“Let The Punishment Fit The Crime”
A Michael Jackson Erotic Short Story By:
MJsLoveSlave
(Nonsexual Cameos By Marlon, Randy, Jackie and Tito Jackson)
Police Precinct 129
Los Angeles, California
Winter, 1982
A nine foot by nine foot cell.
That had been Bette Hill’s home for the last thirteen days. And she had another seventeen ahead of her to go.
Lying there, on the small, military-issue cot that passed as her bed, the young woman, shoved her hands into the pockets of her plain, black cotton jumpsuit and stared up at the ceiling. At the bare bulb that burned overhead from five in the morning until lights out at nine p.m.
Very often she regretted just how in the hell she ended up in jail.
Thirty days, for the first offense of being caught soliciting.
Yes, this young woman, just barely of legal age, had been picked up for being a prostitute.
Bette had gotten caught nearly two weeks ago in a sweep of the red-light districts around the city and she wound up being one of nearly a thousand ‘ladies of the evening’ that were hauled in and charged.
No trial, no anything, just “thirty days” and thrown in the slammer.
Bette wasn’t even a prostitute. Well, not really.
You see, when Bette had been arrested, it was her very first night out on the corner. She had no pimp, she had nothing. Just trying to earn a dollar by using her body. (Or letting someone use her body.)
Bette had only been out there for fifteen minutes before a squad of cops appeared. She didn’t even turn any tricks for anyone.
And yet, there she was confined to a cell, the only time she saw any of the other inmates was in the communal shower. She was kept completely isolated.
And if it wasn’t bad enough that the poor girl had been arrested to start with, the jail she was in wasn’t the typical jail.
No.
Back in the early 1980s, the United States Government was doing it’s best to quell the rampancy of vice crimes sweeping the nation. Illegal gambling, drug running, hookers selling their wares, it was all the radar and in need of being removed before it took over the country.
In the state of California a short-lived and albeit controversial program was developed and test driven in a few jails--including the one Bette Hill was now occupying.
The “Let The Punishment Fit the Crime” Program had been adopted just a few months prior to Bette’s arrest and was in full-swing by the time she was incarcerated.
It was a program that specifically targeted prostitutes. As a part of the program, hookers were brought different “johns” who, instead of paying the women, paid a police officer who in turn handed the money over to fund some of the poorer schools in the area. Men could solicit women and completely avoid being picked up their end of the crime.
And the hookers who participated received lighter sentences.
Their payments could even be used as a tax write-off if the man was so bold.
The monetary gain from the program had already proved beneficiary--tens of thousands of dollars were pouring in.
In the jail, Bette had reluctantly signed on for the program. If she hadn’t her one month sentence would have been a one year sentence instead.
She was deathly afraid of just what kind of men would be brought to her, since the cops were basically her pimps now. And she had to have been deaf not to hear the erotic groans and cries of the other women who were servicing customers once night fell. She had heard talk that some women had as many as ten customers in a night. Ten different, strange men!
But Bette had been visited by no one and she knew it was more than just a coincidence. Only one person had been in to visit Bette, and he wasn’t exactly a typical “john”.
No.
He was a Lieutenant by the name of Marlon Jackson.
Bette had caught the eye of the young, twenty-something officer the very first night she had been put in jail. Once he’d found out she’d signed into “The Program” as it was commonly called, he came to her cell to strike up a deal.
Officer Jackson told her he liked the way she looked and if she let him have her whenever he wanted during her month-long stay, he’d see to it that no other man touched her at all.
Bette was a bit skeptical, she’d heard about dirty cops on the street, but it was an offer she couldn’t refuse. She couldn’t stand the idea of having to mate with a man she didn’t even choose for herself. So she agreed anyway.
Bette found herself on the receiving end of what appeared to be the almost inhumanly insatiable sexual appetite of Officer Jackson.
