i loved writing my recent fic but i’m tired of smut now lowkey … it feels like the same recycled phrases over n over and i don’t enjoy writing it that much unless there’s an emotional purpose to it. i really just wanna write only fluff for the time being >_< unless it’s like a short-form fluffy smut piece ; i do love writing those
⠀⠀⏝ ۪ ゛ sleepy & slow lovemakin' w/ your boyfriend
summary. ❪ 2.6𝒌 ❫ otw.era!𝒎ichael 𝑥 𝒻.childhood bsf!reader ╱ an ordinary morning at Hayvenhurst becomes anything but when your unusually affectionate boyfriend wakes you with kisses, only for the rest of the Jackson household to hear far more than either of you intended.
contains 𑣲﹕ 𝟏𝟖+ established relationship. sleepy morning intimacy. affectionate and needy michael. softdom!michael. gentle praise, pet names and consent check-ins. slow, passionate unprotected sex—pls wrap it up sillies. clingy afterglow and cuddles. interrupted by Marlon & brothers. sweet domestic fluff.
❛ august, ‘𝟖𝟎 — ℰncino, 𝒸alifornia ❜
It appeared to be an ordinary morning at Hayvenhurst, the bedroom still wrapped in that peculiar silence that existed before the rest of the house had begun to wake. Pale sunlight slipped through the curtains and settled across the rumpled duvet in uneven streaks of gold, while the ceiling fan hummed lazily overhead. Somewhere beyond the windows, birds had already begun their morning chorus, though neither of you seemed particularly interested in joining the rest of the world just yet.
Michael had fallen asleep exactly as he usually did. Sometime during the night, he had migrated until he was nestled comfortably between your thighs, his cheek resting against your chest as though your heartbeat had become his favorite lullaby. One of your hands remained loosely tangled in his curls from the night before, the position so familiar that neither of you questioned it anymore. It was simply how the two of you slept.
Usually, you were the one burdened with waking him, coaxing him from beneath the covers while he complained that another five minutes would surely make no difference. This morning, however, Michael had awakened first—and, for reasons you had yet to understand, had decided your beauty rest was no longer nearly as important as having your attention.
At first, you thought you were still dreaming. Something featherlight brushed your temple before disappearing, followed by another kiss against your cheek and one beneath your eye. Sleep blurred the line between imagination and reality until familiar lips lingered against your forehead, accompanied by the faintest breath of laughter warming your skin.
Your brows pinched together before your eyes finally fluttered open, your vision adjusting gradually to the muted morning light and the figure hovering affectionately above you.
Michael was already looking at you. His curls stood in every direction imaginable, his face still creased from the pillow, yet he wore the unmistakable expression of someone who had been awake long enough to admire the person sleeping beneath him. There was tenderness in his gaze, certainly, but something more restless lingered beneath it—a quiet, boyish mischief that became increasingly difficult to overlook when his mouth wandered toward your jaw again.
“Baby…” Your voice emerged soft and heavy with sleep as you shifted beneath the duvet. “That tickles.”
“‘M sorry…” he whispered with a sheepish grin. “You just looked so pretty sleepin’. Then I started kissin’ you… and I couldn’t stop.”
The apology lost some of its credibility when he immediately pressed another kiss beneath your jaw. His body remained warm and pleasantly heavy over yours, one arm curled around your waist while his face disappeared against the curve of your neck. Every movement was softened by sleep, yet his affection possessed a persistence that was beginning to feel suspicious.
“Oh, yeah?” you murmured, dragging your fingernails gently along the back of his shirt. “What’s gotten into you this morning?”
“I dunno…” Michael mumbled, answering far too quickly.
He lifted his head at last, resting his chin against your chest as he met your eyes. The innocence carefully arranged across his face might have convinced you had he not shifted between your thighs at that exact moment, revealing the unmistakable reason behind his sudden devotion through the layers of blankets separating you, his hardened member undeniably poking against your lower stomach.
Understanding arrived slowly, followed by a knowing smile that made the tips of his ears begin to redden. “Michael…”
“What?” His eyes widened as though he had been falsely accused of something, though the grin fighting its way across his lips ruined the performance almost immediately.
“So that’s why you’ve been so affectionate this morning.”
“I’m always affectionate,” he protested, dipping his face toward your neck again as though hiding there might rescue what remained of his dignity. “Can’t a man kiss his girlfriend good morning?”
“He can,” you conceded, your fingers returning to his curls as his lips grazed the sensitive place beneath your ear. “But he usually isn’t this determined about it.”
A quiet laugh escaped him, muffled against your skin. His hand slipped beneath the hem of your sleep shirt and settled against the warmth of your waist, his thumb tracing slow, absent circles there. It was an unhurried touch, affectionate enough to preserve the softness of the morning even as the atmosphere between you gradually began to change.
Michael finally looked up again, his expression caught somewhere between bashfulness and want. “Good morning, my Sleeping Beauty.”
“Good morning, angel face.”
You smoothed your palms over his small, disheveled fro before gathering his face between your hands. His smile softened the moment your palms found his rosy cheeks. Instinctively, he leaned into them, his eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat as though being held so gently first thing in the morning was every bit as comforting as falling asleep beside you the night before.
When his eyes opened, the playfulness in them had deepened into something warmer. His gaze lowered to your mouth, and this time, when he leaned forward to kiss you, there was nothing quite innocent about the slowness with which his lips met yours.
The kiss deepened without either of you seeming to make a conscious decision to take it there, your mouths moving together in the sleepy rhythm reserved for mornings when neither person had fully awakened and there was no reason to hurry. It was tender but imperfect, softened by lazy smiles and the occasional uncoordinated meeting of your lips, each little mistake drawing a quiet laugh that disappeared into the next kiss.
Michael’s hand remained warm against your waist as yours slipped back into his curls, holding him close while satisfied hums passed between you whenever one of you lingered a little longer or pressed a little deeper. He kissed you as though he had nowhere else to be, pausing only long enough to breathe against your mouth before seeking it again, just sloppy enough to make the whole thing feel deliciously real.
“Mike…” you murmured against his lips when he pulled away just enough to leave you chasing after him, the sleepy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth making it painfully obvious that he knew precisely what he was doing. “Stop teasin’ me.”
His hand continued caressing your waist, entirely contradicting the innocence he attempted to arrange across his face. “What do you want, baby?”
“You know what,” you mumbled, burying your fingers deeper into his curls as you tried to pull him back toward you.
Michael resisted only slightly, keeping his forehead pressed against yours while his gaze searched your face. “I wanna hear you say it.”
Your embarrassment lasted no longer than the next slow brush of his lips against yours, the tenderness of it loosening the words before you could reconsider them. “I want you…”
“Yeah?” he breathed, his teasing expression softening into something warmer and considerably more affected.
“Mhm.” You drew him closer until there was hardly any space left between your mouths. “I need you’ closer...”
His nose brushed gently against yours, though he still paused long enough to ask, “You sure, darlin’?”
You answered with a small, eager nod, your fingers tightening gently in his curls. “I’m sure.”
