one-shot. smut. inexperienced!pre-otw!mike x experienced!fem!reader. sub!mike. softdom!reader. praise. loss of virginity. blk!reader in mind. not proof-read .✦ ݁˖ mikey’s tired of being a virgin. masterlist
embarrassed was a poor choice of words.
michael was ashamed.
his brothers have wives, girlfriends, hookups, and michael didn’t even get his first kiss yet. he thought he was pathetic, really. and as much as michael is a shy guy, he’s also desperate for advice. so who else would he go to than to his childhood best friend?
you were quite literally perfection is michael’s eyes. beautiful hair that you always styled differently yet so entirely you, radiating smile, tons of attention from boys, and an insane clothing style to the point michael might or might’ve not tried to have his stylists make him matching outfits.
and god, how could he forget those thighs? plump, soft and squishy. he couldn’t help the way his eyes darted to them everytime you guys went swimming together and you wore that tiny hot pink bikini he loved.
you were probably the most gorgeous girl he’s ever laid eyes on. which is why you’re the first person he asks for advice, of course.
“i don’t get it, you’re telling me you never even kissed a girl?” you asked gently, tilting your head as you looked up into his big brown eyes, a small chuckle leaving your lips.
“no! like, i know m’not the best looking, but—“ he muttered, before you stopped him by placing a finger to his lips.
“don’t say that.” you whispered, the tension in the air suddenly getting thicker. “m’not boutta sit here and listen to you insult the prettiest face ever.” you added, a gentle smile appearing on your face as your hands cupped his cheeks.
michael giggled and blush, his cheeks getting all rosy as he looked away. “you don’t mean that.” he replied, his voice soft and silky as he looked back at you, still smiling all flustered.
“oh, but i do, angelface. you just have to be the handsomest boy i’ve ever met.” you added, smiling wider and wider as the seconds passed.
you adored michael, truly. some might even say you were in love with him, truthfully. tho, never have you made a move — you always assumed michael wasn’t into relationships, or all the messes that came with it. you thought he was too gentle, too nice, too sweet to be with you — a maneater. you’ve always told yourself that you’re not the kind of girl michael is into, that he probably loves softer, gentler girls that match his personality style, and you couldn’t have been more wrong.
michael loved dominant women. those who knew their worth, who don’t take bullshit, who aren’t scared to put people in their places. the kind of woman that makes his knees weak, and his mind blank. aka you.
“i can’t believe a girl like you would want to hang around someone like me.” he whispered, his doe eyes staring down into yours.
“what are you sayin’, mike?” you mumbled, your voice softer as you kept your hands on his cheeks.
“i-i just..” he muttered before sighing, his eyes fluttering closed for a second, his long lashes hitting his cheeks. “i feel like such a loser. i-i’ve never.. y’know, done anything with a girl — let alone kiss her. am i that ugly?” he added, his eyes fluttering back open, yet still looking down at his thighs like he was ashamed.
“michael, look at me.” you whispered, your voice a bit more firm now, mike’s head lifting up and staring into your eyes with his big sad ones. “m’gonna show you how pretty you are.” you breathed out, which made shivers go down michael’s spine. “tell me if you want to stop, pretty boy.”
“wha— what?” he mumbled, stumbling over his words as you smiled, looking up at him while his cheeks were bright pink, his eyes scanning all over your face.
your lips slowly went over his, a soft gasp escaping michael’s throat into your mouth. his hands hovered over you, his brain already mush just from the feel and taste of your strawberry lipgloss on his lips. “w-wait—!” he suddenly gasped out, his hands going to your shoulders as you leaned back. “w-what are you— um, what are you d-doin’..?” michael asked gently, his breathing already quicker and heavier as he looked down at you, confused.
“m’givin’ you love.” you replied, voice still gentle — compared to your public persona. “s’okay if you don’t want to, michael.” you added, wanting to make him feel at ease as possible.
“y-you.. you don’t have to do this because you’re pitying me.” He mumbled, looking away as he fidgeted with his fingers.
michael’s words made you stare at him in silence, before a soft sigh left your nostrils, your eyes closing before your hands went back to his cheeks. “michael, m’not doin’ this cause i pity you.” you replied, smiling exasperatedly. “i wish you knew for how long i’ve wanted this. wish you could understand how my heart races when you’re around.” you added, which made michael’s breath hitch, his hands already gripping the sheets while his heart raced.
“you don’t have to reply.” you replied, michael staring into your eyes like he couldn’t peel his gaze away. “d’you want me to kiss you again?” you whispered, your breath ghosting over his lips. michael eagerly nodded his head, which made you smile. “words, baby.” the petname made michael’s body go warm, biting his lower lip in nervousness.
“y-yes, please. p-please kiss me.” he fumbled over his words, which made you smile and kiss him again.
you guided him through it. he was kissing you messily, trying his best to imitate your lips moving against his, his hands shakily resting against your waist, remembering all the stuff his brothers told him before. you could feel his trembling hands wander over you clumsily, not really knowing what he’s doing.
your hands gripped his wrists gently, your lips parting from him which made michael leave out a sad little noise. “michael, you don’t have to act like you know everything.” you whispered, your lips going to his jawline, which made him gasp and immediately throw his head back. “jus’ lemme take care of you.” you added, your hands running over his clothed chest as you lips kept moving down his skin onto his throat — sucking gentle hickeys.
michael fought with his own body, biting back on his lower lip until you gently nibbled down on his warm skin. “i wanna hear all the pretty noises you make, please.” you mumbled breathily against his skin, before going back to pressing kisses and gentle sucks on his throat.
it was like your words set something off in michael, a small whine leaving his lips, sending tingles all over your body. you loved seeing him unravel like him.
your lips traced slowly lower, lips moving across his throat and onto his shoulders, his breathing quickening as his hands trembled. “are you okay?” you whispered against his skin, your hands slowly pulling the hem of shirt he was wearing higher.
“m-m’fine, m-m’just— m’just nervous.” he admitted embarrassingly, looking away with a red face that made you giggle at his shyness.
“that’s okay. that’s normal.” your whispered, pulling the shirt higher until you took it off his shoulders, throwing it away behind you. “but i promise, m’gonna make you feel so good.” you added, pressing a soft kiss on his bare torso, michael’s eyes fluttering closed as he let out a shaky sigh.
your lips traced lower and lower, until your small fingers gripped michael’s belt, making him gasp and grip your wrists.
“w-wait—! i-i can’t let you—!” he mumbled hurriedly, his breathing heavy and loud now.
you looked up into michael’s eyes, yours full of need for the man you’ve craved for so long. “why not? i want to. do you want me to?” you asked gently, the eye contact making michael melt and bite his lower lip.
“b-but.. it’s so dirty.. i-i can’t let you do that..” he mumbled shyly, one of his hands going over his lips, which made you smile.
“s’okay, i wanna be dirty for you.” you whispered, your hands slowly undoing his belt, michael’s breath trembling as he gripped his own thighs.
you unzipped his jeans, tugging them slightly down to see the huge tent in michael’s boxers while he stared down at you. you pressed a soft kiss against his clothed hard-on, keeping eye contact as you looked up into his eyes through your lashes.
michael gasped loudly, his hips twitching up against you, his cheeks bright red. “m-m’sorry—!” He mumbled, before a shaky sigh left his lips as you kept pressing long open mouthed kisses against the thin cotton of his underwear.
“don’t apologize baby, just means m’doing my job right.” you breathed out, your fingers delicately pulling down on the strap of his boxers, making his hard cock slap against your face, making you smile.
michael gasped at the sight beneath him, his mind already dizzy. “o-oh god, oh god..” he panted, hands trembling against his thighs.
you kissed his pretty and flushed tip, making his dick twitch and a choked whimper leave his lips, his eyes fluttering. “breathe, baby.” you whispered, offering kitten licks all over the fat head of his cock, mewls leaving his lips.
as much as michael tried to breathe, he couldn’t slow down his heart. your lips slowly wrapped around his tip, making him gasp and buck his hips up against your face instinctively. the deeper you took him in your throat, the louder his noises were. your throat was so warm, wet and perfect — and you wanted to have him in. you wanted him.
it didn’t take long until you were bobbing your head up and down, loud slurping sounds as you hollowed your cheeks in, tongue swirling around his hard cock nestled deep into your throat. he was huge, and you kept gagging and drooling over him. the sight was so dirty, and michael couldn’t stop the loud moans leaving his plump lips.
“a-agh, g-god—! baby, babybabybaby—“ he cried out, his long slim fingers sliding into your curls, not pushing your head down but just needing to hold you.
you felt him twitch in your mouth, and his whimpers slowly got a higher pitch. you quickly pulled your mouth off him, a loud “pop!” sound filling your ears as you looked up at him, dick pressed against your cheeks with spit all over your chin, smiling with hazy eyelids.
“y-you look so d-dirty..” michael whispered, his cock twitching again — his body in contrast with his words which made you giggle.
“have you ever touched a woman, michael?” you asked gently, sitting back up, your hands slowly peeling the straps of you tank top off your shoulders with a smile.
michael’s breath hitched, his eyes going to your bare shoulders with a huge blush, heart racing. “n-no.” he rasped out, voice shaky as you threw your shirt god knows where, leaving you in a lacy hot pink and black bra.
“do you want to?” you whispered, getting closer, michael’s hands hovering around your bare waist, his lips parted open as he panted.
“p-please.” he whined, his eyes meeting yours, full of need which made you giggle.
your hands went over his, guiding them to your waist, before your lips went back to his, moving slowly as michael’s hands gripped your waist out of instinct.
“you feel so good against me.” you whispered against his lips, slowly crawling over his lap, making michael gasp into your mouth. your clothed pussy was right against his bare cock, still rock hard and needy from the orgasm denial you forced upon him earlier. “d’you wanna see me fully?”
michael nodded quickly and eagerly, his hands still on your waist. “y-yes, yes..” he breathed out, voice trembling while his eyes stayed on your tits sitting so prettily due to your bra.
you smiled gently, your hips slightly raising as you slid your shorts and panties down in one go, your pussy glistening from arousal just by sucking michael’s cock.
you settled back down on michael’s lap, his hard cock sliding between your wet folds, both of you letting out a shaky sigh.
“o-oh g-god, you’re s-so wet..” whimpered michael, his head throwing back as you slowly grind down against him, your wetness coating his length, gentle sighs leaving your lips.
your eyes scanned over him, realizing his size. sure, you weren’t unexperienced, it’s not like you’ve never seen a dick before — but god, michael was big. not super thick — but he was long. you bit your lip at the mix of the image of mike’s cock glistening with your wetness and your clit grinding against said length.
“i-i need to feel you inside me. y’gonna let me? gonna let me ride you?” you whispered, grinding a bit faster against michael, his eyes fluttering closed as his hips bucket up against yours.
“p-please.” he cried out, and you didn’t need to be asked twice.
you lined yourself up with michael’s twitching dick, shivering before you slowly slid down, inch by inch, feeling him stretch you open. your eyes fluttered closed, loud moans leaving your lips as your body adjusted to michael’s size. michael was whimpering, his hands squeezing your waist as they trembled, eyes practically rolling back as you slid down his length.
once you bottomed out, michael whined your name, his arms wrapping around your waist as he hid his face in your neck, panting heavily between whimpers. “o-oh b-babyyyy, f-feels soooo good..” he whimpered, hips twitching as he trembled.
you slowly started bouncing your hips over his, the tip of his cock hitting those perfect spongy spots inside you that already had you seeing white. “c-can’t believe m’your f-first, g-god fuck—“ you whimpered, slowly speeding up as wet sounds filled the room, a continuous “shlick , shlick , shlick” mixed with moans and whimpers. “w-wanna have you everyday, m-my boy..” you whispered against michael’s hairline as he kept his face in the crook of your neck, hypnotized by the feeling of your tight walls around him.
michael’s whimpers got louder and louder at your words, and you could feel him twitch inside you as you kept riding him, his hands now roaming all over your body in desperation — a stark contrast in confidence compared to earlier.
“i-i can’t, y’feel t-too good, o-ohhh—“ michael cried out, his head throwing back as your fingers went down to rub your swollen clit.
“m’so close, angel. p-please cum with me.” you whispered, breath ghosting over michael’s face as you kept riding him, ass bouncing against him.
michael’s eyes darted down, looking at your tiny hole swallowing him with each bounce until you started clenching around him — and it was all too much.
michael came deep inside you with cries of your name, his eyes closing as his hips twitched up, squeezing your waist. “o-oh—! i-i love you—!”
his words sent a spark down your spine, making you cum quickly after him. loud mewls left your lips as you clamped down around him, sucking his cock in like you never wanted to let go.
you collapsed against his chest, panting heavily while small drops of michael’s cum slid out of you, rolling down against his thighs while you sat seated on his lap.
“i love you too.” you whispered against michael’s shoulder, pressing a soft kiss as he panted heavily.
a/n: PHEWWWW this is my longest fic yet 😭😭😭 i hate how i wrote this eughh also my first mj fanfic pls b nice … pls accept my blog mjtumblr also PLSS CAN U TELL I LIKE DIRTY TALK
—𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒; everyone sees the soft-spoken, gentle, respectful michael jackson — but, after opening night for the victory tour in kansas city and a few bottles of hard liquor, you see how alcohol turns that sweet mouth real dirty
—𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆; smut, 18+, heavy alcohol consumption, reaaaaal dirty talkin, soft-dom!mike, semi-public sex (tour bus), cunnilingus, cursing, jackson brothers are such teasing lil shits, creampie.
