mikesbian

sapphicz 4 mj

[mikesbian]

— (jeila) jei/jay, 21, black, she/they, michael jackson & vampire lover.

— minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

@mikesbian on twitter

⋆˚࿔⛧ RULES ⋆˚࿔⛧ ABOUT ME ⋆˚࿔⛧ MASTERLIST

— Asks are: OPEN!

— Requests are: PAUSED!

[mikesbian]

Hey everyone. I’m still finishing up my next fic which is unfortunately taking a lot longer than i intended it to (because i have executive dysfunction lol). BUT, i just wanted to ask, would y’all prefer me to use the larger text from now on? I use the smaller one because it looks more aesthetically pleasing to me, but as someone who’s visually impaired, i understand it might be a lil harder for others, especially if they read on their phones. Let me know!!

[mikesbian]

Wine drunk & craving michael jackson crying on his knees for me

[mikesbian]

Anyways, i wanna use this as an opportunity to lift up some of my favorite black writers bc we’re holding it down out here!! 🖤

@plumppies

@michaeldiary

@sweeterners

@multifandomposts-blog

@2222bad

@simp4eshal

@cinnamoncunt

@freakinme

@sgecat

@instinctprt2

@sugarcookiemj

And of course myself!!

[plumppies]

I’m going to say this once and never again. If you don’t agree with me, you’re more than welcome to unfollow and block me. I’m also not a chicken and will be tagging exactly who I’m talking about because this is honestly ridiculous.

I’m going to preface this by saying this isn’t to cause drama or get likes. My account is garnering plenty of engagement from my writing and my personal posts already. This is merely for educational purposes and to shed light on an issue that’s infested the internet for years. This is also NOT just about the MJ fandom but I’m using it as an example because it’s happened here. Again, if you don’t agree with me, unfollow or block me!

I recently followed an account under the impression that they were a black owned blog. Their layout, use of AAVE and black oriented reaction pictures made me believe that I found another black writer to support. But I learned that the owner is a white women.

I want to follow more black writers here to uplift them in a space that is heavily biased against black fans. Situations surrounding belittling black writers in the MJ community have been rampant for a while now so I take it upon myself to support and follow fellow black writers who represent me and many black MJ fans who have felt underrepresented in the fandom.

Back to the issue. Finding out that this account is a white woman behind the scenes upset me quite a bit. I genuinely believed she was one of us and was combating the racial problem within the fandom. That being said, I’d like to point out why this is more than just a ‘I feel scammed’ situation and more about digital dishonesty.

Digital blackface is a massive issues in online communities across the internet. It’s a conversation that has been ongoing for years now, even before I was on the internet. Many people outside of the black diaspora have downplayed it as a problem, stating that free speech shouldn’t be considered black fishing or harmful towards black communities. However, I would like to point out that Digital Blackface is more than just using ‘black media’ to express yourself, it directly impacts how the world views black peoples as a whole.

Accounts on Tumblr and other platforms have popped up pretending to be black people since conception of social media. They use Ebonics and black reaction pictures/gifs as a means of communication which often time leads to real black-owned accounts believing that they are interacting with black people. In hindsight, one would merely say “well it’s not their fault you thought they were black,” and that is exactly the problem.

As I said before, I follow black blogs to uplift my people. The internet is riddled with racism directly impacting black communities. We get called the hard r, monkeys, ghetto, nasty, undesirable etc and platforms don’t bat an eye. Racism towards us is so normalised that it’s bled into every internet fandom. So you see why black people online gravitate towards each other? Because we want a safe space for ourselves. We want to appreciate each other, dote on each other, love, respect and support each other’s art.

How do black folk know that an account is black owned? We use Ebonics, black media and black phrases that only we would know. So you can imagine how disheartening it is to find out that an account using such media would be a white woman behind it.

Nonblack POC or white person reading this might not understand the gravity of this situation but I implore you to read up on it and take time to fully understand why it’s upsetting.

Terms like ‘the saxophones are getting louder” “goofy ahh” “I’m crine” “unc” “Deadass” are AAVE/Ebonics. Finding them on TikTok and incorporating them into your online vocabulary when you’re not apart of that community is a form of digital blackface and cultural appropriation. It’s not Gen Z slang or TikTok slang and it’s not a funny audio just for vibes. It’s BLSCK AMERICAN language.

I’m not BA and I do use Ebonics here and there but I avoid incorporating it into my speech when I don’t understand how to use it properly. And I don’t use much of it because, again, I’m NOT black American. Black Americans have been kind enough to even let black people outside of the United States use their language and I don’t even want them to think that I’m being irresponsible with that privilege.

Now in regards to this situation. I don’t want to hear things like “Michael was for everyone.” Although that was true, you would be really stupid to believe that Michael didn’t understand that black people were/are the most marginalised and racially abused people on the planet. This man grew up in undoubtedly the most racially divided time in USA history. He even spoke out about the industry steals from “especially black artists”. He was aware that black art is abused for white financial and political gain. Black media (whether it be music or simply reaction photos) is art.

So why position yourself in a way that make you appear to us as a black woman @michaelmuse ? Your entire aesthetic is based in a way that draws in a black audience. You use black faces as reaction pics and Ebonics but you draw the line at reblogging black fanfics when you know that this site favours reblogs over comments and likes.

Your previous username (ebonymuse) in itself is indicative of the issue I’m discussing here. ‘Ebony’ is a term primarily used to describe black people. Urban dictionary defines it as “the essence of dark skin that is enriched and plentiful with melanin. greatness. beauty”. It’s even a common term used to define a porn category for to black people. Now the term itself is constantly being critiqued for bordering on being a fetish term, however, you see how it’s for black people? Dark skin people to be exact?

So why is a white woman with white ass skin using that term in their username? I’m a black woman with albinism and even I wouldn’t use that term. Why? Because it isn’t not for my pasty self.

I’ve read some of your fics and this has nothing to do with me wanting diversity or inclusion from you, nor is it to hate on your work. You do use Ebonics in your work so I’m sure you knew that your fics would attract black readers to your blog. Your behaviour (whether you did it intentionally or not) was deceptive and potentially harmful to my community. You need to educate yourself on the contents of this conversation to fully understand how bad this situation actually is. There’s no way you’ve been on the internet and didn’t know that black Americans have been begging nonblack (especially white) folk to stop using their media as your own or as ‘a silly tend’ or to be relatable.

I’ve seen a few black British blogs come to your defence and I’m bewildered to see them pandering for a white woman about something that affects black people as a whole. I myself am not Black American but I will stand by them when their culture and language is diluted and turned into a ‘trend’ for everyone else to steal and appropriate. It’s wrong and it impacts us all. White people (even other POC) don’t separate us. They see one fake black account say stupid things and assume that’s how all of us feel/act. I understand that the UK is differently set up but your low racial self esteem is affecting us all. You let white Brits walk all over you and your culture and you just laugh along like it’s funny. This is why racism there will never end. You let white footballer wear braids, let white folk use AAVE and flat out call your Afros messy and you think it’s not that serious. Stand up. Immediately.

You guys really need to do better. Stop misconstruing Michael’s words to get away with disrespecting black people. You’re becoming just as bad as those who racially attacked him.

With love.

[mikesbian]

My two cents: if you’re making your entire blog pander to black fans by using ebonics, black reaction pics and faceclaims, and making your username EBONYmuse, there’s no way you don’t know what you were doin. Clearly you had enough people fooled for a while. This is digital blackface to a T, and i’m so sick of y’all doin this shit.

[mikesbian]

Next fic is already nearing 20k and i’m nowhere near done with it (might be my first series?)…And it’s also a fantasy au and i know how people get about those…It also has some pretty dark/horror themes…I might try and post a few short drabbles and oneshots in between bc i really miss writing but i’ve been so busy. I’m not ghosting y’all i swear lol

Also thank you all so much for 1.5k?? How’s that even real

[mikesbian]

LOCKJAW — Michael Jackson x F. Black Reader.

— SUMMARY: Michael is an eater.

— WARNINGS: sub!mike, bratty!mike, dubcon if you close your eyes, somnophilia, objectification, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of edging, overstimulation, power play, manipulation tactics, use of ma’am & daddy (nobody’s shocked atp), use of mama (he said it irl y’all cmon), manhandling, lil hair pulling, needy reader, reader’s kinda a pushover. reader is black but there aren’t any descriptive details, everyone enjoy! not proofread!

— WC: 4.3k

— AN: Uh. Wrote half of this while cross faded. Otw mike, you are so dear to me.

Michael couldn’t stop thinking about eating you out.

It plagued his mind constantly. While he showered in the morning, he had to stop his hands from jerking himself while you slept peacefully in bed, his mind fully suffocated with the thought of your cum on his lips. Whenever you would do your morning stretches, he’d have to force his gaze from your crotch, the leggings you wore outlining it too visibly. Of course you weren’t wearing underwear. During meetings with music executives, he’d find himself zoning out with the thought of your thighs crushing his head between them as he devoured your wet core like it was the tastiest thing in existence— and to him, it was.

He had to stop wearing tight pants because of it. His dick was almost permanently erect at the thought of his lanky frame cowering beneath you as he took you to your peak.

Eventually, his longing thoughts turned into actions.

At first, it was almost unnoticeable. He’d purposely been discreet. The way he subtly bit his lip from his place on his knees after helping you put on your shiny burgundy mary janes. The little tortured sound he’d make while you massaged his head on your lap; not from the intimate ministrations of your fingers working through his thick curls, but at the sheer proximity of his lips and your…other lips.

It wasn’t even like you two rarely had sex. You had it more than most. Something you didn’t realize, though, was that he wouldn’t be satisfied unless he gave you head, and lately all you’ve had time for were quickies. It was great, but he was selfish and needy, always wanting more. So, he just started begging for it.

Before you went to work.

“Mama, please. For just a bit? I’ll be quick, I promise. You can make me pay for it if I don’t make you cum quick,” he begged on his knees while you stood above him in your work attire.

“Michael, no. You see that I’m on my way out the door. You’re good, but you ain’t that good. I’m not goin’ to work all pent up and angry. Gimme a kiss.”

When your friends invited you to ladies night at a new bar in town.

“Can’t just let you out lookin’ that good. Gotta remind you who’s waitin’ for you at home, mama. Come on, please? Just need to make sure y’know you’re mine. Please baby, I need it.”

“Boy, get the hell up off your knees and walk me to the door. The girls are outside.”

At every end, he was met with rejection, and it was gnawing at him relentlessly.

So came the wake-up tension. He began to realize he couldn’t function more than a day without his head nuzzled between your soft thighs, so he made it part of his morning routine to eat you out right before he showered, careful enough to not wake you from your slumber. He knew he should’ve asked, but he just couldn’t wait. You just looked so pretty while you slept, sporting a soft pout on your lips and his t-shirt ridden up your torso, exposing your underboob. How could he not?

The thing is, his neediness was in turn making you needy as well. On days where he was in a rush in the mornings and he had absolutely no time to fit oral sex into his schedule, you’d feel almost hollow. You had no idea why. Why were you waking up so horny? Why did you have so many vivid wet dreams?

After waking up yet again with what felt like the entirety of the Pacific Ocean dripping from your pussy for the fourth time this week, you decided to do something about it. You were never one to beg, usually being on the receiving end of it, so it was taking you a while to build up courage. In the end, you decided to just…hint at what wanted. You were just too pent up.

After a cold shower that did nothing to ease the ache between your legs, you made your way to the kitchen in nothing but a silk robe and lacy underwear to call your boyfriend, hoping you would catch him at a good time.

Michael had only been at the record label’s annual sales meeting for two hours and was already ready to go home. It was supposed to be short and sweet, but it droned on and on; music execs and songwriters taking their sweet time cracking jokes and talking about weekend plans. What made it worse was that he found his thoughts drifting right back to your pretty clit, and he got called out at one point for it.

“Aye, Mike! What gotchu smilin’ like that, man?” one of his brothers asked at one point. The smile on his face dropped immediately and he dismissed it as him ‘looking forward to the weekend,’ heat crawling up his neck at nearly being caught. He was losing it.

“Excuse me? Mr. Jackson?” Michael and his brothers turned toward the voice. “Oh– I mean Michael. Your lady’s on the line,” a stubby secretary announced as she barged into the meeting room. “She said it’s urgent,” she added as she saw the board director’s annoyance.

“It’s alright, Michael. We’ve pretty much wrapped up for today. Tell her I say hi,” the director replied.

When he made it to the phone, his heart was pounding in worry.

“Baby? What’s wrong? I’m already havin’ Bill bring the car around. Do I needa call an amb–”

“Mikey, hi!” you responded, sounding way too chipper for something important. You never called him while he was at work.

“Lovey? Can you tell me what’s wrong?” he replied, voice leaking with concern.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…I just. Well, I miss you, baby,” you responded, guilty at your selfishness. You didn’t think about the implications of telling the secretary to say it was ‘urgent,’ and now you felt bad. Michael could practically hear the pout in your voice.

“Oh, baby, I miss you too! My meetin’ just ended, I’m on my way, okay? We can watch Snow White. How’s that sound, mama?” he cooed at you between soft chuckles, his tone sickly sweet. It made you wetter.

“Y-yes, please. Hurry home, ‘kay? I’ll make brunch. I love you,” you responded, trying your best to compose yourself.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell Bill to drive fast as he can without gettin’ us pulled over. See you soon. I love you.”

Click.

Cooking somehow provided a good enough distraction from the growing frustration you had. You hummed to yourself as you cleaned up the mess you made trying to blend up smoothies, giggling to yourself as you imagined your perfect boyfriend making fun of you if he saw it.

You heard the front door creak open and thud shut as soon as you finished setting the quaint dining table and began adjusting the countertop television with the movie.

“Baaaaby!” you exclaimed as your boyfriend entered the room, running into his arms without giving him a moment to set down his stuff. He immediately dropped his things and reciprocated the embrace.

“Oh– Hi, baby. I love this robe on you, n’ you smell so nice,” he replied with his nose in your soft hair.

“You too, pretty boy. Go change n’ come eat. Hurry up, too. I missed you so bad,” you nearly whined at him.

His hand trailed down your back, to the curve of your hips, and then sneakily to the swell of your ass as he peeled himself from your body.

You returned to the kitchen and leaned over the counter to rewind the tape, preoccupied with learning how to master the technology. Long, slender fingers creeped around your waist just as you started getting frustrated, startling you.

“I can help you, baby. Here, let me show you,” Michael whispered against your neck.

You subtly squeezed your thighs together at his breath against your skin.

“M’kay. Just don’t take too long. Don’t want everything gettin’ cold.”

He turned you around and lifted you by your hips, placing you gently against the cold countertop. Kneeling down by your knee, he fumbled with the buttons on the television, demonstrating and explaining different things that were falling on deaf ears. The way his large eyes looked up at you for validation was doing so much more for you than if you were to start playing with yourself right then and there.

“Baby? Did you get that last part? When the remote starts to blin– Oh.” He made eye contact with you then and took a comically audible gulp. The way you were looking at him stopped him in his tracks completely. He looked away bashfully and focused on your knee that was dangling off the counter closest to him. Then, his eyes trailed up your pretty thighs. He leaned in and kissed your knee tenderly, sucking in a sharp breath at the intimate contact.

You reached down and slotted your fingers through his thick hair, massaging his head the way you knew he liked it. The poor boy whimpered like he’d never been touched before.

“C’mon, let’s eat,” you drawled, removing your hand from his hair and biting your lip to hold back a smile.

Michael crawled closer to you, positioning himself between your legs and wrapped his hands around your waist, looking up at you like a thirsty animal in search of water.

“Mama…” he started.

“Michael, I took my time with this meal. Get up,” you ordered.

“Please? I had a hard day n’ I need it. Don’t you want me?” he whined.

“Nuh-uh. None of that. Don’t make me say it again,” you warned.

“‘M sorry, I can’t wait…” he whispered as he forcefully pulled your body closer to his face and pressed his nose to your clothed cunt.

“What the hell did I just say?” you questioned him incredulously, trying to steady yourself.

“Smells so good…” he whispered, completely ignoring your protests. He slid his hands to your hips and hooked his fingers into the waistline of your panties, dragging them down without a care in the world.