That was all the reassurance Michael needed before his mouth found yours again, the satisfied little hum escaping him disappearing into the kiss. His free hand drifted beneath the blankets as he adjusted his boxers to reveal his needy and throbbing penis. His fingers maneuvered to your panties, hooking them around the fabric to move them to the side, allowing him entry. every movement careful and unhurried, his attention never leaving your face long enough for you to doubt how completely he was watching you as he carefully pushed through your walls.
The tenderness remained even as the nature of the morning shifted. Michael buried his face against the curve of your neck, a soft, groggy groan escaping him as your arms tightened around his shoulders. Your fingers slipped from the messiness of his curls to the backs of his arms, holding him there while the two of you settled into a slow rhythm together.
His movements remained patient, each one drawing another quiet whimper from you. There was no urgency in him yet, only the sleepy devotion that had awakened you in the first place, his lips wandering over your neck and jaw whenever he leaned close enough to reach them. Occasionally, he paused merely to kiss you, allowing the moment to soften again before continuing.
“You’re so gorgeous like this,” he murmured beside your ear, pressing a kiss just beneath it. “All sleepy underneath me.” His hand that stayed rested beneath your shirt now shifting to your breasts, massaging each and giving them a gentle squeeze.
Your breath caught as you pulled his body closer, unwilling to leave even the smallest distance between you. “Feels so good…”
“Yeah?” The single word emerged lower this time, the earlier playfulness giving way to something darker, though his touch remained careful.
“Mhm…” Your response dissolved into another breathless whine as the pace gradually deepened, each of his movements reaching far enough to steal the air from your lungs. “Need more, baby… please.”
Michael lifted his head to look at you, searching your expression once more before giving you what you had asked for. The change was slight at first, a subtle quickening that made your arms tighten around his upper back and your hips moving instinctively along with his. Each time he drew you closer, another helpless moan threatened to escape your swollen lips.
“Shh, darlin’,” Michael whispered against your neck, amusement softening the strain in his voice. “Don’t wanna wake the whole house.”
“I’m tryin’, honey…” And you were. You buried your face against his shoulder in several desperate attempts to contain yourself, but the creaking mattress and the quiet knocking of the headboard against the wall were proving considerably less cooperative. A small laugh escaped Michael before breaking into a low, lazy groan when you clung to him more tightly.
He pressed another kiss to your temple, maintaining the steady pace that had already begun to undo you.
“Oh Mikey..” Your nails curled into his shoulders as your pussy tightened around him instinctively, the involuntary reaction telling him you were nearing the edge long before you managed to find the words.
Michael noticed immediately. His mouth returned to yours, swallowing the next trembling sound that escaped you as he held you closer, preserving the tenderness of the morning even while everything between you steadily grew less restrained.
Your legs began to tremble before tightening helplessly around his torso, drawing him impossibly closer as the tension that had been steadily gathering inside you finally broke, coating his dick in your arousal. Michael’s movements faltered for the first time that morning, losing their careful rhythm as he followed only moments behind, his body shuddering against yours while a string of soft, breathless moans and tiny “I love you’s” disappeared into your mouth. Neither of you pulled away, clinging to one another through every lingering aftershock, your lips meeting in clumsy, interrupted kisses between uneven breaths until the intensity gradually softened into something warm, heavy, and deeply satisfied.
For several quiet minutes afterward, neither of you made any effort to move. Michael remained draped over you beneath the tangled covers, his cock still buried deep in your warmth and his face hidden against the warmth of your neck while your fingers wandered lazily through the curls at his nape. The urgency that had possessed him earlier had dissolved into something soft and pleasantly heavy, leaving behind uneven breaths, occasional kisses, and the faint smile you could feel against your skin whenever you held him a little tighter.
He had only just begun mumbling something about never leaving the bed when three abrupt knocks struck the bedroom door causing his entire body to tense.
“Miiike~?” Marlon’s voice traveled through the wood with suspicious brightness. “Ma said breakfast is ready.”
Michael lifted his head from your shoulder, his eyes widening as the two of you stared toward the door. For one terrible second, neither of you spoke, silently attempting to determine exactly how much sound might have escaped the room before the rest of the house had fully awakened.
“Okay,” Michael finally called, clearing the lingering strain from his voice. “We’ll be down.”
There was a short pause followed with faint sounds of snickering.
“Take your time,” Marlon answered, his tone far too innocent to be trusted.
Someone beside him released a poorly muffled laugh before several pairs of footsteps retreated down the hallway. Michael continued staring at the door long after they had disappeared, though when no further comment came, some of the tension slowly left his shoulders.
“Y' think they heard us?” you whispered.
“No,” he answered almost immediately. “They would’ve said something.”
“Your brothers?”
Michael considered that, then grimaced. “They definitely would’ve said something."
By the time the two of you made it downstairs, you had nearly managed to believe him. Michael had changed into a clean shirt and attempted to tame his curls, though several remained stubbornly disheveled around his temples. You had repaired your own appearance as carefully as possible, and apart from the warmth creeping into your cheeks whenever your eyes met, there was nothing especially incriminating about either of you.
The kitchen was already filled with the familiar noise of breakfast. Katherine moved between the stove and the counter while Jackie, Tito, and Marlon sat around the table, speaking among themselves until Michael entered with you beside him. Their conversation stopped almost immediately.
“Morning,” Michael said cautiously as you greeted with a small wave, pulling out your chair before settling into the seat beside you.
“Morning,” his brothers answered, each of them wearing an expression that made your confidence begin to falter.
Marlon waited until Michael had reached for his fork before leaning slightly across the table. “Sleep good?”
Michael’s hand stopped. “Yeah,” he answered slowly.
Marlon nodded as though genuinely pleased to hear it. “Sure sounded like it.”
Your head ducked toward your plate before you could stop yourself, the heat in your face worsening as Jackie covered his mouth to conceal a laugh. Michael’s ears turned a brilliant shade of red, though he continued arranging food on his plate with the determined concentration of someone pretending not to understand.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he muttered.
“Neither do I,” Tito agreed innocently. He reached for the syrup before sighing in an exaggerated, breathless voice, “‘Oh, Mikey—'" causing Jackie to choke on his drink.
Michael’s head immediately snapped toward him. “Stop.”
Marlon’s shoulders began to shake as he lowered his voice into an equally dramatic imitation. “‘Baby, please—’”
“Shut up,” Michael hissed, glancing toward Katherine to make certain she had not heard.
You pressed your lips together before nibling at your bottom one, staring firmly at your breakfast while the mortification and laughter fought for control of your expression. You could never face his brothers again after this. Beneath the table, Michael’s hand found yours and squeezed it tightly, as though reminding you that the two of you were enduring the humiliation together.
“Everything all right over there?” Katherine asked without turning from the stove.
“Fine, Ma,” the brothers answered almost perfectly in unison.
She glanced over her shoulder with quiet suspicion, though the boys had already returned to their plates with expressions of practiced innocence. The moment she faced the stove again, Marlon leaned toward Michael one final time.
“Next time,” he whispered, barely moving his lips, “turn on some Marvin Gaye.”
Michael stared straight ahead with the wounded dignity of someone reconsidering whether blood truly made a family. He kicked Marlon beneath the table, earning a muffled yelp, before tightening his fingers around yours once more.
