Companion

For most people, unless they're born with a silver spoon in their mouths and have a trust fund that will mature once they reach the age of twenty-five, the only option they have to make it in this world is by getting some form of job. Normally, this is a just a fact of life that goes with teen and adulthood. But for some, the thought of "real work" just is not appealing. When an "alternative" avenue makes itself available to a young, it might just require as much effort--if not more--than a regular job. 

Neverland Valley Ranch
Santa Ynez, California
Autumn, 1996

Although the weather that particular day in mid-October was unseasonably


warm, the sky a clear, sapphire blue, and in some contexts rather balmy, none of those attributes were felt within the front foyer of the Main House.


The curtains had all been drawn against the sunlight, giving a dim and gloomy cast to the opulent, extravagant and even gaudy furnishings.


Thick gilt frames rimmed numerous, larger than life paintings, all bearing fanciful, fantastical renditions of the man of the house.


Marble sculptures of varying sizes littered the inlaid wooden floors and surfaces of grand sideboards and were on each step leading upwards to the second floor.


Animals, small children and the naked forms of plump women were depicted, shown off as proudly as if chipped out by the owner’s hand--instead of purchased for costly sums from international galleries.


Indeed, everything about Neverland, from its thousands and thousands of acres of rolling green hills, tucked away in the San Fernando Valley, to its personal amusement park, to the private zoo of exotic pets, screamed of money.


And privacy.


To its owner, the reclusive, oft-spoken of, but rarely seen, Michael Jackson, was a man who valued his privacy higher than most would solid gold bars.


He made his millions as a teen playing the stock market, turning penny-shares into a fortune.


Little was known about him. Most was made up, fairytales imagined and perpetuated by the media. A wild goose chase of sorts for those ignorant enough to believe.


“Miss Woolf?”


At the sound of her name, the young woman who had been slowly, anxiously pacing the dim hallway, spun like a top.




“Yes?”
A few yards away, a maid, wearing a starched white uniform, with Neverland embroidered in deep green stitching, had opened the double doors to one of the rooms.


She appeared in her fifties, her graying hair pulled back into a strict bun.


A pudgy hand was beckoning.


“This way please…”


Quickly, the young woman was moving, advancing towards the older one.


As she was allowed entrance into the room, she realized it was the formal dining room.


Sprawling before her was a huge mahogany table, made to seat a dozen, but only set for one, at the head of it.


“Mr. Jackson will be in directly…please have a seat.”


And just as quickly, the maid was gone.


Heart pounding in her ears, the woman, this Miss Woolf, crossed over and took the unoccupied seat off to the right.


Across from her, a row of bay windows stood open, pouring in sunlight, a soft breeze twisting the curtains, the complete opposite of what the front hall had been.. The scent of fresh popcorn was heavy on the air.


Sitting, Miss Wolf stared at the setting. The fine blue and white Wedgwood china, the leaded crystal tumblers and heavy, weighted silverware.


Her mind raced.


What was she doing? Did she truly want to be here? Was there time to turn back.


Should she run away, and forget this entire foolish racket?


Oh, it was so very foolish to think of it now--why she was there.


What had brought her there.


She was young, healthy, and intelligent, but to some extent lazy and never could hold a job. Not for very long anyway.


That was her greatest reason for being at Neverland that morning: she was low on money and this radical “job” appealed to her.


If only….if only she could keep her nerve long enough to secure it--




Click….click….click….click…
At the sound of hard-soled shoes clacking against the hardwood floor, Miss Woolf straightened, her breaths halting in her throat, her blood becoming like ice.


Suddenly, in the doorway, he appeared.


Michael Jackson.


Her eyes grew at the spectacle that was the fabled man.


It was impossible not to stare.


The long, lean, taut frame, dressed simply in black jacket, left open over a white V-necked tee, and embroidered with a crest of a crown and cross on the front breast pocket.


Black jeans offset with a white tuxedo stripe, hugged his lower portions.


And his shoes, polished tassel loafers continued to make noise as he approached the table.


His hair, in long, ebony ringlets, cascaded over broad shoulders, topped by a fedora.


Several curls fell into a handsome, cut and serious face.


Large, dark eyes, above a small nose and stern mouth, focused on her as Mr. Jackson, pulled out his own intricately carved chair and sat, one thin leg crossing over the other..