In her thirteen day say, the man had already been to see her ten times, wanting everything from a quickie hand-job to a full blown session of intercourse that lasted for hours. He was rough and often left Bette completely exhausted, but he was a man of his word.
No other man touched Bette.
No other man, until one cool day in the first week of December.
It was near time for lights out, and as Bette knew, that was the time the hookers occupying the cells began to go to “work”.
As Bette laid in her cell, she expected that sometime before the sun came up, Officer Jackson was going to call on her. Hell, he always did.
Glancing over at the clock on the wall, she saw it was a few minutes after nine; at nine-thirty, the place would start jumping.
Only seventeen more days of this and she could get away. She could get out from under that man who always held her down too hard, who liked to slap her as he was doing her and even if she asked him to stop, he never did until he was finished and dripped hot mess all over her.
She couldn’t wait to be released and never see Officer Marlon Jackson again.
Pop!
Bette groaned to herself and ran a hand through her hair disdainfully at the sound of the deadbolt unlatching.
Damn it all to pus-spewing Hell! The b*stard couldn’t even wait until nine-thirty to come after her!
As the heavy steel door began to swing open, Bette started to sit up, trying to mentally prepare herself to be used again.
The woman’s breath caught in her throat when instead of just Officer Jackson by himself, as usual, he entered, flanked by four other men.
Immediately Bette broke out into a cold sweat, absolutely certain that she was going to be the victim of a train, if not worse. They’d all use her up on the spot.
She stared, stunned into speechlessness, at Officer Jackson.
He was an attractive Black man, a bit on the short side, with attractive features including light brown eyes that always seem to flash with amusement and substantial, pouted lips beneath a thin mustache.
She knew from experience that under his black uniform, studded with badges, adorned with a gun and Billy club holding holster, he was quite muscular and hairy.
Looking from Marlon, as he removed his shiny policeman’s cap and scratched as his thick, lustrous hair, arranged in a curl, she observed the four other Black men with Marlon.
Each were well dressed, from the ruggedly handsome man in a silk tank and leather trousers, to the chubby fellow in jeans, to the skinny man who looked more like a boy in an ornate red leather coat to the young man wearing handcuffs as a bracelet.
The men were all gazing at her anxiously, but said nothing.
Coming forward, and turning to face the men, he introduced them,
“Fellas, this is Bette Hiller. She was picked up about two weeks ago for soliciting for prostitution and is a part of ‘The Program’. …” He glanced over his shoulder at the woman as her heart began to rattle erratically in her chest.
“Bette…These are my brothers. Jackie (in the leather trousers), Michael (in the red jacket), Tito (the chubby one) and Randy (the handcuff wearing one). They want to take advantage of The Program without out being picked up--you know how it works.” He sighed and was picking at his hair again.
“Stand up, girl!” He ordered gruffly before chuckling as if the entire thing was a game.
Bette stood slowly, shooting daggers at Marlon with her eyes. She should have known she couldn’t have trusted his monkey looking ass when it came to trying to save hers. But she knew there was nothing she could do. Marlon had the power. He was Officer Jackson, and she was nobody. Just another number in the system.
As Bette stood there, Officer Jackson began describing her to the men, as if she were a contestant in some form of a twisted beauty pageant.
“Bette is five feet, seven inches tall and weighs 115 pounds. You can see had an exotic appearance with a light brown complexion, blue-grey eyes and long, naturally curly black hair. She’s half-German and half-Black. She has a knock out figure, trust me.” He paused when the four other men burst out laughing.
“She has a natural bust size of a 36C--” He was interrupted by Tito and Randy starting to shake their heads.
“No…no. Hell no. I told you: I like big tits on a woman.” Randy grumbled not trying to hide his voice. “That’s not big enough. I want something I can get lost in. She’s pretty, but not what I want. I’m out.” With that, the man turned and exited the room, leaving Tito to offer,
“I’m sorry Honey, my own man-boobs are bigger than that.”
And he was but a memory, leaving Jackie and Michael behind.
