For the longest time, I’ve wanted to write a story that not only included
Michael Jackson, but also his brother Marlon. The only thing is, I wanted to do
a story with both men older. Not a couple of wild twenty-somethings, but as a
pair of alluring, and experienced forty-somethings was what I wanted to capture
and spring on everyone. I hope you enjoy reading it. I enjoyed writing it.
“Assistance”
A Michael Jackson Erotic
Short Story By:
MJsLoveSlave
(Featuring Marlon Jackson)
(Non-Sexual
Cameos by Jackie, Tito, Jermaine and Randy Jackson)
New
York City
November 2001
“…here you are ma’am. Seven extra
large cups of coffee: five black with two extra shots of espresso each, one
mocha latte with no whipped cream and one special Columbian/Jamaican blend, with
three sugars, two Sweet ’n’ Lows, and a dash of light cream--real cream. That’ll
be fifty-five dollars and seventy-two cents, please.” The barista behind the
counter of that packed coffeehouse was telling me as she was placing the large
cardboard box with the steaming cups on top of it.
“Okay…” I replied, still
a little sleepy myself as I dug into the pocket of my red trench coat --I needed
that mocha latte badly--and came up with a crisp one hundred dollar bill.
(Author’s note: I really do start most of my days with a mocha latte)
A small bell dinged as the woman opened the cash register and came up with
my change.
“Forty-four dollars and twenty-eight cents and thank you for
choosing Cup of Joe’s for your coffee needs…”
As I juggled the box back
outside, where snow was once again starting to fall on the busy and bustling
street, the sound of fresh rock salt crunching under my shoes, I leaned against
the side of my car, a small Honda and shook my head derisively.
A little
over forty-four dollars in change, and not a red penny of it was mine to keep.
No, but in the last month, nearly ever morning, at barely six a.m. read like
that.
Let me explain.
My name is Amelia Karloff and in 2001, I was the
assistant to Michael Jackson.
Yes, THE Michael Jackson.
The King of Pop,
The Thriller, The One Gloved Wonder. Whatever moniker you wanted to attach to
his skinny ass; I worked for him and had been for the last two years.
Since
1999 I had been responsible for keeping his affairs in order and keeping his
life in general on track and from falling apart.
Anything the man needed
done, I did. Whether it was delivering emails and phone messages, or picking up
dry cleaning and polishing his dozens of pairs of penny loafers, I was there.
There had even been one day in 2000 where, for some odd reason, Michael had run
out of clean underwear and I had had to go purchase a box of new Fruit of the
Looms briefs--size 32--for him. (That was 150 pairs of drawers!)
Lately I
had been doing even more running around than ever for Michael.
The usually
reclusive superstar, along with his five brothers, The Jacksons, were headlining
at Madison Square Garden with a three month engagement of concerts, set to begin
the very next night and last until February of 2002.
For the last month, I
had been in New York as opposed to California where Michael lived, watching as
rigorous rehearsals had ensued, costume fittings, and the stage had been built.
Not to mention helping with all the interviews and press junkets that went along
with a mini-tour engagement.
And if it wasn’t enough, somehow everything
from the five other Jacksons began appearing in my list of to-dos. So not only
was I now picking up a dozen spangled jackets for Michael, I was now also
stopping to pick up a selection of bowlers for Tito, a re-tuned bass guitar for
Jermaine, a keyboard for Randy, a chili cheese dog with jalapeños from Nathan’s
for Jackie and a pair of clippers specially for Marlon to trim his mustache!
Emails for them began appearing on my laptop, calls for them on my phone.
Somehow I was even keeping track of Jermaine’s finances, watching about fifty
thousand dollars disappear in tuition for his youngest children to attend an
elite private school in Beverly Hills.
It was sheer madness and I wasn’t
sure how I managed to keep up with all. It was a miracle that I had only screwed
up once, and it wasn’t that bad. I sent Jackie to an appearance that was meant
for Jermaine. (It was an honest mistake, the email had simply said to send “JJ”
to a certain high school and I took the JJ for Jackie Jackson, instead of
Jermaine Jackson.)
Anyway, that was the life I had signed on for. As I got
into my car, destined back for The Garden, I figured it was just another day of
putting my nose to the grind stone. At least that was how the day had
began…
Madison Square Garden
A Half-Hour Later
“…let’s dance, let’s shout--SHOUT--Shake Your Body Down To the
Ground…let’s dance…”
As I made my way down and through the empty arena,
that the next night would be filled to the brim with tens of thousands of dazed,
screaming fans, I found that The Jacksons were already smack dab in the middle
of one of their long rehearsals.
Getting closer to the stage, I could see
all six of them, testing out some of the costumes they planned to perform in.
Michael, out front, wore a bright, optic white, open button down shirt over
a matching tee and tight fitting trousers, with golden decorative shin guards
attached. Four of the five other brothers, Marlon, Jackie, Randy and Tito, wore
colorful oxfords against a background of black tees and stretchy spandex
trousers.
Jermaine though, appeared to want to stick out as much as Michael
and his outfit was screaming louder than he was into his microphone.
He wore
a long, white trench coat, that upon closer inspection, had tiny renditions of
his face and his brother’s all as children in glittering bugle beads.
Standing onside of the stage, I could only marvel at them. With the
exception of Jackie, who at the oldest was fifty years old, the rest of them
were all in their forties. And dancing like they were all still in their
twenties. Moving well, sounding pleasant, the music they produced was
toe-tappingly good and I found myself swaying to the beat, watching them.
