Could you do a Bad era Michael Jackson x stripper!fem reader fic where he becomes obsessed with her at this club and keeps requesting private dances every night.
She purposely teases him and makes him jealous because she knows he’s addicted to her attention.
Then one night the tension during a private dance gets too intense and Michael realizes he can’t do what he wants with her at the club, so after closing he waits backstage and takes her back to his place.
I’d LOVE jealous/possessive vibes, dirty teasing, making out, and intense smut and chemistry.
Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader
Tags: #bad!michael, Michael x stripper!fem reader, teasing, possieve!michael
Summary: You've been stripping for a while, you've come across your fair share of customers who assume your attentions means more than what it was, but this one's different. His possessiveness doesn't bother you the way it should, leading you to cross lines you'd never cross before.
a/n: I'm so sorry for the long wait! I had a lot of fun with this one, I hope you enjoy <333 might make this a series or part 2 not sure yettt...
You plop your duffel bag on the bench before you turn the lock that secures your locker. Exhaustion and excitement battle for dominance in your body. You clock in for another shift at Fantasia, a strip club you’ve been working steadily at for three years.
You retrieve your favorite sparkly heels from your locker before putting your duffel away.
You head to the makeup room to finish the last details of your pastel makeup that makes your skin pop. You go a bit heavier on the blush since it’s the same shade of the sexy two piece hidden under your sweatsuit.
“Hey love,” Teece greets you when you enter.
Love was your stripper name, it was a bit corny but the patron’s seemed to love it. One person in particular seemed extremely infatuated.
“You know he’s waiting for you,” Teece says, looking at you through the mirror of her vanity.
”Who?” You ask, even though you already know who.
”That Michael guy. He already requested a dance from you,” She says with a smirk while applying pink lip gloss.
”Well he’s going to have to wait. I haven’t even touched the floor yet,” you scoff.
“He’s so obsessed with you. Good thing he’s hot,” Teece chuckles before getting out her chair, breast jiggling in her tiny bra.
Men being obsessed with you was apart of the job. You wanted—no needed them to be. That’s what pays the bills. Selling them a fantasy while draining their pockets. Most of them were old or married, or a lot of the time both. It was easy to draw the line, but with Michael it was different. Not that you would ever admit that to yourself or anyone else.
Having relations with patrons was strictly prohibited.
Tonight was Tuesday, one of your slower days, but funnily enough the day you made the most money. Since there were fewer drunken idiots around, you could take your time with patrons and make them feel extra special. Your big ballers came during the week. The weekend was for young idiots who feigned rich and threw one dollar bills.
You pull off your sweatshirt to reveal a pinky lace lined bra with strings dangling at your side. You fix your hair and reapply gloss gone stale in the club air. You spray the perfume you know he likes then strip your sweats and replace your shoes.
In about ten minutes, you're good to go and start your shift. You emerge from the beaded curtains to the club. The club slowly pulsed beneath the wash of deep violet light, the kind that hid faces well. Neon strips lined the walls up to the ceiling like veins. Smoke drifted lazily on the floor, making the place feel dreamlike.
As stated before it wasn't packed, but it wasn't empty either. Small groups gathered around velvet booths as your coworkers dance in front of them as the bass swallows their conversation.
Your eyes skate across the room searching for the first client of the night. You know he's here, but your eyes haven't snagged on him yet. You lock eyes with a man in the corner. You walk to him, making sure to sway your hips.
The man gives you a head nod that lets you know he's interested.
You place your hands on his shoulders then gently push him onto a couch. You give him a wicked smile as a new song begins to play. You glide your hands slowly down your body, tracing the curves of your breast before you turn around and lower yourself onto his lap.
When you turn, your eyes lock with Michael's across the room. He's sitting at the 360 bar, a glass in his hands. Even under the sultry glow of the club lights, you catch the venom in his expression.
His jealousy only makes you smirk. While continuing eye contact you place your ass firmly against the man under you. You feel his hardness grow as you begin to grind in slow circles.
You catch Michael's jaw clenching.
You lean back against the man, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair as you continue to dance. In a fluid motion you spin around just enough so that you can straddle him face to face. You really feel this man's erection as you roll your hips forward.
