A Little Nap

I have always hated taking naps. They always seemed like a colossal waste of time to me. I mean, lying down in the middle of the day, to sleep? And then I would be up all the damn night, wandering my house aimlessly for hours on end. Never did like it. But I always slept alone. And so I imagined, woudln't things be so very different... if I had been with Michael Jackson... instead?






“A Little Nap”

A Michael Jackson Erotica By:

MJsLoveSlave

Santa Ynez, California
Early Summer, 1991

There was something special about the Neverland Valley Ranch.

A vast, secluded piece of Heaven, the Ranch, which comprised of nearly three thousand acres deep in the San Fernando Valley, stood apart from any other single-residential property in the state of California.

Partially modeled after the happiest place on Earth, Disneyland, Neverland featured its own private amusement park, with nearly forty different rides and attractions, a private zoo boasting dozens of exotic pets, each airlifted in from far-reaching corners of the globe and a stand alone arcade packed with more games than could be played in the average lifetime.

It was a beautiful spot, where the grass always shone emerald green and was flecked with wildflowers in every shade of the rainbow, vying for attention with the clear, cloudless blue sky overhead.

And after being at such a wondrous, marvelous and awe-inspiring locale, any other place in the world just seemed dull by comparison.

At least, that was Hannah Quigley’s opinion.

And that had been her opinion for the last three years, since she had first met the owner and proprietor of the Neverland Valley Ranch: Michael Jackson.

Hannah, who, with her father, owned a small boutique specializing in rare antiques happened to meet Michael Jackson on a rather special occasion.

In May of 1988, Michael had finally closed on buying his Ranch, and was in desperate need of antiques in which to decorate his home--because he wanted his home to have an upscale, lofty, old-world feel to it.

Michael Jackson was well-know, but rarely seen, in Santa Ynez, as tongues flapped of him constantly, speculating and gossiping. Everyone knew his life’s story better than their own. How he had come from nothing in Indiana and by playing the Stock Market with shrewd investments had built up a fortune that at the high estimate was over a billion dollars.

All the more reason for Hannah to be astounded when he suddenly appeared with the thick tome that was the Quigley and Company catalogue in his hand, asking to purchase all of the items he’d circled.

It was the first time the Q & Co. had been emptied out of all its merchandise. But Michael had ideas, lavish ideas, knew what he wanted, and paid for everything he bought--in cash.

He bought antique bedroom sets that had been slept in one hundred years before he was ever born, marble sculptures, brass figurines, jewel studded Faberge eggs, a grand piano that was never played, fine oil paintings, anything worth a great deal, he desired and procured.

As if coming and cleaning house and paying several millions, in cash, weren’t enough, Michael had looked to Hannah, only eighteen-years-old at the time, and asked if she would be so kind as to accompany him home and offer her opinion on just how to decorate his rooms.

Hannah knew nothing of interior design, but with such a well-heeled client in her midst, she’d have lugged all the furniture to his house on her back.

Michael, sitting in the back of his pearl grey limousine with her, has told her that he wanted a woman’s touch to his home, because women just seemed to have a better innate sense then men did when it came to delicate matters such as decorating and positioning and bringing an entire home into harmony.

Hannah, a woman, at eighteen. She had only graduated high school three days prior!

The items Michael bought filled up six, double-wide, eighteen-wheelers, and it took Hannah over two weeks, presiding over a crew of twenty men to decorate both the Main House and the Guest House, a few hundred yards away to Michael’s liking.

In that time, Hannah had come to know, befriend and respect Michael Jackson.

He was a man who liked his solitude, as his name appeared frequently in the society pages, whether he left his home or not, and his Ranch offered the seclusion he sought.

Michael was a quiet, shy sort of man, though once one got to know him and chip away his wall of silence, found he could be quite funny when he tried.

He was remarkably intelligent and down-to-earth, and could talk at length on a variety of interesting and mind-bending topics from American Foreign Policy, to why actor Charlie Chaplin was a comedic genius.