You finally dared to look at him. The moment your eyes met, the corner of Michael’s mouth twitched despite his embarrassment, and the laugh you had been suppressing threatened to escape all over again.
His brothers might never let him forget that morning, but judging by the way they immediately changed the subject when Katherine approached the table, they had no intention of letting anyone else hear about it.
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. one summer night, a cute sunset date turns into thrilling love making on the beach.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬). otw! michael x reader
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. fluff, smut, p in v, riding, skinny dipping, beach sex, recording, sex tape (?), public sex, exhibitionism, randy mention
The ocean air is thick with the scent of salt and heavy humidity.
The sun has long since bled out below the horizon, leaving behind a bruised indigo canvas and the dying embers of a burnt orange dusk. The coastline stretches out for miles in either direction, completely deserted, save for the rhythmic, foaming crash of the tide against the shore and the faint, blinking red eye of the camcorder resting on its tripod near the shadowed slope of the dunes.
You stand a few paces away from the crashing surf, your fingers lingering on the oversized flannel shirt draped over your shoulders. Across the sand, Michael is hovering anxiously by the camera, his dark eyes wide, luminous, and helplessly locked onto you. Even in the dim light, you can see the nervous tension in his posture, the way his shoulders are hiked up, the oversized hoodie swallowing his frame.
"You're staring, Mike," you murmur, your voice a low, teasing purr that carries easily over the roar of the waves.
"I'm not staring," he protests instantly, though his voice cracks on the edge of the syllable, betraying him entirely. He fumbles with the focus ring on the camera, his thumb jittering over the plastic. "I'm... documenting. The ambient lighting. You know how it is."
"Mhm. Right. Ambient lighting."
With a slow, deliberate movement, you let the flannel slip off your shoulders, letting it pool in the damp sand beneath your feet. Beneath it, the dark, slick fabric of your bikini catches the pale wash of the moonlight. You watch the exact moment his breath catches in his throat—a sharp, audible hitch. His Adam's apple bobs hard, and his hand jerks on the camera, accidentally zooming in so close on your cleavage that the frame fills entirely with skin. He sucks in a breath, his cheeks flushing a brilliant, heated crimson that even the dark can't hide.
"Y/N, c'mon," he groans, dropping his hands from the tripod and hiding his burning face behind his palms for a second, a breathless, panicked laugh slipping through his fingers. "We shouldn't... What if someone comes down the coast? What if someone sees?"
"Nobody's coming down the coast, Michael. Look around. It's just us and the ocean," you challenge, taking a slow step toward the water as the cool, wet sand squishes between your toes. You reach behind your back, untying the strings of your bikini top with deliberate slowness, letting it drop to the sand, followed quickly by the bottoms. You stand completely bare under the moonlight, your skin glowing with a pearlescent sheen. "Unless you're scared?"
He scoffs, though the sound lacks any real conviction. "I'm not scared."
"Prove it!" you yell over the thunderous crash of the surf as you throw your head back, grinning wildly. You thrust a hand out toward the black expanse of the water, channeling pure, unadulterated madness. "If you're not a coward, get in the water! Come on! What are you waiting for?!"
"You're out of your mind! You are completely, unbelievably insane!" he shouts back, his hands flying up in exasperation as he paces a frantic circle in the dry sand. "We can't just—we can't just go skinny dipping! This is public property, Y/N!"
"Stop being a baby!" you laugh, spinning on your heel and sprinting straight into the foaming white surf with a joyful, reckless shriek. The cold water hits your ankles, your shins, your hips, sending a thrilling shockwave through your body. You dive beneath a breaking wave, breaking the surface with a gasp, slicking your wet hair back from your face.
You turn around, treading water as you watch him from the depths. He's frozen on the shoreline, his hands clutching his head, torn between his legendary caution and the magnet pulling him straight toward you.
"Michael!" you call out, your voice dropping to a low, sultry challenge as you sink lower into the water, resting your chin near the surface. "Are you gonna make me swim back and drag you in myself? Because I will."
He looks down at himself, then glances wildly up and down the empty, pitch black beach. Every fiber of his being screams at him to pack up the camera and run back to the safety of the locked car. But then his dark eyes snap back to you—glowing, free, completely uninhibited in the dark ocean—and his defenses finally fracture.
With a breathless, reckless groan that sounds almost like a surrender, he lunges forward. He fumbles frantically with the drawstring of his denim shorts, kicking them off along with his sneakers right there on the open sand. Leaving the camera rolling, its wide angle lens capturing the shifting white foam of the shore, he takes off in a clumsy, head-down sprint.
He doesn't stop until he plunges into the freezing embrace of the tide, gasping sharply as the cold salt water envelops his bare skin.
He surfaces a few feet away from you, chest heaving, water plastering his dark curls to his forehead. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest, trying to hide his nakedness even though the night is pitch black.
"You are a terrible influence," he pants, shivering slightly from the chill, though his eyes are burning with a sudden, intense heat. "An absolute menace to society."
"And yet, here you are," you whisper, swimming over to him with slow, deliberate strokes.
You close the distance until your wet skin slides against his chest. The initial shock of the cold water evaporates instantly, replaced by the scorching friction of skin-to-skin contact. Michael lets out a low, shaky breath, his hands abandoning their defensive posture to find your waist instinctively, his fingers sinking into your hips as he pulls you flush against him.
"Y/N..." he groans softly, his voice thick with a sudden, heavy gravity.
"Shh," you murmur, sliding your arms up around his neck, tangling your wet fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck.
When your lips meet, it’s a deep, consuming collision. He tilts your head back, his mouth parting yours with a sudden, desperate hunger that matches the crashing rhythm of the ocean around you. His tongue sweeps over yours, tasting of salt and heat, his hands sliding up your spine to map every curve of your back, lifting you slightly so your hips lock with his beneath the surface of the water. The cool waves lap against your backs, creating a wild, friction-filled dance that makes his knees go weak.
"I need to get you out of here," he murmurs against your mouth, his breath hot and ragged against your lips as he pulls back just a fraction, his dark eyes dilated and heavy lidded. "If we stay in this water another minute, I'm going to lose my mind."
"Then lose it," you breathe, trailing a line of hot kisses down his jaw, past his throat, to the sensitive spot beneath his ear.
He shivers violently, his grip tightening until it borders on bruising. "Let's go. Now."
With limbs tangled and hearts hammering a frantic rhythm against their ribs, you wade out of the surf together, the receding waves rushing over your ankles. The contrast of the cool night air hitting your wet, bare skin sends a fresh wave of goosebumps rippling over your flesh, heightening every nerve ending.
You don't make it to the towels.
The moment your feet hit the dry, powdery sand just beyond the reach of the tide, Michael spins you around, pressing you back against the warm sand. The coarse sand scrapes against your back, but you barely notice as his body crowds yours, heavy, hot, and completely unhinged from his usual careful composure.
"Michael," you gasp as his mouth crashes down onto your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just above your collarbone.
"I've been thinking about this all night," he confesses, his voice a gravelly, desperate whisper against your skin. His hands roam wildly over your hips, gripping your thighs and lifting you effortlessly so your legs lock around his waist. "Watching you... God, Y/N, you drive me insane."
