yannie

The lady perched on his lap was you—Dressed in a ridiculously low-cut top, stiletto’s and a mini-skirt, which could’ve easily passed as belt. You were drunk, reeked of cigarettes, and had a perfume that mingled with the stench of tobacco deliciously—A potent vanilla scent that radiated cheapness, yet still intoxicating to say the least.

Michael and his brother’s, excluding his youngest brother, Randy, had decided taking a night off from day-to-day musical business was much needed. That Studio 54 would awaken their spirits, lighten the mood from the gruelling studio sessions, and buzz their energy with an alcoholic beverage that was bursting with an over-poured amount of liquor.

Michael, being the quiet, tentative man he was, at first declined—Rejecting the idea all together. Rather suggesting a movie night, or a late-night walk around the cul-de-sac, before tucking into bed at nine-PM.

His boisterous, reckless brother’s turned that down immediately.

And so, Michael was dragged along the lively streets to Studio 54—Tense, and out of his comfort zone, as his brother’s made passing comments about half-naked women traipsing past, and exchanging mutual excitement for their night of liquor indulgence. He had trailed behind—Scuffing his shoes on the concrete, occasionally kicking a stray stone or beer can, or gazing longingly into the dark sky, studying the dispersing clouds or twinkling stars. Until—

“Whew! And where are you handsome boys off to?”

Michael was interested now.

Your suggestive, drawled tone snapped him out of his self-induced trance, voice a fluid, tempting sound that had his eyes adjusting to the bright neon sign of the cheap, tacky club you stood outside of. His eyes, now accustomed to the light, widened at your frame—Dressed provocatively, and sporting a seductive smile that would send any God fearing man into the deep, dark depths of reckless temptation.

“Mm—mm! Too fine to be walkin’ ‘round lookin’ like that, baby.” Your friend piped up next to you, shorts ridden up her behind so far the curve of her ass cheeks peeked out the bottom as she approached Michael’s brother, Jermaine, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers.

Two of your other friend’s lingered behind you, giggling between hushed whispers, before finally stepping forward to approach each of his brother’s as they stopped in the middle of the street.

“We’re headin’ to Studio 54.” Marlon, Michael’s other brother, was the first to speak, smiling cheekily down at your one friend, who had now placed herself so close to him that he could see every particle of an infamous white powder underneath her nose, “What you pretty ladies doin’ at a club like this?”

“Waitin’ for a handsome bunch a’guys to come save us, of course.” Your friend shot back, licking her lips as she trailed her eyes over Marlon’s frame, “And I think we just mighta found ‘em.”

Jermaine, Jackie and Marlon shared mutual glances—One’s that spoke a thousand words. Yet, Michael knew exactly what they said—“Bingo!”. A look that signified they’d struck pot gold. Michael swallowed thickly—This was his best dream and worst nightmare all in one. Negatively, he had never, ever been with a woman before, intimately. Sure, he’d kissed girls before, but never gone all the way. Not even orally. It pained and embarrassed him, the scrutinising fact often led him into relentless teasing sessions with his brother’s who’d had their fair shares of women—Only furthering their excitement to your group’s presence. But, on the positive side—He was certain with your sensual, hyper-sexual behaviour, he could practice a thing or two. And it certainly helped with how beautiful you were despite your anti-social habits.

“Real quiet back here, handsome.”

Michael jumped—Not out of fear, but surprise, as his eyes landed on your frame right at his feet. Your smile was dizzying—Alluring, magnetic and teasing, a lit cigarette hanging between the plushness as you met his gaze.

“Y’all are from that band, aren’t you?” You questioned, tilting your head at him, “‘The Jackson’s’, right?”

Michael nodded quickly, “Y—Yes, we are.” He managed to squeak out.

You hummed, satisfied with the response as you took in his frame—As stiff as a board, hands twitching at his sides and throat bobbing every few seconds as he gulped at your electrifying closeness. He was clad in a black suit—The dark colour sported across his suit jacket, slacks and shoes, aside from the crisp white shirt that hugged his torso, and the dazzling, white diamond waistcoat that peaked through the layers of his outfit. He looked like a million bucks—And doesn’t want that?

“Hm. I like your music.” You admitted, taking an impossible step closer—Smiling as Michael tensed further, forcing himself to not look anywhere but your eyes, as your pushed-up, exposed cleavage hit his peripheral vision, “Makes me wanna move, y’know? Start dancin’.”

“Y—Yeah? That’s good, tha’s what we were goin’ for.” Michael spoke, voice cracking slightly, his fingers finding the material of his trousers, toying with a loose thread.

“You jus’ released your first solo album, too, didn’t’cha?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Yes ma’am?” You snorted, furrowing your eyebrows with a dry laugh, “What am I? Your mother?”

Michael’s eyes widened, “S—Sorry! I mean yes, I have. It’s called ‘Off The Wall’.”

“Hm, I heard that too, superstar.” You smiled, tight-lipped, and teasing, “Got some real dirty songs on there, babe.”

Michael’s breath hitched in his throat at your words, eyes blowing wide open, “I—I, n—no, I don—“

“‘Girlfriend’? ‘Rock With You’?” You named, grinning wickedly, “Unless, ‘I wanna see you shake that thang’ means somethin’ else in ‘Get On The Floor’, I’d say you’re a real dirty boy, Michael Jackson.”

Michael gasped softly, lips parting, and then closing, before repeating the movements as words failed him. You laughed loudly, throwing your head back, cigarette dangling dangerously loose between your lips as you shook your head.

“Gotcha there, handsome.” You purred, winking, before taking his clammy hand in your own, “C’mon. I’ll shake my thang for you, if ya’want.”

The kind you don’t take home to Mother…

And that’s how Michael got into this beautiful predicament. Your friends had claimed a brother each—Aside from Jermaine and Jackie, who were happily sharing your one friend, her behind perched on Jackie’s lap, while her long, bare legs traipsed across Jermaine’s thighs, hands covering her skin from both sides. Tito, always the gentlemen, had declined his lady on his lap—But, instead opted for grazing her bare knee, and a hand in her hair as he discussed his music, and band life. Marlon, wasting no time, was too busy pressing kisses to his lady’s neck—The loud sound of her high-pitched giggles filling the room as he grabbed a handful of her behind in his palm.