“Stupid asses!’ Marlon groaned before continuing,
“She’s a 36C bust--nice perky hooters that stand up for days. Her waist is 22 inches and her hips are 28. Nice and slim. She’s completely clean of VD or anything like that. We blood test all the inmates…and I’ve had her quite a bit, so you know she’s alright. This was her very first arrest. A good girl, she’s only nineteen--”
Bette felt like a dog in a Kennel Club Show being spoken of that way.
This time Jackie put his hands up.
“I’m sorry Marlon, man…” He laughed shaking his head. “That girl is too young for me. I’m thirty-one man. I can’t be messing around with little girls like that. She’s fine as hell, just too young.” Jackie, like the other two left and was out of sight.
The only one left now was Michael.
Bette wondered if he found something he didn’t like about her, and if all the men skipped out, just what would Officer Jackson do to her in retaliation for not appealing to them?
Clearly exasperated and agitated, Marlon, pulling at his hair went to speak, but was interrupted by Michael speaking, so softly he almost sounded like a woman himself,
“I…I want her Marlon. I want to spend some time with her. She appeals to me. I like her look--she looks innocent--”
To that, Officer Jackson doubled over laughing loudly.
“Innocent? HA! If she were innocent, she wouldn’t be in here! Hell, Mike!”
Burned, Bette went to start cursing Marlon out, when he suddenly spun on his heel and she noticed he had his hand placed over his gun.
She instantly kept all the dirty words to herself.
As Marlon came over to her and stood so closely she could smell the stale coffee on his breath, she saw Michael retreating in the far corner of the room.
Marlon’s thick and slightly damp lips bumped her earlobe as he warned in a deathly stern and low tone, his hand clutching the back of her neck to bring Bette closer to him.
“Look, girl, you better show my brother a good time; I’ve been bragging about your ass for the last two weeks. Whatever in the hell he wants you give it to him! I don’t care how crazy it is, how weird it is… you DO it! Because if he’s unhappy, I’m gonna lay into you so hard you won’t be able to walk…”
Bette stared down at the floor, halfway wanting to cry as he pinched her cheek with rough fingertips.
“And once he’s done…you stay naked, because I WILL come for you before the night is over, you understand?”
Bette bobbed her head, too nervous to even utter an answer.
Marlon’s lips touched hers ever so lightly, before he turned an announced to Michael,
“She’s all yours. Have fun! HA!”
A moment later, the door closed and the deadbolt engaged with a loud clang.
Bette was locked in; with a man she had never met before. Even if he was Marlon’s brother.
Willing herself to pick her head up, she got a better look at Michael Jackson.
It was quite clear he was close in age to Marlon and couldn’t have been much older than her. Twenty-five tops.
He was very attractive, with features that seemed to be finer than Marlon’s. He had a smaller nose, smaller lips, even his arched brows were pencil-thin. He hair was slightly longer and fuller, circling his head like a curl-laden halo.
His eyes were also darker than Marlon’s.
Standing there in his red jacket over a grey tee and blue jeans, with a large black belt clinging to his barely there hips, it was evident he was much slimmer than Marlon.
The poor girl only hoped he wasn’t as rough as Marlon. She didn’t know if she could handle that kind of abuse twice in the same night. She could barely handle Marlon as it was.
Michael had been staring down at his hands, as he fiddled with a silver ring in the shape of a horseshoe on it, but slowly, his eyes came up and he was now seeming to glare at Bette.
His gaze was so intense and sharp, it started to scare the woman. He hadn’t said anything in over ten minutes and was now staring at Bette like he wanted to murder her. She prayed to God he wouldn’t.
His look was so unnerving that finally after a full twenty minutes had passed, she brought herself to speak hoarsely,
“What…what do you want to do with me, Michael?”
Finally…finally, those slim, slightly glossed lips parted and Michael Jackson spoke up,
“Are you wearing anything under that jumpsuit? Bra? Panties? Anything?”