—𝐀/𝐍; HIII, i’m baaaack! did you miss me :D also new layout who dis
Celebrating with the Jackson brother’s wasn’t anything short of lively.
It was a warm summer’s night in July — the air was muggy, manageable, but enough to cast a thin sheen of sweat across your forehead in the main seating area of the black Eagle entertainer coach. One singular window was cracked, letting in a blissful, relieving blast of cold air as the tour-bus whirred down the freeway.
The atmosphere was upbeat — the sound of loud laughter, teasing comments, and playful insults hurled in the air as conversations flowed with ease. For the first time in a while post-concert, every Jackson brother was present — Tito was shuffling a stack of playing cards, Marlon was relentlessly teasing Jermaine for finally being allowed permission back into the group, Jackie was conversing quietly with a fan he’d brought from the bustling crowd of Kansas City, one of the many girls he’d go to pick up after a show, who sat nervously next to him, Randy watched his brother’s shameless flirting with wide eyes, utterly stunned at his boldness for bringing a girl, let alone a fan, back onto the tour bus with the whole family, and Michael, quiet as always, sat comfortably beside you, his lady, with a hand laid lovingly on your clothed thigh.
All seven residents of the tour bus, excluding Jackie’s friend, encircled two large separate foldable tables, both locked into place to allow card games and beverages to splay across the plastic top.
Speaking of beverages, thanks to Jermaine and Marlon, who decided opening night of their Victory Tour in Kansas City couldn’t be a night without a “special somethin’”, had provided more than enough liquor to clean a hospital — and maybe even put them in one after consumption.
As Tito announced that he’d successfully shuffled the cards to his best ability, he began distributing them, calling out Michael’s name to reach over the intersection of the bus to grab ahold of yours and his cards. As your boyfriend rose to his feet, took the cards from his brother’s hands, and then resided back into his seat — you met his eyes as he handed your bunch to you.
Michael shon a gentle, sweet little smile your way, his eyes twinkling with affection as you watched them travel over your grinning face. His hand slipped back onto your thigh, giving it a small squeeze and a light pat. Sifting through your cards, becoming accustomed to your hand, you let your cheeks warm at the subtle display of affection.
Michael was always doting — from the moment you met, when your high-school best-friend, La Toya Jackson, had brought you home for supper, he had been seeing hearts in his vision.
You had been friends with La Toya from school for a few years at that point in ‘73, knowing each since the jovial days of middle-school, often walking home together after a long day of classes, and stopping by at her small, yet comforting, home in Gary, Indiana, for dinner. And from the first day you stepped foot in the Jackson home, you were welcomed with open arms — Katherine Jackson, La Toya’s mother, adored you, always calling you her fourth daughter, and practically begging La Toya to bring you round more often.
And once her older brother’s got whiff of a new female face around the house — the teasing began. Marlon, being close to you and La Toya in age, loved to pick on you childishly — claiming that he was going to tell the guy at school that you had a crush on, that you liked him, or that he saw him kissing another girl behind the Sycamore tree at lunch. And, as your relationship with the family blossomed and strengthened, you teased back — playfully winding him up, saying that when he approached and painfully flirted with the new girl by the lockers, that he had peanut butter on his chin. He didn’t, but the look on his face would send you into fits of laughter.
Tito and Jackie, the eldest of the Jackson siblings, treated you as if you were their little sister — often warning you about what guys really want when they ask a girl to a drive-in movie, or what to say when a guy’s teasing you at school. The rest of the Jackson brother’s, as well as La Toya’s younger sister, Janet, all adored you too — finding it bizarre how La Toya didn’t introduce you sooner.
Even Joseph tolerated you — and that was saying something.
But, no Jackson sibling, or parent, or cousin, or uncle, or niece, that you met, because you had as Katherine had basically adopted you at this point, would ever equate to your favourite.
Michael.
He was different, intriguingly so, different from all his brother’s and sister’s — who were loud, boisterous and lively, who weren’t afraid to quip back a snark response during a playful spat, or chase you round the backyard in an attempt to push you into a large murky, muddy puddle during winter. No, he was definitely different. Shy, softly-spoken, gentle and endearingly polite — it was as if all the extraversion was given to his siblings and left him nothing.
But, you liked him that way.
Oh, boy, did you like him.
La Toya would tease you relentlessly — poking your sides when she caught you staring at him from across the living room, or clutching her stomach in laughter when you revealed you actually might have a crush on him, or deliberately knocking into you to force you to stumble into him in the kitchen, muttering a knowing ‘Oops’ with a smirk on her face as the two of you blushed and apologised profusely.
You were convinced your feelings for Michael were one-sided as after five years of mingling around the Jackson family and falling even harder for the bashful boy, now at the ripe age of seventeen and you eighteen, no obvious, reciprocated romantic emotions were shared. Michael was always sweet and friendly, sharing laughs and stories with you at the dinner table whenever you sat near one another, or bringing you a cold drink on a hot summer’s day when they all moved to Hayvenhurst and you’d stay for weeks at a time during the warmer months — but, his true feelings were never clear.
It was unbeknownst to you that Michael had been utterly infatuated with you from fourteen years-old when you and La Toya trudged through the front door, slinging your back-packs and Mary Jane’s to the floor, and rushing through to the kitchen to formly introduce you to her parents — he was speechless. Even at such a mutual young age, he thought you were beautiful. His boyish heart would thump in his chest at the sight of your plump, adolescent cheeks, soft eyes and toothy grin — but, what got him the most, was the sweet, fruity aroma of your cherry-scented shampoo. The waft of your freshly washed hair flooding his nostrils whenever you’d step foot into the home, running past him with a quick, high-pitched ‘Hi, Michael!’ with a cheesy smile on your face — it sent him spiralling.
But, as all inexperienced, nervous teenagers do, they assume the person they like are unlikely to reciprocate their feelings — so, he kept to himself. Letting his brother’s do all the teasing, and the talking, and the flirting when you turned eighteen — it pained him to keep so quiet, it wasn’t out of character due to his shy nature, but all he wanted to do was reach out and kiss you, and tell you exactly how he felt.
And when La Toya, both of you aged twenty, and Michael nineteen, threw a birthday party for her boyfriend at the time, and you consumed one too many fruit-punches from a three litre plastic container in a red solo cup, now completely plastered beyond recognition, did you decide to finally spill your guts.
Literally and figuratively.
You had approached Michael, stumbling and giggling, who sat on the sidelines of the Hayvenhurst back-yard that swarmed with people from your school and his family, pretending the orange juice in his solo cup was alcohol, and sat promptly next to him on a lounge chair.
You let your mind run away with itself — telling him how nice he is for letting his older sister host a party for her boyfriend, who you revealed you hated as you knew he had slept with her other friend before dating Toya, who you also didn’t like, and ignored him when he reminded you it wasn’t his house, but continued to let you ramble. And when you finally finished praising him, on how nice his shirt was, and his teeth, and his hair, and his eyes, and his lips—you had already said too much. Deciding that now was the perfect time to let slip that you had been hopelessly in love with him from the second you laid eyes on him sat on the couch in the little living room of his Indiana home, that your feelings hadn’t faltered for the past six years, and that you wanted so badly to kiss him right now.
But, before Michael, who was wide-eyed, slack-jawed and blushing, could have a chance to reveal he felt the same — you were puking into the grass, heaving and crying as he held your hair back.
In the morning, you woke up with a headache and a dry throat on La Toya’s bed — but, no amount of physical pain could amount to the sheer dread and embarrassment that flooded your system at the realisation of what you’d said the night before. Well, a mere few hours earlier, as your body clock had decided a three-AM till seven-AM sleep was sufficient after a night of drinking.
And when you finally decided to crawl out of bed at twelve-PM that same day, bags under your eyes and hair a mess, you faced your fear — diminishing any humiliation by facing the problem head on.
You had knocked on Michael’s bedroom door, swallowing thickly and gnawing at your lip as you awaited permission to enter. And when he did, opening the door with furrowed eyebrows and a confused expression, which instantly melted once he set eyes on you, you rambled once more, now sober with no excuse, tears falling freely from your eyes as you apologised.
And Michael, watching as you word-vomited, thankfully figuratively this time, gained a sliver of confidence and cupped your cheeks with gentleness, before pressing his lips to yours to shut you up. You had frozen, before sliding your hands into his bed-head of hair, and sobbing into the kiss, ignoring the way your spit-stricken lips mixed with your salty tears, only catching your breath as he pulled away, whispering a nearly inaudible, ‘I’m in love with you too.’
The rest was history — Katherine was ecstatic her son and her favourite friend any of her children have ever had, were together, literally jumping for joy and pulling you in for tight hug. Of course, the Jackson brothers teased you shamelessly, never missing a second after you revealed your relationship without picking on Michael with a — ‘Damn, Mike, how’d you get this one to agree to go out with you?’ ‘I didn’t even know you had any game, little brother.’ ‘Whenever you’re done, bring her ‘round to me, yeah?’
But, for once in his life — he paid no mind to his brother’s childishness. He suddenly had all the confidence in the world since he was now officially with the one girl he’d been in love with since he was fourteen.
And six, nearly seven years together, here you were — Michael now at twenty-six, you twenty-seven, accompanying him and his brother’s on their Victory Tour around the United States and Canada. You had accompanied them on many a tours previously, when they became ‘the Jackson’s’, when Jermaine parted from the group to stay with Motown, and always remained an anchor and lifeline for Michael. He hated whenever there was times you weren’t there with him on tour — feeling awfully woeful and lonely laying in an large, empty hotel bed, pouting on the phone to you for hours about how much he missed and needed you, how he couldn’t wait to see you in the next city when you were flying in, and how much he loved you.
Like I said — always doting.
“Let’s get this party started, shall we?” Marlon quipped, pulling you from the memory of your childhood love affair, grinning from ear to ear as he reached over the playing cards that Tito had placed in front of him, and grabbed ahold of a large bottle of Tequila — chuckling darkly to himself as he unscrewed the cap and flicked it across the room, howling as it smacked Randy right between the eyes.
Ignoring his brother’s curses from injury, Marlon brought the glass bottle to his lips, gulping two deep swigs of the hard, straight liquor, cursing as he swallowed.
“Your turn, Mr Big Shot.” Marlon joked, passing the bottle to Jackie, who now had his arm around the blushing fan next to him.
Jackie chuckled, leaning slightly to take the litre bottle from his brother’s hands, and bringing to his lips as he did — wincing after a large swig.
“You want some of this?” Jackie asked, turning to the girl next to him.
Her eyes blew open, clearly unaccustomed to alcohol by the way her mouth parted and closed a few times before speaking, “I, um, I—“
“Sweetie, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, they’re just alcoholics, so pay no mind to their peer pressure.” You spoke up, leaning over to press a reassuring hand to her knee as you smiled.
She turned to you with a thankful grin, before shaking her head at Jackie, mumbling a soft ‘No, thank you’.
“Alcoholics? Girl, I know you’ lyin’.” Marlon exclaimed, titling his head at you.
You laughed loudly, “Am I wrong? You just drank that shit like it was water.”
The room erupted into soft laughter as Marlon shook his head with a chuckle, “That doesn’t make me an alcoholic.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re right.” You started, with a playful smirk, “An alcoholic wouldn’t go ‘Ooh, ah, fuck, shit, that’s strong, fuck’!”
Loud roars of laughter, even including your quiet boyfriend who giggled beside you, filled the room as Tito nudged Marlon teasingly.
“Oh, really? Think you can do better?” He shot back.
“In what way?”
“I reckon you can’t take three swigs of that shit without gagging or, or, cursing.” Marlon challenged, raising his eyebrows in contest.
In the true sibling rivalry that you had formed with them, especially so with Marlon, you tongued the inside of your cheek, mentally deciding whether a hangover was worth this childish game.
“Or, you can remain a pussy.”
“Give that here.” You spat, snatched the bottle from the table in front of Jackie, ignoring the way Marlon cackled at the fact his provoking had worked.
With a deep breath, you brought the bottle to your lips — squeezing your eyes shut as the burning liquor trickled down your throat, setting fire to your taste buds as the harsh Tequila settled in your mouth.
One swig, two swigs, three swigs — and you slammed the bottle back down onto the table with a sigh, repressing a gag that threatened to creep up your throat and pressing your lips together to prevent any profanities from falling into the air.
Michael, watching the juvenile scene play out in front of him, squeezed your thigh in support as you finally let out a shaken breath, meeting Marlon’s eyes with your glassy ones, and sticking out your clean tongue.
“Beat that, fucker.”
The taste of Tequila stuck to your tongue as you let the room erupt into applause as Marlon rolled his eyes, “Always the show-off.”
“Y’just a sore loser, brother.” Jermaine piped up, grabbing an unopened bottle and drinking it himself, as Jackie did the same, handing it to Randy once he was finished.
