“Think It Over”
A Michael Jackson Erotic Short Story By:
MJsLoveSlave
Carrington, Georgia
June, 1989
Michael Jackson had always fascinated me.
And it had been that way for the last eight years of my life.
I had first heard tell of this exceptional man when I was only twelve years old.
Every summer, once school had let out, I’d leave my parent’s home in Atlanta to come visit and spend the warm months at Green Oaks, my grandparent’s plantation.
Usually I found the experience to be rather boring as my days were filled with putting up with little snobs from “old guard” families as we went through the motions of Southern Etiquette classes, Young Ladies Christian League--as Nana felt every young girl should form a bond with God early on in life--stuffy tea parties and the occasional cotillion.
None of this sort of way of life ever did much for me. I always kind of laughed at everyone to myself. They were desperately to hanging onto a lifestyle that had burned to the ground over a hundred years ago during the Civil War.
Trying to turn prepubescent little girls into modern-day Scarlett O’Haras, when that sort of woman just didn’t seem to exist anymore.
Plus it really didn’t do anybody any favors when we had to wear their weight in crinolines to the cotillions we always did dress in antebellum-style clothing for these dances. (To this day, I still have scars from all those stiff petticoats rubbing against my thighs and legs.)
But my parents felt this sort of social education was needed for me, and okayed all of my grandparent‘s efforts.
Especially when I couldn’t ignore the fact that it was at one of these “Gone with the Wind” type balls that my mother had met my father and not soon after became a couple.
Even at such a young age, I was well aware that the purpose of all these balls, cotillions and parties were so that the young girls would meet--and hopefully be a match for--the young boys.
It was a hopeless existence to me, and as I aged, I came to dread these functions. I didn’t like waltzing to classical music in an eighty-pound dress. I liked grooving to Rick James in a pair of Levi’s and sneakers. But that was frowned upon. Modern dancing where you seemed to fling your body all over here and yonder like a streetwalker. At least that’s how Nana referred to it.
And I had grown to hate when summer time rolled around.
Then, the summer of 1981 changed my life forever.
I had only been at Green Oaks a week, when I had first heard of Michael Jackson.
I remember it had been a Saturday afternoon and I was walking back home after one of the tea parties I loathed so much.
On our particular street, Maple Avenue, three different old plantations stood.
Green Oaks, about a mile and half down the road were our neighbors, the Grants in their home called Orange Field, and across the street was what was known to all as the “Old Tompkins Manor”.
As far as I knew, no one had lived at that mansion, which was easily the size of both Green Oaks and Orange Field combined, and then some, since sometime in the 1940s.
So you could imagine my surprise when I started to pass the estate and noticed that a handful of large vans sat in the driveway of that huge, imposing masonry manse.
Somebody was moving in! I paused there, hanging onto the wrought iron fence, staring in, as a variety of large men were toting expensive looking antiques on into the building.
A place that had been dead, was now wriggling and moving with life. Upstairs, I could make out maids cleaning windows, in the back a yardman was riding a lawn mower, cutting the overgrown grass.
As I continued to loiter, quietly, a dark blue Rolls Royce, with heavily tinted windows rolled by me and into the driveway, coming to a halt just as the large fountain in the center of it, began spewing water, a bit rusty at first, then clear.
Just as silently, a thin figure, in jeans and a green sweatshirt, the hood hiding its face, emerged from the car and jogged directly into the house.
I hadn’t known it then, but I had just seen Michael Jackson for the first time.
Over the next few days, Michael Jackson was on everyone’s tongues and coming out of everyone’s mouths.
From all the gossip going on, I learned quite a bit. That Michael, was in his early twenties at the time and a descendant of the Tompkins’ clan. That depending on if he had any siblings, he was quite a wealthy man as the Tompkins had been THE family in Carrington. (Rumor had it that after the Civil War, the family had maintained its wealth by investing in the railroad.)
Over the following weeks, many times, women from the Christian Ladies League--probably with the hopes of throwing one of their daughters into the lap of such an eligible young bachelor-- tried to visit Michael.
All to no avail as every time they tried to gain entrance, the maid who answered the door would always tell them that
“Mr. Jackson wished to see no one.”
Indeed no did see Michael Jackson.
He never seemed to leave his house. Not to go to church, the grocery store or anywhere. Every single invite to cotillions addressed to him were returned by hand by one of his many servants.
