LOCKJAW — Michael Jackson x F. Black Reader.
— SUMMARY: Michael is an eater.
— WARNINGS: sub!mike, bratty!mike, dubcon if you close your eyes, somnophilia, objectification, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of edging, overstimulation, power play, manipulation tactics, use of ma’am & daddy (nobody’s shocked atp), use of mama (he said it irl y’all cmon), manhandling, lil hair pulling, needy reader, reader’s kinda a pushover. reader is black but there aren’t any descriptive details, everyone enjoy! not proofread!
— WC: 4.3k
— AN: Uh. Wrote half of this while cross faded. Otw mike, you are so dear to me.
Michael couldn’t stop thinking about eating you out.
It plagued his mind constantly. While he showered in the morning, he had to stop his hands from jerking himself while you slept peacefully in bed, his mind fully suffocated with the thought of your cum on his lips. Whenever you would do your morning stretches, he’d have to force his gaze from your crotch, the leggings you wore outlining it too visibly. Of course you weren’t wearing underwear. During meetings with music executives, he’d find himself zoning out with the thought of your thighs crushing his head between them as he devoured your wet core like it was the tastiest thing in existence— and to him, it was.
He had to stop wearing tight pants because of it. His dick was almost permanently erect at the thought of his lanky frame cowering beneath you as he took you to your peak.
Eventually, his longing thoughts turned into actions.
At first, it was almost unnoticeable. He’d purposely been discreet. The way he subtly bit his lip from his place on his knees after helping you put on your shiny burgundy mary janes. The little tortured sound he’d make while you massaged his head on your lap; not from the intimate ministrations of your fingers working through his thick curls, but at the sheer proximity of his lips and your…other lips.
It wasn’t even like you two rarely had sex. You had it more than most. Something you didn’t realize, though, was that he wouldn’t be satisfied unless he gave you head, and lately all you’ve had time for were quickies. It was great, but he was selfish and needy, always wanting more. So, he just started begging for it.
Before you went to work.
“Mama, please. For just a bit? I’ll be quick, I promise. You can make me pay for it if I don’t make you cum quick,” he begged on his knees while you stood above him in your work attire.
“Michael, no. You see that I’m on my way out the door. You’re good, but you ain’t that good. I’m not goin’ to work all pent up and angry. Gimme a kiss.”
When your friends invited you to ladies night at a new bar in town.
“Can’t let you out lookin’ that good without remindin’ you who’s waitin’ for you at home, mama. Come on, please? Just need to make sure y’know you’re mine. Please baby, I need it.”
“Boy, get the hell up off your knees and walk me to the door. The girls are outside.”
At every end, he was met with rejection, and it was gnawing at him relentlessly.
So came the wake-up tension. He began to realize he couldn’t function more than a day without his head nuzzled between your soft thighs, so he made it part of his morning routine to eat you out right before he showered, careful enough to not wake you from your slumber. He knew he should’ve asked, but he just couldn’t wait. You just looked so pretty while you slept, sporting a soft pout on your lips and his t-shirt ridden up your torso, exposing your underboob. How could he not?
The thing is, his neediness was in turn making you needy as well. On days where he was in a rush in the mornings and he had absolutely no time to fit oral sex into his schedule, you’d feel almost hollow. You had no idea why. Why were you waking up so horny? Why did you have so many vivid wet dreams?
After waking up yet again with what felt like the entirety of the Pacific Ocean dripping from your pussy for the fourth time this week, you decided to do something about it. You were never one to beg, usually being on the receiving end of it, so it was taking you a while to build up courage. In the end, you decided to just…hint at what wanted. You were just too pent up.
After a cold shower that did nothing to ease the ache between your legs, you made your way to the kitchen in nothing but a silk robe and lacy underwear to call your boyfriend, hoping you would catch him at a good time.
Michael had only been at the record label’s annual sales meeting for two hours and was already ready to go home. It was supposed to be short and sweet, but it droned on and on; music execs and songwriters taking their sweet time cracking jokes and talking about weekend plans. What made it worse was that he found his thoughts drifting right back to your pretty clit, and he got called out at one point for it.
