˙⋆✮ SUMMARY: you get a little distracted by michael’s hands while you do laundry together
˙⋆✮ CONTENT: 18+, smut! established relationship, porn with 0 plot i mean c’mon what did you expect from me, hand kink, fingering, michael is a bit of a pleasure dom, dirty talk, michael lowkey being a freak idc, size kink if you squint harder than you’ve ever squinted before, overstimulation, squirting ???
˙⋆✮ AUTHOR’S NOTE: oops sorry this is nothing but nasty i really don’t know what came over me… oh wait it was this! definitely not my best work lmao just quick and horny, but sometimes a girls gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
Michael always liked spending time at your place. In fact, he preferred it, relishing in the mundane tasks he got to participate in: cooking together, doing the dishes, helping you with laundry— all of it tethering him to the real world.
When he was away on tour he would dream about moments like this: back in your bedroom, lying lazily across your bed, matching socks while you folded towels. It was so simple. So normal. So domestic.
“I’ve missed you.” Your voice was soft, echoing gently against the quiet of your bedroom as you reached into the laundry basket perched on your duvet. You pulled out another towel, folding it neatly with a slight frown pulling at your lips.
You knew all too well how limited your time was together.
This was only a short break in his schedule. Next week he’d be halfway around the world on another leg of tour.
“Hey, stop that.”
He threw a rolled up pair of socks in your direction before starting on a new one. His long, dainty fingers digging through the laundry basket, moving fabric around until he found another set to roll together.
“I’ll be back before you know it.” He peered up at you with the sweetest smile playing on his lips, his hands still busy with the laundry.
You didn’t even realize you’d stopped folding the towel in your grasp— too busy staring at Michael’s fingers moving so delicately, the veins running through the tops of his hands growing more prominent with every fold.
You’d barely seen him in the last three months and now he was laid out on your bed— his hands taunting and teasing you over a pair of socks.
“You alright sweet girl?”
His words snapped against your ears like a rubber band, instantly bringing you out of your trance. You met his grin with a sheepish smile of your own as you thought about all the times you’d heard that nickname over the phone while he was away.
“how was your day sweet girl?”
“been thinkin’ bout you all day sweet girl.”
“I want you to touch yourself like I would. C’mon sweet girl let me hear ya.”
The last one was particularly memorable; the way his whisper rasped through your phone— all heavy and desperate.
It was a strange new form of intimacy for both of you— phone sex.
You’d tried so hard to use your fingers the same way he would. Straining to reach that spot he always could and panting into the phone while he whispered sweet nothings from the other end.
It was never the same. Each call ended with you more needy for his touch, dreaming about moments like this when he would be back home— in your bed.
“Just missed you that’s all.” You smiled down at him, hands still frozen, clinging to the cloth in your grasp.
“Missed me so bad you forgot how to do laundry?” Michael’s voice rang out in a gentle laugh, his hands reaching for the towel, taking it form you and finishing the job, stacking it alongside the others on your bed. All the while you couldn’t stop staring at his fingers.
“I missed your hands.” The confession slipped form you as you watched his touch brush over the soft cotton towels, wishing it was on your body instead.
“My hands?” The question giggled up from his chest as he looked down at his open palms.
You had to keep yourself from gliding your tongue across your lips as you watched him stretch and wiggle his fingers. He looked up to see the way your lids had gotten heavier— your stare locked in on his movements.
“What’d you miss about my hands?” The amusement fell away from his voice, his words now laced with a much lower hum of desire.
You reached out, holding them in your own, gliding your fingers over his knuckles.
“Everything.” You purred, rubbing gentle patterns into his palms.
“They’re just so pretty, and big.”
You line up your palms with his, noting how his fingers stretched far past yours.
“You’ve got pretty hands too baby.” His compliment was paired with a love-drunk smile— his pupils blown from the seductive tone of your voice.
“Mmm but yours always feel so good.” You trace each of his fingers, “Your fingers always fill me up so nice.”
Flustered but still smiling, he bit at his bottom lip, breaking eye contact to watch the way your hands pressed together.
“I can’t do it like you can. I try, but it’s just not the same.” There’s a performative pout on your lips and Michael’s having a hard time sitting still at the mention of you all frustrated and fucked-out with your fingers between your legs.
“Want me to show you baby?” His gaze meets yours again, the question is soft, dripping with genuine concern and chased with impatient desire.
You nod your head, teeth sharp against your bottom lip, biting down as you watch him shift his weight on your mattress. He sits at the edge of the bed, pulling your body closer until you’re standing between his legs.
His hands run up your body, resting heavy on your hips, toying with the waistband of your pajama shorts, “these need to come off.”
You don’t say a word. Working your shorts down your legs and letting the material pool at your feet.
“That’s good.” His praise melts into your body as his lips meet your skin. He places a kiss just above his thumb pressing against your hipbone.
“Missed you so much baby.” He’s cooing against your skin, breath hot and heavy at the waistband of your panties.
“My pretty girl.” His compliment is muffled as he brings a hand between your legs, running a single finger over the damp spot seeping through the cotton at your core.
“My sweet girl.” He hums against your hip, pushing your panties aside just enough to tease a finger at your entrance.
You’re already soaked. His breath huffs against your skin as he chuckles to himself, teasing his pointer finger at the pool of arousal threatening to drip down your thigh.
He pushes a single digit into you at a painfully slow pace, smiling against your skin at the little gasp you let out as it sinks into you.
“Mikey…” your hum of approval bleeds into the room and you have to grip his shoulders in an effort not to fall over when he slips another finger along with the first.
“This how you want it babygirl?” His words are sloppy against your skin, his teeth just barely nipping at your hipbone.
You nod, ready to reply but your words get stuck in your throat when he curls his fingers at just the right angle. Your mouth falls open wide enough for a strangled moan to escape.
He laughs.
His smug little giggle warm on your skin as his forehead rests against your bare stomach peeking through the raised hem of your T-shirt. The tickle of his curls only adding to the sensation building in your belly.
He hits the same spot again and again. His fingers fucking into you with precision— each movement carefully dedicated to your release. He was hungry for it, starving to feel your thighs clench and your body shake, and if he was lucky he’d get to hear his name on your lips— a melodic chant of sweet victory.
Profanities tumble out of your mouth as you squeeze his shoulders, gripping tighter with each twist of pleasure rippling through your abdomen.
“Fuck- that feels s’good” you’re mumbling into the air, voice floating somewhere between a whisper and a groan.
He hums against your skin in response. His curls still brushing back and forth along your stomach as his lips kiss along the waistband of your underwear.
You were already teetering on the edge of release, seconds away from unraveling at the mercy of his fingers, when he pushes his thumb against your clit, rubbing soft little circles and making your jaw go slack.
“Mike…” His name almost sounds like a warning as it fills the room. Your hands clutching at his shoulders as you struggle to stay still.
He’s in awe of the way his hand completely covers your pussy— his fingers curling into you and his thumb stroking your clit in tandem to push you over the edge. God he needs to hear you whine his name while you make a mess on his palm.
And you must be some kind of mind reader with the way you’re moaning his name over and over— the sweetest symphony he’s ever heard.
Your body is tense, fingers digging into his shirt as you grow more unsteady with every wave of pleasure washing through your body.
He’s kissing and sucking at your hip, his hand not letting up between your thighs despite the heaving of your chest and your legs wobbling beneath you.
