𝓫𝓾𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 @bvtterfliess - Tumblr Blog

𝓽𝓻(𝓮𝓪𝓽) 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓫𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 - michael jackson x black female reader

synopsis: michael's been wayyyy too busy to spend time with his childhood best friend and now you have a boyfriend. it's time to take matters into his own mouth hands.

tropes & warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI — smut (we all know what we're here for), pwp, thriller era, baby eater!michael, fingering, oral (f receiving), mentions of male masturbation, switch!michael, slightly ooc!michael, black female!reader, sub!reader, messy!michael in the best way, praise kink galore, detailed female anatomy descriptions, female worship, teasing, overstimulation, slight implications of edging, toxic relationship, cheating if you squint but it's okay because michael told me to tell you that your boyfriend sucks, religious corruption if you squint harder

wc: 6.1ish (had to get my head back in the mf GAME okay?! a true yapper)

an: first things first - I loveeee me some secret mutual pining! that's how this grew legs and ended up being 6000 words lmfao. also - in this house, michael was an eater long before bad and that's a hill i'll die on! look at the material! after an almost five year hiatus I done picked up my pen chile, so thank you for reading in advance. enjoy!

𝒽𝒶𝓎𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒽𝓊𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓃, 𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑒𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒

You were trying to be mindful of your body language knowing there was an audience, but you couldn't help but fidget and anxiously spin the spiral phone cord around your fingers. You were in one of your favorite places in the world - one that held warm memories of meals, joy and shared life experiences with your inherited family. Being at Hayvenhurst often made you wish you were an oblivious, innocent kid again running around with your best friend who was patiently standing on the other side of the counter. The space was uncharacteristically empty aside from you both… his head was resting on one of his fists, doe-like eyes on you as he indulged himself in some homemade honey vanilla ice cream.

You mouthed give me a moment, he nodded in reply. Who knew a simple check-in call could have this much potential to sour your mood on an otherwise very peaceful evening.

But here you were, an adult woman free to do whatever you pleased, begrudgingly arguing with a man with too much audacity on the other line.

“Carl, seriously?’ You leaned against the wall, sucking your teeth into the receiver wedged between your head and shoulders.

In your opinion, you didn’t understand what was so strange about having a movie night with your childhood best friend. Carl went on and on, matter-of-factly pointing out that your best friend was a celebrity and how it didn’t make sense why you had to spend time with him instead of your boyfriend.

“You’re overreacting. I already told you it’s not like that.” You casually added, which seemed to rile him up even more. So much so you couldn’t get a word in.

You were on the verge of losing your temper and patience altogether.

Michael’s brow perked up slightly at your irritation, helping himself to his favorite frozen treat customized specifically to his liking. He really didn't like what he was picking up on. The tension of your phone call was palpable, and it unsettled him.

Carl.

Hearing his name leave your lips made his favorite ice cream a little less sweet. The cinnamon dusted on top might as well have been mixed with dirt. Hearing his name was like an out-of-tune horn his ears rejected every time he heard it playing. Any mention of him from you was rare… but still shrill, off-kilter, punching violently through the recesses of his mind. He never hated anyone ever in his life but this had to be close… Not to mention, the affection in your tone irked him if he could be honest, like having one of his performances cut short before it truly hit a groove. Out of place and unwanted... especially in his place of solace.

Man, he wished you'd just hang up.

All he wanted was to make you laugh, call him Mikey, offer his comfort, his time, attention. Make you forget Carl.

And then there was another part of Michael - driven by an ego you would label as slightly conflated if you saw more of it in action. Birthed by independence manifesting for him on the horizon, handcrafted by waves of women (and men) packed together at shows like sardines screaming his name when he sang or spun or just smiled, and vindicated by crotch-grabbing and moonwalking into more of a public phenomena on the Motown stage just a few months ago. It was hard not to be altered by such life-altering fame. Since young, he watched people of all ages and colors literally stop traffic and swarm around cars with him inside… banging their fists against it just for a glimpse of him. Thousands of eyes instantly welled up with tears if they caught that glimpse, even if it was just the tips of his fingers shyly waving out the back window of the car as it sped off. The man who stood next to one of the greatest producers when the world was quiet and created magic. The part he armored himself with for public consumption. One who knew exactly who he was and what he was capable of.