You turn your head just enough to see if he's still watching, and to your pleasure and his torture, he is. For some reason this gives you new energy, you grind harder now, breathing coming in soft pants as you arch back. You moan softly in the man's ear to make him feel special, like this means something to you too.
You guide the man's hands to cup your breasts, you lean in his ear and whisper nasty nothings. You drag your lips against his jaw before kissing him right before his ear. When the song ends you gently slide off the man. He looks dazed and in love which lets you know you were successful and may have got a new client.
The man opens his wallet before giving you a couple of twenties. You thank him then walk away. You go back to the makeup room to reapply some gloss and to put your money away. When you exit, you are startled by the figure leaning against the wall.
"Can I have my dance now?" Michael says, his voice low, his eyes hungry.
"Follow me," you tell him.
In silence you take him up the stairs to the private room, making sure to sway your hips extra slow. You feel his eyes bearing into your back. For some reason, nerves play tentatively in your stomach. You open the private room door, letting him walk in first, a gust of his cologne hits you as he walks by. The scent makes you want to moan for some reason. You close the door with a soft click.
Now it's just you two in the room. No more hiding or dragging it.
Michael's eyes catch on yours, waiting for your move. In the soft glow of the room, up close he looks like a prince. Like Teece said earlier, at least he is good looking, but not in the way that most guys are. He makes you not want to look away. There's something addicting about his face that makes you want to trace the lines and study every curve. Looking him in the eyes makes you far too nervous than you would ever admit.
You have the upper hand here, so you do anything to not let him think he has an effect on you.
Is what you tell yourself.
You slide your hands from his lower torso, up his chest, to one hand on his shoulder and the other resting at the nape of his neck. Under your thumb you feel his pulse beating rapidly.
You push Michael into the chair behind him softly. You break away from him to turn the stereo in the corner on. Smooth jazz lazily surfs through the room.
"What do you want from me tonight?" You lean over to ask him.
His eyes flick to your breast then to your eyes.
"What ever you're willing to give," he answers, his voice low and full of hunger and a hint of desperation.
"Okay," you giggle, but it's not humorous, it's pure malice and mischief.
You settle into his lap carefully, moving your body in slow hypnotic swirls that match the low thrum of the music. Your hips roll in circles, pressing down just enough to feel the heat of him through his pants.
You keep your expression calm, your lips curved into a smile, eyes half-lidded as if this was just another dance. You know it isn't, you feel it isn't. You note how much your body alights from feeling the heat of him through his pants. How every slow grind sends sparks ricocheting through you.
You lean forward, arching your back so your breast hover inches from his face. His hands twitch on the arm rest, desperate to touch you. He swipes his tongue on his bottom lip before shoving it under ivory teeth.
Something crazy inside you loves to see his body's reaction to you. You eat up every body shudder, pained expression, and silent plea in his eyes.
The power reminds you why you do this job.
You roll your hips harder, grinding your cunt against the rigid line of his strained cock in his pants. Delicious friction builds. The motion makes your cunt hot and wet, your arousal apparent in your thong.
Your breathing stays even on the surface while your mind spins. Your body wants all the things it shouldn't. You want him to touch you, to caress you—to cherish you.
Michael watches you like he's starving, and you know he is. It makes you want to give in, to let him feel you, to shove his cock deep inside and let him fuck you here. That thought had been dancing in your mind ever since the first dance.
Your control threatens to slip so you straighten. You begin to bounce lightly on his lap. His cock throbs beneath you and you feel your own sex begin to throb. You want to moan for real and to your own dismay you do. Low stuttered moans escape your throat every once in a while, and they tangle with Michael's.
His moans were like no other. He sounded wounded in the most beautiful and intoxicating way. Like being here with you was painful.
You bite the inside of your cheek to remain composed. You will not break any of the rules you've set just because you haven't got laid in a while.
But your body comes alive, begging for contact that will never happen. Your nipples peak. Your core wet and aching. Your clit buzzing with life each time you roll your hips.
You remain eye contact as you rock your hips in deep sensual waves. You reach out and grasp his chin firmly between your fingers. His midnight eyes look up at you like you hold the stars, so wide and pleading. You lean in close, your lips hovering just before his. He whines softly, the sweet sound sends a flood of heat between your legs. His lips twitch, chasing the ghost of your mouth but you pull away with a soft giggle.