Arched brows went up in curiosity as her stared at her and a hand absently toyed with the faceted jet beads at his throat.


“So…you are Miss Woolf…” He stated more than asked, his voice low and rumbling.


“Yes--”


“Sir. You’ll answer me as Sir.”


“Yes Sir.” Miss Woolf corrected herself, eyes falling downwards.


“…and how did you find out I was in the market for your brand of services? I did not advertise.” He questioned as another maid appeared, pitcher in hand and began to fill his tumbler with iced tea.


“I…I…” Her throat was suddenly tight and dry. Drier than the dessert. “Andrea told me about it--”


“Andrea Buscemi?” Michael was tilting the glass to his mouth.


“Yes…Sir.” Miss Woolf nodded.


“I know of her, she belongs to my brother, Jackie--how do you know her?” Another sip was taken and he proceeded to play with the beads some more.


“We went to college together--”


A soft chuckle escaped Michael.


his dark eyes glimmered with amusement.


“A college educated woman and you want to set it all aside, to be with me…” His fingertip rimmed the glass producing a dull tone. “To become my companion and do the things I say. You may not want to work, in the traditional sense, but I won’t live with a lazy woman--is that clear?”


“Crystal, Sir.” Miss Woolf nodded tentatively.


“What is your first name?”


“E-Eden…”


She whispered, folding her hand son the smooth, polished top of the table, to hide their shaking.


“You may call me Michael.” His eyes swept her a moment and he took another sip of tea. “We may as well be on a first-name basis.”


The glass was replaced and a long finger began to wiggle.


“Stand up, I want to get a good look at you…”


Slowly, Eden rose, allowing Michael to have a glimpse of her fully for the first time.


Her breath was staggered as his eyes, those strange, deep dark orbs, started at her face, and began to move downward, taking in her figure, covered in a simple white blouse and black mini skirt, ending at her zebra print pumps.


Suddenly, Michael was looming over her.


Hovering so close she could smell him. Smell his sharp, piney scent.


He smelled like a Christmas tree.


“If I should choose you, for my companion, Eden, you will live with me…fulfill my requests and needs. I will look after you, of course. Provide you with anything you like…I only ask for your faithfulness…”


He was holding her hand. His hand was so smooth and mildly cold.


“…and your obedience.”


Eden dared look up at him and found a pleased grin creasing his face.


“I’m a wealthy man and as such, know most women are more interested in my money, than me. I know you can’t fall in love with me instantly, but perhaps over time, that emotion will appear and grow in you…”


He pecked the op of her hand with moist lips.


Eden's bosom expanded.


He’d taken her! He wanted her!


She was his companion now!


She could scarcely breathe!


Oh joy! Oh rapture!


Her hand was dropped and Michael shifted in his chair.


“I realize I’m quite a bit older than you. Your resume stated your age at twenty-three…” He pointed out, the beads at his throat tinkling. “…I’m thirty-eight. Do you feel that is too old for you? I’d like to know now, before I begin to invest in you.”


Eden glanced up at him in wonder.


Thirty-eight? Michael Jackson was thirty-eight?


He didn’t look a day over twenty-five to her. He looked so youthful.


“No….no, Sir…” She shook her head in the negative, unwilling to let a few years difference pull this opportunity from her grasp.




“Because…”
Michael stood and moved behind her chair, his hands falling onto her shoulders and kneading them through her white blouse.


“… a very important component to our relationship will be the sex. I enjoy intimacy and being with a woman. Enjoying her body and giving her mine.”


Eden jumped slightly as his hands slipped inside the blouse, and groped after her bosom.


“You aren’t wearing a bra…” Michael pointed out the obvious as his fingers played against her firm, rounded flesh, sending shock waves through her.


“Please….” Eden whimpered as his fingertips tweaked her sensitive nipples, , causing goose pimples to appear all over her.


A hand cupped her chin and Michael’s delicate cheek pressed hers.


“You’re my companion now. I want to break you in. I want to sample the body that’s mine…”


He was walking away.


Michael was leaving her.


Chest heaving, frozen, Eden watched him go.


Getting to the open doors of the dining room, he instructed,


“Don’t move. I will be right back…”


He’d left walking, but by the quickening of his steps in the distance, she could tell he was now running.