“Aye, Mike! What gotchu smilin’ like that, man?” one of his brothers asked at one point. The smile on his face dropped immediately and he dismissed it as him ‘looking forward to the weekend,’ heat crawling up his neck at nearly being caught. He was losing it.
“Excuse me? Mr. Jackson? Oh- I mean Michael. Your lady’s on the line,” a stubby secretary announced as she barged into the meeting room. “She said it’s urgent,” she added as she saw the board director’s annoyance.
“It’s alright, Michael. We’ve pretty much wrapped up for today. Tell her I say hi,” the director replied.
When he made it to the phone, his heart was pounding in worry.
“Baby? What’s wrong? I’m already havin’ Bill bring the car around. Do I needa call an amb–”
“Mikey, hi!” you responded, sounding way too chipper for something important. You never called him while he was at work.
“Lovey? Can you tell me what’s wrong?” he replied, voice leaking with concern.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…I just. Well, I miss you, baby,” you responded, guilty at your selfishness. You didn’t think about the implications of telling the secretary to say it was ‘urgent,’ and now you felt bad. Michael could practically hear the pout in your voice.
“Oh, baby, I miss you too! My meetin’ just ended, I’m on my way, okay? We can watch Snow White. How’s that sound, mama?” he cooed at you between soft chuckles, his tone sickly sweet. It made you wetter.
“Y-yes, please. Hurry home, ‘kay? I’ll make brunch. I love you,” you responded, trying your best to compose yourself.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell Bill to drive fast as he can without gettin’ us pulled over. See you soon. I love you.”
Click.
Cooking somehow provided a good enough distraction from the growing frustration you had. You hummed to yourself as you cleaned up the mess you made trying to blend up smoothies, giggling to yourself as you imagined your perfect boyfriend making fun of you if he saw it.
You heard the front door creak open and thud shut as soon as you finished setting the quaint dining table and began adjusting the countertop television with the movie.
“Baaaaby!” you exclaimed as your boyfriend entered the room, running into his arms without giving him a moment to set down his stuff. He immediately dropped his things and reciprocated the embrace.
“Oh– Hi, baby. I love this robe on you, n’ you smell so nice,” he replied with his nose in your soft hair.
“You too, pretty boy. Go change n’ come eat. Hurry up, too. I missed you so bad,” you nearly whined at him.
His hand trailed down your back, to the curve of your hips, and then sneakily to the swell of your ass as he peeled himself from your body.
You returned to the kitchen and leaned over the counter to rewind the tape, preoccupied with learning how to master the technology. Long, slender fingers creeped around your waist just as you started getting frustrated, startling you.
“I can help you, baby. Here, let me show you,” Michael whispered against your neck.
You subtly squeezed your thighs together at his breath against your skin.
“M’kay. Just don’t take too long. Don’t want everything gettin’ cold.”
He turned you around and lifted you by your hips, placing you gently against the cold countertop. Kneeling down by your knee, he fumbled with the buttons on the television, demonstrating and explaining different things that were falling on deaf ears. The way his large eyes looked up at you for validation was doing so much more for you than if you were to start playing with yourself right then and there.
“Baby? Did you get that last part? When the remote starts to blin– Oh.” He made eye contact with you then and took a comically audible gulp. The way you were looking at him stopped him in his tracks completely. He looked away bashfully and focused on your knee that was dangling off the counter closest to him. Then his eyes trailed up your pretty thighs. He leaned in and kissed your knee tenderly, sucking in a sharp breath at the intimate contact.
You reached down and slotted your fingers through his thick hair, massaging his head the way you knew he liked it. The poor boy whimpered like he’d never been touched before.
“C’mon, let’s eat,” you drawled, removing your hand from his hair and biting your lip to hold back a smile.
Michael crawled closer to you, positioning himself between your legs and wrapped his hands around your waist, looking up at you like a thirsty animal in search of water.
“Mama…” he started.
“Michael, I took my time with this meal. Get up,” you ordered.
“Please? I had a hard day n’ I need it. Don’t you want me?” he whined.