Michael appeared to be a recluse with no interest in what was going on in the town around him.
And that intrigued me. It fascinated me to no end how this man had the town in a tizzy and no one laid eyes on him. It grew to be a determination of mine to catch sight of Michael Jackson.
In my free time, between all my silly Southern Belle activities, I would stand in front of his gate until my feet swelled trying to get some kind of glimpse of him.
It was odd; I knew he had to be lonely in that big place all by himself. And yet he never went out, and from what I could tell, he never had anyone in.
He was by himself and I felt kind of bad about that.
When I left back for Atlanta at the end of the summer, I stared at his house as my parents drove past it, wondering if he’d ever come out.
The same routine continued the following summers. Hanging around outside his house over the years. I often wondered if Michael was perhaps ill and bedridden and that’s why he didn’t come out, or was he even deformed like the “Phantom of the Opera” and not wanting to be ridiculed for his appearance.
All it did was maintain my interest and keep my curiosity peaked.
Until finally, one day, I could no longer bear it.
Just like I had done eight years before, I was once again dragging ass back to Green Oaks following a tea party a few blocks over. And it had been even more irritating than usual. The little boys I had grown up with were now men, and every so often I’d had to shake one out of my hair as they kept trying to make up to me. I wanted nothing to do with those little affected ninnies at all. It probably would have made Nana happy as a clam for me to pay attention to them, since most of the other girls who weren’t engaged were at least seeing a nice Southern boy. I wasn’t really sorry to disappoint her. But it just wasn’t in me to listen to a boy ramble on and on why Bush was an improvement on Regan if he was elected the next President.
I dawdled along, holding my blue pumps in my hand when I found myself standing across the street from the Old Tompkins’ Manor.
Much to my surprise, not only was the front gate wide open, the lead glass, double doors stood open too!
It was almost like an invite…and I just couldn’t refuse it!
I may never have had an opportunity like this again.
Slipping my shoes back on, I quickly surveyed the area. There wasn’t a soul in sight to throw me off the property for trespassing.
I knew it was bold and crazy, but before could halt myself, I had already streaked across the street, and was bounding up the steps onto the expanse wrap around porch.
Right up to the front door.
My heart in my throat, I slowed my movements, and found myself tiptoeing across the highly polished hardwood of the front foyer.
I stood a moment in awe of the splendor before me. I had been in many of the old houses in town, and truly none were as magnificent as this home.
Under my feet, for the purpose of being shown off, the floor was an intricately laid mosaic of dark ebony and light white pine wood, creating an attractive swirling design.
The walls were papered in a muted, dark green and as I ventured further, I found several paintings in thick wooden frames, all of plump, nude women. Nothing vulgar, just a celebration of the female form. While I took no offense to the little pink persons, I knew of many who would.
Overhead, an extremely large and lit crystal chandelier hung, the most ostentatious thing I had ever seen in my life. It appeared to weight hundreds of pounds and yet hung over head as easily if it weighed an ounce.
Michael Jackson was a very well heeled individual from what I could tell.
Steadily moving into the house, the idea I wasn’t invited in the furthest thing from my mind.
The foyer opened up to an expanse stair case, inlaid with wood that matched the flooring, and going up to a landing before curling around to the second floor. At the landing, a large panel of stained glass, depicting a white horse galloping was backlit by the sun, it was so beautiful.
I found it a shame that Michael was alone here, and not sharing this by throwing some type of party.
This house was made to show off and often.
As I neared the stairs, something silver glinted, and caught my eye.
Drawing closer, I saw what it was.
A medal. Small, silver and in the shape of a starburst, suspended by a black silk ribbon. Just laying there on the second step. My imagination ran away with me as I bent and picked it up.
Perhaps Michael had been in the military and that was his medal, it had fallen off as he moved around the house.
That’s why he kept to himself. He’d been in the military and maybe was hurt when a landmine or a bomb had detonated, leaving him disfigured and wanting to hide from society.
He’d been burned or broken up strangely or--
“Who are you?”
At the sound of the question, uttered quite softly, I froze.
Oh God, my stomach dropped down to my toes. I had lingered there too long and now someone had seen me! I was about to be tossed out on my face, if the police weren’t called in to cart me away. What on Earth would Nana and Pop-pop say if they had to post bail for me? I’d be a disgrace to the family!
