It's Not Her; It's Him! (Young Michael Alert!)

I have always heard stories of how different people would effectively use members of the Jackson family in an effort to get closer to Michael. They would befriend his parents or one of his siblings, all with the intent of tapping into that inner circle, just to get at the man, usually with sordid intentions. My story is based on his odd phenomena, but the intentions won’t be sordid. They’ll be sexual.



“It’s Not Her; It’s Him!”
A Michael Jackson Erotic Short Story By:
MJsLoveSlave

Encino, California
September, 1978

I was fourteen years old when I met Latoya Jackson.
I’ll never forget it. As a lover of everything having to do with fashion, and connoisseur of haute couture, since I could stand on my own two legs, my mother had taken me into New York City every year to watch the fashion shows and allow me to pick out any and everything I wanted to wear.
(It was one of the perks of being the only child of a couple who owned seven jewelry stores in and around Beverly Hills!)
It was a warm, balmy night in April, and Mother and I had just taken our seats--front row, of course--in the ballroom of the Four Seasons Hotel. My favorite evening wear designer, Victor O’Hara, was debuting his Spring/Summer line for 1974.
As I got settled, a girl, maybe a few years older than me, took the seat beside me. She was pretty, I guess, with her hair arranged in in a sort of Farrah Fawcett-like flip that was all the rage at the time, and her skinny, waif-like body was draped in this blue and pink wrap dress, with matching pink platform shoes.
Yeah, I checked out what she was wearing. It was second nature to me to check out what everyone was wearing. Especially when I was certain whomever I was seated next to would appear in photos beside me in the society pages of every major newspaper in the country.
Turning to me, she smiled, almost too sweetly, and extended her hand, topped by these tacky long nails, painted a shade of red that completely clashed with her clothing, and introduced herself.
“Hello, I’m Latoya Jackson, what’s your name?”
She had the most saccharine, nasal voice I had ever heard and automatically, I was annoyed with her.
( Author’s Note: Yes, I know the main character here is a condescending b*tch about Latoya. That’s exactly what I was going for! )
Trying to be polite, I took her small, cold hand, shook it tepidly, and replied,
[I] “Blair Huntington, charmed.” [/B]
Latoya then launched into some speech about how she had just discovered Victor O’Hara’s work, as she had bought a few of his dresses earlier that year, a notion I inwardly laughed at. If she had bought his dresses earlier that year, then she was definitely wearing last year’s clothes. How very gauche.
I was becoming quite bored with Latoya and started to ignore her, when I suddenly thought I had died and gone to Heaven.
I thought that, because what I saw materialize beside that jabbering creature had to have been an angel. That was the only way to describe him.
A young man, tall and lanky, with his black hair arranged in a thick and perfectly round halo, was taking a seat beside Latoya, and crossing slim legs.
He was so well dressed, in a silk, butterfly collared shirt, that had an abstract print over a green and white checked background and paired with matching green bellbottomed trousers.
The top three buttons had been loosened to expose a long, graceful throat, the base of which boasted the smallest indentation under his protruding Adam’s apple.
And his face. That beautiful, long face that had just the right amount of fullness to it, accenting his high cheekbones, a strong, prominent nose, and a pert, cupid’s bow of a mouth that was glossed ever so slightly.
Skin the exact shade of a Hershey’s Bar and I betted his kisses were even more decadent.
Instantly, I was a bit miffed. Wondering how someone as nauseating as Latoya could have attracted someone as alluring as that man to be her boyfriend. How he ever put up with her?
The sex must have been explosive for him to stick around. Or Latoya was double jointed. Or she had no gag reflex.
I was so busy envying Latoya’s good fortune, I nearly missed the next sentence that came out of her mouth.
“Blair, I’d like you to meet my brother, Michael.”
I was instantly grinning like I was Miss America.
Her brother! He was her brother! Not her boyfriend! Her brother!!!
Leaning around his sister, Michael extended a hand to me.
I grabbed onto his exquisitely soft hand, shaking it, and getting lost in those, large, dark brown pools that passed as his eyes.
And when he spoke, I could hear music playing. Harps and flutes.
“Hello, Blair.”
Was all he said, but in my mind, I was accepting a marriage proposal.
Just that swiftly, I was hung up on Michael Jackson.
Had to have him; couldn’t live without him.
In that very same instant, I realized that Latoya could be very valuable to me, in this abrupt pursuit of her brother. An ally of sorts.
I didn’t know a thing about Michael, his age, if he was involved with anyone, what type of woman he preferred…but I was soon going to know.
As the show started and progressed, I barely watched it. Don’t ask me what was really shown, I didn’t pay attention.
I was too busy trying to spark a conversation with Latoya. I didn’t care if she could bore the damn paint off the walls, I wanted to at least establish some sort of semblance of a friendship with her.
Whenever Latoya leaned into her brother and mentioned she liked a certain garment, even when I knew it was completely wrong for her--you have to have some kind of tits to talk about wearing a gown cut down to the navel--I would kindly say something to the effect of,
“You should get that, it would look great on you. It looks like it was made for you!”
Flattery was getting me somewhere.
By the time the show ended an hour later, and the spectators were starting to clear out of the room, Latoya tapped my arm.
Asking me if I’d like to meet her at some Mexican restaurant for lunch the next day.
As we stood talking, Michael passed by and patted me on the back, saying it was nice to have met me.
Star struck, I swiftly accepted the invite.
You can imagine how disappointed I was the next day to walk into La Cantina and find only Latoya at the table, sipping a diet Coke.
Michael nowhere in sight.
I had to mask my feelings and try to be as sociable as possible, which was tiring, as Latoya spent the brunt of the meal talking about things I could have cared less about, like how she liked some of the clubs in New York but found them too wild for her. (She was in New York, what the hell did she want to do? Sit in a convent reciting Hail Marys?)
Every so often I’d drop a question about Michael and ease answers from her.
How old was Michael? Sixteen, and I discovered Latoya was older than her brother and myself at eighteen. It didn’t bother me, I was so tall, she had taken me for older than my real age, something we both laughed about.
Why was Michael in New York with her? Their mother didn’t like the idea of her attending fashion shows alone and none of her other brothers--there were six in all, including Michael--available to escort her.
Did Michael do anything for a living? He didn’t have to. Their father was a litigator and they were kids of leisure. All Michael did was some print modeling from time to time whenever the mood hit him.
(As gorgeous as he was, why didn’t I figure he was a model?)
Why didn’t Michael bring his girlfriend along to the shows?
He didn’t have one. (PAY DIRT!)
The best thing to come out of Latoya’s mouth was that she and Michael lived with their parents in Encino. Which was music to my ears as I lived in nearby Beverly Hills. I had been planning to relocate to New York for Michael if that was where he lived I was so enthralled with him.
And it just snowballed from there.
Somehow, over the next four years, I had found a place as one of Latoya Jackson’s closest friends, being the one she always called first whenever she wanted to do something, like travel to Hawaii, or just hang out at home. I really preferred to hang out at home with Latoya, because it increased my chances of at least being able to ogle Michael, who was always on my mind.
Constantly.
Whenever there was a barbecue, fish fry, birthday, anniversary, or christening (as her married brothers were turning out children like walking flesh factories) I was there.
But I soon found myself doubly frustrated with both Latoya and Michael Jackson.
Latoya, because she never spoke about or did anything interesting it seemed to me. She hardly even dated, and even when she did, the men she seemed to like were just as big of yawns as she was.
Michael, because, as I soon found out, he was just as icy and reserved as his sister. It seemed no matter how incredibly hard I threw myself at him, he didn’t notice. No matter how much make up I painted on, how much cleavage I put out or how tiny my hot pants were, I was just getting nowhere with Michael.
I knew I was turning heads, because once, at a barbecue, I saw Michael and Latoya’s brother Jermaine get coleslaw slapped out his mouth when his wife heard him making a remark about me.
But I didn’t care for Jermaine. I wanted to give Michael whiplash.
And so far, I wasn’t getting sh*t. No matter how hard I tried.
For a few months, I seriously wondered if Michael was gay. I never saw him with a girlfriend, at any of the functions. All he did was tend to a menagerie of exotic pets that lived behind his house in specially made habitats.. And more than once, I had overheard him calling them his “babies”.
Finally on a shopping trip, I very delicately asked Latoya.
(I had to tiptoe because if I severed ties with her, I severed them with Michael too.)
Latoya had fallen to her knees laughing in the boutique, and said no, Michael wasn’t gay, just incredibly shy around women.
That rekindled my lust for him on the spot, and I was madly determined to try some way to get his attention.
I was tireless.
I started specifically targeting Michael and including him in things that Latoya was tied into.
My eighteenth birthday party in May of 1978. Michael attended, but as it became swiftly apparent, as we ran in different social circles, he didn’t know anyone there other than Latoya, and clung to his sister the entire party. He let go of her long enough to give me my present, a bottle of perfume made with roses. (That I couldn’t wear unfortunately because I was allergic to roses.)
The following month, I graduated high school and threw a huge party at a club my parents rented out. I wore a killer red, backless dress with the intent of catching Michael’s eye. Michael didn’t show up. Latoya told me that after my birthday, he was just too shy and felt out of place at my parties. He sent more of the rose perfume.
I spent half the party locked in the bathroom crying.
In August, Michael turned twenty, and I was at his birthday as Latoya’s guest as the party held at his house. I couldn’t get near him.
Their brother Tito had a new baby son named TJ, and Michael spent the whole party cooing over and playing with the infant that looked like a tiny tanned Winston Churchill.
I didn’t even like babies, but had asked Michael to hold little TJ for the purpose of just being able to speak to him.
Michael wouldn’t give me the baby, and held onto TJ like the boy was his own. The only person able to get the child out his arms was Tito himself.
I wanted to kick the Similac out of Michael’s narrow ass, I was so frustrated.
I was starting to think that Michael didn’t like me. And I wondered if he was doing what I was doing. Being cordial to me just because I was his sister’s “friend”.
I had to do something. I had to quit bull****ting and half-assing. It was getting me nowhere. I had to stop being so damn subtle.
I had to lay it on the line, before I flat-lined.
The first week of September, I got my chance.
Latoya very kindly invited me to her house to spend the weekend, just relaxing, and maybe going shopping as we so often did.
It was nearly unbearable.
Latoya and I were the only ones at home. Her parents had gone to a golf tournament in Malibu and Michael had taken off into the city to see his agent about booking a modeling gig--the mood had hit him and he wanted to model again!
The weather was pleasant, between too cool and too hot, causing Latoya and I to stretch out in deck chairs, under huge umbrellas, in swimsuits, poolside outback out of her house.
The conversation was tolerable. One of our friends, Bunny Griffith was allegedly having another affair with the Cuban gardener who tended to everyone’s lawn in the neighborhood.
I wasn’t paying too much attention, Bunny always fooled around with the gardener, or the chef, or the butler or whomever she wanted to throw her p*ssy at that particular week.
Every so often, I’d glance at my watch, wondering when Michael Jackson planned to come home.
As Latoya droned on, my mind was coming up with all kinds of scenarios for what was keeping Michael away.
My more outlandish ones, included him driving his black Corvette into the Grand Canyon, being abducted by little green aliens who performed anal probes on him, and jetting away to Spain to run with the bulls.
At exactly three p.m., when I was contemplating throwing Latoya in the pool and holding her head underwater until she quit moving just to shut her the hell up, I heard it.
A car door closing.
Rolling onto my stomach on the chair, I felt a sly smile curling my lips.
Walking around the back of the house, making his way towards to the open French doors of the kitchen, was Michael Jackson.
The man was a vision walking along in a red silk shirt, opened and showing off that throat I had so often wanted to leave hickeys on, and black bellbottoms, all topped off with a shiny silver bomber jacket.
I watched as he sauntered on into the house, hair swaying with his every step.
“…I don’t know how George puts up with Bunny having affairs like that…you’d think he’d have some sort of dignity….” Latoya was saying as I pushed myself up and off of the chair.
“Goodness, I’m thirsty, ‘Toy. I’m going in for a soda, you want anything?” I interrupted her, fluffing my hair and hoping it looked just right.
“Sure, something diet. Thanks, Blair!” Latoya was all smiles as I slipped on the yellow flip-flips that matched my itty bitty, teeny-weenie yellow polka dot bikini. (Yes, I went there.) A few scraps of fabric were keeping me from complete nudity and I knew I had done something right, because earlier that day when I came out of the house with Latoya, a security guard on patrol had walked right into a tree he stared at me so hard.
Michael had to be blind or a plain idiot not to notice me.
I found Michael seated at the breakfast table in the kitchen, pouring his grape soda into a glass.
“Hey, Michael.” I tried to be casual, as I made a point of passing close by him and proceeding to the fridge, pulling out two the first two diet anythings I saw.
“Hi, Blair.”
That’s all he said.
Not “you look good” or “you’re wearing the hell out that swimsuit”. Just hi. Like I was the help!
Undaunted, I set the sodas on the table and leaned at his side, causing my breasts to nearly collide with the side of his face.
And they were nice, natural big boobies too!
Nothing. I doubt I couldn’t have gotten a move out of Michael if I had put electrodes to his damn ears and lit him up like a Christmas tree.
Michael sat, quietly sipping his soda and gazing out the window.
The only time he came close to touching me, was reaching into a bowl of fruit and coming up with a pear, nibbling on it.
He never knew how close he came to having that pear shoved up his nose!
Agitated, I was about to snatch up the sodas when I noticed it.
Next to the fridge, a little tablet of sticky-notes that Michael’s mother used to leave reminders of different tasks for Latoya and him.
I reckoned I just had to spell it out for Michael.
Going over to the little tablet, I picked up a marker and scribbled hastily,

Hey, Model Boy,
I want you, damn it.
Blair.