Of
course, the best of the best looking onstage was my boss.
Michael Jackson.
At forty-three years old, Michael Jackson, who it was fair to say in his
younger days had been almost waif-like in appearance he was so slim, was now
boasting a bit more meat on his bones. Not to say that Michael was fat in any
way, because he was never so. I had just watched him, in two years evolve from
125 pounds on a nearly six foot tall frame to about 140. And while most men who
started gaining weight had it land almost exclusively in their gut--I could see
Randy’s jigging from behind his keyboard as he played--Michael’s had managed to
distribute it’s self evenly. Some landed in his gut, filled his long face nicely
and the rest found its way…
I had to shake my head as Michael went gliding
past, executing the Moonwalk slickly, on the stage, a good ten feet above my
head.
I didn’t intend to, but it was hard to not notice Michael’s fuller
thighs and little rounded backside. His legs and butt had always been toned.
Hell, he’d come out his mother dancing. He was the best dancer, in the world,
ever to inhabit it.
“…shake it Baby…shake it now! Hoo-hoo!”
Michael was singing as he spun, his hair, cropped to chin length,
straightened, and jet black, swirling. His face, with it’s sharp chiseled
features were creasing with a grin as stomped away rhythmically bypassing his
brother Marlon, dancing in the same fashion towards my end of the stage.
For
a scant moment, I forgot about Michael as Marlon was dancing over my head,
dropping down to his knees and popping back up within a second.
Marlon, only
a year older than Michael, had begun to catch my eye during the rehearsals. I
was more familiar with Marlon than the others because he and Michael were so
close, that he was always hanging out with Michael as I worked.
And like
Michael, age had brought the addition of a few more pounds to his frame,
slightly shorter than Michael’s but still not making him fat.
(Author’s
note: Only I could make “middle-age spread” sound sexy and appealing!
Ha-ha!)
Marlon carried his weight a bit differently. While his stomach did
show signs of a little pooch, he was tucked into so much spandex at the moment,
it was completely flattened out. Like Michael, Marlon was a great dancer and it
was reflected in his thick, almost swollen, muscular thighs and his backside
which was, I’ll be honest, pretty prominent I had noticed.
(Damn it, the man
was in spandex! Even Stevie Wonder could have seen that ass!)
“Shake your
body down! Shake your body down!”
The Jacksons, gathered together on the
stage were wagging their heads, and shaking their bodies together. Marlon and
Michael, side by side caught my attention.
Both men were attractive. A part
of me felt guilty for even having a crush on either of them. Michael was my boss
first and foremost. Marlon was married and had been before I was even born--to
the SAME woman. Also, factor in the idea they were brothers, it was a mess.
But I had never acted on it. I was smart enough and professional enough to
not screw up the best job I ever had. Before I worked for Michael, I had never
left the state of California, having grown up in Rancho Cucamonga. Since working
for Michael, I had seen the insides of Russia, Portugal, Australia, Bahrain, and
Uzbekistan.
And there had even been talk of after the New York engagement,
to take the concerts worldwide, where many more places would be seen for me.
I knew I couldn’t mess with my boss. Or his damn brother. No matter how his
hazel-honey colored eyes lit up when he laughed or how that thick mustache
complimented his plump and substantial lips that always seemed to be glossy.
No, I couldn’t screw that up. Hell no. But it was just so difficult.
As
the song wound down and the brothers were doing a mix of breathing heavily from
their exertion and laughing at having performed well, someone finally took
notice of me.
Leaning over the microphone attached to his keyboard, Randy
Jackson announced,
“Hey, fellas! Coffee’s here!”
At the mention
of rich, brown energy in a cup, all six men were jogging towards me, coming down
the small steps that led to the main floor claiming their drinks.
“Thank
you, Amelia! ”
“I needed this!”
“What--No donuts?”
“Like yo’ fat ass
needs a donut!”
“Coffee’s good and strong--like me!”
“Bull****, Marlon!”
“Ha, thank you, girl!”
As the rest of the brothers were returning
back to their posts onstage, Michael stayed on the floor with me, and was
staring down at his cup.
Worried I had messed up his drink, I asked,
“I
got it right, didn’t I, Michael?”
Hearing me speak to him, Michael’s eyes,
large, dark and rimmed in black liner glittered.
“Yes…I wanted to tell you
thank you.” He spoke in his soft way and I was instantly at ease. He was
thanking me. That beat hollering at me any day.
“You’re welcome…” I shrank
under his gaze, as I always did. He was so beautiful to me. “You have forty-four
dollars change--” I started to dig in my pocket for the money.
“You hang
onto that. I sent you out in the cold to get us coffee. It’s a tip, keep it.”
Was all he said was he began sipping his java.
“Thank you, Sir.” I nodded
and turning from him, removed my coat, tossing it over one of the chairs in the
front row.
“Are those sapphires?”
The question was so strange, I had to
turn back and stare at Michael.
“What?” I was squinting at him curiously.
“Your earrings…” Michael chuckled walking over to me, and was tugging at one
of the chandelier earrings swaying in my lobes.
As one of his soft knuckles
brushed my cheek, I turned my head, replying,
“It’s Swiss blue topaz, not
sapphires.”
“That’s cool how it matches your sweater. It’s cute…” Michael
commented and I felt my cheeks starting to glow.