That part of him smirked behind his spoon, confidence silent but strong enough to override the jealousy bubbling in chest.

He could put two and two together. Your body language alone told an interesting story - the way you refused to look at him while trying to reassure your boyfriend, Carl, even with the hole he was burning in your face. The way your deliciously proportioned weight shifted under his stare, from one hip to the other, one leg to the other, repeat. The way you angled away as you spoke, biting down on your lip at times to censor yourself. All of this was evidence that led him to conclude that your boyfriend, Carl, was not happy about the fact that you were here.

Oh well.

Michael was ecstatic. You looked so pretty today.

He found himself thinking that about you quite often, lately… as he haphazardly scribbled those kinda secret thoughts and other kinda secret feelings into blueprints that would eventually become lyrics. Stealing moments on studio breaks to call you inspired him in so many ways, but also made him feel a pang in his chest that was becoming a lot harder to ignore. Afterwards, he’d find himself humming melodies that seemed to flow straight from beyond, mirroring and transmuting those longing feelings. And he’d do with these melodies what he did best. He recorded them. Demo after demo, those recordings turned into full songs, songs that held very important kinda secrets about his feelings for you.

His voice came out sweeter then, emoting more than he ever did before. Quincy would knowingly tease: “You singin’ like there’s someone on your mind, Smelly.”

All Michael could do was bite his lip and smile, shaking his head as he laughed him off.

He felt guilty spending most of his time on his music these days. Since Motown - between rehearsals for the next tour and recording for his next album, heightened demand with limited time created unwanted distance. It was the main obstacle in the way of carving out chances for you both to spend time together like when you were younger.

So he intentionally cleared his schedule for tonight. Bought snacks, had Bill take him over to the Wherehouse to pick out a bunch of your favorite movies in hopes to talk to you about his absence and make it up to you. When he called to ask you to come over… he half-expected you to tell him off, knowing he hadn’t been the best at balancing things. He was grateful you didn’t, understanding.

And when you showed up at his door looking exactly like his muse should, it kinda felt like the world was in technicolor again.

The first thing he noticed was your hair. It was big and curly and it looked extra, extra soft. Michael loved when you wore it that way, his hand often twitched at the thought of holding you close and twisting some of the coils around his fingers. He welcomed the comforting scent of mandarins and honey when he hugged you hello, tucking you under his chin in affection. Hearing the smile in your voice as you said hey Mikey into his red cardigan made him too happy to worry about if you could hear how hard his heart was beating.

He knew he’d have to repent for how he didn’t even bother diverting his eyes from the swish swish swish of your denim skirt as you pulled away, walking deeper into his home. The familiar tightening in his jeans that he wouldn’t be able to hide was a sobering enough feeling to halt his thoughts from going further. Trying to distract himself, he almost missed when you asked him to use the kitchen phone to call your boyfriend.

Oh. Had he really been gone that long?

He noticed you gnawing at your bottom lip in annoyance. Your soft lips, accented with a tinted gloss. He had to exercise more serious mental restraint from getting worked up again as he wondered what your kisses tasted like. Surely sweeter than ice cream.

“I let you talk, so it’s time for you to listen and stop interrupting me. No, I won’t stand for it and I’m not gonna keep going on like this with you anymore… I’m done talking about it. I’m staying here tonight. If you don’t like it - oh well.”

As if you both merged into the same wavelength, you abruptly slammed the phone into the mounted receiver so hard that you swear you heard it crack. You had enough.

“I - sorry, Michael…” His eyes apologetically softened at you and it ignited both shyness and shame in your chest. You shifted uncomfortably under his observation. All the work you’d done up until that point to keep everyone out of your salvaged threads of a relationship - now ruined with one untimely call.

“What you apologizin’ for, girl?”

“Mighta broke that.” you started, motioning to the receiver hanging on the wall, making a mental note to check if the phone was actually broken later. “Shoulda never called him. This was supposed to be our time to catch up and now my good mood has gone all sour.”

“Don’t you worry about that phone. Dunk smashed Randy’s big ol’ giant rockhead into it plenty and it still work.” Michael comforted you, chuckling at the fond memory of his siblings. His feet led himself next to you without a second thought, gently rubbing your back. “D’you wan’ talk about it?”