Tearing the note off I boldly walked over to Michael, who was still eating his fruit and pressed the note directly onto his forehead.
As soon as I put it on, Michael reached up and pulled it off, reading it.
I saw flashes of red when he casually set it on the table and went back to eating. I had to get out of that kitchen. There were too many knives in there for me to stick around without sticking them all in his body! I wanted to fillet him like a fish for humiliating me in such a way!
So angered I couldn’t even speak, I started for the door, carrying the sodas, wanting to throw them at him.
As I hit the door, I heard Michael’s voice calmly behind me.
“Tonight… you know where my room is.”
Stunned at the statement, I spun on my heel.
Michael was still staring out the window, finishing his pear.
I jumped when he, still looking outside, answered the unasked question,
“You heard me, Blair.”
I stared at him, gape-mouthed. Had…had Michael just invited me up to his room? After all these years?
“My sister’s calling you …” He informed me, and faintly, I could hear Latoya shouting my name. “… you should go to her.”
Hot all over and breaking out in goose pimples, I staggered from the house, awed.
Michael…Michael Jackson wanted me.
The Lord only knew how terribly I wanted him.

A Few Hours Later

I stood in front of the mirror of the bathroom that was attached to my guest bedroom. I had been in there for over an hour, primping for Michael Jackson.
Luckily for me, Latoya rarely ever stayed awake past eleven p.m. and by half past the hour, she was laid out in her bed, hugging a teddy bear, sound asleep.
Everything about me had to be perfect. I scrubbed my skin to the point of nearly bleeding, and had enveloped myself in a cloud of that rose perfume Michael had given me as a gift.
(I ate so many anti-histamines to ward off an outbreak of hives, for a few minutes I thought I was Mr. Peanut!)
I had packed a set of white Chinese silk pajamas to wear around the house, with the intention of lighting a fire under Michael’s ass. Now that I knew the fire was already burning, I took it a step further, forgoing the pants and only wearing the slightly oversized top. The white made my caramel-colored skin pop.
I took a great deal of care applying my make-up, wanting to only add to the aura I was creating. Glittery shadow, lightly roughed cheeks, glossy lips.
My hair, long and black, fell around my shoulders in wave, a section tucked behind my ears, showing off the little diamond studs I wore.
Bending down, I fastened a matching diamond anklet on.
Spritzing on another cloud of perfume, I smiled at myself.
Yes…I was going to Michael Jackson’s bedroom and if I was lucky, I wouldn’t come out.
Easing out of the room, I crossed the hall and cracked the door to Latoya’s room.
She was still knocked out, hugging that stupid bear. I was going to hug her brother. Kiss him…
Oh sh*t! Another wave of hit me with such force, I almost cried out loud.
I had to get to Michael. I’d die if I didn’t!
Jogging down the hall, to Michael’s door, which was right at the top of the stairs, I paused a moment, trying to collect myself and raised a hand to knock.
A little sticky-note had been attached to it.

Come right in, it’s open.
M.J.

Heart quivering in my chest, I managed to grip the doorknob and twist it, opening the door.
Venturing in the room, I immediately spotted Michael.
Sitting on the foot of his bed, in a room of browns and beiges, Michael Jackson stood out in royal blue, shimmering satin pajamas that caused the man to fairly glow.
Hands clasped in front of himself, Michael told me softly,
“Please close the door, and lock it. Then come to me…”
I turned the lock so hard, I almost broke it, and made my way over to him.
I noticed he lowered his head as I got closer to him.
“Here…here I am, Michael …” I said after a few moments of silence, fearing he didn’t like the appearance I had so carefully crafted for him.
“ I know …” Michael whispered, and his hands started wringing.
Slowly, very slowly, his head came up, and I was delighted to watch his eyes swell with what I hoped was adoration.
His head drooped once more.
“ Gosh…you look…stunning Blair …” He said timidly, and patted the space on the bed, indicating I sit beside him.
In a flash I was at his side, and inhaling his piney cologne.
“You look good too--” I went to touch Michael’s arm, and was a bit confused when he jerked away., turning his head from me and staring off into the distance.
“Don’t you like me, Michael?” I could barely conceal my hurt at his sudden rejection.
Hearing the pain in my voice, Michael spoke up, offering an explanation.
“Yes, Blair. I like you. I like you a whole lot. I have, ever since I’ve met you …”
My jaw was flapping in the wind. He had liked me ever since he had met me--the whole four years?
Michael glanced up at me, sorrow in his doe eyes.
“You have to forgive me, I’m so shy, Blair. And you were so young then. You were only fourteen. I was too shy to say anything and by the time I was ready to say something, I was eighteen and you were sixteen--I would break a law going after a minor…I had to wait some more until you were eighteen, to say anything…”
His gaze fell again and growing warm, I grabbed onto his hand, and told him,
“You should have said something anyway…I was starting to think you didn’t like me…or that you were--”
“I know, you thought I was gay.--Latoya told me you asked.” Michael chuckled dejectedly.
I was about to make a sharp remark about having told his sister that in confidence, when Michael suddenly looked to me.
“You drove me crazy the first time I saw you. Sitting at the fashion show with your mother…in that purple dress. I…I wanted to just pick you up and take you away with me. I wanted to buy every dress in the show for you and take you places where you could wear them. You’re so pretty…and so sweet, Blair…”
Large hands were on my shoulders and Michael was turning, staring into my face
“I just couldn’t speak. . I know you probably thought I was rude, because I stayed quiet all the time. I just lost my nerve when you came around. And Latoya’s your friend, you were always with her…I just got all weird when I’d see you…I’m sorry about your birthday and graduation, and that day when I wouldn’t let you hold my nephew. Oh Blair, I’m--”
Pressing a finger to his soft lips, I silenced him.
Searching his face, I felt my own body starting to take with arousal,
“Now that we’re alone, face to face, what do you want to say to me?” I inquired, my voice weakening…
Michael stared at me for a few moments, wordless.
Slowly, almost timidly, our heads were drawn together, and we were kissing.
I was kissing Michael Jackson.
His tender, sweet, damp mouth. Tasting faintly of mints. So good and delicious to me.
Arms wrapped around me, and I pulled against Michael, throwing my arms around his neck, as he kissed me deeper, his tongue making an appearance. It was the most perfect kiss I had ever had in my life.
“ Jesus …” Michael gasped, drawing his mouth from mine and hugging me tightly, his cheek pressing against mine.
“ Oh my God, Blair… ”
His body was so warm and wonderful, the touch of his embrace, intoxicating.
“ Michael …” I spoke off into his ear as I sucked on the lobe of it.
“ [I] If you want me…take me…I’m yours… [/I[”
There was the sound of ripping fabric and it took a while before it registered that Michael had torn my top open, exposing my bosom and underwear.
Hand to his mouth, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done, Michael Jackson stood, leaving me exposed there.
“ Oh…oh Blair…I shouldn’t have done that…Oh, Gosh… ”
He stammered clutching his forehead.
“You’re not doing anything wrong--” I started and stopped when I paid attention to just exactly what Michael was doing.
He wasn’t looking at my face.
His eyes were down, on my breasts. He was staring at my breasts!
“You like them, don’t you?” I questioned as he kept staring and his head bobbed in agreement.
“ They’re wonderful …” Michael’s voice was barely audible, as arching my back, I thrust them forward. “ I want to touch them …”
With a flick of my wrist, I motioned to them, and I got a clear idea of just how held back Michael was.
Shaking his head and biting down on one of his fingers, Michael was refusing.
“ You just said you liked them… ” I said innocently, extremely turned on and feeding off this “shy boy” act he was putting on.
“Don’t you think I have great titties, Michael?”
“ Gosh …” Michael turned his head and whimpered as I stood and walked right up to him.
“ Touch them, I want you to. ” I leaned into his ear and kissed at the lobe again.
Michael’s hands finally came up and he was tapping my breasts on the underside, causing them to bounce.
“They’re so soft…” He commented and was squeezing them.
I almost went up in flames at the sensation of his fingertips on my flesh.
Curious at his behavior towards my body, I couldn’t stop myself.
“Are you a virgin, Michael?”
I winced as he mashed down rather hard on my left breast.
“No…I’m not.” Came the stagnant reply, as he continued playing with my chest. “Are you, Blair?”
“No…” I answered simply, and in a moment of defiance, I slid my hands over his groin, and was rubbing at him through his clothing.
“… but I can act like one if that’s what turns you on. ”
I was shoved down into a seated position again.
In front of me, Michael was tearing at his pajama top, opening it and shrugging it off.
Exposing his slim upper body, toned so beautifully, with the prettiest, tiniest nipples I had ever seen.
“You’re so sexy!” I confessed and was embracing him again, planting smacks all down the center of his chest and at his belly button.
For the first time since I had known him, Michael Jackson swore.
“ God damn, that feels good…oh, sh*t… ”
The cursing was burning me up.
Pulling from me, Michael’s pajama bottoms and light blue briefs appeared at his ankles.
Stepping from them, he was naked.
Michael Jackson was naked, and more beautiful than any man I had ever seen in my life.
His crotch, adorned with a small bush of black curls, amazed me.
A d*ck that was larger than anything I could have imagined was hanging there, swaying between his thighs.
Thick and brown, Michael was uncircumcised, the flap of flesh hanging like a little turtleneck around the hidden tip of that mammoth thing.
At the sight of Michael’s pen*s, so many emotions hit me at once, I nearly exploded.
Entranced by his groin, I did what came naturally to me.
Leaning forward, I clutched onto that massive mound of flesh and was pressing it into my mouth, marveling at how warm he felt.
Michael seemed mortified at what I was doing.
“No!--Oh Jesus! Blair! What are you--” He gasped, jaw sagging.
I was just enjoying the feeling of him growing in my mouth. The hardness that was starting to take him.
“ Blair…don’t do that…don’t suck it…please… ” He pleaded and was pulling at his hair, staring down as I was stroking him with one hand, suckling away, the other hand cradling his small, round furry scrotum.
Pushing the foreskin back and admiring that faint brown tip.
“ You’re sucking me…you’re…you’re sucking my d*ck…ugh! ” He groaned and I could hear his breathing become erratic.
Reaching down, he was squeezing both my wrists so tightly, I had to drop him.
The meat, now hard, was pointing skywards, fully engorged.
“Don’t do that…” He repeated through gritted teeth. “Don’t suck my d*ck…if I exploded in your mouth, you’d choke to death!”
“It was just hanging there!--” I started and a hand clamped over my mouth. I doubted he’d have done that much shooting. He was too damn thin to have much of anything in him!
Eyes huge and wild in his head, Michael informed me seriously,
“ I don’t like to come this way…when…when I have an …orgasm, I want to be on top of you…hugged to you. I’ll scream this way. I want only you to hear me… ”
With that, Michael reached down, and with more strength than I ever took him for having, he grabbed me under my arms, lifting me, and was pushing me back into his bed, laying me on his pillows.
“You’re so beautiful Blair…and I’ve waited for too damn long…I want to make love to you.”
“I--I want you to Michael…” I was trying so hard to control myself. He hadn’t even really touched me yet, and I feared I was going to make a mess all over his bed if he didn’t soon.
Long hands were slipping my underwear off and dropping them to the floor.
“ I need this…I need you, Blair. God, I need you… ”
Michael on his knees, was crawling towards me, yanking lightly on himself.
I was holding my breath.
He was there, and he was going to take me.
And I wanted him to have me.
Laying on top of me, Michael was pressing his lips to mine, putting his arms around me again.
Unconsciously of myself, I was opening my legs, offering myself to him.
Plucking his mouth from mine, Michael rested his chin on my shoulder, his cheek pressing mine again.
At once I felt him.
Felt that swollen ripeness starting to slip its way inside of me.
“ Michael! Michael--oh--Mike-- ” I started to cry out, at the sheer size of him trying to pack into me.
Michael’s cheek was on my mouth, and I heard him, almost inaudibly, tell me,
“It’s too late now, Blair. Too late. We’re gonna have each other.”
Again, Michael’s mouth was on mine, our tongues touching, as he began to grind his hips against me.
“ Michael--Michael, please! Please! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Oh! ” I whined as he was continuing to pound away at me.
“ Shhh! ” A finger came up and was pressing my lips to hush me. “Latoya would kill me if she knew what I was doing to her best friend…” Michael giggled leaning closer to me and I was wrapping my legs around his slim waist, I didn’t want to let go of him. Ever.
And to hell with Latoya.
I didn’t give a damn about her; never did.
Never would…and Michael didn’t seem to mind at all.
I was knocking his perfect ‘fro out of whack as I was holding onto him, forcing him to kiss me. Holding onto that soft, apple-scented hair, as we started to sweat.
Michael started to perspire in the most lovely way, glistening all over like his body had been sprinkled with glitter.
“ Blair! Blair! Blair! ” Michael was groaning into my ear lightly, “ You’re so good to me…so good, oh sh*t! ”
Kissing his shoulder, I was grimacing as I felt a wave of heat start to take me.
“[I] I’m gonna come…it’s coming! It’s coming! [/B]” I warned, and leaning back, sitting on his heels, Michael pulled himself from me, and started flapping the tip of his d*ck against my cl*t, staring between my legs sternly, encouraging the orgasm.
Grabbing onto one of the pillows bouncing around me, I covered my mouth, screaming a streak of swear words into it, as I felt myself giving up to Michael Jackson. The torrent of lust gushing.
“ There it is…there it goes. I see it… ” Michael announced his voice a strained whisper. “ It’s wet…oh, it’s so wet….f*ck, it’s running onto my bed! ”
“My p*ssy…” Was all I could say, as Michael rubbed at it, licking his fingers greedily, as though it were fried chicken grease!
One hand on my abdomen, Michael was forcing himself back into me.
“Oh…damn it, Michael!” I whined, and tugged on his hair weakly.
He was almost too much for me. This…this man.
“ You come however much you want…I want you to… ” He whispered, hands grabbing on my breasts, jiggling them as he was pumping again.
I didn’t know where Michael Jackson was grown from, but he was tearing me up like no other man I had ever experienced.
It seemed every ten minutes, I was having to stop him, as more of my pent up lust, and horniness came flowing forth.
I had four long years I was making up for.
Five orgasms later and I wanted to pass out.
So much was leaving me, I eventually heard a squishing noise as Michael was nailing me, I had dampened his bed so thoroughly.
He didn’t seem to care. He was just happy to be on top of me.
Whipping himself against me each time I came.
The longer we went on, one, lone thought began to form in my mind:
Was Michael Jackson ever going to have an orgasm?
Did he have them?
It didn’t seem like it. I kept trying to turn my head, to see the clock on his bedside table, and each time, Michael would push my head back, making me stare up in his face, which was now pouring sweat.
He wanted to watch me, and have me watch him. Not miss a second of how we were reacting and taking each other.
Michael who had been grunting nonsense through my last three comings, was speaking English again.
“ Oh! Oh! OH! It’s about to happen! It’s about to happen! Oh, God! Oh God, Blair, it’s about to happen! ”
My face was grabbed and held, and Michael was crushing my lips with his.
One arm was thrown around my neck, keeping my face against his, as his free hand dropped down and was pulling him free of me.
“ Oh my God.. Oh yes! Yes! Yes! Oh, God! ” Michael cooed as he was tugging on himself, so taken by what he was doing, he let go of me and I fell back.
I propped up on my elbows, watching him, eagerly.
Watching him playing with himself, trying to bring on the wave that was lurking just inside his loins, waiting to be released.
Sitting on his knees, Michael brought his fingertips up to his mouth, small tongue flicking and wetting them,
I could only look on as he was rapidly pulling on himself with one hand and with his moist fingertips was rubbing at his painfully swollen tip in a circular motion.
“ It’s about to happen! It’s about to-- ” Michael gasped and a stream of milky white semen erupted from the tip of that shining pen*s.
“ Ugh! Ugh! Gosh! God! Aw! Ugh! ” He whimpered, as he surrendered.
Since his c*ck was pointing upwards, the juice completely missed me and instead shot straight up and was hitting Michael in his own chin. Running down his neck and onto his heaving chest as he dropped himself. The softening flesh bouncing against the bed.
Desperate for a taste of the man who had done so much to me, I was grabbing onto him, licking wildly at his chin and neck, trying to taste as much of that salty whiteness as I could.
Michael was staring straight ahead, struggling to get his wind as I continued swabbing and kissing at his neck.
“ I needed that…I needed you so bad, Blair. God. Damn. ”
Was all Michael said, once more smothering me in a hug as I was now sucking on his chin.
As Michael’s bed was a complete and utter mess, he suggested we go to bed in my guest room. Wrapping a blanket around our nude bodies, we hobbled to my room and went to sleep in each other‘s arms.

