— SUMMARY: Michael oozes sex appeal without even trying. He’s the world’s biggest sex symbol, he dances like someone that puts women through mattresses, and his songs are filled with longing to make sweet love to women. So, why won’t he fuck you?
— WARNINGS: sub!michael, objectification/perversion, voyeurism, dacryphila, slight somnophilia, inspection kink, accidental edging, overstimulation, pain kink, face sitting, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, aggressive sex, mike is pussy drunk, soft dom!reader, cockwarming, aftercare (finally!), fluff. not proofread (yet)!
— WC: 7k (I really don’t know how to shut up…)
— A/N: Based off a prompt from this poll. Yeah, it’s gon get real nasty in here. Also, imagine the biggest L-shaped couch in existence. It’ll make a lot more sense that way, trust me. Please like, comment and reblog. Thank you all so much for 300 followers!
It was getting ridiculous. 10 and a half months of tension and torture. You were getting so desperate, you started feeling like a hormone-driven, college-aged man.
Seriously, you were objectifying Michael’s every action like some pervert. The way his tongue swirled around his lips after they’d gotten a little dry. Putting on lipgloss just to ‘share some’ with him. Purposely asking him to play his grand piano so that you could watch his fingers work over every tooth. Even objectifying the soft sighs of content he’d make in his sleep.
Your body was aching for his touch.
It all came to a head after you watched your tape of Michael’s Dirty Diana performance in Wembley. Michael had his team take personal videos for you since you couldn’t make it due to work obligations. He was going over the videos with you in your house’s upstairs loft, excitedly gauging your every reaction to the show he put on.
I imagined you standing right on stage with me in this one, he’d told you, handing you the copy so you could put it into the VCR.
As you watched it, you couldn’t help but focus on every detail. He looked so desperate and sang so sensually. Naturally, it turned you on, especially since you’ve been so hungry for him for so long. You were squirming with every thrust, leaking through every hungry whine that seeped past his lips. After the video stopped, your panties were embarrassingly soaked.
He stared at you expectantly and finally cleared his throat after you sat there eyes wide and silent for 4 whole minutes.
“Michael,” you said evenly, voice coming out smoother than you felt.
“Did you like it?” he asked, aching for your approval.
“Like? Mike my panties are soaked,” you admitted with a longing sigh. You were edging over the precipice of insanity.
“O-oh…?” he responded bashfully, not sure how to insert his commentary into this topic.
Admittedly, Michael was insane about you. He kept up a good front when needed, but there were so many times he almost fully let himself go for you. The time you made brownies together and he purposely swiped his index finger around the remnants inside the mixing bowl, presenting his finger so that he could feel your tongue and cheeks suck around his skin. Or, the time you’d left your shared bathroom door slightly ajar, him eagerly peeking in while he watched you clean your sex precisely, his mouth going dry at the sight of your delicate fingers touching your glistening pussy.
He even got turned on by you crying after the two of you watched a particularly devastating romantic movie. The sight of your eyebrows scrunching together was reminiscent of the few times you’d let your makeout sessions turn into heavy petting and your face would mold into the same look when his hardened length desperately ground against your pajama-clad clit.
Still, your admission left him flustered. You broke the silence.
“Why won’t you fuck me?” you asked him, eyes pleading pathetically for his answer.
“Pardon?” he asked, taken aback by the direct question.
“I said,” you inched closer to him on the couch, hand creeping onto his, “Why don’t you fuck me?”
“I-i want…I will…I think about it?” his confession turning into a question as he started losing himself at the feeling of your fingers atop of his. He composed himself and started over.
“It’s just…I want to learn you. I sing all these songs about sexual pleasure and desire, but I feel like a poser. I wanna learn your body. I want to know what exactly makes you squirm, what touches bring you over the edge. Most importantly, I wanna please you. Before anything, I want your pleasure to be put before mine. I want to give you everything before I let you take all of me. Before I make love to you.”
His words stunned you. Obviously, Michael was the most romantic and compassionate person ever, but an insecure part of your brain had convinced you he just didn’t want it. He didn’t want you in that way.
“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” You were embarrassed now. Your eyes started brimming with tears, embarrassment flooding over you for ruining the moment.
“Hey, what’s the matter, baby? C’mere. Why’d you ask me that?” he asked you, his slender form slinking closer to yours, engulfing you into a tender hug. He ignored the arousal threatening to bubble through his actions at the sight of your tear clad face.
You hurriedly wiped the tears that were desperately inching to slip from your eyes.
“I dunno. I just thought you didn’t want me in that way. You always stop anything before we can let it get too far. You even cover your eyes when I get naked in front of you.” You let out an airy laugh at the thought. He slightly leaned his body away from yours, capturing your face in his gigantic hands.
“Of course I want you in that way. Didn’t you see my performance? I basically begged for your body up there. I guess I just suck at asking for it.” He scratched the back of his neck, the realization of his lack of his direct communication weighing on him.
“Then do it,” you demanded, the need in your voice almost turning it into pleading. “Ask for it. Beg. Show me you want me.”
He expression turned serious, eager to please you.
“I will.” It was a promise, leaving no room for questions or confusion. Immediately, the weight in the air turned from confusion and insecurity to unbridled lust and determination. He was gonna learn you the way he described.
Faster than you could protest- not that you would- he adjusted your positions. He gently leaned your back onto the expensive black couch and positioned both of his legs on either side of your torso.
“I’m gonna kiss you first. But please, tell me everything you like. Tell me what you want. I’m going to give everything to you,” he stated, and he leaned in for the kiss.
It was explorative and wandering, his tongue prodding here and there with unspoken questions of your desires. He’d bite your lip, pocketing away your reaction as if he were studying it for a test. When he started sucking your tongue, a loud grumble settled deeply in your chest, and he responded with a groan, pleased with his findings. You were nasty, like him. He liked that.
His kisses escaped your encapsulating lips and immediately found their way to your ear. This was something he was curious about. He parted his mouth and gave your lobe a curious graze, looking up at you from under his long lashes. Your back arched infinitesimally as you let out the quietest whine known to humanity. He dove back in and bit harsher, and you whimpered desperately.
“Hmm,” he noted to himself.
His lips and tongue explored your neck next, eager to have an excuse to mark you through in his study of your body. He was fully committed to his research, obsessively sucking and biting the supple skin of your neck as he cradled the side of it in a vampire-esque way. The way you gasped and groaned whenever he sucked harsher bruises into your skin was magnetic. His mind was driven to please.
He continued his journey to your tits, the sight of them short circuiting his brain momentarily. He removed his mouth from the swell of them and groped them greedily, his palms pressing deliciously against your braless nipples through the fabric. He wet his lips at the erotic sight of you. You looked up at him, a silent plea in your eyes for more, and he curled his fingers around the neckline of your tank top.
“Do you want-” Michael began.
“Take it off. Want your mouth on my nipples,” you instructed. You sat up as he followed your command instantly, his hands removing your shirt with precision.
You didn’t know how much you needed this. The moment his lips met your erect nipples, your brain seized with an electric jolt of pleasure.
“Mmm,” you sighed, basking in the pleasure and heat. He was sucking at your breast like he was thirsty, every twitch from your body giving him encouragement. He tried your other breast and you reacted even more so.
“This one’s more sensitive.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. He was still researching your body.
“Y-yeah- shit,” you let out an expletive at the feeling of his tongue flicking up and down on the sensitive nub, and you could sense a teasing demeanor slip through his ministrations. You grabbed onto his head and aggressively mashed it against the plush area, eliciting a whimper from him. Your dominance turned him on.
He popped off after your grip on his head loosened. His body slithered down your own like a serpent, sliding down in a way so fluid you would’ve applauded if not for the situation you were currently in.
Then, he just stared at you. Your hair was in a disarray and your nipples were wet and hard. You had the evidence of his possessiveness littered all over your neck and collarbones. To top it off, you were whimpering and panting underneath him. He absolutely adored you like this.
He grew a little more confident, testing your limits here. He had a sneaking suspicion you were into something else. Experimenting with this theory, he ran his hands up and down your torso, preparing for his surprise. Then, you felt a hypnotic jolt of pleasured pain shoot up your spine and let out a cry.
He’d pinched both of your nipples. Hard. After seeing your reaction, he did it again, testing how much harder he could go.
You were an absolute mess. You couldn’t even speak, just letting out whines of approval.
Michael just kept watching.
He dragged his nails up and down your body, starting from the dips in your collarbones to the tops of your knees. It was exhilarating. Particularly, his hand being so close to your neck. You grabbed for it a bit when he was dragging his hands down, but he misread that as you wanting him to go lower. You decided you’d bring it up later.
“Can I take your jeans off and you turn around, please?” he questioned you, an idea evident behind his dark eyes.
You obliged suspiciously, throwing your bottoms on the stack of tapes you’d watched earlier.
