As a writer, I usually like to come up with my own ideas, and plotlines for the stories I pen. It’s very unusual indeed when I take my inspiration from elsewhere, other than my own brain. But just recently, via Tumblr, I had a reader ask me to write a story where Michael was more aggressive--to put it mildly. So I put on the old thinking cap, and this is what I came up with you. I hope you all like it! WARNING: Not for the faint of heart; features an extremely dominant Michael Jackson.
“Clandestine Meeting”
A Michael Jackson Erotica By:
MJsLoveSlave
Von Bausch Airfield
Berlin, Germany
Autumn, 1995
That early September afternoon came mildly cool and a bit misty, hinting at the thunderstorm that was sure to soak everything in sight that coming evening.
That was always how Autumn made it’s last stand, in torrents of rain, whipping winds and dropping temperatures that let all of those left at the mercy of the elements the reminder that winter was, indeed on its way.
On most days, the privately owned and operated field, consisting of only one landing strip and hangar that could lay dormant and unused for weeks and even months on end.
But this day was different.
As cold droplets fell from the sky there was movement and life at von Bausch.
On the gravel-covered driveway, that led up to the landing strip, a long, luxurious, and gleaming, black, Rolls Royce Limousine idled.
A lone man, his face serious, eyes hidden by shades and his frame covered by a black suit, stood in the inclement weather, gazing upwards.
He’d stood at his post, still, motionless like a statue for nearly an hour.
And nothing could have made this man move, hail, snow, a nuclear fallout.
Nothing natural or manmade.
The man was awaiting an extremely important arrival and nothing could have stopped him from greeting the plane that was delivering it.
Suddenly, there it was.
Starting as nothing more than a bullet shaped dot in the sky, the plane was making a rapid descent and aiming right for the strip.
Instantly, the walkie-talkie the man held was pressed to his thick lips.
“Breaker…breaker! The eagle is landing! I repeat: the eagle is landing. Lady J will be along shortly. Over…”
The line crackled in response, as the plane, once barely in sight, now letting its landing gear down was revealing itself as a tremendous jet liner, engines whistling and wailing and breaking silence for miles around.
“Roger that…” Came the meek reply over the airwaves. “Bring her directly to me. Don’t stop for anything along the way. I don’t care what she says; make a beeline to me…Over…”
“Yes Sir…Over and Out…” The man confirmed, and with a twist of the dial had shut his device off as the plane came to a complete halt, near the end of the runway.
There was the hiss of hydraulics and a moment later the door on the side of the huge, gleaming behemoth, popped open; an accordion staircase unfolding.
The shaded man stood, each breath starting to show in the coolness as he stared upwards, watching that door.
Silently urging the lone occupant off.
After what seemed like an eternity, a figure filled the doorway.
Outfitted like a young royal, the woman, somewhere in her mid to late twenties was making her way, gracefully down the steps.
Her slender, yet curvaceous frame was covered, a bit prematurely, in a thick, fluffy, full-length silver fox coat. Greyish strands of the coat contrasted starkly with her thick, waved black hair, the curled ends bouncing and swaying with each step she took.
Steps carefully being taken in five inch patent leather pumps.
Getting closer the man could see how enchantingly and breathtaking beautiful the woman was.
An oval face, with a medium brown complexion. Fiery deep dark eyes, under thin black brows widened at the man questioningly.
Lips painted a bronzy-red pouted then parted in question,
“Isn’t Michael here?”
The man physically cringed at hearing his boss being referred to by his first name.
“Please…please, Lady J! Don’t say his name! You know he doesn’t like for his whereabouts to be known! You’re to call him Lord J--”
One of those trimmed brows went up in incredulity.
“Lord J?” She snickered and shook her head. “ Every country we go to, his little pseudonyms get more and more outlandish! I could understand if he were the President of the United States…but Michael Jackson--”
“Lady M, please!” The bodyguard was aghast.
“Michael Jackson is merely an architect with delusions of grandeur. Lord M indeed…” The woman cackled joyously, a hand, tipped in deep blue nails covered her mouth as the man bent and opened the door on the back of limousine for her.
“And my name isn’t Lady M--it’s Vivienne.”
With that, the woman dropped into the back of the car and jerking it from the man slammed it.
“Damn it!” The man grunted under his breath in aggravation, before turning and slipping into the front passenger side seat, and motioned for the chauffer to proceed.