You watch as his body shudders at the loss of the warmth and pressure of your body. Another quiet whimper escapes him as you rise from his lap.
You leave him there. Your hand clenches around your heart as you lap up fresh air (as fresh of air that could be at a strip club). The air in there was thick and unbreathable. Even though you were completely composed, your masks slips as you feel your own arousal begin to leak down your thighs.
You finish the rest of your shift dazed and annoyingly turned on. Your night stand drawer saw you for the first time in months.
The next few days are typical for the most part. As the week progressed, the club got busier and busier. Everything was normal...mostly normal.
You didn't want to admit that you noticed but you noticed Michael hadn't come in. For two months straight he's come in everyday just to see you.
Did you do too much? Did he finally have enough of you?
Thousands of questions plagued your mind at his weird absence. But you've come to the conclusion that it was for the better. Obsession could easily turn to hate and you didn't want to go down that road. So if Michael finally had enough of you, you relish in it.
On Saturday night, you wear a really cute blue set. It was a real eye turner. Men begged for your attention and some even touched you without asking.
You are in a dance in the corner booth. It's older gentleman whose eyes are watching you like your turkey and it's thanksgiving. You whine your hips while feeling yourself up. The man blows cigar smoke in your face, souring your mood, but you brush it off.
The old man's hands grab your ass, you swipe them off, he puts them back. They get swiped off again but this time it's not by you.
The pressure in your chest softens and your heart leaps. A strange reaction for someone who shouldn't care less if he was here or not, but without a doubt you were happy he was here.
"Come with me," Michael says.
"I'm in a middle of a dance," you retort, it's full of faux venom.
Your body leaps at the idea of going with him. Being with him was safe. He never made you feel unsafe. Michael listened and let you control everything. He never asked anything you weren't willing to do.
"I'll triple whatever this moron was going to give you," Michael chides. He fixes the man a nasty look with a twitch of his lips.
Money is the name of the game. You weren't going to toss this up, especially to continue a dance on a man who doesn't respect your boundaries.
"Fine," you huff and roll your eyes, playing the part of someone unwilling even though that's all you ever wanted.
As usual, you take him to a private room at the end of the hall. Smooth jazz hums throughout the room. You whine your hips like a snake down to your knees. You sit between his thighs, looking up at him through half lidded lashes. Your hands rub up his thighs, you place your head at his crotch.
You feel the heat of his erection on your face. You drag your lips amongst his length, only fabric separates you. His brows furrow at the action.
You see the desperation swirling in the midnight pools of his eyes. He wants you, he wants you badly. You'd be lying if a part of you didn't want him too.
You rise from your knees before placing your leg on an arm rest. You grab him by his head then pull him close so that he's eye level with your cunt that aches for him. Navy bleeds into the original lighter blue of your thong.
"You see that?" You ask him, tone low and dangerous.
Michael releases a strangled groan.
You grind your cunt up his face. He breathes in your scent. Which almost unravels everything you tried to keep tucked neatly inside. You let his face linger there for a beat before throwing him deeper into the couch. You plop on top of him with force. Your body moves on instinct, you grind against him without thinking. Your cunt presses right against his erection. Each roll sends a sharp pulse of pleasure straight up your spine. You feel yourself slowly come alive.
The heat of him burns through his pants, your mind puts his size and length together like a mental puzzle. Your mouth waters at the image.
It sorta pisses you off how much he turns you on without touching you. His effect on you is all from your accord. All he does is watch and allow you to do your job.
A soft involuntary whine slips from your throat when your clit rolls just right against his cock. You lose yourself in the dance. You lean in, you drag your tongue up his neck in a long and slow lick, tasting the salt and heat of him. You follow it with open mouthed kisses along his jaw, down to the corner of his mouth, then across his cheek.
Each press of your lips lingers hot and wet. You feel his pulse hammering under your mouth, a part of you worries he might just faint.
His fingers dig deep into the arms of the chair, knuckles white. A low and rough moan vibrates against your ear when you gently suck at the spot just below his ear. You feel it mostly between your legs, making you roll your hips in tight circles.