Within fifteen minutes of the bottles being opened, the room had erupted into tipsy giggles and slurred conversations — Jackie’s girl had finally agreed to have a drink, clearly a light-weight as she was snorting with laughter at whatever Jackie had whispered in her ear. The card game had been abandoned before it even really started — Tito had attempted to explain the rules, but was continuously cut off by Jermaine and Marlon who repeated everything he said back at him in a squeaky, high-pitched voice, before finally giving up and telling them to fuck off, sending laughter throughout the room once more.
Luckily, everyone in the bus had failed to realise the quiet man next to you had avoided taking any swigs from the bottle at all — just silently observing the mess that was his drunken girlfriend and brother’s unfold before his eyes as cards were thrown around the bus, and competitions on who can do the best Joseph impression sent everyone into fits of giggles.
When finally, his silent avoidance was shattered,
“Ay, Mike, you haven’t had a drink yet!”
Jermaine’s loud, accusatory voice sounded out into the room, everyone’s head’s snapping towards the bashful boy, whose cheeks flushed burgundy at the exposure.
“I’m alright, ‘Maine, I don’t fancy a drink.” Michael replied coolly, hand still wrapped around the comfort of your thigh.
“Oh come on, everyone’s drinkin’, don’t be a party pooper.” Marlon teased, eyes drooping slightly as he slurred his words.
“Hey, leave my man alone.” You fired back, reaching up to press a defending hand to Michael’s chest, “He can choose to not drink if he doesn’t want to, Marlon.”
“Quit dick-ridin’ and pass him the bottle.” Marlon spat, laughing as he slid the bottle across the table in Michael’s direction
“Ew, why would you say that?” Michael spoke up, grimacing at the lewdness of his brother’s words.
Jackie cackled, “Actin’ like you haven’t been together for, what?, six years? Boy, we’ve all heard ya.”
You gasped, “Oh my God, what? Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Qui—Quit changing the subject and get some liquor down you, little brother.” Marlon exclaimed, smiling widely.
Michael looked from the bottle, to his brothers, to you — searching for an escape as he swallowed thickly. It wasn’t that he didn’t necessarily want to drink — he just knew he’d ultimately regret it in the morning or do, or say, something he’d also regret.
You met his eyes, “‘S alright if you don’t want to, baby, you don’t have to.”
The look on your face, eyes bloodshot and hazy, cheeks flushed and smiling toothily, all drunk and happy, made his heart swoon. He was here, with all his brother’s and the love of his life, touring again with his beloved family on opening night — everyone looked so upbeat and giddy, all desirable qualities after a long first show, surely a drink wouldn’t be so bad, right?
That theory was soon diminished.
An hour later, after forcing six long swigs of Tequila down his throat from his persisting brother’s, who also ended up pouring the liquor straight into your mouth for your seventh swig, everyone was hammered. Jackie and his girl had retreated from the room half-an-hour ago to his bedroom in the back, ignoring Jermaine’s shouts to keep off of his bed. Tito and Randy had fallen asleep on one another, heads resting against each other’s as their snores filled the quieter room. Marlon was nearly spent — sighing deeply as sleep also threatened to taken over his drunken body as he slumped in the chair.
As for you and Michael, you were tucked neatly into the corner of the cushioned benches around the side of the bus, pressed up against one another — his hands caressing the curve of your waist as you pushed your chest against his, letting him whisper sweet-nothings into your ear, warm breath and soft lips grazing the shell as you shuddered.
You’d never seen Michael under the influence before, even when you first confessed your undeniable love to him, he had been consuming orange juice all night, so his behaviour had struck you speechless.
The second the alcohol hit his system — he was a changed man.
Suddenly, he was the loudest and most confident man in the room — laughing and shouting boyishly with his brother’s, shooting insults at Marlon, or letting curses slip past his lips, which erupted gasps in the room at his profanities due to his shy, collected sober nature.
But, that wasn’t all.
He became twice as handsy.
It started after his second swig, it all hitting him at once, as his hand trailed just that little bit higher up your thigh, dangerously close to where you twitched — a movement that had your breath hitching in your throat at the sudden action. He played it off smoothly, just peering down at you with an innocent smile when you glared up at him in shock.
Then, after the third or fourth swig, he pulled you into his lap, hand splayed across the bare of your stomach as he rest his chin on your shoulder, ignoring the way everyone exchanged glances at his sudden public display of affection — something he would never normally do around his brother’s.
Furthermore, after the fifth, he was gone — now kissing your neck openly, running his hands all over your sides in a slow, steady rhythm as he whispered how much he loved you into your ear, and how beautiful you looked, and how happy he was that you were here, and how— he didn’t stop. Just blabbering away, slurring and stuttering, about his utmost gratitude and adoration for you as his breath fanned over the back of your ear.
Finally, he had let you down from his lap after you grew increasingly more bashful at the way his brother’s ogled and teased about Michael’s sudden boldness — but, not letting you off that easy. Not letting a single second pass by, once you left the comfort of his lap, before pulling you against him and cupping your jaw to press soft kisses to the ridge.
“God, you’re so beautiful, Cherry.”
Your heart fluttered at the nickname, a long-standing term of endearment he had given you years ago from the scent of your childhood shampoo, one that he adored, as you braced a hand on his shoulder.
“Thank you, Mikey.” You whispered back, head fuzzy and dazed as the alcohol buzzed through your system.
“Y’know how much I love you, right?” He mumbled for the thousandth time that night, the scent of his minty breath filling your nostrils as he pulled back from your jaw to meet your gaze.
“I do, angel,” You hummed, leaning forward slightly to nudge his nose with your own, “I love you more.”
“No, I do.”
“Nope.”
“No. I love you the most, Cherry.”
“Not true. I love you the—“ “Get a room, guys, Jesus.”
Jermaine’s slurred words hit your ears as you turned your head to face him, pulling away from Michael’s face.
“Fine, we will.”
You gasped as Jermaine groaned at the insinuation of Michael’s words as he rose to his feet, extending his hand to help you up from the seat. You did so willingly, still shocked at his confidence at a such lewd revelation in front of Jermaine, who shook his head.
Michael didn’t waste a beat — dragging you swiftly into the back of the tour bus, towards his bedroom, one that was, thankfully, reserved just for him, despite all his brother’s having to share with one another. His feet moved quickly as he guided you through the dark of the hallway, hand still enclosed tightly in your own as an anchor in the low-lighting, especially in your drunken stumbling.
Once you clambered into the room, giggling as you tripped over your own feet and slammed into his back, Michael shut and locked the door and instantly pressed you against it. His lips met yours instantaneously — a low hum of satisfaction leaving his mouth and into yours as he cupped your burning hot cheeks. His hands, nimble and precise, moved and found solace in the curve of your hips, gripping tightly as he pulled you flushed against his body, while his tongue nudged your bottom lip.
You whined into his mouth, feeling awfully needy after his continuous teasing throughout the evening, as he slot a knee between your legs — his clothed thigh now inches away from where you had begun to throb in your panties, now stricken with slick that drooled from your twitching pussy.
The alcohol had hit you straight between the legs — arousal now flooding your veins twice as hard as the liquor had, your head reeling as his eager tongue slipped into your mouth, colliding with your own. The kiss was sloppy and needy, tasting heavily of liquor, tongues and teeth clashing together in a feverish connection as you clung desperately to the fabric of Michael’s shirt, crinkling the material in your tight grasp.
Michael parted from your mouth for a mere second just to guide you — turning you around from the comfort of the door, and towards the bed. He laid you down gently, as he always did before you had sex, cradling your head to soften the collision with the mattress — before instantly attaching himself back to your lips. Your legs instinctively wrapped lazily around his hips as he hovered over you, holding himself up on two elbows as he continued his work on your mouth, groaning down your throat as you shamelessly began rutting your crotch into the painfully obvious bulge in his joggers.
“So needy, my baby, hm? You want me that bad?” He spoke lowly, the gruff, deepness of his voice hitting you full force — a soft gasp ripping from your throat as his mouth attached to the bare of your neck, suckling the skin gently.
You’d never heard him talk like that — even during sex. It was always gentle and loving, coaxing rather than tantalising.
But, this—this—was different.
His voice had a bass in it that you’d never heard before — a dark, seductive growl, a statement of his need.
This was the alcohol talking.
But, as he sucked dark, prominent marks into your skin, now meeting your hips halfway as you humped up into his bulge, mewling as the tip of his stiff cock rocked against your aching clitoris repeatedly — you didn’t care.
“Mich—Mike, God.” Words failed you as you rambled into his ear, hands now threaded through his curls still damp with sweat, “Need you.”
Michael groaned into the warmth of your collarbone, lips detaching, he lifted himself up, to meet your glassy gaze — pupils blown and dancing in burning desire.
“Yeah? Really need me that badly baby, yeah?”
He was slurring, repeating himself, as he rolled a particularly harsh thrust into your clothed cunt — revelling in the way you mewled loudly at the connection, your grip in his hair tightening.
“Please.”
The sound of your meek begging had him dizzy — theoretically drunk on arousal as he fumbled with the button of your denim shorts, swift fingers dragging down the zipper before pulling them down your legs. He moved even quicker to your shirt — yanking at the hem and practically ripping it off of your body and to the floor, atop of your discarded bottoms.
His eyes met your half-naked frame, now clad in just your bra and panties, which now sported an obvious wet patch right were you drooled in anticipating arousal — a groan slipping past Michael’s lips at the sight of it.
Your back arched off the bed as his thumb traced the prominent circle of slick that painted your panties — his thumb catching your clenching hole, as well as the edge of your clit, as you jerked your hips into his touch.
“My baby’s so wet, God, look at you.” Michael whispered, eyes locked on your soaked underwear through the moonlight peeking through the curtains, “What am I gonna do with you, hm?”
You whined, an eager, desperate display of your desire, eyebrows furrowed in need as he slid a tentative thumb along your slit.
In your own drunken boldness, words fell from your swollen lips before you could refrain yourself, “Fuck me, please.”
“Patience, baby.” He whispered, pulling the your panties to the side, “Been waitin’ to touch this pretty pussy all night.”
You didn’t know what had gotten into him, in your intoxicated brain, but you knew sober you would understand that getting Michael Jackson drunk was like dangling a carrot in-front of a pigs face — you couldn’t exist around him while he was drinking without him getting crazed with need.
In a slow, tantalisingly steady movement, he crouched between your thighs, large palms needing the skin as he came face to face with where you drooled. He pressed his warm face right where you needed him — the sound of your aroused gasp at the sudden contact and his deep, guttural groan of satisfaction at the sweet scent of your cunt as he deeply inhaled your aroma, filled the thick air.
“Shit—so fuckin’ sweet.” He mumbled, soft lips dragging along your folds as he nuzzled into your sex.
“Michael, pl—please.”
The melodic sound of your whining ripped another groan from deep in Michael’s throat — grip tightening around the plush of your thighs as they enclosed around his head the second his mouth started working on you. He lay his tongue flat along your cunt, a slow, teasing drag of the muscle along the ridge — collecting your essence that had coated your lips, as well as your thighs, on his tongue.
You cried out, albeit louder than sober you would’ve wanted, hips jerking up to meet his mouth half-way as he tongue-fucked your cunt — movements sloppy and messy as he lapped at your clit like a man dying of thirst. He, matching your whines of pleasure, hummed and groaned into you — enclosing his lips around your nub, suckling frantically, as a singular finger slipped inside, instantly curling upwards to abuse the spot that had your toes curling.
“Oh—Oh, God—“
The words barely made it past your throat, coming out in a croaked stutter, before your orgasm crashed over you violently. In your pleasured and liquor-induced drunken haze, you failed to register the tightening of your abdomen and the twinkling of ecstasy down your spine that occurred prior to your orgasm before it arrived — instantly rendering you speechless, mouth in a tight ‘O’ shape as your eyes locked into the back of your head.
Michael, still lapping at your cunt, tongue swirling around your clit, and his digit moving at a rapid pace, groaned loudly, the vibration, a statement of satisfaction, only adding to your pleasure, as he began unapologetically rutting into the mattress, attempting to soothe the painfully hard bulge that, drooling pre-cum, rest underneath his uncomfortably tight boxers.
As your release fluttered away into a blissful buzz of post-orgasm glow — Michael took to his knees once more, palm encasing around his stiff cock, now harder than he’d ever been before.
He shuffled closer, a strong hand taking ahold of your hip, dragging you closer to where he throbbed as he continued to jerk himself — utterly bewildered at how hard he had gotten despite his alcohol intake.
Your hand flew to his chest, tangling in the crinkled material of his shirt once more, legs wrapping around his waist, as he decided that tonight he didn’t have time for anymore foreplay, that he just needed to be inside you, that there was no time for games.
And, at the sight of your glistening cunt catching in the light, creaming and clenching around nothing, pussy lips all swollen and doing nothing to hide where you dripped, he managed to form a coherent thought — that the sight was definitely going to leave him hard for days.
Michael cursed under his breath at your vulnerability, all spread out and dripping just for him — he stood, hands flying to his joggers, thumb latching underneath the waistband of them, along with his boxers, and tugged them down his legs. He kicked them off his ankles as he crawled onto the bed with you, knees either side of your raised legs, as a firm hand enclosed around the length of him.
