⛧ | SUMMARY : Everyone knows Michael Jackson as a notoriously mysterious, elusive force of nature. A powerhouse. You’ve been tracking his disruptive streak in your town, eager to put a stop to his arrogance in your city. What happens when he strolls into your club like he owns the town, and instead gets owned by you?
⛧ | WARNINGS : sub!mike, mentions of violence, suit stays ON!, p in v, bondage, enemies to…?, slow burn, tension, brat taming, use of daddy & papi (hear me out), pathetic mike, easy mike, semi-public intimacy, oral (f. rec), nonviolent gun play, pull-out method (stay safe!), ball-busting (?), inappropriate acts while driving (do NOT attempt this), begging, light manipulation, humiliation kink, reader calls mike a slut, angst if you close your eyes, reader makes mike call her mommy, hard dom!reader, partially proofread!
⛧ | WC : 11.5k. WHEW.
⛧ | A/N: Saw this and got to work (INSPIRED BY THE TWEET). FYI: This is set in Club 30s of the Smooth Criminal mv but the year is 1987, bc i couldn’t figure out how to incorporate 30s language lol. It’s very vague, but this is a turf war type story! I wanted to do somethin different than a typical mafia fic. Hope y’all enjoy.
You were anticipating his arrival. Eager for it. The egotistical, amateur thug, Michael Jackson.
He irritated you beyond relief. He managed to intercept a handful of your private dealings with the powers of nearby towns. He was seizing new attributes and some of your most ‘loyal’ allies, and he was doing it all legally, so you couldn’t technically get the law enforcement youwere in control of to lock him away.
Newspaper headlines scrawled his name across them. The residents of your city were constantly whispering his name in heated gossip sessions. He was everywhere. Except your saloon.
You supposed it was because of the club’s reputation. You were known to be…assertive and highly intimidating. That fact was what confused you more, though. This was your city, your territory, your residents. Anybody blowing through it had to answer to you, and this man came in over four months ago terrorizing it, and in turn, you.
What made things worse was the fact that the team you employed to handle things and people like this were being incompetent as fuck. In fits of blinded rage, you’d cycled through eight different hench-people within the past few months—four duos—and clearly nobody could get the job done but you. When you had to fire even your best and most decorated security duo, you knew you’d have to step back into the field.
Or, so you thought.
A small part of you got tired of the unspoken cat and mouse game you had going on with him. He’d ruin some of your shady business deals, you’d be a second too late to catch him. He’d claim yet another one of your longtime product vendors, your goons would miss him by mere minutes.
Everyone who came to your club knew better than to utter his name in it, let alone with your earshot. The first and last time someone had, you removed one of your clunky stilettos and gave his tender parts a memorable blow with it. He was an unreliable crook who had it coming anyways, but the onlookers knew that action right there was a warning.
So, you knew it had to be serious business when you walked into your place of business and the entire place was crowded, everyone in their own groups passing around the same phrase over and over; “Michael Jackson’s coming.”
You knew what that meant. He was finally showing his slimy little head in your business. You thought of him as a punk. That he was so scared of you, he hadn’t even been brave enough to ask permission to come into your home, opting to wreak havoc instead of trying to work with you.
You secretly thought about that last part often—letting him do business with you. Or, at least the idea of it.
Had he done what he should’ve, he could’ve explained what he was there to do, maybe gotten on your good side and proven himself to you. Sure, objectively, he was really skilled at business deals and sweet-talking figureheads, not that you’d ever admit that to anyone out loud. He was also gifted at not leaving behind messes, which is what made catching him that much harder. He was so hard to track. Until he started brazenly leaving behind a signature to run things in.
No. Instead, he thought he could just bounce his happy ass into your shit—after months of strategically avoiding you—and take over. He was out of his damn mind.
Naturally, you were on edge and irritable by the idea of him just deciding to stroll into your relatively peaceful club like he was allowed the luxury.
Although you were into some pretty shady business, you’d always made sure to keep it away from Club 30s. The place was a safe-haven, a vessel for escapism. Sure, there had been a few tussles and mishaps here and there, but nothing that couldn’t be easily talked down, and certainly nothing like the trouble he was sure to bring.
Although you were made aware by one of his “associates” that he meant no harm and that he was coming peacefully and alone, you weren’t taking any chances. The place was filled with security disguised as regular club goers at every focal point in the building, every line of sight.
Of course, he was leaving you waiting in your own office, swiveling around in your chair sat in front of a sleek mahogany desk. Taking his sweet time to get on with this “meeting.”
“Who the fuck does this guy think he is? God? He has fifteen minutes to get in here or I swear on your mother, I’m killing him myself!” you yelled at your head of security, Knuckles, though there was nothing he could technically do. He was in charge of being near you at all costs. “Someone go scope the floor again. If it turns out he’s pulling some sneaky shit under our eyes, so help me, G—”
“Boss, he’s at the entrance. Says he’s…waitin’ on you to greet him,” a guard bursts into your office explaining timidly.
“Excuse me? Greet him? The fuck does he think this is, a spa? Tell one of the guys to escort him up,” you scoffed at Jackson’s audacity.
“B-but he said he—”
“Do you consider your pinky toes valuable? I suggest you follow my orders, or I’ll answer that question for myself,” you threatened the man. Seriously, where was everyone getting their balls today?
He ducked his head apologetically and exited the room hastily, mumbling codes into his ear piece. You, however, meticulously reapplied your dark mauve lipgloss and spritzed an extra layer of perfume onto your warm skin, appearing not to care about the whole ordeal. This was all apart of your routine, though.
It was something you used to your own advantage—being a woman in a male dominated industry. Men heard about you, sure. Everyone knew you; you were the biggest name on the coast, but they always doubted you when you first met them. They thought you’d used your looks to climb your way up, when you truly only started to after you solidified your place on top. It kept up a barrier; they’d think they could manipulate you because you’re just a pretty face, when in reality, you were a pretty face manipulating them.
They’d always find out when it was too late, but when they did, they respected you too much to retaliate. You played the role of a fool so well they hadn’t realized they were the fools all along. That, and they found you nothing short of terrifying.
Going off of the behavior you saw in Jackson, you had to play up this role very specifically. He was no doubt full of himself, but not in the way that most men were. He didn’t see himself as better because he was a man or had anyone stroking his ego, he was confident because of his proven skill.
Worse, he seemed to openly respect you in his own way without you having to properly demand it, and you didn’t know how to read that.
“He’s down the hall. Anything happens, we’re all ready to go on your signal,” your security head leaned down and whispered as you straightened your back in your chair, putting on your most stoic face.
“Got it. Send ‘em in.”
The door swung open with so much force, both yourself and your guard thought you were being setup and attacked, before you heard the most obnoxiously tickled laugh follow it.
“Wow, I heard you were serious, but I wasn’t expectin’ all this for lil’ ol’ me. C’mon, put the gun down!” Michael announced as he caught sight of the rifle in Knuckles’ hands. “I come in peace, I promise,” he declared, giving a bow.
His eyes scoped the room out, presumably looking for exits, traps, weapons, what have you, before they landed on yours. He gave you the most dazzling smile you’d ever seen on a man, and that only pissed you off even more.
As hypocritical as you felt, you understood the climbing to power by your looks assumption. There was no way he wasn’t using his to help him, at least in the way you were. It made you sick—you were very skilled at picking up character traits, and you realized that the two of you were too common. Clearing your throat in defiance toward the invasive thought, you squinted your eyes at him, realizing you didn’t care to leave up that delicate mask you usually did.
“You walk in to my place of business and don’t even introduce yourself to me first? Where are your manners?” you spat at him, curling your fingers and beckoning him toward the seat in front of your desk. He followed the command mindlessly.
“I honestly expected you to be waitin’ on me. Felt like the whole building was,” he responded, motioning to all the security outside. “You’re right, though. Hi, I’m Michael Jackson. Thanks for not killing me,” he partially joked, extending his hand to shake yours.
“If you made me wait fifteen minutes longer, I was definitely going to.” You looked at his extended hand and back up to his face, scoffing at it. He dropped it in his lap as he sat down.
“Why’re you here, exactly? And why now?” you asked him dubiously. He shrugged his shoulders as if this conversation was the most mundane thing he’d ever experienced.
“I wanted to have a civil conversation with you. I got tired of you chasin’ me down. It’s a pain, y’know? Figured I could call for some sorta truce and split some terrifies n’ vendors.” He looked into your face with a hopeful glint in his eyes. He was definitely an idiot.
“A pain for you? Do you know how many business deals I’ve lost because of your double-crossin’ ass? A truce? “Split up” territories and vendors? This is my city, and these are assets I worked for on my own. I oughtta beat your ass right now.” You glared at him with pure venom in your eyes and disgust in your face and you stood up, slapping your palms against your desk. He smiled at you like you just offered him a billion bucks.
“Yeah? What makes you think you’ll win?” he egged on, a look of pure mischief etched into his eyes. You pushed out of your chair and walked up to his side, bending down to his ear.
“The fact that I’m standin’ right next to you unarmed, n’ Knuckles doesn’t even have his gun drawn,” you stated evenly, sending a chill down his spine. “In fact, Knuckles? Go ahead n’ check on our sweet guests. I have everythin’ under control.” He looked at you and a proud smile drew across his face as he gave you a swift nod and Jackson a shake of his head.
As the door clicked shut, you smoothed Jackson’s collar down and cleared your throat, sitting back down at your expansive desk. You folded your hands under your chin and smiled at him in a way that unsettled him; it was so calm that you almost came off like a lunatic. And God, you somehow looked more beautiful.
“So!” You clapped your hands together, breaking the deafening silence. “You either give me back my town, or say goodbye to any family you have, because you’re gonna be goin’ away for a long time,” you threatened.
“You’re kinda funny, y’know? C’mon, let’s write out an agreement. Get me some paper?” he replied arrogantly, ignoring the threat you realized you only partially meant. Scoffing, you slid open a drawer in your desk and brought out a stack of blank sheets of paper and two black ink pens adorned with your initials. “Branding your name? Isn’t that a little narcissistic?” he teased in an attempt to ease the tension. It only pissed you off further.
“And scratching your name into the walls of businesses you stole from me isn’t?” you retorted with a roll of your eyes, sliding him a sheet.
“It’s a statement, pretty lady. Besides, it got your attention. I’d say that worked out well for me, don’tcha think?” he asked you lowly, biting his lip.
“Ugh, you’re really fuckin’ irritating. First rule—write this down—you are only to address me as ‘Boss.’ Everyone else does, n’ you will show me the same respect. Or, I can just go through with gettin’ rid of you!” you suggested, your voice brightening at the last sentiment.
“You really think I’m scared of you n’ your lil’ empty ‘threats’, mama?” he questioned gesturing air quotes, with a defiant raise of his his eyebrow. He leaned his elbow on your desk and perched his cheek in his hand.
“I think you should be. In fact, yeah. I think you are.” Your voice lowered to a threatening decibel, and you watched as he gulped and tried to cover it with a cough, a wave of heat rushing over you.
“Definitely not,” he argued in an attempt to assert dominance. He tried to shrug off his…well, whatever he was feeling, and sign his name and date on the paper you handed him. His hand was trembling so much, he had to hold it still and try again. That only fueled you further.
“Then why’re you shakin’, Jackson? Hm?” you teased with an evil glint in your eyes.
“It’s just unnaturally cold in here. What are you, a demon? You scared of heat ‘cuz it reminds you of the spot in hell you crawled out of?” He was trying to insult you, and anyone else would’ve taken it as one. But, you could hear his voice shake below the stern tone he tried to smooth on top of it.
“You’re wearin’ a full suit and it’s actually pretty warm in here with all that hot breath you keep spreadin’ around,” you scoffed at him, trying to ignore the way he looked away from your heavy gaze underneath his pretty, long eyelashes. He let the thick silence swallow the stuffy room. “Aw, c’mon papi. Nothin’ cocky to say?” you sneered at him.
“You shouldn’t…Don’t call me that,” he whispered pathetically.
“Why not? Whatcha gonna do if I say it again? Hm…” you asked as you stood up, leaning down over your desk. “…Papi?”
“Please…” he tried again, still avoiding eye contact.
“Please what? Look at me while I’m speakin’ to you,” you commanded with a little extra bass in your voice, causing him to flinch and meet your eyes.
“Please, let’s just finish the stupid contract. You’re wastin’ my ti—”
“Y’know what your issue is? You’re so used to people doin’ anythin’ for you. You’re spoiled. You need to be put in your place,” you interrupted as you began pacing around the office.
“C’mon—”
“Every stupid story I’ve heard from people you’ve managed to sweep from under my feet has been the same: ‘He just knew what to say!’ ‘He was charming!’ ‘He threatened me!’ ‘He was a smooth talker!’ Do y’know what that sounds like, Jackson?” You stopped at the office door and locked it with a swiftness. You heard him shuffle in his seat and turned around to face him, an unreadable expression on your face. “That sounds like a pretty boy that charmed his way to the top.”
You walked up to him and placed your hand on his shoulder, leaning down to whisper into his ear.
