Envious--EXCLUSIVE Story!

Stars always seem to attract stars. Whenever you open up a magazine that’s all you can see--scads of the famous and infamous in company with each other. They all seem to draw each other, and have varying degrees of admiration for one another. I was inspired for this story by a particular photograph of Michael Jackson and actor, Yul Brynner that I found especially interesting. But in this story, when someone close to Michael chooses NOT to fawn over him accordingly…well, you have the story, read it and find out.

“Envious”

A Michael Jackson Erotic Short Story By:

MJsLoveSlave

(Featuring a Nonsexual cameo by Yul Brynner)

　

Rivera Palace Hotel

Manhattan, New York

March, 1984

I was a mess.

An absolute and complete mess.

Clinging to the smooth, polished marble counter top of the washbasin in my bathroom, I scarcely recognized the image being reflected back to me by the mirror.

I looked so awful…so terrible.

Everything about me was in a total disarray.

Blinking several times, I had to assure myself that every single detail before my eyes was real.

My hair, usually impeccably coiffed with never a strand out of place, was all over my head, tangled, and matted, my thick bangs almost cemented to my forehead from sheer perspiration.

Sweat cloaked my entire body, the only thing hanging onto my skin.

Oh my skin…

I generally maintained a creamy, porcelain complexion at all times. It was often joked I was so pale I could glow in the dark.

Not today.

My eyes widened in horror and a gasp fell from my mouth, as I took notice of my body for the first time.

I resembled a leopard I had so many spots.

So many bruises.

They were all over me. Dotting my shoulders, and arms. Circling my wrists. Spread all over my thighs and fanning down my legs.

Turning, I found more covered my backside. One in the exact, perfect shape of a hand. A hand that was larger than mine.

The room swirled a moment as I remembered that hand.

What it had done to me, where it had been placed into me…

How at times, it had indeed hurt me.

Gripping the counter tighter, to avoid falling to the floor, it would have been very easy.

Exceptionally easy to go, pick up a phone…dial for the police.

By the looks of me, people would have taken me for being assaulted at the very least.

Perhaps raped at the most.

But it wasn’t true. None of it was true.

I hadn’t been harmed in any way. Not at all by any stretch of the mind.

My boyfriend had simply made love to me.

Strange. It was so strange to think about it…

About Twelve Hours Earlier

Michael Jackson had always been a jealous sort of man.

It was a trait I had come to know rather early on in our relationship, when we had begun dating over three years ago.

Over a glass of pinot noir, Michael had leaned in close to me, the flickering of the candlelight causing odd shadows to darken his sharp, handsome features. His glossy lips had parted and for a brief moment, I held my breath, convinced he was going to tell me he loved me.

He did, by some stretch of the imagination, though not in those exact words. Instead, Michael had told me that, at first sight, he had know I was the only woman for him. He was blind to any other female creature with me around. He wanted to be devoted to me in every facet there was…only…

Only he wanted my word of the same sentiment. That I too would be blind to any other man. Have only eyes for him.

No one else.

At the time I was so smitten, so overwhelmed with emotions and by Michael’s sheer presence, that I had readily agreed to this strange arrangement.

Not knowing I was essentially making a pact with the devil.

I had taken Michael’s words at face value, I had no idea that he truly hadn’t wanted me gaze upon any other male.

I first experienced this a week later dinner, as Michael had abruptly made me leave when I had looked up at our waiter to order a salad. Michael had instantly become envious, lost his appetite, and demanded--very quietly--that we leave. It was another forty-eight hours before he spoke to me again.

He had remained silent, scowling and unresponsive in any way the entire time. He was just that upset I had turned my attention from him only a few seconds and the backlash had been severe.

I loved Michael, more deeply than any man before him and it pained me to have him angry. I tried my best to appease him, as it seemed to come rather easily for him to avoid other women.

Michael loved me. He did treat me well, like a princess all the time. It was just that this jealousy thing would rear its ugly head at the most inopportune time and ruin everything.

I had assumed that Michael had simply meant for me not to associate with men who were strangers. I found I was wrong once more after a rather unpleasant incident.