* * *

“…was it everything you wanted…did you like it?”
Michael Jackson, shy once more was questioning timidly as I rested my head on his chest, the first strains of daylight breaking through the window.
“I loved it…you’re were, something else, Michael.” I grinned as he kissed my forehead. “I’d wait another four years for that if I have to.”
“You can have it whenever you want…” Michael paused and stared at me, brows flexing. “We ARE together now, you know.”
Together.
Just like that, Michael and I were an item. An inseparable item.
“That’s all I wanted!” I giggled and Michael went to say more, when a voice shrieked,
“MICHAEL JOSEPH JACKSON! WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS?”
Sitting bolt upright in bed, trying to hide ourselves with the sheets, Michael and I were faced with a bewildered looking Latoya, still in her pajamas.
“Michael! You’re in bed with my best friend? Blair! Oh my God!”
Latoya exclaimed, pulling at the rollers in her hair.
“Do you want to tell her, or should I?” Michael asked, raising a brow at me.
“Tell me what?” Latoya interjected and smugly I nodded.
Holding the sheet up to his chest, Michael let the cat I had been holding onto the last four years fly out the bag.
“Blair wanted me to tell you; she doesn’t like you. Never did. Thought you were the most boring person on the planet. You bored her stiff. You are uninteresting, and have about as much to talk about as a house plant. The only reason she ever put up with you is because she was attracted to me. She’s got me--don’t need you anymore.”
I don’t think I had ever heard Latoya Jackson scream so loud in my life. To be honest, she couldn’t make a sound for weeks after, as she had ruptured her vocal chords and couldn’t even curse me and her brother out.
I didn’t care. I got what I had wanted for so long.
I had gotten Michael Jackson.
And that was all that mattered.

Stranger In The Night

When I was much, much younger, I used to always dream of what it would be like to one day look up and just see Michael Jackson standing there. Just looming over me, smiling sweetly, perhaps with some kind of candy for me. I liked that idea, Michael just popping up. Utilizing that idea, I present this story, where I believe Michael will do more with the young lady than anything I could have dreamt up as a child….Enjoy.


“Stranger In The Night”
A Michael Jackson Erotic Short Story By:
MJsLoveSlave
(Inspired by the song “Is It Scary” by Michael Jackson)

Emerald Cove, California
August, 1996

He always came to her at night.
Slowly, stealthily, every single night he was there in Tinsley’s bedroom.
She never understood how he managed to gain entrance to her house--the doors and windows were always locked well before she retired to bed. And at around one in the morning, he would appear.
Coming through her bedroom door, strolling casually out of her bathroom. Every so often, as a change of pace, he would emerge through the French doors leading from her third story balcony. This…this man Tinsley had never seen before.
Looming over her, staring.
Watching.
It was the same each time. The strange gentleman would stand over her, watching her until she awoke. Then, leaning over, he would softly, so, so gently kiss her.
She was always greeted with a kiss.
Then the man would stand back and start to disrobe. Take off his clothes--strip before Tinsley.
Steal away into bed with her. Ravaging her, again and again.
This had continued day in and day out for nearly two years.
When the man had first appeared, Tinsley had been frightened. Mortified even. She had every right to be afraid of a man fairly breaking in to have sex with her.
She had tried to scream; summon some sort of help that initial night.
A large hand had covered her mouth, the man putting his warm lips to her ear. Had spoken to her in the meekest, lightest voice she had ever heard.
That humble voice confessed a love for Tinsley, that had been hidden and nurtured for quite some time, until he could no longer ignore the yearning.
And he had taken her, right there in her bed. He would always be gone by daybreak. But he would return.
Tinsley knew she had to have been on the verge of insanity to all ow this most intimate of deeds to occur when she didn’t even know the man’s name.
It was a month before she learned name. One morning she awoke to a small note, written in a fine script: Michael.
Michael, his name was Michael!
The man shaping up to become the most excellent, wondrous and talented lover Tinsley had ever experienced , was named Michael!
Truly, Michael did things to her that she had never imagined. Some nights he would simply f*ck her, placing her into a variety of positions--on her back, perched on top of him, her spread on all fours with him behind. Other times Michael would spend the night with his handsome face buried between Tinsley’s hips, eating at her wildly to the point she would scream like an animal and dampen him. She’d never squirted before Michael. He had brought that out of her. And did every time they met.
Then there were the times Michael would tell Tinsley, very quietly, to perform oral on him. Tinsley enjoyed that more that the most, even better than the traditional sex.
Michael possessed the largest, most exciting and beautiful d*ck Tinsley had ever set her baby blues on. Long and thick, always swelling several inches, through the course of the night.
Often Tinsley’s mouth would water at the thought of sucking it. She loved that ripe fullness, that chunk of flesh slipping in and out her mouth, down her throat and trying her gag reflex.
Loved the way Michael would grunt and whimper whilst being serviced. Loved the way his tone would rise as he reached that inevitable peak. Loved the warm feeling of his juice as he climaxed. Sometimes on her face and bosom. Sometimes on directly into her mouth. Michael alternated between making her swallow and making her spit it out on him.
It had become a perverse obsession to Tinsley. Waiting, trying vainly to resist slumber each night. She was lucky to, a few days out of the month, remain awake to see him come in.
Others, that kiss woke her.
Tonight was one of the lucky nights for Tinsley. With her dinner, she’d consumed an obscene amount of coffee and the raw, bitter caffeine had left her wide awake.
Lying on her back in the dimness of her bedroom, the only light coming through the French doors by way of a full moon on a clear, cloudless night.
Waiting, almost impatiently as she stared up at the white lace canopy over her head. Breath coming shallowly, Tinsley knew it was only a matter of time. It was already after midnight.
Michael would be with her soon.
That’s what she wanted. That’s all she wanted!
Michael.
Suddenly, the chilliness that had been provided via the central air system was interrupted by a warm breeze.
Raising up on one elbow and clutching the sheets to her chest, Tinsley discovered she was no longer alone. Her breath stalled in her throat that the sight before her.
The two doors to the balcony stood open and slowly making his way into the room, to her, was Michael.
Oh, the simple act of walking was transformed into something of an erotic act. The fluidity with the way Michael, now in silhouette and shadow moved, only provoked goose pimples to take Tinsley’s arms. She adored the way Michael, on his long legs would sway ever so gently; an odd bop to his step no other man had.
Before he even reached her, his scent did. That strong, deep, earthy aroma of vanilla, always, always exuding from his sleek, sensual form.
Really he was a treat for all the senses.
Again, he loomed at the bedside, peering down at Tinsley. And she up at him.
It was truly remarkable how arresting and dashing Michael was. He was very, very slim, with skin as pale and luminescent as un-driven show. A pure milky complexion that only served to add to his mystique.
Deep, intense, knowledgeable eyes, rimmed with the faintest trace of kohl, were widened and staring in his non-threatening manner. He was never hostile; Michael always put Tinsley at ease.
Underneath a small and upturned nose, plump pink lips were curving into a smile.
Reaching up with a long, pale hand, he was raking through his hair. The short, black locks, straightened and parted down the middle.
The same hand, smooth and soft, was pinching Tinsley’s cheek, sending sparks and causing every never to tingle joyously.
Tinsley was speechless as he leaned down, those lovely eyes closing as he cane closer and closer.
Ever so closer, until--yes--he was kissing her.
Those wonderful, tender lips of his pressing hers, connecting the two of them. The warm moist flickering of that liver of tongue threatened to drive young Tinsley to madness.
Trembling as he pulled his mouth from hers, Tinsley was smiling at Michael.
This marvelous creature, dressed in head to toe black, a color that cause his fair skin to glow almost like the angel that he was.
How desperately Tinsley had wanted him.
It was terrible. This gnawing, grating all-encompassing need for Michael.
Tinsley needed Michael. More than air, more than water, more than food.
She had grown to love and live for Michael. He was all she ever needed.
Leaning back against the plump, down-stuffed pillows Tinsley held her sheets and floral quilt up to her chin, staring up at the man shyly. Michael liked that.
Though Michael never revealed his age to her, Tinsley guessed he was at least thirty-five, much older than her twenty-three. And he always liked it when she played the innocent. He’d told her so.
“ What are you hiding from me? ”
Michael wondered, his hands behind his back, gazing at her knowingly.
Remaining quiet, Tinsley continued to stare up at him, giving no indication of what was being concealed beneath that Egyptian cotton.
“You’re hiding that beautiful little body--aren’t you?” Michael chuckled lightly.
Hands coming down, he gripped the sheets and tossed them back off Tinsley.
Revealing a perfectly nude body.
Tinsley delighted in the way those dark eyes widened at her body, a bit on the petite side. Eyes taking in her small, albeit full breasts, that flat abdomen. Pretty, pink legs and in the center of which was the tiny, bare slit.
Chill bumps showing on the flesh of her p*ssy as it was exposed to the air.
The p*ssy Michael enjoyed so much…
Lips puckering, Michael rubbed a hand at his own chest, a giggle escaping him.
“You are very ready for your Michael this night, Tinsley?”
Nodding, Tinsley was holding onto her breasts for dear life.
“ Please…come to bed …”
The strained whisper left her. The request Michael never refused her.
And so it began: The moment Tinsley had been waiting for.
Michael was undressing.
Deftly, his fingers were unfastening the buttons on his shirt. Within seconds it was off and on the floor. Showing Michael’s smooth, slightly toned upper body, those teeny pink nipples erect in the cool setting.
A leather belt, with a golden sunburst buckle, was loosened and discarded.
Slowly, the zipper on the fly of those black trousers was disengaged. The little brass button was unhooked and the pants were opened.
Michael wore no undergarments, as was evident by the thin veil of pubic hair being immediately seen on that pristine crotch of his.
A sight that caused a burning sensation to flare up in Tinsley’s slit.
An amused expression crossing his face, Michael put his hand in and after a moment of fishing, came out with “it”.
That thich, limp, peach-colored c*ck.
A gasp escaped Tinsley. Yes, this was what she’d waited tirelessly for, counted the hours away for!
Oh God, Yes!
The pants were removed along with his penny loafers and socks.
Standing as naked as she, Michael motioned to that lifeless mass, springing from his loins. Tinsley automatically knew what her lover wanted.
He wanted to be sucked and she was more than willing to comply with his wants. Rolling over onto her stomach, she took hold of Michael with one hand, barely able to grasp that width, and started to run her hand up and down him, encouraging the growth.
“Oh Honey, that’s it…slow like that…Yes…” Michael cooed, his voice deepening with arousal and lust.
Oh, how he tasted. So sweet. How he was so warm against her tongue as she was flapping the underside of that d*ck.
She was aware of Michael’s hand on her back, creeping its way down to her buttocks. She heated at the touch of his cool hands pressing on her ass.
“”Mmm….yeah… you do that girl…suck me!” Michael gasped and popped her cheeks.
Tinsley couldn’t see it then, but she had been hit so hard, that Michael’s handprint shone bright red.
Steadily sucking, Tinsley whimpered into his groin as she felt one of his long fingers push its way into her backside.
“ Such a tight ass hole …” Michael was mumbling, as he began to rock his finger back and forth.
“… one day, we’ll see if we can get my d*ck to fit in it. ”
Lifting her mouth from him, Tinsley protested,
“No--it won’t fit!”
Michael instructed sternly, popping her on her forehead with the palm of his hand.
“Shut up…suck. You suck me! Taste it! Taste it!”
A second finger was in Tinsley’s ass, rolling around and only heightening her horniness.
After a few minutes, they were eased from her, at the same time Michael eased himself from her mouth.
It was time.
The young girl’s heart ski[pped with anticipation.
He was going to f*ck her! He was going to f*ck her, damn it!
She was ready to f*ck!
Going at a leisurely pace, Michael rounded the bed, his small, flattish booty wiggling as he moved. Adding to Tinsley’s overwhelming need.
Her obsession.
Once on the other side of the bed, Michael stood, peering longingly at Tinsley. Hand absently jerking on that meat, keeping the erection up and that swollen, smooth tip engorged.
With his free hand, Michael put up two fingers. In any other context, it was a peace sign.
In the confines of Tinsley’s bedroom, it meant for her to spread her legs for Michael. Offer that steaming hot, quivering little slit to him.
To be graciously assaulted by that ramming rod.
Smiling sweetly at the reddening c*nt laying open to him, beckoning and taunting him, Michael climbed up onto the bed.
Tinsley inhaled deeply and held her breath; she always did when she was about to be plugged.
Getting situated between those slim legs, Michael was tugging at himself harder. Readying himself.
It was clear he was happy. So very happy.
Holding her legs open, wide, as she could manage.
Her large, pool-blue eyes staring up at him expectantly.
“Ah! Oh! Oh! Ah!” She gasped several times when Michael s flopped himself against the opening of that slit. Teasing her.
Suddenly he was pushing in.
Tinsley’s lustful moans swiftly turned to cries of dismay, when it became apparent what Michael was doing to her.
“ Michael! Michael-no! Don’t do that! ”
She pleaded as instead of filling her hole, Michael was forcing that pen*s up her anus. Stretching her more and more the further he went.
“ Shhh! Shhh! Shhh! ” Michael said soothingly, pushing at her breasts, and thumbing the nipples. “I told you we’d see if it would fit. Tins, Honey--it DOES!”
“Take it out, please…now, Michael!” Tinsley begged, rubbing at that sweet chest of his, while he continued to fondle hers.
‘”Don’t you want it in you, Lover?” Michael taunted, throwing his hips, going deeper into that ass, drawing a scream from her:
“Michael-no! OH! ” Tinsley shrieked as, without any finesse, Michael quickly ripped himself from her and in the same movement had invaded her p*ssy.
“Aw, Michael--”
“That’s what you wanted all along, didn’t you?” Michael questioned as he grabbed onto her waist, so small his hands fully wrapped around it, starting to guide himself in and out her moist depths.
“Michael!--Ah!--”
“You wanted this big, had-ass c*ck! Well you got it now, Honey!”
“Yes! Yes! I want it! I want it all, Michael Baby!” Tinsley was whining, running her hands through her hair as she continued to bounce against that man.
Her man.
That lovely man on top of her, still grasping at her hips, arching his back, , throwing his head and causing his hair to swish delicately.
His body was becoming slick with sweat the more he worked at her and as a result, his hair, painstakingly straightened, would reveal its natural wave before he was done.
Grabbing his slick shoulders, Tinsley was pulling Michael down onto her, wrapping her arms around his wet neck, his hair line starting to curl as droplets of perspiration sparkled.
“ Do me- do me- do me- do me, damn it! ” Tinsley cried into his ear as he continued drilling into her.
A laugh fell out of Michael’s mouth and out the corner of her eye, he was beaming at her.
“ I ain’t doing sh*t! I’m f*cking you! ” He grunted, getting his arms around her, hugging her close to him. Kissing at her neck.
Burying her face in his throat, Tinsley was licking at his neck, savoring the briny flavor of his sweat.
“ God damn! ” Michael choked out as Tinsley was leaving a blackened hickey directly on his Adam’s Apple.
“ Oh yes! Yes this is so good! So damn good! Oh goodness!”
Michael exclaimed, his nose crinkling , and his mouth was pursed a foot from his head.
“You always f*ck so damn good--” He started to say and abruptly popped up off Tinsley.
Staring down at her, Michael once rosy with the thrill of their sex was going ashen white.
Dark eyes bulged and his pinkish mouth fell open in a silent scream as fumbling wildly, he yanked his d*ck from Tinsley’s swollen hole.
Just in time for a wave of white to come exploding from his tip.
“ Ah! Ah! Yes! Come! Come! Come! Get in on me! Pour it on me! ” Tinsley, the sl*t in her coming out as Michael started to wag himself over her, sending droplets flying all over her abdomen and jerking c*nt.
Michael came for several moments, pooling on Tinsley who rubbed her fingertips across the mess, sampling it.
“ Zzzzk! ” With the guttural grunt, Michael had spat on himself, stroking frenziedly, getting his last bit of semen out.
“ Sh*t!--Baby! ” Tinsley shrieked as that rod was loaded into her again.
Falling forward, Michael was hugging Tinsley again.
Somehow, someway, he managed to sit back up on his haunches, bringing Tinsley up with him.
“ Uh-huh, yeah! Hell yeah! ” Michael grumbled still pushing and prodding at her, his hair now wavy from the perspiration pouring from his head.
“I’m gonna make that snatch explode! I’m gonna make it explode--holy sh*t, Tins!”
“ Aaaah! ”
Both of them screamed as Michael threw her back down, slapping at her titties before laying back on her, wrapping his arms around her tightly.
He rolled.
Michael rolled with Tinsley and had her sitting atop him, holding her down on him, moving his hips crazily in a circular motion. No longer going in an out.
Planted deep inside her.
Whirling and whirling. Whirling and whirling.
“ Ride me! Ride me! Ah! Ride me! I’m your damn stallion! Ride me, Honey! ” Michael exclaimed from the pillows, a hand coming up and gripping Tinsley’s chin.
“ I am! I am! Oh, Michael! Michael you’re so good to me! ” Tinsley sighed, her head dropping forward, her champagne-blonde hair, stringy from her own dampness, draping Michael’s chest as it heaved with effort.
“You gotta squirt, Tinsley. You gotta squirt! For me--for me, Tins!” Michael was encouraging, his teeth gritting.
Flinging her head back, Tinsley could take it no longer.
“ Ah-I’m gonna come! Ah-I’m gonna squirt, Michael! Ah! Ah! Michael! ”
She screamed , her hands in her hair, as at the warning, Michael freed himself of her hole, allowing his c*ck to flop behind her.
A long hand came down and was rapidly rubbing at the c*nt!
“ No! No! No! NO! Damn you! Stop! STOP! ”
Tinsley was shaking her head, hair whipping as finally, her hole opened up and the clear, liquid hell came spewing from her.
“ Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes ,yes, yes! ” Michael cheered as with six squirts, Tinsley had arrived at her orgasm.
“ MIKE! ” Tinsley exhausted wailed, and collapsed onto him, the two of them breathing heavily.
“That was good. So f*cking good. That p*ssy of yours…” Michael brought his wet hand up to his mouth and was licking at it.
“You love it don’t you?” Tinsley grinned as with his other hand, Michael was jiggling her behind, running his fingers between the cheeks.
“ Yeah! ” Michael’s arched brows went up as he cackled, embracing her.
Tonguing at her mouth and neck.
Content, Tinsley returned the favor.

