" you sung with his Disney nickname, reaching the staircase.

"After you, Minnie," Michael chuckled in response.

You both took off your sneakers, and then in an attempt to replace anxiety with playfulness, he sped up as you walked, now skipping up the stairs after you and chasing you into your room while you squealed. As soon as you rushed inside, he wrapped his long arms around your waist from behind and lifted you with surprising ease, then shifted you into a bridal carry as you still continued to whine happily. 

"Mike," you sighed, cheeks aching already from how much you'd been smiling. You wrapped your arms around his neck like a koala seeking refuge in its mother.

"Yes, honey?" he smiled back down at you, stroking your thigh as he walked your figure over to your huge champagne-pink king-size bed, enveloped in silk. You'd spent half of your relationship thus far here, and the other half at Michael's place. Really, your bedroom was much more appropriate—with the likelihood of outside intrusion much less—but as stated previously, Michael always thought it was more romantic and more gentlemanly to bring you to his home, rather than to rely on yours.

You were looking up into his eyes now, getting so effortlessly lost in the shining brown orbs, how the pupils dilated the more they locked onto your own, and you'd forgotten what it was you wanted to say.

"Tink," he whispered, urging you to continue your sentence with a kiss to your nose. He was doing something he did quite a lot—standing in the centre of somewhere, carrying your waiting body, entirely lost in the feeling of the holding, so much so that he didn't want to let you out of his grasp. Silly in this circumstance however, because you'd be in an even closer grasp once you got comfy under the sheets and entwined your bodies.

"I forgot what I was gonna say," you giggled. "Um... but somethin' else just came to mind, too. Y'know... the three words..."

You were always too shy to say them, still only four months into dissecting and overcoming your deep-rooted avoidance, but at the same time you often had a strong need to make clear to Michael that you felt the words, no matter how difficult they were to leave your lips.

Michael's smile grew ten times wider, and he leaned his face down to kiss your forehead, rocking you absentmindedly in his arms as though you were in your very own Disney movie, saved by the handsome prince. 

"Can I say 'em for y'?"

"What, about yourself?" you joked, reaching up to play with his afro. "Wow, Michael, I never knew you were so self-absorbed."

He chuckled, and upon staring deeper into your fluttering eyes, almost lost his train of thought again.

"Mikey, take me to bed—I don't know what we're still standin' here for," you laughed, suddenly a little shy. He was looking at you too closely, and sometimes you wished he wouldn't be so intimately attentive.

"’m admirin' y', Minnie," he whispered, but now without a smile at all—just an expression that would appear so plain if it wasn't for the heavenly intensity in his eyes, that which gave an eloquent display of his aching emotion. "My Minnie Mouse..." he whispered some more, pairing the words with soft kisses over the crevices of your face.

You had literal goosebumps now, breath hitching imperceptibly at the insane effect he had on you. Michael was just being sweet, like always, but you weren't used to such close attention from anybody, let alone from the gorgeous, soft-spoken man with the sexiest voice. He didn't seem to understand just how sexy he was, and in fact he'd never even thought of himself in that way before—which was yet another reason why he believed the events of tonight would be difficult.

"Michael..." you whispered back, almost gasping in your sheer surprise at just how passionately he was looking at you. His arms stayed holding you so protectively, tucked under your legs, and he still kept pressing his lips over your face and to your jaw, while you shut your eyes and relished in the gift of his affection, no matter how nervous it was making you. 

You'd never been this kind of nervous before. Even though Michael had treated you in this way many times over the last few months—where you became slightly more comfortable with it as the time passed—the tenderness had never before contained the subtext of sexual intercourse. Previously, sex and softness had been a separate subject in your mind, unfortunately having never dealt with a man who saw that the two could coexist, but tonight your first boyfriend would be finally combining the two. As opposed to all your other men, Michael Jackson couldn't conceive of performing sex in any other way. From foreplay to the act itself, he would be oh so gentle...

And though he hadn't said that aloud to you, it was clear nonetheless that he would be that kind of lover. The knowledge was what had made you so anxious when you stepped into that shower with him two weeks ago, and as he'd proven himself then to be so thoughtful and tender with your naked body, it had only confirmed further what you'd be experiencing on your first night together.

You were thinking about that now as he swayed you carefully in his arms, somehow his shyness dissipating whenever he could lose himself in your eyes just strongly enough for every other thought and emotion to momentarily pause. As he loved on you, your mind was thinking about later tonight; and not because you were desperate to cut to the sex, but because of that same anxiety surrounding how beautifully he'd treat you. Many girls would deem you crazy for actually worrying about a man treating your body with reverence, but you'd spent so long stuck in an intense fear of vulnerability, feeling so unworthy of a soft love, that now even while you'd made progress, the severity of tonight made you feel as though you would be losing your virginity all over again. Michael might have been the only virgin in the room, but you might as well have been, and therefore just like your boyfriend, you too would be experiencing something so very new. 

What you weren't yet aware of in that moment, as you shut your eyes tight, too scared to look into his adoring eyes as he kissed you with more innocence than anybody ever had, was that the night ahead would be the single most beautiful (though equally heart-aching) experience of your life. You could have awarded the birth of all your incredible children the top spot on that list of experiences, but really, those children would have never come to see the light of day had it not been for the man who taught you how to be loved.

"I love you, honey..." you heard him say, snapping you from your daze as your eyelids finally fluttered open. 

Your cheeks heated up in an instant. Why were those words still so difficult? It made you even more anxious to think that Michael might be feeling self-conscious at the fact that you'd only ever half-said the phrase (an instance where you'd almost said the 'you' in the middle of a makeout, but had instead craftily cut yourself off with a kiss). You hoped he never took it personally, and truly he didn't, because he could empathise with your situation. While it was so different from his own, as somebody who craved affection and reassuring words, he understood that you operated in the opposite way.

"Take me to bed, baby," you whispered, although feeling guilty for not reciprocating his declaration. 

"Mhm," Michael muttered quietly, nodding. "Got distracted." He huffed a laugh.

"I can see that," you giggled, as he began to set you down oh so carefully onto the silk sheets, treating you like a fragile object of porcelain. 

Sitting down beside you, he immediately outstretched his limbs for you to crawl in between them, settling comfortably at his chest with his arms wrapped tight around you, and with your smooth bare legs brushing against his pair. You entwined them together, sighing in content into his warm neck. 

Then the two of you were sitting in lovely silence for a few moments, before you remembered that you were supposed to be watching a movie together. 

"Y'know we need to actually pick the movie, honey,” you pointed out. “One of us needs to get up again to put it on."

Michael groaned theatrically, throwing his head back at the mere idea of separating from your warmth again. "I'll do it," he sighed.

"Okay, what about Bambi for my Bambi?" you grinned, taking his hand and kissing his wrist.

The film had always been one of your favourites, and partly because it did indeed remind you of Michael. Bambi's pretty doe eyes reflected him so much, a mirror image of your sweetheart's own pair, and that similarity had influenced one of your nicknames for him.

Michael blushed, lips pressing together in shyness, and you nudged his cheek with your knuckles.

"Baby, you know you can't be this shy when you're buried in me later," you teased, and Michael's fluster only grew even deeper.

"Minnie," he glared playfully, but there was really nothing playful about the intense tachycardia-like symptoms of his heart.

"I'm just playin', Mickey!" you laughed more, with a soft peck to his nose. "Now, do you wanna watch Bambi or not?"

"Mhm, Bambi's fine," he muttered, a smile growing on his pretty face as he reluctantly stood up from the bed that he'd only just gotten comfortable in, and walked over to set up the chosen film. 

"Darlin', where is it?" he called back. "Y' have so many here—which drawer is it in?"

"Oh, the second on the left!"

When he found the cassette, he slid it into the VCR beneath your television, and the screen flickered to life with the opening credits. Eagerly, with the spirit of a child, he rushed back to where you laid in the centre of your sheets, and as before, you were cuddled up so close; cheek-to-cheek, his arms around your waist. Michael always insisted that he be practically glued to you whenever you cuddled, so attached that you could feel his warm breath each time he murmured a soft word to you. As the film settled into the opening scene, he took hold of your hand and interlaced your fingers, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles—though unlike most, with zero absent mind. Every slight touch was deliberate, so deeply thought about, and for Michael, handholding had always been what he deemed 'magical'. He never really needed much more, for he believed that and kisses were celestial in themselves. 

With such in mind then, it would've been easy to predict just how insatiable the young man would become after simple physical touch had been elevated to the realm of bodily entwining. He'd never be the same.

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒖𝒍𝒕, 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒆. 𝒅𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒆

But despite Michael's comfort, there was a lot on your mind that evening. Much of the sex you'd had since you'd turned sixteen three years ago had been coercive and at times literal rape—where you'd been so intoxicated and vulnerable that you believed it was all okay, because you'd kissed him back, hadn't you? You'd let him take you to his bedroom, so hadn't you consented to being treated that way? No one had taught a vulnerable girl growing up in both the music industry and the 1970s that real consent wasn't black and white. 

Your very first time had been aggressive, where the man four years older hadn't taken a care to the fact that it hurt so badly. He just kept forcing himself in harder. Afterward, you had immediately rushed over to Michael's house and cried yourself to sleep in his arms.

Indeed, Michael then went on to learn of those who came after that horrible first experience, none any gentler or more careful. But you hadn't been a virgin anymore, and you had wanted sex, so at the time you believed that you were an equal participant to the men you engaged in it with. Oh, how wrong you were—but as a young, naive girl with domineering men surrounding her career and personal life in every which way, how were you to be blamed? Objectively, you didn't hold a fraction of the blame of course, although it would sadly be years until you would finally let go of the self-deprecating shame you carried beneath your confident exterior.

And there had been something else, something Michael hadn't known about—a memory you hadn't even registered yourself until just less than two weeks ago, when the realisation had triggered you to projectile vomit in your en-suite. Because while Michael had spent the recent weeks in a both happy and nervous anticipation for your first night together, you had been spending those same days alternating between the studio, the stage, and your bedroom, uncovering the repressed event that your brain was now relaying back to you unsolicited.

It had been a memory from January of that year—almost eight months ago now—and the only reason you could remember the month was because you were beginning to recall the date of the Motown dinner you'd attended on the night. Michael had been there too, with all the Jacksons, alongside most of the record label and a few others. But from what was in the beginning such a peaceful, ordinary get-together, you failed to understand how it had produced such a horrific thing as what you'd come to remember. It was all coming back to you in fragments, and you could only surmise that you had been plied with drugged alcohol throughout the evening, to lead into a dark night of defencelessness. Your brain hadn't yet unpacked the build-up, those missing pieces of information terrifying you further, but indeed you had deliberately been made weak, then at some point taken into an obscured backroom and mercilessly raped. You hadn't the slightest idea who by, because there were so many people at that dinner who you didn't know beyond professional conversation—and you guessed that if you were ever to see the man again, the sight would trigger a horrible panic. He had likely been an executive from another company, perhaps living elsewhere. Hopefully. It terrified you that you might run into him again. In your flashback, he was a mere dark shadow.

After thinking it through some more, you'd realised it must have been the cause of that winter morning in which you'd woken up with zero memory of the night before, attributing the mindlessness to 'what must have been a really good night'. But you'd had bruises on your thighs and on your neck, and for those you fitted the reasoning that you must have had a makeout session with somebody, and that you might have banged your thighs into the edges of a chair or some object similar. Or maybe you'd had sex, but it wouldn't have been your first time indulging in drunken intercourse with no memory of it the morning after. So, with those possible conclusions in mind at the time, you hadn't given it any more thought, despite how deep down it did unnerve you whenever your memory would fail you in that way.

When the attack had first returned into your consciousness, you'd been falling asleep, and therefore had initially hoped that perhaps it was just your very vivid imagination playing tricks on you—that you'd had rough, supposedly consensual sex in the past, so while your mind slipped into slumber, wasn't it reasonable to assume it had been merely a disturbing amalgamation of images in the purgatory of the dream state, stemming from sex’s rougher elements? Perhaps the violence hadn't been real?

But in truth, the feeling had been too deeply visceral. Your body knew what had happened to it as soon as the image had entered your brain, and even after your stomach had emptied its contents, you then spent the rest of the night lying wide awake in nausea, completely drained of all melatonin, unable to process anything deeper than your sheer disgust and terror.

By the next morning, you had forced yourself to do what you did best, and that was to perform. Not on stage, not that day at least—instead enacting a performance of personality, of poise and class and grace despite the shame and repulsion that filled your tormented, shattering spirit. You forced yourself to push through, trying to put yourself in the mindset of the girl you'd been twenty-four hours before, the girl who hadn't yet remembered, and who could stay in blissful ignorance. But that girl had been hurt whether she could remember it or not, and she had been raped and coerced even prior to that night in January. The intoxicated, blacked-out night had been the most traumatising, violent form, but rape didn't look the same every time. Its brutality enfolded in various ways; and really, America's golden girl had experienced each of those even before she had turned nineteen.