You straddle him fully now, thighs spread wide, your cunt pressed flush against his straining cock. Every rock of your hips drags your swollen clit over him. Your thong loses its original color now. Pleasure coils tight and hot in your belly. You are panting against him, hips stuttering as you ride him faster.
You can feel the edge nearing for the both of you when reality slams back in at the last second. You gasp and hurry off his lap, legs wobbly, and your body screaming at a failed orgasm.
"You-You said you'd triple it, right?" You manage, voice hoarse, as you clear your throat.
Michael looks wrecked. His chest heaves, eyes all glassy and dark with primal want, erection straining so hard against his pants it might just pop a button. Desire swallowed him whole. He looks like he might just explode if you so much as breathe on him again.
Silence stretches between you, thick and electric. Michael's gaze on you promises filthy, desperate things. Your mouth drys and your core floods as another rush of heat rushes through you.
Despite how unprofessional you've been, you still can't seem to look away.
He pulls out his wallet with shaking hands and empties every bill inside, pressing a thick stack in your palm. It's way more than the triple he promised you. With the heaviest breath he stands, then walks out without another word, leaving you this time trembling in this suffocating room.
The rest of the night does not go smoothly. Your mind replays the events of that cursed private room. Your body remembers your failed orgasm. Which has never happened on the job. No guest has ever turned you on so much that you almost rode yourself into an orgasm.
You do your best to dance for patrons and they do tip you well but your mind is caught on the man at the bar who's watching you like a hawk. He looks angry—beyond angry. He storms out the club, taking all the air with him.
It's silent at the end of your shift as the events play on repeat. His whimpers and pleas.
"Please, I just want to touch you," Michael whispers in your ears.
His voice was so scraped and dry. You felt it deep inside. You remembered those hands that strained to move. Hands you wanted to grab you by the throat and pull you into a claiming kiss. But those same hands stayed painfully unmoved on the arm rests.
That rule was the only one that remained because ten other ones were broken.
Perhaps you played a little too hard into the fantasy.
Your cunt flutters at the thought of taking him from behind. To feel his hard body against yours.
You take a swig of water as if that would cool the burning desire coursing inside you.
In another desperate attempt to shimmer down, you slowly pack up. You try to lose yourself in tiny tasks. You clean up everyone's stations, prep for the next night, lock doors, and by four in the morning you are the last to leave.
You step out into the idle air. The moon hangs sleepy above as day light kisses its cradle. Before you can take another step, a hand catches you by the wrist and pushes you against the brick wall.
You don't panic. Your body recognizes him instantly. Michael stands in front of you, face tight with promises, eyes heavy with lust, staring hungrily as they rake over you. He looks like he's been starving.
And you have too. You're done lying to yourself for brevity sake.
You reach out and drag him closer by the front of his shirt.
"I reckon you want a kiss?" you tease, voice low and sickly sweet.
A broken whimper slips from him. Your body reacts the same way every time he does, the sound rolls straight through you, making your thighs clench. Without thinking or dragging it out further, you crash your lips onto his, hard and hungry.
Michael gasps before he falls into line. He lets you lead completely, opening his mouth under yours, surrendering to your every press of lips or bite. You take anything he's willing to give, and in this case that was everything.
His tongue slides deep inside your mouth, he moans at the taste of you. His hands slide down to grip your thighs, fingers digging into the fabric of your sweats as he lifts one leg then the other, wrapping them around his hips so he can press closer.
You still smell your own perfume on him. As if you claimed him.
The scent makes you giddy for some reason.
You feel the line of his cock as he grinds against your throbbing cunt. you gasp into the kiss as you rock against him feeling the heat and pressure of him. Taking a mental hint of every inch.
Under the bleeding dawn, you devour each other. Mouths slick and frantic as if the other was food and the other been deprived of food.
if he kisses like this just imagine his skilled lips against your cunt.
You moan mentally. This was going to be a problem. A huge problem you rather not confront just yet.
Michael breaks away just enough that you still feel his pants against your lips.
"Please come with me," he begs, eyes wild and desperate, like your answer was the difference between life and death.
The sigh of relief that he releases sounds like he's been holding it in for years. He kisses you again, softer this time, lingering, before he takes you by the hand and leads you to his car.
