If It Turns You on
Needy Michael was your favorite Michael. With tiny, feral moans spilling from that pretty mouth of his, red-hot and swollen from taking your kisses a little too eagerly, he'd quiet himself against the column of your throat, nipping and sucking until you finally arched towards him. The slight shift, the insubstantial grinding of your slick, lace clad heat against his painfully tight boxers would be enough to turn his moans into whines; filthy, raw, restless pleas of fuck me and faster.
Shaking fingers would find refuge on your ass, kneading you through the thin material, his hips stuttering frantically in pursuit of the pleasurable friction that was promised to him. In lieu of your neck, he'd move on to your breasts, smothering both with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses and love bites. He always became transfixed on your nipples, always wanted to spend extra time lazily swirling his tongue around them, always wanted them to be hardened to his your satisfaction.
"Is that the best you can do?" You would dig one set of nails into his chest and use the other hand to tug sharply on the dyed ends of hair at the base of his skull. Being the masochist he was, Michael's vulnerable green eyes would cloud with lust and he'd rut his hips again, only to be met with the empty space separating your bodies. You would angle yourself so every thrust missed it's mark as a continuous reminder of who was in control. When your not-so-little rock star finally came to his senses, you'd lower yourself back down onto his lap and smirk as he shivered in anticipation.
"We're going at my pace." You'd remind him sternly, latching on to the sensitive flesh right below his ear. Then you'd roll your hips tortuously slow and let Michael squeeze your ass, the blonde completely blissed out by the sliver of affection you were showing. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it) it would only go on like this for less than five minutes before Michael suddenly spoke out of term, sounding sinfully innocent when he moaned: "I'll misbehave if it turns you on."
"Look at my baby," Michael's breath would visibly hitch as your hips slowly gained momentum. "Always so eager to please," You'd hum appreciatively, pressing idle kisses to his quivering lips, leaving cherry red lipstick stains in your wake. Inside his Calvin Kleins, he'd still be hard and throbbing and if you slid them down even a quarter of the way, the tip would would emerge, shameful, glistening with precum. He wouldn't be able to handle your grinding for much longer. It was embarrassing; sometimes he felt like he had no sense of self control. The hand resting on his milky white chest would head south to the faded welts on his abdomen and Michael would cringe, reminiscing on the last time he was a naughty boy.
"I don't like hurting you," You'd say softly, running your fingertips along his Adam's apple. You didn't care how much he enjoyed the pain. Seeing bruises blossom on your lover's delicate skin was certainly not your cup of tea. You wanted Michael to come for you just the way you were so he'd think of the mess he made in his boxers and get hard for you again later, maybe when he was recording a new track or hanging out with the boys.
"Fuck, j-just let me taste you? I want to make you feel good." He'd wet his lips, staring hungrily at the wet patch in your panties. It was like this when the roles were reversed too, when he was pounding you into mattress with your ankles over his shoulders. Michael never dared to orgasm before you did. (Not to mention that in this scenario, he wanted to see how long he could teeter on the edge of euphoria before he exploded in his boxers.) While you wanted to do all the work this time, you also didn't want to disregard Michael's request so you'd slip two fingers into your cunt, coat them in your arousal, then place your fingers in his waiting mouth. He'd moan just from tasting you. When he finished sucking on your fingers, you'd pull his boxers down.
Michael would hiss through clenched teeth as his aching erection slapped against stomach, his eyes screwing shut because he knew that if he saw you wrapping your dainty hand around him, he'd come on the spot. Michael would give you time to find your rhythm, which would be eerily similar to the way he did it himself, except your hands were so incredibly soft and fuck, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from bucking his hips. It'd only take a few firm strokes to make him fall apart. Michael was noisy when he came. His breath would go ragged, he'd groan your name and a string of curses that could make a sailor blush would fly from his pink, puffy lips. Thick spurts of cum would land on taunt abs. You'd be a terrible girlfriend if you didn't lap it up for him.
There would only be one thing on his mind when he came down from his high and that was pleasuring you. "Your turn," He'd singsong, sounding completely wrecked by then. His bright green eyes would say otherwise, but it wasn't like you were paying them any mind at this point. You'd have him nestled between your thighs within seconds, holding the back of his head to your pussy as he delved his tongue between your folds. You end would be just as imminent as Michael's; you both held off for so long. The tip of his tongue lapping at your sensitive clit would do you in. Michael would continue to tongue fuck you into oblivion, hands creeping up stomach to toy with your breasts. Your moans were less boisterous, but Michael loved to hear them all the same. Especially when you manage to form a single barely audible sentences.
(Like "Babe, you always turn me on.")