Michael was still tense and nervous, despite his male instincts screaming at him inside to kiss you, or grab a handful of your ass peeking out from beneath your skirt, or at the least stare at your breasts that were practically in his face—But, he remained stiff. And you noticed.

“Loosen up, superstar. You got a long night ahead a’ya.” You teased, lips brushing against the lobe of his ear, your sticky lipgloss leaving behind a faint residue on the flesh as you spoke, hands threaded through his curls.

“I do?”

You hummed, “I only just got’cha, I don’t plan on lettin’ you outta my claws for a while, handsome.”

Michael couldn’t suppress the heat that flushed his cheeks—The blush blooming across not only own his face, now sporting a shy smile, but also his neck and ears, from your casual compliments.

She will never let your spirits down…

“Hey Mike!”

The sound of Jermaine’s voice over the muffled, booming music forced Michael’s head to peek around your shoulder, your hair dancing over the skin.

“What’d’ya think about meetin’ these lovely ladies after our show tomorrow?”

“No way! Like backstage?” Your friend, whose neck was now littered in lovebites from Marlon’s eager mouth, perked up, swivelling her head around, away from Marlon’s lips, to face Jermaine.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” Jermaine laughed, nudging Jackie who shared the chuckle.

Your friends squealed—Giddy and buzzing with euphoria as you giggled, smirking at the plan bubbling to life.

“Joseph’s gonna kill you.” Marlon cackled, “But, I’m all for it. Would ya like that, sweetie?”

“Uh, yeah! You comin’, right, girl?” Your friend called out to you, eyes wide with hope and anticipation.

“Is coke white? Girl, of course. Wouldn’t want this pretty boy leavin’ with no-one else.” You drawled, turning back to Michael, who swallowed thickly, as you pressed yourself further into his chest, “You’d want me waitin’ for ya afterwards, right? Make you sweatier than you were on that stage?”

Michael’s eyes blew wide open—Forcing a loud laugh out of your throat as your hand released its grip on his hair to glide down his chest.

“You’re so cute, I could just eat you right here.” You whispered, lips dancing over his cheek as you pressed a chaste kiss there, “Swallow you whole.”

“Oh, Lord.” Michael mumbled, eyes squeezing shut, as your teeth grazed along the flesh of his earlobe, before licking a stripe across it to soothe.

“You’re all mine now, Jackson.”

Once you get her off the street…

Los Angeles was buzzing with electricity after their first show of the tour. Fans bustling out of the stadium—singing, dancing, crying from the magnitude of the show. Michael had been top of his game—Providing a perfect performance despite the nerves that wracked through his body.

Nervous for one reason, and one reason only.

He knew you were waiting for him backstage.

You and your friends, dressed similarly to how you had the night before, had been hidden backstage from the brother’s gruelling father—Who would no doubt murder them, especially Michael, if he caught whiff of their secretive plan.

Straight after the final song, and the show had been wrapped up, they would exit the stage as they usually did, clean up, change, shower, the usual routine. And then, once Joseph left to handle his usual business—They would sneak out. Run through the arena, out the back door, and into the night to resume another night of clubbing and sensual closeness,

As Michael’s final song, ‘Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough’ came to a close, and they thanked the fans for their everlasting, unconditional support and love—They belted it off the stage. Jermaine was as fast a hyena—Sprinting to his dressing room, already ridding himself of his jacket and shirt to speed up the process before diving into his shower. Marlon, at a similar speed, raked fingers through his hair, fixing any loose curls, smoothing his edges back to his forehead, and drying his damp forehead, before turning to face a confused, frozen Michael.

“Brother, I suggest you get movin’ if you want that girl tonight.” Marlon quipped, eyeing him up and down, “We ain’t comin’ back for ya if you take too long.”

“Right, right, shoot.” Michael, snapping into reality at Marlon’s words, darted towards his own dressing room—Dragging his jacket from his shoulders, and placing it neatly onto the back of a chair, before fixing himself up.

Within fifteen minutes, the boys were ready.

Jermaine and Jackie had changed clothes completely, whereas Marlon, Tito and Michael remained in their stage clothes—Aside from their jackets, microphones and ties. Michael, as always, had left his bare chest exposed—The top buttons ripped open as he had sensually done on stage, letting his supple, brown skin become bare to the dark night.

Jermaine led the pack of boys through the bustling backstage like a top-secret spy mission—Avoiding any familiar faces, family members or respecting managers, as well as their father, as they crept towards the fire exit.

Marlon, engaging in a conversation only Michael would refer to as ‘degrading’ and ‘dirty’, with Tito, was quickly shut down by Jermaine, who ordered him to ‘Shut his horny ass mouth’

She likes the boys in the band…

“There’s my lil’ celebrities!”

Your words hit his ears first as they burst through the fire exit—Your tantalising, yet sickeningly sweet voice sent excitable shivers down his spine, the nerves washing away instantly as you came into eyeshot. You were stood with your friends, who instantly clung to their respecting men from the night before, with another cigarette between the fingers of your left hand, and a mysterious flask filled with most likely an alcoholic beverage in your right. Michael, albeit not surprised, forced himself to suppress the smile that crept onto his face at your outfit—You were wearing, as usual, a low-cut top, and booty shirts, that hugged your plush behind and thighs as you approached him slowly. But, what got his lips twitching was the pair of Aviator sunglasses that rest upon the bridge of your nose—Covering your eyes as his famous ones usually did.

“Wow, I mean. Tha’s somethin’.” Michael chuckled, his voice breathy and low, just as it was the previous night.

She says that I’m her all time favourite…

“What can I say? You’re my favourite boy in the band, handsome.”

Michael, now fighting the urge to succumb to his usual shyness, finally smiled—Chuckling as you slid a hand down his chest, winking seductively, before taking his hand in your own.

The night was equally, if not more crazed than the night before.

Tonight, a fifth friend joined you, who instantly took a liking to Jermaine—Which left your original friend with Jackie all to herself. Luckily, the two had long dispersed to the dance floor of the high-end, celebrity-filled club the brother’s had dragged you to, and were leaving zero room for Jesus as a Stevie Wonder song boomed around them. Tito and his lady had retreated to the bar for the fifth time that hour—Stocking up on shots and cocktails as they stumbled throughout the club. Marlon had disappeared with his lady within fifteen minutes of getting to the spot—Clambering over one another’s feet as they exited the private booth, mouths connected in a brutal kiss as they ‘went to the bathroom’.