He read extensively, and his private library, in the rear of the first floor of the Main House, possessed over a thousand volumes of lighter fare such as L. Frank Baum’s The Wizard of Oz, to intricately detailed medical journals.

Michael Jackson craved knowledge and fed his mind with a steady stream of literature.

It was quite odd to Hannah that a man like Michael, at only thirty-two years of age, could be so insightful and genuine, without a single air of pretension to be found.

He was completely unaffected by his wealth and only sought to recoup some of the childhood he’d lost growing up in a large family and having to work at an extremely young age to help make the ends wave to each other, rather than meet.

At times, he could be eccentric, such as spending all day in his pajamas and carrying an oversized teddy bear around for no apparent reason, but that was just simply Michael.

There was always a hint of the innocent to Michael Jackson, a shred of naiveté, that most generally seemed to lose as they matured to adulthood, but he had managed to maintain.

In the shade of one of the hundreds of sycamore trees growing around Neverland, Hannah stood, observing her host and sipping at a frozen lemonade.

In a grove of more of those majestic trees, a few yards from Hannah, was a large wooden and iron swing set--and Michael Jackson.

For about the last two hours, Michael had set on one of the dozen swings, rocking to and fro, quietly.

He always did manage to draw stares, even from Hannah, and she was quite used to looking at him.

Michael Jackson had a unique look to himself, that Hannah hadn’t witnessed in any other man.

Though Michael was racially Black, his complexion was paler than that of most White people. (Michael suffered from a rare skin disease, Vitiligo, that destroyed the pigmentation of his dermis.)

He was very tall, almost six feet, and very slender, weighing no more than a hundred and twenty pounds at any given time.

Unless he had to go out publicly, Michael could usually be found in some form of his “uniform” consisting of a button down, long-sleeved shirt, jeans or slacks and white socks with loafers.

(Or Chinese silk pajamas if he was especially lazy…)

Today was no different. He wore a liberty blue shirt, black slacks, and no shoes, his socked feet dragging the ground under him.

His hair, a rich glossy shade of black, fell past his broad shoulders in wet-looking tendrils, today which had been gathered into a messy ponytail, a few curls falling into his face, from beneath a black fedora.

His hair usually fell into his face, half-hiding it from the world, even the world he had created for himself behind the high brick walls surrounding his land.

Michael’s face, starkly pale in contrast to his jet locks, was smooth of skin, and small of nose, its tip pointing skywards, above soft, pink, lips.

His eyes, dark, and circled with black liquid liner--that he had “stolen” from Hannah’s makeup kit that morning, as he regularly wore makeup to conceal his discolorations-- stared off into the distance, his mind on who knew what.

There was always a bit of sadness to those eyes, that Michael could hide when engaging in conversations, but when left to himself, would be revealed when unchecked.

He was the kind of man one simply wanted to look after and coddle. Just with one glance of those eyes.

Eyes that suddenly were focusing on Hannah.

A large hand came up and with a flicking of the spindly fingers, Michael was waving the young woman over.

“I was wondering where you had gone to…” Michael spoke, his voice light and resonant, and mildly effeminate. He was always so soft-spoken.

As he took hold of the large Styrofoam cup, emblazoned with “Neverland” in green on the front, from Hannah, and sipped at her lemonade, she replied gently,

“I went to visit your animals…you seemed kind of occupied here.”

Taking a deep drag off the straw and returning the cup to Hannah, Michael’s eyes went off into the distance again.

Looking down at the cup, and absently running a hand through one of the two thick ponytails that trailed down to her mid-back, Hannah questioned timidly,

“What, what do you think about when you’re alone like this? If you can tell me…”

Michael had hinted, several times over the course of their friendship, that he’d been beaten regularly as a child and she didn’t want him to upset himself reflecting on such sad moments.

Michael fiddled with the small silk friendship bracelet circling his right wrist, that Hannah had woven for him years ago. It was a token she had never seen him without.

“Oh…lots of things…” Michael sighed carelessly. “Life, what it means, that sort of deep stuff…I like to ponder.”