Little gasps stutter past your lips as you come undone, pulsing and clenching around his fingers. You pull at his shirt in your hands, riding the wave of your high, and waiting for his movements to match the tempo of your descent.
But he keeps going— harder, deeper, faster— and all you can do is carefully dig your hands in his hair, tugging in the mess of curls at the nape of his neck.
Your composure is fleeting with every brush of his fingers against the sensitive ridges of your walls squeezing around him.
“Such a sweet girl.” His voice mumbled into your skin, teeth scraping against your body.
“Michael. I can’t.” You were panting— breathless— barely able to form a full sentence, his touch rendering you speechless.
“You can.” His eyes found yours between the slow blinks of his lashes— his gaze laced with devotion and dominance.
It wasn’t encouragement, it was a command.
His lips moved lower, licking and biting at the skin of your upper thigh, his face dangerously close to where his hand met your body— fingers still fucking into you obsessively.
The sensation building in your belly was overwhelming, pooling together and threatening to burst with each swipe of his fingers.
His thumb worked faster at your clit, as he moaned hushed praises into your skin— coaxing you into another orgasm.
You gave in— body melting into the bliss of his touch, pussy gripping and clenching and gushing around his unrelenting fingers. Your arousal coating his hand, dripping and leaking, making a mess down your thighs.
A guttural groan vibrated into your skin. Michael’s head was still buried against your leg, his lips moving lazily toward the soaked material of your panties— pushed aside and barely clinging to your body.
His hand fell from between your legs, and a whine bubbled up your throat at the loss of contact, suddenly feeling so empty without his touch on you— in you.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, pulling the ruined material down your legs.
You were in a state of pure euphoria, hands still gently holding onto his hair, and little hums of satisfaction trembling from your chest. But you were quickly pulled back to earth when Michael’s tongue made contact with your center, lapping at your core and sending your fingers clutching at his curls.
“Mike…” your head snapped down, your eyes meeting his in a caution fueled daze.
“Uh uh I’m not done yet.” His words were polite, almost delighted, as he murmured against your bare cunt.
He reached over, grabbing the laundry basket nestled in your bed sheets, tossing it onto the floor. With one abrupt maneuver of your hips, he had your back on the mattress. He was quick to find his way back between your thighs, determined to spend the rest of his day in your bed.
Summary: You are the daughter of a big shot producer close to Michael's album development team, at Epic. Your dad gives you michael's number after you beg him... and he actually decides to humour you and have a conversation
Tags: 18+, smut, Phone sex, sub!michael (sort of), thriller era, he is a bit older and probs yearns to be a bit more frisky, all those hormones, Michael comes out of his shell a bit, he has a filthy little voice, one he didn't even know about til now, but boy does he WHIMPER, silk pyjamas, but Michael still being Michael and talking about disney parks cuz hes a total NERD
Word Count: 4346
Author’s Note: just saw the movie again for the 7th time in imax today. i think i could play a part in it tbh. ALSO PLS LETS TALK ABOUT THE MIDDLE PHOTO ABOVE OF MICHAEL WITH HIS PANTS UNZIPPED PLS AND THANKS. feral. and its what inspired this.
you can read part 2 of Dial tone here
If you'd like more, send me an ask ;)
The phone rang at an odd hour, the shrill sound cutting through the quiet of his bedroom. Michael picked up the receiver, his voice soft and uncertain. "Hello?"
"Hi... is this Michael?" Your voice came through the line, slightly breathless, like you'd been working up the courage to make this call for hours.
He blinked, sitting up straighter against the headboard. "Yes. Who is this?"
"Hi Yes, well, I'm sorry, I know this is strange. My name is Y/N. My father—he's a producer at Epic—he gave me your number. I promise I'm not some fan who broke into his office or anything." You let out a nervous little laugh, and something about it made the corner of his mouth twitch upward.
"Oh.. Well hi. And yes, I know your father quite well. He’s a great man." His tone was cautious but curious, not angry, his voice airy and highly pitched. Even more so than you had heard before in interviews.
"I know, he’s great, and he’s crazy about working with you," you admitted. "I just—I told him I felt like I needed to talk to you. He probably thought I was crazy. Maybe I am. But yeah. You know my dad, so don’t worry about me being a stranger, I guess."
There was a pause like he was mulling over putting the phone down, and then Michael asked, "Why… did you need to talk to me?"
You swallowed. "Because I saw that interview you did last month. The one where you talked about growing up in the industry and how it felt like you never got to just... be a kid… or a young adult. I feel the same, my dad moved us around a lot for his job, so i never got the childhood i deserved."
Silence on his end. Not quite the uncomfortable kind—the kind that said you'd struck something true in his heart. You had heard he had quite an old fashioned soul, really spoke from deep within.
"I've never had anyone say that to me so plainly before," he finally said, his voice even quieter than before. "Not someone who actually understood what I was talking about when I said i missed out on my childhood. Its odd to hear someone agreeing, actually."
"Then I'm glad I called." You smiled, curling the phone wire giddily in your hand.
The conversation flowed like water finding its natural course. You talked about childhoods that weren't really childhoods—yours spent hovering at the edges of your father's world, his spent at the center of a spotlight so bright it cast shadows everywhere else.
You discovered you both loved old Cary Grant films, that neither of you could sleep before midnight, that loneliness felt like a second skin, a skin, you both needlessly tried to shed but couldn’t.
"You know what I think?" you said, curled up on your bed with the phone pressed to your ear.
"I think the universe put us in each other's path. Too many coincidences for it to be random."
Michael laughed—his real laugh, breathy and bright, and you’d never heard it before. "You believe in fate?"
"Don't you?"
A pause. "I think I'm starting to. If I have my producer's cute daughter calling me this late. I’ve seen your pictures..." He said. “Your dad is proud of you, Miss training-to-be-a-nurse”
Your chest warmed at that. It was strange to think your father had sat across from this person — this boy who'd just spent twenty minutes debating the correct order to experience Fantasyland — and watched him become someone else entirely in a recording studio. A beast, your dad had called him. The kind who walked into a room and knew immediately when the string quartet had played their last note, who could hear a synth line once and tell you exactly why it was wrong. Someone who agitated his own vocal until it sat right, not because he was told to but because he simply knew.
You'd turned that over in your head for weeks after your father told you. The contradiction of it. Because nothing about Michael Jackson suggested beast. Everything suggested careful, considered, a little fragile around the edges; and tonight had confirmed it.
He'd been so clipped at first, his answers arriving in small careful portions like he was rationing himself. You'd talked about The Shining, which he'd been watching alone in the big quiet house while his family were out, and somewhere in that conversation something had loosened.
Then Disneyland, and he'd come fully alive, telling you about a replica Walt Disney World train set he kept, his voice losing every last trace of caution as he described it. He'd sounded like a kid. Like someone who'd never had to perform for a train set.
That was the contradiction your father hadn't mentioned. That the beast in the studio and the boy on the phone were the same person, separated by something you couldn't quite name.
By now his guard had come all the way down. You could hear it, the way he'd settled deeper into his pillows, the quiet rustle of silk against sheets, his voice sitting lower and easier than it had two hours ago.
"What are you doing right now?" you asked.
"Lying in bed. You?"
"Same." You smiled to yourself. "What are you wearing?"
A surprised little huff. "My pajamas. Why?"
"Hmm. What do they look like?"
"They're... blue. Silk."
"Sounds nice." You let your voice drop, just slightly—enough to shift the air between you. "I bet you look nice in them."