As for you and Michael, you’d managed to get a drink down his throat—And alcoholic at that. And thanks to his nonexistent drinking habits, the young man was already buzzed after one drink and a shot of Tequila, his mouth running wild as his confidence took over, and relaxation took the reigns of his body.

“I’m—‘M just sayin’, Diana Ross is better than—“

“Boy, that woman could murder a puppy in cold blood and you’d find some way to defend her.” You quipped, raising an eyebrow at him, alcohol evident on your breath as you spoke, “Sometimes it’s okay to admit that your little mentor is a shit actress.”

Michael’s mouth fell open at your insulting words, “No, no, she is really good.”

“Real convincing, baby.” You teased, narrowing your eyes his way, “Enough about that old crow.” You ignored his ‘Hey!’, “Any other ladies in your life, Jackson?”

Michael swallowed thickly—Ah, the dreaded question. He’d heard it a lot in his adult life—Is so-and-so his girlfriend? Or had he been intimate before? Or who does he think he’ll marry in 5 years time? All ridiculous, unanswerable questions that left him sweating and nervous—And even more so now that you, as the sexually charged lady you were, were asking such question.

“Uh—Heh, no. No ladies for me.” He admitted, avoiding direct eye contact as he focused on Jackie and your friend bumping and grinding on the dance floor in the distance.

“Hmm. I find that hard to believe, handsome global superstar, Michael Jackson.” You fired back, a delicate, taunting finger tracing down the bare skin of his chest, “You’re tellin’ me you got no one to bump uglies with?”

“Wha—What’s that?”

Michael dipped his head in timidity as you cackled, head thrown back as your body shook with laughter. He knew you weren’t necessarily laughing at him, or his lack of intimate knowledge—But, it didn’t stop his heart hammering in his chest in embarrassment.

“Oh, sweetie, you are just the cutest.” You giggled, your hand travelling swiftly to his face.

Your manicured hands, fingers withholding the smell of cigarettes, cupped his warm cheeks—Forcing his head upwards from where he hung it low in shame. You directed his vision to your own, meeting his avoidant eyes with a gentle nudge of his chin under your thumb—Smirking knowingly down at him from where you perched on his thighs. Michael gulped again—Hands sweating and clammy at his sides as he awaited your next action nervously. He liked how unpredictable you were at times, how you made things lively and unexpected in a fun manner—But, moments like these he shared with you, made him anxious beyond belief. It was as if any alcohol present in his light-weight system dissolved into nothingness the second you got closer, like any viable, intellectual brain cell left in his mind crumbled into mush with every word that left your intoxicating lips.

“I’ll be that lady for you, if ya’want.” You whispered, face a mere few inches away from his own, as your plump, tempting, pillowy lips brushed over his own, noses touching as you pressed yourself closer.

“Y—You would?” He croaked out, cursing himself internally at the crackling of his voice, “But, I’ve never—“

“Then, let me be the first, handsome.”

When I make my move to her room it’s the right time…

Michael was certain he’d never felt anything like this in life.

Being on stage, performing, entertaining, creating world-wide popular songs, meeting fans, dancing—None of it compared to this moment.

He was entranced—His eyes locked on you with every single breath, sound or movement you made. Every crease in your forehead, knitted into your furrowed eyebrows, every flutter of your eyelashes, every parting of your lips, every rock of your hips had his brain short-circuiting a thousand times over.

“Oh, Michael.”

His name fell so easily from your lips it was almost natural—Like it was meant to be there. Meant to be tumbling past your swollen, spit-stricken mouth each time you snapped your hips forwards against his own.

You had made your way to your hotel room swiftly—Stumbling drunkenly into the back of a day-to-day cab, ignoring the way the driver instantly asked for an autograph from him, followed by you demanding he put his foot down before you ditch him without paying—And then clambering into his lap to smash your lips against his own. He quickly learnt you weren’t from Los Angeles at all—That you and your friend’s were on a trip from New York for a week, that clubbing and shopping was mainly on your itinerary. Your hotel was cheaper than he would ever stay at nowadays—Small bedroom, leaky tap and no robes hanging in the closet on arrival. But, considering your behaviour—It was nicer than he was expecting.

You wasted no time on him—Instantly tugging off your shirt and shorts, pushing him back first onto the plush, cotton sheets and straddling his thick, clothed thighs, pressing directly into his crotch. He almost didn’t know what to do with himself—Mind running a thousand miles a minute the second your undergarment clad body came into eyeshot, grinding down onto the ever growing bulge beneath his slacks. He’d never been stiffer—The tent in his boxers reaching its greatest length and height as you rocked against it slowly, hips moving just as languidly as his own on stage. He was transfixed. Completely hypnotised by the way you moved—Hands threaded through your hair, the other cupping a handful of your right, clothed breast through your lacy bra, and hips rolling over him with practiced precision.

And, of course, since Michael had never in his twenty-one years experienced anything quite like this, y’know a deathly attractive, sexually experienced young lady grinding over his hardened, clothed cock, the little whimpers that left his mouth that were miserably suppressed, and had you drooling twice as much—A permanent slick stain pooling into his black slacks, staining the expensive material.

“Fuck, you feel so good already, Jackson.” You gasped as you rolled particularly hard over your throbbing clit, “I wonder how good you’ll feel inside, baby.”

Michael’s eyes shot open—He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but sex? Immediately? Maybe not. I mean, fuck he wasn’t complaining—He’d been looking for some action with the ladies for so long now it almost felt like a distant dream that’d he’d never have. Most women he’d got to know in the industry were older, or married, or just not interested in getting jumbled up in his busy, bustling tour life—But, you? Fuck, you were taking it by the reigns. Literally.

“Oh, God.” He whined, voice broken and ragged as his eyes fluttered shut.

“You want that, baby?” You whispered, leaning down to press your half-bare chest against his own, still clad in his unbuttoned shirt, lips brushing against his ear, “You wanna fuck me, Jackson?”