In the backseat, behind the darkened partition, Lady J--um--Vivienne, was giggling.
An Hour Later
Gottlieb International Hotel
Downtown Berlin
Over the course of her five year relationship with Michael…Vivienne had become more than accustomed to staying in hotels any and everywhere on the planet.
So jaded was she, that as she passed through the opulent lobby, as most around her marveled, and rubbernecked gazing at gilt framed paintings of long dead German monarchs and brightly colored murals on the walls, and massive, crystal-laden chandeliers that seemed almost to heavy to hang with our crashing Vivienne moved swiftly, her eyes seeing nothing but the shiny, mirror like polished doors of the bank of a half-dozen elevators.
It was the same every time: her escort would speak to the operator of the lift, clear it of every other occupant, so she could ride up alone.
“Penthouse, please…”
Michael always demanded the penthouse of any hotel he stayed in. He wouldn’t accept anything less. And generally, when a man could afford what he wanted, he received it.
The ride up to the fifty-sixth floor of the Gottlieb was a silent and tense journey, with Vivienne’s eyes, rimmed with lush lashes watching as the floor numbers lit on their ascent.
The higher up they got, the more her heart began to thump in her chest.
It had been so long since she had seen Michael…had hugged, him, kissed him…caressed him.
She was excited, and nervous…
He always did this to her. Part for long amounts of time, and then summon her. And she always ran to him. Dropped everything for him.
It was maddening.
It was pitiful and sickening the hold he maintained over her and yet she was powerless to fight it.
To say no.
You didn’t say ‘no’ to Michael Jackson.
Oh, he could say it, but no one else had the luxury.
There was a small ting and the doors slid open without a sound, revealing the still, quiet hallway.
Very minimalist, and showing only golden striped wallpaper, the hall stretched in about a hundred feet, up to the closed double doors of the suite, flanked by two low potted plants.
“En…enjoy your stay, Ma’am…he’s expecting you…” Her escort spoke tentatively, and hiding trembling hands in her pockets Vivienne nodded.
Yes. Now was the time. She was expected.
Vivienne was the only guest Michael Jackson ever expected.
Each step she took towards the door echoed around her like a bomb explosion.
It was quiet; Michael cherished solitude and silence above all else.
Reaching the doors, Vivienne found them unlocked.
He always left his rooms unlocked for her.
Her breathing slowed, as a manicured hand was extended, opening one of the doors.
Revealing the living room to what was essentially a home away from home,
Just as the lobby had been, the room was dressed in rich bloody burgundies and gold, with carved, heavy furnishings befitting a Kaiser.
On the far end of the room, large bay windows had their velvet curtains opened, showing the greater part of the city as rain fell harder from blackened clouds.
Crossing over to one of the sitting areas near the windows, Vivienne saw that Michael had to have been in the room only moments prior.
A bottle of their favorite white wine sat chilling in a gold bucket and one of the two fluted glasses was half full.
As the rain cascaded against the window, a soft stern voice spoke up.
“I ask you to be as discreet as possible and you go against my wishes at every turn…”
Spine going erect, Vivienne clutched at the fabric on the back of the sofa, her knees feeling like loose jelly.
“Please face me, I don’t want to speak to the back of your head.”
Slowly, very slowly as the blood pulsed through her ears, Vivienne some how managed to turn around.
And her eyes fell on the man standing a few feet from her.
“Oh!”
Michael Jackson always took her breath away so rudely, as if seeing him for the very first time.
He was a tall, slim man, with a figure so trimmed most people would have to starve to achieve the lines that came naturally to him.
He possessed, a milky, hauntingly pale complexion, made even more apparent by his rich, jet black hair, straightened, and carelessly brushing his broad shoulders. A few strands of fringe fell into his eyes.
Large, dark brown and solemn, they were rimmed in kohl and directly on Vivienne.
He was dressed easily, but attractively in a shirt that mimicked a military jacket. Black with a bright red inset on the front, gleaming with gold buttons and boasting gold leather piping. Tucked into tapered black trousers his waist was tiny as a wasp’s.
Taking a step forward, simple black boots clacked on the marble floor.
“You do everything in your power to call attention to yourself…to us…” Michael kept his voice low, advancing.
“I tell you to take a Cessna from my private strip in New York. You take an entire Boeing 747 jet from LaGuardia…I ask you to dress inconspicuously, you wear a mass of dead rabbits--”
“It’s fox, not chinchilla.” Vivienne interrupted and those eyes flamed, causing her to recoil with worry.