Michael's breath caught audibly. "That's—you don't have to—"
"I want to. Can I tell you something?"
"Yes. You may."
"I've been thinking about what you might look like up close and in person. What your hands might look like. The way your voice sounds right now, how low it's gotten."
You rolled onto your back, staring at your ceiling. "Is that okay that I am thinking along those lines?"
The silence stretched. Then, so quietly you almost missed it: "Yes." he almost whispered.
Your pulse kicked. "Good. Can you do something for me, Michael?"
"Maybe."
"Make yourself feel good, in this moment"
You heard the sharp intake of breath. "I—I don't—"
“You’ve never touched yourself?” you asked, shocked and incredulous. You found it hard to believe someone so sensual on stage and in recording had never been intimate with himself.
“No, I absolutely have, a lot - I mean, I can’t find a girlfriend the normal way so its hard.” He said back, almost stuttering over his words nervously.
“Well, I am a girl and I want to make you feel good. Even if it is over the phone. I feel compelled to” you said, a blush starting to form on your face.
Michael never replied, but you could hear his breathing quicken
"Okay, move your hand for me. Just put it on your chest. Over your heart. Can you feel how fast it's beating?"
A rustle of fabric, then a soft exhale. "Yes."
"That's because of me. Because I'm talking to you in this way. Which I doubt any other woman has yet?." You let your own hand drift down, fingertips tracing your collarbone.
"Does it feel good? Having someone tell you what to do in a sexual way?"
Another long pause, but this one was weighted differently. He was thinking, not retreating. "I... no one's ever asked me that before or spoke to me so plainly"
"Ask yourself. Right now. Does it?"
His answer came out barely above a whisper: "Yes."
"Okay. I want you to slide your hand down. Slowly. Over your stomach."
Fabric rustled. His breathing changed, became shallower. You could picture him—long, beautiful fingers tracing his own skin, that honey skin tone and his beautiful face flushed in the dim light of his bedroom.
"Are you doing it?"
"I am." The word was almost a sigh.
"Keep going. Until you're touching yourself over your pajamas. Don't go underneath yet."
A strangled sound escaped him—half protest, half something else entirely. You heard him shift, the creak of his mattress, then the distinct rhythm of his breath turning ragged.
"There you go," you murmured. "Feel that? That's for me. You’re doing this for me."
"Y/N—" His voice cracked on the syllables. "This is—I shouldn't—"
"You can stop whenever you want. But you don't want to stop, do you?"
Quiet. A shaky exhale. "No."
"Tell me."
"I don't want to stop."
The admission hung between you, electric and trembling. You slid your own hand lower, fingers dipping beneath your waistband, finding the heat that had been building for the past hour.
"I want you to go under now," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "Take yourself in your hand. Don't stroke yet—just hold. Feel how hard you are for me”
The whimper he let out sent a jolt straight through you. You heard him obey—the subtle sound of silk being pushed aside, his breath hitching as he wrapped his fingers around himself.
"Good," you breathed. "Now I want you to stroke. Slowly. Just the way you like when you're alone in bed, when no one can hear you."
He groaned, and the sound was exquisite—raw and unguarded, nothing like the polished performer the world knew. This was him, stripped bare. "Ahh—"
"Does it feel good?"
"Yes— It feels more dirty doing it with someone on the line" His hand started moving faster, and you could hear it now—the slick, rhythmic sound of him pleasuring himself, punctuated by those desperate little gasps he couldn't seem to control.
"Slower," you commanded. "I didn't say you could go fast."
A frustrated noise, but he obeyed. You could picture his hand moving in long, deliberate strokes—him biting his lip to keep from crying out.
"Y/N, please—" The word was ragged, almost pleading.
"Please what?"
"Tell me—tell me what you're doing. I want to imagine it.”
Your fingers moved inside yourself, your slick warmth clenching around your slim fingers, and your voice came out shakier than you intended.
"I'm touching myself too. Thinking about your hands on me instead of my own."
"Gods—" The profanity startled you both, spilling from his lips like he couldn't hold it back.
"Are you—inside?"
"Mmhm. Two fingers. Wishing it was you, filling me up"
The sound he made was somewhere between a moan and a whine, his restraint crumbling audibly. "Want to feel you—want to be inside you so badly— I’d fill you up"
"Then earn it. Keep stroking. Faster now." you said, your hands moving faster on your heat. “And don’t be quiet, Michael. I want to hear that voice of yours.”
His rhythm picked up immediately, desperate and uneven. You could hear the wet sound of his fist sliding over himself, the slap of it, his breath coming in sharp bursts. "Hahh—ngh—I'm—gonna come on myself if you keep talking to me like that. So- so dirty and honest"
"Not yet," you whined, even though your own body was trembling on the edge.
"Y-you don't come until I say so, Michael."
A full-body shudder seemed to pass through him, audible even over the phone. "Ugh, Please, I can't—you're making me—"
"You can. You will." You pressed deeper, your thumb finding that spot that made your vision white out. "Tell me how badly you want it."
"I want to be inside you so deep—want to hear you say my name when you come—I- god, I—want to fill you up and watch you fall apart for me—" The words tumbled out like he'd been holding them behind a dam, dirty and raw and so at odds with the shy man who'd answered the phone two hours ago.
Your back arched, your fingers working furiously. "Michael—oh—"
"That's it, say my name—let me hear you—"
"Michael—oh—" The orgasm ripped through you without warning, your walls clenching hard around your fingers, your thighs snapping shut as you rode out the waves. You couldn't hold back the moan that spilled from your lips—guttural and uncontrolled and so, so loud in the quiet of your bedroom.
You heard him make a sound like he'd been punched—broken and desperate. "Oh god—d-did you just—did you come? Did you actually just—"
"Mmhm," you managed, still trembling, your voice wrecked. "So hard, Michael. Came so hard for you."
"Oh f-fuck—" The word came out stuttered, reverent, like he'd never said it before in this context and wasn't sure he was allowed. "I've never—no one's ever—that was the most intense thing I've ever heard in my entire life, I—"
He was still stroking, you could hear it—the slick, obscene sound of his fist working his shaft, faster now, more urgent. His breathing had gone completely ragged, punctuated by these tiny whimpering moans he seemed to be trying to swallow.
"Don't stop," you breathed, coming down slowly, your body still pulsing with aftershocks. "Keep touching yourself. I want to hear you finish."
"I've never had anyone listen to me before," he admitted, his voice thin and strained. "When I'm alone I have to be so quiet, my brothers are always in the next room and I—ngh—I always imagine someone wanting to hear me, wanting to know what I sound like when I lose control and I—"
"And what do you sound like, Michael?" You rolled onto your side, pressing the phone tight against your ear. "Let me hear the real you."
A broken gasp. His hand sped up, the wet sounds growing louder, more rhythmic.
"I sound like—hahh—like this. Like I can't breathe. Like I'm losing my mind over someone I've never even met and it's—it's driving me insane—"
"Tell me what you're thinking about. Right now. What's making you so turned on?"
"I'm thinking about—" He broke off with a whine, and you could hear him struggling, his shyness warring with the pleasure coiling tight in his belly. "I'm thinking about your fingers inside you. How wet you must be. That you are a complete stranger. That I am unraveling for.” You could hear him gasping for breath, the phone was so close to his mouth.