He hissed at the contact as he pumped himself, lip coming between his teeth as a dribble of pre-cum slipped from his mushroom-headed tip, and dropped onto the fat of your pussy lips, trickling down your slit. His hazy, drunken mind instantly ran away with itself — eyes locked on the way you clenched around nothing.
“Gotta give it t’ya, baby, can’t wait.” He mumbled, finally slotting between your thighs, sliding the thick of him through your folds, “Can yo—you take it? Talk to me, pretty.”
You mewled — eyes fluttering shut momentarily at the sensation of the warm, stiff length of him rutting between your folds, gathering your sticky essence along his cock, hips twitching forward, subconsciously begging for more.
“Need words if you want my cock, Cherry.”
You gasped, your throat dry and sore from the harsh Tequila, at the assertiveness — something completely atypical from your man atop of you. As your eyes shot open in surprise, chest heaving, lips agape, the look of raw, dark, devilish thirst for your submission hit you — the moonlight catching the way his hungry eyes bore into your own, sending shivers down your back, sheen in sweat.
“Please—fuck—I can take it, just please.” Your sober self would’ve curled into a ball of embarrassment at the sheer intensity of desperation evident in your voice — the way it cracked and stuttered as you forced the words out, trembling in desire.
Michael hummed, satisfied with your response, as he pulled your soiled panties completely from your legs and angled himself, albeit clumsily in the drunken darkness, towards your clenching hole. You had attempted to sober up before he pushed in, thinking hard about remembering to keep quiet — but, when he slide inside, sheathing himself to the hilt in a singular, harsh roll of his languid hips, cunt stretching deliciously quickly around the size of him, you failed to suppress to pleasured cry of surprise that left your lips.
Your head lunged back into the pillows, back arching into his chest, your clothed breasts pressing against the soft of his t-shirt. Michael took this opportunity to lean down, slipping his hands underneath your curved back and unclasped your laced bra with practiced ease, ripping it off your arms and to the floor.
“Much better.” He mumbled drunkenly, hands finding instant comfort in your bare tits — cupping them and using them as anchors as he began his brutal thrusts.
Your breathless, whiny mewls of pleasure only grew in octave and intensity as Michael set a relentless pace — the fat tip of his cock repeatedly slamming against the gummy, sweet spot inside your weeping cunt that had your eyes rolling deep into your skull and carving lines into his back under his shirt.
You chanted his name like a prayer — like you were begging for forgiveness at his feverish pace, his stamina proving just as strong even in his drunken state. Every ridge and vein of his thick cock was dragging along your tight, gummy walls — only increasing your pleasure.
“Jesus, Cherry.” He panted, grip tightening as it slid down to your hips as he pulled you down onto his cock, “Y’squeezing my cock like you own it."
You took a mental note to get Michael drunk more often as the provocative words slipped from his lips — forcing your eyebrows to curve up your forehead as the dirty sentence hit your ears.
His brutal pace never let up — hips slamming into your own as he rutted into you like he was born to please you, like he was running out of time. His grasp slipped down your hips to your legs, hands curling underneath the backs of your knees, and forcing your legs to your chest. A choked gasp escaped your throat as he pressed his body weight onto your front — now impossibly and deliriously deep, the tip of his cock grazing your G-spot, and kissing your cervix with every thrust.
“Ho—Holy shit—Oh, my fucking God—“
Strings of broken pleas and curses slipped past your lips as he leant over, grunting wildly into your skin as he peppered hurried kisses to your neck — spit glistening on your skin in the light as he continued to force himself deeper.
“That’s it, thaaaaat’s it, baby, you can take it.” He mumbled, voice muffled as he sucked a particularly harsh love bite into your burning hot skin, “Y’sucking me in like you fuckin’ live off my cum.”
Now, that did it for you.
Clenching cunt instantly quivering and fluttering around the thick girth of him, a husky whine ripping from your mouth as your back curved once more, erect nipples grazing his clothed chest, at the sound of his gruff, seductive voice talking dirty to you like he wasn’t the shyest, most sweetest boy in the world.
“Ooh, Mic—Michael.” His name fell from your lips in a shocked, breathless manner, eyebrows still taut into the crease of your forehead.
He ignored your silent, rhetorical questioning for why he was acting so out of character, as in his drunken mind, he saw no difference to his intoxicated self to his usual persona — deciding that instead of replying to your splutters, he’d lift his body from yours, lift your legs into a V-shape in the air and rut into you faster than before. If that was even at all possible.
The scream that ripped from you could’ve been heard by the hundreds of passerby’s in their cars on the freeway — your hands flying to his forearms, nails digging into the soft skin, tracing the veins that bulged from the tensed skin. Your second orgasm, now scarily close, was given a forceful shove to tick over your gyrating body as your eyes flicked up to your boyfriend — who was a sight for sore eyes if you’d ever seen one.
His head was thrown back, a few stray curls cascading over his flushed face, eyes squeezed shut, his t-shirt between his teeth, now soaked in his saliva, as he mumbled almost incoherently into the material — ‘Oh, yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah’ ‘Fuuuuck, yeah, yeah—God, fuck, yeah’ ‘Gonna—Gonna—oh fuck!—Gonna cum—’
It was nonsensical blabber — spit staining his lips, and the softness of his shirt, eyes now half-open as they rolled deep inside the sockets, his grip on your ankles, the ones that held your legs up so perfectly despite his drunken clumsiness, tightened as you fluttered dangerously around him.
His name fell from your lips, paired with strings of incoherent sentences about how good he felt, as your orgasm washed over you twice as intensely as the first — nails leaving indefinite claw marks into his skin at the sheer volume of the release. He didn’t let up though — still slamming into you like it was what he was born to do, not music, not dance — no, just slip inside your warm, squeezing cunt and let you milk him for all he’s worth.
Michael doubled over, t-shirt slipping from his mouth, now messier than you’d made it, his grip on your ankles diminishing as he fell to your chest — flushed face nestling into the crook of your neck once again as his hips faltered ever so slightly.
“Fuck—y’so—so tight.” Michael inhaled sharply, a raw, broken whine slipping past his swollen lips, “Oh my—Fuck, ‘M gonna—Gonna marry you.” He was panting like a dog in heat, still rutting into you as he chased his own release as yours subsided slowly, “My girl. My fuckin’—Aah! Fuck—Gonna fill ya so deep. That what you—what y’want?”
A screech of agreement left your lips at his mindless rambling — cunt spasming violently as the suggestive, pornographic worthy sentences trickled from his lips like syrup, coating your whole body in a thick sheen of arousal.
You almost couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing — Michael was usually shy, nearing submissive, and gentle during sex, which you also adored, but this—this—was something to look back on late at night when he was thousands of miles away on tour with your hands down your pyjama shorts.
“‘M there—Oh, fuck, ‘m there!” He cried, knuckles turning white with how hard he was gripping the sticky bedsheets beside your head, “Take it, take it, take it, tak—“
He cut himself off with a hoarse, raucous groan — so loud it rang throughout the room, near enough echoing with how quiet the bus had gotten without you realising, hips twitching aggressively as he spilled inside you. The warm, blissfully familiar, sensation of his fierce spurts of cum painting your fluttering walls had you whining too — biting your lip so hard the indentation of your teeth was traceable with your tongue, as he, despite being almost painfully overstimulated, rolled his infamous hips deep into you, fucking his seed deeper inside your drooling pussy.
Then came the silence.
The deafening, almost ear-piercing silence that coated each and every corner of the tour bus — no voices, no laughter, no snoring, nothing. Just the uncomfortable knowledge that hung thickly in the air that everyone—oh yes, everyone—had heard you.
Michael pulled out with a wet pop! and rolled next to you with a loud huff — head spinning and eyes fluttering shut as he attempted to catch his breath, chest heaving. You, too, succumbed to the relieving solace that was sleep, your own eyes still squeezed shut as your legs fell to the bed, now sporting a dull ache that matched your sex — now dribbling with his release over the sheets.
But, before your drunken mind could register the severity of what your boyfriend’s brother’s had just heard — sleep took over. Lulling into a relaxed, much needed slumber — still bare and sweaty, pulled against Michael’s chest as he too, for once, slept beside you.
However, all actions have consequences.
Unfortunately for you.
So, when you woke that morning, head pounding, lips dry, eyes squinting from the brightness of the morning sun, and body aching — you enjoyed the few blissful seconds of your waking where you had forgotten what you’d got up to last night. Just turning over and smiling softly at Michael’s sleeping frame, the soft, slow deepness of breathing as he slept calmly warming your heart.
Then, it hit you.
Your eyes shot open — finally registering the hangover and the nakedness you and Michael both sported, mouth hanging open in shock as your vision fluttered towards the locked door to his bedroom, knowing that behind it was a conversation and years worth of teasing you’d never, ever live down.
You knew you couldn’t hide in here forever — their next show was tonight, and you needed Michael to recover from the hangover, one that you were certain he would have, as soon as possible.
You groaned, rubbing a hand across your face, knowing that you’d have to take your pride and reputation and throw it out the window onto the freeway that you were still on, and face his brother’s, just like you had with Michael the morning after your drunkenly confessed your love.
Similarly, you also decided that staying away from alcohol for the foreseeable future was probably a good idea.
Rising from the bed, not without a wince at the dull ache between your legs, solidifying your realisation that everyone had heard how Michael laid it down on you like it was his last day to live, last night — and that there was no way to avoid this.
The bedroom door opened with a creak, impossibly and noticeably loud, as your eyes adjusted to the brightness of the hallway. In the distance, the sound of soft laughter and quiet conversations filled your ears, sighing loudly as it became apparent every member of the Jackson siblings was present in the same room that got you into this mess.
You walked, stealthily slow, head still throbbing wildly, as you finally reached the part of the bus where you knew you would curse yourself for ever entering. Your eyes locked on the five men splayed across the seats, as you did the night before, plates of breakfast and cups of coffee residing in front of them.
For a moment the room stopped — all five siblings rendered themselves silent as their gaze dropped on you, watching as you pursed your lips together, awaiting their next movements.
Your eyes landed on Marlon, whose lips twitched up into a smirk, laughter crawling up his throat as he pointed at you, eyes squinting—
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
The sound of your croaked, stern voice sent the room into screams of uncontrollable laughter — tears falling from their eyes, fists banging on tables, and stomachs clutched as they roared at you. Marlon was practically sobbing — face beat red and cheeks soaked in humorous tears as he gripped Jermaine’s arm for stability, attempting to calm himself down.
“You two caused this.” You snapped, pointing between Jermaine and Marlon, the mastermind’s behind bringing the alcohol to the bus.
“Us?” Marlon managed to force out between giggles, wiping his face with the back of his hand, “I think you should be thankin’ us, girl. Sounds like you had a reaaal good time back there.”
The room burst into fits of laughter once more, only furthering as you threw a pillow at Marlon’s body, arms crossing over your chest.
“Oh, yeah, a real nice time. Remind me, ‘Maine, did it go more like ‘Oooh, Michael!’ or ‘Ohh, Michaeeel!’.” Jackie teased, his voice shifting in octave as he mocked your pleasured moans that had evidently rang loudly throughout the bus.
“Real mature. You never heard people have sex before?” You quipped, trudging to your handbag that lay on the table opposite where the boys sat, and pulling out a packet of Advil, and a grabbing a bottle of water.
“Well, actually, no, I hadn’t.” Randy started, a teasing, toothy grin spread across his face, “But, I sure as hell have now.”
You rolled your eyes as the boys screeched into laughter once more, a snarky remark at the ready to be fired back, when you turned around and your face fell.
“What’s so funny?”
Michael’s tired, hoarse voice rang throughout the now quiet room — all eyes now on him as he rubbed his tired eyes, joggers, once on the floor of his bedroom, now hanging loosely around his hips, as he approached you, back facing his brother’s as he leant down to press a soft kiss to your cheek. Visible to everyone in the room, a fact that had you squeezing your lips together in dread, were the sharp streaks of nails marks that you had dragged down his back, as well as along his forearms, painted across his skin in deep, rose coloured lines.
You knew the laughter was coming before it even started — eyes fluttering shut as Michael’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. It was apparent to everyone in the room, apart from him of course, that he still had no recollection of the night before — or even if he did, he sure as hell wasn’t aware of the intensity of the noise.
Michael’s eyes flickered around the room, attempting to piece why his brother’s were in bits from laughter, and why you were knee-deep in embarrassment. But soon, once his vision locked on the three empty Tequila bottles, the opened pack of Advil, bags under everyone’s eyes, the hickey’s on your neck and the scrapes of pleasured marks on his arms — he gasped as the ball dropped.
“Oh, my God.” He breathed, hand coming to clasp over his mouth, eyes darting between you and his brother’s, who were watching the scene unfold in real time, only making it twice as funny, “Did we?—Oh, no, and they—they heard? Oh, God—Oh, my good God.”
You nodded slowly, eyes full of shame as you met his own wide ones — blown into saucers as the dreadful realisation hit him.
Marlon, deciding that laughing in your face wasn’t enough, grabbed a half-drunk bottle of Tequila and raised it into the air, waving it in your faces as a teasing reminder on what got you into this mess to begin with, smiling widely, before speaking.