“Oh, Jesus.” He cried again, chest heaving as you licked a stripe up his neck, before swirling your tongue around the outer ridges of his ear, the sensation sending goosebumps pebbling across the skin of his arms.

“Answer me, handsome.”

“Y—Yes! Yes, yes, please.” He begged, nodding swiftly as his eyes slammed open, meeting your own as you raised your face from his neck.

The infamous, devilish smirk crawled back onto your face before you smashed your lips together—Moan muffled against his mouth as you worked against it. Michael’s breath hitched in his throat as you kissed him—Hands instantly flying to your face, cupping your cheeks sweetly, as he moved his lips against your own. You were ferocious, kissing him so fiercely it nearly sent Michael into overdrive, your hips still rocking against him, increasing your pace.

However, a feeling, one that only Michael had brought himself, crept dangerously up his spine—Lingering deeply in his abdomen as his stiff cock twitched in his boxers.

“W—Wait! Stop, stop.”

You pulled away from the kiss quickly, a string of lewd saliva connecting your swollen lips as his hands, now feeling brave and confident, fell to your hips—Gripping them gently, yet firmly, forcing you to a halt.

“‘M sorry, I was just—God, I almost…”

You giggled again, leaning down to press another deep, extended kiss to his lips—Catching him by surprise. His suspicion only furthered when you pulled away, rising to your knees as you slid your underwear to the side with one hand, and fumbled with his belt buckle with the other.

“Better get to it then, huh?”

She’s never hard to please…

“O—Oh! Oh, my God—Oh, my God, sweetie—Nnhg, I—“

Michael was a mess.

The second your warm, wet, inviting heat engulfed his hard, virgin cock—He was a goner. He was certain the rock of your hips against him, clothed cunt sliding over the ridge of his cock, confined in his slacks, was the best feeling he’d ever felt so far in his adult life. Oh, boy, did he get the shock of his life. And a blissful, ecstatic shock at that. He’d been quivering even when your manicured hand wrapped around his bare dick, after you undressed him—Jerking him slowly in your fist, as you guided his dick towards your entrance. And when he finally slipped inside?—Unprotected at that—He saw stars. He had to fight every submissive, weak urge in his body not to orgasm the second he bottomed out.

And now, you were riding him—Hips bucking back and forth, and up and down, alternating every few minutes or so as you deepened your pleasure. Every rock forward would roll your clit against his pubic bone, the curly, black tufts of hair dragging along your nub deliciously, paired with every bounce up and down, nudging his thick, cock-head against the spot inside you that your toes curling besides his thighs. His hands were gripping your hips with such fervent passion, guiding you along his dick with every drag of your cunt down his length, that you were certain marks indented in the shape of his long, slender fingers would remain in the morning.

“Mmh—Fuck, baby, feels so so good.” You whined, your head thrown back, hair painting your spine as you switched to bouncing up and down, “‘M so fuckin’ close, Michael.”

Michael whimpered softly under his breath, “R—Really? Already? I—I barely even got inside ya?”

“Y’just so big, Michael.” You cried, moans and cries mingling with each word, “So so big, baby.”

Michael panted, a whine mixing with the breathless sound as your seductive, lewd words hit his ears—He had always been so nervous at the thought of sex. Worried about his size, his noises, his faces, his body—Everything. Everything made him anxious. But, your unconditional praise and physical signs of pure, undeniable pleasure sent confidence flooding through him like adrenaline, pumping through his veins.

As if a switch had been flipped—Michael tightened his grip on the plush fat of your hips, and bucked his hips up at an extraordinary pace. You took to it instantly, your body falling slack against him as you let him take control—Thrusting up into your sex like he had rent to pay. Michael grunted, mingling with his usual whiny whimpers, lower lip caught between his lip as he fucked you like a bitch in heat.

“Oh God! Yes, yes, yes! Yes, baby—‘M cumming, yeah, yeah—Cumming, cummin’!”

Your words were chants—Belting from your throat in high-pitched, breathless cries of electrifying ecstasy as you matched his pace, humping yourself forward on his pubic bone, only pushing you further towards the edge.

“Oh—Oh, Jesus, I—Already? I—Oh!”

Michael was taken by sweet, sweet surprise when you orgasmed—Gasping sharply as his breath caught in his throat, hands twitching at your sides as your drooling sex pulsated and convulsed around him. Quivering and tightening as you creamed deliciously—Head thrown back, eyes slammed shut and mouth hanging open as the lewdest, intimate and most pornographic worthy noises stumbled past your lips involuntarily, as you continued to hump yourself over his dick, that throbbed incessantly in your tight walls.

“W—Wait! Oh, God—Mmh!—Honey, ‘M gonna—Where should I—?”

You didn’t give a response—Still buzzing from your release, you slid off his dick with ease, settling between his legs, and catching his dick, soaked from tip to base in your essence, in your grip, fluidity pumping him.

“All over me, handsome.”

Michael cried out once more at how quick, smooth and easily you switched positions—From riding his cock, to kitten-licking his tip as you jerked him, pushing your breasts up against his shaft. With a particularly sharp flick of your wrist, and a long stripe up the slit of his dick—Michael came with a cry. Dick twitching and throbbing beneath your palm, as hot, thick, salted cum spurted from his dick deliciously—Painting your face, tongue, fingers and chest in his white, sticky release as he panted and writhed beneath you at the overwhelming sensation of his orgasm.

Michael only shuddered as he came down from his delightful high—Whining as you lapped up his cum, drinking up every last drop of his release, from your fingers, to your cheeks, and even taking the head of his cock between your lips, not without a loud, overwhelmed cry from the man beneath you, as you milked him dry.

As you pulled away with a girlish giggle, a dazed, fucked-out expression dancing across your face, and a splatter of his cum decorating your cheekbone—Michael swallowed thickly.

“Did I get it all?”

Michael, hazy himself, let a smile creep onto face, before bursting into laughter himself—What a night.

That girl is pretty wild now…

That night wasn’t the last Michael saw of you.

He did try and dumb your love-making down to a one-night-stand—That maybe you wouldn’t want anything to do with him post-sex. That maybe you just wanted to get your rocks off and leave.