Every Sunday afternoon, Michael’s whole family would gather at his mother’s house for dinner. It was a ritual that had been repeated Michael’s entire life and even before he had been born.

The Jackson family was quite large, as Michael had five other brothers alone.

And it was my talking to one them that had been my downfall.

All I had done was ask his brother Jermaine to pass me the basket of biscuits so I could have one.

Michael became so appalled at my speaking to his brother, that he made some weird, guttural cry and left the table so quickly, that his entire plate of food overturned. His mother had tried to call him back, but he’d stormed from the house.

It took two hours to make him come back from where he sat in his mother’s rose garden, yanking every bud off the plants, leaving only stems behind and another three days for him to be on speaking terms with me again.

His siblings, in whispers would tell me to just try to make him happy…that Michael had a weak and gentle ego. That he had grown up self conscious about his looks--I knew at some point he’d had cosmetic surgery to correct his features. It was a wounded sense of self that caused Michael to fly off the handle. In Michael’s mind, it seemed that if I was attentive to someone other than him, he took it as me not finding him attractive anymore, or preferring another man over him, when it wasn’t true.

It just wasn’t.

I became so attentive to Michael in the next year that had I been with any other man, I’d have gotten dumped for being too clingy.

Every time he looked up, I would be there, nearby, smiling at him.

Michael’s livelihood was giving piano lessons to high-end clients and I always sat in the room as he taught, complimenting him often on his skills.

When we were alone, I’d hold his hand, and kiss on him…boost him in anyway possible.

Life became good…better to me than I had ever known. Michael was sweet, and soft spoken. Grinning more than ever. We had even began conversing about the possibility of being married in the future. Having children.

Making a real life together.

Everything was just wonderful. Then an unforeseen event threatened to ruin it all.

Michael and I had gone to New York, for him to go shopping for a new piano to put in the living room of our apartment, something he’d wanted to do for quite a while.

After shopping around and comparing prices for more than six hours, Michael discovered that he was hungry.

We’d gone to dinner at Tavern on the Green, one of the most upscale restaurants in the city. We had barely started on the salad course before I saw him.

Michael had been chatting about some Steinbeck grand piano he’d taken a shine to, when I saw another shine.

Light bouncing off of a freshly shaved and polished bald head a few tables away.

I had to blink to make sure my eyes weren’t trying to fool me.

Sitting there, calmly eating a salad of his own, was Yul Brynner.

One of my favorite actors in the known universe.

I faintly recall rising from the table, leaving my boyfriend talking to air and somehow floated over to Mr. Brynner’s side.

Shook his hand and told him I was a great fan of his work. That I had seen him in Cecil B. DeMille’s “The Ten Commandments” over a dozen times.

The entire time, Mr. Brynner was extremely cordial, and nice, thanking me for the compliments and going so far as to autograph his menu for me to keep.

At some point whilst I was star struck, Michael appeared at my side and I begged the matinee idol for a picture with him.

I was so caught up in the moment, I didn’t pay much attention to the bothered, uncomfortable expression on Michael’s face as he knelt down beside Mr. Brynner‘s chair. I only thought he was nervous at being so near a movie star.

Once the photo had been shot, Michael took off back to our table and I lingered, shaking Mr. Brynner’s hand again and thanking him before going back to finish my meal.

I had happily sank into my chair, not believing my luck at having met a real, true famous person right there at dinner.

Then I happened to glance up at Michael, and saw my luck had run out.

A familiar expression had taken his face.

Mouth dissolving into a bare line, eyes bulging with a flame of anger in them. Nostrils flapping like an eagle’s wings.

I never saw his lips move, but I heard him plain as the string arrangement being played from speakers over our heads,

“Is that what you like now, Anastazia?” He started and lifted his glass of white wine swirling it before taking a sip. “Is that what you prefer now…that sort of a man. Bald and ancient? You like that Stazi?”

(Pronounced as “Stah-zee” instead of plain “Stacy”)

I stared at Michael curiously.

Had he lost his mind in the last few moments and I hadn’t noticed? Was…was he jealous of an old man, who was at least twice his age? Was he truly asking me this?

