I found a truly great site for celebrity fan fiction the other day. I spent several hours laughing and reading away at erotic yet humorous parodies and fantasies of top celebrities engaged in sexual encounters. Not all of them are spectacularly written--most of them are pretty poor--but they provided me with enough inspiration nevertheless.
Summary: Michael Jackson lets Grace Rwaramba know how much he needs his nanny.
Rating: R for sexual content
Rating: R for sexual content
Grace Rwaramba trekked across the grounds of Neverland to the guest cottages. It was nearly evening and Michael Jackson had phoned her, saying it was urgent. She knew it wasn't--he most likely wanted to talk--but hurried over anyway.
She approached the door and rapped lightly with her knuckles. Michael called to her weakly from inside and she went in.
Michael was sitting on the bed, still wearing his suit from that afternoon. It had been a particularly grueling day of testimony in the courtroom: the so-called 'Neverland 5' was slated to fill the rest of the week. Ralph Chacon was on the stand that day, having related to the room of media spectators a disgusting and false story of Michael molesting a then-13-year-old Jordie Chandler in plainview.
"Are you all right, Michael?" Grace asked tenderly, her voice still laced with a velvety African accent despite her years in the States. She sat down next to him; he looked as though he'd been crying. "What did you want me to see you about?"
He looked at her and smiled very slightly. He didn't look well but Grace wasn't going to tell him that. "I'm fine," he told her, trying to smile.
But Grace knew better. She knew he was hurting. "Michael, what is on your mind?" she asked him. She took his hand in hers and rubbed it soothingly.
He was silent. He then spoke, his voice clogged with tears, "How could he say those horrible things about me?" he said. "Now the press is going to report that trash all over the world, as if I actually did something like that. I would--never--hurt a child!" His voice broke and he started to sob.
It hurt her to see him crying.
"You know it isn't true--"
"Michael, of course I know it isn't true! That child used to run around here like all of the children who came to Neverland! He loved it here!" she told him emphatically. Having worked at MJJ Productions since 1991, she had been through Neverland numerous times, enough to see many children enjoying themselves. "You don't have to convince me of anything..."
"I know..." he replied. "Having Mother and especially Joseph hear those things..."
"Michael--"
"Well I know Mother doesn't believe a word of it, but Joseph--he probably wonders if I did any of it..."
"No, Michael; he knows better than that," Grace told him.
"He probably wonders since 'little Michael was always so sensitive' that I could be gay," he continued anyway, "And wouldn't a man who molests boys be gay?"
"I would think so," she answered. "And a man who molests girls would be heterosexual..."
"Exactly! I'm not a homo..."
There was silence and Michael wiped the tears from his eyes and cheeks. Grace was staring at him thoughtfully when he looked back over at her. He smiled at her. "What are you thinking about?" He rubbed her arm and squeezed her shoulder gently.
"Why don't you let me testify? You know, Mr. Mesereau thinks it would be a good idea," she suggested.
Michael groaned. "No! Absolutely not! He also said it wasn't necessary..." he told her.
"Why? I think it would be smart. Those media people should know you aren't interested in children that way. He can just ask me questions about our relationship, nothing too detailed, Michael--"
"Jermaine married Hazel Gordy when we were in the Jackson 5 and a lot of our fans--the girls--didn't want anything to do with him! They were heartbroken because they couldn't imagine themselves with him anymore!" Michael told her. "It isn't a good idea..."
Grace rolled her eyes. "Are they so narrow-minded that they care more about being able to imagine themselves with you then your life and reputation being saved?" she demanded.
"Don't be angry," he said, rubbing her shoulder again.
"Why shouldn't I be angry, Michael? It sounds completely ridiculous!" She pulled away from him and was standing on her feet, her arms crossed over her chest. She paced.
"Grace, come and sit back down," he beckoned, patting the bed beside him.
She retook her seat. "Michael, I really think you should think this through--"
"I don't want the press to tear you apart. I don't want them to hurt you," he told her, touching her cheek. "They can say whatever they want about me but I don't want them attacking you just because you're with me. They did that to Lisa Marie and Debbie. I care about you more than anything and I know how it feels--"
"Michael, they've already said things about me in the media! I don't care!" Grace told him.