Despite the memory only having come to the forefront of your mind a mere two weeks ago, so insistent in its vehemence, you were confident tonight in Michael's presence that you had successfully pushed past it, that it no longer affected you because you would move on and smile through life like you always did. That was what the industry had taught you: to keep on going no matter what might happen, because your very existence as a performer depended on the capital you made, not merely for yourself, but for the industry men who controlled you, and who could drop you without remorse if you put a foot out of line. These men were why you could do what you loved in the first place, but the financial and oftentimes sexual control was what came with it. In your youth, you hadn't realised how deeply it had repulsed your inner being, because in your immediate conscious you received each bit of attention gladly, and enjoyed your career as Michael did even in the forceful nature of it, with no idea you were being taken advantage of.

Deeper than that however, all you truly craved and desired was real love and comfort, from somebody whose intention wasn't to use you for your body and your talent. You just hadn't confronted that part of you before Michael had begun to demonstrate to you his love, and even afterward, you still struggled to believe you deserved it.

It was really no wonder you'd repressed so much of your past, because your very nervous system while growing up in the spotlight had encoded the philosophy that one should repress and quieten the things that weren't so pretty. No, tonight you hadn't simply 'gotten over it'—you were just in the phase of forced ignorance. If you could have been completely true to yourself at the time, you would've understood that your anxiety about the night ahead stemmed not only from the unfamiliarity of the sweet lovemaking Michael would give to you, but from the shame and guilt over how you had previously taken the direct antithesis: that you'd been fucked so aggressively in the past, and that you'd allowed such aggression to take place. That was your standpoint, but in truth it had never, ever been your fault.

Michael was littering kisses all over your face again—sweet, playful kisses that the beat of his innocent heart swam with. He was hardly watching the movie, ready to initiate a makeout session, but your eyes were fixed hard on the flickering scene, pupils following Bambi and his friends. Bambi was so innocent... Oh, how you craved to slip into a sweet Disney film and never come back. 

But there was one cherished element: that at least in this reality you had the closest thing to Bambi himself, and the sweetest lover one could ever wish for.

Michael knew you'd had a lot of sex, and he spent a lot of the early days trying to convince you to stop being taken advantage of, yet you never believed in what he said, so you stopped telling him the details. That way he couldn't comment. 

But what concerned you was that now, if he found out that such a disgusting thing had happened to your body, would he have still wanted to make love to you? Would he have thought you less an angel and more a whore, a site of nothing other than the most shameful, immoral act? Surely, in his religious ways, he would dismiss you in a heartbeat. He'd waited so long to lose his virginity to a girl he deemed worthy enough, and you almost felt guilty that he'd chosen you. Some days you experienced gratitude over the fact, and others you ruminated over how downright filthy you were, believing Michael deserved way better.

So, you had to make sure he never found out. If you were going to attempt to rebuild your life with this beautiful boy, to hopefully rid your avoidance entirely and live somewhat happily ever after, you were going to have to force your oppressive mind to start afresh. It could no longer keep dragging you into the past—it must belong to only the present, with no influence from who you had been, and what you'd been through. But of course, psychoanalysis had proven long ago that unfortunately one couldn't simply remove the influence of a memory on the present. You had been too young to know.

"Tink," Michael whispered against your cheek, with another kiss to it. "What y' thinkin' 'bout?"

"’m watchin' the movie, baby." You giggled to conceal how your mind had wandered into a dark place.

"Can we kiss instead?" he asked with a slight pout.

You smiled, heart melting at how Michael would always ask and never take based on mere presumption, even with something as small as a kiss. Suddenly, you felt tears well up in your eyes, before you blinked them back harshly, quicker than he could notice.

"Of course, honey," you grinned, moving to straddle his waist while the movie played on. The sweet, happy sounds of childhood sounded behind you both, and you realised right then just how painful it would feel if anyone other than you had taken Michael's virginity. It needed to be you, whether you felt 'worthy' or not.

Settled on his clothed crotch, he wrapped his arms around your waist while pulling you downward so that your lips could meet his. The makeout started off soft and slow, but it grew quickly into one of pure heat, and the denim of your Daisy Dukes slid up your ass each time you ground your hips over him with deeper fervency. 

You stayed wrapped up in each other like that for over half an hour, and as the time passed on, the pinks and oranges of sunset bleeding through the half-open Venetian blinds, you began to wonder if Michael was stalling. He somehow was barely hard beneath you, and you put that down to anxiety.

Breathlessly you pulled away, lips slightly bruised with his kiss, gloss smudged everywhere. He chuckled as he looked up at you, and you stroked his cheek.

"Mike..."

"Mhm?"

"How ‘bout that bath now, huh?"

Immediately, Michael's cheeks heated up, and his grip on your ass tightened instinctively. He looked away, then looked into your eyes again, with so much shyness you thought he might burst.

When Michael had asked you last week how you thought the first night should be structured (to which you'd laughed at his mechanistic wording), you'd suggested a bubble bath to begin, before then taking the lovemaking itself into the bedroom. This time you wouldn't be so nervous at something so intimate, because the purpose of the bath would be sexual, not purely romantic like the shower had been.

And Michael was a very big fan of that idea, immediately becoming flustered at the mere suggestion of it. He'd even happily offered to bring over the luxury oils he bought for you, but you assured him you had some of your own. You'd cracked up laughing at his offer, knowing that in his innocence he just wanted to make things as perfect as possible, but how typically boyish was he to offer to douse you in oil so excitedly, with so much eagerness? Your shy baby was planning to rub oil all over your bubble-covered curves, and your own heart started to speed up very quickly once you recalled just how perfect he had been at giving you that unexpected breast massage. God, he really had nothing to worry about if he'd gotten that right on first try. It had been the most perfect sensation a man had ever given you in the field of foreplay—or in the field of anything—and his attentiveness had contributed a great deal to achieving that title.

But then, he'd raised a question. "Honey, how am I gonna eat—uh," he cleared his throat, "y'know, how am I gonna… pleasure y'… down there, with my mouth... if the foreplay’s in the bath?"

You'd giggled and poked his cheek. "That can come after. But don't overthink it now, Mikey—on the night I'll show you everythin' that makes me feel good."

In the present day, you were very amused by his sudden fluster at the simple mention of said bath.

"Michael..." you laughed, feeling over his fro. "You chose tonight; and, may I remind you, were also very eager about this when I first suggested it."

"I know, and 'm ready, I just..." He sighed, pressing his thumb into his temple. "’m just nervous, darlin'. I didn't wanna be and y'know, I've had long enough to prepare, but..."

"Hey," you cut him off gently. "Seriously, baby, there's no pressure. I don't expect anythin' of you 'cause I know it's your first time. And you can be as anxious or as confident as you want, because no matter what, I know we're gonna have a good night."

He began to smile, eyes lighting up. There was something about the way you spoke to him that could always reassure him of anything, at least temporarily.

"You hear me? We're gonna have such a good night..." you whispered sultrily through giggles, leaning forward to say the words into his ear.

Michael shivered, smiling wider, and feeling a rush of blood to his nether region. Now he really needed to get on with things, because he had no intention of ejaculating before you'd even touched him. 

"Alright, 'm gonna go run the bath," he chuckled, kissing your shoulder. "I guess you should... y'know... undress... Uh, before we get in."

You scoffed playfully. "Yes, I think that might just be compulsory for a bath, honey."

To that he smiled awkwardly again, and you lightly smacked his cheek, so he clarified. 

"I meant... d'y' want me to undress y', or...?"

You bit your lip with a grin, trying not to laugh at how adorably innocent he was, but again it also caused a weird, sad ache inside your chest. 

"Of course I do, pretty." You took his hand and kissed it. "And I wanna undress you too. 'N then kiss you," you leaned forward into his ear again, "everywhere... real slow..."

Michael clamped his eyes shut momentarily and exhaled a shaky breath. With more teasing laughter you hopped off his lap, allowing him to stand up and make his way to your bathroom.

He spent the next ten minutes preparing the romantic bath he'd been anticipating for a week straight, and he was grateful that you had a countless array of candles available in the room, because candlelit decor was the final component needed in order to elevate the intimacy to its highest degree. The sun had set, therefore the deep fuchsia and apricot sky would soon be descending into the black of night.

Michael stood staring at the bubble bath for at least three minutes after it was ready, trying to control his breathing and getting fixated on the sight of the various bottles of body oil that decorated a shelf beside a corner of the tub. He couldn't wait to douse your entire body in the scent of your choice, to squeeze the product into your breasts while he sucked on that sensitive spot under your jaw…

"Honey!" The sound of your voice broke him out of his daze. "Y'okay in there?" You were confused as to why he hadn’t invited you in when the water was no longer running.

But then, standing at the doorway, leaning on the side of the wood, Michael appeared. He took one final deep breath and outstretched his arms, grinning. "C'mere, princess."

You laughed gleefully, skipping over to him with hearts in your eyes, and then before you could even process it, you were up in his arms again, in the same bridal carry as earlier, pressed flush within his embrace. He nudged the door open wider and stepped over the threshold with you, before setting you down.

"I don't think I needed to be carried from the bed to the tub," you pointed out with a grin, wreathing your arm into his and leaning your head on his shoulder. 

"I just like carryin' my girl," Michael smiled. 

You got to work taking off each other's clothes, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses all over the revealed skin—before the final layers were in the process of removal, and at that point Michael was looking away again, as though he hadn't already seen you naked.

"Mikey," you laughed, gripping his jaw so that he'd face you. "Stop lookin' away—and you need to get in first."

"Oh," he huffed a laugh, his entire body burning with nerves and anticipation. "Oh, right, yeah, I'll—mhm."

You couldn't stop smiling as you watched him get in and get comfortable, resting up against the back of the stone resin. His soft dick immersed itself beneath the bubbles, and your heart beat faster at how you knew it would soon poke up hard over the surface of the water, pressing against your back...

But first, before you were to sit between his legs, you needed to demonstrate what he must do. The next few minutes would be a masterclass in female pleasure, taught by a woman who had never even experienced an orgasm outside of her own doing, and who had an inkling that the man before her just might be the first to give her one.

So, you straddled his hips as you'd done before, except now completely naked, bare thighs hitting bare thighs, hands steadying themselves on a gorgeous bare chest. But you weren't in the water for longer than five seconds before Michael had hooked his arms under your legs and pulled you into him sideways, while you giggled in surprise at his confidence.

"Michael! I need to show—"

"Yeah, ma, I know, but I wanna..." His voice trailed off as he began to press the most gentle kisses from your earlobe to your collarbone, holding your body tight to him. "So pretty..." Another kiss. "’m still nervous, honey," he muttered under his breath, as if he didn't want you to hear despite choosing to say the words aloud.

You leaned back and cupped his cheek, moving to straddle him again. "I know, baby," you whispered, smooching his lips, "but you can't keep stallin'."

"Mm." Michael nodded shyly and slowly, pupils dilating further than they already were as he took in your plump breasts before him.

You laughed, cheeks heating up at how reverent his gaze, void of the typical hunger that most men consumed you with.

Gradually and sensually, you brought both hands up to what had Michael so entranced. Shutting your eyes, kneading your palms over the flesh, you began to rock ever-so-subtly back and forth on his thighs, arching your back a little, performing the image of a real-life goddess before him. Michael's jaw was slack, in disbelief at the sight, and he chewed the inside of his cheek as he tried desperately to calm the ache between his thighs. This part was supposed to be slow—he simply couldn't embarrass himself by disrupting the pace with something so boyish.

"Oh, mama... Y'like an angel..."

Without comprehending what he was even doing, he began to grip your hips, hands guiding your movements further, although your speed stayed painfully slow. You wanted to perform for him a little, before getting into the sexual lesson. After all, this was what you knew. Men loved to see you play with yourself, the object of their desires, their living and breathing sex toy—you had essentially existed as the oxymoronic liberated prostitute. Seemingly so free, but in reality deemed to have only one bodily purpose. In the water with your boyfriend, you kept forgetting that he didn't request or expect what those men always had done.

After some moments of solitary foreplay, you opened your eyes again, and started to giggle. Michael had been your best friend long before he'd become your boyfriend and best friend in one, so the fact that you were about to do it with him still made you so nervously shy like a teenager.

"What?" Michael furrowed his brows.

You smacked his cheek lightly, heart racing faster but trying not to let it show. "You look so cute."

He only squinted, looking irritated by your choice of wording. "Cute?"

You rolled your eyes. "Michael Jackson, it's just semantics. I could go on."

"Could y'?" Michael asked anxiously, still squinting. "I don't wanna feel all childish here with y'... if y' sayin' 'm just cute."

"What?" For the second time you gave an eye roll, with a confused laugh. "C'mere."