Those eyes gazed up at her again.

“We’re going to be up all night, watching films in the Theatre after dinner tonight, aren’t we?” He inquired and stood suddenly, looming over Hannah, as he was a good head or so taller than her.

He constantly smelled faintly of amber, bergamot, and ginger. He wore a custom blended scent he’d named Peter Pan.

(Author’s Note: I like amber-based colognes for men, so more often than not, Michael will smell of it, because it’s sexy to me.)

Nodding Hannah continued to stare up at him, eagerly.

For some reason, being around him made her giddy and light-hearted like a child, without a care in the world.

There was something about Michael, that no matter what he was going to say next, she was going to agree, regardless.

“Dinner is still a few hours away, why don’t we go in the house? Take a little nap until its time to eat; then we can be well-rested for the movies.” He suggested and though she wasn’t tired in the least--she had drank four cups of espresso at breakfast that morning--Hannah smiled and bobbed her head in agreement.

A smile came to Michael’s pink lips and playfully he tugged on one of her ponytails.

“I like this…makes you look young.” He teased, eyes sparking with amusement, “Reminds me of Gidget.”

Hannah, only twenty-one, had no idea whom Gidget was, but liked his compliment just the same.

“Come on…”

Taking hold of her free hand and intertwining his fingers with hers, Michael started leading her across the grass to the cobblestone path towards the Main House.

Through the open French doors on the back of the stately, Tudor-style manse, Hannah and Michael were greeted by the hearty, pungent aromas of oregano, garlic and basil.

Had at work, tending a pot containing a red, bubbling hell-broth, was Michael’s chef, Nico.

Pausing at the opposite end of the island, Michael asked of the hulking, overweight and sweating culinary master, who was sprinkling a white dust into the pot.

“What’s on the menu, tonight, Nicky?”

Mopping at his running face with a paper towel, Nico, voice heavy with his a Sicilian accent, responded,

“Veal Parmesan for the Miss, Eggplant Parmesan for you, Sir. With roasted vegetables and a green salad…what would you like for dessert?”

Fingertips rubbed after the carefully sculpted cleft in the pit of Michael’s chin, before he sniffed and decided,

“Affogato, with vanilla gelato, please.”

“Yes, Sir, Mr. Jackson.”

Whatever Michael wanted, he received swiftly.

Lingering at the counter, he looked down at Hannah, hand still clutching hers. “Do you want some cookies and milk, before we lie down?”

“I have some lemonade left.” Hannah pointed out, shaking her cup and with a wink, Michael turned back to Nico.

“Nicky, will you please bring some cookies--about a dozen--and a glass of milk to me in my room?”

“Yes Sir…” Nico was now throwing something green into the pot. “What kind of milk? Whole, one percent, two percent, soy--”

“Whole, with vanilla flavoring…”

Again, Michael was tugging at Hannah, and silently, the two of them started to advance up the wide staircase, stained so dark brown, it was almost black.

The second floor was a contrast to the first, in that the first floor had been bright with fluorescent lights and moving with a team of maids going from room to room keeping the place tidy.

The second floor was dimmer, most of the lights out, and silent as Hannah and Michael were the only ones up there.

Michael Jackson’s Master Suite stood at the end of the hall, behind a set of closed oak doors, and overlooked the south end of the property.

Inside the bedroom, it was slightly cluttered as Michael collected all things Disney and scattered everywhere were statues of Mickey Mouse, Minnie, Donald Duck and Goofy, combined with several game systems, a large-screen television, playing a cartoon, and in the far corner, a red velvet and gold throne reached the ceiling.

Also, many of the smaller figurines, mostly of the nude female form, could be found dotting his dresser, with photographs of his large family, and penciled drawings he’d made in his free time.

(Michael liked the nude figures and the last time Hannah had counted, she had found about thirty of them between the bedroom and in his bathroom.)

In the center of the room was a larger than King-sized, four post bed, with speakers concealed just behind the headboard.