“What a great start to the tour.” He breathed out a chuckle, “Oh, and you’re welcome, little brother.”
two hundred and fifty pounds, six 'ish' as he would humbly insist. him being hung, a no-brainer. but your favourite thing wasn't the length, but the heft of it.
you loved feeling him, the raw contact of his skin on yours. the weight of his stiff, hot cock resting on your cunt. it's dizzying, and it made you say things you never thought you'd say.
praises sung when he'd barely done anything. his eyes would screw shut so tight, zeroing in on those gratuitous adjectives of his manhood — "don't move don't move, f-fuck, clark. so…s'heavy." his thighs tremble with effort from not shoving himself deep in you, but your saccharine pleas to feel him forced him otherwise.
slowly, he'd press harder against you. the thick of him slides up your pillowy pussy. every shift has you feeling the friction, the same friction that has his jaw tense with effort. veiny and throbbing as you coat him with your slick.
your legs part wider in a pathetic attempt to grind into him. but it's pointless, he has you stretched to your limit, just by having to part them for the width of his body.
clark's addicted to overpowering you like this, spilling your honest desires to him.
desires that he caters to without argument. he adjusts the blunt, thick head of his cock against your sensitive bud, rubbing over it purposely to watch your hips jump. then, he rubs, hips moving in a lazy grind that puts his weight into every slide of his length between your puffy folds. each thrust designed to kiss your clit.
his muscles are tightly corded where you claw at it through broken whimpers. whining for him to rub your clit harder and faster.
it's a request that breaks him. with his two calloused palms coming to lift your hips. he tilts your pelvis high enough, hips snapping in short, angled thrusts to satiate your greediness.
"gosh baby…she's noisy today. mm?"
your response comes in a petty squeeze to his biceps, all nails. it was a mean and unfair comment. especially when you'd been trying to keep your voice down.
but that wasn't what clark was referring to, you quickly realise. the wet sounds were coming from where you're currently connected. squelching, wet slaps of him snapping into your cunt. when his cock slips lower, it's met with resistance, his weeping tip notched right into your entrance.
"baby…c'mon…" he'd whisper, begging for your pussy to open up for him.
you weakly shake your head, pleading for him to take what he wanted. the spasms were no longer in your control. so clark does just that, pulling back enough to align himself just right. what you needed wasn't for him to stretch you out any more than he had with his fingers earlier.
in one, heavy thrust, he buries himself to the hilt in you. filling your belly with him. the motion knocks the breath out of both of you. his forehead pressed against yours as he takes it in, each ragged breath tearing at his throat.
each thrust, heavy and unrestrained, had you squeaking at every snap of his hips. clark's weight was overstimulating in every way possible. even better now with the soft cushion of the sand beneath you.
clark can only let out a choked noise when your walls flutter around him without warning. the potent wave of your orgasm pulsing, squeezing his cock in a rhythmic wash. he doesn't stop, pushing through and thrusting even more desperately. you're whining, incoherently, completely fucked out of your mind.
but clark's too damn close to stop for you to catch your breath, too fucking close to let his sweet baby's whimpers stop him from chasing the intoxicating pulse of your cunt as you cum for him.
he'd fist over the gingham beach towel laid beneath your hair, gripping right into the sand as he finally spills inside your spent pussy, before slumping with his dead weight onto your sweaty body.
but he supposed he hadn't accounted for his wife's libido on their honeymoon. because when you push at his already limp body, perching yourself on top of him and coating his abdomen with your slick. he's left blinking at you, all dazed.
the backdrop of the endless, sparkling sea behind you is scenic. gentle rocks of coconut trees shadowing the cozy, private corner chosen for impulsive intimacy. but you — you're the centre of it all. skin, hot to touch, that had nothing to do with the sun. you press your palms to his chest, curling and stretching above his body with a mischievous little grin.
*I've been rewatching Orange is the New Black and I forgot how in love with Nicky I am. So here is Nicky one shot I've been thinking about. There may be more of these. Saddle up, cause this is a long one.*
Say You're Mine
Nicky Nichols x Reader
Warnings: cursing, 18+, fingering, oral, jealousy
When you were sentenced and sent to Litchfield, you promised yourself that you would keep your head down and do your time. You met Nicky and became best friends, but still kept your promise to yourself. You wouldn't let yourself get involved with anyone and soon became a prize to win. Boo and Nicky decide to see who can get you first during their competition to see who can sleep with the most girls after Boo finds Nicky's sex diary.
You have been at Litchfield for a year now and you have one year left on your sentence. You told yourself when you got sentenced that you would come in, do your time, and go back to your life. You didn't want to get in any trouble or attach yourself to anyone, and you definitely weren't going to get physically involved. You've kept most of that promise to yourself so far. Most, not all. You have become attached to one red haired junkie in particular, though. Nicky Nichols. She became someone you leaned on for everything. She made this place feel normal.
"Hey, beautiful." You hear a familiar raspy voice from behind you, breaking you from your thoughts, and look from your eggs to see Nicky taking a seat next to you, breakfast tray in hand.
"Hey," you smile and bump her elbow with your own.
"Nicky, great you're here. Y/N wasn't being helpful, and I need you to tell me which dress you like better." Morello slaps a bridal magazine on the table in front of the two of you, pointing to a large, puffy wedding dress. Nicky rolls her eyes and you can't help but crack a smile.
"Morella, I love you, but it's too fucking early for this shit. Can I just eat my eggs in peace," Nicky says as she takes a mouthful of just that.
"Alright, fine," Morello pulls away the magazine and continues flipping through the pages.
"Hey, Y/N. You look pretty this morning." You look to your left to see Big Boo sliding in next to you.
"Morning, thanks Boo," you say and smile at her.
"How'd you sleep, princess," she asks and rests her chin in her hand, looking at you. You furrow your brows together. She is being weirder than usual. Boo has made attempts in the past to get with you, but this is off.
"Fine. Are you okay," you question and she offers an awkward laugh.
"I'm great, especially now that I'm here. I see you finished your eggs. Did you want any of mine?" She slides her tray closer to you.
"No, thanks though. You sure you're good?"
"I'm wonderful. You know," she begins, but pauses to brush a strand of hair over your shoulder. "I'd be even better if you'd sit next to me at the movies tonight." Her smile grows and she raises a brow in question. You hear Nicky scoff from behind you.
"Could you be any more desperate," Nicky calls from over your shoulder, and you turn to see her face slightly red. Her brows knitted together in annoyance.
"Why don't you shut the fuck up, Nichols," Boo says in a sweet voice.
"Um, sure Boo. I'll sit with you." You smile and give her a nod. You hear Nicky scoff again. You wonder why Nicky is so bothered by this. So many questions are running through your head about both of their behaviors this morning.
"Great, let me know your favorite snacks and I'll make sure to pick some up from commissary for you," she says and rubs your shoulder. You look down at her hand, then back at her, with a confused expression.
"Oh, okay, thanks. I'll do that," you nod and she grabs her tray, leaving the table.
"What the fuck? We always sit together for movie night," Nicky exclaims with a frustrated tone.
"Well, she asked and I didn't want to be rude. Why do you care so much, anyways?"
"I don't. Just forget it." Nicky rolls her eyes and continues eating her breakfast.
"Hey, you can sit with us."
"No thanks." She shakes her head and you look to Morello, who gives us a confused shrug. Breakfast continues without another word from Nicky.
***
You are sitting in your bed, reading a book when you feel the mattress sink next to you. You look to see the familiar mane of red hair. You look back to your book, trying to seem as though you are unbothered by her presence. In reality, you are still incredibly annoyed with her because of her behavior this morning.
"What's going on in your book," she asks, knowing how much you love to talk about your current read. You always go into great depth about your books, and even though you end up spoiling it for Nicky every time, she loves how excited you get when you talk about it.
"Nothing," you say and continue reading. She lays her head on your shoulder and your stomach tightens.
"Come on, I know you want to tell me all about it." She nudges you slightly. You don't say anything and she lets of a breath. "Are you mad at me from this morning?" You stand your ground and try to continue to focus on the words on the page. You feel her getting closer until her lips are almost touching your ear. "You know you can't stay mad at me," she whispers, and her warm breath sends shivers through your whole body. You force yourself to keep your composure, but then you feel hands on your ribs. She begins tickling you and you squeal, throwing your book down.
"Stop," you scream through your laughter and fall onto your bed. She crawls on top of you and continues attacking you. You can't help but laugh and scream, pleading for her to stop in between sharp breaths.
"Are you still mad at me," she asks through her own laughter.
"No! No," you screech and suddenly the torture stops. You open your eyes to see her hovering over you. Her hands are on either side of your head, her frizzy locks are a curtain over both of your faces. She has a lazy smile on her face, and you can only assume it matches your own.
"I'm sorry for being a bitch this morning," she says, and moves a piece of hair off of your forehead and behind your ear. Her finger traces the shape of your lobe. You feel goosebumps rise on your skin. You sit in comfortable silence for a moment. You are still catching your breath while you admire her beautiful face. Her finger moves from your ear, to your jawline, up to your bottom lip. She is watching her thumb trace the shape of your face. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and the action makes your chest tighten. You can't help but admit that Nicky does something to you. You push down those feelings and avoid it as much as possible. She does make it hard for you, though. She is never this affectionate, but flirting is common for her. You never let yourself take it seriously. You know her track record and about her sex diary. You found it one day on accident and snooped. You didn't see your name in there, thankfully, but sex is a sport to her. In here, it's a good distraction for most. It's a way to cope. It's hard being alone and never having physical touch. Even you can admit that you struggle with it. Some days it becomes almost unbearable to not want it, but it only leads to trouble. You have seen too many broken hearts or drama start from prison relationships. You don't need that, especially not when you'll be stuck with that person the rest of your sentence.
"Get off of her inmate," you hear someone yell behind you, making you both jump. You look to see Bell standing at the edge of your cube. Nicky rolls her eyes and moves off of you, sitting next to you on the bed. Bell continues on her way down the isle.
"You shouldn't go to the movie with Boo," Nicky says. You stitch your brows and look at her.
"Why," you question.
"Well, she's clearly trying to fuck you."
"Yeah, and that bothers you," you smirk and she gives you an annoyed look, but doesn't respond. "Come on, Nicky. You know I don't play that game. Even if I did, why would you care who I fuck," you raise your brows in wait for an answer.
"Because Boo is a slut. She fucks anything that moves." She crosses her arms over her chest.
"Oh what, and you don't? I've seen your fingers in five different girls' pussies just this week. You're not any better. You and Boo are the same with your pussy competition. Who's winning that by the way," you laugh. "At least Boo doesn't keep a bang book." You roll your eyes. Boo and her have this ridiculous competition going on to see who can fuck the most girls. Nicky shoves you and you shove her back. She does it again and this causes a play fight to break out between the two of you. You are both laughing as you push each other, until Nicky grabs both of your wrists. She pulls you close to her, so your faces are only inches away. She has that famous smirk of her lips and you try hard to keep your smile at bay. Her gaze moves from your eyes to your mouth and back again. You could cut the sexual tension in the cube with a knife. You feel butterflies fighting to erupt inside you. She leans in closer and closer until your lips are brushing against one another, just a whisper of a kiss, as if Nicky is asking for permission. Your breath hitches and your head is screaming for you to stop, but your body is pleading for more. Ultimately your body wins the internal battle as you push your fingers into her mane and pull her into you. Your lips meet and her hands find your waist, squeezing slightly. Your lips melt together as one entity as you kiss. She inevitably pulls away for air and you find yourself missing her lips, already.
"You want to go to the chapel," she asks as she bites her bottom lip. Sex. That's all she wants. You can't deny that you want that too, more than you ever have while being in here at this moment, if you're being honest with yourself. You can't, you won't. If she can make you feel like this from kissing, then sex is just going to make you addicted and you don't need that.
"No, I don't. I'm sorry, Nicky." You rub your thumb over her cheek before pulling you hands into your lap. She pulls her lips into a thin line.
"Right, you don't play that game," she huffs before exiting your cube.
***
The room is dark and the only sound filling the room is the munching of snacks and eruption of laughter every once in a while. You are focused on the movie as you share a knitted blanket with Boo while you enjoy the Snickers she got you from commissary. Nicky is sitting on the other side of you, arms crossed, and every so often making a side eye at you and Boo. You feel Boo's hand move to your knee and rest there. You make note of it, but ignore it as you continue to watch the movie. Eventually that hand starts to run higher up your thigh. You put your hand on top of hers to stop it in place. In your peripheral, you see Nicky shift next to you. You move you hand back to where it was. After a while, Boo's hand starts to explore your thigh again, getting closer to the inside. You shift and stop her hand once again. You look at her, and her gaze meets yours, giving you a wink.
"You look sexy. No one will see," she whispers to you.
"Boo, I-"
"Would you guys shut the fuck up. I can't focus on the movie," Nicky leans over and joins the conversation.
"Hey, Nichols, why don't you mind your own fucking business and quit with the cliterference."
"Why don't you keep your hands to yourself," Nicky retorts.
"I don't cock block your efforts, so how about you show some respect and don't do it to mine. You had your chance. You're going to lose, so deal with it." You take in the back and forth arguing between them and finally it hits you. The competition. The fucking competition. That explains their behavior. You're the target. Your blood beings to boil as you realize that they are competing to see who can fuck you first. You told Nicky when you first heard about this stupid bet that you would not be apart of it. She promised that you would not be involved in this. You can't believe that she really let Boo place bet on you.