"What about that DA or the others? What if they ask you things about our intimate life? What are you going to say?"
"I'll tell them the truth: we make love like any other couple--"
"But you can't say that in front of Mother," he cringed, "She thinks you're a good Jehovah's Witness girl..."
"Michael, your mother is not a stupid woman. She probably already knows," she said.
He groaned again and covered his eyes with his hand. "I don't want to think about that!"
"So what? You know I don't mind us being a secret but this is your life, Michael! If the world has to hear about what we do in bed than so be it! I don't want you to go to prison!" Grace protested.
"I don't want them to hurt you," Michael told her forcefully. "My attorney said it wasn't necessary for you to take the stand. Grace, I don't want you there...please..."
She put her face in her hands. "You are so selfish!" She got up from the bed again and went to the door. Before she could get across the threshold, Michael grabbed her, having got off the bed, and pulled her into his arms.
Grace began to cry. "I'm afraid," she revealed. She had tried to be strong for him but the weight of the trial and the criticism was getting to her. She could barely turn on the television before becoming sick to her stomach; the media was merciless.
"It's like they've completely forgot what kind of person you were," she told him. "I can't stand it, Michael..."
He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. He kissed her tenderly and she closed her eyes. "Tom told me I have a good woman in you, my nanny," he told her, smiling. "I agree with him..."
She returned his smile bashfully, her eyes lowered. "You are crazy..."
Michael then kissed her more passionately, squeezing her. She went limp in his loving embrace and he led her back over to the bed.
They kissed each other while Michael unbuttoned her blouse and peeled it from her shoulders. He unhooked her bra and she sat there topless before him. She leaned back and allowed him to unbutton her trousers; his hand went into her lacy panties and he pleasured her with his fingertips as his lips tenderly kissed her breasts.
Grace closed her eyes and moaned, "Oh, Michael; that feels wonderful..."
He moved his fingers from her panties and put them into his mouth. He was terribly aroused and he quickly removed his jacket and vest, nearly tearing the buttons. He wanted to ravage her. All the rage he had felt sitting in court and watching Chacon he was going to take out on her.
Every inch of her.
Michael watched as Grace pulled back the bedspread and tossed the decorative pillows to the floor. She was nude and it was making him insane; he moved behind her and put his hands on her hips, his clothed erection pressed against her buttocks. She smelled good, having worn the perfume he'd bought her a few weeks ago to court.
She laughed that sweet laugh he loved. "Michael, can't you wait?"
He was kissing her shoulders and his large hands were cupped around her breasts, squeezing them. "Why can't we do it right here?" he asked her playfully.
She peeled away his hands and crawled over to the far side of the bed, settling beneath the covers. She gave him a seductive, beckoning look. She, too, wanted to be ravaged. They hadn't had sex in over a month due to the stress of his trial and she didn't think she could go another day without having him.
Michael removed the rest of his clothes and joined her in bed, not hesitating to situate himself between her thighs. Their lips touched again and he kissed her more hungrily than before, his fingers lacing with hers as he pinned her hands above her head.
His lips traced her neck and collarbone with soft, loving kisses. Grace moaned in acceptance, her eyes closed, her back arching in pleasure. He knew exactly where to kiss on her neck to make her insane with passion; she trembled slightly beneath him.
Michael continued kissing her, his mouth moving over her firm yet supple breasts and suckling gently her pert nipples.
"Oh, Michael..." she exhaled. The tenderness of his movements ignited within her a further and stronger need to be devoured by him. She knew he was teasing her; he always knew what to do.
Michael released her hands and ran his pale fingers down the side of her body, tickling her. She giggled at his touch, her body flinching; she pulled him close and gave him a longing, begging kiss. "Stop teasing me!" she whispered breathily.
Michael laughed and caressed her face. "Tell me you love me first," he told her, taking her hand between his and kissing it. His face was only a few inches from hers and his smoldering eyes never looked away from hers.