It was a bed Hannah had slept in dozens of times, as a guest in his house, Michael generally offered his bed to her.

Initially it had seemed strange sleeping in bed with a man who was merely a friend, with no romantic entanglement whatsoever, but that feeling waned as she had grown to know Michael and knew he came from a place of affection and love, and not perversion. And now three years in, she couldn’t fathom napping anywhere else.

Letting go of her hand, Michael began setting the stage for their nap. He always worked to make the room as comfortable as humanly possible.

Crossing the room, Michael fiddled with the thermostat and overhead, the air conditioning kicked on, a cool wind blowing and chilling the room.

He stopped at a window, and pushed the curtains back, allowing one shaft of sunlight to come into the room, but falling away from the bed, so as not to disturb restful sleep.

A few paces over, he was at the throne, removing his hat and the small scrunchie from his hair, running his fingers through it and allowing his mane to fluff around his shoulders.

At the same time, Hannah was slipping off the hot pink jelly sandals that matched her polka dotted shirtdress.

Then, while Michael busied himself at the stereo beside his television, causing a classical piano piece to begin playing faintly from the headboard and around the room, Hannah was trying to crawl up into the bed, a trick in itself, as the bed was both on an elevated platform and covered with slick, pale blue satin covers.

She never could quite get into the bed, and twice, she found herself in a heap on the floor as she had slid clean off it.

Cursing to herself, she climbed to her feet and tried to get in a third time.

“I’ve got you.” Michael’s breath was warm in her ear, as his hands grasped her waist and with a single lift, Hannah was in the bed, on top of the plush comforter.

“Thank you…” She called, as he moved away, unbuttoning his blue shirt and shrugging out of it revealing a plain white, v-necked t-shirt, and his thin arms dotted with a few freckles.

The button-down was discarded across the foot of the bed, and tee had its tails yanked out of his trousers, lending to sloppy, nap-ready appearance.

The socks were kicked off onto the floor and in his long, bare feet, Michael returned to Hannah’s side.

“Are you comfortable, Hannah?” He wondered, lightly pulling on both her ponytails. “Need anything--more pillows? Is it too cold? Want me to tuck you in?”

It was just like him to constantly fret about her, not giving a care to himself, putting her comfort and needs first.

“I’m fine--”

Hannah started and was interrupted by a rapid knocking on the door.

“Cookies!” Michael exclaimed gleefully, and turning on his heel, skipped a hot streak across the room to the door.

“Thank you, God Bless You…”

He returned, a small plate loaded with the sugar-laden goodies in one hand, a tall frosty glass of milk, with a curlicue straw sticking from it, in the other.

Setting the treats on his bedside table, Michael managed very easily and fluidly to climb up into the bed, and automatically, without any real thought, Hannah inched closer to him, as Michael remained on “his“ side of the bed in order to eat his cookies.

Picking up a cookie, Michael dunked it in the milk, before taking a bite--decimating half of it--and offered her the rest.

“What kind is it?” Hannah wondered as Michael smacked loudly.

“Peanut Butter, your favorite.” He snickered, before adding, “Nico put honey roasted peanuts in it too…”

“You spoil me.” Hannah giggled as Michael was pressing the dampened pastry into her mouth.

“Women are supposed to be spoiled…” Michael was biting another cookie, and placed his left arm around her, his hand gently pressing her face and guiding it onto his sweet-smelling chest as it rose and fell delicately with his breaths.

“You always say that…” Hannah, growing a little bit drowsy in the serenity, was offered a third cookie.

“I mean it. Women should be pampered and looked after…by real men who care for them.”

Michael slurped his milk through his straw loudly.

“Does anyone look after you like that, Hannah? Put you on a pedestal?”

“You do…” Hannah commented, eyes closing, a hand resting on Michael’s abdomen.

There was moment of silence, where it appeared Hannah had drifted off to Dreamland.

“…you shouldn’t leave your hair tied up like that as you sleep…you’ll pull it out, and its so pretty…”

Michael spoke suddenly, and Hannah stirred as he loosened the pink ribbons around her ponytails, setting her locks loose.