Averting my eyes down to my plate, I replied meekly,

“Michael, that’s Yul Brynner. He’s a movie star. I’m a fan of his work. You’ve seen him--Pharaoh in “The Ten Commandments”…I can’t be excited to meet a movie star?”

I heard Michael gulp more wine before responding,

“No--”

Incensed at this display of a weak ego, I snapped back,

“Is that so? I suppose had it been an actress, like Elizabeth Taylor or Katharine Hepburn it would have been alright? Because they’re women, is that right?”

(Author’s Note: Every real MJ fan understands the irony of that statement!)

I couldn’t remember a time I had challenged him in such a way and it was clear I’d stunned him.

Michael appeared wounded, and the goblet of wine he’d been drinking from fell to the table, splashing.

I scarcely had time to react, before Michael was on me, long hand wrapping around my bicep and crushing it with such power, my mouth fell open in a silent scream.

I could feel a bruise forming directly, as I was yanked to my feet, Michael throwing a wad of bills to pay for our meal to the table, and starting to steer me from the Tavern.

I had wanted to tell him to stop, cry for help in someway, but I was so shocked at how I was being treated, I couldn’t utter a sound.

Michael managed to keep his hand on my arm that way, all the way through the parking lot, into the car and on the drive back to our hotel, an entire trip that took over forty-five minutes.

The entire while, Michael had remained silent.

And didn’t make any noise until we had stepped off the elevator onto the thirtieth floor.

I was pulled several feet, before he came to a halt, looming over me, with his chest starting to rise and fall visibly as his breathing intensified.

“Is that what the hell you want now Stazi? That old, Kojack looking son of a b*tch?” He demanded dryly and I winced as he squeezed my arm harder.

“Michael I’m not--” I began and rattled as he shook me.

“You want some old d*ck? That’s what you want? I knew you were into older men, I’m twenty-six, you’re twenty, but damn it, he’s the Crypt Keeper! Bet he shoots dust when he comes!”

This was getting out of hand. He really believed I liked Mr. Brynner over him. A man old enough to be my grandfather!

“It isn’t true! It isn’t true! Michael please--you know I love you. I don’t love Mr. Brynner! I don’t even know him--” I pleaded as I was nearly thrown off my feet as Michael began all but running to our hotel suite.

“He’s on your mind. You’re thinking of him right now! He’s on your goddamned mind, Stazi! You’re not thinking of me, you’re thinking of his ass!” Michael declared as he produced the key to our room from his pocket and opened it.

It was a bit of a blur after that.

I was shoved inside, where I tumbled against the couch of the living room before sinking to the carpet. There was a slam.

Michael slammed the door so hard, one of the screws fell out its hinges.

There was cursing. So much more cursing that I had ever heard come out of Michael’s mouth.

I was in the next room, thrown on the bed.

I believe Michael had picked me up over his shoulder and dumped me there.

There was another slam as he threw the door to the bedroom closed.

A small click, as he locked it.

Propping myself up on my elbow, I watched, a bit frightened as he began pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed.

I had never seen him like this…Michael had never behaved this way.

Was…was he going to beat me?

“Michael--” I started and was silenced as a long, hand came up automatically.

“Shut up…you got nothing to say I wanna hear.” Michael’s voice, an octave deeper and just as cold came from unmoving lips.

He came to a stop, staring down at the floor, hand to his pointed chin.

“Sometimes I just don’t understand you Stazi…” He remarked more to himself than to me. “I do everything for you. Give you the best. A lovely apartment, shopping sprees at will, clothes, jewelry…everything. You want for nothing. Need for nothing. I asked one thing of you--I be the only man for you.”

“I’m not attracted to Yul Brynner!” I screamed, putting my hands in my hair, wanting to yank it out by the roots. Or Michael’s. “He’s at least sixty years old! Oh, why don’t you believe me?”

“Because I saw you! You completely walked away from me and was all over him, smiling, carrying on, shaking his hand--” Michael snorted and retorted hotly,

“Shaking his hand! Not f*cking him! You’re my boyfriend Michael! You! Not him! You! I didn‘t f*ck him! ”

“You might have!”