He pushed in with one steady thrust, stretching you open until he bottomed out. The sound that left him was a cross between half groan, half swear. For a second he stayed still, forehead pressed to yours. There is no hesitation left in him, only a raw, driving hunger that strips away every layer of his shyness. His thrusts are deep, urgent, and heavy, perfectly timed to the distant, rhythmic crash of the ocean waves.
You claw your fingernails down his back, crying out his name as the friction builds into an unbearable, delicious ache. But instead of letting him take total control, a surge of playful dominance floods through you. You grab his shoulders, pushing him back against just enough to break his rhythm, catching him completely off guard.
"Wait," you pant, a wicked, knowing smile curving your lips in the dark.
Michael blinks up at you, his chest heaving, his dark eyes wide and confused, sweat gleaming on his forehead. "W-what? Y/N, don't stop, please—"
"I didn't say we were stopping," you murmur softly.
You slip off his waist, letting your feet touch the sand, and take him by the hand, leading him a few yards closer to where the tripod still stands. The little red light is blinking steadily, framing the empty patch of sand where you left your clothes.
"Look at the camera, Mike," you whisper, your voice dropping an octave as you pick up the camcorder, flipping the screen out so you can see the wide-angle framing. You adjust it slightly, angling the lens down toward the blanket you kick out onto the sand.
Michael freezes, his eyes darting from the glowing red light back to you, panic flashing across his features. "Wait—no, Y/N, you're not actually—we can't record this, someone could—"
"I'm recording every single second of it," you interrupt, your tone absolute, dripping with an irresistible, commanding confidence. You push him gently backward until the back of his knees hits the edge of the blanket, sending him tumbling down onto his back in the sand.
Before he can protest, you straddle his hips, pinning him firmly to the blanket. You reach down with your free hand, gripping both of his wrists and pinning them against the sand beside his head. With your other hand, you hold the camcorder aloft, tilting the screen and the lens downward so that the glowing red eye captures every inch of the view: the spread of his thighs, his heavy cock, the wet expanse of his chest, and his wrecked face looking up at you.
Michael lets out a high, fractured gasp, his head tipping back into the sand as a violent tremor ripples through his body. The sheer audacity of it—the cold night air, the open beach, the camera rolling—short circuits every defense mechanism he possesses.
"Y/N... please," he stammers, his voice thick, ragged, and trembling with a desperate, helpless edge. He tries to pull his wrists free, but your grip is unyielding. "You can't... God, don't look at me like that... turn it off, please—" he whimpered, hands fisting the blanket as your pussy brushed his swollen tip.
"I'm not turning it off," you whisper down to him, your voice a sultry command. You slowly sink your hips down, perfectly taking every pretty inch entirely inside you in an agonizingly slow motion, hugging him tightly.
Michael arches off the blanket with a loud, uninhibited cry, his hips bucking upward instinctively to chase the friction. The sound of his voice—raw, desperate, and entirely unfiltered—echoes out into the empty night air. He hates the camera, he hates how exposed he feels, and yet, as his dark eyes flick up to the glowing red light and then back to your triumphant, glowing face, he realizes with a jolt of pure, masochistic pleasure that he loves it even more. He's addicted to being undone by you.
"Look at the lens, Michael," you command softly, shifting your weight and beginning to move, setting a steady, relentless rhythm that forces every gasp and moan from his lips. "Look at me. Watch yourself."
With a trembling, shuddering breath, Michael forces his heavy eyelids open. He stares directly into the little glass eye of the camera, watching the shadowy, intimate footage of his own flushed, sweaty expression beneath you. His chest heaves, his lower lip trembles, and his dark eyes are heavy with a devotion so fierce it borders on worship.
"You're... you're killing me," he gasps out, his voice pitching higher as a tidal wave of intense, blinding pleasure begins to build in his core. His hips snap up to meet yours faster, harder, abandoning any remaining shred of restraint. "Oh, God—Y/N—please, I'm right there—" he cried, voice cracking in your ear as your warm, wet cunt fluttered around him.
You match his frantic energy stroke for stroke, your free hand keeping the camera steady, framing the absolute perfection of his unraveling. With a final, breathless cry that he tries to muffle by tossing his head to the side, Michael shatters completely. His entire body goes rigid, a violent tremor racking his frame as he pours every ounce of his soul into you, his hands finally wrenching free from your grip to claw desperately at your waist, holding you down as if you're his only anchor to reality.
You ride out the peak of your own release right alongside him, your breath mingling with his ragged sighs in the cool night air.
For a long moment, the only sound on the deserted beach is the heavy, synchronized rise and fall of your chests and the steady, rhythmic crash of the waves. The camcorder continues to blink its quiet red light, capturing the dazed, utterly wrecked adoration in Michael's dark eyes as he blinks up at the night sky.
Until the adrenaline hangover hits.
Michael’s eyes widen. The post-sex haze instantly evaporates, replaced by a sudden, electric spike of panic.
"Wait—oh, shit," he gasps, sitting bolt upright with a violent jerk, his hands scrambling wildly in the sand for his clothes. "We're outside. Someone's gonna see us—we've been out here forever!"
You burst out laughing, dropping the camera onto the blanket as Michael frantically snatches up his jeans, pulling them on inside out and backwards in his blind, fumbling panic. He shoves his feet into his sneakers without bothering to tie the laces, grabbing his hoodie and practically throwing your clothes at you.
"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" he whisper yelled, his voice cracking with urgency as he snatches the camcorder up, killing the power switch with a furious click. He grabs your hand, and the two of you scramble up the sand dunes, laughing so hard you can barely breathe, stumbling through the sea oats until you collapse into the safety of the dark parking lot and bolt for the car.
Three days later, back at Hayvenhurst, the afternoon sun filters lazily through the sheer white curtains of the living room.
Michael is sitting cross legged on the plush sofa, mindlessly flipping through a stack of vinyl records while humming a quiet melody to himself. The memory of the beach night feels like a delicious, secret movie playing on a loop in the back of his mind. He’s managed to smuggle the camcorder back into the house, hiding it safely at the bottom of his leather travel bag, fully intending to lock it away in a drawer where no one will ever, ever find it.
Heavy footsteps echo down the hardwood hallway, and a moment later, Randy pushes the door open, looking around the room with a casual expression.
"Hey, Mike," Randy calls out, walking toward the center of the room. "Quick question—do you have that digital camcorder on you? The one you usually take everywhere for your little visual projects?"
Michael freezes. The record in his hand slips slightly against the carpet. His heart gives a violent, stuttering thud against his ribs, identical to the exact panic he felt three nights ago.
"The... the camcorder?" Michael repeats, his voice pitching an octave higher than normal. He clears his throat quickly, forcing a stiff, utterly unconvincing smile as he stares blankly at his brother. "Uh... what camcorder? I don't... I don't know that I have a camcorder on me right now, Randy. Why do you ask?"
"What're you talking about? You brought it with us to the coast like last month," Randy says, waving a hand dismissively as he walks straight toward the shelf where Michael had carelessly tossed the bag earlier that morning. "I just need to borrow it for a few hours to tape some family footage down by the pool. Can I grab it?"