Gulping, and starting to tremble with fear, I reluctantly lifted my head.
And was quite startled.
Standing on the landing, in front of the horse glass, was a young man.
Very tall and very slender he was, with long, glossy black curls tumbling over his shoulders. A few falling into his chiseled, sculpted and attractive face. His body bore a very intricately embroidered black, red and gold jacket, with long tails in the back, over black trousers and silver cap toed heels.
He appeared to be a military man, the fringed epaulets on his shoulders were large enough to serve a meal on.
But one thing caught me off-guard. The man’s complexion.
His skin was a light, caramel hue. He…he was Black.
I stared at him curiously. Was…was this Michael Jackson?
A descendant of the Tompkins? The White Tompkins?
The man started down the steps towards me, and as he got closer, I saw he held a small, leather-bound book in his hands.
A copy of “The Wizard of Oz” by L. Frank Baum.
Stopping about four steps from me, he repeated,
“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”
Stammering, I managed to choke out,
‘I-I’m Melanie LaPray, Sir. I live across the street at Green Oaks with my grandparents. Theodosia and Clarence LaPray. I’m your neighbor.”
Dark eyes continued to stare blankly as the man asked,
“And how did you get into my house, Miss LaPray?”
“Your front doors were open…I just walked in.” I admitted dropping my head scared this man would call the law on me.
“That’s right…I asked Rosa to air out the front hall.” I heard the man say more to himself than me.
In spite of myself, I wondered,
“Are, are you Michael Jackson?”
“Yes…you’re surprised because I’m Black, aren’t you.” He giggled, and I lifted my head to gaze upon him again.
“This may come as a shock to you--your whole town here, but the Tompkins weren’t White. They were Black. Light-skinned Blacks.” Michael admitted and pried the medal from my hands.
I was in awe. I had seen photographs of the Tompkins. They had been as pale as I was. There were even a few that were naturally blonde-haired.
(Author’s Note: This is true, in my own family, while I am brown, on my father’s side, we had relatives that could have been mistaken for White people. My great-aunt Leona in particular.)
“Thank you for finding this. It belonged to my great-great grandfather, Eustace. He got it saving a bunch of children from a burning orphanage during the Civil War…”
Michael paused and glanced at me.
There didn’t seem to be any anger malice in those lovely eyes of his.
Was he wearing eyeliner?
“I was just going up to the solarium to read, would you care to join me, Miss LaPray? I so seldom have visitors.”
A large, well-manicured hand patted my shoulder and before I knew it, I was following Michael up the grand staircase.
The first person permitted to the house in nearly a decade.
I was so intrigued by this odd man, it just seemed natural.
This soft-spoken man was more that I had ever imagined and even if I had refused to join him in the solarium, I felt my body would have taken after him just the same.
He was nothing like I had imagined…and that was enticing.
Was I attracted to him?
Perhaps…yes…
Upstairs, on the back, left side of the house, I was brought to a room that was indeed a wonderful solarium.
Instead of real, wooden walls, the walls of the room were constructed of green stained glass, giving off an odd glow.
The whole place smelled loudly of roses, which differed from the faint scent of vanilla in the front hall.. Picking up the green, several large potted palms dotted the room, surrounding a plush, jade-colored couch, off set by two graceful armchairs all before a coffee table, both set in dark woods. Lighter colored throw pillows accented the couch and chairs. Several more tomes set on top of the table. It was a gorgeous room.
A room no one other than Michael and his employees had seen.
“Please have a seat, Miss LaPray, make yourself at home.” Michael offered, indicating the couch with one hand as he added his book to the stack on the table.
I heard myself mumble something of a thank you as Michael took a seat in the chair to my right, crossing one long leg over the other.
We sat in a timid, strained silence as it seemed neither of us could come up with anything to speak about. (All my Southern Belle lessons were going to hell as none of the “polite conversation” instructions came to mind!)
I found myself staring at Michael--studying him. He didn’t look directly at me, instead, his head tilted downwards and he was staring at his hands, folded into his lap. Chest rising and falling as he breathed softly.
Sinking into the firm cushions on the couch--it was obvious it was barely sat on--I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
The question that had been burning my tongue up for so many years.
“Why do you stay holed up in this house like this? You seem like a nice man, why don’t you come out and meet people?”