Leaning your head against his shoulder, you felt his long, sinewy fingers against your forehead moving your curls to plant a consoling kiss there.

“Don’t even know ‘em and he turnin’ out to be a real schmuck. C’mon, let’s go upstairs so we can talk.”

𝒽𝒶𝓎𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒽𝓊𝓇𝓈𝓉, 𝓂𝒾𝒸𝒽𝒶𝑒𝓁'𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒹𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂

“I’m just so frustrated, Mikey!” You said, plopping down on the edge of his bed. The change in environment seemed to turn your emotional state towards the better and you wonder if he knew it would all along.

Michael’s mind instinctively reacted to you being in his space. As much as he knew he shouldn’t think this way, he couldn’t help it. You looked so good in his bed. It was embarrassing to think about how many times he’d allow himself to imagine you just like this: lights dim, you staring up at him through your dark lashline, full lips parted anxiously, waiting for him to talk, or move closer, shoes off, knees together...

The circumstances of these fantasies would be different of course, but they always ended with him losing control. The thought of touching you, tasting you, pleasing you… aroused him beyond belief. More lust to repent. And sometimes faith and morality would quell his ongoing battle with these fleshly desires like a beacon of light, motivating him enough to get up at the dead of night and get dressed to record in his studio. But he was a man… and when he found himself rutting against the bed in his sleep thinking about the swell of your breasts, the unscrupulous promises of pleasure would wake him up in a sweat. And those promises would whisper to him the dark and keep him up, prisoner, until he gave in.

He groaned through gritted teeth as his hands hesitantly descended down his body from under his t-shirt, imagining they were yours…. Soft, warm… nails accented with whatever colorful lacquer you picked for the week. He could almost feel you dragging them down his chest, rubbing affectionately through his happy trail. So close… By the time he touched his dick, the gravity of his actions reflected in the weight of it in his hands. Flashes of you played behind his eyelids, especially of what your face would look like contorted in pleasure. His imagination would have him throbbing angrily against his belly, strings of precum leaking from the tip, squirming and waiting for release.

Shit.

He moved across the room to his tape player to create some distance while pushing down those thoughts, picking something to play. He was at a crossroads. Chewing his bottom lip, he knew he wanted to be empathetic…but wanted to satisfy his curiosity about what’d you been up to. He decided to keep things casual and collect some information first.

“Is he always like that? Surprised he didn’t blow the sound out with all that yellin’.”

Meanwhile, you smoothed your hands down the pleats of your jean skirt, choosing to do that instead of meeting his stare. Truth was, if Michael’s eyes searched yours long enough it would be just like taking a big gulp of truth serum. You were bound to crack and tell him everything.

“Not at first… but things have been changing for the worst, lately. I seemed to really upset him today.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m not sure. He’s just… worried? I guess….”

Sure, in the beginning - Carl was charming, good-looking… you were on the market, a very single and very beautiful woman looking for companionship to fill a Michael-shaped void in your life. He seemed to be looking for someone, too. Matchmaking at an industry mixer seemed to hit it off.

When things were good, they were good - it was exciting going on dates and being in his company. He was really generous with his time and money he made as a club promoter, making you feel like you were really the girl for him. However, a couple months had passed and his actions revealed that he saw you as someone he could parade around the city and show off like that was the only thing you were good for. There were times where he would lose his patience with you and say mean things, withhold affection, and discourage you from things that made you happy. It was almost like he didn’t want you to smile about anything else but him. He didn’t like the way you dressed (You not goin’ nowhere with me like that… I wanna have sumn sexy on my arm tonight, toots…), he didn’t like your hobbies (Wastin’ time fingerpaintin’ when you should be comin’ to this party with me instead), and he didn’t like your friends (I ain’t jealous of a man who wear glitter and rhinestones, baby, besides… you don’t need no more friends). His snide comments caused a lot of arguments. You’d threaten to leave and he’d sweet-talk you, promising changed behavior. Things would smooth over, rinse and repeat. If you could be honest, you were at the end of your rope with it all.

He wanted to control you and you felt trapped in a cycle of his insecurities. You wouldn’t be submissive to just any man.

You felt the bed dip next to you. Michael sat and grabbed your hands, the warmth of his thumbs sweeping back and forth across your knuckles was a welcomed sensation that grounded you. Ironically, touching you in this more intimate way made Michael feel a bit out of body but he kept his nerve. He decided to ignore the warning signs, ignore the fluttering in his ribcage.