“Thanks…” I was happy when
he finally released my jewelry.
“Have a seat and enjoy the show. I don’t
have any more errands for you at the moment.” He was saying and already I was
planting myself and trying to calm myself. Sometimes it was such torture to be
around Michael and not be able to do anything about it.
It was sheer
torture.
Michael turned and started back up the steps, his little booty
bouncing as he mounted the stage, where his brothers had all clustered around
Randy’s keyboard, speaking in low tones.
Tito mumbled something and the
stage shook with raucous laughter, all the brothers doubling over.
Several
more spoke, but I heard Michael clear as a bell over the microphone as he talked
into it, not noticing his voice was amplified,
“…yeah, that’s a nice
look. That blue sweater and the checked trousers, it’s nice…”
I stared
up at him my jaw sagging. Was he really discussing my outfit?
A part of me
was flattered that he’d even noticed. And it wasn’t helping my crush on him a
snit.
At the same time, Marlon leaned forward and informed his brother,
“You know, she can hear yo’ ass speaking, Michael!”
More
guffaws rang out as Michael covered his mouth with his hand, and though I was
far away, I could see his ears turning pink with embarrassment. Reaching over,
he hung onto Marlon, the two of the giggling.
The two of them not knowing
what their little rapport was doing to me.
It was a shame.
Over the
next six hours, I sat and watched as The Jacksons rehearsed their entire concert
set, which featured around twenty of their hits--including solo efforts from
Michael, Jermaine, Marlon and Randy--an entire three times. Save the half hour
they all had to run off stage, when a light crashed down and sent glass flying
everywhere. And the fifteen minutes that were wasted when Tito and Jermaine got
into an argument about the speed of a song being played. Tito claimed that
Jermaine was rushing through their hit “ABC” and what ensued was more cursing
than I had ever heard in my life, ending with Tito taking Jermaine’s neon green
bass and chucking it so hard, it landed in the tenth row of chairs.
Fists
flew and it took the rest of the Jacksons and three members of Michael’s
security team to break them up. Not before Tito’s bowler got stomped on and one
of the bugle bead faces on Jermaine’s jacket was ripped off, though.
Eventually, Tito, Jackie, Jermaine and Randy had to call an end to the
rehearsal, because the four them had a promotional appearance to make in town at
Tavern on the Green, an upscale restaurant, and left to shower and dress for the
event.
Michael and Marlon, who had both declined invites to the event--when
I had handled them a week ago--instead stayed onstage with some backing music
playing, working on their steps to ensure they were sharp as possible.
It
was something of a dream come true to me.
The only spectator in the arena,
with Michael and Marlon Jackson, both of them glistening like glazed pastries,
they were so sweaty and dewy. It was almost too much for my heart to take.
“No, you gotta be looser, man…” Michael was telling Marlon, as the two of
them stood side by side, each with a leg up, shaking their hips.
“I am
loose--any looser and I’ll be liquid!” Marlon joked shuffling his feet and spun,
that impossible ass wiggling.
“Be serious!” Michael warned and popped up on
his toes, hanging there perfectly for about five seconds, suspended in air.
“I’m seriously hungry, damn it!” Marlon answered, rubbing a hand across his
damp face and made his way over to one of the five mics on stands.
Leaning
up to it--it was set for someone taller--he asked,
“Amelia, will you
please go get a couple of guys some lunch, Honey? That coffee we had is long
gone--I pissed mine out hours ago!”
It was so nice to hear him say my
name. He had such a light voice that was a shade deeper than Michael’s.
“Yes, Sir!” I was already jogging up to the stage before he finished his
sentence.
Leaving the mic, Marlon strolled over to me. A few feet away,
Michael was wiping at his sweaty face with a fluffy towel.
“I’m in the mood
for some Chinese food.” Marlon started and paused to shout back at Michael,
“How does some Chinese grab you Mike?”
“Just fine!” Michael, towel in
hand was nodding as he came over.
How could they not hear my heart pummeling
against my breast bone as the two of them loomed over me, scented of strong
cologne and mild funk.
(Author’s note: The ‘mild funk’ made me laugh.
After six hours of dancing and a fight, they couldn’t exactly smell like a bed
of roses!)
“Do you know where the Spring Roll Restaurant is?” Marlon
questioned and I had to look at my feet to keep from meeting his dancing eyes.
“Yes, Sir--it’s off of Broadway…” I nodded and was wringing my hands
together.
“Good, get me the large order of kung pao chicken, with an side
order of crab and cheese fried wontons. What you want, Mike?”
“I want a
large order of shrimp fried rice with extra shrimp and a couple of vegetable egg
rolls. Can you remember that?”
“Yes, Michael.” I glanced up at him and
shouldn’t have. A single bead of sweat fell off his clefted chin and landed on
his chest, partially exposed by the v-neck of the tee.
(Author’s
note: You can actually see that during ‘You Rock My World” from the MSG
concert!)
“Smart cookie.” Marlon snorted as he dropped to one knee and came
up with a wad of money from the side of the black boots he wore.
Out of what
had to be easily a few thousands, just right there in his damn shoe, Marlon
counted out six, fifty-dollar bills. Anyone else would have balked at having
three hundred dollars just for a food run for two men, but with the kind of
upscale places Michael and his kin ate at, it was just normal.
“One of these
days you’re gonna lose that sh*t, keeping it in your shoe like that.” Michael
pointed out as Marlon was handing me the money.