At that thinly veiled innuendo, I found myself on my feet a loud clapping noise echoing the room, resounding in my ears.

It was a long second before it registered I had slapped Michael.

Michael’s head had whipped to the side, his cheek turning red from the smack.

Thick lashes fluttering as he looked up and across the room he vowed deeply,

“I’m going to make you forget about that corpse that don’t wanna lie down.”

Turning from me, Michael took his own sweet time strolling across the room and through the open door of the bathroom.

As I could hear him fumbling around in there, it did cross my mind to leave the room. Take the door off its hinges and go wherever my feet took me.

“…don’t try to leave, Stazi, Darling…” Michael warned from the bathroom, unseen. “The door is locked and I have the key…”

A moment later, he exited the bathroom, just barely dressed.

Gone were the black and gold naval-style jacket he’d worn, along with his plaid shirt and slacks.

Now he only wore three pieces of clothing.

On his feet, a pair of white, crystal encrusted sock and polished, patent leather loafers.

And further up, just managing to conceal his genitalia was a pair of bright blue, bikini underwear.

When he paused in the doorway, adjusting the waistband of those tiny shorts, I was side swept by just how painfully attractive he was.

Skin like hot coffee, strong, brown and smooth. Lush, full black hair, that curled in the most attractive fashion.

Intense dark eyes that were on me.

That beautiful, almost too slim body, that was wonderfully toned.

As he crossed the room back to me, it was odd how in the center of it all, all the shades of cream and cinnamon complemented his complexion.

Had he chosen the room and that hotel for that particular feature?

Passing me, I watched as he went to the opposite side of the room and bending, smooth, flattish buttocks wiggling beneath the silk of his drawers, he unplugged the tall, standing lamp in the corner.

Picking it up, he carried the lamp, an accent shade of gold, over to the bed and placed it at the foot of it.

Hugging the pole, he flexed his finely arched brows at me.

“I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, Stazi…” He chucked and pinched at one of the little brown nipples on his chest. “…but if a thought of Yul Brynner is anywhere in that mind of yours, I’m about to knock it the hell out.”

Hands clutching the pole, Michael picked up his right leg, causing his foot to dangle and light to bounce off the stones of his sock.

Bringing his foot down I put my hands to my mouth at what he did next.

Still gripping the pole, Michael, very easily, popped up onto his toes, with his legs open squaring his knees.

Leaving his crotch completely open and I had to have been blind not to notice that larger than average bulge swinging between his hardened thighs.

The very tiny, well trimmed thatch of black hair peeking out just above the elastic waistband reading as Fruit of the Loom.

He hung there, suspended, and clutching the pole for about ten seconds.

Looking like a veritable work of art.

I jumped as Michael kicked the lamp over, with it bouncing silently on the carpet. Had the floor been hardwood, glass would have been everywhere.

Hand rubbing absently at his chest, Michael came so close to me, I could see a flake of black pepper still clinging to his bottom lip.

It disappeared as his pink tongue darted out and moistened his lips.

“You forget what kind of man you have, Baby?” He questioned a brow going up. “What I can do? And how I can do it?”

“I haven‘t--” A large hand was clutching my breast through the burgundy sweater I wore.

“I bought you this sweater…eight hundred dollars from Macy’s. I like you in maroon, Stazi. It does something with your dark hair and green eyes….” His voice was dusky as his other hand was on the back of my head, propelling my forward and making my lips mash his.

His tongue, flavored with the strong Italian dressing that had been on his salad was flopping in my mouth.

In spite of myself, I wrapped my arms around his hips, pulling him closer to me.

His mouth, it was so seducing.

Leaning back from me, Michael grabbed the bottom of my sweater and was yanking it over my head. I could hear stitches popping; he was treating that piece of fabric like a dishrag.

A sly smile creased his face as he took in my bare chest, dropping my sweater to the floor.

“Sh*t…I knew you weren’t wearing a bra Stazi. I don’t know how you don’t whack your eye out with jugs like those swinging around unrestrained!” He whispered, gripping my right one before starting to kiss the top of it.