“I don’t recall saying that you could speak Vivienne…” Michael tone was cold and biting as he stood so closely to her, his bergamot cologne was loud in her nostrils.
Distressed, she lowered her head, feeling his gaze on her anyway.
“I’ve told you time and again you must be careful. We deserve our privacy. I don’t want the tabloids and media following and hounding us. Because of who I am. Because after five years, I’m still in the middle of divorcing my first damn wife. I want to do my work and have my life in peace. You do understand that, don’t you?”
Soft fingertips grasped her chin and her head brought up.
As the eyes gazed into her, he stated,
“I don’t hear you….”
“Yes, Michael…I’m sorry…” Vivienne stammered weakly, feeling ashamed.
“I’m one of the most sought-after architects in the world. That’s why we’re in Berlin now. I’ve been hired to oversee the construction of a monument to the Jews lost in concentration camps. I can’t have my career sabotaged and lampooned by the tabloids hot stick a story on stands. It will affect us and I can’t lose my jobs because of bad publicity. And what I make from my work takes care of us…you just have to wait a bit before being so obvious…”
His eyes washed over her.
“You do look so beautiful, Viv…” He whispered and grasping the fur tightly, his thin, sweet lips were mashing her plump ones, causing her to quake and cling to his shoulders. “…I’ve missed you so terribly these six weeks…”
He suddenly leaned back.
“Do you have ‘it’?” He questioned eyes dancing like a child seeing their best friend.
There was a nod from the shaky young woman and he urged,
“Put it on!”
From the pocket of her coat, Vivienne produced an extremely large, cushion-cut blue-grey sapphire ring.
A touch of a smile came to Michael’s face and his cheek blazed pink as she slipped it onto her left ring finger.
“I love to see your engagement ring on your hand…as soon as its all over, I’ll replace it with a diamond they can see from Space.”
“When…?” Vivienne was being kissed again, his small pink tongue darting down her throat.
“A few more weeks, my attorney says the divorce will be finalized…and we can go to Paris and marry--”
Inhumanly large hands were unhooking the hidden snaps on her coat.
“Let’s get this carcass off before someone throws red paint on you…” He winked playfully and a moment later, the coat was off.
Vivienne stood in a bright blue cropped sweater and short, pleated plaid skirt.
“Damn…” Michael’s breathing changed swiftly and his voice dropped three octaves. The sound sent a chill up his lover’s spine.
His stance was more dominant, legs parted, holding him straight and he was breathing into her face.
“Vivienne…” He purred her name, he hands gripping her waist tightly as he pressed himself against her. “…who’s in charge?”
“You…you are…” She whimpered, head sagging and was forced to look up again..
Michael played this game each time they met. It thrilled him so.
“Who does what I tell them?”
His face bobbed so closely to hers and he pecked her cheek.
“I…I do.”
His hand was around her and under her skirt, clutching the firm flesh of her buttock through her thin silken panties
Michael tilted his head upwards so that he was staring down through dark slits.
“Who do you belong to?”
“You…Michael…”
“And do you fear me?”
There was no response.
Vivienne was frozen, chest heaving she was so overcome by this man she couldn’t make a noise.
Hands coming up, Michael framed her face staring fiercely.
All traces of the teasing was gone; replaced with seriousness.
“Do you fear me?” He repeated through gritted teeth, eyes widening in a frightening way, consuming his face.
“Yes--” Vivienne gasped.
Her heart! Her heart! It was thudding so loudly! Why didn’t he hear it?
“Yes, what?” An arched brow raised and she corrected herself.
“Yes Sir…” She whispered, though Michael was only nine years older than her.
White teeth glowed.
“You should…” He advised proudly. “You know what I can do.”
His hands dropped as did his shoulders.
“We’re going to bed, now.”
He stated plainly and started off in the direction of as hallway.
Gasping for air, she felt so deprived of air, Vivienne was crumpling against the couch.
Reaching the corridor Michael stopped, realizing only his footsteps were being heard.
“My fiancée is supposed to behind me--VIVIENNE!” He all but barked and the gruff shout put life--and the unholy fear of a submissive--into her and quickly she was at his side.
His hand curled around her bicep starting to crush it.
“Ow--Michael!” Vivienne mumbled in pain as she was pulled against him, eyes stormy.
“Don’t ever make me wait like that again!” Michael hissed, voice even deeper.