At the question, Bette looked down once again, feeling a bit shy at being asked such blatant things.
“No…I’m not wearing anything under my suit…” She admitted and was wringing her hands. “Marlon--um, Officer Jackson prefers it that way.”
Michael’s high polish penny loafers squeaked as he made his way to her and stood over Bette, the aroma of his musk based cologne tickling her nose.
His breath, smelling of spearmints was warm in her face as he took hold of her chin with smooth, long fingers and tilted her head back.
Dark eyes, with long lashes, flashed as they swept over her face.
His voice was a bit deeper as he told her matter-of-factly.
“You never should have been on the street trying to hook, Bette. You’re too young and too pretty to get into that kind of work. And with the way you’re acting, you don’t know what you’re doing. You are like I said--too innocent.”
Pulling free of Michael’s grasp and slightly enraged, Bette demanded,
“What was I supposed to do? Huh? I needed money or I would have been thrown out of my apartment. I’m probably out on my ass now anyway being in the jug for so damn long! I used to work at a daycare center. I got fired for having an affair with one of the kids’ fathers. It’s not like he was married--his wife had been dead for two years! But I got fired just the same because I wasn’t supposed to fraternize with the customers anyway! I was so stupid!”
Feeling a bit too exposed at having let this bit of too personal information loose, Bette dropped her head again, unable to bear looking at Michael any longer.
He was a stranger to her. He didn’t need to know things like that about her. Nobody did.
What Michael Jackson said next stunned Bette so rudely, she nearly fainted.
Stroking his pointed chin, Michael commented lowly,
“You were a daycare worker? I know some people in that sort of business…if you promise me you won’t try to hook once you get out of this God-forsaken place, then I promise to help you find another job. A respectable job.”
Bette’s head came up and her jaw dropped in disbelief. Michael was going to help her find a job? Who the hell would hire her to work around children, after she had been busted for such an adult offense?
Was he lying? Was he a lying sack of sh*t like his big lipped brother? He had to be lying!
She studied Michael’s taut and handsome face; there was a peacefulness to it that told her not to discredit him. Not just yet.
Squinting at him she inquired,
“Why…why would you want to help me? You don’t even know me. How can you be so generous?”
Biting on his bottom lip in a bashful manner, Michael shrugged, and was shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“It’s just what I like to do, Bette.” Was all he said of the matter.
Slipping his hands from his pockets, he placed them onto Bette’s shoulders, squeezing them lightly.
Once again, those expressive, almost haunting dark eyes were taking her in.
Michael’s voice dropped several octaves when he opened his mouth again, to mention a different topic entirely,
“Now that that’s taken care of…I want what I’ve come for: To be shown a good time like my brother told me.”
Bette knew this was coming. She knew that man wasn’t just going to walk in there and not do anything. Everyone had strings attached to them, and this clean cut appearing man was, of course, no different.
He and Marlon had the same blood flowing through them.
Searching Michael’s face, she went to tell him that yes, he could have her.
The words never got out.
Michael jerked her against his thin frame, and was kissing her with what seemed like all the force he could muster in his body. Mashing away at her mouth, puckering and sucking wildly, every so often, his small, tongue, wetly moving around at will.
At the same time, those almost inhumanly large hands had found their way around Bette and were pressing down on her backside, causing her nether regions to collide with Michael’s.
Copying the man, she had her hands shoved into the back pockets of his jeans, getting a feel for his small, somewhat flat, and firm booty.
He was a much better kisser than Marlon.
After a few minutes of literally sucking on her face, Michael drew back, and grabbing Bette’s hand, held it over his crotch.
Allowed her to feel the stiffness beginning to evolve there, between his thighs.
Eyes glowing with the onset of true horniness, Michael confessed,
“I’m…I’m a jingle writer. I do the commercials you hear playing on the radio…in order to keep my mind clear and sharp, I usually abstain from sex. I…I haven’t been laid since 1979...”