“I’ve kept my sh*t like this
since I was twelve. Haven’t lost a dine yet.” Marlon beamed and a large handed
patted my shoulder.
“You get yourself something to eat too, Amelia. There’s
plenty. Spring Roll makes some really great food. You’ll like it. Get something.
You need lunch too.”
“Yes--” I began and found Michael’s large hand on my
other shoulder.
“We’ll be in our dressing rooms when you get back. Gotta get
out these stank clothes and shower. I can’t eat all nasty like this. Just bring
the food on back, understand?” He told me, a gentle smile crossing his little
pink lips.
“Okay…” Was all I could manage as Michael and Marlon both gave me
a nod, before turning away from me and exiting, stage left, destined for their
dressing rooms in the back of the building.
I watched them go, enjoying the
sight of their booties, Michael’s smaller, Marlon’s larger, flexing as they
went.
Using the money to fan myself, I went to gather up my coat and my
nerves and go buy the Chinese food.
Ninety Minutes
Later
As I slipped through one of the rear doors of Madison Square
Garden, clutching several large paper bags in my hands, I leaned against one of
the cool brick walls, trying to regain my wind. I don’t why in the hell I had
agreed to go, by car, clear across the city of New York. During the midday,
lunchtime rush.
It had taken practically no time for the chefs at Spring
Roll to cook up the food, which took about a hundred and twenty dollars of the
money Marlon had given me, but the murder was in getting back and forth from the
Garden. And without a police escort or screaming sirens, took an entire hour.
I just thanked God that between the foil insulated containers and the heater
on my car blasting as high as it would go, the food had managed to stay warm.
Now inside the back of the arena, I began to navigate the several hallways
that lead back to the Jackson’s dressing rooms.
Michael had wanted to be
deep in the bowels of the back of the arena in case a wayward fan breached
security, so that they would have a hard time finding him, if they managed to
find him at all.
Already in the month since word got out that The Jacksons
were rehearsing at the Garden, seven fans of Michael’s had been arrested for
trespassing and Jackie had gotten tackled in the parking lot by another one.
Coming onto the hall with eh dressing room, each with one of the brother’s
names written in black on a silver star. Except Jermaine. That egomaniacal
rascal had insisted on a golden star, and gotten one. (Actually three, because
someone “mysteriously” kept yanking it off the door and bending it out of
shape.)
Michael’s dressing room was in the center of the hallway. As if a
star with his name on it wasn’t enough, a small stuffed Mickey Mouse doll
dangled from the doorknob. A few feet away, a group of guards crouched on the
concrete floor, shooting dice, a small pile of money between them.
Going up
to the door, I knocked timidly on it.
“Come in!” I heard Michael call
from somewhere inside.
Letting myself in, I found myself once again looking
at the dressing room in awe. Michael had the place custom decorated since it was
his home away from his hotel for the next three months. The walls were painted
light blue, and all over the walls, posters of some of Michael’s favorite
musicals had been framed and hung.
Near the door, a small round table,
covered by a darker blue table cloth, a small vase of white roses in blue
water--causing the flowers to slowly become blue themselves--adorned the table.
On the far end of the room, was a full-sized bed, dressed in blue satin
sheets, for Michael to catch a nap here and there. Beside the bed was Michael’s
lighted vanity, covered with cosmetics, and various skin creams.
And seated
in a director’s style chair, applying a moisturizer to his bare face, was
Michael Jackson.
His slim body was draped in a quilted navy silk robe, his
name embroidered on the back in crisp white thread.
As I began setting out
the boxes of take out, Michael asked,
“Did you find the place alright?
Spring Roll?”
“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry I took so long, the traffic was bad.” I
apologized, continuing to separate boxes and the little plastic lidded bowl of
my lunch--some hot and sour soup.
“Oh it’s okay…I needed time to take a
proper shower…” In the reflection of the mirror, I could see Michael patting
cream underneath his eyes with his fingertip. Michael Jackson, who had a skin
disorder that had destroyed the pigmentation in it, causing his milky-white
complexion, took great pains to keep his skim well-hydrated as the disorder was
very drying.
“Amelia, when you get done setting the food out, will you rub
some of this aloe cream on my back, please?” Michael wondered softly, and there
was the sound of liquid jostling as he poured some cologne into his hands and
was rubbing it onto his long neck.
“Yes…yes, Sir.” I had been laying out
Marlon’s fried wontons, but left them at the request. Some people might have
found it strange that Michael was asking me to do something like that, but it
was normal to me. I had been doing that very thing since I had started work for
him.
Plus, it was fun to see Michael without his shirt on.
As I stepped
up behind him, Michael carefully slipped out of the top half of his robe,
revealing his creamy back, with just a few discolored freckles on it.
“Thank
you…” Michael’s voice was gentle as he held up the little jar containing the
faintly green aloe cream.
Taking a dab in my hands, I rubbed them together
before starting to rub down his back.
I couldn’t help myself. I stared at
his reflection in the mirror--Michael was looking down at his lap. His chest,
smooth, lean and boasting tiny pink nipples that appeared to be running away
from each other, was rising and falling as he breathed.
He was just so cute
and unassuming.
Leaning over him, I could smell the watermelon scent of his
shampoo still fresh in his slightly damp and tousled hair.
How many times
had I wanted to just grab him by the hair, tilt him and kiss him until my lips
bled?