Grace was slightly bashful; she knew Michael knew how guarded she could be with her feelings. Such a proposition made her feel exposed and out of control.
"Tell me how much you need me," he continued, his lips now kissing the inside of her wrist, the soft junction of her inner elbow.
"You know I love you, Michael," Grace's voice was slightly pleading. "You know how much I need you..." She was throbbing between her thighs with the dull, excruciating ache of intense desire. She wanted to be soothed.
He smiled mischievously, biting his lower lip. "I believe you," he said.
They kissed each other a little longer, eyes closed, Grace's seductive body against his, before he lied her back against the pillows and moved between her smooth, parted thighs. He eased himslf in gently and Grace whispered for him to take her, to take everything she could give.
Her pleas to be devoured were condensed to a primal utterance: "Fuck me."
Michael smiled and held her wrists over her head. His lithe body glided over hers with every deep stroke, his able pelvis producing spasms of pleasure within his nanny. "Michael..." was all she could moan in ecstasy.
Suddenly the telephone near the adjacent nightstand began to ring. Grace, still dissolving in fits of building ecstasy, told Michael to ignore it. He tried but the ringing distracted him; he grabbed the telephone's receiver and said breathily, "Hello?"
It was Sister Rose, the children's tutor. She told him Prince and Paris wanted him to join them for dinner and--as they spoke--the two were making their way to his cottage with Omer Bhatti in tow.
He thanked her for the alert and hung up. He sighed and kissed Grace on the lips.
"What is the matter now, Michael?" she asked him.
"Paris and Prince are heading over right now with Omer; we have to stop..."
Grace almost cried in frustration. She wondered when she would ever have a moment alone with him; she needed him.
Michael cradled her head in the crook of his right arm and gripped her breast in his free hand. His lips locked with hers and he began moving rapidly, his hips flitting and his buttocks clenching with every powerful thrust.
Grace tore her lips from his and screamed out, her eyes squeezed shut, her moist lips parted in reverence. He moved his free hand beneath his body and pleasured her additionally with feverish fingertips, his mouth moving to her breast.
"Oh, Michael...harder..." she begged, writhing in euphoria.
His children and Omer were halfway to the cottage. Michael felt as if he was thrashing against his nanny like a fish on dry land as they both tried to reach an orgasmic synthesis; he worked her harder than ever, enjoy every inch of her smooth body, of her soft thighs clinging around his hips...
Paris and Prince were now racing Omer to get to the cottage. The teenager was winning and the children struggled to keep pace. "Hurry up, Doo Doo Heads!" Omer teased...
Michael was now thrusting at a fever pitch. Both of their foreheads were glistening with a film of light sweat; Michael's wig was slightly askew from Grace's gentle tugs. She continued to beg for harder treatment as Michael was on the brink of a climactic collapse, his testicles issuing violent spasms.
"I love you, Michael," his nanny purred. "Oh...I love you..."
Omer was the first to cottage and rapped on the door. "Doo Doo, it's us!" he called. He turned and Paris and Prince were in a scuffling match trying to beat each other for second place; Omer laughed at them.
He waited for an answer and rapped again. He then jiggled the handle and the door was unlocked. He twisted the doorknob and opened it. His heart skipped a beat and his mouth felt dry.
Omer saw both of them atop the bed covers, clothes in piles about the room, and Michael's pale form was clinched within Grace's darkness. Michael was pounding away while his head was lowered to his nanny's breasts.
Suddenly Grace's voice echoed throughout the room in a high-pitched roar of ecstasy as her body melted into a puddle of relieved exhaustion. Michael's body continued to go until he, too, fell victim to a volcanic explosion of bliss, slowed, and collapsed in her arms, completely breathless and repeating her name in mumbled puffs. They began to kiss again, their bodies clinging together with orgasmic stickiness...
Omer staggered and swayed when he felt Paris and Prince collide into him, the children having used his body as a finish line. He quickly closed the door before they could see anything.
"Let's go back!" he suggested quickly, his eyes still wide in a mixture of shock and comical titilation.