The sun arose to find Tinsley sleeping, alone in her bed.
The mysterious Michael gone.
But the girl slept well, as before the sun rose the next day, her stranger in the night would return.
He always came to her at night.
ONE OF MY PERSONAL FAVORITE STORIES!

His Damn Brother!

I kind of hate to admit it, but when it comes to gossip about the Jackson family, I do keep one ear out for it. I really do kind of ignore all the rumors and outright lies that swirl about Michael. It’s just natural for me to block out the bull**** about him. I generally like hearing wild stories about his siblings. One story in particular that piqued my interest when I was younger, was the fact Michael’s brothers, Randy and Jermaine were both married to and had children by the very same woman, resulting in children that were not only cousins but half-siblings at the same time! While my story isn’t nearly as scandalous as all that things, get pretty interesting and complex when one Jackson’s girlfriend is running around with another.

“His Damn Brother!”
A Michael Jackson Erotic Short Story By:
MJsLoveSlave
( Featuring Randy Jackson)

Gillingswater Towers
San Diego, California

June first, nineteen eighty-five, was a day that would live on infamy for the rest of Lorna Farnsworth’s life.
The day had begun normally enough for twenty-one-year old. She had gotten up, and made breakfast for her boyfriend of eighteen months, Randy Jackson, who had stayed over, sleeping off the one too many beers he had drank at dinner the night before.
Then, still a little loopy, Randy had agreed to take Lorna to the mall to go shopping and had spent the greater part of the day hopping from one boutique to the next, using his credit card so much, the plastic nearly melted.
Lorna was fairly happy and content as she and Randy, each toting about a dozen shopping bags between them, came into the apartment. As Lorna was setting down the bags in the living room, Randy was moving over towards the phone, saying he was going to reserve a table for the two of them at their favorite Japanese restaurant.
Starting to pick up the receiver, Randy informed Lorna that she had a missed message on her answering machine.
Lorna, distracted trying to decide which one of the ten new party dresses she’d just bought to wear out that night, absently told Randy to play the message.
And that’s when all Hell broke wild, free and loose.

“Hey Lorna, Baby! Just calling to tell you I had a fantastic time Thursday night. I would have called you back sooner, but I tell you, girl…after the way we went at each other, I’ve had to stay in bed these last few days. I was so damn exhausted, but it was worth it. I’ve never had an orgasm like that before in my life. There’s still a mess all on my walls! You’re too damn perfect, you just won’t quit. Can’t wait to see you again! I’m thinking about flying out to Martha’s Vineyard for a weekend. And I don’t want to go alone! Call me, you know the number, Baby…”