“Mike!” I whimpered as the kisses turned to sucking, him mouthing my nipple openly.

“Michael please…” I begged, running my hands through his slightly oily hair.

“Yes…” Michael commented between loud smacks. “You…think….of…me. Not him….not ….him.”

His arms were around me again, mouth on my shoulder, licking greedily, as he was sliding the zipper on my leather skirt down, causing it to fall to the floor.

It was joined by my black lace panties.

“Woo…” Michael whined, nose crinkling as he sank to his knees, hands on my hips.

Eyes staring at my little, pale slit.

“Its so cute…you put the ‘landing strip’ there like I asked.” He observed, a cold finger tip poking at the light line of hair on me.

“It’s so pink…” I threw my head back as with one hand, he was holding my vaginal lips open, exposing my cl*t.

He poked his index finger into his mouth, withdrawing it slowly.

“Don’t do that!” I cried when I felt his fingertip, dampened with spit start to rub at it.

“Don’t?” Michael chuckled continuing to rub. “Why? You’d rather it was Yul Brynner doing this?”

Before I could come up with some type of sharp tongued answer, I had been shoved back onto the bed.

Very slickly, as though he were dancing, Michael was up on his feet.

“You’re still thinking of him, my little Doll…” He pointed out, hands on nothing hips as sauntered over to the bedside table.

“You keep bringing him up!” I protested as he opened the top drawer and started to dig through it.

“You’re supposed to think of me.”

Michael came up with a small black leather bound box.

“What’s--what’s that?” I stammered and part of me thought the box held a gun.

“Hmm…you’d like to know…” Michael snickered as he opened the box, removing a small object, maybe five inches long.

Setting the box on the table, I saw what it was.

A dildo, made of shiny red glass.

“Where the hell did you get that thing?” I questioned as Michael held it up, examining, a devilish grin flashing across his face.

He never did tell me where it came from.

“Open your mouth for me Stazi…” He more told than asked and it was being forced past my lips.

“No…!” I gasped as he grabbed onto me, forcing the strange instrument further and further down my throat, threatening to choke me.

“You like this…you’re good at this. Pretend it’s that walking zombie you wanted…pretend it’s that. You’d probably blow him so hard, he’d grow hair! Wouldn’t you?” Michael taunted, yanking it from my mouth.

“I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t Michael, Michael this isn’t necessary…” I tried to reason with him as he climbed onto the bed, resting on his knees.

“Lie down.”

I didn’t get the luxury of telling him no, before being pressed onto my back against the bulky bedding.

With one arm, Michael managed to catch me under my knees, pushing them up to my chest.

Leaving me wide open to him.

“You like you some old men, don’t you Baby?” Michael sneered before leaning over me.

“Oh!” I gasped as I saw a droplet of saliva leave his mouth and seconds later felt it land on me. Between my legs.

He…he was going to put that thing inside of me.

Holding it over my mouth, I was ordered,

“Lick it again…one time…”

Made to obey, I reluctantly allowed the piece of glass to be pressed into my mouth.

Again Michael stared at it, almost crazily.

Then I felt it.

Michael tapping it against my cl*toris.

“Stop…stop, please…” I was trying desperately, to untangle myself from him, but I couldn’t.

And this teasing…I couldn’t endure much of it. I was sensitive.

“You like you some Yul Brynner….I bet you wish this was him…I bet he’d turn all kinds of red looking at you.” Michael jeered , rubbing the rounded tip of that toy against my opening.

“Bet you’d let him have it too--”

“MIKE!” I wailed as the dildo was shoved into me.

Instantly, it was being crudely rocked back and forth, and twisted at the same time.

“Yeah! That’s what you like! Isn’t it? That’s what you like? That’s what the f*ck you wanted! Some old b*stard all over that p*ssy who wouldn’t even know how to treat it right? Huh? Stazi! RIGHT?”

There was a perverse, wild glint to Michael’s eyes as he loomed over me, pleasuring in the way I was reacting to him.

That hard, cold glass continued to stick in and out of me.

“Michael! Michael! Please! Ugh! Stop…don’t…” I was scratching at his arm, raking his skin off as he continued attacking at me.