Knuckles cracking lightly, there was a loud whoosh of air as Michael exhaled sharply.
“Well, you see, Miss LaPray--”
“Melanie please, I want us to be friends.” I offered, truly liking this man.
A gentle smile curled his lips as he continued, though not looking up at me.
“You see…I have a bit of a problem, erm, Melanie…”
He was now picking at the curled armrest, nails scraping the wood.
Leaning and resting against the arm of the couch, I prodded,
“What sort of problem?”
A flash of terror lit through me. Was Michael some sort of deranged maniac that needed to be removed from society for fear of harm to the public? Was he going to kill me? Dismember my body and scatter the chunks--
“Um…it’s rather embarrassing to admit, but I am…extremely shy. I don’t do well in crowds or around people. When I’m around people I don’t know, I get sort of anxious and have to leave. The room starts to spinning and I feel nauseous. I know it sounds strange, but I do prefer to be alone. I’m calmer--”
“You seem fine to me.” I interrupted him, resting my chin on my fist and gazing at Michael skeptically. “You’re not breaking into any cold sweats or look faint to me…”
A soft chuckle escaped him.
“That’s because you’re one person Melanie. I can handle talking to one person…but when the other people in town would stop by, it’d be five and ten of them at a time. Ladies Christian League, Southern Gentleman’s Chorus, Troop 157 of the Girl Scouts. Always a group of people…”
He explained, before rising from his chair and ambling over to the green glass wall leaning his forehead against it.
“I’ve often wanted to leave this house. Go down, get in my car and drive into town. Sit in a movie and eat popcorn. The last movie I saw was before I even moved here. “Star Wars” years and years ago. Go to an ice cream parlor and have a banana split. And I just can’t because I’m too scared…”
My jaw sagged at the idea that Michael hadn’t been in a move theatre since 1977!
He hadn’t sat in a restaurant, or been to a movie or to church in so long. So many things he hadn’t done. So many things he’d missed out on.
That’s when another thought hit me like a brick.
And my mouth flew open before my brain could stop it.
“When was the last time you…you went on a date, Michael?”
I couldn’t imagine it. A man not dating or having a girlfriend for almost a decade unless he was in jail. And even then you could have conjugal visits!
The same dry laugh left Michael again, and a large hand came up, pressing the glass.
“Gosh…if I can’t even talk to people on the street, how on Earth could I have the nerve to go up to a pretty young lady and ask her out? Talk to her over dinner? Put my arm around her as a scary film plays? I couldn’t do it…” He sighed deeply and turned around leaning against the glass.
I was scared the glass would give way and he’d flop two stories down on the ground below, but it held him perfectly upright.
Sitting up on my knees on the couch, I shrugged.
“I know you have to look out your windows sometimes. People walk down Maple Avenue all the time, someone had to have caught your eye. And I know practically every girl of dating age between eighteen and thirty-five.”
Michael’s eyes came up and I noticed he was gazing at me oddly.
“I…I have noticed a woman…Melanie….” He admitted slowly, and his hands began to wring in front of him.
“She was a girl when I first saw her…a little, tiny thing with strawberry blonde hair. Hanging around my gates, staring up at my house for hours on end. Never bothering anything thing. Just standing there…looking.”
I felt my hands gripping the cloth back of the couch as my wind left me.
“Every summer the girl would appear, a little older than before, a little bigger. Getting prettier as she grew. Filling out rather nicely. Her hair darkening to a rich auburn as she matured. The last couple of summers…you’ve turned into a lovely woman, Melanie LaPray…” He whispered and I felt goose bumps break out all over me.
Michael.
He had noticed me all those times I had been looking for him outside of his house!
“I’ve often wondered about you. I’ve seen you go back and forth all the time. Whether just out and about, or off to one of your parties all dressed up. And it would make me sad when I’d see you leaving at the end of the summer. But it always made me feel good because I knew you’d come back. A thousand times I’ve wanted to open the doors and ask you in. Like today. Sit with you and get to know you a bit.”
Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and toed at the plush carpeting shyly.
“But I don’t know how…I’d court you. Date a nice lady like you. I’m sure you like to go out and go places with your dates and I’m unable to do that, right now…” He stammered, head drooping lower.
It was kind of a wonder Michael couldn’t hear my heart thudding in my chest.