Shaken and gasping, Eden stared out at the bright day, but saw nothing.


Sex…she was going to have sex with this man.


She’d been his ‘companion’ for less than ten minutes and already he wanted to have sex with her.


Had he always? Had that been on his mind since she’d been called in?


Eden raked her hands through her hair, convinced of it. She had attached her photograph along with her resume.


And the form in which she had filled out had asked specifically for her measurements, her hair and eye color. Things that usually didn’t matter for other forms of ‘work’, but would appeal to a man looking for a woman to…how had Michael put it?


Fulfill his requests and needs?


She had expected it, sure, just not so soon.


She knew that girls like her friend Andrea and others like her, had sex with their….their sugar daddies from time to time, but she just hadn’t thought it would be the first day she was there.


But there was no turning back. No other alternative….


Not that she could think of.




Click….click….click….click….
At the rapidly advancing footsteps, Eden stood, unconscious of it really, as Michael entered again.


In his hands was a box, made of bright blue leather and glistening with brass fasteners.


Worriedly, Eden was twiddling her thumbs, as Michael set the box down and turned to face her.


“Do you know something?” He asked almost meekly, perfect brows moving upwards across his unwrinkled forehead.


The young woman shook her head and a smirk curled his lips.


“I may not look it, but I’m a freak.”


A freak? What did he mean? What did that mean?


Just what did he intend to do with her?


Eden started to inch away, feeling she’d made a dire mistake.




Flap! Flap!
The fasteners were unlatched and with a squeak the box was opened.


Arranged inside were three items, which Michael gingerly lifted out one by one, taking the time to explain what each was.




“Handcuffs in white gold with diamond pave…a tassel whip of the finest Italian leather…baby oil….”
Noticing Eden was moving away, Michael raised his hand above his head.






POP!
His fingers snapped so loudly she had to cover her ears, as they rang from the noise.


Across the room, the open doors suddenly shut and clicked as they were locked.


Locked.


She was locked in that room with him!


Dropping into his seat, Michael beamed up at her, fire in his face.


“You aren’t leaving me now, Eden. You can’t.” He informed her solemnly. “I weeded through over a hundred different girls, before I chose you. You’re mine. You came to me because you wanted this. If you didn’t want it, you’d have never darkened my damn doorway. You wandered my front hall for nearly an hour; if you wanted to go, you had all the time to do it then.”


His hand wiggled at her.




“Come here.”
Eden remained motionless, staring at him, mouth slightly agape at the situation in which she was stuck.




“COME TO ME, NOW!”
Michael’s nose crinkled as he bellowed at her and on jellified, trembling, unstable legs, Eden obeyed, getting closer to him.


His large hands circled her waist and he maintained his glare up at her.


His eyes flashing and haunting in his face. A layer of nastiness to them emerging.


The freak in him.


Moments before, Eden had wanted to run away, to flee, to forget all of this.


But there was something in his eyes.


Something that was drawing her to him. Enchanting her with him.


Was…was she attracted to him? Did she suddenly want him?


Want to do as he asked? Fulfill those requests and needs?


No matter how forbidden, dirty and lewd they may be?


It appeared, so.


This strange man wielded an unexpected power over her, and she couldn’t ignore him nor it.


“Kiss me.” Michael cooed, sliver of a pink tongue coming out and dampening his lips.


Such beautiful, delicious looking lips.


“Yes, Sir…” Eden whispered and bent, eyes closing as her face neared his.


Their mouths touched and a wave of heat coursed through Eden.


Her arms circled his neck and she sat in his lap, being held, the two kissing at each other as if a kiss had never been shared before in the history of the known universe.


If she hadn’t wanted to this, it was no longer apparent, as her tongue touched Michael’s and he groaned into her mouth from the sensation.


Pulling her back slightly, breathlessly, Michael Jackson spoke.


“You kiss wonderfully, my little darling….do it again.”


There was no reply as his hand gripped her head, bringing her face back down onto his, mouths melding together.


Eden was held tighter, and in return, she hugged him tighter.


Abruptly she was pushed away and stumbling, she just managed to regain her balance without falling to the Persian rug beneath the table.


Without a word, Michael was up and the only sound in the room was that of fabric ripping.