You thump him on his forehead harshly, appalled at his defiance. To your disdain, he let out the most pathetic moan you’d ever heard from a man.

“Mmnh– and you’re already wet? Oh, God,” he whined, ignoring the pulsing emanating from his temple.

He struggled getting your underwear down, due to you not wanting to lose the power struggle. You pressed your thighs deeper into the marble and attempted closing your legs, but he harshly sucked the most sensitive part of your inner thigh, causing you to loosen up and give him easy access.

“Mike…” you whined.

“I wanna make you feel good. Please, I’ll do everythin’ the way you like it. I’ll go ‘til I can’t breathe. Just wanna taste you,” he begged, looking up at you with his sparkly eyes. He didn’t wait for an answer, and slid his hands right back up your legs, taking two fingers and dragging them lightly against your clit.

“M-Michael, the food,” you tried again, still not ready to give in so easily. He was winning.

“Don’t you want it, mama? I feel how wet you are. Tell me you want it. Please?” he pressed down just a tad harsher, coaxing the response he wanted out of you with just a movement of his fingers. You were embarrassed by just how much he was turning you on like this.

“It’s g-gonna get cold– ah!” you exclaimed as he pinched your clit.

“Tell me you want it? Unless you don’t…Am I not good enough?” he pouted. You knew the game he was playing. You swore you did. But the face he was making…you were losing all sense of right and wrong. And his fingers were doing something to you, but not enough.

He removed his fingers from your sticky pussy and licked them clean, all while maintaining eye contact and moaning graphically. He was playing every card in his deck. He pulled you even closer and rested your legs against his broad shoulders. You said not a word, for fear of your voice betraying you. Instead, you opted for weak nudges to his cheeks and a tug of his hair, but that only fueled him more.

“I like that,” he teased, looking up at you with a smug smile. You pushed his forehead back with your palm as he neared your bare body, and turned your head defiantly. He giggled and darted his tongue out, dragging it along the insides of your thighs, collecting your arousal.

“I can make you feel good, baby. Please let me. C’mon, look at me n’ say it,” he begged again, breath fanning over your naked crotch. You met his eyes again with a defeated look on your face.

“Please…” you whispered.

“Please what? I’ll do anythin’. Tell me what to do,” Michael responded eagerly.

“At least put away the food?” you said, your unsteady tone posing it like a question.

He got up immediately, not leaving one second wasted. He needed you in his mouth much more than he realized. The food was put in tupperware and the smoothies in a freezer-safe pitcher in mere minutes. He washed his hands and returned to his place between your shaky thighs in record time.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he promised. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah you bet– F-fuck!” you exclaimed as he swirled his tongue around your clit expertly. You rolled your hips forward, not caring enough about your precarious position on the countertop. You were nearly straddling his shoulders.

The sounds coming from between your legs were filthy. An orchestra of moans and slurps and spitting. Michael was moaning more than you were.

“Mike- ngh. More,” you begged, much to your own embarrassment.

“Mmm, want my fingers?” he asked, looking up at you with your arousal coating the entire bottom half of his face. God, he looked like living sin.

“Yes,” you whispered.

He removed your legs from his shoulders and lifted you from the counter, making you straddle his waist as he stumbled into the living room. You fell back against the couch with a soft thump, and he sunk back onto his knees.

“Michael, your knees? Don’t they hurt?” you asked, suddenly all too worried about his comfort level. As if he cared.

“No, but I wouldn’t care if they did. I’ll do anythin’ to make you feel good,” he all but confessed. You bit your lip and pressed your thighs together very conspicuously.

“You like that?” he asked in disbelief.

“Mikey, stop! I’m embarrassed,” you exclaimed. “Whatever, you win. Fine, I want it. I want you. Just go down on me again, baby. It’s hurtin’” you whined.

“Yes, ma’am. Gonna make you feel better. ‘M so sorry.”

He dragged you to the edge of the couch by your ankles and put you back in the same position the two of you were in earlier, except you were much comfier on these cushions. He sucked your clit softly, moaning around it like he was the one being devoured. Taking his middle finger, he probed at your sopping hole, collecting its wetness and spreading it on his index like a natural lube. You pushed into his face harder, practically begging for it.

Catching the silent demand, he pushed his middle finger in, testing how much you could take at the moment. Your hole swallowed him like a pill. The ridges inside your sex were like art to him. Greedily, he shoved his index finger in almost immediately after. He started with a curious pace, slow and searching. His fingers expertly hit your g-spot each time, and the way his fingers curled made you feel like desire personified.

“M-Mikey, oh god! It’s– I can’t think..” you babbled honestly. The double stimulation paired with your sexual frustration was making your brain feel limp.

He moaned against you in response, the vibration sending shivers through your abdomen.

“Yes yes yes yes yeeeees, fuck!” you chanted.

You hated that he made you this easy. Usually your resolve was always up, but you’d never felt this needy in your life. You wanted him to have some sort of punishment for taking without permission. The best way to do that was to tease him.

“F-feels so good daddy, your mouth’s fuckin’ me so good.” ‘Daddy’, the name you used to drive him absolutely insane.

Just as you expected, his free hand came up and gripped one of your thighs for support as he furrowed his brows in concentration; surely on not cumming his pants. He drew in ragged breaths in between whimpers.

“Go faster, daddy. ‘M s-so close,” you whined, rocking your pussy against his tongue as he made it flat for you. Michael was sat so rigid beneath you, you were sure he was gonna cut off the circulation to his dick. He drilled his fingers into you at an unforgiving pace, and you swore you were being called to heaven right there.

He closed his mouth back around your cunt and slid his tongue up and down your folds, collecting more arousal, and pooling it around your clit. He sucked with just enough pressure to make you see stars, and you gripped onto his hair brutally.

“M-Mikey! ‘M gonna– Fuck! Cummi–” you crushed his face between your thighs and screamed bloody mary, holding onto his thick locks for grounding. Your orgasm ripped through you like an earthquake, and your body convulsed violently, all that pent up pressure released on your boyfriend’s face and fingers. He curled them inside you as much as he could while your walls clenched and sucked them in.

He kept licking you, too.

After you came down, you let your legs fall limp against him and detangled your fingers from his hair, trying to use your hands to push yourself back. But he wouldn’t stop going.

“Baby, I came. C-come on, ’m sensitive,” you rasped out, your voice hoarse from basically screaming.

Michael ignored you and kept going, seemingly driven by pure lust.

You grabbed ahold of his hair again and attempted to yank him back, but he stiffened his neck defiantly and gripped your thigh harder, keeping you in place. You whimpered loudly. He looked up at you, removed his fingers from inside you, and shoved them into your open mouth.

The angle was awkward, but god was this side of him sexy.

You moaned around his fingers and sucked at them greedily, trying your hardest not to bite down on them because of how sensitive you felt. Tears streamed down your eyes and you were sniffling loudly. The scene was disgusting.

Your hips stuttered against his tongue as he stuffed his thick tongue into your still leaking hole and back to flick at your clit, over and over.

You were crying his name out around his fingers, trying to warn him that you were going to cum again.

He grazed his teeth against your clit just once, very lightly, and you felt the air get knocked completely from your lungs, as your second orgasm tore through your sweaty body. You were almost choking on his fingers, your robe was drooping lazily off your shoulders, and your ears were ringing; your was body completely spent.

Michael removed his fingers from between your lips, but he kept going at your pussy.

“Michael please. C-can’t take it no more. You did good, daddy. You did really good. You made me feel better, baby. Ngh– f-fuck!” you cried out.

He met your eyes, looking at the way thick tears pooled inside of them, and then his gaze fell to your lips, concentrating on how the bottom one trembled as you cried. You looked like a masterpiece. Just one more. He just wanted one more out of you. Giving you a half-apologetic look, he tore his eyes from your dejected gaze, putting his focus on getting you to cum just one more time.

His jaw began to cramp up, and his tongue was nearly going stuck, but he had a point to prove to nobody but himself. Your lower body vibrated erratically, and the friction against his lips made him whine. This is exactly what he dreamed of. Him below you, offering his mouth to you, and you above him, crying out his name like a prayer.

“Mmmnh,” he moaned against your lips. His dick strained painfully in his briefs. He was oozing so much precum that it seemed like he finished in his pants.

“Close. G’na cum,” you mumbled through sobs of overstimulation. Your vision was too blurry to focus on the look of adoration he gave you.

Steeling himself for your release, he pulled you flush against his face, burying his nose into your pelvis, and he circled his sore tongue against your clit fast and hard.

“Michael! I’m–”

Your vision completely blacked out as your core weeped and your eyes silently cried. It felt like every hole in your body was leaking– your eyes with tears, your mouth with drool, your pussy with sticky cum.

Michael, on the other hand, rode you through the whole thing, rubbing his hands down the length of your sweaty thighs and humming softly against your core. He cleaned up every last drop of cum that poured from you. When you slumped back against the cushions, he finally removed his mouth from your sensitive sex with a whine.

His jaw hurt. He tried to apologize for going overboard, but he couldn’t even move his mouth from the pain. Every tiny movement made his jaw lock up even more.

“C’mere,” you mumbled out to him, craving his embrace.

Michael obliged immediately, ignoring the way his dick throbbed between his legs. He laid his head on your half-exposed breasts, listening to your heartbeat steady itself underneath your chest. He strained his neck to give you a tender kiss on your lips, wincing as he tried opening his mouth to deepen it.

“You okay?” you asked him as you jerked away.

“Mhm,” he replied quickly, attempting to connect your mouths again. You sat up on one of your forearms and used your free hand to guide his face up to you.

“Use your words, baby. Need to know you’re feeling okay. I was a lil’ rough with your hair.” You run your fingers through his coily tresses, massaging the his scalp where you tugged the hardest.

“Think I have lockjaw,” he mumbled without disconnecting his lips, making it come out more like ‘thnkhavlockjw’.

“What?” you questioned him, confused as to why he seemed so reluctant to speak. He rubbed his jawline.

“I– mm. Went too hard. My jaw’s tight.” He bit his lip, seeming…proud of himself for that fact.

“You gave yourself lockjaw just to give me three orgasms? You fuckin’ idiot. You’re a singer!” You pushed his face away playfully and then grabbed onto his jaw again, massaging the sides. He opened his mouth wider, stretching it as the muscles loosened up.

“Mhm, n’ it was worth it! I’d go again if you told me to,” he declared proudly, giving you a suggestive look.

“Hell nah, we still have the whole meal I made for us. I’m hungry. You don’t needa be movin’ that mouth for anything except that food,” you quipped at him.

“I’m sorry, mama. You taste real good, though…” he trailed off, leaning in to catch you in another kiss.

“Nope. We are not doin’ this again. Get the fuck up before I buy myself a chastity belt,” you responded with a chuckle, pushing him away from you and stretching your achy limbs. You stood up, tightened your robe, and extended your hand to drag him with you to the kitchen. “Get up.”

“Okay. I love you so much,” he replied like a lovesick puppy as he let you guide him like one. You giggled at his neediness, eyeing his erection.

“Mhm, I’m sure you do. I’m not lettin’ you touch me again until we eat, by the way. And you’re platin’ everything,” you instructed as you reheated the food, handing him porcelain dishes. You grabbed the smoothies out of the freezer and poured them into glasses, handing him one to try. He took a sip and you caught him in a soft kiss when he pulled his cup away.

“And I love you too, angelface.”

Tags: @simp4eshal @urbanfunkchild @slugstarzz @cndybliss @yenvixx @plumppies @lil6uapa @etherealmikeyj @saiki-enthusiast @kottonkanditits @gyuuchuuu @ggformike @cherubae111 @strangerexee @softchaosdiary505 @deynrulesboisdrool @applehead444 @screamthusiast @ilyliberiangrl @thrillerpilled @bevellin777

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[mikesbian]

Nobody knows that behind this silly fanfic account is a sexy stallion with tattoos and piercings.

[mikesbian]

This one’s probably a littleee out there, but how do we feel about sub 4 sub mike x reader?

sub 4 sub

email me (yes)

girl wtf (no)

Voting ended onJun 29

[mikesbian]

FOREVER, MY NEVERLAND — Michael Jackson

— SUMMARY: Michael’s last journey on the mainland before bidding it farewell for his eternity on Neverland.

— WARNINGS: This is an AU with Michael as Peter Pan. It’s very loosely based on the many interpretations of the fairy tale, but mostly inaccurate/my own interpretation. This story can be very bittersweet if you get the undertones. No major warnings.

— WC: 1.8k

— A/N: Quite different from my usual work, but I couldn’t bear not writing a piece of my heart to the most incredible person to ever live. This story is basically how i view what he did with his life for us. Thank you, Applehead.

Although this piece is all-ages friendly, if you are under the age of 18, please do not click on my account, as it contains adult themes.

On the eve of the 25th day of June, 2009, Michael was struggling with ending his mission. He’d spent his entire lifetime in a helpless and thankless pursuit to help all of the children and animals of the world, to give them a chance to preserve their innocence and happiness.

Today though, he realized he’d finally done it. He finally rid the children and animals of the world of all their worries, helped them escape the fears of their futures.

Life on the mainland was now what most would call a utopia. It was so peaceful, you’d think it were never any other way. And it was like that everywhere. No poverty, no violence, no oppression, just pure joy and love. And it was this way for everyone but Michael.

It was his turn to be scared. He had no grasp of what his life outside of his mission could be, he had spent all of his sentient existence with a one-track mind.

Selfishly, he grew attached to the lifestyle, to the prospect of being a source of hope for the children he tended to. He grew to expect his hot-headed fairy partner on his shoulders, pinching his ears from a two hour slumber to continue their trek to every part of the world, leaving not one stone unturned.

He despised the feeling of anhedonia that threatened to materialize when he made his way to his last family’s home.

୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

— Journal entry before the farewell.

June 24, 2009

As much of a comfort it is to me, I can’t help but feel somewhat guilty for not wanting this journey to end. I wish I had more time. There are so many things I want to do here that I haven’t, that I no longer can. I suppose I’ll get over it after a while, I just cannot help but yearn for things that cannot be true.

Today is my last evening on Earth the mainland. I’m saying goodbye to Wendy, John, and, coincidentally, a little baby named Michael. Well, he is no longer a baby, but that’s how I met him. They’ve all grown up. Mini is 7, John is 12, and Wendy is a teenager now. 15! It’s very fitting that this was my last family. I’ve never spent so long with one family- 5 years! They were very challenging to get through, especially John. He didn’t believe in magic at all, despite his young age. They’d lost their spark. Their parents fought everyday and were unhappy with their financial situations, and thus, in the marriage. After I’d done some secret but hard work getting the world to unlearn their toxic dependency on currency, they’ve been happier than ever, and so have the kids.

The children used to want to join the Lost Boys or even accompany me on my travels. Of course, I repeatedly told them no. But after getting them to understand the downside to being a lost boy, or even myself, they began to appreciate the world in front of them, even though at the time it wasn’t ideal.

But, journal, this is so hard. I’ve spent my life on this mission since the age of 5, when that (un)fateful night, Hook kidnapped me from my bedroom. I always wondered: why me? But, looking back on it, I’m most certainly glad it had been me and not any of my sweet siblings. Anyway, it’s hard because not knowing what greets me on Neverland after the end of this is scary. It will most certainly be magical and wonderful, but I don’t know how to exist without a mission. And now it’s done.

Tonight, I’m flying the children over their city one last time. My purpose in doing this is to point out the things that have been positively changed since my helping there. I know they’ll absorb everything immediately, they’re very bright. And perhaps that brightness is what I’ll miss. They’re like children to me. Like my own children.

I know these are irrational worries. I will eventually settle into the joy of having brought joy to the world. There will be nothing to be upset about because upset should no longer exist. Actually, as I write, I’m feeling more optimistic about everything.

Thank you for being my comfort throughout my life, dear diary. Although you are physically my 59th journal, you feel like the 59th chapter of the whole book, of my life.

Love you always,

MJ.

୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

“And that right there is the spot I found you all hiding from your parents in!” Michael exclaimed cheerily. They were flying above town with the support of pixie dust, Michael pointing at a corner by a convenience store where the kids holed themselves up in a box after running away from home. Their parents had their worst fight yet, and all the children wanted was happiness, and they figured the only joy they could receive was from each other, so they ran away. The memory was a silly one for all of them now.