I wasn’t sure how, but it wasn’t until I was sitting right there with Michael that it hit me. Somehow, over the years, I had managed to foster a crush on a man I had never seen.
And now seeing him, those feelings were stronger than ever. I wanted Michael Jackson. And I didn’t care if he was scared of his own shadow.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was him.
“Michael…” My voice was suddenly hoarse as I rubbed at my throat, trying to contain myself and phrase myself carefully. “You haven’t dated in eight years…does that mean you haven’t….enjoyed the company of a woman in all that time?”
Sucking on his bottom lip, Michael shook his head, curls swaying.
“Don’t you want to--”
“I’m only thirty years old…it’d be ridiculous to assume I didn’t.” Michael spoke up sharply. “Just can’t bring myself to it…I’m…I’m not a virgin…but I’m just shy…”
He turned and faced the green glass again. He cast a faint reflection in it, and I could see him chewing on his bottom lip, mentally beating himself up for his last revelation to me.
At once, another bold urge ran through me. Even bolder than the urge that had made me run through those open doors in the first place.
Twirling a lock of my lock ponytail absently, I inquired, gently,
“Do you prefer younger women, Michael?”
At only twenty, a full decade stood between us.
There was a long moment of silence and I barely heard Michael,
“Yes…”
My inhibitions were starting to slowly dissolve and with it, my jaw was coming unhinged.
Reaching into my hair, I loosened the large blue bow my Nana had carefully fixed in my hair that morning, setting my long, waved tresses loose around my shoulders.
“Do you like young, auburn-haired Belles with big hazel eyes…like me?” My voice grew softer the more forward I became.
Again Michael nodded.
Pushing myself up and off the couch, I lingered beside it. A though flashed in my mind. All of the grand paintings of nude women I had seen…they had also been redheads.
Michael Jackson was hung up on and had a thing for red-haired females.
Like me.
Crumpling my ribbon, I threw across the room and watched as it landed at Michael’s feet.
He stooped, retrieving it, and held it under his tiny, upturned nose, smelling it.
“So sweet.” He whispered, clutching it to his chest.
“Are you interested in having a woman…a red-haired woman?” I had begun to tremble again, now with a zealous spark of arousal after this man.
Michael touched his chin again and appeared to be mulling the idea.
Thinking it over.
He lingered a moment, still facing the glass, hand rubbing his chin as he closed his eyes thoughtfully.
Sucking in his bottom lip and nibbling on it lightly.
A part of me wished he was nibbling on my lip.
I hoped he said yes; I was yearning for him to say yes to me.
“I would…but I haven’t had company like that in a long time--” He answered timidly and going over to him, I wrapped my arms around his slender waist.
He was so shy, it was cute.
“Please…allow me to show you a very good time, Michael.” I offered lustily, stepping up on tiptoe to peck at his tender cheek.
His eyes widened as Michael didn’t say anything, but instead, turned his head and mashed his juicy, pink mouth to mine with such force, my knees buckled.
I wanted this man, terribly.
And I wanted him to have me.
* * *
I stood in front of the closed doors to the solarium, turning the key hanging out of the door to the right. Enjoying the click sound the lock made as it engaged.
Leaning my head against the cool oak wood of the door, I tried to make sense of what I was doing. What was going on.
Spinning around, I quickly figured it didn’t matter, as the sight before me was too glorious.
Sitting in the center of the couch, was Michael Jackson, completely naked, one of the pale green throw pillows in his lap, concealing his bare genitals.
He was so lovely to look at. That bronzy, caramel complexion, his smooth shoulders, graceful arms and legs. Teeny nipples set on opposite sides of his chest. Tender thighs I just wanted to bite into.
The open, almost innocent expression on his face.
The look of a man who hadn’t touched a woman in years.
Making my way back over to him, I stood in the space between him and coffee table.
Grabbing one of his large hands, I placed it on my waist, delighting in how it wrapped halfway around it. I liked a man with hands that could circle my waist.
As his hands began to loosen the belt of my wrap dress, I teased,
“Are you excited to have me?”
Curls bouncing as Michael bobbed his head, he hissed, his voice deeper with arousal,
“God, yes, Melanie!”
My dress slipped from my body revealing my white lace slip.
The large hands came up and traced the curves of my breasts through the sheer satin.
Yes, he was going to enjoy my body.
Pushing the thin straps of satin from my shoulders, I allowed it to fall to the floor.