The young woman was nearly jerked off her feet, Michael tugging her towards the open door of the Master Bedroom.
It was anyone’s guess what would happen.
Especially when Michael Jackson was anything less than completely happy.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Vivienne was pressing her back so hard against the closed, locked doors of the bedroom, she should have been seeping through the polished wood.
Her eyes were widened, and once distressed breathing was non-existent.
Near the bed, littering the floor was clothing.
A red and black shirt with golden buttons, black trousers, black boots and white socks.
A white t-shirt floated to the floor.
And finally, with a sigh, a pair of small, zebra print bikini briefs appeared on the pile.
They rested momentarily, before a large hand picked them up.
Clutching them, Michael Jackson stared down thoughtfully at his underwear.
His other hand pressed to his bare white hip, Michael took his time, stepping carefully towards Vivienne.
Unashamed, completely nude, his body, so alabaster against the deep, dark bloody tones of the room. shone like a light.
His skin was so fair and only sprinkled with a smattering of freckles.
His shoulders so broad, chest rising and falling with far-set, tiny nipples showing as pink dots on him.
His stomach smooth, and showing a brief indentions of a six-pack.
Legs long and toned.
The only interruption to the perfect body was at his groin.
A mass of black curls, painstakingly trimmed down to a shadow, was a triangle…
And from the triangle…
“Oh God!” Vivienne was ramming against the door in an effort to get away.
Trying desperately to look everywhere but at it.
From the triangle swung a lengthy mass of flesh a shade or two darker than its owner.
In its flaccid state and still swinging limply, Michael’s penis was already a gargantuan size, hanging very near his knees. And Vivienne knew time and again, once aroused it would double in every direction.
Its tip, a deep pink, was concealed by a folded flap of foreskin.
“You look like deer in headlights…hee-hee!” He commented with a wry, nasty chuckle.
“Scared of me? Scared of this dick? Scared what it can do…?”
He taunted and flagrantly pushed his briefs, drenched in his cologne, into Vivienne’s face.
His face was close to her and as she struggled to smell anything but him.
“You know you like it…you know you want it--been without it for six weeks…”
He was mashing the cloth against her face,
“Smells good, doesn’t it. You like how your man smells…my scent is good to you…”
“Michael, please…” Vivienne begged and was promptly shut up by him starting to shove the underwear into her mouth as a gag.
His had came up slamming her head against the door.
“Your voice tires me…” Michael sighed and tossed his head. “Less talk…more action--!”
There was a loud rip, and Michael was tugging the shredded sweater from her body.
Vivienne was pulled so hard, she tumbled forward to the carpeted floor.
Violent tugging commenced, as with seemingly no regards to insignificant things like hook closures and zippers, Michael was quite literally tearing the clothes from her body until Vivienne laid in front of him, a pile of nude brown flesh.
Flesh trying to crawl away and spit out the gag.
“Hello no…” Michael was laughing raucously. “Bring your ass back here! Long way to go to get back to Manhattan, Baby…”
His hand was gripping her left ankle and pulling her back to him.
“No….no….nooooooo!” Was the muffled cry as she tried struggle and free herself from grasp.
“You’re fleeing! How cute! You haven’t tried to flee in quite a while…!”
The briefs fell from her mouth, as Michael’s arm, though thin was remarkably strong, winched around her waist and she was pulled to her feet.
“You’re not getting away from me…you bitch…” He hissed evilly into her ear as she pulled at his arm. Tearing at his flecked flesh, some blood appearing from a scratch.
“Ah-ah-ah!” A long, slender finger was forcing its way past her warm folds and deeply inside her.
Vivienne threw her head back, and if Michael hadn’t moved the same way she’d have knocked his nose into his brain from the force.
“Ugh-ugh--Ah! Mike! Mike!” She cried, rearing against him as he continued to wiggle his finger far inside her vagina.
“Yeah…you like it when I do that! Play in that pussy--no!”
She was yanked back against him and Michael’s face, half hidden by her hair was on her neck.
Awkwardly, wildly, sloppily, Michael was sucking, licking and biting at her throat.
Drops of hot saliva ran down her chest and onto her exposed and quivering bosom.
Michael was so deep into her his knuckle was starting to disappear.
Suddenly she was whirled around and being hugged tightly to him.
“I’m gonna make you come tonight…” He vowed. “Make you burst like a fucking geyser. By the time we’re done, they’ll have to burn the damn bed--”
Vivienne tried to pull back and was lightly slapped on the jaw.