“You’re a beautiful girl, inside and out… so sensational, intelligent, creative, empathetic, and very special to me. And any man standin’ next to you should admire you, treat you preciously, and with respect. He should be worried.”

There was a rawness in his voice.

You’ve heard it before. When he created music, danced, laughed with his loved ones… when he discussed plans to heal the planet, shared goals to create sanctuaries for children and animals, defended his stance to anyone who would listen about his favorite ice cream. All you could do was look into his eyes, selfishly admiring the wonderment inside before you until you felt too caught up… laughing it off to save face.

“Mikey, when’d you learn to sweet talk a lady like that?” Your face was burning and he could tell.

“Hey, it’s the truth.” Michael smirked, mischievously tilting his head at your reaction before stroking your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Hmm... you gettin’ shy on me, pretty girl? I say somethin’ wrong?”

He should be worried.

His voice echoed around in your head in whispers.

He should be worried.

“What’d you mean?” You asked, mind not even registering that your mouth was moving.

“Pardon?”

“‘He should be worried.’ What do you mean by that?”

Michael shrugged, leaning back so that he was propped up on one of his hands. “He should, that’s all.”

“I don’t understand.”

“‘Cause you here with me, right where you should.” The certainty in his voice stirred something inside you, different from any tone he’d ever used with you in the past. And in that moment, you really looked at him.

There weren’t too many lights on in his room but there didn’t need to be for you to see him. It was always like that. Even if he tried to hide he was always the brightest thing in every room. You sometimes got lost noticing things, things that you forced yourself to pretend to not to notice every time you noticed them. The way his legs splayed out as he sat, open wide. Tonight, it felt like an invitation… fingers expertly tapping his muscular thighs along to the music playing in the background. The medium-wash denim underneath his palms was tailored to a perfect fit, doing an amazing job of accentuating his slim waist and hips and wide shoulders. He almost looked unreal, doll-like, growing out of his childlike gangliness to a modelesque physique that hinted subtle strength.

When you hugged him, you tried not to notice how his broad shoulders flexed under your palms. They were wider these days, strengthened by carrying his world for so long… You hugged and his arms were almost long enough to wrap around you twice, gripping you tightly and making you feel safe and surrounded by the comforting scent of amber, lemon and cedar. You wanted to touch his chest, feel if his heart was racing just as fast as yours. Admire the expanse of his muscles through the cardigan he was wearing under your palms. But you stayed still, not trusting yourself to make any sudden movements.

Watching Motown sparked flames you'd been fighting for what seemed like your entire life. Opened your eyes wider than they’d been in years. God, the way he sounded, the way his body translated his innate divinity. He was hungry with need - determined to stir something in others, to prove himself. Michael’s energy was raw and uninhabited during the performance, but yet still maintained his razor-like focus and precision as he danced.

Especially the way he moved his hips. You tried not to notice how those movements seemed to come natural to him.

Michael’s head was tilted with a curious expression, like he was considering saying more… even if it came at a cost. A couple of juicy curls fell into his eyes, exaggerated by his shorter, more defined hairstyle. Your angelface was losing the last of his boyish features (minus that heart-stopping smile), being replaced with angled lines - masculine, sharp, like his jawline would cut if your lips were to brush too close…

Then his mouth parted and it felt like the world was moving in half speed. Watching him lick his lips made you subtly shift, suddenly very aware that you were a woman sitting on a bed with a man next to you.

You both locked eyes.

Michael’s brown eyes were one of the many strikingly beautiful things about him. They sparkled with whimsy and torment all at once, an amalgamation of secrets he thought he’d never speak out loud to anyone. Untold until he met you.

This particular look whispered something entirely different than any secrets you know. Eyelids low, his wispy lashes framed the deep-seated desire you felt smoldering his stare. It created an invisible force field around the two of you. The heat behind his eyes made your stomach flip with want.

“Yeah,” he began, keeping them on you, “he should know his time ran out.”

Your breath hitched as Michael took the lead, turning to lean into your personal space. God, he was so close… one of his hands found your waist, pressing you closer while the other took its time, rubbing up the expanse of your neck until finding your jaw.

“Y’feel that?”