Bette’s eyes widened. Had this man really, really not had …relations…in three years! If he had, who knew what kind of animal he was once his clothes came off? Bette was intrigued, and frightened at the same time. She still had several bruises from Marlon to show for his wildness.
Hugging Bette tighter, Michael whispered with a quiet urgency and his eyes swelled in his head,
“It’s long over do. I need to be f*cked and I need it bad as all hell. If I don’t get some ‘poon-tang’ right now, I’m gonna lose my damn mind!”
(Author’s note: Horny Michael Jackson always makes me giggle like a schoolgirl. I love it. It just tickles me!)
Sensing that the inevitable was about to happen, Bette pulled back from Michael and started to undo the zipper on the front of her jumpsuit.
“No!--” Michael exclaimed and was rudely slapping her hands away, grabbing onto the zipper for himself, and yanking it all the way down in one swift movement.
In another moment, the jumpsuit was on the floor and Bette’s soft, curvaceous body was uncovered and bare for Michael to see.
“Oh damn…you’re gorgeous, girl! Sh*t!” He cooed as he bit down on one of his long fingers, eyes going first to her large breasts then down to that barely perceptible slit at the base of her triangle.
Bette was embraced again and had her mouth tongued several moments before, breathless, Michael pointed at her cot and instructed tersely,
“Get in the bed! Go get in the bed. I’m about to pass out. Get in the bed!”
When Bette turned her back to him, he actually gave her a strict shove, sending her flying, he was in such a hurry.
As she regained her balance and obediently got into the bed, she saw that Michael was now clutching at his groin, his middle finger absently swishing back and forth against the denim as he focused on her.
His head tilted back and when he jerked it back up, his lips were puckered in his arousal, a trait she had seen in Marlon many times over.
Somehow a request found its way out those flexing lips.
“Touch yourself for me, Bette. I want you to touch yourself. I like to see a woman do that…makes me hot like fire….”
Cupping her breasts and bouncing them, looking up through her lashes to tease Michael, Bette wondered if Michael realized how similar he and Marlon were. Marlon also liked to see her touch herself.
It was quite clear that Michael was becoming more and more aroused with each passing second. His cheeks were growing scarlet, he was sucking harder on his bottom lip and his eyes were going all half-lidded as he continued watching her.
Pressing one of her breasts up to her mouth, Bette kissed the top of it, drawing something of a growl out of Michael.
“Yes, Baby…that’s it. Now play with yourself….touch…touch that little snatch for me…” He was cooing, shaking his head against the feeling in him.
This was not a foreign request and as Bette slipped her hand between her legs, rubbing at the little flap of skin that was her cl*toris, she couldn’t help moaning herself. She was sensitive and any sort of touch down there would result in her making noise.
Around her, faintly she could hear other wh*res engaging in sex, most likely with some of Michael’s brothers and the sound only intensified the lusty feeling starting to rise within her.
“Judas Priest…it’s so…cute and pink…damn it…” Michael was mumbling as his clothes began flying off, falling anywhere on the floor. “I love pinkness!”
As Michael’s clothing came off, Bette caught sight of his svelte, slender and well-toned body. He was much slimmer than Marlon, perhaps even skinny in some contexts, but beautiful.
His body was soft and sleek, the perfect shade of brown.
Michael stripped down to his underwear, if they could have been called that.
Michael’s prominent bulge was scarcely contained by a pair of sheer, red mesh, bikini style underwear.
Bette could make out the sparse hair on his crotch above the mass that was curled in the underwear.
It was obscured from view as Michael, walking over to her was taking his hand and openly slapping at himself, encouraging more growth. He was bigger than Marlon. He definitely looked it. Marlon wasn’t a small guy, but Michael seemed larger.
The sight of him like that was starting to light a fire in Bette.
Yes, she wanted this man. She wanted him.