Michael’s entire worldview narrows to a single point of absolute, unmitigated terror. He pictures Randy—his brother, his very nosy, prank loving brother—flipping the power switch on, pressing play, and instantly being greeted by the high-definition, highly incriminating footage of Michael pinned down, completely naked, screaming out your name with the camera staring right down his soul.
"NO!" Michael squawks, leaping off the sofa with the agility of a startled cat, lunging across the coffee table in a desperate, flying tackle to cut Randy off before his hand touches the bag.
Randy jumps back, throwing his hands up in utter bewilderment. "Whoa! Jesus, Mike! What the hell is wrong with you? I just asked to borrow the damn camera!"
Michael stands there, chest heaving, his dark eyes wide with sheer horror, his face flushing a violent, incriminating shade of crimson from the roots of his hair all the way down to his neck. He clutches the strap of the bag to his chest like a shield, stammering incoherently.
"I—uh—no, you can't use it! It's... it's broken! The lens is completely cracked! Total technical malfunction! You don't want it, trust me!" Michael squeaks out, his voice cracking twice in three seconds as he backs away slowly toward the hallway. "I gotta go! Bye, Randy!"
And without waiting for an answer, he turns on his heel and bolts upstairs, leaving a thoroughly baffled Randy standing in the middle of the living room.
After producers ask Micheal to change his appearance for the You Rock My World short film, he breaks down. His head of security calls you in a panic, knowing you're the only one who can calm him.
Word count: 1.2k
Tags: Invincible era, angst, comfort, fluff at end dw
TW: extreme body image issues, yelling, throwing/breaking things
A/N: I will be referring to Michael's body gaurd by his last name so there's no confusion
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
You're at home, cozy in your bed as you read a book. The phone on the side table rings. The only people who have you and Michael's private phone number is Michael La Perruque, his head of security, and your families.
You pick up, assuming it was your mom or something as Michael is at the set of You Rock My World. The second you press the speaker to your ear, it sounds like chaos. People talking loudly, the sound of knocking, then the sound of something being throw and broken.
"Hey, I need you over here, now. Michael is... he's not okay." You hear Perruque say, his voice thick with concern. You sit up, shutting your book.
"What do you mean he's not okay?? Is he hurt?" You ask as you stand and begin hurriedly putting on clothes. "I don't know. Hes locked himself in a bathroom and is just... breaking down. He won't let anyone in, he's not responding to anyone." He sounds stressed, his voice wavering.
"I'll be there in 10 minutes." You say, slamming the phone down. Its a 15 minute drive, and you hate driving in LA, but you slip on your shoes and grab your keys, running out the door like your life depends on it.
You exceed the speed limit, not giving a flying fuck about anything but your husband. When you pull up to the set, the producers are huddled together talking, their faces a mix of fear, concern, and guilt.
You get out, running to the bathrooms. Perruque and Michael's entire team are standing there, a few of them still knocking. You hear sobs coming from the bathroom, then the sound of the mirror being shattered. Oh fuck.
You run up to Perruque, who tears his focus from the bathroom to you. "The producers wanted to use makeup to make him darker, and resculpt his nose to how it was before surgery. They said it would be more "urban" or something. He stormed out before they finished and has been in there for 15 minutes." He rushes, looking at the door.
You push through everyone, anger boiling your blood, worry aching in your chest. You rap your knuckles on the door, straining to hear him. "Mikey, its me, baby. Can you let me in, please?" You say, your voice loud but gentle.
The sounds inside stop and all you can hear is his heavy breathing. "Come on, angel. Just me, nobody else will come in. I promise." You say, your voice quieter now. A few beats pass as you hold your breath. Then the click of the door unlocking.
You immediately open the door just wide enough to step in, shutting it and locking it again. You take in everything. The shattered mirror, the toiletries scattered and broken, glass all over the counter and floor. You look at Michael. His once long hair is wildly cut short, scissors discarded on the floor. You swear you feel your heart break.
He stares at you, red-rimmed eyes, tear stained cheeks, his mouth open as he pants, his chest heaving. "Oh, my baby." You whisper, walking to him and pulling him into you. He breaks, choking out a sob as he hugs you, his face in your shoulder, his hands gripping the back of your shirt impossibly tight.
You rub your hands on his back, saying nothing. There was nothing to say. All you could do was be there. He pulls you closer against him, tears pouring from his eyes. The sounds he makes, the sharp inhales and hiccuping cries, they make you want to kill whoever did this to him.
You press a kiss into his shoulder, stroking the bottom of his hair. "It's okay baby, I'm here. I'm here." You whisper. He sucks in a shaky breath like he can't breathe. You close your eyes to keep your own tears from forming.
"We're gonna go home, okay? You don't need to worry about work today." You feel him nod, sniffing. When you know hes okay for you to, you pull back, looking into his glossy eyes. You cup his cheeks, swiping away warm tears.
"I'm so sorry. You dont deserve any of that bullshit. I'm sure Trudy Green will have some very strong words for them. It won't ever happen again." You promise. He just stares at you, looking defeated.
"I-" he chokes on his words, his eyes welling once more. "I'm a monster, aren't I?" He whispers. Your heart breaks again. You pull him tight into another hug, eyebrows furrowed. "No baby. No, don't ever say that. You are not a monster. You are my sweet angel. You are the purest person I've ever met. The most generous, kind, forgiving, compassionate person to walk this earth. Do not let some assholes make you think any differently." You say gently, talking slow but with urgency.
He just hums, not listening as he's still lost in his own head. You pull back again, taking his face in your hands and looking into his eyes. It pulls his attention back to you instantly.
"Let's go home, yeah?" You softly push a strand of hair behind his ear, grabbing his fedora and placing it gently on his head. He nods, grabbing his sunglasses from the counter and sliding them on. You grab his hand, squeezing tightly.
"You got this baby. You dont have to respond to anyone." You murmur as you unlock the door. Taking a deep breath, you pull it open. Everyone who was gathered in front of the door talking went silent, looking at you, then him. He keeps his head down, biting hard on his lip to hold back more tears.
You push past the people, ignoring the pitying looks as you walk to Perruque. "I'm gonna drive him home, I'll call you later when he's better." You tell him. He nods, thanking you silently.
The ride home is quiet, but you keep your hand intertwined with his despite the fact you know he thinks it's dangerous. You don't care right now, you just want to comfort your husband.
When you get to Neverland, you bring him inside and carefully undress him, getting him into the shower. You wash his hair, careful around his burn scar, kissing his shoulders occasionally to ground him.
Once he's clean and dried off, you sit him down in the kitchen with a pair of scissors, evening out the length of his hair. He's silent for the majority of it all, except for a few mumbled thank you's. You can't lie, a few tears fall when he's not looking. You're just so heartbroken for him.
After you finish and clean up the kitchen floor, the two of you curl up into bed, his back pressed against your chest as you comb your fingers through his hair, whispering sweet praises into his ear until he's lulled to sleep.