“We were so defiant!” John giggled.

“Defiant. That’s a fantastic word, John!” Michael complimented with a swell of pride in his heart.

“And you used to be so unbelieving, John. Now you know how to have fun!” Wendy joked.

It was true. John used to deny help from Michael during their first meetings. He often acted as the older sibling, having only been the middle child, because he felt it to be his responsibility to step up once their home life started going awry. Now, he truly allowed himself to just be a child, to learn things at a child’s pace, and not throw himself into the adult world and philosophy as he used to.

Michael led the children towards the beach a few minutes away from their cozy home, ducking his body down to meet the sandy hill overlooking the quiet waves. They all landed softly and stared out at the ocean, lost in peaceful thought. Michael thought about the growth in Wendy, as well.

She was very timid when he first met them. And very very protective of her brothers, almost overbearingly so. It was heartbreaking. She reminded Michael of his younger self, both during his short childhood on the mainland, and his extended one with the Lost Boys on neverland.

Now, Wendy was confident and more nurturing, less controlling than she was used to. She seemed to exude peace from every pore of her being. At one point, she told Michael that she adapted that trait from him. She viewed him as a peaceful person, and she made it her personal goal to be just like him.

Even baby Michael (adult Michael nicknamed him ‘Mini’) had grown, and he wasn’t a baby anymore. Standing tall at adult Michael’s waist, he was now almost 7 years old! And he was so articulate, now. The other day, Mini stumped Michael when he asked him if he knew what it meant to be presumptuous. Not because he hadn’t known, but because Mini even knew the word.

Now, he sat on the soft sand with the children surrounding him in a peaceful quiet. The moon was shining beautifully in the indigo sky, the stars around it shimmering like jewels. They sat like that for an hour, just drinking their new reality in, and with Michael still not ready to say farewell.

Realizing he needed to allow the children to get their proper rest for their day ahead- they were going on a family trip- he finally broke the silence, standing up and telling them it was time to get settled in bed.

Dipping his hand into the brown pocket bag dangling from his waist, and sprinkled some onto reach of the children, and then himself.

“Off we go!” he announced, as the group took off toward the house.

୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

17 minutes later, admittedly longer than they should’ve taken, the group made it inside of the warm home through their bedroom window.

Michael now felt ready. He tucked in 13 year old John first.

“Goodnight, John. Thank you for challenging my intelligence and teaching me another facet of responsibility. I will take that piece of you with me when I go.” He hugged him tightly, and tucked in Wendy next, although, at 15, she was now old enough not to need him to anymore.

“Goodnight, Wendy. Thank you for being a mirror of myself in the best way possible. You taught me how I should behave and walk through life, even if it seemed like I already was that way. You’ve shown me that it is possible to be as peaceful and caring of a person as you are. I will take that knowledge with me, as well.” He patted her head, knowing she was awkward with hugs these days, and walked up to Mini, lifting him up and placing him in his own bed.

“And Mini. My little me. Goodnight, Michael. Thank you for giving me the joy I’d always craved. The experience of being an older brother and even in some ways a father, to a baby. You’re like a sponge for intelligence and experience, I’m sure you’ll have discovered the meaning of life by the age of 12! I will be taking your open mindedness and patience with me as I go.” Michael handed Mini his old, battered teddy bear, and tucked it right into his arms, making sure to give both Mini and the toy a peck on their heads.

“Thank you, Michael,” they said simultaneously, having practiced it earlier. They’d miss their memories with him, but they were eager for the optimistic way their futures were looking. They would be alright.

Michae smiled at them fondly and took in the scene around him, looking at the little drawings they’d made together on their walls and the rip in a boot one of them got while playing tag with him. He stepped up onto their windowsill, opening it and taking in the night air. He took one look over his shoulder, waved, and turned back towards his exit, ready for takeoff.

Mini still had one question, though. One that weighed on his little heart just a bit. Having been so young through most of their memories, he hasn’t yet understood just exactly how their bleak world would stay the almost fantasy it currently was.

“What are we supposed to do if we’re lost or confused, Michael?” the child had asked him.

“Just call my name.” He didn’t finish the saying, the continuation of his slogan: Just call my name, I’ll be there. Because he wouldn’t. He’d be in his forever paradise, and he knew that his mission was complete because they would always and forever be in theirs. The children no longer needed him, and they wouldn’t in the future, either.

“Goodnight, Michael,” John whispered on deaf ears, more for himself.

Sprinkling more pixie dust onto himself and tossing the remains in the bag onto their nightstand, he took a deep breath, savoring the familiar scent of warm sugar cookies that always seemed to cling to their home. With a smile and a new sense of pride and optimism, he leapt out of their window, embarking on his final journey: home.

He was to enjoy his eternity in his forever, Neverland.

Tags: @simp4eshal @urbanfunkchild @slugstarzz @cndybliss @yenvixx @plumppies @lil6uapa @etherealmikeyj @saiki-enthusiast @kottonkanditits @gyuuchuuu @ggformike @cherubae111 @strangerexee @softchaosdiary505 @devynrulesboisdrool @applehead444

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art creds: @pelumipng

[mikesbian]

⟢ Calling sub!mikey daddy — 18+ (mdni)

I’m probably so annoying about this because i incorporate it into basically every fic, but i just…can’t stop writing you calling michael daddy solely to tease him, and not even because you like it for yourself. You do it just to get a rise out of him too, not even only in sexual contexts. You’ll greet him in your living room after a studio session, already feeling pent up from a day without his touch and wanting to tease him. “Hi daddy, how was work?” You’ll be golfing with him and his siblings and remember that they call him big daddy as a joke, so you join in because you know it’s different when you say it. “Yeah, big daddy. I thought you were good at golf.” He’ll be balls deep inside of you, and you can feel his dick twitch, signaling he’s closer to his unraveling, so you give him that extra push he loves to hear from you. “F-fuck, daddy. Cum inside. Make me a mommy.”

The only satisfaction you get from it is his reaction; he’ll be flustered and it’ll stroke his ego a LOT, mostly because that’s the kind of stuff he saw in porn when he was inexperienced, so it makes him less insecure about being submissive. But it’ll also mindfuck him because how’s he daddy but you’re always in charge? Isn’t that reserved for girls who let their guys take control? Why does being called a name with such…assertiveness behind it but being a living footstool for you turn him on so much? As much as he enjoys it, he still feigns being disinterested with the honorific.

The first time you say it, he almost loses his shit. “Oh, God. That’s so dirty!” he’ll giggle, trying to ignore the way it makes blood flow through his whole body. Or, the first time you actually find out about the siblings’ big daddy joke, and he gets flustered because of the devious look on your face at the information. When you two sneak off from the group, he almost…cockily explains to you how the nickname is because of his star power. “Yeah, they call me that because of all the girls who used to say it to me on tour…Feels special comin’ from you though.” And there are the times where you’ll have been teasing him all day, letting him “play” dominant outside in public but making him try to take everything he wants in bed, saying stuff like “You want me to touch you? Oh, but you’re daddy, remember? You should know exactly what to do. You should know how to take it on your own,” and he’ll respond by saying “S-stop calling me that,” or, “You’re right, I’m not daddy. I’ll stop pretendin’, please” or, “No…I’m angelface…” when he’s at his weakest.

⋆˚࿔

A/N: Can you guys tell i love power play

[mikesbian]

TORTURE — Michael Jackson x F. Reader.

— SUMMARY: Michael is always so shy whenever you two are intimate, so you work him up so you can hear him pleasure himself while you “sleep.”

— WARNINGS: sub!mike, masturbation (m), whining, voyeurism, getting caught, humiliation kink, somnophilia, use of daddy to tease, use of mama, smut with not much plot (who cheered), not proofread (yet!)

— WC: 2.2k

— A/N: Loosely ib this tweet. Took me forever to get around to this because i wanted it to be perfect, but i got wine drunk and wrote this in one sitting lol..

“C’mere ‘n kiss me, pretty boy.”

You knew that was gonna get him going, and that’s exactly why you said it.

Michael practically flew to the bed after shutting off your shared bedroom’s light and almost throwing his reading glasses on his nightstand. A small part of you wanted to roll your eyes at the subconscious action; he never wanted the lights on, and all you wanted to do was see his pretty face contorted in pleasure while he fucked you into the sheets. The only light coming through the room was from the TV on your dresser, silently humming in the background.

“Mmm, you smell so good,” he whispered to you shyly in between pecks.

You knew. You took extra time with your skincare and shower tonight, purposefully applying lotions and body oils that you noticed made him crazy.

Making a conscious decision not to give him any sort of relief, you changed your position from being on your side to straddling his thighs, careful not to to grind the prominent bulge growing underneath his endearing money-print pajamas. He wasn’t wearing underwear, perfect.

He pulled away, eyeing you with heavy lids. He was so easy for you and you took advantage of that fact any time you could.

“This lil’ number…You look perfect. Like a doll.” He bit his lip and adjusted your strap as his gaze traveled down the length of the red slip dress you were wearing. His favorite color.

Cupping the back of your neck with his hand, he pulled you in for another kiss, this one hungrier than the last.

His tongue immediately darted into your mouth the moment your lips parted, wasting no time for a buildup. He was starving.

You pulled away as far as you could with his strong grip on your neck.

“Someone’s a little eager. You hungry, daddy?” you teased, drawing out ‘daddy’ the way you did when you wanted to push his buttons. It worked. He made a little tortured sound at the back of his throat and cleared it to hide it.

Irritated with his bashfulness, you started slowly grinding against his thighs, stopping just short of his surely leaking sex.

“‘Cause I am,” you added.

He fluttered his eyes, not leaving them closed nor open, torn between shutting them in anticipated pleasure or watching the dreamlike scene in front of him.

“Stop hidin’. I wanna see those pretty eyes. Please, baby?” you asked him sweetly. The two of you loved this little game you had; you pretended he was daddy, and you asked him please, and you told him thank you, but you were always in control. Something about the act of asking for ‘permission’ and taking the ‘control’ from Michael added to the fun.

His eyeballs flew open immediately, almost comically bulging. Leaning down teasingly slow, you connected your lips once again, and his large hand, still at the nape of your neck, held you impossibly close. With your tongues swirling and your core still grinding painfully close to his, he was swimming in need. It only worsened when you started moaning into his mouth like a cat in heat. He wanted to whine out so badly, but the idea of you hearing how pathetic he was getting stopped him.

His free hand snaked its way to your waist and attempted to pull you closer, to break that infinitesimal gap between you. Not wanting to give in, you slapped it away harshly and placed your hand on his neck, daring to squeeze.

“Oh, God. You’re gonna drive me insane, baby. Please,” he almost whined. He attempted to dive back in for another kiss to conceal how flustered he was. You pressed your other hand to his chest and pushed him into the pillows.

“Whatcha pleadin’ for?” you questioned seductively, tightening the grip around his neck ever so slightly.

“C’mon, you gonna make me say it?” He looked at you, offended.

“Use your words, love. I’m not a mind reader y’know.” You felt on top of the world.

Michael was soaking through his pajama pants now; you could feel a wet spot on its fabric. With this in mind, you faked a yawn, setting your plan into action.

He still said nothing.

“Mmm, well I’m tired. Gonna go to sleep, ‘kay?” You adjusted your hands and position on top of him so fast, it seemed almost impossible that you were close to making him cum untouched.

“W-wait, we didn’t even get to do…I want…” he trailed off.

“Hm?” You pretended to be confused, feeling him adjust himself beneath you.

“I…ah-” Your body pressed against his hard on, as you pretended to innocently give him a hug, “N-nothing. G’night, angel. I love you.”

You pressed a kiss to his chin, shifting your hips against his again, and whispered, “I love you, Mikey. Gonna dream of you.”

He slightly titled his body over to let you roll off of him, and tucked you under the blankets tenderly, trying his hardest to ignore the unattended lust growing inside of him.

Michael decided to try and pay attention to the old black & white comedy on television, but every few minutes, he’d take a look at you and his dick would throb hungrily. You were wearing nothing under your slip dress, and your bare ass and sticky folds were peeking through the edge of the blanket on top of you.

After about 10 minutes, you made a show of taking loud, even breaths in an attempt to prove that you’d fallen asleep. You started softly sighing and whimpering ever so slightly—the way you knew you always did in your sleep—only this time more suggestively.

Around minute 14, you’d almost given up on the whole act, realizing Michael was probably too shy to even think about touching himself next to you, even if you were asleep. You were wrong.

He couldn’t take it. He tried. Really, truly tried, but he was hurting, and it’s not like he’d have to tell you.

Hesitantly, after lifting the blanket off of your backside to reveal your naked body to him some more, he quietly drooled into his hand and dipped it into his pants. His fingers lingered on his pelvis, trailing teasing paths around the area just like you would. The thought of your hand there made him lose himself too quickly, and his wet and sticky hand found his sore dick and tugged graciously from base to tip.

The absolute…pervertedness of his actions only somehow turned him on more. The fact that you could wake up to take a sip of water, or you could turn over to him wanting to cuddle…It all added to the desire.

A secret part of him wanted to be caught. To be humiliated by you seeing the worked up state you coaxed him into.

The waistband of his pajama pants became a barrier, a nuisance of an obstacle stopping him from experiencing the extent of pleasure that he wanted to. If he was gonna do this, he might as well go all the way, right?

So, he slid them off with his legs, not enough care in his mind to see if the movement made you stir in your sleep.

He jerked himself with an easier motion now: up and twist, and down and tug, and up and twist. Over and over and over. The exact way you did with both of your pretty hands.

“Mmph,” he whimpered. Silently, but it was still louder than he’d usually let you hear.

Your heart pounded brutally. He was really doing it.

Being greedy, you stirred a bit in your ‘sleep,’ positioning yourself in between being on your back and on your side, in his direction. You let out a theatrical sleepy moan, and Michael froze.

He looked you over for a bit, focusing on your face to make sure you weren’t looking. Then, his horny gaze flitted to what was in between your thighs, wide open and fully on display for him. He continued.

She’s still so wet for me, he thought to himself.

The truth was, you were unfortunately getting wetter and wetter just by hearing him while you were turned around.

Facing him without watching was proving to be a challenge though, because he started making noise, and lots of it.

“God– yes. Please…please…” he begged. He was still looking at you through lidded eyes and tugging his dick at a relentlessly slow pace, imagining you teasing him and making him beg for it.

You squeezed your thighs together a little too harshly, feeling the pressure on your clit at the action.

He looked at you more intensely then, still pumping himself, but taken by surprise at the loud slap of your legs closing.

“No…” he whispered to himself. He wanted you to stay spread.

He reached his free hand over and separated your legs again, taking in just how close you’d gotten to him while you tossed and turned. The scent of your body oil hit the back of his throat at the same time he twisted his wrist at his tip, and he moaned. A full, throaty moan of erotic pleasure and need, and he didn’t even care.

Still having half a mind not to wake you, he ghosted his fingers over one of your inner thighs. He needed to touch you. To ground himself. That only made it worse, though, because he felt your arousal half dried on your thigh.

“O-oh. Angel, please...L-love it when…” He was speaking nonsense now, just saying any thought that came into his head. He’s never been this loud masturbating even completely alone.

His pumping grew faster, and you could hear the lewd sounds of his precum and spit squelching around his patterned dick. You wanted to look so badly.

“P…lease, I-I’ll be good. Please, please…” he babbled.

What’s he thinkin’ about? you wondered to yourself.

He was trying to edge himself. Just like you did. He was gripping his base harder and speeding up his jerking just the way you would whenever you were working him to an orgasm, only to snatch it away from him.

His hand snaked closer to your pussy, and he collected the arousal. He was craving this. He stuffed his fingers into his mouth, and his eyes fluttered shut at the taste.

“Ngh, so good, b-baby,” he moaned around his fingers, complimenting his mind’s imagination of you. He was being unabashedly loud now, the desire to be caught fucking his own fist like a needy loser ever growing.

The feeling of your body heat next to him while he did this was only adding fuel to the fire rising to his abdomen. He was so close. Droplets of his precum were landing on his pelvis in bursts.