His car expensive and exactly what you'd expect from a guy like him who practically subsidizes your living. He takes your bag, throwing it in the back seat before he opens the door for you.
You glide in, nerves sizzling with anticipation. You've never been in a situation where you'd sit and talk with him casually. Well as casually as you could get with sex lingering in the air. A part of you was scared that when he opened his mouth, he'd say something stupid, and your fantasy of him would burst.
Thankfully that didn't happen. He was easy to talk to. You had a few things in common in tv shows, music, and some books. His voice was different than you'd expected. It was like a soft warm blanket on a cold winter night.
When he turned to you and smiled, it kicked your heart into overdrive. If you aren't careful this could easily turned into something more than just lust.
He pulls into the driveway. Your body feels heavy as old want creeps back in. You become hyperaware of his every move. Turning the car off. Opening his door, then yours. Each step echoed in your ears. Nervous wasn't something you did. You always had all the power in these situations and you were determined to keep it that way.
In the kitchen Michael offers you water. You watch his every move. He looks so different here. More relaxed, less rigid. You take the glass, fingers ghosting his with a small thank you.
The glass feels cool against your burning palm. You take a slow sip, eyes locked on his. You notice how his chest rises and falls too fast. It mirrors your own.
The air crackles with everything you've held back for months.
You set the glass down. Your feet moves before your mind could catch up. You cross the short distance and stop right in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body and to smell the mix of your perfume with his. You smell good together.
His eyes widen and lock on your lips, pleading again, but this time there's nothing stopping either of you. No bouncers. No rules. Nothing.
In the quiet of his house, you could do whatever you want. So you do, you reach up, snake your hands around his neck, finger pads pressing into his skin. He lowers his head. You gently press your lips to his.
It feels even better than before. The kiss turns filthy real fast. Your tongue pries his open with ease. He groans loud into your mouth, the sound vibrates straight through you. This felt different than the one outside Fantasia. You didn't hold back and neither did he. He let you set the pace but he did everything within his limits. He pushes harder, sucking on your tongue, biting your lower lip until he leaves you whimpering.
His hands grab harshly at your waist then slide down to squeeze your ass and pull you flush against him. You feel his arousal pressing against your own needy cunt.
You devour him, licking and swallowing every desperate moan and whimper he gives you. His fingers dig into you as his rocks hips into you, chasing the feel of you against him. He breaks the kiss to turn his attention to your neck. His lips feel like a match to gasoline. He drags his lips up the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent.
Under his touch, you forget to breathe. No amount of air is enough but you don't care. This feels too good to worry about oxygen intake.
Your fingers dig into his skin as he nibs at the heated skin of your neck.
You needed more or you might explode. You needed to feel him on top of you. You on top of him. His mouth claiming yours. His mouth between your legs.
When you lock eyes with him, the man you saw in the car was gone, instead was a man completely consumed by ragged lust and desire. He grabs you by the hand and tugs you down the hall. The bedroom door swings open. He pulls you inside, you already reach for his shirt as the door clicks shut behind you.
Once that door closes, your fingers don't just reach for him, they tear at the buttons, taking a desperate note to feel his skin against yours. Michael slams you against the door. His mouth crashes onto yours harder than before. It's not gentle but a collision of teeth and frantic tongues that leaves you breathless.
He kisses better than you could ever imagine. His hands roam your body with an urgency that feels violent, gripping your hips and pulling you close so that you feel his deep want for you.
He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your neck once more, biting at the sensitive skin of your shoulders as his hand slide inside your sweats. You gasp, arching your back as his fingers finally find your clit, rubbing it in fast, rhythmic circles that leave you panting.
"You've wanted this as much as I have," he mutters against your skin.
You can only moan to neither confirm or deny. Your brain is all scrambled. You don't know when you started wanting him but what you do know is that you do now.
He strips you bare with trembling hands and pushes you onto the bed. Despite the lack of control he displayed earlier, he spends time worshiping your body. His tongue swirls and traces the curve of your breast and nipples before sliding them down your stomach.
When he finally reaches your thighs, he spreads them wide, pinning your knees back. The cool air against your heated cunt sends goosebumps littering your skin.