You stay awake, anger still burning deep in your chest. You can't believe anyone would have the nerve to say such things to Michael, arguably the kindest, considerate person alive.
Forcing yourself to calm down, you decide to deal with it later and focus on being a support system for your husband. As the sun rises over the California hills, you wrap your arms around Michael's waist and drift to sleep.
intro ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ( 23k ) childhoodbsf!popstar!reader 𝑥 pre-otw!michael 𝓳ackson ╱ with your guidance, your shy and sexually reserved boyfriend makes love to you for the very first time. 𝟑/𝟑 ♡ 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒆 ✴︎ 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒘𝒐
notes ₊˚✧ﾟ. 𝟏𝟖+ { no need to read the series in order! } very soft n fluffy smut. established relationship of 4 months. religious guilt. mention of michael’s sex-related trauma. avoidant!reader. quite graphic description of a rape memory & instances of past sexual coercion. one slight mention of vomit within that ;; { trigger warning is clearly signposted , and is only prior to the smut }. sub!michael. slow n sensual foreplay in a romantic bubble bath. light dirty talk. oil massage. fingering. mutual masturbation. squirting. oral f&m!receiving. premature ejaculation. size kink. experienced!reader. virgin!michael. he’s so shy and nervous! reader talks him through it. but he’s very vocal , naturally talented with his words. . . and his hips of course! } protected penetrative sex. reader is on the pill. 3 m!orgasms. 2 f!orgasms. creampie. emotional sex (!!). like really fucking emotional. . . they both cry. gentle aftercare. nicknames for each other ; tinker bell, bambi, mickey n minnie. yes , u read that word count correctly. . . this is the longest thing ever oh my god. & only proofread once so i hope it’s ok :$ !! im self-conscious af >,<
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.
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.
"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.
"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.
I feel like there was many things that were inevitable for ❤️, especially in regard to her mental health (for obvious reasons). But for physical injuries they usually are accidents, preventable and happen so sudden that you can't push past the pain, for example you mentioned that she was suppressing the trauma for so long that she most likely would abuse substances in the 90s, (pretty realistic for the time.. and even more realistic that despite the love between her and Michael, it heavily affected their marriage. ) she was able to go so long in mental pain because she could hide it, but something I've personally learned is that despite trying to heal some of my trauma, it's incredibly difficult to "fix it" when you're still living through it and know that you will have to a very long time. But unfortunately as a human and entertainer that has always had the need to feel perfect, you are going to get physical hurt pushing yourself or by complete accident. ❤️ would not be able to endure the mental and physical pain together when she isn't allowed to take a break. So I think that she probably would get seriously hurt during a rehearsal for an upcoming very important and anticipated performance, she was under a lot of pressure , overworking herself, she's not sleeping enough or eating enough she has no energy to properly function so her movements are not as precise, she was on some sort of staircase that did not have proper safety railings and she lost her balance causing her to fall, I'm thinking like a 10 feet fall. It was a devastating tragedy that took her like 18 months to fully recover from, when this happened, she could not ignore it and all the work that was planned had to be cancelled, and she was put into the worst catastrophizing episode imaginable, due to her being insanely physical hurt, any mental happiness gone, the world hating her just because of her not being "good enough", and if she's going through all this plus whatever her husband has going on in his life , it would cause a massive strain on the relationship. she felt too much and needed to numb herself from everything because she's never been able to be control of any of the negativity, but if blacking out high and stuff was her way of controlling it then that's what she would do. she didn't care anymore, just an insanely massive idea I really wanted to share cuz the issues would have to build up in the mid to late 80s and while i love fluff and smut a lot but i think ❤️'s pain heavily effects Michael's complexity in this story and is very important, this was so so sos sosos long I AM SO SORRY , I just love this story so much!!!!!💖💖
hii im sorry for not responding earlier! i agree with everything! their story would definitely consist of so much of this angst. i really love that we’re all sharing ideas in my inbox and creating a narrative together ♡
2,000 followers!!! oh my (՞ . .՞)ꔫ ࣪ ˖♡ i’m in disbelief. thank u guys so, so much for being here! i appreciate every single one of u and every kind word 🧁
tgs ◞ established relationship hurt/comfort fluff & angst insomnia/exhaustion late night conversations emotional intimacy cuddling short & sweet real ones know this is a old one, just better! ╱ exhausted by long studio nights, insomnia, and the pressure of the spotlight, michael comes home to the person who makes the world feel quiet again.
michael had struggled with sleep for as long as he could remember.
ever since he was a child, michael had grappled with irregular sleep patterns. now, with relentless rehearsals and long nights spent towards creating his newest upcoming album, they had became harder to escape. even at five years old, michael had been forced to work deep into the night, sacrificing the restorative sleeping hours a child needed to grow, turning his body into an instrument that never truly shut down. in interviews and press junkets, he'd always been the one to emphasize the importance of sleep to his younger fans, preaching about health and the creative fuel of a well-rested mind, but the irony was a bitter pill. it never reflected his own life. peace was a language he struggled to speak. and true, calm rest remained perpetually out of reach.
when he did manage to drift off, it was usually in the gray, hollow hours of the early morning. the crushing weight of stress, the relentless media pressure, and the suffocating grip of his own perfectionism meant his mind was a wildfire that didn't know how to die down. he would lose himself in his own music for hours, chasing a sound only he could hear, leading to a cycle of overworking that left him shivering with exhaustion. he'd often say, with a humble tremor in his voice, that he couldn't sleep because he was afraid god would give his ideas to someone else if he wasn't awake to catch them, that someone else would take the inspiration and turn it into something greater.
but now, as he slowly pushed open the door to your shared bedroom, he finally started to believe the long, agonizing days were worth the toil. having you in his life, waiting for him, changed the gravity of his world. at the end of every exhausting night, there was a finish line, and that finish line was you.
he stepped into the room, his hair still damp from the shower, dark curls clinging to his neck. he was bone-deep exhausted, his steps heavy and dragging, as if he were fighting through thick water. his brain felt like it was flickering, on the verge of a total, desperate shutdown. the only reason he'd come home at such an "early" hour was because quincy had effectively cornered him, watching with growing concern as michael started nodding off right in the middle of a recording session, his head dipping toward the microphone.
michael watched the way your form was settled under the covers, your cheek pressing soft against the pillow, the blanket pulled up just enough to frame your face. he felt his shoulders drop, the tension of the day finally beginning to seep out of his bones. he moved with practiced, reverent care, sitting on the edge of the mattress and tucking the edge of the blanket neatly under your chin so he could get a better look at you. he brought his knuckles up, tracing the curve of your cheek with a feather-light touch, his thumb lingering over the bridge of your nose. your hair created a messy, dark halo against the pillows, and your lips were parted, emitting slow, steady puffs of air that fanned warm against his skin.
he loved watching you like this. completely unburdened. in sleep, your face was free from the stress and doubt that the world tried to pile onto you. you were effortlessly beautiful, a sight that made the frantic pace of his own life feel like a distant, chaotic memory. these were the nights he lived for, the ones where he could come home to find you already bathed in the scent of home. he wanted nothing more than to shed his clothes, curl into the space you provided, and listen to the rhythmic, grounding cadence of your heartbeat while he buried his face in the curls of your hair.