The ribbons were tossed onto the bedside table, and his fingertips grazed her scalp as he ran them through her hair.

“I forgot…” Hannah halfway apologized, and masked a yawn with her hand.

“You like coming here, and visiting me, don’t you, Hannah?” Michael wondered, still playing in her hair and she felt his lips press her forehead.

“Yes, it’s the best place…” Hannah yawned a second time. “Excuse me, that’s rude…”

“I like when you come here, I get so lonely by myself all the time…” Michael admitted, patting at Hannah’s arm.

“I know.” Hannah, unwittingly draped her arm over Michael’s midsection, hugging herself to him, listening to his heartbeats.

“I like coming…I hate to leave…”

“I hate when you leave me…” Michael’s hand dropped down and rubbed his friend’s back, through her cotton dress.

Turning over, and resting on her back, Hannah sighed, but said nothing more, eyes shut tightly.

In that misty darkness that laid between awake and asleep, Hannah felt Michael’s hand on her face, tenderly brushing her cheeks, and advancing down her arms.

His palms warm, gingerly touching her thighs through her skirt…

Hannah’s eyes popped open in a confused state of alarm.

Michael’s huge hand was between her legs, cupping her through her underwear.

She stared down at his hand, then looked to him.

And found that Michael was gazing directly at her, his face plain, inky arched eyebrows raised.

“What are you doing?” She questioned, blinking rapidly and staring back down at his hand, stunned he was touching her like that.

“Something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time, Hannah…” Michael confided, eyes widening. “You’ve always come to me, been around me, looking like a doll, smelling like roses…I…I can’t stand it anymore…”

Michael’s hand was plucked from betwixt her thighs and her face was cradled in those long hands, Michael forcing her to look into his face.

“You’re always in my bed…you’re always with me. Holding my hand, looking at me…I want you Hannah, I have to have you, goddamn it.” His voice became deeper and he tossed his head, his hair arcing out of his face.

His eyes closed and Hannah barely heard him over the thumping of her heart, threatening to bust from her bosom.

“I’m going to have you, Hannah…”

Before she could make any moves to stop him, Michael had mashed his lips, rather harshly to hers.

Hannah, caught off guard and taken aback put her hands to Michael’s shoulders to push him away, but was swiftly weakened by the rough and tumble, insistent manner of kissing Michael was demonstrating, and wound up, more holding onto him, than trying to refuse him.

His mouth was hot, moist and tasted brightly of the peanut butter cookies.

“Michael!” She cried, managing to break her lips from his and turn her head to protest.

“No, Hannah…” Michael’s fingers gripped her chin tightly, turning her head back to his and was attacking the young woman’s mouth again, his tongue pressing into it and swabbing her throat.

Strength draining from her, Hannah laid back, as Michael continued to peck at her sore lips, speaking at her.

“I want you…I need you, Hannah. You’re twenty-one…you’re a woman, I’m a man…I need you…”

More fevered pecks.

“Do you know how its driven me to the brink of madness every time you’ve been in my bed? Laying there, sleeping, that soft, tender, pretty body against me?” Michael stealthily straddled Hannah, his weight pressing her into the covers.

“I’m thirty-two, I have urges…I want them satisfied…”

“Michael please, this is too fast…” Hannah, still trying to grasp at the idea that Michael was attracted to her, wanting her in such an adult way was brining on dizziness.

“It’s not fast enough…” Michael grunted, and in one motion, his tee-shirt was off and floating across the room.

His upper body was as pale as the rest of him, and softly defined with ease of muscles and dotted with a pair of rosy, wide-set nipples.

One hand rested on his bare chest and the other clutched Hannah’s chin, tilting her head back he cast a serious, unwavering glance into her light brown eyes.

“Are you a virgin?” He questioned, his eyes sweeping over face.

“No…no….” Hannah replied, gasping as he fell on her, his mouth on her throat sucking at her flesh.