“So close– ngh– ahh– I need–” He yanked his hand away immediately, having almost orgasmed.

“Dammit…” he protested to nobody. Removing his fingers from his drooling mouth, he looked at you and started pumping his crying sex slowly again.

“S-so pretty…” He scooted closer to you, his shoulder grazing yours, and placed his hand right back on top of your sticky pussy.

“‘M sorry, mama. Th-this is so dirty..” he apologized as if you could hear him. It was more to spare his own guilt, though. Your eyes fluttered slightly, and he traced one long finger across your clit, making you mewl silently. At the sight and sound of you getting worked up in your ‘sleep,’ he grew even more desperate than before. The pace he had set for himself quickened, and he flattened his hand against your folds. He wasn’t moving it, he just wanted to feel you.

Up, twist, down, yank, up, twist, down, tug.

His pace was almost unforgiving, his hand was moving so fast he couldn’t even believe he was doing it himself. The atmosphere felt electric. His precum was settling between the webs of his fingers, he was fully twitching against your side, and his eyes never left the sight of his huge hand blanketing your core.

“F-fu…I’m…AGH–” His body jolted upwards and his scream caught in the back of his throat. The pressure of Michael’s release felt like a water balloon hitting asphalt; a violent shatter. His toes curled in a way that would surely make them cramp later, he gripped your inner thigh, and his hips stuttered and spasmed as he milked himself dry. He moaned and whimpered and cried and thanked your relaxed figure.

Your heart was hammering, and you squinted just enough to see him in this state. He was beautiful. His hair was stuck to his forehead and flat against the back of his head. Cum was splattered against his abdomen, thighs, and pelvis. His mouth was shaped in an ‘O’, and his eyebrows were knotted so tight, it looked like it should hurt. You were awestruck.

He finally fell limp after what felt like the longest orgasm known to humankind, and he slid his hand off of you and scooted away a bit. His mind was unfogging just enough to care about your personal space and beauty sleep now.

Breathing finally even, he stretched his hands up and took a deep breath, feeling unbelievably satisfied and guilty.

Your eyes were fully open now, staring the side of his head down, and he hadn’t noticed. Reaching over silently, you swiped a droplet of cum off of his stomach and sucked your finger, moaning around it loudly. His heart nearly fell to his toes when he looked at you, guilt written all over his face.

“Thanks for the show, daddy. You sing beautifully.”

Tags: @simp4eshal @urbanfunkchild @slugstarzz @cndybliss @yenvixx @plumppies @lil6uapa @etherealmikeyj @saiki-enthusiast @kottonkanditits @gyuuchuuu @ggformike @cherubae111

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[mikesbian]

Damn, everybody mad as fuck…Remember that it’s just a story and there is a HUMAN BEING behind this account lmao?? Be respectful.

Anyways, i got like 4 stories in the drafts that i’m working on simultaneously. Behave!!!! Or mommy not feedin y’all 💋

[mikesbian]

YOUR WAYS — Michael Jackson x F. Reader

— SUMMARY: Michael felt rejected and decided to make you feel the same way. Little did he know, he was making it worse for himself.

— WARNINGS: sub!mike, bratty mike, sexual tension, lowkey angst with a hint of smut atp, lots of arguing, whole house petty, michael is genuinely sick and twisted i’m so sorry, fake (?) cheating, both trying to make each other jealous, they say mean things but they love each other guys, humiliation kink, insecurity, use of ma’am, use of traffic light system, handjob, free use kink, unprotected p in v, creampie, no aftercare, this is a long one. not proofread (yet!)

— WC: 8.5k (don’t say damn..)

— A/N: That third photo screams bratty mike and you can’t tell me otherwise idc. Also, I’m sure you can guess who exactly the model is. I refuse to say her full name, but ifykyk.

Yeah, this boy went and lost his damn mind.

Michael had been pushing your buttons that whole day. It’s not like you didn’t enjoy his presence or crave his affection, but seriously?

First, came him interrupting your sleep.

He woke you up at 5:42am on Saturday morning. His curly head was in between your legs and he was eating you like you were his long awaited breakfast. Any other day? Fine. Even exceptional, but you had a long week behind you, and a busy one ahead of you. He knew that. You wanted to sleep, and being awoken only two hours into it was not helping. You firmly, but gently, shoved his head away and gave him a stern “Enough.”

Then, came his sulking.

When you finally woke up at 9:08am, groggy and irritated, you decided to try and wind down by cooking for the two of you. He still hadn’t built up the courage to touch you again. He always came up and gave you soft kisses to your neck while you flipped pancakes. He was in his head though, after laying in your shared bed feeling rejected when you sharply ordered him to leave you alone. All he wanted to do was make his favorite girl feel happy and give you some kind of reward for working so hard this week. He didn’t mean to get so lost in the maze of your core that he’d wake you up.

So, because of his own embarrassment, he’d been sighing dramatically and setting things down on tables and counters just slightly too loud. To anyone else, it’d seem normal, but you knew Michael. He was begging for your attention. After he decided not to accompany you while you cooked like he usually did, though, you weren’t gonna cave in and give it him.

The last straw, though? The phone calls.

Long after eating together in suffocating silence – both of you too stubborn to break it – the two of you drifted off to your separate workspaces in your shared home. You were getting things in order for the upcoming Tuesday. Michael was being awarded the Guinness World Record for the best-selling album of all time for Thriller. That meant you needed to make sure you were caught up with work and that you had time to relax before accompanying your star-studded boyfriend to the highly publicized event.

Michael, on the other hand, was doing a whole bunch of nothing. Not because he didn’t need to, but because he couldn’t. He tried writing, he tried finishing up painted portraits for some of his industry peers, he even popped Peter Pan into the room’s tiny VCR, but even that couldn’t catch his attention.

Surely she’ll say somethin’ to me, right? He thought to himself after the movie was about halfway through.

But, you hadn’t. You didn’t even say anything to him for not joining you in the kitchen; something he stubbornly did just to get you to finally acknowledge him. So, he decided to a phone call. He didn’t have much to talk about, he just wanted to be petty.

“Hey, Q!” he said obnoxiously loud, loud enough for you to hear through your closed office door.

You were elbows deep into your work when you heard your boyfriend’s laughter drift through the vents of your office. You couldn’t tell what exactly what he was talking about, but you were sure it was his producer, Quincy Jones, on the other line. He would be joining the two of you to the ceremony, and he must’ve been ironing out details like you were.

Cute, you thought to yourself.

Then, it got ugly real, real fast. At some point, you finally had to walk down the hallway into his room and ask him to lower his voice.

“I’m makin’ some business calls. Could you just be a bit quieter please?” you’d asked him politely.

“Mmm, she speaks!” he joked, and you heard Quincy laugh over the phone’s receiver as well. Had he told him about your mood today? You shrugged it off as he covered the phone and responded, “Yeah, I’ll tone it down some,” and went back to his conversation like your interruption was as unimportant as an infomercial. The interaction left you a bit unnerved, but you’d check him about it later.

You were only able to make it to your second phone call when you heard the hooting and hollering from his office yet again. You tried to ignore it, you really did, but you were sleep deprived, annoyed, and embarrassed because you knew he’d been talking about you. You mumbled out a quick goodbye to your coworker and slammed your phone down, already halfway through your door. You started storming down the hallway once more.

“I thought I asked you to be quiet,” you said as his door flew open, hands on your hips. Michael ignored you and kept speaking on the phone.

“Yeah, and I was thinkin’ of changin’ some of our plans for that event…No- yeah, Tuesday’s,” he continued on.

“Hello?” you questioned him, waving your hands in his face. He covered the receiver and looked up to you briefly.

“One sec,” he responded shortly.

“Yeah. So, I was thinkin’ we invite Brooke. Yeah, she was my date-” he annoyingly emphasized this, “to the last event as well, before I went public with my girl.”

“Michael, hang up,” you spat out, any patience you had left long gone. He still ignored you.

“Yeah, not sure if she’ll like that. Brooke will be a good time, though. I’ll let her know…Mhm, yeah I’ll call you up later.” He finally hung up that stupid phone.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked you innocently. You were heated.

“Are you actually serious? You can be a lil pissy about me not wanting you to eat me out, that’s fine. I’ll let it slide for the first couple of hours. It’s been damn near twelve, Michael. I have important shit to handle, for you and your important event. I asked you politely to be quiet and I even let it slide when you continued not to be.” You stared at him wildly, gasping for air after saying everything in one breath.

“I’m off the phone now. You can continue,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders and he started dialing another number.

“Not even an apology? Yeah, forget it. I’ll sleep in my office tonight, too,” you said in a fit of anger as you stormed back to your workspace.

Who the hell did this boy think he was? You spent at least 10 minutes pacing back and forth enough to wear a hole into your carpet. You couldn’t even concentrate on your work anymore, unspoken words settled on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to tell him to grow up, to kiss you, to fuck himself.

Without thinking, your legs started down that short but treacherous path of your hallway. You were about to knock when you realized he’d actually gotten quiet this time. Curious, you touched your hand to the doorknob before freezing. You heard him giggling at some feminine voice coming in through his phone.

“Yeah, and if anything, we can just say that you’re my date. Y’know, to soften the blow. ‘M sure she’ll be fine with-” You flew into the room once more, seething.

“Oh, so you’re fine with pretending to date another girl? All over some head, Michael? You done lost your damn mind. Hang up, now. Or I will.”

“Wai-” he started.

You yanked the phone from his grip by its cord and hung up his call.

“You gon’ explain yourself?” you asked him impatiently.

“You’re bein’ mean, Brooke’s a safe date. Nothin’ to it,” he said, too nonchalantly.

“I’m being mea- Michael. Do you know how fucking exhausted I am? I’m sitting here wrapping shit up for you, to show up for you, for an award you’re winning, and you can’t keep your needy ass hands off of me to sleep for more than two fucking hours. I’ve been patient and calm with you and you decided to start acting like a fucking neglected puppy by pouting and being annoyingly loud and calling up a random ass model to be your ‘backup date.’ What the fuck is your goal, here? Because I can promise you I wasn’t you to touch me even less than I did earlier,” you ranted.

“She’s not a random model, she’s my close friend,” he responded calmly.

You just about lost it.

“That’s all you fuckin’ took from that? You know what? She so close to you, gon’ head and have her come along! Let her take all the important pictures with you too! And leave me the fuck alone for the night.”

The rest of the night, neither of you spoke to each other, save for him coming into your office quietly to say goodnight and check to see if you were actually set on sleeping on the sofa in there. You were. He gave you a kiss to your forehead as you pretended to be asleep, and softly closed its door.

The next day was super tense. You accompanied him to his childhood home in Encino for a get together his family was having. The two of you tried to appear as though everything was fine, holding onto each other, choosing the other as your teammate for board games, and even sharing the chore of washing dishes. At one point, though, La Toya, his older sister, pulled you to the side and questioned you.

“Why are the two of you actin’ so weird? Y’all have your first fight?” she asked in soft voice.

“We’re fine, Toya. He’s still just nervous with me around the family, I guess,” you lied. You’d been together for over three years by now, so the fib made no sense, but she believed you anyway.

The night at home was spent identically to the previous one. Your back was in pain from sleeping on the small office couch, though, so you slept in bed this time.

“I love you,” he whispered as you settled into bed next to him.

“I love you too,” you responded hastily.

“Can we cuddle?” he asked hesitantly.

“Do you think you deserve a cuddle?” you asked him back. He sat in silence as you got your answer and drifted off to sleep.

Monday morning rolled along, and you were sick of the tension. After you finished showering and getting dressed for work, you headed to the kitchen to make Michael and yourself some breakfast as an olive branch. You expected to see him lazing in his favorite chair at the kitchen island, reading the paper. What you weren’t expecting was the handwritten note sitting in his place.

At a fitting with Q. See you when you’re home. — Applehead

Your stomach sunk and you decided to miss the most important meal of the day.

Michael knew he was wrong. He knew he was wrong to be loud when you were working. He knew he was wrong to offer another girl to be his date while his girl was standing right front of him. He knew it was wrong to write a note and not end it with an I love you. But, he couldn’t stop something deep in him for loving the tension this was creating, and for that, he knew he was even more wrong.

His fitting went by in what seemed like a blur, due to his brain being preoccupied. He would start feeling guilty for his behavior, then he’d immediately get butterflies in his stomach at the thought of you worried up and angry with him. Every phone ring he heard in his dressing room would send his stomach into knots, hoping it was you, but it wasn’t, and then he’d be ashamed again.

Brooke, his model friend, had turned up near the end for her own dress fitting for tomorrow night, and her presence distracted him just enough to appear normal again. They chatted about nonsense, and he stayed outside her door until she finished her fitting, offering to grab lunch with her at yours and his favorite lunch spot near home afterwards.

What a stupid idea.

You’d gotten off of work early because your duties at work weren’t needed. Your employees picked up extra work to keep ahead while you were taking time off for your boyfriend, and although you were grateful, you were upset because you had next to nothing to do. You stayed longer than you should’ve, and once you realized you were just wasting time, you headed out and decided to comfort yourself with lunch from your favorite place.

As soon as you walked into the restaurant, though, your heart flipped. Because standing in line in front of you was one of Michael’s security guards, ordering two meals. One of them was your boyfriend’s usual, and the other was unknown.

“Hi, Maurice! Is he here?” you asked him almost cheerily, he referring to Michael. You figured it was for Michael and Bill, and considered riding home with them and having Maurice take your car for you so you could catch up with Michael.

“Yep, he’s in the car out back. I can place your order too, if you’d like?” he offered politely.

“Yes, thank you! I’ll take my usual as well. Can you drive my car home for me, too?” you asked him, handing him your keys.

“No worries, hun. I’ll see you later.”

You snuck around the building and walked over to the car’s usual hiding place with an extra bounce in your step. You were ready to put the petty distance behind you and cuddle with your boyfriend again.

You opened the door without warning, and were met with a sourness so potent, you nearly hurled over and puked. She was there. And your boyfriend was sitting a little too close to her looking a little too comfortable.

“The fuck?” was all you could say.

“H-hi, baby. She’s just-”

“Brooke. Maurice will be here in a few minutes with my car. Tell him I said he could drive you home. Have a lovely day,” you interrupted him calmly. There was a pause. You raised your brow ever so slightly, and she exited this car with a quick apology. You slid in and took her place–your place– next to him, without a word.

“It’s not what you think. She just had her fitting after mine a-and I offered her lunch-”

“At our favorite spot,” you interrupted again, still too calmly.

“…Yes, but it’s just cuz I was cravin’ it-”

“And you didn’t leave a message to let me know she’d be with you. Nor did you think to let me know you were getting it so you could get some for me for later. Interesting.”

You could hear him stop breathing.

“And what was the fitting for, Michael? So she could be your date for tomorrow?”

“Wait. No, no you said-”

“You’re clueless. Bill, drive us home, please,” you asked evenly as you rolled the SUV’s partition halfway down. The fact that it was even up in the first place…You didn’t want to get into this in front of Bill, the situation already leaving you embarrassed. Fuck the food.

Unfortunately for Michael, your demeanor only egged him on. Because, yes. He knew that taking Brooke to your place wasn’t okay, and he knew offering her a ride home in his private car was disrespectful. He hadn’t expected you to be there, but that made it worse. You were so close to snapping, and he was so close to begging for it.

The car hadn’t even been fully brought to a stop before you were opening the door and yelling out a quick, “Thanks, Bill!” You intentionally let the door close in Michael’s face.

Michael couldn’t fight the shit-eating smirk that plastered across his face as he bid Bill a goodbye, the older man looking at him in pure confusion.

When he slowly slugged through the front door and walked the timid path to the dining room, savoring the tension, his breath was nearly taken away at the sight of you. You were fuming, your posture was unforgiving, hands clasped on the table like you were preparing to reprimand him, and you were beautiful.

“Sit down.”

His feet reacted before his mind could, and he sat in the chair directly across from you, waiting.

“Do you think this is a game to me?” you asked him in a tone so cool, his bones chilled.

“I’m not playin’ any game. I just thought it would be alright with you.”

Lie.

“Why would I be okay with knowing you’re still gettin’ her fitted for dresses and takin’ her to our favorite spot. Or with seein’ her in our car?”