“I want to—I want to taste it. I want to put my mouth on you and lick you until you're screaming my name again and again—"
"Michael—"
"No one's ever let me—" His voice cracked, raw and exposed. "I've thought about it so much. Going down on a woman. Having her grab my hair and use my face and I just—oh god, I'm so close, Y/N, I'm so close—"
"Then tell me what else you'd do to me." You slipped your fingers back inside yourself, still slick and sensitive, and the sensation made you gasp.
"Tell me everything. Don't be shy anymore."
A shuddering exhale. "I want to—I want to push into you so slowly. Make you feel every inch."
He was babbling now, the words tumbling out faster than he could filter them. "I want to watch your face when I first enter you, when you feel how hard I am for you. I've never—I've never been inside anyone before and I want it to be you, I want you to be the first pussy I ever feel clenching around my cock and I—"
He stopped abruptly, and you could practically hear him blushing through the phone. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said—that word—I—"
"Don't apologize. We’re in the moment" You were grinding against your own hand now, impossibly turned on again. "Say it again."
"I want to—" He swallowed hard.
"I want to feel your pussy around me. Is that—is that okay to say? It feels so dirty when I say it out loud. Dirtier than when I think it alone in my bed. It makes me even harder, knowing you're hearing me say these words."
"Good. Keep going. What else would you do?"
"I'd—I'd flip you over." His voice dropped lower, gaining confidence even as it shook with need. "Pin you down. Take you from behind so I could watch you—watch your body move every time I thrust into you. Would you like that? Would you let me be a little rough with you?"
"Yes," you moaned. "God, yes."
"I've never been rough before. I've never even had the chance to find out what I like but I think—I think I'd like that. Holding you down. Making you take it. Feeling you get wetter and wetter every time I—every time my hips snap against your ass and I can hear the sound of our skin slapping together—"
"Fuck, Michael—"
"Am I doing this right?" he asked suddenly, his voice turning vulnerable again, that sweet uncertainty creeping back in.
"Am I—am I being sexy enough? I don't know what I'm doing, I've never talked to anyone like this and I—"
"You're perfect," you gasped. "You're so fucking perfect, don't you dare stop."
"Really?" The word came out like a prayer, awed and disbelieving.
"You really think—no one's ever told me I was—I'm always too quiet, too soft, too weird but when you say it like that I almost believe I could be—"
"You could be what? Tell me."
"Good at this." His rhythm faltered, growing erratic.
"Good at making you feel good. I've imagined it so many times, practiced in my head what I'd say if I ever had a woman who wanted me to talk to her while I touched her and ahh—hahh—now that I'm actually doing it I can't stop, the words just keep coming out and they're so filthy but it feels so right when you're listening—"
"Because you were made for this." You pressed your palm against your mound, grinding in tight circles.
"The shy boy who says the filthiest things when the lights go out."
"Oh god—oh god oh god—" His breathing had reached a pitch of desperation, each exhale a miniature moan he couldn't seem to contain.
"I'm gonna—I can't hold it anymore, please, Y/N, please let me come, I'll do anything, I'll say anything you want, just please—"
"Tell me something you've never told anyone."
"I think about—ngh—I think about someone watching me. While I touch myself. I want them to see how desperate I get, how pathetic I look when I'm chasing my release and I can't find it and I'm whimpering and begging and—I want them to see what you've done to me. I want you to see what you've done to me."
"Michael, come for me."
The sound he made, this raw, transcendent keen that seemed to tear itself from somewhere deep in his chest, would stay with you forever. You heard the rhythm of his hand stutter, then seize, then stop entirely as he let out a strangled series of moans, each one higher than the last.
"Oh—oh fuck, I'm—Y/N, I'm coming, a-all all over my stomach, it's so much, you made me come so much, I—ahhh—mmph—" It sounded like the receiver dropped for a moment
"Michael," you whispered, and you came again too, your second orgasm rolling through you softer but no less devastating than the first.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of two people trying to remember how to breathe.
His gasps were ragged and uneven, yours shaky and light, and the silence between you felt sacred somehow.
Then, so quietly you almost missed it: "That was... that was my first time. Doing that with someone."
"Really?"
"I've never trusted anyone enough to let them hear me like that." You could hear him shifting, probably reaching for something to clean himself with. "I can't believe some of the things I said. It felt good to do it though. Did I really call it my—my cock?"
You laughed, warm and genuine. "You did."
"Oh god." A soft thump, like he'd dropped his head back against the pillow. "I've never even said that word out loud before. Not in that context. I’ve heard it in porn films. And… I said I wanted to feel your—your—"
"Pussy," you supplied helpfully.
He made a noise like he was dying. "Please don't say it again. I am going to die of embarrassment when I wake up in the morning and realise how vulnerable I have been with you on the phone tonight.”
"Don't you dare be embarrassed." You rolled onto your stomach, pressing the phone against your ear like you could somehow get closer to him through it.
"Michael, that was beautiful."
"Beautiful?" You heard the skepticism in his voice, the way he couldn't quite believe you meant it. "I sounded like... I don't know. Some kind of animal."
"You sounded like someone who felt good. Someone who let himself feel good for maybe the first time." You traced idle patterns on your sheets, your body still humming. "That's not embarrassing. It's normal to want release Sometimes you just need a good excuse to get it."
He was quiet for a moment, and you could hear him moving—probably pulling his pajamas back into place, wiping his stomach with whatever he'd grabbed. The domestic reality of the aftermath, the part they never showed in movies.
"I can't believe my father's BIGGEST artist just came while thinking about me," you said, a smile in your voice. "The Epic and CBS executives would have a heart attack if they were somehow to know."
"Oh, stop." But you could hear him smiling too now, that shy little laugh escaping him. "You're going to give me a complex. I'm never going to be able to look your father in the eye again."
"He'll just think you're being your usual quiet self. Little does he know his star performer has quite the mouth on him when he wants to."
"Y/N!" The indignation in his voice was undercut entirely by the laugh he couldn't suppress. "You're terrible. You're absolutely terrible and I—"
He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had softened. "I really liked talking to you. Before the... you know. And after. I like your voice."
"I like yours." You hugged your pillow closer. "Even more now that I know what it sounds like when you fall apart."
A soft groan. "You're not going to let me live this down, are you?"
"Not ever."
You heard him shift again, settling back into his pillows, and the intimacy of the sound struck you—how domestic this was, how comfortable, for two people who had never even seen each other in person.
"When can I see you?" The question slipped out before you could second-guess it.
Michael went still. "You want to see me? After... I mean, you've heard me now. You know I'm not exactly—"
"Michael." You cut him off firmly. "I want to see you. I want to sit across from you and watch your face when you talk. I want to know if you gesture with your hands when you get excited about something. I want to see your Walt Disney World toy train set in person. I want to feel what its like to cuddle up next to you on the couch whilst we watch a scary movie. I want to see what you look like when you blush, because I have a feeling you're blushing right now."
"I am not," he lied, his voice pitching higher in that way that told you he absolutely was.
"Liar."
"Maybe a little." A pause. "I'm free this Saturday. If you wanted to—maybe we could get coffee? Or tea? I don't really drink coffee. It makes me jittery."
"Tea sounds perfect." Your heart was pounding again, but this time with anticipation, not nerves. He’d finally see you in the flesh and not just in picture, or your voice on the other end of the receiver.
"There's a little place in Studio City. Very quiet, very private. No one would bother us." You spoke up after a brief moment of silent thought.
"How do you know I don't want people to bother us?" His tone was teasing now, surprising you both. "I'm a superstar, you know. I have an image to maintain."