“That’s not gonna work on me, handsome. I know that game. I’ve deconstructed that game.” You made eye contact with a set of keys on your desk and strolled over to it again, pushing the one you needed into a key fob in one of its drawers. When you found what you were searching for, a sinister smile crept into your lips, and you pulled it out slowly. A handgun.
“I’m unarmed,” Jackson protested, a sense of anticipation, excitement, and fear settling into his bones.
“I know.”
He stood up now, and your hand gripped the gun tighter, anticipating his next move. Instead, he leaned over the desk hand curled his finger under your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“I’m not scared of you, mama. These threats…they probably scare everyone else. You’re all talk, baby. It’s cute,” he teased, only irritating you further. You grabbed ahold of his wrist with your free hand and tugged it, pulling him closer to your face. Your mouth was inches from his, and a deep, instinctual part of you wanted to bite his lip.
“What’s my name?” you asked him softly, your minty breath fanning over his face.
“I’ll call you whatever I wanna call you, pretty,” he retorted, scoffing. You yanked his hand down lower, clutching his wrist between both of your chests.
“No. You’re gonna call me ‘Boss’, and you’re gonna respect me,” you giggled maniacally, placing his hand atop your chest, above your heart. “Feel that? See how it’s beatin’ steadily? You’re the only one that’s scared here. I’m in my element.”
Jackson was losing a battle within himself. As much as the stubborn part of him wanted to fight you, everything about the way you were treating him disarmed him completely. Your breath smelled like mint, your hands smelled like caramel, and your aura smelled like hard work. He wanted those scents all over him. But he also wanted to play this little game with you for a bit longer. He leaned into your face just a fraction closer, but noticeable enough for your heart to sputter under his touch.
“It’s poundin’ now,” he whispered.
“You’re a joke,” you deflected, unable to admit the fact that he was succeeding in making you nervous.
“Why’s your heart beatin’ so fast?” he asked teasingly, and it only made your heart pound harder. You dropped his wrist and bought the gun up under his chin. He bit his lip, but not out of fear—he was very openly…into this.
“What’s my name, Jackson?” you asked Michael sweetly, coaxing him to obey. A technique you usually used for opponents that proved to be a bit harder to get through.
“I’m not sayin’ it, if that’s what you think. It’s beneath me,” he spat at you. You crawled on top of your desk and sat on your knees before him. Confidently, you clicked the gun’s safety trigger, turning it off, and clutched your other hand around it as well, holding it properly against the middle of his forehead. He leaned into it, almost daringly, his eyes sparkling up at yours.
“Looks like you’re beneath me, now. What’s my name?” you responded icily.
“Can’t take you seriously when you look this pretty, baby. It’s gonna take more than an unloaded gun,” he shamelessly flirted with you. “Honestly, you’re just gettin’ me all hot n’ bothered.” The pretty man reached for his suit jacket, his hand searching for the button holding it together. Against your better judgment, you took the gun and roughly nudged his hand away with it, eliciting a surprised whine from his throat. “The hell?” he cried out.
“You didn’t ask for permission to do that, handsome,” you replied with a nonchalant shrug.
“I don’t need to ask for permission—What? Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” he questioned, his voice trembling at the sight of you. You were looking at him like you were starved. He felt small under you, and he loved it.
Unbeknownst to him, hearing the way he whined and protested—never letting up his stupid little act of arrogance—was awakening something in you. You’d always been assertive, but you’d never had someone so clearly fight submission to you. People always just…submitted. You wanted—no, needed—to break him. You trailed the gun up his arm and settled it in the crook of his neck slowly, teasingly. Fluttering your eyes at him, you then trailed it up to his mouth.
“Look at you…Mr. Big Guy starin’ up at me like I’m his religion. Open your mouth, pretty,” you cooed at him sweetly. He obliged without a thought. “Hmm, so you can listen, huh?” you scoffed at him, drawing the gun away. “You’re so fuckin’ pathetic. Close your mouth, you’re drooling on my desk.” His mouth clamped shut and he wiped his chin awkwardly.
“Shut up,” he argued, rolling his eyes. You reached your free hand down, gesturing for him to grab it.
“Make me. And help me down.” you ordered. Of course, he tenderly helped you meet the floor. He was so fucking easy. But apparently, so were you. He grabbed your waist with both of his hands harshly and looked you deep in your eyes.
“Did I ever tell you that you’re pretty?” he drawled at you, a hint of an accent slipping out.
“You’re so desperate, are you serious?” you laughed at him in an attempt to conceal how badly you wanted to close the distance between your lips. Because he still pissed you off heavily. Your gun-clad hand was swinging loosely at your side, completely forgotten. Your mind? Lost.
You took in the sheer want written all over his face and crushed your mouth to his, and you’d swear all of the tension in the room physically fell into your lips, until he kissed you back.
Jackson moaned into your mouth and hugged you closer with his arm snaked around your hips. A hard obstacle kept nudging your abdomen as your mouths worked in tandem, and it was starting to distract you. As much as you wanted him, you still absolutely despised him. And clearly, he was lying about being unarmed. Drawing your gun, you pulled away from him, guard completely up again.
“H-hey what’re you doin’!” he cried, putting his hands up in the air.
“You fucking liar. I felt the weapon, jackass. Keep your hands up!” you commanded, all of the venom from before creeping back into your voice.
“I don’t have a weapon, are you crazy? Put the gun down!” He slowly lowered his hand towards his pockets, ready to turn them inside out. You slid your pointer finger toward the trigger.
“I said hands up!” you threatened.
“Okay, check for yourself! I’m unarmed, I swear,” he pleaded.
Cautiously, you walked up to him, patting him down invasively. His breathing came out in sharp staccato every time you touched him, and his pants grew tighter and tighter. Maintaining eye contact with him, you grazed your free hand over his pockets, and that’s when you felt it. His breath hitched and his eyes widened in embarrassment. It wasn’t a concealed weapon…at least not in that sense.
“Jesus, are you taking pills? Why the fuck can your dick even get that hard?” you snickered at him with faux disgust, lowering the gun and dropping your other hand, making a show of wiping it on your clothes.
“I’m—you’re the one who…” he trailed off, giving up on finding an excuse.
You, on the other hand, started gaining your composure and you wanted to slap both him and yourself for losing control the way you did. Especially with him of all people.
“Well, that was enough to make me come to my senses. Let’s finish this stupid “peace treaty” so you can get the fuck outta my office.”
Without a word, the two of you sat back down in your respective seats, writing up clauses and trading papers, making notes in the margins of the terms you agreed and disagreed on. Knuckles came back a few times yelling through the door to check in on you, as you’d been alone with Jackson for over two hours by this point.
As you neared hour three after signing both copies—the two of you finally having come up with a clear and concise set of rules—you both stood up and shook hands amicably, your fingers lingering a bit longer than they should’ve as your hands separated. You cleared your throat and tucked your contract into one of your file cabinets, the sound of it closing filling the room.
Ever the annoying gentleman, he held your office door after you unlocked and opened it, gesturing for you to walk out first.
“I’m looking forward to working with you, pretty,” he sounded as he sauntered down the hall to the bustling club.
You hated how deep that compliment sat in your stomach.
You hated him.
—
What you hated the most was that you spent the next hour pretending to care about anything other than the heated kiss you shared with your self proclaimed rival.
It was ridiculous. It was like the night intended to humiliate you.
The DJ played all of your favorite songs. The club goers were on their best behavior tonight. An attractive couple from out of town—man and woman—looking to have fun for the night were throwing themselves at you. Stupidly, all you could think about was him.
You found yourself zoning out of conversations and slowing down your dancing as you scanned the crowd, searching for his white hat and dark curls under the lights.
It was like fighting a war within yourself. You still held this visceral disdain towards his arrogance and the way he flirted with you in the way men do when they know they’re attractive. Yet, that tension was melting into a palpable attraction as well.
It was only 10:34pm and you were slready ready to go home. You decided that having fun tonight wasn’t in the cards for you, so you trekked your way past drunken, sweaty bodies, headed to the club’s secret exit. Knuckles gave you one last once over and a friendly handshake as he bid you a safe night.
As your heel turned when you walked into an obscured back corner, you felt a large, warm hand clasp against your mouth and nose, and your body was tugged into a cold supply closet.
Just as you began to lose consciousness from fighting against the body without being able to properly breathe, the hand slipped from your face and spun you around. You landed a strong right hook to the figure’s shoulder—missing his face because you were still dizzy.
“Ouch—Hey, it’s me! Stop, before I have to hold you down!”
Fucking Jackson.
“What the fuck is your issue?!” you whisper-yelled at him, coughing as you caught your breath.
“I…I tried enjoyin’ myself, I really did…” he whispered back, cautiously reaching his hand out toward your figure. “I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you. And the kiss,” he confessed shyly.
Stunned—still trying to focus on remaining calm and conscious—you stood in the tiny room shivering, connecting your thoughts. He stood only a few feet in front of you, and his perfume coated every centimeter of your lungs. Supposedly because you still hadn’t said another word, he continued to explain himself.
“I was standin’ in a corner, tryna avoid this group of…these women. And like two men. They kept tryin’ to get me to come “hang” with them.” He sighed, replaying the moment in his mind. “I wasn’t interested in what I realized they were puttin’ down. Then I saw you leavin’ n’ wanted to at least tell you good night…if that’s alright?”
He stepped closer to you, nearly backing you against a metal rack containing an assortment of cleaning supplies. His hand settled against your forearm with a touch so delicate, you nearly folded. Nearly.
“Jackson, I don’t know what you think this is, but you got it wrong. We’re not even friends. Get the fuck out my way, man. I’m tired,” your voice sounded with just the amount of bite you hoped it would. You heard him sigh exasperatedly in response.
“Baby, please. I’m bein’ completely vulnerable here. It’s just you n’ me. You tellin’ me you haven’t thought about that kiss? Not even once?” he questioned you. The way his voice carried through the question made it nearly slip into a plea.
“I told you what you need to refer to me as.” You shook your head and pushed him back towards the door. “Let me out, I’m irritated and tired enough to just kill you here,” you threatened, voice full of exhaustion.
“I’ll drive you home, then,” he offered.
“No the hell you won’t. You think I want you knowin’ where I live? I’m not an idiot.” You laughed with no humor, the sound nearly drowned out by the booming bass in the club getting louder as a more upbeat song filtered through the speakers.
Even worse, you were close to excited at the offer. Because you had been thinking about the kiss. About him. And you’d been thinking about all the ways you’d break him.
“Then come to my place,” he counter-suggested, his patience clearly wearing thin.
“Jackson—”
“Just call me Michael,” he interrupted. Rudely. You rolled your eyes and continued.
“Michael—see how at least one of us can use preferred names?—it was a stupid kiss and a very obvious mistake. Just mistook that tension as attraction instead of pure hate.” You shrugged your shoulders and pushed past him successfully, walking through the dark hallway to your exit. You heard the sound of his footsteps following you and that succeeded in irritating you more than you ever had been.
“So you admit there’s tension between us then?” he called after you with hope in his voice.
“Go home, Michael!” you called back, slamming the door you slunk out of right in his face. He busted it open and yelled after you down the hidden parking lot, walking far enough behind you to not be threatening, subconsciously scanning the darkness and your surroundings for potential threats.
“C’mon girl, just slow down. Don’t you wanna try one more time?” he pleaded. Your legs slowed to a halt as you made it to the rear of your car, and he took that as an invitation, jogging up to your side at last. He grabbed your cold hands and stepped in front of you, holding your gaze. “If the next kiss sucks, we can just leave this in the past. We can be professional and respect each other whenever we cross paths.”
You continued looking at him with no emotion, feigning boredom as he continued on, every word he spoke panging at your abdomen. One of his arms snaked around your waist, holding your body flush against his, and you could feel yourself drunken with his scent like you were in your office.
“But I can’t part from you if we don’t at least try again. You’re drivin’ me crazy,” Jackson sighed.
You stood frozen in his desperate embrace for a belated moment, genuinely warring with your conscience. As much as you wanted to do this—whether you’d admit it or not—thinking about kissing him again and that spark being gone was a disappointment you weren’t hoping to be faced with. Still, he was right. You also couldn’t part from him without at least taking that risk and trying again as well. So, you grabbed him by his collar and held him in front of your face for a second, truly taking him in up close under the blue moonlight and yellow streelights, and finally kissed him.
This kiss wasn’t as rushed as before, but it was much more passionate, and even more aggressive. He fought to take the lead, but your lips and tongue refused, and you pushed him up against your car with a bit more force than you anticipated, hooking your arms around his neck. He was moaning into your mouth like he was getting pleasured elsewhere, and grabbing you so tight it seemed as though he was trying to fuse his body with yours. You pulled away and laughed a bit, teasing him.
“I’m not runnin’ away, handsome. You can loosen your grip,” you whispered against his parted lips, panting.
“I want you,” he whispered back, chasing your lips.
“You’re easy. All you asked for was a kiss,” you argued, pretending you weren’t excited by the idea of more.
“Please, I…” he trailed off, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one more…tender. His grip on your body loosened, but his hands explored more. Your shoulder blades. Your collarbones. Your stomach. Then, his fingers curiously trailed to the swell of your ass, and just…rested there.