“She’s my friend. I didn’t wanna uninvite her last minute.”

Lie.

“But you can invite her last minute? M’kay. And what exactly is she gonna be there for? To make me look like some side piece? To stroke your ego?”

To make you jealous, he wanted to say.

“To keep up appearances. She’s always been my date to these sorta things. I don’t wanna discard her,” he responded instead.

“You’re okay with discarding me in the process though? Do you see how fucked up that is? I’m your girlfriend. Or is this your way of getting rid of me?” you asked him, your anger cracking through your calm facade.

“She’s still coming. The press is expecting her. They’re expecting both of you. Q’s gonna be with us too, so it’ll look like a group thing,” he tried to amend.

“Then I guess I’ll be Q’s date, and you can prance around with the pretty white model all night,” you added with a shrug, pushing your chair out and walking away.

“You’re being a little excessive, don’t you think?” he asked with panic laced into each word. He hadn’t expected you to turn it onto him, and you could tell. If he’d be petty, so would you.

“I’m just doing what you’re doing. I’ll be in my office on the phone planning my date with Quincy. Make sure to give us some privacy,” you said with a wink.

He was livid.

If there was anything about Michael that he kept pretty well hidden, it was his jealousy. He was insecure, especially with all the eyes on him constantly, so jealousy was a given. He was constantly comparing himself to the greatest of the greats, trying his hardest to live up to or even surpass them. He had self-esteem issues that stemmed from his first moment of sentience. But this? You proudly announcing that you were going to take his producer, someone he considered a close friend as your date to his event? It wrecked him. And maybe he deserved it, but that didn’t mean he was taking this lying down.

So, he decided to take it up a notch.

The day of the event was hectic. The two of you had taken your flight from LA to New York ona red eye and were completely exhausted. You had only two hours to check in to your hotel and get some sleep before tending to your busy schedules . You were expected to meet at his stylists’ studio to get your hair and makeup done before they put you into your outfits for the evening.

Immediately upon arrival, Brooke was sitting in a chair getting her hair primped and curled, much to your own annoyance.

“Hey, you two! Me being Michael’s date won’t be awkward, right? He told me you were okay with it, but I promise I can back out if it makes things weird,” she asked with an anticipation that read that she wanted you to say it was all good.

“Well, he said I was okay with it!” you replied, trying to conceal the sarcasm. “Besides, I’m Quincy’s date tonight. It’s all good.”

She beamed a little too excitedly for your liking.

You didn’t really have the time nor energy to pay her mind, so you tried to allow the chaos of the dressing room to consume your attention. You tried.

Michael, on the other hand, took it upon himself to make you as jealous as he felt. He spent the entire time allowing the model to occupy his personal space. He laughed loudly at jokes that weren’t funny at all, brushed invisible hair out of her eyes, and drank iced coffee from her straw. He didn’t even like coffee. Yet, you still wouldn’t pay him any mind.

You were too busy actually reveling in seeing the bustling inner workings of the entertainment industry. You were successful, sure, but you would never in a million years get to this status on your own. You managed to even start enjoying yourself when Quincy came along and started giving you advice on show business. At one point, he took you to the side to give you a deeper talk not meant for all those ears.

“I understand he can be a lil’…stubborn. But you have to understand, he don’t know how to handle bein’ the most famous person in the world at only 25 years old. And imagine trying to navigate your first real relationship through it all. Now, I’m not sayin’ what he’s doin’ is okay, but give him some grace,” Quincy lectured.

“Q, I am. But it’s like he’s testin’ me. Like he’s testin’ my love, our relationship. He’s doin’ all this affectionate shi- stuff with her like i’m not sitting right there, I don’t understand why.” You almost sounded defeated.

“Listen, he’s used to everyone listenin’ to what he says. He’s around yes men more than he’s ever been around people who will tell it to him straight. You’re the one true person who doesn’t tiptoe around what you need to say to him. And he’s obviously sensitive. He didn’t tell me much, he really only wrote things out on notes for some lyrics, but being told no by you confused him. He was grateful for it, but a part of him felt rejected.” He sighed, realizing the conversation went a little too deep for the time.

“But that’s a conversation the two of you need to have. Now, I’m entertainin’ y’all’s game tonight, but don’t bring me in the middle of this type of stuff no more. Or Brooke. I’ma get on him about that too.”

You embraced his larger torso, your posture filled with gratitude for the words he offered you. The two of you returned to the busier area hand in hand, and you gave him a peck to his glistening forehead as you made your way to the snack table. You felt a few sets of eyes on you.

Michael and the model had seen the whole thing. His mood visibly shifted from playful, to full on anger, to unreadable within seconds. Those were his lips.

In that moment, he fought with himself to not use the ones attached to his own face disrespectfully as well.

Maybe she’d finally put me in my place, a voice in the very back of his mind croaked into his cranium.

The energy inside the black SUV the 7 of you — Michael, Quincy, Brooke, 3 security guards, and yourself — rode together was noticeably stiff.

Quincy and the model kept up most of the conversation, trying to get you and Michael to chime in here and there. You felt guilty for how awkward the two of you were making things seem, so you tried ribbing with your boyfriend. He basically iced you out.

The flashes upon arrival were enough to allow yourself to tune out the noise in your head. Your small group was ushered in quickly, accompanied by your security, and the secret backstage pathway gave you something to focus on.

Michael gave a heartfelt and beautiful speech to commemorate his record win, and he actually saved a piece in it to honor you. Your entirely being visibly relaxed and filled with unadulterated adoration.

As he finished up his message, he called for Quincy to join him on the stage as well. You gave Q a hug and tried to kiss him on the cheek— the quick and awkward action ended in the peck landing in between his jaw and neck— and applauded cheerfully. As Quincy hugged Michael, you could see his face flash with a fleeting expression of discomfort that he quickly covered up.

When you all converged backstage, floating on the high of seeing a loved one be honored with such a notable prize, the room buzzed with a glittery noise of excited chatter. You kept trying to break away from conversations so that you could be by your boyfriend’s side, but he was engrossed in conversations left and right.

People were asking you about why he’d brought Brooke as his date if you were there, why her outfit matched his more than your own did, why you were letting him take photos with her kissing him. The last question snapped you out of your dissociation, as you followed the questioner’s eyes and saw the scene a few feet away from you.

He was gripping her by the waist and kissing her a little too closely to her jaw, throwing you a smirk as he caught your eyes. You swore you turned physically green with jealousy.

There was something you used to do whenever Michael would cross lines early on in your relationship. He was new to dating seriously, and you were new to being taken seriously, so you had to explain to him what was or wasn’t right to do in them, especially since he was used to taking whatever affection came his way as a star.

After one of his more particularly excessive displays of insecurity and jealousy, you came up with a method to keep Michael and yourself…grounded. You’d hold fingers up on your hand— or hands—, depending on how many seconds of leeway you were giving him before your mood soured, and you would put one down every second, essentially counting down how much time he had left.

In the beginning, you’d give him ten, allowing him time to get used to the action. Your default after the familiarity was five. You hadn’t needed to go lower than that, ever. He’d usually get the hint at the mets sight of your hand raised.

Right now, discreetly to everyone else’s eyes, but very visibly to his, you raised three fingers. He smirked and hugged her closer to him. You put one down. He briefly parted from your gaze as your second finger went down, to make eye contact with a camera. He faced you again, pointed to his cheek, and she gave him a kiss there. You put your last finger down, and watched with burning fury as he laughed heartily.

You politely trudged through the group of onlookers and perched your lips to Michael’s ear.

“It’s time to go.” The decisiveness in your low whisper sent a shiver down his spine that he covered up with a fake cough.

“All right, guys! Thank you again so much for being apart of my success, but I must leave now. I have a long flight ahead of me tomorrow!” he announced with enthusiasm. True enthusiasm. And with a lie — your flight wasn’t until Thursday.

He gave out hugs and handshakes, told Brooke to hold onto Quincy’s arm, and the four of you, protected by security, left the venue. You rode in separate vehicles this time; you with Michael, Brooke with two security guards, and Q with his own personal driver.

You said not a word to Michael as your vehicle trekked through large crowds and traffic. His arm was caged between one of your hands with a tight grip, and he shifted uncomfortable in his seat 22 times thoughout the ride.

As the two of you made your way to your room— walking through the vacant hotel that his team made sure would be completely unoccupied for your stay— you could hear nothing but the aggressive clunk of your chunky heels against the pristine marble floor.

You entered your suite first, already having your keycard prepared for entry, and sat down on one of the lounge chairs. Michael approached you hesitantly, but still very much excited.

“Explain yourself.”

Your voice was so direct, it even scared you a bit.

“I have nothin’ to explain. Why’d you wanna go?” he asked, feigning confusion.

“I’m not asking. Explain yourself,” you repeated. Your patience was wearing thin, and your body was already getting hot. You decided to remove your shoes, jewelry, and dress, ignoring the way Michael’s eyes shamelessly trailed over the way your tight boyshorts and camisole hugged your body.

“I don’t need to explain myself to anyone.” He invaded your personal space, and the scent of his cologne made you dizzy.

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to like that? And who the hell do you think you are? Kissin’ up on some girl for photos when I’m right there, neglected. Ignoring me when I give you my warning count. What, you don’t respect me no more?” you spewed at him, pushing your pointed, manicured finger into his chest with every word.

“She’s not some girl,” he replied with defiance laced into his tone.

You wanted him out.

“Oh, I forgot! Your date. Your real girlfriend. Go head ‘n call her up then! Go stay with her at her hotel! I’m done with the fucking games. Was this your goal? You wanted me to snap? Well, there you go. I’m DONE.” you yelled in a fit of anger.

“Me? You kissed Quincy! Multiple times! You were holdin’ his hand and you kissed him on the neck in front of everyone!” he yelled back.

“First of all, you were the one acting like a damn crybaby all weekend. You started the bullshit with the loud phone calls and asking a supermodel to be your date instead of me! Then you took her to our lunch place! On top of that, you had the girl nearly in your lap in our car, without even knowing I’d see, and then you continued to bring her as a date! I was giving Q a platonic kiss on the cheek, as I’d do to anyone I see as super close to me. And the ‘neck kiss’ was a fuckin’ accident! We moved too quick, and I missed his cheek! But thanks for letting me know you considered the ones you gave Brooke as more than platonic,” you said as you got more up in his face.

“Don’t start shit and not know how to finish it, Michael. It’s pathetic.”

He looked at you in a mix of bewilderment and lust. Pathetic, he echoed in his mind and clasped his hands in front of his groin very conspicuously.

“This is fuckin’ turnin’ you on? Seriously? ‘N you have nothin’ to say? I’m hurt and you’re tryna cover up a boner. Wow.” You pushed past him and picked your belongings off the floor.

His eyes followed your body as you retreated from him, and he licked his lips at the sight of you bent over.

Facing him once more, you crossed your arms against your chest, and his gaze eyed the way your breasts visibly at the contact.

“Go.” He blinked at you, his brain seemingly unable to comprehend the command.

“Michael. Leave. Now. Go be with your dream girl,” you said as you grabbed onto his slender arm, needing him to your suite’s door.

His feet followed yours until his brain caught up, and then he planted them harshly onto the floor. You yanked and he didn’t budge.

“No.” His voice came out with such intensity, you nearly doubled over.

“I’m not asking you. Get the fuck out, Michael. I don’t want you near me right now.” You were shoving him out now, having dropped his arm and stomping behind him before you could stop yourself. “You don’t respect me.” Push. “You don’t take me seriously.” Push. “You probably fucking hate me.” Push.

Michael started to feel guilty. Had he really made you feel like that? He just wanted to work you up a bit, but this wasn’t what he meant.

“No, what?” His voice shook with regret.

You stopped and leaned your forehead against his back, taking in a huge breath.

“Then fucking explain yourself!” you demanded, lifting your head up to look at him as he turned around to face you.

“I don’t- I…” He took a deep breath. “Everyone looks to me for answers. They see me as a leader, as their authority, as a deity of sorts. As flattering as it is, I don’t want that! I want to be led sometimes. I want someone to take control of me. ‘N I love when you do! But I want more. I’m selfish. I’m greedy. I want to push your buttons and test your control with me. I dream about you making me do things for your pleasure. I crave for you to put me in my place and make me beg for you because I want to feel like I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you.”

He grabbed onto your hands in an act of surrender and continued.

“Everything I did was wrong, I know that. That was the point. I felt rejected that mornin’ because you told me to stop. Then I wanted to make you feel bad because I felt bad. And I kept goin’ because-” He audibly gulped. “B-because…” He let go of your hands and slid them down your bare thighs, cupping the backs of them as he drooped down to his knees. His fingers left goosebumps on your legs in their wake.

“Punish me. Please. I deserve it. ‘N I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I do respect you, and I do take you seriously.” He pressed a kiss to your left knee. “‘N I could never, ever hate you. You mean more to me than anything, by light years.” He was looking up at you from his position at your feet, eyes full of sorrow, sensuality, and pure love. You finally spoke.

“Get up.”

“N-no. Please, I don’t wanna go. *mwah*” He started kissing any skin he could reach; the tops of your feet, your shins, your thighs.

“I’m sorry. I don’t love her. I don’t love anyone that way but you!”

“I said get up.” Your voice was still surprisingly even, considering how many emotions were flooding through you in the moment.

“Baby-” You grabbed him by his sequined collar and yanked him with more strength than you meant to.

“Don’t make me say it again,” you nearly whispered.

He was on his feet in an instant, his head nearly colliding with yours at the swift movement. You let go of his collar and walked over to your suitcase, searching for something. You found the item and walked over to him with a leather belt in your hands.

Setting it down on the trunk at the end of one of the two beds in the room, you climbed onto the furniture, feeling the mattress sink beneath you. Your legs dangled over the side of the bed and you kicked them back and forth menacingly.

“You’re sorry? Show me, then. ‘Cause I don’t see it. All I see in front of me is a boy so selfish that he’d rather be a brat and hurt his own girlfriend’s feelings than say he wanted to be used.” Your tone was harsh, but you didn’t care. He wanted a punishment? He was getting it your way.

“Yes, I’m a selfish brat. H-how should I apologize? What do you want me to do?” he asked cautiously, eyeing the belt in front of you.

“Figure it out.” Your voice came out flat.

His face contorted into one of panic and need. He didn’t know what to do, but he needed this. He needed you. For the second time that night, he sunk to his knees, but this time, he started crawling towards you like a dehydrated man in the desert seeking water.

The absolute hunger in his eyes very slightly chipped at your resolve. You’d never felt more wanted in your life, and it was just by the unfiltered look in his eyes, which never left yours.

You could see him plan out his next move before he acted. He removed his shoes, socks, and stood up and took off his jeans, looking at you silently for permission before he even unzipped them. He then removed the sequined coat, and he was left in a plain t-shirt and boxers.

He met you back on his knees, and resumed kissing you from the feet up, like before. Every peck that met your hot skin was followed by an, “I’m sorry” or, “You’re perfect” or, “I adore you.”

His actions quickly became frantic. You weren’t responding at all, and he was getting nervous.

“Am I doing good?” he asked, basically begging you to say yes.

“Eh,” was your quick witted response. You were riding the high of the once cocky superstar now begging you to take control of him and accept his apology for being bad.

“‘M sorry. Please, can you spread your legs a bit? Wanna show you…”

You obliged, secretly craving for some sort of relief. You were pent up.

“Thank you.” He continued kissing up and between your thighs, licking them and whimpering like a wounded animal. He was getting closer and closer to your now pulsing heat, and an idea you had earlier sprinted to the direction of your mind as soon as his tongue darted to your clothed core.

“No. Take off your boxers ‘n get on the bed.”

Dazed, he followed your command and stripped himself of his undergarments, feeling slightly embarrassed by how visibly hard he was now.

“Get close to the top of it, take off your shirt, and put your arms up.”

He looked at you shocked, hesitating.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” you challenged with a raise of your brow.

“No, ma’am. ‘M sorry,” was his response as he obliged.

“That’s what I thought.”

You retrieved the belt from the trunk and slapped it intimidatingly against your palm as you paced in front of the bed. Michael’s arms were suspended above him on a myriad of pillows.