"Shut the fuck up, Boo," Nicky spats.
"Why don't both of you shut the fuck up? I can't believe you. Me? You made me your fucking competition. Fuck both of you." You throw the blanket at Boo and rip your ear bud out, rushing out of the room. You can't believe Nicky. The flirting, affection, attitude, the kiss were all for this fucking competition. You are not some prize to be won. You are not some piece of meat. You make your way through the halls until you push open the doors to the chapel. You sit on a pew and put your head in your hands. You do your best to fight back the tears that want to escape. You will not let her make you cry. You feel like such an idiot. How could you let her kiss you? How could you let her get to you and make you feel something for her? You know Nicky, maybe better than anyone in here. You know that she can never be serious. She will never let herself feel for someone. It's all just physical, all for her own benefit. After the kiss, she was mad at you for rejecting her, like it hurt her feelings. What bullshit.
"Y/N?" A cracked and raspy voice comes from behind you. The sound of it alone makes you want to explode. It makes you want to scream. "Y/N, I'm so sorry."
"Fuck you, Nichols. Leave me alone." You shake your head, refusing to look at her. More in fear that you will cry than anything else. You hear her sit down next to you. You feel her hand touch your shoulder and you smack it off of you in an instant. "Don't you dare touch me," you say, rage dripping off of every word. Seeing her deep brown eyes makes your heart crack. Your restraint is falters as a single tear escapes. You see Nicky's bottom lip quiver. "Don't start fucking crying. You have no right." you shove her chest and she looks down at her lap. "You have no fucking right," you say louder, pushing her chest again. All she does is take it. "You're a horrible person, you know that?" She still doesn't say anything. "I trusted you. I told you not to involve me in this shit! I trusted you, and you tried to use me!" The anger in you begins to grow and the tears are falling freely now. The more you say, the more angry you get. The more you want to take it out on her. "You're supposed to be my friend! I'm not just some other bitch for you to fuck and dump!" Your palm meets her chest again. "I'm not nothing! I'm not just another conquest!" As your hand is about to meet her again, she grabs your wrist, finally making eye contact with you. Tears are running down her cheeks.
"I don't think that," she yells. "Fuck, I've never thought that." The sentence is barely above a whisper.
"Really, because it sure seems like you do."
"Well I don't." Her voice is sharp. She looks away again, not able to meet your gaze. "Boo wanted to make you competition. I told her no, but she was going to try either way. She said that whoever got you would win. She was fucking set on you. I couldn't..." Her voice trails off.
"You couldn't what?"
"I couldn't stand the idea of you with someone! Someone that's not me!" You breath catches in your throat at those words. More tears slips down her face and the sight makes you hurt. Nicky would never let someone know how much she truly cares. She's said it herself multiple times. She has commitment issues and a fucked up idea of love because of her mom, but here and now, she's admitting it to you. As much as you love hearing that sentence, it also infuriates you.
"Nicky, you're so fucking confusing! You can fuck every girl here, but the minute someone might have an opportunity with me, it's not okay? That's some twisted shit. You know that right," you ask and she offers a sad laugh.
"I never said I wasn't fucked up. I'm sorry, babe," She gives a smile that doesn't meet her eyes as she brings her hand to your cheek, wiping away the left over tears. You can't help but lean into her touch. It is silent for a moment, while you both let your emotions settle. Finally you break it.
"So, you really can't stand to see me with anyone but you? That sounds like a confession."
"Well, we are in a chapel. You're supposed to confess, right?" Her hand moves from your face to your neck.
"So, confess then, Nichols," you lean in closer to her. She lets out a breathy laugh.
"I confess that I want you so fucking bad, all the time, and not just sexually. Even though I do think about that quiet a lot." There she goes, biting her damn bottom lip. Her hand trails down your shoulder, to your arm, then to your thigh. You take in a deep breath, trying to settle the bundle of nerves building in your stomach. "I confess that I think about you day and night. That I love the way you rant about your books, the way you smile, the way you say my name." Her fingers play with the hem of your pants before she slides her fingers under them and into your panties. She runs her fingers over your lips and you visibly shiver, making her smile. Her index finger finds you clit and she rubs small circles. "I confess that I touch myself to the thought of you," she whispers in your ear, before taking your lobe between her teeth. You let out a small whimper.
"Nicky," you moan as the her movement on your core picks up speed.
"I love when you say my name, baby." Your eyes flutter shut and your head falls back when she plunges those fingers into you. You let out a loud moan and feel her move. You open your eyes when her fingers pull out of you. You see her now on her knees in front of you. She grabs either side of your pants and tugs, indicating for you to lift. She pulls your pants off frantically before grabbing your bare hips, and pulling you to the edge of the pew. She throws your legs over her shoulders, wrapping her arms around your thighs, and grips tight to hold you in place. "Fuck, I've thought about the way you taste for so long," she groans and rolls her eyes seductively before bowing her head to meet your throbbing center. You feel her tongue flick up and your head instantly falls back, mouth dropping open. She buries her face into you, her tongue running up and down in fast motions, before stopping at your clit and taking it between her teeth. She gently rubs it between her teeth while sucking, forcing you to let out a loud scream. "As much as I'd love to make you scream, you need to be quiet for me, baby." You nod and she smiles, kissing your inner thigh. "That's my girl," she praises before moving her face back to your now soaking pussy. Her tongue shoves inside you and you gasp.
"Fuck, Nicky," you moan as quietly as your body will allow. As she continues to lick you up and down, exploring every inch of your flower, her hand reaches up to squeeze your breast. She then pulls away.
"Take the rest of your clothes off," she demands, standing up. You obey, pulling your shirts off, and then your bra. You're now bare and suddenly feel self conscious. You move your arms over your breasts and stomach. Nicky grabs your arms, pulling them off of you. "Don't hide from me. You're fucking perfect."
"Take your clothes off," you say, nodding your head toward her attire and she smirks. She pulls her work boots off before peeling off her uniform. She is now standing in front of you, naked and beautiful. You lick your lips and the sight of her.
"Fuck, the way you're looking at me makes me so wet," she moans and grabs your arm. She pulls you onto the stage and behind the podium. She sets you inside the large hollow middle of the podium, hidden away from anyone that may come in. She latches onto your neck and begins to suck hard. You groan as your fingers find her center. You play softly with her folds before sliding your fingers inside her. She is so wet and so warm. She moans and follows your actions by sliding her fingers inside you, while her other hand is placed above your head on the podium, propping her up. You both finger each other and she rests her forehead on yours. Her hair sticks to her the sides of her face from sweat and you know yours is doing the same. You both pick up pace and are plunging your fingers into one another. You are both a mess of moans as you stare into each other's eyes. She has a lazy smile on her lips and she brings her thumb to your clit. Her thumb rubs hard circles on your clit as her index and middle finger pump into you.
"Oh my god, Nicky," you say as your eyes close. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she watches you being to unfold. "Nicky, fuck," you say her name again, your moans getting louder. Your fingers are still pumping in and out of her and she moans. You take your other hand and being to rub her clit.
"Say my name again, baby," you moans out. The command makes you more wet, if that is even possible.
"Nicky," you moan and her motions on your core become faster and harder.
"Fuck, you're mine, aren't you baby?" You bite your bottom lip and nod. "Say it. Say you're mine." You buck your hips against her hand. She is riding your fingers the same way you are hers.
"I'm yours, Nicky. Fuck, I'm yours." You meet her brown eyes. They are dark in a way you've never seen. They are hungry and determined.
"You're so fucking beautiful."
"Nicky, I'm about to..." You can't even finish your sentence from the tightening building in your stomach and you squeeze your eyes shut. You feel like you're about to explode from the pressure rising inside you.
"Me too, baby. I want you to look at me when you cum," she says and you open your eyes to meet hers again. Your legs being to shake wildly as you feel sweat roll between your breasts. You can't hold it any longer and you release. You scream as you stare deep into her eyes and allow the tension to release until you feel pure bliss. Once Nicky feels your cum now dripping down her hand, she pulls out of you and her hand grabs the other side of the podium, squeezing the wood as you finish her. Her eyes slam shut as her head falls back. You bring one of her nipples into your mouth and roll it between your teeth. A moan erupts from her lips as you feel her tighten around your fingers and then hot, wet cum soaks your hand. You pull out of her, making her shiver. She slumps down in front of you, resting her forehead against yours once again. She brings her fingers to her lips and sucks your juices off of them. The action makes your center twitch as you roll your eyes in pleasure of the sight before you.
"You are so fucking sexy," you say and pull her head to yours until your mouth meets. Your lips move in sink, still hungry for one another. She breaks the kiss and laughs as you rest your hand comfortably in her hair. "Tell me you're mine," you demand and she gives you a wide smile.
"Y/N is a petite, bambi, innocent, bimbo, she threw her blonde hair into a messy bun as I stared at herself in the mirror with her blue eyes, dressed in tight skinny jeans and an oversized t-shirt."
That is NOT dababy. WHO TF?!
AND OMG IF YOURE GONNA WRITE A FANFIC CLEARLY FOR A WHITE AUDIENCE TAG IT WRITE SAY "WHITE CODED" AND ILL GLADLY SCROLL.
DONT DO A BLACK READER AND BE A RACIST BIGOT WHILE WRITING.
DONT DO A BLACK READER IF YOU MAKE THE "BLACK READER" WHITE CODED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH WHERE IS MY Y/N WHO IS MIXED AND NOT A FUCKASS PICKME OR A PUSH OVER!!!
A blissful, all-too-familiar orgasm ripped through you — one of many that had been brought upon you this evening, as your glistening back, sheen from sweat, arched off the mattress. Your eyes squeezed shut as your sex convulsed around Michael’s cock, clenching him so beautifully it sent shivers down his spine as a deep groan fell from his lips that were smushed into the crook to your neck.
Sex with Michael was a regular occurrence — something that often clad your nights and mornings, and if the shoe fit, sometimes even the afternoons, if you were especially het up.
And every time it was as good as the last, orgasms and sensations so ferocious your throat would burn with each breath from the frantic pleas and screams of pleasure that were torn from deep in your chest.
Michael too had followed in your release, flooding your spasming cunt to the brim — cock pushed to the hilt as he shook above you, low, deep noises muffled into your sticky skin.
He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, lips delicate and loving against the skin, as you panted, fighting to catch your breath and clear the stars from your vision, before rolling off you with an exaggerated sigh. His hand, still hanging loosely over the curve of your stomach, rubbed figure eights into the plush flesh, a slow, gentle display of affection.
“‘You okay, baby?” He breathed, resting his head on his hand, tilting his head to stare at you as you slid onto your side to face him.
You hummed back — a lazy, dazed smile on your face as fatigue washed over you, eyelashes fluttering each time you blinked slowly.
“You wanna’ shower with me?”
“Mm, that sounds heavenly, babe.” You breathed at the delight of the thought, deepening the smile on Michael’s face, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from your forehead.
“C’mere first.” He beckoned, expression deepening as his nimble fingers curled around your cheek, pulling you towards him.
Your lips connected sweetly — another small hum leaving your mouth, into his own, as affection sparked. The kiss was tentative, loving, a gentle collision of love and adoration, his lips soft against your own as they moved slowly. Michael’s caring touch, albeit seductively wondering, slid from your cheek down your stark frame — cupping the small of waist to pull you flush against his chest with calculated smoothness.
It was only when a quiet gasp left your strained throat as his hand slithered down to cup the plumpness of your ass did you know exactly what he was doing.
“Again?” You giggled as your lips were freed, his own now patterning sloppy pecks down your neck, hands steadying yourself on his flexed shoulders.
“Just wanna give it to’ya all the time,” Michael whispered, lips suckling right below your earlobe, hand kneading your behind.
“I genuinely don’t think you could live without sex, Mike.” You teased, laughing breathly as he nibbled at the flesh of your jaw, your hands threading through the silkiness of his hair.
Michael chuckled himself, “Makin’ me sound like some sex-crazed creep.”
Your smile deepened, locking eyes as he pulled away from your neck, a playful smile on his face, “Seriously, I genuinely don’t think you could do it.” You laughed.
Michael’s right eyebrow lurched up, a challenged sense of pride flooding his system, “I bet’cha I could.”
“Is that a challenge, Mr.Jackson?” You pressed, a smirk tugging at your swollen lips, eyes glinting with temptation, “I reckon you couldn’t go two days without it.”
“Sure, baby,” He spoke, condescension evident in his tone.
“Oh, you think you could?”
“Of course.”
“Well, let’s put it to the test.”
Michael chuckled, “What?”
“Let’s see if you’re all talk or not.”
Michael breathed out a laugh, shaking his head at your insinuation — hands rubbing gentle circles on the skin of your waist.
“I know I could, but you though?” You continued, laughing, “Absolutely not.”
Michael’s pride took a blunt punch — your teasing words hitting him straight in the chest. His ego suddenly begging to be inflated at the idea he could possibly not be the best at something.
“You sound confident.” He spoke, ignoring the way his chest burned with the desire to succeed.
“I am,” You started, “I could go a week, easy.”
“A week?” Michael blurted, surprise flooding his voice, “What’cha tryna say, baby?”