Lorna, still holding the black and white striped satin dress in her hands, was staring down at it afraid to even breathe. A cold, fierce and frightened sweat began to trickle down her back.
Almost instantly, she knew she was in trouble. Big, horrible, awful trouble. More trouble than she had ever been in, in her entire natural life.
That voice…that light and soft, almost musical male voice on the phone was not Randy Jackson’s voice. It was not an old message that Randy had left some week before and Lorna hadn’t noticed it until then.
If only it had been. If only it could have been that simple.
No…that voice that had been so merry on the phone belonged to Michael.
Michael Jackson, Randy’s older brother by three years!
Across the room, still by the phone, Randy Jackson was markedly silent. It was this silence that frightened Lorna. She had come to know Randy’s emotions fairly well and whenever Randy was angered or upset, he’d usually get loud. Screaming, yelling, that sort of thing.
She’d never heard the twenty-three-year old man be quiet like that.
Slowly, not trying to make any sudden moves, Lorna turned her head, wondering what Randy was doing…how he was taking it. Trying to gauge his reaction.
Randy Jackson, dressed in a silver sleeveless shirt and matching trousers, a darker sweater tied at his hips, stood, staring down at the answering machine plainly. His plumps lips, under a pencil-thin line of a mustache, were slightly parted, the only give away of his shock. He still held the receiver of her phone, in the shape of a leopard print pump, in his hand.
Still holding the phone, Randy very slowly, and in a measured tone, spoke, still staring down at the answering machine.
“ Was…was that my brother? ”
Tears of remorse began to pool in Lorna’s grey eyes and start flowing down her cheeks.
“Randy--” She wept, putting a hand to her mouth as Randy repeated,
“ Was that Michael? Was that my goddamned brother on your answering machine, Lorna? Saying you gave him an orgasm!?! You gave my BROTHER a goddamned ORGASM? ”
Before Lorna could reply, that yes, it was Michael, rage began to take Randy at this abrupt revelation of betrayal.
Lifting the pump phone, Randy, handsome face contorting, began beating the receiver against the answering machine, breaking the receiver, but doing relatively no harm to the machine.
No harm that is, until he grabbed it, yanked it from the wall and slammed it to the floor, causing it to explode in a mess of black plastic and wires at his feet.
( Author’s Note: I’ve always heard that Randy had something of a hair-trigger temper and I really wanted to exploit that in this sequence.)
Randy glared down at the shattered remains, his entire body seeming to heave and tremble with anger.
Through gritted teeth, she heard Randy snarl,
“ You b*tch! ”
In the next moment, Randy was racing across the room at Lorna, not even giving her a chance to try to flee, he was already there, gripping her so tightly by her biceps, lifting her off her feet, all she could do was cry in pain.
Shaking her so hard, her head bobbed and her shoulder length, crimped dark brown hair was swishing, Randy was yelling into her face.
“You got the nerve to cheat on me? On me? Steven Randall Jackson? Are you out your f*cking mind? Of all the damn people walking around the city, you chose to f*ck with my brother? My damn brother? Are you out your f*cking mind, you sl*t? You f*cked my brother and gave him an orgasm? My damn brother ? ”
“Randy! I’m sorry! Randy--please! Please, Randy!”
Lorna was pleading through the saltwater in her eyes. Kicking, she was desperately trying to free herself, frightened of just what Randy might do. And if she’d survive it.
Still clutching her, Randy pulled Lorna close to him, his dark eyes wide and brimming over with hatred as he barked at her,
“ How long? How long you been screwing Michael? How long you been screwing his ass? You better tell me right now, because if I have to go ask him …” Randy never did complete that threatening statement, and scared, Lorna cried,
“ Since Christmas! Christmas! He was full of eggnog and brandy, and kept coming onto me. I let him kiss me. It just led on from there--Randy! I didn’t mean for it to happen! Not like this--AAAAHHHH! ”
Lorna screamed as Randy swiftly threw her back, sending her flying through the air, causing her to collide with the table behind her couch.
As she slumped to the floor, her hip aching, Randy shrieked.
“ You been f*cking my brother for SIX MONTHS? SIX MONTHS? That‘s a third of the time you‘ve been with me. That‘s once every three days, you was lying up under Michael! On top of him. Rolling on his d*ck! ”
The bags of clothing that had just been bought were thrown onto Lorna.
“ I must be a goddamned fool. I just went out and spent thousands on nice clothes for you. I got news for yo’ ass, Lorna! You may dress real well and be real pretty, but under the expensive labels and MAC cosmetics, you’re nothing but a cheap and common wh*re! ”
Dropping down to one knee, Lorna gasped as she was jerked by her collar.
The last thing she could remember was seeing the open palm of Randy’s hand coming down on her. Then there was nothing but stars dancing before her eyes and her cheek burned like it was on fire.
Pushing Lorna to the hardwood floor, leaning down over her, Randy whispered harshly in her ear, as he was pulling at his own, thick, black curls.
“ I gotta get the Hell outta here, ‘cause if stay, I might end up in a f*cking jail tonight. B*tch, f*cking my brother! I hate you! ”
( Author’s Note: It’s funny thinking of Randy with hair, since he’s bald as a cue ball now!)
Crying into the floor, Lorna could only watch as Randy stood, the patent leather of his red shoes gleaming, and stomped swiftly away, slamming the door behind him so hard, a painting crashed to the floor.
The entire apartment fell silent, the only sound was Lorna panting for air, and groaning, clutching at her cheek as it began to swell from the slap Randy had delivered upon her.
As she gripped the side of the table she had been thrown into, and was trying to pull herself upright, another thought began racing in her mind.
She had to get to the other phone, in her bedroom.
She had to call Michael! Warn him that Randy was on the warpath, and was possibly on his way to his apartment to do him bodily harm. Or worse .
Staggering into her bedroom, she was so angry with herself.
Oh, how could she have gotten swept up into a mess like that? Why had she let Michael kiss on her at his parent’s Christmas party. He’d drank so much eggnog, he’d practically swam in his mother’s lead crystal punchbowl.
Michael had approached her late that night when she had gone to retrieve her and Randy’s coats when the party had begun to wind down.
Michael, looking so boyishly charming in a red sweater with a Christmas tree that actually lit up on it, and stinking of the damn brandy he’d spiked his eggnog with, had cornered Lorna in that upstairs room. Told her she looked gorgeous in her green party dress…
And then he was kissing her. Hugging her to his body, the lights on that stupid sweater tree blinking between them. He’d told her he wanted to see her…away from Randy. He’d whispered his phone number into her ear and told her he’d be expecting her call that following Monday, once the holidays were over.
And so it had began, the secret rendezvous.
Randy was typically gone most of the day, working downtown as a piano instructor. Michael’s schedule was far more flexible.
Michael was employed off and on as a freelance writer for the San Diego Scrambler, the second largest newspaper in the city.
While Randy was out tickling the ivories, Michael was in, tickling Lorna.
They had always been so careful, else meeting at her apartment or Michael’s condo. Never appearing in public at all.
Lorna had never wanted Randy to find out. No one in their right mind would! Oh, this was such a mess!
Reaching the phone, Lorna punched in the numbers and as the line rang, she began to sob all over again.
After several rings, Michael answered the phone in his typical jolly manner, but instantly filled with concern when he realized that Lorna was in tears.
“ Mike…Randy knows…he heard the message you left me…about last Thursday. He knows about us. I think he’s coming for you…Michael, I think he’s gonna kill you. I’ve never seen him like this! Michael--HE KNOWS! ”
The line fell quiet for a few minutes, as Michael gathered himself, only saying,
“ Holy sh*t, oh no! ”
Lorna could hear the gears in his head grinding. After nearly ten minutes with no words spoken, Michael told her seriously,
“ Go wash your face. I’ll be outside your building in fifteen minutes. If Randy comes back, you run and call the police! You understand me? The police! I’ll be there quick! ”
With that the line went dead. Lorna lingered, on the side of her bed, wondering just what Randy would do, if his own brother was advising her to call the police if he returned to her apartment.
Doing as Michael had said, Lorna went into her bathroom and cleaned her face, but never looked in the mirror.
She couldn’t stand the sight of herself. Not right now.
A quarter-hour later, Lorna stood on the sidewalk, in the balmy, waning twilight as a sleek, white convertible pulled up to the curb, its top down.
Behind the wheel, wearing a bright yellow sweater vest over a white shirt and jeans, was Michael Jackson.
If it weren’t for the look of complete distress on his face, anyone would passing by would have thought Michael was taking Lorna out on a date.
It was the dates that had caused the problem in the first place.
Leaning over, he pushed open the passenger side door for her.
As Lorna got in and they pulled out into traffic, Michael was apologetic,
“Lorna…I’m so sorry. If I knew that message was going to cause so much trouble, I would have never left it. I didn‘t mean for him to find out like this. Damn it. ”
“And you think I did?…” Lorna shook her head, staring out the car, but seeing nothing that flew by as Michael merged onto the expressway.
“… I shouldn’t have done anything with you to start with. You’re Randy’s older brother. It’s just wrong on so many levels. Oh God!”
Silence emerged between the two of them, Lorna biting on her nails nervously, and Michael staring ahead at the road grimly.
After a while, Lorna noticed that Michael didn’t seem to be driving back to his apartment building, which was only a few miles from her place.
“Where are we going Michael?” She questioned, for a second wondering if he was fleeing with her to Mexico to hide out from Randy’s rage.
Still watching the darkened road ahead of them, Michael replied softly,
“If I know my brother well enough, I have a good idea of where he is right now.”
At the idea that Michael was actually seeking Randy, she couldn’t help but inquire,
“Have you lost your damn mind? Randy might kill you. He’s so angry. I’ve never seen him like this Michael. He wants to hurt you. I know he does!”
God the last thing Lorna wanted was for either man to hurt the other. But with the way Randy had turned into the Devil himself there was really no telling just what he was capable of. Lorna had witnessed that with her own eyes. Her cheek still hurt from it.
Weaving in and out of traffic, and onto an exit ramp, Michael glanced at Lorna, before asking,
“Do you want Randy back? Do you want him now that our secret is out Lorna?”
Without a moment’s reflection, Lorna was bobbing her head wildly,
“ Yes! Yes, I want him back! I love him. We’ve been together for a year and half and I’ve known him for years! I want him back--if he’ll take me!”
Michael thoughtfully rubbed at his pointed chin, before adding,
“You love Randy…how do you feel about me?”
Now it was Lorna’s turn to be speechless, unsure of what to say.
“Well…I am attracted to you, Michael. You and Randy are both really good-looking men. I like being around you both. You’re really nice to me…Sometimes I feel like I’m in love with you and Randy. If it’s possible to be in love with two people at the same time.”
Lorna confessed tentatively, feeling more mixed up than ever.
Michael nodded, but said nothing else, as he was pulling his car to a stop along side of a park, turning off the ignition.
“You see that restaurant?” He wondered, pointing across the street, to a small bistro called Luigi’s.
“Yeah?” Lorna answered shrugging.
“If I know Randy well enough, right now he’s in there packing himself with veal parm, and drowning his sorrows in white wine. He’d been dragging his ass here whenever he gets upset since we were little--” Michael started and Lorna interrupted him,
“How do you know he’s there?”
Michael’s long finger shifted to the packed parking lot next to the eatery. And the lime green Mercedes sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of the vehicles. Randy’s Mercedes.
Sinking in her seat, Lorna whimpered, “I don’t know how a plate of veal can make him feel better after what I’ve done. I don’t know of anything that could make him feel better, Michael. Aside from murdering us. ”
Lorna noticed that Michael raised a jaunty brow at her, but remained quiet as he got out of the car, rounding it and helping her out, looping his arm through hers.
As they crossed the street to the restaurant, Lorna was inwardly praying that there was nothing for Randy to stab Michael with.
Inside the warm and inviting building, Michael spotted his sibling right off the bat.
Seated in a booth, alone, in the far corner of the dining room, Randy Jackson was indeed eating a large plate of veal parmesan, two empty bottles of wine on his table and a third half gone.
Lorna was stiff with fright, as Michael all but dragged her over to his table.
Randy, concentrating on his eating, had his head down sprinkling red pepper flakes on his meat.
Michael opened his mouth to speak, and both he and Lorna jumped when Randy, never looking up, hissed,
“ You two mother****ers need to get the Hell out of my sight. Because if I get up from this table, you’re gonna need an ambulance. I got nothing to say to yo’ asses. ”
Lorna tried to flee, but was held in place, as Michael, boldly, or insanely, slipped into the seat across from his brother, pulling her along with him.
Michael’s slim, and glossed lips parted as he prepared to say something.
Randy, gulping his wine from a piece of glass stemware, talked over him, demanding dryly,
“ How’d you manage to get my woman to sleep with yo’ TB-fied looking ass, Michael? How’d you get Lorna to f*ck you? Yo’ ass must have nuts the size of basketballs to go after your brother’s woman!--the Hell you even thought to go after her? ”
Appearing nervous at the outright interrogation, Michael shrugged and half-laughed.
“I don’t know, man, one thing just led to another…”
Shaking his head, face stony, Randy scoffed,
“ Ain’t that always the way? ”
Lorna trembled as her boyfriend focused on her for the first time.
“ You’re being mighty damn quiet Lorna.” Randy pointed out, cutting up more of his veal and eating it. “ Why are you on hush-mouth now? I thought you’d have plenty to say, since Michael doesn’t have his d*ck down your throat!”
Humiliated, Lorna stared down into her lap while Michael, upset at the way Randy was treating her, called him on it.
“That was uncalled for, Randy--”
“ Michael… ”
Randy was waving his knife in his brother’s direction. As the light bounced off the blade, Michael sucked in his lips, obviously worried. “You need to shut yo’ mouth, before I carve my initials into you. No go on, take that little sl*t with you. You can have her. I’m trying to eat and y’all turning my stomach. Kick rocks! I done cooled off some, if I get fired up again…LEAVE ME ALONE! I‘m in a stabby mood and I will poke holes in both of y‘all philanderin‘ asses!”
Lorna was ready to hop up and run with Randy brandishing that weapon, when Michael said something strange.
“ Steven Randall, I can’t believe you’re acting up like this…especially when we used to talk about that “thing” when we were younger. ”
Lorna was clueless as to what that “thing” was, but did see that the hardened, violent glaze to Randy’s eyes seemed to dissolve at whatever Michael was referring to.
Voice softer than it had been all day, Randy appeared startled and gasped,
“ She agreed to that? ”
“What?” Lorna, unable to keep a lid on her mounting curiosity was asking as she was looking between the Jacksons.
Scratching at his loose curls, Michael’s voice dropped to a whisper,
“When Randy and I were teenagers, we used to always wonder what it would be like to have a ménage a trois with some chick, but we never could find a woman to participate--”
“ Unless-- ” Randy put in and both men were gazing on her hopefully.
Lorna was dumbstruck. Less than an hour ago, Randy had been the epitome of fury, tearing her apartment to shreds, for sleeping with his brother, and now he had the all-fired gall to suggest sleeping with them both at the same time?
Dejected, she growled,
“Randy Jackson, what kind of girl do you take me for--”
“What’s the f*cking difference?” Randy threw his head back cackling. “You’ve had both our c*cks in you anyway, why not let us tag-team you?”
Pinching her arm, Michael reasoned,
“You did say you loved both of us. Why not have both of us?
You KNOW we‘re nasty! And you‘re nasty too. We can be nasty together. ”
Lorna had the nerve to contemplate this new dilemma. Sleeping with both of the Jacksons.
She looked to Randy and Michael. Both men were so handsome, so sexy, it would be sheer madness NOT to agree to it, and before she had fully decided she was nodding, her hair swaying.
She gripped Randy’s wrist and warned him,
“You better not raise all kinds of sh*t about this afterwards. Because I’ll carve MY initials into you, got it?”
Grinning in victory, Randy picked up his white napkin and waved it like a flag, declaring a truce.
Wiping his mouth, he stood and said simply,
“ Let’s go. ”
It was decided that they would all meet back at Lorna’s apartment, since it seemed to be Ground Zero for their trysts anyway.
As Lorna rode back with Randy, she couldn’t help but stare at him, and wonder how she could have been talked into such a thing.
A threesome with Randy and Michael Jackson.