With steps as light as a ballerina’s, you walked up to the side of the bed he was on and leaned over his slender frame.

“Do you wanna touch me?” you asked lightly, a coyness drizzling from the question.

“Yes, of course. Th-that’s all I wanna do right now,” he responded immediately, like he wanted to give you the right answer. He did. You straddled his torso, making sure not to let your lower body touch his burning one at all, and began wrapping the belt around his wrists.

“Good. You can’t.” The disappointment that flooded his face was only more encouragement for you. You were on a power trip now.

“Please? Pretty please, I’ll do anythin’,” he pleaded.

“I know you will. You’re gonna do everything I say, understand? Then I’ll decide if you even deserve to touch me,” you quipped, tilting his face up to meet your eyes with your index finger. He was pouting.

“Okay.” His eyes trailed straight down to the inside of your tank top, and his eyes practically bulged out of their sockets.

“You look very pretty, by the way. Love this top on you,” he complimented in the most seductive tone you’d ever heard him use. You ignored how his voice made your heart skip two beats and mumbled out a “Hmm, thank you.”

You took your manicured nails and scratched down his chest just enough to welt them temporarily.

“A-ahh!” he yelped in pain— you felt his dick twitch —and pleasure.

“Aww, what’s the matter baby?” you fake coddled him.

“That…it hurt,” Michael responded in a way that sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the fact.

“But you liked it though.” You looked at him pretending to be dumbfounded.

“Yes,” he breathed out, as if you’d asked him a question.

Leaning towards his face, you tilted your head in a way that signaled you were going to kiss him. He tilted his own head and closed his eyes in anticipation, only to be met with a sharp nibble to his neck.

“P-please!” He had no idea what he was pleading for.

His wavering tone concerned you just a bit.

“What’s your color?” you asked him seriously.

“Green. Bright green. Really, really green..” He was having the time of his life, believe it or not.

“‘Kay. Lemme know if it’s too much. I care about you, even when I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” you reassured him.

Placing your hand on his neck, you began administering bites to his collarbones, feeling egged on every time he cried out.

“Mmm. I-i’m sorry. Please, I need you,” he began chanting over and over. You ignored him each time.

You noticed his eyes close in pleasure, and that just simply would not do for you. You choked him hard.

“Pay attention to me. I never gave you permission to look away,” you nearly yelled at him. You loosened your grip when his eyes started to unfocus.

Fighting down a fit of coughs, he apologized with a strained and weak, “I’m sorry, angel.”

As you started crawling down his body, you felt something wet and hard graze your ass cheek, and Michael genuinely screeched.

“Ahhh! M-my god…” Michael whined desperately.

You reached down and grabbed his neglected dick, and wiped the precum from the slit on his tip, bringing it up to your mouth and tasting it.

“Mmm, is that for me?” you teased.

“Y-es. All for you.” He was visibly trying his hardest to obey you and wait for your commands, but at the feeling of your warm finger in his flesh, and the sight of you tasting him just because you could, he wanted nothing more than for you to fuck him into oblivion.

“It better be.” You reached down to his erect shaft and gripped him very slightly, your palm almost ghosting over it. You decided on a tortuously slow stroke, from balls to tip, as you looked him deep in the eyes.

“Aww, you look so needy, baby. You want me to move faster, huh? Stroke you harder? Bet you can’t even form a coherent thought. Poor thing,” you said condescendingly.

“‘M not needy, a-and I can think- ahh,” he protested.

“Yes you are. Look how hard you’re trying to not move into my hand. I’m barely even touching you, baby. Why you sweatin’?”

You knew he pretended to hate it, but he grew attached to how it sounded coming from you in particular.

You groped harder and stroked just a bit faster.

“Unless you don’t like this? Which is it?” you demanded. You loved playing this mind game.

“U-um. I do li- ah!- like it..” he whined.

Stroking even faster, you demanded once again,

“So you’re needy. Say it.”

“I’m needy!” he wailed when you slowed down for his delayed response.

You squeezed his dick harshly.

“And don’t you fucking lie about it again,” you ordered.

You wanted to do more, you really did, but the sight of him completely naked and surrendered to your will while he looked at you as if your existence was the answer to his life… You needed him, bad. But he still hadn’t earned your forgiveness.

Letting go of his leaking boner and straddling his thigh, you quietly pleaded with yourself to not give off just how horny you were, as well.

“Sit up and watch me,” you instructed, grateful that your tone didn’t expose the desire growing between your legs.

He immediately obliged, and whined as soon as you began grinding.

“Y-yes, please use me. Oh, God!” he cried out, breathless. “You’re so pretty, oh my- I love you.”

“F-fuck, baby. You like when I use you this much, hmm? You look so good like this.” You could feel his thigh flex and its tendon hit your clit in just the right way. “A-aah! Fuuuuuck. Y-you’re so pathetic, just laying under me fully naked w-while I have clothes on. Just watching me and not even being able to t-touch me.”

“Yes. I’m so pathetic,” he mewled.

You gripped onto his neck to steady yourself better and rode his thigh faster and harder, the pent-up tension making your orgasm approach faster than you were ready for.

“And you’re f-fucking clueless. Can’t see when a supermodel is so openly hitting on you in front of your own girlfriend.” You choked him briefly at the memory.

“S-so clueless. Just stupid. I only exist for…I only exist for your pleasure.” He’s always wanted to say that, but feared it would’ve been too much of a turn off. You seemed to enjoy it though, since you started humping his leg so hard that he was sure you’d be bruised.

“The fuck you do,” was the last coherent thing you said for the next few moments.

You mumbled something that didn’t make sense, and crushed your lips to his. He nearly cried at the contact.

Your moans were spilling into his mouth much faster now, his sign that you were going to come undone on his thigh…after using him. He could cum with you at the thought.

“F-me…have to…” tumbled from your mouth. You were losing yourself.

“Baby? What do you need from me? I’ll do anything for you,” he responded, concerned.

“Wanna fuck, Mikey. F-fuck.” You showed yourself to a stop. Your thighs were trembling while you balanced yourself on the mattress on your knees as you took your top and boyshorts off.

“‘M so wet. Need you so bad,” you whined. You missed him. You wasted no time stalking him and sinking down into his shaft. He stretched you wide, even more so since it’d been a bit since you were intimate.

“Ohmygod ohmygod plea- Want you closer please!” Michael nearly sobbed. You laid flat against his chest, your breasts swished between your bodies.

“P-put your arms around me. Hug me close,” you instructed. The gangly man lowered his arms, still bound by the wrists, and squeezed you close like you were a piece of coal that could turn into a diamond. You guys would share skin in this moment, if you could. You looked up at him, your anger long subsided.

“I love you so much,” you declared passionately. He looked like he was going to cry.

“I love you, too. Can I please kiss you?” he inquired. You puckered your lips and he met them with fervor.

You began riding his dick at a controlled pace. Every grind brought him straight to your g-spot from this angle, and you wanted to last long enough to let him cum with you. You weren’t going to let him cum if he didn’t in time with you, but you wanted to forgive him.

Getting lost in the pleasure of the kiss and the friction to your cervix, he began meeting your grinds with gentle thrusts. Michael picked up the aggression once you’d dropped your head back onto his chest and ground him harder than before, a pool of drool sliding toward his nipple.

The room sounded like a porn studio. It was a mess of slapping skin and moans and cries out to higher powers. The bed was creaking beneath you so loudly, you both internally feared that it break. If the hotel was occupied by anybody one floor above or below you, they’d have heard it all.

“Michael. God. You’re s-so deep. Could ride your perfect dick forever… And you moan like a- song. Your voice is so pretty. You’re so pretty…” you cooed. You could feel that ball of tension build up inside of you again, and every push to your g-spot felt like it would be the one to unravel it.

“You’re pretty. Mmm, if you keep t-talking like that I’m gonna cum, angel,” he warned.

“I want you to, baby. You did so good for me. So good. F-fuck. I…My god, I can feel you everywhere. Wanna feel you cum in me. I’m yours, claim me. Please, I need it.” You’ve never said please like that to him a day in your life, but you were desperate. You wanted the proof of your mutual connection and relationship in any part of your body it could reach.

“I’ll give it to you. Gon-na cum inside because you’re mine. Please, cum with- ahh! I’m gonna…” he rambled.

Your hand was sandwiched between your bodies as you rubbed your clit and rocked your hips into his, chasing your high. Your vision was getting spotty, and you could hear his heart pounding hard enough to break his ribs through his chest. He was fully fucking up into you from below, but you didn’t even have half a mind to stop him.

“Baby, please…” he whined. The sheer yearning in his voice completely undid you. Squeezing his torso with all of your strength, you ground your clit against his pelvis and let his dick slide in and out of you as your orgasm suffocated you. You moaned and drooled and cried all over Michael’s chest, and you felt a warm, sticky substance paint the inside of your walls just moments after. He screamed out your name like it was a magical spell.

You maneuvered his sex out of you, and both of you watched as your shared cum mingled onto the hotel blanket below you. He bit his lip.

You were holding onto each other for dear life. The orgasms meant much more than just getting one off, they were shared apologies and washed away regrets. It took a moment for you to realize he was sniffling, too.

“I love you. I adore and cherish you. I’ll never do that again. You mean more than everything to me. Nothin’ I did was warranted, and I know now to be less selfish,” he apologized, his voice hoarse.

“I forgive you. I apologize for my part as well. Thank you for…taking all of that. Even though I was goin’ easy, still.”

“That was you goin’ easy? I’m terrified for your enemies,” he joked.

“Oh, yes. My cold shoulder is very threatening,” you ribbed. “Oh! Lift your arms up, baby. Lemme untie you.” You’d completely forgotten about his restraint. “And you didn’t complain once. Good job.”

“Thank you…” he replied shyly as you freed his wrists. “Honestly? I thought you were gonna hit me with it- the belt. That would be very…Can we try that one time?” he questioned.

Your body reacted almost immediately to the idea.

“Michael, don’t tempt me. I’ll make you go for a round two right now.”

“You can make me do whatever you want…You own me,” he challenged.

You never backed down from a challenge. Regaining your strength, you prepared yourselves to explore each others’ limits for the second time that night.

The harsh words, petty actions, and hurt feelings from the past weekend were all amended. You were each others’ only and true loves, just fighting to stay together in a world that was actively trying to turn everyone against him and tear you down. But, Michael never wanted anything more but for his entire being to be consumed by you.

To think this all started because Michael wanted to eat you like the last supper.

Tags: @simp4eshal @urbanfunkchild @slugstarzz @cndybliss @yenvixx @plumppies @lil6uapa @etherealmikeyj @saiki-enthusiast @kottonkanditits @gyuuchuuu

[mikesbian]

I’m basically incapable of writing smut without plot recently, so the buildup in this next one will be pretty long…I’m gettin a lil unsure on if i wanna release it bc idk how it’ll be received. I’ll probably release it anyways, but i’m just rlly self-critical lol. I would love feedback, if any of you are willing to leave comments. Do you guys fr enjoy my longer stories?

[mikesbian]

This gon be everyone in my mentions for my next fic and i’m lowkey not even sorry…

[mikesbian]

HONEY GLAZE — Michael Jackson x F. Reader.

— SUMMARY: Michael’s sleeping over at your house for the first time without your family there. You decide to play a game and give him a taste of your favorite lipgloss.

— WARNINGS: sub!mike, fluff, dual loss of virginity, face-fucking, oral, fingering, protected sex, dry humping, premature ejaculation, scent kink (?), reader is a tease, reader is experienced, use of daddy to tease, manipulation (sorta), michael is lowkey a himbo LMAO, dirty talk, pleasure dom reader. jermaine feature.

— WC: 7.7k (let’s all act surprised).

— A/N: Loosely based on this request. Let’s pretend the strawberry shirt he has on in the photo is a pj shirt. Please leave feedback in the comments and don’t forget to like and reblog!

Michael was absolutely buzzing with excitement today. This evening, he’d be sleeping over at his girlfriend’s house for the very first time. The best part? The two of you would be completely alone.

He honestly didn’t know why he was so excited about the alone aspect of it all, though. It’s not like he was brave enough to do anything more than hold your hand.

The two of you had fooled around before, you mostly taking charge, but his brain got so fuzzy around you. Any sense of self or right and wrong would go out the window as soon as he smelled your honey glaze scented lipgloss.

He’d spent the day driving around and shopping with his brother Jermaine, making sure to pick up things you’d mentioned liking the last time the two of you browsed through retail catalogues. The fuzzy white comforter you imagined sprawled at the end of your bed, the cute pajama set he couldn’t wait to see you in, and the stunning golden charm bracelet from your favorite jewelry store, were all carefully strewn across Jermaine’s backseat, a cute enveloped note written to accompany them sitting on top of the pile.

“Mike, this girl’s got you whipped! You droppin’ 3 thousand on a lil’ bracelet?” Jermaine asked with an incredulous laugh after the two settled into his car, driving along the Santa Monica Pier.

“Maine, she’s not just some girl. She’s the love of my life,” he said with a wistful sigh. “Besides, 3 thousand is nothin’. I’d hang the moon and stars for her,” Michael responded earnestly. He’d do a lot for you for no reward at all; just the thought that it was something that convenienced you even a fraction was enough.

“See, this exactly what I mean. Doin’ all that for her and you haven’t even laid down with the girl yet.” The older brother laughed at Michael’s ‘yes man’ attitude toward you, finding the idea of his superstar brother being a total worm for you hilarious.

“We’ve done plenty!” he defended, not enjoying the idea of his older brother seeing him as less experienced for what he’d allowed himself to explore regarding his sex life.

“Like what?” Jermaine questioned, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.

“It doesn’t matter! And I don’t see relationships as transactional anyway. The fact that she even likes me is enough.”

A beat of silence settled over the car as Jermaine drove away from the boardwalk, pulling up the car’s hood as they approached a crowd of teenaged girls dancing to one of their older songs, not wanting to be recognized.

When they finally hit the freeway, Michael spoke.

“What do you do?”

“Whatchu mean?” Jermaine pressed.

“Like, how do you…start? Makin’ love, I mean.” Michael cleared his throat.

“We’ve done stuff before, I wasn’t lyin’ about that. But we haven’t gone all the way. She makes me too nervous, ‘n I’m scared of…I don’t want it to end so fast,” he rambled on, realizing Jermaine wasn’t going to interrupt him and was actually giving this some thought.

“You gotta just let it happen, man. I mean, I usually lay the girl down ‘n start kissin’ up on her, but I don’t see you bein’ the type to…” he trailed off in thought. “Just build up tension. Start givin’ her the eyes, ya know? She’ll get the hint.”

“The eyes? Maine, I can barely get close to her in the moment without goin’ dumb.” Michael wiped his hand across his face, trying to cool himself down before he started blushing.

“Here, how’s this?” Jermaine exited the freeway and began demonstrating what he meant at the red light.

“Take your hand, place it on her shoulder like this, look her up ‘n down from her lips to her eyes, and give her a lil’ smirk. She’ll know.” He accelerated on the gas pedal as the light turned green.

“O-okay. Yeah that seems easy enough,” Michael responded shyly.

“Don’t bring this up to anyone else, Maine. I’ll kill you,” he added, realizing how vulnerable he’d gotten. He’d never hear the end of it from Marlon if this got out.

At exactly half past 5, Michael was ringing at your doorbell, your gifts and his belongings in tow. He told Bill he was spending two nights at your place, reminding him not to be seen by your neighbors during his patrols, and basically flew to your doorstep.

You opened it almost immediately, seeming just about as excited as he was, and plastered your lips onto his in an intimate kiss- too intimate for your front door.

“Hi, my pretty boy. Let’s get you inside, yeah?” you greeted him, noticing the way he flustered up at the nickname.

“Yeah…” he said with a ditzy grin across his face.

“O-oh! I got you these gifts!” he announced with pride. He was carrying them and all of his belongings for the sleepover in one hand, determined to not let you help him carry anything.

You pushed the door wide for him to come in, knowing better than to offer to help him. He seemed to be moving without thinking, just taking steps by pure instinct. As he neared the staircase leading to the upstairs bedrooms, you could see the defeat dawn across his face.