"Why? I thought Daddy was coming--"
Omer gave Prince a little shove and started back to the house. "I bet I'll win again! You two are slow!" He was attempting to lure them into another race as a distraction.
It worked, for the children forgot about the cottage and bolted after Omer. They figured their father would join them in the main house...eventually.
She approached the door and rapped lightly with her knuckles. Michael called to her weakly from inside and she went in.
Michael was sitting on the bed, still wearing his suit from that afternoon. It had been a particularly grueling day of testimony in the courtroom: the so-called 'Neverland 5' was slated to fill the rest of the week. Ralph Chacon was on the stand that day, having related to the room of media spectators a disgusting and false story of Michael molesting a then-13-year-old Jordie Chandler in plainview.
"Are you all right, Michael?" Grace asked tenderly, her voice still laced with a velvety African accent despite her years in the States. She sat down next to him; he looked as though he'd been crying. "What did you want me to see you about?"
He looked at her and smiled very slightly. He didn't look well but Grace wasn't going to tell him that. "I'm fine," he told her, trying to smile.
But Grace knew better. She knew he was hurting. "Michael, what is on your mind?" she asked him. She took his hand in hers and rubbed it soothingly.
He was silent. He then spoke, his voice clogged with tears, "How could he say those horrible things about me?" he said. "Now the press is going to report that trash all over the world, as if I actually did something like that. I would--never--hurt a child!" His voice broke and he started to sob.
It hurt her to see him crying.
"You know it isn't true--"
"Michael, of course I know it isn't true! That child used to run around here like all of the children who came to Neverland! He loved it here!" she told him emphatically. Having worked at MJJ Productions since 1991, she had been through Neverland numerous times, enough to see many children enjoying themselves. "You don't have to convince me of anything..."
"I know..." he replied. "Having Mother and especially Joseph hear those things..."
"Michael--"
"Well I know Mother doesn't believe a word of it, but Joseph--he probably wonders if I did any of it..."
"No, Michael; he knows better than that," Grace told him.
"He probably wonders since 'little Michael was always so sensitive' that I could be gay," he continued anyway, "And wouldn't a man who molests boys be gay?"
"I would think so," she answered. "And a man who molests girls would be heterosexual..."
"Exactly! I'm not a homo..."
There was silence and Michael wiped the tears from his eyes and cheeks. Grace was staring at him thoughtfully when he looked back over at her. He smiled at her. "What are you thinking about?" He rubbed her arm and squeezed her shoulder gently.
"Why don't you let me testify? You know, Mr. Mesereau thinks it would be a good idea," she suggested.
Michael groaned. "No! Absolutely not! He also said it wasn't necessary..." he told her.
"Why? I think it would be smart. Those media people should know you aren't interested in children that way. He can just ask me questions about our relationship, nothing too detailed, Michael--"
"Jermaine married Hazel Gordy when we were in the Jackson 5 and a lot of our fans--the girls--didn't want anything to do with him! They were heartbroken because they couldn't imagine themselves with him anymore!" Michael told her. "It isn't a good idea..."
Grace rolled her eyes. "Are they so narrow-minded that they care more about being able to imagine themselves with you then your life and reputation being saved?" she demanded.
"Don't be angry," he said, rubbing her shoulder again.
"Why shouldn't I be angry, Michael? It sounds completely ridiculous!" She pulled away from him and was standing on her feet, her arms crossed over her chest. She paced.
"Grace, come and sit back down," he beckoned, patting the bed beside him.
She retook her seat. "Michael, I really think you should think this through--"
"I don't want the press to tear you apart. I don't want them to hurt you," he told her, touching her cheek. "They can say whatever they want about me but I don't want them attacking you just because you're with me. They did that to Lisa Marie and Debbie. I care about you more than anything and I know how it feels--"
"Michael, they've already said things about me in the media! I don't care!" Grace told him.
"What about that DA or the others? What if they ask you things about our intimate life? What are you going to say?"