“Nuh-uh. None of that. Don’t make me say it again,” you warned.
“‘M sorry, I can’t wait…” he whispered as he forcefully pulled your body closer to his face and pressed his nose to your clothed cunt.
“What the hell did I just say?” you questioned him incredulously, trying to steady yourself.
“Smells so good…” he whispered, completely ignoring your protests. He slid his hands to your hips and hooked his fingers into the waistline of your panties, dragging them down without a care in the world.
You thump him on his forehead harshly, appalled at his defiance. To your disdain, he let out the most pathetic moan you’d ever heard from a man.
“Mmnh– and you’re already wet? Oh, god,” he whined, ignoring the pulsing emanating from his temple.
He struggled getting your underwear down, due to you not wanting to lose the power struggle. You pressed your thighs deeper into the marble and attempted closing your legs, but he harshly sucked the most sensitive part of your inner thigh, causing you to loosen up and give him easy access.
“Mike…” you whined.
“I wanna make you feel good. Please, I’ll do everythin’ the way you like it. I’ll go ‘til I can’t breathe. Just wanna taste you,” he begged, looking up at you with his sparkly eyes. He didn’t wait for an answer, and slid his hands right back up your legs, taking two fingers and dragging them lightly against your clit.
“M-Michael, the food,” you tried again, still not ready to give in so easily. He was winning.
“Don’t you want it, mama? I feel how wet you are. Tell me you want it. Please?” he pressed down just a tad harsher, coaxing the response he wanted out of you with just a movement of his fingers. You were embarrassed by just how much he was turning you on like this.
“It’s g-gonna get cold– ah!” you exclaimed as he pinched your clit.
“Tell me you want it? Unless you don’t…Am I not good enough?” he pouted. You knew the game he was playing. You swore you did. But the face he was making…you were losing all sense of right and wrong. And his fingers were doing something to you, but not enough.
He removed his fingers from your sticky pussy and licked them clean, all while maintaining eye contact and moaning graphically. He was playing every card in his deck. He pulled you even closer and rested your legs against his broad shoulders. You said not a word, for fear of your voice betraying you. Instead, you opted for weak nudges to his cheeks and a tug of his hair, but that only fueled him more.
“I like that,” he teased, looking up at you with a smug smile. You pushed his forehead back with your palm as he neared your bare body, and turned your head defiantly. He giggled and darted his tongue out, dragging it along the insides of your thighs, collecting your arousal.
“I can make you feel good, baby. Please let me. C’mon, look at me n’ say it,” he begged again, breath fanning over your naked crotch. You met his eyes again with a defeated look on your face.
“Please…” you whispered.
“Please what? I’ll do anythin’. Tell me what to do,” Michael responded eagerly.
“At least put away the food?” you said, your unsteady tone posing it like a question.
He got up immediately, not leaving one second wasted. He needed you in his mouth much more than he realized. The food was put in tupperware and the smoothies in a freezer-safe pitcher in mere minutes. He washed his hands and returned to his place between your shaky thighs in record time.
“Gonna make you feel so good,” he promised. You rolled your eyes.
“Yeah you bet– F-fuck!” you exclaimed as he swirled his tongue around your clit expertly. You rolled your hips forward, not caring enough about your precarious position on the countertop. You were nearly straddling his shoulders.
The sounds coming from between your legs were filthy. An orchestra of moans and slurps and spitting. Michael was moaning more than you were.
“Mike- ngh. More,” you begged, much to your own embarrassment.
“Mmm, want my fingers?” he asked, looking up at you with your arousal coating the entire bottom half of his face. God, he looked like living sin.
“Yes,” you whispered.
He removed your legs from his shoulders and lifted you from the counter, making you straddle his waist as he stumbled into the living room. You fell back against the couch with a soft thump, and he sunk back onto his knees.
“Michael, your knees? Don’t they hurt?” you asked, suddenly all too worried about his comfort level. As if he cared.
“No, but I wouldn’t care if they did. I’ll do anythin’ to make you feel good,” he all but confessed. You bit your lip and pressed your thighs together very conspicuously.