“Get my shoulders too.” Michael’s eyes met mine through the mirror and
sparks ran all through me as I tried to maintain my composure.
Rubbing at
Michael’s shoulders, I notices his head bobbing as he seemed to be enjoying what
I was doing.
I couldn’t’ stand it any longer. He was too much for me to try
to resist. Two years was too goddamned long!
I was going to tilt him back!
Yes, I was going to, grab him by that hair or hairpiece--I couldn’t
remember--and lay a wet one smack dab on that little mouth--
“Woo, Mike!
Look at you, hiding in here and getting yo’ self a massage from Little Miss
Amelia!”
A singsong voice teased, destroying the moment I was having
with Michael.
Both of us turned to see Marlon, also in a monogrammed robe of
his own, easing into the room, a smile as usual on his lips.
Sniggling,
Michael admitted,
“Marlon, you know I can’t reach my back to put lotion on
it. Amelia was helping me. Quit with the innuendo.”
“You stop speaking
Spanish at me…‘innuendo‘…” Marlon whined going over to the table and
admiring the spread. “I came to stuff my face. My stomach growled so loud a
minute ago I though a damn bear was behind me!”
Rising from his chair,
Michael slipped his robe back on before he picked it up and indicated I take the
other one at the table across from Marlon.
“Man, I love these little
wontons…” Marlon said to no one in particular as the three of us started eating
our lunch, at a time closer to dinner. “Crispy outside, and creamy inside.”
“My rice is just perfect. Plenty of shrimp, too.” Michael was pouring a
packet of soy sauce onto his food.
Spooning my soup to my lips, I suddenly
remembered Marlon’s change.
“Here’s your change, Marlon.” I was feeling in
my pocket.
Marlon, now digging into his kung pao chicken, put up a hand to
stop me.
“You keep the change, Amelia. As long as there was enough to pay
for it all.” He waved the money away and immediately slapped his hand on the
table top.
“F*CK! That chicken is spicy as all hell! But good!”
I stared
at Marlon in wide eyed wonder. I couldn’t possibly take that much money.
“But…Sir, it’s over a hundred dollars! There’s more in change than what was
spent.” I stammered as Marlon was calmly rising and raiding Michael’s little
mini-fridge coming back with a bottle of iced tea.
Reclining in his chair
lazily, Marlon eyed me a moment before snickering,
“You’re saying that like
I’m strapped for cash or something, girl. Take it. I want you to have it. Go on,
eat your…” He trailed off and squinted at the bowl I was eating from.
“Is
that all you bought to eat, Amelia?” He inquired eyes swelling and reached,
slapped Michael’s shoulder. “All she’s got is some soup! What the hell?”
Egg
roll in hand, Michael put in,
“No, you shouldn’t have so little. Marlon and
I are eating like pigs and you’re here eating that mess.”
Almost magically,
beside my bowl, an egg roll, wonton and small dish of rice appeared. Even a
bottle of tea.
“Really, you didn’t have to do that. The soup is plenty!” I
argued, shied by their generosity.
“No.” Michael was firm as he ripped open
another packet of soy sauce and was sprinkling it on the rice he’d given me,
before placing several large shrimp on top of it.
“You spend all day, every
day running up and down the road like a maniac for me.”
“Michael, Sir, it‘s
no trouble at all, it‘s my job--” I was cut off by Marlon simpering,
“Mike,
you better give Amelia a break, man. One of these days, her boyfriend might show
up wanting to whip your ass for riding her back!”
Merry laughter shook the
room and I looked down at my food, feeling my cheeks starting glow hot like they
had before. I tried to cover them with my hands, but Marlon noticed them anyway.
Wiping a tear from his eye, he asked,
“Do you have a boyfriend Amelia?
DAMN! This kung pao!”
Face even hotter, all I could do was shake my head.
How had the conversation taken a turn like this?
“Aww, you should have a
boyfriend.” Michael declared sweetly and patted at my hand. “You’re a nice girl,
only twenty. Attractive, with a kind personality. You’ll get one…You should have
one.”
Even more flustered at the idea that Michael had let it slip that he
thought of me as attractive, I could not even form a sentence and sputtered
nonsense, before covering my face to stop looking at him.
Every strand of
brown hair stood up on my head when Marlon added something I never expected to
hear.
“Perhaps she doesn’t just want ONE boyfriend, Michael… perhaps she
wants TWO of them.”
My entire head was in flames as I felt Michael
starting to pinch at my cheek.
By some will of God, I managed to drop my
hands to stare at the men. And sure enough they were both staring intently at
me, as Michael was still squeezing my cheek, and Marlon was wiping his mouth
with a paper napkin.
Were these men really suggesting what I believed they
were?
“Marlon…” Michael, eyes still burning into mine, glanced at his
sibling. “Do you have that…thing?”
Thing? What thing? My mind raced.
Out
of a pocket on his robe, Marlon came up with a small pink box and scooted it
across the tabletop to Michael, who took it opened it.
From the box, Michael
produced what appeared to be a small silver band ring.
“I want you to see
this Amelia,” He began and was flashing it back and forth. On the inside I could
make out something inscribed. “This is made of pure platinum. Inside the band
are my name and Marlon’s name. It’s for you…” I saw stars as Michael leaned
forward and smooched my cheek lovingly. I was dying. Absolutely dying.
He
kept speaking as Marlon got up and stood just behind me.