"baby," michael whispered, his voice a gravelly, exhausted hum. his thumb brushed gently over your eyebrow, a silent invitation for you to return to him.
you were a light sleeper, and the shift in the mattress weight stirred you instantly. your eyes cracked open, squinting against the dim light, blinking until your vision finally locked onto his silhouette.
"mike?" you questioned, your voice thick and hoarse with sleep, struggling to bridge the gap between dream and reality. "what are you doing up so late?"
michael smiled down at you, the edges of his eyes crinkling with the kind of genuine warmth that only ever surfaced when he was with you. "quincy decided I should go home for the day. after a couple of sessions, I just started to doze off. he could tell I was runnin’ on empty.”
your lips turned into a soft, concerned frown, your eyebrows creasing as you reached up, your hand cupping his wrist, feeling the erratic, tired pulse beneath his skin. "you must be exhausted."
michael let out a huff of air through his nose, his eyelids fluttering as he fought his own fatigue, humming in agreement.
"yeah, I am. I was thinkin’ about you the whole time, though. missed you a lot."
you let out a sleepy, contented hum, lashes heavy as your eyes drifted shut again. your thumb traced lazy, rhythmic circles over the center of his palm, trying to soothe him even in your half-conscious state. "missed you too."
"quincy wanted to talk to me ‘bout one of my songs. we named it starlight at first, but..." he trailed off, his touch lingering, absentmindedly stroking your cheek. "I think thriller has a better ring to it."
"I like that a lot," you muttered.
“I already have an idea for what I want to call the album,” michael said, a smile creeping into his face. “I’ve been picturin’ the whole project. the artwork, even the music video. I want everything to feel connected. I’m hoping to get john landis on board to direct it.”
you forced your eyes open, "he did american werewolf in london, right?"
michael chuckled, the sound low and musical in the dim light as he nodded. "he did. he's got the vision." he leaned in closer, his movements slow and deliberate, before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. "you're so smart."
he didn't pull away immediately, instead, he lingered, planting a gentle, worshipful kiss at the corner of your mouth, then brushing his lips against your cheek. "so beautiful," he whispered, his voice catching slightly, raw with adoration he felt in his chest, looking at you as if you were the center of his world, (you are) his exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the sheer comfort of being near you.
"y'tired baby?" michael questioned, his voice a soft murmur. your eyelids felt like bricks, a heavy weight pulling you further under. you offered a small, drowsy nod, too languid to find the words. he sensed your drift, his expression softening as he leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss right to the tip of your nose.
"my sleeping beauty.” he whispered.
and michael loved you like this, warm, sleepy, and radiating a sweet, unguarded affection. he continued pressing a constellation of soft kisses across your forehead and down the curve of your cheek and jaw, before leaning back to nuzzle his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut.
"m'tired too.” he sighed.
"come to bed, michael.” you whispered, shifting back to peel the covers open for him. michael didn't waste a second, he moved into the empty space, the mattress dipping under his weight as he carefully lifted the blanket, waiting until he was settled and secure before letting it drape over you both. once he was comfortable, he reached out, his fingers brushing your curls away from your face, eyes twinkling with admiration.
he then pulled you in, arms wrapping around your shoulders to draw you flush against his frame. your arms instinctively snaked around his back, and he let out a long, shuddering sigh of pure relief. It was like everything he had went through came down to this exact moment. the closeness, the softness of you against him, the way he could finally hear the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, your skin was a balm, your scent a sanctuary that quieted the static in his mind. he moved to press kisses into your hair, scooting closer until your legs were tangled with his.
"m' sorry I couldn't come home earlier," he whispered into your hair.
"it's okay." you breathed, your hand tracing soothing, circular patterns against the small of his back. you tilted your head back, looking up at him with a lazy, affectionate smile, and leaned up to press a gentle kiss to his jawline.
"I promise i'll make it up to you.” he murmured, his voice now soft, thick, and slurred with the onset of sleep.
"you already have, michael."
michael felt the fatigue he’d been fighting all day finally catch up to him. the familiar scent of your shampoo and skin, clean, and comforting, surrounded him. the steady beat of your heart paired with the slow, absentminded circles you traced along his back quietly lulled him further toward sleep. his eyelids fluttered once, then twice, before falling shut completely. his frame gradually softening in your embrace, no longer tense from long hours, expectations, or endless thoughts. he became wonderfully heavy against you, his breathing already settling into a slow, peaceful rhythm as sleep finally welcomed him with the kind of gentleness he’d been searching for.
intro ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ( 23k ) childhoodbsf!popstar!reader 𝑥 pre-otw!michael 𝓳ackson ╱ with your guidance, your shy and sexually reserved boyfriend makes love to you for the very first time. 𝟑/𝟑 ♡ 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒆 ✴︎ 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒘𝒐
notes ₊˚✧ﾟ. 𝟏𝟖+ { no need to read the series in order! } very soft n fluffy smut. established relationship of 4 months. religious guilt. mention of michael’s sex-related trauma. avoidant!reader. quite graphic description of a rape memory & instances of past sexual coercion. one slight mention of vomit within that ;; { trigger warning is clearly signposted , and is only prior to the smut }. sub!michael. slow n sensual foreplay in a romantic bubble bath. light dirty talk. oil massage. fingering. handjob. mutual masturbation. squirting. oral f&m!receiving. premature ejaculation. size kink. experienced!reader. virgin!michael. he’s so shy and nervous! reader talks him through it. but he’s very vocal , naturally talented with his words. . . and his hips of course! } protected penetrative sex. reader is on the pill. 3 m!orgasms. 2 f!orgasms. creampie. emotional sex (!!). like really fucking emotional. . . they both cry. gentle aftercare. nicknames for each other ; tinker bell, bambi, mickey n minnie. yes , u read that word count correctly. . . this is the longest thing ever oh my god. & only proofread once so i hope it’s ok :$ !! im self-conscious af >,<
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.
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.
"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.
"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.
like rn baby !! ♡ i didn’t finish proofreading in time to post yesterday n i’ve been busy today so far. then for the last hour i’ve lowkey been stressing about the quality bc i get self-conscious about smut even though i write so much of it on here >,< this fic is very long with a crazy amount of smut so i really pushed myself out of my comfort zone! i had fun writing it but reading it back to proofread was scary af omg
( ˶°ㅁ°) !! 0.8k, fluffy nsfw ) boob obsessed (bad era)!michael jackson x fem afab reader: your boyfriend loves fondling your boobs, especially while making love to you <3
cws: nsfw, mentions of a previous orgasm & rougher/angry (not angry with you but generally tense) sex prior, very soft dom!michael, boob sucking/play
all the stress he'd been carrying slowly melts away as he tucks himself deep inside of you, feeling your walls accept him without hesitation. with you and in you, he's always belonged; here, he doesn't have to worry about what others think, about the perfect note or how he missed a step during dance practice. here, all he has to focus on is you and the familiar sensation of your warmth...
it was only a few minutes ago that he was pounding into you like a dog in heat, frustration bleeding into his every action as he held your hips tight and fucked you senseless. now, one quick, hot orgasm later, he's far more gentle, moving carefully to ensure you feel loved and not used. with each tender thrust, the bed rocks like a small boat on a gentle but active sea. as passengers aboard that boat, you and michael rock with it, urging his dick ever so slightly deeper inside of you as a result. the slower pace is more sensual, allowing you to pick up on things you couldn't notice before: the wet. slapping sound that occurs whenever his hips meet yours, the light drag of his length against your walls as he pulls out, the way his curls hang like a black veil around his head, and how his eyes are staring reverently at your chest, just to name a few. a flash of pink darts out between his lips before he slides his hands up from your waist, letting his palms settle along their favorite spot, your breasts.