As soon as you settled comfortably onto your stomach, Michael lowered his body onto your thighs and slapped your ass so hard that you felt stars. You immediately arched up into his touch, the movement causing his crotch to rub against the back of your thighs. You both moaned out- you lewdly, him embarrassed- at the contact. He rubbed the sensitive area pervertedly, gripping onto your cheek in an unintentionally obvious way.
“S-so you like pain.” Again, not a question, but a note he was taking on this crash course of your desires.
“Mm- yeah i love it,“ you revealed in a tone Michael had never heard you use before. He’d already started making you feel so far gone and he hadn’t even traveled to where you wanted him most.
“Oh god,” he whispered to himself. You heard it, though.
“What?” you asked through ragged breathing, craning your neck the best you could to see his face.
“Keep talking like that, please. I’m into it.” He closed his eyes slightly and rocked his hips onto your thighs subconsciously as the tone of your voice echoed in his brain.
“Hit me again, Mikey. I want it.” You sounded like a pornstar. The tone in your voice was stuck between being full on moans and needy whines.
He obeyed without second thought, his eager eyes watching as the skin under his large hand recoiled and got darker.
“F-uck!” you hiccuped out. You felt tears stinging your eyes at the sensation. The pain was so fucking good. You could feel your pussy glue to your panties from all of the arousal drooling from it.
You arched your ass up higher now, your body craving for more of him. You wanted him everywhere.
He let out a little yelp at the sensation, but then his eyes got distracted.
You were wet. Really, really wet.
Without thought, his hand fluttered straight to the spot on your panties, running over it once so he could feel the stickiness on his fingers.
“Can I please take your underwear off? I wanna look at you,” he asked with patheticism in his voice.
You lifted your ass up higher and let out an ‘mhm’ giving him the okay to slide them off for you.
As he dragged them off your feet, he got off of your body and gently pushed you forward a little more.
“Can I have you stay exactly the way you are, but just on your knees?”
You obliged, leaving your head and torso against the couch while your ass went higher into the air, like you were gonna take him from behind. The image made you clench longingly. He caught that movement immediately.
Then, he sat on his knees right behind you, positioning his face right in front of your core. He leaned in and fanned his hot breath over it, watching you flinch and clench again. He took his middle finger and ran it up and down your folds annoyingly slow. His finger went inside of you just barely, testing how tight it was and teasing you by rolling it around slowly. He pulled out and sucked loudly on his finger for you to hear. Your hole leaked a clear, slick liquid.
He moaned at the flavor, tattooing it to his memory, before he took that same finger and rubbed it into your clit with a feather-like touch.
He knew you wanted more, and he wanted to give it to you, but God, the way your pussy reacted to everything was so captivating. He could watch it clench and leak forever. He dragged his finger back toward your entrance and spread you open with it, inspecting every ridge and fold that his eyes could register. His mouth watered.
You let out a soft whimper when his finger probed your hole again, your resolve weakening.
“Michael stop fuckin’ teasin’ me,” you whined.
“I’m sorry baby, you just look so pretty down there,” he responded, slipping his digit inside immediately. The way you clenched around it was like ecstasy.
“Yeah! Mmm, Mike. Go in ‘n out fast ‘n c-curl your finger up when it’s inside. I- ahh- like it rough.”
You liked it rough. Those were a the words that influenced the rest of his actions for the night.
He added his index finger and pistoned them into you harshly, letting your moans fill up his ears and be his driving force.
“Like that, baby! Fuck! F-feels so fucking good,” you mewled.
He leaned down and slightly nipped your ass cheek, eager to see you squirm and feel your hungry pussy suck his fingers deeper inside.
You shrieked and pushed your ass back father, your walls closing in against his digits. It was getting harder and harder to move inside you.
“You have to relax, love,” he coaxed you gently.
“Ngh- j-just feels too good,” you babbled out. Your brain was making it feel like every nerve of your body was receiving a sensual kiss. You could barely think. Then his tongue was on you.
He latched onto your clit with perfect accuracy and started sucking cautiously, knowing the area was particularly sensitive. Your legs spasmed and you got up onto your hands, needing some grounding. You moaned out his name and the sound hit him like a symphony, encouraging him further.
“Mmm, Michael. You’re so good. Perfect, feels perfect.” you praised him, unable to say proper sentences.
He hummed against you, still keeping up that aggressively brutal pace with his fingers, and you started to see white.
“Ohhh my- I’m s-so close!” you called out, feeling the all too familiar whisper of release heightening your senses and settling into your abdomen.
He sat back, his chin covered with your essence, and set his pace with his fingers faster. Then, he stopped and pulled them out hurriedly.
“I wanna see you. Can you look at me while you cum?” he asked as he slid directly under shaking body, your dripping pussy directly above his face. He pulled you strongly by your thighs, settled you onto his mouth, and continued feasting. His eyes trailed from your beautiful breasts right up to your contorted face, and he moaned loudly at the sight.
You sat up, feeling your orgasm approach again, and rode his mouth and nose for dear life, grabbing one of Michael’s hands to play with your nipple. You watched his face as you ground back and forth.
You looked too good to be true. He got lost in the meal and lightly grazed your clit with his teeth, wanting to learn just how rough he was allowed to get.
Your legs suddenly locked up and you buried his nose deep into your pelvis, blocking all of his air. Then, he felt it.
Your eyes rolled up and your hand gripped from his and slotted into his hair and you let out the most broken moan imaginable. Your warm, sticky release soaked the entire bottom half of his face.
“F- OH!” was all you could say as it dawned on you.
Michael couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t want to. He lapped at you through the whole thing, his vision blacking out as he lost air. You leaned forward and collapsed your body right above his head, having enough sense to remember to let him breathe. Again, Michael didn’t want to.
He got a fierce hold on your spent body and sat you right back on top of him, wanting more of your juices. He would happily pass out over and over from you suffocating him with your pussy if it were up to him.
“Not done yet,” he stated as he dove back in, this time groping your ass and pulling you onto him by it. He shoved his nose forward, fiercely taking his air away, while looking up at you like you were treasure.
“Mike! S’ too m-much.” You started sobbing above him, the pleasure overwhelming you. A tear spilled over your cheek and landed on his forehead. Yet, you secretly didn’t want him to stop. The fire in his eyes to please you was intense and infectious.
Michael ignored your words, eyes glazing over at the sight of your pleasure evident tears, as he started losing oxygen again. He moved his nose away and inhaled the air desperately, ready to lose it all again.
Unbeknownst to him, your second orgasm was running toward you at full speed, not giving you enough time to prepare for it. You choked out a glorious sob of his name and jerked your hips up, the tip of his nose sitting proudly under your clit.
Underneath you, he was smiling like a lunatic
You slid down and laid atop of his body, catching your breath for the second time, after not even really catching it the first.
He looked down at you on his chest, worried he’d pushed you too far.
You could feel his loaded gaze on you.
“Not done. Just need to catch my breath,” you said as you looked up and gave him a lazy smile.
It took his breath away. You looked ruined. Your eyes were red and wet with tears, your hair was a mess, the hickeys and scratches on your skin were darker. And you were drooling.
“You’re breathtaking,” he told you with a genuine gasp.
“So are you,” you complimented. He looked just as fucked out as you did, and he wasn’t even getting touched.
“I need you. I want you inside of me, and I want you to fuck me senseless. Give it to me,” you remarked, not caring to catch your breath anymore.
Your hand traveled to his belt and worked it open without waiting for a response. You unzipped his pants, and then looked back up at him.
“Take these off. And your shirt,” you ordered him bluntly. His cock throbbed ravenously at your dominance.
“Yes. O-okay,” he said as he gently slid from beneath you and followed your orders, throwing his clothes right on top of yours.
You licked your lips at the art in front of you, his beauty something you swore was inhuman.
You lips meet his hungrily as you carefully laid back on the couch, mimicking your earlier position. You pulled him between your parted legs and flush against your chest, gently rocking back and forth with his heavy length going between your clit and stomach. You felt his precum dribble right above your pelvis as he let out a broken whine. You broke away from the kiss.
“I need you inside Michael,” you said, dangerously close to begging him.
He sat up and grabbed your face between his large palms, his eyes giving you a serious look.
“I love you so much, my pretty girl. You tell me if it hurts or if you get uncomfortable or wanna stop, okay? And tell me when it feels good, please,” he asked you passionately.
“I will,” you declared, your heart softening at the depth behind his words.
He positioned his leaking length between your folds and grazed his tip against your clit, teasing himself in the process. You bucked your hips up with a huff. Michael grabbed you by them, leaned forward to kiss you, and pushed himself in at the same time.
You both moaned against each other’s mouths, and Michael stopped halfway, resting his forehead against yours. The tightness of your pussy was dangerous. The length and girth of his dick was too.
He was fucking huge. His dick was splitting you open hungrily and you were clenching around him like you craved it all.
“Holy shit, you’re huge. Oh my, fuck. Put it all in,” you demanded and you pulled him forward needily.