Cupping his jaw now, you leaned a little downward so that your forehead met his, before giving him the most passionate French kiss you could muster. And then you began to whisper phrases all over his soft skin while he shut his eyes, immediately regretting what he'd asked of you, because he could never behave like a normal person whenever you started praising him.

"So, you're very cute," you began, smirking as your lips brushed his and then endeavoured to brush his every feature, "equal parts sexy... equal parts handsome... and oh so gorgeous..."

Michael was blushing profusely, biting his lip hard. "Minnie, tha's okay, I get the point..."

You chuckled, pulling away and taking his hands in yours. "Michael, you really can't expect to love on me so vocally without letting me do the same to you. And you did just ask me to expand on the list of adjectives."

"Whatever," he sighed, though a small smile betrayed him. "Um, so what do y—?"

You took a deep breath, beaming as you did, and slid your hand below the bubbles, a sight at which Michael almost cursed at. Your sex was invisible to him where the height of the water lay, so you shuffled forward, now hoisted in a straddle over his abdomen, and the moment your glistening pussy came into view—decorated with two manicured nails spreading open the labia—your boyfriend felt like he was going to faint.

"Oh my G—" He shut his eyes tight again, for the millionth time already, and you laughed again softly.

"Aht—can’t say the Lord's name in vain, honey, don't be a hypocrite," you joked, but immediately switched the subject when the boy with the crucifying religious guilt looked up at you with immense anxiety.

"Okay, so—" you moved on, but cut yourself off again because he still looked ridiculously flustered. "Wait, Mikey, seriously—chill."

"I can't, honey, I feel lightheaded."

"Well, maybe you made the bath too hot. I think it's fine, personally, but—"

"No," he exhaled. "It's you, I can't... I can't look at y' without my whole body burnin' up. It's bad enough when y' fully dressed, but now..."

Your own cheeks began to heat, and the air seemed to be full with only the sounds of deep breath after deep breath from each of you.

"You were fine in the shower with me, though?"

"I was forcin' myself to seem fine," he blushed, "but anyway, this is a whole other thing, 'cause y' naked on top of me now. And I can see everythin'..."

"Well, yes, that's kinda the whole point," you chuckled, and that brought a little smile to the cheeks that you then squeezed on impulse.

"Alright, take a deep breath," you advised, performing a slow inhale and an even slower exhale with him, in the comedic tone of a yoga teacher.

But once you'd breathed out together, you both burst into a fit of giggles, with you falling forward onto his chest, splashing the surrounding bubbles into his face.

"Hey!" Michael exclaimed through laughter, already feeling a degree calmer as he splashed you back. This fight went on for about three minutes, hits of jasmine-scented foam flying back and forth, until alas you were both still and catching your breath again, skin decorated in the effervescence.

Now, you finally initiated the evening properly. "Okay, you ready?"

"Mhm," he nodded, but he was mostly still going insane inside.

"Alright, Mr Jackson," you said playfully, "this is your lesson in female pleasure 101."

"’m lookin' forward to it," he smirked boyishly, but his face then assumed the appearance of somebody who just remembered the inner state of their emotions. "As long as I don't... faint first."

You rolled your eyes lightheartedly, then held his chin. "Okay, eyes—down here." You gestured to your soft, already-weeping pussy again, fingers smoothing over the small strip of hair over your pubic mound. "Not at the ceiling, not at the faucets—down here. Yes?"

Michael nodded eagerly, lip between his teeth again as he fixed his gaze where you'd asked him to. Your fingers now slowly ran up and down your folds, stopping momentarily at your entrance to drag slick from there and up your slit.

"So beautiful..." he whispered without even realising, and somehow looking at the thing that made him most nervous actually helped rid the nerves entirely. That was because all he could think about when he stared at your leaking sex was just how desperately he wanted to touch and devour it.

You giggled at his admission of your beauty, now running your fingers up and over your pussy a little more insistently now, but intentionally ignoring your clit—because that was the most important part.

"Alright, so," you started, "I'm not gonna lie, no man has ever brought me to an orgasm before."

Michael flinched at how easily you said such allegedly 'vulgar' words, but then remembered he had to be neutral and normal about all this. More than anything, he was stunned that you'd had so much sex and never achieved release. What had been the point?

"Wait, you've never—?"

"No, I have, but only alone. Um, just when I touch myself."

"Like... like you're doin' now?" His mind was running wild with the image of you nestled privately in your sheets, back arched, fingers dipping in and out of your sex as you writhed...

"Just like 'm doin' now, baby," you grinned, still smearing your slick all over your outer lips. "But 'm not doin' it exactly how I do it alone. And this is the first thing I wanna say. Most men—well, every man I've ever been with—"

Again, he flinched at the mention of the 'other men,' even though he already knew of their existence.

"—has stupidly believed that just mindlessly running his fingers up and down here, is what brings a woman to the euphoric sensation of climax. No, it's more complex than that, because there's one component that changes everything."

"When you… put y' fingers inside?" Michael asked shyly. "And there's somethin' called the... j-spot, or? I can't remember—Jackie was tellin' us all about it..."

You chuckled, the misuse of the term tickling you greatly. "First of all, that's the g-spot, baby," you corrected, free hand playing with his slightly wet afro.

"Oh."

"And that's not what I'm referring to yet. I'm talkin' about just outer fingerin' for now, honey. So, look closely..."

That particular instruction wasn't necessary, for Michael hadn't taken his eyes off the pretty flesh in two whole minutes.

You spread your labia even wider now, and his breath quickened, fingers inching closer along your inner thigh.

"So, you see this right here?" Your thumb brushed lightly over your clit, the focus of the current tutorial, and your breath hitched with his. Michael hadn't even been properly touched yet, beside your legs over his, but every nerve in his body felt alight. He could really feel his member begin to grow now, and he knew that in its size it would soon be pressing up against your lower back. The thought alone made him equal parts anxious and excitable. He hoped you'd be pleased with the sight of his erection.

"This little nub..." you continued. "Feel it..."

His head shot up. "Y' want me to...?"

"I do, honey. Go on. Just take two fingers—your index and your middle... And place 'em just over here... over my clit..."

"Oh, y'know, Jackie mentioned that too—"

"Michael," you laughed, finding it incredulous that he was bringing up the expertise of his brother during such intimacy.

You took his wrist, and slowly brought it down to where you needed him most. Even slower were the moments he took to finally settle the two fingers over your pearl, and he almost choked on nothing when, with hardly more than a slight rub, you let out a soft moan, steadying yourself on his weight. God, this was going to be a real good night...

"Right there?" he whispered, to which you nodded. "And what do I—? How do I make y' feel amazin', mama, tell me..."

"Okay," you breathed out shakily in anticipation, "you're gonna wanna keep pressin' down, but not too hard—ah, Mike, slower—" He had been quietly experimenting, and had provided a beautiful mode of pleasure that was just a little too harsh and overstimulating to begin with. "Just with a light pressure... so pressin' firm but not hard..."

"Like this?" He decreased the strength of the two fingers, moving them up and down, still unsure of what to do.

"Mhm... Alright, so, what I was also gonna say is—mm—"

"Tink, I thought y' said this part didn't really make y' feel nothin'? When the fingers just go up 'n down..."

"Nngh—no, that's what I'm 'bout to say... I think it matters whose fingers—oh—they are, 'cause when I do it it feels real good, but with men it never—"

Now Michael had confidently swept up some of the sticky substance that sat lower, and was rubbing it up and down your folds, while he waited to be told the specifics of your clit.

"Oh, Mike—how are you doin’ th—?"

"Is this right?" he asked, those pretty doe eyes meeting yours for a moment while he continued to smear your slick everywhere. "Y' really makin' a mess down here, mama..."

You smirked, but now you were rocking over his thighs, the water swimming around you and making light splashing noises. "That's what's gonna help me to take you later."

Michael's brows furrowed, and then he understood. "Oh, like a lubricant? Shit!" He shook his head in frustration, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, um, shouldn't have cursed—Uh, no, I forgot to bring the lube..."

He was continuing to play with you as he spoke, and you marvelled at how quickly he was getting the hang of things despite having never touched a woman's genitalia before a few minutes ago.

"’s okay, honey," you said through another shaky breath. "I'll be o—okay."

In all honesty, you weren't sure if you would be after the glimpses of his soft dick you'd seen in the shower two weeks ago, and it was at the exact moment the thought appeared into your mind that you suddenly felt the hard weight of something up against your ass.

You gasped—louder than just as a result of his fingers—but you still hadn't shown him what magic he needed to direct to your clit. So, you tried to ignore the very insistent thing behind you. It was evident on Michael's face that he was struggling to contain himself already, but all you could think about was how, if he was this good with no idea what he was doing (and touching mostly your inner labia) imagine how incredible he'd be in just a few moments, once he'd been instructed of the workings of a woman's clitoris?

It was a known fact that Michael Jackson could learn dance moves in an instant when the move was presented before him—no additional practice necessary—so it logically followed that the same might apply with bedroom activity.

"So, um, with the—mm—with the clit... Go back up to it, baby, and stay still—just pause a minute while I tell you how I like it..."

Michael paused, ever so attentive, and even just the feeling of his unmoving fingers on your nub made you want to start rocking on him again.

"So over here, I need you to rub slow circles. You could go up 'n down—it wouldn't be wrong—but it feels best when you take the pads of your fingers 'n rub round 'n round in small circles... Watch me first."

You gently removed his hand and replaced it with your own, dragging up more gooey slick and playing with yourself the way you'd described. Your head was thrown back slightly, back arching subtly and hips moving over his abdomen that you were leaking translucence all over—all while you rubbed and rubbed at your aching clit, wrist flicking with each movement.

Michael watched on in awe, taking in each of your whines and moans, so excited now to be the reason they elicited from your eager throat.

"So sexy, mama..." His voice went a little deeper now, and at the praise your clit throbbed further. Reluctantly you paused, reminding yourself that you had to in order for your man to continue the pleasure and show you his yet to be uncovered talent.

"Okay, your turn, handsome," you smiled, whole body entirely alight now, and you really had never felt so embarrassingly horny.

You kissed his nose to initiate movement, and the two of you truly unlocked heaven right there.

Michael had his lip bitten tight between his teeth as he stared down at your pretty pearl, so determined to get this right. No man had ever made you cum this way. How dare they be so careless?

With the slowest, most direct precision, he began to rub the tight bundle of nerves just as you'd demonstrated, brows always furrowed in his ensuring that he was doing it correctly. The way your body responded told him everything—your hips stuttered, lower body grinding over his abs, hands immediately steadying themselves on his chest as whines spilled from your mouth.

"Oh, Mikey—"

"Yeah, is this okay, beautiful?" he whispered in that gorgeous voice of his, and your brain almost short-circuited.

"Yes, yes—oh, so good... Keep talkin' to me, baby, talk me through it, c'mon..."

"Y'—y'want me to say stuff?" he stammered, fingers still rubbing so effortlessly perfect, and as you rocked harder you nodded eagerly.

"Like, talk dirty?" he said almost under his breath, in disbelief of the situation he'd found himself in, even though it should have happened a long time ago.

"Mhm, try it, honey..."

"Uh, okay..." He squinted, trying to think, but you shook your head.

"No, let it come naturally. 'm sure there's some stuff you wanna say to me, baby... Tell me what you think about when you play with yourself."

"How do y' know I—?"

"Michael," you giggled through another moan. "Was I supposed to believe you were sat politely with your legs crossed while you looked at those Playboy bunnies?"

"Um, well I did sit like that sometimes..."

"Sometimes." You sighed in amusement, but again he had your eyes rolling back with more firm, circling pressure.

"Uh, most of the time, when... when 'm playin' with my—y'know—uh, it's not when 'm lookin' at the magazines... It's usually when 'm thinkin' of you."

You almost drew blood from your bottom lip at that comment. Grinding down harder instinctively, you squeezed his bicep to tell him to keep going. The entire time, he managed to both talk and keep up his movements perfectly.

"I look at pictures of y'... ones I keep in the box underneath my bed... and there's this, um, this particular one... Y' wearin' a bikini... sittin' on my lap by the pool at—at home..."

"Mhm, and how does the picture make you feel, baby?"

"Uh," he gulped, never taking his eyes off your gleaming sex. "Real good..."

"Tell me how you play with yourself..."

"Minnie."

"Hm?" You didn't bat an eyelid, losing yourself in the pleasure.

"It's too dirty."

"No, it's not, Mikey," you chuckled, fingernails digging into his arms now to make crescent moon shapes. "I showed you how I touch myself, 'n now I wanna know what you do when you're all alone..."

"Okay..." Michael breathed, eyes flicking now between your pussy and the beautifully erotic expressions on your face. He wondered if this was all a dream—but the reality was that you'd been his for months now.

"Um. So, I squeeze, um, my..."