"Is that right? Because from what I just heard, superstar, you—"
"If you finish that sentence, I'm hanging up this phone and changing my number and telling your father you're delusional."
You laughed, bright and real and full of something that felt dangerously close to hope. "Fine, fine. I'll be good."
"I sincerely doubt that."
Saturday felt impossibly far away. You had three days to get through, three days of classes and shifts at the hospital and pretending you were a normal person when all you could think about was the boy with the honey voice who'd whispered filthy things in your ear like he'd been waiting his whole life for someone to listen.
"Y/N?" His voice pulled you back to the present.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For calling. For removing me from my mundane and lonely reality. It isn’t all its cracked up to be… being famous." He said it so earnestly, so sweetly, that your chest ached with it.
"I've never felt this comfortable with someone. Usually I'm so worried about saying the wrong thing, or being too weird, or making people feel awkward—"
"You could never make me feel awkward, Michael."
"No?" You could hear the smile in his voice, that tentative hope blooming again. "Not even when I said I wanted to—"
"Okay, goodnight, Michael!" you half yelled, feeling embarrassment gurgle in your belly once more. You didn’t want to rehash just how dirty you had both been.
His laugh was your favorite sound now—bright and breathy and completely unguarded. You wanted to bottle it. You wanted to fall asleep to it every single night.
"Goodnight, Y/N." A pause, weighted with everything neither of you knew how to say yet.
"Dream of me?"
"Only if you dream of me."
"I already know I will." And then, softer: "I think I started the moment you said hello."
The line went dead, and you held the receiver against your chest for a long time, listening to the dial tone, smiling at the ceiling. What on earth did your crazy and direct personality get you into?
Tags: smut, dom!michael, sub!reader, freaky!mike(in other news, grass is green), big dick!mike, creampies, size kink, light exhibitionism, praise kink, spit kink, nipple play, temperature play, pussy eating, blowjobs, possessiveness, hes a gentleman at heart though, etc.
Word Count: 1.1k
Requested: yes/no
Author’s Note: Posting this quickly after the last one as an apology for being gone for months.
Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist
✎ᝰ! A pleasure dom through and through. Sex is always about you. Your pleasure comes first, second, and third. He makes sure you cum countless times before he even thinks about his own release.
✎ᝰ! Absolutely loathes doggy style. It feels too impersonal and unromantic to him; he can’t see your pretty face, can’t kiss your lips, or bury his face in the crook of your neck to suck fresh love marks into your skin. The lack of eye contact actually frustrates him.
✎ᝰ! Makes the filthiest sounds known to mankind. He’s not obnoxiously loud, but he whimpers and groans right against your ear, voice breaking as he tells you no one else has ever made him feel this good, no one else ever could.
✎ᝰ! Does all the “work.” Your only job is to lay there and look pretty for him, taking everything he gives you. Your passivity turns him on beyond belief. He’s forbidden you from riding him or sucking him off because that’s too much effort for his precious girl. You’re meant to be worshipped, not to labor.
✎ᝰ! Michael is high key a freak and not ashamed of it in the slightest.
✎ᝰ! Definitely has a foot fetish, you cannot prove me wrong. He tries to be so discreet about it, but the way he unconsciously focuses on the way your toes curl when he’s deep inside you gives him away each time.
✎ᝰ! He is absolutely infatuated with the way you taste. He could, without exaggeration, spend hours between your warm thighs just making you finish over and over with no breaks in between. He gets easily drunk on your flavour and the sounds you make, his eyes crossing and fluttering from keeping himself on edge while his jaw aches but doesn't dare stop.
✎ᝰ! He rarely subs. The closest it gets is when he’s exhausted but still desperate to take care of you. In those moments he’ll lie back and let you ride him, using his cock like your personal toy while he watches you with hazy, adoring eyes.
✎ᝰ! He is hung, honey. Seven inches when soft, a thick nine when fully erect. Uncut, girthy, and veiny — the kind of cock that makes your mouth water and think the gods may have you as their favorite.
✎ᝰ! Shamelessly whimpers on the phone with you while slowly stroking his leaking cock when he’s on tour. He needs you to hear exactly what you do to him, even from hundreds of miles away.
✎ᝰ! Loves when it gets messy. He goes feral at the sight of a creamy white ring of your arousal frothing around the base of his thick cock, dripping down his heavy balls with each deep slide.
✎ᝰ! Michael is very handsy. He’s constantly groping and squeezing your soft skin, especially your hips, waist, and love handles, like he can’t you’re real.
✎ᝰ! Is obsessed with the fact that your hand can't fully encircle his cock. Strokes his ego just right.
✎ᝰ! He’s very possessive. The idea of a threesome makes him physically gag, yet he can’t stop fantasizing about having both of your holes filled at the same time. What a delicious dilemma he’s trapped himself in.
✎ᝰ! Steals your panties constantly and uses them when you’re not home. He’ll either wrap the silky fabric around his throbbing cock while he strokes himself or press them to his face, inhaling your scent as he fists his weeping length.
✎ᝰ! On the rare occasions he lets you suck his cock, he always has you lying comfortably on the bed while he stands at the edge. He refuses to let your knees touch the hard floor, that’s too degrading for his sweet girl.
✎ᝰ! Ass eater.
✎ᝰ! Whenever he takes you against a wall from behind, he always puts his hand against the surface so you can rest your cheek on it instead of the cold, hard wall, protecting you even while he’s pounding into you.
✎ᝰ! Extremely attentive to your cycles. Knows exactly when you’re ovulating and becomes even more insatiable, fucking you slower and deeper like he’s trying to make it take.
✎ᝰ! Surprisingly into temperature play. Will run an ice cube down your body before following the cold trail with his hot tongue, especially around your nipples and clit. The contrast makes you arch and shiver so prettily for him.
✎ᝰ! Keeps the lights on or at least dim. He needs to see everything.
✎ᝰ! Gets stupidly turned on when you’re shy in public but filthy for him in private. The contrast makes him want to ruin you the second the door closes.
✎ᝰ! Has an odd yet intense fixation on your pulse points. He’ll spend long minutes sucking and licking at your throat and wrists just to feel your heartbeat fluttering against his tongue.
✎ᝰ! Gets painfully hard just from watching you get dressed in the morning. The way you hook your bra, slide panties up your thighs, or bend over to grab something makes him groan low in his throat. Sometimes he can’t resist pulling you back into bed before you even finish.
✎ᝰ! Obsessed with your nipples. Spends ages teasing them with his tongue, sucking them into his mouth until they’re swollen and sensitive, gently biting just to hear that sharp little gasp you make.
✎ᝰ! Adores when you wear nothing but jewelry in bed, especially the ones he bought you. The way they sparkle and jingle against your skin while he drives into you is pure art to him.
List of some of his kinks/fetishes:
✎ᝰ! Creampies: He loves filling you up to the absolute brim with his thick, sticky seed. The feeling of his tip kissing pressing against your cervix while he paints the tight sensitive ring white drives him wild. He cums so much that it always leaks out of your spent pussy no matter how deep he buries it.
✎ᝰ! Size kink (not about body size): he is obsessed with the whole “oh, no it's not gonna fit” thing. He loves the slow, careful process of stretching you open on his fingers first, turning you into a leaky, nonverbal mess long before he finally pushes the fat tip of his length inside you. Nothing gets him harder than watching you struggle to take all of him, reduced to a dumb little thing as he fucks you like you were made for him.