You’d never felt so filled in your life. You could see him in your cervix, feel him in your veins, and even taste him on your tongue.
Michael was also absolutely losing it. He never knew sex could feel this good. You guys hadn’t even started properly making love yet, but he felt incredible. Your walls were basically choking his dick. Each clench you gave him was like a vice. His instincts took over and he started thrusting into you hungrily.
The sounds that left your mouth were downright sinful. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were faking your moans. They sounded like cascades of love, and very pornographic.
“Michael, oh my god. Yes!” He found your g-spot. “Right there! Fuck me harder!” you exclaimed. Then, you remembered something. “Ch-choke me. Baby- shit. Choke me Michael.”
“Yes ma- ahh- hmm. Yes, baby.” He was fucking you senseless. He watched as your eyes rolled back and your tongue lolled out of your bruised, plump lips and he went deeper and gripped your neck. You were losing yourself in the pleasure he was giving you, and that’s exactly what he wanted.
“B-baby. Look at me please. Wanna see you,” he said desperately, craving the approval from your eyes. He moved your head by your neck to look at him, and your eyes traveled back his face. Your gummy walls clenched around his engulfing dick at the sight of him. He was fully crying, the tip of his nose turning red.
“Oh, Michael. You’re heavenly,” you praised him causing him to shyly duck his head. You thrusted your hand up and forced his face up by his cheeks, squeezing them ferociously.
“I wanna see your expressions too, angel face. L-look how good you’re fucking me.” You pulled his face down to look at where the two of you became one, and directed his face back to yours, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss.
You were losing yourself in the feeling of it all, already being so overstimulated from earlier, and you felt your third orgasm of the night approach you. You tried pushing away for a second to warn him, but Michael’s lips chased yours instantly. He was completely gone.
You opted for using your free hand to reach down and circle your abused clit to take you over the edge. The doubled friction was so good, it only took a few harsh rubs, and you were gone.
As you came, your body went completely limp under his, your legs flattened on the coach cushions and your hand dropped from his now sore cheeks.
He kept going, even as you came down. This man was completely lost inside of you, and he was moving in a way that suggested he didn’t wanna be found.
“Mikeyyy,” you moaned out at him, the sensitivity numbing your brain too much to finish your thought.
He didn’t listen to your protest, or couldn’t. He just wanted you to keep feeling good, and the way you continuously sucked him in showed him you were still enjoying it. He felt so good, but he didn’t want to let go. He displayed his strongest act of willpower, edging himself over and over with each one of your orgasms. He almost came when he fingered you, when ate you out, hell, even when you told him to take his clothes off.
He slowed down a bit, learning every ridge inside of you and committing it to memory. He savored the slower pace as well, burying himself to the hilt and holding his dick deep in you after each stroke.
You could practically taste heaven on your tongue.
His curly hair was stuck to his forehead and he was giving you the biggest puppy-dog eyes you’d ever seen on a human.
You could feel yet another orgasm coming, this one coming in like a thunderclap before lightning; you could sense it with enough time before it happened to warn him.
“Mik-ey. G’na cum again.” You turned your head and kissed the inside of his wrist next to you.
“Please. Please cum again, pretty. I wanna feel it again,” he pleaded. He leaned down closer to you, his whimpers falling into your ears while he thrust harder and harder, drinking up the bliss painted on your face.
You came around him with a heartbreaking whine, your bottom lip jutting into a full on pout and your chest heaving with sobs. You’ve never felt so good in your life.
He slowed down a bit more, albeit not coming to a full stop, and wiped your tears with one hand.
“P-please one more, doll. Please. I’ll cum with you this time. Jus’ need one more. Need you to cum on- ngh- on me again.
At the realization that yes, he hadn’t cum at all, your pussy throbbed at his act of service. He was physically holding himself back just to ruin you like you told him to. He was such a good listener.
“Oh, my sweet boy,” you cooed at him reaching up to grip your fingers into his hair. “Take another one from m-me. I can handle it,” you stated, determination creeping into your voice.
He let out a beautifully tragic whimper at your demand, and picked up his pace. He lifted himself up and propped one of your legs onto his shoulder, determined to get you there as soon as possible.
It was like a new hunger bubbled up inside of you. Your body was still aching with sensitivity, but it was as if you still hadn’t been touched. The aggression in his moves had you seeing God.
“I wanna get on top,” you let out before you could even think. Your lips were moving faster than your brain had time to filter your thoughts.
“God damn,” he responded at your declaration. He flipped your bodies over expertly and held your waist in anticipation. You looked him in the eyes and placed your hand into his neck to steady yourself.
He let out a choked moan at the contact looking up at you in shock.
“Can you squeeze my neck, please? Please choke me,” he begged, his mouth parted desperately.
You gave it a rough squeeze and you took his ginormous dick inside of you. The dual pleasure was pushing him to the edge. He rolled his eyes back and smiled like he was on psychedelics, the lack of air making everything feel like ecstasy.
You released his neck slightly, giving him room to breathe, as you started bouncing up and down, your tits bobbing seductively above his face as you did so. You dragged your free hand up to your tits, holding them under your arm to stop the harsh drag of them. That only made it worse for him. The roundness of them became more prominent with the strain of your arm.
You looked back down at him with your eyebrows knitted and your eyes lowered with lust. You reached back down and kissed him intimately, squeezing his neck tightly and opening your eyes to take in his expression. He looked like lust personified. Then, you felt it coming and you broke the kiss. You removed your hand from his neck and lightly smacked his cheek, signaling him to look at you.
“G’na cream that big dick of yours M-Mikey. You gotta cum with me. ‘M so…I’m g…I- FUCK!”
This orgasm tore through you like a tsunami, crashing over and over in brutal waves.
Michael came as soon as the first clench came from your pussy. He cried out the prettiest moan you’d ever heard, the sound rivaling his singing vocals.
“Please, please, please, thank you. Y-yes! GOD, oh, thank you, I love you,” was all he could say between sobs.
You collapsed on top of him and caught your breath, letting his dick soften up inside you. After a moment, you pulled him out of you and felt both of your releases spill onto the couch. Michael could feel some of it slide down his own dick and he whined at the feeling. He was that sensitive.
“My god Michael, you’re insane,” you said, breaking the silence.
He let out a breathy laugh.
“Only for you,” he responded, looking at you with lazy eyes.
“Yeah, you better,” you said only half joking, your hand coming up to his face to squeeze his cheeks together again.
The two of you got up and stretched, joints aching with the activities of the night.
“Let me run us a bath, pretty girl. I’ll be right back,” Michael stated, still so eager to service you. He gave you a kiss, took your scattered clothes, and disappeared into your room’s shared bathroom, turning on the faucet of the huge bathtub and pouring in bubble soap and bath salts. He dimmed the lights and turned on the mini radio that sat atop the spacious counter, humming along to the jazzy instrumental crackling from its speakers. He left the bathroom, leaving the bath to run, and walked into your shared walk-in closet.
He picked out simple pajamas for the two of you. He got a plain white tee and tartan pajama pants for himself, and a pair of boyshorts and one of his comically oversized graphic tees for you, knowing you liked wearing it as a nightgown sometimes. He smiled to himself as he folded the clothing and placed them on top of the bed, awaiting your arrival.
You’d walked into the room shortly after, having tidied up the living room and cleaning up the cum from the couch. Your legs were aching from the sex and walking up the steps. You opened the door with a creak, legs almost giving out.
He turned around to face you, having just completed his task of putting both of your soiled clothes in your shared laundry basket. He grabbed your hand as he went to turn off the faucet in the bathtub, followed by sounds of you complaining. He didn’t want to walk away from you while you just came in, but your legs felt like you were moving in quicksand. He dipped his hand inside, testing the water and motioned for you to check for yourself. You gave him a thumbs up.
“You actually ruined me, Mike,” you complained dramatically as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
“That’s exactly what you asked me to do. Multiple times, at that! Can’t go back on your word now, silly girl.” He chuckled softly and booped your nose before stepping into tub, grabbing onto your hand to help you in like a gentleman.
“I’m not, I just wasn’t expecting…all that. It was like you were a different person. Very sexy of you, by the way.” You settled in front of him and he grabbed your loofah, doused it with soap, and started washing your back for you like it was something he was used to. He scrubbed you like you were the most delicate thing in the universe.
“I dunno what came over me either, honestly. I really was jus’ cravin’ you that much. I didn’t even know needin’ you more than I usually do was possible.” He paused, his usual shyness creeping back in. “And, uh, you were very sexy as well. Better than I ever imagined you’d be,” he tacked on, flustered.
“Thank you, angel.” You leaned your head back and gave him an upside-down kiss on the lips, feeling a shy smile creep into his lips. You picked your head back up and twisted your upper body around to face him.
“Aww, my baby,” you cooed at him.