"Your dick," you happily finished the sentence for him, eager at the mention of what you could still feel pressing harshly against you.

He flinched, but continued. "Yeah..."

Then you leaned over to whisper in his ear, still grinding your hips. "Your big dick, yeah, baby?"

Michael was nearly rendered speechless. "Oh—uh, I guess it's..."

"Well, I haven't seen it hard yet, but d'you know I've been feelin' it against me for the last five minutes?"

"Wh—? Oh, yeah, 'm sorry, darlin'... Y' jus' too beautiful..."

"Hey, don't apologise, pretty baby," you whispered against his cheek, moving slower and sensual now. His fingers had paused their movements, and you frowned, so he continued.

"Mikey, keep talkin', sweetheart, we're gettin' somewhere..."

"Mm," he hummed, gripping your ass with one hand to guide you, trying desperately to be more confident. "So, 'm pumpin' myself up an' down, lookin' at the pictures... Pictures of my beautiful girl—I don't need no Playboy models..."

Suddenly your heart ached a little. This was the way Michael would talk dirty—and really, 'dirty' wasn't the correct word to describe it. Each word turned you on just as much as it made you want to cry with profound emotion.

"And what do you wanna do to me when you're tuggin' on your dick, honey?"

"Well..." he began, unsure how much of his imagination to reveal. "First I think about—oh, this is so bad, Minnie—"

"No, go on, tell me..."

"Um, I think about y' mouth..." he murmured. You were feeling giddy now, for he was finally getting more comfortable, and there was nothing sexier and more adrenaline-inducing than your shy, sexually inexperienced boyfriend telling you about the filthy images he'd conducted in his mind.

"Ugh, it's real dirty, darlin', but when my hand goes... up 'n down... 'specially when I put my thumb right over the top of my, um, my dick... I pretend it's your tongue... Lickin' and suckin' me..."

"Yeah?" you beamed, moaning deliberately louder in his ear.

"Mhm," he uttered quickly, "but—that's nasty, mama. A lady shouldn't... her mouth shouldn't be, um," his voice lowered to a tiny whisper, "down there."

"No? Shouldn't she?" you teased sultrily, cupping his jaw again and rubbing over his smooth complexion.

"Definitely not, darlin'," he insisted, eyes still darting from your face to your pussy while his fingers continued to work their magic.

"I think many women wouldn't agree, baby... Sure, we like receivin', but that doesn't mean we don't like givin' too..."

He audibly groaned. "Oh, Tink—don't say stuff like that..."

You chuckled with a tone of sheer tease. Michael's voice was shaky now, and you felt he could be close to orgasm, so you removed his hand and repositioned yourself. At first he was a little confused, but when you gestured him to widen his legs a little more (to the width of the tub), he understood.

But your mouth shot open in surprise, eyes widening with it, when you saw the sheer size of what laid between your man’s legs. He was quite literally enormous. Now fully hard, standing up proudly above the surface of the water, you saw the beginnings of the thick veins running up and down the girthy, dark brown skin, and couldn't help but instantly notice white precum leaking from the mauve tip. Most of his length was obscured by the bubbly sea of water, but the fact that it poked up so high had you stunned.

"Oh my... Baby, are you for real?"

"What?" he asked anxiously, shuffling in his seat as you sat kneeled before him, staring at his major asset.

"This has gotta be like nine fuckin' inches, what?"

"Tink, don't curse," he said firmly, rolling his eyes.

"And it's so..." You gulped in your shock. "So thick..."

Michael suddenly looked panicked, and tried to cover himself with an amalgamation of bubbles, but he wasn't so successful, because they kept swimming away. He felt as though he was an animal in a zoo, on display for all to see and comment on—but you hadn't intended to make him feel like that.

"Honey, I've been real scared that this was gonna be a problem... I don't know how big most guys are, 'n... well, there was no way I could ask my brothers..." He grimaced at the mention of them.

You chuckled. "Yeah, let's not talk about them right now. And don't worry..." You placed a hand on his warm thigh, craving desperately to hold what rested right beside it, but pacing yourself for now. "’m gonna be fine, Michael. You're not gonna hurt me. I just... well, I was taken aback, that's all."

Michael still didn't look too pleased. "I want tonight to be perfect."

"I know you do, baby." Now you positioned yourself between his legs, back against his bubble-clad chest. Comfortably settled, much of your torso submerged itself into the water, and you sighed in content, shutting your eyes happily. "It is going to be perfect."

Michael wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed the side of your neck, before talking lowly into your ear. "But what if I really hurt y', baby? You've obviously never taken anyone as big as me before..."

You started to giggle, despite Michael's genuine anxiety, because the way he worded that line was very amusing. "Oh, look who has an ego 'n we've not even started!"

"Angel, 'm serious," he pressed on, holding your waist tighter, and you clenched your thighs together at the feeling of his hands.

You turned your head a little to press kisses into his neck. "And I'm serious when I say that everything's gonna be fine. The only thing that might ruin it is your anxiety, honey." You picked up his hand and smooched his palm several times, but you smelled your cum on his fingers and blushed to yourself.

"Okay, I'll shut up now," Michael chuckled shyly. "I hope you're right."

You smacked his bicep playfully, cuddling deeper into his chest and stretching your legs out. "Positive attitude, please. You seem to have one with everything else."

"True," he whispered, shaking his head of the worry.

You shuddered even in the scalding heat as you felt his thick member pressing up and twitching against your skin, and to that your voice dropped an octave, resuming the moment.

"Make me feel good, baby... I want you to make me cum..."

"I'll do whatever y' body needs, mama..."

Michael's whole body ached with desire, and as before, his anxiety didn't take too long to dissipate. Fondling your waist, your hips, and then your thighs, one hand crept to where it had previously been, and below the bubbles he resumed the earlier pace, rubbing in sweet circles.

"Mmph—oh, baby..." Instinctively, your hand reached back to his jaw, then up further to his afro, playing with the wet coils at the ends. "Keep rubbin' just like that..."

It was at this moment that Michael decided he would set aside all hesitation and display his entire devotion, unrestricted.

"Yeah, y'like that, pretty mama?" he whispered into your ear, warm breath and his beautiful tone coursing through your veins.

You were stunned that such confident words could be born of your Michael, and he only kept on going.

"Yeah, tell me, baby, I wanna know..." His fingers slid down your folds again, before dragging back upward, and then—to your pleasant surprise—he used his palm to direct three sudden smacks to your clit. Gentle of course, but he'd wanted to experiment with the movement because he expected that it would arouse you to jerk and shake in his arms. And that you did.

"Oh! Mikey—you're doin' perfect, baby, you're so—mmphhh—"

"Thank you, honey," he whispered, tilting your chin up so that your head could turn slightly and your lips could meet his. Immediately, he engaged you both in a hot makeout, as steamy as the bath itself. Your tongues wrestled, lips smacking into each other's over and over, throats swallowing moan after moan; and just as the kiss began, Michael slipped the first of his slender digits into your entrance.

"Mm, honey—" you whined against his lips, but he silenced you with more lewd kisses, the pleasure of which met with the thrust of his middle finger against your inner walls. He kept slightly hitting your g-spot (where it wasn't difficult given how long those gorgeous fingers were) but then on the next thrust he'd inch a little distant from it, and repeat; so after a minute or two you gently broke from the kiss.

"Baby," you gasped for breath. "Lemme show you somethin'."

"Hm?" His doe eyes widened in intrigue, but also in the worry that he was doing something wrong.

He removed his finger from your sopping entrance, and you smiled, before taking hold of his wrist and bringing the digit up to your lips. You sucked down the length of it, drinking it clean, and Michael's mouth dropped open.

"Minnie, tha's nasty..." were the words that came from his lips, but his cock—leaking still against your back—twitched at the sight.

You giggled in your mischief, and then, bringing his hand back down under the water, went on to teach him another lesson in female pleasure. "Okay, so you reached my spot perfectly," you began.

Michael grinned, very pleased that he'd gotten something right on first try, without even needing your instruction.

"But—"

He started to frown.

"—There's a specific way of doin' it. People often describe the movement of the fingers as a sort of 'come hither' motion. See?" You demonstrated what you meant with your fingers, and instantly he nodded.

"You have to do it that way so that when you thrust in, it's hittin' my spot each time, not just half the time," you explained. "Yeah?"

"Mhm, I get it."

"Okay, try again, honey. But I can't keep kissin' ya 'cause my neck is gonna break in this position," you laughed, sadly having to refuse any continuation of the makeout session.

Michael frowned again, but understood, and he was much too pleased already with your soft body in his hold, feeling your tight walls clench around him as you sighed; and he could still kiss your neck even if he didn't have access to your lips...

To your surprise, he now slipped in two fingers at once, stretching you out perfectly. You were incredibly wet, so it was no trouble, and as soon as you felt the sweet intrusion, sure enough the digits were up at your g-spot, curling exactly as you'd taught.

"Like this, ma?" Michael whispered, pressing wet kisses along your neck and up to your jaw.

"Yes, Mikey—just like that, oh baby, hittin' my spot so good..."

Michael was beyond ecstatic. "Yeah?!"

"Yes, honey, it's perfect, oh—"

"You're so pretty, angel girl..." he murmured against your skin. "Love hearin' y' moan for me. Don't hold nothin' back, oh baby, I wanna hear ya..."

Your moans naturally did increase in volume, loud whines hitting the air while you writhed in the tub, lower back rubbing against Michael's hard cock each time you moved, only adding to the white-hot pleasure coursing up your spine.

Now you began to tug at your breasts, kneading them the way you liked—the way Michael had so miraculously been able to knead on first try. You rolled your nipple between your fingers, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your boyfriend never let up the pace and careful direction of his fingers. He was speeding up now, knuckle deep, and the squelching noises were mixed with the continuous ripple of water sounding with each movement. You were feeling a sensation that before tonight only you had been able to give yourself.

"Pretty baby, let me," Michael urged, removing one of your hands off of one of your breasts and replacing it with his own. You sounded like a pornstar now, unable to speak coherently as Michael somehow managed to talk, thrust his digits, and massage your breast at once. It seemed he really was perfect at absolutely everything.

"Mm, they're so full, mama... Love feelin' em... Is this good too, huh?" He kissed your temple so gently, so contradictory to the supposed 'dirtiness' of the scene by Michael's estimation, and your heart felt that strange ache again.

"So good, baby... so, so good... oh, I'm close, Michael—"

"Yeah, y'are?" His voice lit up with hope and happiness, eyes widening as he anticipated an event he never comprehended would be his reality.

"Mhm—rub my—oh, mmphh—now rub my clit with your thumb while you keep thrustin', honey..."

Michael internally cursed himself for not thinking of that without your advice, and then, insanely he was doing four things at once. The previous list, now including clitoral stimulation too.

"Oh, baby!" you whined.

Michael strangely felt just as emotional as he felt aroused. He'd waited so long to hear these sounds spill from your lips, and he had been every bit satisfied. The fact that so many disgusting men before him had experienced the very same made his blood boil with both jealousy and a bitter sadness.

But in truth, they hadn't experienced the 'very same.' As you'd told Michael, no man had ever made you cum, therefore no man had ever heard your real, unfiltered, natural moans, nor felt the way your body now shook and trembled in Michael's grasp as you approached climax.

And another necessary thing to mention, was that you were also secretly experiencing that same fusion of arousal and emotion, close to literal tears even—and not just from the sexual pleasure.

No, you were close to tears because of the man providing you that pleasure. Michael loved you so much—you could tell, and of course you hadn't needed tonight to understand the extent of his love, but what struck you forcefully was how entirely different each touch and each whisper was to all the other men. You didn't even like that the comparison was appearing in your mind, because you wished that in this timeline it had only ever been Michael—only ever your sweet angel boy, who loved you more than anything, and would do anything to keep you safe...

"Baby girl, hold my hand," he murmured so softly.

Still squirming and moaning, you took his free hand, and even though the force of his fingers was relentless now, speeding faster and faster, he interlaced your digits with the most gentle nature.

"That's it, honey, cum for me..."

He was testing the waters with each phrase that left his lips, and because it was all coming so naturally in his adoration and aching arousal, he was doing perfectly.

"Oh, Mikey, I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, I gotchu..." he whispered, pressing feather-light kisses over your neck.

"Ugh, baby! Ohhh—"

Finally, you squeezed your boyfriend's hand tight as the coil in your lower abdomen broke, the pleasure building to its peak, before crashing down while you trembled against his chest. You shuddered and shook with the force of it, and certainly it was the very best release you’d ever had.

Except, something strange had happened instead. Rather than experiencing a normal orgasm as you usually did, you saw before you spurts of thin, translucent liquid—similar to... pee?—shoot up from beneath the water. Too fucked out to speak, your head lolled back onto Michael's shoulder in exhaustion, trying to catch your breath against the strength of your orgasm, but you were beyond confused at what had just happened.