✎ᝰ! Light exhibitionism: Loves filming and taking photos of you two while making love, capturing every detail. He secretly fantasizes about someone finding them and seeing exactly how well he can ruin you.
✎ᝰ! Praise kink: Mostly centered on you. He’s always whispering praise about how well you’re taking him, how gorgeous you look all spread open and dripping for him, how perfectly you squeeze around him.
✎ᝰ! Spit kink: He enjoys both giving and receiving. He loves catching you off guard in non-sexual moments. Pulling you into a dim corner of a museum and telling you to be a good girl and open your mouth for him just to watch you blush. On extremely rare submissive nights, he’ll beg so prettily for you to spit in his mouth.
contents: making out, like two curse words, slightly frisky🫣, marlon interaction bc i love him, readers race isn't explicitly stated but it's implied that she's quincy jones’s daughter so do with that what you will
wc: 647
a/n: first time writing for mj so don’t judge if this is straight ass
Los Angeles, California - 1977.
The sun poured its warm golden rays over you and Michael from the rooftop, casting long shadows on the ground. The noise of the city hummed below, with cars honking ever so often as they navigated the bustling streets. The air was filled with the distant sounds of music drifting up from nearby cafes and street performers.
“Mikey- C’mon, we gotta go.” You tried to reason with your boyfriend, but his hands stayed planted firmly on your hips as he peppered kisses across your face.
“Five more minutes, baby.”
“Michael.”
“Hm?” he hummed innocently, placing another peck to your lips, which you couldn't help but return.
“You’re making this so damn difficult.” you groaned, but gave in anyway. You let Michael take your hand in his, gently kissing your knuckles while he held your gaze.
“Y’know,” Michael began, his dark brown eyes softening.
“Sometime I’m gonna take you out, on an actual date. somewhere real fancy. no more hidin’ from everybody, yeah?” you nodded, a gentle smile on your lips that he mirrored.
“Is that before or after my father kills you for sneakin’ around with his daughter all this time?” you teased, which the boy only smiled at.
“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” you laughed, leaning back in to kiss him, which he eagerly returned.
You lost yourself in the moment, the warmth of Michael's hands trailing your waist, his mouth moving against yours with urgency. Michael tilted his head to further deepen the kiss with passion that you gladly mirrored. A soft sound escapes your lips, which only egged him on as his slender hands drifted to the small of your back, pulling you close enough that your hips harshly knocked into his.
Michael pulled away from your lips, moving down to press kisses along your jawline and the curve of your neck. You closed your eyes, inhaling shaky breaths as you rested your hands at the nape of his neck, urging him closer.
“Michael…” you murmured unintentionally, and you could feel him smile against your collarbone while he continued to plant open-mouth kisses that would definitely leave marks later. Michael’s hands slid down to your thighs, —the familiar warmth of his skin on yours was a feeling that you would never take for granted. Gripping your plush skin firmly, he pressed you against the wall, allowing you to wrap your legs around his torso.
You almost didn’t notice the sound of the rooftop access door swinging open, and the voices of multiple boys overlapping.
“He’s gotta be up here, man.”
“Yeah, Randy, you’ve only said it about twenty times.”
“Man, shut up!”
“Michael! You up here!?”
You and Michael jumped apart like you’d been burned, red-faced and breathless. You slapped a hand over your mouth, and he made a shushing gesture with his finger. You ducked around the corner of the bulkhead as Michael smoothed his collar quickly, stepping out from the shadows of the concrete structure to meet his brothers.
“What’s goin’ on, guys?”
Despite the situation, you almost laughed at how unnatural the boy sounded.
“Mike! Where you been, man? We’ve been runnin’ around looking for you for ten minutes!”
“C’mon, Mike. Q’s already pissed off ‘cause he can’t find his daughter nowhere either.”
You heard him sheepishly chuckle, muttering a small ‘sorry’, then the sound of Michael's footsteps retreating, along with his brothers’.
To see if the coast was finally clear, you peeked out from behind the bulkhead, only to meet the eyes of the boy you recognized as Michael's older brother, Marlon, who looked straight at you with a knowing smirk on his lips. You could’ve sworn your heart dropped to your ass.
“Marlon, come on, man!” someone shouted, causing his head to whip to the side.
“Coming!” he looked back at you, making a ‘zip’ motion across his lips before darting off.
18+ mdni. giving mature era michael a bj and when you come up off of him there's a little dribble of his cum on the corner of your mouth so he wipes it with his thumb just press it against the plush of your lips so you can lick it off. only you're so greedy you end up taking his entire thumb into your mouth since you can't get enough of him.
I have a fanfic request tho. So imagine reader lets Michael “practice” on how to go down on a girl and one thing leads to another…
Idk how to write it out but I basically just want a smut 😭😭 anyways thank you!!
t/w: smut, 18+ mdni, oral (f! receiving), fingering, p in v, creampie, squirting, inexperienced michael (between off the wall/thriller era) i fear i always have to add plot to the p!rn sorry
wc: 4k
⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹
You kept catching him looking at you.
Michael’s eyes would flick away quickly, acting like nothing was amiss. Which, technically, nothing was. The two of you were sitting on the floor leaning against his bed while watching a movie, a typical Sunday night in the Jackson household when things got calm for a rare moment.
You had thought he sounded a little off when he had called you to come over, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what.
Nervous didn’t really feel like the right word. Perhaps because you couldn’t think of a single reason why he would be. That very small and delusional voice in the back of your head whispered he was going to confess his feelings for you— but that would be insane.
The two of you had been friends for a while now after getting introduced to each other by a few mutual people and you had clicked.
It was easy, being around him. He probably had the same sentiments considering he still called you to hang out whenever he got a moment of down time.
When you caught him looking at you again, you decided to bite the bullet and nudge his knee with yours.
“You okay?”
“What? Yeah, fine.” He rushed. A little too quickly, in your opinion.
Your eyes narrowed. “Michael.”
His eyes slated to look at you for a moment, attempting to keep up the facade, but something in your expression made him cave.
With a sigh, he lowered the volume on the movie and turned toward you, suddenly beat red in the face and your mind was running a million miles an hour.
“I have a question,” he slowly started. Wringing his hands in his lap and suddenly not looking at you at all even though earlier he couldn’t seem to help himself.
Your eyes flicked over him, trying to get a read on what could possibly be going on but you came up blank. “Okay.”
“I…” Michael blew some air out of his mouth and suddenly laughed while looking at the ceiling. “God, this is crazy. Okay, so I, I uh… I need help with something.”
Your brows furrowed. “Okay?”
“It’s complicated and probably crossing some sort of line… and it’s also completely okay if you say no. I just want you to know first that this is in no way me trying to take advantage or trying to ruin anything. And I want you to know that I’m asking because I trust you and feel safe with you and I feel like you also feel the same way. I mean, I hope you do.” You could tell he just wanted to spit it out but looked as though he would vomit if he tried to before he was ready.
Leaning over to grab his hands, half in comfort and half to get him to stop twisting his fingers around, you gave his hands a supportive squeeze. “I do. And whatever you need help with, just know there is no judgement.”
He raised a brow at you, unsure. “None?”
“None whatsoever.”
Michael didn’t seem convinced so you held up your hand, “pinky promise.”
That got him to laugh a little bit, just a small amount of tension easing out of his shoulders as he locked pinkies with you to seal the deal.
He then let out a slow breath, eyes dancing back up to the ceiling as if in a silent prayer before he looked back at you. When his teeth sunk into his bottom lip for a moment you couldn’t help but look.