Leaning over Bette, Michael grabbed her wrist and took her hand from her p*ssy, staring at it a moment, before wedging just behind her on the tiny cot.
Warm hand on her supple thigh, Michael pressed her legs together, and hotly told her to tuck her knees up to her chest.
Slowly, Bette did as she was told, vainly hoping Michael wouldn’t sodomize her…she didn’t like it…
Peeking over her shoulder, she caught sight of Michael sucking on his middle finger.
Seconds later, it was inserted into her, just barely getting past her tight flesh.
“Oh! Michael…” She gasped as he began rocking it back and forth inside her.
“Yes…a nice hot little snatch…that’s what I like. I want you to get a little wet…not come, just a tiny bit wet….” Michael told her between kisses to her earlobe and cheek. He began twisting his finger, drawing more from Bette.
She was hugging her knees tightly, and whimpering into them.
“You like that? You like that? Me fingering that sweet, juicy little thing?” Michael was taunting as he snuggled closer to her, taking his finger from her long enough to suck on it.
“Taste so good…god damn….” He moaned as he pushed the finger back into her.
“Yeah…yeah…go Michael. Go Baby…Sh*t!” Bette leaned her head back as Michael played with her a while more before withdrawing his hand, now with the amount of moisture he craved.
Behind Bette, Michael began wiggling wildly, and she wondered if he was having an orgasm already, before they had really done anything.
“You’re exactly what I need, Bette….EXACTLY.” Michael confided and as his arm came out from behind her, she saw what all the wiggling had been about.
Clutched in Michael’s hand was his barely there drawers.
He dangled them before her face, the scent of his cologne heavy on them before letting them drop to the floor.
His mouth was against her ear again.
“I don’t want you to see my d*ck just yet….not yet. I just want you to feel it. You’re gonna feel it, girl. Sh*t yeah….”
Nestling closer to Bette to position himself properly, and smacking on her neck he added cautiously,
“Don’t scream too loudly…”
Bette saw nothing but white and felt a searing pain as with one forceful, nearly bone-crunching thrust, Michael was rushing in, spreading her in all directions and going so far it seemed impossible for a man to be that huge.
“Oh my God! Oh Lord! Oh no! No! Not…not like that!” Bette cried out and started to try to climb out the bed to get away.
Almost on cue, one of Michael’s arms wrapped around her neck while the other laced around her waist, holding her in place.
Rotating his hips, Michael informed her coldly,
“No, Bette…until this big c*ck of mine skeets white and goes limp, you belong to me. You understand? I paid five hundred dollars for you, and I intend to get it out of you. You’re mine!”
“No! No! No! Oh! Oh! My God! Oh! Sh*t!”
Bette was clawing at Michael’s thin arm as he began ramming her so hard, she swore she could feel the tip of that ginormous d*ck somewhere in her chest.
He really was f*cking like he hadn’t had a woman in three years. He was a complete animal.
“You want this! You want this! You like it! Judas Priest…You like this. You like how I f*ck you! Yes you f*cking do!”
Michael was snarling as he was drilling it to Bette, seeming to throw all his weight behind every thrust.
“I’m beating this little sweet p*ssy up! This p*ssy is mine! It’s my p*ssy! Say my name! SAY MY NAME! WHAT’S MY NAME?” He demanded shrilly and was tilting Bette’s head back to watch her.
“Michael! Michael! MICHAEL! Mike! Mike! Please! Stop! Mike! OH! Aw! Aw! Hell!” Bette was still scratching at his arm very close to losing herself all over him.
“That’s right. That’s Michael Jackson’s p*ssy right there!”
Came the triumphant declaration and Bette screamed as he ripped himself from her, and flipped her over on her stomach.
The girl was winded as Michael sat directly on her back.
“Ow! Ow! Ow! Don’t! OW!” She shouted into her pillow as Michael began harshly slapping at her ass.
“Look at that thing jiggle. You got a prime ass, Bette!” Michael commented as he continued spanking her, the loud claps he produced echoing around the room.