Michael, not understanding a thing about the female body before tonight, had no idea that anything was unusual. He thought he'd just made a woman cum as many men did; but much more than that, he'd actually produced something of a woman that only a very small percentage of those men ever could.

"Wow, mama, that was amazin'..." he gasped in shock, taking his fingers out of you and discreetly wiping them on the bottom of the tub. Never before had he seen such a beautiful sight as his sweet girl getting an even sweeter release.

"You were amazin', Mikey," you said through erratic breaths, playing with his fingers. "But I don't know what just happened..."

"What do y' mean, Tink?" he asked in confusion, kissing each one of your fingers absentmindedly. He blinked hard at how painful his cock was now, shuffling again to relieve the ache, but only orgasm would do it. And it didn't help that you kept unintentionally moving around against him—he really thought he might cum in a moment.

"The... the liquid—that's not... normal..." you tried to explain.

"Huh?"

"No, that's..."

And then suddenly you understood. "Oh my God. This is what Whitney was tellin' me about a couple months ago... I just squirted?!"

Michael was even more confused, but in all honesty he couldn't think about much outside of his twitching, leaking dick that was really about to embarrass itself if he wasn't careful. "Uh, Minnie... I—"

"No, Michael, listen." You turned your head to look up at him. "I just squirted. Most men don't even know how to make a woman cum, let alone squirt."

Now, he was intrigued. Still shuffling and biting his lip out of frustration, his eyes had widened. "For real?!"

"For real," you beamed, kissing his cheek. You were still consciously aware of the weight of his member behind you, and you did wonder how he was holding on so long. You'd have preferred to linger on the incredible moment for longer with him, but it took one close look at his expression to see that he was struggling.

"Michael, y' holdin' on really well for a first timer..." you giggled, writhing your hips back on him deliberately now.

"Yeah, well, it's not easy, girl... Please—um..."

"Please, what, baby?" You batted your lashes.

"Uh... I can't—No, I shouldn't ask..."

"Oh, but your girl thinks you should."

"No, Tink, I don't think it's worth it anyw—I'm gon—ohhhh—"

Your eyes shot wide open in complete and utter astonishment as Michael's face contorted into the most gorgeous expression of sheer pleasure. His eyes were clamped shut, face scrunched together, harsh while soft moans eliciting from his throat... And in equal timing, you felt several hot spurts of liquid hit your lower back.

Michael had climaxed unwarranted; prematurely but in truth he should've been proud for getting through the evening so far without succumbing to orgasm earlier—although of course he was incredibly embarrassed about it. His cheeks were burning now, eyes so anxious. How could he have been so dirty? He was only supposed to cum in a condom, or in his hand or on his own stomach to wipe it off immediately after. Never on a beautiful lady's skin. He felt he had tainted you.

"Oh, mama, oh no, 'm so sorry—lemme, uh—lemme get the soap," he stuttered, reaching forward to pick up the bar. "Oh no..."

But you only giggled—mouth still open in shock of course, but you were only both amused and aroused. You shifted slightly to cuddle into his chest, then looked up at him.

"Mikey. Calm down."

"Huh? Um, honey, y'need to move so I can wash, um... wash it off." He was feeling lightheaded again, so overcome with embarrassment and shame that he almost didn't want to continue.

"Shut up, silly," you scolded playfully, with a light smack to one pectoral muscle. "Are you gonna actually ask me how I feel about what just happened? Rather than make assumptions and give yourself a panic attack?"

"No, darlin', that was so dirty," he squinted, scrunching up his eyes in disgust, as if willing the memory to exit existence. "Just lean forward so I can wash y'. 'm so sorry..."

"Michael."

"What?!"

"Let me speak," you said firmly.

His voice quietened, but his whole body was still tense. "Okay."

Now you grinned wide, peppering light kisses all over his neck and collarbone. "I liked it," you murmured against the skin.

"Huh?" Michael's brows furrowed instantly, in complete confusion.

"It was sexy, honey," you murmured again, licking over an erogenous zone before biting down with suction to create a hickey.

Michael got a little lost in the feeling, leading him to moan softly, and you smiled over the soon-to-be-bruise. You were so good with your mouth that it had distracted him from your words, even though that wasn't your intention.

But then he came back to earth, and his head shot back in surprise. All of a sudden you actually grew a little self-conscious yourself, concerned that Michael, in his reserved nature and religious guilt, might have a problem with what you’d found sexy.

Truthfully, that was to an extent how your boyfriend was feeling. You couldn't blame him or yourself, for he was incredibly new to all this, and the fantasies he'd naturally been dreaming of always carried immense shame if they crossed into the territory of anything he deemed 'too dirty'. So, while you were by no means kinky, to Michael most sexual things appeared that way. If the specific act didn't involve a reverent display of love to your body, he wasn't interested. You decided that at this early stage in your relationship it was pretty futile to convince him that not everything needed to be delicate, because you felt that he'd understand in time, the more comfortable he became with sex.

"Michael," you whispered, looking up into his eyes and playing with his wet frizz. "It's okay if... you're not into stuff like that. Y'know, doing that on my—"

Michael cleared his throat awkwardly. "Can we jus' move on, baby? I don't know how it can be sexy that I came on y', um... uncontrollably."

Oh, he had no idea.

You bit your lip. "But don't you wanna know why I found it sexy? I think it would make sense to you if I explained."

He raised a brow, but allowed you to continue.

"I feel that way..." a kiss to his lips, "because you coming apart so unrestrained for me, shows me exactly how I make you feel. And I love that a lot. You might think it's embarrassing, but honey, I'm just surprised you lasted this long, seriously."

A small smile etched itself across Michael's lips.

"You get it a little more now?"

"Mhm," he muttered, and there was a pretty twinkle in his eye. "A little."

You giggled and brought him into a deep kiss; then when it ended, you had to remind him of something.

"Mikey..." you pouted. "Aren't ya gonna use any of my oils on me?"

Michael's mouth widened, surprised that he'd somehow forgotten. It had slipped his mind during your enticing tutorial of female pleasure.

"Oh—uh, the oil..."

"Mhm," you nodded. "I like my body to be nice 'n moisturised, baby," you sighed, bringing your hands up to your breasts again, where your nipples were still erect. You rubbed your palm over one of them, moaning as you began to rock yourself back on your sweetheart again.

As intended, you quickly began to feel his milked cock re-stiffen against you, and the feeling made you grind down harder, kneading your breasts with an ever-increasing ferocity. Michael wrapped his arms around your waist slowly, so enthralled by you that he almost forgot your request, and what he so badly wanted to do too.

"Pick up the vanilla and almond oil for me, handsome..." you whined, still kneading your soapy breasts, head thrown back against him.

Michael nodded eagerly, reaching forward to select the correct bottle. He screwed off the lid faster than he'd done anything all evening, and you chuckled through another whine at his enthusiasm.

Before you could register it all he was squeezing the liquid out into his palm, and then both of his hands were slick with the oil. You took a deep, excited breath as you rested further back into his chest, and a moment later you felt both hands steadily, leisurely make their way down from a short massage of your shoulders, to the plump shape of your breasts.

As soon as he made contact with them, you both shuddered with a shaky exhale. Night had fallen now, and the candles lit you both up in a golden shine, highlighting the erotic look on your face and the attentive, mesmerised look on Michael's. His mouth was half-open, studying your every response to each touch, and he realised he was actually fairly confident at this part, because he'd received such a positive response last time.

"Oh, that feels so good, baby..." you gasped softly, reaching down to rub your clit, because Michael could no longer do it for you with two hands full.

"Yeah, mama?" he whispered directly into your ear, and that warm cadence shot a hit of pleasure right to your throbbing bud.

Taking his eyes off your breasts for a moment finally—while still massaging with perfection—he noticed your hand moving beneath an expanse of bubbles, and audibly moaned at the realisation that you were rubbing yourself.

"Oh, Minnie—does it turn you on when I touch y' like this?"

"Mhm," you murmured, eyes clamping shut in disbelief at how magical his hands were. "Love how you touch me, oh Michael..."

This moment was the perfect example of something that simply couldn't be done at the Hayvenhurst household. Had you been moaning your boyfriend's name like that in his own ensuite, there would have been close-by mock-echoes of the sounds by at least two other Jacksons. You were both so grateful now that you were completely alone together, cut off from the outside world in what rare chance you got; and really it was as though nothing else existed but your passion in that bathtub, under the twinkling moonlight.

Every minute or so he gathered more oil, relishing in the scent and the sight; spreading it up and down your arms, your neck, your stomach down to your navel, back up to your breasts, and then...

"I wanna rub y' clit too, ma," he whispered. "Let me..."

Already growing again in confidence, he swiftly removed your hand by a hold on your wrist, and replaced it with his own that had run down from your breast and your torso to your swollen pussy.

"Oh, Mike—"

With the precision of an expert, Michael began to massage circles over your bundle of nerves, while kissing your neck and murmuring sweet nothings that vibrated against your skin, and still he somehow managed to keep running his oiled hand over your upper body.

"Honey, y' so pretty for me... Wanna make you feel so, so good inside..."

"You're already makin' me feel perfect, Mikey, mmphh, keep rubbin' it just like that..."

"Yeah, jus' like that? Want y' to cum for me again, baby, y' looked so beautiful the first time... So wonderful, I wanna get y' there over 'n over..."

Now, you shuffled a little so that you could reach behind and return the favour. You'd been in this bath together for so long already and somehow your hand hadn't even brushed his cock yet. You'd been saving that for the bedroom, but your brain had just reminded you of how fucking gorgeous and well-endowed he was down there...

Squeezing his shaft and running your thumb over the head, your hand had dipped beneath the water so discreetly that it rendered the action a complete shock to Michael.

"Ah—Tink!" he whined, stopping his movements and almost taking his hands off of you in surprise. His thighs and his dick twitched in tandem, and you giggled, tapping the hand of his that had paused over your aching clit to get him to continue.

"What, baby?" you asked with faux-innocence, stroking up and down his fully hard member, gladly feeling over every thick vein and ridge. "Couldn't wait til the bedroom to play with your pretty dick, 'm sorry..."

"Nngh—tha's so good, baby... Just how I—oh—no, better than I ever imagined... Mm..."

"Yeah, baby boy?" you teased, pumping slowly, and your own body twitched in pleasure when Michael slipped his middle finger inside you again, curling it up to meet your sweet spot instantly.

"Oh, honey—" you moaned loudly, free hand holding his thin wrist tight.

"Girl, I love how warm y' are in here..." he whispered, sliding in his ring finger now too. Every single time the digits thrust in they'd hit your spot with ease, and you were writhing and gasping like a whore against his body, hand faltering over his slick cock.

"Honey, I just wanna... mm—wanna feel this sweet pussy all night... Forever, baby, I need to feel y' like this forever..." Michael was already committing eternal loyalty to your sex and he hadn't even felt what it was like to be inside of you yet.

"Oh, Mike, we need to get out of this tub, baby..."

"Why?" Michael frowned against your shoulder, squeezing more oil onto your chest, before going in again with an eager hand; gripping, grabbing, squeezing, kneading your sensitive tissue, all while his two astonishingly long fingers curled up inside your tight walls, over and over again.

"’Cause—oh, mmphhh, Michael..."

Every time you moaned his name like that he felt he had ascended to heaven. How was he this lucky? So much else in his life was troubling, but to be able to have the most beautiful lady on planet Earth wrapped up in his hold, squirming and whining for his touch... He had been awarded such a blessing.

"Wait, honey, I wanna..." He cleared his throat, slowing the pace of his fingers before pulling them out. "I wanna taste y'," he whispered against your cheek, where he pressed a kiss.

"Yes, that's what I was gettin' at," you laughed, ceasing your movements over his dick. "I was tryna say we need to get out of the tub 'cause I won't let us have sex before I've had your head between my thighs."

Michael's cheeks heated up for the millionth time that night, and his entire body was consumed with a giddy excitement. "Okay," he grinned.

You turned your head, giggling into his neck, and then in an instant you were up in his arms for the third time, swept up off the stone resin, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck while he held you protectively.

"Mikey!" you squealed, the water splashing around at your sudden exit. His dick poked up hard against your ass, and God, you needed him so badly…

"C'mon, mama," he laughed warmly, leaning down ridiculously to blow out the candles, then kissing your nose as he stepped out over the edge of the tub, taking you with him. He quickly brushed his feet against the plush rug, then began to skip in the direction of the door, without a thought other than how much he desperately wanted to taste his girl for the first time, and then make sweet, sweet love to her and let the night chase all his fears away...

But he was made to stop before he could reach the doorknob.

"Boy, are you crazy?! We need to dry off first! 'm not gonna let you drip water all over my bedroom!"

Michael sighed, chuckling to himself. "Oh, right, yeah, I got a lil carried away. Let's..."

