Never Played About You
content: Off the wall/ Destiny Tour era Michael Jackson x Wife! Reader
michael can’t fathom the idea of being away from his wife for more than a day. he needs to come home to you, matter of fact he’s not going on another damn tour if you can’t go.
warnings: 18+ minors dni, young married couple, p in v, almost caught, semi-descriptive body worship, curvy reader, freaky shit in the back of a tour bus, kind of getting caught.
wc: 930+
lover girl
The tension in the Jackson household had been thick enough to cut with a knife for weeks. Michael had been adamant, his voice trembling not with fear, but with a desperate, burning need. He wouldn't step foot on the stage for the US leg of the Destiny tour unless you were by his side. To Michael, you were his sanctuary, and he cherished every curve of your body. He adored the lush, soft swell of your hips, the gentle, softness of your stomach that he loved to press his face into, and those thick, beautiful thighs that he claimed were the most perfect things he’d ever seen. Your natural coiled hair was a crown he loved to stroke while he whispered promises of a future where no one could tell him who to love.
Standing in the hallway, you leaned against the wall, your heart hammering against your ribs. Beside you, Lotoya and Katherine stood in supportive silence, their expressions grave. Every other wife is going why can’t you? From the home office, the shouting erupted.
"I don't care about her! This is a professional tour, Michael! We have an image to maintain!" Joseph’s voice boomed, authoritative and cold.
"That's my wife, Joseph!" Michael’s voice cracked, raw with emotion. "I can't do this without her. I can't handle the pressure, the lights, the noise unless I have her to come home to at night. Please!"
"He's right, Joseph,” Jackie chimed in, his voice calmer but firm. "Michael's been working himself to the bone. All our girls are going, why can’t his? If having her there keeps him focused and happy, why fight it?"
"Exactly," Marlon added. "She's good for him. Let him have this."
The argument raged for an hour, a tug-of-war between Joseph’s rigid control and Michael’s desperate love. You held your breath, tears pricking your eyes, until finally, a heavy silence fell.
"Fine!" Joseph spat, the word sounding like a defeat. "She comes. But she stays out of the way. One slip-up, one distraction, and she's on a plane home boy."
Fast forward to the US leg of the tour. The tour bus was a humming beast of chrome and diesel, cutting through the night. In the front lounge, the atmosphere was rowdy. Marlon and Jackie and their significant others were half-drunk, laughing loudly and playing card games with a few members of the stage crew, their voices echoing through the cabin. The others were on a second tour bus of their own.
In the back room, however, the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.
Michael had lost all his composure the moment the door clicked shut. He had stripped you with a frantic hunger, his hands gripping your wide, soft hips, pulling your plush body against him. He had ripped your underwear off with a guttural growl, but he didn't throw them away. Instead, he had stuffed the soiled fabric deep into your mouth, gagging you to stifle the screams of pleasure he knew you’d let out.
Now, you were bent over the small built-in table, your ass hoisted high in the air, your heavy, soft thighs trembling. Michael was behind you, his lean frame contrasting with your generous, pillowy curves. He was buried deep inside you, his cock slamming into your pussy with a rhythmic, violent intensity.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
The sound of his pelvis hitting your full cheeks was loud in the small room. You could hear the wet, sloppy pap-pap-pap of your drenched pussy being hammered raw. To make it even more intense, Michael had shoved his thumb deep into your tight asshole, stretching you open, his digit hooking inside you while he drove his cock into your cunt.
You were losing your mind. Your eyes were rolled back, your muffled moans vibrating against the fabric in your mouth. You tried to push back, trying to fuck yourself back onto him, your wide hips grinding against him in a desperate search for more.
Michael was struggling to stay quiet. He had the bottom of his stage shirt clenched tightly between his teeth, biting down hard to keep from whimpering or crying out as he felt your tight walls squeezing his shaft. He was obsessed with the way your soft hips moved with every thrust, the way your hair spilled over the table.
Suddenly, the heavy footsteps of a drunk Marlon stumbled toward the back. He banged loudly on the door, his voice slurred and teasing.
"Y'all better not be in there being nasty!" Marlon yelled, laughing to himself. "I know you, Mike! Keep it clean!"
The sudden threat of being caught sent a jolt of pure electricity through your spine. Your pussy clamped down on Michael’s cock like a vice, flooding him with an explosion of heat and lubrication. You let out a muffled, high-pitched keen into the gag, your body shuddering.
Michael didn't slow down. If anything, the risk made him more feral. He let out a muffled groan into his metallic shirt, his thrusts becoming shorter, faster, and more desperate. He hammered into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, his thumb pressing deep into your rectum.
"Oh god... yes..." he whimpered against the fabric of his shirt.
With a final, powerful thrust, Michael erupted inside you, his warm cum filling your pussy to overflowing. At the same moment, your own orgasm crashed over you in waves, your internal muscles pulsing violently around him. You collapsed onto the table, shaking and breathless, while Marlon’s laughter faded as he stumbled back toward the front of the bus, completely unaware that his brother had just claimed you in the most explicit way possible.