“I need to know how to go down a girl.”
You blinked.
“Pardon?”
He then covered his face with his hands, clearly embarrassed. “I knew I shouldn't have—“
“No, no, it’s just I wasn’t… I don’t know what I was expecting.” You pulled his hands from his face, your own cheeks their own deep shade of red. “It’s just, I mean— why me? What do you need to know? Do you want a bullet point list or a diagram—“
“I tried all that.”
“On a girl?” It slipped out before you thought better of it. Your envious curiosity being your downfall. You had absolutely no desire to hear about other girls he might’ve been with.
“No, the lists and diagrams, they just didn’t seem informative enough.” He said it slowly and wasn’t looking at you again.
It took an embarrassingly long moment for you to realize to what scale he was asking you to help him.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
You hummed, leaning back on your palms as your mind and heart tried to get each other to calm down. “I see.”
Seconds ticked by. All you could hear was your heartbeat and Michael started going a little blurry at the edges of your vision as flashes of dreams you’ve had flicked through your mind.
Dreams one definitely should not have about their friend.
“So?”
You crossed your legs, wishing for those things in your head to go away but then panic started bubbling up in your chest. “I mean… yes? Sure, but do you mean now?”
“No no no, there’s not really a timeline. Whenever you’re ready and comfortable. Are you positive this is okay?”
More than okay, actually. “Of course, just… helping a friend out.”
He laughed as he looked down, “right.”
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Well, fuck.
As soon as he shut the car door for you and it disappeared down the driveway, he felt like he could finally breathe again.
He felt like he had been on the brink of passing out the last two hours.
In all honesty, he was surprised he had even gotten the words out.
The idea had popped into his head a while ago, something he was ashamed but also intrigued by. He just heard things, stuff around him being discussed that piqued his interest. And then someone would ask him about his experience and he’d draw up a blank.
Even though he’s only in his twenties and lived a life worth a thousand lifetimes— he still fell short on some experiences. Mostly interpersonal or intimate.
There was also that little chirp in his head that said gaining more experience in that area would improve his song writing.
Always a working man, apparently.
And like Michael said, he had tried other avenues. Buying sex education books, published articles, magazines… but it was all too structured. Inorganic. Academic and cold.
He wanted more of a human touch, but given who he was it couldn’t just be anyone. And late one night, staring up at the ceiling as moonlight danced across his room, he thought of you.
He immediately felt ashamed about it. You were his friend, he shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. Although yes, he has admittedly found you attractive, he said he’d never go there.
But once his mind found a little footing on an idea, he couldn’t drop it.
Then the dreams started and that became a whole other hell.
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Six days had passed.
Six days of feeling like you weren’t able to breathe.
You didn’t want to admit the amount of money you dropped on getting ready for this.
For Michael Jackson to eat you out.
God, you were going to faint.
You’d been waxed, showered, body oils, your nails done, a new pair of lace panties, the whole package really. Part of you felt like it was all over kill but it was Michael fucking Jackson.
You wanted it, you, to be perfect.
And although he was the biggest star in the world, you didn’t want him to feel intimidated. Intimacy was a new field entirely and he seemed anxious enough asking you.
So you stuck with an outfit that was simple but still a little spiced up. A cute skirt and a nice top that made the girls look nice. Your hair was done up in a messy sort of up do— he had complimented it when it was like this a few weeks ago.
And to top it all off a pair of heels.
He had called you the day before, telling you to knock on the door of the studio when you got there, not wanting his family to come snooping.
So you stilled your breath, heels clicking on the ground as you neared the door.
“I can do this.”
And you knocked.
Mere heartbeats passed before you heard the lock click and the door opened.
You smiled, trying not to come off as shy as you felt when your eyes met his.
“Hi, Michael.”
He seemed slightly taken off guard, clearing his throat after a moment. “Hey.”
You felt like you were in high school all over again.
“So, where are we doing this?” You cringed at your wording.
“Right.” He was blushing again as he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “Follow me.”
Michael sneaking you through his house provided enough of an entertaining distraction to let you relax a bit. You were just helping him out. There were no stakes. No strings. Even if you wanted there to be.
The door to his room shut softly behind him and you watched in amusement as he slowly and quietly turned the lock.
“Hopefully it’s late enough so no one will bother us.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, maybe just put on some music.”
“Right, good idea.”
He looked adorable as his eyes briefly flicked to yours before looking away as he began to shuffle though his records.
“You look beautiful, by the way.”
You were going to melt through the floor. “Thank you.”
⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹
He watched you, quite intently, as you sat on the edge of his bed. Back straight and hands placed neatly in your lap.
You looked like an angel.
Your eyes were on his before flicking down briefly, messing with a bracelet you had on. “So, what do you already know? Just so I have an idea.”
He felt heat pool into his cheeks, briefly glancing at the ceiling before clearing his throat. He felt more nervous now than he did performing in front of thousands of people.
“Basics, I suppose. With oral sex for women, I’m mainly supposed to focus on the… the uh, y’know.” God, he felt aware of all of his bones. If he couldn’t even say it, how was he supposed to do it. To you.
You smiled at him, though not in any teasing way to make him retreat. “It’s funny, with stuff like this. Doing it is usually less intimidating than talking about it.”
Michael nodded, rubbing at the nape of his neck as he rolled a question around in his mind. One he couldn’t help but be curious about while also dreading to hear your answer.
But he couldn’t help it.
“Have you done this before?”
You blinked at him.
“You don’t have to answer that, I was just curious—“
“A few times. I mean, I wasn’t showing someone how to do it, like now. And they were alright, it helped me find out what I like, which is what I’ll tell you.”
Michael nodded. A little annoyed that other people had had the privilege but he decided not to dwell on the fact for now or come to terms for what that meant for him.
Your nails tapped a rhythm into your leg. “So, whenever you’re ready—“
“Can we play a game first? Just to, y’know, calm the nerves?”
Twenty minutes later the two of you were tangled up on a Twister mat. Laughing as one had to stretch uncomfortably and almost fall over.
The momentary distraction did help ease his nerves but it definitely made something else more apparent.
Your skirt was incredibly short.
You barely had to bend over for him to start seeing the subtle curve of your ass cheek meet your thigh. That sight alone was inticing… and then he saw the lace of your underwear.
Fuck me, was a statement that had been running through his mind. He tried not to look, really he did. But the thin lace was right there and not leaving much to the imagination, and then he’d remember what exactly you were here for.
Michael knew his composure was steadily unraveling and when you bent over again for your turn he cleared his throat.
“I think I’m ready.”
You stood up, brows raised slightly in surprise at his sudden statement, rouge bleeding into your cheeks.
“Okay, come here.”
And then your fingers laced with his as you walked back to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it and he was about to join you but you stopped him with your fingers hooked into his belt loops.
He looked down at you, that sight alone enticing— that low voice in the back of his head wondering how lovely you’d look with his cock in your mouth right now…
What had gotten into him?
“Kneel.”
One word. That’s all it took, and he did as told.
Lowering to his knees in front of you, eyes on yours because he suddenly discovered he couldn’t— didn’t want to look anywhere else.
You held his gaze and you took his hands, bringing them to your knees. He got the hint, gently spreading them wider so he could slot between them easily.
Then you were laying down, his own eyes flicking lower and he could see the lace.
Really, your skirt was a pathetic excuse for a piece of sufficient clothing. Not that he minded given the circumstances.