“…if you accept
this ring, then it means you belong to both Marlon and me. We belong to each
other. You won’t be my assistant anymore. You’ll be my girlfriend, and Marlon’s
girlfriend. You’ll belong to us.”
I was spinning. I was being asked to be
Michael’s girlfriend! It was the most wonderful thing in the world! He’d really
asked me…That beautiful creature wanted me!
I paused as a certain thought
struck me like a lightning bolt.
He’d included Marlon. Said I would be
Marlon’s girlfriend.
Looking back into Marlon’s handsome face I asked the
obvious question.
“How can I be your girlfriend, if you’re married?”
His face, remaining plain with seriousness, Marlon told me simply,
“My wife knows what I do. I hide nothing from her. She knows what I do and
doesn’t care. She’s got what she wants. The prestige of the Jackson name. I do
what I want without complaints as long as she can keep the name. I’ve been
dating outside the marriage since the eighties. I‘m as free to have you as
Michael is.”
Well, if his wife was aright with it….the fact they were
brothers didn’t even phase me…
“Amelia, Marlon and I have discussing this for
months…” Fingertips gripping my chin, Michael turned me back to face him, his
lovely face creased with an adoring smile. “We’ve liked you ever since you
became my assistant. You’re so cute--”
“She ain’t cute. Puppies are cute.
She’s a hot little thing.” Marlon corrected his brother as he came around,
standing to his side as the ring was slipped onto my finger.
“Do you like
us? Want us?” Michael was now standing with Marlon, both men gazing upon me.
Fingering the ring, unable to grasp what was happening, I nodded.
“I…I
like you both. Very much. You’re so…so sexy…” I was barely able to speak. “And I
don’t mind, this arrangement, as long as Marlon’s wife doesn’t care.”
“My
wife don’t give a sh*t.” Marlon assured me, cackling joyously.
It was then I
noticed, both of the Jacksons were fiddling with the belts on their robes,
snickering bashfully. They…they were going to take off their clothes, it became
apparent. I was swooning at the idea of what was conspiring.
Michael and
Marlon, those men, they wanted my body. And I desperately wanted theirs.
A
threesome with not one, but TWO of the Jacksons!
“Lord…I don’t want
to see Michael’s scrawny ass naked.” Marlon was shaking his head when the
“You’re no Mr. Olympia yourself!’ Michael retorted his own hair flying as he
shook his head.
Tickled, leaned back in my chair tittering.
Eventually,
though, the blue robes slipped from the two bodies and shock of seeing Michael
and Marlon completely unadorned nearly gave me heart failure.
Just like
onstage, my eyes found Michael first.
Michael’s body, was a thing of wonder.
From that gentle, delicate chest, past that outie belly button on his flat tummy
to those wonderful, strong hips.
And dangling between his thighs was one of
the largest d*cks I had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on.
Long, and a
pale shade of pink, Michael’s floppy pen*s was remarkably thick and boasted a
mushroom-like tip that was a deeper shade of pink. Just above Michael’s flesh
pole, a small triangular patch of hair had been trimmed down so far, it showed a
black fuzz against his pale skin. I couldn’t see his testicles at all; as his
c*ck completely hid them.
Then my eyes found Marlon.
And zeroed in on
the meat hanging just under that teeny pooch of his stomach.
Since Marlon
was darker than Michael, of course his genitalia was also darker.
He was
just as large as his brother, with the same fine tip to his c*ck, that was a
shade or deeper than the rest. He was also limp. Though, where Michael barely
possessed pubic hair, a wild patch of black curls surrounded Marlon’s groin and
fanned off on those thick thighs I had been admiring all the day.
Both men
were staring at me expectantly and it came to me, I was the only one still
clothed in the room. It went unspoken, they wanted me to take my clothing off.
And I was willing and eager to comply.
As soon as I went to pull my sweater
off over my head, four extra hands joined in. My clothes were snatched, ripped
and torn from my body, left on the floor as remnants of fabric.
“We’ll get
you some clothes to wear….after.” Michael cooed as he took my hand and
was leading me towards his bed. Marlon was warmly clutching my other one.
At
the bed, Marlon climbed in and crawled across to the far side, his ass cheeks
jiggling with his every movement.
His hand was extended to me, and I stared
at it a moment, noticing he still wore his wedding band.
In an instance of
adrenaline, I tugged it off and set it on Michael’s vanity.
“God damn, get
over here!” Marlon threw his head back, and was pulling me along into the bed.
As I crawled to join him, Michael lightly whacked my bare bottom.
“Mike!” I giggled as I was pulled against Marlon, his running his
fingers through my hair as Michael remained standing. Was he going to watch his
brother and me? I had no idea how this all really worked.
“Michael…” Marlon
murmured as he continued playing with my hair. “What should we do with this
girl? She’s so young--only twenty. She‘s so pretty with some tits that won‘t
quit…Lord…”
I was pulled back against Marlon’s chest and he was pecking at
my shoulder, arms wrapped around me, just under my breasts.
Michael was
quiet, just watching, as Marlon’s hands found their way onto my mammaries and
was squeezing down on them roughly.
Slowly, a devilish smile came to that
pink mouth of his.
“As pretty is she is, with a body like that….she’s just
begging to be f*cked…” He swiped a hand through his hair in the most sexy way,
and puckered his lips.