Embarrassingly, you were getting increasingly wet by the feeling of him touching you like this, and wanted more. You pushed your breasts up against his chest and bit his lower lip like you absentmindedly thought of doing earlier, and deepened the kiss even more. He groped your ass just as you wanted, and you let out a nearly inaudible whine against his mouth. He heard it, though, and smiled against your lips, using that ego-stroke to fuel his travel down to the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up to straddle his hips.
You gasped softly, your lungs filling with the taste of his tongue and the cool of the crisp air of the night, and your lips reconnected with his as if it were instict. You were losing that mental battle of stubbornness. Then your hips ground against his, and it creeped back in.
“I need to go home,” you spoke abruptly, your voice slicing through the muffled night. He looked at you with eyes widened with shock and…embarrassment?
“But—”
“Drive me there,” you interrupted his protest, fishing one of your hands into the purse hanging loosely between your elbow and dangling your keychain in his face. He took it without a second thought, and dropped you steadily onto the asphalt, straightening your clothes for you as you dropped your arm from his shoulders.
He lodged the car key into the keyhole and unlocked it, then walked around to the passenger seat and opened it for you, gently leading you in. You closed it before he could because you still couldn’t let up your little facade, and took a deep inhale as he walked around to the driver’s seat. Your seatbelts clicked loudly in the silent car, and then he turned the engine over.
You directed him to the freeway as you looked out your window, voice coming out evenly.
Michael reached over to the car stereo and pressed play, humming in approval over your music selection, and mumbled the lyrics as he followed your short, simple driving instructions.
You were still so heated. And wet.
Then the idea came to you, and you turned it over in your head about four times before acting on it. You looked over and studied his side profile as he cautiously eyed the traffic, squinting his eyes and leaning forward every time he got close to another vehicle.
Sucking in a short breath, you quietly unbuckled your seatbelt and reached your left hand over to his clothed thigh, gripping it suggestively. He looked at you from the corner of his eye, raising his eyebrow at you in question.
“I’m gonna try somethin’, okay? Just continue drivin’ n’ keep your eyes on the road,” you ordered.
“Bu-Wait. I can’t focus like, o-oh,” he sighed. Your nails scratched up his thigh until your hand stopped at his groin, and you gently palmed him through his dress pants. You bit your lip as you truly assessed his size. He was…huge.
“Yes you can, papi. Do it for me?” you asked him sweetly, your voice thick like molasses.
“O-ah! Okay,” he obliged.
You hummed in reply and crawled up onto your seat, leaning over the console to balance your elbows against the armest as you began kissing up his neck. He jerked the car as you reached a particularly sensitive spot right below his ear, and you yanked his clothed erection painfully in warning.
“What did I just say?” you warned, feeling him throb inside his pants.
“I’m sorry! Just feels so...I’ll be still,” he amended, fighting down a shiver as he felt your breath fan against his damp neck.
“That’s what I thought. Turn left on La Brea, and keep goin’ straight ‘til you see that broken stop sign. You’re gonna turn right there n’ drive until you see a dirt road,” you instructed as your eyes focused on your surroundings. He nodded once and tried his hardest to focus on the road as your hand rubbed against his dick properly again.
Michael’s strained moans filled up the car, completely drowning out the crooning from your high-quality stereo the more friction you gave to his length. You were fighting so hard from moaning yourself—everything about this situation was turning you on. From the resentment you had toward him to the honey-dipped vocals coming from his throat, your nervous system was in shock from the pure dichotomy.
He kept fighting himself every time he would get lost in your touch. Every time his grip on the steering wheel would loosen, he’d grit his teeth and adjust his posture. Every time his eyes would start rolling back, he’d shake his head and squint his eyes in focus. When he felt himself buck up into your palm and accidentally accelerate on the gas, he forced his hips to still completely.
As the car approached that aforementioned dirt road, you pulled your wet lips from his neck once more, giving out gentle instructions to find your home, hidden in an unsuspecting area. Once he started getting closer, both to your house and to his orgasm, you sped up your softcore handjob and bit his ear, mumbling a mix of insults—
“I hate you.”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“So fuckin’ easy.”
—and praises—
“That’s it, handsome.”
“What a sweet voice.”
“You’re doin’ such a good job.”
—flying from your lips, until you ripped your hand away and settled back into your seat with a satisfied smile.
“Why—”
“Roll the window down n’ put in the gate code. It’s 0829#” you interrupted his protest, pretending to be unaware of the situation you created.
Shaking, he cranked the window down just enough to reach his arm out and carefully pressed each digit. As he drove into the property, you instructed him on where and to park your luxury car. The car overflowed with silence, save for his uneven panting and the gentle humming from your car radio. Clearing his throat, Michael looked straight ahead.
“Thanks…for…um. I’m walkin’ you to your door n’ I’ll needa use your phone to call a cab,” he spoke evenly as he turned off the engine and put your car in park.
“‘Kay,” you responded lightly, pleased with yourself. You weren’t making him go home in a cab. You weren’t letting him go, period. Gravel crunched beneath his black loafers as he made his way to your door, extending his trembling hand as he helped you out of your seat and led you to your house. He swung your keychain around the index finger of his free hand as he took in the scenery, very obviously avoiding your eye contact. That irritated you.
You snatched the keys from his hand and sighed loudly, pushing past him as you walked up the steps to the front door. Impatiently, you unlocked it and thrust it open, leaving it wide for him to follow in behind you as you hit the lights in your foyer. He did just that, closing and locking the door behind him and sliding his shoes off as he saw you do with your kitten heels. You hummed to yourself as you walked around adjusting things here and there and putting away stray items you left out earlier, not realizing you’d have a…guest.
“Uh, sorry. Where’s your phone?” Michael asked bashfully after he’d watched you flit around your kitchen for at least three minutes. You pointed to the wall next to his shoulder, and there it was: a cherry red landline hanging proudly right by his face. Heat crept up his neck as you turned back towards your refrigerator, snickering to yourself.
“You don’t need it, though. At least have some water and a shower,” you suggested as you reached inside the appliance for the pitcher, while Michael pervertedly eyed your bent figure. “I sometimes wear men’s clothes to sleep in. I’m sure I have somethin’ you’ll fit.”
“I don’t wanna keep you up,” Michael replied, waving his hands in dismissal.
“Boy, just take the damn offer. I don’t wanna kill you anymore, if you’re just sayin’ that ‘cuz you’re scared…At least not right now,” you joked. “Here. Sit n’ drink this,” you directed as you handed him a glass of chilled water while he sunk into the barstool at your kitchen’s island. You stood in front of him on the other side of it and downed your own glass, two stray droplets of water dripping down your exposed neck. That’s when Michael realized you’d removed the jacket that went with your perfectly tailored pantsuit, and his breath hitched, causing him to choke on the water slightly.
“I think I’ll have that shower,” he stated between coughs.
—
Honestly, nothing much changed between the span of the next seven minutes that would’ve made it obvious that this was the position the two of you were gonna get into.
Michael helped you wash the glasses—per your demand, though he truly would’ve done it on his own—and the few dishes you’d left in your sink before you headed to work, and tidied up your island while he watched you put those dishes away.
He smiled to himself as he listened to you call him annoying and complain that he “ruined your night” by “brainwashing” you into kissing him the first time.
His long legs followed your own as you led him up your staircase into your room, where you flicked on a light and dimmed it before searching your closet for a suitable pair of sweatpants and a band tee for him to change into.
Somewhere along the way, Michael grew tired of the way that your demanding voice landed in his ears and caused him to grow even more aroused. The clothes in your hands fell at your feet while he kissed you roughly, pressing you up against your bedroom’s wall.
He melted into your touch immediately, and you stubbornly—and weakly—fought his initially, eventually melting into it as it grew more impassioned.
“You’re so damn stubborn. Relax, mama,” he coaxed you, growing impatient with your attitude.
“It’s ‘cuz I still can’t fuckin’ stand you, Jackson,” you retorted between heated pecks.
He hummed against your lips and pulled you away from the wall, taking what you said as a challenge. He spun you around and sat you on the sofa at the foot of your bed, eyeing you seductively.
“Can’t stand me?” he questioned for clarity, raising an incredulous eyebrow.
“At all,” you responded evenly, jutting your chin out in defiance.
He nodded once and sunk to his knees, rubbing his hands along the length of your upper thighs. You turned your head, refusing to let him see how nervous you were, and held your breath.
“Breathe, pretty. I’m not gonna hurt you…Unless you’re into that,” he cooed at you.
“Well, I’m not into you,” you responded, your voice betraying you by coming out much softer than you intended.
“Oh, please. Even you don’t believe that,” he replied with a chuckle, sliding his hands to your hips and leaning into your personal space.
That little display of overconfidence pissed you off yet again.
“Boy, you got a mouth on you,” you remarked with irritation in your voice, pulling him closer and resting your palms on his shoulders. He faltered at your touch—slightly, but noticeable enough to tease him for. “You’re nervous.” It was a statement, an observation.
“So are you,” he countered, leaning into you enough to ghost his lips over yours.
You both stilled at the whisper of contact, unsure whether to deepen the moment or leave it suspended. Then your lips were closed around his and his hands were unbuttoning your lacy blouse with confidence. His voice was stuck in a high timbre, whimpering and moaning every time your tongue licked his own or traveled across his lips. By the time you pulled away for air, your entire torso was revealed, and he was staring at the plane of skin.
“I need…” he trailed off before kissing up your stomach to the undersides of your tits, teasing. You tried your absolute hardest to remain impassive, but you wanted more.
“Jackson, do something,” you insisted, slinking your hand around his neck and tugging him close.
“Mmm, say please,” he argued. You ignored that because there was no way he was being serious, and tugged some more, to no relief. He leaned away from you and sat on his knees, looking at you with a sly expression dawning over him. “I said say please.”
You rolled your eyes at him because the idea of you begging for anything from him felt absolutely ridiculous. Still, he held that face and posture, and excitedly waited for you to do what he ordered you to.
“You’re out of your mind,” you said with nothing but impatience falling from each syllable. He laughed, and you slid your hand to the front of his neck, your voice dropping an octave as you spoke calmly to him. “I’m not joking. I don’t like you enough to play around with you.” You trailed your chilly fingers along the underside of his jaw—unhanding his neck—and settled your index under his chin, tilting his stubborn pout toward your own.
“I gotta be honest. You’re doin’ somethin’ to me…when you talk to me like that. It’s…I want you so bad,” he whined, genuinely pouting at you.
“Michael, you’re actually a slut. Holy shit,” you exclaimed, with a hearty laugh. He quite literally groaned at the degrading term.
“Am I?” asked breathlessly, continuing to kiss and lick your mostly exposed upper body.
“Clearly,” you responded between bated breath as well, as his fingers hastily reached behind your back and unhooked your bra. Your breasts spilled from the undergarment and jiggled at the loss of support. Michael gasped audibly.
“Oh, hurt me,” he moaned before taking a half-erect nipple between his spit-dampened lips and sucked with fervor. You let out your first unrelentingly loud sound of pleasure of the night, and it was music to his ears.
You moaned from the depths of your diaphragm, and your back arched straight into his mouth, away from the back of the couch. Still, because he just had to be annoying, Michael decided to tease you about it. “Thought you weren’t into me?” he stated mockingly, then he licked a teasing stripe down to your bellybutton.
“Yeah, ‘m not,” you half lied. You definitely were into him, you just hadn’t accepted that yet.
“Mm. This?” he asked as he unbuttoned and unzipped your dress pants? holding eye contact.
“Mm-mmnh,” you mumbled quietly.
He stared at the intricately etched flowers on the crotch of your cream colored undies. They matched the blue in his tie. A tiny patch of lightly trimmed hair was visible through the fabric. And you were very visibly wet. Cute.
“Can I…?” he asked. You raised your hips in response, and he pulled your pants and sticky panties down off your legs and ankles in one go. Your pussy drooled onto the couch while he just…observed it, licking his lips in pure hunger.
“Michael…” you rushed him.
“Just wanted to remember her,” he whispered before he delved in. His hat tipped ever so slightly as the rim of it collided with your lower stomach while he pulled you closer.
He parted your lower lips with two of his fingers and dipped his tongue into your hole, keen to taste your essence. As soon as the flavor hit his taste buds, his eyes rolled back slightly and he groaned throatily.
“Shit,” you cursed belatedly, having held your breath for most of it. His tongue dragged up your slit with no rush at all, and once the top of it nudged your clit, you full on whimpered. “Need more.”
He obliged, hurriedly—but precisely—circling his tongue against the delicate bud, as his middle finger searched for your entrance, collecting the moisture from it.
“Use it. Your finger…” you sighed, feeling a tremor run up your lower core as he moaned into your pussy.
He nodded his head persistently and followed your instruction.
This was the moment you realized you could be in over your head. Because if his finger was this long, how the hell would he fit his…
Your pussy squeezed around it as he licked and suckled your clit and pumped his finger in tandem. Maybe you were touch starved because your job didn’t really leave time for romance, or maybe he was just gifted. Whatever it was, you were so overwhelmed that you thought you were hearing doves chirping. You looked down at his place on his knees and almost fainted. He was looking up at you from the tilted brim of his hat, almost pleading you with his eyes to come undone.