“C’mon, baby. Lemme at least just carry one bag. I’m a big girl.” You took his duffel bag, presumably with his belongings, and led the way, not giving him a second to stop you.

He sighed dramatically and trailed up the steps behind you, his fingers that were straining under the heavier duffel bag feeling relief from the absence of its weight.

As you pushed into your bedroom, the scent of fresh linen and cinnamon wafted into his nostrils, a sudden comfort settling into his bones at the now familiar scent. You shrugged your robe off your shoulders, and Michael realized you were already in your pajamas. He took his duffel bag from your hands, sat down his belongings, and handed you your first gift.

“I’m realizin’ it’s probably too late for this now, but here! I have a feeling you’ll love ‘em.” He was practically vibrating in anticipation.

“I can’t believe you brought me gifts, Mikey. You’re so thoughtful.” You gave him a quick peck and opened the gift box. Inside sat the pj set you fawned over with Michael 2 weeks ago at your kitchen table. It was a red and white gingham two piece set with strawberry pockets on the butt of the mini shorts. The top was a lace-trimmed camisole that stopped just above your hipbone and was see through around the flowy skirt of it. And it was perfect.

“Oh, Michael! I’m putting this on immediately, are you kidding? This is perfect! Thank you so much.” You grabbed him with both hands by the face and littered his burning cheeks in kisses.

“It was nothin’. Here, open the others!” He was eating up your reactions. You jumped up and down at the blanket and tried to pick him up and spin him once you saw the bracelet.

“Hey, let go!” he’d declared in protest with a surprised chuckle at your strength.

“Put it on me, baby,” you told him, breathless, as you let go of his torso.

With a shy smile, he followed your demand mindlessly.

“Do you like it?” he asked, knowing you did. He just wanted to hear you say it.

“I adore it. The first charm I’m gonna buy will be a little ‘M’ just for you. Wouldn’t that be so cute?” you asked him, twisting your wrist around in the warm lighting of your bedroom.

“You’d do that?” he asked you, genuinely surprised by the act of possession.

“Of course! I’d tattoo your name across my chest,” you responded with a quick kiss to his lips as you made your way to your restroom with your new pajama set in hand.

The idea of you tattooing his name on you filled him with a sickening amount of pride.

You stepped back into the room almost as quickly as you left it, and you looked unreal. The cups in the top held your breasts up in just the right way, and the sheer, flowy bottom of it put your torso on full display for him. The shorts were no better. You gave him a twirl, and when his eyes met your backside, he nearly fell at your feet. Your strawberry-adorned ass was sitting prettily in the fabric, the bottom of your soft cheeks on full display for his greedy eyes. You turned back around and sauntered over to him.

“You look perfect,” he complimented you with a dumb smile.

“Hmm, do I?” you teased him as you unzipped his jacket for him.

“Yes, perfect…” he said, losing his train of thought as his eyes fell to the barely-there neckline of your top. He absentmindedly let you pull the jacket off, completely distracted by the view in front of him.

“Get comfortable, baby. I’m gonna go get us popcorn and oj. Then I’ll pick a movie. How’s that sound?” you asked him, knowing he was barely even paying attention.

“Hmm? Yeah, sounds great…” he responded, not able to find more words.

“Michael. Shower. Now.” You turned on your heel and walked with an extra bounce in your step, purposely doing so to make your ass move a bit more as you stepped. He drank it all up and unpacked his stuff in a daze.

He realized he forgot to bring his own body soap, and reveled in the idea of using yours. He couldn’t wait to smell like his girl. It was all he thought about during the 15-minute shower as he lathered up, scrubbed his body, and rinsed off. He brought his own lotion and toothpaste, disgruntled by the idea that he had no excuse to use yours. After he finished moisturizing, he left the room with a small smile, and placed his clothes into your hamper.

He saw you sitting comfortably on the soft carpet at the foot of your bed, your robe on your shoulders and a deck of cards sat in front of you alongside your snacks. You’d brought 2 big slices of homemade pizza, a bottle of tobasco, wet wipes for your hands, and two water bottles, alongside the share-size bowl of popcorn and two glasses of orange juice you’d mentioned. Bambi was in your VCR displaying the main menu, waiting to be played.

He approached you quietly while holding his breath, his mind going crazy at the sight of your legs crossed in front of you. They were making him nervous. He loved your legs.

You looked up at him and a cocky smile spread across your lips.

“You found a matchin’ shirt, huh?” you pressed your index finger to his torso as he sank down next to you, finding the idea of him searching for something to go with your sleep set cute.

“Oh…Yeah, is the matchin’ too much? I just wanted to…” he trailed off, unable to find any excuse that didn’t expose his intentions.

“I love it, baby. We look cute together.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a kiss on his jaw. A shiver ran down his spine.

“Eat. I just got this out of the oven, so it should still be hot.” You picked up his plate of pizza and handed it to him, watching with a devious glint in your eye as he obeyed your command. He said a quick prayer, blew the slice, and took a hearty bite while looking deep into your eyes.

“Thank you so much. It’s really good,” he said earnestly, covering his food-filled mouth as he spoke.

“Thank you. Now eat up. I’m gonna start the movie and we can play cards while we watch, when we’re done with the pizza.”

You did just as you said and so did he, eagerly at that. You’d think he didn’t have a brain for his own with the way he just did whatever you told him to. He was wrapped tightly around your pinky finger, just how you liked him.

After you beat him for the fourth time at Go Fish, the movie long having ended, you had him help you bring down your empty dishes and soiled wet wipes downstairs to clean and get rid of.

“I have a game I wanna play,” you stated casually as you handed him the soapy pizza pan you just washed. He rinsed and dried it immediately.

“What is it?” he asked with a little too much enthusiasm. He would do anything if it meant being in your presence.

“It’s…not really an official game. Just somethin’ I sorta made up. You’re gonna like it though.” You said the last sentence as an order, not an assumption. His stomach turned with excitement at the sternness in your voice. “Finish rinsing and drying these and I’ll go brush my teeth ‘n set it up for us. You also brush your teeth when you’re done.”

You left him to the task and hurried up the stairs. You were much more excited than you were letting on tonight. You’d went on a little shopping trip yourself, earlier, spending spent the day at different makeup and department stores meticulously picking out an assortment of flavored lipglosses and chapsticks. You wanted to try them all on and have Michael guess what each flavor was after kissing you. The thought came to you after a particularly vivid dream of him begging you to wear your honey glaze scented gloss while you fucked. You decided you wanted him to be like that after any scent he ever smelled from there on out.

After brushing your teeth, you took off your robe and then laid all of the lip products evenly on your fluffy carpet, and placed your black eye mask beside them, waiting patiently for your boyfriend to leap up the stairs.

As he made it inside your room from your bathroom, having entered it from the hallway, he took in your position and the random scene in front of you, lifting an eyebrow.

“What kinda game is this?” he asked, sounding almost frightened.

“It’s a chapstick challenge. I put on a layer of one of the glosses or lip balms, and you guess the flavors by french kissing me,” you responded with a dazzling smile.

“K-kiss…Okay.” He was already losing it by the mere idea of the game. “And I wear the blindfold?” he inquired.

“Yep. No peeking, understand?” you said, faux seriousness laced into your voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, only half jokingly with the honorific, with his left hand to his temple in a fake salute.

You placed the blindfold over his thick afro, leaving it up just above the eyes, before giving him a kiss. You pulled away and bit your lip at the dazed look on Michael’s face.

You got up- slightly bouncing your ass again- to turn on the record player sitting on your bedside dresser, and adjusted the volume to a comfortable background hum, setting the ambience.

You plopped back down in front of him, and he looked at you hungrily, licking his lips and trying to ignore the lust growing in his abdomen.

“Can I know the flavors, please? Or am I going into this blind?” he inquired.

“We’ll do 7. They’re pretty easy to guess, so I’m making you go in blind. You’re fine with that though, aren’t you baby? You’ll be the best guesser ‘cuz you’re just so smart, right?” you cooed at him, knowing the way you spoke to him would get him to move a mountain for you if you told him to.

“Y-yeah I’m…It’ll be easy.” Bingo.

You pulled the mask over his eyes and opened the first chapstick, the pop of the lid unsealing catching his surprise since his non visual senses were heightened. Cherry. Easy. You applied a generous layer and rubbed your lips together as you inched toward his face.

You pressed your lips to his harshly and he got to work immediately. His tongue explored your lips much longer than it should’ve. This was one of the easiest flavors to guess, by far. He was being greedy. You pulled away with a pop, smirking at his neediness.

“Ch-cherry?” he asked, like it wasn’t obvious.

“You sure you don’t wanna search some more? That was one of the easiest. You could’ve been more sly about it,” you said teasingly.

“‘M s-sorry. I just love your lips…” he trailed off, embarrassed.

“I’m just teasin’. Of course it was cherry. One point to you! Good job, Mikey.” His lip twitched at the praise.

Peach was next. It wasn’t too hard, but the scent threw off the flavor; it smelled like mango. That was the exact reason you chose it. The ambiguity left room for more.

You repeated your earlier ministrations of application, and kissed him again, this time scooting a little closer to his body. You even cupped his jaw with your hand, eliciting such a soft whine, you were almost convinced you misheard it.

The kiss was longer this time, but purposely. You even took the opportunity to pull at his hair the tiniest bit, smiling against his lips as he made a surprised sound at the back of his throat. He pulled away this time, out of breath.

“That one stumped me. It smells way different than it tastes. I’m gonna guess somethin’ fruity…Peach?” he guessed.

“You got it!” you responded, genuinely surprised. “That one was one of the hardest ones. Didn’t it smell like mango?”

“Yes, that’s what that smell was! It confused me bad.” He chuckled softly, as he reached his hand out toward you, searching for your waist. You reached out to his hand and guided it to where he wanted it, biting your lip at the contact.

This flavor was watermelon. You applied the sticky balm to your lips and smacked them loudly, warning him of your impact this time. He met your lips with ease and immediately got to sucking and licking. His free hand cupped the back of your neck and he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue past your lips and into your mouth. He moaned when your wet muscle met his, then pulled back, chest heaving.

“Just been waitin’ to do that. I know it was watermelon,” he announced proudly.

“Someone’s gettin’ a lil antsy, huh?” you responded, trying to conceal your bated breath. His lips faltered at the teasing, trying and failing to find an excuse.

“It’s okay, baby. I like when you get desperate.” He bit his lip and covered his face with his hands.

You reached for the next lip balm, this one being cinnamon flavored. He loved cinnamon, which was the reason you bought it. You lathered it on and pulled his hands away from his cheeks, meeting his lips once more. You decided to turn it up a notch by placing his hands right under your breasts and sliding a hand onto his chest, feeling his heart hammering pathetically under your touch, and throwing one of your legs over his. He gasped slightly and pulled you closer, his fingers holding you with a firm grip.

You led the kiss this time, almost forgetting you were playing a ‘game.’ You bit his lip and sucked his tongue just enough to make him squirm, and pulled away.

“What flavor?” you asked him smugly, staring at the slight sheen of lipgloss scattered about his chin and mouth. He didn’t respond, mouth still slightly hanging open with a dazed grin.

“What’s the matter? Cat gotcha tongue?” you continued teasing.

“No, I…You make me forget things,” he admitted sheepishly.

Scratching his neck while keeping one of his hands on your body, he continued.

“Well, I definitely know that was cinnamon. That’s my guess.”

“I knew you’d get that one. I thought of you specifically when I bought it,” you admitted. You poked his nose and absentmindedly applied the next gloss. It was one you already owned and the two of you absolutely adored. Honey glaze.

You smacked your lips one more, letting yourself taste the flavor as you did so, and settled yourself fully on top of his lap now. You felt how hard he was and ground against him languidly once. He whimpered at the contact immediately.

“Aww, my baby’s getting this turned on just from kissing? What am I gonna do with you?” you cooed at him, your breath fanning over his lips. His dick jumped immediately.

“Oh. You’re wearing my favorite…honey glaze.” His knowledge surprised you.

“You peeked, didn’t you?” you questioned him suspiciously.

“N-no! I just…I love the smell of this one. I can recognize it anywhere. Please kiss me,” he whined.

You leaned in and the kiss turned sloppy immediately.

He gripped your waist hungrily with both of his hands, and rocked up into your crotch desperately. You moaned against his tongue as he licked your mouth inside and out, drool sliding down your cheek.

The both of you got incredibly lost in the moment, allowing your need for each other to bubble up sporadically. You ground harshly against his erection and sucked his neck, leaving a bruise in its wake. He moaned once really loudly, and his hips jerked against yours. Then, his hands flew from your waist and ripped the blindfold off of his face.

“‘M sorry. I need to use the restroom,” he quickly mumbled out. He gently slid from underneath you, then made a beeline for your bathroom door.

“Mich-” you called after him breathlessly as the door shut.

“Damnit,” he mumbled as he pulled down his pants. His cum sat proudly against the fabric of his boxers, much to his annoyance. He grabbed a wet wipe and cleaned his crotch wildly, the cold wetness making him shiver. He couldn’t believe he let himself go like that. Sliding his underwear off, he internally cursed himself for being so embarrassing. He washed his hands and entered the room again, his head hanging low and his underwear balled into his fist. He put it inside your hamper and then sat on the edge of your bed without a word, avoiding your gaze.

You knew exactly what happened, and it made you cocky.

“Mikey, baby. I know you came your pants,” you announced crudely. You sat down next to him with a wicked smile tugging at your lips.

“It’s embarrassing. We didn’t even do anything…” He sniffed in shame.

“Baby, it’s flattering. I’m glad to know that you get that horny for me,” you replied. You gripped his jaw, forcing him to look you in the eye.

“It’s not…Well, yes. I do get…aroused by you. But it’s your lipgloss. The smell…It makes my brain numb,” he admitted.

You removed your hand and bent over right in front of him to pick up the honey glaze scented gloss from the carpet, purposely nudging your butt against his knee as you reached down. You turned back around and waved it in his face tauntingly.

“This lipgloss? My favorite one?” You opened it and applied another layer. Setting it down on the bed, you placed your hands on either side of his legs and inched toward his face.

“The smell turns you on?” you asked, letting the scent waft around his personal space. He whimpered loudly.

“Yes,” he spat out, shoving down a heavy gulp. He could already feel himself getting hard again, and his eyes trailed down your torso, straight to the curve of your breasts, which were more visible due to you being bent over.

“You checkin’ me out?” you asked him mockingly.

His eyes snapped to your face as if he got caught doing something wrong. You sat back down next to him and stared at his bottom lip, which was being cradled between his teeth.

The way you were looking at him, like you were a predator hunting its prey, made Michael’s heart hammer so loudly against his chest that he swore you could hear it.

Then, a voice echoed in his head.

Start givin’ her the eyes…Take your hand, place it on her shoulder…look her up ‘n down…

He followed each direction as it played in his mind, his sudden confidence faltering your own in its track. Then, he gave you the sexiest smirk you’d ever seen.

…Give her a lil’ smirk. She’ll know.

“Do you wanna fuck me?” you asked him straightforwardly. He flinched a bit at how direct your words were.

“Yes,” he sighed. “B-but only if you wanna! I don’t…It has to be your choice.” What he really wanted to say was that he wanted you to use his body like he only existed for your pleasure.

“Then fuck me, Michael. Rip my clothes off and plow me into my sheets.” You slid your thumb across his bottom lip and tugged it down. He stared at you like a deer in headlights.

“You gonna touch me, or what?” you asked, cocking your head to the side in fake confusion. You knew your words were scrambling his brain, and you loved it.

“Y- sorry. Um.” He fumbled with his hands, not knowing where to touch you or place them. He felt like an idiot. You’ve engaged in sexual acts before, but he felt out of his league now, the looming state of his virginity making everything much more serious.

“Go get a condom from my dresser. Top drawer,” you ordered him. He obeyed and picked a small foil wrapper from the unopened Trojan box. He secretly thanked God at the sight, realizing you hadn’t recently been using them with anyone else, although he already knew that.

He held the foreign object in his hand and stood between your parted legs.

“C’mere,” you said before pulling him down by his neck and making out with him like you hadn’t been allowed to for a century.