Hugging against her, Michael cradled the back of her head in his hand and whispered into her ear.

“This is going to be like your first time, all over again…I don’t know or care who you were with before. They won’t matter by the time I’m done.”

And he was off her, standing on side of the bed.

“Take off that dress, Hannah…” He instructed icily.

Hannah hesitated, her head swimming, and her blood pulsing through her ears.

“NOW HANNAH! RIGHT NOW!”

For the very first time, Michael Jackson raised his voice at her and hurriedly, Hannah was complying wish his wishes, pulling her dress off.

As an afterthought, she clutched the dotted fabric to her body, eyes growing.

The fly on his tight trousers had been undone, and dangling from the opening, was Michael Jackson’s penis.

A long, thick shaft of flesh, peachy-white, with a bold red-hued tip, partially masked by a fold of foreskin. All of which sprouted from his groin, showing dark with a sparse bush of black pubic hair.

Hannah was stunned that Michael was so large, while he was still limp and her head ached, imagining what is true size was, once he’d grown hard and erect.

Was this all really happening? Was it a dream? Was this real?

“Give me that.” Michael snatched the dress from her hands.

“I’m tired of looking at it.”

It was pitched away.

Hannah laid there, in nothing more than her bra and panties, frozen, unsure of what to do or say. Or even how she really felt about what Michael was doing.

She only knew that Michael could see through her scant under things.

“Pink lace…” He murmured, his hands coming up and pressing her breasts together. “I figured that much. Bra too small for your tits.”

“It’s a demi-cup bra--Oh Michael!” Hannah threw her head back as Michael threw his face directly into her cleavage, sucking and kissing at the tops of her flesh globes.

“Yes!” Michael groaned, pushing the fabric out the way, exposing her nipples, a darker shade of brown against her caramel complexion.

His fingers found the nips and was tweaking them to full ripeness and sending shock waves through Hannah.

“Yes…yes, my big girl has titties…nice big titties for me…”

She hugged to him and with a small snap, the two clasps on the back of the bra was disengaged, and Michael was pulling the lace from her, completely exposing her top half.

Eyes showing an erotic glaze bordering on insanity, Michael resting his hand in her hair a moment, staring at her, hypnotizing her with his eyes. That deep, penetrating, smoldering gaze.

His penis was in her mouth.

Somehow, Michael has flipped Hannah onto her stomach, and was pressing that flaccid hunk of meat past her lips.

“Hmmmm….suck it….suck it, Baby….” He urged, leaning over her, his hands on her back, rubbing at it. “Get me…make me hard…Hannah deep…deep throat me, girl…”

Hannah’s face was stuck directly in Michael’s burning bush, with her trapped beneath his upper body, his dick starting to swell, and grow by a few more inches, starting to push past her throat and down it, gagging her.

“Your ass…I can’t r believe I let you swing it past me all this time.”

Her panties were stripped away, and she felt Michael’s hair on her backside as he leaned down more, examining it.

Spit began running from her mouth and dripping to the floor as Michael left his hardening cock down her throat, with no means of spitting it out.

“Ugh!” She whimpered around it as Michael, using his thumbs, pressed them into her asshole, separating them and opening it, staring off into it.

“It’s so tight…” Michael cackled and blew warm air down into it.

Hannah bucked against Michael’s abdomen when she felt his saliva, warm, falling into her anus.

“I know, I know girl…” His thumb was jammed farther into her anus, and rocked back and forth, before being ripped out.

Suddenly, he yanked his cock from the depths of her esophagus, and hands on her cheeks, Michael squatted before her, stealing her soul with his eyes.

“I could tear your ass completely to shreds, if I wanted to.” He stated matter-of-factly, taking his wet penis and popping it against her nose several time, teasing her.

Breath quavering, Hannah’s face was pushed down into the bedding, and she screamed into it, Michael resting on her back, weighing her down, and plunged two of his fingers into the folds of her vagina.

