can I humbly request manager!micheal actually having to discipline you after you've been bratty all day (maybe saying some slick comments) and the look doesn't stop you in your tracks like normal 🙂↕️🙏🏾
michael's patient.
unreasonably so, at times. when you announce suddenly while on the phone with him that you can't record that day because you "just don't feel like it", he's nothing but understanding. "sure, yeah... feel better soon, okay?" he murmurs, fidgeting with his old wedding ring, spinning it around his finger. when you decide two days later that day-partying takes priority over one of your dance practices, he's understanding again. you're young, and it's not a crime to want to have fun every now and then. when the week goes on, and you become uncharacteristically bossy, demanding specialized coffees or smoothies in the middle of production sessions and complaining about costume outfits you'd previously approved of, michael's understanding still. you're having a bad week, maybe. probably.
then you decide to skip a formal dinner on friday, forcing him to cancel on two artists who were very interested in collaborating with you. it was embarrassing, making that call and having to offer a small "hopefully we can reschedule"! it made him look bad; it made you look bad. that's when michael decides that maybe he's indulged you enough.
...and now you're here, legs spread in his lap while one of his sizeable, capable hands holds you still by your stomach. the other's busy between your thighs, lazily pumping two fingers in and out of your aching cunt. it's nothing short of heavenly when he slides them in knuckle deep, though he always slips them out again before you can fully enjoy it.
you've been here for god knows how long. all you can think about is how badly you want to finish. mr. jackson ("i'm mr. jackson to you," he'd said earlier, when he was sliding the first finger in, "not michael. you've lost that privilege.") doesn't flinch when your nails dig into his thighs or when you whine, plead, and groan about being sorry. he just keeps working you close to your climax, pumping until you're twitching and panting, and then withdrawing his fingers almost completely until only the pads remain inside. when you've calmed, he starts over again. and again. and again. and again...
"i bet now you'll listen," michael croons into your ear as your head rolls back against his shoulder. out of the corner of his eye, he notes how you start to tear up in pleasure, your lashes fluttering before your eyes decide to just close. he's brought you close to cumming again, that familiar heat building right behind his hand along your stomach. you're sure he can feel it, the buildup, the tension. "you're not gonna be a pain for me anymore, are you? you're going to be respectful... and classy... and you're gonna listen. right?"
his fingers curl inside of you, pressing lightly against that special spot that makes your pussy clench against him. a long whine leaves your lips before you can manage to respond. "yes, mr. jackson, yes— oh, yes, yes, yes—"
the sound of his laughter, so thoroughly amused and light, fills the air. it's not enough to drown out your moans by a long shot, though. you're saying yes to his fingers more than to him, but he'll take it this time. "good. very good. i'm glad we're on the same page," he teases, tuilting his head to kiss your jaw a few times as he finally coaxes a full orgasm out of you. it's been a minute since he's done something like this, touching a woman, much less fingering one, but it seems he hasn't lost his magic. michael watches, enraptured, as your toes curl and your eyes start to screw themselves shut. your voice grows breathless as you continue your begging and cursing, all "oh mr. jackson, please!" and "fuck, mr. jackson!".
the sensation of his lips softly pressing kisses to your face and neck completely contradicts how roughly he's started to slide his fingers in. when they're all the way in, he curls, wriggles somewhat— sometimes even presses his thumb against your clit, flicking and abusing the poor thing just to watch you squirm. when you finally, finally cum, mr. jackson grins. no, no, not a grin.
he smirks.
it's not a gentle climax. your entire body shakes as you finish, your hands gripping him as if he's the only solid thing in your hazy world of wetness and heat. it's not a quiet one, either; your voice carries throughout your home, almost echoing, loud and desperate. inside, his fingers pump a few more times. then, michael pulls them out. the hand holding your stomach gently caresses the area, easing you down from the high as he sucks his fingers clean in front of you. when he slides them out of his own mouth, they leave with an obscene, wet pop. he's not normally so lewd about it, really, but it only felt right to put on a show for you. to watch your eyes flicker in disbelief and embarrassment as he sucks your cum right off his fingers... mmm...
"so... i won't have to repeat this lesson again, right?" he asks slowly, his expression shifting into something less perverse, but no less intense.
all the strength you have left in you is put into nodding. "no, mr. jackson. i've... learned."
"good, good," he continues, kissing your jaw once more, "very good. so, tomorrow, we'll do the practices and recordings you missed; then, we'll have to reschedule that dinner and this time, you will attend, no ifs ands or buts."
this time, you don't reply. fucked out doesn't begin to describe how you feel. after being edged for so long, cumming had drained you; the dam had broke, and all the water had rushed out leaving behind a broken dam, a broken you. god, your mind is nothing but heat and fuzz and his fingers. long, large, talented fingers. fingers that felt so good inside... your legs press together, a soft sigh escaping past your lips. just thinking about it has you wet again, much to your own humiliation.
michael just hums. "it's okay, i know your answer's yes." carefully, he shifts you around to carry you. "now, let's get you cleaned up and dressed again, alright? there, there, you'll be fine... really, i wasn't that mean, was i?" he laughs a little as he lifts you up in his arms and stands, "mm, i bet you liked it, even if i was mean. you're a glutton for punishment, aren't you?... yeah, you are..."
gulp... this is longer than my usual stuff here but i think i get a pass today. i try to keep stuff kinda bite-sized on this account bc it's a sideblog, but michael + fingering = me losing my mind. anyone who sends mature era michael pics to my ask box is automatically my fav as well, i love a good dilf sm... i also imagine that he wore his wedding ring during this bc in my mind he hasnt yet taken it off. need that freshly divorced dick badly. anyways, hope u enjoyed!