"I'll tell them the truth: we make love like any other couple--"
"But you can't say that in front of Mother," he cringed, "She thinks you're a good Jehovah's Witness girl..."
"Michael, your mother is not a stupid woman. She probably already knows," she said.
He groaned again and covered his eyes with his hand. "I don't want to think about that!"
"So what? You know I don't mind us being a secret but this is your life, Michael! If the world has to hear about what we do in bed than so be it! I don't want you to go to prison!" Grace protested.
"I don't want them to hurt you," Michael told her forcefully. "My attorney said it wasn't necessary for you to take the stand. Grace, I don't want you there...please..."
She put her face in her hands. "You are so selfish!" She got up from the bed again and went to the door. Before she could get across the threshold, Michael grabbed her, having got off the bed, and pulled her into his arms.
Grace began to cry. "I'm afraid," she revealed. She had tried to be strong for him but the weight of the trial and the criticism was getting to her. She could barely turn on the television before becoming sick to her stomach; the media was merciless.
"It's like they've completely forgot what kind of person you were," she told him. "I can't stand it, Michael..."
He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. He kissed her tenderly and she closed her eyes. "Tom told me I have a good woman in you, my nanny," he told her, smiling. "I agree with him..."
She returned his smile bashfully, her eyes lowered. "You are crazy..."
Michael then kissed her more passionately, squeezing her. She went limp in his loving embrace and he led her back over to the bed.
They kissed each other while Michael unbuttoned her blouse and peeled it from her shoulders. He unhooked her bra and she sat there topless before him. She leaned back and allowed him to unbutton her trousers; his hand went into her lacy panties and he pleasured her with his fingertips as his lips tenderly kissed her breasts.
Grace closed her eyes and moaned, "Oh, Michael; that feels wonderful..."
He moved his fingers from her panties and put them into his mouth. He was terribly aroused and he quickly removed his jacket and vest, nearly tearing the buttons. He wanted to ravage her. All the rage he had felt sitting in court and watching Chacon he was going to take out on her.
Every inch of her.
Michael watched as Grace pulled back the bedspread and tossed the decorative pillows to the floor. She was nude and it was making him insane; he moved behind her and put his hands on her hips, his clothed erection pressed against her buttocks. She smelled good, having worn the perfume he'd bought her a few weeks ago to court.
She laughed that sweet laugh he loved. "Michael, can't you wait?"
He was kissing her shoulders and his large hands were cupped around her breasts, squeezing them. "Why can't we do it right here?" he asked her playfully.
She peeled away his hands and crawled over to the far side of the bed, settling beneath the covers. She gave him a seductive, beckoning look. She, too, wanted to be ravaged. They hadn't had sex in over a month due to the stress of his trial and she didn't think she could go another day without having him.
Michael removed the rest of his clothes and joined her in bed, not hesitating to situate himself between her thighs. Their lips touched again and he kissed her more hungrily than before, his fingers lacing with hers as he pinned her hands above her head.
His lips traced her neck and collarbone with soft, loving kisses. Grace moaned in acceptance, her eyes closed, her back arching in pleasure. He knew exactly where to kiss on her neck to make her insane with passion; she trembled slightly beneath him.
Michael continued kissing her, his mouth moving over her firm yet supple breasts and suckling gently her pert nipples.
"Oh, Michael..." she exhaled. The tenderness of his movements ignited within her a further and stronger need to be devoured by him. She knew he was teasing her; he always knew what to do.
Michael released her hands and ran his pale fingers down the side of her body, tickling her. She giggled at his touch, her body flinching; she pulled him close and gave him a longing, begging kiss. "Stop teasing me!" she whispered breathily.
Michael laughed and caressed her face. "Tell me you love me first," he told her, taking her hand between his and kissing it. His face was only a few inches from hers and his smoldering eyes never looked away from hers.
Grace was slightly bashful; she knew Michael knew how guarded she could be with her feelings. Such a proposition made her feel exposed and out of control.
"Tell me how much you need me," he continued, his lips now kissing the inside of her wrist, the soft junction of her inner elbow.