“Damn it, you’re tight all over, aren’t you Sweetheart?” Michael laughed, removing his fingers, and placing them in his mouth, savoring her flavor.

He rose off her, and by the time Hannah could get her eyes to focus, Michael was fully nude, his trousers and white briefs heaped on the floor.

He squatted again, and from the platform, produced what appeared to be a trundle bed. A full mattress, dressed with more blue satin, that Hannah had never known existed.

“Your pussy is calling me…” Michael explained pressing against her, standing on the new mattress. “It’s crying, ‘Eat me, Eat me’,”

Hannah was shoved back, bouncing on the larger bed, with Michael sinking to his knees in front of her, pushing her legs open, leaving her small snatch exposed directly in his face.

“Ah!” Hanna twisted as Michael’s thumb rubbed against the bulbous protrusion of her clitoris roughly. “Mike--”

There was the sound of shuffling and she sat up, frightened.

A strange instrument had appeared in Michael’s hand.

A rather long wide, clear glass contraption, it’s inside decorated with bright blue and white swirls.

A dildo.

“You see this?” Michael wondered, a lusty, heavy lidded taking his face. “This is my dick…a crystal model of my dick. Before I fuck you, I want to see if you can take it. Can handle me. Some women can’t…”

Standing, Michael held it up against his own penis, and it was the exact dimensions of that third leg he was waving around.

taking the crystal counterpart, he licked the tip of it.

“You’re going to like this…” He promised.

“Ooooooh my God!” Hannah shrieked as the ornament was pressed inside her, slowly, stretching her and going deeply.

“You’re taking it…yeah…yeah…look at that pussy. Look, the dick is disappearing. Your pussy is swallowing my crystal dick…”

He was twisting it. He was twisting his model dick inside of her.

“Uh, uh, uh, Mike, Michael--Michael, stop!” Hannah pleaded, and could only watch as his face, obscured by those curls, landed on her clit, and sucked at it.

“Aaaaaah! No! Stop! Michael! No, no…no!” She cried, taken with a feeling and passion unfamiliar to her, and tried her best to shove Michael’s head away, and pulled at his hair as he continued plugging her with the toy.

“You want to be that way about it?” Michael spoke off into her cunt. “I can be rough about it.”

The dildo clattered on the floor as he stood, one hand rubbing after his hardness, the other bouncing his smooth, pink nuts.

“Michael--” Hannah sat up and was immediately shoved back down.

“You want me, I know. I can tell…” He whispered, dropping himself and pushing her legs further open, took a step back, and broke into a mad spin.

He made seven complete revolutions before he fell forward, landing on Hannah and his real, flesh and blood cock penetrated her.

“UGH!” She whined as he laid on her, his forehead pressing hers.

“You’re mine, now, Hannah. Completely mine, Baby.” He told her, his mouth connecting with hers hotly, hands gripping her shoulders so hard they bruised.

He was thrusting.

He was thrusting, hitting her deeper than is his toy had, reaching depths she didn’t know existed within her.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it! That’s it… so tight….you’re so damn tight…I’m gonna fix that… goddamn!” Michael growled into her mouth, his flexing, flying back and forth into her.

“Michael, Michael, Michael, oh Michael…” Hannah was gasping back into his mouth, wrapping her arms around him.

Michael’s hand clasped her throat, and he smiled broadly down at her, continue to beat after her.

“Remember….remember who this belongs to. Who it belongs to…” His eyes closed in ecstasy and Hannah’s hands rested on his small, plump backside.

His large hands, ran down her sides, holding onto her flailing breasts for a moment, before getting around to her sweet little ass, hanging on to the flesh and driving her up and down on his rod.

Hands up and in her hair, Hannah spoke up and nearly killed him,

“My pussy belongs to you, Michael.”

“Ah, ah shit!” Michael cried out, throwing his head back, pretty lips puckering. “I’m gonna squirt! Oh shit! I’m gonna come, Hannah, Baby!”

He announced, pulling his cock from her damp hole, starting to drip itself, and rubbing rapidly, sent a stream of wet whiteness up and between her breasts.