“We just gotta f*ck her till she can’t stand it
anymore…”
Starting to tug at that mass springing from his thighs, Michael
climbed in near the foot of the bed as Marlon pulled my head back, forcing me to
kiss him. He was smashing my little lips with his big ones.
I flailed a bit
as he was pushing his tongue further and further down my throat, before he
released me, gasping. Looking down my body, I saw that Michael wasn’t staring at
me directly, but down at my p*ssy. As if he couldn’t decide just what to do with
it. He was still playing with himself, causing his d*ck to rise.
“Touch it,
Baby…grab it…” Marlon was urged, taking my hand and placing it around his
member. Encouraged, I gamely began stroking him.
“Sh*t yeah….that’s it…”
Marlon groaned and slapped at my breasts.
At the touch of Michael’s warm
hands on my legs, I watched as he was pushing my legs open, staring down and
into me.
Positioning himself so that half his body was off the foot of the
bed, I had to look away. I had to. I knew what he was going to do, and if I had
looked right then, I’d have come before he even touched me.
Looking up into
Marlon’s face, squinching as I continued rubbing him, I whimpered,
“He’s…Michael’s gonna eat me, Marlon….”
“I know, Baby…I know…ugh
don’t stop that…” Marlon gasped, pinching my nipples.
“Mike!” I
exclaimed as I felt Michael’s entire mouth cover me, his tongue blatantly
flapping at my cl*t.
“Oh my God! No! No! Michael! Mike! Don’t! Stop!”
I was taken so quickly with the damage Michael was doing to me, I pulled on
Marlon so hard, I almost made a woman out him.
“He likes p*ssy….he likes to
eat it…” Marlon informed me as he managed to get my hand off his prick and
turning my head, was pressing himself, now stiffer than ever, past my lips.
“You got you some Jacksons…taste one…taste me…” Marlon was cooing as I
reached down and was grasping at my knees to open myself wider for Michael.
The things that man was doing with his tongue. I was fairly screaming around
Marlon, he was licking at me so rapidly.
“Is she good to you Michael? She’s
so f*cking good to me! Oh sh*t! Baby, you can suck! ” Marlon whined his head
falling back as he gripped himself with one hand, pushing his hips back and
forth in my mouth.
A white thumb came up and was held over Michael’s head as
he was pushing my folds farther apart with his fingers, getting deeper into me.
The same thumb was mashed against my cl*t and I was bouncing up and down on the
bed, the feeling was hitting me so hard. I wanted to come…I wanted to…I was
almost there.
“You need to feel this mouth!” Marlon gasped and was gripping
onto my hair using it to propel me up and down on him.
“It’s the sh*t wet
dreams are made of!”
I spit out Marlon’s d*ck as Michael very loudly kissed
the top of my c*nt.
“OH! OH! OH!” I cried out as Michael huddled on the foot
of the bed, and was sticking his thumb inside of me.
He raked his hand
through those short locks again before telling me,
“I’m about to take you
Amelia…I’m gonna screw you, and you can’t stop me.”
Not waiting for a yay or
nay from me, Michael grabbed my hands and placed them under my knees to hold my
legs out the way for him.
“MICHAEL!” I shrieked as with one hand
Michael held me open and with the other was loading his pen*s right into me. He
was so wide, I could feel myself expanding all over to take him. It hurt just a
bit, but I welcomed it. It was Michael Jackson.
At my screaming, both men
laughed.
“She’s so tight….I love the tight girls…” Michael grunted as he
began to slowly pump away at me.
“Tight girls are the best…fresh little
p*ssies that have never had a good d*ck!” Marlon agreed before bending and
sucking at my breasts and kissing between them.
“Michael…Marlon…Oh, God!
OH!” I wailed as the two of them were having their way with me. “Take me! Take
me! PLEASE! PLEASE!”
“Hee! Hee! Damn!” Michael threw his head back several
times as his pace picked up and eventually he was thrusting so hard, the entire
bed was shaking. “Sweet girl!”
This was too much! Michael was too much! He
was hitting me so hard, that our crotches were making a clapping noise!
I…I
could stand it!
“MICHAEL! MICHAEL! STOP! STOP! I CAN’T TAKE IT! I CAN’T
STOP--PLEASE!” I screamed at the top of my lungs and instantly Marlon had
slammed his hand over my mouth to quiet me at the same time, Michael immediately
stopped screwing me.
Over my head as I laid wincing into Marlon’s palm, he
commanded,
“Do something for her! She can’t yell like that. Security will
take the door off the hinges if she keeps on! They’ll think I’m killing her!”
Straddling me and sitting on my chest, Marlon joked playfully,
“You
ARE f*cking her to death!”
My screams were softened as Marlon opened
my mouth and was slipping himself down my throat again.
Simultaneously, both
men were pounding away at me. Michael between my legs and Marlon between my
lips.
“Aw! Aw! Yeah! Yeah! That’s it! That’s it! Woo!” Marlon was growling
as he gripped onto the headboard of the bed to steady himself, driving so hard,
he was hitting my face with the force of a punch.
Michael’s hands gripped my
hips and he was steadily plunging into me.
At some point, I let go of my
legs and grabbed onto Marlon’s plump, sinewy cheeks.
“F*cking hell!
She’s…she’s so good. This is the best blowjob I ever had!” Marlon was shaking
his head wildly, trying to control himself. And I just couldn’t. Not anymore.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
My shrill cry was barely audible
around Marlon, but the damage had been done.