And I was nude in front of Michael.
His eyes were greedily taking in my every dip and bend and he declared the obvious.
“You’re not wearing panties!”
Touching after my breasts, causing them to bounce, I threw my head back and chuckled,
“I know. Don’t tell my Nana though, she’d be hellified angry is she knew!”
I don’t think the poor woman’s heart could take it that I didn’t like to wear underwear unless I was cold.
And with Michael at that moment, I was flaming hot.
Large hangs wrapped around my hips and Michael was pulling me closer to him, the pillow on his lap tumbling to the floor.
Before he mashed his face into my bosom, I caught sight of his magnificent crotch.
Bearing very little black hair, and a quite impressive shaft of flesh, that was starting to rise as he touched me.
“Oh my God…” Michael whimpered into my chest, and I could feel his hands lowering and gripping my backside.
“…such a sweet little ass!”
Pulling his hands free, I sank to my knees, pushing his trim legs apart.
“Oh…” Michael moaned as I took hold of that thick piece of meat and began rubbing on it. “You’re…you’re playing with me--”
I intended to do more than play.
“Ah! Ah! Oh sh*t! Mercy!” He cried out shrilly when I plunged him into my mouth.
“No! Oh my God! Oh hell! Ooooh!” He wailed, his head falling back, hands in his own hair was I began rapidly moving my head up and down on him, grasping his inner thighs to steady myself.
“Good Lord! Suck it! Suck it Melly! Suck it Baby!” He urged through what sounded like gritted teeth.
Leaning back, I twisted at the base of his shaft as I slowly fell forward, allowing my lips to meet the top of my fist and gobbled on him harder.
“OH! Oh…oh sh*t! Oh! Oh! Yes! Yes!” Michael was cooing, rocking his hips to meet me, helping to excite himself all the more.
I could feel his hand slipping from my backside and starting to fondle between my legs.
As his rough fingertips bumped around my cl*t, I was jolted with little bit of electricity. His touch was so good to me.
Hopefully as good as I was being to him.
“Yes! You do that! Yes! Melly, Baby! Get it!” Michael encouraged and I groaned as one of his fingers invaded me, starting to twist at me.
“OH!” Michael cried abruptly, and I felt his hands on my face, pulling me from him.
“Hey!” I argued, not wanting to get off him so quickly.
But Michael wanted to be the one to get off.
Just as my mouth cleared him, a single stream of whiteness exploded from his damp, and glowing reddened tip.
It splattered against the books on the table behind me.
I rested on my knees a moment, wiping at my mouth, eyes widening in disbelief. Was it over that quickly? Had Michael come just like that? I knew it had been eight years since he’d messed around, but damn, I had barely been on him for ten minutes!
“Ugh…” Michael moaned lightly, his cheeks going scarlet. “It’s been a while since I did that. I got excited…but I’m far from done…”
At the mention we weren’t yet finished, a smile of nastiness curled my lips.
A long hand came down and was shaking that shiny d*ck, maintaining its unnatural hardness.
“Come here, Melly…” With his free hand, Michael was beckoning me with his finger. “Get up here…come get some of this…I need some of that p*ssy you‘re flaunting.”
Obeying, I eagerly climbed to my feet and as Michael situated himself, I crawled up on the couch and straddled him. I didn’t want just some of that, I wanted all of that!
“You’ll like this…” I was assured, as I allowed him to slowly slide that massive girth into me. God, it was such a wonderful feeling.
“Yes…that’s it…woo!” Michael whispered, steadily pushing me onto him.
“Mike!” I gasped when I realized just how large he was, as he was causing me to widen and stretch as he forced his way deeper. I wanted Michael to be as deep as he could go.
When I was finally nestled on his lap, we both sat a moment. There was so much energy in the room, so much pent-up lust, that it seemed we both feared the slightest movement would have cause us both to explode.
Into a hot sticky mess.
Hugging closer to Michael, I whispered into his ear, before sucking on the lobe,
“I want to do all the work; let me!”
A sweet cackle escaped Michael and he huffed,
“Whatever you want Baby…”
Grabbing his arms, I wrapped them around me, and gripping his slim shoulders, I began to bounce on him. It took quite a bit of effort as I had to raise myself so high, because Michael Jackson was so well-endowed.