"You know I love you, Michael," Grace's voice was slightly pleading. "You know how much I need you..." She was throbbing between her thighs with the dull, excruciating ache of intense desire. She wanted to be soothed.
He smiled mischievously, biting his lower lip. "I believe you," he said.
They kissed each other a little longer, eyes closed, Grace's seductive body against his, before he lied her back against the pillows and moved between her smooth, parted thighs. He eased himslf in gently and Grace whispered for him to take her, to take everything she could give.
Her pleas to be devoured were condensed to a primal utterance: "Fuck me."
Michael smiled and held her wrists over her head. His lithe body glided over hers with every deep stroke, his able pelvis producing spasms of pleasure within his nanny. "Michael..." was all she could moan in ecstasy.
Suddenly the telephone near the adjacent nightstand began to ring. Grace, still dissolving in fits of building ecstasy, told Michael to ignore it. He tried but the ringing distracted him; he grabbed the telephone's receiver and said breathily, "Hello?"
It was Sister Rose, the children's tutor. She told him Prince and Paris wanted him to join them for dinner and--as they spoke--the two were making their way to his cottage with Omer Bhatti in tow.
He thanked her for the alert and hung up. He sighed and kissed Grace on the lips.
"What is the matter now, Michael?" she asked him.
"Paris and Prince are heading over right now with Omer; we have to stop..."
Grace almost cried in frustration. She wondered when she would ever have a moment alone with him; she needed him.
Michael cradled her head in the crook of his right arm and gripped her breast in his free hand. His lips locked with hers and he began moving rapidly, his hips flitting and his buttocks clenching with every powerful thrust.
Grace tore her lips from his and screamed out, her eyes squeezed shut, her moist lips parted in reverence. He moved his free hand beneath his body and pleasured her additionally with feverish fingertips, his mouth moving to her breast.
"Oh, Michael...harder..." she begged, writhing in euphoria.
His children and Omer were halfway to the cottage. Michael felt as if he was thrashing against his nanny like a fish on dry land as they both tried to reach an orgasmic synthesis; he worked her harder than ever, enjoy every inch of her smooth body, of her soft thighs clinging around his hips...
Paris and Prince were now racing Omer to get to the cottage. The teenager was winning and the children struggled to keep pace. "Hurry up, Doo Doo Heads!" Omer teased...
Michael was now thrusting at a fever pitch. Both of their foreheads were glistening with a film of light sweat; Michael's wig was slightly askew from Grace's gentle tugs. She continued to beg for harder treatment as Michael was on the brink of a climactic collapse, his testicles issuing violent spasms.
"I love you, Michael," his nanny purred. "Oh...I love you..."
Omer was the first to cottage and rapped on the door. "Doo Doo, it's us!" he called. He turned and Paris and Prince were in a scuffling match trying to beat each other for second place; Omer laughed at them.
He waited for an answer and rapped again. He then jiggled the handle and the door was unlocked. He twisted the doorknob and opened it. His heart skipped a beat and his mouth felt dry.
Omer saw both of them atop the bed covers, clothes in piles about the room, and Michael's pale form was clinched within Grace's darkness. Michael was pounding away while his head was lowered to his nanny's breasts.
Suddenly Grace's voice echoed throughout the room in a high-pitched roar of ecstasy as her body melted into a puddle of relieved exhaustion. Michael's body continued to go until he, too, fell victim to a volcanic explosion of bliss, slowed, and collapsed in her arms, completely breathless and repeating her name in mumbled puffs. They began to kiss again, their bodies clinging together with orgasmic stickiness...
Omer staggered and swayed when he felt Paris and Prince collide into him, the children having used his body as a finish line. He quickly closed the door before they could see anything.
"Let's go back!" he suggested quickly, his eyes still wide in a mixture of shock and comical titilation.
"Why? I thought Daddy was coming--"
Omer gave Prince a little shove and started back to the house. "I bet I'll win again! You two are slow!" He was attempting to lure them into another race as a distraction.
It worked, for the children forgot about the cottage and bolted after Omer. They figured their father would join them in the main house...eventually.