“She came! Amelia got wet! You
go Baby! That’s it! That’s it right there! Yes!” Michael rejoiced as I was
flowing onto him, twitching wildly as he continued to stuff me. “She’s drenched!
Damn, this young girl is just…just amazing!”
“She squirts?” Marlon abruptly
stopped and was pulling himself free of my mouth. “I want some of that action!”
That quickly the Jacksons were off of me, out the bed and switching places.
Pausing to slap each other a triumphant high-five.
“Hell yeah…Yes,
little girl….you’re gonna finish us…you’re gonna make us come…” An evil glint
shone in Michael’s doe eyes as he mounted the bed, climbing over me to where his
brother had been, all the while tugging on himself.
I watched as he bent
over, a small glob of saliva dropping from his lips onto his swollen mass, to
help lubricate it.
Lips puckered and eyes rolling in his head, he was
jacking himself hard.
Stopping a moment, Michael held his meat out the way,
exposing a set of small, swollen balls to me.
“Kiss it…kiss my sack. It’ll
get me off quicker. Kiss my nuts, damn it!” I was ordered and with his free
hand, Michael was pointing them out.
I had never kissed balls before, but
for Michael, I would have done just about anything.
“Tea-bagging her
already! You old, nasty ass, motherf*cker!” Marlon cackled wildly as he was
rubbing around at me, finger in my poor hole.
“Man, f*ck you in the
ass--you’re older than me!’ Michael stuck his tongue out at his brother before
he let out a tinny shriek as I pressed my lips against his sweet smelling
scrotum. Kissing as he asked.
My mouth was covered as Marlon stuck himself
into me harshly and was pounding away with such abandon, I was screaming myself
to nearly losing my voice.
“Listen at her! Listen at her!” Marlon was joyous
as Michael was trying to put my lips back on his balls. “This is what you get!
This what you get, Amelia! Coming to bed with some older men! Some horny ass men
twice your age! That’s what you get! You‘re gonna learn today what a F*CKING
is!”
“She’s so nasty….goddamn. She’s so dirty…” Michael was talking through
gritted teeth and for a moment my feeling hurt.
Then he added,
“I love a
dirty little b*tch… my dirty little b*tch….”
“Hoo-sh*t!!” Marlon put in as
he was gripping at my bosom again.
Onside of me, Michael began twitching and
bouncing beside me.
“I’m about to squirt! I’m gonna squirt--god…damn, I’m
about to squirt! Oh my d*ck! My d*ck is about to f*cking explode!” Head bucking
up and down, Michael snatched his scrotum from me and holding onto my jaw, held
my mouth open as finally a stream of thick, whiteness began shooting from the
hole in the tip of that juicy c*ck.
“Ah! Ah! Ah!” I was gasping as he filled
my mouth.
Bending down over me, Michael demanded the most outrageous thing I
had ever heard.
“Spit it out. Hit me in the face if you can. Spit it!”
As I was told, I did spit, but missed his face and hit his chest.
“Hell
yeah! Aaow!” Michael cried before slumping back against the wall hands shaking
as he held onto himself. I saw tears start to fall down his cheeks. He…he was
crying.
One shaking hand was put out and held over my mouth to keep me
quiet.
“My d*ck…she took my big d*ck…” I heard him weep softly.
I was
left completely at the mercy of Marlon Jackson.
“Hold her! Hold her, goddamn
it! Hold her!” Marlon’s cry came through gritted teeth and snarled puffy lips as
I had really began to fight against him, pushing at him as another orgasm was
threatening to destroy me.
My arms were grabbed and held back, pressed into
the bed.
“Marlon! MARLON! MARLON! I’m gonna come! I’m gonna! Don’t make me!”
Was all I said before I did come again, gushing all over him.
“You b*stard!
Marlon….Marlon Jackson….” I was weakened and my battling slowed to a halt.
“Oh….oh no! OOOOOH!” Marlon, at last was hitting his peak. “Oh no…you came
and look what you did! I soaked that p*ssy! Look what you did to me…” Marlon
pulled himself loose from me and wetted, was pulling himself with both hands.
“He’s about to make some noise…” Michael chuckled before bending and
touching his lips to mine.
Breathing heavily, Marlon yelled.
“You b*tch!
You b*tch! Look what you did! Look what you made me do! Look what I’m doing! AH!
AH! AW! AW! SH*T! SH*T YEAH! AH! WOOOOOOO!”
Tumbling to the floor, Marlon
was on his hands and knees, screaming unintelligibly as he began to orgasm, his
semen flying in several bursts from him, and making a puddle under him on the
floor.
Gasping for air, he gripped the side of the bed and pulled himself
slowly in, lying down on me, resting his head on my chest.
“Could you… could
you get used to some out the way sex like this, Amelia?” He was breathing
heavily and still had the nerve to tongue after my nipple again.
Looking
down at him, then back at Michael, who was still weeping mutedly, I nodded.
“Yes….yes, I could get used to it…I love it.”
“We…we love you…” Michael
rubbed at his eyes and was smoothing a hand over my wet forehead.
“I love
you…” I whispered, grabbing onto both their hands.
The following
night, The Jacksons kicked off their three month engagement at Madison Square
Garden to a packed house and raving reviews. Backstage in the wings were several
women. Jermaine’s wife, Tito’s girlfriend, Randy’s girlfriend, Jackie’s wife,
and me. No longer an assistant, I was a woman for the Jacksons.
The
End 