Her face was pressed against his chest, warm, and pounding from his fluttering heart.
“They burned it after the mess we made in Moscow…and Vienna…and oh…do you remember Auckland? We fucked it up so bad in Auckland, they had to tear down and completely rebuild the bungalow!”
Michael gasped perversely, eyes glittering with the untoward.
He was kissing her. Hotly, crazily, hard.
So hard her lips ached and his tongue was flipping and flopping all over hers, and so far down her throat he threatened to choke her.
Which a smack their mouths parted and Michael eyed Vivienne hungrily.
He turned into such an animal once he grew aroused.
Arched brows flexed across his smooth, high forehead.
His bottom lip sucked in and he pointed to the bed, shimmering with satin dressings.
“Lie down, Viv…lie down, Baby…hoo…” Michael instructed, giving her a strict push with his free hand. “Get in the bed.”
Stumbling as her legs were refusing to work for her, Vivienne was obeying.
There was the devil in Michael’s eyes…if she didn’t obey him…
“I’m glad the rain delayed you a bit…” Michael was all smiles as he came to the right side of the bed.
“I was able to rig up my favorite thing--”
Knowing what it was, Vivienne tried to sit up, roll away, something.
“Don’t!” Her hair was grabbed and she was yanked back by it harshly by it.
The mattress squeaked and her scalp throbbed.
“Ow…”
“Naughty, naughty…I knew you’d try to bolt…” Taking her wrist, Michael produced a device from beneath the mattress.
Something Vivienne knew all to well: A cushioned leather cuff.
Michael loved strapping her down, immobilizing her, before having his way with her.
Her right wrist was restrained, the cuff just tight enough to keep her relatively still, but giving her enough slack to where she could struggle, and yet not free herself.
Quickly, with his small, slim buttocks bouncing as he ran, Michael was holding down her other arm and cinching it.
And there Vivienne
“Please…please Michael…” Vivienne begged as picking his leg up, Michael crawled in alongside her.
“I know…I know Viv…” He nodded knowingly and leaning smooched her forehead. “But this has to be done. I enjoy it so much.”
More kisses followed, with Michael kissing his way down from her face, past her throat and onto her bosom.
Savagely, he was licking and sucking at her nipples, tweaking the dark little circles to erectness.
“Yes! I love your titties! So big…so round…so fully packed….” Michael threw his head back, resting on his knees at her side.
His right arm flapped. So close to her face, he was rubbing himself.
Stroking and encouraging his already mammoth meat to swell to epic proportions.
“Oh no…”Vivienne started and was gapped again as a hand came down, pushing her face to the side and the other was positioning the cock near her mouth.
So wide, so hard, so stiff it was, with the rude pink tip fully revealed and glistening.
“You know you wanna suck me… “ Michael hissed and Vivienne could only gurgle, as with a thrust of his hips, Michael was sliding his third leg down her throat.
“Suck it…suck it, Viv Honey…you know I like when you deep throat me…yes..” Michael whispered, seemingly in awe of himself as Vivienne complied, trying her best to suck him.
It was such a difficult task, he always stretched her mouth so wide; her jaw was practically cracking from Michael’s hugeness.
Eventually, her nose was bumping the black shadow of pubic hair and she was smelling him.
Smelling his cologne, the scent of raw maleness that made up Michael Jackson and drove her crazy for him.
The scent that made everything he was doing alright.
The hot, spicy, mildly floral scent that was Michael.
“Shamone, Baby…you know how to suck your man. Shamome….harder, harder…goddamn….yes…!” Michael was encouraging through clenched teeth, staring down at her, as saliva seeped from around his pole and dampened the bedding.
As Vivienne continued to suckle him, she was keenly aware of his eyes sweeping over her nude form.
Taking in the large, freely bouncing breasts, the soft, dimpled abdomen, the slim thighs, long legs, and Michael’s favorite point of interest: the naked little triangle that was reserved for him and only him.
“Ugh…you’re so good to me, Viv….you’re so good to me…” Hands in his hair, as the thrusts slowed, Michael inhaled deeply, and every last rib on him showed for a scant, fleeting moment.
One hand cradling the sweet face of his woman, the other removed the still stiffened mass with a wet plop.
“I love you…”
Michael was smothering her with another kiss, and most likely tasting himself on the very lips he was sucking on.