You nodded, keeping your eye contact. Gravity shifted. Your entire being screamed for you to move closer, to close the gap and explore the unknown territory of his mouth with your own… but you fought that urge a little bit longer to enjoy the feelings of mutual longing you missed… ones that left your nerve endings tingling and craving touch. Michael shook his head slowly, not satisfied, thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“I need to hear you say it, mama.”

“Y-yes, I feel it.”

“That's right.”

Michael was intoxicated… he watched your eyes flutter down to his lips in anticipation. He could get used to you looking at him like he had the whole world in his hands because he felt like he did too, especially with the heated skin of your waist under his fingertips. Waiting to kiss you any longer would’ve been an unnecessary crime, so he didn’t wait. As soon as your mouth met his, he decided at that moment it was a crime he didn’t plan on committing ever again in his life.

That pang of longing in his chest was being cured by his bold declaration, and the willingness expressed in your lips answered one of his most selfish prayers.

God, your mouth was so sweet.

Your gloss tasted like a syrupy summer strawberry he handpicked himself… lips just as full and juicy as the fruit. It was better than anything he ever imagined writing in his notebooks, any run or riff he ever sung, spin he ever spun. Better than anything he visualized in bed, stroking himself to intense climaxes that made him tremble and shudder roughly until he saw spots under his eyelids. Better than honey vanilla ice cream. He couldn’t help the groan rumbling in his chest, jeans already beginning to tighten around his lap as he took his time and savored your mouth. Michael helped himself now that he had you where he wanted you, tilting his head just enough to indulgently suck the delicious candy coating off your lips one by one.

Your moans only encouraged his ministrations even more.

You couldn’t believe you had gone this far, this long in life without kissing him. Fuck, there was so much want blooming inside you as the kiss intensified, getting to the point where your lips barely bothered to separate. His mouth moved intentionally, expressive of his desire, special and just for you, making you blush and sigh and rub your legs together underneath him, unable to resist creating some subtle friction between your legs. You wanted him to touch you, like really touch you… So instead of saying that, you slid his rather large hand from the side of your waist down to your bare thigh. Michael smirked against your mouth as he hovered over the side of you closest to him, welcoming new territory by gripping your heated flesh between his adept fingers.

Mm, he was gasoline and you were a brushfire… He pulled back a little, teasing you. His throat bobbed as he sweetly kissed the side of your mouth.

“We gonna get rid of him tonight right, pretty? Ready to call him back and tell him?”

At this point you were clay, pupils blown, lips swollen. Anxious to be molded. You’d do anything.

Sensing your compliance, Michael leaned over and grabbed his phone off the nightstand, sitting it on the opposite side of you as he knelt in front of your legs.

“Call him.”

You bit your lip, hesitant at first until a soft kiss was planted against your ear.

“I’m waitin’, mama. Don’t you want me to touch you?”

His words were emphasized by the feeling of fingertips just barely grazing your knee, giving you goosebumps. You and Michael both watched as he laid his hand ceremoniously flat, starting a painfully slow creep up up up… thumb tracing teasing circles on your inner thigh from underneath your skirt.

Panting, your lungs burned momentarily in anticipation.

“Mikey,” you warned, looking over to see his lip between his teeth trying to hide his mischievous expression.

“Yes, pretty girl? Already sounding so needy f’me… I mean it. I don’t appreciate the way he treated you today. Let’s tell him it’s over.”

Against better judgement, you picked up the phone and dialed Carl’s number. Honestly, you couldn’t tell if the ringing you were hearing was coming from inside your eardrums or the speaker. God, it was so hard to concentrate on holding the phone steady with Michael rubbing on you and peppering whisper-soft kisses on your neck.

Carl answered and you did your best to keep yourself composed.

“..Hello… hey, yes, it’s me…”

Michael moved closer, spreading your legs wider to give himself room to explore. He couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t fathom the softness of your skin… Why did he wait so long to touch you like this? He loved your curvy legs, and the sight of your trembling thighs reminded him of things he only dreamed of. God, he wanted to feel more of you, get lost in you, every inch, all over…

His eyes widened in surprise when his fingers were invited by the heat between your legs. Upon further inspection and an eager swipe of his thumb, he discovered the seat of your panties were already sticky.

Your legs pitifully twitched at the contact, hips squirming forward into his hand.