The first touch of his tongue is electric. He licks you from the bottom to the top in long, slow strokes that make your toes curl and back arch. Michael focuses on your pleading clit, sucking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it with precision that drives you insane. He has you gripping the sheets, white hot pleasure boiling inside you, threatening to spill out.
Your hips buck uncontrollably as he laps up your juices, drinking every single drop. Pleasure builds into a tidal wave until you scream, finally crashing to shore when your first orgasm rips through you.
He leaves you shaking and completely drenched. Breathing unsteady. But he isn't done yet. He kisses your inner thigh before he stands up and shreds his own clothes.
His cock is thick, long, and pulsing. Your body shuffles through a million different emotions in a second but it lands on one. Pure desire.
Your core clenches at the sight.
Michael grabs you by the hips and pulls you to the edge of the bed. He spins you over in a swift motion, knocking the air from your chest. He grabs your naked hips, fingers digging into your skin, and lines himself up. He slowly presses himself into you. You feel every inch split you open. The sensation of being filled completely scrambles your brain.
Michael slowly rocks into you as you do your best to adjust to his size. Low whines escape your mouth as pain turns to pleasure.
"Look at us," he commands, his voice thick with lust.
Your eyes catch on the full length mirror at the end of the room.
You look into the mirror, seeing your own flushed face and the sight of Michael standing behind you. Uneasiness strangles you. The image is too raw, too real.
"Watch as you take me so well. Look how good we look together," he whispers.
You watch in the mirror, mesmerized by the sight of his thick shaft sliding out until only the head remains, then slamming back in, stretching you wide. The visual of his cock disappearing into you drives you over the edge.
The moans that escape your throat are not pretty. The cool and collected image you painted before was completely gone.
You squeeze around him tightly as a more intense orgasm ripples through you. But he doesn't let you recover. He flips you over, hauling you deeper into the bed, pinning you against the headboard. He enters you again, this time you feel his weight crushing you into the mattress.
He leans down, his chest heaving against yours, and kisses you while his thumb finds your clit, circling it relentlessly.
"Look," he whispers hot against your lips, glancing down to where your bodies meet.
If the mirror was hot, this was hell. Seeing him pump inside you this close was too much. Added with the combination of his thumb on your extremely tender clit, and the scrutiny of his eyes. It was all too much. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper.
Until he fucks you with so much force you feel him deep in your cervix. Each painfully beautiful thrust brings you to another peak, your body shaking under him. You note he hasn't come yet while this was your third. You don't know how much longer your body can keep up with him.
So at some point in the "night" that's definitely high morning, you push him into the pillows and climb on top just like you do at the club. You sink down onto him slowly, savoring the feeling of him finally filling you. You begin to ride him, your breast bouncing with every movement.
You can see him start to break. He grips your thighs, knuckles white. He shakes and his breath comes out in ragged gasps. You circle your hips the same way you do when you give him a dance. You grind your clit against him, teasing him by slowing down just as he reaches his limit.
"Please," he groans, his eyes tortured. "Let me come."
You lean down, whispering in his ear, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
"Please...Please just let me come inside you," he pleads.
The tortured look on his face sends heat rushing to your core. He looks so beautiful. Curls hanging over his face, sweat dripping down his face and neck. Brows scrunched together in pain. Eyes wild.
After a moment, you give him exactly what he wants, escalating your pace to a slapping rhythm. He lets out a guttural cry as his body stiffens as thick hot ropes erupt inside you. You ride the wave of his release, as your own release peaks one last time before you collapse onto his chest.
You're drenched in sweat and fluids and for the rest of the time, the sex is on and off. Still full of hunger, but now a lazy and exhaustive note. You drain him completely, pushing his body to its absolute limit.
Hours later, while Michael is knocked out cold, you slip out of bed. You gather your things and use his shower. When you get out he's barely moved an inch. He looks adorable baking under the sunlight.
You move silently, your eyes scans his dresser. Three luxury watches sit shimmering under the golden light. You slide them into your bag because you can.
You don't leave a note nor do you wake him. You slip out the door and disappear into the quiet of the day.
an: was thinking about making a tag list for future fics/ if I make make another part. Would anyone be interested in being added to the list?