“God…” Hannah rubbed his DNA into her skin…

“Fuck.” Michael exclaimed, twirling his prick in his hands.

“I’m not fucking done. I’m never done this quick. Come here…”

Hannah was pulled off the bed, and turned around, standing with her back to Michael.

Her top half was pushed into the mattress, and Michael was parting her cheeks with his hands.

“Aaaaaaahhhhhh! Oh…Mike--MICHAEL!” Hannah shrieked and covered her face, feeling his tongue, flicking against her vaginal opening, being spread and tickling after her.

There was a loud snort and Hannah jumped against him as more spit fell into her anus.

“MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL!” She screamed as his dick was jammed into her ass.

“I know my own damn name.” Michael, grasping her hips began pounding after her, his dick in her ass, his fingers deep and running around her snatch.

“AH! AH! AH! NO! NO! OH MY GOD! OH, MICHAEL!”

Michael rammed into Hannah hard, the bed shifted hit the bedside table and overturned his glass of milk onto the floor.

“Fucking hell…” Michael half laughed, half screamed tearing into her.

“Please…please…” Hannah wailed, her hands tearing holes in his comforter, causing feathers to spill out.

He was taking her to places she had never known.

Michael’s hand was wet.

Hannah was coming all over his hand and starting to cry into the ripped comforter from her exertion, her legs trembling as she continued to orgasm on him, juice running down her legs and pooling at her feet.

“Michael--”

“That’s it Baby, you do that. Yes…soak my hand. Damn it. Get wet for me. Get wet for your Michael. Get wet for Daddy, Baby. Aaow!” He quipped joyously, licking after her hand and kissing at her back.

Picking his feet up and using his full weight, Michael drove himself farther and farther.

“Yeah! Yeah! Fuck yeah! Aaow! Oh…it’s about to go down! I’m about to rain all in your ass, Hannah-Honey!” He declared hoarsely, pulling at the exhausted woman again, flipping her onto her back, his dick never leaving her anus as he did so.

He shoved her legs out the way and throwing himself into her, his mouth opened, eyes squinching shut.

“OH! ON NO! NO! OH! OH SHIT! SHIIIIIIIIT! UGH! UGH! DAMN…” He cried, rocking back and forth, and Hannah covered her face with her arms, feeling his hotness spurting forth, up her asshole.

“I’m….I’m coming…”

Hannah felt every inch of him, every hot squirt, nearly a dozen in total over the next five minutes. It was the longest orgasm she had been party to.

“Yes….oh damn me. Damn me to hell…” Michael whispered, withdrawing his mass as it grew soft, unable to leave Hannah alone.

“More…more….I need more…” He confessed, his face scarlet, only then starting to sweat.

Touching after her wet, battered little slit, Michael’s mouth went to it again…

“Oh….” Hannah arched as instantly, more liquid spilling from her, being slurped greedily, his hands gripping the sheets and head bouncing as she rocked with orgasm…

* * *

Ping! Ping! Ping!

Sometime later, as the tinny bell signifying dinner time rang, one of the doors to the Master Suite opened.

From the room, Michael Jackson, fully dressed, stepped, placing his fedora on his head, hair again in a messy tail, and setting it at a jaunty angle.

He glanced back into the room, and wiggled a long finger.

Hannah dressed completely, save for her ponytails, appeared at his side, her two ribbons in her hand.

Michael stood and ran his hands through her tresses, trying to tame them in some way.

Her hair was tucked behind her ears, and taking one of the ribbons, Michael tied it around her head with a bow.

“I love you…”

The other ribbon fell to the floor as Michael bent and pressed his lips to hers.

Hannah bumped the wall as a hand invaded her panties and her hole again.

A finger plunged in her for a moment and was pulled away.

Ping! Ping! Ping!

The finger was pressed into Michael’s mouth and he sucked on it, eyes dancing as he extended his other hand to her.

Hannah took it, and both smiling, appearing happier than anyone had seen in the two before, started down the stairs…