“You like that?” he asked in disbelief.
“Mikey, stop! I’m embarrassed,” you exclaimed. “Whatever, you win. Fine, I want it. I want you. Just go down on me again, baby. It’s hurtin’” you whined.
“Yes, ma’am. Gonna make you feel better. ‘M so sorry.”
He dragged you to the edge of the couch by your ankles and put you back in the same position the two of you were in earlier, except you were much comfier on these cushions. He sucked your clit softly, moaning around it like he was the one being devoured. Taking his middle finger, he probed at your sopping hole, collecting its wetness and spreading it on his index like a natural lube. You pushed into his face harder, practically begging for it.
Catching the silent demand, he pushed his middle finger in, testing how much you could take at the moment. Your hole swallowed him like a pill. The ridges inside your sex were like art to him. Greedily, he shoved his index finger in almost immediately after. He started with a curious pace, slow and searching. His fingers expertly hit your g-spot each time, and the way his fingers curled made you feel like desire personified.
“M-Mikey, oh god! It’s– I can’t think..” you babbled honestly. The double stimulation paired with your sexual frustration was making your brain feel limp.
He moaned against you in response, the vibration sending shivers through your abdomen.
“Yes yes yes yes yeeeees, fuck!” you chanted.
You hated that he made you this easy. Usually your resolve was always up, but you’d never felt this needy in your life. You wanted him to have some sort of punishment for taking without permission. The best way to do that was to tease him.
“F-feels so good daddy, your mouth’s fuckin’ me so good.” ‘Daddy’, the name you used to drive him absolutely insane.
Just as you expected, his free hand came up and gripped one of your thighs for support as he furrowed his brows in concentration; surely on not cumming his pants. He drew in ragged breaths in between whimpers.
“Go faster, daddy. ‘M s-so close,” you whined, rocking your pussy against his tongue as he made it flat for you. Michael was sat so rigid beneath you, you were sure he was gonna cut off the circulation to his dick. He drilled his fingers into you at an unforgiving pace, and you swore you were being called to heaven right there.
He closed his mouth back around your cunt and slid his tongue up and down your folds, collecting more arousal, and pooling it around your clit. He sucked with just enough pressure to make you see stars, and you gripped onto his hair brutally.
“M-Mikey! ‘M gonna– Fuck! Cummi–” you crushed his face between your thighs and screamed bloody mary, holding onto his thick locks for grounding. Your orgasm ripped through you like an earthquake, and your body convulsed violently, all that pent up pressure released on your boyfriend’s face and fingers. He curled them inside you as much as he could while your walls clenched and sucked them in.
He kept licking you, too.
After you came down, you let your legs fall limp against him and detangled your fingers from his hair, trying to use your hands to push yourself back. But he wouldn’t stop going.
“Baby, I came. C-come on, ’m sensitive,” you rasped out, your voice hoarse from basically screaming.
Michael ignored you and kept going, seemingly driven by pure lust.
You grabbed ahold of his hair again and attempted to yank him back, but he stiffened his neck defiantly and gripped your thigh harder, keeping you in place. You whimpered loudly. He looked up at you, removed his fingers from inside you, and shoved them into your open mouth.
The angle was awkward, but god was this side of him sexy.
You moaned around his fingers and sucked at them greedily, trying your hardest not to bite down on them because of how sensitive you felt. Tears streamed down your eyes and you were sniffling loudly. The scene was disgusting.
Your hips stuttered against his tongue as he stuffed his thick tongue into your still leaking hole and back to flick at your clit, over and over.
You were crying his name out around his fingers, trying to warn him that you were going to cum again.
He grazed his teeth against your clit just once, very lightly, and you felt the air get knocked completely from your lungs, as your second orgasm tore through your sweaty body. You were almost choking on his fingers, your robe was drooping lazily off your shoulders, and your ears were ringing; your was body completely spent.
Michael removed his fingers from between your lips, but he kept going at your pussy.
“Michael please. C-can’t take it no more. You did good, daddy. You did really good. You made me feel better, baby. Ngh– f-fuck!” you cried out.