“Y’know that nickname makes me shy,” he says, referring to ‘angel’ and all variations of it. He lifted your arms and scrubbed your sides and your stomach, traveling his way to your breasts as you responded.
“How can I not when you have such an angel face? You’re so precious, c’mon,” you fake pouted at him. Sweet vanilla and warm cinnamon filled your nostrils. Your favorite body wash. “See? You even act like an angel. You replaced my favorite body soap for me ‘cause it ran out.”
“That’s nothin’. I’d buy you a castle-” he paused, seeing the incredulous look on your face, realizing he was somehow helping your point. “Okay, okay whatever. You’re the one sent from heaven, though. Here, gimmie your leg ‘n hold onto my shoulder.”
Your face warmed up at the sincerity in his tone and the gentleness he used with you. As he continued his work, you watched him, filled with gratitude. He was so happy taking care of you like this, and you wondered how such a sweet person could truly exist.
As he finished you up he started washing himself up as you watched in adoration. You took his loofah and scooted to switch sides with him, washing his back as he did yours. He hummed along to the instrumental from the little radio, sounding identical to the saxophone singing from it. So beautiful.
The two of you dried your feet on the plush carpet beside the tub and stepped into the shower directly next to it to wash your hair and rinse off.
He washed his own hair as you rinsed off and cleaned your legs once more, both of you clingily standing under the huge showerhead that was big enough for more space between the two of you. You were just craving each other more than usual after crossing that final line.
You stood behind him as he wrung his hair, in no rush to free your eyes from the sight of his sleek, yet toned back in front of you. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder and ran your hands up and down his waist once. Lurching forward, you grabbed your shampoo, and Michael took it from you unexpectedly.
“Wet your hair for me?” he asked, squeezing a glob into his hand and lathering it up.
You did just that and he turned you away from him, massaging the shampoo into your scalp as he combed your hair simultaneously. The domestic action made you want to drop to your knee and propose to him right there.
You reached your hand back and rubbed it up and down his arm in a silent ‘thank you’, too content to break the silence.
He grabbed it and gave it a romantic peck, rinsing the shampoo off and gently placing it back to your side. After he finishing working in and rinsing the conditioner, he stepped out of the steamy shower, leaving the water running for you. He grabbed your towel and beckoned you out, wanting to make sure you stayed warm the whole time.
He stepped back in and turned off the faucet and you wrapped yourself up, and then unraveled your towel and dried you off. He patted your hair dry and wrapped it up, as you made your way to the sink counter to get your blow dryer. You turned it on its second coolest setting and blew the water out of your hair, not focus on getting it to look a certain way.
He drained the tub, rinsed it out, and then dried off as you finished with your hair. He handed you your bathrobe.
“Here sit down,” he motioned to the plush ottoman sitting in there for whenever you moisturized your body. He grabbed your lotion and kneeled down, lathering it into your neck and shoulders, then down the front and back of your torso, lifted you up so he could get your ass, rubbed into your thighs and legs, and finally massaged your feet.
“Baby, you don’t have to do all this,” you protested, feeling bad that he was spending more time on your showing process than his own.
“I want to. I told you, I wanted our first time together to be perfect. That includes aftercare, baby. Besides, this is bare minimum.” He scoffed at your protest, offended. He placed your foot down and looked up at you, eyebrow raised.
You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
He lotioned himself with his own scent with super speed, and out in his own bathrobe, then reached for the blow dryer. While he dried his own hair, you washed your face and moisturized it, letting the cool products seep into your skin. You picked up both of your towels and put them into your bathroom hamper as he quickly washed his own face. You slinked out of your bathrobe, hanging it up on the rack, and he followed behind you, turning off the light and closing the door behind him.
You saw the clothes folded up on the foot of the bed and smiled at him lovingly.
“You are so cute, did y’know that?” you asked him as you took in the setup before you.
“Enough of that,” Michael said, feigning annoyance. He was really just flustered. “Here, step in.” You pulled your boyshorts up your legs and over your naked sex and bottom. He ignored the way they fit on you and then stood up and pulled his t-shirt over your head. He hurried into his clothes and lifted the blanket on your side of the bed, leaned you into it.
“Gonna turn off the light,” he said as he ran to the wall and back to the bed, not really giving you time to notice he was leaving.
As the mattress slightly does on his side, you reached out for him and laid your head onto his chest, smelling the scent of your body wash and his own lotion on him. You softly sighed.
“Thank you for being so good to me,” you said tiredly.
“No, thank you. I’m so happy I made you my girl, ‘n I’m so grateful I got to express my love for you physically today.” He gave you a kiss on your forehead and pressed your body closer to his. “Can I have a kiss?” he asked you shyly.
“You don’t have to ask, y’know,” you said with a chuckle as your lips met his. You deepened it slightly, suddenly getting another flood of arousal at the feel of his body through his thin clothing. He did too, and you could feel it.
“I’m for sure too tired for a round three of a sixth orgasm, but we can try something,” you mused.
“Yeah, ‘n what’s that?” he asked with a smirk.
You pulled down his pants just enough to free his hardened sex, and pulled your own undies to the side. You gave him one more kiss and turned around, pushing it into you with a soft whine leaving both of your lips.
The stretch did just enough, as did your tightness around him. He slightly throb inside of you, the feeling of your cunt around him acting as a sensual hug. He adjusted just slightly, subconsciously aching for the friction he felt earlier. You both lazily met the other’s slow grinds, too tired to chase release, but still desperate for just a little bit more. It felt magical and poetic. You eventually stopped moving, too tired to take anything more from each other.
“Goodnight, my darling girl. Thank you for accepting the raw, unfiltered version of me. I’ve never been this vulnerable with anyone, n’ I’m so grateful that it was with you. I can’t wait to learn you more. I love you so very much,” he declared.
“I love you too, baby,” you said, exhaustion lacing your voice. “You’re perfect, all of you. Thank you for being comfortable for sharing it all with me. ‘N thank you for wanting to meant me. You make me feel so appreciated and adored. Sleep well, my love.”
You both felt eternally close to each other now, physically and emotionally. The activities of today blanketed your figures in a heavy gratefulness.
He pulled you back, wanting to be even closer to you somehow, and pressed kisses up and down your neck and the side of your face. He hummed a soft tune and stroked your hair softly as the two of you drifted off to sleep.
synopsis: michael working on his new album ‘bad’ has him occupied all day, everyday for weeks on end. as his wife, you’re rightfully frustrated in more ways than one. so, when you hear a female voice in the background during a phone call to the studio — you can’t help but want to claim what’s yours.
warnings: sexual themes, smut, 18+
Hayvenhurst had never been this quiet.
Usually, the large mansion was filled with noises of laughter, joy and, more often than not, pure ecstasy from you and your husband.
However, as of late, Michael had been occupied from early hours of the morning, to late at night, when he would trudge home in an exhausted state, curl up against your slumbered frame and fall asleep. And, by the time you’d be waking up, he was already gone. You understood that being the wife to a global superstar had its perks and drawbacks — and when it came to writing and producing an album, the drawbacks were more prominent.
It was late on a Saturday night when you found yourself more bored than usual.
Maybe you were overthinking it, or maybe it was because you hadn’t seen, heard from or touched your husband in 3 days. 3 long, excruciating days. Michael usually would call, but it seemed the concentration and focus the album needed was at the centre of his mind.
So, you had situated yourself in front of the television — a movie you’d already seen twice playing in front of your tired eyes. Barely focusing on what the actors were saying — you drifted off to a place where your husband was. Picturing him sat beside you — warm, salty popcorn in a bowl and a freshly squeezed orange juice in hand, giggling away at a movie he loved.
The soft smile that had crept onto your face slowly sank away into the depths of despair at the reminder your man wasn’t here, and you had no idea when you’d next see him.
You knew you could see him if you really wanted to by paying Westlake Recording Studios a visit, but, Quincy Jones was a perfectionist like Michael, and any unnecessary distractions this close to finishing the album were not permitted to enter the studio.
And you were definitely a distraction to Michael.
Despite being a busy man, whenever you did spent time together, by God did he make up for lost time. That man would spend 50 days and 50 nights making up for any time you’d spent apart by showering you in irrevocable affection to show you just how much he missed you too.
With an exaggerated yawn, you glanced at the glistening gold watch around your wrist, one Michael had gifted you for your 4th wedding anniversary. Mumbling about the time, the numbers 20:38 stared back at you.
‘Time to get ready to sleep alone, again’ You thought to yourself.
Sighing dramatically, you pushed yourself off the couch, switching off the television and dragging your tired feet towards the stairs. The house was always eerily dark and quiet at this time of night, especially being alone, leaving goosebumps down your arms as you reached your even quieter bedroom.
A wave of sadness hit you as you observed your cold, dark and pitiful bedroom — once filled with glistening low lighting, a bottle of Champagne and love-making all night, giggling with your other half. Now, the total opposite.