But, when he awoke in your hotel room after that night, the morning sun bursting through the curtains, just to find your side of the bed empty and cold—The worst thoughts hit him. That you were just going to be a one night ordeal.

He sighed, rolling over to face the night-stand with a frown, an unusual sense of rejection and disappointment settling in his chest. Before, his eyes landed on a small business card of the hotel’s laid next to a glass of water and an Aspirin—The words ‘New York was calling me, can’t leave the city without me for too long. Call me though, handsome: (212) 555-****’ read back at him in rushed, sloppy hand-writing, and a smudged lipstick kiss mark in the top right corner.

That girl’s a super freak…

Michael called you the second he got home—Running, hungover and fatigued, ignoring his brother’s confused voices, through the house and up the stairs, towards his respecting bedroom. The number you left was dialed instantly—His heart hammering in chest as he let the phone ring …and ring ….and ring. Until—

“Someone’s eager, huh, pretty boy?”

He smiled.

The kind of girl you read about… In new wave-magazine’s.

That girl is pretty kinky…. That girl’s a super freak…

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of blissful sex—To put it plainly.

Michael couldn’t, for the life of him, spend any longer than 48 hours apart from you—Or not inside you. He’d learnt more about sex in the last three weeks then he ever had in any out-dated sex-education book from the local library, or from his brother’s exaggerated stories. He felt like a God, like not only was he talented vocally, but now sexually. Like all his shy, reserved nature had dissolved into a glowing, intimate love—Taking over his body whenever he was blessed with your presence.

On the bonnet of your car, in the bathroom of a club, at a ridiculously expensive hotel he paid $7,500 for for just one night, in his studio—Everywhere. Absolutely everywhere had been christened—Missionary, cowgirl, from behind, reverse cowgirl, prone bone, from the side, mating press, butterfly—Fucking everything. He was animalistic, and was absolutely certain his dick was going to go limp and drop off with the amount of sex he was having. And if it wasn’t penetration, it was the kinkiest things he’d ever seen—Vibrators, whips, cock rings, handcuffs, whipped cream, gags, blindfolds—The lot. All casual and small-scale to you, but utterly mind-blowing to Michael, who had never been so enthralled in his entire life by the whole ordeal. But, the self-appreciation, confidence and glow that radiated off him had even his brother’s jealous, despite their luck with women. Michael truly had it all right now—And he was basking in it.

I’d really love to taste her… Every time we meet…

But, even with every sex position crossed off the list, multiple orgasms pulled from one another each night, and every inch of skin licked, sucked and kissed—Michael’s favourite activity was to devour your pussy. Get on his knees, part your legs, and spend hours between them with the tongue of an angel—Dragging countless mind blowing orgasms from your shaking body with effortless ease. And even with his talent for cunnillingus, Michael enjoyed it. Correction—He adored it, and begged on his knees, bordering on tearing up to eat you out, to taste your glorious cunt, and moaning loudly into your sex every time his tongue slipped between your folds.

He was obsessed. And exceptionally talented at it.

Which everyone at Hayvenhurst unfortunately found out.

Michael had the bright (Not!) idea to finally invite you over to his family home—To meet his mother, his sister’s and see where he made history. Unfortunately for Michael, you weren’t really the ‘Bring home to mama’ type of girl. He knew this, and even with his brother’s frantic disapproval, he did it anyway.

And it was almost laughable when you met Katherine Jackson, Michael’s mother. She had been ecstatic when Michael announced he was bringing a lady friend home, someone he’d been seeing for weeks now, someone he really liked, and wanted his loving, Jehovah’s Witness, might I add, mother to meet the special girl in his life.

However, pretending to be someone you’re not was not your style—Instead, you showed up just as you would to …well, the club. Stiletto’s, a mini-dress that stopped at your upper thighs, long, manicured nails, hair grazing your ass, makeup to a T, and bracelet’s draping along your arms, tattoo’s and piercing’s in clear show.

“Hi, Mrs Jackson!” You beamed, pushing your sunglasses, one’s that Michael had bought you, up your face to rest on your head, your hand extended out to the woman before you, “So nice to finally meet you.”

You, and Michael for that matter, chose to ignore the way Katherine’s jaw fell to the floor, her eyes trailing over your frame, clad in provocative clothing, blasphemous tattoo’s and piercing’s, and chewing blue-raspberry flavoured chewing gum obnoxiously.

“I—Uh, Michael, I—“

“Mother, this is (Name).” Michael spoke, attempting to clear the air as his mother fought to find the right, and respectful words, as you dropped your hand, which had clearly been rejected, “Y’know, the girl I was tellin’ you about.”

“I’m so glad to finally meet the mama of the man who’s rocked my world, ain’t tha’ right, Mikey?”

And that he did. As Michael ushered you away, whispering a quick apology to his mother who stood, frozen in time, at the doorway, as he hurried you up the stairs, away from his bewildered mother—He knew deep-down he was fucked, like truly and clearly. But, the way you shimmied your dress higher up your ass as you climbed the stairs, revealing to the man behind you that you weren’t, in fact, wearing panties, with a wink as you scurried up the stairs—He couldn’t find himself to care.

And of course, the second Michael got you into his room, his hands were on you like it was his last day on Earth. Like you were his cure of a deadly disease. Lips on your neck, hands groping your behind, fingers threaded through your hair, stiffened cock rolling against the skin of your bare thigh—He was insatiable. Like he needed to be in your skin to fully be satisfied.

Alas, he settled for gliding his eager tongue between your folds instead—Lapping at your clit, sucking and slurping the aching nub between his lips, and two fingers curling inside your center, abusing the sweet spot that made you cry out.

Those same cries that echoed throughout the mansion—Unfortunately for Michael.

“I—I—Are you serious? Is that really the kind of girl he’s involved with?” Katherine heaved, a hand clutching at her pearls around her neck, as her three son’s crowded round her panicked, shocked frame in the living room.

Marlon exchanged a knowing, slightly amused glance with Jermaine and Jackie who rubbed comforting circles along their mother’s back as she welled up in tears.

“Where’d he even meet this girl?”

Marlon couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him—Snorting as he covered his face with his hand at the irony that he effectively got Michael into this mess.

“What’s so funny?” Katherine questioned, eyebrows furrowed up into her forehead.