“Can you…I want you to cum in my mouth, please,” he…said? Begged? Either way, you hooked your legs around his neck and began riding, losing yourself in the pleasure you were getting from his mouth, fingers, and the lewd sounds echoing from your bedroom walls.
“I’m real close, b-oh!” you tried warning him, before he slipped his index finger inside your entrance and curled it along with the middle.
As much noise as you were forcing yourself not to make, you couldn’t help the holler that left your lips when his fingers jabbed your g-spot that one final time. You came hard—your walls fluttered and then constricted his fingers, and a clearish-milky white liquid streamed out of you in sticky, thick puddles. The dedicated man tried his best to ride you through the whole thing. His fingers couldn’t budge any longer, but he collected your cum with them and licked your essence clean from both himself and you.
You just sat there panting and restricting his air with your legs until you were overcome with a slew of emotions. Embarrassment. Shyness. Self-consciousness. The usual feelings most people get after being intimate with someone for the first time. Most people didn’t get irritated or annoyed though, but that’s something else you felt.
He’d successfully unwound you in a way you rarely let anyone do, let alone to this level. Even less so with people you considered to be competitors. Despite it all, you still wanted him.
After noticing you’d been in your thoughts a bit too long, you dropped your legs from his shoulders and gave him a rub on one of them.
“That was…really good. Thanks,” you clipped, still terrible at giving him a compliment this way despite flirting with him all night. He understood though, and ducked his head bashfully, blush crawling up his neck at a rapid speed.
“S’nothin’. I wanted to do that.” He shrugged his shoulders and smiled at you shyly, and you realized his bottom lip hung lower in one area, giving him a crooked smile. You hated how much that endeared him to you.
“C’mere,” you whispered to him, bringing his lips to your own. His mouth tasted like you, and you secretly reveled in the idea of your dna mixing with his. “Switch spots with me,” you ordered him in between pecks. Michael obeyed and began trying to remove his clothes, and you stopped him abruptly.
“The suit stays on,” was the only thing you said as you straddled his lap, grinding against his prominent erection and moaning at the over sensitivity. He began to protest, until he saw the snail trail you left on his white pants, and he realized that maybe he could make this work.
Keeping the kiss intact, you sat up on your knees and snaked one of your hands to the button of his white colored pants. He hugged your bare torso—save for your unbuttoned, lacy black blouse—flush against his body, his chin softly colliding with the soft plush of your breasts every time your hand traveled further down.
Michael broke the kiss first, hissing as your fingertips accidentally grazed his leaking tip while you undid his zipper. He tightened his hold on your body and dipped his head between your tits, lightly biting them to muffle a scream.
“Please…It hurts so bad,” he whined into your chest.
It was cute. He was holding onto your body like it was his temple and he was begging to you like it was a prayer. But you wanted to break him some more. You just couldn’t help it. That’s how you got to your level of success anyhow; breaking men.
“Hmm, let go then,” you mused unsuspectingly. He obliged, but he had no idea what you were planning, his leg shaking in unadulterated anticipation.
As you stood before him in all your soft, sweaty, warm glory, you winked at him and quickly disappeared into your closet. Your hand searched past different carboard boxes of loose jewelry, papers, and other miscellaneous items, until you found the two you needed. They were both nearly abandoned on the back of your closet shelf, since you hadn’t any reason to reach for them as of recent.
A designer business partner of yours took a few months creating them for you, since such a shoe hasn’t really been sold in stores at the time. It took a few seconds and two almost falls, but you got the custom designed 8-inch pumps on your feet and you felt like one of the Amazonian women from those Wonder Woman comics.
You fished what you needed from the second box, then dipped back into the warm bedroom, taking in the sight of your clothes strewn about the floor at your rival’s feet and the fact that he was still wearing all of his own.
His eyebrow was raised in confusion, but you said nothing as you approached him alluringly. It wasn’t until you were smack dab in front of him that he realized you were a lot taller than before—he sorta just always viewed you as somewhat otherworldy, so being excessively tall seemed normal, until it didn’t.
He looked down your moisturized legs and saw them. They were intimating, but oh so inviting.
Listen, he’d never been a crazy foot guy—not against them, just never caring for them too much in particular. He was sure that changed the moment he saw the way your feet arched in the towering heels that adorned you now.
He could only watch in wonder and bewilderment as you slowly lifted your leg and pressed the heel of your shoe right in front of his…delicate bits. He scooted forward just a bit, silently daring you to do it.
“Y’know…” you spoke slowly, twisting your ankle in intimidation. He gulped when the stiletto grazed his shaft slightly. “Earlier, I told you to call me ‘Boss’. Hm, how many times was that? About five, right? Nod.” He complied, nodding his head slowly, unsure what exactly he was agreeing to. “Right! So it’s only fitting that you get put in your place. Nod.” He did.
“Great, we’re in agreement!” you chirped, leaning forward, taking his wrists and pinning them behind his back. You tied them with the silk you’d sneakily grabbed earlier. You could see his throat bob as he gulped. “This can be real easy. Just do what I say. Do you understand, handsome?” He nodded again.
“Nuh-uh. Use your words, daddy,” you drawled enticingly. The title made him sit up straighter.
“Yes. I understand,” he stated, nearly tripping over his own words.
“Good. You say stop n’ I’ll stop, m’kay?”
“Okay,” he whispered, bracing himself.
Your heel met his testicles increasingly harsher, and you met his eyes, watching his face fight between an expression of pain and pleasure. His eyes fluttered open and closed, and arousal gathered between your thighs.
“I want you to call me mommy,” you remarked as you pushed harder, and you watched with excitement as Michael’s eyes widened at the unconventional term.
“No,” he replied defiantly, biting his lip.
“I’m not askin’, sweetheart,” you laughed. “I gave you plenty of chances to respect me earlier n’ you didn’t. Call me mommy.”
“I said no,” he responded without a lick of power. Still, you were getting upset enough in return.
“Don’t you respect me?” you pouted, your lip trembling as you retracted your heel from his groin and then snapped it back in its previous place. You weren’t actually sad, but seeing him fold at your mercy just because he thought you were was exactly what you wanted.
“A-ah! Of course I do!” he exclaimed in a panic.
“Then why—” another retract and crush, “won’t you just say it?” you pouted some more.
“Mama, please. A lil’ gentler…” he panted before he got his response out. “I…like when you yell at me. W-when—mmnh. When you’re mean,” he confessed between greedy gulps of air.
“Yeah? Well I like being respected.”
Retract. Crush.
He gasped in shock, but otherwise held the back of your pump in place, craving the pressure before you pulled it away again. Reluctantly, he let go and braced himself for impact again.
“This is the fifth one, Jackson. It’s now or I’m plannin’ out your assassination n’ goin’ to bed,” you warned as you drew your heel away again. It came back with more pressure than before, and he moaned pornographically.
“F-f-Okay! Mommy! I said it. Please, I still wanna…” He looked up at you with foggy, fucked-out eyes, and without another word he leaned forward, attempting to taste your visibly leaking pussy.
You drew your leg away from him and pulled his dick out of the opening in the crotch of his briefs. It was heavy, hot, and huge. And you wanted it to stuff you full.
“I don’t have any condoms. You?” you asked him calmly, another slick little plan brewing in your mind.
“No…” he sighed disappointedly.
Still calm, you straddled his lap again, looking him in his eyes. That eerily terrifying smile that equally scared and turned Michael on so much earlier fell into place on your lips as you leaned in to speak. “Then just pull out,” you suggested, nodding your head as you looked at him, coaxing him to do the same. “You’ll be fine. If you won’t I will have you tortured and killed, n’ I’ll personally hide the body. But no need. We’ll be fine, right? You can do that for mommy?”
He mirrored your nodding, just ‘yes-manning’ you as you wanted.
“Yes, I can do that for you, pretty. I can pull out,” he replied almost in a trancelike state, nodding in time with you.
“Good boy. I’ll untie you now,” you responded with a smile to yourself. You started doubting your negotiating abilities earlier, but this was almost comically easy.
He whispered a thank you as the tie fell behind his back, and snaked his arms around your torso, attempting to hold you as close as possible.
You lined yourself up with his rock-hard sex and sunk down slowly, accomodating the size. He mewled into your neck loudly, holding the back of your head and waist as you pulsed feverishly around him.
Feeling a surge of confidence and possessiveness, you took his hat and placed in atop of your thick hair. You yanked him forward by his blue tie and bit your lip as you eyed him. That sent a thick spurt of his sticky precum into your core.
And then you moved.
It was like you could feel every negative feeling you’d ever had about him both dissipate and ignite. It sat somewhere between yearning and resentment, and you expressed that unspoken emotion with every bounce.
You settled on degrading and praising again, not sure which fit your mood best, and it drove him halfway insane.
“Imagine if everyone saw you like this.”
“You’re so fuckin’ big, pretty boy.”
“Moanin’ like a slut.”
Michael seemed to particularly enjoy being called a slut, too. You said it over and over and you swore there was no way physically possible that he could get any harder, but he would.
“Yes,” he’d reply as you humiliated him repeatedly. “W-what else?” he’d question, begging for more.
He didn’t make you do all the work either, though you wouldn’t have minded. When your heel caught in one of the cushions as your legs began to stutter from pain and overstimulation, he held you tighter against his own torso and thrusted up into you with the force and speed of a jet engine.
Neither of you wanted the moment to end. For different reasons: You from unresolved resentment. Him from sheer adoration. And for a few of the same: Both of you were being opened up in new ways. You were enjoying yourselves. You’d miss the rawness of this moment.
That anecdote didn’t stop either of you from chasing the pleasure though, it only fueled your excuses to immerse yourselves into it further. You pulled Jackson’s head between your tits, silently guiding him to ravage them again. He did exactly that, and you took back over on the riding.
His tongue worked your body wonders. He was painting half a story of lust, love, hate, and competition all over the sensitive mounds of your breasts, and you read it while you wrote the climax and ending where your two most sacred body parts met.
You were racing. He was trying to push you over edge with his mouth, and you tried to do the same with your velvety core.
Both of you were working each other aggressively, a fight of dominance that only you wanted to win, and that he wanted you to work for.
You scratched at his back, knicking him a bit too hard where you tore his shirt and drew a bit of blood. He bit and sucked harshly below your breast, leaving a prominent bruise. It only turned the both of you on more.
It was like you couldn’t get close enough, but you didn’t want to. The struggle of not having enough of one another heightened everything. It made everything more desperate and tender.
“I’m so-so close. Please, don’t leave. Please, please,” Michael begged, on the verge of tears.
“I won’t. You jus’ gotta pull-mmmnh. Pull out, ‘kay?” you cooed at him as you bit his bottom lip and then followed it with a delicate kiss.
“Mama, I can’t…” he whined.
“Yes, you can. Or I’ll seriously kill you,” you threatened between moans. You captured his lips in another kiss as he was gearing up to speak again, not wanting to hear anymore excuses. You felt his hips beginning to falter more and more, and he reached his hand between you to palm your clit aggressively, desperate to get you to cum before he had to pull out. Still so annoyingly gentlemanly.
The heel of his hand added just the amount of pressure you needed while his thick tip kissed your cervix every time you even slightly moved, and you could feel your room ablaze with static electricity just from the energy your body was oozing out.
“I’m close! Just like that Michael,” you whined needily, too far gone to care about your image right now. He applied more pressure and gritted his teeth, holding back his orgasm as much as he could while your walls attempted to milk him for all he was worth.
You looked down at him once more. His curls were all frizzed up in a disarray, and the scrunchie that held them in a ponytail was now lodged into the crook of his collared shirt. His mouth was now stained mauve, the shade of your lipstick. His big brown eyes were smudged with the black eyeliner he usually wore. He looked like sex on legs.
You yanked him by his tie once more and let your lips tell his how you felt about him through kiss as you creamed around his dick and on the crotch of his pants.
The base was covered in a thick layer of your cum and his precum, and the sound of it squelching didn’t let up for the entirety of your climax. Your walls constricted around him and gushed more and more cum out by the second.
You moaned into his mouth as you came, using the excuse of your lips melding together to tell him thank you and that you appreciated and respected him.
He couldn’t take it anymore, however, and he lifted you up and flipped you onto your back, your legs dangling off the couch. He thrusted into you a few more times, sending some whines from your throat, and then he pulled out and jerked himself with an inhumane speed in front of you.
“Where can I put it, pretty?” he queried, in reference to his cum.
“My stomach. Gotta shower anyways,” you sighed. In the middle of your response, he’d already started spilling his seed all over your soft skin, the sight itself fuel to drag out his orgasm as long as humanely possible. He was committing the sight to memory, refusing to blink.
He whimpered once really loudly and slumped onto the floor in front of you, resting his head on your knee.
The uncomfortableness settled into your bones after a few minutes. Silently, you nudged his head away and began picking up your clothes from the floor. You used your soiled underwear to wipe his cum off of your body and tossed all of it into your clothing hamper, changing into a random oversized t-shirt to cover up your body until you showered.
Something about this made you feel…tainted. It’s not like you didn’t want any of that. It was far from it, and that’s what made this feeling worse. A vindictive little voice in the back of your mind just kept telling you that you’d regret everything and that he was using you to get your guard down.