You cackled, “Oh, stop. You know I love it, Mike.” You leant down to press a gentle peck to his pouting lips, “But I’d absolutely destroy you.”
Michael shook his head with a chuckle, “Don’t count your chickens, love,” He smirked at his next thought, “I reckon I could break you.”
He leant down, nuzzling neck back into the soft flesh of your neck, peppering kisses over the dark love-bites blooming on your skin, humming at the sweet scent of your perfume flooding his nostrils.
“Ah, ah, you think you can go without it — honour it.” You commanded, pushing his face away from your neck gently, before rising to your feet, standing at the edge of the bed, your stark naked frame now on full display to him.
“What? Come on, baby, I thought we were just joking?” Michael sighed, head lolling to the side, “Come back here.”
“Nope,” You replied with a pop, retreating to the bathroom, hips swaying as you walked, “I say two days, prove me wrong.”
An undeniable need to vindicate overpowered Michael’s brain — a desire to prove his worth flooding every ounce of rationale he had left.
He shook his head with a huffed laugh, pushing himself off the bed, following you to the colder room, softening cock lazily hanging between his legs, “You really wanna play this game?”
“Game? Sweetie, this isn’t a game.” You giggled, reaching for your toothbrush, “I’m deadly serious. I know I would win.”
“You’re real cocky for a woman who begged for six rounds after I came back off tour.”
You gasped at his dig, eyebrows knotting into the crease of your forehead — the similar need to prevail blossoming inside you. You knew exactly what memory he was referring to — he had just come back from his HIStory tour, a painfully long World Tour that lasted months, leaving you alone for weeks on end. And when he returned — you never left the bedroom. Every position, every angle, every new trick was tried that night — six intensely pleasureful rounds of much-needed sex occurred, ten brutal orgasms ripping through you. It was the best sex you had ever experienced together — and something Michael would continuously hold against you as a way to tease you.
“Oh, you wanna play dirty?” You scoffed, a smirk pulling onto your face, “Now, I reckon you couldn’t go one day.”
Michael’s lip slipped between his teeth at the challenge — inhaling deeply at the sudden ultimatum. Mind secretly reeling with panic at the realisation he probably couldn’t go without the sweet tightness of your cunt around him — but he had to validate himself.
“Fine, I’ll humour you.” He started, reaching for his toothbrush with a click of his tongue, “What’s my reward for winning?”
“Sex, obviously.”
Michael snorted, “So, the prize for not having sex, is having sex?”
“Exactly.”
Michael laughed, shaking his head, “I think that’s flawed game, baby.”
You huffed, “I told you, Michael, it’s not a game. I’m deadly serious, you will loose.”
He peered down at you, a serious expression flushed over your face, your manicured hands resting on your bare hips. You looked beautiful in this light, even despite your sassed attitude — the warm hue of the sunrise blooming over your naked body, the rays of light catching the daring look in your eyes as you looked up at his through your lashes.
“Alright then,” Michael started, sliding a glob of toothpaste along the plastic bristles, “If you believe I can’t go a day, I’m certain you can’t go two.”
“Fine,” You giggled with a breath, “Just means I’m already winning.”
Michael rolled his eyes, “You’re so competitive.”
“‘Am not,” You protested, a slight sharpness in your tone at the way your ego bruised, “Fine, we’ll tweak the rules,” You paused, thinking deeply, “Let’s both see who makes it furthest. And whoever hasn’t broken by Saturday, wins.”
Today was Sunday, leaving six days left until Michael would let his ego inflate to the maximum at his success, and finally get to slide into you once again.
“You’re on, baby.”
And that’s how it started.
A firm handshake and a determined twinkle in both of your eyes — and the contest had begun.
Michael assumed you were just going to go on about your normal, day-to-day routine as usual for the next six days — wake up in one another’s arms, have lazy mornings with gentle kisses, alas no sex, and then spend your day as you so chose.
But, no.
Michael had no idea how truly possessive you would get about winning — something that instilled a secretive panic in him at the idea that you may actually crack his resolve.
You started tame on day zero — brushing past him slowly, deliberately gliding the swell of your ass against his crotch, as you moved through the kitchen, acting none-the-wiser to his despair as you peered into the fridge, attempting to suppress the smirk that crept into your face.
Or, you’d appear that evening in the bedroom from your walk-in closet next door — heels clicking against the wooden floors as your frame hit his vision.
He’d been laying in bed, engrossed in the cartoon imagery that played across the screen, laughing softly at a particularly humourous scene, before his attention was completely focused on you.
“Goin’ now, baby.” You’d say, a slight hint of sensuality in your low drawl of words that Michael picked up on as you leant against the doorframe.
Michael swallowed thickly at the sight of you — clad in a dress so tight that every curve of your body was visible, an evil temptation in the form of a thigh-length, black, low cut, backless, body-con dress. You couldn’t hide the smirk that adorned your dolled-up face at the sight of Michael’s eyes practically popping out of his head.
“Jesus.” He breathed, the noise of the television suddenly going on deaf ears as he ogled at you, “God, you look beautiful, baby.”
You did a twirl — just to rub it in his face, the sight of your bare back and the curve of your ass beneath the tight material suddenly on full display to his eager eyes, ones that had now been without the sight of your naked frame for sixteen hours.
“Come here, lemme get a better look at’ya” He commanded, sitting up from his relaxed position, and seating himself at the edge of the mattress.
You moved slowly, teasingly slow — so slow it had Michael growing increasingly antsy by the time you reached him, slotting yourself between his opened legs, hands sliding to his shoulders as his own rose to your sides, stroking the curve of your hip-dips.
“Incredible.” He whispered, eyes trailing all over your frame, “Shouldn’t be seen out in public lookin’ this good.”
You laughed, jerking your neck softly to sway a loose strand of hair from your face, “Can’t pass up on girls night.” You started, “Besides I’m meeting your sisters.”
“Even more reason for you to stay home with me.”
“Don’t be mean.” You swatted his arm playfully, “I’ll be home before y’know it.”
“I doubt it,” He breathed, running a languid hand along your exposed thigh, “Countin’ down the seconds ‘till your home is gonna be like watching paint dry.”
“You’re so dramatic.” You giggled, shaking your head at his theatrical reaction.
“How can I not be when I have a lady who looks like this?—God help me.” Michael sighed, lip coming between his teeth.
A seductive smile trickled onto his bitten lips as his hand wondered recklessly — gliding up your inner thigh to delicately swipe a long, slender finger over your clothes folds, a gasp ripping from your throat as the pad of his middle finger nudged your twitching clit, forcing you to step backwards to separate the pair of you.
You laughed, deep from your chest, “I knew you wouldn’t last.”
“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He teased, smirking as he rested back on his hands, glistening eyes meeting your own.
“I should count that as loosing, y’know.” You revealed, crossing your arms over your chest, missing the way Michael licked his lips at the sight of your exposed chest being pushed further up, the round of your breasts becoming more visible to him.
“Unless one finger counts as sex baby, I think I’m still winning.”
“Haven’t won yet, Michael.” You reminded, sliding your crocodile-skin patterned handbag over your shoulder, “See you later. Be good.”
“Think you’re forgettin’ something, honey.”
You rolled your eyes playfully with a laugh, retreating back towards him, eyeing up his teasing smile. You leant down, capturing his lips in a smooth kiss, his chin caught between two of your slim digits. It was only when Michael cascaded a harsh, sudden slap to your ass over the flimsy material of your dress did you move backwards again with a half-gasp, half-laugh.
“You’re only tormentin’ yourself, baby.” You admitted, sending him a knowing look before walking straight out the door.
As Michael watched your gorgeous frame saunter away, the only sound remaining was the clicking of your heeled shoes down the stairs and the faint hum of the TV, it hit him that you were right. He genuinely couldn’t help himself when it came to you, especially when you got dressed up — something that always drove him crazy.
And the torment wasn’t self-inflicted by him like you insinuated — oh, no, it was all administered by you.
Even though his ego had been stroked at the undeniable fact that he’d managed to actually not have sex with you for a now twenty-four hours — his pride was still aching at the horrible realisation you were causing him greater anguish than he was to you.
You had upped your game — deciding that even though he had passed level one, he hadn’t won’t this yet. And you certainly weren’t done pushing his buttons.
You were blind to assume he didn’t know how to do the same.
You were stood in the living room, humming softly to the music that blared from the TV as you stood up from your strained position. You were partaking in your usual Tuesday afternoon yoga session — a habit you’d picked up in recent times after Michael bought and downloaded a whole 3-month course series on the television for you to watch and practice. You were sweating — stray hairs from your tight ponytail tickling your slick neck, cheeks flushed and legs throbbing in heat from the tightness of the yoga pants that clad them.
“And beeeend over, ladies! Stretch those calves!” The encouraging voice from the instructor over the music filled your ears, obeying the command instantly.
Your legs burnt from the tense position you were strained into, swallowing thickly as you concentrated, heat still pulsated through your body.
In your state of focus, you missed the way Michael appeared behind you, the music masking his footsteps as he approached you, standing directly behind your bent over frame. If he wasn’t about to wind you up, he would’ve let himself go at the sight of you face down, ass up for him.
You jumped, squealing loudly with a pleasured ‘Aah!’, falling forwards, catching yourself on your hands as Michael’s mouth latched around your clothed cunt through your pants — teeth grazing over your aching clit.
“Mike!” You screeched, “Y’scared me. What are you doing?” You panted, the increased bodily temperature from the workout nothing compared to the intense arousing heat scorching through you as he pulled away from you.
You peered down, staring at his crouched frame behind you through your spread legs, that infamous shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he studied your reaction.
“Hey, baby.”
“What the hell are you doing?”
Michael shrugged, “Nothin’.”
You rolled your eyes, sinking to the floor to dissolve the strain on your body, crossing your legs as you panted. Suddenly, his surprise oral attack felt all too calculated for your liking.
“Nah, I know what you’re doin’.” You blamed, pouting your lips in an accusatory manner.
Michael’s smirk deepened as he too sank to his knees, reaching forward to take a hold of your tense calves, pushing your legs upwards and open, pushing you slowly onto your back. He shuffled towards you, slotting himself between your legs, hovering his body weight over you, sleek hair dangling into your face.
No words were spoken as Michael leant down, pushing your lips together in a fierce kiss — all teeth and tongue as he lapped at your bottom lip, awaiting permission to enter your warm mouth. And when he did, you moaned out loud, the glass house of your pride having stones hurled at it by yours truly from the inside — your ego screaming to be released from the pleasured prison you’d locked it in as his tongue slid against your own. It was only when his crotch met your own, the throbbing statement of his arousal pressing deliciously into the ridge of your clothed cunt, material now sleek with Michael’s spit from where he suckled you, did you spread your legs further, letting him in.
“Michael.” You breathed, disconnecting your lips in a gasp at the sensation, your resolve threatening to transpire as he pressed himself harder into you, hardened cock moving to the side ever so slightly, nudging your clit — sending shockwaves throughout you.
A pathetic whimper left you as he finally rocked against you — his stiff erection now gliding over your cunt, now drooling from the inescapable need that dripped out of you — body betraying you as it begged for him desperately.
“I’ve got you, baby.” He whispered, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, tongue darting out to lick a feather-light stripe over the lobe, smirking as you shuddered.
His hips never stopped — rolling despairingly slow against you, each thrust knocking against your clit relentlessly, the twitching nub that had been screaming for attention for the past thirty hours now throbbing against his hard-on. Your body was exploding — blind lust coursing throughout you at the intensifying desire of the pent up hunger for him.
One thrust rocked against your clit particularly hard, a high-pitched whine falling into the air as your back arched off the ground, heaving chest pressed into his own, a lazy smirk tugging on Michael’s spit-covered lips.
“Thaaat’s it, baby,” He coaxed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, hand trailing down to toy with the waistband of your pants, “Give in to me.”
Give in to me — the arousing connotation did nothing to hide the real undertone of his words.
You gasped, your hands coming to connect with his shoulders in a harsh shove, crawling out from underneath him as he stumbled backwards — his back slamming against the edge of the large couch that splayed behind you both, laughing loudly.
“You fucker.” You seethed, through gritted teeth, chest rising and falling quickly.
“Nearly got’cha there.” He breathed, chuckling as he too caught his breath.
“You playin’ real dirty, Mike.”
“And you were playin’ with fire with that dress last night, but I let you have your fun.” He shot back, smiling widely, “One all.”
His reference to a sports term, meaning both teams had scored a goal each, had you rolling your eyes — trying to ignore the way your body had a visceral reaction at his attempt to break you.
And how scarily close you got to shattering.
Michael rose to his feet, leaning over to press a kiss to your head, palming a hand through your sleek ponytail, before retreating up the stairs once more with a laugh that had you huffing in irritation.
You ground your teeth — this definitely wasn’t over yet.
Michael, sincerely pleased with himself at his success of teasing you breathless, settled in his office — placing down and picking up the phone every few minutes to contact his producers, personal assistant, media executive, anyone and everyone who demanded his attention.
“Yeah, yeah, I know, that one did pretty well.” He mumbled into the phone that was pressed to his ear, swaying gently back and forth in his swivelled chair, “Mhm, okay, tell me about that one again.”