“Nothin’, nothin’, mama, I—“ Jermaine, pursed his lips together to suppress his own laughter, before letting out a shaken breath as he composed himself, “We met her and her friends at the club.”

“You boys are involved with those kinda girls too?” Katherine exclaimed, anger painting across her face.

“Way to go, asshole.” Jackie hissed, shaking his head, shoving Jermaine’s arm.

“Oh, my Goodness.” Katherine heaved, lip wobbling, “I can’t believe this! She’s a—She’s a …Goodness, I shouldn’t say this but—“

“Oh! Oh, Michael!”

…

“What on Earth was that—?”

“Michaelllll! Oh, baby, yeah—Mmmh!—Right there, big daddy!”

…

Marlon, Jackie and Jermaine’s eyes blew straight out of their head—Straightening up and freezing as the sound of your blissful, extravagantly loud moans rang out throughout the house. Marlon’s lip quivered, fighting a roar of laughter that threatened to spill from his mouth—If only it wasn’t for his tensed mother, now shaking with fury.

“Am I hearing what I think I’m—“

“Yeah! Yes! Yes! I’m cummin’ on your tongue, baby! Oooh, yeeees—Nnh!”

Silence.

The room downstairs stilled—No-one spoke a word even when the obvious creaking of Michael’s wooden bed, the frame slamming against the wall followed suit, echoed throughout the house in the deafening silence. Katherine, mortified and stunned, shook her head, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she clenched her fists so hard the knuckles turned white, before gritting her teeth as she spoke—

“She’s a freak.”

She’s alright, she’s alright… That girl’s alright with me…

Michael managed to redeem himself with his mother by never uttering your name or defacing the house with your presence ever again—Apologising profusely and repenting at church for the next week, reciting confessions and attending bible study. All the while fucking you in the back of your car straight afterwards. It was the thought that counted, right?

Rightfully so, his brother’s hounded him relentlessly with questions—Probing him for answer’s about his relation to you, your intentions with him, and where this relentless sex would lead you.

“I don’t know, okay? She’s not my girl, but I don’t think she’s seein’ anyone else—“

“What do you mean ‘you think’?” Jackie cut in, a confused expression plastered across his face as he sat across from him at the studio, “You’re not sure?”

“No, I am sure.” Michael quickly defended.

“You didn’t sound like it, Mike.” Tito added, shaking his head, “What if she has …y’know, has somethin’?”

“I think we’d know by now as he’d be walkin’ around with his hand by his junk every five minutes.” Jermaine butted in, smiling to himself.

“Or he did have somethin’ and he’s already got rid of it.”

“I don’t have anythin’!” Michael exclaimed, growing agitated, “And neither does she. She’s not that kinda girl.”

Marlon exploded into laughter, clutching his stomach as he roared, “‘Not that kind of girl’? Mike, c’mon now. Just look at where we met them!”

“Don’t even start with me, Marlon, you’re still seein’ her friend, are you not?”

“Well, yeah—“

“So, stop houndin’ me ‘cause you’re not gettin’ like it I am.”

The room erupted into ‘Ooh!’’s and ‘Whoa!’’s as Michael fired back at Marlon with swift, precise confidence—Rolling his eyes as Marlon clapped his hands together in blissful surprise, and Jackie jostled him back and forth by the shoulder.

“Look who’s got that pussy confidence! You’re like a changed man, little bro’!” Jermaine roared, smile wide and bright as he watched Michael shrug Jackie’s hand from his shoulder.

“Enough. She’s a special girl, ‘n I like her, and she likes me, and tha’s all there is to it.” Michael responded calmly, expression brooding and irritated as his brother’s hounded him.

“That and she’s probably a groupie.”

“‘Maine, you’re such an asshole, man.” Tito chuckled, “Alright, Mike, as long as y’sure.”

“I am sure. I’m very sure about her.” Michael responded, letting a small smile crawl onto his face, “She’s alright with me.”

She’s a very special girl… From her head down to her toe nails…

Yeah, she’ll wait for me at backstage with her girlfriend’s… In a limousine…

New York was sensational—The crowd was the loudest so far, cheering at such a decibel that Michael had ringing in his ears for ten minutes post-show as he rid himself of his sweaty stage clothes, rushing into the shower, fixing his hair and slipping into another bedazzled suit, just as Jermaine pushed open his dressing room door.

“They’re outside—You ready?”

Like clockwork with each show—You were waiting for him.

This time, after Katherine forbade you and your friends to even step so much of a toe into the arena, Michael had arranged for a limousine to await him and his brother’s by the back entrance once he’d finished the show.

With a fix of his tie, a ruffle of his curls and a nod to himself in the mirror—Michael jogged out of the dressing room, following hot on Jermaine’s tail as they raced throughout the bustling backstage, apologising to staff members, and engineers, as they barged past—Shamelessly eager to reach you.

When the driver, finding it hard to mask his irritated expression, opened the door to reveal the chaos you’d already ensued—Michael couldn’t help but laugh.

You were straddling your friend, pouring champagne directly into her mouth, your dress hiked up your thighs so high, the plush curve of your ass was visible to every brother that stood in the doorway of the limo—Watching as your other friends squealed, taking shots of their own, and turning up the music that blared throughout the car, dancing and singing loudly.

“Mikey!” You squealed, shoving the bottle into your friend’s hand, who took it willingly, bringing it to her lips once more, as you scurried to the door.

You leant past Jermaine and Jackie who were directly at the door, grabbing Michael’s hand and dragging him into the car. Michael made a quiet noise—One of shock and surprise as you ushered him into the bustling mayhem, ears now having to adjust to the way your friends squealed and screamed as his brother’s followed suit.

“Let’s get this party started, ladies!” Marlon, of course, exclaimed, grabbing an unopened champagne, shaking it violently, releasing his thumb from the bottle head, and spraying the room in the bubbly liquid, basking in the cries of excitement that radiated from the limo.

As the driver slammed the door shut aggressively, muffled curses muttered under his breath as he retreated to the driver’s seat, Michael soon released what he was so annoyed about.

But, when you pushed him into the leather seat, straddled his hips, wrapped your arms around his neck, and smashed your lips together in a feverish kiss—He suddenly found it hard to understand what the driver could be so irritated at?