You walked past him—still slumped on your couch, but his pants were buttoned and zipped up—with a fresh set of pajamas for yourself and the clothes you’d gotten for him earlier, and placed the latter on the foot of your bed as you headed to your restroom door.
He stopped you in your tracks, pulling you in for a hug. You couldn’t tell what emotion it was intended to convey. Empathy? Love? Friendship? Shame? But it did what it needed to do, and you let Michael run his hands up and down your back until your stiffened shoulders relaxed and your gritted teeth unclenched.
“I’m sorry,” he expressed solemnly, inadvertently confirming your fear. “I didn’t mean…I mean, I dunno how bad I hurt you. Or if I made you uncomfortable in some way, but ‘m deeply sorry.” Wait, what?
“You didn’t do any of that, I swear on it,” you assured him.
“Then…what’s the problem?” he questioned warily.
“I’m just…I dunno. I don’t trust you not to screw me over after this,” you admitted guardedly. “I know we signed some contracts n’ stuff, but so did my other vendors and property partners. Then you came over n’ took ‘em all. Can’t really trust anyone anymore.” You shrugged as if that statement wasn’t as sad as it seemed.
“Well in that case, I’m definitely even more sorry,” he replied, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. “But we’re both the best business in town. Workin’ together, we can be a power duo. For real,” he proposed. “I think we should really make this official.”
“Jackson, calm the hell down. I still hate you!” you exclaimed at the mention of things being official. As…whatever you were with him right now, your business came first, and you were not throwing it away for some man over a few hours of sex. No matter how much it rocked your world.
“No, silly! I just mean us as a business. I think we’d own the entire state by the end of next quarter if we started ASAP” he explained patiently. “As for us as a couple…” he continued, his voice lowering in timbre. He grabbed your hands and his eyes visibly softened as they bored into yours. “…I’d like you to at least enjoy my presence as a friend first. Then I’m gonna court you properly.” You could tell by the inferno behind his eyes that he meant every word, and it made your stomach flip in fear and anticipation.
“Whatever, we can talk about this tomorrow. Go shower, you smell terrible,” you insulted as you realized you’d gotten too vulnerable. A secret part of you really appreciated that he was willing to work with you in this way—both business-wise and relationship-wise—and you gave him a playful jab to his ribs to soften the blow. “We can take one together…Y’know, to save water,” you suggested.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝟏𝟖+ sexual contents (unprotected vaginal penetration, doggy style, explicit language, edging, sub!michael, dom!reader, masturbation (m & r receiving), lots of pleases lol), nickname usage (baby, mama, daddy, mommy, good boy… (i’m testing the waters 👀)
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 as much as michael wanted to be the one to call the shots, his body was drawn to your demands.
𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐫𝐢𝐬é (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) double posts today idk who i’m feelin like but i love being in the mood to write! subby mike is on my mind heavy and i just have so many ideas lol be prepared
i do this for @mikesbian my michael subby soul sister
based on this anon’s request <3
A VELVETY NIGHT AT THE HAYVENHURST ESTATE, 1979.
Your ceiling fan turned lazily above you and Michael’s bed, stirring the heavy July heat that still was clinging stubbornly to the estate in Encino, California. The sounds of the night thumped faintly through the open window, and inside, very little lighting was casted from the single lamp draped with a maroon scarf, bringing a warm crimson shadow across your shared bedroom.
Michael was on his knees behind you, one strong hand braced on the mattress beside your hip, the other resting lightly on the small of your back. You were on all fours in front of him, ass raised, back arched in the same perfect curve that always made Michael’s mouth go dry. Your skin glowed under the lamplight, and your small textured gold hoops swayed gently from your ears. You wore nothing else except the thin gold chain around your neck that Michael had gifted you when you started dating years ago.
His dick–thick, dark, and slick as ever–was resting heavy against the cleft of your ass. Michael had been teasing the head along your wet folds for the last few minutes, just like you had told him to. Every time he tried to push it in, you shifted forward just enough to deny him.
“Not yet,” you said, voice amused. “You feel how wet I am, baby? That’s all for you.” You moaned, turning around to bat your eyelashes at the man. He was handsome, and whenever you two had sex, you knew Michael loved when you were in control. “But you don’t get t’ put it in until I say. Keep rubbin’. Nice and slow.”
Michael exhaled hard through his nose. “Mama… you’re killin’ me.”
“Am I?” You looked back over your shoulder again, eyes half-lidded, a little smile curling your mouth. “Or am I just remindin’ my man who decides when his dick gets used tonight?” You argue, biting your bottom lip. “Keep going, just the head. Drag it up and down nd’ be louder for me, baby.”
Michael obeyed. The broad head of his dick slid through your folds again, coating itself, catching on your entrance, then sliding past without sinking in. The slick sound filled the quietness of the room, both of your noises combined leaving echoes through the walls. Michael’s free hand flexed on your hip. He wanted to grip harder, to pull you back onto you, but he didn’t. You specifically told him not to.
“That’s it,” you murmured. “Good. You’re bein’ so good to me right now, Michael. Tell me how it feels.” You whimper.
“Feels like heaven nd’ hell at the same damn time,” he said, his voice croaky. “You’re so fuckin’ wet. Hot. I can feel you twitchin’ every time I feel it… I want inside, mama. Bad.”
“I know you do.” You say, reaching back between your legs and wrapping your fingers around the base of his dick, holding him steady while you rocked your hips just enough to keep the head kissing your entrance without letting Michael in. “But don’t think you’re goin’ in until I decide you’re ready. Nd’ right now, you’re not ready. You’re still thinkin’ you get to fuck me how you want. That’s not how this works tonight.”
Michael’s thighs tensed. “I’ll do it however you want. Please, angel… you know that.”
“I do know that.” You gave him a slow stroke with your hand, then guided the head to your entrance again and let just the very tip slip inside. The tight, wet heat closed around him for one teasing second before you pulled forward and off him completely. He made a frustrated sound that made your pussy twitch.
“Ah-ah. Stay still, Michael.” You looked back again, eyes sharp with authority. “You don’t thrust. You don’t chase. You stay still nd’ wait for me to take what I want. Understand?”
“Yes ma’am.”
The words came out automatic, and something in your expression softened even as the teasing edge stayed sharp. You reached back again, took hold of him, and this time you pushed back slowly–taking the first thick inch, then another, then stopping with only half of him buried inside of you.
“There,” you breathed. “You feel that? That’s all you get for now. You stay still. Don’t you dare try nd’ bury the rest. I move, you take it.”
Michael’s jaw was tight. He kept his hips locked in place, even though every instinct screamed at him to drive forward. The heat of your pussy around the head and upper shaft was almost unbearable for him. You clenched deliberately around him, then relaxed, then clenched once again in slow pulses that made his dick throb harder than ever.
“Baby… fuck. You’re squeezin’ me so good. Let me in deeper, please.”
“Ask nicer.”
Michael swallowed. “Please, honey. Please let me feel all of that pussy. I’ll stay still after… I’ll do whatever you say. Just.. let me have it.”
You smiled and pushed back another inch, then another, until he was fully seated inside of you. Both of you groaned. You stayed there a long moment, rolling your hips in tiny circles so Michael could feel every ridge and flutter without the friction he craved dearly.
“All the way in,” you said softly. “Nd’ you’re still not allowed to fuck me. I fuck you. You feel how deep you are? How I’m holdin’ you? That’s mine.” You started, gripping the fluffy sheets underneath you.
“S’ all mine tonight, Michael. Every move you make is mine. You cum only when I say–nd’ not one second before.”
“Y-yes. Yes ma’am,” Michael managed. “It’s all yours, baby. All of it.”
You began to move–slow, calculated rolls of your hips, pulling almost all the way off him then sliding back down in a controlled rhythm that kept him deep but never gave him the hard, fast strokes his body was begging for. Every time his breathing sharpened and you felt that telltale swell of his sex inside you, you slowed to almost nothing, just the wet, filthy sound of your pussy gripping him while you stayed still.
“Not yet,” you said each time, voice steady. “You feel that edge, daddy? That pull? That’s me. I put it there, nd’ I decide when it breaks.”
Michael’s forehead dropped toward your shoulder. His hands stayed where you had told him to keep them–one on the mattress, one lightly on your hip. He was shaking with the effort of holding still when you stopped.
“Honey… I’m right there. Been right there for what feels like forever. Please… let me move. Just a lil’ bit.”
You reached under yourself and wrapped your fingers around the base of his dick where it disappeared into you, squeezing firmly.
“You wanna move? Then you wait till’ I tell you to. Nd’ when I do, you go exactly as slow or as fast as I say. Clear?”
“Clear. Yes ma’am.”
You released the pressure and began rocking again, a little deeper this time, a little more purposeful. The wet slap of your bodies together grew louder. You looked back at him over your shoulder, watching his face the way you always did when you had him like this… vulnerable and begging.
“You look so good behind me, Mikey,” you said, voice thicker now. “All strong nd’ hard… doin’ everything I tell you even though I know you’re dyin’ to take over. That’s my good man. Tell mommy what you need.”
“I need to fuck you,” he said, his moans broken. “So deep, so hard. I needa’ feel you cum on this dick so I can fill you up.” He admits.
“But only when you say. I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as you want.”
Something shifted in you then–the pure teasing dominance softening into the switch the two of you loved. You reached back, found his hand, and guided it to your clit.
“Rub me while I ride you from the front, baby,” you ordered tenderly. “Make me feel good… and if you get too close, you stop dead. No matter how good it feels. You understand me?”
“I do, mommy. I promise.”
Michael’s fingers found your clit immediately, circling with the exact pressure you liked. You started moving with more purpose–longer strokes, while still maintaining your control. It was deeper though, and every time his hips twitched forward on instinct you slowed or stopped completely, forcing him back to the edge and holding him there. Sweat slicked the both of you. The room started to smell of sex and that faint sweetness of your expensive perfume Michael repurchased for you a million times.
“Mama… please. I can’t… it’s too much. You’re so wet nd’ I’m so damn full. Let me cum. Or let me make you cum first–whatever you want. Just… use me. Please.”
You slowed again, staying buried deep, looking back at your man with dark, sparkling eyes.
“You wanna make mommy cum, Mikey?”
“More than anything.” Michael pleads.
“Then you keep that hand right there on my clit. You keep stroking me exactly like that. And you fuck me the way I tell you to.” You demand, your face scrunching from the pressure.
“You don’t cum until I give you the word. Can you do that for me?”
“I can do anything for you.” Michael whimpers.
“Prove it.”
You braced your hands on the mattress and gave Michael the order with the roll of your hips. “Deep, Michael. Now, please.”
Michael began to thrust–careful strokes that made both of you moan. He kept his fingers working your clit in tight circles, matching the rhythm you set. Every time you felt him swelling harder inside you, you’d murmur quiet “slower” or “stop”, and it would instantly make Michael freeze, buried to the hilt, breathing hard against your back while you clenched around him in intentional pulses that kept him right on the razor’s edge.
The power kept sliding between the two of you. When you got close yourself, you would order Michael to speed up, then slow him again the second your orgasm threatened to tip you over. When Michael got too close, you would reach back, squeeze the base of his dick, and hold him still until the urge passed. Neither of you fully dominant for long–because both of you started submitting to the shared game of denial and control.
Finally, your voice went high and shaky.
“Faster, now. Harder… Don’t you dare stop, Michael. M’ close–fuck, Mikey, I’m so close–”
Michael drove into you deeper, faster, exactly as you asked him to, fingers still working your clit. The wet sound of the two of your bodies filled the bedroom. You came first–tight, rhythmic contractions that milked Michael hard, your moan muffled against the silk pillow as you shook underneath him.
The second your orgasm started to ease, you looked back, your eyes wild, and gave him the word he had been waiting for the moment you two started making love.
“Cum. Now, Michael. Fill me up… give it to me.”
Michael’s control shattered. He gripped your hips hard for the first time all night and buried himself as deep as he could go, pulsing hard inside you with a broken, grateful sound. You kept clenching around him through every spurt, drawing every bit of it out, whispering the filthiest praises to him the entire time.
“That’s it… good boy… give me every drop… fuck, I can feel you throbbing, Michael. So fuckin’ good for me.”
You stayed locked like this afterward, both of you trembling, Michael’s chest pressed to your back, your hand reaching back to stroke his thigh.
Michael eventually pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck, his voice still extremely rough.
“You’re so dangerous when you get like that, honey.”
You laughed softly, still catching your breath. “Nd’ you love it.”
“I do.” Michael confesses, nuzzling behind your ear. “The next time we make love though… I’ll be the one havin’ you shaking nd’ beggin’.”
You smiled against the pillow, already sounding pleased at the idea. “We’ll see who ends up in charge.”
The two of you stayed tangled together on the bed, all sticky and worn out, already half-planning the next round of that slow and delicious torment–whoever happened to be calling the shots when it started.
𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: what was once a lovely day out turned sour after an unexpected guest ruined your mood, and now Jermajesty gets the repercussions.
𝓽𝔀: reader pops jermajesty in the mouth, idk angst? jealousy, smut (18+), mean!jermajesty, overstimulation, dumbification, dacryphilia if you squint, squirting, use of y/n (twice), usage of the n-word.
𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻’𝓼 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: since mr sexy man fed us yesterday, cheers to that. excuse any mistakes!
This content does NOT contain AI and may not be used to train AI
“She barely even touched me, it wasn’t anything serious.” The words casually fell out of Jermajesty’s mouth like it was nothing. you froze where you stood, you could only stare at Jermajesty as if he grown 3 heads. “the bitch literally wrapped her nasty ass fingers around your neck just to give you this friendly hug, but she barely touched you?” you harshly rolled your eyes as your fingers created fake quotation marks when you said friendly, “Jermajesty please get the hell out of my face with that.”
You and Jermajesty both had three days off from work. He decided to take you out for the day—a lunch date and to go shopping, everything was going wonderfully until y’all entered one of the outlet stores in the mall when one of Jermajesty’s old classmates spotted him. “Oh my gosh, maj is that you?” Jermajesty turned around and a bright smile jumped across his face, as he dropped your hand to walk closer to the girl.
“Oh shit Naomi, wassup girl.” Naomi closed the gap to give him a not-so-friendly hug, wrapping both arms around his neck, pulling him close. “I can’t believe it’s you, how have you been?” Jermajesty asked while pulling back, a wide grin still slapped on his face. Naomi and Jermajesty fell into conversation without a care in the world.
You stood behind them, your face blank as your brain tried to wrap around what the hell just transpired directly in your face. The big grin on his face, the hug, and the flirty look that was plastered on Naomi’s face—once everything finally registered in your head, a deep mug dropped on your face. You stepped from behind Jermajesty to stand right beside him—once you came into view, Naomi’s sentence trailed off and her smile fell, a frown was now on her face. “Oh- who is this maj?”
Jermajesty turned to look at you, his face dropping once he saw the expression on your face. ‘oh fuck’, Jermajesty mumbled under his breath. “this is my lovely girlfriend, y/n.” he introduced you to Naomi, quickly throwing a smile back on his face. “y/n, this is Naomi, we went to college together.” you glanced at him with a mean glare before turning towards the girl who is now lowkey mugging you. “hello Naomi, nice to meet you.” your words completely bland, uninterested in talking to the girl.
Before she can get another word out, you speak once more, “Well, my man would love to stay and chit-chat with you but we’re on a time schedule, tell her bye maj.” Jermajesty could tell that you were in no mood for any back talk, so he quietly nodded as he grabbed your hand. “Nice talking to you Mi, hope to see you again soon.” Before Naomi could get her thoughts together, you dragged Jermajesty out of the store.
Once you made it away from the store, you dropped your hand from Jermajesty’s, bags crackling together at the force. “Mama, I know you’re mad but—“ his words were cut short when you stopped walking and slowly turned your head with an eerie smile. “Mad? Who said I was mad?” The calmness in your voice sent a harsh shiver through his spine, making him subtly flinch. Jermajesty's mouth opened but not a sound came out, you turned around and continued walking towards the exit. Jermajesty trailed behind you like a child who just got into trouble with their parents.
The ride home was no better—you angled your body tightly towards the passenger door, wanting to be as far away from him as possible, arms tightly crossed, and a scowl permanently etched on your face. Jermajesty knew there was no getting out of this. He could only hope that he could talk to you and eventually make it up to you—boy was he wrong as ever.
That’s how you both ended up in the kitchen, with you trying to get your point through Jermajesty’s thick skull but the point just bounced around in his head, not even sticking.
But the words “it wasn’t anything serious” bounced around your head and stuck like glue. “Jermajesty, how would you feel if one of my classmates gave me a hug like Ned did to you?” You tilted your head, secretly hoping he would say some stupid shit so you could go upside his head. Jermajesty held in a laugh from the name you gave Naomi but he knew this was no laughing matter, “I’d lowkey be pissed if any man hugged you, but me and Naomi are old friends, nothing to it.” You turned your head to the left, looking at the imaginary camera hoping that this shit was a prank—you turned your head back towards the idiotic fool in front of you, taking a deep breath as you felt irritation boiling beneath your skin.
“Obviously you’re not understanding my fucking point, so maybe I’ll go call up Jaafar or even Randy and let them hug me like that, and see what would happen.” the words that spilled from your mouth felt like poisonous venom to Jermajesty and now a look of shock and agitation appeared on his face. “dude, you’re bringing my brothers into this shit now? You’re so fucking dramatic.” The words barely lingered in the air for 10 seconds as the back of your hand flew towards Jermajesty’s mouth, smacking him with some force.
You quickly drew your hand back as both hands flopped by your side and your eyes wide as ever, shocked at your own actions. Jermajesty's right hand flew to his mouth in shock and in slight pain from the quick slap—once he removed his hand, there was a slight trace of blood on his fingers. His eyes quickly shot up to yours, his face frowned in anger.
Your breathing picked up as you were lowkey scared of what could happen next, so you attempted to apologize. “Baby, I’m so—“ you couldn’t even finish your sentence, Jermajesty’s voice sliced through the air, “You putting your hands on niggas now? ok, heard that.” Your hands began to shake gently at his voice, knowing that your ass is completely grass.
“Get your ass up them steps and in the room now, I’m not playing with you.”
“pa-hic- its too much” you sob out, as the sound of your wet pussy and Jermajesty’s pelvis harshly slamming against your ass fills the room. Jermajesty rolls his eyes at your cries and pushes your head into the pillow. “I don’t wanna hear none of that crying shit, shut up and take it.” He took a deep inhale at the feeling of your walls clenching down on him—his harsh words sending tingles throughout your body.
It’s been at least an hour and Jermajesty has pulled three mind-shattering orgasms from you, and he still hasn’t let up. “Can’t believe you decided to hit me in my damn mouth.” Just thinking about what occurred a little over an hour ago made Jermajesty even more upset, he subconsciously sped up, his mushroom tip now tapping at your cervix at each stroke. A loud moan ripped from your mouth but was muffled by the pillow. “You really hurt my feelings mama, what do you have to say for yourself?” He wrapped his right hand around your hair, pulling it back, so your head could be lifted from the pillow, a groan left Jermajesty as the sight of you made his dick jump—your face was soaked with your drool and tears, eyes constantly rolling back to your head, and your mouth in a pout.
“‘m so-so—mhmm fuck.” What you thought were words were nothing but incoherent babble. “Awe, my poor baby fucked dumb, how cute.” He cooed at your attempt to speak but quickly gave you two slaps to your ass, “But what are you supposed to say to me, mama?” Jermajesty tugged at your hair once again but with more force, making your arch even deeper. “I'm so sorry pa, didn’t mean it.” you wailed out.
Satisfied with your answer, he released his grip from your hair, letting your face fall back onto the soft pillow but held you by the back of your neck. “It’s okay mama, but I’m not finished with you. ‘gotta make sure you won’t do it again.” Somehow, his strokes got even deeper as he leaned forward, taking his free hand to reach between your legs to play with your sensitive clit.
A loud muffled scream filled the bedroom as the stimulation of your clit made you slightly squirt on Jermajesty. The feeling of your wetness splashing on him sent his eyes slightly rolling back—he kept strumming at your swollen clit, allowing more squirt splatter across the bed and across both of y'all lower halves. “Look at you, making a mess all over the bed and me, what a messy girl.”
At this point, your brain was complete mush— meaningless babbles just fell out of your mouth like a waterfall as Jermajesty still administered harsh strokes to your now swollen and sensitive pussy. Your hand weakly reached behind you to make an attempt to push at his stomach to give you some sort of relief. Jermajesty saw your poor attempt and let out a loud laugh. “No ma’am, stop trying to run from me.” The hand that was on the back of your neck now moved back to your hair, pulling you up, so your back was now flush against his chest.
“I’m nowhere near done with you, baby, we got a longgg way to go.” He kissed the top of your ear as you let out another sob, tears running down your face. “pa—please.” The two words barely made it out of your mouth as you stuttered your way through.
“If it ain’t you crying or moaning, I don’t wanna hear shit else from you. now shut up and take this dick.”
Lesson definitely learned, never ever pop this man in the mouth again.
summary: you ask your boyfriend, Jermajesty, when he knew that he had feelings for you.
warnings: none!
a/n: inspired by the song 'crush' by david archuleta. also based off of a request! thank you and i hope you enjoy💛
It was late in the afternoon when Jermajesty decided to barge in and hang out in your apartment— not that you were complaining.
The two of you were now casually lounging in your living room, both sat close together on the couch. You lazily propped your legs over his lap as you leaned back, eyes glued at the beautiful sunset view outside your windows.
He placed his hands over your legs, mindlessly rubbing at them to soothe you as he continued watching the movie on TV.
Jermajesty looked at you once he heard you chuckle softly to yourself. You bit back a smile, covering your mouth which made him raise his eyebrows.
"What's got you smilin' like that, ma?" he asked.
You snapped back into reality and let out a quiet hum before facing him. "It's silly," you replied.
With that, he lowered the TV volume down and shifted his body to face yours, giving you his full attention. "You're never silly," he smiled. "What's in that pretty brain of yours, hm?" He playfully pinched your cheek, making you push his hand away as you laughed.
"Fine," you sighed. "I was just wondering..."
"Mm," he hummed. "About what, pretty?"
"Do you remember the first time you knew that you had feelings for me?" you asked. Jermajesty smiled, shaking his head playfully. "You already know that story, ma."
"No, you didn't tell me the full story!"
"You really wanna know?"
You nodded eagerly, straightening your posture as you clasped your hands together, playfully begging him to tell you more. He rolled his eyes affectionately and gave in.
-`♡´- -`♡´- -`♡´-
13 years ago.
"Alright, everyone! Gather around." Jermaine called everyone over to the dining area with an excited look. Today was Jermajesty's 13th birthday and thanks to your father's long-term friendship with Jermajesty's father, you and the rest of your family were forced to come invited to the party.
You groaned as your older brother pulled you with him, mentally rolling your eyes at how inconvenient this whole night to you was.
There wasn't any doubt that you deeply loved the entire Jackson family. You loved spending time with them— especially with Paris and Jaafar.
Jaafar's younger brother on the other hand? He was a monster. A complete menace to society and a demon whose sole purpose was to wreak havoc upon you.
You mindlessly clapped your hands along as everyone sang happy birthday to Jermajesty who had a shy smile plastered across his face as he swayed to the tune— from the way he looked right now, he almost seemed innocent. almost.
The moment your gaze locked with his, his shy grin turned smug and taunting, secretly sneering at you knowing that you were being forced to sing along.
A few hours later, everyone's bellies were already full with good food. Most of the adults lounged inside the living room, some doing karaoke while the others danced, and some just gossiping about current events.
Meanwhile, all the children— from menacing 6-year-olds to teenagers and 20s something— were hanging out in the backyard.
You pulled your 'gift' out of your backpack and quietly made your way towards Jermajesty who had his back turned against you.
"Boo!" he flinched in place as you screamed in his ear. Rolling his eyes, he gently shoved you away as you cackled, clutching your stomach dramatically. "God, you're so easy to scare, Maj."
"Shut your ass up, bro," he huffed. "You're forgetting that it's my birthday today. You can't be mean to me," he added smugly, crossing his arms over his chest which made you roll your eyes.
"Speaking of," you smirked as you shoved your gift against his chest. You watched his brows furrow in confusion as he looked at you and then at the gift.
"What's this?" he asked.
You scoffed. "Your birthday gift. Open it."
He carefully tore the wrapping paper, slowly revealing the item beneath it. With it finally in full view, he gave you a disappointed look.
"Seriously?" he scoffed once again.
You laughed mockingly which only irritated him more.
You gave him a comic book of a character he absolutely despised, thinking that it would piss him off and it did. Your plan had worked.
"You are so annoying!" He glared.
"You've mentioned before that you hated this character," you shrugged. "Figured it would be the best present to give you— given that you're an annoying bitch and we hate each other."
For a split second, Jermajesty's glare softened. He looked at you for a second before breaking the silence. "You remember that?"
"Duh," you replied, "I remember how annoying you sounded when you kept whining about it— 'ugh, this character's stupid' 'he's so boring!' 'y/n, listen! look at how ridiculous he is!' "
As you continued teasing him, he felt his chest tighten— a feeling he's never had before, especially not with you.
What's happening? he thought.
All of a sudden, his attention started to wander.
First, it was the way you rolled your eyes teasingly, the gesture so familiar that he'd seen it hundreds of times before. Then he noticed the smile that followed, the one that always appeared when you were trying not to laugh at your own joke.
You scrunched your nose when you were amused with yourself. You played with the ends of your hair when you tried to remember something.
You continued making fun of him, completely unaware of how closely he was watching you. He couldn't even hear what you were talking about anymore.
All he could think about was you. He thought about how you remembered which character he hated even though he only told you once because you teased and told him you didn't want to hear about his nerdy interests.
"...Are you okay?"
Jermajesty blinked. He looked at you and swallowed nervously. You leaned towards him, making him back up instinctively. "Are you actually mad?"
He quickly shook his head. "No," his voice came quieter than he intended. You studied him for another second before your smile returned, "Good."