He cautiously explored your body with his large hands, continuing certain gropes and squeezes when you gave him louder whines.

His body was now hovering yours, propped up by his forearms, and you could feel his heavy dick slap against your crotch through his pants as he went to kiss tenderly on your neck.

“I’m not wearing any underwear either. Wanna feel how wet I am for you?” you asked him lewdly.

“Please,” he begged, letting you take his hand and place it square on top of your clothed pussy.

He could feel you pounding beneath his palm, and he felt that familiar slimy substance connecting his hand to your core. He rubbed two of his fingers into you a bit, collecting some of your arousal. Detaching his mouth from your neck, he looked down at you with a dazed expression. With his free hand, he gently gripped your face, making you look at him.

Without a word, he removed his hand from your sex and sniffed his fingers greedily. He bucked his hips into yours, and shoved those fingers into his mouth with a loud groan.

You were in awe.

“I had no idea you were this filthy. Thought you were a good boy, but I guess you’re way dirtier than I thought,” you told him with surprise etched into every word. Your statement only made him needier. He shoved his fingers farther into his mouth and pulled them out, searching for your cunt again.

“Please, let me take these off. Wanna feel you,” he begged, a mixture of drool and your arousal collecting at the corner of his parted lips.

“Go ahead baby. Show me how much you want me.”

With a whimper, he crawled down your body and landed on his knees with effortless agility. He hooked his fingers into the top of your pajama shorts and froze.

“I-i’m a virgin,” he stated, voice barely above a whisper.

“Michael, I know. We’ve talked about this plenty of times,” you responded patiently. You knew he was nervous, but you also knew he wanted this.

“I know, it’s just that…I’m not gonna know how to do everything. I don’t wanna embarrass myself,” he replied meekly.

“Baby…I know you think I’m some sex god, but I’m still a virgin too.” You sat up and looked down at him, forcing him to meet your intense gaze. He looked stunned.

“It’s okay if you’re not. You don’t needa lie to me to make me feel bet-” You interrupted him by clamping your hand over his mouth.

“Michael, I’m not lying. When I told you before we ever did anything sexual that I had experience, that wasn’t a lie either. I’ve just never trusted anyone to go all the way. But I trust you and I want this with you. Don’t you wanna give it to me?” you asked him with a faux-sad pout.

“Of course! I wanna be your first…I want you to be mine. And my last. I wanna give my soul to you,” he rambled, inching your shorts down your thighs as he leaned in closer.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me..” he spoke quietly, mostly to himself, drifting off once he unclothed your lower body. He threw the damp shorts onto the floor and looked up at you with so much gratitude that it made your heart swell.

“Taste me,” you said, as you watched him lick his lips like he was starving.

He placed your thighs atop his shoulder and delved in, immediately grinding against nothing at the scent of your pussy.

“Mmm, th-that’s right. Just how I taught you before,” you spoke to him. He was circling your clit with his tongue with expert precision; just enough to feel like you were floating, but not enough to feel like you were grinding against a rock. Then he did something else you taught him, but with his own twist. He scratched up and down your thighs, the familiar sensation making you feel like music. But then, he slid his tongue down to your entrance and stuck it in, your arousal pooling around it in the act.

“F-fuck. Where’d you learn how to do that? Been seein’ someone else?” you inquired, only half joking. He pulled out and looked up at you with an earnest fire in his eyes.

“Never.” Then, he continued his actions, fucking his tongue into you as far as both of your anatomies would allow.

You pushed his head into you, grinding down with need. His afro acted as a protection against your brutal shove. He slid his tongue back out and worked your clit again, feeling confidence settle into his demeanor. So much confidence, he took two fingers, collected your arousal into them, and slid them into you. You cursed loudly.

“O-oh my god…F-Yeah! Curl them like that,” you mewled, your brain not knowing how to compute your pleasure into words. You’d only felt your own fingers inside there, once or twice, and you didn’t enjoy it. Your fingers couldn’t reach as far as his currently were, though.

You fell back against the bed as you felt your orgasm sprinting toward you faster than you anticipated, gripping onto your sheets and locking your ankles around Michael’s neck in an attempt to hold on.

“M-mikey, ah. Stop. Stop, stop, stop,” you breathed out to him, feeling the knot in your stomach almost unravel. He immediately withdrew his mouth and fingers, you arousal leaving a string of connection to his chin as he did so.

“Did it start to hurt? Sorry, I just thought you were gonna have an or-”

“I was gonna have an orgasm. I just don’t want to yet. I wanna suck that pretty dick of yours first. You’re gonna let me, right?” you asked him, not really leaving space to take no for an answer.

Michael never let you suck him off, to your own disappointment. He’s eaten you out so many times that you’d run out of positions for it, he’s let you grind against his dick with clothes, he’s even let you jerk him off, but he’s never let you get on your knees and put your mouth on it. His exact words were that it was ‘degrading and useless.’ He didn’t wanna hurt you. But you wanted to see him let go. You wanted the proof of your lewd acts with him physically etched into bruises to the back of your throat.

“Baby, I can’t let you do th-” You clamped your hand against his mouth once more.

“You’re gonna let me suck you off. Right?” you asked, slowly moving your hand away from his mouth.

“Ok-kay,” he responded with resignation in his voice.

He stood up and you slid his bottoms off, licking your lips at the sight of him. He was holding out on you because god was it pretty. And big. You thought he was just being a modest gentlemen when he told you he didn’t want to hurt you, but it was more than just that. He was really long, and he knew it.

“So you knew how big your dick was huh? That’s why you never let me do this. Betchu imagine me sucking that pretty thing off all the time.” You reached for it greedily and spit onto his tip, watching it slide down the base slowly.

“Stop- d-don’t talk about it like that..” he said weakly.

“Oh but you like it, though. I could practically feel you getting harder, baby. No need to be shy about it,” you egged him on. Before he could protest any longer, you wrapped your hand around his base and began tugging upward. You reached for your lipgloss with your free hand and applied a thick layer to your swollen lips. You blew a taunting kiss at him. He was visibly holding back his moans, much to your disapproval.

“Nuh-uh, let me hear those pretty moans. Sing for me, Michael,” you directed. He obeyed, and not even on purpose. The way you were touching and talking to him made him forget who he was.

“Feels s- you feel so good. I love you..” he blabbered.

“I love you too, baby.” You leaned forward and gave his shaft an open-mouthed kiss, maintaing eye contact with him. His whole body went rigid in shock as he saw the sticky mark your lip product left in its wake.

“Oh, god,” he groaned, jerking his hips up into your hand. You started twisting it whenever you got closer to his tip.

Without warning, you took it into your mouth, eyes focused on his, and sunk down on it. His eyes rolled back and his hands flew to the back of your head, holding it for composure. You began slowly moving up and down, flattening your tongue and sucking him like he was the best popsicle you’d ever tasted.

“Pl-ease, I don’t wanna cum yet. Plea-, please, please,” he begged on and on, turning please into a chant.

You hummed around his length, ignoring him, and continued to work. Tears stinged at your eyes, and drool dribbled out of your mouth. The sinful sight of you made him do something he swore he wouldn’t do. He rocked into your mouth roughly, just once, but it was enough to make you falter and gag against him. You moaned lustfully and your eyes lolled to the back of their sockets. He removed his hands from your head and scooted back from your mouth with a pop.

“‘M so sorry! I should’ve contained myself better. I know better. Did it hurt? If course it hurt, you’re crying and you gagged. Oh, God I’m so sorry prett-” You gripped onto his dick harshly, cutting him off.

“Michael, I want you to do that. I love it. Fuck my mouth, angel face. I can take it,” you reassured him with a devilish grin.

“N-no, I shouldn’t’ve let you touch me like that. You’re too precious…I can’t hurt you agai-”

“Michael. For the love of God, shut the hell up. I want you to hurt me and bruise me and make me cry. Is that not okay? Am I too dirty for you?” you asked him, feigning hurt. You secretly enjoyed tricking him into getting what you wanted because he somehow always gave it to you, and this time was gonna be no different.

“Not at all! You could never be too dirty for me…You’re perfect. I just don’t wanna degrade you like that. But since it’s what you want, okay. I’ll give you anythin’ you want.” Bingo.

“M’kay, now you gonna fuck my throat like a good boy, right?” you asked him with puppy dog eyes, tears still sitting in your waterline.

“Y-yes,” he responded hesitantly.

“Yes, what?” you asked him, enjoying working him up like this.

“Yes, angel. I-i’m gonna fuck your face…like a good…boy?” he responded, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than he was you.

You gave him a soft hmm and pulled him back towards you, spitting a glob into your hand once more. You jerked him slowly 4 times and then looked him in his face.

“Don’t worry about me, ‘kay? If I want you to stop, I’ll make you stop. But, I trust you,” you said earnestly. “C’mon, stand up and give it to me, baby.”

Then, you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out in anticipation. He hesitantly stood up, jerked himself twice, and then pushed into your mouth. Holding the back of your head gently, but firmly, with both of his hands, he set an inexperienced pace with his thrusts. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked harshly whenever he would drag his hips back, causing his legs to shake.

“Th-this is so, AH, wrong. You shouldn’t look this pretty like this. With my…thing in your mouth.”

You scrunched your brows into a pout and moaned loudly, forcing him to unconsciously fuck your mouth harder.

“B-baby you can’t do that, ‘m gonna finish if you do.” You continued moaning and sucking loudly, noticing his breaths shorten as his climax neared.

“God, you’re so pretty d-down there. Ngh- wait-” You forced yourself away from his crotch and crawled to the center of your bed, positioning yourself on all fours. You turned around and coaxed him over to you with a teasing finger.

“Baby, I need you. See how wet I am?” You arched your back and swayed your hips side to side, letting the light catch your arousal. “I need you to make me feel better. It’s aching,” you pouted. His feet were moving before his conscious mind could register your words, and he joined you in bed. He picked up the condom he mindlessly dropped earlier and unwrapped it.

“I-i’ll make you feel better,” her says as he pulled the rubber from its foil packet.

You turned around and took the contraceptive from him.

“Let me put it on you, daddy,” you smirked as you said the nickname.

“Don’t call me th-that,” he pouted.

You placed it on his tip with unnecessary friction and rolled it down his shaft, raising your eyebrows and smirking at the pathetic boy in front of you.

“Mmm, but you like it when I tease you with it,” you told him.

“Okay.” He gulped audibly and leaned down to press a hot kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Michael. Now fuck me like you need it,” you said as you went back to your position on all fours. You were almost scared that he’d be too big, or that you’d need lube that you didn’t have, but as soon as he pushed his tip in, your pussy sucked him in. It was an unfamiliar feeling, being stretched like this, but your body didn’t register too much pain. You were drenched.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he called out as your sex squelched around him, forcing him in deeper. You moaned out as he stretched and filled you. As soon as he bottomed out, he laid on top of your back, already feeling overwhelmed.

“M-michael! Oh my god, ‘m so wet. Needed your dick inside me so bad, fuck,” you inched forward and slammed back against his length forcefully, arching your back in the process. He sat up immediately and gripped onto your hips.

“The way you talk…” he trailed off as he started thrusting into you slowly.

“You like m-my dirty mouth, baby? Want me to talk to you through it, pretty boy?” you asked him, feeling his tip hit your g-spot with ease.

“Yes, please,” he whined, speeding up slightly in anticipation.

“F-fuck me harder, baby. Feels so good.” You pushed your head into your mattress, arching your back up higher, allowing yourself to take him deeper. He followed your instructions and snapped his hips into you harshly once, gauging your body’s response to the action. You pushed your ass further into his crotch, and he took that as silent permission.

“Mikeyyy. You’re so bad, taking my virginity in my bedroom like this. Mmm-fuck,” you whined, your vision going blurry with tears of pleasure.

“Y-yes, so bad. ‘M so bad,” he repeated, slamming into you faster. Your bed was creaking with his thrusts. He could already feel himself losing it again.

“Mmm, mmm, Mikey p-push my head into the mattress baby. Be rough.”

He obeyed immediately, leaning over and pressing his palm to the side of your head. He took one look at your face and felt his orgasm creeping up. Your mouth was wide open and there was a huge wet spot where your mouth leaked drool onto your sheets.

“You’re so pretty, baby. You look so good like this,” he complimented.

“With you plowin’ me into m-my own sheets? Thank you, baby boy.”

Your tongue licked at his thumb that was near your lips, and you sucked it into your mouth.

“OH! I’m g-onn…I’m cumming. Shit, I’m cumming!” he cried out as his hips stuttered. He buried himself into you deeply and filled the condom with his seed. He collapsed his torso onto your arched back and you bit his thumb. He clutched it after you spat it out of your mouth.

“I didn’t say to stop, did I? I thought you were a gentleman. Make me cum,” you demanded.

“Yes, baby. ‘M sorr-y…” he apologized in between whines of overstimulation.

You reached your hand down to your clit and started playing with it needily, overeager to cum on him. He pounded into you again, his dick half hard, as you started babbling into your bedsheets.

“Mikey, ‘m s-so close. Keep fuckin’ me like that, baby. You’re doin’ so well for me. You’re fillin’ me up so good.” The sound in the room was so unmistakable. The noise of creaky box springs, skin slapping and sticky arousal drowned out the hum of music leaving your record player.

He leaned down and hovered over your ear, whimpering into it. He sounded like an undiscovered instrument. The sound made your pussy squeeze against his shaft, signaling your orgasm.

“Y-yeah be louder. Love your filthy little whimpers, Michael. Gimme more,” you said with the last of your breath. He pounded harder and fully moaned into your ear, causing you to completely come undone.

You reached behind you and dug your nails into his sides as your legs shook and your pussy spasmed around his spent dick, already hardened again. You screamed his name like a prayer and Michael wished that was the only sound his ears would ever be subjected to again.

As you began going limp, Michael slid his arm underneath you, wrapping around your waist, and pulled out of you. He rolled into his side and pulled you on top of his chest, ignoring how hard he was again.

“I’m so glad it was you,” he said after he caught his breath.

“Hmm?” you asked him, looking up to the side of his face.

“My virginity. I’m glad you took it. It feels like you were exactly who I was waitin’ for whenever I would tell my brothers I was waitin’ on the right girl. No, you’re even better,” he said bashfully.

“Well, I’m glad you took mine too. You were absolutely perfect. I’m so glad we get to share this memory with each other. We fit so well together, don’tcha think? Like two halves of a puzzle,” you mused with a faint smile.

“I’d say so,” he said with a gulp loaded with a double meaning.

“Whatcha mean by that, baby?” you questioned him.

“Just…It’s like your body was swallowin’ me whole. It was incredible.” He bit his lips as he looked you in your eyes. You felt a pulsing at your abdomen, finally noticing how hard he was.

“Ohhh, my baby’s ready for round two? You have stamina…Good ta know,” you teased him with a giggle.

“‘M sorry, you just look ‘n sound so pretty when you’re tellin’ me what to do…”

“It’s okay, baby. Here. Let’s go take a quick shower, yeah? Then we can sixty-nine,” you said as you sat up on your knees. You gave him a wink. He gulped both audibly and visibly.

“Oh, yes please. I’d love that,” he responded with unconcealed enthusiasm. You pulled him behind you and led him toward the restroom, the excitement of round two noticeable in your light steps. You discarded your shirt and pulled Michael’s over his head for him.

“Take off that condom, baby. I’m gonna wash you up.”

He threw the soiled condom into your tiny tin trash can, and trailed after you like a puppy.

You turned on your shower and faced him, your tits on full display to him now. He swallowed loudly and gave a kiss to each of your nipples, surprising you in the act.

“I love you,” he whispered, and then leaned in to give you an intense kiss. His tongue slotted between your lips before you pulled away.

“Uh-uh. Don’t start something you can’t finish in here, needy boy. I’ll make it worth the wait.”

You stepped into the shower, him immediately after you, and the two of you let a comfortable silence settle in the air, washing yourselves and then each other’s backs.

With the two forgotten lip balm flavors lying lazily on the floor, the promise of your newly broadened sexual history etched into the empty house with a faint trace of a sweet scent. The scent of honey glaze.

Tags: @simp4eshal @urbanfunkchild @gothicmj @lil6uapa @yenvixx @cndybliss

Dm to be added or removed!