And the worst thought of it all — even when the album was finished, you knew he’d be touring, and you’d either be stuck at home alone permanently or living on the road for the next year. Either way, you’d do anything for Michael — which agitated you even more.
There was no one better — he was the one for you, the one you promised at the alter that you’d be there, sickness and in health, for better and for worse. This was the worse they were referring to. You loved him more than life itself to ever leave him — it’d break your heart more than this loneliness ever would.
For now, you’d wait for his call. Sit around all night, yawning and rubbing your tired eyes — awaiting a call that would never come, before succumbing to sleep and kicking yourself in the morning for not staying up for him.
Brushing away the negative thoughts that corrupted your mind, you trudged to the bathroom, deciding a floral scented body cream to flood your nostrils would hopefully cheer you up. Grabbing the large bottle, you squeezed a small amount out of the tube — rubbing the delightful smelling cream into your arms, your eyes locking on the phone on your nightstand.
‘If he didn’t call by 10 o’clock, you’d call.’ You decided, knowing that the next hour would be spend watching the time, feeling as though watching paint dry would be quicker. But, what else would a viciously devoted wife do?
Once your body was slicked with the fanciest lotion Michael could’ve possibly bought, just because, you slipped under the covers of your four-poster bed, the Emerald green, satin bedsheets sliding over your skin like water as you settled down.
21:05, Check the clock.
21:18, Sigh irritatingly at the ceiling.
21:25, Rest your eyes for a moment to pass the time.
21:29, Surely at least 10 minutes had gone by—oh, no, just 4 minutes!
"Oh, fuck this." You mumbled to yourself, ignoring the 21:34 on the clock metaphorically screaming ‘You’re weak’ at you as you picked up the phone and dialled the number to Westlake Studios.
The sound of the phone ringing droned on throughout the room — your nails tapping impatiently on the handle, your bottom lips being gnawed on as you waited.
"Hello, Westlake Recording Studios, this is Susie, how can I help?"
"Hi Susie. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you why I’m calling, huh?" You chuckled into the phone, knowing your voice was recognisable by now.
"Oh, good-evening, Mrs Jackson," She replied, a smile evident in her voice, "Let me check with Mr Jones that he’s available, okay? Give me a sec, sweetie."
"No problem."
A rustle, a click and the sound of the hold music indicated Susie, the receptionist at Westlake, was calling Quincy Jones to make sure your husband wasn’t knee deep in a song. Knowing your husband, he probably was.
Click! "Hey, sweetie, just gonna connect you now."
Butterflies erupted in your stomach like a lovesick teenager at the confirmation you were about to speak to your husband, having to bite back a smile at the thought of hearing his sweet voice.
Click! "Baby?"
Oh, Lord, it was better than you imagined.
You sighed a sweet relief, "Oh, darling, it’s so good to hear your voice." You admitted straight off the bat, "Hi, my love."
Michael laughed, a smile that hurt your cheeks creeping up onto your face, "Hi, sweet girl, are you okay?"
"I’m so much better now I’m talking to you." You spoke, clutching the phone in two hands in desperation, "Mikey, I miss you so much."
"I know, baby, I miss you too." Michael agreed, "I’m coming home tonight, so don’t fret that little head anymore, okay?"
"Really?"
"Yes, really, my baby, I can’t wait to hold you." His voice as sweet as sugar, echoing in your brain like an addiction begging to be tended to, "My beautiful wife all alone — makes me so sad."
"So alone." You pouted, craving to be babied, "Need you so bad, Mike." You whispered.
Michael breathed out a laugh, your grin deepening as you pictured his flustered face behind the phone — blush creeping onto his face at your suggestive words, "Oh, darling." He whispered, "I love you, I hope you know that."
"I love you so much more." You sighed, "The house is so quiet and boring without you."
"I know, I know. I’m sorry I’ve left you for so long — things have been hectic here. Y’know how Quincy gets when the album’s nearly finished, he just gets so excited and just wants to make that push to the finish line without stopping."
"I know." You mumbled, toying with the phone cord, "I just can’t wait to have you all to myself."
"Won’t be long, baby. Only a few hours."
"Mm, I can’t wai—" "Mikey, come back, the album won’t finish itself!"
Silence filled the room as your eyes widened, the smile wiped clean off your face as the reality of what you just heard hit you.
A female voice — calling your husband the nickname you have for him, beckoning him back to the studio. A voice laced with an undertone you didn’t like nor want to hear the other end of the phone knowing she was with your man and not you.
Absolutely the fuck not.
"O-Okay, Coming!" Michael called out, "Baby, I gotta go."
"Who was that?" You pressed, your eyebrows knitted together.
"Oh, just another producer. I’ll speak to you later, okay? Don’t wait up for me. Love you."
Click! Beeeeep!
Your jaw dropped, moving the beeping phone away from your ear as the line disconnected. You blinked, in utter shock at the conversation that just occurred in your ear without even a second to process.
Your brain ran a mile a minute as you replayed the scene in your head. An unfamiliar female voice, with a suspicious tone, calling your husband back to the studio, then being hung up on after being told to not wait up for him, ending with the ‘I’ missing from ‘I love you’, had you spiralling as you placed the phone down.
The silence that consumed the room was deafening — your heart beating out of your chest as your mind ran away with itself.
Michael, tired, lonely, and equally as sexually frustrated as you, alone with a musically talented woman who’s investing in his career and spending more 1-on-1 time with him than you, could easily lead to—
You’d never picked the phone back up quicker, speed dialling the Studio back, the mortifying thought of anything happening clouding your judgement, your foot tapping impatiently against the floor, now sitting on the edge of your bed cautiously.
"Hello, Westlake Recording Studio, this is—“
"Hi, Susie, it’s me again. I need you to connect me with Michael again right now please." You rushed through gritted teeth.
"Oh! Hello, again, I thought I already connected you, sweetie?"
"You did. But, I need connecting again, please. Now." You pleaded, your shaking fingers pinching the bridge of your nose.
"Let me check with Mr Jones, okay? One second."
Click! Before you even had chance to plead her to just put you through, the hold music sounded again. Groaning as you flung backwards onto the bed, phone still pressed to your ear, you could feel the anger growing inside you.
Click! "Hey, honey, I’m afraid I can’t put you through. Mr Jackson’s very busy right now."
Could worse words ever be spoken.
"Okay, I appreciate that, Susie, but I must speak to my husband right now."
"I’m sorry, Mrs Jackson, there’s nothing I can do."
"Please. Let me just speak to Quincy, I’m sure he’ll let me speak to him."
"I’m sorry, but Mr Jones has just left for the night, so Mr Jackson is with one of our other producers who has left me with strict instructions to make sure Mr Jackson has no distractions. Goodnight, Mrs Jackson." Beeeeep!
You placed the phone down once more — the beeping subsiding as you stared off into the distance, zoning out as the recollection of the past few minutes clouded your mind.
He’s in there, alone with her. Not even Quincy was there anymore. Your heart was in your throat as you remained perched on the end of the bed, chest heaving in pure adrenaline — visions of your husband doing things he shouldn’t polluting your thoughts.
How he didn’t even notice how concerned you sounded when asking who she was made anger and jealousy bubble in your chest. Knowing that you’d been dying to see Michael for days, not counting the past few weeks, months and even years he’s been busy working on music where you’ve missed out on marital business because of his work — and now she was getting to spend alone time with him without even having to lift a finger?
Furious didn’t even cover half of it.
Michael didn’t know what he was walking into when he pushed open the door to the Hayvenhurst mansion, sighing tiredly. It was just past midnight, his eyes were heavy and his feet were dragging against the floor as he trudged through to the kitchen, expecting an empty room to make himself a warm glass of milk and head up to bed, to hold you as promised.
What he didn’t expect to see was you, in a long sheer gown, feathers on the edges, barely covering the matching black and baby pink lacy lingerie set that adorned your delicious body. Your tits pushed up perfectly, and your hips, waist and glorious legs all on display, with your hair perfectly groomed and a glass of wine in hand, stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island.
His heart jumped into his mouth at the sight of you — in shock of not expecting you to be there and the vision of your beautiful body on full display for him.
"Baby, wow, you look— wow, incredible." He breathed, taking in the sight of you as a took a swig of your wine, "What are you doing awake? I told you not to wait up."
You didn’t answer straight away — just stared at him, taking sips of your wine as you remained in constant eye contact with him. After a few seconds of silence, Michael’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.
"Honey, you okay?"
"Do you like what you see, Michael?"
Michael breathed out a laugh, "Like? Baby, I’m in love. You look breathtaking."
His eyes never left yours as you sauntered your way around the kitchen island, slowly heading towards him, your high-heels clicking against the floor.
"I called you back, did you get the message?"
"Sorry?" Michael questioned, utterly confused at your words.
"Earlier. I called you back — did someone tell you I called again?"
Michael scratched the back of his neck, puffing out air as he thought, "Uhh, no. Sorry, honey, I was really busy."