This was the life.

Three’s not a crowd to her she says…

The ride to the conference center was a long one—Traffic post-concert was horrific, all thanks to the Jackson’s. But, they daren’t care in this moment.

Jackie had a handful of ass as his lady shook her behind directly in his face at the music, laughing as he repeatedly smacked her bare cheeks, her dress pushed up her hips. Tito was locking lips with his lady, a slow, intimate kiss that had been occurring the second he entered the car. Jermaine was pouring champagne into Marlon’s mouth, an arm around one of your friends, before Marlon sprayed the champagne over your other friend’s chest—Before, licking the residue directly from her pushed-up, exposed cleavage, earning himself cheers and squeals of laughter and joy.

Tucked into the corner of the limo, hands roaming places they probably shouldn’t in a car filled with his brother’s and your friend’s, lips one another’s and whispered promises, was you and Michael.

“‘M sad you’re gonna leave me.” You pouted, a hand twirling a strand of his Michael’s curls at the nape of his neck between your fingers.

“‘M just goin’ to do a couple interviews, baby, tha’s all.” Michael reassured, tucking a loose lock of your hair behind your ear, “I’ll be all yours for the night afterwards. And every night following.”

You giggled sweetly, “Y’so soppy, y’know that?”

“Only for you, darlin’.”

You hummed, smiling softly as you leant down to capture his lips in your own—Moaning softly into his mouth as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer to his body, radiating a thumping heat. Michael’s mouth moved slowly against your own—Occasionally pulling back to bite your bottom lip, suck on it, or let you press kisses to his jawline, and the corner of his mouth. Just as your mouths connected once again, your tongue swiping past his lower lip to swirl against his own—Michael felt a familiar, nimble hand crawl down his front.

His breath hitched in his throat as your hand, precise and slow, slipped down his front, stopping at his crotch to gently wrap your hand around the length of him beneath his trousers—Your palm enveloping around his half-hard dick, now stiffening more under your grasp.

“Baby!” Michael gasped, muffled against your lips, his eyes shooting open to observe his surroundings.

Luckily, everyone was still immersed in their own world—Kissing, touching, drinking, dancing, completely focused on themselves as your hand began jerking him through his trousers. Michael’s head fell forward, lolling against your forehead as he panted against your lips, eyes fluttering shut, not before he caught glance of your wicked smirk.

Your hand moved slowly, tantalisingly and dangerously—Teasing him with each half-stroke of your fist around his cock, now drooling with pre-cum into his boxers.

“S—Shoot, baby, that feels s’good.” Michael whispered, pressing a soft, quick kiss to your lips as he talked.

“Letting me jerk y’pretty dick with all my friends and your brother’s right behind us, but y’won’t say ‘Shit’? Y’so cute, Mike.” You taunted, giving him a particularly hard squeeze.

Michael couldn’t suppress the noise that left his mouth, that was instantly captured by your lips—Cutting off the whine before it filled the room. Thankfully, the way your friend was screaming as Marlon nuzzled his face between her breasts managed to cover Michael’s noise easily.

“Baby—Oh, God, love, ‘M gonna—“

“Shhh. Just take it.” You whispered, lips brushing against his, before smushing them together as he twitched beneath your palm.

Michael came with quiet, high-pitched whines that you swallowed up—Kissing him ferociously as he released, eyes rolled to the back of his head as your hand sped up pace to prolong his orgasm. You kept going, even as he whimpered at the overstimulation, before his shaking hand pulled yours away, now glistening with a faint essence that painted across his black slacks. Luckily for Michael, the bulk of his warm cum decorated his boxers underneath, only leaving behind a subtle, invisible to the naked eye, dampness on his slacks as his release soaked the material.

“You’re evil.” Michael panted, shaking his head as you giggled.

His breath hitched as you brought your palm up your mouth—Licking a lewd, sensual stipe from the bottom, to the tip of your middle finger, the faint taste of his salty release lingering on your tongue as it lolled back into your mouth, with a devilish smirk.

“You love it, Jackson.”

The car finally rolled to a stop, the brakes slamming hard against the concrete, sending your friend, who was still grinding against Jackie’s crotch, flying to the floor, scuffing her knees on the plastic flooring, earning herself a handful of laughs as she giggled drunkenly.

The door slid open, and the instantaneous blinding flashes of cameras, and screams from fans and reporters flooded the limo. Your friends ducked, hiding their faces from the relentless cameras, as they crawled towards you, and out of view shot.

Marlon, finding the whole secretive ordeal hilarious, exited first—Taking the attention off the multiple bottles of champagne that rolled out of the car and onto the floor, the music that blared out into the street, and the dangerously obvious bag of white powder your friend had stupidly left on the seat next to were Jackie was previously sat. He addressed the reporters and thanked the fans as Michael rose to his feet.

“Hey.”

He turned, eyes finding your own as your friends clambered behind you, snorting and howling with laughter at the whole experience, as you met his gaze—

Room 714, I’ll be waiting…

Michael nodded at your words, revealing your whereabouts at the hotel later, smiling softly as he leant down to press a soft kiss to your lips, the pillowy plushness lingering on your own as he head for the door.

“Be good.”

“Never.”

Michael hated these conferences—Despised them actually. The reporters and interviewers didn’t actually care about their music, or his career, or their next steps—No. They only cared about the drama. The juicy gossip of their personal lives, women, industry feuds and affairs.

Marlon and Jermaine were, luckily, doing most of the talking. Albeit a bit more sluggish and slurred than usual due to the sheer amount of champagne they’d consumed in the thirty minute drive to the conference centre. Michael was thankful—As his mind was on a complete other planet.

He shifted in his seat, swallowing thickly as his eyes landed on a camera pointing right at him, as a blossoming, warm blush crept up his cheeks as his drying, yet still sticky, release rolled against his skin from his boxers. The memory of your hand, swift and precise, moving with ease, stroking his hard cock beneath his slacks, mouth against his own, nipping against the skin of his lips, had him fighting the urge to stiffen once again.

His mind soon drifted to a similar place.