Her blouse being pulled away, exposing her breasts fully to him, the zipper on the skirt was torn out, the black fabric falling to the floor.


Her black panties snatched away, thrown out the window, his hand brushing after the lightning bolt of black hair that decorated her triangle.


And she was naked in front of Michael.


“Oh…!” Michael embraced her, and lifted her, setting her on the cool tabletop.


His hands clutching onto her buttocks, tongue out and swabbing at her throat and shoulder, sucking hard, inviting hickies.


He was on her, so close to her, her legs spread on either side of his hips, bumping her bare snatch, his groin starting to expand beneath the crisp fabric of his trousers.


His breathing was increased, uneven, labored as his hips flicked, rubbing against her, dry humping her.


His fedora flipped off and fell to the floor at his feet as he released her ass, holding her bare back and delighting as Eden’s head fell back, allowing him to attack her breasts with his mouth.


Smooching at the firm, tight flesh, licking after the darker buds that were her nipples.


“Michael…”He heard her squeal and felt her hands gripping and pulling at the fabric on his shoulders.


“I…I want you…please…please. Please, Sir…Please….”


Continuing to rub against him a dampness springing from her loins, Eden was moaning, hugging to him, never wanting to let go.


Never wanting the moment to end.


“Say it….” Michael grasped her face and pecked her forehead. “Say it.”

Eyes widening at him, the request popped from pouted, heated lips,


“Fuck me.”


* * *


“Ah! Ah! Ah! Ow! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!”


Eden cried into the inlaid wood of the dining table, her cheek pressing it’s surface.


She stood, bent from the waist, her arms behind her, bound at the wrists by the diamond handcuffs.


Her backside was enflamed, and starting to show welts.




CRACK!
“OW!” She leaped and bounced against the table as, for the umpteenth time, the whip lashed against her.


“Look at how red it is. If you could only see your ass.” Michael laughed touching after the tender, swollen mass.


“It looks so much like a cherry…makes me want to put you in a dish of ice cream…”




CRACK!
“AH!”


“I love the sound of you screaming. You don’t know what it does to me. To hear your sweet little voice…”


His hand roved over her buttocks, slipping between them, tricking down to her pussy and patting after it.


“The more I hear it--” His fingers slipped inside of her warm, moistened slit, evoking her.


“Ugh…Sir….”


“--the harder I get!”




WHOP!
His open palm slapped her ass so hard, her entire body jiggled.


“OW!”


“Yes…” Michael’s arms were around her, picking her up. And she was set on the tabletop a second time.


Michael stood, hands on pristine white, bare hips, reveling in his own nudity.


His trimmed, toned, glowing body, the pinkish nipples, spared widely on his proud chest, the smooth cascade, down to the bush of blackness that was his pubic hair.


And from the center of the hair was his cock.


The frighteningly huge, thick, and engorged dick, sticking upwards nearly a foot.


Holding onto himself with one hand, Michael reached with the other and grabbed the bottle of oil.


A stream brought his meat to a shining slickness.


“Lie down.”


“Yes, Sir.”


She was pushed back onto the table, her legs opened to display her pussy plainly to him.


“You are so lovely. So young…” Michael whispered, seemingly in awe of her, bending over.


“MICHAEL!” Eden banged her head against the table as Michael seemed to dive face first between her thighs, his tongue seeking out her clit and outright assaulting it.




“No! No! Oh! No! No! Sir--Michael!”
She was helpless against him as Michael braced against her thighs, his curls masking his face as is rocked up and down on her.




“You’re eating me! Stop! Stop! Stop! I’ll come!”
She pleaded hoarsely, as his fingers came up, opening her clit further, allowing him to stimulate her as she’d never been before.


Michael was stubborn, blatantly ignored the cries.


He was in too deep, enjoying and treasuring the feel and taste of her.


Struggling to hold down the legs and keep them from closing on him.


“Don’t make me come, please! Michael! Sir! SIR!” Eden wailed arching her back as his fingers were forced into her again.


“But you’re so good. So very good Eden!” Michael taunted, climbing back to his feet tossing his curls out of his grimacing.


The was hell in his eyes as he grabbed at her bound arms, pulling her down to the edge of the table.


Everything about him seemed to scream of the devil and excited Eden.