"mmm." you allow a soft, casual moan to leave your lips as michael begins to fondle your boobs, his large hands handling the softness of them as though they were made for this and this alone. his thumbs circle your nipples repeatedly as he continues on thrusting, toying with them until they grow stiff. "michael..."
his reply is immediate. "shh... it's okay. i know it feels good, baby." he leans himself forward, one hand moving aside so his mouth could replace it. "my sweet, beautiful baby," he murmurs against your tit, letting his teeth lightly grace your hardened nipple before he sucks down. michael can't help but enjoy how your back arches as he laps like a dog against the skin of your breast, flicking his tongue repeatedly as if to drink you down.
the work of his mouth, combined with his slow, lazy hip movements, causes your toes to curl, your pussy clenching and unclenching needily. "god, michael..."
"i love you too, mama," he coos, lifting his head just enough for you to see the small smile on his face. then, he delves back down towards your boobs. michael makes a purposefully loud and wet slurp-like noise as his tongue runs along your nipple once more, purring, "s'good. you always make everything better, don't you, baby? you're just so caring and attentive. so kind, letting me taste you, letting me love you. my angel."
though the pace is slow and drawn out, your second orgasm builds rather quickly, heat pooling again the more he sucks against your chest. your back lifts off the bed, arching your chest further into his mouth as you groan, "i'm close, baby."
"that's alright," he reassures you, shifting only to switch and begin licking your other breast, spreading his saliva all over your nipple. michael grins when he feels you finally let go, your moaning filling the air more beautifully than any of his songs. "there we go..." like the gentleman he is, he waits until you're not so sensitive to pull out, stroking his cock fervently as he presses a kiss down near your belly button. ropes of cum eventually spurt out of him, covering your thighs and mixing with your own cum as it dribbles out of your quivering hole.
feeling much better (and feeling properly spent), michael lets out a sigh of content, resting for a couple minutes before moving to clean you up. all you can do is watch from the bed as he slips into the bathroom to grab a towel.
you're still catching your breath as he comes out. even so, you sit up, reaching out for the towel, "i can clean myself, baby." across the room, his eyes narrow a bit at the idea, the pointed look effective in quieting you back down.
"don't be silly," michael says in reply, wiping your legs lightly before urging you to lay back down with one firm hand along your shoulder. the towel's set aside once he's done, left to sit as he crawls into bed beside you. slowly, he buries himself against your back, clinging onto you; his hands find your boobs again, of course, but it's no longer sexual. instead, it's something instinctive and unconscious, his palms gentle along them while he whispers, "i love you."
looking for more?
this is technically another boob obsessed mj piece but really i just wanted to write fluffy sex. he's so sweet and darling, here, just using slow thrusts and his eager mouth to bring you to your peak for a second time. also, sorry for posting so late yesterday! omg i was at work when i realized i hadn't posted, i have to start using the scheduled post feature LOL.
the sweet life,
starring cookie jackson. a reality show au about latoya’s daugther.
latoya’s daughter!reader who was nicknamed cookie after accidentally ordering three entire units of girl scout cookies from a neighborhood kid instead of three boxes when she was little. the story became family legend, and the nickname stuck so well that even the media refers to her as cookie jackson. nobody outside the family has any idea what her real first name is.
latoya’s daughter!reader who's an ivf baby and has made "i'm the prettiest jackson" part of her personality. it's become such a running joke that fans comment it under every new selfie, while the rest of the family rolls their eyes and threatens to humble her. cookie, of course, has yet to be humbled.
latoya’s daughter!reader who was one of the breakout stars of basketball wives while dating michael porter jr. the relationship ended, the show ended, but the viewers loved her enough that vh1 handed her a reality show of her own called the sweet life.
latoya’s daughter!reader who's a celebrity hairstylist turned beauty entrepreneur with her own curly hair care line, sweet roots. built her career around teaching people how to love & care for their natural texture and somehow became one of the internet's favorite curl gurus in the process.
latoya’s daughter!reader whose most popular instagram series is just her doing la toya's hair while the two of them gossip for forty-five minutes straight. the comments are half people asking for curl tips and half people saying they wish they could join the conversation.
latoya’s daughter!reader who has "yvonne" tattooed beneath her left collarbone in honor of her mom's middle name. rarely talks about it because she tears up every time someone asks.
latoya’s daughter!reader whose boy komondor, kimora, is treated like everyone's favorite granddog. he has a better grooming routine than most people, custom collars, birthday parties, and enough screen time on the sweet life that fans joke he's the real star.
latoya’s daughter!reader who's chronically late because she genuinely believes she can get ready in "five more minutes." between fixing her hair, replying to a comment, talking to kimora, and suddenly deciding she needs a snack, she's somehow always ten minutes behind schedule.
latoya’s daughter!reader who's painfully, unapologetically chronically online. she'll disappear for hours liking edits of herself, commenting on fan posts, and posting the most random tiktoks at two in the morning. she even admitted she temporarily ran one of her own fan pages because she thought interacting with everyone was fun.
latoya’s daughter!reader who's the type to keep every birthday card, concert ticket, handwritten note, and polaroid she's ever been given. she has boxes full of little memories because she swears the smallest things end up meaning the most years later.
latoya’s daughter!reader who somehow managed to become famous in her own right before people even realized she was a jackson. plenty of people followed her for the hair content first and only later found out she was related to the jacksons.
latoya’s daughter!reader whose real first name has become one of pop culture's longest-running mysteries. every interviewer asks, every family member gives a different answer, and cookie just laughs, changes the subject, or says, "maybe one day." fans have long accepted that she'll always just be cookie.
latoya’s daughter!reader who turns every major milestone into a memory with her mom. every product launch, follower milestone, magazine cover, or business deal is celebrated with la toya first, whether that's over dinner, a shopping trip, or wash day while doing her hair. she says no accomplishment feels real until she's heard her mom say, "i'm proud of you."
i have had this in my drafts for weeks and i hope you guys like the concept! if you want to be added to the taglist, just comment! love, nyle.
and what if i told u guys that in just a few hours ur getting a 20,000 word fic... i said i wanted it to be my magnum opus and it's taken me like 3 weeks to complete so i'm very excited to finally post it ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ it's essentially 15,000 words of pure romantic, passionate smut . yay!
♡ fade into you ╱ his first time ; coming very soon. . .
and what if i also said i now have to postpone the upload because i definitely had no way of anticipating how long it would take me to proofread a 20k+ word fic !!!! i just want to post this thing ugh ^_^