There was an awkward stillness in Lorna Farnsworth’s apartment that night. For about the last half hour, Lorna had sat in the center of the couch, Michael to her right and Randy to her left.
Neither of them making a move the whole time.
She glanced at Randy, he was staring around the room, eyes hopping here and there. He wasn’t even looking at her!
With a sigh, she went to peek at Michael, and saw he was staring directly at her, his carefully sculpted brows flexing, as a cool smile came to his lips.
Just that quickly, the process was initiated, as Michael Jackson leaned forward, mashing his tender mouth to hers, kissing her. Hugging onto Michael, he was forcing his little damp tongue into her mouth, nearly making her swoon on the spot.
Suddenly, Lorna was pulled away from him and leaned back, with Randy was hovering over her.
Randy Frenched Lorna, like his brother had, but his method was a bit freakier. Sticking his tongue out at Lorna, she met it with hers, both, pink and flicking at each other in the air.
“ That’s nasty …” Michael chuckled from behind Lorna, watching the spectacle.
Drawing his tongue back into his mouth, Randy’s eyelids were starting to droop, a look Lorna had seen all too many times.
Randy was hot. He was turned on.
And so was Lorna.
Making out with her boyfriend and her lover was something of a strange sordid dream come true.
Hand on her shoulder, Randy told her point blank, in a lusty tone,
“ I want my d*ck on your breath…suck me, girl …”
It was only a matter of time before Randy requested head. It seemed like he couldn’t have sex without it, and complying, Lorna slipped off the couch onto the rug, resting on her knees, as Randy leaned back against the cushions of the couch, untucking his shirt and unzipping his trousers.
A few seconds later, through the open fly, Randy was freeing his c*ck and balls. No underwear had to be moved out the way, as Randy had never worn them as long as Lorna had known him.
Randy Jackson was a very natural man, his groin being graced by a rather substantial cloud of thick black curls, that were concentrated on the top of his pubis, around the base of his shaft and covered his round, brown gems.
His pen*s, at the moment just lying there, was the same fine shade of chocolate brown as he was, quite long and massive, it boasted a flap of foreskin, that, as Randy began to stroke himself, revealed a tip that was rudely pink.
As Lorna situated herself in front of Randy, he was playfully tapping his girth against her lips.
“Come on, Baby…” He urged still smacking her with it.
“Open wide…”
Winking at him, Lorna chuckled,
“ Don’t I always?”
Michael, still an observant doubled over at the remark, as Randy was loading himself into Lorna’s mouth.
Taking both hands, Lorna began to stroke on Randy, passing her mouth up and down on him.
Michael wiggled slightly, as eyes still on Lorna he was pulling his vest off and throwing it behind the couch, and starting to loosen his bowtie.
At the same time, Randy was unbuttoning his top and removing it, revealing his wonderfully muscular torso.
Pinching at his nipples, Randy mumbled,
“ God damn, I never get tired of you doing that to me, Lorna. Sh*t, if I could get sucked 24/7. ..”
Falling back against the cushions, Randy placed his hand into Lorna’s hair and was gradually pushing her down further onto him, until she actually had to take her hands from him as her face was being mashed into the hair on his crotch.
Off to the side, Lorna heard Michael point out,
“Hey, let her up! You’ll choke her doing that!”
“ Aw, shut the f*ck up, Mike! She knows I like it like this! ”
Randy snapped and just to spite Michael, held his girlfriend down like that a few moments more before releasing her.
Sitting back on her heels and trying to catch her breath, Lorna noticed that Michael had his pants undone, them and his mint green briefs down around his ankles, his white shirt open. His bowtie was nowhere to be seen.
Oh, Michael Jackson was so damned gorgeous!
Michael, was a very slim, yet toned man, his body at least fifty pounds lighter than Randy’s. And he was much more, groomed than Randy. Although his big quivering endowment was also uncircumcised, the hair on his groin had mostly been trimmed away, except for a patch in the shape of a lightning bolt.
Michael always changed the design of his c*ck hairs according to the month. In January, it was a party hat, in February, a heart, in March a shamrock, though he wasn’t Irish, and so on.
With a long finger, Michael was beckoning Lorna into his crotch.
Scooting over to him, Lorna instantly went to town on his c*ck.
Rolling his eyes, Randy merely tugged at himself and pushed at the back of her head with his free hand.
“Oh…oh! Oh, that’s it! Get it, Lorna! Get it girl! Oh hell…”Michael, tucking her hair behind her ears, was encouraging Lorna as she was mouthing him.
“[I] Oh my God! [/B] ” He cried as Lorna held onto him. Flapping her tongue against his own pinkish tip, before sucking some more.
“Doesn’t little Lorna give the best head?” Randy was laughing as he continued pulling on himself, in an effort to maintain his erection.
( Author’s Note: I don’t know why, but the sex scenes always make me laugh hysterically.)
“ Hell yes! ” Michael groaned, pulling at his own hair and lurching against the cushions as Lorna paused to kiss his smooth testicles.
Randy chuckling to himself, stood and removed his pants, shoes and socks, before joining Lorna on the floor and was kneeling behind her.
“ Judas Priest! Don’t stop! Don’t stop, Honey! Oh! Don’t! ” Michael was pleading, running his hands through Lorna’s hair and patting at her cheek.
Randy, was busy, undoing the buttons on the back of Lorna’s shirt and unhooking her bra.
Letting for of Michael’s meat for a second, both items were slipped off and Randy was hugged against her, fondling her breasts as she continued servicing Michael.
“I love your titties…so nice and big…woo…” Randy was juggling them, kissing at Lorna’s neck and bare shoulders.
The sensation was almost too much for the young woman to bear.
“Ah! Oh God-- Ah! ” She gasped, reaching back and clutching onto Randy’s thick neck as he was sucking on hers.
Climbing to his feet, Randy, still holding onto Lorna, pulled her up and off of Michael who was breathing heavily, and grabbing onto himself, face tied in knots as he was trying to ward off another orgasm.
Somehow Lorna’s skirt came off with her panties and she was just as nude as Michael and Randy.
Hand on her throat, Randy spoke into her ear hotly,
“ Since you like riding my brother so much, you should f*ck him first. F*ck him good… ”
Lorna winced as Randy smacked her little booty with his large hand and pushed her towards Michael, who had his arms open for her.
“ Come on, yes…yes…” Michael was cooing as Lorna, was straddling him on the couch, wrapping her arms around his thin neck, and inhaling his musky cologne.
“Ah!” Lorna gasped as Michael was forcing himself into her.
He was just so big. So impossibly big it was almost inhuman.
“Yes, girl…yes Baby…you like that. You like me…” Michael grunted through gritted teeth as he began to pop his hips, driving that mass in and out of Lorna, causing her to bounce against him.
Lorna was fully aware of Randy, a few inches away from Michael, taking a seat and looking on sternly.
Noticing that Lorna was staring at him, Randy hissed evilly,
“What the Hell you looking at me for? You got yo’ p*ssy spread all over Michael! What, you want me too? Greedy little thing! ”
Hand grabbing Lorna’s neck again, Randy was pulling the girl towards him, holding her head and driving his d*ck back into her mouth.
“You’re…you’re too rough… Woo! Woo! ”
Michael whimpered, more aroused than seeming to care that Randy was trying to suffocate Lorna with his genitals.
“Suck it…suck it, come on. You know you like having some d*ck in your mouth. You know you do…” Randy taunted, both hands on Lorna’s head, as like Michael, he was starting to pump into her.
“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!” Was all Lorna could say as she couldn’t speak, trying to maintain her balance hanging onto Randy’s thick and hard thighs.
“So good…so good…Aw! Aw! Aw, shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!” Michael suddenly screamed and was wrapping his arms around Lorna tighter.
Lorna saw a streak of white light as Randy, hand in her hair again, yanked her from himself and almost threw her back upright into Michael.
Michael, not wanting to stop for anything continued bouncing her, kissing at her nipples.
“Mike! Mike! Deeper! Deeper--please! F*ck me!” Lorna wailed throwing her head back, the feeling starting to become almost too good to her. Pushing his face into her breasts.
His tongue…Michael’s tongue was swabbing every surface available to him, driving Lorna nearly mad.
Gripping her chin, Randy turned Lorna so he was glaring at her.
“Don’t you dare come on him. You’re gonna come on me. I’M your man…don‘t forget that. ”
His hand was open to slap Lorna again, and Michael, protectively, grabbed her face with one hand, burying it into his damp shoulder.
With his free hand, Michael shoved Randy back against the pillows.
“ You’re not hitting her. Not in front of me. I’ll beat the sh*t out of you, you hit her again. Don’t think I didn’t see the bruise on her face already, Randy. Touch her and the two of us will be in the hospital buck-f*cking-naked getting my foot out your ass! ”
Randy frowned at his brother, but did lower his hand.
Voice lower and dry as autumn leaves, Randy announced,
“I wanna f*ck her. Need some lube--be right back.”
Lorna, lifting her head off Michael’s shoulder, watched as Randy started away for her bedroom, his very large, and firm ass wiggling almost out of tandem with his body with each step he took. ( Author’s Note: Randy has a great ass, and I put in the leaving for lube part just to showcase it!)
Angered, Michael, though he was still inside of Lorna had stopped pounding her, and was simply holding her on his lap.
Holding onto Lorna he pecked her bruised cheek sweetly, and they both knew that afternoon had been the first and last time Randy would slap her.
A few moments later, Randy exited Lorna’s bedroom, his pen*s especially shiny. Lorna knew he’d rubbed Vaseline all over himself.
He always did.
Seeing it as Randy took a seat again, Michael teased and pinched Lorna causing her to giggle, “I don’t need any lubricant, do I, Sugar?”
“ Not everyone keeps a wet prick like you N(bad word)! ”
Randy sniffed and started to point at his glistening manhood.
“Sit on my lap, bring yo’ ass. I wanna tap that ass!’ He clapped his hands ordering. “Come on b*tch!”
Pausing to kiss Michael, Lorna was lifted off Michael, both exclaiming as Michael disconnected from her, and started to straddle Randy in the same way she had Michael.
“Uh-uh.” Randy, smiling broadly wagged a finger at her.
“Sit on my lap the right way.”
Smiling in spite of herself, Lorna turned her back to Randy and began to ease her bare crotch over his.
“Ah--Randy!” She screamed as Randy threw his arms around her waist, and plunged into her inner most depths, grinding into her.
Hands moving up and clutching her bosom, Randy was grunting into her ear,
‘Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about! Hell yeah! Turning that p*ssy out! I’m gonna tear your p*ssy up with this big d*ck!”
His true rough and tumble sexual colors were starting to show, and just as she always did, Lorna was crying out at his boning her.
“Randy! Randy! Ah! Ah! Oh--oh sh*t!”
“That’s right, you better scream my name. Let the whole place know who’s p*ssy this is!” Randy was snickering wildly, and pushed Lorna forward, so that she fell over his knees towards her coffee table.
Almost by magic, Michael appeared in front of her, holding onto her.
Or so she thought.
As Randy slapped at Lorna’s slim, bouncing buttocks, Michael’s hand found their way onto her hips.
He was helping to force her up and down Randy’s slick pole.
“ Don’t do that, Michael! Randy! Stop! Don’t! I’ll come! Stop! RANDY! MIKE! AH! AH! HELL! HELL! HELL! ”
The girl shrieked, clinging to Michael’s barely there hips for dear life.
Michael’s entire demeanor seemed to change.
“You’re gonna come. You’re gonna come, Lorna. You always do. And I wanna see you do it, damn it.” He informed her in a curt tone, continuing to help push her back and forth.
“Get wet…get wet…sh*t…”
“Ride me! Ride me! Oh look at that ass go!” Randy groaned as his smacks became harder, as did his pumping. “That little tight ass!”
At once, there was a rush from Lorna.
Her face against Michael’s abdomen, she let loose a high pitched scream as she began to orgasm, her entire body quivering from the force of it.
“ Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hh!!! ”
Dripping all over Randy’s thighs, Lorna was climaxing.
“Hell yeah! Yeah! You get wet! Oh, that p*ssy is soaked!” Randy rejoiced and over Lorna’s head the men high-fived each other.
Leaning her back, Randy was kissing her fiercely, throwing his hips so hard they should have broken.
There bounce, as Michael leapt up onto the couch, was rapidly pulling on himself near Lorna’s face, at the same time, Randy jerked his c*ck from her wet hole and around her, was stroking himself on home.
Both men were near an ejaculation and it was anyone’s guess who would come first.
“AAAHH! AAAAH! YEAH! YEAH! OH YEAH! SH*T! GOD DAMN!”
Randy bellowed as white droplets began spurting from him and onto Lorna’s abdomen.
“Randy!” She cried as he was milking himself onto her.
There was barely anytime for Lorna to recover, before Michael began hooting lustily,
“ Hee-hee! Hee-hee! God! God! Hee-hee! Aaow! Sh*t, my d*ck! ”
A stream of pure white exploded from Michael, the first bit hitting her in her face, before he directed his tip at her breasts, whipping his d*ck up and down and covered them in the semen.
“Holy Hell…” He whimpered, dropping down to his knees at her side, leaning in and kissing her.
“ That…that was amazing… ”
“ The best! ” Randy chimed in, helping to set Lorna up on to her feet.
Staggering, Lorna turned to the two men, as they joined her standing.
Starting to weep, she threw her arms around them, embracing them tightly and never wanting to let them go.

In the wee hours of the morning, Lorna stood in her shower, letting the hot water rush over her nude and sore form. Under the same showerhead, sudsy and scrubbing themselves, were Randy and Michael Jackson.
Smiling at the men who returned with grins of their own, Lorna had no idea how their new relationship would work out, but she was eager to see.

Let The Punishment Fit The Crime

One place on the face of the Earth I’ve always been afraid of is jail. Now, I like to think of myself as a pretty good, law abiding citizen. I’ve never even had a traffic ticket in my life. So of course, I got the gears in the old noggin to turning with the idea about a girl stuck in jail for the very first time. And wouldn’t it be something if while she’s doing time, she winds up doing Michael Jackson?

“Let The Punishment Fit The Crime”
A Michael Jackson Erotic Short Story By:
MJsLoveSlave
(Nonsexual Cameos By Marlon, Randy, Jackie and Tito Jackson)