"My dad would kill me if I made the birthday boy cry," you exaggeratedly pouted.
Jermajesty let out a chuckle before looking away.
Something in him finally clicked.
All those years calling it annoyance. All those petty arguments. All those times he'd deliberately tease you just to get a reaction. Moments when he'd physically gag whenever any of his relatives tease him about you.
It wasn't hatred.
Shit. I like her, he thought.
-`♡´- -`♡´- -`♡´-
Present time.
"Are you serious?!" you exclaimed, laughing out loud at how embarrassed Jermajesty looked right now. "Maj, you're so cute!"
"Stop it," he groaned. "I was having an emotional crisis back then and you're sitting here telling me it was cute?"
"Duh!" You grinned, reaching over to poke his cheek repeatedly. "You've liked me this entire time!"
He caught your wrist, but you were already doubled over with laughter, clutching your stomach as you tried—and failed—to calm yourself.
"Alright. Laugh it up," he muttered, shaking his head. "Mhm. Glad my suffering is so entertaining."
That only made you laugh harder.
Jermajesty eventually gave up trying to defend himself. He leaned back and simply watched you, the corners of his mouth slowly lifting despite himself.
There was something familiar about the sight.
For a brief moment, he wasn't twenty-five and sitting beside the girl he'd finally managed to call his girlfriend.
He was thirteen again— hopelessly confused, and completely unaware that the girl he'd spent years insisting he couldn't stand had already become the person he'd fallen for.
can i request a fic where either jaafar or reader is drunk and the other has to pick them up and take care of them? lots of fluff and gentle kind of love and if you decide if reader gets drunk can you make jaafar just wholey focussed on her and is always checking in? i can see this being age gap jaafar as well!
lovestruck
Jaafar Jackson x fem!reader (age gap), 1.5k
you're feeling a little bit drunk and a whole lot of in love - or, Jaafar picks you up from a night out
Your voice comes through the speakers slurred. Even so, Jaafar can hear the smile plastered on your face, can practically picture the way your eyes are squinting closed from the force of your grin.
“You answered!” You exclaim, and Jaafar chuckles, already standing from his seat on the couch and grabbing his keys. For the first time in a few weeks, you’d gone out drinking with your friends, ready to spend a night out laughing and dancing without a care in the world.
Jaafar’s always willing to go with you, knowing that you love being around him even when he feels a bit like a stick in the mud. Luckily for him, you’re of the opinion that he’s always fun to be around, even when he’s introverted and quiet and much prefers to sit and watch than to join in on the fun.
Tonight, though, you were having a girls’ night, and Jaafar was perfectly content to stay home and wait for your call.
“Course I did,” he responds, and you press the phone closer to your ear to hear over the sounds of the bar, yelling and thumping music and laughter ringing in your ears.
“I miss you,” you say, and on the other end of the phone, Jaafar smiles to himself. Even drunk, you’re always thinking of him.
“Want me to come pick you up?” Jaafar asks, even though he already knows the answer and is in the middle of putting his shoes on.
“Yes, please,” you sigh happily through the speakers, turning towards your friends, “he said he’s coming!”
There’s a cheering noise, and Jaafar hears you laugh, clearly pleased for yourself.
“I’m gonna hang up, okay?” He slots his phone in between his shoulder and ear as he opens the door to your apartment, “I’ll be right there.”
“I love you.” You speak into the phone before turning your head again, still yelling loud enough for Jaafar to hear, “He’s the best.”
And then he hears you fumbling around with your phone before you hang up, and he makes his way to his car. The whole drive over, he can’t seem to stop smiling to himself. Yes, you’ve clearly been drinking, but apparently tonight that meant you were feeling even more sappy than usual, and he just thinks you’re absolutely adorable.
When he pulls up to the bar, you’re already sitting outside on the curb, your friends lined up beside you. He parks the car and gets out, and as soon as you lay eyes on him, you’re using your friends’ shoulders for leverage and pushing yourself to standing.
Stumbling slightly, you start to make your way over to him, but Jaafar walks faster and meets you before you can take more than a few steps. You’re absolutely beaming at him, and he can’t help but laugh softly at the sight in pure adoration.
“Hey, baby,” he says through a startled laugh as you practically launch yourself at him. His reflexes are quick and he catches you before you fall, holding you steady on your feet as you sway.
“You’re here!” You look so happy to see him, he can’t resist pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as you rest your hands on his chest, stabilizing yourself.
“You ready to go?” He asks, your unfocused eyes darting across his face. Even drunk, there’s so much love in your expression it’s almost unbelievable. You nod, and for just a second, he turns his attention over towards your friends. “You guys good?”
“We’re fine,” your friend Cassie calls out, “I stopped drinking, like, two hours ago. My boyfriend’s coming to bring us home.”
“Want me to wait with you?” He offers, looping an arm around your waist when he notices the way you tend to stumble even while standing still. She shakes her head, smiling at the way Jaafar’s so attuned to you.
“Nah, just get her home safe,” your friend says with a knowing look, Jaafar laughing in response.
“Bye, guys!” You yell out over your shoulder, “I miss you already!”
They all yell back their love for you, and you’re grinning as Jaafar walks you back to the car.
“Have a fun night?” He asks, even though he already knows the answer based on how affectionate you’re being and the way you struggle to stand up straight.
“Mhm, it was nice,” you lean your head on his shoulder as you walk, and it’s an awkward, uncomfortable angle but you don’t care, “I missed you the whole time, though. And now I’m hungry.”
“Yeah?” He walks you around the car, opens the passenger door and helps you climb in. He stands and watches as you buckle yourself in, not confident in your motor skills at this stage of the night.
“We should stop at Taco Bell.” Your eyes light up, like you’ve just had the best idea ever, and Jaafar laughs. You grin back at him, even though you’re not totally sure what he’s laughing at.
“I’ll stop and get you something to eat,” he promises, and you cheer, throwing your hands up in celebration. Grinning, Jaafar squeezes your knee quickly before shutting the door and making his way to the driver’s side.
All things considered, you don’t seem to be in too bad of a shape. You’re certainly drunk, blabbering away and feeling overly affectionate and unsteady on your feet, but after hours of drinking, it’s certainly not the worst case scenario. Jaafar would have taken care of you no matter what, but he’s happy he gets to listen to your endless stream of sentences as you tell him about your night in an excited tone.
“Woulda had more fun with you, though,” you tell him after recounting your whole night minute by minute. You’re looking at him like he’s the reason the sun rises in the morning, and he can’t help but squeeze your hand in his and pull it towards his face, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
“Yeah? I’m not too old and boring for you?” He’s mostly teasing, but you gasp in surprise. He glances over at you, and you’re frowning like that thought has never even remotely crossed your mind.
“Absolutely not,” you sound scandalized, “you’re the most fun. And you’re pretty cute, too.”
You flirt with him shamelessly, and he huffs out a laugh, feeling overwhelmed under your unwavering gaze. No matter the situation, no matter how often you smother him with compliments, you always leave him feeling dizzy and almost euphoric.
True to his word, Jaafar stops and gets you food, and you act so surprised it’s almost as if you’ve forgotten it was your idea in the first place. Jaafar’s just happy to get you home safe, to make sure you’ve eaten and had water before you go to bed.
“C’mon,” he says as he parks the car back at your apartment building, “let’s get inside.”
“But it’s so far,” you reply, as if it’s the most daunting task you’ll ever have to face. Clearly, you’re feeling overly dramatic as well as affectionate.
“I’ll hold your hand the whole time,” Jaafar tells you, making his way around the car to help you down onto the pavement. You hold onto him like a lifeline, but as soon as you get your moment going again, you’re totally fine. Still, Jaafar keeps your hand in his, just to make sure you don’t take off running or lay yourself down on the floor.
It takes far longer than it normally would with your unsteady steps and the way you seem to lean to the side, even when standing up straight, but eventually you make it back to your shared apartment. Jaafar helps you to the kitchen table before leaning down and helping you take off your shoes.
“I’m so lucky,” you say contentedly, wiggling your toes once they’re finally free from your shoes, regaining the feeling in your feet.
“So am I,” Jaafar says back, because he really is. Sure, he’s the one taking care of you, but that’s a task he’s happy to do. He loves making sure that you’re taken care of, that you have everything you need, even when it’s a drunk meal at Taco Bell or help taking off your uncomfortable shoes.
“I’m serious,” you retort, clumsily reaching for his shoulders to pull him closer, “I’m the luckiest person in the world.”
Jaafar presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, just because he knows it’ll make you wrinkle your nose up when you smile and the sight never fails to make him laugh.
“Let’s get you to bed,” Jaafar says as he helps you from the chair, and even in your drunken state, you look at him in pure adoration. The look he sends back your way is much the same, and it hits him just how lucky he truly is.
It doesn’t matter that you’re beyond a little bit tipsy and will need his help to take off your makeup and pull on your pajamas, those are tasks he’ll do willingly. It doesn’t matter that you’ll wake with a headache and an intense thirst, he’ll put a glass of water and some aspirin on your bedside table. And tomorrow, when you don’t want to do anything but lay on the couch, he’ll happily cuddle up next to you.
He’s absolutely devoted to you, and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than right by your side.
age gap jaafar age gap jaafar age gap jaafar age gap jaafar age gap jaafar age gap jaafar - my brain rn, 24/7
*NSFW! Jermajesty seems like the type to cum while rating you out. That’s how needy and big of a geek he is.
warnings: smut (mdni), fem receiving obvi, a smidge of humping
your fingers thread through jermajesty’s hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch against you.
“right there, baby,” you murmur, “please don’t stop.”
his tongue flattens and drags, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. his palms press into the inside of your thighs, keeping you open, and the room is nothing but dim light coming from the corner lamp and the wet sounds of his mouth working.
your head drops back against the pillows as your vision blurs.
“you’re doing so good,” you tell him, and your voice catches on the last word because he’s found that spot—the one that makes your hips jerk. “so fucking good, baby.”
he groans into you and the vibration ripples. your fingers tighten in his hair. a fistful of dark curls. he’s always liked that. the pull, the sting, the way you anchor yourself to him when you’re getting close.
the sheets beneath you are tangled now, twisted around one ankle. you kicked them aside ten minutes ago when he first settled between your legs with that look on his face.
he shifts lower and his tongue dips inside you, and the sound you make is not a word.
“look at me, baby.” you beg, and his rhythm stumbles. you glance down and find his eyes already lifting to meet yours, dark and glassy, peering up at you from between your thighs like you’re the only thing worth seeing in the whole damn world.
“there you are,” you smile.
he’s still watching. his mouth still on you.
and then he moves again, tongue circling your clit with a precision that makes your toes curl, and he doesn’t blink. doesnt look away. his gaze stays locked on your face, tracking every flinch, every gasp, every time your lips part around a moan you can’t swallow.
the eye contact is almost too much. almost. heat crawls up your chest, blooms across your collarbones, turns your cheeks hot. you can feel yourself getting wetter against his mouth, and he knows it—you can tell by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.
he’s so damn proud of himself.
he should be.
“oh baby,” you breathe, and the word stretches out, elastic. “you’re doing so well. such a good boy for me.”
his hips buck against the mattress.
the movement involuntary—you can see that in the way his eyes widen, how a flush creeps up his neck. he’s been grinding down in little rolls all night, rubbing himself against the bed while he eats you out, but that was different. that was slow, absent-minded friction. this was desperate.
your mouth curves as you realize what’s happening.
his tongue doesn’t stop, and his hips rock forward again. the rhythm of his mouth and the rhythm of his body have split into two separate, competing needs, and he’s losing the battle to control either one.
you push up onto your elbows so you can watch him properly. the angle changing everything. the pressure of his mouth, the view of his back muscles shifting, the way his briefs cling to him, strained.
he’s still wearing them. you never got around to pulling them off. mow you’re glad.
his eyes squeeze shut as his forehead drops against your thigh.
“uh-uh.” your fingers catch his chin and tilt his face back up. “look at me. i wanna see you, baby.”
he whines. actually whines, a sound that vibrates against you, and your thighs clamp around his head before you can stop them. the pressure makes him groan again.
his tongue is sloppy now, losing technique, losing form. but it doesn’t matter. it almost makes it better. the desperation, the way he’s grinding against the mattress, chasing the friction.
“that’s it,” you tell him. your hips are rolling now too, instinctive, meeting the messy strokes of his mouth. “let go, baby. i’ve got you. cum for me.”
his whole body seizes. his shoulders hunching, his fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to leave marks, his mouth still pressed against you because he refuses to stop even as his own orgasm crashes through him.
he cries out, muffled, into your pussy.
you watch his hips pump against nothing but damp cotton, riding out the spasms, and the sight of it, the desperation, sends a bolt of heat straight through your core. your head falls back and your fingers twist deeper into his hair.
he’s still shaking but his tongue is moving again, slower now, lazy and drenched, and you realize he has no intention of stopping.
“jermajesty.” you moan, already breathless. “you don’t have to—”
his eyes flick up to yours.
oh. he’s not done.
your stomach tightens.