“I need you…God, I need you…
He spoke off into her mouth and the bed trembled as Michael stood for a long moment, watching the woman, pulling against her cuffs, lightly grunting with effort.
Slowly, taking his time, drawing out the tenseness of the moment to madness, Michael stepped around the bed, until he stood at the foot of it, hands pressed to his hips.
His head tossed and those angular, almost gaunt features on his face were exaggerated as he puckered his lips.
“You flew so far for me, Vivienne. You came all the way from America to Germany for me…followed me to another country entirely. I’m not sure how many miles it is…but it’s a long trip for…” He paused dramatically and those brows flexed again.
“…For a fuck.”
And Michael was on Vivienne.
Michael moved so fast, so fluidly, so easily, there was no way to stop him, even if Vivienne had had the use of her arms.
Her legs were bent back and upwards so that her ankles rested up on Michael’s bare, slick, tender shoulders.
His face was mere inches from hers, his dark eyes locked with her dark eyes.
Michael did like to keep eye contact as long as possible before the heat of the moment would overtake them.
“AH!”
The entire room shook with Vivienne’s scream as she felt Michael, nearly a foot long and even wider around, start to slowly press into the warm, moist little opening that was her pussy.
The bed shook as she tried to pull loose, the farther and farther Michael slid inside her, stretching her in ways, only he could.
“So tight…so tender, so delicate…” Michael whispered, laying on her a quiet moment.
Neither moved, hardly breathed.
Only stared at one another, taking in each other’s aura.
It was the quiet before the storm.
Then there was movement.
Rapid, plunging, rhythmic movement.
Hips starting to hump and flex and jerk at an impossible speed, Michael was thrusting into the woman.
“Ah! Ah! Michael! Michael! No! Oh my God! Damn! Michael!” Vivienne was vocal, the opposite of Michael.
A studied, calm expression was on his face, eyes never wavering from the pretty little painted one shout off into his.
Caught under Michael and weighed down by his nearly one hundred and thirty pound form, Vivienne was helpless to the pounding she was receiving
“Oooooh! Ooooh! Oooooh! Shit! Michael! Michael! Ah! Ah! Ah!”
Her screams were muffled as Michael leaned forward, his, the only sound from him was an increased rate of breaths, and kissed her deeply as he continued to mercilessly plug after her.
The entire bed squeaked loudly.
Large hand gripping her shoulders to steady himself, Michael’s pounding became harder and unwillingly, Vivienne was starting to get the feeling deep inside of her.
The feeling that Michael managed draw out of her so expertly each time.
Unlike any lover she’d experienced before him.
And the calm expression on Michael’s face broke into a grin when he noticed how the pupils of the eyes staring up at him in horror were beginning to dilate.
“You’re about to come aren’t you?” He snickered and was growled at,
“YES YOU SKINNY BASTARD!!”
“Woo! Fire!” Michael sat up and as Vivienne shrieked, face squinching up, he managed to pull himself away to see a stream of clear liquid fly up in a crisp arc from the slightly swollen, reddened and hairless slit.
It flew so high, Michael was nearly hit in the face by it.
“UGH!” Feeling drained, Vivienne collapsed on the bed struggling for wind, entire body quivering.
“Aaow!” Michael bounced up to his feet, hands clapping and hooted.
“That’s what I like to see! That little pussy squirting! Yeah!” He cheered, rubbing his hand at the wetness on his chest and licking at it, eyes rolling with pleasure.
“That was a good little shot. I liked that…but I know you’re capable of more.” He stopped abruptly and turned.
“Michael?” Worried, Vivienne tried to sit up and was jerked back onto the mattress as Michael swiftly crossed the room to the closet and disappeared inside.
“Michael?”
There was the sound of hangers clacking and several thuds as he remained out of sight.
When Michael returned, Vivienne’s eyes swelled in her head.
“No! Not that! Not that! Not the Boo Box! Not the Boo Box Michael! No! You promised me you wouldn’t use it anymore! NO!”
She yelled as Michael approached the bed, smiling smugly.
“Well, I lied, Lover…”
In his hands was a rectangular mahogany box.
Effectively named the Boo Box--Vivienne couldn’t remember why--it was something she feared more than the mass swinging between the freckled thighs of Michael Jackson
Taking a seat on the foot on the foot of the bed, Michael removed the lid and the contents of the box.
In one hand he held a small, metallic silver hot oil dispenser and in the other…
“No! No! No! No! No!” The bed was close to being pulled completely apart Vivienne was fighting so.