“Focus, pretty, or I’ll stop. Tell him why you callin’ back so late.” Michael whispered in your ear, shifting your top over with one hand to plant an affectionate kiss on your shoulder while the other moved the damp lace out of his way, exposing you to him. Yeah, you felt exposed and mostly embarrassed by how worked up you were at this whole thing. But most importantly of all, you were unbelievably horny and ready for him to touch you.

“I-I can’t do this anymore.”

Michael smirked, nodding in encouragement for you to continue. It was hard not to get lost in gratitude, cherishing the way you’d fully relinquished control to him. He teased you long enough. His thumb dipped into your spongy folds, generously coating your clit in your own juices. Meticulously he experimented, testing out different patterns and intensities of pleasure as your eyes fluttered closed.

His dick was impossibly hard now, straining in his jeans.

But nothing was more important than how slick and flushed your pussy felt around his fingers. He noticed everything, his senses heightened by the smell of your pheromones in the air and the sounds of your choppy breathing as he took you higher. He noticed the exact moment he found the winning combo that made your thighs quiver. Index and middle forming a V around the bundle of nerves, he created more pressure and friction and your breath caught. He revered in the sight of you squirming at the new sensation, throbbing and desperately pulling at sheets under you with your free hand. Nothing was more important than this performance right there in his bedroom.

You stifled another moan by putting a hand over your mouth before it was too late.

Unsurprisingly, Carl was oblivious and completely furious. His tone was accusatory and downright disrespectful as he expressed the vindication he felt about disliking Michael, now proven by you calling him with such finality.

Little did he know he had a bigger reason to be mad.

“That’s right baby, I know… my pretty girl’s so slick down here. Keep goin’… tell him he sucks.” Having Michael in your ear… saying things like that drove you crazy. God, the mix of praise, affection, and direct commands in his soft voice made your walls angrily clench around nothing. Speaking of, your free hand guided his fingers further down. You didn’t care that your now ex-boyfriend was on the phone yelling your name to get your attention, or care to wait anymore. Your eagerness was enough to sway Michael until he obliged, sliding them inside.

“Here? You want me to touch you right here, mama?” You nodded, sighing as you felt the beginnings of relief from the tension building in your lower belly. His fingers felt like heaven as they curled upwards inside you.

“Then you gotta keep talkin’ for me.”

So you did. “Carl, you really suck…”

You told Carl how much you absolutely hated his guts. Told him about how stupid he looked in those fake designer suits he wore on nightclub grand openings. How dare he try to tell you what to wear. You told him that you’d no longer accept suggestions or criticism from a man that threw temper tantrums like a child. Told him he was insecure and that would no longer be your problem, that he needed to figure his own shit out… away from you.

And while you unloaded all the thoughts you’d thought and never said to keep any semblance of peace, Michael’s long fingers eagerly pumped in and out of you.

Your mouth dropped in shock as he abruptly stopped, pulling his glistening fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean. The blissed out look on his face was enough to make you want to explode into a thousand sparkly pieces.

“Mmm, like I thought… you don’t know how bad I wanna taste you, pretty.” Before you could recover, you felt your panties sliding off your legs. His head lowered between them, gripping the backs of your thighs as he spread you wider.

There was a look of reverence on Michael’s face as he stared at your pussy for the first time.

Your outer lips were puffy and covered in slick, drooling in anticipation as your labia instinctively bloomed for him. He buried his nose into the neat little tuft of dark curls on your mound first and inhaled, cursing under his breath as he declared you the prettiest flower he’d ever seen, losing the last of any restraint he had. God, he knew by how you tasted on his fingers that once he started he wouldn’t be able to stop.

He loved women. Their femininity, their spirit, their softness and soul… inspiring him so much. So naturally, he enjoyed eating pussy. The feel of it, the earthy taste was addicting to him from the moment he was invited to try with a lovely older woman on tour some years ago. It was a whole new world, he was very attracted to her assertiveness… she only wanted a purely physical relationship. It shocked him at first until it intrigued him enough to agree to it. She’d travel to every city, discreetly meeting in his hotel rooms with sunglasses on and nice dresses, nipples visibly hard against the fabric. He’d kneel down on the carpet and she’d prop her leg up on his shoulder, nothing underneath. Grabbed his hands, guided them to him to squeeze her flesh under his palms, touch places she wanted him to touch, taught him how to be patient as he pleased a woman. He was mesmerized. This happened for some time until she felt her purpose was served, sensing his feelings growing. He was heartbroken. Grateful for what she left him with, experiences and a savant’s thirst for knowledge. He took to his own studies, memorizing and learning women’s anatomy in biology almanacs and books written by women about sex and became an expert at providing pinnacles of pleasure, never to be outdone.