“baby,” you try again, but it comes out even more breathless than the first time as he picks up speed. two fingers slide inside you without warning, curling up, and the stretch makes you forget whatever you were about to say.
you’re close now. the pressure builds low in your belly, and your thighs are shaking, and every slick slide of his tongue pulls you closer to the edge. you can hear yourself babbling—praise, nonsense, his name broken into syllables—but you can’t stop.
he hums against your clit as your back arches off the bed. the sound you make is raw and jagged, and he doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow, fingers still pumping and tongue still circling and eyes still watching.
you collapse against the mattress as he’s pressing soft kisses to your inner thigh now. but when you manage to lift your head and look at him, his eyes are still needy.
🍫summary: Jermajesty accidentally calls you mommy!
The bed creaked gently, masked from the pleasuring moans of you and Jermajesty. Mainly Jermajesty whose head was tossed back against the headboard as his fingers had an iron grip on your hips.
The ache in your thighs didn’t bother you at all, diminished underneath the way he cried out your name.
“I’m so fuckin’ close—don’t stop—don’t stop.” He whined. You continued bouncing in his lap. The mixture of your arousal and his leaking head created a loud squelch with every drop of your hips.
Jermajesty's head lolled side to side, doing his best to control his breathing but a block of pleasure was stuck in his stomach. As if he couldn't be anymore fucked out, your hips came to a slow steady pace.
He noticed the way you swiveled around in an suspecting manner and his brain worked to figure it out. Once he felt a slight twist of direction, he realized what you were doing.
Spelling your name.
“Oh—,” he cut himself off with a gasp, hands flying to clench the bedsheets below him. His mind grew fuzzy, hips involuntarily bucking up into your sticky cavern. His skin felt warm underneath the pads of your fingers, dragging them slowly across his abdomen.
He was losing his mind. “It feels good, baby?” You cooed, swirling your hips to form the last letter. “S-so good.” He weakly muttered. You planted your feet on the bed, coming up to his tip before dropping back down.
His breath hitched and the consistent rhythmic pulse of his dick caused you to shudder. Jermajesty’s stomach began to contract and the unstoppable wave of an orgasm began to rise.
“You gonna cum?” You asked him, bed creaking with the weight of your bodies colliding into one. Dark marks began to appear on the wall where the headboard collided against it.
He nodded quickly, “Let me hear you.” You demanded, slowing to a gentle rock of your hips. The slow grind only stirred his orgasm, balancing on the edge right before the drop.
“I’m ’bout to cum, fuck—don’t stop mommy, please.” He quickly said, blabbing his life away. He would’ve done anything to spill inside of you. The clench of his abdomen was starting to become unbearable.
The word sped by so fast, if you weren’t paying attention you probably would’ve missed it. Jermajesty who was too dazed and desperate clearly didn’t notice the words flying out of his mouth.
But you sure did.
You couldn’t ignore the slow heat pooling in your stomach sending another ocean of arousal to coat his length.
“Mommy? I like that.” You giggled, starting to bounce on him again. His eyes rolled back, still not addressing the nickname he couldn’t help but call you.
“Come on, tell mommy how you feel.” You cooed, your fingers held a firm grasp on his jaw forcing him to make eye contact with you. His dark brown eyes were pooled over in lust, a desperate want to finish.
“Y-you’re gonna make me cum. I-it’s too good.” A small bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. His head slowly fell back against the headboard, too caught up in the feeling of getting his dick ridden.
Dragging yourself to his tip you made sure to grip around him. “Cumming—fuck!” His body jerked up as he released inside of you, warm and fast. His hands scrambled for your body, holding onto you while he cried out.
His chest felt warm under your palms, using it as leverage to ride him through his high. He buried his forehead in the crook of your shoulder, hot breath brushing against your skin.
“Good job, baby.” You said kissing his forehead. He managed to look up at you, eyes red and glazed over. His gaze flitted to your lips. “Kiss me.” He muttered, bringing his hand to the nape of your neck and leaning towards you.
His plump lips met yours, along with his warm tongue that slipped into your mouth. The fat of your ass molded into his hand as he moaned. You slowly began to grind against him, making him pull away, a faint string of saliva connecting the two.
“W-wait, I’m sensitive.” He said. His forehead rested on your collarbone and your fingers glided through his damp curls. “I know baby, but don’t you wanna be good?”
He nodded, a small whimper coming from him. “Say it.”
“I wanna be good for mommy.” He moaned feeling your hips speed up against him. You guided him to lay flat on his back before easing off of his dick.
“Wha-.” Before he could get another word out, you turned around and glided him back inside of you.
“O-oh shit.” He whispered seeing your ass directly in front of him. You held onto his legs using it as leverage to bounce on him with purpose.
He watched your ass ripple with every drop, strings of previous orgasms from both of you being seen. Your entrance was frothed in white from the cream pies he kept giving you. The view made another orgasm rush towards him.
“S-slow down, I’m gonna cum again.” His hands grabbed at your ass in an attempt to stop you but you were more determined than he could’ve thought.
“It’s okay, baby, give it to me.” You cooed. He watched as you found a steady rhythm. You dragged the cream up and down his length, only spreading it around to create more of a sloppy mess.
His eyes rolled back and his body tensed as he emptied into you once again. Luckily for him, you weren’t too far behind as your moans raised in volume.
You rolled against him, feeling his tip touch your g-spot. You reached down to rub your clit, using Jermajesty to bring you to yet another orgasm.
“F-fuck.” You moaned tossing your head back as you released over him. You rode out your high and turned to see him with his hands covering his face.
“You okay?” You asked, slowly easing off of his cum coated dick. He removed his hands, panting heavily, “Y-yea.”
“So mommy hm?” You giggled leaning over towards his face. He rolled his eyes, “Heat of the moment.”
“Boy, please. You know damn well I’m gonna hear that again.”
⋆˙⟡ synopsis ⋆˙⟡ — based off the “telling my bf/girl to wipe off my seat” trend on the tikkytok .✦ ݁˖
⋆˙⟡ contains ⋆˙⟡ — humor smut face riding (YK ITT) cunnilings kissing cum eating (just a titch..) WATERPARK CENTRAL (squirting) multiple orgasms (2)
18+ MDNI .✦ ݁˖
・・・too much .ᐣ Okay…
Jermajesty, who was chilling in the living room, was free-drawing while watching Law & Order. He looked truly intrigued, completely forgetting he was drawing to begin with.
Then you came in, grinning from ear to ear, while your phone was recording a TikTok. "Hey, Maj, baby." You approached him with a wipe. "Lemme just—"
His eyes were still locked onto the TV until he noticed what you were doing. "Heyyy, I haven't eaten anything. What are you doing?" he asked as he reached for your wrist. Once he noticed the camera, he looked back at the TV, then back up at you, who was smiling like a kid at the candy store.
Jermajesty’s eyes squinted, then a grin slowly formed on his face. "Stop moving!" You continued to wipe his mouth and his face, even though nothing was there.
"M'just tryna wipe off my seat," you said with a big smile on your face while moving the wipe closer to his curls as they brushed against the wipe. Jermajesty looked you up and down like he didn’t hear you—but he heard you loud and clear.
He licked his bottom lip then took it between his teeth. “You serious?” He asked you, trying to read your face to see if you were playing or not. You nodded eagerly then took your finger between your teeth, and bent down to kiss him on the lips.
“Mmm, then come here.” He said, grabbing your waist to come in contact with his chest. He pulled you so fast your camera wouldn’t catch both of you in the frame “Wait—I was just playing!” You laughed as he picked you up on his shoulder as he got up from the couch.
You stopped recording and threw your phone on the couch as quickly as possible—this is exactly what you wanted.
Jermajesty was holding down your thighs as his muscles flexed against them. You were completely sitting on his face as your clit nudged his nose back and forth. The headboard was steady hitting the wall, not rough, but soft thumps against the wall—since you were riding his face like it was no tomorrow.
Since you asked for this by playing games he didn’t let up not once, he made sure you were locked down on his face like you were going somewhere. “Maj—baby!” You gasped, digging your nails into his biceps, creating moon crescent prints in his skin.
He hummed into your wetness at his name being moaned from your sweet filthy mouth, as he watched you grope your left boob to keep yourself gripping onto anything else. Jermajesty started working more magic with his tongue, doing figure-8s on your swollen bud—making you scream and whine.
“Fuckk—!” You cried out, watching the way his eyes were closed, trying to concentrate on making you finish. “Ooh—right there Maj..” you cooed while playing with his buzz.
His tongue started moving faster inside of you as you completely lost it. And clearly—he was stuck in a trance, shaking his head back and forth and lapping up all your juices.
You loved every part of it, back arching like a cat against your headboard as he held you up with all his strength. “I know,” He muffled against you, sending vibrations to your core.
A wince escaped you as a knot started forming in your lower stomach, you were close—and it was coming crashing down hard and you knew it. Tears were brinking right at your waterline from how good he was eating your pussy like it was his last meal.
Maybe you should start doing more trends like this on him..
You leaned back and held onto his abdomen for support, but you could barely lean back from how hard he was still holding you down on his face. He was loving every second of it, having his girlfriend’s scent and pheromones intoxicate him was something to die for.
“Ngghh—M’finna..c-cum.” You stuttered as your eyes fluttered shut at the same time. Maj didn’t care, he was still slurping, licking away at your clit and cunt. You were loaning his name like prayer, dragging his name out against your tongue as you rode out your climax on his tongue.
By the way he was continuously eating you out, he most definitely slurped every droplet that escaped from your cunt and didn’t waste anything. “Majjj, okay!” Your cry turned into a moan. The sensitive bud between your thighs continuing to be licked didn’t make it any better, your boyfriend was clearly lost between your thighs and didn’t want to leave.
You were eagerly tapping on his arms and gripping onto them to pry him off of you but he wasn’t budging. He sat up still with his head between your legs, you gasped at the sudden movement. He set you down on your back and latched his tongue back onto your clit.
His name attempted to come out of your mouth as it was forming an ‘O’ shape. He was still holding onto your thighs, hooking them and pulling you closer. You were holding onto his wrist—you didn’t know now if you were holding him to tell him to stop or keep going.
The sensitivity made your second climax come quicker than usual. “Shiittt—Aah!” You squirmed underneath him, you looked down at him seeing where the two of you connected. His eyes were now opened, low lidded, showing he was pussydrunk than a motherfucker.
The look in his eye and how good he looked between your thick thighs could’ve made you cum right there on the spot. Even better—it made you have the best orgasm, watching him still tongue fuck and switch to your clit made you go feral.
Your back arched off the bed as your braids were spread across the bed underneath you, a complete mess. “Mmph—Pleasee..get off of me!” You moaned, at the same time you wanted him off of you from how you felt yourself about to completely splash on his face—but you wanted him to stay there in that position.
Jermajesty knew you were getting close, by the way you were getting more vocal and pushing his head. The way his mouth still stayed latched onto your clit as you attempted to pull him off made you come over the edge.
A whole mess came crashing down on Jermajesty’s face and he loved it. He sat up on his knees watching you come undone and then added four fingers, rubbing on your clit back and forth with rapid speed. “Oh my g-” you gasped, your hand flying to grip anything.
He bit his bottom lip at the sight, even licking the leftovers on his lips. You were uncontrollably shaking, thighs trembling from Jermajesty’s touch. He always knew what he could do to you with just his mouth and fingers, he was amused at his own doings.
You finally sat up, chest heaving from releasing your mess all over your sheets. Jermajesty was watching your swollen lips from kissing you before this, and he wanted to taste them again so badly. “C’mere.” He motioned with two fingers and you obeyed as you held onto his shoulder for support.
He brought you in for a deep kiss, tongues tangling, your cum danced on both of your taste buds. He whimpered into the kiss at tasting you once again, and pulled away from the kiss to trail down your neck. “You did *kiss soo *kiss good for me *kiss.” He cooed, his warm breath brushing against your neck.
“Mmm,” you replied as you took your bottom lip between your teeth, as his lips kissed over that slight ticklish spot on your neck—you then held onto the nape of his neck, rubbing your nails against it.
a/n ྀི : I know this a bit rushed but I’m on the vacay and I’m tryna get some content out for my girliesss 🫰🏾
Michael cant help but be loud :( you bouncing on his dick feels too good!
michael was sprawled out on the mattress, tears spilling down his cheeks as he lets out pathetic moans and whimpers.
you bounce up and down on his dick, his large hands grasping your hips like a life line. “T-that feels so good! oh my god… im-..”
“michael, shush.” you warn, grabbing his jaw. he let out a whiny sigh. “Cant help it.. feels too good.”
you place a hand over his mouth so he wouldn’t wake up the whole house, but even that proved to be a waste—his groans were just way too loud.
“you need to—“
“yn? michael? you guys okay in there?” His mother’s voice is heard from behind the door, making your hips still. Oh fuck.
You glare down at the pathetic man beneath you, removing your hand and mouthing ‘say yes.’
“Yes.. we’re okay m-mother.” his voice stammers over the name, mouth forming an ‘O’ as you roll your hips—you quickly slap your hand over his mouth again.
“Alright, if you say so.” Katherine says, her footsteps slowly fading.
you shake your head before stilling. “Mike did you just come?”
he nods slowly, his face flushed and sweaty. “you were warm.. couldn’t help it.
areudirty
pixelskylines
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