He was focused — knee-deep in important business, having conversations that couldn’t wait or be interrupted. You always respected his working time — anytime he’d click the door of his office shut, you’d busy yourself. Either going shopping, working out or going to visit a friend — you let Michael’s professional life remain separate to your romantic relationship.
But, he lost that respectful distance the second he agreed to this dangerous dance of denying one another pleasure through reckless and teasing means.
“Mhm, so the 23rd and 27th?” He muttered, pen between his lips as he stared down at the notepad full of potential dates for a charity event at a nearby Children’s Hospital.
When, out of the blue, the door to his office opened painfully slow, the low groan of the hinges forced into action filling his ears, the noise of his manager’s voice in his ear drowning into blabber the second the perpetrator behind the interruption met his eyes.
Michael’s jaw fell slack, eyes widening in shock for the thousandth time this week already at the sight before him — you, pretty frame clad in his favourite lingerie set he’d bought you on one of the many shopping sprees he’d taken you on, the delicate lace hugging every ridge and curve of your body perfectly.
It was pastel, babydoll-pink and sheer — the perfect shade of your nipples shining subtly through the material, poking out just enough to meet his darkened gaze, the underwire pushing your tits up to maximum fullness, albeit slightly uncomfortable, but any pain was softened at the reaction he gave you. And the panties didn’t solve his shock — an intoxicating G-string that allowed the curve of your waist, dip of your hips and swell of your ass to be on full display.
You leant against the doorframe seductively — a smirk full of vengeance evident on your face at his stunned expression. You let out a quiet giggle as his chest heaved, grasp on the phone tightening as he watched your every move, not daring to look away.
Michael, performing his infamous lip-bite, sucked in a harsh breath as you turned around, presenting your exposed behind to him — the curve of your ass moving with each movement, a slight recoil with each step.
“Michael?” The confused, barely audible voice of his manager rang through the silent room, questioning his sudden silence.
If you hadn’t turned to look at him over your shoulder, running a curious finger down your side, gooseflesh blooming on your skin at the tentative self-inflicted touch, and slipped around the corner with a laugh, leaving the doorway suddenly empty — Michael would’ve hung up the phone right then and there.
“S-Sorry, lost connection.” He cleared this throat, adjusting his painfully hard cock beneath his slacks, “Carry on.”
On day two, Michael was antsier than ever — cock hard from the moment he woke up, throbbing for attention. He never usually masturbated, as he would rather save his pleasure for when he was inside you, that and because you always there to provide him said arousal every day. His cock was twitching violently every time you approached him, even doing something simple as making breakfast — his dick confused at the sudden change in routine, missing its usual usage.
Thankfully, you had spared him today — not providing any tantalising treatment, just acting as the ultimatum hadn’t even been agreed on to begin with.
Some would think that would bring some much needed relief, but alas not. It was worryingly quiet, scarily calm — something dangerous and hidden underneath your normality that had him tense. He couldn’t figure out what you were planning, but it had him squirming and screaming inside in anticipation — tense and fighting off a forty-eight hour boner wasn’t a good cocktail for Michael.
Michael, who had been working again today, sluggishly pulled himself up the stairs, loosening his tie that he had been forced to wear for an in-person meeting. Fatigue washed over him quickly just as the clock ticked nearer to midnight as he trudged to your shared bedroom — tiredness at the forefront of his brain as the thought of your silly challenge left his busy mind.
“Hey, angel, sorry I’m so late—“
This vision was by far the worst so far — rated so high on the scale of your lustful mockery that it had him choking on air, hands freezing at his sides.
“Mmh, w-welcome home, baby.” You panted, voice cracking as you forced the words out due to your busied hand.
And welcome he was — your obvious sexual invitation sent a cold shiver down his spine, eyes locked on your frame.
You were on your back, slightly arched off the crumpled sheets that splayed beneath you, one hand cupping your bare tit, toying with your erect nipples, as the other worked a buzzing bullet vibrator around your swollen clit. You writhed and whined as he watched you, utterly gobsmacked at the sight of you pleasuring yourself, calling his name like a chant as you nudged a particularly sensitive part of your nub, a trickle of your arousal seeping from your hole that clenched around nothing, begging to be used after being empty for so long.
“Holy shit.” He mumbled, the only words eligible to leave his head as he stepped into the room, not bothering to even shut the door behind him as he rushed before you.
You arched your back further as he neared you, the strong scent of his cologne flooding your heightened senses, a louder, needier whine falling past your lips. Michael swore his dick was seising the way it was twitching uncontrollably beneath his slacks, begging to be freed from the tight constraints of his clothing.
“God, you’re perfect.” Michael breathed, hands coming down to take your raised ankle into his grasp, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the skin.
You whimpered, hand speeding your movements, circles swift against your clit, slick with your arousal — his touch sending shockwaves through you.
Your free foot leant down, as his mouth worked its way over your other foot, hand rubbing slow, loving strokes along your bare leg, and flexed along the obvious bulge in his trousers. Michael gasped against your ankle, lips stuttering against your skin at the feeling of the sudden contact with his stiff manhood.
“Touch yourself too, Michael.” You breathed, voice a sultry order, toe trailing along the ridge of his dick, revelling in the way he panted, hand tightening around your foot, “Wanna see you.”
Michael, hands frantic and panicked, flew to his belt, tugging it off his hips swiftly, throwing it to the floor, before pushing his slacks and boxers to his ankles, kicking them off. His cock slapped against his abdomen wildly, a loud hiss ripping from his throat at the sudden rush of air around his throbbing cock as he knelt on the edge of the bed. Obeying your command, he spit into the palm of his hand before enclosing it around himself.
“Oh fuck.” He drawled, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of his warm spit and tight fist enveloping his manhood as he began stroking himself slowly.
“That’s it, baby,” You coaxed, voice hoarse from your own desperate noises, “Look at me.”
His eyes shot open, instantly locking onto your fucked-out expression, eyebrows knitted together as pleasure washed over your face, the sight of you rubbing the loud sex-toy over your sex filling his vision as he trailed his eyes over your writhing frame.
You soon switched positions, not once leaving his eyeline, slipping a leg over the other, now on your side — before tentatively sliding the buzzing toy down your slit, teasing yourself. You whined deeply from your chest that heaved, lip coming between your teeth as you slowly pushed the short, slim vibrator inside you. It vibrated violently inside you as you slid it in and out quickly, the tip of it grazing your G-spot ever so slightly, but never fully abusing it.
Your head lurched back at the lack of full pleasure, whining desperately. You needed him, fucking badly — pussy drooling as you watched him panting and jerking himself languidly before you, eyes raking over you hungrily, but you weren’t about to loose.
You were still deep in the game after all.
But, your resolve fell on its last legs as he hunched over you, pushing you gently onto your back once more, slotting himself beneath you like he did the day prior — instantly sliding his hard cock between your slit.
The noise that ripped from you sent shockwaves of arousal through Michael’s body as he slid his erect cock over your slick pussy, gathering all of your essence on him. His tip, drooling wildly with pre-cum, nudged at your clit, now abandoned by the vibrator which shook at your side.
“Still determined to win, baby?” Michael breathed, peering down at you, baby hairs that had fallen loose from his low ponytail, sticking to the thin layer of sweat that coated his forehead, his mouth agape as he panted, muscles flexing beside your head.
Words failed you — wanting nothing more than to sass him back, but only pathetic pleas fell from your lips, eyes threatening to roll back with each rock of his hips against your clit.
“Oh my god!”
You cried out loudly, legs lurching to wrap about Michael’s waist as he slid his cock downwards once more, his hand grabbing the buzzing toy from next to you to press against your clit and pushed just the tip inside you.
You shuddered harshly, eyes now rolled brutally to the back of your head as your entrance struggled to stretch around the fat of his cockend, clenching ferociously as he toyed with your clit with the vibrator that was set to the highest setting.
“Say I win.” He panted, fitting every urge inside him to bury himself to the hilt and fuck you senseless, but deciding the childish rules of the game you agreed on was more fulfilling in the moment. And definitely something he could hold against you, “Say I win and I’ll give it to you, baby. Just say the word.”
You heaved, jaw clenching as the words regurgitated up your throat, a mere few inches from being released to his ears — but you swallowed them down.
“In your dreams, Michael.”
Michael shook his head, laughing breathily as he moved his hips backwards, retracting both his hands and his cock from your begging cunt — your eyes shot open.
“No, no! No, please.” You cried, tears filling up in your waterline as a needy, utterly desperate sob threatened to escape your mouth at the loss of contact, cunt twitching angrily at the emptiness. Michael watched you writhe in aching agony as he slipped his shirt off his torso — enamoured at the desperate show you were putting on for him.
“Y’know what to do, baby.” Michael teased, pushing forward to slide slowly between your slick pussy lips, careful to avoid your clit and clenching hole, where he knew you needed him most, a calculated move that had you squirming.
“Okay, okay!” You exclaimed, despair dripping from your tone as you accepted defeat, “You win!”
Michael pushed forward, sheathing himself inside you to the brim with one harsh thrust — bottoming out to the hilt, tip kissing your cervix lovingly.
The sound of both of your relief flooded the room — a loud, fierce scream ripping from your throat at the sudden fullness, legs tightening round his waist as your fingers dug into the tense of his bicep as he groaned lowly into the crook of your shoulder, pressing his body weight against you.
“Fuck, you’re so tight f’me, baby, my God.” Michael exhaled, shuddering at the sensation of your cunt convulsing by itself around him, struggling to accommodate the stretch.
“Michael, please.” You whined, eyes flickering up to his own wrecked ones, “Please—need you. Need you so fucking bad.”
Michael didn’t wait for you to change your mind, change the rules or spout some stupid hidden agenda about the game he hadn’t realised — actually he couldn’t care less about that stupid challenge anymore with the way you were wrapped him like a glove, your slick coating him him from tip to base. His hips moved instantly — snapping up into you with insane speed, moving completely out and back in to the brim, cursing under his breath as your sharp nails dragged down his bare back.
His name chanted from your lips like a prayer as his mauve tip repeatedly slammed against the spot inside you were you clawing to reach earlier — now being abused over and over again as he ploughed into you with intensifying stamina only a man of his talented league would have.
Your pussy squelched loudly, mixing in the air in a swirl of lewdness with your pathetic cries, tears now falling from your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure that coursed through you — something the both of you had been yearning for for only a few mere days, equivalent to about three years, only worsening at your incessant teasing.
Your orgasm crept up faster than you expected — the familiar feeling crawling up your spine and flooding your abdomen like it had done three days ago before you began your mutual torment on one another. Michael sensed it.
“Fuck, you gonna cum, baby?” He breathed, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as your cunt clenching rabidly around him.
“Yes, fuck, Mikey, yes!” The agreement fell from your lips, barely coherent as you blabbered, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure consumed you aggressively.
“‘M there too, angel.” Michael admitted, his hand slipping between your tangled bodies to where you connected beautifully, the pad of his middle digit rubbing tight circles on your pulsating clit, “Look at me when you cum f’me, I’m right there with you, baby.”
The orgasm that ripped through you, tearing any ounce of self-restraint and playful teasing that you had in you to shreds, hit you like a bulldozer to a glass skyscraper — shattering you into nothingness as your legs shook violently around his waist. Your nails dug hard into him, breaking the skin, as the overwhelming arousal took over every inch of your soul as you kept your intense gaze on him — body writhing and voice singing in electric lust as he fucked you through your release.
And he never let up — feverishly chasing his own high, eyes finally fluttering shut as the sensation consumed him. He buried himself to your very end, cervix flooded with his milky white seed as it spurted inside you — overstimulation forcing the neediest whimpers from his lips, muffled by your hair, as the orgasm he’d been dying for imprisoned him for the best blissful twenty seconds of his life.
For the first time since Sunday — you both lay still. Unmoving, just feeling. No teasing or tournaments — just listening to each other’s racing heartbeats against your chests that were pushed together, heaving breaths hot in your ears, and the pulsating of both your sexes around one another.
You remained like that for a few minutes — silence, for the first time since Michael had stepped into the room, engulfed itself around you.
Michael moved first, twisting his head to the side, cheek warm against the bare of your shoulder — pressing a caste kiss to your jaw, lips sloppy and lazy, yet loving, as he displayed his affection proudly to you. You turned your face to meet his — capturing his lips in a soft, delicate kiss that spoke a thousand words — sending a silent congratulations for winning your childish contest. He understood the language of your lips — his tender kisses giving thanks back, though, the feeling of egotistical validation cascading through his brain, but he kept that to himself.
You pulled away first, pressing your foreheads, sheen with sweat, together, sighing softly. You just stared at one another — the warm, fuzzy aftershock of your release flowing through both of your bodies as you stayed connected below the waist, irrefutable relief the only emotion feasible in the moment.
Yet, due to your mutual elementary, playful nature, Michael couldn’t help himself — leaning back with a smirk tugging onto his face, a knowing grin that had you rolling your eyes with a similar smile before he even spoke his next words,
its soo funny when im having a bad day or something upsets me then i hear michael’s raw vocals in his acapellas or demos and it sets me back in a good mood 😩😩
theartofmadeline
titsay
discoholicmusic
stormborns
tangentwithtanner
kaledo-art