In the other, Michael held a stick massager, bright purple and about a foot long. And the express use of the massager was to encourage, nay, force out as many orgasms from her as he could.
“It’s been a long time, since we had this…come on, for old time’s sake.” Michael chuckled, cheeks going scarlet, and he pulled himself onto the bed.
Folding her legs back, Michael sat on Vivienne’s heaving torso, in a way that the underside of his knees locked with hers and the sheer weight of his body left her legs opened for him.
“Oh…oh!” Vivienne threw her head back against the pillow as she felt Michael squirting her hole with warm baby oil.
Fingertips dispersed it around until everything within her thighs was a glistening mess.
Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!”
That was the noise that made every muscle in Vivienne tense up.
Michael had turned the massager on.
“Yes…look at that--”
It had barely touched Vivienne.
“AAAAAHHHH!” Her body arched as the tip of the vibrator collided with her swollen and tender clit and instantly, another stream of liquid dashed from her loins.
“Damn you, Michael!” She cried trying to buck him off and a long finger wagged.
“Such dirty language. I have to punish you--” Michael laughed outright.
“No-no! Michael! I didn’t mean it! I didn’t! I--AH! AH! AH! AH! AH! AH! AH!”
Her little bulb was assaulted again and again, each time, more and more of that prized fluid flying from her little snatch, until the screams died down and were replaced with frenzied, exhausted snorts and gasps.
More than a dozens times, until all the bedding underneath her was a soppy, wet, dripping mess that was streaming onto the carpet.
“Yes…you’ve still got it…shit…” Michael bent and his lips touched the bulb, kissing it the way he did her mouth.
There was a pleading gurgle and a last shot hit him in the face.
“Ha!” Running his hands over his face and back into his hair, Michael fell back onto Vivienne.
“Oh, you turn me on so, Baby…” He confided and both of his arms were flapping, as he turned, kissing her through his hair.
“Mmm-mmm-mmm!” His thin, upturned nose wrinkled and his eyes snapped shut. “Here….here I….come….”
“Michael--” Vivienne whimpered and was drowned out by him grunting louder.
“MMMMMMM!!!”
Michael Jackson ejaculated so hard, it was something of an explosion in his hands and as he jerked the tip of his cock upwards, white hot liquid satisfaction rained down on the both of them, wetting their faces and throats.
Quivering to the point of almost seizing, Michael Jackson laughed boyishly.
“Damn it…”
Rolling over he laid on Vivienne his eyes found hers as did his mouth.
* * *
“I wasn’t too hard on you, was I?”
Michael Jackson asked, tilting the bottle of white wine, nearly empty, and filling their two glasses again.
Seated on the opposite end of the couch, a black satin robe, matching the one covering Michael, Vivienne stared down at the glass she was offered.
“No…it was just…” She trailed off and both remarked in unison.
“Intense.”
“It’s always intense with us, Baby. That’s how we are…” Michael scooted closer and put his arm around her.
“That’s why I put periods of time between us. I feel the wait makes it all the more wonderful, don’t you?”
Loins aching, Vivienne looked away, smiling in spite of herself.
“But…can we not do the master/slave bit next time. Those cuffs really hurt my wrists.”
“Yes, Vivienne. I apologize for any discomfort it caused. We’ll used something different next time.”
Michael apologized meekly, nothing like the forceful character he’d played hours earlier.
She felt his lips on her throat.
“You know where to go from here in two days, right?” Michael asked and his fingertips grazed her scalp as he played in her hair.
“Yes…” Vivienne sipped her wine. “Out to Auckland, where you’re supposed to start building that opera house--”
“I’m surprised they’re letting us back into a New Zealand hotel after the way we clowned before!” Michael laughed so hard he had to spit some of his wine back into the glass.
“Lord J?”
At the sound of his codename, Michael looked up at the doorway, opening, where one of his guards stood, holding a metal can.
“Is that the--?” He started and the man nodded.
“Yes, Sir.”
“You did tell the hotel they will be reimbursed for the burnt bedding?” Michael wondered as his attendant started by.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good.” Michael grinned as he turned down the hall.
Vivienne tilted the glass to her mouth again and shook as Michael pecked her throat again.
This clandestine meeting had come to an end, but in a few days time, it would happen again, at a different hotel, in a different locale, with the same, sexually starved and inspired man.
And she looked forward to that.