You hummed in response, standing before him, eyeing him up and down, "So I was told. Something about a new producer not wanting you to be disturbed, hm?"
"Oh, yeah, that’s Ester, she’s great. Been helping me and Q with the album." Michael innocently complimented, a smile on his face as he looked down at you, "God, baby, I can’t get over how amazing you look. I just wanna touch you all over."
You brushed past him before he got a chance to grab a hold of you, a waft of your sickly, addicting perfume clouding his nostrils, "Come get me then." You beckoned, heading towards the stairs, your gown traipsing behind you.
Michael trailed behind you like a predator to prey — his eyes glistening in desire at the sight of you, your plump ass and curvy thighs on perfect display as he practically crawled up the stairs like a rapid dog behind you.
"Come here, darling, wanna touch you so bad."
"Patience, Mikey." You dragged out the nickname, "Gotta catch me."
Playfulness glistened in his eyes as you turned around, walking backwards up the stairs slowly, as if assessing the threat that crawled slowly behind you, his eyes never once leaving yours.
After making it up the stairs without being ‘caught’, you waltzed into the bedroom with an aura radiating off you that Michael had never seen — your hair bouncing as you walked, along with the wobble of your perfect ass, which he couldn’t help but stare at, his cock twitching in arousal.
Michael remained behind you as he watched you slip your gown off, letting it fall of your body sensually, your half naked body now fully exposed to him. A shaky breath left his lips at the sight of you as you crawled onto the bed on all fours — your hips swaying while looking back to meet his eyes.
"Fuck." Michael groaned under his breath, his gaze not daring to look away from your frame, contorting into sensual positions.
You slid slowly onto your back, your arms holding you up and your legs pressed together, your eyes never leaving his own blown out ones — observing as his chest rose and fell quicker as he anticipated your next move. Fulfilling his undeniable need, you slowly parted your legs, revelling in the gasp that ripped from his throat at the sight of your crotchless panties, your gushing cunt exposed to him so suddenly.
"Oh, baby." He sighed, falling to his knees at the edge of the bed, his eyes locked on your glistening pussy.
"Is she pretty?"
"Mhm, the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen." He mumbled, barely listening to you as he gawked at you.
"No — Is she pretty?"
That’s when it hit him — the reason you were awake, the outfit, the wine, the questions. It all finally clicked in his head what was going on.
"What? Ester?"
"Yes, her." You spat, a foul look on your face, acting as those even referring to her tasted vile in your mouth.
Michael breathed out a laugh, "Baby, no. Not at all. Never in a million years. She’s my producer." He answered, a playful smile on his face, "Enough of that — let me taste this sweet pussy that I’ve missed so much."
Leaning forward in attempt to press his face between your thighs, he was met with a forceful being stopping his path.
Your shoe — the heel pressing firmly on his forehead, stopping him in his tracks.
"Ah, ah, ah! No touching for you, Mikey." You teased, "Or is it only her that’s allowed to call you that?"
Michael groaned, a hint of a pathetic whine threatening to blend with the gruff of his voice, the severity of the situation really setting in for him now.
"Baby—"
"No. Beg."
"Honey, please," He wasted no time, his eyes meeting your own challenging ones from between your legs, all of his wrong-doings becoming apparent to him now he was being denied your pussy, "I don’t know why she called me that — that name is reserved for you and you only. You, my beautiful, loving, perfect wife. Not her." He rambled, his eyebrows curved upwards in despair as his voice threatened to break, desperation dripping off him more than the slick from your wet pussy at the submissive sight of him, "And I am beyond sorry at the fact I didn’t say ‘I love you’, I was in a rush and I didn’t think. But, I should’ve thought. How dare I deny my gorgeous sweet little one the words of my true love. And I should’ve answered your second call, and I should’ve been here to begin with. I hate leaving you alone for so long, but I’m an idiot husband, please, please, forgive me."
You stayed silent as your high-heel, the Armani ones he’d bought for your birthday, still remained pressed against his warm forehead. His puppy dog eyes, now a silent plea of desperation as he looked at you, his face a complete wreck at the pure fact that he was being denied your glorious pussy.
"Hm." You spoke finally, lowering your foot off of his face, "I suppose I’ll forgive you."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you." He chanted, grabbing a hold of your ankle, craving any sort of touch at this point.
"If."
"Yes, baby, anything." He rambled, "Anything — just let me feel you, please."
His obvious built up sexual frustration was manifesting itself in the most submissive, pathetic manner you’d ever seen — his voice cracking and stuttering as he begged you for physical contact.
"You let me use that pretty mouth and cock of yours until I decide you’ve made up for it."
He could’ve cum on the spot at the pure erotica that left your pretty pink lips, swallowing hard as his cheeks flushed, trying to ignore the way his cock throbbed in his boxers.
"Jesus, sweetheart." He breathed, "You’re killing me over here."
"Is that a yes?"
"Yes, absolutely, 1000%, yes."
"Lay down then."
Michael wasted no time doing what you asked. Usually, he would dominate in the bedroom, and he knew deep down the second he slid his achingly hard cock into your tight little cunt, that you’d submit to him that millisecond, but right now, he’d humour you — secretly enjoying letting you take the reigns for once, especially if it meant getting to devour your pretty pussy.
You crawled up his body, before hovering over his face, your legs either side of his head — your clenching cunt just centimetres above his eager mouth that had him twitching in excitement at the thought of the taste of your sweet pussy, one he’s missed for so long.
"Lemme take care of you, sweet girl. Make everything alright again." He promised, two firm hands coming to grab a handful of your shaking thighs.
Without giving him a second to prepare, you lowered your pussy down onto his face — both of you moaning at the feeling of one another after so long.
"Oh, Michael." You cried out, your hands flying to the headboard above your bed, as his tongue wasted no time in delving between your lips.
His tongue slithering its way around your quivering sex — the tip of the warm muscle swiping over your throbbing clit, eliciting the most needy, pornographic whine from your lips. Michael couldn’t help but smile into you — knowing the dominant act was going to wear off pretty soon with that way he was devouring your cunt like his last meal.
The erotic noises that filled your once depressingly quiet bedroom had Michael twitching uncontrollably in his pants — his cock screaming to be freed as you began rocking your hips back and forth on his face, moaning like a bitch in heat at the feeling is his nose nudging your sensitive nub.
"O-Oh, baby, yes! Yes, God, baby, so good." You whined, your voice a high-pitched strain of undeniable ecstasy as you rode his face.
Michael was in heaven — after weeks of not even seeing you naked let alone having his face stuffed full of your pussy, he couldn’t be stopped from devouring you even if anyone tried. He didn’t even care that his dick was begging to be touched — he wanted, no, needed to be forgiven, to make things right. Prove to you that you were the only woman he needed in his life.
A devilish hand slid up your thigh to grab a handful of your ass, earning a moan of delight into your pussy as Michael sucked your aching clit. Nearly buckling over at the vibrations of his noises — you hunched over, knuckles turning white as you gripped onto the headboard for dear life at the feeling of his swollen lips wrapping around your clit like his life depended on it.
It was only when two of his long, slender fingers dipped suddenly into your hole, reaching such depths so quickly that you came on the spot — crying out deliciously as you coated Michael’s face in your juices.
"Michael—ah! God, yes! Don’t stop!"
Your hips rocked back and forth faster than before, denying him of oxygen, not that he cared, but prolonging your orgasm as his slicked nose repeatedly abused your extremely overstimulated clit.
Lifting off his face with a whine, your legs threatened to collapse before Michael caught you, two strong, reliable hands holding your waist and legs before they gave way. Michael picked you up with a smile, before laying you gently on the bed beneath him.
"You’re such a good girl for me, baby." He whispered, leaning down to press a sweet, gentle kiss on your forehead, cheek and nose, "Did so good for me."
You hummed tiredly, looking up at him innocently — one side of your bra strap had fallen down in the bustling of your orgasm, revealing your rounded left breast, your erect nipple on show for him, as well as your now dripping wet pussy one buck upwards away from meeting his thick bulge as he situated between your open legs.
He knew your dominatrix act would let up after he made you cum.
"Look what you did to me, sweet girl." Michael revealed, guiding your hand gently to grab a handful of his despicably hard cock, a loud gasp ripping from your throat, "So fucking hard for you baby. Missed feeling you cum against me so fucking bad."
"Mikey." You whined, irresistibly desperate beneath him.
"Fuck, I only love it when you say it, darling."
You wrapped your arms swiftly around his neck, pulling him down to connect your lips in a fiery, needy, frantic kiss. You hummed into his mouth, the taste of your tangy release still evident on his tongue. Michael kissed you with a burning passion that had you rubbing your legs together once more — the feeling of irrefutable arousal radiating off you like heat.
Michael, without needing to be told, freed himself quickly from his boxers, hissing into your mouth at the contact of his warm hand around the base, guiding it towards your slick cunt.
"Legs up, baby." He mumbled into your mouth, not daring to break the intense kiss.