But this was more than that. His heart physically ached knowing there was a person in your life who didn’t value someone who he felt was so precious. He wanted to show you just how much you and this moment meant to him. He’d whispered soft, but honest claims against your skin tonight and now he was ready to seal them with a special kiss.

Drunk with pussy lust, his mouth enclosed around your entire pussy and he sucked, oh my God… you wanted to climb up the wall. Your legs desperately shook, heart stalling in your chest. He moaned into your flesh and instantly you were breathless, frowning at the feeling that you bit off more than you could chew. His eyes were bright behind tendrils of curls as he watched you respond to pure, irrevocable pleasure. When he felt your legs attempting to close, he shook his head firmly against your heated skin, still attached to you as his hands slid under your ass to firmly hold you in place. The sudden intensity made your head snap down, moaning with your mouth open as your eyes met. There would be none of that. He wanted you right there submitting to whatever he had to give you until he decided you were done. Your slickness was already beginning to coat the bottom half of his face. He wanted to savor this, committing your sublime taste to memory as mouth made the most vulgar sounds…

God, you were sure Carl could hear how loud Michael was licking and sucking at your clit. Boy, he was a noisy eater. It was something about how passionate he ate you, the sounds of him moaning and grunting in worship, sucking, lapping, devouring.

“Tell him how good it feels. Tell him how I’m takin’ good care of you.” Michael mumbled, mouth full.

“It feels so good - fuck - Michael, pleaseee.”

“Mmm, yes pretty? So polite… I’ll do anything you want, just tell me… mmm you taste unreal. So good, so perfect on my tongue.”

“M-more, please, your fingers -” He meant what he said. As soon as your pleas sounded his middle and index finger found their way inside you again, making your back bow. The way they fluidly slid up against your engorged sweet spot over and over sent shocks throughout your entire body.

He pressed his lips to your thigh.

“Carl should keep listenin’ to how happy I’m makin’ you, huh mama? Maybe he could learn somethin’ hearin’ me treat you better…”

You didn’t get a chance to reply with anything intelligible at first. Michael’s eager mouth was on you again like he was starving and desperately missed your taste. The phone unceremoniously fell against the bed and you went feral, holding his head as your hips lifted.

He felt the walls of your pussy start to clench, signaling him to keep his mouth and fingers steady, ready to reward your obedience with the first of many orgasms he had planned for you tonight. You were making the most beautiful sounds, hoarsely moaning his name, begging him not to stop, whining, but most importantly - not caring if Carl was still listening on the other line.

“Yes baby, that’s it - unh, pleaseeee…”

The tension in your lower belly finally snapped, turning into waves of pleasure so euphoric that they began in your mind and spread - manifesting into your unstable body, making you roughly tremble in release. He didn’t stop pulsating his lips around your engorged clit. In fact, he repeatedly moaned - those vibrations coupled with the way his tongue moved so fast barely gave you any time to process what was happening as you gripped his hair and rutted into his mouth.

Shit.

His fingers incessantly stroked your g-spot until you quite literally broke, sobbing as viscous juices trickled down his face and wrist until it pooled on the bed under you. You were in what had to be your own special version of heaven, hot tears running down your face.

And he was glad to do it. Grateful, even.

God, Michael could cum himself from what he beared witness to, finding himself rutting against the edge of the bed in response to your obvious overstimulation. Mmm, he was so grateful knowing that you desired being pleased by him, being pushed to limits you hadn’t experienced before. Everything about the way you made him feel motivated a commitment to worshipping you until his jaw was sore. Your neediness was more rewarding than any accolade he’d ever received, completely immersing himself in the sensations he was giving you. More than anything in his being, he was determined to show his love for you.

Better than Carl ever could.

taglist: @justalocallesbian (heyyyyyyy omg you're my first person on a taglist!)

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