Police Precinct 129
Los Angeles, California
Winter, 1982

A nine foot by nine foot cell.
That had been Bette Hill’s home for the last thirteen days. And she had another seventeen ahead of her to go.
Lying there, on the small, military-issue cot that passed as her bed, the young woman, shoved her hands into the pockets of her plain, black cotton jumpsuit and stared up at the ceiling. At the bare bulb that burned overhead from five in the morning until lights out at nine p.m.
Very often she regretted just how in the hell she ended up in jail.
Thirty days, for the first offense of being caught soliciting.
Yes, this young woman, just barely of legal age, had been picked up for being a prostitute.
Bette had gotten caught nearly two weeks ago in a sweep of the red-light districts around the city and she wound up being one of nearly a thousand ‘ladies of the evening’ that were hauled in and charged.
No trial, no anything, just “thirty days” and thrown in the slammer.
Bette wasn’t even a prostitute. Well, not really.
You see, when Bette had been arrested, it was her very first night out on the corner. She had no pimp, she had nothing. Just trying to earn a dollar by using her body. (Or letting someone use her body.)
Bette had only been out there for fifteen minutes before a squad of cops appeared. She didn’t even turn any tricks for anyone.
And yet, there she was confined to a cell, the only time she saw any of the other inmates was in the communal shower. She was kept completely isolated.
And if it wasn’t bad enough that the poor girl had been arrested to start with, the jail she was in wasn’t the typical jail.
No.
Back in the early 1980s, the United States Government was doing it’s best to quell the rampancy of vice crimes sweeping the nation. Illegal gambling, drug running, hookers selling their wares, it was all the radar and in need of being removed before it took over the country.
In the state of California a short-lived and albeit controversial program was developed and test driven in a few jails--including the one Bette Hill was now occupying.
The “Let The Punishment Fit the Crime” Program had been adopted just a few months prior to Bette’s arrest and was in full-swing by the time she was incarcerated.
It was a program that specifically targeted prostitutes. As a part of the program, hookers were brought different “johns” who, instead of paying the women, paid a police officer who in turn handed the money over to fund some of the poorer schools in the area. Men could solicit women and completely avoid being picked up their end of the crime.
And the hookers who participated received lighter sentences.
Their payments could even be used as a tax write-off if the man was so bold.
The monetary gain from the program had already proved beneficiary--tens of thousands of dollars were pouring in.
In the jail, Bette had reluctantly signed on for the program. If she hadn’t her one month sentence would have been a one year sentence instead.
She was deathly afraid of just what kind of men would be brought to her, since the cops were basically her pimps now. And she had to have been deaf not to hear the erotic groans and cries of the other women who were servicing customers once night fell. She had heard talk that some women had as many as ten customers in a night. Ten different, strange men!
But Bette had been visited by no one and she knew it was more than just a coincidence. Only one person had been in to visit Bette, and he wasn’t exactly a typical “john”.
No.
He was a Lieutenant by the name of Marlon Jackson.
Bette had caught the eye of the young, twenty-something officer the very first night she had been put in jail. Once he’d found out she’d signed into “The Program” as it was commonly called, he came to her cell to strike up a deal.
Officer Jackson told her he liked the way she looked and if she let him have her whenever he wanted during her month-long stay, he’d see to it that no other man touched her at all.
Bette was a bit skeptical, she’d heard about dirty cops on the street, but it was an offer she couldn’t refuse. She couldn’t stand the idea of having to mate with a man she didn’t even choose for herself. So she agreed anyway.
Bette found herself on the receiving end of what appeared to be the almost inhumanly insatiable sexual appetite of Officer Jackson.
In her thirteen day say, the man had already been to see her ten times, wanting everything from a quickie hand-job to a full blown session of intercourse that lasted for hours. He was rough and often left Bette completely exhausted, but he was a man of his word.
No other man touched Bette.
No other man, until one cool day in the first week of December.
It was near time for lights out, and as Bette knew, that was the time the hookers occupying the cells began to go to “work”.
As Bette laid in her cell, she expected that sometime before the sun came up, Officer Jackson was going to call on her. Hell, he always did.
Glancing over at the clock on the wall, she saw it was a few minutes after nine; at nine-thirty, the place would start jumping.
Only seventeen more days of this and she could get away. She could get out from under that man who always held her down too hard, who liked to slap her as he was doing her and even if she asked him to stop, he never did until he was finished and dripped hot mess all over her.
She couldn’t wait to be released and never see Officer Marlon Jackson again.
Pop!
Bette groaned to herself and ran a hand through her hair disdainfully at the sound of the deadbolt unlatching.
Damn it all to pus-spewing Hell! The b*stard couldn’t even wait until nine-thirty to come after her!
As the heavy steel door began to swing open, Bette started to sit up, trying to mentally prepare herself to be used again.
The woman’s breath caught in her throat when instead of just Officer Jackson by himself, as usual, he entered, flanked by four other men.
Immediately Bette broke out into a cold sweat, absolutely certain that she was going to be the victim of a train, if not worse. They’d all use her up on the spot.
She stared, stunned into speechlessness, at Officer Jackson.
He was an attractive Black man, a bit on the short side, with attractive features including light brown eyes that always seem to flash with amusement and substantial, pouted lips beneath a thin mustache.
She knew from experience that under his black uniform, studded with badges, adorned with a gun and Billy club holding holster, he was quite muscular and hairy.
Looking from Marlon, as he removed his shiny policeman’s cap and scratched as his thick, lustrous hair, arranged in a curl, she observed the four other Black men with Marlon.
Each were well dressed, from the ruggedly handsome man in a silk tank and leather trousers, to the chubby fellow in jeans, to the skinny man who looked more like a boy in an ornate red leather coat to the young man wearing handcuffs as a bracelet.
The men were all gazing at her anxiously, but said nothing.
Coming forward, and turning to face the men, he introduced them,
“Fellas, this is Bette Hiller. She was picked up about two weeks ago for soliciting for prostitution and is a part of ‘The Program’. …” He glanced over his shoulder at the woman as her heart began to rattle erratically in her chest.
“Bette…These are my brothers. Jackie (in the leather trousers), Michael (in the red jacket), Tito (the chubby one) and Randy (the handcuff wearing one). They want to take advantage of The Program without out being picked up--you know how it works.” He sighed and was picking at his hair again.
“Stand up, girl!” He ordered gruffly before chuckling as if the entire thing was a game.
Bette stood slowly, shooting daggers at Marlon with her eyes. She should have known she couldn’t have trusted his monkey looking ass when it came to trying to save hers. But she knew there was nothing she could do. Marlon had the power. He was Officer Jackson, and she was nobody. Just another number in the system.
As Bette stood there, Officer Jackson began describing her to the men, as if she were a contestant in some form of a twisted beauty pageant.
“Bette is five feet, seven inches tall and weighs 115 pounds. You can see had an exotic appearance with a light brown complexion, blue-grey eyes and long, naturally curly black hair. She’s half-German and half-Black. She has a knock out figure, trust me.” He paused when the four other men burst out laughing.
“She has a natural bust size of a 36C--” He was interrupted by Tito and Randy starting to shake their heads.
“No…no. Hell no. I told you: I like big tits on a woman.” Randy grumbled not trying to hide his voice. “That’s not big enough. I want something I can get lost in. She’s pretty, but not what I want. I’m out.” With that, the man turned and exited the room, leaving Tito to offer,
“I’m sorry Honey, my own man-boobs are bigger than that.”
And he was but a memory, leaving Jackie and Michael behind.
“Stupid asses!’ Marlon groaned before continuing,
“She’s a 36C bust--nice perky hooters that stand up for days. Her waist is 22 inches and her hips are 28. Nice and slim. She’s completely clean of VD or anything like that. We blood test all the inmates…and I’ve had her quite a bit, so you know she’s alright. This was her very first arrest. A good girl, she’s only nineteen--”
Bette felt like a dog in a Kennel Club Show being spoken of that way.
This time Jackie put his hands up.
“I’m sorry Marlon, man…” He laughed shaking his head. “That girl is too young for me. I’m thirty-one man. I can’t be messing around with little girls like that. She’s fine as hell, just too young.” Jackie, like the other two left and was out of sight.
The only one left now was Michael.
Bette wondered if he found something he didn’t like about her, and if all the men skipped out, just what would Officer Jackson do to her in retaliation for not appealing to them?
Clearly exasperated and agitated, Marlon, pulling at his hair went to speak, but was interrupted by Michael speaking, so softly he almost sounded like a woman himself,
“I…I want her Marlon. I want to spend some time with her. She appeals to me. I like her look--she looks innocent--”
To that, Officer Jackson doubled over laughing loudly.
“Innocent? HA! If she were innocent, she wouldn’t be in here! Hell, Mike!”
Burned, Bette went to start cursing Marlon out, when he suddenly spun on his heel and she noticed he had his hand placed over his gun.
She instantly kept all the dirty words to herself.
As Marlon came over to her and stood so closely she could smell the stale coffee on his breath, she saw Michael retreating in the far corner of the room.
Marlon’s thick and slightly damp lips bumped her earlobe as he warned in a deathly stern and low tone, his hand clutching the back of her neck to bring Bette closer to him.
“Look, girl, you better show my brother a good time; I’ve been bragging about your ass for the last two weeks. Whatever in the hell he wants you give it to him! I don’t care how crazy it is, how weird it is… you DO it! Because if he’s unhappy, I’m gonna lay into you so hard you won’t be able to walk…”
Bette stared down at the floor, halfway wanting to cry as he pinched her cheek with rough fingertips.
“And once he’s done…you stay naked, because I WILL come for you before the night is over, you understand?”
Bette bobbed her head, too nervous to even utter an answer.
Marlon’s lips touched hers ever so lightly, before he turned an announced to Michael,
“She’s all yours. Have fun! HA!”
A moment later, the door closed and the deadbolt engaged with a loud clang.
Bette was locked in; with a man she had never met before. Even if he was Marlon’s brother.
Willing herself to pick her head up, she got a better look at Michael Jackson.
It was quite clear he was close in age to Marlon and couldn’t have been much older than her. Twenty-five tops.
He was very attractive, with features that seemed to be finer than Marlon’s. He had a smaller nose, smaller lips, even his arched brows were pencil-thin. He hair was slightly longer and fuller, circling his head like a curl-laden halo.
His eyes were also darker than Marlon’s.
Standing there in his red jacket over a grey tee and blue jeans, with a large black belt clinging to his barely there hips, it was evident he was much slimmer than Marlon.
The poor girl only hoped he wasn’t as rough as Marlon. She didn’t know if she could handle that kind of abuse twice in the same night. She could barely handle Marlon as it was.
Michael had been staring down at his hands, as he fiddled with a silver ring in the shape of a horseshoe on it, but slowly, his eyes came up and he was now seeming to glare at Bette.
His gaze was so intense and sharp, it started to scare the woman. He hadn’t said anything in over ten minutes and was now staring at Bette like he wanted to murder her. She prayed to God he wouldn’t.
His look was so unnerving that finally after a full twenty minutes had passed, she brought herself to speak hoarsely,
“What…what do you want to do with me, Michael?”
Finally…finally, those slim, slightly glossed lips parted and Michael Jackson spoke up,
“Are you wearing anything under that jumpsuit? Bra? Panties? Anything?”
At the question, Bette looked down once again, feeling a bit shy at being asked such blatant things.
“No…I’m not wearing anything under my suit…” She admitted and was wringing her hands. “Marlon--um, Officer Jackson prefers it that way.”
Michael’s high polish penny loafers squeaked as he made his way to her and stood over Bette, the aroma of his musk based cologne tickling her nose.
His breath, smelling of spearmints was warm in her face as he took hold of her chin with smooth, long fingers and tilted her head back.
Dark eyes, with long lashes, flashed as they swept over her face.
His voice was a bit deeper as he told her matter-of-factly.
“You never should have been on the street trying to hook, Bette. You’re too young and too pretty to get into that kind of work. And with the way you’re acting, you don’t know what you’re doing. You are like I said--too innocent.”
Pulling free of Michael’s grasp and slightly enraged, Bette demanded,
“What was I supposed to do? Huh? I needed money or I would have been thrown out of my apartment. I’m probably out on my ass now anyway being in the jug for so damn long! I used to work at a daycare center. I got fired for having an affair with one of the kids’ fathers. It’s not like he was married--his wife had been dead for two years! But I got fired just the same because I wasn’t supposed to fraternize with the customers anyway! I was so stupid!”
Feeling a bit too exposed at having let this bit of too personal information loose, Bette dropped her head again, unable to bear looking at Michael any longer.
He was a stranger to her. He didn’t need to know things like that about her. Nobody did.
What Michael Jackson said next stunned Bette so rudely, she nearly fainted.
Stroking his pointed chin, Michael commented lowly,
“You were a daycare worker? I know some people in that sort of business…if you promise me you won’t try to hook once you get out of this God-forsaken place, then I promise to help you find another job. A respectable job.”
Bette’s head came up and her jaw dropped in disbelief. Michael was going to help her find a job? Who the hell would hire her to work around children, after she had been busted for such an adult offense?
Was he lying? Was he a lying sack of sh*t like his big lipped brother? He had to be lying!
She studied Michael’s taut and handsome face; there was a peacefulness to it that told her not to discredit him. Not just yet.
Squinting at him she inquired,
“Why…why would you want to help me? You don’t even know me. How can you be so generous?”
Biting on his bottom lip in a bashful manner, Michael shrugged, and was shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“It’s just what I like to do, Bette.” Was all he said of the matter.
Slipping his hands from his pockets, he placed them onto Bette’s shoulders, squeezing them lightly.
Once again, those expressive, almost haunting dark eyes were taking her in.
Michael’s voice dropped several octaves when he opened his mouth again, to mention a different topic entirely,
“Now that that’s taken care of…I want what I’ve come for: To be shown a good time like my brother told me.”
Bette knew this was coming. She knew that man wasn’t just going to walk in there and not do anything. Everyone had strings attached to them, and this clean cut appearing man was, of course, no different.
He and Marlon had the same blood flowing through them.
Searching Michael’s face, she went to tell him that yes, he could have her.
The words never got out.
Michael jerked her against his thin frame, and was kissing her with what seemed like all the force he could muster in his body. Mashing away at her mouth, puckering and sucking wildly, every so often, his small, tongue, wetly moving around at will.
At the same time, those almost inhumanly large hands had found their way around Bette and were pressing down on her backside, causing her nether regions to collide with Michael’s.
Copying the man, she had her hands shoved into the back pockets of his jeans, getting a feel for his small, somewhat flat, and firm booty.
He was a much better kisser than Marlon.
After a few minutes of literally sucking on her face, Michael drew back, and grabbing Bette’s hand, held it over his crotch.
Allowed her to feel the stiffness beginning to evolve there, between his thighs.
Eyes glowing with the onset of true horniness, Michael confessed,
“I’m…I’m a jingle writer. I do the commercials you hear playing on the radio…in order to keep my mind clear and sharp, I usually abstain from sex. I…I haven’t been laid since 1979...”
Bette’s eyes widened. Had this man really, really not had …relations…in three years! If he had, who knew what kind of animal he was once his clothes came off? Bette was intrigued, and frightened at the same time. She still had several bruises from Marlon to show for his wildness.
Hugging Bette tighter, Michael whispered with a quiet urgency and his eyes swelled in his head,
“It’s long over do. I need to be f*cked and I need it bad as all hell. If I don’t get some ‘poon-tang’ right now, I’m gonna lose my damn mind!”
(Author’s note: Horny Michael Jackson always makes me giggle like a schoolgirl. I love it. It just tickles me!)
Sensing that the inevitable was about to happen, Bette pulled back from Michael and started to undo the zipper on the front of her jumpsuit.
“No!--” Michael exclaimed and was rudely slapping her hands away, grabbing onto the zipper for himself, and yanking it all the way down in one swift movement.
In another moment, the jumpsuit was on the floor and Bette’s soft, curvaceous body was uncovered and bare for Michael to see.
“Oh damn…you’re gorgeous, girl! Sh*t!” He cooed as he bit down on one of his long fingers, eyes going first to her large breasts then down to that barely perceptible slit at the base of her triangle.
Bette was embraced again and had her mouth tongued several moments before, breathless, Michael pointed at her cot and instructed tersely,
“Get in the bed! Go get in the bed. I’m about to pass out. Get in the bed!”
When Bette turned her back to him, he actually gave her a strict shove, sending her flying, he was in such a hurry.
As she regained her balance and obediently got into the bed, she saw that Michael was now clutching at his groin, his middle finger absently swishing back and forth against the denim as he focused on her.
His head tilted back and when he jerked it back up, his lips were puckered in his arousal, a trait she had seen in Marlon many times over.
Somehow a request found its way out those flexing lips.
“Touch yourself for me, Bette. I want you to touch yourself. I like to see a woman do that…makes me hot like fire….”
Cupping her breasts and bouncing them, looking up through her lashes to tease Michael, Bette wondered if Michael realized how similar he and Marlon were. Marlon also liked to see her touch herself.
It was quite clear that Michael was becoming more and more aroused with each passing second. His cheeks were growing scarlet, he was sucking harder on his bottom lip and his eyes were going all half-lidded as he continued watching her.
Pressing one of her breasts up to her mouth, Bette kissed the top of it, drawing something of a growl out of Michael.
“Yes, Baby…that’s it. Now play with yourself….touch…touch that little snatch for me…” He was cooing, shaking his head against the feeling in him.
This was not a foreign request and as Bette slipped her hand between her legs, rubbing at the little flap of skin that was her cl*toris, she couldn’t help moaning herself. She was sensitive and any sort of touch down there would result in her making noise.
Around her, faintly she could hear other wh*res engaging in sex, most likely with some of Michael’s brothers and the sound only intensified the lusty feeling starting to rise within her.
“Judas Priest…it’s so…cute and pink…damn it…” Michael was mumbling as his clothes began flying off, falling anywhere on the floor. “I love pinkness!”
As Michael’s clothing came off, Bette caught sight of his svelte, slender and well-toned body. He was much slimmer than Marlon, perhaps even skinny in some contexts, but beautiful.
His body was soft and sleek, the perfect shade of brown.
Michael stripped down to his underwear, if they could have been called that.
Michael’s prominent bulge was scarcely contained by a pair of sheer, red mesh, bikini style underwear.
Bette could make out the sparse hair on his crotch above the mass that was curled in the underwear.
It was obscured from view as Michael, walking over to her was taking his hand and openly slapping at himself, encouraging more growth. He was bigger than Marlon. He definitely looked it. Marlon wasn’t a small guy, but Michael seemed larger.
The sight of him like that was starting to light a fire in Bette.
Yes, she wanted this man. She wanted him.
Leaning over Bette, Michael grabbed her wrist and took her hand from her p*ssy, staring at it a moment, before wedging just behind her on the tiny cot.
Warm hand on her supple thigh, Michael pressed her legs together, and hotly told her to tuck her knees up to her chest.
Slowly, Bette did as she was told, vainly hoping Michael wouldn’t sodomize her…she didn’t like it…
Peeking over her shoulder, she caught sight of Michael sucking on his middle finger.
Seconds later, it was inserted into her, just barely getting past her tight flesh.
“Oh! Michael…” She gasped as he began rocking it back and forth inside her.
“Yes…a nice hot little snatch…that’s what I like. I want you to get a little wet…not come, just a tiny bit wet….” Michael told her between kisses to her earlobe and cheek. He began twisting his finger, drawing more from Bette.
She was hugging her knees tightly, and whimpering into them.
“You like that? You like that? Me fingering that sweet, juicy little thing?” Michael was taunting as he snuggled closer to her, taking his finger from her long enough to suck on it.
“Taste so good…god damn….” He moaned as he pushed the finger back into her.
“Yeah…yeah…go Michael. Go Baby…Sh*t!” Bette leaned her head back as Michael played with her a while more before withdrawing his hand, now with the amount of moisture he craved.
Behind Bette, Michael began wiggling wildly, and she wondered if he was having an orgasm already, before they had really done anything.
“You’re exactly what I need, Bette….EXACTLY.” Michael confided and as his arm came out from behind her, she saw what all the wiggling had been about.
Clutched in Michael’s hand was his barely there drawers.
He dangled them before her face, the scent of his cologne heavy on them before letting them drop to the floor.
His mouth was against her ear again.
“I don’t want you to see my d*ck just yet….not yet. I just want you to feel it. You’re gonna feel it, girl. Sh*t yeah….”
Nestling closer to Bette to position himself properly, and smacking on her neck he added cautiously,
“Don’t scream too loudly…”
Bette saw nothing but white and felt a searing pain as with one forceful, nearly bone-crunching thrust, Michael was rushing in, spreading her in all directions and going so far it seemed impossible for a man to be that huge.
“Oh my God! Oh Lord! Oh no! No! Not…not like that!” Bette cried out and started to try to climb out the bed to get away.
Almost on cue, one of Michael’s arms wrapped around her neck while the other laced around her waist, holding her in place.
Rotating his hips, Michael informed her coldly,
“No, Bette…until this big c*ck of mine skeets white and goes limp, you belong to me. You understand? I paid five hundred dollars for you, and I intend to get it out of you. You’re mine!”
“No! No! No! Oh! Oh! My God! Oh! Sh*t!”
Bette was clawing at Michael’s thin arm as he began ramming her so hard, she swore she could feel the tip of that ginormous d*ck somewhere in her chest.
He really was f*cking like he hadn’t had a woman in three years. He was a complete animal.
“You want this! You want this! You like it! Judas Priest…You like this. You like how I f*ck you! Yes you f*cking do!”
Michael was snarling as he was drilling it to Bette, seeming to throw all his weight behind every thrust.
“I’m beating this little sweet p*ssy up! This p*ssy is mine! It’s my p*ssy! Say my name! SAY MY NAME! WHAT’S MY NAME?” He demanded shrilly and was tilting Bette’s head back to watch her.
“Michael! Michael! MICHAEL! Mike! Mike! Please! Stop! Mike! OH! Aw! Aw! Hell!” Bette was still scratching at his arm very close to losing herself all over him.
“That’s right. That’s Michael Jackson’s p*ssy right there!”
Came the triumphant declaration and Bette screamed as he ripped himself from her, and flipped her over on her stomach.
The girl was winded as Michael sat directly on her back.
“Ow! Ow! Ow! Don’t! OW!” She shouted into her pillow as Michael began harshly slapping at her ass.
“Look at that thing jiggle. You got a prime ass, Bette!” Michael commented as he continued spanking her, the loud claps he produced echoing around the room.
(Her butt would be bruised all over for the next three days following this treatment.)
“Ow! Michael! Michael!” Bette whimpered as Michael was off her, and flipping her over onto her back.
“Oh Lord…oh no…” She whispered when she laid eyes on Michael’s naked pubic area for the first time.
He was as large as he had felt. Between his hard thighs, a d*ck that seemed almost too large for his body stood up solidly, it’s foreskin, flashing and showing the engorged, burgundy tip as Michael was crawling towards Bette, rubbing on it to keep it rigid.
That had been inside her? She had managed to take that and still be in one piece? How was that possible?
Mashing his thumb, middle finger and index finger together, Michael caused all kinds of screams to leave Bette as he pinched on her cl*t, tweaking that little piece of flesh to the point nearly pulling it from her body.
And that damn man still wasn’t done.
“Michael…please…” Bette begged, near exhaustion as Michael was climbing onto her and pushing her legs up so that they rested on his wet and glistening shoulders.
“Please my f*cking ass. That’s the only please I care about.”
Michael grunted and once again, he was brutally introducing himself to Bette.
“AAAHHHH! MICHAEL! AAAHHH! OH MY GOD!” She shrieked as he began tearing her up again. Before she could even tell Michael, she was starting to orgasm.
“AH! AH! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! DAMN YOU! I HATE YOU!”
She screamed, falling back against her little pillow, putting her hands up into Michael’s curls pulling on them.
“The hell you do!” Michael retorted and was squeezing on her face as he continued pumping at her. “You know you love me. You know you love what the hell I’m doing. Shut the f*ck up! You love this! Getting some good d*ck! Marlon wasn‘t from sh*t! I‘m doing it like it‘s supposed to be done! ”
Throwing his head back, Michael was holding onto Bette’s slim thighs, and was throwing himself as hard he possibly could into the poor girl.
“Holy sh*t! Holy sh*t…this is some good p*ssy. Some good ass p*ssy!” Michael exclaimed before yanking himself from Bette.
“No! NO! NO! Hell! I’m about to…I’m about to bust a nut….bust them both! AH!” He screamed as he sat on his knees, and pulling Bette, got her into a seated position.
“Pull me! Pull it! Get me off! Make me nut, girl! Make me come!” He demanded, his voice getting higher and higher.
Wrapping her hands around that mass that was thick around as a soda can, Bette, sore, breathless and still oozing herself, was jerking at Michael Jackson!
“Yes! Yes! Yank it! Yank it! HARDER! Harder!” Michael was ordering as he was slapping at his reddened sack, making is sway and jiggle crazily.
“Aw, I’m so close. Aw, I’m so f*cking close….I’m so…so…so…”
Suddenly, Michael’s mouth fell open and his eyes bugged.
His entire body began to rattle.
“OH! OH! WOOOOO! ! EEEEEEEEE! WOOOO! AH! AH! AH! EEEEEE! WOOO! WOO!” The other worldly high pitched scream was exiting his mouth.
“Motherf*ck--EEEEE! WOOO! EEEEEE!”
(Author’s note: It took me an entire ten minutes to come up with the way I wanted Michael to scream as he hit his peak.)
Popping his head, Michael continued to scream as droplets of white lust began to flow from him, and down over Bette’s hands as she continued rubbing him, bringing him home, and getting him off, just how he wanted.
Struggling for wind, Michael reached and tugged on Bette’s curls,
“Lick it! Lick the mess off. Lick it! You caused it to be like that! F*cking with you--lick my d*ck!”Swallow it--Marlon said you swallowed! I like swallowing chicks too!”
Somehow, Bette found herself down on Michael’s crotch, swabbing that sticky saltiness with her tongue as it was going limp in her hands.
Or so she thought.
“Ah!” She screamed as, a second time, Michael ejaculated, directly into her face. “God damn it!”
Michael slumped a moment, holding himself as he and Bette both tried to breathe.
“Ha! Ha!” Michael laughed after a while as he rubbed at her face with the palm of his hand. “You were wonderful Bette. A five-star f*ck all the way. Best piece of ass I’ve had in ages.”
Bette winced as he patted her sore backside again.
“Thank you Honey….thank you….I needed that.”
As Michael climbed the bed and started gathering up his clothes to dress, Bette fell back against the covers, her entire body throbbing.
She had just been through hell and back with Michael Jackson, but watching as he was slipping his nothing drawers back on, she was glad she’d had him. She did like him, even if he was a monster come alive in the sheets.
About fifteen minutes later, Michael stood fully dressed, his jacket held over his shoulder as he was running a small comb through his tresses to make himself look normal again.
It was nearly two in the morning. Bette been with Michael for five hours.
Bette, still trying to calm herself, sat up when she heard the lock on the door disengaging.
Officer Jackson came strolling in, twirling his Billy club.
(His real club, not his d*ck)
“Hey Mike, you look happy.” He pointed out with a grin as he reached and shook his brother’s hand.
“Yeah, I’m happy, that girl was something else. Terrific!” Michael chortled, turning and giving Bette a gentle kiss.
“Thank you…” His eyes glowed as he looked at her one last time.
There seemed to be some affection in them…just below the surface.
“You’re welcome, Michael…” Bette was actually sorry to see him go.
With that Michael gave Marlon a hug before literally skipping out of the room.
With a slam, Officer Jackson closed the cell door and was grinning at Bette. She knew what the look meant. Damn it she was so tired. Michael had worn her out. Officer Jackson didn’t care--she knew what that look meant!
“My turn now…” He informed her, throwing the club to the floor and staring to unbutton his shirt. “Been waiting all damn night. I’m about to ruin your ass…Michael was child‘s play, I‘m about to ruin your ass…”