And so he carried you back over to beside the tub, where fresh cotton towels were lined up. He set you down gently, before taking a body-length towel and running it over you, drying each droplet of bathwater and every glisten of oil.

Your heart raced as you watched him. Of course you were already so horny, but this was a different feeling—a stronger version of what had been underlying everything else all evening. He was so tender with the way he rubbed the towel over your skin, so slow and careful even though he had no reason to be, and even despite how his nine-inch dick was pressing up proud against his navel.

You stroked his afro when he leaned down to dry your legs, and then after he'd dried himself, you kissed him so softly.

"Baby, 'm so excited," you whispered, holding his jaw. Michael tentatively held your ass, and then decided to hold it firmer in the remembrance that you were his girl and you wanted his firm touch.

A huge smile spread on his face at your expression of excitement; and really, the two of you were as enthusiastic as two children exploring a candy store.

"Let's go, Minnie Mouse," he whispered, outstretching his arms so that you'd jump up into them. You grinned, letting him hoist you up so that your arms and legs were wrapped tight around him—that insistent weight between his thighs still so prominent against you—and then he was off, skipping again to the door and out of it into the dark room ahead, while you squealed and you each giggled.

He let you fall gently onto the silk sheets, and immediately you found yourself wrestled in a tickle fight, Michael's hands lightheartedly exploring your torso, so effortlessly able to switch from sensual to playful from one moment to the next.

"Baby, stop it!" You laughed until your chest and your cheeks hurt, after having rolled over each other's bodies to win the silly fight. Neither of you won in the end, because you both stopped in the interest of desire.

"Tink, wait," he said breathlessly through more laughter, lying beside you now, trying to return his breathing to normal.

You both laid in silence for a couple of minutes, content smiles on both your faces in the excitement. Momentarily, it hit you again how intimate this was about to be, after the oral sex (which in fact would likely be just as intimate given the way Michael had been with everything else so far), and so of course that same underlying worry and strange discomfort regarding the unfamiliarity hit you again.

But you brushed it off. You physically shook yourself of the thought, then turned to your beau and slowly interlaced your fingers with his.

Michael smiled softly, heart beating faster when he felt your fingers initiate handholding with his much larger ones. It confused you how he could take things so slowly despite his erection, how he could be so erect but willingly spend time tickling you and then choosing to lay side-by-side in an embrace of only hands. Every other man had always jumped on you as soon as they got the chance, with no room for romantic pause.

"Tonight's been so beautiful already, honey," he whispered into the dark.

"It has," you nodded with a smile, playing with his pinkie.

Some more silence, and you watched as Michael looked to the ceiling, with the most adorable smile plastered on his face. Your heart melted, even though you were still left confused about why everything had suddenly paused, past the necessary point of catching your breath.

From Michael's perspective, yes, his dick was currently throbbing like crazy, but his love for you was so passionately deep that he really had no urgency to speed past the quiet romance of it all.

"I can't believe you want me like this, Minnie," he spoke again, but despite the sad statement, he continued to smile in both gratitude and happy disbelief.

You frowned however, and squeezed his hand. "Why wouldn't I, baby?"

"Well, 'cause there's so many others y' could have chosen to be with. I'm so inexperienced 'n shy, 'n... uh, 'm not the best lookin', either."

"Oh, shh. Don’t talk that way around me, I’ve told you so many times," you scowled playfully, leaning on your elbow to face him. You pinched his cheek, before speaking sultrily again.

"Don't you want your dick sucked, honey baby?"

Michael's breath caught in his throat, and his head snapped in your direction. "What does that have to do with what I just said?"

"It has to do with the fact that you've been hard for like ten minutes, 'n you obviously need a release." You began to stroke his thigh, inching closer and closer to his throbbing member.

His eyes widened, and he stuttered in his response. "Um. Honey, I don't... I don't think y' should do that."

"Why not, Michael?" you pouted, climbing on top of his body to plant kisses onto his torso and grind your leaking pussy over his leaking dick.

"Oh—" Michael whined. "Um, well, 'cause like I told y' before, baby, it's way too dirty. A lady's mouth shouldn't be down there. It would be real bad... I mean, 'm already committin' sin by makin' love to y' in the first place, but that—"

You cut him off with a finger to his lips. "Shh. What if the lady would like to have her boyfriend's dick in her mouth?"

Immediately, Michael squinted at the filthy wording. "Oh, mama, y' can't be sayin' stuff like that, really..."

"Well, honey..." you began, as you leaned down and started to lick and kiss down the expanse of his body, from his chest to his happy trail, to the mound of dark pubic hair. He lay pliant beneath you, lip between his teeth, eyes shut tight.

"...It's either I give you a blowjob..." Another shy squint from the boy below. "Or you deal with accidentally climaxing too early again, on my expensive silk sheets while you eat me out."

You sat back up on his thighs again, smirking happily. "So, what's it gonna be?"

There was a pause, some hesitation, and then you got your answer.

"Um... You can..." Michael gestured down to his cock, taking it in his hand for a moment, and you didn't have to be told twice.

"I thought so," you grinned. Instantly you were on your knees before him, hand squeezing his shaft, rubbing the leaking tip against your cheek.

Michael was in utter shock. "Oh my—"

Even in the darkness, there was a very clear stain of his precum on your face, and he barely had time to register that before your mouth was on him, applying perfect suction over his tip.

"Oh, mama, nngh—!" His hand flew to your hair, gripping your head tighter than he meant to, hips bucking upward.

"Yeah, baby, that feels good, huh?" you murmured as you licked along the veins from base to head. "Such a pretty dick, Mikey... Been hidin' it from me for so long..."

The prettiest noises were spilling from his throat endlessly, filling the quiet air beside the filthy schlick-schlick sound with each pump of your hand, or suck of your tongue. And you knew that moaning around his length would increase the pleasure, so you did that too, exaggerating each to create the perfect vibration. Michael had never felt such ethereal pleasure. He wondered if he was still existing here on earth.

Licking one long stripe upward before kitten-licking the mauve tip and sucking his sweet 'n salty cum, you counted an estimate of his measurements.

"’m thinkin' it really is nine inches, honey. Eight at least... but 'm really thinkin' nine..."

Michael could hardly speak in the immense euphoria—not that he would know what to say to a comment like that even if he was able to. All he knew was that you seemed to be very pleased with what you were passionately fondling.

"Oh, Mikey, my pretty, pretty boy..." You enveloped as much of his dripping length in your mouth as you could, until you felt the thick head at your throat and gagged far from quietly. Your eyes brimmed with tears.

Michael's hips bucked up harder in both shock and arousal. "Baby girl, be careful down there." He reached a hand down to stroke your cheek, wanting to influence you to pull off of him, but you wouldn't, still attempting to draw him in further, therefore still producing those choking noises so insane to Michael's ears.

And so he pressed on. "Mama, stop chokin'—y' can just lick 'n suck the tip, 'm okay. I don't need y' to go all the way down it."

You finally came back up for breath, saliva dripping in a lewd mixture with his gleaming precum, scattered all over every inch.

"’s okay, baby, 'm fine," you murmured, tongue tracing the upper half of him while you twisted your wrist to pump what you couldn't reach. "I love doin' this, it's okay..."

A pang of horrible jealousy hit Michael's chest as he remembered all the other men you'd done it with. They were probably the ones who'd taught you how to deepthroat, who'd encouraged you to go further and further until you could barely breathe. Sure, the sensation felt great, but Michael would never want you to go that far just for his pleasure.

And what he surmised about your past experiences hadn't been too far from the truth. You had been pushed too far before, been made to feel like you should do anything and everything to pleasure a man, so over time your body had accepted the act as something normal, even though nothing was normal about being involved in aggressive sex with men who treated you like shit. You felt completely safe with Michael, so a breath-restricting blowjob didn't feel the slightest bit dangerous like you had to admit it had felt with other men, but even if you were enjoying it, the point persisted that the reason you'd even become used to such ferocity in the first place had been due to coercion. Michael wanted you to unlearn the harsh parts—to perform passion with him but in a romantic interpretation, rather than the roughness you always equated it with.

So, when you pushed your head down again to take as much as possible, Michael tapped your cheek and gently pulled you off. You swallowed quickly, and furrowed your brows in frustration. "Michael?!"

The boy was chewing the inside of his cheek. He sat up against the headboard now, cock still painfully hard and twitching, but he was thinking mostly about something else.

"Angel, I don't want you to do that."

You sighed.

"Um, I don't... I don't know what those other guys had you doin' but, you're my girl now 'n I just want y' to do it gently, okay? I don't get off on seein' y' strugglin'."

Biting your lip, you leaned down to rest your head on his thigh, and started stroking slow circles. "I didn't... I don't think they meant it that way. Uh, I never considered that, actually."

"You didn't?" Michael whispered.

"No, I... um," you shook your head, "y'know, it doesn't matter anyway, because I'm here with you now and I just wanted to make you feel good. It wasn't any sort of power imbalance thing. Um, not with you, at least."

He took a deep breath, cradling your cheek in his hand. "Pretty girl, it's real sexy to watch y' take me, but I'd feel much better if y' didn't push y'self. Please? 'm gonna feel y' warmth when we make love—I don't need y' to suck every inch too, just to make me feel good."

Suddenly, you were beginning to understand something very crucial, and it influenced a question that you'd never before asked yourself. How much of sexual activity did you truly want to do? You'd been so accustomed to the rougher, more meaningless kind of sex since the age of sixteen, that you hadn't considered if perhaps you'd actually been conditioned to only enjoy it that way. Tonight's sensual bath had been a big indicator of that, because you never expected to enjoy something so romantic and slow, but indeed you had enjoyed it very much, and very easily—instinctively even, as if it was all you ever truly needed.

But that was too much to unpack right now, so you simply nodded, and kissed his inner thigh. "Okay. No, I understand."

"Y' do?" He furrowed his brows hopefully. "I don't wanna spoil y' fun or nothin', but I really just like to be gentle with y'."

That pressing anxiety of the unfamiliar had returned again, but you masked it with a smile, jumping up on your knees to kiss his soft lips. "I know. Thank you, baby."

The next couple of minutes were spent with Michael in total ecstasy, laid down against the silk again with his head thrown back against the pillows, squirming, groaning, gasping... And as you loved on his pretty cock, relishing in how effortlessly you could draw out those beautiful sounds, for the first time in your life you weirdly saw the romance in oral sex. Strangely enough—but it made sense, because you'd never before given a blowjob to a man who you loved. It had always been in return for something else, or because you felt like you had to, and since you didn't mind the act you'd performed it without thought. But with Michael, nothing could be thoughtless. Care and reverence was woven into his veins.

"Oh, honey, 'm gonna—mmmhhh, 'm close—" he suddenly groaned, thrusting a little, but without intention.

"Yeah, handsome?" you moaned over his slit, before continuing your expert suction. His hand had never ceased to thumb your cheek, in awe at how beautiful you looked doing something so inconceivably dirty. He'd heard his brothers talk about blowjobs before, and he'd vowed to himself that he'd never allow his girl to be on her knees that way. Of course, there had been many purity vows broken tonight.

"Aw, baby girl, pull—mmph—pull off of me, honey, I don't wanna dirty y' pretty face..."

You only giggled as you continued to suck and pump him, ignoring his protests.

"Mama, 'm serious," he gasped quickly, hips bucking ferociously, hand moving to the back of your head to try to pull you off—but Michael could never be anything other than gentle, so his attempt failed.

"Nuh-uh, honey, 'm good right here," you muttered into his flesh, and then, as one final trick you'd been saving for his climax, you dragged your eager tongue down to his heavy balls, still playing with his shaft as you did.

As soon as that warm lick registered in his system, Michael let out the most unrestrained, ecstatic half-moan half-groan, somehow both high and low in tone at once. "Oh, mama, 'm really 'bout to—oh, baby, mm, keep doin' that, but I need y' to get y' mouth off of m—"

You only smiled, sucking his balls into your mouth one by one, never letting up the pace of your hand over his slick length. "Cum for me, Mikey... All down my throat, c'mon..."

"No, baby, I can't—oh, y' can't let me..." he whined, writhing senselessly, one hand tightening in your hair and the other gripping the sheets.

"Your body wants it, my love," you whispered, and then, with two more pumps, your mouth back over his ever-twitching member, he was there, gasping louder and stuttering further, body shaking with the effects of orgasm. Several hot jets of salty-sweet cum shot down your throat, and you swallowed greedily, still stroking the flesh but slower now as you brought him through it.

"Oh, that's it, honey... So beautiful..." you cooed to him, speaking the way he loved to speak to you. After kissing over his thighs, you licked your lips and wiped your cheek to rid the excess of his release.

Michael was motionless against the sheets following his very intense climax, and you shuffled up the bed to meet his body with yours. Lying on your side, propped up by your elbow, you turned his face to yours with a finger on his chin. His expression was dazed, hairline decorated with a sheen of sweat, mouth half-open in amazement.