Her skin was covered in goose pimples and electric to the touch and her breathing nonexistent and…


And she was enjoying it immensely.


Hanging onto her arms to steady himself, Michael’s head went back and he screamed at the ceiling.




“AAOW!”
Propelling himself forward, all of that glistening, wet dick flew into the waiting depths of Eden’s little pussy.


“SIR PLEASE!” She shrieked, unprepared for his side, eyes widening in horror as he found his rhythm, pounding away at the poor girl.


“Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Oh! Ugh! Woo!” Face scarlet, curls wild and bouncing everywhere, each time the furred groin collided with the lightning bolt of the other, a dull clap was produced.


Her own eyes up at the ceiling, mouth hanging open but producing no sound, Eden could only wonder when the last time this man had fucked was.


When, how long had it been?


Had he had another companion before herself and fucked her away?


There was a weight on her, and Michael’s face appeared over hers.


There was a peacefulness in his eyes that had been absent earlier and leaning onto her, he was kissing her.


And the two were connected, not only in their kiss, but down below, between their legs.


The feeling was so good to Eden. So good…


No man before Michael Jackson had done her this way.


Not this way.


Her head turned from his and she yanked so hard against her bracelets, impressions were left that would take over a week to fade.


“NO! NO! NO! AH! I’m gonna come! I’m gonna come! SIR!” She wailed and Michael hand was on her face, turning her to him.


He was peering down at her.


He wanted to see.


He wanted to see…


“AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!” Screaming, twitching and arching, Eden finally exploded, against the rod that was ramming her so good.


And in between each plunge a purt of jiust few out and onto Michael’s thighs, wetting his hair and making all sparkle on his crotch.


“Yes….yes….good girl….that’s it….that’s it…you come all over me….yes….” He encourage, lips curling into a nasty sneer, his hands on her breasts, holding as he kept up the pounding.


He wanted to hang on, hang in there until the very last moment.


He wanted to wait and be inside of that live, wiggling and most beautiful creature until his body could no longer endure it.


His cock was out and on her belly, Michael rubbing after it violently.


“Oh….oh….oh….” He frowned, eyes snapping shut, as he was bringing himself to the most exciting part of such an exchange.
“OH!”


In one, hard solid burst, a stream of semen flew through the air and collided in a spray on Eden’s chin.


One hand wiped some of the liquid into her mouth, allowing her to taste him.


Exhausted, Michael collapsed to the floor, staring up at the still open legs, quivering on his table top.


The two struggled for breath, both on their backs, eyes on the vaulted ceiling.


Yes…yes this would work…


This arrangement would work.


* * *


Several hours later, night had fallen on the once brightly lit, Neverland, and the only lighting came in the form of about a dozen lit candles in the formal dining room.


Seated at the table where they were once a tawdry tangle of arms and legs, Michael and Eden sat, in matching silk pajamas, partaking of a late hour dinner.


The meal had to come at an unholy hour, as after such activity, a lengthy nap had ensued.


Plates steamed with stacks of fried chicken and mounds of mashed potatoes swimming in gravy.


Holding a breast in her hand, and poking some of the hot, crisp meat into the mouth of the man at her side, Eden had a question in need of an answer.


“Was there a girl before me, Michael?” She wondered thoughtfully, as she picked up a fork, putting potatoes into her own mouth.


In the candlelight, Michael’s face was softly yellow and complacent as he nodded.


“Yes, Eden, there was--”


“Why did you get rid of her? Was she too old?”


“No…not that…” The long-haired head shook in the negative. “To be honest, she was the same age as you, just…”


Michael stared down at his plate.


“Just…what?” Eden pushed, curious and set her fork down, staring at him.


“Well, I have a voracious appetite for sex. Like what we did today, I could do every day. I enjoy sex, a lot, and she couldn’t handle it. That’s why she went away.”


Dark eyes came up and focused on her.


“Do you think you could keep up with me? Keep up with the kind of sex I have? I had such a great time with you today…”


He pinched after her cheek and it glowed red at his touch.


“I…I think so…” Eden conceded, with a naughty little smile.




“That’s just what I wanted to hear, Sweetness…”
Leaning over, Michael was kissing her, lips greased and tasty.


“Yes…” He whispered into her mouth. “I’ve finally found my perfect companion…”