He was going too far. This was too much. He was making something out of nothing!

“…the hell you mean ‘Michael’? I thought you wanted Yul? What kind of name is that anyway? Yul? I make that same noise when I’m constipated!” Michael announced and snatched the toy from me, letting go of my legs at the same time.

Raw, I groaned and rolled on my side.

“You don’t want him? All of a sudden you don’t want Yul? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” He teased and was poking the dampened tip of that thing at my cheek and ear.

“TELL ME YOU WANT ME, DAMN IT!”

I almost didn’t hear myself.

“I want you…”

“I can’t hear you, Stazi.” A warm hand gripped my shoulder and I was pulled onto my back again.

Michael’s face came within an inch of mine.
“Say it again…where I can hear you, you b*tch…” His eyes were dancing in his head.

“I said I want you…I want you Michael…” I glared up at him, and drawing my hand back, I went to strike him again.

The dildo tapped my nose.

“You only get to slap me once, Girl.” He pointed out, before adding in a more threatening tone. “You do it again and somebody will have to surgically remove this piece of glass from your ass.”

Pausing to peck my mouth--I wanted to yank every hair off his head strand for strand--Michael inched off the bed.

Stared at the toy like he was seeing it for the first time.

Beaming at it, he waved with his free hand.

“Later Yul.”

And hurled it across the room where it exploded into a million fragments on the opposite wall.

At the foot of the bed, he turned his back to me, hands on the waist band of his underwear.

Slowly, and deliberately, he started to slide them down, exposing his pancake booty.

Tossing them behind him, he managed to hit me in the face with his drawers.

He popped up on his toes, hanging there perfectly for a mere second before dropping back down onto his feet.

“Ah!” I heard him sigh and by the way his right arm was flapping, I knew he was jerking himself. Encouraging an erection.

“Son of a b*tch.” He said lightly, bending and up righting the lamp he’d kicked earlier. “I’m so hard…I love being hard…God…”

Squatting down, Michael was perched on the tips of his toes again, hanging onto the lamp for stability.

Lips puckering a good half a foot from his head.

Between his legs, pointing upwards and quivering ever so gently was that d*ck.

Impossibly long, thick and about three shades darker than the rest of his body, that c*ck was engorged and stiff, its rounded tip gleaming.

My breath hung in my throat as Michael pulled himself back up and grabbing my arm, tugged me to my feet.

Eyeing me, lids starting to droop, he confided,

“I’m feeling so wild…I…I want to f*ck like an animal!”

I found myself on the floor, I had been shoved, and Michael was on me.

“You’re gonna forget that old ass if I gotta screw you till you forget your own damn name!” He was informing me, as he laid on me, grabbing at my wrists.

Mashing them into the carpet, immobilizing me.

“Michael--Mike! Mike! Oh, Michael! Michael!” I cooed as his hips flexed, and that length of meat was finding its way inside of me.

At ten inches long when fully excited, Michael was twice as big at the toy he’d prodded me with.

I could barely take him.

Leaning down, Michael’s tongue hung out, before plying my mouth and throat.

“You like that? You like that? Huh? Ugh! You like it!” He grunted as he began plunging himself into me, finding his rhythm. “Tell me you like it, Stazi!”

“I like it! I like it! Oh! OH! OH!” I cried as he fell on me, mouth at my neck. Biting my shoulder.

“Michael! No! Stop! No! AH! Aaaaah! Aaaah!” I shrieked hoarsely as he plowed into me with such force it made a cracking noise.

Had he broken my pelvis?

“Hell no! I’m gonna turn your p*ssy inside out before this over! You need this! You need to remember who’s your man! Who the f*ck you belong to!” Michael vowed.

Tingles were running all over the surface of my skin.

“Stop! I’m gonna come! Stop it!” I pleaded, trying desperately to fight against him, push him off me, before I unleashed all over the floor.

“That’s what I want! That’s what the hell I--” Michael choked abruptly, and for the first time, released my wrists.

I clearly saw the bruises on them,

“Oh…SH*T!” Michael moaned, and I winced as he eased himself from me, rubbing at himself harshly.