You giggled, kissing his nose. "How was that?"

He shook his head slowly, in disbelief. "Incredible, baby... More wonderful than I could've ever imagined. I can't believe y' let me do somethin' so nasty with y'..."

"Mm, well..." you chuckled, bringing his hand up to your mouth, resting the knuckles against your lips as you played with his fingers. "Are you excited for the next part?"

Michael bit his lip again, soft doe eyes brightening. "Mhm."

You beamed, probably looking forward to this part more than anything, and so you rested up against the headboard, getting comfortable. Now, as Michael stood up from the bed and repositioned himself between your thighs, your entire body was on display right in front of him, stretched across the silk like a modern take on a Renaissance painting. He couldn't believe his eyes, almost cursing at the sight.

"Wow, honey. Y' really such a goddess, I swear..." he praised in awe, settling himself on his forearms and then wrapping them around your thighs. "These thighs... ugh, baby..."

He was unashamedly yearning for you, leaning his head on the soft vanilla-scented skin of one inner thigh, gazing at the glistening organ that lay between it. Your heart was fluttering in your chest, and the more he stared into your intimacy the more flustered you became. You shook your head, trying to appear normal, because you were supposed to be doing the teaching; but then it suddenly occurred to you that perhaps Michael wouldn't need any more teaching. He knew where the clit was, he knew how to reach the g-spot... He had a perfect tongue that was extremely skilled where makeouts were concerned, and a perfect nose that would feel amazing if he...

"This is the part I've been real nervous about," he murmured, still taking in the sight of your swollen folds, running his fingers up and down them for the second time that night.

You chuckled, with a light smack to his head. "Michael, you've been nervous about every part."

"True," he admitted, smiling as he pulled your thighs further apart, looking up into your eyes now to ask for permission. "Sweetheart, can I?"

"Yes, you can, baby," you laughed, reaching down to play with his fro. "Please do, actually. I'm achin'..."

"Yeah?"

You nodded.

"Tell me if 'm doin' everythin' right, please..."

You were noticing that Michael's voice, while always soft, became quite a bit deeper during intimacy, and that made you feel even more insane over him.

Having been given the green light, he dove right in, with first a gentle kiss to your clit—at which you shuddered—and then he licked one long stripe from there to your entrance, before dragging his tongue back up and enclosing your pearl in his lips. He figured that it was best to follow the structure of using his lips and tongue in the same way he did during makeouts, with the added component of paying particular attention to your clitoris, since that part of your anatomy was what you'd emphasised earlier.

"Taste so good, baby…" he groaned into you. "Heaven on earth…"

Even though he'd asked you to let him know if he was doing everything correctly, you'd completely forgotten about that request, so lost in the pleasure from that very first kiss to your clit. He was perfect, and you'd been right; there had been no need for specific instruction. If the foreplay hadn't been going on for so long already, your only extra advice would've been that he should kiss over your thighs before beginning, but you figured he’d do that himself the next time you were intimate, given how much he loved your curves.

As soon as he began he had you moaning and squirming exactly how he'd craved, and he took that as a positive sign, thinking himself silly for how nervous he'd been about it before.

But of course, Michael still requested verbal praise, confirmation that he was up to standard.

"Am I doin' it right, mama?" he asked, licking another stripe up to your clit, before sucking again. You arched your back instinctively, gripping his fro, grinding your sex over his face. The pleasure was everywhere, and his big hands always kept their place on your thighs, as though he were a seasoned expert.

"Don't doubt yourself, baby," you whined, hand tightening in his hair. "You're doin'—oh—amazin'... I can't believe—mmphhh—this is your first time—God, I told you..."

Michael tapped your leg in a scolding manner. "Y'shouldn't use the Lord’s name in vain, honey."

"Shut up, hypocrite," you giggled, smacking the back of his head.

Michael didn't appreciate that, but it made him laugh into your pussy, and the vibration had you whining louder.

"Baby, I like it when you talk to me while you do it..." you whispered.

"Mm?" he hummed, spreading your labia wide with his fingers before diving back in.

"Yes, please talk to me, Mikey..."

It didn't take long for him to decide what to say. So overcome by the incredible cosmos of your beautiful body, so in love with every tiny element, he didn't think he'd experienced a better indulgence in his entire life. He lapped at you like a man starved, slurping up the incessant juices that swam from your entrance to your inner thighs.

"Thank you—thank you so much, baby, for treatin' me w' this..." he whispered between sucking your clit, lips carrying a string of saliva and slick each time he pulled back. "’m gonna cherish y' body this way forever... mmph..." He licked another stripe up the expanse of your sensitivity. "My baby girl, y' so, so unbelievably beautiful... 'm sorry we waited so long. I need to pray when 'm home 'cause this is all so bad but I can't get enough... I can't wait for us to make love..."

Your tense nervous system was in complete disbelief at how a man could say such words, and about you of all people. Michael had made it so clear over the months just how much he treasured you, and why he did, but it still seemed so unreal, especially now that he was between your thighs, speaking each word thoughtfully into your weeping cunt. For some reason, you wanted to cry, and it wouldn't be the last time you'd feel that way tonight.

"Um, can we now, honey?" Michael asked, but you'd forgotten what he was referring to.

"Can we what, baby? Ohh, right there! Mmmm..."

Now he had plunged his middle and ring finger inside your entrance, gently but with a desperate pressure, and he was thrusting them in and out as he lavished attention on your clit. Using what you'd loved earlier, he was experimenting through educated guesses.

"Um, I mean can we make love now?" he asked shyly, still curling his fingers while you writhed. His pretty doe eyes looked up into yours, but you could barely look at him without wanting to cry and orgasm at once.

"Minnie, it's 'cause 'm really 'bout to cum again, 'm sorry. I wanna keep eatin' y'—I wanna get y' to cum again like this—I mean, I could do it for hours 'n hours, I promise, but um... 'm just really achin' down here 'n I don't wanna dirty y' sheets by accident."

"Yeah, you need to be inside me now?" you smiled through the insane pleasure, taking his hand and trying to take deep breaths.

"Mhm," he hummed, a little absentmindedly, pulling out his soaked fingers. "Should I get the—? Uh, well, are y'... um, wet enough first?"

"Michael." You raised your brows in amusement, speaking flatly. "My cum is dripping down your face, and you’re asking me if I’m wet enough?"

He brought a hand to his cheek quickly, and felt his whole body heat up in a flush as he realised how your wetness had very much completely adorned the lower half of his face. "Oh—um. Oh yeah." He started to chuckle in his awkwardness, wiping the glistening liquid with the back of his hand. "Yeah, but I was just... makin' sure, y'know. 'm real nervous about," he visibly cringed, "ugh, y'know what I mean. I don't want y' to tear down there, 'cause I've heard that can happen when girls aren't prepared enough."

You smiled, heart aching evermore. "No, trust me, baby. This..." You ran your fingers down your slit and dipped them into your sopping cunt, before drawing them out to display how they dripped with endless slick. "...is as wet as a girl can be. You have me soaked; 'n I'm not gonna lie, the only thing that could make me dry up is if you continue to take forever to touch me. My body couldn't be more prepared, I promise."

Physically, you were correct. But mentally, emotionally, you couldn't have been any less prepared, and deep down you knew that.

Michael laughed softly. "Um, okay, so I'll... 'm gonna go get a condom, it's in my jeans..."

"Oh, that's not necessary, Mike. I'm on the pill."

"You are?" His brows furrowed at this new information.

"Mhm—I've been on it for a while, so, we don't need any other protection," you smiled.

"O—okay," Michael stuttered, even more excited now, that revelation being the last thing he expected tonight. He took two deep breaths before standing up from the bed, but then proceeded to walk off into the bathroom, much to your confusion.

"Michael—?"

Thirty seconds later, he returned. In his hands were the candles from the romantic bath, and you felt a strange pang in your heart again.

"I wanted to make it special," he smiled awkwardly. "I know it's not your first time, and it's not even about it being mine... It's just that I like to make things special for you."

"For my beautiful girl..." he hummed to himself under his breath as he began organising the candles around your furniture.

Now, a tear did slip from your eye while you watched him prepare everything, his soft face portraying how important this all was to him. You brushed the salty liquid away before it had a chance to be recognised, and soon enough your honey was back between your legs.

Except, he did notice one thing, and that was the visible change in your eyes.

"Why d'y' look so sad, Tink?" he asked anxiously, guiding you to lay back while he positioned himself over you.

"’m not sad, silly," you played it off. "My eyes are a little watery 'n I probably look a little dazed 'cause of what you've just done to me... You’ve been amazing."

You squeezed his arm comfortingly, bringing him into a soft kiss. The room was candlelit now, illuminating the two nervous bodies on the king-size bed, playing their part in a scene that would be the most intimate either of them had ever experienced.

"Okay," Michael giggled, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Um, what position do y' want? I was thinkin' just... missionary, like this. But I wanna make sure you're as comfortable as possible."

"Um, yeah, either this or cowgirl is best," you answered, playing with his fingers. His other hand came up to hold your jaw, and your eyes flickered down to it nervously, before you forced your expression to retain neutrality. "You're real big—you know that," a small laugh, "but I think we'll be okay like this."

"You think?" Michael asked anxiously. "You don't know? You sounded certain earlier."

"Mikey," you sighed with a lighthearted eyeroll. "How can I know for certain when you've never been inside me before? We'll just have to try it 'n see."

But somehow, he only looked even more anxious. "Minnie, don't mess w' me—I thought you were wet enough."

"I am, Michael!" you giggled, flicking his forehead. "I'm just bein' realistic, 'cause you asked me, so..."

Michael bit his lip and, following a silence, spoke quietly, in a tone more gentle than ever.

"Baby, 'm gonna be so careful, I promise."

More emotional silence, and you felt your heart split into two, despite the moment being nothing but beautiful. All you could do was think back to the other men, how they always treated you the exact opposite. Suddenly it occurred to you that it wasn’t only Michael who was learning the inherent beauty and innocence of sex, outside of its commonly rougher and vulgar connotations. You too had never understood until now that sex didn’t have to be a filthy dopamine hit to feel ashamed of immediately after. It was likely that you wouldn’t have discovered that understanding with anybody else.

Your voice almost cracked audibly with the intensity of your emotion, and he hadn't even started making love to you yet.

"I know you will," you whispered, looking into his sweet, sweet eyes.

He began to smile, and you did too, trying so hard not to let any more tears fall. It was a seriously difficult endeavour.

“Okay, ’m gonna… uh, I want us to be skin-to-skin, is that alright?” He kissed your collarbone, running his thumb over the side of your neck.

“I’d love that, Bambi,” you smiled softly, bringing your arms up around his neck. 

Michael grinned wide, then returned his concentrated demeanour as he carefully dropped his body downward so that he was pressed flush against you; chests held against each other, foreheads touching. His hand immediately took its place at the back of your head, where it would remain for the duration of the session.

“Like this?” he whispered, kissing your nose and your lips. “I want us to be as close as possible.”

“Mhm, me too,” you whispered back.

“Uh, okay, so I guess I should…” he uttered bashfully.

You nodded, taking two more shaky breaths. Michael didn’t notice your nervousness, because he was way too nervous himself. He couldn’t believe he’d finally reached this point, and with you, his dream girl.

He leaned back just a little, enough to stroke himself a few times, before sliding the weight of himself up and down your soaked folds. You gasped, holding his bicep, and slowly, eyes on you the entire time, he finally inserted the tip.

“Oh my—nnghh—” you moaned at both pain and pleasure, his thick girth beginning to stretch you out. 

Michael’s brows were knitted in pure anxiety, unable to relish in the pleasure just yet, but already knowing that your tight heat would be the best thing he’d ever feel. 

“Does it hurt, baby?” he asked, rubbing your lower abdomen with his thumb to soothe you.

No man had ever asked that thoughtful question before, and you gulped at hearing it now.

“Um, just a little. Keep goin’. It’s just—she’s takin’ a little longer to get used to a size so foreign,” you chuckled softly, to break the ice.

But Michael was still concerned. As he pushed himself further and further inside, he watched your face intently, and your fingernails were digging into his bicep now. You gasped and groaned, wrapping your legs around his hips. 

“Mm, Mikey, you’re so big—mm, ugh—“

“Is it feelin’ any better?”

“Yes, oh God yes it is, push in a little deeper…”

Michael gave you a quick look of disapproval at the blasphemy, and then finally, he bottomed out in one go. You nearly screeched at how good he felt, and he let out the most animalistic groan you’d heard from him thus far. Your eyes rolled back and so did his, and then before you knew it his chest was flush against yours again, forehead to forehead as before, so close you could feel his breath with every exhale…

“Hi,” he whispered shyly, taking your hand in his, while his other stayed holding your head protectively. This was how he’d always envisioned it. 