He met your eyes, looking at the way thick tears pooled inside of them, and then his gaze fell to your lips, concentrating on how the bottom one trembled as you cried. You looked like a masterpiece. Just one more. He just wanted one more out of you. Giving you a half-apologetic look, he tore his eyes from your dejected gaze, putting his focus on getting you to cum just one more time.
His jaw began to cramp up, and his tongue was nearly going stuck, but he had a point to prove to nobody but himself. Your lower body vibrated erratically, and the friction against his lips made him whine. This is exactly what he dreamed of. Him below you, offering his mouth to you, and you above him, crying out his name like a prayer.
“Mmmnh,” he moaned against your lips. His dick strained painfully in his briefs. He was oozing so much precum that it seemed like he finished in his pants.
“Close. G’na cum,” you mumbled through sobs of overstimulation. Your vision was too blurry to focus on the look of adoration he gave you.
Steeling himself for your release, he pulled you flush against his face, burying his nose into your pelvis, and he circled his sore tongue against your clit fast and hard.
“Michael! I’m–”
Your vision completely blacked out as your core weeped and your eyes silently cried. It felt like every hole in your body was leaking– your eyes with tears, your mouth with drool, your pussy with sticky cum.
Michael, on the other hand, rode you through the whole thing, rubbing his hands down the length of your sweaty thighs and humming softly against your core. He cleaned up every last drop of cum that poured from you. When you slumped back against the cushions, he finally removed his mouth from your sensitive sex with a whine.
His jaw hurt. He tried to apologize for going overboard, but he couldn’t even move his mouth from the pain. Every tiny movement made his jaw lock up even more.
“C’mere,” you mumbled out to him, craving his embrace.
Michael obliged immediately, ignoring the way his dick throbbed between his legs. He laid his head on your half-exposed breasts, listening to your heartbeat steady itself underneath your chest. He strained his neck to give you a tender kiss on your lips, wincing as he tried opening his mouth to deepen it.
“You okay?” you asked him as you jerked away.
“Mhm,” he replied quickly, attempting to connect your mouths again. You sat up on one of your forearms and used your free hand to guide his face up to you.
“Use your words, baby. Need to know you’re feeling okay. I was a lil’ rough with your hair.” You run your fingers through his coily tresses, massaging the his scalp where you tugged the hardest.
“Think I have lockjaw,” he mumbled without disconnecting his lips, making it come out more like ‘thnkhavlockjw’.
“What?” you questioned him, confused as to why he seemed so reluctant to speak. He rubbed his jawline.
“I– mm. Went too hard. My jaw’s tight.” He bit his lip, seeming…proud of himself for that fact.
“You gave yourself lockjaw just to give me three orgasms? You fuckin’ idiot. You’re a singer!” You pushed his face away playfully and then grabbed onto his jaw again, massaging the sides. He opened his mouth wider, stretching it as the muscles loosened up.
“Mhm, n’ it was worth it! I’d go again if you told me to,” he declared proudly, giving you a suggestive look.
“Hell nah, we still have the whole meal I made for us. I’m hungry. You don’t needa be movin’ that mouth for anything except that food,” you quipped at him.
“I’m sorry, mama. You taste real good, though…” he trailed off, leaning in to catch you in another kiss.
“Nope. We are not doin’ this again. Get the fuck up before I buy myself a chastity belt,” you responded with a chuckle, pushing him away from you and stretching your achy limbs. You stood up, tightened your robe, and extended your hand to drag him with you to the kitchen. “Get up.”
“Okay. I love you so much,” he replied like a lovesick puppy as he let you guide him like one. You giggled at his neediness, eyeing his erection.
“Mhm, I’m sure you do. I’m not lettin’ you touch me again until we eat, by the way. And you’re platin’ everything,” you instructed as you reheated the food, handing him porcelain dishes. You grabbed the smoothies out of the freezer and poured them into glasses, handing him one to try. He took a sip and you caught him in a soft kiss when he pulled his cup away.
“And I love you too, angelface.”
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