Then his hands were dancing up, fingers dragging along your thighs and watching as goosebumps followed in the wake of his touch.
He was pushing your skirt up around your waist and when he finally got to see your underwear entirely he felt his heart skip a beat.
The bow at the top was adorable.
And you were right there… legs spread and only a thin piece of cloth hiding you away.
“Should I—“ he cleared his throat, given the words came out more hoarse than he intended. “Should I take these off?” His fingers looped on the string but you grabbed his wrist.
“Not yet.” Then you dragged his hand over, right above you and he could feel the heat rolling off you in waves. “The build up is just as important.”
He nodded, taking mental notes while he was still able to focus.
“Like you said, main point to focus on is here.”
His index and middle finger gently pressed down and he saw the muscles in your thighs twitch.
Noted.
Your breath came out a little heavier. “And if you slide down, just there, that’s the entrance. You can tease that through the lace as well.”
His fingers slid down to where you said, feeling the fabric cave in a little bit but that’s not what made him suck in a breath.
You were wet.
The lace already damp with your arousal, for him, and Michael felt the room start to tip slightly. His self restraint starting to lose its balance.
“You can choose to do it with your hands, but given what you— oh.”
He wasn’t thinking straight, or at all, lowering himself with little hesitation and his mouth latched onto your clit through your underwear.
A sound started to slip past your lips but you bit it back when he applied a rolling pressure with his tongue.
He wanted to hear it again.
His ears were ringing but he followed your instructions. Each one coming out in a more labored breath. His hands gripping onto the soft flesh of your thighs as he worked, focused, intent on hearing the way you tried to bite back whimpers.
And then he slid down, tongue teasing the entrance of your pussy as his nose brushed against your clit and you moaned.
It felt like he was hearing the trumpets of heaven and you tasted clean. Erotic. He didn’t know how else to describe it, but you were so fucking wet. Both from your own arousal and his saliva, that the lace was sticking to you like a second skin and he could almost see you. Almost.
And finally finally you told him to move your underwear to the side and when his eyes finally landed on your pussy he groaned before diving back in. Tongue tracing from your clit to your to your cunt and you tasted better than anything he had ever imagined.
Your back arched off the bed, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to hold back a shout.
“I wanna hear you,” he muttered, feeling hazy as his tongue flattened over your clit and his cock was so hard that it hurt.
You cried out, trying to muffle the sound with your hand and he almost missed the way you said his name because his ears were ringing.
He wanted to hear his name like that from your mouth for the rest of his life.
As if he were starving, his fingers dug into your thighs as he dragged his tongue down and started to fuck you with his tongue and lips and teeth. Being driven even further towards the brink of insanity every time you said more or right there.
Your hands twined into his hair, hips rolling up to meet his mouth and he was determined to make you come. To do it just right.
The thought of you making a mess all over his mouth made his cock twitch in his pants and he was half worried he’d finish right then and there like he was a teenager.
His eyes then flicked up, eyes catching yours and then you flat out moaned his name, the sound coming from your soul it seemed and he felt something in him snap.
Michael didn’t even realize what he was doing, two fingers dragging over your pussy before they slid inside, curving them to your body and you were so soft and fucking warm.
Then his fingers pressed against something textured and you would’ve flown off the bed if he hadn’t secured an arm over your hips.
The sounds in the room dancing just below the volume of the music were lewd. Sinful. Your body being contorted in pleasure as you grinded against his face.
All he could sense was you.
Then your muscles tensed, your head rolling back and God the way his name dripped off your tongue.
“Michael, I’m— I’m…”
And then you came, your pussy tightening in a pulse around his fingers and he could feel your heartbeat on his tongue.
He was lost. Completely.
Not being able to stop himself even as your legs tightened around his head. Not even as you cried it’s too much.
He wanted more like a man who had stumbled across paradise after wandering in the desert for too long.
Just too fucking thirsty.
“Michael.”
Then his lips and chin were suddenly very, very wet.
He blinked as he pulled back, meeting your wide eyes. Watching as your gaze flicked down the wetness covering the lower half of his face and you sucked in a breath.
His mind was short circuiting.
He’d read about when a woman does that, though not super often and Michael hadn’t even let it occur to mind that he could make someone do that.
Make you do that.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. I didn’t even know I could—“
He felt like his common sense had taken a seat in the back of his mind because next thing he knew he was pushing you back onto the bed, crawling over you and lips crashing into yours. Hips rolling with a mind of their own and that first sensation of warmth and pressure against his cock even through his slacks made him shiver.
It was messy and wonderful. Teeth hitting against each other and tongues sliding in their own dance.
Your hands fumbled with his zipper and then—
“Fuck,” Michael’s face fell into the crook of your neck when he felt your hand wrap around him.
Your hand dragged up along the shaft, thumb swiping against his tip that had been leaking pre-come for who knew how long and he shuddered against you, hips seeking out more as he thrusted into your hand.
He was in such a lust induced haze he felt like the world wasn’t even real anymore. Just you and him and the edge heaven at the tips of his fingers.
It wasn’t enough. Not nearly.
Michael was desperate. His hips rolling in search of more and he accidentally slid the tip of his cock right up along your pussy. Gathering wetness and you were just so fucking warm— he wasn’t thinking. Honestly, he wasn’t.
His mouth met yours again and then his hips lowered, cock sliding in instead of up and he felt whatever willpower he had break.
You felt so fucking good and then you moaned and before the next breath he was in all the way to tne hilt.
His heavy lidded eyes met your own and when he slowly dragged out, watching in fascination as your pupils expanded into pools of ink with your mouth dropped open… who was he to put a stop to this?
So he thrusted back in. Back out. Slow and deliberate and so fucking wonderful.
“You feel like heaven,” his words came out broken, his own moan fracturing his speech.
His name left your lips in a cry, legs wrapped around his hips and deeper he went. He wanted to go deeper in ways that weren’t physically possible and his eyes flicked down. Seeing the way your pussy took him so well and he didn’t even feel human right now.
Michael’s thrust became harder and his pace quickened into something more erratic and wild, mouth on yours, sloppy and wet and when he felt you tighten around him as you came again he tipped right over the edge with you.
Seeing stars behind his eyes as he came and he couldn’t stop. Something in his soul begging him to keep going. Making sure he got all of it inside of you, not a drop wasted because it really would’ve been such a fucking waste.
After what felt like a daydream finally concluding, Michael collapsed on top of you. Breathing heavy and his heartbeat so loud he felt like he was underwater.
Your arms were still wrapped around him as he settled between your thighs and against your chest, trying to catch your breath.
Your bodies were covered in sweat that made the air a bit cool against the skin and when he shivered, both from the temperature and his body coming down from the shock of pleasure, did it dawn on Michael of what exactly he just did.
God forgive me.
Slowly, he raised himself up on his arms, not being able to help himself as he watched his cock pull out, both of your releases covering him and seeping out of you. It was probably the hottest thing he’d ever seen but it wasn’t enough to overshadow the reality of what he’d just done.
“I didn’t mean to—“
“Michael, that was…” you blinked up at the ceiling. Looking fucked out and like an angel in his bed sheets. “Wow.”
He blushed, despite what he just did to you. Michael didn’t regret it, that he was sure of. In fact, he knew he wanted to do it again.
“I think I still need some more practice.” He muttered, leaning down to catch your lips with his and you hummed.
“Agreed. Same time next Sunday?”
He shook his head as he pulled back, teeth catching onto your bottom lip. “I was thinking tomorrow.”
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