“Hi, pretty face,” you giggled, hooking your legs tighter around him, your free hand moving to play with the coils of his afro.

“Feel like ‘m in heaven, mama,” he whispered, and in response you initiated a passionate kiss, tongues exploring each other’s mouths while you both hummed into the warm and wet expanse softly.

“Me too, baby… You feel amazin’ inside me…”

“You feel the best,” he argued.

“Nooo, you.”

“Shh…” he sighed with a teasing smile, resuming your kiss. He remained resting still inside you for the next two minutes, despite how much he ached to move, because he wanted to ensure you were definitely comfortable enough.

So, in those two minutes you kissed and gazed at each other in silence, a silence so vulnerable you felt slightly lightheaded, heart pounding. And then your faces were brightening at each other, beaming; Michael began to kiss all over your face while you sighed in content, his lips sucking marks from your jaw to your neck.

“Oh, Mike…”

“You want me to start movin’ now, baby?”

“Mhm,” you nodded quickly. “Mm, please.” You pushed your heels down where your ankles met at his back, urging him to begin his thrusts, but first, he interlocked your fingers carefully. After pressing a sweet kiss to your knuckles and then your lips, he nudged his hips forward, and hit your sweet spot in one clean stroke.

“Mmm,” you whined high and soft, squeezing his hand hard. 

“You feelin’ good, honey?” Michael whispered against your lips, before capturing them in his and thrusting deep again.

“Uh-huh, yes baby, feels so good…”

At your confirmation, and upon seeing how your eyes rolled into the back of your head with each movement, he set a slow and steady pace, rocking his hips into you in the most passionate dance. Admittedly, since you knew how talented Michael was with his hips onstage, you’d expected him to be just as naturally skilled in the bedroom too, and my God were you pleasantly satisfied.

“Oh, this is amazin’, mama, y’ so tight around me…” 

Everything was so, so beautiful. You were both cuddled up, snuggled into each other’s warmth, as close as two people can be, and despite the coziness, each thrust nearly knocked the wind out of you. The sounds you produced were celestial to Michael’s ears, and the way you tugged at him and kept trying to pull him closer (whether by his hand or his hair) had his heart aching with happiness.

Meanwhile, your own heart was aching with both happiness and sadness, still for those same reasons previously discussed. He kept asking how you felt, if you were comfortable, overall portraying to you exactly how much he wholly adored you with every fibre of his being…

“Pretty baby, I love you so much,” he moaned against your lips, aside another deep, tender stroke, and as your eyes rolled back again, you kissed him hard, trying desperately to push away the tears that still threatened to emerge. You absolutely couldn’t let him see you cry during sex. He’d either think you were in pain, or think you were plain crazy.

But as you kissed deeply, tongues swirling over each other’s, hums vibrating into each other’s mouths, you were so immersed in each other that you didn’t realise what was happening on Michael’s end. You didn’t want to pull away from his lips because you wanted him to stop triggering your tears with his sweet nothings—way too difficult to deal with when paired with the most sensual thrusts—but all of a sudden, you felt something wet on your cheek, where your face was just below his.

Immediately, your eyes shot open in confusion, and sure enough, the wet droplet was a tear—not from one of your eyes, but from Michael’s. He was crying as he moaned, as he displayed his bone-deep infatuation and devotion to you with each heavy stroke, cradling your head in his hand, decorating your lips with his hot kiss. This moment all seemed so surreal for him—that he was truly, in this present moment, sinfully losing his virginity to the girl he’d wanted for so, so long, but in the most innocent, most serene way. Religion might have previously permitted him against the decision, but the universe itself was surely compelling you both, encouraging this cathartic meeting of your bodies. Somehow Michael had overcome fears that he never expected to, and as a reward he got to love and dote on every inch of the girl that had always needed a soft love so badly. She hadn’t known before, but it was all so very clear now.

“Mama, ‘m sorry, I’m—‘m an idiot…” he chuckled self-consciously, wiping at his eyes while his pace never faltered.

You gasped and whined, biting your lip very hard to keep your own emotions in check. Then you reached up to cradle his jaw, and whispered softly.

“Honey… Don’t—oh—don’t apologise… I know. I understand.”

“I just love you so much, my angel girl…” 

“I know, baby, I know…” you moaned, eyes brimming with more of the annoying liquid that you continued to force back, hoping that your watery eyes would appear nothing more than a product of pleasure.

And still, you couldn’t say those three words back to him. It was all too much intimacy at once. You loved it, while equally you feared it. How could that be?

“My beautiful lady, I just wanna protect you forever…” Michael continued, rocking into you with the softest fervour as he did, chest so warm and comforting against your bouncing breasts. “Wanna keep you so safe… Always wanna hold you… just like this, forever… Or not even in a sexual way, I just… mmph—Oh, baby girl, you deserve everythin’ wonderful…”

“Michael—” you gasped, unable to take such attentive words.

“Yeah, honey?” he exhaled into your ear, kissing your cheek.

“No, I—I’m just—ohhh—I can’t believe you see me that way…”

“Oh Minnie, I think you’re the single most precious thing on this earth…” he groaned, eyes clamping shut in pleasure and emotion as he began to speed up, while still prioritising careful sensuality.

“Baby,” you cried out, “I’m really nothin’ specia—“

“Shhh…” He kissed away your speech, hitting your spot faster now, and nearly reaching your cervix. The sound of the headboard banging against the wall with the other lewd sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, and you were very grateful Michael had demanded you choose a night where not a soul would be around. 

“You mean so much to me,” he continued. “Nobody gets me like you do… and I don’t think anyone ever will… ‘m so lucky…”

You were lost for words, and all you could do was emanate pornographic noises that Michael only interpreted as angelic.

A few moments passed, but finally you decided you must say something. You needed to. If not now, then you’d feel so guilty for allowing the exhibition of love to be so one-sided, Michael as the only giver.

And what was more, you had surprisingly started to actually want to say something. Despite your avoidant nature, in this very moment you absolutely had to let your baby know how much he meant to you. He was reconstructing the arrangement of your nervous system in real time, with every push of his sex and every word from his lips.

“No, you don’t understand, Michael,” you moaned out, voice breaking. His hips were snapping ferociously now. “I’m the lucky one… Me falling in love with you isn’t—mmph—isn’t as insane as you think it is… Because—oh—“ He was gazing deeply into your eyes now, smoothing his thumb over your lip. “Because I—nngh—I swear to you, you’re the most beautiful boy I could ever dream of. You’ve shown me the softness I’ve never known…”

“Oh honey…”

“You brought light into my life. I need you way more than you need me, and I—mmhh—resent that it’s almost always only you tellin’ me of your love. Oh, Michael—” you cried out, digging your nails into his palm, your other hand scratching at his shoulder. 

“Sweetheart…” His face was contorted in pleasure, another tear falling, and he let it drip onto your cheek again.

“I love you, baby,” you gasped. “I love you, I love you… There, I said it—‘m sayin’ it…”

Michael almost choked on his own saliva, pupils so dilated as he took in the sight before him. You were completely undone, almost crying over him, hair and makeup a mess, lips and neck bitten, and finally, you had said the words.

“Tink, I—oh, I love you, my baby girl…”

“Mikey,” you giggled, a tear finally slipping but you knew he’d think it was only induced by arousal. “You’re puttin’ me through the mattress ‘n still callin’ me Tinker Bell.”

Michael smiled wide, pressing a soft peck to your nose, strokes slowing momentarily while you both laughed. 

“You don’t stop bein’ my Tinker Bell just ‘cause we’re makin love… In fact, y’ more magical than ever right now, honey…” A heated kiss. “’s never been more appropriate, really…”

You couldn’t help but smile at him, but your face instantly began to contort as before when the thrusts sped up again. The bed was creaking like crazy beneath you, and you were both so close to climax now.

“Baby, ‘m close,” Michael groaned, followed by sounds resembling whimpers. 

“Yeah, me too, I’m—mhm—baby, I’ve never felt this good in my life…”

With every word you uttered, Michael was even more utterly astonished, and overall so wholly glad that this night had gone the way he wanted it to. It truly had been perfect—even in its little imperfections, too.

“Honey, can I, uh—inside?” he asked hesitantly, soft grunts hitting your ear as his thick cock pounded your gummy walls over and over.

“Yes, mhm, please baby…” You let out a pornographic moan as his strokes began to take on an erratic force, but still hardly faltering in rhythm.

“Oh, I gotchu baby girl, ‘m gonna get y’ there… I love you…”

“Mm, Michael, I love you,” you whined again, licking your tongue into his mouth. You engaged in a passionate embrace of locked lips, interrupted only a few times momentarily to murmur a sweet nothing.

Your orgasm came crashing over you suddenly, having built to a perfect peak, and the unfamiliar sensation of experiencing one at the hands of penetration was otherworldly. Your body went taut, muscles tensing, and before you could try to stop yourself, there were tears streaming down your face. Michael had talked you through it all, cooing at you through the comedown, although he looked entirely perplexed at the realisation that you were crying all of a sudden.

“Minnie, wha’s wrong?” he asked gently, stroking your cheek and slowing down a little despite how he was so close to his own orgasm.

“No, nothin’, Michael—it’s just…” you sniffled, wiping your face rapidly, “um, this happens to us women sometimes… An orgasm is like an emotional release as well as a sexual one, y’know, um…” That wasn’t an incorrect statement to make, so you hadn’t exactly lied, but you felt silly nevertheless.

“Okay, yeah, I thought you were hurt or upset, but I get that. It was beautiful anyway,” he smiled, kissing you and rocking into you fervently, a little harder again to approach his release, but he also didn’t want to overstimulate you so he tried to keep it not too distant from slow and sensual. 

Your eyes rolled back with erratic inhales and exhales as he thrust a few more times, before you suddenly felt the gorgeous heat of his cum gushing through you, painting your walls with his seed. Thank God you were on the pill… And oh, Michael looked so beautiful when he came…

His groans continued as his head fell forward on your chest, cock gradually going limp while still nestled inside your core. 

“Oh, you’re so wonderful, baby… I’m so happy,” he whispered into your neck. 

“I’m happy too, pretty boy,” you smiled back, playing with his hair again.

But Michael wouldn’t let himself linger too long, already pressing up on his elbows. “Need to clean y’ up, honey.”

You both groaned in frustration as he slowly pulled out of you, and you stayed lying flat while you watched him blow out the candles and head off into the bathroom. He returned with a cloth, and with the most gentle touch and the most gentle expression of concentration, patted over your sex and your inner thighs. You lifted your hips to let the liquid ooze out into the cotton so that it wouldn’t sink into the sheets later, and Michael felt incredibly ashamed at how the sight made him feel. That alone was the first glimpse of a kink that would follow the two of you through the rest of your lives.

When he was done, you cuddled up on your sides facing each other. Michael wrapped the comforter around your body protectively, burying your bodies beneath it, tightly bundled; and then he wouldn’t stop staring at you, so you covered your face shyly.

“No, don’t do that, baby,” he giggled, trying to get you to move your hand.

“You’re makin’ me shy!” you exclaimed, but when he tried to get you to drop the hand again, you obliged, and rushed a little further forward into his embrace, nestling your head in the crook of his neck.

Some comfortable silence, and then Michael was whispering to you again, playing with your hair and drawing circles over your skin.

“You told me y’ loved me. Multiple times, y’ said it.”

“I did,” you whispered back, with certainty. Saying the words so ardently had really highlighted to you how much you never needed to hesitate ever again.

“Minnie?” Michael said into the quiet, intertwining his legs with yours, and resuming the handholding that had carried you through most of the night.

“Yes, Mickey?” you hummed into his skin.

“Tonight was the best night of my life.”

“Mine too,” you smiled. “I’m fallin’ asleep, honey, I’m sorry, but I promise we can talk all about it tomorrow. Orgasms always knock me out.” You yawned with a quiet laugh, tugging him impossibly closer, and he repositioned the comforter around you again, so delicately. 

“Yeah, ‘m tired too.” He kissed your forehead several times. “Sleep tight, I love you.”

“I love you, baby. So, so much…”

You fell asleep only minutes later just like that—warm bodies merged, hands interlocked, your ear pressed directly over Michael’s steadily beating heart. For once tonight, it had calmed. Finally you had both crossed that monumental line, the feeling different for each of you—emotional in unique ways—but born of the same bone-deep, eternal love.

angelcrescent © 2026 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡₊˚⊹ omg this has taken me approx 3 weeks to write n i had no intention to make it so long but !!! in order to really emphasise the passion and to have michael experience all his firsts , i wrote it as descriptively as possible. i've exhausted myself writing so much smut lol n i was even anxious posting this because i don’t know if it flows as ideally as i wanted it to?!! i put too much pressure on myself but anyway i hope u guys enjoyed :D !

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