Michael hummed in pure delight at the feeling of your heeled feet wrapping around his waist and forcing his hips closer to you — his leaking tip now colliding with your clit.
Michael cursed under his breath as his positioned his cock at your hole, his hands shaking at your sides, as he pushed in slowly. The feeling of his pulsating tip, dribbling with anticipatory pre-cum, stretching your pleading pussy had both of you crying out in euphoria — your moans already growing louder before he’d even filled you to the brim.
"Oh, my fuck — this pussy is to die for, Jesus." Michael whined as he pushed further into your tight cunt, inch by inch, his cock stretching you so perfectly.
Once bottomed out and fitted perfectly into your abused cunt — Michael began to set a brutal pace. One that you seeing stars and moaning beyond control underneath him — your sharp nails dragging down his muscular back as he ploughed deeper.
"Mhm!, Mikey, right there!" You gasped blissfully, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he slammed perfectly into your G-Spot, brushing your cervix perfectly.
Michael was a piece of string held taut and being sawed at — ready to snap at any given moment. You hadn’t had sex this good in months — the build up frustration and lack of communication had you both needing each other like water in the desert.
"M-Michael?"
"Yeah, baby?" He panted above you, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek, and down your neck.
You whined, "Pass me the phone."
"What?"
“Don’t stop. Just pass me the phone."
Michael obliged reluctantly, unsure of where this was going. He reached over, his thrusts slowly slighly, one handed to grab the phone, handing it back to you.
"Dial her number."
Michael’s face drained of colour as his thrusts slowed to a stop, which earnt him a slap on the ass from behind, like a jockey on a horse, "Don’t stop, I said. Now, dial her number."
Michael’s swallowed thickly as he searched your face for any sign of humour, but your knitted eyebrows in pleasure paired with your oh so serious eyes had him reaching over to the phone and dialling Westlake Recording Studio.
This late at night had the calls connecting directly to Michael’s studio, Susie long gone, and the only person left in the Studio, was the one person you wanted to answer the phone the most.
"Hello, Ester from Westlake Studio speaking."
A wicked smile flickered over your face as her muffled voice filled your ears. You took the phone from Michael’s hand, sneaking out from under him, pushing him onto the bed and climbing on top of him, guiding his slicked, hard cock back inside you — now riding him just how you knew he loved. Michael strained a loud moan that threatened to escape his lips.
"Hello?" Her voice sounding more confused at the rustling and whispering on the other side of the phone.
You handed the phone back to Michael who eyed you confusedly. His only instruction was the word ‘Speak’ that you mouthed at him, before lifting your cunt off his throbbing cock and bouncing straight back down, his cock nudging your cervix perfectly now.
"H-Hi Ester, it’s M-Michael."
"Michael? What are you doing calling this late?"
Michael looked at your fucked out face for answers — as your beautiful frame and gorgeous complexion stared right back at him, your wedding ring glistening in the moonlight as you grabbed a handful of your tits, he knew exactly what he needed to do to make things right.
"I’ve decided your actions at the Studio are wildly inappropriate and disrespectful to my wife." He started, his voice huffed as he bucked his hips up into you, "Using a personal and private nickname that is reserved for my wife and my wife only is—ah, baby! unprofessional and calls for immediate dismissal."
"What? A-Are you firing me over a nickname?"
"Yes, e-exactly." Michael breathed, "My w-wife is the most important thing in my life, and anyone who upsets her will be—o-oh fuck—banished effective immediately."
Michael positioned the phone to be held up with his shoulder as he gripped your hips — slamming upwards into your tightening pussy, forcing your moans and whines to grow deliberately louder.
"What the fuck? Are you having sex?"
"Pack your stuff and be gone by tonight," Michael breathed, biting his lips momentarily at the sight of your tits bouncing as he fucked up into you, "And never disrespect my wife again."
Not even bothering to hang up, knowing the embarrassed woman on the other line would, Michael threw the phone onto the floor and thrust up into your drooling pussy like he had seconds left to live.
"Oh, Michael, I love you—I love you so so much. Thank you, baby—mmhm!!— thank you, you’re so good to me!"
"I love you, sweetheart, god, M’love you so much."
With a tentative hand crawling down your body to rub tight circles on your clit, to the way it made you clench around his twitching cock — the both of you came with a strangled cry.
"Yeah — cum on my cock, baby, give it to me." Michael coaxed, a whine following shortly after as he forced his cock as deep as it would go before letting his much needed release fire up inside of your oh so willing cunt.
Whining on top of him, juices flowing down his length, coating his tightened balls, your orgasm subsided and you crashed onto his chest, heaving as he, too, came down from filling your cunt up to the brim with his hot seed, before slipping out as he softened.
His gentle hand came up to caress your head, the other taking a hold of your left hand, lifting it carefully to display your wedding ring to the both of you, the 24 Carat gold rock glistened in front of both your eyes, a smile creeping onto your face as it remained a reminder of your dedication to one another no matter.
"This will get you anything you want and more." He admitted, "Just say the word and I’ll go to the ends of the Earth for you, darling."
You peered up at him, your eyes a hazy, fucked out mess, "Will it get me a week alone with my husband?"
Michael smiled, pressing a kiss to your jewelled finger, a boyish giggle leaving his lips before he spoke, "I’d have to check with Quincy—“
cw: smut, insomnia, sleep paralysis, dream intimacy, psychological manipulation, dubcon undertones if you squint very hard, dark fiction
The hallway light was still on when Chris stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. The house was terribly quiet, the only sound being the dripping faucet.
Nick was already half-asleep, sprawled sideways across his bed, phone still glowing in his hand. He blinked up when Chris passed the doorway.
“You good?” Nick mumbled, voice thick with fatigue.
“Yeah,” Chris lied, because it was easier. “Just… tired.”
Nick huffed a sleepy laugh. “You’re always tired.”
“Yeah.” Chris tried to smile. “G’night, love you.”
“Night.”
Chris shut his bedroom door gently. The darkness waited for him, familiar. Bed sheets cool. Pillow already molded to his head from hours of tossing and turning the nights before.
He laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling fan that wasn’t moving.
His thoughts didn’t spin fast — they just wouldn’t stop.
It felt like there was always something pressing against the inside of his ribs, some feeling that didn’t have a name, some ache that sleep should have fixed but never did.
He exhaled slowly.
It had been three nights since he slept all the way through. Four, maybe. His chest felt tight. His eyelids heavy. His mind frayed at the edges. With insomnia, he realized, you don’t really sleep, and you don’t really wake,
Just let me sleep, he thought—or begged—he couldn’t tell anymore.
The dark didn’t answer. It only watched.
He drifted, not fully asleep, not awake. and then—
Chris woke to darkness that felt too heavy, as if the room itself were pressing down on him. His eyes were open—he was certain of that—but his body refused to respond. Not a twitch. Not a breath deeper than the shallow, frantic ones he could manage. He could only see the hazy ceiling above him, and nothing more.
Sleep paralysis. He remembered hearing about it once.
But this was different.
Something was on his chest. Not really a physical weight, more like a presence.
The scent of myrrh and wine hit him quickly, filling his senses. The air felt thick as silk, shadows shiver on the walls, and in their depths she emerged—first a whisper, then the curve of her lips, a shoulder, a gaze that burns.
“Y’miss me?” she asked, though he knows he’s never met her before. Her voice coils around his pulse, a velvet chain pulling him closer, unyielding.
She stepped forward, deliberate, measured—each movement a claim. Her fingers trailed from his jaw to his collarbone, brushing nerves awake, stirring a heat he couldn’t name. “You dream too loudly, Christopher,” she murmured, lips hovering near his ear. “I heard you calling… and I came.”
He shuddered, caught between fear and longing, and found his protests vanish like smoke. Her touch was fire tempered with ice; she tasted the tremor beneath his skin, the devotion beneath his dread. Her smile deepened as she leaned in, breath mingling with his, a promise he felt in his marrow: surrender, sweet and endless.
He tried to scream.
His lungs refused.
His limbs were stone.
Her face drifted closer—too close—warmth hovering just above his mouth, his throat, everywhere and nowhere at once. The sensation of being claimed thrummed through him, intimate and terrifying.
"Chris," she whispered, her voice a low purr that vibrated through his bones, through the very marrow of them. It was the sound of velvet on steel, impossibly soft and impossibly strong. "So… tense tonight."
He couldn't answer. His throat was locked, his vocal cords frozen. But he could feel her, the heat of her thigh just a hair's breadth from his own, the aura of her that made the air crackle.
Her hand, smooth as polished marble and warm, came to rest on his chest, right over his frantically beating heart. He felt his whole body arch into it, a traitorous, involuntary response to her touch. A sound tried to escape his throat, a choked plea.
"Shhh," she murmured, her lips brushing his ear, her breath hot and damp.
Her voice lowered further, silk wrapped around steel. "Don't think," she whispered against his throat. "Just feel me."