(Her butt would be bruised all over for the next three days following this treatment.)
“Ow! Michael! Michael!” Bette whimpered as Michael was off her, and flipping her over onto her back.
“Oh Lord…oh no…” She whispered when she laid eyes on Michael’s naked pubic area for the first time.
He was as large as he had felt. Between his hard thighs, a d*ck that seemed almost too large for his body stood up solidly, it’s foreskin, flashing and showing the engorged, burgundy tip as Michael was crawling towards Bette, rubbing on it to keep it rigid.
That had been inside her? She had managed to take that and still be in one piece? How was that possible?
Mashing his thumb, middle finger and index finger together, Michael caused all kinds of screams to leave Bette as he pinched on her cl*t, tweaking that little piece of flesh to the point nearly pulling it from her body.
And that damn man still wasn’t done.
“Michael…please…” Bette begged, near exhaustion as Michael was climbing onto her and pushing her legs up so that they rested on his wet and glistening shoulders.
“Please my f*cking ass. That’s the only please I care about.”
Michael grunted and once again, he was brutally introducing himself to Bette.
“AAAHHHH! MICHAEL! AAAHHH! OH MY GOD!” She shrieked as he began tearing her up again. Before she could even tell Michael, she was starting to orgasm.
“AH! AH! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! DAMN YOU! I HATE YOU!”
She screamed, falling back against her little pillow, putting her hands up into Michael’s curls pulling on them.
“The hell you do!” Michael retorted and was squeezing on her face as he continued pumping at her. “You know you love me. You know you love what the hell I’m doing. Shut the f*ck up! You love this! Getting some good d*ck! Marlon wasn‘t from sh*t! I‘m doing it like it‘s supposed to be done! ”
Throwing his head back, Michael was holding onto Bette’s slim thighs, and was throwing himself as hard he possibly could into the poor girl.
“Holy sh*t! Holy sh*t…this is some good p*ssy. Some good ass p*ssy!” Michael exclaimed before yanking himself from Bette.
“No! NO! NO! Hell! I’m about to…I’m about to bust a nut….bust them both! AH!” He screamed as he sat on his knees, and pulling Bette, got her into a seated position.
“Pull me! Pull it! Get me off! Make me nut, girl! Make me come!” He demanded, his voice getting higher and higher.
Wrapping her hands around that mass that was thick around as a soda can, Bette, sore, breathless and still oozing herself, was jerking at Michael Jackson!
“Yes! Yes! Yank it! Yank it! HARDER! Harder!” Michael was ordering as he was slapping at his reddened sack, making is sway and jiggle crazily.
“Aw, I’m so close. Aw, I’m so f*cking close….I’m so…so…so…”
Suddenly, Michael’s mouth fell open and his eyes bugged.
His entire body began to rattle.
“OH! OH! WOOOOO! ! EEEEEEEEE! WOOOO! AH! AH! AH! EEEEEE! WOOO! WOO!” The other worldly high pitched scream was exiting his mouth.
“Motherf*ck--EEEEE! WOOO! EEEEEE!”
(Author’s note: It took me an entire ten minutes to come up with the way I wanted Michael to scream as he hit his peak.)
Popping his head, Michael continued to scream as droplets of white lust began to flow from him, and down over Bette’s hands as she continued rubbing him, bringing him home, and getting him off, just how he wanted.
Struggling for wind, Michael reached and tugged on Bette’s curls,
“Lick it! Lick the mess off. Lick it! You caused it to be like that! F*cking with you--lick my d*ck!”Swallow it--Marlon said you swallowed! I like swallowing chicks too!”
Somehow, Bette found herself down on Michael’s crotch, swabbing that sticky saltiness with her tongue as it was going limp in her hands.
Or so she thought.
“Ah!” She screamed as, a second time, Michael ejaculated, directly into her face. “God damn it!”