Two weeks later, Bette Hiller had finally been released from jail, her thirty day sentence served. As she stood in the strong box room where all of her belongings had been stored during her stay, retrieving her clothes and few other trinkets, a hand patted her shoulder.
Turning, Bette jumped slightly,
Standing there, gazing at her was Officer Jackson. The poor girl was so sore, on her last night, he’d spent the entire night in her cell, all over her. A part of her was glad to probably never see him again. He was just too rough for his own good.
“Michael told me to give you this…” He informed her and handed her long red envelope.
Curious as to what Michael could have wanted, since she hadn’t heard from him since their encounter, Bette timidly took the letter and opened it. Inside was a letter and a smaller white envelope.
Taking out the letter, Better started to read Michael’s fine handwriting,

“Dear Bette,

If you’re reading this letter, then it means that the time you were serving has ended and you are a free woman again, your debt to society paid in full. I wonder if you remember the agreement we made a few weeks ago, when I asked you not to return to hooking --that I’d fix you up with a respectable job. Well, I am a man of my word. This coming Monday, I want you to go downtown to the Happy Hills Daycare center. My sister Latoya owns it and has a place open and waiting for you.
Just ask for Latoya Jackson.
Also, tonight, I want to celebrate your good fortune. I want you to meet me at the Gilded Lily restaurant for dinner. In the little white envelope is five hundred dollars for you to buy a new outfit. You need a new outfit to start your new life. And I hope you’ll let me be a part of your life.

XOXO Michael XOXO

PS--You DO know that Marlon is a married man, right? And every time he laid hands on you, he was cheating on his wife of five years. --MJ "

“So, what’d he say?” Marlon, still looming over Bette snickered.
He reeled backwards when she punched him square in the mouth.
“He said to tell your good adulterer ass to GO TO HELL and sit your hot ass on a stack of coals!” Bette shouted at him as he dropped to his knees, lips spurting blood.
Head held higher than it had been for a long time, Bette made her way out of the jail and onto her new, better life.
Couldn’t spell “better” without “Bette”.