The idea of you waiting for him, just as you promised, at your hotel for the night. It led him to think maybe you were in a matching lingerie set, laying on your side on the bed with your hair up. Or maybe you were draped in a silk robe, bent over with your hand already between your legs, deliciously impatient to feel him. Or maybe you were—

“Michael?”

The sound of a reporters confused voice pulled him quickly from his sensual daydream—Throat running dry as his eyes darted around the room, checking, impossibly, that no one could’ve possibly read his mind.

“Sorry?”

“I asked if you have anyone special in your life, like your brother’s do?” A tall reporter asked, tilting his head as he awaited his answer.

Michael glanced over to his brother’s, who were suppressing their laughter—Assholes. They’d deliberately baited him into this. Michael wasn’t a liar—But certainly didn’t want to tell the whole truth. He wasn’t ashamed of you, of course not—Why do you think he brought you around his faithful mother who was obviously going to reject you? But, the tabloids would run a thousand miles and back if they knew shy, bashful, gentle Michael Jackson was fucking a girl of the night.

“I—Uh, yeah. Yeah I do.” Michael responded, his voice dropping to his famous soft, breathless tone.

“You do? Anymore you can tell us about her? What’s she like? Is she a celebrity?” The man pressed, instantly jotting Michael’s latter words down into a pad of paper as he spoke.

“Uh, no, but she’s, uh …She’s a real special girl.” Michael spoke, unable to hide the genuine smile that crawled up his face.

“Oh, she’s special, alright.” Marlon quipped, earning himself a pinch of his thigh under the table from Tito.

“Special? What does that mean, Michael?” The reporter queried further, cocking an eyebrow as he scribbled.

“It means she’s great, real good fun—She’s super.”

“A super freak.”

Michael was thankful Marlon uttered those words quieter this time, more so under his breath—But, he still heard them, and still shot him a look that could kill through his famous Aviators. If anyone in this room, reporter, fan, interviewer, family, had heard that—Michael was certain his mother would lock him in the house and never let him see the sun again, as well as getting hounded left, right and centre by the tabloids.

Alas, he was even more grateful when the interview finally concluded—The still drunken Marlon stumbled out of the conference center and into the back of another limousine, this time without the cocaine, champagne and half-naked women, after taking ahold of fan’s hands, kissing their cheeks and taking elaborate pictures for the paparazzi.

As soon as the car whirred off into the night, following the direction of your previous limo—Michael sighed, ignoring the sound of Marlon singing concerningly badly along to a popular song on the radio, as he dreamt of his night coming forth.

Special lady—Here he comes.

When I get there, she’s got incense, wine and candles… It’s such a freaky scene…

Michael’s eyes were nearly half-hanging out of his head when he pushed the door to the bedroom of your hotel room open.

“Welcome back, handsome.”

All the sensual ideas Michael had conjured up in his head of how’d you’d be posed in the bedroom during his interview was nothing like the one he was witnessing right now.

You were laid on your side, just as he’d imagined, but instead of draped in a silk robe or a matching set—You were completely bare. Perky breasts, pebbled nipples, curved waist, and parted legs to reveal your glistening sex were all on joyous display—Your bottom lip caught between your legs as you shuffled your leg further to the side, your pretty pussy lips sliding further apart to reveal your drooling entrance, clenching around nothing. Surrounding the dimly lit room was burning candles, erupting the room into a sensual, amber glow that bounced off your glistening skin, as well as an dizzyingly beautiful scent of musky incense that danced into the thick, tense air, and two glasses of Merlot on the nightstand, one already half drank.

“‘M special, huh?”

Michael swallowed thickly, eyes locked on your naked frame as he traipsed slowly into the room, chest rising and falling quickly as his dick hardened rapidly beneath his soiled boxers.

“Mm-hm.” He affirmed, nodding his head as he finally reached you, dropping to his knees between your parted legs, “You’ real special, baby.”

“Yeah? And ‘m real super?” You added, lifting your arched foot to rest upon his shoulder, curling your pedicured toes around his shoulder blade.

“Mhm, yeah, baby. My super freak.” Michael spoke, voice drawled as his eyes transfixed on your soaking cunt, completely checked out of the conversation as his brain went short circuited at the sweet scent of your sex filling his nostrils.

“Oh! A freak, huh, baby? Is that what’cha think of me?” You teased, giggling as his hands slowly wrapped around your ankle, clad in gold jewellery.

Michael hummed, bringing the skin of your foot to his mouth, pressing kisses up your ankle, “Yeah, darlin’, yer s’kinky.”

You laughed, tipping your head back as you watched him flutter his eyes shut as he pressed hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses up your leg, trailing up your calves, to your thighs, humming into your skin at the scent of your lotion melting into your flesh.

“Kinky, huh?” You tilted your head to the side, voice dropping an octave, “Y’not so innocent yourself, Jackson.”

“Don’t care.” Michael mumbled against your skin, licking a stripe up your inner thigh as he neared where you needed him most.

A quiet, almost inaudible moan tumbled past your parted lips as Michael nuzzled his face between your parted legs—Nose and plump lips smushing into your sex, now glistening with your arousal.

“Don’t care when I have you, baby.”

Your chest heaved as he licked a stripe up your sex—Collecting your intoxicating essence along the twitching muscle, as he wrapped his lips around your clit swiftly. Your back arched, your hips jerking into his mouth, as your hand flew to his hair for support, your fingers tangling into his curls.

“The sweetest, most special, most super freak I’ve ever known, baby.” Michael admitted, his voice low and deep as his fingers swiped through your folds, before his index and middle slid inside your tightening cunt, filling you up with a gasp, “And all mine.”

You giggled, head shaking as you swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, wetting the flesh, before reaching behind you. Michael’s eyes followed you intently, his fingers twitching inside you, as he watched you fumble with a hidden item behind your back.

An lit-up, excitable smirk painted his lips as you dangled a daring pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs between your manicured digits, and a pair of your panties, ones that had been decorated into your arousal from watching him cum in his pants earlier, between the other, meant to be stuffed into his mouth when you slid down onto him later.

Michael shook his head with a laugh, curling his fingers to hit the sweet spot inside you, earning himself a gasp, and a devilish giggle, before you grasped his jaw in your hands and pulled him down for a feverish kiss. He smiled back into it, as, just as he loved,—

That girl’s a super freak!…

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