Michael slumped a moment, holding himself as he and Bette both tried to breathe.
“Ha! Ha!” Michael laughed after a while as he rubbed at her face with the palm of his hand. “You were wonderful Bette. A five-star f*ck all the way. Best piece of ass I’ve had in ages.”
Bette winced as he patted her sore backside again.
“Thank you Honey….thank you….I needed that.”
As Michael climbed the bed and started gathering up his clothes to dress, Bette fell back against the covers, her entire body throbbing.
She had just been through hell and back with Michael Jackson, but watching as he was slipping his nothing drawers back on, she was glad she’d had him. She did like him, even if he was a monster come alive in the sheets.
About fifteen minutes later, Michael stood fully dressed, his jacket held over his shoulder as he was running a small comb through his tresses to make himself look normal again.
It was nearly two in the morning. Bette been with Michael for five hours.
Bette, still trying to calm herself, sat up when she heard the lock on the door disengaging.
Officer Jackson came strolling in, twirling his Billy club.
(His real club, not his d*ck)
“Hey Mike, you look happy.” He pointed out with a grin as he reached and shook his brother’s hand.
“Yeah, I’m happy, that girl was something else. Terrific!” Michael chortled, turning and giving Bette a gentle kiss.
“Thank you…” His eyes glowed as he looked at her one last time.
There seemed to be some affection in them…just below the surface.
“You’re welcome, Michael…” Bette was actually sorry to see him go.
With that Michael gave Marlon a hug before literally skipping out of the room.
With a slam, Officer Jackson closed the cell door and was grinning at Bette. She knew what the look meant. Damn it she was so tired. Michael had worn her out. Officer Jackson didn’t care--she knew what that look meant!
“My turn now…” He informed her, throwing the club to the floor and staring to unbutton his shirt. “Been waiting all damn night. I’m about to ruin your ass…Michael was child‘s play, I‘m about to ruin your ass…”
Two weeks later, Bette Hiller had finally been released from jail, her thirty day sentence served. As she stood in the strong box room where all of her belongings had been stored during her stay, retrieving her clothes and few other trinkets, a hand patted her shoulder.
Turning, Bette jumped slightly,
Standing there, gazing at her was Officer Jackson. The poor girl was so sore, on her last night, he’d spent the entire night in her cell, all over her. A part of her was glad to probably never see him again. He was just too rough for his own good.
“Michael told me to give you this…” He informed her and handed her long red envelope.
Curious as to what Michael could have wanted, since she hadn’t heard from him since their encounter, Bette timidly took the letter and opened it. Inside was a letter and a smaller white envelope.
Taking out the letter, Better started to read Michael’s fine handwriting,
“Dear Bette,
If you’re reading this letter, then it means that the time you were serving has ended and you are a free woman again, your debt to society paid in full. I wonder if you remember the agreement we made a few weeks ago, when I asked you not to return to hooking --that I’d fix you up with a respectable job. Well, I am a man of my word. This coming Monday, I want you to go downtown to the Happy Hills Daycare center. My sister Latoya owns it and has a place open and waiting for you.
Just ask for Latoya Jackson.
Also, tonight, I want to celebrate your good fortune. I want you to meet me at the Gilded Lily restaurant for dinner. In the little white envelope is five hundred dollars for you to buy a new outfit. You need a new outfit to start your new life. And I hope you’ll let me be a part of your life.
XOXO Michael XOXO
PS--You DO know that Marlon is a married man, right? And every time he laid hands on you, he was cheating on his wife of five years. --MJ "
“So, what’d he say?” Marlon, still looming over Bette snickered.
He reeled backwards when she punched him square in the mouth.
“He said to tell your good adulterer ass to GO TO HELL and sit your hot ass on a stack of coals!” Bette shouted at him as he dropped to his knees, lips spurting blood.
Head held higher than it had been for a long time, Bette made her way out of the jail and onto her new, better life.
Couldn’t spell “better” without “Bette”.
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