Slowly, deliberately, her fingers spread across his sternum. She wasn't just touching his skin; she was sinking into him, her presence seeping into every pore. He tried to struggle, to fight the paralytic hold the dream had on him, but it was like trying to move a mountain with a single, desperate thought.
Her touch was a brand. His nerves lit up, a frantic network of fire under her palm, and he felt his cock stir against the confining fabric of his boxers. His mind screamed at his body, ordering it to stop, but the traitorous flesh only hardened further, aching with a need that felt unbearable.
"Good," she purred, the sound a dark, satisfied rumble against his neck. Her hand slid down his chest, tracing the line of his ribcage, her nails lightly scraping against his skin through the thin cotton of his shirt. The sensation was agony and ecstasy, a line of pure, liquid heat that seared straight to his core.
Her hands traced down his body, finally landing to where he needed it the most. He bucked his hips against her, a desperate, silent plea for more, for anything, for everything. He heard her chuckle, a low, throaty sound that vibrated through her hand and into his very bones.
He wanted to scream, to deny it, to tell her he wasn't just a vessel for her hunger. But the lie would not form. Because in the suffocating, jasmine-scented heat of this dream, he did want this. He wanted to be consumed.
Then her lips were on his, not asking, but taking. The kiss was slow and deep, a possessive claiming that stole the air from his lungs and replaced it with her essence.
He groaned into her mouth, hips bucking up into her palm. His shirt was gone, he didn't know when, and her skin was now flush against his, soft and hot. Every point of contact was a burning brand, a declaration of ownership.
She broke the kiss, her lips trailing a line of fire down his neck, his chest. Her tongue circled one of his nipples, a sharp, wet shock that made him cry out. She bit down gently, not enough to break the skin, but just enough to mark him.
"Please—I want this," he finally managed, the word a broken, desperate whisper. "Please, what?" she purred, her hand finally moving beneath the waistband of his shorts, her fingers curling around his bare, straining flesh. Her grip was warm, sure, and utterly possessive. "Tell me what you need, Chris." He couldn't form the words, could only gasp and thrust into her hand, his mind a blank slate of pure sensation. She chuckled again, that low, dark sound that promised everything and oblivion all at once.
"Of course," she murmured, her voice a velvet caress against his hipbone. Her lips moved down his body and landed on his soft velvety tip. He jolted, a choked sob tearing from his throat as she took him into her mouth, a wet, welcoming heat that enveloped him completely. She took him deeper, her throat constricting around him in a way that was both heaven and hell.
His hands, which had been useless at his sides, flew to her hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. He wasn't pushing her away; he was holding on. He could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, a tight coil of heat that threatened to snap.
Just as he teetered on the edge, she pulled back, releasing him with a soft, wet sound. He cried out at the loss, a raw, wounded sound. "Shhh," she soothed, her body once again blanketing his. "I'm not done with you yet."
And then he woke up, jolting in his bed. Everything around him was still again. Dark. But his cock in his pants throbbed more than anything, his hips moving against the mattress. Getting up in a haze, he stumbles over to his washroom with his hand wrapped desperately around his dick. He fumbled with the light, the bright fluorescence hurting his eyes, but it needed to be done. He stared at himself in the mirror, at his disheveled hair, his flushed face, the desperate, wild look in his eyes. He looked like a man possessed.
He turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face. It did little to cool the fire burning in his veins. He could still smell her, a phantom scent that clung to his skin, to the very air he breathed.
Quickly, he moved his hand up and down his slick cock, letting out uncontrollable whines as he rubbed the poor thing sore, chasing the relief as he bucked into his hands—he'd never been this horny. He didn't want it to be because of her, but it was. He didn't want to do this, but he did. The thought alone sent a fresh wave of arousal through him, and he felt his balls tighten.
He came with a strangled cry, his come painting the white tiles of the bathroom wall. He leaned against the sink, his legs shaking, gasping for breath. For a moment, there was only the sound of his own ragged breathing and the drip of the faucet.
Chris didn’t remember falling asleep.
One moment he was slumped over the sink, still catching his breath—the next he was waking to sunlight warming the side of his face.
His sheets were tangled around his legs. His shirt was on the floor. He felt… warm. Heavy. Sated in a way that was almost frightening.
For the first time in days, weeks, maybe—his body didn’t ache. His mind didn’t buzz. He was rested.
For a second, that alone was more unsettling than anything else.
He swallowed, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. A dream. Obviously. A sex dream—just one that had gone too far, maybe because he’d been so exhausted. He knew sleep paralysis could do weird things to the brain. Hallucinations. Panic. Fantasies.
Right. That was it. Except…
Somehow, he could still smell her. Not on his pillow or in the room. On his skin.
The faint scent of myrrh and wine lingered in the heat along his collarbone, like a kiss that hadn’t quite faded. He couldn’t stop picturing her—he’d never dreamed this lucidly before. Her flawless face and body, the way she’d whispered into his ear and touched him.
He rubbed at the spot, hard, until his skin flushed pink.
“Just a dream,” he whispered, voice rough. “Just a dream.”
His body didn’t believe him. His cock twitched in the sheets at just the memory of her mouth, her voice, her laugh. A heat crawled down his spine and he cut it off, teeth gritting. No. No. Stop.
He got dressed and went downstairs.
The kitchen was bright, loud, alive. Nick and Matt were arguing over cereal, spoons clinking, cabinet doors slamming. Something stupid about which flavor tasted the best.
“Finally awake,” Matt said without looking up. “Thought you died.”
Chris forced a laugh, grabbing a bowl just to do something with his hands. “No. Just slept in.”
“Slept in?” Nick said, eyebrows raised. “You don’t sleep in. You don’t… sleep.”
“Yeah, well. I guess I did.” He tried for casual. He almost managed it.
Matt squinted at him. “You look different.”
“Like… less zombie. More person.”
Nick nodded. “Yeah, you look… good? Rested?”
“Gee, thanks guys,” Chris muttered, pouring cereal like it required concentration. “What a concept.”
They went back to bickering over cereal flavors, spoons clinking and cabinets slamming. But his mind wasn’t here. His mind was still in the dark, with her breath on his throat, her fingers on his ribs, her voice saying his name like she’d always owned it.
Then Matt’s eyes flicked to his collarbone. A slow grin spread across his face. “Wait… what’s that?”
Chris froze. Following Matt’s gaze, he realized the faint, rose-colored mark—like a hickey—traced just below his collarbone.
“’Bout time,” Matt said, leaning back and smirking. “Finally, huh? No wonder you slept like a baby. Thought you were abstaining for a while or some shit.”
Nick rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “Ugh, y’all are nasty. Get a girlfriend.”
Matt just shoots him a look that says “stop flexing your relationship on us,” and turns away.
Chris’s ears burned. He tugged at his shirt collar, trying to hide the mark. “It’s… nothing. Just… a scratch, maybe.”
Matt raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure, man. Scratch. Right. Whatever you say.”
Chris tried to focus on his cereal, but his thoughts kept drifting. How the fuck did that get on his skin. Was it real? Was he dreaming right now?
A soft thump at the door made him jump. He wasn’t expecting anything.
On the doormat sat a small, plain package, unmarked except for his name scrawled in neat handwriting. He knelt to pick it up, heart thudding—he hadn’t ordered anything.
Ripping it open, his fingers brushed against something smooth and cool. Inside sat a myrrh candle, still faintly warm as if it had been burning hours ago. That was it. That, and a pack of matches. Chris froze. The scent hit him first—the rich, resinous warmth that had haunted his dream. His chest tightened. His mind screamed, this is just a candle, it’s just a candle, but the heat crawling up his spine begged to disagree.
a/n - anyone catch that fight club reference????? if u did ill kiss u. also this is so fun to write!!
I have to post this because I’m sick of seeing it. All of the Sturniolo fandom is upset right now because they have not posted anything in a couple of days. You guys are aware that you spent a whole week since the last video informing them that they are being stalked. . . Which obviously there is nothing wrong with telling them that, they do need to be informed and aware of the situation.
But you guys have blasted and informed them that they were/are being stalked so ofc they arent going to post. Shit i dont blame them for not posting, but what everyone fails to realize is yes they are aware of the situation, and that they could be taking some serious actions about this hence the not posting.
Guys please remember that the guys are literally human beings. They arent robots to be there at your beckoned call. They are going through something absolutely terrible and incredibly insane rn, so pls stop being mad/upset at them for not posting its actually sad how everyone was so quick to tell them they are being stalked bc you guys “care” so much but the second they dont post a fuck ass yt vid for you guys its the end of the world
Please guys touch some grass. Seriously. They are going through something very serious right now, once again i wouldnt even blame them if the quit social media, they started for fun. They wanted this to be fun. They never asked to be stalked and have such an ungrateful ass fandom.
snowghoul
vaporwave
romaincrisis
baratheonpilled
jacobvanloon