“God damn…I’m on fire tonight! Got me shooting this quick! Lord!” He growled through gritted teeth.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Ah! Ah! F*cking hell! Motherfucker! Aaow!” He screeched as a gush of whiteness flew from his swollen tip. “Stazi! Sh*t!”

Hot semen sloshed over my abdomen and as it rolled from me, dripping ot the carpet, I felt Michael rubbing his wet tip against me.

“I ain‘t done…” I was told, and covered my face with my hands as he went deeply a second time, grasping my thighs, and sweeping again.

“Yeah! Look at those big tits bounce. Look at them bounce.! I’m making them bounce!”

It was getting to be too much. Too much. I was gonna come.

“STOP! YOU B*STARD YOU! STOP!” Grabbing onto Michael’s hair so hard I visibly saw his scalp lift up from the force, I managed to shove him off me.

“OW! My head! You b*tch!” Michael wailed as I flipped over and tried to crawl away.

A hand clutched my ankle and I was dragged back clawing at the flooring.

“You just f*cked up something terrible, Anastazia. Trying to pull my damn hair out!”

I saw stars Michael hit me in the ass so hard. I believe I was punched.

“I started this, and damn it, I’m gonna finish it.

He was on my back.

Michael’s entire weight came down on my back and I was squished under him as he guided that mammoth meat up my slit.

Holding my arms again, I was at the mercy of that man.

And he was merciless.

“You make me do this to you. You make me do this…” His voice was hot in my ear as he growled, crotch flopping against my backside.

My neck was bitten and my earlobe nibbled.

“Tell me you love it!”

“I love it! I love it! I love you, Michael!” I groaned--and meant it--as his mouth found mine and our tongues played on each other.

“I love you too, Baby…” He chuckled, rearing up and hanging onto my waist to steady himself. Driving into me as hard as he pleased.

“You about to burst? Is it about to squirt? That p*ssy about to make a mess?” He wondered, smacking at my backside a few more times, and running his thumb around the rim of my anus.

“Ah….YES! Yes!” I screamed as he pulled from me again.

I heard a few bumps and was startled when I felt his mouth stretching over me, hands holding my ass cheeks.

Resting on my elbows and holding my head, I whispered,

“Oh my God…”

As that tongue began flicking at me wildly, going inside of me, causing everything below the waist to vibrate, I was pulling my hair out.

“Michael! Michael! AH! Michael! No! OH! MICHAEL JACKSON!”

I shrieked his name as my peak was reached and I began climaxing.

“Hell Yes!” Michael cheered, laying back as the inner lips of my c*nt flapped open. Instead of drinking me in, he let the liquid erotica flying from me dash onto his awaiting face.

“Yeah! Drown me Baby! Drown me Girl! Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!”

He clapped sitting up and with a flip of his head, tossed his drenched hair back.

Curling up, exhausted, I looked on wordlessly too worn out to speak, as he ran a hand over his dripping face, before sampling the wetness.

“I never get tired of that….never. I love it when you do that to me…” Michael trailed off and falling onto his back he yelped as from seemingly nowhere, he ejaculated, more whiteness arcing in the air before landing onto his thighs.

Rubbing the whiteness from his d*ck as it went back flaccid and hung loosely, he ran his hand over my mouth, leaving his seed on my lips.

With the back of the same hand he tapped my cheek.

“I bet you don’t remember his name anymore, do you?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around me, embracing my tightly.

Sinking my teeth into his shoulder, I shook my head.

As his hand found its way back between my legs, fondling me, I figured that maybe, just maybe this jealous thing wasn’t so bad.

Standing there in the mirror looking at my battered body, as through the night, Michael had found his way back onto me another three times, no I didn’t mind it at all too much.

Gazing at myself, I saw that the image showed two people, no longer one.

Propping in the open door way, behind me, Michael, with his hair all over his head, making him look like a tanned lion, had his leg up, one hand wrapped around himself, and jerking to a fourth hardness.

With his free hand, as his lips curled nastily, he was waving me on.

Back to bed.

And bed is where I belonged.

Stroking that ego, and that body.