Instantaneously, the both of us were breathing heavily, with little noises of passion leaving us.
“Ugh! Ugh! Oh yes! Yes, Melly! Ugh!” Michael, lovely face squinching, nose crinkling in the most becoming way, he’d thrown his head back, leaving me to kiss at his tender throat, as I continued grinding on him, my own whimpers being lost.
“Ouch!” I cried as he smacked my backside.
It hurt so good.
“Take it! Ahhhh! Take it! Make me come! Take it! Sh*t! Michael shouted at the ceiling as I tried to move quicker, draw more out of him.
If any of his servants could hear us, they made no attempts to stop us.
As his head came back up, I pressed my lips to his, relishing the flavor of his mouth, tasting so, so faintly of spearmint.
Feeling his tongue against mine as they swished together.
“Ah! Yes, Baby! Yes! Work it! Work me! Work me!” Michael grunted, a hand coming up and holding onto the back of my head, causing him to mash his cheek against mine.
“You like it don’t you? You like it Michael?” I teased as he squeezed on my throat.
That sweet breath was hot in my ear as he gasped,
“You’re so good to me! You’re so goddamned good to me Melanie! Oh!”
The two of us were thrusting wildly, and reaching up, I ran my hands through his hair, tilting his head back and staring down on him.
Admiring his handsome face.
Watching as it squinted up and the mouth fell open, his breathing starting to quicken. Cheeks glowing redder than ever.
“Are you gonna come? Are you gonna shoot, you sexy beast?” I taunted throwing my own head back as Michael sat up and clinging me to him, started to stand.
Both of us standing on the hardwood floor, I was held onto as Michael continued helping to thrust at me.
It was strange, I had never stood and f*cked before, but it just seemed right.
“I…I wanna show you something special!” Michael threw his head back arms wrapping my waist tighter. The man had tricks!
He began sharply pushing himself into my deepest regions.
“Oh my God…Michael--Michael! Mike!” I cried as the feeling was overwhelming me. It seemed to be too much, but I was beat to the punch.
Michael began to quiver.
“Mmmm…oh…oh! Oh….goddamn…oh….!” He growled head bobbing rapidly enough to snap his tin neck.
With one final thrust, his eyes widened, bigger than ever, and he shrieked.
“Aaow! Aaow! Aaow!”
That’s when I felt it, the hot, spurting wetness of Michael inside of me. Oh it was so much. As though he were making up for all the ejaculations he had missed. Gallons of it seemed to be squirting.
“Yes! Yes! That’s it! Yes! God I’m gushing!” His voice shook and I screamed as he swiftly yanked himself from me and with it, the liquid horniness that had just been expelled rushed out of me. Dripping onto the floor and puddling around my feet.
Obviously drained, Michael fell back with a whoosh, onto the couch, rubbing at himself as more cream was shooting from him.
I’m not sure how long he continuously came, but Michael could have just burned the couch when he got done. It was so soaked with seed, it was an entirely different color on the cushion under his slim booty.
“Eight years…eight years I’ve gone with out that, Melanie…” He whined, running a hand through his sweaty, tousled tresses, still oozing from, his pole.
“Seems like you still knew what you were doing.” I snorted, cuddling up to him and placing his arm around my bare shoulders.
“…even after so long!”
“Hee…I know.” Michael agreed and pecked at my forehead.
“Thank you Melanie. I needed that…so damn much. I loved it…damn.”
Grinning as his mouth moved to mine, I replied,
“My pleasure.”
* * *
“…will you come back to me?”
Michael was gripping my hand tightly as we stood in the front foyer, just inside the doors, now standing closed as everything was going dark outside.
Staring up at his peaceful, sweet face, I leaned and smacked his juicy lips before agreeing heavily.
“Yes…tomorrow…”
I was hugged against his bare chest as he only wore his black trousers.
“And every day after that?” Michael questioned in his soft way, his hands patting my backside.
“Yes…”
Opening the door for me, Michael leaned and pressed his lips to mine. Kissing me as if we’d never see each other again.
But we did see each other. Again and again.
Everyday for the rest of the summer.
And when it came time to leave my Nana and Papaw, I got into my car and drove away…
…about a hundred yards, before turning into the driveway of Michael’s home, parking beside his blue Rolls Royce.
And going into that big brick mansion.
To stay.
That was one decision, I didn’t have to think over.
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